Christmas Day

Jesus' Grandparents

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandmother’s house we go;
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Did you know that that song was originally written as a Thanksgiving poem? (The wonders of Wikipedia!) It’s an easy transition to Christmas. For some reason, Grandfather’s house in the original becomes Grandmother’s house at Christmas. And a few specific references to Thanksgiving Day are changed to Christmas. But in either case, it captures the joy and excitement of a shared holiday, especially shared between grandparents and grandchildren. It captures some of the special goodness in that very special relationship.

Over the river, and through the wood—
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river, and through the wood—
Now Grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Last night was all about the herald angels and a wondrous star, as we remembered Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. This morning, the day after, the grandparents showed up to see the new baby. We have absolutely no evidence that Jesus’ grandparent actually did show up. In fact, most likely they did not. But it’s fun to imagine that, like grandparents today, they did show up right after the birth to welcome their new grandchild. Over the last few days I’ve had fun imagining what they might have been like. Sort of an amalgamation of Leave It to Beaver America and the stereotypical Jewish grandmother, clucking and fussing, with a little bit of my own thrown in as well.

We know virtually nothing of course. Tradition gives names to Mary’s parents. Out of deference to her, stories were created in the second century to supply a fuller account of her birth and family. The stories are woven from Old Testament cloth, not historical reality. But we might borrow their names, Anne and Joachim, as we imagine Jesus’ grandparents.

I know that not all human families embody the ideal relationship between grandparents and grandchildren. But what is that ideal in our minds? Grandparents are those who bestow extravagant love. Not encumbered by the need or guidance or discipline that parents rightly feel, grandparents are free to pour out unlimited and extravagant love.

And to cherish the gift of this grandchild as a wondrous and miraculous gift. From a practical perspective, grandparents can only see themselves as indirectly responsible (at best) for the birth of their grandchildren. So the child is a gift. A gift to be cherished. In fact, if grandparents could directly cause the birth of a grandchild, I know quite a few—grandmothers especially—who would do so. But they can’t. The child is a gift. To be wondered at and treasured.

We do well to remember what this child does for us. How he was born to redeem us from sin and transform the darkness into light. But maybe this morning we might also remember what we can do for him. Perhaps we might imagine ourselves in the role of Jesus’ grandparents. We are like Jesus’ grandparents. A new baby has been born, a wonderful gift for us. Let us shower upon him extravagant and unfettered love. Cherish him. Treasure him. Hold him close.

Christmas Eve

Merry Christmas

Do you have some particular activity you turn to to cheer yourself up? Or maybe even in times when you don’t feel like you need cheering up, still it’s an activity that always makes you feel good, lightens your heart.

The cliché used to be that a woman would go out and buy a hat when she needed to cheer herself up. Women don’t wear hats as much as they used to, but shopping still works for many. Or maybe you eat a hot fudge sundae. Or call and talk to a special friend. Go to a favorite place. Watch a heart-warming movie? (Or depending upon your temperament maybe an action movie serves better to raise your spirits.)

Most of us have some sort of activity that our experience has taught us has the power to cheer our hearts.

Maybe for you going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve always raises your spirits. Hearing the Christmas story. Hearing the story from Luke’s Gospel has wondrous power to bring hope and cheer. Whether it’s me or, even better, Linus reading it…

And there are all of the traditions that have accreted onto the Christmas story. In theory, at least, we do them because they, too, have the power to make us happy. That’s why we do Christmas traditions. To cheer ourselves. Visiting the storefront Christmas windows. Watching reruns of It’s a Wonderful Life and the Christmas Story. Decorating the tree. Sharing good food. All of these accessories for the Christmas story… We do these things knowing—or hoping—that they will instill the “Christmas spirit” in us.

We look to the Christmas story to make us happy. Think of all the adjectives that go with Christmas. Merry Christmas. Happy Christmas. Have a holly, jolly Christmas. Even if the Christmas story and all of its accessories doesn’t always, in our experience, make us merry, we think it should. And we feel even betrayed by the story, betrayed even somehow by life is Christmas doesn’t cheer us. It’s as though we’ve been robbed of a tonic that we think of as guaranteed to work.

The power that this story has to make us happy is a wonderful gift. But Christmas is more than a story. And when we think of it as only a story—a story whose specific purpose is to make us feel better—we’ve robbed God’s action of its true power. We have reduced it to entertainment. Sacred entertainment, but still entertainment.

If Luke’s story is just a story we hear or watch, no different from Dicken’s A Christmas Carol or a holiday movie, then we are casting God as just an author. A damn good author, but just an author. And we have missed the real purpose of God’s action.

I’m reminded of a scene in the first Harry Potter book and movie. I remember it particularly from the movie. Harry is living with his Aunt and Uncle, the Dursley’s. They are all at the zoo looking at a large, exotic snake through the glass. Harry’s very obnoxious cousin, Dudley Dursley, is banging on the glass, trying to get the snake to entertain him. Harry doesn’t yet know he has magical powers, so everyone is astonished when Dudley magically passes right through the glass. To his immense distress he finds himself all-of-a sudden-actually in the snakes’ world.

So often we look at the Christmas story through the glass. Watching, observing, expecting to be entertained. What if we were to magically pass through the glass and find ourselves literally in the stable, next to the manger? I’m not sure that experience would be a merry one.

It would be dark, cold, smelling like animal dung. In the broader would we would find ourselves in a world where people struggling just to survive. A time of political instability and economic uncertainty. Kind of like the world we live in.

Dudley Dursley found himself wet, unhappy and face to face with a terrifying snake. We would find ourselves in the dark and cold, frightened and confused and face to face with Jesus. We would find ourselves in an unsettling situation, in an often unpleasant world. And face to face with Jesus.

Christmas is not a “story” designed to help us emotionally escape the trials of this world. Christmas isn’t about “creating” happiness.

Christmas is about coming face to face with Jesus. Here in the middle of the trials of this world. In good and bad times. Maybe especially when you we feel dark and unhappy, God’s actions at Christmas ensure that we are never alone. Our lives are shared with God. The whole point of Christmas is that we do not look at God through a glass or read about him in a story, or watch him at the movies. We meet God face to face and know God in the reality of our own lives.

Whether we are happy or sad, God is with us. Whether we are struggling or rejoicing, we are never alone. We are face to face with Jesus in times of wonder and in times of despair. Whether our hearts are filled with confusion or peace, still God shares our human lives with us. No matter what your mood, that’s immeasurably better than the alternative. And a life shared with God, no matter what the circumstances, no matter what your mood… a life shared with God is immeasurably better than one without God in it.

God chose to share our human lives with us. That’s what happens at Christmas. There’s one more way to think about what that means. In the proper preface for the Christmas season we say that Jesus, “by the mighty power of the Holy Spirit, was made perfect Man… so that we might receive power to become [God’s] children.” God’s action in becoming fully human gave us human beings the power to become full children of God. The African-American folk singer Odetta made a recording of Christmas spirituals. Not the songs you’re hearing at the malls these days. They come out of the African-American experience, not always a “merry” or “happy” life. One of them is called “If anybody asks you who you are.” If anybody asks you who you are, tell them you’re a child of God. It’s not always clear as Odetta sings whether her voice is Mary’s talking to Jesus… If anybody asks you who you are, tell them you’re a child of God. Or if she’s singing to us… or if speaking for herself… And that’s the miracle of Christmas. It’s all the same… Jesus, you, me, Odetta. If anybody asks you who you are… tell them you’re a child of God. This wondrous night, or any night. Any time, any place. If anybody asks you who you are, tell them you’re a child of God.

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

A Perfect Christmas
Matthew 1:18-25

Later this week on Christmas Eve we will hear the more familiar account of the nativity as it is presented in Luke’s Gospel. This morning we hear the story from Matthew. And in this particular portion of the nativity story, the focus is on Joseph. Joseph doesn’t get a whole lot of attention, even this time of year. He’s in all the Holy Family pictures, but other than that we hardly notice his presence.

And yet, as I consider the story of Jesus’ birth, I wonder if the character whom we are most like is not Joseph. None of us is Mary, individually chosen to physically bear God’s own Son. We are not the angels; our feet are firmly rooted on earth. Hopefully, we do not play Herod’s part. Nor are we the exotic Magi. We may, perhaps, have some things in common with the shepherds who came to see. And, much later, Jesus himself will suggest that we are like sheep.

But, overall, it seems to me that we have a lot in common with Joseph. Which certainly makes him worthy of our attention on this last Sunday of Advent as we look forward, soon, to our celebration of Jesus’ birth. Joseph did not have the unique and mysterious role of God-bearer that Mary did, but he was asked to welcome the Son of God into his home, into his life, into his family.

It could not have been easy. In Lesser Feasts and Fasts, the book that outlines our celebration of saints’ days, Joseph is described in nuanced and strangely modern sounding language as “the guardian of [God’s] incarnate son and spouse of his virgin mother.” The relationships were complicated. Yet Joseph evidenced gentleness, humility and obedience to God.

It is pure speculation, but what might Joseph’s reaction have been to Mary’s pregnancy? It must have been a monumental disruption to his life and his plans and expectations. He might have felt he had lost all control over his own life. Could he get it back? Could he take charge of the situation again? This unplanned pregnancy was also significant, negatively significant, in the eyes of society. How could Joseph salvage this situation? Matthew tells us that Joseph had resolved to “dismiss Mary quietly,” in contrast to disgracing her publicly, which he might have done. But then the angel came and Joseph chose obedience to God over trying to reclaim personal control over the situation.

The angel also said that this child was God’s own, conceived of the Holy Spirit. Again, it is an exercise of imagination, but what might Joseph’s reaction have been to that part of the story? Maybe an overwhelming sense of responsibility and anxiety. How could he prepare adequately, appropriately for the birth of God’s son? This makes choosing the wall color and décor for the nursery seem trivial indeed. Never mind trying to ensure that the crib model is safe. How could he make sure that this wondrous birth happened as it should? He might have even come to feel that the success of this momentous event depended upon him. Surely the birth of God’s Son demanded ultimate preparation. And that was his responsibility.

It’s easy to imagine that Joseph might have felt responsible for the success of the first Christmas. We seem to feel that way today, every year. That a “successful” Christmas depends upon our preparations. Even if we think we’re defining “success” in the right way. Even if we define a successful Christmas as one which retains a focus on the “reason for the season.” Even if we define a successful Christmas as one filled with peace and holy hope. Even if we define what constitutes a successful Christmas with our eyes on Jesus, still, we seem to feel that achieving that success depends upon us, upon our perfect preparation. We feel that we are responsible for creating a successful Christmas.

Thinking about this reminded me of weddings. Not Mary and Joseph’s wedding, about which we hear nothing, but weddings at which I have presided. I will confess, along with many of my clergy colleagues, that weddings are not always my favorite thing. This isn’t true, of course, of any of the weddings at which I have preside here, but weddings can make normal, rational, faithful, faith-filled (!) people go crazy. Especially as the wedding day approaches people seem to imagine that the success of the marriage depends upon perfect preparations and arrangements for the wedding. The hope, the goal, is a good one: a good marriage, rich in love and hope. The problem begins when people begin to think that a good or successful marriage depends upon a perfect wedding. Many would deny they feel that way, but their actions tell the true story.

We don’t know Joseph’s true thoughts of feelings. But his actions show obedience to God. We might also imagine that as a faithful Jew of his day he knew and believed in a God who acted momentously in the lives of God’s people. And God’s actions weren’t dependent upon the people’s preparation. God acted. Momentously. In ways that significantly impacted the lives of God’s people. Joseph appears to have accepted, with humility and grace, the momentous actions of God in his life. He knew that God, not he--Joseph, was the primary actor in this story.

As best we know, Joseph did not try to spin the situation back into his control or force it to conform to his, or the neighbor’s expectations. He accepted the huge change this birth would mean to his life and plans. And he was obedient to God’s expectations of him.

Looking at Joseph, maybe we can remind ourselves of the absurdity of the assumption that we are responsible for creating the perfect Christmas. That first Christmas didn’t depend upon Joseph. It wasn’t up to him to get everything just right before Jesus could be born. In these last frantic days before Christmas, maybe Joseph can remind us of how absurd it is to imagine that a successful Christmas depends upon us and our preparation.

Another preacher has written: “While we rush around ‘creating Christmas’ and getting it all wrong, Joseph walked in faith and expected God to get it right.”

We only have to do one thing at Christmas. Receive God’s gift. God will get it right. God will send his Son, Immanuel, to be with us. All we have to do is receive him, welcome him into our homes. Into our lives.

(Much of the inspiration and a good bit of the content of this sermon are drawn from a sermon by the Very Rev. Anthony F. M. Clavier, posted here on the Episcopal Church's web page, Sermons That Work.)

The Third Sunday of Advent

A Season for Gathering Hopes
Isaiah 35:1-10

In the discussion in our EFM class this week, Dante’s Divine Comedy came up just in passing. At the very beginning of the first volume, l’Inferno, as Dante’s journey is just beginning, he finds himself at the gates of hell.

There is a notice posted there, as there often is at border crossings. It’s the last line of that notice that many people know and remember. “Abandon hope, you who enter here.”

I think I’ve always heard those words as descriptive of the land that lies beyond the border. It is a grim and hopeless place on the other side of the gates of hell. And there is a momentous finality for any who make that border crossing.

I took one year of Italian in college. Just for fun mostly and to increase my enjoyment of Italian opera. I’ve forgotten much of it except for a very interesting assortment of operatic phrases. But that notice over the gates of hell is something else that I know in Italian, as Dante originally wrote it.

And it might be more accurately translated: Leave behind every hope, you who enter. Leave behind. Give up and put aside. Every hope. Ogni speranza. Every single hope.

Maybe the notice is not so much generally descriptive of the land of hell. Maybe it’s more about the people making the crossing and the actions and experiences that characterize that journey. To enter hell is to discard every hope you are carrying.

In my imagination I envision a metal detector at the gates of hell—the kind you walk through, like they have at federal buildings and airports. And then there’s the guy who doesn’t seem to have a clue how much metal he is carrying. He walks through and it beeps. He takes a handful of coins out of his pocket, leaves them behind, and goes through again. It beeps. He takes his keys out of the other pocket and tosses them aside. It beeps. Leave behind every hope, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant. So he takes off his belt buckle. Even he thinks that surely that’s everything. It beeps. He takes off his signet ring. There can’t be anything else. It beeps. Leave behind every hope, even those you’ve forgotten you’re carrying. He takes off a necklace under his shirt; maybe it’s a cross. Having stripped himself of absolutely every little bit of metal, he passes through.

Leave behind every hope. Empty your pockets. Strip your heart and soul of absolutely every single hope… even those you didn’t know or didn’t remember you were carrying.

And again in my imagination I see a great mountain of literally discarded hopes looming like a landfill there in Dante’s dark wood outside the gates of hell.

But if we think of hopes as things that can be left behind or cast aside, then maybe hopes are also things that can be picked up or gathered in.

Advent is a time to gather hopes. To pick up hopes and gather them in.

We often associate hope with hopefulness, with feeling hopeful. To have hope is to have an optimistic or cheerful or sanguine disposition. But Christian hope really isn’t a feeling or a disposition. Christian hope really is more of a thing that can be held on to. A thing, or things. Statements or experiences of assurance. Assurances that, in various forms and settings, convey the reality that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. The Christian hope is a collection of statements or experiences that assure us that nothing can separate us from God’s presence and love. Those statements and experiences are things that we can hang on to, regardless of feeling or disposition.

The assurance that God comes to us intimately, as Immanuel, God with us, to share and bless human life.

The assurance that new life born, miraculously in darkness. New life is born to enlighten the darkness of our own lives and the darkness of the world around us.

The assurance that we, as human beings, are created in the image of God and are destined for good and reconciliation.

The assurance of God’s inspiring breath within us granting us the mystery of love and the capacity to create.

These assurances, in whatever form they come to us, are Christian hopes. Think of them as things that God has scattered about the world in which we live. Left there for us to discover and pick up.

Advent is a time to gather hopes. Pick up hopes and fill your pockets. All your pockets. Like gathering seashells on the beach. Or like children gathering Easter eggs. Pick up the assurances of presence and love that God has abundantly strewn throughout the world. Gather them to yourself. Collect them, cherish them. When I think of all the stuff we lug around…. Think, instead of all that stuff, think of carrying hopes with you. In addition to your pockets, fill your tote bags, your book bags and backpacks, all of your eco-friendly grocery bags. And your heart. Fill these with hopes.

And where to look if you want to find and gather God’s hopes? Where to look for those statements and experiences that assure us that nothing can separate us from the love of God?

Probably not the malls.

But do look in the Scriptures. They are full of God’s promises and assurances. Just this morning’s reading from Isaiah contains a bushel basket full of hopes. The lame shall leap. The mute shall sing. The desert shall bloom.

Experience the Sacraments. Cherish and cling to the assurance of God’s living presence that the Sacraments convey. I wouldn’t recommend that you literally put the host in your pocket. But metaphorically, yes, carry with you wherever you go the assurance of God’s grace that the sacraments impart.

Look to the quiet of your own heart. Especially this time of year where that God shaped hole within you throbs with yearning and will know fulfillment.

And look in your own life to the places where creativity and love are to be found.

In all of these places, you will find hopes to collect. Advent is a time to gather them in. Gather hopes.

And as you do, as you tune your eye and ear to notice and collect hopes in the world around you, you may come to notice other people who are losing or discarding their hopes. Tossing out hopes to make room for other junk in their brief cases or tote bags. Or just losing their hopes like lost winter gloves in the rush and anxiety of the season. Run after them. Pick up their lost hopes and run after them. Return their hopes to them.

You’ll also realize, once you start collecting hopes, gathering them to yourself, that you have lots. So share. Another place God stashes hopes for us to find is in one another. Perhaps you are meant to be the source for someone else’s gathering of hope this Advent.

Advent: A season for gathering hopes.

The Second Sunday of Advent

Thy Kingdom Come
Isaiah 11:1-10

One of my absolute favorite prayers in the Book of Common Prayer is found in the baptismal service. It is a prayer we say over the newly baptized right after the baptism. We pray that the Holy Spirit will “give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love [God], and the gift of joy and wonder in all [God’s] works.”

It is the so-called prayer for the seven-fold gifts of the spirit. In addition to being a personal favorite of mine, it is one of the most ancient of all the prayers contained in the Book of Common Prayer. It is found in liturgies dating from the late 5th century. And it has always been associated with rites of Christian initiation. Generally baptism, but sometimes confirmation, but always acts of Christian initiation when new souls are brought into the fellowship of Christ.

Despite its long-standing association with Christian initiation, the prayer is drawn, not from the New Testament, but from the passage we heard this morning from Isaiah. We hear this passage in the lectionary during Advent, of course, because we hear in it a foretelling of the coming of Jesus. Isaiah writes: “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” We identify that shoot, that new branch, with Jesus.

But when the prophet Isaiah wrote these words he was not thinking of a far off Messiah in some “dim and distant” future. He was thinking of a living king, a real human king, coming soon to rule the people of Israel. Isaiah is not describing a divine ideal; but rather a real human character. (Interpreter’s Bible). Isaiah describes the qualities that the spirit of God will bestow upon such a king to enable him to rule God’s people according to God’s will. God will grant the king:

A spirit of wisdom and understanding.
A spirit of counsel and might.
A spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord.

These are gifts to be used in this world to bring about a kingdom characterized by peace, justice and reconciliation. Isaiah envisioned a Davidic king, fully human, but anointed by God, bringing such a kingdom to God’s people here on earth.

Somewhat ironically, I think we have pushed Isaiah’s vision off into the abstract. Such a kingdom and such a ruler are for us ideals or abstractions, unattainable here in our “real” world. It is ironic that Isaiah envisioned this outcome as realistic and concrete and we have transformed it into an abstraction.
It is ironic because we, unlike Isaiah, have heard John the Baptist reminds us that God’s kingdom is near. The kingdom of heaven is near. Near to us. We attest to the incarnation of God’s own self, God’s son into this world. We know the manifestation of God made very real in our midst. In Jesus the kingdom of God is breaking into our world.

Isaiah’s prophecy referred to a single person, one individual who was anointed to rule. A king who needed the spirit’s gifts to form and govern a kingdom. We say Isaiah’s prophecy, however, not at the anointing of kings, but at the anointing of every single person who is baptized. Each and every person who is baptized into the fellowship of Christ is given the gifts needed to create and maintain God’s kingdom in the world.

These days in the church, often when we speak of gifts of the spirit, we speak of how the spirit gives different people different abilities. Our task as individuals is to discern our particular gift. Some are good teachers. Some are good pray-ers. Some have the gift of prophecy.

The seven fold gifts of the spirit are different. We pray and affirm that they are bestowed on everyone at baptism. When you are sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever, you are given these gifts. All of us are given all of the gifts in full measure.

But, as the Rev. Dr. A. J. Mason wrote in 1891 (modified slightly from a quotation in Massey Shepherd’s American Prayer Book Commentary):

The seven-fold gifts of the spirit are given to all, but none of the gifts are directly gifts of moral virtue. They are gifts which set us in a position to acquire moral virtues, and incline us to practice them; but they do not in any way supply us with virtues ready-made, or relive their possessor from the necessity of carefully forming right habits of action and feeling. It seems that the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit is done by an inward teaching, which commends to us the true principles of moral choice or right action, and an inward strengthening, by which the forces of Christ are imparted to us, that we may act, and act perseveringly, upon the convictions which the Holy Spirit has wrought in us.

The seven-fold gifts of the spirit give us the capacity, the inclination and the strength to act with the forces of Christ. To act as builders and maintainers of God’s kingdom on earth. But we must choose to act. To actually affect the world in which we live, we have to utilize the gifts of the Spirit. They are tools. Give to us all, but we have to utilize them. To bounce off of last week’s sermon… just because somebody gives you a great oven, doesn’t mean the aroma of cooking will fill your house. To create a glorious meal, you have to cook. You have to use the oven. We have to use the gifts of the Spirit.

They are tools given to us so that we can participate in Christ’s own work of making God’s kingdom real in the world. Isaiah describes that kingdom, or society, in powerful and poetic terms. It is a human society where the meek know justice. Where the young do not know fear. Where exploitation and abuse are unknown. And where the earth will be as full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters that cover the sea.

The First Sunday of Advent

The Aroma of Advent

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of a new church year. The Advent wreath is out with the first candle lit; we sand the great Advent hymn, “O come, o come, Immanuel” and prayed the Advent collect, “Let us cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” The green vestments have finally given way to blue.

Advent is a wonderful season. A new metaphor for Advent has recently come to me. Advent is like the aroma of something glorious baking in the oven. It is in the oven. The process has begun. Fulfillment has not yet come, but it is immanent and inevitable. The enjoyment of a favorite food, perhaps the rich communion of a meal with beloved friends or family… these will come soon. Advent is like the aroma of something glorious baking in the oven.

Sometimes Advent is called a time of waiting. And we do wait. But it us much more than just waiting. Waiting is not always a pleasant experience. Waiting in traffic, for instance. Waiting is often just killing time. Waiting lacks the expectancy of Advent.

Advent is also called a time of hope. And, indeed, it is. Hope is a part of our Christian makeup, but it can be abstract. Hope, as a general posture based on trust in God, is an important Christian discipline. But it lacks the tangible immanence of Advent.

The roast is in the oven. The aroma is mouth watering. The promise of Advent is specific and its fulfillment is near.

This metaphor for Advent came to me yesterday somewhere in the midst of baking batches six and seven of liver flavored dog treats for the cookie walk. For at least a week before the cookie walk, my house smells of baking liver. I like liver, although I’m not sure baking liver is an Advent aroma. But it reminded me of others that are.

It’s not a perfect metaphor. Even the best of human cooks sometimes messes up. The roast burns; the pecan pie doesn’t set; the bread doesn’t rise. God never messes up. The Advent promise is always fulfilled.

I often mention how much I value the seasons of the church year. They teach us about God and different aspects of our relationship with God. We experience the seasons sequentially, one after another. Christmas follows Advent and, in turn, is followed by Epiphany, Lent and Easter. But even though we experience the seasons sequentially in our worship life, in fact, they are cumulative. All of them are true all of the time. Which is to say we are always people of promise eagerly anticipating fulfillment. We are always Advent people. Even in the midst of Christmas’s peace. Even in the midst of Easter’s joy. We know that still greater blessing is coming soon. The TV ad that said “it doesn’t get any better than this ” got it wrong. It does get better. Always. A deeper fulfillment of God’s promise always lies ahead.

The fulfillment that we anticipate in Advent is two fold. One part, of course, is the incarnation, the full union of God with us, with humankind. And all of the guidance, peace, and love that Jesus’ presence with us brings.

The other part of God’s promise is described in today’s reading from Isaiah. It is of a world where the kingdoms of this world become one with the kingdom of God. And enmity, war and violence disappear.

The promises of Advent are specific and tangible and their fulfillment is near. A richer and deeper experience of God’s presence and purpose always lies ahead—just ahead. I pray that you may be blessed this year by the glorious aroma of Advent.

Thanksgiving Day

The Beauty of Holiness

It may surprise you to hear that preaching on Thanksgiving poses great risks for the preacher. Theological disaster lurks at every point. It is like sailing along the most hazardous and rocky of coastlines.

A big part of the challenge arises when we try to bring what is really a civic holiday into the church. Theologically speaking, our thanksgivings go awry. A recent blog linked on the Christian Century website listed many of the horrendous theologies that underlie much of our Thanksgiving preaching and piety.

But I will spare you the rant. I know that is not why you are here—to hear me rave against inappropriate Thanksgiving theology.

I do try, in my own prayers on this day, to focus less on counting my blessings, like a child counting presents under the Christmas tree to make sure there are “enough” or more than his brother has… (oops, I wasn’t going to rant.) I try to focus more on praying that God will transform me. I pray that God will transform me into a more grateful person. That God will give me a grateful heart for the benefits and blessings I do enjoy.

This year, in particular, I pray that I will remember to be grateful for the opportunity to worship. Not for the political freedom to gather for worship. That is a civic benefit we enjoy in this country, and one I think we should cherish and work to ensure that all people may enjoy that benefit.

But regardless of political time or place, human beings are created in such a way that we have the desire and capacity for worship. That’s really pretty remarkable and wonderful. Like remembering. Or creating. Worship is a part of our human potential. And I am grateful to have been created by God with the potential for worship, to be wired with the desire and capacity for worship.

The psalmist says, “I thank you that I am wondrously made.” Part of being wondrously made is being wired for worship.

Evelyn Underhill defines worship as: “The adoring acknowledgment of all that lies beyond us—the glory that fills heaven and earth. It is the response that conscious beings make to their Creator.” We have the capacity and the desire to adore the glory of God. Thank God that God has given us hearts to know and love him.

The psalmist also says, “Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.” The beauty of holiness surrounds us all. Regardless of the circumstances of our lives. Regardless. The beauty of holiness surrounds us all. And we have been given the ability to see it and a way to respond. It is a great blessing to be able to worship, to have a means of responding to the beauty of holiness in our lives.

Worship in this sense is more than coming together in corporate worship, although that is a powerful blessing. Worship is losing ourselves in the presence of God. Joining that “mystic sweet communion” that the hymn describes. It is to live praise. To celebrate the beauty of holiness.

It is a wonderful thing to be created with the desire and capacity for worship. For that, I thank God.

The Last Sunday after Pentecost

Clint Eastwood and Sally Bingham

Diocesan Convention reminded me of a Clint Eastwood movie. Or it might be more accurate to say that during diocesan convention I was reminded of a particular Clint Eastwood movie.

The annual convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago was this past Friday and Saturday. The theme this year was Relate, Renew, Restore; Caring for God’s Creation. The focus was on sustainability. The keynote speaker was Canon Sally Bingham, an Episcopal priest and activist on behalf of the environment. Her message was both dire and hopeful. She spoke about the irreparable loss that has already occurred to God’s creation. Irreparable. We are currently standing right on the brink between the world that God created and another world of human of human making which is literally unsustainable.  (You may listen to the audio of her presentation here.)

It is unfortunate that climate change and other environmental issues have become ammunition in partisan political wars. The science is real and irrefutable. Species loss, environmental degradation of air and water, climate change profoundly threaten God’s creation.

Yet people of faith are a source of hope. We are a source of hope in this crisis not only because we see the earth as God’s own creation, and therefore of immeasurable value, but also because we are called by our baptismal vows to care for other people. To be motivated by more than self interest. It is part of our vocation to be the voice for people who have no voice. There are two populations in particular who have no voice: One is the poor and/or less educated. And the second is the unborn. The poor and less educated throughout the world are suffering disproportionately because of climate change and other environment problems and yet do not have the voice or power to speak out. And the unborn, the not yet born only a few generations from now, are being robbed of beauty, health, even their lives by our selfish abuse and exploitation of God’s creation. It’s not just about us. As people of faith we are compelled to speak up and act on behalf of the powerless and to be stewards of creation for generations yet unborn.

It was listening to Sally Bingham that reminded me of a Clint Eastwood movie or actually just one particular scene from a Clint Eastwood movie. I had to do a little internet searching to confirm which movie it was. Pale Rider, I think. I can’t imagine why I saw it several decades ago. It is set, as so many early Clint Eastwood movies are, in the violent and rough world of the wild west. A mining town is troubled by violence between the powerful and the powerless. A mysterious preacher rides into town. In that violent setting—very significantly—he is unarmed. Yet he stands up for the downtrodden. Without the power of a gun, he acts on behalf of the powerless. In a sense he symbolizes God’s peace and God’s power.

Conflict continues, however, and at one point the preacher makes a solitary journey to a bank safe deposit box. As he opens the drawer we see a pistol and gun belt. He takes out the gun and in the climax of the scene he drops his clerical collar into the box.

It’s a troubling scene. The preacher is meant to be a positive character, one we are rooting for. Yet this scene implies that he has some higher calling that he can only pursue by abandoning his role as a Christian. It plays upon the romantic appeal of the lone avenger, justifying violent revenge.

It’s that image of him taking off his collar that has stuck with me all these years. Exchanging his preacher’s collar for a gun. Choosing to put aside his Christian identity so that he could perform an unchristian task.

I wear a collar, of course. I’m not sure what a clerical collar means to you. Basically it is a symbol of someone who takes the Christian life seriously. Nothing more, nothing less. For us as Episcopalians it signifies a specific role within the church. But out in the world it simply signifies someone trying to live the gospel in daily life. And that is everyone’s vocation.

I don’t know if you’re aware… you don’t have to show any credentials to buy one. You don’t have to prove your ordination or show testimonials of sanctity. It could be a powerful exercise for everyone to wear one for a few days, even if only in your imagination. It would challenge us to face those times when we—you and I—choose to take it off. When we choose to put aside our Christian identity to perform unchristian tasks.

I’m not talking about the casual sins of inattention that are a part of all human life. I’m thinking of the big choices, the deliberate acts we choose to undertake in direct violation of our Christian identity.

Those times, for example, when we choose our personal convenience or our selfish interests at a cost to the flourishing and blessing of other people.

These seem to be appropriate reflections, not just on the heels of diocesan convention, but for this last Sunday of the church year. A time for taking stock.

What do you do in your life that you have to take your collar off to do? When do you deliberately choose to put aside your Christian identity?

Two biggies came up in convention. One was environmental exploitation. I personally felt “convicted” on environmental issues, even though I consider myself as someone who cares about the environment. Until it comes time to buy a new vehicle. Then I take off my collar and pick whatever suits my own convenience. And I have spoken quite openly about how I choose the convenience of single-use plastic bags over more responsible options. Never mind the consequences. Millions and millions of baggies. At what cost? I choose to put aside my Christian vocation just for selfish convenience.

The second issue that arose at convention was bullying. Convention passed a resolution condemning bullying. The anti-bullying resolution arose out of recent events in which young people perceived to be gay have been driven to suicide. But discussion was clear that bullying is a much broader issue. It happens on the schoolyard, in society, in corporate life and even between nations. It is any abuse of the powerless by the powerful. For any reason. Or for no reason.

You must take your collar off if you choose not to intervene. A failure to act in the face of bullying or any abuse of power is unchristian. To favor personal convenience or comfort or to affect indifference are choices contrary to our Christianity.

Clint Eastwood’s solution was also unchristian. He took off his collar so that he could beat up the bad guys, escalate the violence, abuse the powerful with even greater power.

It occurs to me that rather than taking his collar off and shooting up all the bad guys Clint Eastwood should have left his collar on and then gone out to stand between the bad guys and those they were exploiting.

But he didn’t. In his role as the preacher, he chose to put aside the ways of Jesus for the ways of the world.

When do you do the same?

When do you choose to put aside your Christian identity to perform an unchristian task? When to you deliberately choose selfish comfort or convenience over the blessing or lives of others?

This last Sunday of the church year reminds us of the profound importance of the choices we make in life. Reflect. Reflect on those times when you deliberately take off your Christian vesture, your Christian identity, to act in a selfish or worldly way. Next Sunday is a new beginning, the first Sunday of Advent. And in the collect for that day we will pray that by God’s grace we may reverse the preacher’s action. In the great Advent collect we will pray that we may cast away the works of darkness… that we may take off the works and vesture of darkness… and put upon us the armor of light.