Christmas Eve

God's Gift to an Eccentric World

For no particular reason this year I took more interest in the winter solstice than usual. Even though I have a pretty strong science background, I have always found astronomy confusing and complicated. I was reminded of that as a rambled from link to link on the internet reading about the technical aspects of the solstice.

 Did you know that the day of the winter solstice was neither the latest sunrise nor the earliest sunset, but it was the shortest day of the year? Or that the four seasons of the year are not of equal length?

And to top it off, the earth’s orbit around the sun is eccentric!

Actually, I already knew that eccentricity is a technical term used in astronomy, although the eccentricity of the earth’s orbit is not something I ponder often. When astronomers say that the earth’s orbit is eccentric, they mean it is elliptical, not a perfect circle around the sun. Eccentricity describes deviation from perfection. At least in terms of orbits. Eccentric means not perfect.

When we describe people as eccentric we usually mean a bit off center, don’t we? Although I think it is usually said with endearment. Interestingly, the word was used in astronomy long before it was applied to odd uncles.

Putting aside unusual relatives, let’s stay with the technical definition of orbital eccentricity. Not perfect. The earth’s orbit is not perfect.

And when I think about something so basic, so fundamental to life on earth, being eccentric, or not perfect, it leads me to reflect that imperfection is unavoidable. It is inevitable. It’s fundamental, pervasive. The very planet we are riding through space traces an imperfect course.

Metaphorically speaking are there any perfect circles in our lives? I don’t think so. Eccentricity is everywhere. We live in a world off center, full of eccentricity, rampant with imperfection.

We live in a world where…
Our path around the sun is imperfect.
Our civic lives as nation and state are imperfect.
Our relationships are imperfect.
Our efforts to promote justice are imperfect.
Our attempts to create good are imperfect.
Our faith is imperfect.

In Jesus’ birth, God chose to be a part of this world. To join himself to it. God entered fully into this eccentric, imperfect world. Many babies are described as “perfect.” (I think every grandbaby is described as perfect!) But there was only one who truly was. A perfect baby born into a world where nothing is perfect.

That perfect child whom we welcome this night offers us many, many things in our imperfect lives, our eccentric world. I want to mention one. Although we describe God as perfect, the word perfect doesn’t occur terribly often in Scripture or the Prayer Book. It’s there, off and on, in a variety of contexts, usually referring to something God is or offers.

This passage is from Isaiah (26:3): As it is translated within a worship service from the Prayer Book: O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you. This is the King James translation: Thou wilt keep [them] in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee. Perfect peace. For those whose mind is stayed on God, perfect peace. Perfect. Peace.

One of God’s gift’s to us in the birth of this perfect child. The coming of Jesus doesn’t fix the imperfections of our lives or our world, but Jesus brings God’s own perfect peace into our world. So that we may know and experience and cling to peace, perfect peace, in the very midst of turmoil and discord, struggle and failure. Perfect peace. Thou wilt keep them in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee. Perfect peace is born for us this night.

The Fourth Sunday of Advent - December 22

St. Thomas and Advent

The two great figures of Advent are Mary and John the Baptist. Hopefully, it is obvious why these two are important in the Advent season. They both have historic links to the stories of Jesus’ coming into the world and the beginning of his public ministry. They were both expectant. And during Advent Mary and John the Baptist serve as models for us of expectancy.

But there is another figure who lurks in the background of Advent. He ended up in Advent apparently by accident. And he may not be as important to the Advent message as Mary or John the Baptist, but he is a nice addition. Thomas, the Apostle, often known as “Doubting Thomas.” Obviously, he is not directly linked to the Advent stories, the historical stories that tell of Jesus’ birth or the prophetic announcement of Jesus’ ministry. We don’t have a clue where Thomas was or what he was up to in the days that preceded Jesus’ birth. If he was an approximate contemporary of Jesus, he would have been a toddler or not yet born. We know nothing about his early life. His role in Jesus’ story, like ours, is as a disciple. Thomas, like us, was a disciple, a follower of Jesus.

But the feast day of St. Thomas the Apostle in the church calendar is December 21, which is, of course, always during Advent. We celebrate St. Thomas every year during Advent, just four days before Christmas. As best I can tell there is no particular rationale for St. Thomas having landed on December 21. Evidently when he was formally added to the Roman calendar in the 9th century, he just ended up on December 21. In 1969 the Roman Catholic Church moved him to July 3 so he wouldn’t muddy the waters of Advent.

But far from being a distraction in Advent, I think Advent is a particularly opportune time to remember Thomas. We commemorated Thomas in Evening Prayer before Monday’s vestry meeting and again this past week at the Wednesday Eucharist. But yesterday, Saturday the 21st, was his day.

As you may know, yesterday was also the winter solstice. Yesterday was the shortest day of the year. (Although today is only 2 seconds longer.) Actually, the solstice is determined by the position of the sun in the sky. In the northern hemisphere yesterday the sun was at its lowest above the horizon, the farthest from its high summer zenith. Yesterday was the darkest day of the year.

Not a bad time to remember someone who wanted to see more clearly.

You know the story of Thomas. He makes a few appearances in the Gospels, but is best known for his role in two of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances. The first took place the day of Jesus’ resurrection. Jesus had been crucified and the disciples were gathered together in a locked room, frightened and confused. Thomas was not with them. The resurrected Christ appeared among them and spoke peace to them. In their excitement they told Thomas what he had missed. And he said: Until I see and I touch, I will not believe.

A week later the disciples, including Thomas, were again gathered and Jesus came among them. And Thomas saw; and Thomas touched. And Thomas proclaimed, “My Lord and my God.”

In our Episcopal calendar of saints in Lesser Feasts and Fasts and is successor Holy Women, Holy Men, these words conclude the description of Thomas: “Thomas’ honest questioning and doubt, and Jesus’ assuring response to him, have given many modern Christians courage to persist in faith, even when they are still doubting and questioning.” Thomas’ honest questioning and doubt and Jesus’ reassurance give modern Christians courage to persist in faith even when we are still doubting and questioning.

Persist in faith. Even when it is dark. When the sun does not seem to shine at all. Even when we can’t see anything clearly. Even while doubting and questioning. Persist in faith.

It saddens and frustrates me when people say things like… “I’m not coming to church because I’m struggling with my faith.” “I can’t say the prayers because I’m not sure I believe them.” Or they have given up because their faith isn’t perfect or as full as they think it should be. Or they don’t participate in the life of faith because their faith or their God isn’t meeting their expectations.

Remember Thomas.

Probably the greatest stressor of this season before Christmas is high expectations and high hopes. The expectation that family relationships will be at their best. The expectation that our homes will look their best. The expectation that the whole tree tradition will be all that it ever has been and more. The expectation each of us has to be able to give those we love whatever will bring them happiness. The expectation that we will know the joy and peace of Christmas.

These high expectations stress the heartiest of us. And those people who, for whatever reason, feel they cannot fulfill these expectations may slide towards despair.

I wonder if we all don’t also have particularly high expectations of our faith at this time of year. What could be simpler, purer, more wondrous than the birth of the Christ child? Surely as Christians, we should feel and know that wondrous gift of the coming of Emmanuel, God with us. Surely our faith should be full and rich this time of year.

Except maybe it isn’t.

So four days before Christmas. On a day that is often the shortest and darkest day of the year, we have Thomas.

Thomas, an example and an inspiration to persist in faith. What does it actually mean to “persist in faith?” For Thomas it meant coming back the next Sunday to be with his fellow disciples. He could have given up, gone back home. But Thomas stayed with the other disciples. Persist in faith.

The most important thing to do to persist in faith is to keep hanging out with other disciples. Keep hanging out with other disciples.  Persist in the life of the faith community. Continue to meet and pray and share coffee and stories with other disciples. Keep listening to God’s word. Persist in faith. Even in the midst of questions and doubt… (Maybe especially when you have questions and doubts…) Even when your faith isn’t meeting your hopes or expectations, persist in the life of faith. Hang out with other disciples and keep doing what disciples do… Like Thomas, persist in faith.

The Third Sunday of Advent - December 15

Against the Data
Isaiah 35:1-10
Matthew 11:2-11

One of the primary qualities of Advent is preparation. This season is given to us as a span of time during which we can prepare. Preparation. We are preparing, of course, to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

But what sort of preparation does that entail? We are preparing not just for the birth of a baby. Nor are we preparing just for the Christmas celebration. Although those celebrations, both here in church and elsewhere certainly require a lot of preparation.

Something I read this week suggested that we are preparing ourselves to think about things in new ways, to experience new things.

We are preparing for the incarnation, the coming of God in flesh into our world. We are preparing ourselves to welcome the presence and power of God as a tangible reality in our lives. If you step back a bit, that’s really an unbelievable, unimaginable event.

So one way to think about Advent is as a time during which we prepare ourselves to accept the impossible, to welcome the unimaginable. It is a time when we try to break open the rigid and limited expectations we have of our lives and of our world so that we can accept the impossible reality of the incarnation.

As you may know, the folks to whom Jesus came in first century Palestine were expecting a very different Messiah. They had been preparing for centuries for the coming of the Messiah, and they knew what that Messiah would be like, a great leader who would restore their people as a great nation. Jesus was not what they expected. Hence John’s puzzlement in today’s Gospel. They thought they knew exactly who was coming. But Jesus didn’t fit. Emmanuel? God incarnate? In their midst? The Son of God whom they could touch and see? A human being who brought the very grace and power of God to their tables and their byways? That was not even on their radar. It was not only beyond expectation, it was beyond imagination. Unbelievable. Impossible.

We have the advantage of knowing that the event that lies ahead is unbelievable. So how do we prepare? One way might be to read today’s passage from Isaiah over and over and over.

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom. Glorious and impossible. The eyes of the blind shall be opened. The eyes of the literally blind and the metaphorically blind shall be opened. Those who adamantly choose not to see shall have their eyes opened. That just doesn’t happen. The ears of the deaf will be unstopped. Then the lame shall leap like a deer. Not just walk or shuffle through the day, but leap. And the tongues of the speechless sing for joy. Those who cannot speak and those who choose the isolation of silence shall know and sing joy. It’s unimaginable.

For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert. The arid wilderness, a place where people and animals find only death, shall produce streams. The thirsty ground, parched and longing for water, shall become a spring, a source of water. A wilderness, a place of desolation and death shall be transformed into a creative and life-giving place.

This passage from Isaiah is rich and beautiful poetry. One article I read said parenthetically that Stephen Spielberg could provide great special effects to go with it. And that’s how we view these images isn’t it? As either beautiful poetry or something impossible that could only be portrayed with special effects. But not real.

This quotation comes to me second hand, but the great Old Testament scholar Walter Bruggemann has written: “Israel’s doxologies are characteristically against the data.” This passage from Isaiah is one of Israel’s doxologies. It is a hymn of praise from God’s people Israel. “Israel’s doxologies are characteristically against the data.” God’s people experience and praise God “against the data.”

 The commentator who quotes Bruggemann goes on to speak to a contemporary audience (paraphrasing and expanding upon Barbara Lundblad’s comments at Working Preacher) : We see and hear the data of our own world every night on the news and every morning on the front page of the paper. Add to that the data of our own lives: waiting for the test results from the doctor, mourning the death of a loved one, wondering if we’ll make it through the next round of lay-offs. We know the data of our lives and the world around us all too well and we, too, long for a doxology that is against the data.

Jesus’ incarnation is not just a doxology that is against the data; it is an event that is against the data. It was against all expectation or possibility back then. And it really still is. God in human being? It’s still against the data.

And with the incarnation of God in the world comes the transformation of the wilderness of our lives and our worlds into creative and life-giving places. The impossible, the unimaginable made real.

Advent is a span of time given to us to try to wedge open the rigid and limited expectations of our lives and our world so that, when it comes, we can welcome and accept the impossible, the unimaginable, birth of God with us.

The First Sunday of Advent - December 1

Because of Advent, I Know What I Am Waiting For

Just a catch phrase from a reflection by Episcopal priest Suzanne Guthrie published in the Christian Century caught my attention this week as I was looking forward to the First Sunday of Advent.

She noted that when she was growing up her mother and grandmother really went over the top with Christmas presents. But, and here I quote: “But because of Advent, the messages in the little doors of the calendar and the hymns that we sang, I knew this was not what I was waiting for.” Because of Advent, I knew the Christmas presents were not what I was waiting for.

When I carefully read the full reflection I discovered she is actually a strict Advent purist—absolutely nothing Christmas until Christmas Eve—and there’s a lot to be said for that position.

But when I first read just the snippet from her reflection, my own reflections went down a different path. The presents are OK. At least up to a point, the Christmas hype is OK, as long as we have Advent to tell us what we are really waiting for. It is popular for preachers this time of year to decry the commercialism and secularization of Christmas and so on and so on. But I’m not doing that. (It’s a losing battle!) I’m not sure that’s the main problem. Maybe the more significant problem is the absence of Advent. In the midst of Christmas preparations we need Advent to remind us what we are really waiting for.

Advent gives meaning to Christmas. “Because of Advent,” Guthrie wrote, “I knew what I was waiting for.”

As you know, Christmas is already “out there.” Christmas is in the malls and on the radio stations. The neighbors have their lights up. Christmas is all over the place, “out there,” outside these church walls. “In here” Advent is just beginning. And that separation is a problem. Advent should not be confined within the walls of the church. Let’s take Advent “out there.” We need Advent out there to tell us what we are really waiting for.

 So my message is really very simple. Observe Advent. And observe it in the same places you celebrate Christmas. Observe Advent in your living room, in the byways of your daily lives. I’m not sure how to take Advent to the malls, but if we are living it and observing it and praying it in our lives, we will carry it with us where ever we go. Let’s take Advent to the streets. We need to observe Advent in the same places we observe Christmas.

 Excessive materialism should always be a problem for Christians, not just at Christmas time. But giving and hoping for Christmas presents is not inherently unchristian. And, as I have said before, I decorate and put up my tree before Christmas Eve. Just DO Advent as well.

There are lots of ways to do Advent. The Advent wreath is my favorite. Make an Advent wreath for your home. Pray the Advent collect, read a passage from Scripture as you light the candles week by week. Each week the light of the wreath grows, reminding us that the Light of Christ is coming into the world. Advent teaches us what we are waiting for.

Advent calendars are good. Especially the old fashioned ones that feature the prophecies foretelling the birth of the Christ child, leading us day by day towards the reality of the incarnation. Advent shows us what we are waiting for.

A crèche, or nativity scene, at home is also good. Just remember, it is not just a holiday decoration. Don’t put Jesus in the manger until Christmas Eve! And the wise men don’t arrive on the scene until Epiphany. Have them start their journey as far away in the house as possible. The crèche tells the story. It tells the story of the wondrous divine birth at Christmas. And the story of the long and treacherous journey may of us make to come to the side of our savior. Advent tells the story of what we are waiting for.

I’ve made a list of a few online resources that provide ways to keep Advent in your lives. I particularly commend the daily reflections offered by the Cowley fathers, the Episcopal monks of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist. We also have available pamphlets from Living Compass with daily Advent reflections.

Advent is not just something that happens in church. Advent teaches us what we are waiting for. Make Advent a part of your daily lives and take it out into the world.

Suzanne Guthrie concludes her reflection with these words:

 I can’t help but wonder if part of the spiritual hunger of our time links somehow to a lack of respect for the season of longing, deep change and dark anticipation. Without Advent, without the soul’s journey in tandem with Mary and Joseph, will I even notice the Divine interrupting my ordinary life? How will I discern that gentle star rising upon the horizon obscured by premature holiday glitter? If I do not enter deeply into Advent, how shallow will my transformative journey be toward Galilee, Jerusalem, the cross, the empty tomb, Emmaus and “the ends of the earth”?