Tag Archives: Christmas

On Pageants, Dread, and Joy…

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://nationaltoday.com/epiphany/

This Sunday was our church’s annual Epiphany Pageant.  Each year, following all the Christmas festivities, when the time comes for the feast of the Epiphany – the arrival of the magi – we insert the pageant into the middle of our Sunday worship service.  I love the pageant each year because it allows us to breathe in the fullness of those twelve days of Christmas.  I love the pageant each year because it allows our families to recover from the whirlwind that can be Christmas with young children before pausing at the manger without the chaos.  I love the pageant each year because we cede the reins of our patterns of worship and ask our children to lead us in a substantive way.  And I love the pageant each year because it is sheer joy – the best gift of the entire Christmas season.

The day after that pageant, my family’s life shifted back into “normal” mode:  the children went off to school after two weeks of rest, the adults went back to work, the household duties of laundry, dishes, and picking up resumed.  This shift is often met with dread.  Two weeks is enough time to have fully relaxed and stepped out of production mode.  For the kids, it is met with resuming responsibilities of classwork and extracurricular requirements.  For the adults, there are all the things we put on hold that now feel overwhelmingly urgent.  The same is true for the household – staring us in the face are all the items we know need tending:  cleaning, the bills, the scheduling, the negotiating. 

This week though, I have been praying through the dread and holding it in tension with the sheer joy that I witnessed on Sunday.  While the weight of all the “stuff” of life is certainly there and mounting, what the joy reminded me of is that I love all the “stuff” of life that makes our life so rich.  I love being in a church community that values and empowers our children and their faith lives.  I love being in a community that reminds me of the significance of ultimate things and the presence of God in the midst of the seeming chaos of life.  I love having a family to journey through life with and watching each member of the family evolve into beautiful versions of their selves.

This week, I wonder how you might tap into the sacred pause of Epiphany.  I wonder what gifts the magi are bringing you this week to remind you of the presence of Jesus in your life.  I wonder how you might acknowledge the joy found in the seeming tidal wave of responsibility that comes after time apart.  I look forward to hearing about your epiphanies this week!

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, Isaiah 60.1-6, EPD, YA, January 4, 2026

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

At our 10:00 am service today, we honor the feast of Epiphany with our annual Epiphany Pageant.  Every year I love watching the children and youth bring the Christmas story alive one more time.  Part of what makes the service special is hearing the story with fresh ears – not from a clergy person reading from the aisle like every other Sunday, but with a variety of voices narrating and enlivening the words, making the incarnation story more incarnate.  I love how the pageant keeps us in the Christmas moment one more week, and I love how the story brings all our Christmas characters under one roof, reminding us of the continual unfolding of the mystery of the incarnation.  Though there is something certainly endearing about the whole experience of a pageant, there is also something quite profound in a pageant too.

But what pageants can sometimes do is focus our attention so intently on the manger – on Jesus and his family – that we forget what happens outside the manger is just as important as what happens at the manger.  Even our beloved carol “We Three Kings,” draws us to the experience of the magi’s adoration in Bethlehem, without insight into what happens in Jerusalem.  This year, after hearing of registrations, of humble births, of angel choruses, of everyday shepherds spreading the Gospel, and of cosmic explanations of the incarnation, we turn our attention to Jerusalem.  Isaiah gives us some clue about where our attention is drawn.  “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you…Lift up your eyes and look around…”[i] instruction in Isaiah is not for Bethlehem, but the city of Jerusalem[ii] – the city where Jesus’ journey will end, the city for whom Jesus weeps, the city of eventual redemption and salvation.  There, Isaiah foretells of the incarnation, how the people of God are to reflect the light of Christ, and to pay attention to what is happening around them, to God incarnate.

Those words, “lift up your eyes and look around,” have been lingering with me.  Instead of looking deep into the scene at the manger or with the holy family, I am drawn by what is happening in Jerusalem.  Three things happen there.  One, we learn more about the magi.  The testimony of the magi is what most of us associate with Epiphany.  Foreigners set out on a quest, more attuned to the cosmic nature of the incarnation than the people of faith.  Their astrological findings do not simply fascinate them, but inspire action – a long, uncomfortable journey to see the incarnation for themselves.  As profound as their witness is, they cannot complete the journey alone.  They stop in Jerusalem for guidance.  They know they are on the right path; they just cannot quite get to the proper place.  And so, the magi stop and ask for help along the way.  They know something significant has happened, but they need guidance from people of faith to fully realize their journey.[iii]

The magi’s insightful question, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” is a question that brings in the second action.  The chief priests and scribes, the ultimate insiders of the faithful, those who hold the revelation of scripture and interpret scripture for the people of God, are given news that should be earth shattering.  When asked about the birth of the Messiah, the religious leaders recall what they know of the Messiah:  the Messiah is to be born of Bethlehem and is to shepherd and rule the people of God.  The religious leaders offer the key – the prophecy of scripture about the coming Messiah.  And yet, even though they have this scriptural foundation, they do not react to the news of the magi.  Even though these wise people profess this awaited Messiah has been born, the religious leaders do not drop everything.  They do not even ask to go with the Magi, just to check and see if this story might have something.  They may be versed in scripture, but their inaction shows that even insiders sometimes need outsiders to be faithful.[iv]

Finally, the third thing that happens are the actions of Herod.  Herod is probably the most fascinating to me.  He is wise too, even if he uses his wisdom for his own nefarious purposes.  Herod knows the announcement, even if from an outsider of a new king being born means his own kingship is threatened, and shows how fragile his rule is.[v]  But instead of acting impulsively, he manipulates those around him.  First, he calls in the religious leaders.  You see, Herod is not a Jew – in fact, he is a Roman, serving at the leisure of the kingdom.  But his subjects are Jewish, and so he is wise enough to seek their counsel on what a king, what a Messiah, might look like.  But instead of sending his religious leaders to check things out in Bethlehem, knowing they might discover a true king among them, he secretly sends the foreigners, hoping to manipulate them into doing the work of finding the king, knowing he will get news from them so he can kill this new king.  Herod is only worried about himself and his power, and he will do whatever is needed to maintain that power.

The foreign magi are so unfamiliar with the people of God, they do not initially understand the weight of their question about the new king.  The scribes and religious leaders are so buried in their scripture, and so keen to keep balance with secular power, they do not realize the messianic fulfillment right in front of them.  And Herod is so bent on keeping his power, he does not fully understand the power of God working all around him.  All three of these agents in our story need the words of Isaiah today – all three need to lift up their eyes and look around.

We are not unlike the characters in our story today.  How often are we so mired in our own power – as people of privilege and comfort, as Americans with power more globally, as members and advocates in this community – how often does a word about the movement of God, the promise of change, and the possibility of giving up some of our power to allow that fulfillment, make us just as nefarious as Herod – just as willing to manipulate the world around us?  Or how often have we steeped ourselves in scripture, scouring God’s Holy Word, longing for some sort of guidance or truth, not realizing truth is being spoken through another right to our faces?  Or how often have we been so intent on a mission, so focused on what we sense God calling us to do, we ignore the consequences of our actions, forget the power of our words?

Today’s scripture reading is certainly about the gift of the magi to us – the revelation of the incarnation, the insight of foreigners, and the abundance and homage the incarnation inspires.  But today’s scripture reading is also an invitation to consider our own response to that incarnation in the modern era, considering the ways in which we have not lifted our eyes and looked around.  Taking up Isaiah’s invitation to self-critique is important because there is also a promise in Isaiah.  You see, when we lift our eyes and look around, we acknowledge the narrowness in our lives, or we acknowledge the ways in which we are blind to our own power, or we discover the ways in which we even hide behind our faith, we are then able to see the promise in Isaiah.  Isaiah tells us to look around because glory of the LORD has risen upon us.  Isaiah says in verse five, “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”  When we talk about shining our light on this holy hill here at Hickory Neck, this is what we mean.  The gift of the magi to us is not news that is frightening.  When we are not hoarding power or hiding behind our intellect or comfort zones, the news of the magi is news for rejoicing.  And that rejoicing is light that draws nations, and kings, and neighbors, and strangers, and family members, and friends.  The gift of the magi is the invitation to let go of the things that feel under our control, and embrace the thing in no way we control, but in every way brings us grace, love, and abundance.  That is the kind of living that shines light from this hill and brings others to Christ’s light.  That is the light offered to us today in the magi.  That is the kind of good news worthy of pageants and proclamation today.  Amen.

[i] Isaiah 60.1, 4a

[ii] Rolf Jacobson, “Sermon Brainwave #701 – Day of Epiphany,” December 29, 2019, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1216 on December 24, 2025.

[iii] R. Alan Culpepper, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 217.

[iv] Culpepper, 217.

[v] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 38-39.

Sermon – Matthew 1.18-25, A4, YA, December 21, 2025

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

By the time we get to the fourth Sunday in Advent, most of us are on the Christmas train.  We have bought presents for loved ones, greened our homes and church (although we did hold back on any red to get us through Advent!), we have been singing along with Nat King Cole and Mariah Carey for weeks, and based on the crowd at the grocery store last night, we’ve bought tons of food for the big day.  So, on this fourth Sunday in Advent, when we hear of Jesus’ origin story – although not the fun version from Luke that we’ll hear in few days – most of our eyes glaze over and our ears tune out, thinking “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Joseph was a pretty cool dude to stay with Mary and claim Jesus as his own.”

This year, though, I am especially grateful for some time with Joseph and Matthew’s gospel.  Like many people of faith, I normally resonate more with Mary – I have multiple icons of Mary and Jesus in my office, I love to pray the Hail Mary, and given my gender, I simply relate to the physical experience of Mary more than Joseph.  But on a very practical, everyday level, Mary can seem a little otherworldly – a saint so saintly that she can be hard to emulate.  Instead, I like the earthy, realness of Joseph today.

Joseph had done everything by the books.  He is a righteous man, which means he follows the law to the letter.  Everything is heading in the proper direction, going as planned, according to schedule.  And then he gets the worst possible news.  Mary is pregnant.  Since Mary and Joseph are betrothed, but not yet in the stage of marriage where they have consummated the union, there is no way Joseph is the biological father of the child.  He can only assume Mary has been unfaithful.  Joseph has two options: he can have Mary stoned or he can divorce her.[i]  He is well within his rights to utilize either path, and would not receive criticism by other faithful Jews.  But Joseph is one of those rare treasures who not only knows the letter of the law, but also understands the spirit of the law.  Instead of a brutal, public punishment for Mary, he decides he will divorce her quietly, hoping to help her avoid the full force of cultural judgment.

Joseph makes a well-informed, respectable, and compassionate decision.  He makes his decision and then rests his weary mind and body.  That is when life changes yet again.  God appears to Joseph in a dream, and explains that Joseph’s decision cannot stand.  This child in Mary’s womb is special, and not only is Joseph not to divorce her, he is to legally claim the child as his own by naming the child.  So, what does Joseph do?  He bends even further than he already has, and takes Mary as his wife.

On the one hand, I like that this is a story of an ordinary man listening to and responding to God.  In that way, we hear the gospel lesson sharing a similar message to us today.  You don’t have to be some superstar like Mary, or have some band of angels come with messages, or even journey for months following a star.  You don’t have to be some holier-than-thou Christian, some uber-activist bringing on world peace, or even a sinless follower of God.  You just need to be like this everyday Joe – a Joseph who is willing to pay attention and to say a quiet yes – even if saying yes feels scary or scandalous.

Yes, on the one hand, I like that this is story of an ordinary man listing to and responding to God.  On the other hand, I like that Matthew’s gospel tells us that Joseph is not actually some ordinary man – some everyday Joe.  You see, Joseph is a direct descendent of not only Abraham, but also King David.  If we had read the 17 verses before the passage we read today, we would have gotten the genealogy of names that lead to Jesus – those hard names that every lector dreads reading.  But those names tell us so much.  Matthew, “…mentions Abraham – the patriarch who abandoned his son, Ishmael, and twice endangered his wife’s safety in order to save his own skin.  He mentions Jacob, the trickster usurper who humiliated his older brother.  He mentions David, who slept with another man’s wife and then ordered that man’s murder to protect his own reputation.  He mentions Tamar, who pretended to be a sex worker, and Rahab, who was one.  These are just a few representative samples.”  Scholar Debie Thomas asks, “Notice anything?  Anything like messiness?  Complication?  Scandal?  Sin?  How interesting that God, who could have chosen any genealogy for his Son, chose a long line of brokenness, imperfection, dishonor, and scandal.  The perfect backdrop, I suppose, for his beautiful works of restoration, healing, hope, and second chances.”[ii]

I like that Joseph is not just an ordinary man saying yes.  I like that Joeseph is a specific, special man, even if that specialness does not come from something he did.  In that way, Joseph is like every person in this room.  Like Joseph, your life is probably messy too.  You probably have misbehaving people in your family tree, that ancestor that people only talk about in embarrassed whispers, or that relative you do not want to introduce to anyone else for fear of guilt by association.  If God can use Joseph in all his messiness, specificity, and ordinariness, then you better believe God is likely inviting you, in your ordinary, messy, specificity into some scary, world-changing stuff too.  No wonder that the angel Gabriel’s first words to Joseph were, “Do not be afraid!”

I know you were hoping to hop onto the Christmas train and skip over this fourth Sunday in Advent.  But maybe this year isn’t supposed to be about some idyllic, picturesque Christmas.  As Debie Thomas says, “If we want to enter into God’s messy story, then perhaps [“Be not afraid” are] words we need to hear, too.  Do not be afraid.  Do not be afraid when God’s work in your life looks alarmingly different than you thought [God’s work] would.  Do not be afraid when God upends your cherished assumptions about righteousness.  Do not be afraid when God asks you to stand alongside the scandalous, the defiled, the suspected, and the shamed.  Do not be afraid when God asks you to love something or someone more than your own spotless reputation.  Do not be afraid of the precarious, the fragile, the vulnerable, the impossible.  Do not be afraid [to notice and embrace the] mess [of Christmas this year].  The mess is the place where God is born.”[iii]  Amen.           

[i] David Lose, “Matthew’s Version of the Incarnation,” December 17, 2013, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/matthews-version-of-the-incarnation on December 20, 2025.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “Into the Mess,” December 15, 2019, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2484-into-the-mess on December 20, 2025.

[iii] Thomas.

On the Myth and Magic of Advent…

10 Wednesday Dec 2025

Posted by in reflection

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://christchurchofaustin.org/announcement2/

As a pastor, I am constantly preaching about savoring the quiet anticipation of Advent.  We even offer Advent Lessons and Carols, which has a more contemplative note than its celebratory sibling, Christmas Lessons and Carols.  But in everyday life, I am just as vulnerable as anyone else to the secular chaos in which Advent lives.  I find myself running kids around to obligations and performances, juggling calendar conflicts with all the special holiday offerings, and even add commitments myself because I want to maintain annual traditions.  Nothing about life outside of church feels quiet and centered.

I think is why I was so grateful for the gift of a minimally scheduled Saturday this past weekend.  Both professionally and personally the calendar was mostly clear – I even reserved the TV for watching a basketball game which I rarely can do.  As my daughter and I settled in, she proposed doing a puzzle together – an activity we always say we’ll do but somehow never get around to doing.  And so evolved an afternoon of sports watching, puzzle assembling, and the kind of conversation that can only happen when you make unstructured space for it.  When I got to close of the day, I realized that while a part of me felt guilty for not being particularly “productive” (no catching up on work, no doing household chores, no addressing Christmas cards), I marveled at how spiritually and emotionally productive the day felt with my daughter.

I know finding even moments of quiet anticipation in Advent can feel impossible these days.  There are so many things vying for our attention – many of them quite good and important.  But I wonder if you might be able to carve out some unscheduled time in these weeks left of Advent.  They may have to be in the car on your way to something, or while walking on the treadmill, or saying goodnight to the children.  Maybe it means making your way to church even if you have other invitations. Whenever you can find that sacred space, I promise the life and love of Christ is waiting for you in the stillness.  God is already there.  You are invited to say hello.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2024

12 Wednesday Feb 2025

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Every summer, we hold a film series at Hickory Neck.  This summer, one of the films was movie called Children of Men.  The film is a dystopian film situated in London about a time in the future when the world has become infertile.  The youngest human, aged 18 has just died, schools and playgrounds are abandoned, a pall of grief and depression hangs in the air, and the world has become violent, unpredictable, harsh – with massive detainment camps of refugees and rebels fighting the government militia and civilians alike.  Into this setting, we meet Theo, a man who has lost hope and purpose, and we meet a young woman of color who would normally be in one of those detainment camps, who is secretly carrying the first pregnancy in over 18 years.  Theo’s world is thrown into chaos as he tries to get the young mother to safety so that the child will be able to live freely. 

In a powerful scene near the end of the movie, the mother has birthed her child in a dingy, rat-infested, crumbling room, and Theo needs to get her and the child to the safe haven.  But the crumbling building is overrun with rebels and a battle ensues as the military shows up.  In the din of violence and noise, the baby cries out, and all activity ceases.  Rebels hold their fire as they watch in reverence as the baby is carried down the stairs of the building.  The soldiers outside call for a ceasefire as the high-pitched cries they have not heard in almost 20 years fill the air.  Rebels, civilians, and soldiers alike stand in awe, many reaching out just to touch the baby and mother.  The awed silence is so palpable that even movie watchers hold their breath at this miracle.

I imagine that night from our gospel lesson was a bit like that breath-holding moment in Children of Men.   We know that Mary and Joseph are going to be registered in Bethlehem, but what we can forget is that Mary and Joseph live in a time of occupation – where taxes are extorted, registrations can drive folks from their homes, where rebellion against the state leads to death.  The mass movement of people for the registration creates another layer of chaos, leaving people jockeying for shelter, especially a couple so close to birth, and whose pregnancy is of a dubious nature from the beginning.  Even in the peaceful countryside where shepherds are just doing their work, a chaos of shocking news, a chorus from angels, and the blinding light of the glory of the Lord is shining in their normally darkened pastoral setting. 

And then, just like in that battle scene in the film, the shepherds arrive where the holy family have made due, and a whispered conversation leads to a stillness that makes you hold your breath.  But this stillness is not just about the miracle of life – no this stillness is about so much more – about a savior, the Messiah, who has been promised for generations who finally is here; about a promised peace in a world that has no peace; about promises for justice that Mary has sung about with her cousin Elizabeth, and now seems to be a reality.  Mary is so overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment that all she can do is ponder the words of the shepherds in her heart.

What is so unsettling about the parallels in this secular, dystopian film and the ancient biblical story is not just their similarities.  What is most unsettling is their similarities to our own time.  Our political landscape is just as unstable, conflicted, and threatening.  Our economic, mental, and physical health is just as unsteady.  And for some of us, our home life is a place of even more strain.  In so many ways, having ourselves a merry little Christmas feels like a stretch.  In fact, the very reason we may be here tonight – besides a family member telling us we had to come – is that we long for that moment of awe – that quiet, tremendous, encouraging peace that can only be found at the site of the Christ Child.  We want a word, or a song, or a meal shared that will leave us something to treasure and ponder in our hearts too.

That is what Christmas does.  Coming here tonight is not going to solve all our problems or the world’s problems.  In that movie, as soon as the child is out of sight, bombs and gunfire ramp up dangerously again.  At that manger scene, Herod’s paranoid tyranny means Mary, Joseph, and Jesus will have to flee to Egypt for safety.  And come January, we will have a transition in power in our own country.  But tonight, in this sacred space, we enter into a time of unfiltered joy.  We recall what matters most – the Savior born in a manger whose eventual salvation will give us meaning and purpose.  We lean into those gathered with us tonight – those who are family and friends, those who are fellow church members, and even those whose names we do not know – we lean into one another in this safe space of sanctuary, where none of the darkness outside can touch us – even if only for an hour.  We lay down any burdens on our hearts at the altar as we share a holy meal, fortifying ourselves for what comes next.  And we glorify and praise God, like shepherds who have seen a great light, and whispered holy truths. 

Now unfortunately, that tremendous gift, that sacred life-giving balm, is not without a price.  The price, is that we must leave this place, enter back into the dark of night, and carry on with life back out in the world.  Our invitation is to carry whatever light, whatever hope, whatever small sliver of praise and glory we find this night, and gift it to someone else.  To be like Theo, who refuses to allow the glory of a mother’s child to suffer; to be like shepherds, who share the good news of a Messiah; to be like your neighbor in the chair (pew) beside you, who is already thinking of someone who needs the gift of hope and healing who cannot be here tonight, but whom your neighbor will be sure to gift some of that love and peace to tomorrow.  Christmas is the Church’s gift to you this night.  You are Jesus’s gift to someone else tomorrow.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 2.8-20, Blue Christmas, December 21, 2024

12 Wednesday Feb 2025

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Christmas is a funny thing.  Christmas is simultaneously soft and loud, comforting and unsettling, hopeful and demoralizing.  Some of that paradox comes from the Christmas story itself, but some of that paradox comes from our hopes and memories of Christmas verses our lived experience of Christmas.  I remember all the loveliness of Christmases past:  of familiar foods shared, of gifts exchanged, of the aunts and uncles verses cousins football games in our grandparents’ yard.  But as I aged, the veneer wore off:  aunts and uncles divorced, hurtful things were said and done, and older generations began sharing the “behind the scenes” version of our Christmases that I never knew – and wished I didn’t know now.  And, slowly, I began reshaping what Christmas meant for the next generation – with a sense of certainty about what I wanted them to experience and a sense of anxiety that they might someday lose the magic of a once special time. 

We hold this Blue Christmas service every year because somewhere in the midst of shopping, caroling, worshiping, and partying, our world – both the secular one, with Hallmark movies and glossy advertisements, and sometimes even our sacred one, with familiar carols and perfect pageants – our world offers us dissonance.  In the merry making, there is little room for the parts of us that are not merry – whether those parts are due to lingering Christmas grievances, visitations from the grief fairy when we least expect her, economic pressures and worldly anxieties, the open wounds from the brokenness of our country from a nasty political year, or relationships that are broken or are limping along.  The world and even the Church rarely makes space for our inability to fully embrace the merriness of Christmas. 

As I pondered this disconnect this year, I stumbled on a reading from Gertrud Mueller Nelson.  Nelson describes about this time of year – of this season of shortened days and lessened light, “Pre-Christian peoples who lived far north,” she writes, “and who suffered the archetypal loss of life and light with the disappearance of the sun, had a way of wooing back life and hope.  Primitive peoples do not separate the natural phenomena from their religious or mystical yearning, so nature and mystery remained combined.  As the days grew shorter and colder, and the sun threatened to abandon the earth, these ancient people suffered the sort of guilt and separation anxiety, which we also know.  Their solution was to bring all ordinary action and daily routine to a halt.  They gave in to the nature of winter, came away from their fields and put away their tools.  They removed the wheels from their carts and wagons, festooned them with greens and lights, and brought them indoors to hang in their halls.  They brought the wheels indoors as a sign of a different time, a time to stop and turn inward.  They engaged the feelings of cold and fear and loss.  Slowly, slowly, they wooed the sun-god back.  And light followed darkness.  Morning came earlier.  The festivals announced the return of hope after primal darkness.

This kind of success – hauling the very sun back:  the recovery of hope – can only be accomplished when we have the courage to stop and wait and engage fully in the winter of our dark longing.”  Nelson goes on to say, “Perhaps the symbolic energy of those wheels made sacred has escaped us and we wish to relegate our Advent wreaths to the realm of quaint custom or pretty decoration.  Symbolism, however, has the power to put us directly in touch with a force or idea by means of an image or an object – a “thing” can do that for us.  The symbolic action bridges the gulf between knowing and believing.  It integrates mind and heart.  As we go about the process of clipping our greens and winding them on a hoop, we use our hands, we smell the pungent smell that fills the room, we think about our action.  Our imagination is stirred.

Imagine what would happen,” Nelson adds, “if we were to understand that ancient prescription for this season literally and remove – just one – say the right front tire from our automobiles and use this for our Advent wreath.  Indeed, things would stop.  Our daily routines would come to a halt and we would have the leisure to incubate.  We could attend to our precarious pregnancy and look after ourselves.  Having to stay put, we would lose the opportunity to escape or deny our feelings or becomings because our cars could not bring us away to the circus in town.[i]”

In some small way, that is what tonight does.  Tonight, we take the wheel off our cars, and place the wheel in the wreath right here in this little chapel.  We take away our ability to bustle about, and we sit.  We sit in the dark, we sit in our discomfort, and we sit in our un-merriness.  We take time, listening to a story about some shepherds who were similarly uncomfortable in the dark of night, dirty among their sheep, in the fields – doing their daily, maybe sometimes demoralizing, work of shepherding.  We pray, we mark our specific sense of loss or pain with the lighting of candles, and we bless our lack of merriment – we receive permission to tarry for a while in the darkness.  We do that all because we know that after today, the light will start to come a little earlier, will start to last a little longer, and will start to kindle hope in us.  We may not yet be ready to leave this place, glorifying and praising God like those shepherds.  But we are able to receive the gift of this sacred inside time, knowing that light is coming – that days are coming when we, too, will remember joy, and life, and praise.  We tarry here because this is where we also find hope.  That is the Church’s gift to you tonight – space and a tiny little sliver of hope.  Come, gather by the wheel, and tarry a bit longer.  Amen.

[i] Gertrud Mueller Nelson, To Dance With God: Family Ritual and Community Celebration (Mahwah, NJ:  Paulist Press, 1986), 63, as quoted in An Advent Sourcebook, Thomas J. O’Gorman, ed. (Chicago:  Liturgy Training Publications, 1988), 141-142.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YB, December 24, 2023

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes on Christmas Eve, we hear a bunch of strange words.  And instead of paying too much attention to them, our minds simply get cued that Christmas has begun.  But those funny words [that Chloe read so beautifully] – of Emperors, registrations, censuses, some guy named Quirinius, a bunch of town names, something about the line of David, and of a pregnant woman who isn’t quite yet married – all those words matter.  They matter because they set the stage for the birth of the Christ Child.  We often think of that birth as this simplified, sacred moment, where everything gets really still.  We’ll even sing Silent Night tonight.  But nothing about that night was remotely silent.  Joseph and a very pregnant Mary have journeyed over 90 miles[i] by donkey and foot.  The Emperor has created political chaos by forcing people from their residences to their ancestral homes – all likely in an effort to extort more money from strained peoples.  Into that upheaval and manipulation, we find the Bread of Life being born in the town, Bethlehem, whose name means House of Bread, in a bed that was literally used to feed. 

This year, I am especially grateful for the reminder that Jesus was born into the chaos of political manipulation, suffering, and tension.  Over the last many weeks, we have all been watching as the Holy Land has yet again fallen into chaos – as leaders fight over land, disregard human dignity, and desecrate all that is holy.  The images have been horrific:  from children standing in long lines with makeshift bowls hoping for enough soup to stave off starvation for themselves and maybe a little for their parents; to hospitals and other places that should be safe zones being decimated; to the Lutheran Church in Bethlehem whose creche this year placed the baby Jesus in a pile of rubble.[ii]  And although we associate Christmas with shiny lights, joyous songs, and abundant food and blessings, the reality of that first Christmas was much more similar to Christmas in the Holy Land this year.

Just this week, I read that Christmas in Bethlehem is cancelled – the very place that welcomed Jesus into the manger has once again had to close its doors to the Holy Family.  As Sophia Lee reports, “Typically, Bethlehem—a Palestinian city of about 30,000 people in the Israeli-occupied West Bank—is jammed with more than 3 million visitors coming from all over the world to celebrate the birth of the Messiah.  Marching bands and carol singers and dancers and fireworks would fill the city with loud cheer and festive energy.  Thousands would pack the Church of the Nativity, golden lights would twinkle across Star Street, and a giant tree with a ruby star would illuminate Manger Square.  Instead, the streets are dark and hushed.”  Christian leaders in Bethlehem report, “It will be a silent night this Christmas—but it’ll still be a holy night… Stripping Christmas of all its extraneous decorations and Western traditions,” they say, “will help them focus on the true meaning of Christmas.”  One pastor explained, “…if you look at the real story of Christmas, it was a story of pure hardship.  But God didn’t leave Mary and Joseph.  And they didn’t leave God.”[iii]

For weeks, I have been feeling like we would have to forego everything good and holy about Christmas – that celebrating this Christmas just did not feel appropriate or respectful of the devastation in the very land we are celebrating.  But the clergy of the Holy Land are paving the way to our Christmas celebrations this year.  Truth be told, Christmas was never about shiny lights, boisterous parties, and lots of presents.  Christmas was and always has been about the miracle of the incarnation – God taking on human form in order to bring us redemption and salvation.  And when God does something, God never does that something half-way.  If God was going to become human, God was going to become incarnate in super fleshy ways – not in shiny, idealized human ways, but in raw, earthy, messy ways.  Jesus came among us – not to the polished versions of ourselves we present to the outside world, but to the real, gritty versions of ourselves who actually need an incarnate God.  And I cannot think of better news than that.  This Christmas, in the midst of censuses, registrations, and funnily named places; in the midst of bombings, bloodshed, and loss; in the midst of anxiety, loneliness, and dissatisfaction, Jesus comes among us.  Jesus does not leave Mary and Joseph.  Jesus does not leave Palestinian or Jew.  Jesus does not leave you or me.  And that is good news for a merry Christmas.  Amen.     

[i] Timothy L. Adkins-Jones, “Commentary on Luke 2:1-14 [15-20],” December 24, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christmas-eve-nativity-of-our-lord/commentary-on-luke-21-14-15-20-24 on December 20, 2023.

[ii] As found at https://www.facebook.com/christmaslutheranchurch on December 21, 2023.

[iii] Sophia Lee, “Bethlehem Cancels Christmas, But Local Pastors Still Expect a Holy Night,” Christianity Today, December 20, 2023, as found at https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2023/december/bethlehem-cancel-christmas-christian-pastors-church-nativit.html on December 21, 2023.

Sermon – Mark 13.24-37, A1, YB, December 3, 2023

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I live a very loud life these days.  Whether it’s the morning hustle to get everyone to school, or the evening jockeying for showers, rushed dinners, or one last FaceTime with friends, my house can be a constant source of shh-ing, pleading for less noise, or reminders to close doors to contain volume.  That is not to say that all the noise in our home is unpleasant – there is also the noise of laughter, dance parties, and storytelling.  But if you are looking to set up a yoga mat or trying to meditate, my house is not the place I would necessarily recommend. 

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, breathe in the fresh greenery, sing quiet, meditative songs, and worship in the soothing blue 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 community.  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.

On Being Love and Light…

29 Wednesday Nov 2023

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://www.thekitchn.com/amazon-pipishell-shopping-cart-review-23250404

This week, I was out shopping for household basics and managed to get in a fairly short line.  But before I could load my items onto the conveyer belt, I noticed the customer checking out was having some sort of issue.  Eventually I surmised it was an issue with a credit card.  The staff and customer realized she was using a card the store doesn’t accept.  The customer rifled around for another card, but for some reason, during her flustered search, she became emotional.  I would not have noticed except the checkout clerk and the bagger immediately jumped into caretaking.  I heard them soothing her, assuring her everything was okay.  I then overheard the bagger explaining how his day had been pretty crummy too, with a broken-down car and a phone that fell into a rain puddle.  The mood lightened – for the three of them, certainly, but even for those of us further back in line who may have been tempted to become impatient or frustrated. 

I confess, I was in awe of the interaction.  Here were three very different people – of different genders, races, and socioeconomic statuses – and yet, in that moment, they showed anyone willing to see how to be a decent human.  That may sound simple, but with shoppers bustling around with the frenzy of the holiday season upon us, and the emotions that are often lingering right under the surface this time of year, it was a powerful reminder about our priorities this season.

I do not know about the religious affiliation of anyone in that triad, but in Church speak, those two staff members were showing the love of Christ to that woman – they were showing what our baptismal covenant calls “respecting the dignity of every human being.”  One of our core purposes at Church is to equip followers of Christ to go out into the world, sharing the love of Christ in their own particular vocation.  As Advent approaches this Sunday, I am reminded that the world needs that love now more than ever.  We certainly do that intentionally at Hickory Neck, with services like our Blue Christmas service that acknowledges how our vulnerable emotions can be bubbling right under the surface this time of year, or with our Invitation Sunday coming up that honors how much longing there is in the world for meaningful community.  But more importantly, I hope our church is empowering our parishioners to be agents of love everyday, who can, at the drop of a dime, see need right in front of them, and show compassion, mercy, and grace.  I look forward to hearing from you where you see invitations this week to show Christ’s love and light!

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2022

05 Thursday Jan 2023

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

When our girls were very small, our favorite book was Goodnight Moon.  We read that book so many times, I could have recited the book to you from memory.  “In the great green room there was a telephone, and a red balloon, and a picture of – the cow jumping over the moon…”  I read to our girls to calm them for bedtime, but truth be told, the cadence of a familiar book calmed me too.  Reading Goodnight Moon for the hundredth time became like taking a deep, steadying breath.

The same thing happened to me this year as I heard tonight’s gospel.  “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered…”  As I kept listening, I could feel my body physically relaxing, my breath slowing, and a sense of peace and comfort settling in me. 

In all honesty, the reaction is a bit strange.  Nothing about Luke’s birth narrative is all that soothing.  Governments are forcibly moving people, accommodations are extremely cramped, childbirth in such conditions is anything but luxurious, we are transported to far off fields with the smells and discomforts of tending animals, and angels are sharing wonderful, terrible news, and mysteries are being introduced that delight and terrify.

So why in the world did my body have such a viscerally peaceful reaction to these familiar words despite the discomforting story?  Because Christ’s birth happens in the middle of disruption, chaos, shame, and messiness is perhaps the reason why the story is so comforting.  Our lives have been full of disruption, chaos, shame, and messiness these last few years.  Whether it was the global upending of a pandemic, economic and political upheaval, the denigrating, objectifying, or persecuting of other humans, or something closer to home – like death, divorce, job loss, or even lost sense of purpose, there is something tremendously familiar and contemporary about this story.  Of course, the government is causing disruption and chaos.  Of course, Mary is laying her baby in a manger.  Of course, strange, dirty men are interrupting an exhausted family in the middle of the night.  “Of course!” is the exclamation we have all assumed of late.

The “Of course!” though is not why we are here and is certainly not why my body heaved a sigh of relief.  What causes that relief is the “And…” of our scripture.  And, God came among us in the form of a child.  And, angels came and sang stunning songs of reassurance, promise, and deliverance.  And, strangers became friends and praised and pondered this magnificent God.  We came here burdened with our “Of course!”s.  Maybe the cookies burned before you got here.  Maybe there were some tempter tantrums in the car – or before you even got in the car.  Maybe the storms are cancelling the plans of you or your loved ones. 

And, you are here, hearing a familiar, reassuring story.  And you are among others just like you – who long for peace, comfort, and joy.  And you will be fed at the Eucharistic table, a food more glorious than the best roast beast!  We are here for our “and…” tonight.  But not just for our own sense of peace – we are here for the “and…” that God gives us to take out into the world.  And, hearing the story of the Christ Child reminds us of our bountiful blessings.  And, singing familiar songs reminds us of what really matters in life.  And, having reconnected with a community of believers, we are given a chance to go back out into the world and be harbingers of peace, shepherds of joy, caregivers of love.  That is the gift of this familiar story tonight.  You will likely experience some “Of course!”s on the way home tonight or in the coming days.  But now you have your, “And…”.  Amen.