What Child Is This?

Scripture:  I Samuel 2:18-21, 26; Colossians 3:12-17; Luke 2:41-52

One of my earliest childhood memories is of a time when I wandered off from Sunday school, at the age of 4 or 5.    I don’t remember the specifics of why I wandered off from Sunday school, but I suppose I wasn’t very impressed with the lesson that day.  I do remember that one of the teachers kept bringing in weird stories from Weekly World News, and I guess on that day I didn’t want to hear about Jesus and the Bat Boy or Jesus and the Alien or Jesus and Elvis.  So anyway, I was bored, and I decided to go home.  Of course, there was the minor matter of exactly where “home” was, and how to get there from church.  But I set out on my quest.  I don’t know exactly how far I got, but my vague memory was that I may have made it 6 or 8  blocks – in what direction, I have no idea – before my parents found me.  So let that be a lesson to our Sunday school teachers – don’t bring in articles from Weekly World News for the Sunday school lesson.  And, of course, you now know that even future pastors aren’t always crazy about spending time in church.

 

In today’s readings, we’re given, side by side, portraits of two boys who, unlike me, didn’t want to escape from the Lord’s presence, but wanted to live in the presence of the Lord - the prophet Samuel as a boy, as well as a glimpse of the boy Jesus at age 12.  Samuel, of course, was the much-prayed-for son of Hannah, who had been barren for so long.  As Hannah had promised, Samuel was presented to the Lord as a Nazarite, to minister to the Lord.  Today’s reading tells us that while Hannah and her husband Elkanah visited the boy Samuel each year, it was the priest of Shiloh, Eli, who was the formative influence in the life of the young Samuel – at least until he heard the voice of the Lord calling to him. 

 

 In today’s reading from Luke’s Gospel, we catch a glimpse of Jesus at the age of 12, becoming separated from his parents.  The lectionary series of Gospel readings this year does a weird time travel thing – we read about Jesus birth on Christmas Eve, today we read about Jesus at age 12, and next week on Epiphany Sunday, celebrating the visit of the wise men, Jesus will be about age 2.  Traditionally, the Sunday after Christmas is supposed to focus on the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.  As it happens, we see Jesus beginning to show a bit of independence from his earthly parents.  And, unlike my childhood wandering away from church, Jesus got separated from his parents, not because he wanted to leave the Temple, but because he wanted to stay.

 

The parents among us can take comfort from today’s reading, in that even the Holy Family had its moments of tension.  We’re given to understand that Mary and Joseph traveled to Jerusalem  with their extended family in a large group, and so when Jesus stayed behind, it was easy for him to get lost in the shuffle.   His parents found him in the Temple in conversation with the teachers.  Mary tells Jesus that she and his father had been searching high and low for him.  And the boy Jesus replied, “Did you not know I must be in my Father’s house.”  And so we have two contrasting mentions of Jesus’ father, with Mary referring to Joseph and Jesus referring to God.  As far as Mary and Joseph were concerned, the house of Jesus’ father was in Nazareth, where they lived.  But Jesus saw the Jerusalem temple as his father’s house.  Luke tells the story in such a way that his account of the boy Jesus conversing with the teachers in the Temple would have reminded his readers of the boy Samuel ministering under the guidance of the priest Eli.  There is an earlier parallel between Jesus and Samuel in Luke’s account – Mary’s magnificat is very similar to the Song of Hannah. And both stories end with very similar words to the effect that “The boy Samuel or the boy Jesus grew in stature and in favor with God and the people.”

 

This story is really the only glimpse we get in the Bible of Jesus as a child.  There were some non-canonical “gospels” circulated among the early church that didn’t make it into the Bible, such as the infancy Gospel of Thomas, that portrayed the boy Jesus as having miraculous powers but a small boy’s immature outlook and peevish temper – so in these “gospels” the boy Jesus made clay birds and then breathed life into them so that they flew away, and struck dead a neighbor boy with whom he had a quarrel, and then brought him back to life.  But today’s Gospel reading has no miracles – after all, Jesus isn’t teaching the elders in the temple, just learning from them.  But the account does give us a sense that Jesus had some early insight that God had a special purpose for him.      

 

These stories remind us that even for Samuel, and even for Jesus, faith did not come fully formed from the moment of their birth.  We’re given to understand that both the boy Samuel and the boy Jesus had unusual insight for their age, but that insight needed guidance, as Samuel was guided by Eli, even with all his limitations, and Jesus sought guidance from the teachers in the Temple.  And their faith did develop beyond those early influences – not long after the events in today’s reading, Samuel receives an ominous word from the Lord with regard to Eli and his family, and as an adult, in his earthly ministry, Jesus would be quite critical of the leadership of the Temple. 

 

Our congregation, Emanuel Church, has been blessed to have children among us in recent years, after several years when we rarely saw children among us.  Just as Samuel needed the guidance of Eli, even with all his limitations, these children need our guidance, even with our limitations.     And age 12 is an important age – as I understand it, Jewish girls are bat mitvahed at age 12, and boys at age 13, and thus are held accountable for their own actions, and counted as full members of the worshipping community.  It’s also about the time when, in many churches, young people start the confirmation classes that mark their journey to full “adult” membership in the church.   It’s been a while since we’ve had a confirmation class, but our children are growing older, and I live in hope that in a few years, Emanuel Church will once again hold confirmation classes.  But even though we don’t have a confirmation class right now, we do have a Sunday school, and all of us, even those who are not Sunday school teachers, have a role in making this church a safe and nurturing environment for learning.

 

And growing and maturing in the faith is not supposed to stop age age 12 or 13.  It’s for all of us – children, teens, and adults of all ages.  We all, of whatever age, are called on by God to grow in wisdom and spiritual stature.  For many Christians, though, confirmation class is the last time they attend church regularly or receive any regular religious instruction.  Many teens depart from the church right after confirmation, and don’t return until there’s a wedding or a baptism, if at all.  And so, for many who don’t regularly participate in the life of the faith community and don’t engage in spiritual study and reflection on a regular basis, their faith development gets stuck wherever it was at age 12 or 13, while the rest of their lives are moving forward into adult maturity.  And when these people undergo difficult life transitions, faith that is at a teenage level of development isn’t enough to carry us through adult crises. 

I’m grateful that members of our congregation are willing to help our children grow in the faith.  But, ideally, none of us is ever done learning or growing in the faith, this side of the grave.  For our adults, we offer a time of study after worship on most Sundays.  And if anyone wants to schedule a Bible study or prayer gathering at some time other than Sunday morning, I’m certainly willing to listen.  And we can learn and grow just through our encounters with each other on Sundays from week to week.

 

St. Paul wrote these words to the church at Corinth, who were struggling to come to spiritual maturity:  “When I was a child, I spoke like a child; I thought like a child; I reasoned like a child; but when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.  For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.   Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.”  Until that day when we all see face to face and know fully, may we at Emanuel Church continue to encourage each other to grow in wisdom and spiritual stature – and may we be a place where visitors can be supported in their journey of faith.  Amen.

 

Expecting

( Scriptures: Micah 5:2-5a; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-55 )

 “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas……”  The Mayan calendar has ended, but we have not – and so Christmas day will soon be upon us.

I don’t know about you, but I always enjoy the last day or two before Christmas.  The days immediately following Thanksgiving are filled with crowded malls and office parties and cards to mail and such – much of which feels like chores to be done rather than blessings to be enjoyed, much of which leaves me exhausted rather than exhilarated.   But finally, at some point, the mall crowds and office parties are past, and any last minute cards likely won’t get to their destination in time anyway, so why bother….and so I can exhale…..and inhale….and take in something of the spirit of the season.

 

The lectionary feels a bit like that also, as the readings make a transition on this last Sunday in Advent.  During the past three weeks we’ve been pondering ominous prophecies about the 2^nd coming of Christ and listening to annoying, demanding voices like those of John the Baptist.  But now things shift, the men are shoved offstage for the moment, and two women – two pregnant women – take center stage, Elizabeth and Mary.  Elizabeth, the wife of Zechariah the priest, living in the hill country of Judea, and her cousin Mary, living up to the north, way out in Galilee.  Both are expecting, and in both cases this is unexpected; in Elizabeth’s case, because she had been barren and was getting on in years, and in Mary’s case because she had not been intimate with a man.  We’re told that Mary set out with haste from Galilee to the hill country of Judea – quite a long journey – and Mary kept Elizabeth company during the last three months of her pregnancy.  What they must have talked about during those three months – yes, Elizabeth’s increasing discomfort as the time for her delivery approached, but also their questions – how did the two of us ever wind up in such a strange situation anyway? – and their hopes and dreams for the children growing within them.  And what dreams Mary had! – she sings that through the child within her, God has shown strength with his arm and has scattered the proud, brought down the powerful and lifted up the lowly, fed the hungry and sent the rich away empty.  Mary’s son isn’t even born yet, and she’s expecting that through this baby, God will somehow turn the world upside down – or maybe, to be more accurate, will somehow set our upside-down world right side up.  And she sings of all this as if it’s already happened, as if it’s already a done deal.

 

Over these four weeks of Advent, we’ve lit the candles on our Advent wreath.  Of course, we associate these candles with hope, peace, joy, and love…but perhaps we can also associate them with the words of the prologue of John’s Gospel, that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

 

Mary and Elizabeth lived in a world in which there was great darkness – looming behind every aspect of their lives was the Roman occupation, the heavy taxes that went to pay for Herod’s building projects, the harsh dealings with Rome’s army of occupation and with their tax collectors.  And yet God said nothing about somehow turning off the darkness, making the darkness go away, but rather shining a light in the darkness that the darkness could neither comprehend it nor overcome it.   The darkness was based largely in fear – Rome’s fear of threats from within and without, Herod’s fear of losing his throne, the peoples’ fear of incurring the wrath of Rome – and their fear of incurring God’s wrath if they failed to follow the dictates of the religious establishment of the day – and at least the Jerusalem temple religious establishment was working hand-in-glove with Rome.  But remember the words of the angels to Zechariah and to Mary – “Do not be afraid.”  Because perfect love casts out fear.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

 

We also live in a time of great darkness.  We live in a country in which fear runs rampant – fear of being attacked by other countries, fear of being attacked by our neighbors, fear of not having enough, fear of losing what little we do have, fear of those who are different from us, who we consider “other” – and in America we’re very good at “othering” our neighbors - fear and regret over the past, fear and anxiety for the future.  Like the Roman empire into which Jesus was born, ours is a violent culture, and just as Rome did, in America we respond to our fear, among other ways, by arming ourselves to the teeth.  

 

The words of the angels to Zechariah and to Mary are the words of the angels to us – “Do not be afraid.  God is still in the process of bringing new life, and so our lives, and the life of this congregation, are expectant, pregnant with possibility.   And so we acknowledge the darkness – kind of hard not to, though many try – but we are not controlled by the darkness.   Instead, we let the light of Christ shine in us, and so our lives, and that of Emanuel Church, are like candles against the darkness…seemingly insignificant, seemingly always on the verge of being blown out by a stray gust of wind, but still there.  In this connection, I’d like to share a 2009 article, from the newspaper USA Today, of all places, about the power of candles in the darkness.

 

The church that helped bring down the Berlin Wall   Posted 11/5/2009 4:51 PM | Comment | Recommend

By Deborah Potter, Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly LEIPZIG, Germany — St. Nikolai Evangelical Lutheran Church hasn't changed much since the 16th century. Bach once played the organ here and the music remains alluring, but it is the church's more recent history in the last days of the Cold War and its role in the fall of the Berlin Wall that draw tourists today. The Rev. Christian Fuhrer became the pastor at St. Nikolai in 1980, when the world was divided by the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States. Germany itself was split in two, most visibly by the wall the East German government — the German Democratic Republic— built in Berlin in 1961 in an attempt to keep its people from fleeing to the West. In the GDR, atheism was the norm. Churches like St. Nikolai were spied on but allowed to remain open. "In the GDR, the church provided the only free space," Fuhrer said in an interview with Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly. "Everything that could not be discussed in public could be discussed in church, and in this way the church represented a unique spiritual and physical space in which people were free." In the early 1980s, Fuhrer began holding weekly prayers for peace. Every Monday, worshippers recited the Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount. Few came at first, but attendance grew as the Soviet Union began opening to the West. The prayer service, Fuhrer said, "was something very special in East Germany. Here a critical mass grew under the roof of the church — young people, Christians and non-Christians, and later, those who wanted to leave (East Germany) joined us and sought refuge here." As a college student in those years, Sylke Schumann was one of the hundreds, then thousands, who joined the vigils in the sanctuary at St. Nikolai and then marched in the streets holding candles and calling for change. "Seeing all these people gather in this place ... from week to week and more and more people gathering, you had the feeling this time really the government had to listen to you," Schumann said. In October 1989, on the 40th anniversary of the GDR, the government cracked down. Protesters in Leipzig were beaten and arrested. Two days later, St. Nikolai Church was full to overflowing for the weekly vigil. When it was over, 70,000 people marched through the city as armed soldiers looked on, but did nothing. "I remember it was a cold evening, but you didn't feel cold, not just because you saw all the lights, but also because you saw all these people, and it was, you know, it was really amazing to be a part of that, and you felt so full of energy and hope," Schumann said. "For me, it still gives me the shivers thinking of that night. It was great." "In church," Fuhrer said, "people had learned to turn fear into courage, to overcome the fear and to hope, to have strength. They came to church and then started walking, and since they did not do anything violent, the police were not allowed to take action. "(East German officials) said, 'We were ready for anything, except for candles and prayer.'" Jesus and the Sermon on the Mount were Fuhrer's primary motivations, but he also drew inspiration from German pastor and Nazi martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer as well as Gandhi and the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. Fuhrer said King "prepared and executed this idea of nonviolence, peaceful resistance, in a wonderful way. Then it became our turn to apply the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount here in Leipzig." Just a month after the massive demonstration, the wall between East and West Berlin came down. The church had sent a powerful message to the world: the East German government no longer controlled its people. "If any even ever merited the description of 'miracle' that was it," Fuhrer said. "A revolution that succeeded, a revolution that grew out of the church. It is astonishing that God let us succeed with this revolution." Fuhrer, who retired last year at 65, as required by the church, has written a book about those historic days. St. Nikolai itself has gone back to being a parish church, its congregations not much larger than before the demonstrations. But Fuhrer said he and his fellow worshippers didn't do what they did back then to draw people to the church. "We did it," he said, "because the church has to do it."

 

And let me close with these words from Howard Thurman, whom the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. counted as one of his spiritual mentors:

 

“I will light candles at Christmas

Candles of joy, despite all sadness,

Candles of hope where despair keeps watch.

Candles of courage for fears ever present,

Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,

Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,

Candles of love to inspire all my living,

Candles that will burn all the year long.”

 

Amen.

"Anyway" - A Sermon for Tragic Times in Advent

Note: Emanuel Church had a guest preacher on December 9, 2012, so there is no sermon on the blog for that Sunday.

(Scripture:  Zephaniah 3:14-20; Philippians 4:2-9; Luke 3:1-18 )

 

This morning’s Scripture readings, on this 3^rd Sunday in Advent, give us visions of the coming reign of God.  Zephaniah speaks of a time of restoration for Judah, when the lame and outcast are welcomed back into the community and Judah’s fortunes are restored.  In our reading from Luke’s Gospel, John the Baptist is out at the Jordan river preaching repentance, and urging his listeners to make the changes in their lives that will help them live into the new reality of the reign of God in Christ Jesus.  And in our reading from Philippians, Paul tells his readers, despite the controversies that have engulfed their church and despite Paul’s own captivity, to rejoice in the Lord always.
 

 Rejoice?  Given the events of Friday morning, a reading of Paul’s words seems jarringly out of place.  On Friday morning, Adam Lanza, a 20 year old man, possibly plagued by mental illness, barged into an elementary school and opens fire.  Before turning the gun on himself, he killed 20 children, most not 10 years old, as well as a teacher and various school staff.  Apparently before setting out for the school, he had gunned down his own mother, who by all accounts had been quite devoted to his well-being.  The young man had stolen his older brother’s ID, and in the confusion it was originally reported that the older brother was the shooter…..and so the older brother learned of the death of his mother and younger brother in the worst way possible, hearing his own name associated with the horror. 
 

 Other than with tears, how are we to respond to all of this?  It is perhaps human nature, and perhaps part of our cultural conditioning as Americans, to search for ways in which this tragedy could have been prevented.  We want a way to fix this so it doesn’t happen again…but I think we find that perhaps there are no quick fixes.  Certainly we can point to our society’s easy availability of guns, and there seem to be more and more incidents of unstable persons getting their hands on an arsenal of guns, walking into public places – a school, a movie theatre, a mall – and opening fire.  It’s a conversation that needs to take place.  On the other hand, the state of Connecticut already has gun laws on the books that, while not the toughest in the nation, are more restrictive than those of many states.  Apparently Lanza’s mother was a gun collector and had a number of legally-acquired guns in her home.  We should ask what it means in our culture that implements of death are considered desirable collectors’ items, and we can certainly question the wisdom of her sharing her home with multiple guns and a possibly-unstable son, but she likely had no way to know what was going on in her son’s head.  We can point to the shortcomings in our society’s care for the mentally ill, which are many and grievous – many of the folks we see on the streets panhandling are mentally ill, and in earlier decades would have been put in institutions which, while they had serious failings of their own, at least kept people fed and sheltered from the elements.  But by all accounts, the Lanza family was relatively well off, and likely could have afforded treatment had it been deemed appropriate.   Our society has become polarized and violent, with various factions figuratively and sometimes literally at one another’s throats – but it’s unlikely that Adam acted out of a political agenda.  About the only thing we can say with certainty is that, had it not been for the heroic efforts of teachers and other personnel at the school who literally put their own bodies on the line to shelter the children in their care, many more children could have died.  Friday’s events showed the worst – and the best – of human nature.

 
 

St. Paul wrote of “the mystery of iniquity”, and there is a sense in which the pervasive presence of evil is a mystery, a sense in which we can’t fully get our arms around the causes of Friday’s events.  The other question that comes up, inevitably, is “where was God?”  Why didn’t God stop Adam, maybe strike him dead before he could harm others, or at least cause his guns to jam or maybe cause his car to break down on the way to the school?  Theodicy is the question of why a benevolent God permits widespread evil.  And Scripture doesn’t give us a neat, tidy philosophical answer to that question – perhaps the book of Job is as close as we come in Scripture, and while Job clearly speaks against the notion that all evil comes as divine retribution, beyond that, we don’t get a lot of clarity – basically God tells Job to mind his own business. Indeed, later in Luke’s Gospel, discussing some Galileans whom Pilate had executed, and discussing some others who were killed when the tower of Siloam collapsed, Jesus said, “Do you suppose these people were worse sinners than others?  No….”   The Psalms give us many lamentations against evil, many cries of “how long, O Lord”…but we don’t get a philosophical argument, but instead hear emotional prayers for God to intervene.   This morning’s reading from Zephaniah speaks of Judah’s restoration – but the rest of the book up to that point speaks of vast destruction that will be coming upon both Judah and its neighbors. 
 

 The early church seemed to take the presence and pervasiveness of evil in the world for granted – remember Paul writing not only about “the mystery of iniquity”, but about “powers and principalities, and spiritual wickedness in high places.” Their response wasn’t to question “why does evil exist?”, not to be shocked when tragedy struck, but rather to give thanks to God for not abandoning them to tragedy.   This morning’s reading from Luke’ s gospel starts out with a list of “who’s who” – “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Iturea and Trachonitis and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas….” – these are the folks in political and religious authority, and to a person they’re a nasty bunch; all had or would come to have blood on their hands….   But then we read of God’s response…. “the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.”  The crowds come to John – they know that the political and religious establishment of their day has no real answers – and John calls on them to bear fruit worthy of repentance.  Unlike the other Gospels, in Luke’s Gospel, the crowds push back and ask “what should we do?”  And John calls them to act justly and to care for their neighbors and for the poor: “whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise”  To the tax collectors – “Collect no more than what’s required.”  To the soldiers “Don’t extort money from others, and be content with your wages.”  All are demands that are difficult, and, well – demanding – but doable.  And all are ways in which John calls his hearers to live into the reign of God that Jesus will bring into the world.
 

Throughout the Gospels, there’s a constant push and pull between good and evil.  John preaches a baptism of repentance, and Herod has him beheaded.  Jesus is born to Mary, and Herod orders what we call the massacre of the innocents.  Jesus gathers his disciples, and one of them betrays him.  Jesus teaches and heals, and is arrested.  The religious and political establishment conspire to put Jesus to death, and God brings about resurrection. The synogogues expelled the early Christians and the Roman empire persecuted them, but Paul tells his readers to – “rejoice!”  To rejoice – anyway! 
 

Christ did not come to earth amid Christmas carols and mall displays, but in a world where life was held as cheap and tragedy was the rule rather than the exception.  Amid tragedy, we are called to remember how dependent we are on God, to look up, to cry out.  God has not abandoned us, and will not abandon us.  Where is God?  Amid the weakest and most vulnerable.  May the weakest and most vulnerable find a home at Emanuel Church as well.  Amen.
 

 (I would also encourage readers of this blog to check out the Trappist monk Thomas Merton's meditation, "The Time of the End is the Time of No Room", from his book "Raids on the Unspeakable".)

A Righteous Branch

(Scriptures:  Jeremiah 33:14-16, I  Thessalonians 3:9-13,  Luke 21:25-36)

 

As you may have noticed from the bulletin, today is the first Sunday in Advent.  In terms of the liturgical calendar, advent is a time of waiting for the coming of the Christ child.  In a broader sense, it’s a time of waiting for God to break into our world with new hope and new life.
 

 We also begin a new yearly cycle of Scripture readings, and for the coming year – until Christ the King Sunday in November 2013 – most of our Gospel readings will be coming from the Gospel of Luke.  Each of the Gospels has its own personality: John’s Gospel has a mystical, timeless quality to it, while the other three Gospels – Matthew, Mark, and Luke – follow roughly the same sequence in narrating the life and ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus.  But each of these three Gospels has its own unique qualities – each of the Gospel writers had their own sort of “secret sauce” that flavors the Gospel, similar to what various fast-food outlets offer to make their burgers unique.  Mark’s Gospel, thought to be the first written, is very fast moving, portrays Jesus as a man of action, and ends in an unresolved way that invites the reader to make their own decision about Jesus.  Matthew and Luke both expand on Mark’s narrative., Matthew adds a birth narrative and, for his Jewish readers,  many Old Testament references to assure his readers that Jesus was indeed the one foretold in the Scriptures.   Luke’s Gospel circulated in a more mixed community of Jews and Gentiles, and from time to time Luke explains various Jewish terms for his Gentile readers.  Like Matthew, Luke also adds a birth narrative, though different in some details from Matthew’s narrative.  Luke’s focus – his “secret sauce”, if you will – is an emphasis on how Jesus interacted with those on the margins of society:  the poor, the marginalized, and women – lots of women!  According to Luke, the text for Jesus’ very first sermon – which Jesus took as his mission statement – spoke of “proclaiming good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed and the year of the Lord’s favor” – literally, a jubilee.  Luke – named by St Paul as “the beloved physician” – had a real heart for those who were forgotten by the rest of society. 
 

 Each year, the Gospel reading for the first Sunday in Advent is, not about the birth of Jesus, but about the second coming.  It reminds us that we, too, live in expectation of seeing God intervene in our lives and in our society.
 

 Both our Old Testament and Gospel reading take place with unrest lurking in the background.   Our reading from Luke follows a description of the upcoming destruction of the temple in Jerusalem – Jerusalem surrounded by armies, days of vengeance, people fleeing for the mountains – the message is literally, “when you see all this, head for the hills!”- and Jerusalem being trampled by the Gentiles.  And then comes this morning’s reading, describing people fainting from foreboding at all the strange phenomena taking place in the natural world.  But Luke says, “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing nigh.”  So in the midst of Luke’s description of Jerusalem and the powers of nature literally going shake, rattle and roll, Luke’s message is – hope!

 

Those who originally heard Jeremiah’s words that we heard in our Old Testament reading had already seen their world shake, rattle and roll.  They had already seen Jerusalem and its Temple destroyed, had seen themselves exiled to a foreign land amid hostile people.  Before all this happened, Jeremiah warned against the leaders of Judah that their social injustices and their lack of concern for God and neighbor would lead to Jerusalem’s destruction.   When Judah’s leaders and elites were, as the saying goes, sitting fat, dumb, and happy, Jeremiah went against the grain by warning them of impending destruction.  But now that destruction had happened, and the exiles lamented in despair, Jeremiah once again went against the grain by speaking a word of hope.  At the time, the exiles from Judah saw their country as the rotting stump of a once-great tree that had been cut down.   But Jeremiah responds that the stump is not dead, that there’s still life in the roots, and that a branch – a righteous branch – will grow.  And, indeed, decades later, led by righteous leaders such as Ezra and Nehemiah and Zerubbabel, the exiles did return to Jerusalem and rebuild.  And, of course, the early church saw further fulfillment of Jeremiah’s words in the coming of Jesus.
 

  Do you have dreams that have been cut down, that are like a lifeless stump?  Perhaps dreams for for reconciliation with a friend or family member from whom we’re estranged?  Or dreams for an end to loneliness, for a sense of connection to the human race. Or dreams for a job that will enable us to feel like we’re where God wants us to be, doing what God has called us to do?  Or, in this economy, perhaps dreams for any kind of job, dreams for something as basic as being able to eat regularly, dreams for a safety and protection from those who would wish us harm.
 

Advent tells us to be alert, to be watchful for signs of God’s presence and intervention.  It likely won’t be in a way that’s obvious and heavy handed.  It may be more like the growth of a twig out of a stump that we thought was dead and rotted out.  Or it may, in fact, be something as small, but as powerful as the birth of a child……a child whose life will change the world forever.  While so many are frantically running about trying to find the perfect gift, during Advent we can celebrate the perfect gift of Hope that God has given to each of us. 

 

 And we can proclaim this gift of Hope to those around us.  We live in violent times, with many places around the globe surrounded by armies, and an increasing lack of civility in our own political process.  Climate change is manifesting in unusual weather patterns, and so-called “hundred-year storms” seem to be an increasingly frequent occurrence.  It’s easy to despair.  But instead, let us stand and look up.  God has not left the building.  Let us repent – that is, let us change direction to turn away from drunkenness and dissipation and all those things in our life that add to the world’s incivility and violence, turn away from our preoccupations with our personal priorities to respond to the poverty and pain of our neighbor and the degradation of what’s left of the natural environment, so that our neighbors and all of God’s creation can live in peace.  We worship a God who pleads with us to choose life, not death.  Indeed, we worship a God who from despair brings hope, and from death brings resurrection.  May we, as followers of the risen Christ, live so that our lives are aligned with the God’s powers of hope and new life, and may we proclaim hope and new life to our neighbors. 
 

 “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light, and on those living in the shadow of death, light has dawned.”   May we as followers of the Risen Christ live in the light, and may our witness lead our neighbors to the light as well. Amen.

 

 

Pastor Dave's December 2012 newsletter article

“The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: ‘The Lord is our righteousness.’"   Jeremiah 33:14-16

 “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…..”  These opening words from Charles Dickens’ book “A Tale of Two Cities” could also describe the situation of the Jewish people at the time this passage from the book of Jeremiah was written.  The Jews had been driven from Jerusalem and were living in exile as subjects of the Babylonian empire.  For Babylon, it was the best of times, as they were the world’s superpower of the day.  For the Jews, it was the worst of times, as they lived in a foreign land, longing for home.  Disobedience to God had brought about their exile in a foreign land.  Would God be angry forever?  Had God forgotten them?  The exiles responded to captivity in many ways.  Some tried to seek favor with the “powers that were” of the Babylonian empire; some became despondent; many just tried to pick up the pieces and get on with their lives as best they could.

Into this unsettled situation, the prophet Jeremiah spoke a word of hope. Before the exile, Jeremiah had stood against his society’s blissful ignorance by issuing dire warnings of God’s impending wrath at the unrighteousness of Judah’s rulers and society.  His warnings were ignored, and Judah lost its independence.  But now, in exile, in a situation of despair, Jeremiah once again stands against society’s despair to bring a word of hope.  “In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David” – not another corrupt political hack like the rulers who had previously led Judah astray – “and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.”

Scripture reminds us that after decades of exile, the Jews were eventually allowed to return to their homeland. Their country still continued to exist under domination of a succession of foreign powers – Babylon, Persia, Greece, and eventually Rome.  (Meet the new boss, not much different from the old boss.)  Luke reminds us that at the time of Jesus’ birth “A decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. ²This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.” The Roman Empire was throwing its power around.  Into this situation the angels spoke words of hope – to Zechariah and Elizabeth, and to Mary and Joseph – and to us.

What do you hope for?  Advent is a season of hope and expectation.  As Christians we are fully aware of all of society’s many injustices, and yet wait with hope and expectation to see how God will intervene.  And our hope is rewarded with the birth of Jesus, the Christ Child who will be the promised righteous Branch from David’s lineage.

“How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given….”  During this Advent season of waiting, amid all the many troubles of our day, may we not lose hope and become cynical.  Rather, may we open our eyes and ears to the ways in which God is acting in our midst.  God’s interventions for humankind often begin in small ways in out of the way places.  On Christmas, to bring salvation to the world, God did not send an army.  Instead he sent a Baby. 

What gift is God offering you this Christmas?³

See you in church –

Pastor Dave

Isn't It Ironic?

(Scriptures:       2 Samuel 23:1-7; Revelation 1:1-8; John 18:33-37)

 

Today is Christ the King Sunday, or in inclusive language Reign of Christ Sunday.  It’s the last Sunday of the church year, in which we lift up the reign of Christ, over our lives, over the church, over the cosmos.

And yet, the Gospel texts which the Lectionary associates with this lifting up of the Reign of Christ, portray Christ as a most unusual king.  On this Sunday last year – when our brother Chuck became a member of Emanuel church – the reading from Matthew’s Gospel was Jesus’ account of the judgment of the nations, in which the Son of Man will sit on his throne of glory and divide the sheep from the goats, and all will find that this isn’t their first encounter with the King.  Both sheep and goats ask the King: “when did we see you?” and both sheep and goats are told, “Whatsoever you did – or did not do – for the least of these my sisters and brothers, you did – or did not do – unto me.”  So we’re given a picture of a king who goes about in disguise, incognito, you might say.

 Next year, we’ll be reading a section from Luke’s account of the crucifixion, when Jesus is on the cross, and the title over his head, “the King of the Jews” is a title of mockery.  In this account, the King’s agenda forgiveness; from the cross he prays, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”, and tells one of those crucified with him, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

 This year’s reading for Christ the King Sunday, from John’s Gospel, describes part of Jesus’ trial before Pilate – and John’s Gospel gives us quite an extended description of this trial, of which today’s reading is only a small part.  Scripture scholars have noted that in all the gospels, but especially, especially in John’s Gospel, there’s often a divergence between how the characters in the narrative understand reality and how we, the readers, are intended to understand reality.  This ironic sense of contrast between what is and what appears to be starts as early as the first chapter of John’s Gospel, the prologue, in which we are told that “the world came into being through him, yet the world did not know him.  He came unto his own people, and his own people did not accept him.”  This sense of irony continues at various points throughout the Gospel – we might remember Jesus’ healing of the man born blind, where it turns out the formerly-blind man is a whole lot more perceptive than the religious authorities.  And we encounter this sense of irony again during the trial and crucifixion of Jesus.  We see the religious authorities perfectly willing to turn Jesus, the Saviour of the world, over to Pilate to be crucified – but they’re not willing to enter Pilate’s headquarters because Pilate is a gentile and the religious authorities didn’t want to defile themselves by entering Pilate’s headquarters.  We see the religious authorities accuse Jesus of fomenting rebellion against Rome – and yet they call for the release of Barabbas, who really did commit insurrection against Rome.  In today’s reading, the religious authorities and Pilate believe that Jesus is on trial before Pilate, but we the readers may well ask who’s really on trial – Jesus or Pilate and the religious authorities?    Jesus says that he was sent into the world and testify to the truth, and Pilate asks, “What is truth?”  And yet – the ultimate irony – John goes on to tell us that the Pilate’s inscription over the head of Jesus – “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews” – is written in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek, so that both Jews and Gentiles will be able to read it.  So while Pilate intended it as mockery, it ironically turns out to be – guess who? – Pilate, Pilate the gentile Roman governor, Pilate who dismissively asked “What is truth?” who ends up being the very one unintentionally proclaiming the truth about Jesus to all the world, in the three great languages of the day yet, so that nobody would miss it!

 And so, as we lift up the Reign of Christ, lift up Christ as King, we see that Jesus is a sovereign who at every turn confounds and turns upside down our expectations of what power and glory look like.   At various points in John’s Gospel, Jesus speaks of the hour of his glory, and compares himself to the bronze serpent lifted up by Moses in the wilderness, drawing all to himself.  In both cases, these are references, not to the Ascension, but to the crucifixion.  What religious and secular authorities intended to end the good news of Jesus, ended up being the way in which the good news of Jesus was completed in such a way that it is proclaimed to the ends of the earth.

 Jesus turns our worldly expectations of greatness and glory upside down – so – in the spirit of John’s Gospel, we may well ask, what’s truly upside down – Jesus, or our worldly expectations.  In John’s Gospel, it is the religious authorities, those who we would expect to understand, who misunderstand Jesus at every step; and conversely, it is those we would least expect – the Samaritan woman at the well, the man born blind whom Jesus healed – who are most receptive to the truth.  And so we must constantly question our assumptions, must be willing always to try to dig beneath the surface, and, like Pilate ask, “What is truth?” 

John’s Gospel is also unusual in that it is the only Gospel in which Jesus, at the Last Supper, is recorded as having washed the feet of the disciples.  In those days, when travelers came a long distance over hot, dusty roads to visit someone, a house servant might wash the feet of the guests to provide for their comfort.  And yet, in John’s Gospel, it is Jesus himself, the Logos, the Word, present from the beginning, through whom all things were created, Jesus the Word made Flesh, who provides this act of hospitality and in so doing sets a pattern for his disciples to follow. It is Jesus, present from the beginning of all things, the Word made flesh, who provided wine for the wedding feast at Cana, healed the official’s son, fed the multitudes and healed the man born blind.  It is Jesus, present from the beginning of all things, the Word made flesh, who loved you and you and you and you and you so much, that he laid down his life for each of us.  Remember the service of anointing earlier this morning, as we came forward one by one, and consider that Jesus, the Word made flesh, cares for each one of us, lived and suffered and died for each one of us.  Truly, the power and the glory of Jesus, so different from earthly power and glory – and the tender love of Jesus for each one of us - is beyond our comprehension.

 Most Sundays, as part of the assurance of pardon, I read the familiar words from John’s Gospel: God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  To believe in Jesus is – to trust him, to trust Jesus enough to live our lives as his disciples.  And so, on this Reign of Christ Sunday or Christ the King Sunday, whichever wording is our preference, may we believe and trust Jesus enough to allow Jesus to reign in our hearts, in our words, in our actions, and in all the words and actions of the gathered congregation of Emanuel United  Church of Christ.  Amen.

Pastor Dave's November 2012 Newsletter article

“So Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife.  When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son….then Naomi [Ruth’s mother] took the child and laid him in her bosom, and became her nurse.  The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, ‘A son has been born to Naomi.’  They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.” 

Ruth 4:13, 16-17

The verses above, from our Old Testament reading for November 11, are the “happy ending” to the story of Ruth.  It’s a complicated story which begins in tragedy, with the widowed Naomi and her widowed Moabite daughter-in-law Ruth making their way to Bethlehem (which literally means “house of bread”) to try to eke out a living.  Ruth makes her way to the fields to glean whatever grain is left behind by Boaz’ servants.   As it happens, she finds her way to the field of Boaz, a member of Naomi’s extended family.  Boaz treats Ruth kindly and, as the saying goes, the rest is history – important history, too, because among the descendants of Ruth and Boaz are David, son of Jesse, who will go on to become the great king of Israel. 

On the first Sunday of November, at Emanuel United Church of Christ we remember the names of our departed loved ones, those who have passed from this life to enter the Church Triumphant.  Behind the names printed in the bulletin are stories – funny stories, sad stories, complicated stories, and perhaps some stories that to this day have unresolved loose ends.  Many of these stories will never appear in a printed family history or a printed history of the church, but they still helped to shape who we are today.  These are our family stories, and the stories of our church. 

It is wonderful to consider that the history of God’s people, the “great story” of Israel and of the church, include small, lovely stories such as the book of Ruth.  The same can be said of our stories – our family stories, our church stories.  The history of God’s people is not a closed book, but is still being written – and our family stories and the stories of Emanuel Church are part of it.  May God grant that our family stories, and the story of Emanuel Church, continue to give glory to God for generations to come.

See you in church –

 Pastor Dave