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

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

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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.

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

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

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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.

Homily – Luke 2.15-21, Holy Name, YA, January 1, 2017

05 Thursday Jan 2017

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Our gospel today picks up where we left off a little over a week ago.  On Christmas Eve, we heard how Mary and Joseph journeyed to Bethlehem to be registered.  We learned of how there was no room for them in the inn, and how they ended up delivering little Jesus, the savior of the world, in a room designated for animals.  Exhausted, they placed him in a manger, in bands of cloth, making the best of an awful situation.  We also learned of some unsuspecting shepherds who experienced an angelic encounter.  An angel appeared to them in the fields and told them of the messiah who had been born, where they could find the messiah, and what they could look for – that manger and those bands of cloth.

Today we pick up where we left off.  The angels leave, and the shepherds decide to check out the story.  They visit with Mary and Joseph, confirm the story, and then share their experience with the tired couple.  We are told Mary treasures the words, but ponders them too.  She is clearly still figuring all this out.  Meanwhile, the shepherds go back to work, praising God.  And Mary and Joseph go back to work too – following the circumcision customs, but perhaps, more importantly, following through with what they were asked to do – naming Jesus as the Angel commanded.[i]

What I love about this story is that no one acts alone.  Mary gets the bizarre news of her pregnancy alone, but then her cousin Elizabeth affirms her and confirms the good news.  Shepherds are minding their business when the angels appear to them.  They could have stayed at home that night, but they go and share the news.  Mary and Joseph go on a scary journey that seems to be making one bad turn after another.  But then shepherds come and give them a good word.  Even the naming of Jesus takes place in community – at least a rabbi or priest comes and performs the naming right, knowingly or not, naming the child the same name the angel gave Mary – Jesus, or “Joshua, meaning salvation”[ii].

Going at things alone is part of our contemporary mindset.  We place a value on people being able to fend for themselves.  The number one goal of parents is to teach their children independence.  And Lord knows we hear a lot of, “I do it by myself!” at our house these days.  In and of itself, independence is not a bad thing.  We have gifts and talents of which God expects us to be good stewards.  But going at life alone can have the opposite effect of what we think.  By glorifying independence we forget the inherent dependence we all have.  If nothing else, we are certainly dependent upon our Lord and Savior, without whom nothing would be possible.  But Jesus teaches us that community is equally important.  Jesus was never a lone ranger in his ministry. He understood the people of faith to be a community – to need each other for learning and understanding.  Unlike what the world might have us believe, life is not all about independence.  Quite the opposite, we need each other in this crazy journey of faith – to learn from each other, to challenge each other, to support each other, and cheer each other on when we get weary.

As our children and I were reading our Advent and Christmas devotional this week, we learned about Simeon and Anna, whose story comes in the verses just following the passage we read today.  If you remember Simeon and Anna are elder members of the faith, living and working in the temple when Jesus is to be presented.  The devotional asked us what elderly people we know and what they teach us.  I was surprised to hear my seven-year old jump in with all sorts of idea about what our elders teach us.  She said that our elders have lived a lot longer and so they have a lot to teach us about the world.  She said they can help teach the children how to live and what they can do in the world.  When I asked the question about what our elders teach us, I had expected the standard, “I don’t know.”  Instead, I got a response that showed a great deal of insight into how much we need each other – young and old, rich and poor, male and female, liberal and conservative – if we are going to survive in this journey of faith and life.

All the parts of our Christmas story are a bit like a puzzle.  Each piece is important in its own right, but once you put the pieces together, the puzzle reveals something much more valuable.  Though the parts we hear about during Christmastide are some of our favorite parts, they are just pieces in the puzzle.  The story of Jesus would not be complete without angelic appearances, shared stories between cousins, and tired, weary people sharing good news together.  Mary would have nothing to treasure and ponder without the ragtag community that has gathered around her.

The same is true for us.  Our Christmas story is a beautiful story.  But unless we share the story in community, unless we share our story in community, we only get a partial glimpse into the good work Christ is doing in our lives.  We need each other to encourage and support each other in the faith journey.  We need each other to interpret God’s movement in our lives, and to teach us wisdom.  We need each other in those moments of treasuring and pondering our own story.  Today we give thanks for the tremendous community of faith who help us in our journeys toward Christ.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] Fred B. Craddock, Luke, Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1990), 36-37.

[ii] Craddock, 36.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2015

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

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In many ways, the story that we tell tonight is rather ordinary.  As the story begins, the government is doing what the government does – finding ways to tax the people.  And so the people without influence are herded – herded back to their hometowns to be registered so that the Emperor can be certain he is getting all he is owed.  But anytime you move masses of people, you get overcrowding.  That is what happens in Bethlehem this night.  Though Joseph’s extended family is expecting him, they run out of space.  Though the story says there is no room in the inn, the more likely scenario is that the family guest room was already full.[i]  So Joseph and his pregnant fiancé get the leftovers – the area of the home meant for the animals.  We’ve had those moments – when your delinquent uncle or your slacker friend shows up unexpected.  You grab a pillow and a blanket and offer space on the couch – or the floor if the couch is already taken.  This is just an ordinary night of making the space work.

Of course, no woman would want to give birth under these conditions, but that is the funny thing about birth – births happen all the time, whether people are ready or not.  Though every time a baby is born we marvel at the miracle of life, births are really much more commonplace that we give them credit for being.  Just like any other birth, Mary finds a place to lay the baby, and just like any other mother, Mary finds a way to swaddle the baby so that he can ease off to sleep.  And so in the messiness of managing civic life and familial life, here our story has us working through the ordinary mess of reproductive life.

And in case we were to get too excited about our story, God decides to reveal the occurrences of that night to even more ordinary people.  Enter the shepherds.  These are ordinary men, doing the necessary work of shepherding.  In fact, these men are so ordinary, they are almost invisible to the outside world.  They are not busy heading to their home town to be counted because according to the day, they are not worth counting.[ii]  They are the migrant workers that do the work no one else wants to do.  So while everyone is sleeping, or eating, or enjoying the warmth of a fire, the shepherds are out tending their flocks, focused on the ordinariness of agricultural life.

Of course, the story becomes interesting when we hear about all of the extraordinary parts of this story.  Yes, there is the same greedy government, the same crowded family, the same new parents, and the same business of farm life.  But something extraordinary breaks into the ordinary this night.  In the midst of everyday lives, God breaks in through the ordinary and proclaims good news of great joy.  The Messiah has been born – the long awaited Savior who will change everything.  In fact, the angels are so blown away by this extraordinary moment in time that they break into song, praising God.  That is what we do when faced with the extraordinary.  We praise God for God’s goodness and mercy and grace.  God takes on human flesh for us, and the angels do the only thing they can – they praise God in gratitude.

The shepherds’ initial reaction to the same news is quite ordinary – they go and talk to the family.  They tell Mary and Joseph what they saw.  Again, the scene is quite ordinary – a travel-worn family making due in rustic quarters having a conversation with equally worn shepherds.  No one is out of place in this scene – everyone is equally ordinary.  And yet, the extraordinary lights up the room.  So extraordinary is the night that the shepherds leave, glorifying and praising God.  They echo the response of the angels, expressing their overwhelming gratitude in the only way they know how – praising and thanking God.  Mary too knows how extraordinary this night is.  She treasures this extraordinary moment in her heart, left pondering what new thing God is doing.

That is what we love about this story:  the juxtaposition of the ordinary with the extraordinary.  The ordinary part we know intimately.  We too find ourselves living ordinary lives.  We work, we play, we laugh, we cry.  We pay our taxes, we deal with family, we go through labor pains.  We come to church, we pray together, we read scripture together, and we feast on the holy meal.  With the exception of a few fun vacations, nights out on the town, or the wedding of a friend, our lives are relatively ordinary.  I am pretty sure most of us have not witnessed a heavenly host bringing us good tidings of great joy.

We do not get the extraordinary most days:  except, of course, when we do.  Even in our ordinary lives, God breaks in with the extraordinary.  Just a couple of weeks ago a parishioner was telling me about how our conversations at church had finally worn him down.  When he ran into a homeless person on his walk in the City, he decided to finally give him some money – a practice that he never endorses.  Something about his experience with God was softening his resolve and he was able, in a moment of clarity, to see the humanity of the man.  Or the other week, I was talking to a teacher about the profound things her children sometimes say.  They sometimes say things that stop her in her tracks and make her reevaluate her way of being.  Or a few months ago I was talking to another person of faith about her prayer life.  She confessed rather sheepishly that sometimes in her prayers, especially when she makes room to listen to God, hears a response back.  She felt like she could not really explain the phenomenon well, but she knew the voice must be from God because the words rang so true and were nothing she would have come to on her own.

That is what happens in our ordinary lives – God breaks through again and again, overwhelming us with the extraordinary.  Those moments are gifts that we celebrate an honor, because they are just that – gifts.  That is the same reason we celebrate tonight.  We honor the gift that God gives us in Christ Jesus.  For all intents and purposes, Jesus is just another baby born under ordinary circumstances.  But we know that he is so much more:  God Incarnate, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  Tonight is about honoring the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary.  Tonight is about claiming the joy that can only come from extraordinary acts of God.  But tonight is also about claiming the joy of a community that invites us to praise – to glorify God as we go our own ways this night.  We are blessed over and over.  In the trials and tribulations of ordinary life, we are so blessed by our extraordinary God and the community of faith that gathers with us.  In fact, the extraordinary nature of God hallows our ordinary lives, making them anything but ordinary.  Tonight, I invite you to embrace the extraordinary in our midst, to honor the holiness of the ordinary, and to find ways to share that extraordinary in our ordinary lives tomorrow.  Amen.

[i] Richard Swanson, “Commentary on Luke 2:[1-7] 8-20,” December 25, 2013, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1880 on December 22, 2015.

[ii] Michael S. Bennett, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 118.

Sermon – Luke 2.8-20, CD, YC, December 25, 2012

27 Thursday Dec 2012

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In the wake of the tragedy in Newtown, fear has been a rampant part of our lives.  Parents have been afraid for the safety of their children.  I talked to many parents who really did not want to send their kids back to school in those first days, even though they knew logically that this was not an option.  We have also turned into a country fearful about guns – either fearful that they will be taken away from us or fearful that they will be used as a crutch to solve society’s ills instead of more peaceful means.  And at a time when we focus on the Christ Child today, many of us fear the loss of innocence.  We long for a more simple time – a moment of pure clarity when everything is made plain.

Over two thousand years ago on this day, things were made plain for a rag-tag team of shepherds.  “Do not be afraid,” the angel says.  “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”  Good news.  Great joy.  All the people.  These are words that do not strike fear in the hearts of the shepherds.  They are words that instead set them free from fear.  They are words that open up a window into hope.  They are words that fill them with joy.  For if this is good news of great joy for all people, then even people like unsavory, undesired, unloved shepherds are included in this news.  And with this outpouring of good news, the shepherds are blown away by the most awesome chorus of voices praising God’s name.  Fear is a fleeting feeling for these shepherds.

This fearless joy can be our gift too.  We can let go of our angst about safety, about politics, about control, and take hold of the Good News of the Christ Child.  We can gather around the host of angels and let the Good News rain down on us, and liberate us from fear.

Of course, that certainly sounds easy, and maybe even feels easy on this holiest of days.  But can we really expect us to be able to live free from fear?  The shepherds help us answer that question.  The response of the shepherds is full of immediate action.  The shepherds go with haste to find Mary, Joseph, and the child lying in a manger.  The shepherds gather with the Holy Family, and share their story.  Finally, the shepherds go out glorifying and praising God.  The shepherds go, gather, and glorify.

This is the invitation of the gospel for us today.  We too are to go, gather, and glorify.  First, we are invited to go.  When God speaks to us, we are to respond.  The shepherds go with haste.  And so, instead of pondering things in their hearts, or worrying about whether they might run into trouble along the way (which would have been a valid concern given the registration taking place in Bethlehem by Augustus and Quirinius)[i], the shepherds go with haste.  So our first invitation is to let go of our fears and simply act.  Act with immediacy when God calls us.

Next, the gospel invites us to gather.  This incredible God experience does not happen for the sole benefit of the shepherds.  The shepherds gather, creating a community of faith who share the Good News.  We too are invited to gather with a community of faith.  We do that today, as we gather on this holy day.  But we are invited to gather regularly, so that we can share in the faith journey together, making sense of God’s call as a community.  This work of discernment is not done alone.  We need a community of faith to shape us and form us.

Finally, the gospel invites us to glorify.  The Shepherds leave that manger scene with nothing in their hearts but praise of God.  Glorifying God seems so simple, but sometimes glorifying God is what is the most difficult for us.  We become so accustomed to coming to God, asking for things – for healing, for direction, for peace.  We struggle with God, and long for God.  But we sometimes forget to simply glorify God.  Just two weeks ago, we heard in the letter to the Philippians the call to “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”  This is one of those days when we really need a large gospel choir who can lead us into glorifying God with those words, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say, again I say, Rejoice!”  Sometimes we simply need to let go of everything and glorify God.

This Christmas, the Church does not let us go home with a message of comfort without action.  Instead, the Gospel is full of action:  go, gather, and glorify.  Now, I know you want to go home, eat a feast with friends or family, watch some basketball, and enjoy a day free of the obligations of work, school, and to-do lists.  But remember that even those meals, those times with others can be a place to go, gather, and glorify.  Go to your next stop with joy overflowing from the news of angels.  Gather with a community, not letting the opening of presents override your telling of the miracle of the Christ Child.  And glorify God – in your prayers over your meal, in your conversations with others.  Perhaps focusing on glorifying God will get you out of the normal kvetching that often happens at Christmas meals.  So, go, gather, and glorify.  May this be our work this Christmastide.  Amen.

[i] Michael S. Bennett, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),118.