Sermon: Taking Our Place in the Story

Hebrews 11:39-12:2

Taking Our Place in the Story

James Sledge                                                                                       March 17, 2019

Last April, Michael Gerson, Washington Post columnist and former aide and speech writer for George W. Bush, wrote an article in The Atlantic magazine entitled, “The Last Temptation: How evangelicals, once culturally confident, became an anxious minority seeking political protection from the least traditionally religious president in living memory.”[1]  The article is tinged with sadness at the moral demise of evangelicalism, something Gerson deeply values as one raised in an evangelical home and educated at the evangelical Wheaton College. Here are some excerpts.

Trump supporters tend to dismiss moral scruples about his behavior as squeamishness over the president’s “style.” But the problem is the distinctly non-Christian substance of his values. Trump’s unapologetic materialism—his equation of financial and social success with human achievement and worth—is a negation of Christian teaching. His tribalism and hatred for “the other” stand in direct opposition to Jesus’s radical ethic of neighbor love…

…The moral convictions of many evangelical leaders have become a function of their partisan identification. This is not mere gullibility; it is utter corruption. Blinded by political tribalism and hatred for their political opponents, these leaders can’t see how they are undermining the causes to which they once dedicated their lives. Little remains of a distinctly Christian public witness.

Fear and anxiety drive the “utter corruption” and loss of Christian witness Gerson writes about. But fear and anxiety are hardly restricted to evangelicals. There’s a lot of fear, anxiety, and pessimism in the progressive church these days. Conservatives and progressives have different fears and anxieties, but we can be equally reactive to our particular favorites. Fear, anxiety, and pessimism tend to corrupt our witness. If we could only lower the level. Perhaps something like the pep talk in the letter to the Hebrews could help.

Hebrews isn’t a letter like those Paul wrote to his congregations. It’s more of a sermon. Its preacher is worried about his congregation’s fear and pessimism. They had hoped for a quick arrival of God’s new day, a setting right of a world where small numbers of powerful and wealthy controlled things and enjoyed the good life while most people struggled to get by. But that hadn’t happened. Throw in the popular suspicion of Christians in the Roman world, add an occasional persecution, and you have a prescription for fatigue, anxiety, and pessimism.

And so the preacher tries to rouse them. Like the coach of a struggling team, he reminds them of all the greats that went before them and how they had triumphed under the most difficult and trying circumstances. But then the pep talk takes a rather bizarre turn. None of those past greats, says the preacher, received what had been promised them.

Here the preacher moves from pep talk to divine mystery. Greats of the past, the heroes of the faith, cannot make it, cannot be perfected or made complete, without us.

Sermon video: Are You Listening?

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Are You Listening?

Luke 9:28-36

Are You Listening?

James Sledge                                                       March 3, 2019 – Transfiguration of the Lord

I’ve just begun reading a book entitled, The Answer to Bad Religion Is Not No Religion: A Guide to Good Religion for Seekers, Skeptics, and Believers. It’s a follow-up to another book by the same author, “What the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian?” A Guide to What Matters Most.

Both books address, in different ways, the issue of Christian identity. It’s a topic I find increasingly critical in a  world where many didn’t grow up in the church. What they know of Christianity often comes from its portrayal in the media, too often examples of  the “Bad Religion” in that book. Meanwhile, Mainline and progressive Christians are often fuzzy about our Christian identity, other than not being like that “Bad Religion.”

It is all well and good not to be like those “Bad Religion” Christians, but you can’t define yourself solely by what you are not. You also have to know what you are. And if we’re talking Christian identity, it must have something to do with Jesus. That’s one reason I think this scripture on the Transfiguration is such an important passage.

Just on the face of it the event is a big deal. A cloud and God’s voice on a mountaintop recall the Israelites at Mt. Sinai. Moses and Elijah represent the law and the prophets, the very core of Jewish faith. And the divine words, “This is my Son,” recall coronation psalms along with Jesus’ baptism.

Just prior to the Transfiguration, Jesus foretells his coming death, and he teaches his disciples what it means to follow him. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.”  Those words still echo when Peter’s befuddled proposal for some sort of shrine is interrupted by God’s command. "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!"

“Listen to him.” With Christian identity, there is no avoiding this. Shrines and rituals alone won’t do. Professing one’s belief won’t do. Being a caring progressive or holding fast to conservative family values won’t do. We must listen to Jesus.

When I was a boy and my mother yelled, “Listen to me!” she spoke of more than hearing the words. “Listen” put me on notice. I’d better pay attention, and I’d better do what I heard.

Sermon video: Upside Down Blessings

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon video: Call Stories

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Upside Down Blessings

Luke 6:17-26

Upside Down Blessings

James Sledge                                                                                       February 17, 2019

Many years ago, prior to becoming a pastor, I was teaching an adult Sunday School class. We were studying Luke, and lesson was on the “Sermon on the Plain,” a portion of which we just heard. I read the four blessings or beatitudes and the corresponding woes. I then asked the class what they thought about these words that spoke of God’s favor on the poor but woe on the wealthy. 

One lady quickly spoke up to correct me. Jesus had said no such thing, she insisted. He was talking about the poor in spirit, not actual poverty. When I suggested that she might be thinking of Matthew’s gospel, that Luke spoke of rich and poor, of well-off and those without enough to eat, she only became more adamant. Jesus couldn’t possibly have meant that.

I suspect that when most people think of the Beatitudes, they think of those found in Matthew. Matthew’s list is a good bit longer than Luke’s, and it has no corresponding woes. And it also does say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit…”

Matthew’s beatitudes are more popular, and the long list of blessings sometimes prompts people to read them as instructions on how to get blessed. I think that misreads Matthew’s gospel, but you certainly can manage that with many of his beatitudes. But Luke is an entirely different matter, and unless we’re going to tell people to become poor, hungry, and mournful in order to gain God’s favor, we’ll have to find some other way to understand them.

When Luke tells of these beatitudes and woes, he uses Old Testament language of blessing and curse. The contrast is between God’s favor and God’s active disfavor. “Blessed” means God wants things to go well for you. “Woe” means God wishes bad things upon “you who are rich… who are full now…who are laughing now… when all speak well of you…”

It’s more than a little unnerving. If you are poor, hungry, mourning or hated, then God is for you. But if you’re well off, have a full pantry, are happy and laughing, and everyone thinks you are wonderful, God is against you. That can’t be right, can it? No wonder that woman in my Bible study class said what she did.

These blessings and woes are completely upside down and backwards from what the world expects. The world says, “God helps those who help themselves.” We thank God for our many blessings, often referring to possessions and good fortune that would seem to put us squarely in the “But woe to you…” camp. And I think that may be exactly the point Jesus is making. He says that God’s ways are completely upside down and backwards to ours.

Throughout history, almost every culture has used religion to buttress the status quo, its economic system, and so on. It was not so long ago in this country that most Christian denominations issued statements saying racially based slavery was ordained by God. Many of these denominations later split in two when Christians in the north began to question such statements and seek to overturn them.

Sermon video: People of Love

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Call Stories

Luke 5:1-11 (Isaiah 6:1-8)

Call Stories

James Sledge                                                                                       February 10, 2019

On my Facebook feed I’ve seen some of my colleagues commenting on their churches’ annual meetings. It’s that time of year in the Presbyterian Church. Some churches make a big deal out of it and some simply vote on the pastor’s terms of call. In many congregations, including this one, the annual meeting includes electing a new class of elders and, if the church has deacons, deacons as well.

Electing people as elders and deacons has changed a lot over the years. At one time, becoming an elder on the Session was a little like getting put on the Supreme Court. You were likely to stay there until you retired from it or died. This had some good points. It made elder a very esteemed ministry, and it meant that churches were very selective in seeking out people who were called to such ministry.

There was a down side, of course. Sessions sometimes got pretty old and crusty. Some became heavily invested in making sure nothing ever changed. At some point the negatives outweighed the positives, and the denomination instituted the term limits that we have now where no one can serve more than six years without taking at least a year off.

And so we’re much less likely to have old and crusty Sessions. In many congregations, it is unheard of for anyone to serve more than a single, three year term, and incoming classes of elders and deacons are routinely filled with people who’ve never been one before. This sometimes makes it difficult to find enough people year after year to fill all the slots. Talk to anyone who’s ever served on a nominating committee, and you’ll likely hear about all the times people said “No” when asked if they would serve.

I served on a nominating committee at the church where I was a member before going to seminary, and the pastor is always a member of the nominating committee, so I’ve had a lot of experience with the process. In my previous church we even went to a system where the nominating committee came up names but the associate pastor and I made the actual calls to ask people if they would serve. It was an idea meant to take away what many saw as the most difficult part of being on a nominating committee and make it easier to recruit people for that.

Sermon: People of Love

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

People of Love

James Sledge                                                                                       February 3, 2019

Way back in the spring of 1981, not long after Shawn and I had gotten engaged, we were visiting at her parents for the weekend. They lived in Gaffney, SC, only an hour from Charlotte, so we went down there often. And as we typically did on such visits, we attended worship at First Baptist Church in Gaffney, the church where Shawn had grown up.

We had begun thinking about wedding particulars, where the reception would be, who the bridesmaids and groomsmen were, and the elements of the service itself. Like a lot of people, we had agreed we wanted the words from today’s scripture reading used in the wedding, and as we sat in the pews, waiting for worship to begin on that Sunday morning, I opened up a pew Bible and began to search for the passage.

I knew the Bible somewhat, and I was reasonably sure that the passage was in one of Paul’s letters. I thought it was in 1 Corinthians, but after flipping repeatedly through its pages, I couldn’t locate it. I may have expanded my search to other books of the Bible – I don’t really remember – but  obviously I didn’t find it there either.

Only later did I discover why I couldn’t find the passage, even though I had been looking in the right place. In 1981, First Baptist Church of Gaffney still had King James Bibles in their pews, and in the King James translation, 1 Corinthians 13 reads differently. Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing…  And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Not exactly the sort of thing to sound all romantic at a wedding ceremony. We still used the Corinthians passage at our wedding, but not from the King James. In my twenty some years as a pastor, I’ve probably used this 1 Corinthians passage more than any other at weddings I’ve done. Always, of course, with a translation that says “love,” although I typically point out that this isn’t about romantic love.

Sermon video: Discerning the Body

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon video: Spiritual Vitality Exam

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Discerning the Body

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Discerning the Body

James Sledge                                                                                       January 27, 2019

I recently read about  a study on why young people leave church. The study surveyed a couple thousand people, ages 23 to 30, who had attended Protestant churches regularly while in high school. Two thirds of these had dropped out, and they were asked to say why, checking as many items from a list of 55 that applied to them. Almost all checked one or more boxes in a category labeled “life changes.” This included things such as going away to college or work responsibilities that made attendance difficult.

Most of those surveyed said their departure from church was more accidental than planned. Only a tiny fraction cited a loss of belief. Most were not averse to a possible return.

This study got me wondering about the nature of these twenty-somethings connection to the church. When they had attended, what was the connection? No doubt many originally went because of parents, but some likely developed an attachment of their own. Perhaps there were church programs they enjoyed, music, youth mission trips, a service opportunity that became meaningful. But their situation changed, and they moved on. They might come back some day. They might not.

What about you? What is the nature of your connection to the church? What binds you to the body of Christ? What sort of thing could break that bond?

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The Christians in Corinth are different from us. They didn’t grow up with Christian faith, or Jewish faith for that matter. They were recent converts with a lot of excitement about their new-found faith. It wasn’t routine to them. They didn’t come out of habit or expectation. Still, Paul is concerned about their connection to the body of Christ, about what binds them to the church.

Corinth was nowhere near the individualistic, consumer culture that we live in, but it was more so than the one Jesus had lived in or that the church had emerged in. Perhaps that is why the Corinthians failed to grasp the extremely communal sense of Christian faith.

Paul has already addressed a couple of problems related to this, getting particularly riled up about the Lord’s Supper. The Corinthians worship in the evening in someone’s home, likely a wealthy member’s. The Lord’s Supper was part of a full, fellowship meal, but the wealthier members, who were able to get there earlier, began the meal before the poorer members could finish work and arrive. At times they had eaten all the food and drunk all the wine before the poorer members ever got there. Paul chastises them and says that those who eat and drink without discerning the body eat and drink judgment against themselves.

Sermon: Spiritual Vitality Exam

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

Spiritual Vitality Exam

James Sledge                                                                                       January 20, 2019

Unless you’re really new around here, you’ve probably heard something about the Renew process that we’ve been doing. There have been a lot of steps along the way, but what really got the ball rolling was the results of the Congregational Assessment Tool or CAT.

Two years ago, representatives from our presbytery walked the Session through the CAT report drawn from the survey that many of you took. The report was thirty pages long, filled with all sorts of information and a slew of charts and graphs. One page was a “Performance Dashboard.” It showed eight gauges that each went from zero to one hundred. They had labels such as “Governance, Conflict Management, Engagement in Education,” and so on.

Not surprisingly, we scored higher in some areas than others, and much our conversation that day focused on the lower scores. One low score was “Hospitality,” and we talked about things we might do to address our weaknesses in this area.

But our lowest score sparked a different reaction. The needle on the “Spiritual Vitality” gauge read two, but rather than discussing ways we might deal with this area of weakness, we instead struggled to understand how this could be. Surely the score was somehow wrong.

I should point out that these scores are not absolute. They are percentile rankings that compare us to other congregations who have taken the CAT survey. In addition, the CAT defines spiritual vitality in a particular way, and when I looked at the raw data, it didn’t seem all that bad. Significant majorities tended to agree, agreed, or strongly agreed that their spiritual experiences impacted how they viewed life, that they experienced the presence of God in their lives, and they tried to connect their faith to other aspect of their lives. A minority thought that while their faith was important other matters were more pressing. Clearly many individuals here are spiritually vital and vibrant, yet as a community, such folks make up a smaller percentage than is the case in most other congregations.

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Sermon: One of Them

Luke 3:15-22

One of Them

James Sledge                                                   January 13, 2019 – Baptism of the Lord

In one of her sermons, Barbara Brown Taylor relates an episode from the novel, The Patron Saint of Liars. Much of the book takes place at Saint Elizabeth’s Home for Unwed Mothers, located in Habit, Kentucky. The cook who lives on site has a young daughter named Cecilia. Cecilia has always been doted on and mothered by the young women who come there to give up a children for adoption.

One day when Cecilia is fifteen, she meets Lorraine, a new girl who has come to stay there. Lorraine is terribly nervous and anxious as she waits to be interviewed by Mother Corrine, the nun who runs the place. Cecilia tries to help Lorraine by giving her some advice.

“The guy who got you pregnant,” she tells Lorraine. “Don’t say he’s dead. Everybody does that. It makes Mother Corinne crazy.”

Lorraine sits on her hands and is quiet a moment. “I was going to say that,” she says.

“See?”

“So what do I tell her?”

“I don’t know,” Cecilia says. “Tell her the truth. Or tell her you don’t remember.”

“What did you tell her? Lorraine asks. Cecilia is speechless. “I sat there, absolutely frozen,” she later wrote. “I felt like I had just been mistaken for some escaped mass murderer. I felt like I was going to be sick, but that would have only proved her assumption. No one had ever, ever mistaken me for one of them, not even as a joke. The lobby felt small and airless. I thought I was going to pass out.”[1]

Cecilia had always been around these young women. She liked them and she tried to help them, but she was horrified to be mistaken for one of them, one of these people who had made such a mess of their lives that families sent them away until that mess could be adopted and they could return home.

Jesus seems not to share Cecilia’s worries. From what little Luke tells us about Jesus’ baptism, I get the impression that Jesus must have simply gotten in line with all the other folks. I take it that Luke says so little about Jesus’ baptism because he, along with the other gospel writers, is a bit embarrassed by it. John’s baptism is, after all, a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, and why would Jesus need such a thing? The gospel writers all seem to have a little Cecilia in them, and they would prefer that Jesus not be mistaken for one of them, for one of those sinners. But Jesus obviously doesn’t mind being identified with them, with sinners, with us.

Luke’s version of Jesus’ baptism features a kind of ordination, perhaps more a coronation. The Holy Spirit comes over Jesus, and God speaks. “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  The language is reminiscent of a psalm used when Israel’s kings were crowned and declared God’s son. But this coronation happens in the context of baptism and prayer. Jesus first aligns himself with sinful, broken humans, declaring himself one of them. And then, as he draws near to God in prayer, his identity and vocation are announced.

I once saw a quote about church that said, “For a place that claims to be a hospital for sinners, the people there sure go to a lot of trouble not to be mistaken for one.” Seems we all have a little Cecilia in us. We don’t mind helping sinners, but we don’t like to think of ourselves as one of them.

And yet, in our own baptisms, we have aligned ourselves with the brokenness, the sinfulness of all humanity. Our baptisms insist that we, like everyone else, need saving. We are all one of them, people who live with the residue of the bad choices we have made, the hurt we have caused, and the pain of others we have ignored.

I know that all too often I expend a great deal of energy trying to maintain a façade that says, I’m not one of them. I want to be seen and to see myself as highly competent, not needing other’s help. The difficulties I have with others are more their fault than mine, and my failures are mostly because of things beyond my control. Of course there’s always the nagging worry that I will be found out, that the façade will crumble, and people will realize that I am a fraud.

Still I cling to this façade, even though life is actually much easier when I can let it go. It is so much easier to be a partner with others, to let go of grudges and hurts, to truly be myself, when I can let go of the fiction that I’m not one of them. 

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When we do an infant baptism here, I always ask the parents the name of their child. I tell them ahead of time that they aren’t supposed to say their last name, just the given names. That’s because in baptism we all share a common last name, Christian, brothers and sisters of Jesus, members of the household of God.  

We don’t become part of that household by separating ourselves from them or by imagining ourselves better. We become part of Christ’s body because we’re joined to the Jesus who stands with us, whoever we are, no matter how broken, no matter how badly we fail to measure up to the façades we create for ourselves, or the façades others create for us.

On those occasions when I can claim my place as one of them, when I can let go of the pretensions and the façades, I find that I am much closer to God. I suppose this should be obvious. Jesus has already shown me the way. It is precisely when he stands with humanity that he hears God speak his identity, that he hears his call to the work God has for him, and he is able to begin his ministry.

So too at the font, we are joined in solidarity with all of broken humanity, and God speak to us. “You are my daughter; you are my son. You are all one in Christ, one body, one community called to continue his ministry in the world.”

In a moment, we will all have the opportunity to remember that, to come to the waters once more and remember we are one of them, those whom Jesus joined, those whom Jesus called to be his body in the world.

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[1] Quoted by Barbara Brown Taylor, “The River of Life,” Home by Another Way (Boston: Cowley Publications, 1999) pp. 32-33.

Sermon: Christmas Loyalties

Luke 2:41-52

Christmas Loyalties

James Sledge                                                                                       December 30, 2018

Some of you may have heard this story before, but with today’s gospel reading, I couldn’t resist telling it again. I once lost one of my daughters in a drug store. She was four or five years old and standing right there next to me as I looked for some item. But when I looked away from the store shelf to where she had been seconds before, she was gone. I called her name and quickly looked on the adjoining aisles. My panic growing, I traversed the store multiple times, looking down every aisle over and over without finding her. As the minutes wore on, I experienced a feeling of sheer terror.

In desperation, I finally left the store and ran down the grocery store where we had planned to go next. Hoping against hope I ran to the bakery section of the Harris Teeter, where they handed out free cookies to children. And sure enough, there she was, getting her free cookie. She had simply decided that she would go there on her own. Never mind that it was not next to the drug store but at the other end of a strip mall.

If any of you have a had a similar experience, you know how frightening it feels. My terror last but a few minutes, though it seemed much longer. I can scarcely imaging how Mary and Joseph must have felt. According to Luke, they searched for Jesus for three days, retracing their steps to Jerusalem and hunting all over the city before finally finding him.

It sometimes surprises people to learn that this is the only story in the Bible about Jesus as a child. Jesus does come from a humble background, and so makes some sense that little would be know about his early days. Still, stories about great heroes typically include some from childhood, episodes that point to their greatness to come.

I don’t know that it’s taught in school any longer – we live in a more cynical time – but when I was in elementary school I learned the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree. Asked if he was the culprit he proclaimed, “I cannot tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.” In all likelihood the event never happened, but that is beside the point. The story’s main purpose is to illuminate something about the character of the man, to demonstrate that his greatness was rooted in a deep, personal virtuousness.

Abraham Lincoln has his own childhood stories that give clues as to the man he will become. For that matter, there are stories about the young emperor Augustus, who ruled when Jesus was born, that point to the great leader he would become. Augustus achieved great learning at a very young age, and, in a story that was likely known by the first readers of Luke’s gospel, Augustus gave the funeral oration for his grandmother Julia Caesaris, sister of Julius Caesar, at the age of twelve.[1]

Luke, writing his gospel for Gentile Christians, seems eager to present Jesus as greater than Augustus, filled with remarkable learning despite not having any of the instruction and education that the emperor-to-be had received. Jesus wasn’t simply groomed to be a great ruler. He was born for the role, part of God’s unfolding saga of salvation.

But that is only part of our gospel this morning. Luke could easily have told the story of a miraculously precocious Jesus without the part about Jesus disappearing on his parents. Jesus could have wowed them at the Temple while the family was there for Passover. This part of the story is about something else altogether.

Christmas Eve Candlelight Reflection

Christmas Eve Candle Lighting Reflection

I read a Christmas editorial in the Washington Post that talked about churches that are struggling with declining attendance and resources and yet still typically find their sanctuaries filled to overflowing on Christmas Eve. The column discussed the many reasons that people aren’t going to church like they once did. It mentioned that the fastest growing religion in America isn’t really a religion at all. It’s something called the “Nones,” those who are religiously disaffiliated and check “none of the above” on surveys about religion.

Yet despite this growing religious disaffiliation, despite the lack of cultural encouragement to be part of some faith community, despite the rapidly growing numbers in our society who view church as unnecessary, people show up in droves on Christmas Eve.

Many attribute this to nostalgia or the desire to maintain some family traditions around Christmas, but the columnist suggested that it could be something else. While the lure of church may be nonexistent for many, there still remains a longing, a hunger for the transcendent, for something more than “a society defined solely by self-interest and calculation, by the visible, the measurable and the tangible.”[1]

I can certainly see why Christmas would be especially alluring for those longing for the transcendent. Christmas insists that the God whose speech called forth the wonders of Creation is a God of life and light. Christmas speaks of a light, a goodness that cannot be overcome by the darkness, the pain, the selfishness, the hatred, the greed, the evil of the world. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.  

Christmas also insists that the transcendent, the light, the creative force of God, is not simply something far away out there. It moves toward us, seeking us. A child is born. The Word became flesh and lived among us. Emmanuel, God with us.

But God’s move toward us demands a response. God’s move is an invitation for us to move toward God. God has taken the first step in a divine dance we are invited to join, a dance of goodness, love, and self-giving; a dance of generosity, caring, and hope.

The God who comes toward us, who comes as a child born for us, invites us to become bearers of light and hope in a world too often filled with darkness and hopelessness. And the empty cross of the risen Christ reminds us that the deepest and most malevolent darkness cannot triumph over God’s love.

(Lower candles and shield the light.)

And so, in the midst of the world’s darkness, stand and hold your light high. Let it shine. Carry the light with you as you go. Bear the light of Christ into the world. Let it shine against all that is dark and frightening and hate-filled. Go to be light bearers in a world that is longing for light.

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[1] E.J. Dionne, Jr. “Churchgoers, cut the ‘Chreasters’ some slack” The Washington Post, December 23, 2018

Sermon video: Mixing Up Our Verb Tenses

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Mixing Up Our Verb Tenses

Luke 1:39-55

Mixing Up Our Verb Tenses

James Sledge                                                                                       December 23, 2018

Here we are on the Sunday before Christmas, and finally the scripture readings appointed for the day feel a little Christmassy. Three weeks ago we heard Jesus talk about his second coming, and the last two weeks we heard about John the Baptist. But today, finally, here is Mary, and she is pregnant with Jesus.

Of course the lectionary that lists the scripture readings for each Sunday isn’t trying to be a Grinch. In part it is letting Advent be Advent and not an extension of the Christmas season. But also, the Bible does not really share our fascination with Christmas. Of the four gospels, only Luke actually narrates Jesus’ birth. And Luke seems more focused on the events surrounding the birth, things like the prophetic speech we just heard, than on the birth itself.

It might help for me to go back and recall what has happened to get us to Mary’s prophetic song today. Luke is not only the sole narrator of Jesus’ birth, but he alone tells of John the Baptist’s birth, and he weaves the two stories together. John’s father, Zechariah, and Jesus’ mother, Mary, both receive visits from the angel Gabriel who tells them of miraculous births to come. And both Zechariah and Mary speak prophetically about these births.

Luke loves to use patterns and rhythms from the Old Testament as he tells the story of Jesus. Mary’s song is very much like the song offered by Hannah after she has given birth to Samuel. But more than that, the angel’s visits to Zechariah and Mary follow a formula for divine appearances that repeats throughout the Old Testament.

Sermon video: Repentance and Fruit for Christmas

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.