Tag Archives: Jesus

A Gift from the Church…

21 Wednesday Mar 2018

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As a former United Methodist and preacher’s kid turned Episcopal priest, I have a pretty wide range of what I find liturgically inspiring.  I was raised on what I would call the “Ol’ Timey Hymns,” I discovered praise and guitar music in college, I found the joy of call-and-response preaching and participatory music at a primarily African-American church where I was a member, I discovered Anglican choral music at the Cathedral that sponsored me for ordination, I was immersed in “high church” worship during seminary where my alb constantly smelled like incense, I discovered the joys of a paid professional choir who could chant choral matins, and I have served in churches with praise bands.  I have been known to crank up the gospel channel on Sunday mornings on my way to church before listening to traditional chant during the services later that morning.

So imagine my joy when I found a church that seemed to capture a good portion of the variety and breadth of my own liturgical experience.  The diversity of worship at Hickory Neck reveals an embarrassment of riches.  We are so blessed with a variety of liturgical and music leaders that I still do not have a favorite service.  Of course, fitting that diversity into one Sunday can be tricky.  That is one of the millions of reasons why I love Holy Week so much, especially at Hickory Neck!  Over the course of a week, we celebrate Palm Sunday, we lead a quiet compline digitally via Facebook live, our Praise Band leads us in a contemplative Taize service, our Congregational Choir and local ecumenical clergy lead us in a healing service, our Choral Scholars lead us in a beautiful foot washing and altar-stripping service, we retreat into quiet on Good Friday midday, but then our youth lead us in a powerful Stations of the Cross service that night, our liturgical team puts together an amazing Easter Vigil, and then the brass rings in Easter Sunday.  In one week, we get the fullness of Hickory Neck on dazzling display.

I do not know what life is like for you these days.  But if you are in the position to give yourself the gift of Holy Week, I highly recommend it.  The full experience allows you to create a sort of pilgrimage, and certainly makes Easter Day a much more powerful experience.  But even if you can only catch a few services, realize that each night’s service is like a carefully crafted gift, meant to create an encounter between you and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Even if you have been feeling distant from God lately, I know most churches are happy to have you slip into a back pew, take in what you need, and slip back out into the world.  Lord knows I have sometimes showed up at the doors of a church not entirely sure why I was there, but left knowing exactly why the Holy Spirit had drawn me there.  If you do not have a church home and want to join us in the feast of Holy Week, you have a church home at Hickory Neck.  If you are reading from further away, I hope you will share with me your experiences this coming Holy Week.

Sermon – John 2.13-22, Exodus 20.1-17, L3, YB, March 4, 2018

07 Wednesday Mar 2018

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Today’s gospel lesson is one of those lessons in Scripture that is so vivid we find looking away difficult.  All four of the gospels have this story, and three of the gospels use this story to convey Jesus’ righteous anger about how the practice around temple worship and obligatory sacrifice has led to monetary abuses.  Matthew and Luke even have Jesus calling the whole enterprise a den of robbers.  The story evokes images of Jesus flipping tables, or in today’s version, swinging around a whip like Indiana Jones.  We often recall this text when looking for evidence of Jesus’ righteous anger at injustice.  We are so familiar with this text we can almost hear the sermon about a call to justice in our heads.

But this week, the gospel has been speaking a different sermon to me.  You see, John’s version of this story is a bit different from the other three gospels.  First, John places this story in a very different place in his narrative.[i]  Unlike the other gospels who place this story toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, John places this incident in the second chapter, right after the miracle in Cana.  And in John’s version, Jesus does not lay into the moneychangers in quite the same way.  Instead of financial injustice, Jesus seems more concerned that those gathered have missed something critical – in the obligatory administering of sacrifices at the physical temple, they have missed the fact that God is no longer tied to the location of the temple – and instead is found in the temple of Jesus’ body.  For John, the incarnation, the word becoming flesh and dwelling among us, is central to the entirety of the good news and in this story specifically.

I realized this week that when I think about the Incarnation, I immediately think of the baby Jesus.  Somehow, like a child you do not see for a few years, my image of Jesus incarnate gets stuck in the manger.  And because the adult Jesus sometimes feels so superhuman, I forget about the earthy, gritty flesh of his body – the body that touches to heal, stoops down to wash feet, eats and drinks with others, cries wet tears, and breathes a last breath of the cross.  In coming to know the Messiah who heals, teaches, brings about justice, and is transfigured before the disciples, I forget the enfleshed Jesus – the human body in which God dwells – the only temple we need to draw nearer to our God.

We are in a season of flesh.  Lent is that season when we experience Jesus in deeply enfleshed ways.  What our disciplines or our practices do for us in Lent is help us remember that we are a people of flesh and our God was willing to take on that flesh to transform our lives.  We do not often talk about the profound reality of an enfleshed God, but I stumbled on a hymn this week that opened up the reality.  Brian Wren’s hymn Good is the Flesh says, “Good is the flesh that the Word has become, good is the birthing, the milk in the breast, good is the feeding, caressing and rest, good is the body for knowing the world, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”  The hymn goes on to say, “Good is the body, from cradle to grave, growing and aging, arousing, impaired, happy in clothing, or lovingly bared, good is the pleasure of God in our flesh, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”[ii]  Now I do not know about your own spiritual journey, but I do not think I have ever heard Jesus’ flesh being described so vividly.  The closest I have come has been in imagining the vulnerability of that enfleshed body in the cradle.  But capturing what being enfleshed means for all of life – from cradle to grave – somehow opened up John’s words about the temple of Jesus’ body.  God takes something we often associate with sinfulness – and transforms that flesh into something good.  “Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh,” are powerful words that shift how we experience the fullness of Christ’s humanity.

Once we reconnect with the goodness of God’s flesh – the incarnation of Christ – then we begin to see all of Jesus’ ministry not stuck in a manger but immersed in the flesh of life.  Karoline Lewis reminds us Jesus’ fleshy life was important, “Because a woman at a well, whose body was rejected for the barren body it was, experiences the truth of neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem; because a man ill for 38 years, his entire life to be exact, whose body has only known life on the ground, is now able to imagine his ascended life; because a man born blind, is then able to see, and to see himself as a sheep of Jesus’ own fold; because Lazarus, whose body was dead and starting to decay, found himself reclining on Jesus, eating and drinking, and with his sisters, sharing a meal once again.”[iii]  Not only is Jesus’ incarnation good, making flesh good, Jesus’ ministry is about blessing, healing, and restoring physical bodies.

Once we connect with the goodness of God’s flesh, and the power of Jesus’ fleshy ministry, we are forced to see something we do not always feel comfortable with – the goodness of our own flesh.  Now I do not know about you, but my experience in church has not been one in which the church tells me how good my body is.  In fact, today’s inclusion of the ten commandments usually reminds me of the opposite – of the myriad ways my body is sinful:  from the words that come out of my mouth, to the ways in which I hurt others and take things with my body, to the ways in which I covet things and other bodies.  And those sins do not even touch the ways in which I learn the message that my body is imperfect – how my body is not the right height or shape or gender, how my body is not fit or strong enough, how my skin color, hair, or nails are not quite the ideal.  But if God takes on flesh and says, “Good is the flesh,” and if that enfleshed God engages in a ministry of blessing flesh, then surely part of what we remember today is how good and blessed our own flesh is – how God made our flesh for good.

Now, here comes the tricky part.  Once we realize “Good is the flesh,” that ministered to the flesh, that our flesh is beautiful and revered, then we are forced to make yet another leap – that the flesh of others is also beautiful.  Those bodies we would like to subjugate, regulate, and decimate are no longer able to be separated from the goodness of God’s flesh or our own flesh.  Barbara Brown Taylor argues in An Altar in the World, “‘One of the truer things about bodies is that it is just about impossible to increase the reverence I show mine without also increasing the reverence I show yours.’  In other words, once I value my own body as God’s temple, as a site of God’s pleasure, delight, and grace, how can I stand by while other bodies suffer exploitation, poverty, discrimination, or abuse?”[iv]

This week, we enter that kind of work.  As we welcome guests through the Winter Shelter, we affirm the goodness of all flesh – of God’s flesh, of our flesh, and especially the flesh of those who have no shelter, who work hard all day but cannot secure housing, who live lives of uncertainty, of insecurity, of scarcity.  Once we recall the incarnation of Christ, the dignity of our own incarnation, our work immediately becomes to honor the incarnation of others.  We certainly accomplish the work of honoring flesh this week through the Winter Shelter.  But as we keep walking our Lenten journey, we will struggle with our bodies.  Even our collect today says, “we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.”  But our invitation this Lent is to also struggle with claiming our body as good – and using the goodness of the flesh to bless other flesh.  Our repentance this week is not just of the sinfulness of the flesh, but we repent this week of the ways in which we do not honor how “Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”  Amen.

 

[i] Joseph D. Small, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 92.

[ii] I found this hymn in the commentary by Debie Thomas, “The Temple of His Body” February 28, 2018, https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=1675 as found on March 1, 2018.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “Body Zeal,” February 26, 2018, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5071 as found on March 1, 2018.

[iv] Thomas.

Sermon – Mark 8.31.38, L2, YB, February 25, 2018

28 Wednesday Feb 2018

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Last week, as Lent Madness started up, the first matchup was between Peter and Paul.  Our family had a lively debate about which saint we preferred, including how cool it was for Paul to change his mind so radically.  But I advocated for Peter because I love how human he is – always being both the Rock on which Christ will build his Church, and the “Satan” who gets so tripped up in his own desires that he forgets what Jesus is trying to do.  Sometimes Peter’s praise and condemnation happen within verses of each other.  Today is just such a day.  In the few verses before the gospel reading from Mark we heard today, Peter boldly professes that Jesus is the Messiah when none of the other disciples are able to do so.  But then today, as soon as Jesus starts talking about suffering, rejection, and death, Peter slips again.  Like a celebrity’s manager, Peter quietly pulls Jesus aside to remind him that talking about suffering, rejection, and death is not going to help his ratings with the crowds.

I imagine many of us here have had similar conversations with God.  Like Peter, we have taken certain risks in our lives to follow Christ.  We have been mocked by non-believers, we have had to defend our God when the news feed seems to suggest God is absent, we have given up countless invitations for brunch or simply sleeping in because we agreed to read scripture in church or teach Sunday School.  We have taken jobs out a sense of call or we have loved an enemy when we did not want to love her.  We have made sacrifices for our faith.  And like any relationship where we have committed time and energy, we become invested in the outcomes.  So, when someone does not recover from an illness, or when a child is lost too soon, we get angry with God.  When another shooting happens, or when we hear reports of genocide, we voice our frustration with God.  Even when we follow politics, we become convinced that God would want a particular outcome or a particular party to win.

But here’s the trouble.  You see, when we follow Jesus, when we give up things and commit to the relationship, we become invested.  The process is natural – any relationship in which we commit our time is one in which we become invested in the results.  But that is the scary thing about following Jesus.  Not only does Jesus want us to follow him, Jesus also wants us to let go of control in the relationship.  That’s where Peter stumbles today.  You see, he is a faithful follower of Jesus.  But somewhere along the way, his faithfulness is not offered out of a total trust in whatever Jesus has to offer, but is rooted in a conviction that Jesus will behave in a particular way:  the conquering Messiah – the one who will bring redemption.  His rebuking Jesus is because what Jesus says today does not jive with his expectations of the Messiah.  And because he has a relationship with Jesus, because he is invested in his relationship with Jesus, he tries to exert his will over Jesus – to convince him to look like the Messiah he wants.

I once served at a parish that had a longtime missional relationship with a village in the Dominican Republic.  When I got involved with the program, the relationship had been floundering.  The church had worked with the village to build a community center.  Once that was done, not wanting the relationship to end, the church tried some other efforts, including microfinance and teaching different industries.  Most of those efforts failed, and the teams that would travel to the village began to feel like they were wasting their time or were doing busy work.  The more the church tried to control the relationship, the less satisfying the relationship became.

I remember on one of our last nights in the DR talking to the local priest.  I shared with him our concern – that we feared the relationship had accomplished all it could and everything we were trying to do in the village was forcing the relationship to be something the relationship could not be.  The priest understood our predicament, and gave us his blessing to do whatever we needed to do.  I went home convinced the church would gracefully end the relationship.  Instead, years later, I found out the relationship was still going strong – but not because the church had done something.  Instead, when the church was finally willing to let go, to stop trying to control the relationship, and force their own outcome, the relationship took off.  The village came to the church with a new proposal.  Instead of one more coat of paint, or one more attempted microbusiness, the village wanted to build more buildings.  But this time, the buildings would not just service the village – they would serve as a high school for the region.  Last I heard, the government finally noticed what the village was doing, and began to support the school with infrastructure and teachers.

What the church had to learn, what we need to learn, what Peter eventually learns is taking up our cross to follow Jesus means being open to death.  Perhaps that sounds obvious to those of you who have read Jesus’ words time and again.  But this week, when I think about what being open to death means I think Jesus means being open to the death of our self-interest – of our will – of our desperate need for control.  Once we allow that to die, we start to find life – life in Christ as Christ would have us live life.  We find ourselves able to keep our minds on divine things, not on human things.

This past week of dealing with the aftermath of another school shooting, I have been struggling.  Every time our country faces another mass shooting, I feel like I need to do something, to change something, to push our leaders to do something different.  Every time we face another tragedy, I join Christians in prayer and grief.  But, as one Christian theologian points out, “There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve.”[i]  And so this week, instead of just looking to like-minded people about what to do or whom to blame, I tried something else.  I called up a friend who has very different feelings about these things and asked him to help me understand his point of view on guns in our country.  Instead of trying to convince him of my view, I let go of my own stuff, and listened.  When I let go – when I was open to the death of my self-interest or longing for control, I found that we got a lot closer to a common solution.  We began to discover ways forward.

And then, as I found myself loosening my own grip on a solution, our young people started speaking up.  Instead of the adults in this country trying to tell students how to feel or behave, the students began to teach us.  If we can deny ourselves, let go of our death grip on this issue on either side, our young people are inviting us into a new way of entering this problem – of listening differently to one another and responding in a way that transforms both sides of the aisle.

I cannot imagine a better time for us to grapple with our relationships with God and with one another.  Many of you have already shared with me the ways in which you have taken on Lenten disciplines to help you deepen your relationship with Christ.  What Peter’s experience this week invites us to consider is how we might not simply deepen our relationship, but also how me might cede our self-interest in our relationship with Christ – not simply following Christ, but letting go of how we think that journey should look; not simply taking up our cross, but being open to the fact that we do not know what that will mean or what we will encounter.  If we can engage in that kind of relationship with Christ, then we might just be able to engage in that kind of relationship with one another – no longer maddeningly holding on to what we want in our relationships, but trusting that God is working among us when we let go.  Then we are finally taking up our crosses and following Christ – together.  Amen.

[i] Attributed to Miroslav Volf by Kirsten Powers, “Why ‘thoughts and prayers’ is starting to sound so profane,” Washington Post, Nov. 6, 2017, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2017/10/03/why-thoughts-and-prayers-is-starting-to-sound-so-profane, as referenced by Karoline Lewis, “Open Speech,” Feb. 19, 2018, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5066, as found on Feb. 22, 2018.

Sermon – Mark 9.2-9, TRNS, YB, February 10, 2018

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

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A couple of months ago, we entered into a new liturgical year.  When Advent started, we began another year of discovery, this year focusing on Mark’s gospel and Mark’s depiction of who Jesus is and what that depiction means for our journey with Christ.  Back in December, we began the journey with the very first words of Mark – the first verse of the first chapter of Mark.  Mark says, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  Now, I never thought much of Mark 1.1.  The line, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” has always sounded to me like, “Once upon a time…”  But we know that Mark is the shortest gospel, and that Mark is the tightest writer of Jesus’ story.  So, what I should have remembered is that Mark does not throw away words.  Mark would never introduce his gospel with “Once upon a time.”  As a writer who does not mince words, instead Mark tells us everything we need to know about Jesus in one simple sentence:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

So what does Mark tell us, and why I am taking us back to the beginning when our assigned reading is about the Transfiguration?   Because we need Mark’s first words before we can understand anything as dramatic as the Transfiguration.  When Mark says, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” Mark tells us right away who Jesus is:  Jesus is the Christ, and Jesus is the Son of God.[i]  Jesus is the Christ, and Jesus is the Son of God.  First, Mark tells us Jesus is the Christ:  the Messiah, the person the people of God had been awaiting, the victorious redeemer of the people, the mighty restorer of the kingdom of God.  Since that day in December when we heard this brief introduction by Mark, we have been celebrating the Messiah.  We heard of a mother, shepherds, and kings who reveal this truth to us – a Messiah is born.  Then, Jesus is baptized, and disciples follow him, and miracles happen.  In Mark’s gospel, when Jesus asks who the disciples say that Jesus is, Peter boldly proclaims, “You are the Messiah.”  Even today, as Jesus’ clothes turn dazzling white, and Elijah and Moses appear, we are filled with anticipation:  this is what we have been waiting for – Jesus the Messiah!!

And yet, somehow in the birth stories, and the epiphanies, and the dramatic healing stories, we forget the other half of Mark’s introduction:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  You see, Mark needs us to know that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ.  But Jesus is equally something else:  the Son of God.  Now the Son of God is not just an honorific title.  Mark tells us something powerful when Mark tells us Jesus is the Son of God.  If you remember, in a few chapters beyond our reading in Mark today, Jesus will tell that familiar parable of some wicked tenants – tenants who are entrusted with the Master’s vineyard, but who kill the son of the landowner when the landowner sends his son to collect the harvest.  The Son of God is not a title of honor so much as a reminder of what will happen to Jesus.  The Son of God is destined to lay down his life for the people of God.  Jesus is the suffering servant we hear about in Isaiah – the one who makes the ultimate sacrifice so that new life might come.

So what does any of this have to do with the Transfiguration?  Pretty much everything.  You see, in this victorious Messiah-like last epiphany moment before we head into Lent, when the disciples are so overwhelmed by the drama of their Messiah gathered with Moses and Elijah, God says something simple to the disciples, “This is my Son, the Beloved.”  You see, just days before the Transfiguration of Jesus, Peter had insightfully proclaimed that Jesus is the Messiah – the same thing that Mark proclaims from the beginning of Mark’s gospel.  But Peter forgot the other part of Mark’s introduction.  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  Jesus is both the Christ, the Messiah, and the Son of God, the suffering servant.  Jesus is always both.

I remember in my very first interview with the Commission on Ministry – the group who helps those discerning a call to ordained ministry – in that first interview, the Commission asked me this question:  Who is Jesus to you?  I remember at the time thinking what a weird question that was.  I mean, we have the whole of the New Testament that tells us who Jesus is.  But since I was sitting before a body of people who could determine my fate, I figured I had better come up with something better than, “That’s a weird question.”  And so I started to ramble on about the things that were enlivening my faith journey – Jesus’ preference for the poor, his passion for justice, and his call to being in community.  Not once did I remember Mark’s simple words – that Jesus is the Christ and the Son of God.  I did what Peter does today – what we all do in our faith journey.  I looked at Jesus and pulled out the stuff I liked:  the advocate for justice.  Peter pulls out what he likes:  the Christ, the victorious Messiah.  But what the Transfiguration today reminds of is that we can never pick and choose what we like about Jesus.  Jesus is always both the Christ, the Messiah, and the Son of God, the suffering servant.

So why does any of this matter?  Well, in part, this fundamental clarity about Jesus is important because we are at a fulcrum in Mark’s gospel.  We have journeyed with Jesus, experienced epiphanies, ascended the mountain and seen the radiance of our God.  All of that excitement could lead us to think we have arrived, that our victory has already come, that Christ is simply the Messiah. The temptation is for us to linger on the mountain, to stay with the Jesus who makes us feel good, who makes us feel powerful, who makes us feel victorious, who dazzles us with shiny clothes.  And in some ways, that is what today is all about.  We celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration because we need to know Jesus is the Christ – the Messiah.

But as we begin Lent this week, we descend this mountain and walk our way to another mountain – the mountain of Calvary that reminds us of the other truth of Jesus:  that Jesus is the Son of God, sent to redeem us through the darkness of the cross.[ii]  Even on the mountain of Transfiguration, God reminds us of this truth.  God does not shout to the disciples, “Jesus is the Messiah!!”  Instead, God whispers the gentle reminder, “This is my Son, the beloved.”  Even God knows we will want to linger on the goodness of who Jesus is – the brilliance of a Messiah.  But as Mark tells us from the beginning:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus the Christ, the Son of God.  Jesus is both the Christ and the Son of God.

This week we will begin the long journey of Lent.  We will be reflecting on our relationship with Jesus, our failings and faults, and our gifts and goodness.  The work will feel hard and tedious at times, and on those days we are feeling particularly low, we may want to have Jesus the Christ stand up for us, and bring in a mighty victory.  But as we walk from today’s mountain to Good Friday’s mountain, we also hold in tension with Jesus the Christ, Jesus the Son of God.  In our weakness, we find a savior who is also weak.  In our dark days, we find a savior mired in darkness.  In our despairing, we find a savior lost in despair too.  Jesus’ identity as the Son of God gives us as much comfort as Jesus’ identity as the mighty Messiah.  When we hold all of who Jesus is in our hearts, we can be more tender with all of who we are.

I am eager to walk the Lenten walk with you.  I am eager to hear about your struggles and victories, your darkness and light.  I am eager to be surrounded by a community of people working through valley of two mountains so that we can come through the redemption of the resurrection.  Today’s Feast of the Transfiguration offers you sustenance for the valley, fuel for the work, fire for the renewal.  This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus the Christ, the son of God.  Amen.

[i] This understanding of Jesus’ identity was presented by Thomas P. Long at a lecture on February 9, 2018.

[ii] The idea of framing Lent between two mountains come from Rolf Jacobson, in the Sermon Brainwave podcast, “#585 –Transfiguration of Our Lord,” February 3, 2018, http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=977, as found on February 7, 2018.

Sermon – Mark 1.29-39, EP5, YB, February 4, 2018

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

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One of the things I love about the Bible is that the Bible never makes you feel wholly comfortable.  You can always find a comforting passage – a victorious song from Isaiah, soothing words from a psalm, a story of encouragement or inspiration about a beloved character.  But as you read Holy Scripture, you can almost as equally find passages that make you bristle.  This especially happens when you follow the lectionary, because, much to the chagrin of your preachers, you cannot pick and choose what texts you like.  And so, you open up the assigned text and your modern sensibilities say, “Whoa!  Hey now!”

Today’s lesson from Mark hit me that way at first glance.  Jesus has had a pretty full day.  On the Sabbath, Jesus and the disciples go to the synagogue and Jesus teaches with an authority that amazes those gathered.  He rids a man of an unclean spirit, and the people marvel again.  Jesus leaves the temple and goes to Simon Peter’s house.  Before he can even sit down, the disciples tell him that Simon’s mother-in-law has a fever – which, in those days, is a dangerous condition.  Jesus goes to her, offers her his hand, she rises, and is healed.  And this is the part where I bristle.  The text says, “Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.”

The timing of this text could not be worse.  Our country is in the middle of a complete reevaluation of the treatment and role of women.  Just a few weeks ago, women around the country, and even here in Williamsburg, marched to protest the ways in which women are being treated and the ways in which legislation is affirming that treatment.  This year, Time Magazine chose the women of the #metoo movement as their “Person of the Year.”  These Silence Breakers are women who have begun to take a stand against sexual harassment and assault.  The magazine’s selection was timely, as story after story continues to break of prominent men are accused of mistreating and assaulting women.  Even our political elections are seeing more women running for office, including three graduates from the Naval Academy.[i]  In this season of women and men calling our country to examine the role and treatment of women, the last thing I wanted to hear was a story about a woman whose immediate reaction to a miraculous healing and resurrection is to go into the kitchen and serve the men.  She does not join the four disciples as part of Jesus’ entourage; she does not sit with Jesus and learn more from his teachings; she does not become an evangelist of the Good News.  The text simply says, “Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.”

One of the tricky things about reading Holy Scripture is how to interpret scripture in the context of our modern sensibilities.  In my last year of seminary, I decided to write my thesis on the book of Ruth for this same reason.  Here was an entire book on women – a rarity in scripture.  The first three chapters of the book show women of agency and power, who make their way, even in a world where widows have very little power.  Even Ruth is described as a woman of hayil, a Hebrew word reserved almost entirely to describe men of great power and military prowess.  And what happens to this mighty, powerful woman?  In the final chapter of the book, men determine Ruth’s fate, she gets married, has a child, and the child redeems her mother-in-law.  This character who speaks throughout the book is rendered voiceless throughout the last chapter.  It took me a year of wrestling with this book to realize that my modern lens and interpretation of the book of Ruth prevented me from understanding how Ruth’s fate does not mitigate her hayil, her power in the story.  Reading Ruth would never translate the same way to modern ears.  Ruth’s story is still a story of empowerment.  But in order to hear that empowerment, I would need a deeper understanding of the cultural context.  And I would need to be open to other messages from the text – not simply what I wanted to hear and have affirmed to my everyday life.

A similar reality is true in today’s reading from Mark.  This is not a story about a woman’s role or a woman’s expected place with Jesus.  This is not a story about the differences between men and women in the kingdom of God.  This is not a story about gender and discrimination.  This is a story about discipleship.[ii]  The past three weeks we have been talking about discipleship –  how discipleship is discerned within community, how discipleship involves sacrifice and a response to Jesus, how discipleship involves a sense of immediacy.  Today’s lesson reminds us that discipleship is also about service.

Simon’s mother-in-law does not recover from an illness and immediately begin to serve Jesus out of a sense of gendered identity.  She immediately begins to serve Jesus because, through her healing, she understands a key component in discipleship:  service. This is something the disciples will not learn until many chapters later, when Jesus says, “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”[iii]  Two of the same disciples who are there this night of the mother-in-law’s healing, James and John, after ten chapters of following Jesus think discipleship means power and privilege – sitting at Jesus’ left and right hand.  But Jesus, the mother-in-law, and countless others show the disciples that discipleship is about service.  Discipleship is about what we reaffirm in our baptismal covenant – to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.

This story is not a story about gender and the role of women and men.  This story is about discipleship.  Now, for those of you who may still feel dissatisfied, what is interesting in this story is that in a room full of men, the woman is the one who actually understands what Jesus is all about.  We see that point even more fully when Simon Peter approaches Jesus later as Jesus is praying.  The text says, “In the morning, while it was still very dark, [Jesus] got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.  And Simon and his companions hunted for him.”  Scholar’s argue that Simon did not simply “hunt for” or look for Jesus.  The implication of the Greek word here is that Simon vigorously looked for and approached Jesus with the intent of forcing Jesus to get back to work.[iv]  Simon misunderstands Jesus and the work of discipleship; Simon’s mother-in-law does not misunderstand.  But taking this story to be a feminist text of the women getting it and not the men is probably reading too much into the text too.  This is a text about one disciple getting it – getting it to strong degree.  In fact, the word used for “service” here, is the same root of the word for deacon.[v]  The service of the mother-in-law is akin to the work of deacons in the church.

I do not know where you find yourself in this text today.  Maybe the text is reassuring because you have made your life of discipleship about the service of the kingdom.  Maybe this text is reassuring because you understand that sometimes you do not always get the message, and yet you can still be disciples.  Or maybe this text is reassuring because you are grateful to be surrounded by disciples on various points of the spectrum, who are all figuring it out.  The point is – this is a reassuring text.  This passage from Mark is not meant to be a text for bristling, for defensiveness (on either side), or for creating a sense of failure.  This is a text which reassuringly reminds us that we are all on a journey to understanding discipleship and becoming more faithful disciples every day.  This text reminds us that we need each other: men and women, old and young, married and single.  Together we help each other walk with Christ.  Together we teach each other the work of discipleship.  Together we do the work of seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves.  Amen.

[i] Michael Tackett, “From Annapolis to Congress? These Three Women Know Tough Missions,” January 28, 2018, as found at https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/29/us/politics/women-annapolis-democrats-congress-trump.html on February 2, 2018.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, “A Call Story,” January 28, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5052 on February 1, 2018.

[iii] Mark 10.45a.

[iv] Daniel J. Harrington, ed., The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 2 (Collegeville, MN:  The Liturgical Press, 2002), 87.

[v] Gary W. Charles, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 335.

On Making Mary Moments…

31 Wednesday Jan 2018

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Photo Credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly, January 26, 2018

Over a week ago, I received a call that my grandmother was approaching death.  The suggestion was if I wanted a last visit, I should come sooner rather than later.  Looking at the week ahead, I realized I could go with my children last weekend with minimal impact to their school schedule or my own work obligations.  I was not sure what to expect – whether I would be able to have meaningful conversation or even eye contact with her, or especially how my three- and eight-year olds would respond to her in her current state.  At some point, a family member pastorally suggested I not come, knowing how hard such a long journey for such a brief visit would be.  But something kept pushing me to go, even if the journey seemed fraught with potential difficulty.

There were things that did not happen.  We did not have one last, long, meaningful conversation as I had with my other grandmother.  My grandmother was much too weak and her thoughts much too confused to answer any of my lingering questions about our family.  My children did not get to interact with my grandmother extensively.  They had beautiful moments of tenderness with her, and they played nearby, but they also needed to be kids and move.  I did not leave with a sense of real closure.  No one really knows how long she will be able to thrive.

What did happen was a much clearer understanding of why Mary chose to sit at Jesus’ feet, while her sister Martha busied herself with the duties of the home.  For full confession’s sake, I am much more like Martha most days – I am always washing one more dish or finishing one more piece of laundry instead of playing with my kids or hanging out with my husband.  But sitting beside my grandmother, holding her hand, realizing all the things I was not getting, I came to see the beauty of presence.  I do not think I have ever just been still with my grandmother.  I have never looked into her eyes for an extended period of time without saying anything.  I am pretty sure I have never just held her hand.  In the midst of all that could not be said, I felt a different kind of closure.  I could finally see in my larger-than-life grandmother her vulnerability, her desire to love, her humanity.

I left my grandmother last weekend wondering if I might be able to create more space for Mary-type moments in everyday life.  Whether I might put my phone away more often at home and be more present with my family.  How I might stop worrying about my to-do list, and spend more open time with our staff and parishioners.   Whether I might write that note to a suffering friend instead of letting the thought pass.  What Mary-type moments have been missing in your life lately?  When was the last time you sat at the feet of Jesus, or sat at the feet of the holy in others, and stayed for a while?  What might you need to do this week to find your own Mary moment?  I look forward to hearing about your reflections.

Sermon – Mark 1.14-20, Jonah 3.1-3, 10, EP3, YB, January 21, 2018

24 Wednesday Jan 2018

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What is fun about our lessons from last week and this week is we get two different gospellers’ versions of Jesus’ first call to the disciples.  Last week, in John’s gospel, we got that great story of Philip and Nathaniel.  When Philip is asked to follow Jesus, he runs to find Nathaniel.  They have this great conversation about whether anything good can come from Nazareth.  Nathaniel reluctantly comes, and when he finally speaks with Jesus, he is amazed at what Jesus knows about him.  In the midst of community, conversation, and collaboration, both Philip and Nathaniel are able to say yes to Jesus’ invitation to discipleship.  On the other hand, Mark’s gospel paints a very different picture of the calling of the disciples.  Mark tells us Jesus passes two sets of brothers by the seashore, and instructs them to follow him.  Both sets of brothers drop what they are in the middle of doing.  In fact, the second set of brothers wordlessly abandon their father to follow Jesus.  No conversations or discernment; no collaboration or goodbyes.  In Mark’s gospel, Jesus invites, and disciples drop everything immediately and go.

I do not know about you, but I am actually in the John camp when we are talking about discipleship.  As an extrovert, I tend to process things aloud.  I need to talk through a problem with others to figure out what the best option might be.  I like to get input from others, using them as sounding boards to make sure my decision will have a positive impact.  I like to marinate on the feedback, pray a bit, share my leanings with a confidant or two, and then act.  So the idea of Nathaniel hemming and hawing, expressing his initial doubt with Philip, and then challenging Jesus when he seems to have some insight about Nathaniel seems totally relatable to me.  I need conversation, community, and collaboration, especially if I am going to drop everything important in life and follow someone in a new direction.

In some ways, I may even be closer to Jonah when we are talking about discipleship.  We hear only a small part from Jonah’s riveting story today, but what we might all remember is Jonah is a terrible follower of God.  The first two chapters of Jonah are filled with Jonah saying “yes” to God, and then totally running in the opposite direction.  He even endangers some total strangers when he boards a boat in the opposite direction of Nineveh.  He needs to be swallowed by a large fish, facing death and shame before he is willing to do what God has asked Jonah to do.

Many of you have heard this before, but my own call narrative was neither immediate nor direct.  When I first sensed a call to ministry in college, I avoided it.  I figured, maybe I could just volunteer for a year instead.  I loved working at a Food Bank that year, but figured, maybe I should work at a faith-based non-profit instead.  That would certainly count as serving God, right?!?  And then, when that did not feel totally right, I started to look at going to school – not for a Masters in Divinity, but maybe to study theology.  You know, try to learn about God, but not to be a minister.  Even when my priest suggested ordination it took me another whole year of talking to other people, reading countless books, prayer, and going on retreat before I could say yes.  Clearly, my identification with Nathaniel and Jonah is not unfounded.

But today’s lessons are nothing like my tendencies.  The portion of Jonah that we get today does not highlight any of Jonah’s dramatic avoidance and foibles.  Instead, when Jonah offers the shortest sermon ever, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown,” immediately, the people of Nineveh believe God, proclaim a fast, and everyone – everyone great and small – puts on sackcloth.  To understand the significance of this response by Nineveh, we need to remember that Nineveh is no saint.  They are a great kingdom of people who have been oppressing God’s chosen for ages.  They are tyrants, powermongers, and bullies.  No one scares Nineveh.  And yet, with Jonah’s sermon of judgment, they stop immediately, take on a fast, and repent of their ways.  No debates, no town hall meetings, no consultation with the king.  In fact, in the verses we do not read today, the king even proclaims that the livestock need to be put in sackcloth.  The repentance of Nineveh is total and immediate.

We see the parallels in Mark’s gospel today.  The two sets of brothers we read about, Simon and Andrew and James and John sound very similar.  They are both in the fishing industry, they are both working on nets, and they both respond immediately to Jesus’ invitation to follow him.  But there are some subtle differences that make their stories even more powerful.  You see, Simon Peter and Andrew are fishing from the shore with leaded nets.  They are fishermen, but not very wealthy ones.  Meanwhile James and John are from a higher socioeconomic status.  James and John have a boat and hired workers.  They are fishing by dragnet method, which means they are able to harvest much larger catches.[i]  Their father is also mentioned, which likely means their family has been at this business for generations.  And yet, despite the fact that James are John are in the midst of a long-standing, thriving business, both James and John and Simon Peter and Andrew have the same response to Jesus.  They drop everything immediately and go.

I wonder when you have similarly acted with immediacy to God’s call on you.  The moments do not have to be as dramatic as walking out of the classroom, office, or house without a word to anyone.  Maybe they were moments around giving to the church or a cause.  Maybe they were moments when you offered help to a stranger, knowing full well you were going to be late to your next engagement.  Maybe you called a Congress member or State Representative because your faith could no longer tolerate inaction on an issue.  Maybe you heard the volunteer sexton was retiring, and you said, “Here I am.”  Or maybe your immediacy was in getting out of bed one day and finally stepping in the doors of a church – because you needed a community to help you figure out this voice that was calling you to something new.  At some point all of us hear Jesus say, “Follow me.”

Now you may be sitting there thinking, “I have never said yes to that voice,” or “Most of the time I feel like a failure in following Jesus.”  The good news is that you are not alone.  Despite the fact that Simon Peter, Andrew, John, and James all behave exemplary today, we know as we read more of Mark’s gospel, that these are the same men who will fail time and again in their faith.  These are the same men who will deny Jesus, will argue about feeding five thousand people, will try to hold on to Jesus, and will vie for favor with Jesus.  Yes, today, they say yes immediately and they drop everything they have ever known and step out and follow Jesus.  But tomorrow they stumble, and keep stumbling their entire journey with Christ.

What our texts remind us of today is, as one scholar puts it, “Becoming a faithful Christian disciple takes both a moment and a lifetime.”[ii]  We are not going to feel emboldened to follow Jesus every day.  We are not going to abandon our families and our way of life every day.  There will be moments, hard days when we need courage and reassurance.  On those days, we can remember the moments when we said yes and answered the call.  We can recall with encouragement, on those days when we do not feel very faithful, the days when in fact we were entirely faithful.  And if we are struggling to hold onto those “yes” moments, we remember that we are called in community.[iii]  Whether the entire city of Nineveh was acting together, or disciples were called in pairs, our ability to answer God faithfully is usually done within the context of community – within a group of people who can remind us of our faithful days, and let us go when we need follow.  We are not alone in this adventure of following Jesus.  And that is good news!  Amen.

[i] Daniel J. Harrington, ed., The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 2 (Collegeville, MN:  The Liturgical Press, 2002), 76.

[ii] Elton W. Brown, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 286.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “You are Never Alone,” January 14, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5044 on January 18, 2017.

On homes, humanity, and our hands…

17 Wednesday Jan 2018

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Yesterday, I attended the dedication of a Habitat for Humanity house for which our church had been a financial and volunteer sponsor.  As I watched the family celebrate, it struck me how everyone has a story.  Before becoming a priest, I worked at a Habitat affiliate in Delaware, and I remember that each homeowner’s story varied.  Some had grown up in poverty, and were the first to buy homes in their extended families; some had a health crisis that led to financial and housing problems; some were living in substandard conditions, while others had squeezed their entire families into a friend’s living room.  I do not know the full story of the Fletcher family, except that the matriarch has been working as a nurse for years, has three children, and could not afford to buy a home without Habitat.

What struck me about the Habitat event is how strong our common humanity is.  Get a new Habitat homeowner in the room with a wealthy, privileged person, and I suspect within ten minutes they will be sharing stories of their common humanity.  But get either of them outside of that room, and either person could be seen as an enemy:  someone who oppresses others and does not share their wealth or someone who does not work hard enough and relies too much on outside assistance.  Neither of these characterizations are fair – but we make them all the time.  We forget the story of each individual, and instead create categories that we can then use to generalize – to dehumanize.

I do not usually talk about politics on my blog, but our President’s recent characterization of other countries and their citizens, whom I love, has broken my heart.  The incident itself was not all that surprising.  What put me over the edge was how the comment was so brazenly said and affirmed by others, and how the comment highlighted the ways our country seems to have embraced the practice of dehumanizing others enough that they are able to say things that they would not otherwise say to another human if they were face-to-face.

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, advocated for a preferential option for the poor.  Time and again, Jesus took the stranger, the outcast, the downtrodden, and healed them, helped them, and loved them.  In fact, “the other,” is a recurring theme in scripture that invites us to examine our own modern designations of “insiders” and “outsiders.”  Our country’s current practice of demonizing and subjugating the “other” is an action in direct conflict with Holy Scripture and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  We are not living into our baptismal covenant promises of respecting the dignity of every human being, and seeking and serving Christ in all persons.

This week, I invite you to examine our current treatment of the “other” – those for whom Jesus had a particular preference and priority.  Whether you need to spend some time in prayer, have a conversation with someone unlike you, volunteer some time with a charitable organization, write to your governmental representatives, or donate your money to an agency that can affect change – do something.  Do not let your light be hidden under a bushel.  And then share your story with me here, or with a friend on the journey.  I cannot wait to hear how the Holy Spirit uses you.

Sermon – 1 Samuel 3:1-20, Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17, 1 Corinthians 6:12-20, John 1:43-51, EP2, YB, January 14, 2018

17 Wednesday Jan 2018

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As we celebrate our Annual Meeting and another year of ministry in Jesus Christ through Hickory Neck, we could not have received a better set of lessons.  Today’s lessons are all about discipleship – what being a disciple of Jesus means for us today.  Our lessons tell us discipleship involves relation, revelation, and reaction.

What we first learn about discipleship is relation – that our work as disciples cannot happen without being related to one another.  In Samuel’s almost comical call story, inexperienced Samuel would never have understood that God was trying to speak to him unless he had been in relationship with Eli – his mentor and guide in the life of faith.  Similarly, skeptical Nathaniel would have likely never believed that Jesus could be the Messiah had enthusiastic Philip not said to him, “Come and see.”  Even our lesson from first Corinthians, which perhaps embarrassingly talks about fornication and prositution, shows us that how we relate to others matters – how we use our marvelously made bodies with others matters.

This past year of discipleship at Hickory Neck has similarly and importantly been about relation.  Whether we were talking about race through film, books, or testimony; whether we were sharing a festive meal or taking the holy meal to our homebound members; whether we sharing our stories of giving at Stewardship parties or sharing our faith journeys in confirmation class; whether we were discerning how to modify worship at Hickory Neck or talking with community leaders about how Hickory Neck could address wider needs of our community; whether we were preparing for a quiet day of reflection in Lent or whether we were preparing to welcome a new community onto our property – whatever we did this year, we did so in relation to others.  At Hickory Neck, long-timers and newcomers alike are needed when we are discerning the call of God on our common life.  At Hickory Neck, when changes big and small are being made, we do so with the input of others – both inside and outside of the community – to ensure our discernment is reflective of our related nature through Christ.  At Hickory Neck, we experience God most when we relate to one another through deep, meaningful, vulnerable relationships that rely on trust in one another and on our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  We are Samuels who cannot discern God’s voice without Elis, and we are Nathaniels, who cannot believe what we are hearing without Philips.  Our discipleship is impossible without relation.

After relation, the second thing we learn from our lessons today about discipleship is revelation.  When skeptical Nathaniel responds to Philip’s invitation to come and see, and he meets Jesus, he asks Jesus how Jesus knows him.  Jesus responds, “I saw you.”  Likewise, upon the third interruption of Eli’s sleep, Eli finally realizes that Samuel is not sleepily confused; Eli realizes God is trying to speak to Samuel.  Furthermore, when Eli sees Samuel the next morning, his insistence on knowing what God said to Samuel reveals his own sin and his own coming punishment.  Even Paul’s letter to the Corinthians reveals to them how important their bodies are.  When the psalmist says God created us, knit us together, and we are marvelously made, Paul understands that those wonderful bodies God made are meant to be used for the glory of God.

The more we committed to our relationships at Hickory Neck over this past year, the more we began to experience revelation through those relationships.  When our Tuesday night seekers group invited our brothers and sisters from New Zion Baptist Church to a joint Bible Study, all sorts of beautiful, hard revelations were experienced that night.  When our liturgical task forces worked to define and discern what God was doing at Hickory Neck through worship, we discovered new and beautiful ways we could honor the abundant liturgical variety found in these walls.  When an outstanding mortgage was weighing on our budget or when longtime givers moved on from Hickory Neck, we realized how our giving could impact change at Hickory Neck.  And our budding relationship with the Kensington School has been full of revelation by the Holy Spirit – from sensing within the Vestry that the time had come to think again about a school, to discerning with community leaders that a school was indeed needed, to responding immediately when Charlie got word that Kensington was looking in our neighborhood, to developing a relationship so strong that Kensington would choose to come to Hickory Neck as opposed to another location, God used our relationships to reveal new, different possibilities for ministry.

In some ways, relation and revelation might be the easy parts of discipleship.  The harder part is that third part of discipleship:  reaction.  When Paul writes that letter to the Corinthians, Paul is able to say some hard things about the ways his friends are using their bodies.  The Corinthians could have used that revelation to linger in shame or guilt.  But Paul has a different idea. “Glorify God in your body,” Paul says.  Paul calls the community to change.  When Philip shares his experience with Jesus with Nathaniel, Philip’s story is not an idle tale.  “Come and see,” Philip says.  Philip issues an invitation to action.  And when Eli counsels Samuel what to do about the voice he keeps hearing, Samuel needs to say the words, “Speak for your servant is listening.”  In each of these stories, when something dramatic is revealed through relationship, true discipleship means answering with reaction – doing something in response.

This past year, Hickory Neck has embraced this last part of discipleship with vigor.  When our neighbors needed shelter this past winter, even when our community would have preferred to keep our treasured tradition of a Mardi Gras party, we opened our doors and found new ways to celebrate and care for one another and the wider community.  When we realized that our neighbors were longing for relationship with Christ and our welcome on Sunday mornings was not enough, we developed new ways to invite others to church, and new ways to help newcomers feel more connected once they found their way to Hickory Neck.  When we realized how deep and wide the stain of slavery on our nation was, we welcomed a stranger from Ghana into our home, and found a new friend and a deeper commitment to dealing with our own demons.  When we found new ways to use our property – either through new worship experiences, creating space for community leaders to offer healing yoga to our neighbors in need, or agreeing to step into a rapidly moving process of welcoming a school – we prayed, pondered, and wondered – but eventually said yes.

As I looked back on this year in preparation for our Annual Meeting, I was overwhelmed by the faithful discipleship of Hickory Neck.  We have taken to heart the steps of relation, revelation, and reaction, and said yes time and again.  Being in relation to one another is not easy – look at how hard our country is struggling to stay in relationship with one another.  And yet, the Hickory Neck community takes the uncomfortable and is unwavering.  Welcoming revelation is also not easy – holding up a mirror to our behavior can be scary.  And yet, the Hickory Neck community embraces that vulnerability with boldness.  Being willing to react is not easy either – answering the call to come and see, or saying, “Here I am,” involves strength and commitment.  And yet, the Hickory Neck community trustingly takes on the challenge, and acts with passion and vigor.  I cannot fully express to you how incredibly proud I am of you for all that you have done this year for the sake of the Gospel.  Your discipleship has been an inspiration to me, as I seek each day to faithfully serve Christ as his disciple too.  Of course, the work of discipleship is never done – we will continue to need to commit to the work of relation, revelation, and reaction.  But for today, in this moment of reflection and celebration, know that you are doing good work in the name Christ, glorifying God in your bodies.  Well done, good and faithful servants.  I feel privileged to work alongside you!

Sermon – Luke 2.1-14, CE, YB, December 24, 2017

10 Wednesday Jan 2018

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Sometimes arriving at the manger on Christmas Eve feels a bit like just barely sliding into home plate.  When little ones are around, you have scurried about, making sure their tights and bowties are on, while trying to squeeze in one last family picture while everyone still looks nice.  By now, you have probably served or been served a meal, purchased and wrapped gifts, prepped or cooked food for tomorrow, sent out cards, decorated the house, and run countless errands.  And none of that includes the four hundred things that will be done in the next twenty-four hours.  Arriving here and semi-put together is a minor victory, with the promise of a peaceful, beautiful hour of worship, before preparing for the chaos to resume tomorrow.

The unfortunate thing is that the story of tonight is not all that much less chaotic.  Though we sing songs like Silent Night or Away in a Manger, or though we exchange cards with pastoral, peaceful settings, nothing about that night is silent.  And I am pretty sure the little Lord Jesus makes lots of cries.  The chaos of the holy family is not unlike the chaos in which we sometimes find ourselves.  Remembering how scandalous Mary’s pregnancy and relationship with Joseph are, the chaos continues as Emperor Augustus sends out a decree that forces a very pregnant, uncomfortable Mary away from her hometown to the crowded city of Bethlehem.  Before they can secure housing, Mary goes into labor.  Not only is she dealing with the drama of delivering a child for the first time ever, she is delivering without so much as the comfort of a home.  And then, just as they are trying to figure out nursing, and soothing, and the fear and wonder of parenting, along come some rowdy, likely filthy, shepherds, who have also not had a silent night.  In fact, they have heard the terrifying chorus of the heavenly host and been told a most preposterous story – so much so, they gather up their livestock and come to see.

With all the chaos of our own lives, and with all the mayhem of that holy night, why do we do it?  Why do we come to church at all?  Maybe we come to church on this night specifically because on this night, more than perhaps any night ever, we find the wonderful revelation that God can take the messy chaos of life and make our mess holy.  You see, as much as we love tonight’s beautiful story, what happens this night is beyond the chaos of registrations, no vacancies, angelic revelations, and messy encounters with strangers.  In order to understand the enormity of what is happening tonight, we broaden our scope.  Tonight’s event – the nativity of our Lord –  is the culmination of a much larger story.  The story started when there was no earth or humankind, when God formed the earth from the formless void.  When we first sinned against God and were cast out of the garden, to when we kept sinning and God flooded the world, to our deliverance from the hands of pharaoh and our arrival in the promised land, to our sinful desires for a king that led to the eventual confiscation of our land.  We are a people who have been oppressed so many times and rescued so many times we can barely count.  And in that rollercoaster of a relationship with our God, as we failed time and again, God, who never gives up and never cedes love, does something unheard of:  takes on human flesh, comes to us in the form of a vulnerable child, with the plan of redeeming us forever and granting us eternal life.

Maybe we come to church tonight because tonight is about God’s unending, undying, unfailing, uncompromising love for us.  Despite centuries of chaos, disobedience, and failures, God shows up tonight in a mighty way.  Despite the chaos of the times and of this night, God shows up among the outcast.  Despite the chaos of our own times, in our seeming inability to tend to those most outcast, God comes once more to redeem us.  We come to church tonight because we long to grasp the enormity of God’s love for us, the extents to which God will go for us, and the hope which only God can give to us.

But the news is even better than that.  I do not believe the beauty of tonight is in trying to find a holy moment, where God’s love speaks to us in an otherwise chaotic life.  In fact, you might not find that moment tonight because despite the fact that you were physically able to get here, your mind may still be somewhere else.  The good news is that is okay.  The deep, lasting peace of this night is not found in a single church service (though I must say, the service certainly helps).  The deep, lasting peace we are looking for comes from the reality that we do not find God’s love and peace in spite of the chaos of life.  Tonight teaches us that God hallows the chaos of life.

Based on our standards, God should have placed this precious child – the God incarnate – in the wealthiest, most well-guarded palace, where a person of great wealth could have given the baby everything the baby needed.  A person of power could have protected the child, brought honor to the child, raised the child up to assume the power of a Messiah.  If we had something so precious, we certainly would have worked to find the best of what we have to protect that preciousness.  And yet, God takes on flesh in an unmarried, inconsequential woman of little means.  God takes on flesh amidst the common people, being born in the lowliest of estates.  God takes on flesh and announces the news not to kings and rulers, but to shepherds – those disregarded by society as being of little import.  From the very beginning, the extraordinary thing God does is done in the midst of the ordinary – worse yet, among the marginalized and outcast.

God takes the mess of life:  our divisions, our stratifications by class, gender, and race, our subjugation of the poor, our inability to refrain from sin, our messes and chaos – and God makes our mess holy.  God sanctifies our chaos, reminding us that in the midst of chaos, God is present.   In the midst of chaos, God is doing a new thing through us.  In the midst of chaos, God is love and makes us agents of love.  I cannot promise that the chaos will not try to overtake you when you walk out the church door tonight.  But just like you will find small glimpses tonight of the overwhelming love God has for you, you can find God present in the chaos of life too.  God is continually breaking through, birthing in you Christ’s light and love, using you to make room in the world for the Christ child, using you to announce good news of great joy for all people.  If that doesn’t break though the chaos, I don’t know what will!  Amen.