The Third Sunday of Advent - December 13

St. Lucy's Day

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.

The “stir up” collect. A slightly different version of this collect has been in Anglican prayer books for centuries. It used to come on the Sunday Next before Advent. And the story goes, in England, “Stir up Sunday” was the day you stirred up your Christmas pudding in anticipation of the coming feast.

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.

The focus of today’s Gospel is on John the Baptist and his proclamation of the One who was to come among us. I’m not going to preach on John as we heard about him toady in Luke’s Gospel. There is certainly a lot to be drawn from Luke’s account, even the reference to the “brood of vipers,” and I’ve preached on it before. But today I want to focus on John the Baptist as herald of Christ as he is described in John’s Gospel. From the first chapter of John (John 1:6-9):

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 

 The power and might that we pray to come among us is light, says John. Light is coming into the world.

This focus on light is particularly appropriate for today. Today is Saint Lucy’s day. Or, as she is known in some places, Santa Lucia. Her commemoration is ancient and before calendars were tweaked and regularized, St. Lucy’s day fell on the shortest day of the year.

John Donne wrote a poem titled “A Nocturnal upon St. Lucie’s day.” He calls the day the year’s midnight.

December 13 is no longer the shortest day of the year, although it’s close, of course. With our current calendar the winter solstice falls on either December 21 or 22. On that shortest day of the year here in Chicago, we will have a little over 9 hours of daylight. As much as grouse about the dark this time of year, that’s not really too bad. I checked a few other cities. Stockholm (and I’ll come back to why Sweden is important) will have just a little over 6 hours of daylight. (Sweden is at a roughly similar latitude to Alaska). The farthest north I’ve ever been is Rovaniemi, Finland, just south of the arctic circle. On December 21 in Rovaniemi, there will be 2 hours and 14 minutes of daylight. Nine hours sounds pretty good.

We know virtually nothing about the life of St. Lucy. One resource I checked said, all the details of her life are the conventional ones associated with all female martyrs of the early 4th century.

There is a 5th century work called the Acts of Saint Lucy. The Oxford Dictionary of Saints states: Her historically valueless Acts make her a wealthy Sicilian who refused marriage offers… a characteristic of all 4th century female martyrs… and gave her money to the poor. She was accused of violating (male) authority, and faced significant indignities before being killed by the sword.

All we really know is her name. Lucy. And Lucy was apparently martyred during the vicious persecutions of the Roman emperor Diocletian. She died in 304.

We know her name. Lucy. Which in Latin means light. Light. Saint light. So it is appropriate that we associate the saint of light with the darkest day of the year.

She is popular in her native Italy. And in Sweden, where St. Lucy’s day is rich in festive traditions. In Sweden they know something about darkness this time of year. And about the power of light coming into darkness. The celebration of St. Lucy is about light coming into darkness.

Light shining in darkness. Light coming into darkness.

What are your memories or experiences of light shining in darkness? They might be grand or mundane. A brilliant sunrise at dawn or the small nightlight that guides your way when you get up in the night.

The stars in the night sky. Especially in winter when the air is crisp and the stars seem to sparkle more brilliantly and the noble hunter Orion stands guard. And the awe and wonder of loosing yourself in contemplating the stars. Or the luminaria that line the walk to the front door of the church on Christmas eve, leading to the place where our Savior’s birth is celebrated.

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.

So what does the power and might of light bring when it comes into the world?

Enlightenment. New understanding or awareness, especially of God’s presence. Do you know why angels are portrayed in dazzling raiment? In robes that shine with light? Because they are messengers of God. The bring the enlightenment of God’s word.

Light shining in the darkness also has the power to draw people together. People gather around the light. A street light. A campfire. Light draws people together. Families. Or also people who might otherwise be separated by difference or indifference.

Light not only provides the new vision of enlightenment, it also quite literally improves vision or sight. Light in darkness marks a path, makes it possible to see where you are and where you’re going. It provides safety and direction on a journey that can be hazardous.

Light often provides comfort and warmth.

Light coming into darkness often heralds a new beginning, a new start, a new dawn.

And light shining in darkness, like the stars in the sky, has the power to evoke awe and wonder. To draw us out of our human finitude and into reverence and praise of God.

All of that power and might amounts to hope, really. Light brings hope. We live in a world and a time that is often dark and in need of hope. All times do.  Lest we think our day is particularly dark, remember Rovaniemi or the persecutions Christians faced in the time of Diocletian.

But the world needs the light that is coming. Have you known it? Can you describe the true light? Like John the Baptist, we are called to be heralds, to testify to the light. To share with others the power and might of the light. We must testify to the light that is coming into the world.

The Second Sunday of Advent - December 6

Channing Moore Williams and Advent

The Second Sunday of Advent. Another candle lit on the Advent wreath. One week closer to the celebration of Jesus’ birth.

This week in the Wednesday morning service we commemorated the life and ministry of one of the “lesser” saints of the church: Channing Moore Williams. Those commemorations come from our calendar of saints, Holy Women, Holy Men. It includes a brief biographical sketch of each saint along with an appointed collect and Scripture readings.

As we celebrated Channing Moore Williams, a few points struck me as particularly appropriate for Advent. First, a little information about who he was.

Bishop Williams, a farmer’s son, was born in Richmond, Virginia on July 18, 1829, and brought up in straitened circumstances by his widowed mother. He attended the College of William and Mary and the Virginia Theological Seminary.

 Ordained deacon in 1855, he offered himself for work in China, where he was ordained priest in 1857. Two years later, he was sent to Japan and opened work in Nagasaki. In 1866 he was chosen bishop for both China and Japan.

At a synod in 1887 he helped bring together the English and American missions to form the Nippon Sei Ko Kai, the Holy Catholic Church of Japan, when the Church there numbered fewer than a thousand communicants.

Williams translated parts of the Prayer Book into Japanese; and he was a close friend and warm supporter of Bishop Schereschewsky, his successor in China, in the latter’s arduous work of translating the Bible into Chinese. 

So three loosely connected Advent reflections, stirred by the story of Bishop Williams.

The first comes from the collect written for the commemoration of Williams’ ministry. In it we pray, “Raise up in this and every land evangelists and heralds of your kingdom, that your church may proclaim the unsearchable riches of our Savior Jesus Christ.”

The call for heralds is certainly an Advent theme, especially on this day that we particularly remember John the Baptist, but it was the phrase “unsearchable riches” that really caught my attention.

Unsearchable riches of our Savior Jesus Christ. What does that mean? Unsearchable riches? At first glance it doesn’t seem like it’s something positive to proclaim. How is unsearchable a good thing? The English word “unsearchable” is a little tricky. It doesn’t mean what it might seem to mean. It doesn’t mean “cannot be searched for.”

It means “cannot be fully or totally or clearly understood.” The phrase is actually taken from Ephesians. I don’t know if it’s a passage that was particularly important to Bishop Williams. The Greek word translated unsearchable is also sometimes translated unfathomable. Beyond our fathoming.

But here’s the good news. This does not mean that the riches or blessings of Jesus Christ cannot be sought or found. They can be and are. But there is always more. Always more goodness and blessing to be found ahead.

This phrase or passage is a reminder of humility. Don’t ever think you have fully fathomed the riches of Christ. But is also an Advent reminder that we are always searching. Always on a journey. And that more and deeper riches and goodness and blessing always lie ahead.

My second reflection comes from Williams’ ministry in Japan. And it’s a powerful reminder that it takes time for the work of becoming a Christian and for doing Christian ministry. It takes time.

Remember, first, that when Williams initially went to the Far East, he was six months at sea. Then he took a full year to work on the language. Later, when he moved to Japan, it was 6 years before his first convert was baptized. Six years.

Because God works through us, God’s work always takes time. Sometimes lots of time. Time for our own Christian identity and vocation to grow. Time for Christian ministry to come to any fulfillment. Advent is a reminder that waiting is a part of being a Christian. That Christianity is not characterized by instant gratification. A very important Advent reminder in our culture that demands instant everything. Instant communication. Instant acquisition. Instant information. Instant gratification. The development of Christian identity and Christian ministry takes time.

On to my third reflection. As I thought about the counter cultural message of Advent—the positive messages about waiting and taking time—I found it very tempting to turn this into a rant against all sorts of features of contemporary life… the expectation of instant communication, constant texting, always connected to the internet. It was very tempting to label all of that constant communication and connectivity as unchristian.

And yet… The more I thought about it, I think God would love texting. I think God does text. He just doesn’t use a cell phone. Constant communication. Non-stop connectivity. That’s exactly what God offers us and seeks from us. No matter what we’re doing or where we are. If only we could only really claim that sort of ongoing communication with God and constant connectivity to God’s presence.

God doesn’t give us instant gratification or immediate fulfillment of everything we wish for. But God does offer us unceasing presence, guidance and love. Constant communication and connection. And that’s what guides us in our search for the never ending riches of Christ. That’s what strengthens and sustains us as we live into—over time—our Christian identities and ministries.

The First Sunday of Advent - November 29

Advent:  The Church's Intervention in Our Lives
Luke 21:25-36

Today is the beginning of the new year. It’s the First Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the year in our worship life together.

This season of Advent is a time of anticipation and preparation. Advent, of course, is one two seasons of preparation in the church calendar. Two seasons that look forward to great, festive holy days. Advent looks forward to Christmas; Lent looks forward to Easter. But, in many ways, the two seasons are very different. I think of Lent as a call to obligation, to disciplined practice. That obligation is holy and enriching, but it is an obligation. Advent is a gift. A gift of time. A time filled with promise. God’s promise of a coming Savior.

There’s a TV commercial running right now that you may have seen. There are at least two versions of it. It’s for the Wall Street Journal. The commercials show young, busy, important, successful, creative people… juggling all of the demands of their lives… saying, “I don’t have time to read the Wall Street Journal.” Then at the end of the commercial, they are shown reading the Wall Street Journal. And the tag line is: People who don’t have time, make time to read the Wall Street Journal.

I’m sure the Wall Street Journal can be informative, but Advent is way more important than the WSJ. Advent offers you immeasurably more than the Wall Street Journal! No matter how busy you are, make time to keep Advent. Make time. Literally. Open up time in your life for Advent.

Lent is about discipline. About doing faithful practices.

Advent is about time. Make time. Advent time.

What makes time Advent time? How do we fill Advent time? One suggestion is: Don’t fill it. Leave it open. Open time for hope and expectation to grow.

Or some other suggestions for making time for Advent in your lives.

Use an Advent wreath at home. At least once a week sit at the dinner table and light the appropriate number of candles for that week. Or light it daily. At a minimum when you light the candles, say the Advent collect. It’s the one we said this morning. It’s on today’s Scripture inserts. We have materials for making Advent wreaths and fuller directions for using them downstairs in the undercroft.

Or use some sort of reflection for Advent. Use the Living Compass Living Well through Advent booklets. Or I’ve prepared a short list of Advent resources available online.

Sit and listen to music. Music that stirs your soul. Really listen. Not just in the background.

Sit in darkness with points of light. As a girl I used to sit alone in the quiet and the dark with the lights of the Christmas tree shining. That sparkling of beauty breaking into the dark. A candle or two or three or four lit in the dark also works well. Light coming into darkness is a particularly appropriate symbol for Advent.

Go for a walk. Go for a walk at night. Even here in the suburbs the winter sky is beautiful.

At the beginning of Giancarlo Menotti’s opera Amahl and the Night Visitors, the young shepherd boy Amahl is outside. He and his widowed mother are excruciatingly poor. She tries to call him in to go to bed; he is reluctant. When she asks him what was keeping him outside, he replies:

Oh, Mother….
There’s never been such a sky.
Damp clouds have shined it
and soft winds have swept it
as if to make it ready for a king’s ball.
All its lanterns are lit;
all its torches are burning
and its dark floor is shining like crystal. 

The riches of the night sky seen through the eyes of a boy who has nothing.

Make time for Advent.

Open a space in what Luke calls the worries of this life. By God’s grace, hope will be born in that space.

Notice the yearning within your soul of what Frederick Buechner calls the hungering dark. By God’s grace, that is where the light of Christ will grow.

Just stop all the craziness. All the craziness of this season. Just stop. You can. Stop long enough to let God plant a seed of peace in your heart. A seed that, by God’s grace, will grow into the peace that surpasses all human understanding.

Be quiet long enough to hear the voices sing: O, Come. O Come, O come Emmanuel. The voice of your own heart; the voices of those you love yearning for God With Us; the voices of the world in desperate need of a Savior; the joyful angelic voices filled with hope and promise. Be quiet long enough to hear the Advent hymn: O come, O come Emmanuel.

Advent isn’t in the Bible. God didn’t invent Advent (at least not directly). The church invented Advent. Advent, as a time filled with all that is good about this season. The church offers you Advent to illustrate, to teach, to make real in your lives all that is good about this time.

Here’s another way to think about Advent. Advent is the church’s intervention in our selfish, cluttered, materialistic lives. Will you accept the gift of Advent?

If you know the language or architecture of the recovery movement, you know that interventions are acts of desperate love. And hope. Hope for life and health renewed.

Advent is the church’s intervention in the selfish, overstuffed, materialistic lives that are killing us. Will you accept the gift of Advent?

Will you make time for Advent?

Thanksgiving Day

Le Jour de l’Action de Grace

Thanksgiving. Thanks. Giving. Giving thanks.

As the name implies, from its earliest celebrations this day in this country has been about GIVING thanks, the action of giving thanks.

It is a good time to pause and count our blessings, to bring to mind the things we are thankful for. But that’s not the stopping point. This holiday is about giving thanks. At a minimum that means giving voice to our thanksgivings. Saying thank you to God, to defenders of liberty, to family members, to those have given us the things we’re thankful for.

But this year Mary Schmich of the Tribune has given me another insight into this holiday. In a recent article she notes the Spanish and French names for this “quintessentially American holiday:”

El dia de acción de gracias. Le jour de l’action de grace. 

Our English composite, smushed together, word “thanksgiving” doesn’t exist in Spanish or French. Thanksgiving becomes acción de gracias or l’action de grace. The day of action of thanks. Or the day of action of grace.

Today is a day to undertake graceful actions. To do things that are grace-filled.

How do we do that?

Maybe one way to start is to begin in those places where we are thankful. And then act upon that thankfulness. Share, nurture, celebrate those things we are thankful for. Many of the meals and gatherings of this day will indeed be grace-filled. Although for many people family gatherings can be fraught. Focus on thankfulness. Seek and share grace. Grace is in these gatherings. Name it; share it.

I saw some grace-filled action earlier this morning. At my neighbor’s across the street, extended family is gathering, undoubtedly to share a feast later today. But this morning, some of them were out raking leaves, including a boy who must be about five, wielding a full-sized rake. With energy, joy and grace. A task that might seem onerous, filled with grace because it was shared, part of the blessing of family.

Start in the places of thanksgiving. If you are thankful for the beauty of creation. Get out in it. Take a grace-filled walk.

At last night’s interfaith community Thanksgiving service, Pastor Claude King asked us to imagine our perfect Thanksgiving. What is your image of a perfect Thanksgiving? What needs to happen for that to be a reality? In your life? In our community? In the world?

Whatever it is that needs to happen… do it. Those will be actions of grace.

Thanksgiving. A day for grace-filled actions.