Christmas Eve 2012

Listen to this sermon HERE.

I took drivers ed in Houston, TX when I was 15.  My instructor was less-than-stellar.  Or maybe it was me, who was less-than-stellar as a student.  My friend Greg and I were taking the course together, and we were more interested in the girls in our class than we were about the text book and rules of the road.  Whatever it was that prompted our instructor to speak of ultimate things, I’ll never forget when did:  Frustrated with me, I’ll never forget when he said: “Man, if you don’t learn nothin’ else in my class, learn this: watch out for big trucks.  They’re bigger than you, and they’re going to do whatever the hell they wanna do.” 

"Watch out for big trucks" -- best driving lesson I ever had.  Sometimes it’s good to have a simple but good word, even if it’s prompted by some less-than-stellar behavior.  Nothing fancy; short and to the point.  Something you’ll never forget.

Kelly Fryer tells a similar story in her book Reclaiming the “L” Word: Renewing the Church from its Lutheran Core.  She recalls her days in seminary, when she had to attend a large class where the professor was anything but short and to the point.  One particular day he was droning on and on about “some dead theologian”, as she says.   Fryer was tired and uninterested, and she notes that she wasn’t the only one.  In fact, almost every other classmate was drifting off or doodling in their margins or drooling on their desks.  Ever had a class like that?  Brutal. 

The professor, while boring, wasn’t blind.  Suddenly, as she tells it, he slams shut his notebook.  “He wasn’t going to waste another breath on [them].”  He marched over to the chalk board and draws a giant arrow on the board.  Angrily he pointed to the arrow:  “If you understand that, you understand everything you need to know about what it means to be a Christian!”  Then he walked out of the classroom and slams the door. 

The class just sat there, stunned.  Even scared.  Naturally our narrator assumed the professor was telling them that they were all going to hell, for not being better and more faithful students. 

But as she learned, she couldn’t be farther from the truth.  For when the professor came back to class the next Monday—and you can bet everyone was ready to pay better attention, coffee in hand—he drew the down arrow on the board again, only this time he explained what it meant: “God always comes down, he said, God always, always, always comes down.  There is never anything we can do to turn that arrow around and go UP to God.  God always comes down.  God came down in Jesus.  And still comes down in Jesus, through the bread and the cup and the fellowship of believers. God ALWAYS comes down.”

I can almost hear my old drivers ed teacher’s voice: “Man, if you don’t learn nothin’ in my class, learn this: God always comes down.”

Sometimes it’s good to have a simple but good word, even if it’s prompted by some less-than-stellar behavior.

Perhaps we, if we're hones, have been at times "less-than-stellar" this year, a little more naughty than nice.  Doesn’t change the fact that God comes down to us.  That’s the bottom line this Christmas Eve.  God comes to dwell with you this holy night…and always.

You matter to God that much.  Even you.  God loves you that much.  And there’s nothing you can do about that.

Christ was born in Bethlehem, yes.  And Christ is born today in our midst – wasn’t just while Quirinius was Governor of Syria.  It’s also when Jerry Brown was Governor California. 

Christ is born today in our midst – wasn’t just when shepherds of old were watching their flocks, and perhaps even some dear sheep are lost in the process.  It’s also when teachers and parents are doing their best to watch after their children – and some dear ones are lost.  Even with all the violence and horror of our times, and even with our shortcomings and sinfulness, God still comes down.

Christ is born today in our midst – wasn’t just the angels of old who sang a song that countered the violence and corrupt power of Rome, “Peace on earth, good will to all.”  It’s also we, the angels of new, forgiven, blessed and sent, who sing a similar song tonight, even with evidence to the contrary, God still comes down, and you are part of the angelic chorus, sweetly singing o’er the plain: “Silent night, holy night, Christ the Savior is born.”

We proclaim together to this frightened world that God always comes down.  Draw this down arrow with your lives, you heavenly angels!   Let us live like Christ has moved into our neighborhood.

God comes down…to dwell in the midst of our darkness.  To suffer with us in our pain, grief, loneliness and fear.  (Some said that God wasn't present with those children in Connecticut that terrible day.  That's wrong.  God was with them.  And God weeps now with their families.  God's power is not made in our image of power.  God chooses to be born in a manger, among the poor.)  Jesus didn’t arrive in an armored motorcade.  He arrived as vulnerable as a homeless man in downtown San Diego.  Born to a mother as insignificant as a hungry teenager in Tijuana.

Jesus Christ slips into our world, by the cover of night, and transforms it with love and forgiveness, from the inside out.  Christ comes down and is born in you and me, as we are being daily forgiven and renewed in the waters of baptism, weekly fed in bread of wine of his holy supper.  God comes down to save us, from sin and from fear, so that we can offer ourselves as little lights of hope for this dark world. 

“Man, if you don’t learn nothin’ else in this sermon, learn this: God comes down, and so we are lifted up.  All of us.”  Amen. 

[pause]

Rarely do we sing a less-familiar hymn on Christmas Eve, but we’re going to right now.  Hymn 298, “The Bells of Christmas”, is actually not new, it’s older than anyone here.  It was written by Danish composer Nikolai Gruntvig, and he wrote at a time when rationalism was pushing the church toward irrelevance.  Its title might make it sound simplistic but as we sing, pay attention to the rest of the words for they are a profound proclamation of God’s incarnation, God’s coming down, in Jesus Christ… 

December 23 -- Fourth Sunday of Advent

Grace to you and peace, over and against all that is not peaceful in our world and our lives, grace to you and peace from God who slips into our world in peace.

As I was preparing for today, I came across this picture…

“I want to be mommy, no I want to be mommy.  OK, two mommies.”

The tale of 2 mommies, the meeting, Elizabeth and Mary – to share the good news: BABIES!  To share excitement.  Perhaps to share their concerns and their fears.  And to offer their praises to God. 

I’ll think of Katie and Lizzy, when I think of this story.  I also often think of two dear friends of ours from seminary: Annie and Sara.  I want to tell you a little about them…

My experience and observation of women relating to one another had been largely and very broadly about comparing and competing.  Competing for looks, competing for status, competing for men, competing for the things that make a woman successful.  And rather than building one another up, I had observed women often tearing one another down…usually subtly, or covertly, little comments under their breath to me or to others.  Men certainly do this too, of course, but I want to tell you about Sara and Annie, on this day as we reflect on Mary and Elizabeth of old.  Sara and Annie, two women, who I observed for 4 years, to be dear, dear friends.  And when they were apart for a time it was so joyous for me to see them reunite, that’s the closest picture I have to Mary and Elizabeth.  Maybe you have some friends like this too.  I sensed an unspoken understanding between Sara and Annie—like two sisters who genuinely get along and get each other.  They helped each other through some challenging times.  I always admired their relationship, and still do—it’s just a joy to watch.  They didn’t go around proclaiming their dear friendship to everyone.  They didn’t give each other matching jewelry, that I know of.  I probably wouldn’t even say they were best friends.  There was a kind of gracious space between them.  They both have families, they have lives apart from each other.  Now they’re both pastors and have to travel great distances to see each other.  And now they both have children.  But when they were together, you couldn’t help but notice a genuine sweetness between them, a joy just to watch.  Something I wish we all had—a deep joy they had, just in being in one another’s presence.  I think of them today.

We’ve got these beautiful angels this year at SVLC.  Angels that you’ve brought, on the tree, angels that our children and resident artists have made, hanging in the narthex. 

It’s good to reflect on the angels this time of year.  Tomorrow night, we’ll hear the story of the “angels of the sky” who meet the shepherds.  But this morning (amid the stress/stink) lets remember that perhaps the most bodily, the most earthy, and regular experience of angels we can have, is in the meeting of two friends, in the sharing of hopes, fears and joys.  Watch for angels these days, “angels of the ground”, not just “angels of the sky”

I don’t think we give the dear friends of this world enough credit sometimes.  Maybe we do, maybe we give ‘em gifts, and tell them how much we love them, but today let’s go all the way…and give our dear friends “angel cred”!  Let’s put them on the level and status of angels, for surely the love that they share gives them halo and wings.  Let’s celebrate the angels too, this season.  Annie and Sara, Lizzy and Katie, Mary and Elizabeth: all angels.

And here’s the thing about angels:  They’re not just a joy to watch from a distance.  Angels speak out, they sing out.  That is, angels don’t waver.  There’s our w-word for today: we waver. They know where they stand; their love is genuine and bold, gracious and strong.  And Mary demonstrates that with her angelic song – genuine, bold and unwavering.

In this world, we can waver, we can find ourselves on the fence, caught between the pulls of “consumption and power and money and fame and status and competition and cutting one another down and violence and fear and dog-eat-dog and buy, buy, buy” on one side—and the alternate, counter-cultural vision offered in the birth of Christ into humble, smelly conditions...the farthest thing from the worlds images of success and glory—oh how we can waver, how we can get lost, how we can get caught in it or sucked up by it. 

But the angels don’t waver.  Mary boldly proclaims the latter vision in her song.  “My soul proclaims your greatness O God, not the world’s greatness.  You lift up the lowly and cast down the mighty.  You feed the hungry.  Clothe the oppressed.” 

The beautiful, angelic, non-wavering song of Mary must not be sentimentalized – sometimes I get upset that we sing it and turn it into a gentle melody…because it is so political.  It turns the world on its head!..because it advocates for the poor.  Oh, may we have the non-wavering of Angel Mary!  Mary’s song is about how God longs for us to live together.  The poor shall be lifted up, the rich shall be brought down and “all flesh shall see it together” from a level plain.  Just trying to imagine that, all I see at first is violence, argument, vitriol – what do you mean the hard-working rich shall be brought down, and the poor slackers lifted up?  The corrupt rich and the oppressed poor...

But Mary’s beautiful song, isn’t political in that way.  It’s political in the way that two dear friends reunite.  Ever imagined two friends coming back together as political?  (The word political, from polis, Latin for city,  connoting “how shall we live together”)  It’s “how shall we live together” in the way that two dear friends come together.  The rich and the poor coming together like Annie and Sara!  Black and the white ending all strife and dealing compassionately with one another.  That’s Mary’s vision.  Male and female, or female and female, reuniting like Annie and Sara.  The slave and the free, the Democrat and the Republican, the easterner and the westerner, the Muslim and the Christian, the animal and the human.  Mary’s political song is a song of reunification under God, a peaceful and joyous coming together, as tender and sweet as Annie and Sara, Mary and Elizabeth.  And the world is turned on its head in love.  That’s what the angels mean – “peace on earth, goodwill to all!”  This is God come down to be with us!  This is Christmas.  Peace, joy, angels, friends, forgiveness.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.  

December 16 -- Third Sunday of Advent

The crowds asked him, “What then should we do?”

Sisters and brothers in Christ, in light of the violence and tragedy on Friday in Connecticut, we may find ourselves asking a similar question. 

“What then should we do?”  I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling pretty numb and a little paralyzed, since I started reading those headlines and watching the stories.  My stomach was kind of upset all day yesterday.  I don’t know about you but I can relate to these crowds in our gospel today wandering out to John in the wilderness, searching for answers, just kind of standing there – numb, paralyzed – with no idea what to do.

We are looking for a word, too:  a word of hope, a word of truth, a word of comfort and a word of peace.

What can the prophets of old say to us this late day?

Two weeks ago, we introduced this simple Advent theme here at SVLC: “breathe”.  And by that we mean be mindful of your breathing.  In the midst of all the hectic-ness this season, breathe.  And we’ve countered this invitation to breathe more intentionally with a different W-word each Sunday.  First week-WANT.  Last week-WEARY.  And this week-WORRY.  We worry.  Boy, ain’t that the truth, after Friday? 

We had the preschool staff Christmas party at our house last night, and one of the staff members was telling me that she got a call here at the school from a parent, who didn’t really even know why she was calling.  She was just worried, thinking about her baby.  And that’s what she said.  I imagine there were calls like that happening all over the country.  I can certainly relate.  All we want to do is reach out and connect, in the midst of unspeakable horrors.

As we hold one another, in shock and fear, as we do our best to breathe, through all this chaos and violence and running around, we also long to hear a good word, a gospel word.

We hear a lot of words, but what does the prophet say, what does the church say, what does God say?

“Trust in God.  Live faithfully.  Our salvation draws near.”

Even when the world comes crashing down around us (did you feel the earth quake this week?), even when the earth shakes and the mountains crumble, even when our schools…and shopping malls and movie theatres and homes are no longer safe, even when we can worry ourselves to the point of paralyzation and numbness, “Get up, trust in God, and live faithfully.  Our salvation draws near,” cries the prophet in the wilderness.

 “What then are we to do?” the crowd says.  Breathe – inhale, “trust in God,” exhale “live faithfully”, when the world comes crashing down around us.  And today, John the Baptist helps us unpack what “live faithfully” means. 

It means share.  If you have two coats, give one to someone who doesn’t.  That’s the grand answer!

If you have enough food, give some to someone who doesn’t.  That’s the prophet’s answer, as we wait for our salvation to draw near, as we watch our world come crashing down.  Share.  If you have access to clean water or good education or medical care or mental health professionals, share that with someone who doesn’t, John the Baptist says.  In other words, don’t be paralyzed by your fear or your sorrow, or your own stuff.  Get up, get out there, breathe and keep on sharing with those around you who are hurting too. 

Sometimes we can get so wrapped up, bogged down, in our own suffering that we can so easily forget that those around us might be suffering too, sometimes even worse!  We are being radically reminded of that right now, as we watch and pray and send our condolences to these poor families who mourn the loss of their 6 and 7 year olds this week.  But may our sorrow and our compassion and our prayers move us to act. 

May God help us live more faithfully, that is, may God help us to share and act in ways that make for peace.  May God help us reach out.  Notice the quiet ones, notice the sick ones, notice the lonely ones.  What action can we take as a community of faith?  What can we do for our children?

And God calls us individually this day.  Everyone is coming out to see John the Baptizer.  Even tax collectors and soldiers.  And to all of them, John says essentially, do what you do, but do it well.  Do it for the good of the community, of the whole, do it for the good of the planet, for the good of the children.  Don’t rip people off, even if you can get away with it.  Don’t cheat them, or intimidate them with your power, don’t speak ill of others.  The prophet really brings it today… 

And in this instructive finger-wagging from John, which meets us right where we are today, we also hear a promise.  That the one who is to come, Jesus the Christ, the humble shepherd king, will baptize us with the Holy Spirit and fire. 

Sisters and brothers in Christ, that’s what’s already happened to us.  We have been baptized with the fire of Christ, with the love of the Holy Spirit, and so all these challenges—to share, to love others, to care for friends and enemies alike, to breathe—all these challenges that John puts before us, are possible, on account of Christ.  We are able to act of peace, because of Christ who comes to grant us that peace.  Peace is our salvation, and it’s offered to us freely.  We can take it or leave it, but this baby in a manger, that we celebrate this season, offers us peace, that the world cannot give.  This baby in a manger, give us the power, the strength and the trust, to reach out to others.  In this manger that we approach in the next two weeks, lies the hope of the world.  A different kind of hope, a different kind of power, a love and a grace that surpasses our understanding, but a love and a grace in which we can rest eternally.  And that eternal peace starts today anew as we gather around the altar, as we hold hands and sing, as we continue to work and live and act and share in our daily lives. 

May the peace of Christ, dwell in you richly, as you are being rooted and grounded in the love of the one who comes to be among us this day and forever more.  AMEN. 

Prayer of Intercession

For communities and schools affected by violence, especially Sandy Hook Elementary School. As they remember and as they grieve, hear their cries and wipe away their tears. Assure them of your promised peace in the midst of suffering. Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

December 9 -- Second Sunday of Advent

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Well, don’t judge me (and it’s going to be hard not to), but I’ve gotten into a certain television show for about the last month.  Late at night after the work day is over, the kids are in bed, and Heather is happily watching a singing competition show or her latest favorite crime drama or comedy, I have been known to creep back to our bedroom and turn off all the lights and watch a horror series from AMC called The Walking Dead.

It’s a show about zombies, dead people who stumble around hissing and grunting, and just rip into and swarm whatever living flesh they can find.  Once a person’s been bitten by a “walker”, as they call them, then they get sick and die in a matter of days, and just a minute or so after death, they come back themselves as a “walker”.  So the whole show begins after this pandemic has taken over the city of Atlanta, and we presume the entire globe.  And the basic premise is that a small band of humans are just trying to survive.  I would classify this show as an apocalyptic zombie action thriller.

And I never would have guessed that I’d take an interest in this, but I’m kind of hooked right now (thanks to my brother Tim, who kept telling me to check it out).  And like anybody who watches a show like this, we have to always make our justification: It’s not about zombies and violence so much as it’s about the relationships and the “deeper” questions that the show explores.  Yeah, well.  But you know how when you watch the same show, or read the same book over a longer period of time, then many other things in life remind you of whatever you’re reading or watching?  I was out at the shopping mall the other day, and just looking around at the people...

…And nobody was looking back at me.  I mean, everyone, and I noticed this in myself too, we were all just walking and looking past each other, practically hissing and grunting,  ripping into whatever “deals” are available, almost senselessly handing over our attention and our money for stuff, ignorant of where or who others are, really just focused on ourselves and maybe on our closest friends and families.  I know those are some pretty morbid thoughts to have during this festive time of year, but I couldn’t help it after watching this show:

Today we reflect on our weariness, and I would go so far as to say that if we’re not careful, as busy and as consumeristic and self-centered as we can be, if we’re not careful, we human beings can almost be a certain kind of walking dead, stumbling through this world, empty, directionless, void of passion and conviction, just ready to devour whatever happens to come before us.  And I’m right in there, at times...it’s almost like we’re walking dead, even while we’re alive.

Eyes glued to a screen perhaps.  Hearts set on a thing.  Not seeing, not breathing (trust in God, living faithfully).  Maybe even in church we can drone on with little life, just doing what we always do, or desperately trying to find something new in order to give us a quick thrill.  I remember reflecting on the Nicene Creed or the Apostle’s Creed, as a “droning on” with little passion or conviction.  These are the words that shape us as a community of faith, down through the centuries, but how we can just read it like zombies.

In this and so many ways, it can be like the life has been sucked out of us.

And maybe it’s just ‘cause we’re tired.  It’s not ill-intentioned.  We’re good people, but we get so tired, and then we get care-less and stop seeing others.  How weary we can be!

Weary of fighting, weary of working, weary of crying, weary of searching, weary of worrying, weary of watching, weary of hurting, weary of walking this path.  How weary we can be.

But today, a prophet’s voice cries out in the wilderness.  I’d suggest that we imagine replacing wilderness for weariness.  A voice cries out in our weariness, for weariness is a certain wilderness:  “Prepare the way of the Lord!  In the midst of our overwhelming fatigue, comes a cry: “Make his paths straight.” …in other words, instead of wandering aimlessly through what can sometimes (or many times) be a parched life, let us orient our direction to God’s direction!  Let Christ be our compass.  “Every valley shall be filled, every mountain and hill shall be made low.”  That is to say, when we’re feeling low and in the dumps, God, through Christ Jesus, born in the dumps, in a lowly manger, will lift us up, will fill us in.  And when we’re feeling on top of the world – tall as mountain, confident as a top gun pilot, strong as a lineman, wealthy as Donald Trump, un-needing of God, because we’re pretty much the next best thing…when we’re up there, then the prophet cries, we will be leveled.  Every mountain and hill shall be brought down.  Because when you’re up there, you can’t see everyone else.  And there’s a certain walking dead quality to that life as well.  Un-caring, un-noticing, un-concerned, un-interested.  But the prophet cries out:  the low shall be lifted up, the haughty shall be brought down, and ALL flesh shall see it together!  The salvation of our God.  All flesh shall see the salvation of our God! 

Sisters and brothers in Christ, we are brought back to life in the advent of our God.  We are raised from walking dead to walking in Christ!  We are humbled to see all flesh together in need!  We are filled with Christ this day, filled to brim with love and forgiveness and grace.  We are with God.  God is with us, this day, in the malls, in front of the tv screens, and computer screens, in our work, in our play, in our sleep, along the way, God is with us, and so we awake, to see in all flesh, with all flesh, that God has come to save us, right now, and into eternity.  AMEN.