“What’s this?” “A present for you.” “For me?” “Yes, it’s for you.” “Why?” “ Because I love you very much.”
I’m not sure of the exact words, but this is a reasonable facsimile of a conversation I had with my niece, probably 18 years ago. It was either Christmas or her birthday and I was giving her a present. Presents were kind of new to her, and she didn’t quite get that this was for her. To keep. She was delighted beyond belief with the gift. But it wasn’t the doll or the book or the toy, it wasn’t even the thrill of receiving a gift from another. No for that little girl it was (and I might say, still is for the 21 year old woman she has become) the love which led me to want to give her something. That’s what gave her such a thrill. Out of that love came her unbridled innocent response of joy: “For me? Especially for me?”
Re-reading today’s Gospel story reminded me of this . For what struck me was that this gift as announced to the shepherds in the field that night, is a gift given just for each of us, out of God’s immeasurable love.
And that, the expression of God’s love for us through the birth of Christ, is what the Christmas story is all about.
We hear it loud and clear in today’s Gospel.
-But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people. No need to question, no need to doubt, there is Good News to be had, and it is especially for you and especially for me, and especially for everybody!
-To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This isn’t just a telling of some removed event --no today a savior has been given to us-- especially for you and especially me.
Luke continues: -This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger."
This savior, this babe wrapped in cloth and lying in a feeding crib is not some out of reach messiah available only for the rich and the powerful, the devout and the pious. This child is especially for us. Especially for you and me.
It is really hard to imagine isn’t it? A messiah not only for the Jews, a savior not only for the Gentiles, a Redeemer who redeems everyone, not only the most pure of hearts, a Lord not only for the most devout but also for the most lax among us, the lost, the doubting, the hurt and the angry. This messiah whose birth we praise today is a gift given especially to you and me. Especially for each everyone of us.
Like Alyssa all those years ago, it’s hard to accept this gift… how did we deserve this wondrous gift?
Of course we didn’t, we haven’t. This gift of Jesus is not anything we earn, it’s not anything we deserve. It is given to us out of love.
And like Alyssa, The appropriate response is to squeal with glee.
And like the shepherds, the appropriate response is to go searching for this savior and to look upon the baby with great awe and wonder.
And like Mary and Joseph the appropriate response is to love this child with all our heart and with all mind and with all our soul.
So this Christmas story is not just a story about how Jesus came into the world…it’s a story which reminds us that God has given us a gift beyond all measure and God picked it especially for you and for me.
But not unlike, our own children who will play with their new toy for a week or so and then discard it, we too can forget and discard this gift. But even if we stop noticing it, even if we cast is aside, this gift never goes away, this gift is always with us, because God, through the birth of Christ is right here, right now. God was here yesterday, God is here today and God will be here tomorrow. Whether we notice or not.
That’s the wondrous thing about this Christmas gift-- no matter how many times we forget the gift of Christ, no matter how far back on the shelf we place it, no matter how long we go between remembering it, this gift is always there, ready for us to notice again, ready for us to unwrap again. And every time we notice, every time we unwrap it we’ll find that it’s still the perfect gift, it’s still exactly what we wanted, exactly what we needed.
That’s the miracle of this Christmas story, that even though our needs vary person to person, year to year the gift of our Savior fits us like a glove. For unto us this day a child has been born and onto that child we may lay our hopes and our dreams, our sorrows and our concerns, our happiness and our despair. For on this day, in the city of David, a King has been born and this king, is a gift which is ours for the unwrapping, and the only requirement for accepting it is that we strive to love each and every person as much as that baby and the God who gave him to us, loves us.
So Merry Christmas and enjoy your gift of Christ, given especially for you. +
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Magnificent Counter-Cultural Mary, Advent IV Year C
+Did you know that in some circles the Virgin Mary is considered and insurgent and that her song, subversive?
Well, In Guatemala, during one of the autocratic regimes which have ruled there, reciting the Magnificat, Mary’s Song , is against the law. It is deemed so subversive---so intent on undermining the established order—that it is literally against the law to use it in worship.
Now Mary is certainly a lot of things—the Holy Mother, The God Bearer, a stalwart disciple of Jesus, usually depicted as quiet, devout, humble and simple. But an insurgent, subversive?
But the reality, when you think about it, is that Mary was pretty radical--for through Mary, God did one of the most subversive acts of all-time—the incarnation.
In choosing Mary God just did what God always does----surprising us all with an unlikely, radical and counter-cultural move. While everyone expectantly waited for the coming of the Messiah in a great show strength and glory, God chose a simple girl, from a backwater town, under compromising circumstances, to bring the Savior of the world to us. God is not one to announce his activity with trumpets and fanfare. God, you see, appears to us in the mundane, the ordinary, the difficult and the messy. Because the mundane, the ordinary the difficult and the messy is all part of who we are and God cherishes us—all of us, in all conditions, neat and tidy, messy and chaotic. God doesn’t come to us all great fanfare and fuss because God simply wants to be with us in our ordinary daily lives. God wants to dwell where we dwell and that is, more often than not, pretty ordinary, maybe even mundane!
Anyway, if God had announced the coming Messiah through a polished PR man instead of the wild and wooly locust eating animal skin wearing John the Baptist, we would have noticed wouldn’t we? We would have prepared, wouldn’t we? We would have cleaned up, tidied up and been open to receiving the messiah wearing our Sunday best and hiding the messiness of our lives. Through Mary, God shows us, yet again, that it’s the messiness of our lives, as well as the neat and tidy of our lives, in which God dwells. God loves us. Lock stock and barrel, all of us….and to show us that unconditional and all encompassing love God chose Mary as the vessel for His Incarnation. God appears in an unassuming and completely surprising manner==
God just kind of sneaks up on us--hiding, as the saying goes, in plain sight.
And if the incarnation itself, God taking on human form, is not radical enough, God accomplishes this through two women---WOMEN-- talk about hiding in plain sight—who would pay any attention to these women--one too old to be a mother and another too young? Two women who, by all appearances were devout God-loving women living their lives as normally and unassumingly as one can imagine. It is through these two devout, unassuming, God-loving kinswomen that God chooses to subvert the order of all things, through whom God decides to lift high the meek, to encourage and embolden the humble and to deflate the powerful.
It’s one thing to be chosen. It’s another thing to say yes.
Mary and Elizabeth both said yes.
They doubted, they feared, they trembled, they worried and they wondered how and why God decided to tap them, but when given the opportunity to be instruments of God’s subversive and surprising activity among us, they said yes.
Can we say the same thing? Do we say yes when God appears within the ordinariness of daily lives? Do we even see God hiding in plain sight? Do we notice that God is calling out to us, do we realize that God has chosen us?
The opportunities to be an instrument of God in this world are readily available to us. But usually these opportunities require us to shift gears, to repent—to change the direction of our lives….and that can seem too difficult, too overwhelming So instead of grabbing the opportunity to be a God-bearer we turn away, rejecting God, we say no we can’t possibly do it. Not us.
But God, in this surprising and subversive act of bringing the Messiah to us through such unassuming and humble means, is saying, anyone—anyone-- can be the bearer of the Good News. Anyone can help turn the order of things upside down and inside out. God is saying that anyone—all of us, everyone can subvert the order of the world, can scatter the proud and lift high the lowly.
Our task this morning is to hear Mary’s song and to live it out…in all its insurgent subversive and counter-cultural best.
Now I’m not talking about overthrowing the government or telling your boss off…but I am talking about being counter-cultural. By not accepting that in this world of plenty so many live without. That in this world, people will go to bed hungry tonight. That 10% of the people in this country are out of work. That people don’t have access to affordable healthcare. That tonight children will be cold and alone, innocent victims of drug abuse, domestic violence and a myriad of other social ills.
Being counter cultural means we no longer accept that the high remain lofty by stepping on the backs of the humble and the meek. That the rich get richer while the poor get poorer, that the powerful hold onto that power through intimidation. Being counter cultural means accepting that we are all instruments of God and each of us magnifies the Lord by saying yes to being God-bearers and no to the status quo. Being counter-cultural means heeding the message of Mary, by joining with Mary and Elizabeth to rejoice in the gift of their sons.
Our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, our spirit rejoices in God our savior for he has looked with favor on Mary, on Elizabeth on you and on me, his lowly servants. +
Well, In Guatemala, during one of the autocratic regimes which have ruled there, reciting the Magnificat, Mary’s Song , is against the law. It is deemed so subversive---so intent on undermining the established order—that it is literally against the law to use it in worship.
Now Mary is certainly a lot of things—the Holy Mother, The God Bearer, a stalwart disciple of Jesus, usually depicted as quiet, devout, humble and simple. But an insurgent, subversive?
But the reality, when you think about it, is that Mary was pretty radical--for through Mary, God did one of the most subversive acts of all-time—the incarnation.
In choosing Mary God just did what God always does----surprising us all with an unlikely, radical and counter-cultural move. While everyone expectantly waited for the coming of the Messiah in a great show strength and glory, God chose a simple girl, from a backwater town, under compromising circumstances, to bring the Savior of the world to us. God is not one to announce his activity with trumpets and fanfare. God, you see, appears to us in the mundane, the ordinary, the difficult and the messy. Because the mundane, the ordinary the difficult and the messy is all part of who we are and God cherishes us—all of us, in all conditions, neat and tidy, messy and chaotic. God doesn’t come to us all great fanfare and fuss because God simply wants to be with us in our ordinary daily lives. God wants to dwell where we dwell and that is, more often than not, pretty ordinary, maybe even mundane!
Anyway, if God had announced the coming Messiah through a polished PR man instead of the wild and wooly locust eating animal skin wearing John the Baptist, we would have noticed wouldn’t we? We would have prepared, wouldn’t we? We would have cleaned up, tidied up and been open to receiving the messiah wearing our Sunday best and hiding the messiness of our lives. Through Mary, God shows us, yet again, that it’s the messiness of our lives, as well as the neat and tidy of our lives, in which God dwells. God loves us. Lock stock and barrel, all of us….and to show us that unconditional and all encompassing love God chose Mary as the vessel for His Incarnation. God appears in an unassuming and completely surprising manner==
God just kind of sneaks up on us--hiding, as the saying goes, in plain sight.
And if the incarnation itself, God taking on human form, is not radical enough, God accomplishes this through two women---WOMEN-- talk about hiding in plain sight—who would pay any attention to these women--one too old to be a mother and another too young? Two women who, by all appearances were devout God-loving women living their lives as normally and unassumingly as one can imagine. It is through these two devout, unassuming, God-loving kinswomen that God chooses to subvert the order of all things, through whom God decides to lift high the meek, to encourage and embolden the humble and to deflate the powerful.
It’s one thing to be chosen. It’s another thing to say yes.
Mary and Elizabeth both said yes.
They doubted, they feared, they trembled, they worried and they wondered how and why God decided to tap them, but when given the opportunity to be instruments of God’s subversive and surprising activity among us, they said yes.
Can we say the same thing? Do we say yes when God appears within the ordinariness of daily lives? Do we even see God hiding in plain sight? Do we notice that God is calling out to us, do we realize that God has chosen us?
The opportunities to be an instrument of God in this world are readily available to us. But usually these opportunities require us to shift gears, to repent—to change the direction of our lives….and that can seem too difficult, too overwhelming So instead of grabbing the opportunity to be a God-bearer we turn away, rejecting God, we say no we can’t possibly do it. Not us.
But God, in this surprising and subversive act of bringing the Messiah to us through such unassuming and humble means, is saying, anyone—anyone-- can be the bearer of the Good News. Anyone can help turn the order of things upside down and inside out. God is saying that anyone—all of us, everyone can subvert the order of the world, can scatter the proud and lift high the lowly.
Our task this morning is to hear Mary’s song and to live it out…in all its insurgent subversive and counter-cultural best.
Now I’m not talking about overthrowing the government or telling your boss off…but I am talking about being counter-cultural. By not accepting that in this world of plenty so many live without. That in this world, people will go to bed hungry tonight. That 10% of the people in this country are out of work. That people don’t have access to affordable healthcare. That tonight children will be cold and alone, innocent victims of drug abuse, domestic violence and a myriad of other social ills.
Being counter cultural means we no longer accept that the high remain lofty by stepping on the backs of the humble and the meek. That the rich get richer while the poor get poorer, that the powerful hold onto that power through intimidation. Being counter cultural means accepting that we are all instruments of God and each of us magnifies the Lord by saying yes to being God-bearers and no to the status quo. Being counter-cultural means heeding the message of Mary, by joining with Mary and Elizabeth to rejoice in the gift of their sons.
Our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, our spirit rejoices in God our savior for he has looked with favor on Mary, on Elizabeth on you and on me, his lowly servants. +
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A Prophet Leads us through Advent....Kicking and Screaming
+What a way to begin Advent---these readings aren’t the stuff of Christmas carols are they?
Last week Jesus told us to be prepared for we won’t know the time of his second coming-- that we must stand ready, ready for him to come in great power and glory. It was a rough way to begin Advent. No angel visits to Mary, no sweet prose about a babe in a manger. Today the message doesn’t get any quieter, the image isn’t any sweeter. Today we hear from two prophets—Baruch, speaking to a generation of Babylonian exiles some 1400 years before the time of Jesus and John, a New Testament prophet preparing the way for Christ. Baruch tells his generation to be ready, to stand up, to drop the dreary existence of captivity, ready to be freed. John, in today’s gospel, promises release to all who follow him . Release from the despair of the wilderness, relief from the rigors of the Temple, and reprieve from the autocracy of the Empire. Repent, cries John, turn your life around, shed your old ways , for a new way is coming and its time to get ready. Mountains will be laid low, valleys will be filled and the rough road will be made smooth. According to our two prophets today—Baruch and John-- this shift into the new isn’t easy, it’s not painless.
Prophets do not come onto the scene quietly. They shake things up; they shout from the rooftops they set us on edge. A prophet doesn’t fit in, doesn’t tell us what we want to hear. A prophet tells us what we must hear. A prophet is often a pain in our rear. But after a prophet is through with us, we don’t look at anything the same way. After a prophet is through with us, we are different.
John didn’t come on the scene quietly, nor did he tell people what they wanted to hear. To many, I’m sure; John was a pain in the rear!
But John also knew his place, John knew he was simply the opening act for the big show, he was the front man, the advance man for the Messiah. John’s job is to turn us around, to get us to leave the old behind so we are free to accept the new. So John, this straggly looking, wild sounding, peasant from the backwater tells us: repent, turn your lives around, open yourself to the new way which is about to arrive. He’s a different breed of prophet, prepared to help usher in a new legacy, a different way—John was on the edge of something big and he was bound and determined to bring as many people with him as possible.
John stood between two distinct periods in our Christian history— bridging the prophetic voice of the Hebrew scripture with the new voice to come in the person of Jesus Christ. He was a transitional figure with one eye firmly on the past and one eye firmly on the future. Some may have thought he was a prophet ahead of his time, others may have thought he was just plain nuts, but he knew , he knew he was the new Elijah, paving the way for God’s in breaking into the world through Jesus Christ.
And he was going to make darn sure that people would hear his message. A message of both promise and warning.
Promise that the messiah was on his way and warning that we weren’t prepared!
John is telling us, John is imploring us, let go of the old ways. To drop all that weighs us down and with outstretched arms, lift our faces to the sky and accept the coming of the new world. A new world full of God’s love.
Should be an easy ,message to sell, right? We’re all aware that life is more joyful when we allow God’s love to wash over us and guide us. ..so we should gladly and easily turn our lives around shedding all that stands in our way, right? Of course that’s not what we do…we’re human after all and it’s human nature to resist change. Even when it’s good for us! Remarkably, even when we’re in a bad situation, we have a tendency to stay put, to stick with the status quo. Not because we are gluttons for punishment but because we would rather stick with a scenario we know than change to one we don’t. The familiar, even when it isn’t good seems less risky than the unfamiliar.
This is not new.
The people of the Exodus, the people of the Exile all wanted, at one time or another to return to what they knew, even though it was bad for them, because what they knew was less risky than what they didn’t.
We’re no different. We don’t easily repent, we don’t easily change direction, we don’t easily let go of all that is familiar. But to fully receive the miracle in Bethlehem we must take this Advent time of preparation to lower our mountains, fill our valleys and straighten our crooked roads.
We all have them—mountains of doubt, valleys of anxiety, roads crooked with worry. This is no way to welcome the Jesus, but those mountains, those valleys and those crooked roads can seem insurmountable---it may seem impossible to overcome it all, shed it and emerge ready to welcome the messiah.
But John the Baptist in all his railing and ranting, in all his challenges and promises prepares us for this new way, he brings us across the divide from the old to the new. He invites us to emerge from the muddy waters of the Jordan changed, ready to receive God’s embrace of love.
A love born of Mary swaddled in rags, lying in a manger.
So our job this Advent season, amidst all the preparations of trees and gifts, of liturgies and clothing drives of worry. Amidst all our roads of worry, valleys of anxiety and mountains of doubt is to repent: to turn our lives from all that weighs us down, of all that distracts us and turn toward the east and with heads raised high and arms outstretched ready to accept the coming of the messiah.
The image isn’t quiet and the message isn’t sweet, but through Baruch and through John we’ll find ourselves in that barn on a silent night, awash in wonder and bowled over by awe. +
Last week Jesus told us to be prepared for we won’t know the time of his second coming-- that we must stand ready, ready for him to come in great power and glory. It was a rough way to begin Advent. No angel visits to Mary, no sweet prose about a babe in a manger. Today the message doesn’t get any quieter, the image isn’t any sweeter. Today we hear from two prophets—Baruch, speaking to a generation of Babylonian exiles some 1400 years before the time of Jesus and John, a New Testament prophet preparing the way for Christ. Baruch tells his generation to be ready, to stand up, to drop the dreary existence of captivity, ready to be freed. John, in today’s gospel, promises release to all who follow him . Release from the despair of the wilderness, relief from the rigors of the Temple, and reprieve from the autocracy of the Empire. Repent, cries John, turn your life around, shed your old ways , for a new way is coming and its time to get ready. Mountains will be laid low, valleys will be filled and the rough road will be made smooth. According to our two prophets today—Baruch and John-- this shift into the new isn’t easy, it’s not painless.
Prophets do not come onto the scene quietly. They shake things up; they shout from the rooftops they set us on edge. A prophet doesn’t fit in, doesn’t tell us what we want to hear. A prophet tells us what we must hear. A prophet is often a pain in our rear. But after a prophet is through with us, we don’t look at anything the same way. After a prophet is through with us, we are different.
John didn’t come on the scene quietly, nor did he tell people what they wanted to hear. To many, I’m sure; John was a pain in the rear!
But John also knew his place, John knew he was simply the opening act for the big show, he was the front man, the advance man for the Messiah. John’s job is to turn us around, to get us to leave the old behind so we are free to accept the new. So John, this straggly looking, wild sounding, peasant from the backwater tells us: repent, turn your lives around, open yourself to the new way which is about to arrive. He’s a different breed of prophet, prepared to help usher in a new legacy, a different way—John was on the edge of something big and he was bound and determined to bring as many people with him as possible.
John stood between two distinct periods in our Christian history— bridging the prophetic voice of the Hebrew scripture with the new voice to come in the person of Jesus Christ. He was a transitional figure with one eye firmly on the past and one eye firmly on the future. Some may have thought he was a prophet ahead of his time, others may have thought he was just plain nuts, but he knew , he knew he was the new Elijah, paving the way for God’s in breaking into the world through Jesus Christ.
And he was going to make darn sure that people would hear his message. A message of both promise and warning.
Promise that the messiah was on his way and warning that we weren’t prepared!
John is telling us, John is imploring us, let go of the old ways. To drop all that weighs us down and with outstretched arms, lift our faces to the sky and accept the coming of the new world. A new world full of God’s love.
Should be an easy ,message to sell, right? We’re all aware that life is more joyful when we allow God’s love to wash over us and guide us. ..so we should gladly and easily turn our lives around shedding all that stands in our way, right? Of course that’s not what we do…we’re human after all and it’s human nature to resist change. Even when it’s good for us! Remarkably, even when we’re in a bad situation, we have a tendency to stay put, to stick with the status quo. Not because we are gluttons for punishment but because we would rather stick with a scenario we know than change to one we don’t. The familiar, even when it isn’t good seems less risky than the unfamiliar.
This is not new.
The people of the Exodus, the people of the Exile all wanted, at one time or another to return to what they knew, even though it was bad for them, because what they knew was less risky than what they didn’t.
We’re no different. We don’t easily repent, we don’t easily change direction, we don’t easily let go of all that is familiar. But to fully receive the miracle in Bethlehem we must take this Advent time of preparation to lower our mountains, fill our valleys and straighten our crooked roads.
We all have them—mountains of doubt, valleys of anxiety, roads crooked with worry. This is no way to welcome the Jesus, but those mountains, those valleys and those crooked roads can seem insurmountable---it may seem impossible to overcome it all, shed it and emerge ready to welcome the messiah.
But John the Baptist in all his railing and ranting, in all his challenges and promises prepares us for this new way, he brings us across the divide from the old to the new. He invites us to emerge from the muddy waters of the Jordan changed, ready to receive God’s embrace of love.
A love born of Mary swaddled in rags, lying in a manger.
So our job this Advent season, amidst all the preparations of trees and gifts, of liturgies and clothing drives of worry. Amidst all our roads of worry, valleys of anxiety and mountains of doubt is to repent: to turn our lives from all that weighs us down, of all that distracts us and turn toward the east and with heads raised high and arms outstretched ready to accept the coming of the messiah.
The image isn’t quiet and the message isn’t sweet, but through Baruch and through John we’ll find ourselves in that barn on a silent night, awash in wonder and bowled over by awe. +
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Thin Place Between Bethlehem and Jerusalem
This sermon was preached at the Church of the Holy Nativity, Clarendon Hills, IL on Nov. 29, 2009
+This time of year, it gets dark really early. By 3:30 in the afternoon, the sun is in clear descent and by 4:30 or 5:00 night has fallen. The sun doesn’t rise until about 6:30 in the morning. It’s a dark time. The ancient Celtic people, who lived in a similar climate, embraced the encroaching darkness. According to Celtic legend, it’s during these twilight times when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. During the dusk of evening and the dawn of morning we glimpse that which has gone before and that which is yet to come. The Celts call this the Thin Place.
Late November/early December is a dark and quiet time, but we hardly notice, what with all the Christmas lights, the “all Christmas music all the time radio stations” and the day after Thanksgiving sales.
According to our church calendar, Advent is here. According to the calendar of commercialism, Christmas is here.
I love Advent. Not just for the destination: the birth of Jesus, but for the journey which leads us to that barn in Bethlehem. It’s a remarkable journey. But it’s one easily missed.
Although only four weeks long, a lot gets packed into Advent. We have the story of Mary—a young woman who bravely accepts this pregnancy announced by an angel and by means she doesn’t understand --her loving visit with Elizabeth, her difficult conversation with Joseph—Mary’s grace and fortitude is worthy of wonder and respect. Advent is the perfect time to reflect on Mary-- for without her we don’t have the incarnation. We must have Mary to get to Jesus, so focusing on her is a logical Advent pursuit. And it’s probably what most of us think of when we think of Advent.
But today we don’t hear the joy of Mary’s song , the wonder of her visit to Elizabeth or the courage of Joseph’s acceptance. Today we hear of a different time—a future time when the world we know ends, and a new world emerges.
For Advent is a liminal time-that time which is neither here nor there, a time of transition. We’re betwixt and between…just last week we celebrated Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords and now we’re awaiting his quiet birth.
But, as Luke tells us in today’s Gospel, we’re also betwixt and between the life of this world and that of the next.
Because, while anticipating the first coming of Jesus we must keep an eye toward the second.
Today we hear tell of the end times, the end of all things familiar, the destruction of all we know, the end to all that is. We don’t get to Silent Night easily, do we?
Jesus, in this 21st chapter of Luke is full of apocalyptic foreboding. Talk of end times is unsettling. Mark 13, Luke 21, the Book of Revelation…the apocalyptic imagery of the New Testament is hardly the thing of a babe in a manger is it?
But this end time imagery, this apocalyptic language, is an important part of the Advent story.
You see, to welcome in the new, we must shed the old.
Apocalypses are not just global events, ushering in the destruction of the entire earth. We each experience our own apocalypses…private upsets which throw our equilibrium completely off, when all we have taken for granted, all we’re comfortable with is stripped away, leaving us disoriented, vulnerable, at a loss. But without the loss, the new wouldn’t have room.
Today’s Gospel reading from Luke comes toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, when his own personal apocalypse is imminent.
He knows his earthly life—the first coming, begun in Bethlehem, is about to end in Jerusalem. He wants his followers then and his followers now to be prepared, prepared to live the good news in this world, while ready to move onto the next. Jesus is in a transition time, Jesus is in a thin place.
Advent is just such a place for us.
Advent is a time to tear down and to build up. A time to prepare ourselves for the first coming of Christ-a time to ready ourselves for the love of God which surpasses all understanding. A time-to shed all our preconceived notions, all our worries, all our doubts. You see, our worries, our doubts and our fears block the way of God, our worries our doubts and our fears keep us from the loving embrace of God. Advent is a time to strip ourselves of what was and what always has been, ready to receive what’s new and yet to come.
The miraculous birth of Jesus in a barn during that silent night two millennia ago was an apocalypse, an end of time. But this apocalypse isn’t all fire and brimstone, all death and destruction. This apocalypse, this end of time, comes to us in all humility, wrapped in rags with no place to lay his head.
You know, with all the lights and noise of commercial Christmas it’s amazing we don’t miss it altogether.
And that’s the point.
Advent calls us, in the midst of all this noise, to empty ourselves of all that keeps us from embracing the love of God sent to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Advent calls us to keep our feet in this world, proclaiming the Gospel and living the Good News, with an eye to the world to come, a world we will meet through the same Jesus, the Son of God born of Mary.
So as we scurry about, shopping sales, hanging lights and singing songs, let’s not forget our Advent task---to stay quiet, stay alert and be aware. For soon a child will be born, a child like none other. A child on whom all our hopes and dreams, frets and worries may be laid.
Happy Advent my friends, may your thin places show you the glory of this world and the glory of the world to come.
Amen.
+This time of year, it gets dark really early. By 3:30 in the afternoon, the sun is in clear descent and by 4:30 or 5:00 night has fallen. The sun doesn’t rise until about 6:30 in the morning. It’s a dark time. The ancient Celtic people, who lived in a similar climate, embraced the encroaching darkness. According to Celtic legend, it’s during these twilight times when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. During the dusk of evening and the dawn of morning we glimpse that which has gone before and that which is yet to come. The Celts call this the Thin Place.
Late November/early December is a dark and quiet time, but we hardly notice, what with all the Christmas lights, the “all Christmas music all the time radio stations” and the day after Thanksgiving sales.
According to our church calendar, Advent is here. According to the calendar of commercialism, Christmas is here.
I love Advent. Not just for the destination: the birth of Jesus, but for the journey which leads us to that barn in Bethlehem. It’s a remarkable journey. But it’s one easily missed.
Although only four weeks long, a lot gets packed into Advent. We have the story of Mary—a young woman who bravely accepts this pregnancy announced by an angel and by means she doesn’t understand --her loving visit with Elizabeth, her difficult conversation with Joseph—Mary’s grace and fortitude is worthy of wonder and respect. Advent is the perfect time to reflect on Mary-- for without her we don’t have the incarnation. We must have Mary to get to Jesus, so focusing on her is a logical Advent pursuit. And it’s probably what most of us think of when we think of Advent.
But today we don’t hear the joy of Mary’s song , the wonder of her visit to Elizabeth or the courage of Joseph’s acceptance. Today we hear of a different time—a future time when the world we know ends, and a new world emerges.
For Advent is a liminal time-that time which is neither here nor there, a time of transition. We’re betwixt and between…just last week we celebrated Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords and now we’re awaiting his quiet birth.
But, as Luke tells us in today’s Gospel, we’re also betwixt and between the life of this world and that of the next.
Because, while anticipating the first coming of Jesus we must keep an eye toward the second.
Today we hear tell of the end times, the end of all things familiar, the destruction of all we know, the end to all that is. We don’t get to Silent Night easily, do we?
Jesus, in this 21st chapter of Luke is full of apocalyptic foreboding. Talk of end times is unsettling. Mark 13, Luke 21, the Book of Revelation…the apocalyptic imagery of the New Testament is hardly the thing of a babe in a manger is it?
But this end time imagery, this apocalyptic language, is an important part of the Advent story.
You see, to welcome in the new, we must shed the old.
Apocalypses are not just global events, ushering in the destruction of the entire earth. We each experience our own apocalypses…private upsets which throw our equilibrium completely off, when all we have taken for granted, all we’re comfortable with is stripped away, leaving us disoriented, vulnerable, at a loss. But without the loss, the new wouldn’t have room.
Today’s Gospel reading from Luke comes toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, when his own personal apocalypse is imminent.
He knows his earthly life—the first coming, begun in Bethlehem, is about to end in Jerusalem. He wants his followers then and his followers now to be prepared, prepared to live the good news in this world, while ready to move onto the next. Jesus is in a transition time, Jesus is in a thin place.
Advent is just such a place for us.
Advent is a time to tear down and to build up. A time to prepare ourselves for the first coming of Christ-a time to ready ourselves for the love of God which surpasses all understanding. A time-to shed all our preconceived notions, all our worries, all our doubts. You see, our worries, our doubts and our fears block the way of God, our worries our doubts and our fears keep us from the loving embrace of God. Advent is a time to strip ourselves of what was and what always has been, ready to receive what’s new and yet to come.
The miraculous birth of Jesus in a barn during that silent night two millennia ago was an apocalypse, an end of time. But this apocalypse isn’t all fire and brimstone, all death and destruction. This apocalypse, this end of time, comes to us in all humility, wrapped in rags with no place to lay his head.
You know, with all the lights and noise of commercial Christmas it’s amazing we don’t miss it altogether.
And that’s the point.
Advent calls us, in the midst of all this noise, to empty ourselves of all that keeps us from embracing the love of God sent to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Advent calls us to keep our feet in this world, proclaiming the Gospel and living the Good News, with an eye to the world to come, a world we will meet through the same Jesus, the Son of God born of Mary.
So as we scurry about, shopping sales, hanging lights and singing songs, let’s not forget our Advent task---to stay quiet, stay alert and be aware. For soon a child will be born, a child like none other. A child on whom all our hopes and dreams, frets and worries may be laid.
Happy Advent my friends, may your thin places show you the glory of this world and the glory of the world to come.
Amen.
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