Tag Archives: Christmas

Sermon – Luke 2.1-14, CE, YA, December 24, 2019

08 Wednesday Jan 2020

Posted by in Sermons, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

This December, my elder daughter and I are slowly finishing the last book in the Harry Potter series.  The process has taken us several years, since we usually only finish a few pages each night.  But each time we pick the book up, I can never tell who is more excited – her or me.  You see, I have read the series at least three times – once during a summer interning at a hospital, when I needed a brain break from the emotional labor, and twice while spending lots of time nursing, when I needed a brain break from a different kind of labor.  But reading the books with my daughter has been different.  Although I know what will happen, there have been parts of the seven books I forgot entirely.  As I have watched through her eyes, I had forgotten the range of emotions the books evoke, the anticipation the author builds, and the slew of questions that take ages to answer.  In rereading them with her, I have also seen bigger truths – some allegories and religious parallels that only sink in after multiple readings.  The whole experience has been so fun, I cannot wait to start all over again with our younger daughter!

I have been thinking about how our favorite books are often like that.  Though we have endless options of books to read, sometimes we will pick an old favorite to read again.  I think many of us will reread favorite books because we like the familiarity, like cozying up with old friend.  Some of us enjoy rereading books because we enjoy catching new tidbits we never caught before.  While others of us enjoy rereading books because there is some comfort in knowing how the story ends – of being certain about what will happen.  The same can be true for small children too.  I cannot tell you how many times I read Goodnight Moon over the years.  But I never minded because I totally understood the comfort my kids found in the familiarity of a known book; the comfort they sought in Goodnight Moon was the same comfort I sought in familiar books too.

In a lot of ways, that is what we are doing tonight.  We are telling a story we have heard over and over again – although tonight’s New Revised Standard Version may not sound as familiar as the old King James Version; even Charlie Brown’s friends knew that version.  Every year, every single Christmas Eve, we make our way to church – sometimes having fought over what to wear, when, where, and what to eat, or whether or not to open any gifts beforehand.  But we make our way here tonight because we know the ultimate reward is sitting here, in the quiet of night, listening to the story we hear every year of a powerful emperor imposing a tax; of a very pregnant Mary making her way to Bethlehem with her betrothed, Joseph; of Mary giving birth and putting the Christ Child in a manger because there is no room in the inn; of shepherds minding their business in the dark of night; of angels appearing announcing glorious news; and of a chorus of angels singing magnificent truth.  And our reactions are much like they are with any favorite book.  We find comfort in the story’s familiarity, we look for and sometimes hear tiny details we forgot or had not thought about before, and we find comfort in knowing how the story will end.  Glory to God in the highest, indeed!

But the main reason we tell this story year after year after year is not simply for the familiarity and comfort – though the Church wants us to experience that goodness too.  The main reason we tell this familiar story again tonight is because we need to remember who we are and who God is.  You see, what happened on that beautiful, special night, is God came in human form among us – came as Jesus Christ incarnate – because God loves us so very much.  God saw we were struggling to be good, to live as loving people made in God’s image, and God knew we needed Jesus to help us.  We learn in this story that God is awesome, God loves us and is faithful to God’s covenant even when we are not, and God does unimaginably incredible things for us.  This beloved, almost quaint, story is full of good news about who God is.

But this beloved, familiar story also tells us something about who we are.  This story tells us that whatever baggage we came in here with tonight, whatever we are struggling with on a weekly basis, whatever self-doubts we might have, we learn in this story that we are worthy of God’s love.  We learn in this story that no matter who we are – an esteemed king, feared among the people and wielding great power; a couple with nowhere to go, feeling unsure about the future; everyday workers going about their daily jobs, just trying to pay the bills; or a vulnerable baby, unaware of the dangers all around – no matter who we are, we are loved by God, and given the opportunity to have a relationship with God.  We also learn in this story a bit harder reality.  We learn in this story that being loved by God means sharing God’s love – of going to visit people who need visiting and need to know the love of God in their isolation and loneliness, of caring for people who have no place to go no matter what we judgments we make about how they got into their current situation, of taking on tasks that seem insurmountable but will help more people experience the love of God.  We find out a lot about ourselves tonight in this familiar story too.

I know each of us who has gathered here tonight came for a different reason.  Maybe you just like the music, or maybe someone made you come, or maybe you came out of habit, or maybe you came because you wanted some sense of comfort and familiarity.  Regardless of how you got here, the Church tonight tells us a story full of meaning.  We certainly tell this story tonight because this is safe place we can cozy up to the story and feel comforted in familiarity.  We tell this story because we need reminding who God is and who we are.  But we especially tell this story tonight because God wants us to go from this place and do something with all the love and comfort we receive tonight.  God wants us to share God’s love with those who need love the most – even to the people we sometimes do not like (actually, especially to the people we do not like).  God wants us tonight to remember who we are, and who God is, and then go out into the world, rejoicing, sharing the love of Christ, retelling the Christ Child’s story, and bringing Jesus’ story to life for others.  Who knows?  Maybe this will become your new favorite story you want to read over and over again!  Amen.

On Cellos, Love, and the Incarnation…

18 Wednesday Dec 2019

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Yesterday, my elder child performed in the school’s Christmas concert.  She had been pretty excited and anxious about the concert for weeks.  They worked very hard in class, and she had been practicing daily at home.  She was determined to learn the special songs so she could play them.  Over these last months, she has asked me to sit nearby occasionally and listen; other times, I could hear the songs of the cello floating down the stairs.  But none of that prepared me for what I saw yesterday.  Yesterday, she sat tall in her chair, attentive, and calm.  Suddenly, her arms look graceful and light.  Her movements were like that of a dancer, able to beautifully coax out a tune from her curved instrument.  I was stunned by her beauty, having never fully seen it before as she plugged away at home.  My heart warmed, and was filled with love for the nimble creature – a child who certainly gives me a run for my money in fierceness, stubbornness, and independence, but also who I keep discovering I love more than I even understand.

As I have been thinking about that surge of love and awe for my child, I began to wonder if that was what Mary felt on that night Jesus was born.  Her pregnancy was so fraught.  From her bizarre conception story, to working out marital details with Joseph, to the encounter with her cousin Elizabeth, to the government’s census that forced her to travel while very pregnant, to replaying the conversation with the Angel Gabriel, knowing wondrous, awful, amazing things were to happen with her child.  Though she seemed to embrace her role fully, I sometimes wonder whether she was able to feel love for the child who had brought so much chaos to her life – at least not until she laid eyes on him.  I suspect only then, did her sense of purpose become intertwined with a sense of deep love – a sense of awe bigger than herself.

I think that is how God loves us.  At times, I suspect God, like any parent, has a wicked eye roll and has mastered a deep sigh in response to our behavior.  But I also imagine God has this deep sense of awe, wonder, and love for us – for the ways in which we can be beautiful to one another, the ways in which we use our gifts for good, and the ways in which we glorify God.  I believe the entire Incarnation is due to this deep love – a love even deeper than we experience in those fleeting moments of insight with our children and one another.  That realization is how I head into Christmas this year.  Not thinking about cute babies, or crazy birth narratives necessarily, but in humbled awe of how much God loves us.  When we catch a glimpse of that love, we do not really need anything else this Christmas.  In this last week before Christmas, I invite you to consider the best gift that is waiting for you this year.  Everything else is just trimming.

Sermon – Matthew 11.2-11, A3, YA, December 15, 2019

18 Wednesday Dec 2019

Posted by in Sermons, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

Advent is one of the stranger seasons of the Church, in which the experience of churchgoers seems completely out of alignment with the secular world.  The secular world put on bells weeks ago, has been playing songs about holly, jolly Christmases, and in general is so excited about Christmas presents, vacations, and fun that there is a little room for anything but joy.  Meanwhile, those sitting in church in these weeks have heard about preparing our lives and hearts for the return of the Lord, about repenting and making a way for our God, of quietly, soberly, and humbly waiting for what is to come.  But on this third Sunday of Advent, those two worlds collide:  the saccharine-filled, tap-dancing, over-caffeinated secular world of pre-Christmas and the quiet, methodical, prayerful world of Advent both turn us to joy.  This third Sunday of Advent, called Gaudete or Rose Sunday, we light a pink candle, and we proclaim a mini-sabbath from our somberness and lean into joy.  The church seems to be telling us, “Okay, take one day to smile, to linger on how cute baby Jesus must have been, and how exciting things must have been at the manger.  This time of year might just be the hap-happiest season of all!”

Given the Church’s permission to lean into to joy this week, we might anticipate a gospel reading that is also full of joy – maybe Mary and Elizabeth sharing their pregnant joys or angels delivering good tidings of great joy.  Instead, we get John the Baptist, sitting in a cold jail cell, asking an unthinkable question to Jesus, “Are you the one to come, or are we to wait for another?”  Now John has never really been a character who has embodied joy.  He lived the life of an ascetic, he preached about people’s sinfulness and their need to repent, he drove people to be baptized, in their hope to get right with God.  But John has been certain about Jesus in the past.  Earlier in Matthew, John says, “One who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals.”[i]  In John’s Gospel, John the Baptizer says, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”[ii] and “He must increase, but I must decrease.”[iii]  In Luke’s Gospel, John’s surety about Jesus happens before he is even born, as he leaps in his mother Elizabeth’s womb.[iv]  So what has happened to John?  Why can he not just get on the joy train with us today?

Well, a couple of things have indeed changed.  John is no longer free to roam around as he pleases, he is no longer surrounded by growing crowds who are mesmerized by his words, and his own disciples seem lost without him.  John is sitting in a cold, hard jail cell, his life hanging in the balance, and Jesus, the guy he was so sure about, is not exactly playing along.  He is not acting like he is supposed to, and in that dark, damp place, John is left wondering, “Was I wrong?  Is Jesus not The One?  If he is the Messiah, surely I would not be here, suffering without Jesus taking decisive, bold action.”  And John is right to question.  Wonderful things are happening through Jesus, blessings of which the prophet Isaiah had foretold.  But according to scholars, there are no distinctive documents that depicted the Messiah behaving in the way Jesus does.[v]  If Jesus is the Messiah, John’s doubts are not unfounded.

Truth be told, as much as we would like a joyful sabbath from our quiet, sober, season of repentance, we understand John’s plight.  We have all had those moments of darkness where we too have asked God, “Are you the one who is to come?”  That question is a question we have all asked at one point or another.  In the midst of chronic pain, as a romantic relationship is falling apart, as a pink slip is delivered, as loneliness overwhelms us, we have asked Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come?” because we too have been disappointed by God.  We too have expected God to be with us in a specific way, to make things right in the ways we imagined, or to fix the world and show the world that God is indeed present.  Hickory Neck acknowledges that very reality this coming weekend in our Blue Christmas service – a service where we boldly confess that Christmas is not a joyful season for all – and that is okay.  We understand the darkness that can live on the margins of the light.

Although we may all understand John’s plight in some way, although we have all had those deep, painful moments of questioning, we may find ourselves wondering, why we chose this specific text on the day that is supposed to be about joy.  Surely we did not don our rose-colored bow-tie, pink dress, or rose sweater for nothing!  Fortunately, we do get joy from this text from Matthew too – albeit not necessarily in the ways we may want.  When John asks, “Are you the one who is come?” I suspect he wanted a simple, “Yes, of course!  Do not fret!”  But Jesus does not usually do direct.  Instead, Jesus says, “Look around you, John.  What do you see?”  And for those of us not there, Jesus reminds us:  the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.  The Good News John is looking for may not look familiar, but there is good news.  Jesus’ version of Messiahship is not familiar, but his Messiahship is good.

One of the most powerful, and sometimes annoying, questions my spiritual director asks me when talking about my life and ministry is, “Where are you seeing God?”  The question is the same question I have asked many of you too.  Where in the midst of struggle, suffering, or pain are you seeing God?  The question is annoying because sometimes we just want to sit in our suffering – sit in our cold jail cells – with our questions and not look to joy.  But that is what looking for God does.  When we recall the people around us who bring us meals or baked goods, just because, we begin to see the loving care surrounding us.  When we remember the conversation with a good friend when she sees a profound truth that brings us comfort and peace, we begin to hear the comforting words of Jesus.  When we reassess the blessing happening around us – our everyday needs being met, the appearance of an encouraging bloom or bird’s song, or an unexpected act of kindness – we begin to see that maybe, just maybe, there is joy bubbling up all around us.

This Gaudete Sunday may not bring us the kind of joy that makes us feel like this is the most wonderful time of the year.  But today’s gospel does bring the kind of joy that matters – the deep, abiding joy that come from realizing God is active in our lives, making a way for goodness, healing, and grace.  Today’s gospel reminds us our questions and doubts are okay, and are answered by examples of blessing all around us.  Today’s gospel takes our frustrations about how life should be, and shows us the abundance in what is.  Jesus offers us today the kind of joy that eases those lines of stress between our furrowed brows, that softens the tension in the middle of our chests, and unclenches the teeth, shoulders, and hands that have been hardened for so long.  Jesus offers us the kind of joy that is a deep breath of release, a refreshing gulp of cool water, an all-encompassing hug of compassion.  Our invitation today is to receive Christ’s joy with assurance, and then share his joy beyond these walls.  Amen.

[i] Mt. 3.11

[ii] Jn. 1.29

[iii] Jn. 3.30

[iv] Lk. 1.41

[v] William R. Herzog, II, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 71.

Sermon – Luke 2.8-20, CD, YC, December 25, 2018

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by in Sermons, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we split up the gospel of Luke.  On Christmas Eve we hear about the registration, and how all the families have to travel to be taxed.  That part of the story is when we learn about there being no room in the inn, and Mary giving birth, wrapping her child in bands of cloth, lying him in a manger.  But today, we get the part of the story I love.  I know the multitude of the heavenly host has inspired many a Christmas carol, but I like the very last part of the story:  the part where the shepherds have gathered with Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus, where others gather with them to marvel at the shepherd’s story and Mary ponders everything in her heart.

I like this last part, because this last part is the most normal, intimate moment we get in the birth narrative of Jesus.  Everything else is so chaotic – people migrating, hustling for space to stay, likely arguing about who gets to stay where.  Then there is the birth of Jesus itself, not only without modern medicine, but in the roughest of conditions.  Birthing children is hard enough as is – I cannot imagine the messy, loud scene of childbirth under such conditions.  And finally, the shock of not only an angel of the Lord, but also the chorus of the heavenly host in the middle of the night where there is usually no sound is mind-blowing.

Instead, I prefer the quiet scene at the end.  That is a kind of scene I can imagine.  Of outcasts thrown together, sharing stories, bonding over the craziness of the night.  Of an exhausted mother and father and shepherds lounging around, wondering what all this means.  Of the moments of silence when everyone’s eyes settle on baby Jesus who has finally drifted off to sleep, watching his chest rise and fall, wondering what else might rise and fall because of this tiny baby.  I imagine the bonding that can only happen at three in the morning, that can only happen through a people filled with hope in a hopeless world, that can only happen when God sweeps through your life in a bold way.

That’s why I love today’s service so much.  Last night was the night of holy chaos – of kids with pent up excitement for Christmas day, of dinners being prepared, trumpets leading us in song, and the loud chatter of old friends and family greeting one another.  But today, we enter the church in quiet, with no music to distract us, perhaps having left behind piles of wrapping paper or needy family members, having turned off our radios so that we can tell the old, old story.  On Christmas Day, I like to imagine we recreate that holy, intimate night, where old friends and strangers gather around the mystery of the incarnation, wondering what Jesus has in store for us today.  All we need is a little straw and sleep deprivation, and we can almost imagine ourselves there.

That is why when Margaret and Jim asked if we could renew their wedding vows on Christmas Day, wanting something quiet and sacred to mark their sixtieth wedding anniversary, I said an emphatic, “Yes!”  Marriage is a sacred institution too – where we welcome friend and stranger alike, where we sometimes meet people who change our lives but we never see again, where we share intimate time, and where we ponder what God is doing in our lives.  So, gathering again, sixty years later, we too gather like a band of misfits, sharing stories of marriage, of Jesus, and of community.  We let down our hair and marvel at the holy mystery of God, holding holy moments of silence like gifts, and giving thanks for the God who makes sixty years possible.

The other reason I love the idea of renewing wedding vows on a day like today is because today is a day of hope.  When God incarnate comes into the world, we are given the gift of hope – the promise that life will change dramatically.  As we ponder the baby Jesus with those in that quiet room, we also slowly fill with hope, knowing that God is doing great things.  The same is true of marriage.  When I marry two people, I never know how the marriage will go.  I am hopeful that the two will get to do things like celebrate sixtieth wedding anniversaries, but honestly, hardship and separation are equally likely.  But we marry people anyway because we have hope – hope that God is doing a new thing between two people, and will make those people better through God.  As Margaret and Jim recommit themselves to one another today, we again claim hope that God will do amazing things through their marriage, bringing blessing to all of us, not just to the two of them.

Our prayers for Margaret and Jim today are not just for them.  They are for all of us.  We need wisdom and devotion in the ordering of our common lives as much as they do.  We need to recognize and acknowledge our fault when we hurt others, and seek forgiveness of others just as they do.  We need to make our lives a sign of Christ’s love to this sinful and broken world, and reach out in love and concern for others as much as they do.  All of that ordering of our lives is made possible by what happens today.  When God becomes incarnate in Christ, everything changes.  In that intimate space where strangers, exhausted, afraid, and full of hope, came together in the mystery of a miracle, life is changed.  Our gathering here today, to honor the incarnation, to celebrate the blessing of long marriage, and to create a sacred moment of intimate community, is the way we take the first step in living life differently – living a life of sacred incarnation.  Thanks be to the God who showed us the way in the incarnation of God’s only, begotten Son.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-14, CE, YC, December 24, 2018

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by in Sermons, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

One of the things I love about Christmas are Christmas movies.  I know we all have our favorites, and some are related to our generation.  My two favorites are The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (the original, not the Jim Carey one) and Home Alone.  What is fun about Christmas movies is we watch them over and over again because we like something about their message.  The movies teach us something.

This year, I introduced my younger daughter to The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.  She was fascinated by the movie, asking all sorts of questions – why they play bad music when the Grinch is around, why he stole all their presents, and why he hits his dog.  But the question she asks most frequently has been about the Grinch’s heart.  For those of you not familiar with the story, the Grinch tries to ruin Christmas for Whoville by stealing all their presents, decorations, and feast items.  But when Whoville does not cry and wail about all that is lost, and instead returns to the town center to sing as a community, without their “stuff,” the Grinch’s heart is strangely warmed, growing three times the size the heart was.  My daughter keeps asking me about the Grinch’s growing heart, and her questions have allowed us to talk about what Christmas is really about, and why someone’s heart might grow.

Every year we watch our favorite Christmas movies and cartoons because we enjoy revisiting the lessons the movies teach us.  But what is interesting about those movies is, over time, the lesson the movie teaches us takes on new meaning.  We meet new Grinches over our lifetime – or sometimes we become them!  We get to know presumably creepy or scary neighbors who we eventually learn are beautiful human beings.  We experience Christmases where everything goes wrong, but we find joy in the unexpected.  We know part of what the story is teaching us, but as we age and mature, the movies speak to us in new and fresh ways.

We tell the story of Jesus’ birth every single Christmas for a similar reason.  We tell the same story every year because God did this amazing thing.  God is all powerful, and conceivably could do anything God wants – and has:  from kicking Adam and Eve out of the garden, to flooding the earth, to cursing generations for one person’s sins.   God can rule and govern and do anything God wants, and yet the one thing God does is become human.  God becoming incarnate is such an amazing thing that when we say the Creed, many people bow or genuflect during the part of the Creed that talks about God becoming incarnate from the Virgin Mary, being made man.  Becoming human is God’s ultimate expression of God’s lovingkindness, that hesed, we have been talking a lot about lately.  Becoming incarnate is the way God shows God’s love for us.

I am a part of group that is creating a kindness initiative in 2019 in the Greater Williamsburg area.  We will be encouraging the faith community, business community, local schools, and nonprofits to engage in acts of kindness, with the ultimate goal of making Greater Williamsburg the next community of kindness.  I like the initiative because I know doing acts of kindness helps me get a small glimpse into God’s lovingkindness; doing acts of kindness helps me honor God, and embody God to others.  When we talk about shining Christ’s light in the world, or being Jesus to others, we are often talking about doing acts of kindness.  The ultimate form of flattery or honoring someone else is when we do acts of kindness.  When we, as persons of faith, do acts of kindness, we honor God by imitating God’s lovingkindness.  Any of you who has a sibling knows that siblings often copy what we do.  How many times have you heard the complaint, “He’s copying me!” or “She’s keeps stealing my clothes.”?  The reasons our siblings do this, besides to annoy us, is because they want to be like us – they want to honor us by imitating us – just like we imitate God.  Of course, they would never admit that reality to your face, but the truth is, imitation is the best form of flattery.

Tonight, we tell the story of Mary and Joseph, of innkeepers and registrations, of shepherds and angels because we love the story.  The story makes us feel safe, loved, and reassured.  And sometimes we really need opportunities to feel good about life, ourselves, and our God.  But we also tell the story because the story is formative – the story shapes who we are and how we behave.  Over the years, different parts of the story touch us, and as we grow and change, the lesson grows and changes.  So we listen to the story to remember who we have been and who we are.  But we also listen to this familiar story to remind us of what we will do tomorrow.  This story invites us to share God’s lovingkindness like the shepherds.  This story invites us to ponder God’s amazing love like Mary.  This story invites us to sing loudly like the angels, shouting our love for God and the world like an army of kindness.  I cannot wait to learn what hearing the story this year leads you to do in the days, weeks, and months to come!  May this favored story not just be a story of comfort, but also a story of action.  Amen.

Homily – Luke 2.8-20, Blue Christmas, December 21, 2018

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

One of the Christmas songs we do not sing tonight is “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”  Up until this year, I was mostly familiar with the first verse, which says, “Peace on the earth, good will to men,” and “The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.”  Those words have always felt more like an aspiration than my reality.  I do not know about you, but the holidays are rarely a time of stillness and peace for me.

But this year, I stumbled on a verse of this song that is not in our hymnal.  The verse says, “And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow; look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing; oh, rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing!”

One of the challenges about Christmas is that we can sometimes lose our place.  When we listen to the old carols, we either hear songs of peaceful silence or we hear songs of beautiful, glorious praise.  The same is true of our secular experiences of Christmas.  We are filled with retouched nostalgic memories, with songs that tell us we should be rockin’ around Christmas trees, or cozying up with loved ones.  But sometimes Christmas is none of those things.  Instead Christmas is a time when the gap between our reality and the projection of all the things we should be feeling grows ever wider.

I think that is why I was captivated by this extra verse of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”  “And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow; look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing; oh, rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing!”  Suddenly, the otherworldliness of the angels are there for us too.  Whether life feels like a crushing load, whether your daily toil is bringing you down, or whether you are just weary, the song invites us rest by the weary road – because the angels have a song for us too.

I used to serve at a church where Christmas was the pinnacle of events.  Families would wear evening gowns and tuxedos to church, they would send their servants to reserve rows of seats, and the coat rack was full of fur coats.  Christmas was another soiree in their perfectly formed lives, and church was host of their glamorous party.  But what always amused me about that experience was the contrast between their polished, perfect lives, and the rustic, imperfect story of the angels and shepherds.  I wondered if they understood the ironic contrast of their experience and scripture’s experience.  What did they know of being crushed beneath life’s load, the toil of taking painful, slow steps, and the weary road?

Not until many years later did I realize that the weariness of life can infect anyone.  Those in tuxedos and evening gowns were struggling with broken marriages, estranged family members, and the grief of death as much as someone gathered in a candlelit historic chapel.  Those whose servants went to reserve a seat in church were just as lonely, unfulfilled, and afraid as those who are servants.  Those whose fur coats lined the coat racks were experiencing a sense of failure, a lack of fulfillment, and a longing for meaning as much as someone slipping quietly into a service like tonight.  Weariness affects the donkey who carries a pregnant Mary; the shepherds who keep watch all night; the innkeeper who feels pulled in many directions with no vacancies to accommodate need; with Josephs who are on a path they did not choose, but who feel obligated to be faithful; and with Marys who say yes and hold hope, even though the dread of impending suffering is almost palpable.[i]

You see the angels came not to a perfect world, to a perfect people, delivering perfectly good news.  The angles came to a weary world, with weary people, delivering good news that would not dismiss our weariness, but relieve our weariness.  That is why I love this service so much.  I love our Blue Christmas service because Christmas is all about a wearied people, with a crushing load, with painful steps, welcoming a savior who gives us hope that we will not be weary forever, that God will walk our weary roads alongside us.

On this night, I share this blessing for all of us:  “May the world slow down enough this season for you to catch a glimpse of a star in the sky and a light on the horizon.  May the earth pause enough for you to catch the faint sound of a baby’s cry on the wind and the song of the angels through the trees.  May the slow time of Christmas night bring joy to you, and hope, and light, and more than anything else, rest to your waiting spirit.  All you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow; look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing; oh, rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing!”[ii]  Amen.

[i] Melissa Bills, “All This Weary World,” December 18, 2018, as found at https://youngclergywomen.org/all-this-weary-world/ on December 18, 2018.

[ii] Bills.

God’s Gifts in the Chaos…

19 Wednesday Dec 2018

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

Every December since our elder child was about two or three years old, the same thing happens.  The anticipation of Christmas turns our children into possessed creatures.  They argue more, act out in school, whine at the drop of a hat, and generally become entirely unpleasant to be around.  No matter how much I try to minimize the excitement of Christmas, the buzz around them is unavoidable, and, ergo, crazy behavior.  I found myself so frustrated the other day with the constant effort to reign them in that I had the distinct thought, “I just wish Christmas was over already!”

But I soon as had the thought, I knew I did not mean it.  You see, despite the mayhem of the season, in these last days of Advent, there are still sacred moments everywhere.  As we read our Advent devotional this week, one of the questions was, “Who are you praying for this Advent.”  My younger daughter immediately said, “I want to pray for all dead people.”  “Oh,” I said, “like whom?”  “Like MeeMaw,” she said.  And despite the fact that they nearly broke half the ornaments that came out of the ornament box, now, every morning, both girls rush to the tree to plug in the lights and find the ornaments that play Christmas tunes or funny sounds, twirling around in their nightgowns to the sounds.  And last week, as they had their Christmas dance performances, I teared up watching them, remembering how very special dance had been to me growing up.

The same can be true in any season.  Whether we are putting our heads down, trying to finish one more project, or absorbed in technology for extended periods of time, or simply fixated on our endless to-do lists, we can achieve a lot, but miss life along the way.  Fortunately, we are blessed with a God who is continually trying to get our attention anyway – who is relentless in pursuing relationship with us.  In these last days of Advent, God invites us to take a deep breath, lift up our heads, and open our eyes to the beauty of the sacred all around us.

Hickory Neck offers us the opportunity to do that over the next several days.  Whether you come to our Blue Christmas service, our last Advent liturgies, Christmas Eve services, or the service on Christmas Day, there will be multiple times to see glimpse of the sacred all around you – ways in which the manger is a window into the greater redemptive work God is doing in the world.  Whether it’s with an encouraging word from our Blue Christmas service, the sharing of memories at an upcoming funeral, or the wedding vows that one couple will renew on Christmas Day (sixty years later!), what we learn is that in the chaos of life, God is gifting us sacred gifts in tiny, momentous ways.  Today, I invite you to receive God’s gifts among the chaos.

Sermon – Luke 2.8-20, CD, YB, December 25, 2017

10 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Sermons, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

Eight years ago, while serving as a curate in my first position out of seminary, I experienced Christmas Day worship for the first time.  Though I had often gone to Christmas Eve services before ordination, I suppose it never occurred to me to go to church on Christmas Day.  I was probably still in my pajamas or on the road to see family.  So imagine my surprise when the Rector told me there would be no music at the Christmas Day service.  I was shocked!  After all this time, patiently waiting through Advent music, on the actual day of Christmas, we were not going to hear any music?!?  I threw what some might consider a bit of a temper tantrum, and was told I should talk to the people who normally go to Christmas Day services.

Of course, my Rector knew what she was talking about.  As I talked to Christmas Day attendees, I discovered one universal truth:  they loved the spoken Christmas Day service.  First, they all went to a Christmas Eve service, so they got their carols fix the night before.  Second, they loved the quiet respite in an otherwise chaotic day.  A quiet service on Christmas Day was a godsend.  And third, they loved the Christmas Day service because it was a small, intimate service of what they called the “faithful;” much like what happens when you throw a party at your home and everyone but your close friends go home at the end of the night.  You kick off your shoes, find a warm beverage, and enter into quiet, meaningful conversation with your friends.  Music, in those parishioners’ minds, would have hindered the intimate, contemplative, peaceful vibe they loved.

In a lot of ways, having a quiet Christmas Day service is like taking a cue from Mary in our gospel lesson today.  After the chaos of travel and birthing a child in less than ideal accommodations, after shepherds have seen blinding lights and hear the triumphant chorus of the multitude of heavenly host, when everything quietens down, all that is left is a mother, father, and child, and some shepherds who seem like old friends.  I have always imagined the shepherds bursting through the doors, talking on top of each other to tell the story of the angels.  But I wonder if perhaps the scene was a little different.  Knowing full well the baby has arrived in less than ideal circumstances, and that babies are notorious for crying when disturbed, maybe the shepherds were whispering their intimate tale to the holy family.  Maybe they were those gathered at the end of the party, sharing in quiet, meaningful conversation.

I wonder if this might be true because we get one short line about Mary at the end of our text today, “But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”  Exhausted, fatigued, weary Mary takes the enormity of what has happened:  to her, when Gabriel came to her; with Elizabeth, who further revealed the angel’s proclamation; with Joseph, as he shared his own angelic story; and now with the shepherds who tell of yet another angelic encounter.  Mary takes all the bits of information – all the encounters she is privy to – and ponders them.  She takes a personal moment to sit quietly in the enormity of it all to ponder.  In some ways, she is a mother like anyone else – one who has carried a child in her womb with all the normal doubts and concerns that come from every ache, pain, and discomfort.  But in other ways, she is nothing like other mothers.  She is an instrument – pregnant without her own doing, carrying a child who will be bigger than anything before, and mothering someone who will never fully belong to her, but to the greater world he will soon save.

The funny thing is, pondering is an activity that would hardly ever make an appearance on our Christmas to-do lists.  We have been scurrying about this past month:  decorating homes, sending cards, attending parties, planning liturgies, hosting guests or finding hostess gifts.  We have either been caught up in the joy of the season, reveling in the 24-7 Christmas radio stations, or maybe we have been lost in our grief of all that is not this Christmas season.  Regardless of whether you are off to a Christmas celebration with twenty or more people, or having a quiet day alone or with one other, there is likely to be little true quiet:  our minds are way too noisy for quiet today.

And yet, quiet pondering is exactly what Mary does today.  She takes all the noise and chaos – both outward and inward – and she pauses for pondering.  She hits the pause button on the movie called life, takes a deep breath, and drinks in the miracle of Christ’s birth.  She stops talking, turns off her internal conversation, and listens.  She makes room for God in that rustic, foreign room, with people who are not her own, letting her body and soul contemplate the enormity of the nativity:  God incarnate; Messiah arrived; Eternal life made possible.  The wonder of that moment is enough to silence Mary, giving her much to ponder.

That is our invitation today too.  I know today is the least likely day for a moment of wonder, pondering, and contemplation.  But you are here.  You took a moment away from whatever today will be to sit at the manger with Mary and ponder.  Drink in the miracle of Christ’s birth, the gift of God incarnate.  Stand before our God in holy quiet and reverence as we pray and eat a different meal.  Remember “how God became one of us, remember how Christ still joins us at the Table, remember how we are fed by him in order that we might live as his body in the world.”[i]  These kinds of sacred moments are so rare in life.  Receive the gift of pondering at the manger with Mary today, and take that quiet out into the world with you, giving your heart the gift of true celebration and joy.  Amen.

[i] Kimberly Bracken Long, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 121.

On Finding a Hand…

20 Wednesday Dec 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

Tomorrow night is the longest night of the calendar year in the northern hemisphere – the winter solstice, when the earth reminds us how little light these days have.  We mark the longest night at our church with a service called Blue Christmas, acknowledging the ways in which Christmas can also be devoid of light for many of us.  For some, the reasons are obvious:  grief over the loss of a loved one, broken marriages or other relationships, illness, or loneliness.  For others, the reasons are a bit more ambiguous:  a recognition that the world around you seems filled with happiness, and yet, there is a dull sadness or pain aching inside that is oddly out of place.

What is interesting about the Blue Christmas service is that there are years when I feel like I really need the service, and there are years that I do not realize how much I needed it until I am there.  I think that is because there is a way in which our culture romanticizes Christmas, creating inevitable shortcomings.  Even when you are happy, have created the perfect meal, are enjoying a long-held tradition, there is someone who is not there, some hurt that is not addressed, some bit of life that is unresolved.  All of that is true most days – but the expectations of Christmas are unrealistic that cannot be met fully.

I think that is why I cling to Mary so much this time of year.  Mary always lived in a world of joy and sorrow, of blessings and curses.  The news of her pregnancy made her shout for joy, but also reminded her of how broken the world was to need such a savior.  The joy she experienced of new birth was matched by the promise of sacrificial death.  Mary lived in the “both-and;” the ambiguity always present in life.  I like to suppose she cherished the joys as much as she could:  the joys of a baby kicking in her womb, even as the neighbors stared and judged her unwedded state; the thrill of holding a new baby, even in the most rustic of accommodations; the miracle of new life, even if the miracle can only really happen in his death.  It is in times like this time of year I long to hold Mary’s hand and walk with her for a while.

If you need a place to put your messy feelings this year, or you need a Mary to walk with you, I invite you to join us for our Blue Christmas service.  But if you cannot make it tomorrow, know that Hickory Neck is a place that always has an open hand, ready to walk with you whatever the time of year is, and whatever you are facing.  You are not alone.

On Making Room in the Inn…

29 Wednesday Nov 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

As my family approaches the holidays this year, life is a bit different.  We decided months ago that we would visit our California family over Christmas break.  Now that we are traveling with four, we realized the travel expenses would set us back quite a bit.  Having noticed the last couple of years how much we are spending on gifts for the kids, we decided that the trip will function as our Christmas.  My in-laws are also gifting the family a couple of days at Disneyland, which we agreed would function as their Christmas gift.  So instead of “stuff” we are concentrating on “adventure” or “experiences.”

It took some explaining and questions, but we seem to have everyone on board with the new concept.  Personally, I did not mind giving up gifts.  But what took me by surprise was how much I would miss having a live Christmas tree.   I love everything about decorating a live tree:  the smell, stringing the lights, recalling the memories of each ornament, all while sipping eggnog and listening to Christmas songs play in the background.  But the danger of the fire hazard while we are away means the tree-related boxes will stay sealed this year.

For the last week or so, I was grieving the change in our Christmas traditions.  But this week, as Advent rapidly approaches, I realized that my grief is fading, and instead, a sense of relief has overcome me.  You see, instead of running around getting gifts, I am able to imagine the calm of Advent that I always preach about, but rarely get to experience.  Instead of working frantically to get a tree and find a meeting-free night to decorate the tree, I can pull out our Advent wreath, Advent devotional, and our creches from around the world to decorate the house.  I have often heard the encouragement to simplify for Advent, but have rarely figured out how to accomplish the goal.  This year, the unintended consequences of decisions have done it for me.  And I could not be more grateful.

Now I am not suggesting you chuck all your holiday traditions about the window.  But I wonder what things or thing you might let go of this year in order to relieve some of the pressures we find in Advent.  Too often we take the “prepare” message of Advent like Martha does with Jesus.  We run around buying, baking, partying, planning, decorating, and distracting.  Maybe this Advent we can be a little more like Martha’s sister Mary, finding ways to sit at the feet of Jesus – or perhaps at the empty manger – preparing our hearts for his nativity.  I suspect that the extra room you create in your heart might be just the room Jesus and his family need when they can find no room in the inn.