Christmas Eve Sermon: God creeps in

Christmas Eve, 2020

One of the best things about the pandemic for me was that when no one was going anywhere from March until September, I never set my alarm. Instead, my “alarm” was the sound of pitter-pattering feet, and the feeling of my two kids, then 3 and 4 years old, climbing into my bed with me. They would just wiggle their little bodies right in close, and I’d wrap my arms around them and for a few moments, the bed was full of love and everything felt safe and warm.

I lived for these few moments each morning. In a world full of fear and uncertainty and constantly changing news and advice, I needed this constant bit of love to creep in and wiggle its way right up beside me, even when, honestly, there really wasn’t quite enough room in the bed for everyone. We made room. Such love was and is a daily source of life and light.

Love, life, and light: three images we think a lot about during Christmas. Each year we hear the story of God’s immense love for us, about how in that love God came to live among us, to bring us life, taking on a body like ours. And then, having heard this story, we light candles, and in this magical moment we bask in the glow of knowing that the darkness of night cannot overcome us because the “light of the all people” has come to dwell among us.

I know that many hearts ache this year with the reality that, in a year when we need that promise more than ever, we can’t experience it in the way we look forward to each

St. Paul's, Pittsford, in 2019

year. We will, of course, still recall that light shining from the manger on that silent, holy night – I am counting on you lighting candles in your homes, maybe even going out on your porch to hold a candle and sing out into the neighborhood. Even if we cannot be together, a light still shines in the darkness and the darkness still has not overcome it! That does not change.

Even so, that darkness has made a pretty good showing this year. With all that 2020 has brought, it can be difficult to believe that there might be a light shining that could possibly overcome that… yet this is what makes it all the more important to believe exactly that! We need that light to creep in, to wiggle in like a sleepy 3-year-old climbing into mommy’s bed, and embrace us with its warmth.

This need is not so different from that first Christmas night, of course. Our hearing of the Christmas story has been sanitized over time, made more sweet and cute than aching and painful. It’s easy to miss or overlook why this light shining in the darkness was so important. The Roman occupation was no picnic. The hundreds of years of feeling like God had abandoned God’s people. The year that Emmanuel, God-with-us, was born, the earth was more than ready for a savior. They were living in a land of deep darkness, just like the people in our reading this evening from Isaiah. And into that darkness, God crept in, wiggled His way into humanity and into a manger in a stable in a quiet, dark little town, so that the shadows would no longer be quite so consuming. And in the dark streets of that little town of Bethlehem, shined the everlasting light.

Do you think God will do that again this Christmas? Do we believe that this will happen, that the light of Christ will creep in beside us, finding its way into a nook or cranny, onto the very edge of the bed or that little space up by the pillow, and shine away the shadows of fear?

It can sometimes be difficult to believe, I know. It has been a hard, emotional, exhausting year, one that has brought many to a breaking point or close to it. So how do we keep believing this light has come, or will?

Maintaining the hope and the belief that God’s brightness will still dispel the shadows starts with opening our hurting hearts even to the mere possibility that it can. It starts with making our hearts as vulnerable as God made Himself when He became a helpless child, completely dependent on a teenage girl and her terrified fiancé to take care of him. It starts with trusting that if God was willing to do that, then God must also know what is needed to take care of us in the effort.

This leap of faith, this vulnerability, can be terrifying. God knows about that, too! The Christmas story is full of a lot more fear than cheer. That Mary was pregnant at all was a risk, in a time when pregnancy was a leading cause of death – let alone that she was unwed, a real scandal! A long journey – probably about 80 miles – by foot. Giving birth to her first child, in a stable with no family to help her except her terrified fiancé. A group of trembling shepherds in the hills confronted by a host of angels. Might as well add to the story a deadly virus, social and political unrest, and an economic downturn, right? In fact, those things probably were going on in the background!

Nope, the characters in the story are no strangers to fear, any more than we are. And there are lots of reasons to keep our hearts safe from all our fears, to just shut ourselves away from it, distract ourselves and focus on something else. Same thing in the story. Mary could have said no to the angel. Joseph could have dismissed Mary quietly like he planned. The shepherds could have just gone back to work. It would have made for a much different story. But instead, the angel says to Mary, “Do not be afraid.” The angel says to Joseph, “Do not be afraid.” And the angel says to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid.” Be open to hearing this good news of great joy. To you is born this day, a Savior. You will no longer be in the shadow of death. A light has come to scatter the darkness.

And what do Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds do? They believe it. They tell people that they believe it. And after the shepherds have greeted this babe, this light shining in the darkness, Luke tells us, they return, “praising and glorifying God for all they had heard and seen,” giving thanks that when they were able to open their hearts, their ears, their eyes, to the possibility that such a darkness-shattering light could be true, as terrified and trembling as they had once been, now they had indeed been transformed.

Some years ago, I learned of this beautiful prayer from a book called Cloth for the Cradle. It gives words to the prayer and longing of our hearts this year better than I ever could, so in closing, I’d like to read it. Let us pray…

 

 

When the world was dark

and the city was quiet,

You came.

 

You crept in beside us.

 

And no one knew.

Only the few who dared to believe

that God might do something different.

 

Will you do the same this Christmas, Lord?

 

Will you come into the darkness of tonight’s world?

Not the friendly darkness

as when sleep rescues us from tiredness,

but the fearful darkness,

in which people have stopped believing

         that the war will end

         or that food will come

         or that a government will change

         or that the church cares?

 

Will you come into that darkness

and do something different

to save your people from death and despair?

 

Will you come into the quietness of our cities and towns;

Not the friendly quietness

as when lovers hold hands,

but the fearful silence when

         the phone has not rung,

         the letter has not come,

         the friendly voice no longer speaks,

         the doctor’s face says it all?

 

Will you come into that darkness,

and do something different,

not to distract, but to embrace your people?

And will you come into the dark corners

and the quiet places of our lives?

 

We ask this not because we are guilt-ridden

or want to be,

but because the fullness our lives long for

depends on us being as open and vulnerable to you

as you were to us,

when you came,

wearing no more than diapers,

and trusting human hands

to hold their maker.

 

Will you come into our lives,

if we open them to you

and do something different?

 

When the world was dark

and the city was quiet

You came.

 

You crept in beside us.

 

Do the same this Christmas, Lord,

do the same this Christmas.

Amen.

Sermon: A visit from Mary, the mother of God (Dec 20, 2020)

 

This sermon is much better heard, as it is meant to be a performance, not a script. You can view it here. It starts around 33 min (just before).

Advent 4B

December 20, 2020

Luke 1:26-38

 

INTRODUCTION:

         First we had despair, then hope, then joy… now today, on this 4^th Sunday of Advent, we get to hear something that sounds like a Christmas story! We’re almost there, folks!

         But first, a quick recollection about one reason why Jesus coming was a big deal, which we’ll hear in Samuel. Way back during King David’s rule, David had this idea to build a house for God, a Temple. But God had other plans. “No, I’m going to build you a house,” God says, by which he means, a dynasty. God promised that from David’s line would come the One who would rule forever and ever, and be a blessing for the whole world.

For centuries, God’s people have waited and wondered when this Messiah would come. And the first one to hear that the time is upon them is not the king of Israel, but a peasant girl in Galilee named Mary, who is betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David. (!) That’s the story we will hear today – in my humble opinion, one of the most remarkable texts in all of scripture. Just as remarkable is the song that Mary will subsequently sing, having heard that she will carry the Son of God in her womb. When the angel leaves, she runs to her cousin Elizabeth’s house, having just learned that Elizabeth, who was said to be barren, is now 6 months pregnant. Upon hearing Mary coming, Elizabeth feels her own child (who is John the Baptist) leap in her womb. In joy, Mary sings the song known as the Magnificat, so-called because that is its first word in Latin: “Magnificat anima mea dominum” – My soul magnifies the Lord. The words have been set to music countless times, including seven different settings in our hymnal alone. We will hear one of those as our Psalm today, and sing another as our sending hymn.

There is so much I want you to notice about this wonderful story: Mary’s gusty response to the angel, the table-turning nature of her song, the way women play a central role in this story, the way God’s promises come to pass in sometimes crazy, unexpected ways… But I’ll just say this: listen to these texts as if you’re hearing them for the first time. Take them in as if you were the one waiting all these years for a savior. What are you noticing for the first time? Let’s listen.

[READ]

An Egyptian portrayal of Mary,
from the Basilica of the Annunciation in the Holy Land.

         This morning, we have a visit from Mary, mother of Jesus…

         I felt the angel’s presence, before I saw it. It was an ordinary day, I was doing my work like I always do, humming to myself, when the air suddenly felt sort of… electric. Like all the hair on my arms and back was sticking up straight. I turned slowly around, and it was all bright, warm light, yet I didn’t need to squint. Instead, my eyes were wide open – open to see and take in this mysterious stranger whom I suddenly knew to be a messenger from God.

         I always heard about angels being terrifying. All of the scripture talks about it. Yet I must say… I was not afraid. Perplexed and confused? Sure. Amazed, to be certain! But not afraid. How could I be afraid of what felt so strongly of love?

         And then from the light came a voice that sounded like bells ringing: “Greetings, favored one,” it said. “The Lord is with you.” Now this was strange. Favored one? I almost laughed, as I felt the callouses on my hands and viewed my humble home. Favored was not a word I would usually use in reference to myself! Faithful, maybe, but also poor, young, and a woman – not favored statuses. As I wondered what sort of greeting this might be, the angel went on, “Do not be afraid Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.”

         Now this was unnerving. Like every woman, I envisioned myself having children one day. And for me, I figured it would be pretty soon, seeing as how I was engaged to that nice man, Joseph, a longtime friend of the family. But we weren’t married yet, and we certainly had not had relations, so what was this angel talking about that I would have a child now?

         But even more than confused, I admit that I was, at this point, afraid – not of the angel, but of the news. The stories about me don’t talk about this. They always paint me as meek and obedient, like some kind of ever-willing pawn in the story of God, as if I never had a thought or feeling about this situation. Believe me – I had feelings about it! I knew what happened to girls who got pregnant before they were married. I saw how they were mocked, or even stoned for this indiscretion. Though I was known for being somewhat more plucky than many of my friends, willing to face any challenge head on, that did not mean I wanted to voluntarily put myself in such a dangerous position! I trusted God, but… this was terrifying.

         As I processed all of this, the angel went on, describing this child I would apparently conceive, not by Joseph but “by the Holy Spirit.” He said the child was the Son of the Most High, and was the long-awaited descendant of King David who would rule forever over Israel. As I heard these words, my fears began to turn into excitement. I suddenly saw myself as a part of a much larger story, the story of my people, like Sarah and Tamar, Rahab and Ruth had been. Mine would not be the story of one terrified maiden worried about what people would say about her unplanned pregnancy out of wedlock. This was big. Since I was a little girl, I had been told of the promises God had made to the people of Israel, about God’s rescue plan. To our ancestor Abraham, God had made three important promises: first, that Abraham and Sarah’s descendants would become a whole nation. This had happened – here we were, the people of Israel. Second, that we would have our own land. While this had been rocky throughout our history, with various exiles and occupations over time (and we were currently occupied by Rome), we were, in fact, living in the Promised Land.

But that third promise was the one we still hadn’t seen: the promise that from our people would come a ruler who would be a blessing for the whole world. We had been hopeful many times… but for 400 years, we had heard nothing. Many had begun to lose hope that God’s promise would ever come to pass.

         And now here, this angel stood before me, telling me that the promise my people had hoped for and anticipated for thousands of years… would begin to grow in my own womb, hearing the beat of my own heart, filling my own being.

         Could it be true? Could such hope really enter our lives once again through my own flawed vessel of a body? I believe I muttered then something about my disbelief, rooting it in some silly thing like not being married – as if such a thing could stop God from bringing about His promises!

         The angel paused then – I remember this – giving me a moment to collect my thoughts, all the while bringing to the space a depth of love that I had never before experienced. I tingled all over – was it the angel’s warmth, or could this be what it feels like to be, as the angel described, “overshadowed” by the Holy Spirit?

Discerning then that I was ready to hear more, the angel continued: “Even now your relative Elizabeth, in her old age, has also conceived a son; and this is the 6^th month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Elizabeth! My favorite relative! Tears sprang to my eyes as I recalled sitting with Elizabeth, talking about scripture in the ways that women do. How many hours had we laughed and cried together, as we recalled God’s mysterious ways, both those described in scripture and those we had seen. Elizabeth was the most faithful person I knew. She loved God so deeply and never doubted his providence or faithfulness. Though she never talked about it, I had seen the look on her face when she saw the children others bore, as she longed for her own child. But she and Uncle Zechariah had never been able to have a child. And now she would have a child!

         And then I knew. I knew with every bone in my body. I knew that everything would be fine. My dear Elizabeth would bear a child. And I would bear the Son of God, the descendant of David for whom we had waited so long, the blessing for the whole world. For nine months, I would hold Eternity in my own being. I would feed him with my own milk, my own body. I would give myself for him. I would sing him the songs of our people – songs of justice for the poor and hungry, songs of praise for the ways God lifts up the lowly and scatters the proud. I would teach him how God has kept His promises from generation to generation, even as he has uniquely blessed me to be the one who would help to bring about these promises. I would bear the Son of God.

         Tears streaming down my cheeks, I lifted my face to the warm, glowing light still filling my house. I straightened my shoulders, and raised my chin.

         “Yes,” I said, unwavering. “Here I am, the servant of the Lord. Let it be with me, according to your will."

Singing the Magnificat

 I wrote this blog several years ago, and just came across it. I wrote it for my choir's blog (Concentus Women's Chorus), but never shared it here. In a year when we can't sing in choirs like this, it hit me especially meaningfully. So, as we prepare to hear Mary's Magnificat this Sunday, enjoy this reflection:

As a pastor in the Rochester area, this season is a pretty busy one for me. While I love Christmas preparations at my church, the time I spend preparing for Concentus Christmas concerts is for me a sacred time. The music we sing, some ancient and some contemporary, is so beautiful, and the texts so compelling. Even our rehearsals seem to offer me a chance for worship and devotion - an opportunity pastors often covet, particularly at this time of year. But in this music, I am given the chance to enter the mystery that is Christ's birth, and dwell there - sometimes in unity and unison, then enchantingly breaking into simple harmonies, and occasionally into dramatic six or eight part complexity. I don't know any better prayer than to lift my voice and join in perfect harmony: "Glory to God!"

 

One year, before our Christmas concert, we sat together and reflected on what we were about to do, and what it meant to us. I offered, "I really believe this stuff we are singing! Not only do I believe it, but I believe it is something worth singing about. And so it is a joy and privilege to do it with you all today." As I have thought back on that, it has become more and more true. Not all the music we sing is sacred, in that it is not all about God or Christ or Mary (though much of it is). But to me it is all sacred because it all calls on the beautiful potential of life and love and beauty and of each of us contributing to its performance, both singers and collaborating musicians. Not to sound overly dramatic, but I truly feel that being a part of this is a religious experience, one I am privileged to experience every Sunday night.

 

But I especially feel it at our concerts. This year's Christmas concert fell on the third Sunday in Advent, known as Gaudete or Rejoice Sunday. Liturgically speaking, it is the day in the midst of the season of Advent, the season we wait and hope, when we remember with sparkling eyes what is coming - and rejoice in it! I was delighted that I would get to do that in song this year. Our conductor urged us to let the zest she knows we have shine through in our performance. "You know your notes, now just shine!" I made every effort as we sang to think about the words, and to make my face look like how I felt about them.

 

Our closing piece was a dramatic version (by Z. Randall Stroope) of the Magnificat, the beautiful song Mary sings when she learns she will bear the Son of God. The harmonies are tight and the accompaniment is four hands piano. There are occasional periods of unison or two part harmony, some parts unaccompanied, one solo section - the variation captures the intensity and variation of the original text, which was quite revolutionary, talking about the mighty being brought down and the lowly lifted up, the hungry being filled and the rich sent away empty, and overall about how God makes good on God's promises, as God has done for generations before and will do for generations following. 

 

As we sang this remarkable work, I did as I had done before - imagine the text and the message so that my face might reflect its meaning. But I found that I didn't get very far before I was so moved by it all that I couldn't sing - I was crying. "For God is mighty, and has done wondrous things to me... He plucked the mighty from their seats, exalting the humble... The hungry will be filled with good things in remembrance of his mercy. He helped Israel, as promised..." I quickly tried to think of something else so I could at least sing the notes. But then came the dramatic end in bold and beautiful harmony: "Glory to the Father! Glory to the Son! Glory to the Holy Ghost! As it was in the beginning and ever shall be, world without end. Amen! Amen! Amen!" I couldn't resist; it was too much to take in. I was completely overcome by the beauty, the drama, the impact, the setting, the women around me, and the promise on which my life and faith are based. This, I thought. This is what it feels like to have worshiped.

 

Glory to God indeed! Amen! Amen! Amen!

Sermon: Build Back Faithful (Dec 13, 2020)

 Full service can be viewed here.

Advent 3B

December 13, 2020

Isaiah 61

 

INTRODUCTION

         Finally, in this third week of Advent, we start to get a sense of that joy we all expect out of this time of year. Advent 1, you may remember, brought more despair than joy, and week 2 we got a bit of hope, but not a lot joy. But on this 3^rd Sunday of Advent, the day often marked by a rose candle on the Advent wreath, we get some real live genuine joy. This 3rd Sunday of Advent is called “Gaudete Sunday,” or “Rejoice” Sunday, and it is meant to offer, at this halfway point, a little glimpse of the joy the Christ-child brings. So you will see that in our texts:

         Paul says it straight out to the Thessalonians, a fledgling church enduring great challenges: “Rejoice in the Lord always!” he exhorts. “Pray without stopping! Give thanks all the time!” Isaiah will speak of all the good news he is called upon to bring to God’s aching people. If you know your Gospels, you may recognize this text from Isaiah as the one on which Jesus preaches his first public sermon in Luke’s Gospel, finishing his reading by saying to the silent crowd, “This scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” indicating that he is bringing about this good news for the world. But that’s not actually the Gospel story we will hear today. We will hear, strangely enough, the same story we heard last week, except this time we’ll hear John’s version of it: the story about John the Baptist proclaiming the one who is coming. Though John has Jesus quoting the same text from Isaiah as Mark did, there are actually quite a few differences in this account, so, see if you can find them.

         As you listen to these joyful texts, notice what stirs your heart. Where do you find you need a word of joy proclaimed to your aching heart today? What feels like a salve to hear… but also, what word of joy might still be difficult to receive in a time with so much anxiety and sadness? Let’s listen.

[READ]

            Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         Well, we finally got what some of we’ve been looking for in the lectionary – some Advent joy! All four texts bring words of hope and joy to our aching, pandemic-heavy hearts. Boy, big relief, right?

         But I gotta say, that even though it is here… I’m still not really feeling it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have found several moments of genuine joy this season, but it is always tempered by the horrific news of soaring case numbers, full hospitals, people I know getting sick, stories of exhausted medical workers, increased levels of depression, and the persistent ache of missing cherished people and traditions. Though I appreciate the joy we hear about today, there are many moments when such joy feels forced, and while forced joy is sometimes necessary just to keep from sinking into the pit – it’s not quite doing it for me.

         But here’s the thing: being in this position puts us in good company. Because the original audiences for our readings this morning were also not in a very holly jolly place. The crowd around John the Baptist lived in a time of Roman oppression, and had barely heard “boo” from God in some 400 years. The Thessalonian Church was a struggling one, living as they did as persecuted minorities in a heavily Roman and Greek territory. These are deeply hurting communities who are hearing these hopeful, joy-filled words – a scenario we know something about!

         But I am especially moved this week by Isaiah. We’ve been studying Isaiah in our Advent Bible study this month, and finding so many contemporary applications, and today is no exception. First, a little background. The book we call Isaiah is actually three books, written by three different people in three different time periods. The first book is written pre-exile, and it is full of doom and gloom. “You have strayed from God, and you will pay!” sort of stuff. Second Isaiah speaks to the time after the prophecy of first Isaiah has come to pass, when the Israelites are in exile. After generations of apostacy and idolatry and abusive power, God has let them, as a last resort, suffer from the consequences of their actions, and their enemies overtake them, and they are sent to far-away Babylon. Being sent away from the Promised Land means they have lost everything that is meaning-making in their lives and their identity, including the Temple. Finally, in third Isaiah the prophet speaks to the people of Israel after they have returned from exile. These final chapters of the book are all about the rebuilding that must happen upon their return.

Our text today is from third Isaiah, this “rebuilding” period. Now your first thought might be that this would be a happy time – they’ve gotten to come home! Surely the promised joy and prosperity will follow! But picture it: their city has been destroyed. The Temple is in shambles. Though it has been 70 years since they were there, they surely had some hope and expectation that a return home would mean a return to a good, safe, comfortable life. But what they find there is anything but.

I’d like to stop here to point out how contemporary this feels. I have many times thought of this pandemic as a sort of exile. Though we haven’t been sent away somewhere, so much of what has brought meaning to our lives has been taken away from us. We are feeling disconnected, sometimes finding it hard even to connect with the people we love the most! Since March we have all been longing for the time when things will “go back to normal.” But what is “normal” anymore? And will it be for us like it was for the Israelites, where when we come home and get back to “normal” we are disappointed and grieving all over again that it does not look like we imagined it would?

Now enter today’s text. Knowing the context into which the prophet is speaking makes all the difference in how we hear these words. He’s not speaking generally about people who mourn, or are oppressed, or faint of spirit, or brokenhearted. He is speaking directly to people who are feeling those things right now. They are no doubt still feeling the pain and grief of what sent them into exile in the first place, and the pain and loss of their time in exile. And now on top of it, they are feeling the pain and disappointment of their return not being what they envisioned, and the fear of the hard work of rebuilding.

Now, when I’m feeling such a depth of emotion as all this, my inclination is to work quickly to get things back to normal, to what’s comfortable, back to something that looks pretty much like what I had lost. And I know I am not alone in this inclination. How many times have we heard or said ourselves, “I can’t wait until everything goes back to normal”? But the prophet’s words today, as hopeful as they are, offer a strong caution against this inclination. Remember, “how things were” is not a good look for the Israelites. Their old normal is a cycle of apostacy, idolatry and abusive power. It is what got them sent into exile in the first place! Going back to that normal may feel comfortable to them, but it is not God’s hope for them.

I think we need to keep this in mind, as we look ahead a few months toward our own period of rebuilding after this pandemic. We also cannot rebuild back to exactly what we were – not as individuals, or the Church, or as society. Just as Israel’s old normal was rife with bad behavior, our old normal was not all roses and sunshine. The pandemic and other events this year have revealed so many weaknesses in our society, so many broken places. The rich have gotten richer off this pandemic, while the poor are barely making it (if they’re making it at all). The well-off are able to stay safe and healthy and get the care they need, while those with less and especially people of color have gotten sick and have died at dramatically higher rates. We as a society need to look at these things and why they happened. We as a church need to consider how our mission is responding to what we have learned. As we build back, we must not build back the realities that allowed this to happen.

And here is where we can find some of that genuine joy we long for, even in the midst of uncertainty and grief. The prophet assures the Israelites, and us as well, that this difficult work of rebuilding a world that looks more like God’s vision for us, will not be up to us alone. The prophet uses this beautiful image of a gardener God, planting oaks that will display the Lord’s glory. God will tend this garden, this work. Then the prophet shifts to God not as a gardener, but as the garden itself, the soil that fertilizes growth. “As the earth brings forth its shoots,” the prophet writes, “and as a garden causes what is shown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.” God will make that happen, not us alone. God will be the force that guides and nourishes the rebuilding of His people. And so, the process of transformation will be communal, God and people together.

And of course, we have something that Isaiah only hinted at: we have the knowledge that many centuries after this post-exilic restoration, God would come among His people even more profoundly, in the person of Jesus Christ. And the One who is Immanuel, God-with-us, this season, is with us in every season. He will be with us as we face this devastating wave of the pandemic. He will be with us as vaccines begin to be administered, and we start to think about returning to those activities that bring us joy. And he will be with us as we rebuild a better society than what we had pre-pandemic – one that is infused with God’s justice, compassion and love. May we keep eyes and hearts open to understand God’s hope for us.

Let us pray… Nourishing, empowering God, sometimes, even in the midst of a joyous season, we still feel sad, scared, and tired. Help us to trust in these moments, that restoration is not up to us alone, but that you work with us and in us to bring about your vision. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.