Christmas Eve Sermon (2012)

Luke 2.1-20

Stories are an important part of any culture – they educate, they entertain, they communicate ideas, they preserve history. People tend to like a good story. It’s why we tell stories to one another, why we listen when people are telling them, why we write them down and read them.  We act out stories, we put stories to music, we dance or paint or sculpt our stories. However we express it, we are storytellers.

The reality, of course, is that some people are better storytellers than others. Some stories are more captivating than others. And that’s normal. Those are the stories that tend to follow a few tricks that make a story GOOD, a few components that make a story memorable.

First off, there’s a theme, a moral or lesson that the story is trying to convey. Then there’s a plot, an action of sorts. The structure tells how we’re hearing the story – are we hearing it as the character, or as an observer? And characters – well, we need memorable folks to whom we can relate. So too, we need to know our setting – the ‘where’ and ‘when’ the story is happening. And we need some style, some emotion in how we’re hearing the story.

So what happens when a story has those components? Simply put, we like it. We enjoy reading or hearing it; we want to share it with other people, we want to return again and again to that story, to make it part of our own story. French author François Mauriac stated: “Tell me what you read and I'll tell you who you are" is true enough, but I'd know you better if you told me what you reread.”

And tonight we’re celebrating a story that we have all read and reread, a story that meets all those parts of a good story, a story that helps to define who we are. People know who we are by what we read, people know us better because we reread tonight’s Gospel story.

So let’s think about this beautiful Christmas story from Luke.

It has a theme – God’s promises will always be realised. Whether it’s the promise of finding a child or the promise to all of us of a Saviour, God keeps his promises for us all.

 It has a plot – and what a plot it has – increasing government taxation through a census, a new romance with a bit of a scandal (unwed mother!), a dangerous journey ending with a dramatic birth, an angelic visitation and prophecy to secondary characters who then undertake their own journey – PHEW! This is all in 20 verses. 17 sentences. In today’s literature, that’s a whole novel’s plot, maybe even a serial. It’s a storyline that catches our attention and draws us in – there is a lot of action going on, and we’re easily engaged and want to learn more. This is a biblical page-turner, if you will.

The structure flows from an external observer, but we get to hear some great dialogue as the plot rapidly progresses across scenes that are converging.  We get a feel for how the story is going from the details of the era and the setting, we relate to the characters because we hear their words in direct quotes – we can almost imagine what their voices sound like. Was the angel male or female? I bet your mind heard one or the other as I was reading the gospel – and if it didn’t, it’s thinking about it now!

Our main characters, Mary and Joseph, are ordinary folks called to extraordinary things. Mary shifts from being the pregnant betrothed to the new mother – and she remains silent throughout. Joseph is the faithful husband-to-be, who comes from a historic lineage but is clearly not of great means – worst case, people with lots of money would likely have been offered the innkeepers rooms for themselves and their entourage had there been no room; and a stable certainly would not have been sufficient. The secondary characters are so common that we don’t even get to know their names – we just know that there are shepherds. And they are visited by an angel with a message who is then joined by a whole choir of other angels. The shepherds’ role, their common ministry, is to receive and repeat the message; this is important enough that they ignore their earthly responsibilities in the fields to go with haste to the town.

We can relate to these characters – and their actions. We too have to follow government legislations and taxation, even if it’s not always convenient. We too have journeyed, have stayed at less-than-ideal places, have made do with what we could find. We’ve met new people unexpectedly, we’ve been approached by strangers who we can recognise have been put in our path temporarily for a particular purpose.  We too have a ministry to exercise that will help demonstrate God’s glory to the world, we too have a role in a greater story where we may not even be named. Government employees are civil servants, innkeepers are hospitality specialists, shepherds are farmers. Husbands, mothers, singers. Yup, we can relate to these people.

 The setting for our story is equally indistinct. Mary and Joseph have gone to Bethlehem, a main city. We don’t know anything about the inn that turns them away; we know nothing about which stable they are in as the child is born. Our shepherds are out ‘in the fields’, though which fields we never learn. It could be anywhere. It could be a cheap motel in the city; it could be a barn in the prairies. If it could happen there, it could happen here. Maybe it looked just like our own fields… hmm. As for timing, it was during Quirinius’ rule over Judea, which lasted 7 years – again, the details are a big ambiguous to allow our own creativity to fill in the blanks in a way that will make it personal to us.

There is definitely some style in this Christmas story. There’s an emotional grab that hooks us right in and stays with us. We hear the story and are drawn into it; we hear it again and are drawn to another part of the same story. We’re connected to this good news because it is a living reality for us. This is not just words on a page, this is not just a story in a book, this is a part of who we are.

The fact that we reread it time and again means that we WANT to be drawn into the story. We WANT to engage with the message that is being given. We WANT desperately to hear the “good news of great joy” the angels promise. We WANT to live our lives knowing that this message was given “for all the people” – and that we’re included in that. We WANT to reread this story because it speaks to us – as it has spoken to everyone who has heard it for more than 2000 years – of a direct connection that is personal, unique, astounding. We WANT to hear how God continues to give to each and every one of us, in this day and age, the great gift of his Son.  “[T]o YOU is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

And so this great story is the greatest story ever told, because it never ends. As many times as this story is told, it is lived. It is lived when we put ourselves into the story, and carry it with us into the world. It is lived when we reread the story and remind ourselves that we too are being invited to seek out the Christ-child in our midst. It is lived when we reread the story and celebrate our own ministry, our own involvement in God’s great creation. It is lived when we reread the story and joyfully declare to the world – at Christmas and for all times – "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!"

Advent 4: The Magnificat

Have you ever had to keep a secret? A really BIG secret? A secret so big you felt as though keeping it might make you burst?

Probably. We’ve all been there – there’s something that is big, growing inside of us the more we think about it. And we know that we can’t tell ANYONE. Sure, they’ll all find out eventually, but for now – NO ONE can know.

That’s how Mary was feeling in today’s gospel. She’s been visited by the angel Gabriel, who has told her that her barren cousin Elizabeth is 6 months pregnant. And that she will carry the Son of God, though she is a virgin. “For nothing is impossible with God.” 

So, Mary recognises what is happening, and agrees to this ministry that God has called her to – ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
It’s beautiful. It’s heartwarming. But it’s also scary…

Mary, the virgin, is pregnant. PREGNANT. This is not something a young girl can cover up, at least not for long! She’s young, she’s unmarried (which means she is never with any male without a chaperone), she’s betrothed to Joseph (which means that there’s a legal contract between Joseph and Mary’s dad, and her virginity is a part of that contract). And really – all you parents – had your daughter came to you with “an angel of the Lord came and told me I would carry God’s son!” would you have responded with “Oh. Okay!” like our play last week?

So she heads out to see her cousin for some comfort. She heads out. Alone. From Galilee to a Judean hill town. That’s some 65 miles she’s journeying without a chaperone, without protection, without permission. It’s no wonder she’s going ‘with haste.’ It’s no wonder she’s delighted to greet Elizabeth when she does finally arrive, likely exhausted and relieved. It’s no wonder that John the Baptist-baby-bump leaps with joy upon hearing the voice of his Saviour’s mother. It’s no wonder that Elizabeth praises Mary for her faith.

And then Mary responds with a song of such relief and joy and faith that her secret does burst out of her. She reveals all to her cousin, knowing that this is a safe place for her to declare her faith, her allegiance, her actions, her decision. All those things she’s been thinking about for days and weeks, and especially on her long journey. She’s not blurting out her secrets with the intention that they be remembered and repeated for thousands of years, but because it is what is happening in her heart.

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour
Mary is celebrating the role of God in her life – she’s putting God above all others; higher than the Romans, higher than Caeser.

For he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.
Mary acknowledges with humility that she is being called to a specific ministry, and that this ministry will NOT be an easy one – but that it is hers to undertake. And she knows that she will succeed because this is God’s will.

His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

Mary knows her history, she has learned from her ancestors, she believes the truth of God’s assistance for the faithful and for those in need, and his judgment for the haughty and naughty. 

Mary is making a statement of faith – a confession – a creed. She’s declaring to her cousin “this is it: it’s all about God. And whatever happens to me doesn’t matter, because I’m going to follow God.”

This is what we celebrate this week. Mary’s courage, her willingness to listen to God and obey, her sheer joy in that action. We celebrate that she has decided to answer God’s call for her, despite the challenges that caused.  We acknowledge Mary’s strength of carrying the burden of being the Theotokos – the God-bearer in a world that refused to understand. We acknowledge her confusion – her entire life plan has been changed irrevocably in one night. We acknowledge her fear – if she was afraid when she LEFT Galilee, imagine how she was feeling when she headed back home! We acknowledge her humility in knowing her role and her wisdom in answering God’s call, regardless of what her friends and family would say and do.

And today, as we celebrate and acknowledge Mary, we recognise that we too are invited to examine ourselves in the light of her song. Who do we magnify, who do we recognise as our Saviour? To whom do we strive to dedicate our lives and work? How well do we know and learn from our history?

Today as we are SO close to Christmas, it is easy to be distracted from our true calling and ministry. It is easy to be caught up in the packages and last-minute shopping lists and menus and such. No matter how hard we try, we can be distracted from what really matters at Christmas by the shiny lights and glistening trees that are in front of us. But I believe that deep down, each and every one of us knows why we are here, why we are celebrating, who we are waiting for.

And so I invite us to take a moment today, tomorrow, to think about Mary. To block out the distractions of the world and focus on our calling as God’s children. I invite us to spend a moment and seek out the presence of the Christ-child in our lives, and consider how we too might carry that joy throughout the days ahead. I invite us to be our own God-bearers, our own Marys, ready to declare to the busy and critical world that our souls magnify the Lord, and our spirits rejoice in God our Saviour. And to realise that we would declare this to the world, that it is not a secret for us – but a celebration of the God-given joy that we carry in our hearts.

Advent 2 sermon

We’re into some good and empowering readings this week, as we continue our journey through Advent. We’re being told of great things that we need to get ready for - and we’re hearing them from some unlikely sources.

Let’s look first at the reading from Baruch. Baruch ben Neriah was a Jewish aristocrat.  He’s a minor prophet from the 6^th century BC; he was best known not for his own writings but because he was secretary, friend, and scribe for the prophet Jeremiah. He followed Jeremiah around, providing written copies of his words to the communities (and the world). Because of this, some people suggest that his works should not be included in the scriptures.  And yet, we have them – and what a beautiful message Baruch brings us. He’s writing to those who are in captivity: “God will lead Israel with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness that come from him.” Powerful words that are not to be taken lightly, empowering words for the people who wait.

Similarly, the Song of Zechariah, which we read today as the Canticle, is speaking to a people in captivity. And once again, it’s not exactly coming from a source we might expect. Zechariah – what do we know about him? Well, he’s a devout priest. He’s old. Yet he’s visited by the angel Gabriel and told he’ll have a son who will announce the coming of the Lord. Hmm. Zechariah tells his wife, Elisabeth of this, and then  she conceives. As punishment for doubting the angel, Zechariah is made mute until the child is named. Thus, Zechariah becomes the father of John, who will become John the Baptist.  It’s important to remember that his wife Elisabeth is Mary’s cousin. This means, if we follow the genealogy, he’s Jesus’ uncle. Not quite an unbiased source, yet his words are strong and comforting: “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Then we have Paul and Timothy, writing to the church at Philippi.  Philippi is at this time one of the main Christian centres, in Greece. Paul visited there in his second missionary trip. He is, however, as he’s writing, a man in captivity in Rome. Despite knowing he is trapped, and faces execution, he greets his brothers and sisters in Christ in a way that serves to bolster their faith.  We hear today just the opening of his letter. Despite his own dire circumstances, Paul is thanking these folks for their participation in the Gospel, in their commitment to spread the good news.  He is praying that their love will continue to increase until the second coming of Christ. His thoughts are not asking for help for himself, but rather promising that the day of Christ Jesus will be soon, and until such time Paul prays for all of them. What comfort they must feel as they hear his words: “I thank my God every time I remember you.”

Then again in Luke’s Gospel we hear good news from an unlikely source. And we’re reminded that this is an unlikely source – because we’re given all the likely sources for news. All the important people. The folks with power and authority at all levels government and control: Tiberius is the Emperor Tiberius, Pontius Pilate is governor of Judea, Herod is ruler of Galilee, Herod’s brother Philip is the ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, Lysanias is the ruler of Abilene, and both Annas and Caiaphas are high priests. These are no slouches; they’re the folks to be listened to. Luke tells us these names in direct contrast to the message that needs to be given. Basically, Luke invites us to ignore these fancy schmancy people, and listen to Zechariah’s boy John. What do we know about John? Well, from Luke’s account, just that he could quote from Isaiah. He’s not educated, he doesn’t hold a position of power, he’s just some guy preaching repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Other accounts of John tell us a grittier story – he’s dressed in camel hair, eating locusts and wild honey; he’s the original bushman. A highly unlikely source, yet John becomes one who shares comforting words with those people around the Jordan who are desperate to hear it. Prepare the way of the Lord, John says, and “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

So what is the message that we are hearing today? To whom are we listening, in this day and age, to hear the good news? How do we decide who we will give our attention to?

We need to think about how we listen for God’s message of comfort in our lives. We need to think about how we are trapped – captives, if you will – in the earthly realities of this life. And trapped we are – as we get nearer and nearer to December 25, we are hearing all sorts of messages of how to prepare for the season. Commercials are advertising what great deals we can get in the things that we purchase – toys for the kids, gadgets and clothes for the adults. Elegant and extravagant foods for our families and guests. There are carefully composed slogans that tempt us to spend money on particular products, consumer items. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like …” (insert product of your choice here)! We get caught. We are captives in a consumer society that demands more and more stuff while providing less and less community, love, family.

We need to think about who we listen to – are we making choices based on celebrity endorsement? Will we be swayed by the good-looking actor asking us through the television or newspaper or radio to buy whatever it is that they’re selling, even though we *know* they’re being paid to read those words? Will we believe everything that some marketing department tells us about how their product is the best, the safest, the greenest?  Will we get caught up in the “new and improved” stickers on products, suggesting that everything that came before is in some way old and inferior?

Or will we choose to hear a true message of everlasting peace and comfort, given by people who may not wear fancy suits or ‘posh frocks’? Will we hear a message that will expire shortly after the gift wrap is thrown away and the batteries worn out, or will we hear a message of life-long – and I mean eternal life – joy and salvation? Will we be content with temporary sufficiency that the world gives for one day, or will we commit to the challenge of preparing our souls for the coming of the Christ?

I suspect that we know what we will do, listening to truth no matter who speaks it.  After all, we weren’t asked to prepare the house and hearth for one day’s entertainment, easily forgotten as time passes. We’re asked to continually prepare the way of the Lord.

A Wibbly-Wobbly Time-y Wimey sermon for Advent 1

Do you know what time it is?

Trick question. Because I’m not just asking if you can read your watch. Time has a very different meaning depending on the situation and the people.

Today, for example. It’s the first Sunday of Advent. Which is the first Sunday of the new liturgical year. HAPPY NEW YEAR! Now, in the church, we know this. But if we were to run in the streets yelling happy new year, a good number of people in town might wonder just how much communion wine we go through… so the way we as the church mark the time of a year’s start and finish is different from what we might consider ‘normal’ based on the Gregorian, or Western, calendar, when New Year is January first. But this is also different from our Jewish brothers and sisters, who this year (which is 5773, not 2012) started on 17 September. And our Chinese brothers and sisters will have their New Year begin on 10 February. Hmm.

Different traditions break up time into different categories. We’re used to 12 months fitting in a year of 365.25 days (yes, a quarter day – hence leap years). The months are 28, 30, or 31 days long.  Our calendar, however, used to follow a year of 13 months, each of 28 days. Other traditions have months of varying lengths – the Jewish calendar follows a lunar schedule, which means that some years have 12 months and others have 13. It’s a complicated system that follows a 19-year cycle – interesting, and different.

How we consider a simple day is also different – we have our 24 hours, each of 60 minutes, and the day starts at midnight. Yet our ancestors considered the day to begin at Sundown. Some communities consider sunrise to be the start of the day.

You get the idea. “What time is it?” can be a fairly loaded question.

How we mark the passing of time can be also confusing and complex. Yes, we could define time as the numbered qualities that we assign to them. The hand on the clock ticks sixty times in one minute, the minute hand sixty times in one hour, the hour hand 24 times in one day. Easy. But we of course know that while these numbers may be the same, how we use them is variable.

Sometimes time will pass by very slowly –time is crawling, we might say. It’s as though those clock hands aren’t moving at all.  Times when we’re in the dentist’s chair. When we’re watching that pot waiting for it to boil. When the car hits a patch of ice and we’re not sure what will happen next. Ugh; time slows right down.

At other occasions, our perception is that time is moving that slowly but in a good way – as though the entire universe is being captured in a perfect moment and we try to draw it out as long as possible. Times like seeing earth for the first time from space, hearing the first laugh of a newborn baby, watching the sun set in the field on a summers’ day.

At certain moments, time seems to be doing exactly the opposite – it seems to speed up and almost race out of control – I heard a film character once suggest that time is a fire in which we burn – fast, uncontrollable.  A great day out with a friend that is over too soon; a field needing to be plowed even after the sun has gone down, last moments with a loved one as they are nearing death. 

Time. It’s a temporal measurement. It’s history and perspective. It’s “a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again.”[1] It’s confusing. It’s not always a straight line.  One of my favourite clips from a TV show demonstrates that even an expert has trouble defining time: “People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but *actually* from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff.”[2]

I like to think that it’s that time-y wimey stuff that proves that not all time can be measured on a watch or a calendar. Because, I believe there are some times that move from the CHRONOS – that linear time – to the KAIROS – the divine time.  This signifies the right or opportune moment. This makes time qualitative, not quantitative. 

And this is the type of time that we’re invited to consider during Advent. Our reading today tells us to get ready for the time is near. The signs are here, we just need to keep watching and interpreting them. But that’s hard to do – it’s hard enough sometimes to recognise the signs in the physical, chronological sense, with our day timers and watches – this is why we have alarm clocks and egg timers and books to write down appointment times. So how are we supposed to be alert and prepared for something without a set date?  How do we interpret into the Kairos, the God-time? Jesus is coming, we know this – and we’re meant to be ready – but how do we prepare?

This is the challenge. When we are caught in the chronos, we can get ready. We can do the cooking and cleaning and grooming and all that, because we plan in reverse time: if a guest is coming at 5, we need the supper in the oven at 4, the house cleaned at 3, etc. But we don’t know the arrival time for the second coming of Christ. And so we have to prepare without the counting back. We have to try to realise that our preparations are not meant to be specially done for one occasion, but rather an ongoing process so that we are alert at all times. This doesn’t mean preparing a physical space at all times – no one could continually be dusting or vacuuming. But it means preparing our hearts and souls at all times – through prayer and meditation and living out our faith. It means that our spiritual journey is one that is meant to go on, until the second coming.

It’s not easy to continue to do something – even something that we love to do. We get distracted, we get bored, we move on to other things. When we get called back to the task at hand we can eagerly return, but it takes time and practice to stay at it. Yet so long as we are consistently trying to return, we are consistently showing our commitment to the process.  And we will struggle as we try to interpret how God will break forth into our world, into our understanding of time, knowing that our understanding of time – long times, short times, time that flew by or stood still – is no longer of consequence as the world enters the reality of God’s time. It’s humbling to realise that our time is but a speck in the vast expanse of eternity – as John Donne said in our recent bible study: “eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.” Eternity is not just a collection of pieces of time, it is too vast. Time is a section that embraces the tiniest moment of eternity. Our time, chronos, is that tiny speck in God’s time, Kairos; we are privileged to be a part of it but we don’t control how it will progress. 

So we are challenged to be ready in this moment. Ready to be embraced by the Kairos moment when God breaks into our time. Ready when we are invited to celebrate that the Kingdom is not just near, but here. Ready to move from time to eternity, from darkness to light, from the worries of this life to the glories of the next.

So this Advent, I invite you to ponder – do you know what time it is? For me, it’s time to get ready.

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[1] Jean-Luc Picard in Star Trek: Generations (1994)

[2] Doctor Who: Blink (2007)