Sermons and thoughts on faith on Scripture from my time at Old Presbyterian Meeting House and Falls Church Presbyterian Church, plus sermons and postings from "Pastor James," my blog while pastor at Boulevard Presbyterian in Columbus, OH.
I had a chance conversation with a member of a different church the other day, and somehow the subject of a troubled relationship with a former pastor came up. From what little I know of that situation, both pastor and congregation contributed to things going poorly. Still, I was a bit struck when the person made a comment about people being upset because the pastor had befriended so many homeless people and let them come into the church.
Not knowing the particulars, I'm not going to over read her comment, but it did make me think about a common tendency in congregations to put ourselves first. Despite Jesus' instructions to be willing to lose ourselves for the sake of the gospel, we can often be very inwardly focused. During the recent economic downturn and the tight church budgets that has produced, I've heard members here say that we should cut mission giving over any reduction in staff and programs for ourselves.
In today's gospel reading, I was struck by the way that Jesus is "on the move." People are lined up for healings, but after one day, Jesus is ready to go elsewhere. Even when the disciples find him and tell him people are looking for him, Jesus is ready to move on.
Unlike the biblical example, the church I grew up in was extremely settled. This is not necessarily because of any unfaithfulness. Rather this church grew up in the era of Christendom, in a time when it was somewhat safe to presume that those around you had heard all about Jesus. In 1950s America the church's job was to nurture and care for Christians and support mission overseas. My how times have changed.
Some have written that we now live in a "post-Christian" age. True or not, we certainly live in a time when it is no longer save to assume that all our neighbors are Jesus' disciples, or even that they know just what that means. And I wonder if the church that is appropriate for this time might not need to be a lot less settled.
During Sunday's worship, following the sermon by Vice-Moderator Landon Whitsitt, we renewed our baptisms. Thought some might want to see it.
The choir sang as people came to the font with the congregation joining in a refrain which goes: Oh, sisters (brothers), let's go down. Let's go down, come on down. Oh, sisters (brothers), lets go down, down to the river to pray. Oh, down to the river to pray.
I've been around sickness and death today, something that happens more often than I like, my being a pastor. Today I met with a family to plan a funeral and did hospital visitations. Sometimes when I am with people in such settings, I can see on their faces a longing that seems straight out of today's psalm.
As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, "Where is your God?"
I encounter people on a regular basis who are longing for God's touch, for some experience of God; they get me instead. There are times when it makes me feel terribly small, inadequate, and helpless.
Strangely enough, most people seem satisfied with my presence. I don't mean satisfied with my performance or any great words I might offer, but simply with my being there. As the Apostle Paul has written, our weakness and frailty is apparently no obstacle to God using us.
In today's gospel reading, Jesus calls a few fishermen as his first disciples. This seems a most inauspicious start. Surely there are much better candidates to be found. But apparently these rough, uncouth fishermen will do just fine.
I wonder how often my own feelings of smallness and inadequacy get in the way of my being the presence of God to someone who needs it? How about you? If Jesus can use a few fisherman to begin the Church, surely most any of us will do.
Sunday's sermon was preached by Landon Whitsitt, vice-moderator of our denomination. The sermon was accompanied by a renewal of baptism. The audio quality is not the best. My apologies.
Sometimes when I read verses such as those from today's Isaiah passage, I shrug my shoulders and think, "So what?" So God measured the waters and marked off the boundaries of the heavens; what difference does that make to my life? What difference does it make that God is God?
These are actually very fundamental religious and theological questions. The vast majority of Americans are in agreement that there is a God, but clearly there is no unanimity about what that means. I can believe in God and it not make much difference in my life. And as many have pointed out, some atheists and agnostics are every bit as "good" as believers. People who reject religious affiliation or belief can be outstanding citizens and neighbors. So what difference does God make?
I read Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation prior to reading today's lectionary passages. I think that is why I didn't shrug at the Isaiah reading today. Instead I wondered about the "central reference point" of my life. Is it God, or is it something else. Rohr points out that we all need to organize our lives around something. "The psyche needs a central reference point, and will create one. If God is not the 'one,' then the Dow Jones Index or Rush Limbaugh will be. We will have a 'one' whether we realize it or not. The First Commandment does us a psychological and spiritual favor by stating, 'You shall have no god but me' (Exodus 20:3). If we have not been authored from above, we will give away our authority to what everybody else thinks, as Pilate did."
I wonder if I sometimes shrug at biblical passages describing the grandeur and sovereignty of God because God is often quite removed from my day to day living? Too often I don't see God at work in the world, and so what difference does it make that God marked off heaven's boundaries?
Like a lot of people, my life is busy, and there never seems enough time to get it all done. Very often, I am too busy to pray or meditate. I am too busy to be still, to be open to God, to wait for God. Big deal that God "marked off the heavens with a span, enclosed the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighed the mountains in scales and the hills in a balance." I've got a sermon to write and a meeting to attend.
Sometimes I wonder if all our busyness really leads to much that matters, if it leads to lives that really matter. And that makes me wonder what truly is the central reference point in my life.
Today celebrates The Baptism of the Lord as we remember Jesus being baptized by John in the Jordan River. Today our congregation had the pleasure of hearing Landon Whitsitt, vice-moderator of the Presbyterian Church (USA), preach and lead us in a renewal of our own baptisms. I found it a moving service, and it was made all the more poignent for me because I offered the Prayers of the People immediately following our baptismal renewals.
Like a lot of people, I was thinking about the shooting in Arizona yesterday as I thought about what to pray. We had just remembered how God claims us as beloved children in the waters, how God's grace washes over us, splashing and dripping all around. And yesterday had brought us face to face with the brokenness into which God's grace arrives.
I realize that it is far too early to draw any sweeping conclusions about yesterday's events. This may simply be the act of a deranged individual. But people on the left and the right are wondering today about what role the current level of vitriol in politics may have played. Politics has long been a contact sport, but lately it seems to have gotten worse, and it is all too easy for us to demonize those with whom we disagree. Political opponents cease to be friends and fellow citizens who have differing opinions about and become enemies. And the language of war and battle and violence is envoked far too often.
I find this climate of hatred all the more troubling because of the fact that many Americans have been baptized as Christians yet feel free to join in the hatred. I recall how theologian Karl Barth, in the aftermath of World War II, wondered about the fact that most all the Nazis who engaged in genocide had been baptized in the Christian Church. He wondered about our practices regarding baptism, and he counseled the Presbyterian Church either to do a much better job of teaching and helping people live into their baptisms, or stop doing infant baptisms all together. Sadly, we Presbyterians did not take either of his suggestions.
In his sermon, Landon spoke of how John did not want to baptize Jesus, saying that it needed to be the other way around. But Jesus insisted, saying it was necessary. In his baptism, Jesus began his journey to the cross. He entered into a life lived, given, and sacrificed for the world. And, preached Landon, in our baptisms, we enter into that same life, as a people called to give ourselves, sacrifice ourselves for the healing of the world.
If my baptism has joined me to Christ and his work, if it has called me and the Church to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of the world, then I cannot be a party to hatred. I cannot encourage hatred. I cannot consider those who disagree with me my enemies. Even if they truly were my enemies, I am called to give myself for them as well.
Today I went to the font, touched the water, and put it on my forehead. I remembered that I have been claimed and marked for a radically different sort of life that doesn't look out for number one, but that is willing to give itself for the hope of God's new day. Lord, help me remember that every single day.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
At the church I serve, we often use these opening verses from Psalm 46 as a responsive call to worship. They seem an appropriate way to speak of our faith that God is with us, even in our darkest moments. Even in the face of death we can trust that God's love does not fail.
I know many people whose greatest comfort when they lose a loved one is this hope in God as refuge, the promise that the love of God is stronger even than death. Despite the huge hole left when someone dies, it is a great solace to know that both we and our loved one are together held in the same love of God in Christ.
I sometimes wish we were as good at claiming the certainty and hope of God's refuge in other parts of life. All too often in the congregations, I see people who look at the difficulties facing them with a kind of pessimistic resignation. They see congregational decline and remember those days when the pews were all filled and the youth program was booming and see a dismal future. I have talked to long term members in some congregations who "know" that their end in inevitable. Their best days are behind them. Societal changes that have shaken and tossed the church's place in our culture have left them with little hope.
I've occasionally mentioned that my theological tradition highlights the problem of idolatry, of placing our hope or trust in something other than God. And the most tempting idols are things that aren't intrinsically bad, things like family, country, and even church. And if the struggles and decline of traditional churches pose a threat to our faith, to our hope for the future, perhaps the problem is that we have misread the Psalm saying, The church is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
One of the certainties of idols is that they will disappoint and fail us. Perhaps when we find ourselves feeling discouraged about religious decline in America, with children who have left the church, with denominational numbers that keep shrinking, we should recall that our faith is not in religion, or churches, or denominations. Our faith is in God and in God's love that we see embodied in Jesus.
Jesus tells us not to worry about anything, to be willing to lose our lives for the gospel's sake. And Jesus can do this himself because his trust in not in a movement or in his band of followers or even in his own abilities. He trusts God to bring hope and life even from the cross. And perhaps the church's current struggles in America offer us the opportunity to rediscover the heart of Christian faith.
Growing up in the church, I knew all about the 3 Wise Men (although the Bible doesn't actually say how many magi were there). But I'm not sure I had every heard of Epiphany. Like a lot of people, we just had the Wise Men show up with the Shepherds at Christmas. They're still there with those shepherds at the manger in the Nativity set on display in our living room.
But of course the Nativity story is in Luke and the Wise Men in Matthew. While tradition and convenience has joined the two stories together, the point of Epiphany sometimes gets lost in the process. Matthew doesn't actually tell any of the events at Jesus' birth. There's a pregnant Mary and an angel visiting Joseph and then a mention that a baby was born and named Jesus.
Sometime later, perhaps as long as two years later, magi from the east come because they have seen a sign in the heavens. These magi seem to be astrologers of some sort. Perhaps they are Zoroastrians. But one thing is certain. They are Gentiles and Gentiles who follow the stars to boot. And so in Matthew's gospel the first people to visit the young Messiah, the first to worship him, are about as far from a good Jew as you can get. They are pagans, outsiders extraordinaire. And their appearance in Jerusalem as they search for a new king frightens the religious insiders, not to mention the person currently claiming the title of king.
In Matthew, Jesus' birth is welcomed by outsiders, by pagans, and it instills fear in those who are heavily invested in the religious status quo, the political status quo, or both. But all these years later, Jesus seems not at all a threat to insiders, while we insiders still often look down on outsiders.
I'm happy to keep the Wise Men a part of the creche at my house, and it doesn't bother me at all if we sing "We Three Kings" at a Christmas service. But I think we would do well to take the time to embrace the unsettling message of Epiphany, where outsiders find it easy to accept the new day Jesus heralds, and insiders fret because they are more or less happy with things as they are.
May the joy and promise of Epiphany touch you and inspire you to give your all to the King.
My older daughter was home over the Christmas holidays from her Teach for America assignment in New Mexico. She is teaching elementary students in a very small town just outside of the Navajo reservation. Most all the students at her school are Navajo, and my daughter mentioned to me that although they are fiercely proud of being Navajo, most of them seem to know next to nothing about what that means. They know very little about their own history or Native American culture.
At first this struck me as odd, but then it occurred to me that something similar can be observed in other places. Most Americans are proud of their nationality, but many of them cannot name the most basic events from US history or the fundamental concepts of our government. A number of years ago a study presented sections of the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution to people on the street, and a great many of them identified these as some sort of communist propaganda.
This sort of problem is even more acute in many churches. Most Christians revere the Bible, but a large majority of them almost never read it. And so their definition of "being Christian" is often something cobbled together from a variety of sources, and this definition is often at odds with what Scripture says. Not only to people presume that popular proverbs such as "God helps those who help themselves" are to be found in the Bible (the saying is by Benjamin Franklin), but they presume behaviors endorsed by the society at large must be compatible with the Bible. And so Tucker Carlson could say just the other day that he is Christian and believes in "second chances" but that Michael Vick's killing of dogs was unforgivable and he should be executed.
That is only one, highly publicized example. Many Christians seem to think that their faith is a purely personal thing with no political or societal implications, this despite the fact that Jesus speaks regularly in political terms about a society where God's will is done, where the poor and the oppressed have good news brought to them. And many have combined their faith with American individualism as though there were no tension at all between the two, this despite Jesus' insistence that true life comes, not from claiming our own rights and privileges, but from being willing to give them up for the sake of others.
I could go on and on, but I hope my point is clear. We cannot become Christians simply by absorbing some vague sense of it from the prevailing culture. We must sit at Jesus' feet as disciples, learning from him. And there is simply no way to do this without engaging the Bible. We cannot be Christian in any real sense of the word if we do not do as God commands Joshua in today's Old Testament reading. "Only be strong and very courageous, being careful to act in accordance with all the law that my servant Moses commanded you; do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, so that you may be successful wherever you go. This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth; you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to act in accordance with all that is written in it."
Many of us American Christians are facing an identity crisis. We have lost our biblical identity, and so we not only are prone to being misled by anyone who speaks with what seems an authoritative, religious voice, but we haven't a clear enough sense of what it means to be a Christian to share our faith with anyone else.
But the good news is that all it takes to correct this situation is for intentional faith communities to take seriously their call to follow Jesus, and to begin studying and discussing together what this might look like. And when people starting letting their encounter with Jesus change them and change the faith community they are a part of, then they start to become something that others will notice. Then they start to be the Church, the body of Christ in the world, living out the ways of Jesus for all to see.
I'm back in the office today for the first time since December 26. I had wonderful visits with family down in the Carolinas, but it is good to get back home. It's nice to sleep in your own bed and to get back to regular routines. That's true in my life at church as well. Today I return to comfortable, well rehearsed routines of staff meetings, preparing sermons, getting bulletins ready, committee and governing board work, and so on. Some parts of the routine may be more enjoyable than others, but on the whole, they constitute a familiar, comfortable pattern where I know how to act and what to do. Maybe all's not right with the world, but my life is under control.
I wonder if Moses felt that way when he settled into his life as a shepherd. Those of us who learned about Moses in church know that he isn't destined to be a simple shepherd. But Moses doesn't know that. After being raised in Pharaoh's house but then having to flee Egypt to escape a murder charge, he is probably quite happy to settle down into a comfortable routine. He's gotten married. His father-in-law, who seems like a nice fellow, has welcomed him into the family and given him meaningful work to do. Surely Moses thinks he is set. His life may not be grandiose, but it is good, and it is comfortable.
At least it is until God shows up. When Moses turns aside to see a "burning bush," he is simply indulging his curiosity. He has no way of knowing that God is about to turn his life upside down as a part of a plan to rescue Israel from slavery in Egypt. Wouldn't a divine snap of the fingers be sufficient? Why does God need Moses? But in the strange ways of God, nothing seems to happen without humans joining the story.
Very often in congregations and in the work of a pastor, comfortable routines become revered treasures. "Gimme that old time religion," says the song. "Church like you remember it" read the billboard I saw from the highway. It's as though something already established is where we should be. But what if God has other ideas.
A lot of congregations in America are struggling these days. And very often the reaction to such struggles is to cling to what we know, to what is comfortable. We want to hang on to "Church like we remember it." But what if God wants to take us beyond what we remember, beyond our comfortable routines, to become a part of the divine plan for salvation? What if helping God take creation toward a new day when God's will is done "on earth" means upsetting our routines and our comfort? What if it calls us to take risks and head out in uncertain directions.
That is precisely what God will ask of Moses. It was what God asked of Abraham and Sarah before, and it is what Jesus will ask of those fishermen he calls to follow him. And it is what Jesus still asks of all who would become his disciples. Jesus asks us to trust him when he says that letting go of those things we cherish and giving ourselves over to God and neighbor will lead to something more wonderful than any life we can build for ourselves.
Life had finally settled down and become something Moses could count on and enjoy. Then God showed up. It's not too hard to understand why Moses begged God to find someone else for the job. But I guess it's a pretty good thing Moses finally said, "Yes."
Today's meditation from Richard Rohr begins, "We do not think ourselves into new ways of living. We live ourselves into new ways of thinking." Newness is a recurring theme for Christians. We speak of the portion of Scripture beginning with the gospels as a "New" Testament. And in today's epistle reading Paul writes, "So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!"
At Christmas, we celebrate the new thing God does in the Incarnation, God's love taking on flesh in Jesus. But while we marvel at what God does, while we love to remember and retell the stories connected to Christmas, sometimes we seem content simply to believe in and worship God's newness without actually joining it.
I think this can be especially problematic for folks like myself who grew up in the Church. Always surrounded by the elements of the faith, it is sometimes difficult for me to think of that same faith making me over into something new. Faith can seem to be mostly about tradition and status quo, not about the radical newness that Paul says comes to us in Christ.
And my personal difficulty with being made new in Christ has ramifications for the Church's ability to share the faith with others. The newness Paul has found in Jesus is the most exciting thing he has to share with others. But if I do not experience any newness in Christ, what do I have that I can share?
It might be a useful exercise for all Christians to occasionally ask themselves, "What is different about my life because of Jesus?" And I do not think anything having to do with one's status after death is an appropriate answer to this question. Not that this status is of no concern or importance, but it does not speak to the new quality of life that both Paul and Jesus speak of constantly.
As the recent celebrations of Christmas are slipping out of view, what new thing emerges for you out of its message of hope and newness? As we celebrate the fresh slate of a New Year, how does the remarkably new thing God does in Christ continue to work its newness in our lives so that we can share its joy and hope with the world?
I saw an opinion piece in the newspaper the other day discussing the "truth" of the biblical Christmas story. The author, who argued for the historical truth of the Luke nativity story, seemed unaware of the conflict between Matthew and Luke regarding Jesus' origins. (Both writers say Jesus was born in Bethlehem, but Luke has the family come to Bethlehem because of a Roman registration while Matthew assumes they are residents of Bethlehem who end up in Nazareth only because of the threat from Herod.) But of more concern to me, the opinion piece seemed not to appreciate some basic problems inherent in "believing" the Bible.
Such problems are on display in today's reading from John. Jesus' opponents use Scripture to buttress their argument that he cannot be the Messiah. "Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee." Like many modern day arguments that end with, "See, it's right there in the Bible," the religious authorities of Jesus' day find proof positive right there in the Bible.
I've always loved the ordination vows my denomination uses for pastors, elders, and deacons. The first speaks of Jesus as Lord of all and Head of the Church, and the one through whom we know the triune God. The second speaks of the Old and New Testament as "the unique and authoritative witness to Jesus Christ..." These vows call me to follow Jesus as I see him revealed in Scripture. And that is a bit different than simply believing the Bible or using it as a proof text.
My Reformed/Calvinist tradition has also seen idolatry as one of the more fundamental human problems. We are forever substituting things other than God for God. And sometimes Christians do this with the Bible. We can use Scripture to confine God within the limits that we find comfortable. We can use Scripture to create God in our image.
This is a temptation for all of us, regardless of denomination or religious leanings. And there is no easy solution. But fighting this tendency requires a much greater knowledge of the Bible than most of us have. It requires us to listen to the larger witness of Scripture so that we get the best possible picture of Jesus as he is witnessed to there. And it requires a real humility about our own certainties, so that are open to the surprising and amazing ways in which God comes to us. Otherwise, we could find ourselves rejecting the living Christ just like the religious leaders in our gospel today. "Oh, that can't be God. See, it says so right here in the Bible."
The world is slowly returning to “normal” following Christmas. There may yet be a few after-Christmas shopping excursions, but it feels less and less like Christmas to many. Never mind that for the Church, the season of Christmas runs to January 6. Christmas is over.
At least it is for those who look for Christmas to inject a bit of momentary magic into their lives and then fade away. Don’t get me wrong, I love a little Christmas magic as much as the next person, but this seasonal lift is only vaguely connected to Christian faith. The sparse treatment of Christmas in the Bible reminds us that it is but the beginning of a story, the start of a new chapter in the story of God’s love for humanity.
But of course God’s love in nothing new. It is on display in today’s reading from Isaiah. The people of Israel look at their desperate situation and conclude that God has forsaken them. But God responds, “Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”
From its opening, the Bible continually tells us that God will not give up on humanity, that despite human foolishness and waywardness, God reaches out to us, God moves towards us. The newness that Christmas reveals is the demonstration of just how far God will go in this work of reconciliation and healing. Not only will God become fully immersed in the pain and suffering of humanity in Jesus, but God invites us into the work of healing and reconciling.
Christmas begins a story that calls us to trust the promise of Isaiah, that God cannot forget us. And when we can fully trust ourselves to that love, we can become more and more like Jesus, able to live out God’s love for the world, even when it is costly for us. And this new beginning of Christmas is never “over.” It is still making all things new. It is still calling us to become new creations in Christ. And it is still working to move the world toward the coming rule of God.
After all our preparations for Christmas, the gospel reading from Matthew 2:13-23 drags us away from Christmas joy to Jesus in danger and babies killed by Herod. Not what we might want to hear so close to Christmas day, but perhaps a voice calling us to embrace the season of Christmas and join in the new Exodus story that begins here.
On a day when we had a single, less formal worship service, this sermon was "off the cuff," and so there is no accompanying text to post.
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing... Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water.
On Christmas Eve, the Daily Lectionary doesn't say much about Christmas. The gospel does report the birth of John the Baptist, but nothing about a baby Jesus. But the words of Isaiah speak the hope of this night. The barren desert shall break forth in vegetation. The blind shall see and the lame leap and run. Death will turn to life, brokenness will be healed, and none will miss out on the fullness of life.
Tonight, as we remember a Savior's birth, we say that promise has arrived, and we celebrate. Oh, we know that there is still much brokenness. We know there are many who are denied anything close to full life. But if, as Jesus himself insists, the Kingdom of God has drawn near with the Messiah's birth, then history is already being bent toward the end of brokenness and woundedness and death.
As Christians, we do not for a moment deny the darkness of the world, the darkness into which comes the light. We know that this light shines in the darkness, in the pain and brokenness of our world. But we also know that the darkness cannot overcome the light. We know that death cannot overcome the hope born tonight. In Jesus, we see God at work in our world, moving history toward God's end.
And so, even though we see the darkness, we see even more clearly the hope. And so, no darkness can diminish the joy and celebration we experience, as we sing praises for the light, for Hope born this night.
In one more day, church pews will swell as people gather to celebrate the birth of a Savior. It is easy to understand why the promise and hope of Jesus' birth draws lots of folks. The notion of God with us, God for us, is incredibly compelling. And the nativity story from Luke's gospel is so well known - even if you never have been to a church, you've at least heard in from "A Charlie Brown Christmas" - that many people don't feel like it's Christmas without hearing those words once more.
But as wonderful as those Christmas Eve services are, they are not without some difficulties for people of deep faith. As an interesting piece in the New York Times, "A Tough Season for Believers," pointed out, Christmas Eve can be a troublesome reminder of how the Christmas story has become just another piece of seasonal entertainment for many Americans, along with going to the Nutcracker and watching "Miracle on 34th Street."
But some of the trivialization of Christmas may be our own doing. We celebrate the birth of a Savior, but we often have defined salvation so narrowly that it's no wonder it doesn't carry much freight with the culture. For many of us, salvation means little more than getting our tickets validated for heaven. But this spiritualizing of salvation doesn't fit well with the biblical witness or with Jesus' own words. Jesus speaks of a kingdom where God's will is done on earth, a rule that he insists has "drawn near." Matthew's story of Jesus' birth takes pains to connect Jesus' story to that of Moses, to portray Jesus as a new Moses who rescues us.
And today's psalm gives a good picture of what God's rescue and salvation looks like. I love you, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised, so I shall be saved from my enemies. The cords of death encompassed me; the torrents of perdition assailed me; the cords of Sheol entangled me; the snares of death confronted me. In my distress I called upon the LORD; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears. Then the earth reeled and rocked; the foundations also of the mountains trembled and quaked, because he was angry.
The Christmas story is about a God who takes decisive action to save, to bring the world back to its senses, to restore and set right. It is not simply a moment of warmth to cheer us at this time of year. It is the promise that God is active in human history, that God will bend human history to God's desire.
We modern people have become used to relegating God to a narrow, spiritual sphere that does not hold sway over large portions of our lives. But Christmas insists that God comes surprisingly into the day to day. It insists that God's salvation will stop at nothing short of a redeemed and restored world for all.
In yesterday's gospel, Mary appears as a model disciple who willingly answers God's call. But today Mary is a prophet, singing ahead of time (to borrow the title of a Barbara Brown Taylor sermon). Mary is barely even pregnant, but she sings that God "has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts... has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly... has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty." Not that God will do these things but God has done these things.
As Barbara Brown Taylor notes in her sermon, prophets are forever getting their verb tenses wrong. Biblical prophets generally do not predict the future in the mode of psychics or crystal ball gazers. Rather they have a clearer sense of what God is up to, a better feel for the ways the world operates at odds with God's plans, and so a better sense of where that all leads. And since Mary has already experienced God acting through the baby growing in her womb, she speaks of where this will end up as though it has already happened.
As much as many of us love Christmas, I'm not so sure we like where Mary sees things headed. We're fine with the lowly and the hungry being helped out, but not so sure about the powerful and the rich being brought down. We're not as sure about this reign of God that Mary experiences as already present in some way.
I know that I do not like to think that the abundance I enjoy is in any way a factor in others being kept down, in others being poor, powerless, and hungry. I don't like to contemplate the possibility that I need to be brought down a few notches for the things to be set right. And so I'd prefer to celebrate the joy of Christmas without seeing where it leads. I'd rather not sing ahead of time with Mary. I'd rather sing "Glory to God in the highest" along with the angels, visit the manger with the shepherds, say I'm glad that God is at work in the world, and leave it at that. Jesus is simply a lot less trouble if all he ever does is get born and the rise from the dead at Easter.
I've said this before but think it bears repeating. I think the Church lost its bearings when way back in the days of Constantine, it made an alliance with the powerful and the rich that required relocating the reign of God Mary sees to some heavenly bliss after we die. But Mary doesn't say, "In heaven things will be different." She does not speak of us going to a better place. She speaks of God transforming this place by radically reordering things. She says it is happening even now, but apparently God's Spirit must already be at work in us if we are to see it.
If the Catholic Church has venerated Mary, we Protestants have largely ignored her, which is most unfortunate. Not that I want to add "Ave Maria" to our choir's repertoire, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't acknowledge her shining example of discipleship as depicted in Luke's gospel reading today.
Most Christians know the story. The angel Gabriel comes to the young Mary, telling her that she will conceive and give birth to a son named Jesus. The problem with this plan is obvious to Mary, who explains to Gabriel that she is a virgin. But of course this is no problem with God involved. As witnessed by the old and barren Elizabeth who is now pregnant, "nothing will be impossible with God."
Now I assume that Mary enters into this a bit like all parents. No prospective parent fully realizes what will be required of her once the baby comes, once the terrible twos arrive, once the child becomes a teenager, and so on. But I have to think that Mary knows this will not be easy. Saying "Yes" to God will leave her pregnant before she's married, and, as she will learn shortly after Jesus is born, "a sword will pierce (her) own soul too." But still Mary says, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."
Since nothing is impossible for God, things proceed as Gabriel has said. But what if Mary had said, "No" instead? The story doesn't really consider that option, but still it seems that God's impossibility requires Mary's "Yes," just as it will continue to require a "Yes" from those Jesus calls to follow him. I've never fully understood why God works this way, but God's plans, God's future, God's hope for a new day, all seem to require a "Yes" from people. And that "Yes" almost always gets those people mixed up in all sorts of difficulties.
Over the centuries, Christians have sentimentalized the Christmas story, turned it into something all sweet and lovely. But Mary's "Yes" turns her life upside down, and it will include watching her own son die horribly on a cross. She can't possibly know all that when she speaks with Gabriel, but she seems to know her Scripture, and so she knows that whenever you say, "God, I'm your servant; do with me as you see fit," life is about to get messy.
And in the end, maybe this is why it is more palatable for Catholics to venerate Mary and for Protestants to regard her as little more than a teenage baby incubator. Neither requires us to take seriously what it means to say "Yes" to God.
It happens over and over and over in the Bible. God's newness springs from the most surprising places, from places that had been given up for dead. The story goes all the way back to Abraham and Sarah, when God forms a covenant people from an old, childless couple. The story echoes in the birth of Samuel to Hannah, in the return of exiles from Babylon, and in the beginning of Luke's story of Jesus.
Luke, the source for our Christmas nativities, begins his story with Elizabeth and Zechariah who "had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years." It is another unlikely place to begin a story of hope and newness, with an elderly couple who have no children. But once again, this is precisely where God starts.
In ancient times, barrenness was thought to be a curse from God. Some texts speak of "God closing her womb." And so in stories such as this one, God's newness not only comes from what appears dead, but from what is presumed to be cursed.
As we draw near to Christmas, congregations such as mine are planning their biggest extravaganzas of the year. We will go all out to celebrate the birth of a Savior. In one sense the is quite appropriate, but in another sense it mirrors our culture's notion that anything important and worth notice is big and vibrant and filled with activity.
Amidst all the Christmas frenzy, both inside and outside the Church, I wonder where, in a place that seems lifeless and hopeless, God is at work creating something new. I wonder where we should turn our gaze so that we might see where God's newness is being born from what seemed to be dead.
Joseph was a "righteous man," a law-abiding, do-what-is-right, upstanding citizen, play-by-the-rules sort of guy. Yet for God's plans to move forward, he must break the rules and say "Yes" to a dream.
Joseph was a “righteous man.” It says so right there in our gospel reading this morning. Of course I’m not sure that very many of us have a real clear image of what a righteous man looks like. After all, when was the last time you heard anyone called a righteous man or a righteous woman? Not a term that get bandied around in everyday conversation.
So then, who in our world looks like Joseph? Who would our gospel writer, if he were alive today, say is righteous?
I thought about that question for a while when I was working on this sermon, trying to come up with something comparable for our day. Occasionally when a person has died and I’m talking with people about a funeral, someone will say, “He was a good Christian fellow” or “a good Christian woman.” That might be a candidate, except that I have learned over the years that this label gets applied to anyone who ever belonged to a church and isn’t a registered sex offender.
There are other possibilities, though: “a pillar of the community.” We hear of people who have “great integrity and morals.” There are those who always “do the right thing.” There are “good citizens” and there are good sports who always “play by the rules.”
I suppose that Joseph is all this and more. After all, near the end of Matthew’s gospel, when Jesus speaks of those who unwittingly fed him when he was hungry or visited him in prison when they did it to “the least of these,” he calls them “righteous.”
And so Joseph is the sort of fellow who always goes above and beyond, who returns the bag of money that falls from the armored truck, who pays the sales tax on the television he bought online, who always opens his wallet for the needy person who approaches him on the sidewalk, and gives at least 10% of his income to the local church.
Yet this Joseph is all set to undermine God’s plans when we first meet him. He’s not doing it out of meanness or spite, but nonetheless, he is about to make the mother of Jesus a single mom in a world that offered no protections for such mothers or their children, in a world where only prostitutes were expected to find themselves alone with a child.
Joseph is a good and decent guy, a pillar of the community who always does the right thing, and so he doesn’t want to hurt Mary. But there are rules, and the law is clear. He will try to spare her and “dismiss her quietly.” But of course people will still find out. People will still talk. But what else can Joseph do? Rules are rules.
If you are a regular reader of the letters to the editor, you may have noticed the string of letters in the Columbus Dispatch sparked by Upper Arlington Lutheran pulling out of their denomination over objections to ordaining gays and lesbians. In the usual way such letters go, someone spoke against what UALC did, prompting someone to defend them, which prompted someone to respond to that letter, and so on.
None of the writers seemed to be official spokespersons for the church, so keep that in mind, but I was quite struck by a line in one the letters defending the decision to leave the denomination. The writer argued that they had no choice. They had to follow the rules. In fact, said the letter writer, God is bound by those rules, too. “God cannot trump his truth with his love. He will not.”
I’m always a little surprised at the way some Christians think God’s love is confined within whatever boundaries they imagine for it. Often these boundaries are lifted from the Bible, but the trouble is; there are often other passages in the Bible that show God crossing that very same boundary. Jesus had no trouble routinely crossing religious boundaries that the church authorities of his day said were absolute. Whether it was Sabbath keeping or not touching people who were “unclean,” both straight from the Bible, Jesus would ignore such rules if doing so allowed him to help someone, heal someone, or show God’s love.
And in our gospel verses this morning, Joseph finds himself in a position where embracing God’s plan means ignoring the rules and crossing religious boundaries. Now I suppose we could get technical and say taking Mary as his wife only seems to be against the rules. She isn’t pregnant because she cheated on Joseph; at least that’s what Joseph dreams.
How many of you would make the sort of decision Joseph did on the basis of a dream? “Joseph, don’t worry about Mary already being pregnant. God did it. Go ahead and take her as your wife, and claim the child and raise him as your own.”
If I had such a dream, I can just imagine my thought process the next day. “Well in my dream, the angel said this was all part of God’s plan, so maybe I wouldn’t actually be breaking the Law. But if God really wanted me to adopt this baby, couldn’t God have told me first, let us get married, and then get Mary pregnant?”
I don’t know about you, but I think it highly likely I could talk myself out of doing what the dream said. And if I was as straight an arrow as Joseph? A dream – God’s Law… God’s Law – a dream (weighing the two in my hands as though scales).
Today is the last Sunday in Advent. Finally we get to hear about a pregnant Mary and the baby Jesus. We finally get to see God’s plan take shape. But many of us have been doing Christmas for so long that there isn’t much surprise left in it. For us, Christmas isn’t about rule breaking and crossing religious boundaries. It isn’t about being surprised at the lengths God will go to save and restore, the risks God will take to draw us into the divine embrace.
But from beginning to end, the story of Jesus defies convention, breaks rules, upsets the status quo, and crosses cherished religious boundaries. It is quite remarkable. And perhaps even more remarkable, the whole plan depends on others joining God in this surprising, boundary-crossing enterprise. Mary must say “Yes.” Joseph must disregard the rules and “Yes” to a dream. Fishermen must drop their nets and say, “Yes” to Jesus’ call. And we must say a “Yes” of our own.
As we celebrate another Christmas, as we bask in the warmth of God’s love become flesh in Jesus, we also hear once more the promise of God’s coming new day, a day that brings good news to the poor, justice, and peace. We encounter this strange Messiah who regularly crosses boundaries, upsets religious sensibilities, breaks the rules, and upends the status quo, all to point to God’s new day, God’s coming rule.
And in the wisdom of God, this coming Kingdom requires us to do our part. It requires more than right beliefs, more than following the rules, more than being moral. It requires our “Yes.” It demands a “Yes” that trusts divine dreams and visions, and trusts that God’s love is the most powerful thing in all creation. It demands a “Yes” that would risk anything, even life itself, to be a part of the new thing God is doing.
Joseph was a righteous, law-abiding man, and rules are rules. And yet, When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. I grew up "in the country,"and we occasionally would thin out some of the heavily wooded areas near our house. Once cut down, some types of trees were done. The stump and roots begin the slow process of rotting away. But others types will put out shoots from the trunk. I have no idea if such shoots would ever grow into a full fledged tree, but that is the promise Isaiah makes regarding the nation of Israel, a nation that has become a shell of its former self.
We just finished packing Community Christmas Packages at my congregation. It is truly a community effort. Neighbors and people from other congregations, service groups, stores and local schools all contribute. This year we packed almost 400 boxes full of food, a grocery store gift certificate, and presents for each child in any family receiving a box, about a 1000 presents in all.
For us this is a huge logistical operation. Collecting all the food and gifts, wrapping presents, filling all the boxes, and organizing routes to deliver all the boxes tomorrow takes a lot of planning and work. But none of us involved expect it to end hunger or poverty in the Columbus area, or even to make a big dent. So why do it?
Our world worries a lot about goals and objectives. In long range planning you are supposed to set goals that are difficult enough to challenge you, but not so difficult so as to discourage you. And so no church congregation, no matter how big or with how many resources, would ever set out to end hunger. But that is not our job. Our job is to show signs of God's coming reign, to show hints of a day when no one is hungry and no one does without, and to call others to join in the move toward that day.
We are called to be shoots and sprouts, signs of a life that God promises will one day be a great tree. And so we are not discouraged when our efforts alone don't produce the fulfillment of that day.
It is easy to look at the world and only see the dead stumps. But we are called to point out the shoots and sprouts, to be the shoots and sprouts, trusting that in God's time, the earth will bloom in peace and abundance and life for all.
We're only one week away from Christmas Eve, and so you'd think the Daily Lectionary would get with the program and have readings that are a bit more seasonal. Who cares about the Assyrians. Let's hear about something that promises a Messiah.
The Lectionary seems uninterested in our Christmas fervor, but then again the Bible seems similarly uninterested. The "Christmas Story" barely makes it onto the pages of Scripture. But we have loaded up Christmas with all sorts of freight and expectations. For retailers, Christmas determines whether or not it will be a profitable year. For students, Christmas provides an extended break from school. For many in the Northern hemisphere, Christmas is supposed to inject a bit of joy and brightness into an otherwise dreary time of year. For others, Christmas brings the hope of family get-togethers and Norman Rockwell moments.
I don't suppose there is anything inherently wrong with any of these expectations, but for the most part, none of them are related to Jesus and his message. And because Christmas has taken on so many layers of meaning for so many different people, it is easy to invoke Christmas in all sorts of cultural fights. People get upset over "Happy Holidays" in place of "Merry Christmas" as though the birth of Jesus is primarily about seasonal decorations and shopping malls. Currently one Republican legislator is objecting to a possible session of Congress from December 26-30 as an "insult" to Christmas.
Sometimes I think the Pilgrims and Puritans got it right when they decided to ban Christmas. Well into the 1800s, there was a law in Massachusetts that forbid celebrating Christmas. Taking a day off for Christmas, except on a Sunday, was illegal. The Pilgrims decided that Jesus' birth should not be connected to holiday revelry and people ceasing from their productive labors to join in that revelry.
Too often, Christmas becomes the worst sort of religious veneer in America. We can feel self righteous about insisting people "keep Christ in Christmas" without actually feeling the need to do much that Jesus commands.
On his show last night, Stephen Colbert handled this topic with much more flair than I can. I think that this blog post might have been greatly improved if I simply said, "Nothing to say, but watch this." So hear it is. And if you are unfamiliar with Colbert, he is a real person, but his persona is a comedic character who is a parody of conservative talk show host Bill O'Reilly. He's a bit over the top and sometimes crass. But even if you're not a fan, this is well worth the watch.
During the Advent and Christmas seasons, we often hear the voices of the prophets. "For unto us a child is born... Behold the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel... The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light." Many Christians relish the promises of a Messiah found in the prophets, and yet many Christians seem unaware that these same prophets cry out for social justice.
Only a few verses from "the people who walked in darkness" we hear, "Ah, you who make iniquitous decrees, who write oppressive statutes, to turn aside the needy from justice and to rob the poor of my people of their right, that widows may be your spoil, and that you may make the orphans your prey!" The prophets often rail against the rich and the powerful, against those who insure that the laws and the policies of the land favor them, who worry more about their own profits than about the poor.
And Jesus aligns himself with these prophets, proclaiming "good news to the poor" and warning those with wealth that their many possessions are a curse rather than a blessing, that it is harder for a camel to pass through an needle's eye than for a wealthy person to enter into the kingdom.
On some level, Christians seem to know that the coming of a Messiah calls us to care for the poor. The outpouring of charity around Christmas, by people in and out of the Church, is quite impressive. Yet I fear that it is only a token of the life the prophets and Jesus call us to live.
We had an interesting discussion the other day in a Bible study about the distinction between service and servanthood. The first are things we occasionally do while the second is a pose, a way of life. When Jesus washes his disciples' feet on the night of his arrest, it is an act of service, but more importantly, it is the pose of a slave or servant. Jesus does something not done by dinner hosts but done only by slaves and servants. And he says that this is an example for us to follow. We are to take the pose of servants and slaves.
Amidst all the hoopla of Christmas, it is easy to forget that Jesus comes to call us to a new way of life. This is the true gift of Christmas, even though we often see the call to discipleship like a child who got socks for Christmas. It seems to us an unwelcome burden. But Jesus insists, "Those who lose their life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will save it." Jesus offers the gift of true and abundant life to those who would walk in his ways, the ways of servanthood, self-giving, and social justice that both he and the prophets proclaim.
The true gift Jesus offers us at Christmas, and every other day of the year, is the hardest gift for many of us to receive. We struggle to believe that this gift could bring us happiness and fulfillment because we have believed the false gospel we hear every day, that happiness comes from having more - more and more things, more and more power, more and more prestige. We struggle to trust Jesus when he tells us that less is really more, that crosses and self-denial are to be embraced. But still Jesus comes to us, and still he offers us new life.
The Daily Lectionary would have great difficulty if it tried to pick readings for Advent that all pointed toward Christmas. Especially when it comes to the gospels, there just isn't that much material. Neither Mark nor John bother to tell of Jesus' birth. Mark's opening verses, today's gospel, begin abruptly with, The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. As it is written in the prophet Isaiah, "See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,'" John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
In Mark, the beginning of the good news is John who baptizes people and calls them to repentance. The word repent has taken on connotations of conversion and swearing off one's previous life, but the word means more that confessing one's sin. It is about turning, about moving in a direction appropriate to the new day that comes in Jesus. Preparing is about starting to live now by the ways of God's coming rule.
Over the past six months, I have come to rely on Father Richard Rohr's daily meditations to get my day off to a good start. In his meditation this morning, Rohr speaks of our need for a wisdom that can "name the darkness as darkness and the Light as light," our need to reject a pie-in-the-sky attitude that doesn't see the darkness, but without allowing our view of the darkness to obscure the "more foundational Light." Between these two poles lies true Christian wisdom that lets us "wait and work with hope inside of the darkness—while never doubting the Light that God always is—and that we are too (Matthew 5:14). That is the narrow birth canal of God into the world—through the darkness and into an ever greater Light." (Click to read Rohr's meditation.)
I think John's call of repentance invites us to do something very similar. It calls us to turn away from the darkness in the world, to work against that darkness in the certainty and hope of the light that overcomes the darkness. It is about a willingness to both name the darkness and to live in ways that defy its power. This sort of repentance prepares for God's rule by refusing to simply go along with the "ways of the world," by living instead by the ways of God's coming day, a way of life clearly shown in the life of Jesus.
The beginning of good news is to get ready for something other than how things are. It is to see the darkness in all its ugliness, but to reject its power and live at odds with it. This is the hopeful realism* of our new life in Christ, a realism that clearly sees the world's darkness, but lives and works with confidence that the Light still shines in the darkness, and Light will triumph over darkness.
*I borrowed this term from Doug Ottati's book of the same name.
For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
I don't know about you, but when I hear these verses from Isaiah, I think of Advent and of Christmas. What else would I think about? But there is near universal agreement among Old Testament scholars that Isaiah is not speaking of some far-off, future Messiah. More than likely, these verses speak of King Hezekiah, a new king whose reign the prophet expects to bring good days for Israel, a hope Hezekiah largely fulfills. After Hezekiah's time, people in Israel begin to hear these words as still having weight, still containing a promised ideal ruler who would come some day. This promise was active in the time Jesus appeared, and so naturally his followers understood him to be its fulfillment.
As a Christian, I share this belief of Jesus as prophecy fulfilled, but I also think it a good idea to recall the original, very political sense of the prophecy. The prophet spoke of God's Anointed One taking the throne and bringing righteousness and justice to the land. This new king would end oppression from foreign empires, and would bring a time of peace and flowering in Israel.
It seems to me that if some in Jesus' day were disappointed when he did not take up arms and defeat the Romans, many in our day seem to have lost any sense of Jesus as a political Messiah. Jesus does not conquer with traditional weapons, but he speaks of God's will being done on earth, he says the kingdom of God has come near, and he speaks of a great reordering in the society with the poor and outcast being lifted up while the rich and powerful are pulled down.
And so if people 2000 years ago sometimes wanted to overly politicize Jesus, we often want to overly spiritualize him. We want to "believe in" Jesus without necessarily embracing the Kingdom, the rule of God that he says he brings. We imagine a Jesus who is no threat to our political system or our way of life, as though we were living in the Kingdom.
Perhaps one of the reasons we want Advent and Christmas to be about baby Jesus in the manger is that a baby Jesus is no threat. A babe in a manger cannot shout, "Blessed are you who are poor... But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation."
Jesus did not get arrested and put to death simply because he offered up a different take on private, personal religion. He got himself killed because people in power, both religious and political power, viewed him as a threat. And in a season when we so often say, "Come, Lord Jesus," I can't help but wonder who Jesus would threaten if he walked our streets again.
