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Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, YB, CE, December 24, 2014

14 Wednesday Jan 2015

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change, Christmas Eve, church, comfort, familiarity, God, Grinch, holy, Jesus, peace, Sermon, strength

Most of us have a favorite Christmas movie.  Whether we like “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” or “A Christmas Story,” many of us find that until we have watched that special movie, we do not feel like Christmas has really arrived.  My personal favorite is “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” – the animated one, not the newer one with Jim Carrey.  I love the cute little dog that the Grinch dresses up like a reindeer, I love the little girl who sweetly encounters the Grinch dressed as Santa, and I love the songs throughout the movie.  But my favorite part is when the Grinch hears the Whos singing on Christmas morning despite their supposedly ruined Christmases and how the Grinch’s heart is warmed and grows in size.  Part of what I love about the movie is the movie’s wonderful lesson about the true meaning of Christmas – that material goods and abundance do not make Christmas:  only love and community make Christmas.  But I think the real reason I love this movie is its familiarity.  I like that I can watch the movie every Christmas and the movie never changes.  I like that no matter what house I lived in growing up, or where I found myself as an adult, or even how happy or sad I was on a given Christmas, the familiarity of the movie made me feel like I had something to ground me.  When all else in my world was changing, the movie never changes.

I think that is why we find ourselves at Church on a Christmas Eve too.  Every year we find ourselves sitting in a pew hearing the same story of Mary, Joseph, shepherds, angels, and the baby Jesus.  The story is so familiar that we could probably recite the story if pressed.  Whether we are a child or an adult, at home or far away, with loved ones or alone, the story never changes.  That changelessness, that familiarity is something we eagerly anticipate every Christmas and in large part is why we come to Church this night.

Familiarity is something we all long for at Christmas.  When we have lived long enough, we come to know that despite the fact that we celebrate Christmas every year and we try to keep familiar traditions, our celebration is never the same.  Invariably someone has passed away and their absence changes our experience; a family member is not present because of a falling out in the past year; the grandchildren become too old to play silly games or make crafts and the mood is different; or any other number of things have changed – divorce, births, illness, job loss, or moves.  Even if you still gather with your family or a set of friends, change is inevitable at Christmas.  And because we all know how unsettling change can be, we long for something that is unchanging that we can cling to and with which we can ground ourselves.

This Advent we have talked a lot about how much turbulence and change has been happening in our world.  We have watched as the world has erupted in violence.  The atrocities, suffering, and fighting have been so vivid that many of us have stepped away from watching the news.  We have seen unrest in our own country, as issues of race, class, and gender have collided.  And in case any of us were tempted to believe that those issues of race, class, and gender are someone else’s issues, we have only to look at as far as Staten Island to know that we are not yet in a place of peace and justice.  The noise of unrest is so loud that there are times when instead of listening to the news we turn to music, sports, or any other escape we can think of to run from the reality of our world.

The funny thing is that though we turn to our gospel lesson for comfort and familiarity, the same noise that we find in our lives and in our world is present in our reading tonight too.  The very reason that Mary, Joseph, and Jesus end up in a stable is that the Roman Empire has been greedily looking for more ways to bring in money into the empire.  And so peoples are being displaced, making their way back to their hometowns so that the empire can determine whether they have collected enough money from the people.  The Pax Romana is bearing down upon the people, and this nobody couple from Bethlehem is just one more victim of the injustice of the system.[i]

Perhaps that background noise is part of why we love this story so much.  Despite the chaos of that night and of that time, good news comes – to shepherds, to angels, to Mary and Joseph.  We savor the familiar words of goodness that override the story:  “do not be afraid”; “good news of great joy”; “peace among those whom he favors.”  To displaced Mary and Joseph, to disenfranchised shepherds, and to distant little Bethlehem peace, joy, comfort, and hope explode on this very night.  We have learned from hearing Scripture Sunday after Sunday that Scripture can often be hard, challenging, and downright condemning.  We spend much time throughout the Church year struggling with where God is challenging us to live differently and beckoning us to live more Christ-like lives.  But not on this night.  On this night, we get assurance, comfort, and joy.  We get an innocent baby – in fact a baby that will change the world for good.  Like young parents ourselves, we can worry about money, health, and safety later – because on this night of Jesus’ birth, we just want to cling to the Christ Child and all that the child represents.

Now there are times in our lives when clinging to the familiar just for the sake of comfort is a bad thing.  Maybe you yourself have been criticized for living in the past, romanticizing what once was, especially at this time of year.  But this is one of those rare instances when the Church says that we have permission to live in the past and cling to the familiar.  That is because this familiar – this story of Jesus’ birth – is worthy of that kind of devotion.  We are not staking our claim on something superficially good when we come to Church this night – we are not clinging to a romanticized past that can never fulfill us.  We are clinging to an event that happened a long time ago, but whose significance changed things forever.  In this incarnate experience of God, the game changed for all time.  God became flesh and dwelled among us, and we are changed for the better.

So tonight, I invite you accept the gift of familiarity and comfort.  Let this night warm your heart and soul and cling to the familiar story and all that the story means for us.  Hold fast to that comfort, and return to these words whenever you need them.  We have 364 other days to worry about what is going on in the world.  In fact what happens here in Scripture tonight deeply impacts how we will respond to that world the rest of the year.  But that is for another day.  Tonight, take the gift of comfort, joy, and hope and let that gift fill you up and strengthen you for the work God has given you.  Use that gift as fuel, and then let God’s holy meal fill your belly so that you are strengthened for the work ahead.  May God’s peace and joy fill you up and overflow out of you to others.  And then be agents of peace through the Prince of Peace who comforts you tonight.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Something More,” December 18, 2011 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1612 on December 20, 2014.

Homily – Isaiah 25.6-9, Cemetery Memorial Service, December 20, 2014

14 Wednesday Jan 2015

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Christmas, church, God, grief, homily, imperfect, joy, sad

Our Cemetery Memorial Service has become one of my favorite services of the year.  That may sound a little strange to you, but what I like about this service is the service’s honesty.  This time of year, there is a lot of dishonesty floating around:  the notion that buying things can make you happy, the assumption that everyone has abundant food this time of year, and even the idea that there is such a thing as the perfect family, the perfect Christmas, or the perfect life.  We see glossy ads, hear songs about loving, joyful Christmases, and watch movies that package Christmas with a pretty bow.  Though most of us know in the depths of our hearts that there is no such thing as a perfect Christmas experience, no one wants to talk about that reality.  We prefer that everyone stay in their lane, and put on a happy face.  Perhaps we have even convinced ourselves that we can “fake it ‘til we make it.”  In other words, if we say we are happy and that everything is perfect at Christmas, perhaps we and Christmas will become so.

But instead of buying into the Christmas hype, the Church tells another story today.  Simply by gathering us together as mourners, the Church acknowledges the pain and sadness that is often right below the surface at this time of year.  While others are decking the halls, rocking around the Christmas Tree, and having a holly, jolly Christmas, the Church invites us in, and encourages us to acknowledge the other part of Christmas – the part that is hard, sad, or empty.  We make space for grief, for honoring a loved one, and for acknowledging a sense of absence.  I have especially been grateful for that gift this year.  About a month ago, our family lost a grandfather.  He had lived a full, long life, and we know that he is at peace with the Lord.  But his absence is more obvious in the small parts of life.  Upon flying out for the funeral, my husband realized this would be the first time his grandfather would not meet him at the airport.  As we have prepared for holiday treats, we realized that our annual box of chocolates would not be arriving from him this year.  As we send out Christmas cards, I realized I would need one less card this year.  And those are just the things related to our family.  St. Margaret’s also lost a long-time parishioner this month – one who had been a major presence in our ministry here, whose bed I sat next to as we said prayers in his last days.  In addition to the grief of his family, our entire community is mourning the hole that he left.  Add into that grief the grief felt all over the world from violence, war, and hunger, and we come here today with much to offer up to God.

Of course, that is what I bring into this place today.  And each of you has your own story:  of wives, fathers, and daughters lost; of patriarchs in your family and of children whose lives were ended too soon; of lives well-lived and of lives barely lived at all.  To each of us, the Church says today that our mourning and our sadness are okay.  The Church creates this window of time where we can stop, be still, and know that God is with us.  The Church acknowledges the imperfect nature of this holiday, and celebrates anyway.

That is why I love the words we heard from the prophet Isaiah today.  The text says, “On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.  And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the LORD has spoken.”  What is so inviting about the words from Isaiah today is that they put our experiences in perspective.  Yes, our Christmas meals may not be utter perfection.  But God is preparing a feast for us that is more perfect than anything we could ever prepare ourselves.  Any darkness we feel now will be swallowed up by God.  Any tears we shed will be wiped away by our Lord.  Any sadness we feel at the dinner table will be eclipsed by the pure and holy joy we will find at God’s feast of rich food and well-aged wines.  Our loved ones are already enjoying that feast ahead of us.  Our joy is that we too are promised the opportunity to join them at the heavenly banquet when our time comes.

So this Christmas, give yourself permission to experience Christmas imperfectly.  Give yourself permission to be both joyful and sad.  Give yourself permission to lean into God when you need the strength to carry on.  And know, that maybe, just maybe, if you allow yourself to focus on the much grander feast that is to come and that already is for our loved ones, maybe you will find smiling a little easier.  Maybe you will find moments of joy that shine light into the darkness.  Maybe you will even find the ability to let yourself laugh and sing and to celebrate this imperfect holiday.  That is my wish for each of you.  That the blessing of this night will create a small, steady flame that warms and encourages you in the days and weeks to come.  Amen.

Keeping Christ in Christmas…

19 Friday Dec 2014

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Christ, Christmas, church, encourage, guilt, Jesus, uplifting, witness

I live in an area of our country that has a lot of “Keep Christ in Christmas,” signs.  I think people post these signs for all sorts of reasons:  for fear that Christmas has become too secular and lost its focus on the birth of the Christ Child; out of resistance to Christmas becoming a consumerist holiday; as a defensive response to what feels like a mandate to be “politically correct,” (i.e. saying “Happy Holidays!” instead of “Merry Christmas!”).  Many of these arguments make sense to me.  I myself have a hard time explaining to my five-year old why Christmas is both the celebration of Jesus’ birth and the day Santa Claus comes.  I too feel lured in by the advertisements that want me to spend more money than I have in order to show my love and affection.  I too want to be fully Christian, not wanting to minimize my faith in order to honor others’ faith.  In fact, it was not until I moved to a community with a large Jewish population that I really had to think about whether my “Merry Christmas!” greeting was even appropriate.

But here is my issue:  when I see those (sometimes very large) signs posted all around town, they do not sound like a gentle reminder or encouragement to return to our Lord.  When I see them, I feel like someone is shouting at me, “Keep Christ in Christmas!!”  Those signs do not feel well-intended, encouraging, or uplifting.  They seem angry, defensive, and off-putting.  They make me feel like I am guilty and should be ashamed of something.  And if I, as a priest in the Church, feel criticized, judged, and reprimanded by the signs, imagine how someone feels who knows very little about the Church.

Courtesy of https://www.facebook.com/uCatholic/photos/pb.123119221038808.-2207520000.1418930355./1004120959605292/?type=3&theater

Courtesy of https://www.facebook.com/uCatholic/photos/pb.123119221038808.-2207520000.1418930355./1004120959605292/?type=3&theater

A meme has recently been floating around that helped me identify what it is that is so off-putting about the normal “Keep Christ in Christmas” sign.  The sign says, “Want to keep Christ in Christmas?  Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies.”  The quote comes from Steve Maraboli, and I think his words get at my struggle.  What I like about this quote is that it does not just describe how to reclaim a holiday.  This quote describes how to live as an authentic Christian, to live like Christ, in the midst of this holiday.  That is a much more powerful witness to me than simply insisting people keep Christ in Christmas.  Perhaps instead of saying “Keep Christ in Christmas,” our message could be, “Be Christ this Christmas.”  When we busy ourselves with being Christ to others it is a lot easier to remember the reason for the season – no fussing and finger-wagging necessary.

An Advent Rollercoaster…

11 Thursday Dec 2014

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Advent, Blue Christmas, Christmas, church, Gaudete Sunday, grief, joy

This Advent has been a both-and experience for me this year.  There have been some incredibly joyful moments:  watching my daughter’s excitement about picking a Christmas tree, reading devotionals from our Advent calendar and enjoying my daughter’s insightful comments, and anticipating some fun time with family over the holidays.  But there have also been some sobering moments:   grieving the loss of my husband’s grandfather, keeping vigil at the bedside of a longtime parishioner and then burying him this week, and listening to stories of neighboring families who are struggling to make ends meet and who are dreading the disappointment of their children when Christmas comes.  In some ways, the sobering moments have been hanging heavily for me.  That reality has felt normal because Advent is meant to be a quieter, penitential season of preparation.  But the lows have felt really low, and I have found myself longing for the highs – or at least some sense of joy.

Courtesy of http://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2010/12/gaudete-sunday-exhibition-of-some-rose.html#.VIm-6dLF-Jo

Courtesy of http://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2010/12/gaudete-sunday-exhibition-of-some-rose.html#.VIm-6dLF-Jo

That is why I am looking forward to two upcoming events at St. Margaret’s.  First is the third Sunday of Advent.  This Sunday is known as “Gaudete Sunday.”  Basically, Gaudete Sunday is meant to offer a break from the penitential themes of Advent, instead emphasizing the joy of the coming of the Lord.  For a full explanation about the name and origin, look here.  This year, I am finding myself longing for Gaudete Sunday, needing more of the joyful moments like I mentioned above and less of the hard moments that keep coming my way.  I am grateful for the Church’s gift of respite to us of this Sunday.

Oddly enough, I am also looking forward to our Blue Christmas service coming up in a little over a week.  The service is meant to be for those who find Christmas to be a difficult or challenging time.  Given that I was just saying I wanted a little more joy, it may sound funny that I am looking forward to this service.  But the truth is, I am looking forward to sharing some of my Advent grief and sadness with others.  Being able to acknowledge those feelings in the context of worship and have them affirmed seems like a tremendous gift.

I suppose that is both the nature of Advent and life – times of highs and lows, joys and grief, eager anticipation and dread.  My hope is that if your Advent is taking on that both-and shape, you might lean on the Church to help you navigate that experience, and to find companions on the journey.  Come join us for a holy Advent.

Sermon – Isaiah 40.1-11, A2, YB, December 7, 2014

10 Wednesday Dec 2014

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Advent, care, Christmas, church, community, God, Isaiah, preparation, prepare, promise, Sermon, the Lord, work

This sermon was delivered on the occasion of our Annual Meeting. 

This time of year, I do a lot of preparing.  Though the setup takes a lot of work, I particularly love preparing our house for Christmas.  Unpacking and hanging all the ornaments is a tradition I shared with my family, and that I now can share with my girls.  I love telling my oldest daughter the stories behind certain ornaments and helping her decide where they should go.  I also put out our international crèche collection.  They remind me of travels I have made or friends from far away places.  Each inspires something different in me, reflecting the culture and artistry of different countries.  And of course, my daughter loves helping me hide away the baby Jesuses until Christmas day.  We even take down some artwork on our wall to make room for the cards which friends from far and wide send to us.  There is something homey and comforting about the whole process of preparing for Christmas, and I love the way that the preparation makes me feel grounded and joyful.

In our Old Testament lesson today, the text says, “prepare the way of the LORD.”  In this season of Advent, we are to prepare for the arrival of the Christ Child.  Now certainly, unpacking ornaments, advent wreaths, and crèches are one way to prepare.  But God is talking about a different kind of preparation today.  God is not talking about an outward change – like decorating our homes.  God is talking about an inward preparation – an inward change in anticipation of the LORD.  I am reminded of how one of our parishioners just recently prepared himself for the LORD.  Several weeks ago, one of our young parishioners decided to receive his first communion.  He prepared by reading about the Eucharist at home with his family, asking questions, and talking with them about their experiences.  He worked on memorizing the Lord’s Prayer, so that he might fully participate in the prayer life of our community.  And then he sat with me as we walked through the Eucharistic liturgy, talking about what each part means, why that part is significant, and what all those crazy things on the altar are called.  Finally, he chose someone to present him before the entire community, where he and we all declared that he was prepared to be in full communion with this community.  He waited and worked to prepare himself for the consumption of our LORD.  And now, each week that I have placed the body of Christ in his hand since then, I have felt a sweet, deeply abiding satisfaction when he reaches his hands toward me to receive Christ’s body.

The kind of preparation that our young parishioner did is a small taste of the kind of preparation God calls for in our Old Testament today.  Isaiah says that in order to prepare, we need to make straight in the desert a highway for our God, lift up every valley, make low every mountain and hill, level the uneven ground, and make plain the rough places.  This passage is so familiar to us, that many of us miss the magnitude of what God is saying.  When was the last time you tried to fill in a valley or level a mountain?  Of course, God is not telling us to literally take the winding roads of deserts and make them straight.  But in the metaphors, God is telling us that preparing for God is not easy work.  In fact, preparing for the LORD is a monumental task.  Preparing for the LORD is not like preparing our homes for Christmas, where we can make a basic checklist and slowly check the items off the list.  When given the hefty work of preparing ourselves inwardly for God, the task of leveling our valleys and mountains and smoothing out our rough places is much more difficult.

In some ways, I have watched St. Margaret’s do a lot of this interior work.  Over the course of the last year, our Vestry and Buildings and Grounds Committee have made level the mess that had become our Undercroft.  Though taking on an expensive project, they together worked to clean out harmful mold and mildew, solved a drainage problem to prevent that kind of damage again, and reimagined how that space could be utilized by us and our community.  Meanwhile, our educational offerings have been totally made low in this last year.  We revamped our Sunday School program after years of struggling to find the best way to raise our children in the faith.  We reworked our worship schedule so that adults could claim an hour in their busy lives to ponder their faith and make straight paths in the desert.  We have filled in the valleys by marching in parades, sponsoring baseball teams, eating pancakes at local diners, and inviting total strangers into our midst so that they might help us fill in those valleys.  Of course, anyone who knows St. Margaret’s also knows that you are only a stranger here for about one Sunday before our wonderfully welcoming community has made sure they know your whole life story before your coffee cup is empty.

All of those have been wonderfully positive things in our lives, but not easy work.  I cannot tell you the number of people who worried and fretted over our Undercroft expenses, complained about how long the work was taking, and questioned the wisdom of the work.  I cannot tell you the number of times I myself considered whether we should halt educational offerings altogether due to low turnout.  I cannot tell you how many times I needed each one of us to invite someone to church and instead heard someone say, “Oh, well isn’t that what our new website is for?”  We have been making progress toward straightening paths, filling in valleys, and leveling mountains.  But we have also gotten very dirty, been impatient and frustrated with each other, and sometimes have dropped our shovels altogether.  That is what happens when you do this kind of preparation for the LORD.  The work is not easy.  The work is monumental.  The work is, well, work.  And work is what God is inviting us into today.

The good news is that today’s text is one of those “both-and” texts.[i]  Yes, God is inviting us into some hard work today.  As we reflect on another year of service, at the mounds of dirt we have already moved, God is charging us to roll up our sleeves and keep digging.  And yes, God promises that the work of preparing will not be easy work.  But God also makes a promise while we are in the mire of making roads straight.  Our text today from Isaiah says, “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.”  This last sentence has been lingering with me this week.  Maybe because I am a nursing mom, or maybe because this is the only time that scripture talks about the work of a mother sheep, but I find myself riveted by these words.

Just this week, I had one of “those” nights at our house.  I do not know whether she was teething or just had a rough day, but I lost count after the fifth time I woke up to my infant’s crying one night.  The next morning, I woke up bleary-eyed, almost falling asleep while eating my morning cereal, spilling my coffee on my computer, and generally having a rough time trying to focus.  That is the life of a mother with young children.  And I assume, the life of a mother sheep is not much easier – constantly using her body to protect and feed her lambs.  To that wearied mother sheep, God says that God will gently lead her.  In fact, not only that, God will gather up her lambs, embracing them in God’s bosom, and then God will gently lead the mother sheep.  I am reminded of the many times someone has scooped up my daughters when they were losing their cool.  I am reminded of the individuals who have forced me to go take a date night while they watched my kids.  I am reminded of the encouraging words and sympathetic nods I have received over these last five years.

That is the kind of care God promises us in the midst of our work.  God says, “Go out there and get dirty filling valleys, leveling mountains, and straitening roads.  And when you are weary from the work, I will scoop up your little ones, and gently lead you by my side.”  As I look forward to the coming year, I hear both a charge and a comfort for us today.  We all have more to learn, more people to serve, more spreading of the gospel to do.  But we also have a shepherd who tenderly encourages and comforts us – and then kicks us right back into the ring.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] George W. Stroup, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 28.

God and cell phones…

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

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Advent, connection, disconnected, God, prayer, relationship, technology

To see me now, you might not guess the initial reluctance I experienced with using a cell phone.  My progress was slow from owning one at all, to learning to text, to using a smart phone, to now using my agile phone.  Part of my reluctance was what such usage would mean – being able to be reached at all times; work emails invading “down time,” making me feel like I am never truly off; decreased patience with others who are not as technologically savvy; and constant usage for everyday needs.  I still try to resist looking at my phone constantly – I put it down during dinner time, I try not to respond to emails on my day off, I sometimes wait to look up something until I am at my computer.  But I still have those moments when my daughter impatiently waits while I finish one quick text or email to someone.  Though I ask her to hold on while I finish, I worry that I am becoming what I feared.

But there are also days when I am really grateful for my phone.  I currently have a parishioner who in the last stages of life.  The family and I know that the parishioner could go at any time, and so we are keep watch, spending time together, and holding each other in prayer.  I am keeping my phone especially close, checking for texted updates or for the dreaded call.  I even keep my phone on my nightstand in case I need to run to the hospital overnight.  That may sound unpleasant to some, but what I have come to see these last few weeks is that my phone is becoming not just a tool for pastoral care (a way for parishioners to reach me for emergencies), but it is also becoming a tool for my prayer life.  When I check my phone and there are no messages about this parishioner, I use the moment as a reminder to pray – pray for the parishioner, the parishioner’s family, and talk with God about the hard stuff of life.  Who would have thought that this little phone – a thing which I had once associated with menace, annoyance, and disconnectedness – could also be a tool for deep connection, prayer, and blessing?

Courtesy of http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2014/11/12/anglicans-invited-to-celebrate-advent-using-your-camera-phones/

Courtesy of http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2014/11/12/anglicans-invited-to-celebrate-advent-using-your-camera-phones/ Check out their website for a concrete way of using technology this Advent!

What I love about this tiny revelation is that it points to a larger truth.  God is constantly working through us in the current age.  It may sound silly, but I think God can work through our technology – through my little cell phone – for good, inviting me back into relationship with God, and working through it to connect us to one another.  The trick is keeping a watchful eye for God when it could otherwise be easy to miss God.  Of course, that is not a new problem.  God has been inviting God’s people into relationship from the beginning of time – and we have regularly been resistant.  The trick for staying connected is finding those things that help us return to the LORD:  whether it is a cell phone, a strategically placed Prayer Book that reminds us to pray, a set of prayer beads that you keep in your pocket, or a regular commitment to church attendance.  I wonder what things in your life might be repurposed to help you reconnect with the holy this week.

 

 

Sermon – Mark 13.24-37, A1, YB, November 30, 2014

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

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Advent, anxiety, awake, Christmas, contrast, discipline, God, loud, noise, quiet, Sermon

I live a very loud life these days.  If any of you have ever visited the Rectory between the hours of five and seven in the evening, you have witnessed the sheer volume of my life.  Between the baby who can only communicate frustration through crying and the kindergartner who is quite verbose nowadays, mixed in with the fatigue they both feel after a long day of school and nursery care, let’s just say these hours are full of a lot of noise.  That is not to say that all of the noise is unpleasant – there is also the noise of laughter, storytelling, and shaking rattles.  But our house in those hours is not the place where you would want set up a yoga mat and try to meditate.

I sometimes blame all the noise in my life on my beloved children.  But the truth is I am as much a cause of the noise as they are.  I am admittedly loud myself – whether barking instructions around the house, singing aloud, or simply talking my husband’s ear off.  But I am not just loud in the house – I am also loud inside my head.  My mind is in constant conversation:  my to-do list, searching for ideas for a blog post, worrying about a sick friend or parishioner, trying to make plans for the weekend, processing a troublesome conversation, or wallowing in guilt for missed exercise or time in prayer.  As loud as my outside world is, my inside world is probably much worse.  Add Christmastime to the mix, and the loudness of my life reaches levels that can be incapacitating.

That is why I love Advent so much.  In the lead-up to Christmas, the outside world bombards us with noise:   Christmas songs on the radio, shopping to complete, parties to attend, gifts to wrap, houses to decorate, gatherings to host, cards to send, and loud relatives or friends to entertain.  In contrast, the Church at this time asks us to do the exact opposite:  slow down, take a breath, light some candles, breath in the fresh greenery, sing quiet, meditative songs, and worship in the soothing purple of anticipation.  When the outside world is telling us, “Do more, buy more, run more, fuss more, stress more,” the Church says, “Do less, worry less, run less, talk less, be busy less.”  The contrast between the two worlds is like night and day, and at a time of high stress, Advent becomes the Church’s greatest gift to us.

Into this contrast, we hear words from Mark’s gospel today.  The text says, “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.  It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch.  Therefore, keep awake– for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.  And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”  Many of us hear this text today with a sense of anxiety – of needing to keep anxious watch for the Lord.  We might imagine the many apocalyptic movies, predictions, and preachers we have witnessed over the years and wonder whether Jesus really does want us to be more alarmed.  Certainly the outside world would have us also be alert and anxious for the coming Christmas.

But I think the Church is saying something else today.  Instead of an anxious alarm, our gospel lesson sounds like a gentle reminder to me.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the quiet beauty of Advent.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the gift of time set apart in these four weeks.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the lead in to the manger, the dramatic retelling of why the manger is so important, and the grounding for this entire season.[i]  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are not meant to be one more anxiety to pile on top of a mound of concerns.  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are meant to help us focus on what is really important.

So make a commitment to come to church each Sunday in Advent and spend those Sundays in quiet worship with your church family.  Grab an Advent calendar or devotional to help you more intentionally mark the days leading up to the manger.  Or set up that Advent wreath at home, so that you might bring the quiet candlelight of prayer and meditation to your home.  Whatever the discipline, choose something this Advent that will help you maintain the quiet peace you find here at Church and carry that quiet peace throughout your weeks leading up to Christmas.  My guess is that noise of life will slowly fade into a quiet hum in the background – which is right where it should be.  Amen.

[i] Lillian Daniel, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 22.

Homily – II Cor. 9.6-15, Thanksgiving Day, YA, November 27, 2014

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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abundance, God, homily, sacred, secular, share, thankful, Thanksgiving Day

One of the funny things about being a priest is the way that everyday people interact with me.  The funniest experiences occur when people first find out I am a priest.  I love seeing the raised eyebrows or hearing the stammers as someone panics about any inappropriate things they might have said in the first ten minutes of our conversation.  Parties with strangers or our children’s school gatherings are always fun as people try to figure out how they should modify their behavior in front of me.  In fact, many of my single and dating priest friends have avoided the conversation altogether about what they do for a living, hoping that the other person will get to know them for who they are, not just what they do.  There really is a sort of cultural divide that I forget about until I get in one of these situations and then have work with someone to create a sense of comfort and commonality.

That cultural divide is no more obvious than on a holiday like Thanksgiving Day.  Today we gather to celebrate what is mostly a secular holiday.  This day has become a day about an abundance of food, watching parades and football, enjoying fellowship with friends and family, and post-turkey naps.  This is a day of giving thanks for the good things of life, but often in a secular way.  I know many people who have a tradition of going around the table and saying something for which they are thankful.  But those things are usually listed without a mention of God.  In fact, the non-specific nature of gratitude this day is what makes it a perfect day for interfaith groups, like our own Plainview-Old Bethpage Interfaith Group, to celebrate – because we can all recognize in our own different ways our gratitude and thanks.

But for us Christians, this day is a little different.  We may do all the same activities: feast, fellowship, and fun; but we also root those activities in gratitude toward God – the source of all our blessings.  For us, today is not just a day to be grateful for the good things in life, but to be thankful to God for our blessings.  That may sound like semantics, but I think that, especially today, our language matters.  So we can still go around the table listing our blessing, but we also acknowledge that God is the source of those blessings.  We can still enjoy a feast, but we begin our meal in a prayer that thanks God for the bounty of the earth, the hands that touch our meal in its many stages, and for the privilege and pleasure of good food.  We can still watch the game or the parade, but we are grateful to God for the blessing of shelter and the disposable income to afford that television and cable service.  And we can still enjoy the company of friends and family because we know that God blesses us with companions on our journey.

So why does our naming God today matter?  What difference does our calling this a sacred day have to do with anything?  The difference is that when we name God in the midst of blessing, there is a “so what?” attached.  Our epistle lesson says today, “God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work.”  In other words, when we give thanks today, that is not the end of the story.  When we give thanks today, God is well pleased.  And God also expects us to share that abundance with others.  As the epistle says, our blessing is not strictly for us.  Our blessing is given to us so that our blessing might be a blessing to others.

And that is why we mark this day as a sacred day.  Because if Thanksgiving Day is simply a secular day of being grateful, the day begins and ends with us – our experiences, our gratefulness, our happiness.  But if we celebrate Thanksgiving Day as a sacred day, then the day may begin with us, but the day ends with others – our blessings overflowing to bless others.  That is the true abundance of Thanksgiving Day.  The abundance cannot be contained.  In fact, our epistle lesson says that the more we pass along our abundance, the more that abundance grows, “The one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.”  So, go home and enjoy all the blessings of this day – and then share those blessings bountifully.  Amen.

Thanksgiving…

26 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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conflict, family, God, grace, love, Thanksgiving

My oldest daughter is precocious.  She is five and she comes from a long line of very head-strong women – at least three generations, but I never really knew the women in the generations above that.  So with two ladies in the house who have strong opinions and strong wills, you can imagine that there tends to be a decent amount of conflict in our house.  Truthfully, I would not have it any other way.  I am happy that my daughter already has a strong sense of self, knows how to articulate her wants and needs, and takes on leadership whenever she can.  Despite that realization, there are moments each day where I just feel exasperated by the struggle, and wish we could just have an easy conflict-free relationship.  I have even wondered at times whether my daughter might be equally frustrated with me, already dreaming of adulthood, when she can be her own woman.

The thing that holds us together is the little moments of grace.  I have taken on the daily habit of whispering a secret to my daughter, “I love you.”  I try to say it at different times, and I especially try to say it after we have had a difficult patch.  Sometimes she guesses the secret before I say it.  Sometimes she rolls her eyes.  But every time, she smiles and the tension breaks.  Lately, I have noticed her doing the same for me.  Not actually saying the words, but giving me small gestures of love.  Just yesterday, we had a parent/child project at school.  We were busy working on it, and I was both trying to complete the project with her and keep her focused.  As we were wrapping up, and she seemed to be off to the next thing, she ran back to me and threw her arms around me for an extended hug.  She did not say anything.  But she didn’t have to.

I have often wondered whether the parent-child relationship is a bit like my relationship with God.  I too long for independence and sense of control, and I certainly have conflict with God from time to time.  But we also have these tender moments where we both express love for one another.  Actually, I think God probably expresses love for me all the time – I just am too hard-headed to hear it.  But it is those tender moments where I acknowledge God’s love for me and I express my love for God that sustain me.

Courtesy of http://oneperfectpie.wordpress.com/tag/fall-pie/

Courtesy of http://oneperfectpie.wordpress.com/tag/fall-pie/

As we celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, you may be approaching time with your family or friends who are like family.  And with family can also come conflict.  My prayer for you is that your day might be dotted with those little moments of grace and love:  whether it is an inside joke, a shared moment in the kitchen or while watching the parade, or just a simple wordless hug.  May love, grace, and gratitude outshine all else tomorrow – or at least help you get through the day!  Happy Thanksgiving!

Sermon – Matthew 25.31-46, P29, YA, November 23, 2014

26 Wednesday Nov 2014

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face, goats, God, Jesus, poor, privilege, Sermon, sheep, suffering

Once upon a time, “there was a cobbler who lived alone in his shop with one window that looked out on the street.  His wife and children had all died and he asked God, “Holy One why have you so long delayed your coming?  I have almost given up hope in seeing you.  Please come to my humble shop this day and show me your face.”

Outside on the street the cold winter brought snow.  Through his window he saw a beggar who shivered in the cold.  The cobbler invited the beggar into the shop to warm him and offer a meager meal from his shrinking larder.  The beggar thanked him and left.

As the day passed, a few customers came with repairs they needed for their shoes and harnesses.  A young boy sought shelter from the cold and snow.  The child’s feet were wrapped in old dirty rags and stuffed with paper.  Into the shop he invited the boy.  After making him some warm milk and a sandwich from the little food he had he went to his closet and found a pair of shoes that [had] belonged to his son.  He fit the shoes to the boy.  Grateful, the boy left with a promise to return to visit him.

It was approaching dusk and the cobbler despaired of a visit from the Lord.  A woman with her young babe appeared in front of the window.  She was dressed in a thin piece of cloth and she looked as if she might freeze to death.  The cobbler invited her into his shop.  Wary of the old man, she hesitated at the door, but feeling the warmth within she stepped across the threshold.  The cobbler made her some tea and went to his closet to find a heavy woolen cloak that [had] belonged to his wife.  Giving her the cloak the woman thanked him and after he shared the rest of his larder with her, she left with the child.

The sun descended and left the cobbler bereft.  “Why didn’t you come and visit me today,” the cobbler asked?  There was a voice that spoke to him in his humble shop:  “But I did come to you.  When you invited in the beggar, the boy, and the mother and her child, I was there with you.  In each of their faces you looked into my eyes.”  [The cobbler] then remembered the scripture: “When did you see me hungry and feed me, alone and naked and clothe me and thirsty and you gave me a drink.”  The visitors who had come to his shop that day had been his master.  In their faces he had looked into the eyes of God.

That night the cobbler slept happy and at peace for the first time in many months.”[i]

Today’s gospel lesson is one of those lessons that we might hear and immediately panic, for fear that we are those goats at God’s left hand.  We can picture all of those homeless persons we passed without a nod or a coin; that nursing home that we go by everyday but fail to stop in for a visit; or that prison that we avoid because passing the prison makes us nervous enough – we cannot imagine actually going inside.  In fact, we are pretty sure that we are the goats of Jesus’ story, and we know that when those goats do not feed the hungry, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, tend the sick, and visit the prison, they are sent away to eternal punishment.  Talk about a sobering text.

Truthfully, we probably all could use a little sobering from time to time.  But today, I am more intrigued by the ways in which we are sheep.  In fact, St. Margaret’s gives us all kinds of opportunities to be sheep:  when we plant, tend, and pick produce that feeds the hungry in Huntington Station and Hicksville; when we donate money to the Outreach Fund, which provides clothing, gas, food, and toiletries to needy students at JFK High School here in Plainview; when we take communion to the shut-ins, or simply stop by for a visit or drop off a container of soup; or when we clear out our closets for veterans we may never meet.  All of these ways are ways in which St. Margaret’s is seeking and serving Christ in our neighborhood, and inviting us to fully become sheep at God’s right hand.

But as proud as I am of each of us, and as much as I want to assure us that we fall into the sheep category as often as we fall into the goat category[ii], the more important point is that Jesus’ words today are not meant to make us worry about completing a check list that will get us into heaven someday.  Instead, Jesus’ words today are meant to be a different kind of wake up call.  Jesus is saying today [clap], “Hey!  I am right here.  Wake up!”  Jesus does not want you to do all those wonderful things because that is what will get you into heaven.  Jesus wants you to do those wonderful things because that is where we will see his face and he will see ours.  Only when we are in those places of vulnerability, messiness, and desperation will we find each other.

I do not mean to romanticize poverty or helping the less fortunate.  But here is what I do know:  for the person who is in need, asking for help is one of the most humiliating experiences a person can know.  Asking for help means swallowing one’s pride, admitting defeat, and opening up oneself to rejection.  And for the person who is giving aid, giving that help means talking to someone we usually try to ignore, acknowledging our own privilege, and seeing afresh how thin the line is between “us” and “them.”  In that narrow space is where we can hear God say, “But I did come to you.  When you invited in the beggar, the boy, and the mother and her child, I was there with you.  In each of their faces you looked into my eyes.”  That is the invitation of today’s gospel lesson: not to panic in fear, but to step into those narrow spaces where Christ resides, and to see Christ face to face.  Amen.

[i] Leo Tolstoy, “Martin the Cobbler,” as retold by Bob Stuhlmann in “Goat Cheese And Starfish: For November 23, 2014,” posted on November 18, 2014, as found at http://storiesfromapriestlylife.wordpress.com/2014/11/18/goat-cheese-and-starfish-for-november-232014/.

[ii] Mark Douglas, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 336.

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