Cloud formation seen over Palm Beach on Xmas Day. ANGEL? HAPPENSTANCE? YOU DECIDE

The Work of Christmas

"The Donkey at the Manger" XMas Eve 2014

          Merry Christmas!  By the calendar it's about five hours in the future. Liturgically though, the Feast is already here. However you want to count, it's a new day-- for the world, for us. It's our remembrance of that first day, so long ago when He first came among us. We can see Him-- if we try-- that new day being born.  The child lies in the arms of His mother, newly born, cleaned, wrapped in some cloths and laid in a manger.

          He lies there in the manger-- the Son of God-- the Hope of the World--

the Redeemer of Humanity. The Babe of Bethlehem lying in a manger-- an animal's feeding trough. That manger is significant.

          Luke mentions it three times in his account of the Holy Birth.  First, that they laid Him in a manger because there was no room for Him in the Inn.  Secondly, that the angels sang to the shepherds, "Look for a manger. And finally that it was in a manger that they found Him.  Obviously, Luke doesn't want us to miss the point.

          In recent years, there's been a lot of to-do about manger scenes in public places. Manger scenes in public schools, or shopping malls, or town squares. But frankly, I for one don't think it's such a big deal. It's not so important to me, at least, where such scenes are placed-- as it is important who is represented in the scene. Who is included?

          Mary and Joseph are there, of course, and the Babe-- that goes without saying. The Kings, or Magi really shouldn't show up until January 6th, Epiphany.  But the shepherds are almost always present. Sometimes the angels are shown and sometimes they're only present in the imagination of our hearts.

          But there's one other group that often gets left out of manger scenes. They do get a verse in some of the popular carols, they even have one all to themselves, but most folks don't know it.  And yet they perhaps deserve to be there even more than the Magi, or the shepherds, or even the angels.

          Who am I talking about? I'm talking of course, about the animals.

          I only learned a few years ago who invented the first manger scene. Can you guess who it was? Francis of Assisi. In the Middle Ages, they would set up full scale manger scenes in the churches of Italy, using live actors to dramatize the story for the congregations-- many of whom had never heard the story in their native tongue, and certainly had no access to Bibles.

          From what I know about Francis, there is no doubt in my mind that he would have insisted, and would insist today on using animals in every manger scene--and live ones at that!

          And he'd be right. We need them there. Not simply for decorative purposes, not only out of a desire for realism, not as visual aids, not even out of sentimental reasons. We need the ox and the ass to remind us of something that the prophet Isaiah wrote, speaking in the name of God to the people of God.

The ox knows it's owner and the ass its master's manger.

But you, O people of mine,

You do not know the Holy One, your God. (Isaiah 1:3)

          And we call them dumb animals! An ox knows exactly where to get its sustenance. A donkey knows where to get its food. But we, humanity-- we seem to have forgotten.

          And that is why the manger is important-- a sign. That is why the Babe was laid there. That is why the shepherds-- who we've always assumed represented humanity in the story-- had to go to a manger in order to find the Babe. To the manger. Like a stray donkey who had to find its way home.  Just for tonight, I invite us to imagine or even believe that, it's the donkey who’s really representing humanity at the manger.

          The Gospel account actually tells that they laid Him in a manger because there was no place for Him in the Inn. We assume that means that the Baby Jesus was laid in that make-shift crib because they refused Him admittance to the Inn.

          But have you ever considered, might it have been that it was the exact opposite that was true?  Might it not be that Jesus, our Lord and our Redeemer, our God refused to be born in an Inn?  Maybe God was just fed up with living out of Best Westerns and Ramadas, boarding houses and bed and breakfasts?

          Maybe the Creator was simply sick of living like a stranger or a sojourner in a world that actually belongs to God? In the Book of the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah we read:

O hope of Israel, their savior in time of trouble,

must thou be a stranger in their land, a traveler pitching his tent for the night?

Must thou be like a man or a woman suddenly overcome,

like someone powerless to save their own self?

Thou art in our midst, Holy One and thou has named us thine: do not forsake us.

          Jeremiah told it the way it was-- the way it still is. Time after time God would visit this world, and we would fail, or refuse to recognize our Maker. The creatures seemed to have forgotten their own Creator. They did not recognize the God of Israel, closing their doors in God's face.

          "We don't know you. Who do you think you are, with your commandments and your laws and your bleeding heart compassion. Go away! Get out of here, and go bother somebody else!"

          Think about it. Isn't that pretty much the way that this world has always treated the stranger? Think about the ways that human-un-kind has treated those who came to us in the name of God-- the prophets, the dreamers, the holy men and women who stirred up our consciences.

          Look at how we treat the needy and the oppressed, the hungry and the homeless.  Read your history.  Learn about how we've always treated the foreigner, the beggar, the victim, the starving child, the unbeliever, the disabled.

          Too often we have ignored, or even exploited or persecuted those who are different.  Too seldom have we accepted and loved, or even just tried to understand, or minister unto that hurting brother or sister who comes to us in need-- which is the same as coming to us in the name of God.

          So maybe Jeremiah is telling us that our Maker had been made to feel like an unwelcome stranger one time too many in God's own world. So maybe for a while, God stopped knocking on people's doors, and decided like a traveler, a foreigner in one's own homeland, to stay in an Inn.  But anyone who's done a lot of traveling will tell you that you can only do that for so long.

          Maybe when God mysteriously returned to this world in Jesus, so very long ago, the Creator decided to take a pass on grudging or non-existent hospitality, and to take a pass as well on one more night in a Holiday Inn.

          Maybe God just decided to be born in a stable, in a manger on purpose. After all, it was that night-- that very night-- that the donkey called humanity finally returned to its own manger, finally found its way back to its God.  That very night.

          It was in that make-shift crib, surrounded by Mary and Joseph and the shepherds, that God at last, found a home with us once more. No more inns, no more hotels, no more motels. They were no longer necessary. After all, an inn was really no place for the Creator to abide. On that night so long ago that we remember tonight-- Our Maker had come home.

          So maybe the baby Jesus actually belonged in that manger, in that stable surrounded by that circle of loving faces-- Mother, Father, shepherds, Kings, and maybe even angels. For as the donkey called humanity returned to it's source of shelter and sustenance-- that night a new human family came into being.

          Formed in the light of a star overhead, accompanied by the songs of angels, a new way of life, a new pattern, a new community, a new humanity was born that night in the stable, in that manger.

          And you and I as well, like the shepherds, like the Magi, like Mary and Joseph, and yes, like the donkey and the ox are invited to become a part of it. It's a new family-- the family of God-- the family of humanity. The invitation is open. All we need do is accept. And offer ourselves—our hearts—our lives—our prayers—our presence—our gifts—our service—our love to our Savior.

         

Human Rights

"Greetings!" given 12-21-14

Down through the centuries, countless artists have rendered this moment we call the Annunciation in very formal strokes, preserving Mary and the angel Gabriel for posterity in wood, paint, and glass. While their styles and colors have varied, Mary is always portrayed as the model of demure femininity, dressed in yards and yards of blue silk or brocade, her golden hair plaited like a crown around her head, her nails perfectly manicured. She looks so serene and composed in those portraits that it is hard to remember that the real Mary was likely a dark-haired, olive skinned, scared, unwed, teenaged peasant girl with precious little experience with men, or angels, or the world.

She is usually shown either spinning or reading at her prayer desk, absorbed in her work when out of nowhere comes this magnificent angel, as beautiful as she is, dressed like a prince or a pope with a tiara on his head or a garland of flowers studded with flames. In most pictures the feathers of his great, spread wings are white, but in at least one medieval painting they are the feathers of a peacock, all iridescent greens and blues. In his hand he holds a lily, an olive branch, or a royal scepter - signs of the purity, peace, and authority he brings from above.

Somewhere in all those paintings of the Annunciation, you can usually find a dove, a sign that what is happening is happening under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. But down below, everything depends on Mary. Sometimes Gabriel is not standing over her. Sometimes he’s kneeling in front of the girl upon whose answer he, and God, and the whole creation await.

But Mary did not really get a chance to answer—at least not, at first. The angel didn’t ask her right off the bat if she would like to be the mother of God. He told her that God had been chosen her, and been gracious to her, that she would bear a son, and that he would be the king of Israel for ever. He didn’t bother to ask her how that sounded to her and whether she would like to try out for the role. He told her not to be afraid. He informed her of a situation that was already underway.

"Greetings favored one. The Lord is with you," the angel told her, and Luke tells us that Mary was troubled by his words. Certainly one of the great understatements in all of Scripture.

Good Jewish girl that she was, little Mary would have been familiar with her heritage of faith. She’d heard the stories of the unusual pregnancies of Hannah and Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and :Leah. She had no doubt heard about the Garden of Eden and had been taught how Eve had bungled things by believing what she was told by an equally strange creature.

Perhaps Mary did not want to make the same mistake. The angel was telling her how blessed she was—but one important question wasn’t being dealt with.

"How can this be?" she asked. She wanted to know exactly whose idea this all was, and how, and what exactly would happen. She wanted to make sense out of what made no sense. God had decided to surrender to flesh and blood-- but needed her help-- needed her surrender in fact, in order to carry out the Divine plan.

"How can this be?" Mary asked, and that is all she asked. There are several other questions most of us would have asked. Will Joseph stick around? Will my parents still love me? Will my friends stand by me, or will I get dragged into town and stoned for sleeping around? Will the labor be hard? Will there be someone there to help me when my time comes? You say the child will be king of Israel, but what about me? Will I survive his birth? What about me?

If such questions occurred to Mary, she did not ask them. According to Luke, she quietly listened as the angel waved away her question with not even the barest details about how it would all come to pass. Just the flat statement that God would take care of the details. “Nothing is impossible for God.” Gabriel explained.

And then finally came Mary’s turn to speak. There was obviously a lot she still didn’t understand. Something was going to happen-- that much seemed clear. But apparently Mary did have a choice after all - whether to say yes to it all, or no--whether to embrace her choice or live it out in anger and fear--whether to take hold of the unknown future the angel held out to her--or to deny and defend herself against it however she could.

Mary wasn’t the only one in the history of the world who had that sort decision to make. It’s only that the stakes were so much higher in her case. The Eastern church calls Mary "Theotokos", "the God bearer," who consented to carry, to give birth to, to nurse and raise the Son of God. Only Mary was ever drafted to do that, but still it is hard to hear her story without hearing something of our own.

There is a lot of talk these days about all the choices we have, and about how it is up to each of us to choose our own lives. Notice how nobody does anything wrong or stupid anymore-- the "make bad choices". The truth is, more often than not, we allow our choices to choose us.

Our best laid long range plans are interrupted by life's own plans for us: by situations already underway. Sudden illness, surprise pregnancies, aging parents, loved ones’ passing, relationships changing, an unpredictable economy, addiction and hopefully recovery, unexpected opportunity and inexplicable tragedy. Terrible things and wonderful things happen all the time, but seldom do we know ahead of time exactly what will happen to us.

Like Mary, our choices most often boil down to a simple yes or no. Yes, I will fully out fully this unclear future that is being held out to me or no, I will not. Yes, I will explore this unexpected turn of events or no, I will not.

If you decide to say no, you simply drop your eyes and refuse to look up until you know the angel has left the room. Then you smooth your hair and go back to your spinning, or your reading, or whatever it was you were doing, and you pretend that nothing happened.

If your life begins to change anyway—and it probably will, you have several options. You can be stoic about it. You can refuse to accept it. You can ignore it and insist in spite of all the evidence that it is not happening to you.

The deepest and most profound prayer that a Christian can pray is “ May thy will be done.” Unfortunately when we say that in our prayers, what all too many of us really mean is “May thy will be changed.”

If that does not work, you can become angry, actively defend yourself against the unknown and spend all of your time trying to get your life back the way it used to be. As they say in AA, denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

Or, of course, you can become bitter, complain “why me?’ and compare yourself to everyone else whose life seems to be more agreeable than yours and lament your own unhappy fate. You might end up doing that for the rest of your life. If you survive this extended session on the pity pot, your life may or may not be an easy or meaningful one, but you can rest assured that no angels will ever trouble you again.

Or you can decide to say yes. You can decide to be a daredevil, a test pilot, a gambler. You can set your book down, put your spinning aside, and listen to a strange creature's strange idea. You can willingly, and either reluctantly or maybe even joyfully decide to take part in a plan you did not choose, going places you never would have imagined, doing and learning things you did not know how to do, for reasons you do not entirely understand. You can take part in a crazy and dangerous adventure with no script and no guarantees. You can agree to smuggle God into the world inside your own body.

You can take that job in a new town. You can actually join that church that you’ve been visiting in for the last ten years. You can invite a friend or neighbor or relative to church. You can become a foster parent. You can become a Big Brother or a Big Sister or Scout Leader. You can start in the process of recovery. You can join the Peace Corps or become a missionary. You can stop living together and actually get married. You can go back to school. You can change careers. You can change the way your current career is going..

You can get out of that destructive or abusive relationship you’re trapped in. You can transform your current relationship. You can begin to live more generously. You can begin practicing spiritual disciplines. You can tithe. You can stop and listen—actually listen to God’s voice for you and your life. You can say “yes.”

There’s a framed quote on the wall in my office. It sounds like a Biblical quote but it isn’t. I have no idea who actually coined the phrase—but it’s one of the truest things anybody ever said. “The sign of God is that we will find ourselves where we never expected to go.”

Deciding to say yes does not mean that you are unafraid, by the way; it just means that you are not willing to let your fear keep you locked in your room. So you say yes to the angel. You say, “Here I am. Let it be according to your word. I don’t understand it all, but I will do my best.” And in saying that, you become one of Mary's people, one more theotokos who is willing to bear God into the world.

"We are all meant to be mothers of God," wrote Meister Eckhart.,

"What good is it to me," he said, "if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace and if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then is the fullness of time: When the Son of God is begotten in us."

Greetings, favored ones! The Lord is with you. Do not be afraid. For nothing will be impossible with God.

Carl Sagan

Forgioveness- Tutu

So did the Pope say it or not? In any case, what do you think?

"The Joy of Advent" given 12/14/14

Just when we thought we had that old sourpuss John the Baptist dealt with and done last Sunday, he goes and pops up again in this Sunday’s reading! This morning is the third Sunday of Advent, the "Gaudette" or Sunday of Advent Joy, in which we're encouraged to lift up and celebrate, not repent. Right now, it's already the Christmas season-- at least in the secular world.  With that old Scrooge John the Baptist hanging around, how in the (Charles) Dickens are we supposed to get into that famous "Christmas spirit" that secular culture tells us we should be trying so hard to achieve?

Department stores have had their decorations up since Halloween. And as much as we might rant against all the commercialization of our Christian holiday-- the truth is, I think we're all kind of drawn to that secular Christmas spirit—at least a bit. We like the recorded sounds of sleigh bells and happy Christmas songs such as "City Sidewalks" and “White Christmas." (or my personal favorite “Hawaiian Christmas”)

We want the odors of fresh cedar and pine and potpourri, the sights of Christmas tree lights, red bows, real and artificial candles and Rudolph with his red nose blinking. We want to experience the warmth of closeness with our families and friends. Even preachers like those things—I’d like Advent and Christmas to be: cozy, warm, happy and exciting.

But if we’re ever going achieve that mood, we need to stay away from that old Grinch the Baptizer. In fact, maybe we'd better stay away from church all together. Look at any of the passages traditionally used by the church in the Advent season, and you’ll find in them a dark, somber, even threatening note.

Oh, there are angels and stars in Advent. But the first emphasis is something else. There is a passage which speaks of Christ coming suddenly, like a thief in the night . In fact, a number of the passages have to do with things taking place in the night or darkness.

Not the least of these dark passages is Herod’s slaughter of the innocents.

Then, there are those passages which depict John the Baptist standing out there gaunt against the overcast desert sky, his hair and shaggy clothing whipped by the wind and dust, shouting, "Repent! Repent!" There is one Advent passage which talks about blindness, deafness, skin diseases, death and poverty.  Finally, there is the nighttime passage about the birth of the homeless child, Jesus, whose very name alludes to sin.

Thumb through any Hymnal, and you'll find the same thing. Several of the hymns for the season are written in a minor key and have a somber mood about them.  Listen to a sampling of the words:

"Ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here"

"Disperse the gloomy clouds of night"

"With fear and trembling stand"

"The race that long in darkness pined"

"No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground"

Even in a carol such as "God Rest You Christian Merry People, All" (BTW, I’m trying to be politically correct here--that’s the original title) we discover the following words: "dismay, Satan's power, astray, fear and Satan's might."

And come to think of it, it looks like if we really want to preserve the "Christmas Spirit", maybe we'd better shut off the TV and skip those animated Christmas specials they show every December. Look again at some of those bright and cheerful aspects of our contemporary Christmas celebration and you find that same somber dimension.

Remember Scrooge’s ghosts? They’re pretty scary! Or take poor Rudolph. At first there was nothing cheerful or happy about his bright nose. It was seen as a birth defect. And because of it,

"all the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names;

they never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games."

What Advent and Christmas can really be all about is the coming of love and justice into a hateful and unjust world, a world in which so called normal magic reindeer make fun of those who are different. Look around. This is a world in which refined people look with disdain upon those who live on public assistance, in which undisciplined human beings abuse God's beautiful creation in the name of "development," a world in which people ridicule, denounce and even physically attack those who hold political or theological views or practice lifestyles different from their own. This is a world in which Tiny Tim dies.

The message of Advent is that the Christ who came in Bethlehem is still coming in spirit into that same world. He will come in final victory at the end of time comes to bring victory to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners and to proclaim the year of God's favor

That’s the good news? That's supposed to be a cause for our Advent joy? The end of the world?  All those oppressed peasants and political prisoners and criminals running around loose?  The alleviation of the wrong of this world might well turn out to be something of a mixed blessing for many of us in North America.

Let's face it. We use a vastly disproportionate share of the world's resources.  We control an exorbitant percentage of the world's wealth. We as a people, contribute to much of the misery in the world.  At our best, we are people who do precious little to alleviate that misery.  We are land filled with people who live for self and self alone.

Look at what some people do within their own families. We criticize. We put one another down.  We exclude the child who is too different.  We make one another feel stupid and inadequate rather than building one another up.  Sometimes we even drive one another out of our families.

Look at what we do in society at large. We do it in the kind of influence we exert on social and political policies or our prejudicial attitudes and words.  We do it when we express contempt rather than compassion for the different and the poor among us. We do it as national and ethnic groups as well.

          In Germany, “skinheads”--young white neo-Nazis have begun attacking dark-skinned people and Jews. In Ferguson, Mo. Anmd NYC police kill unarmed young men of color. Elsehere in our own land, the INS enforces laws and regulations that work to restrict the number of immigrants--especially non-whites. And when honest humanitarians give aid to the undocumented—they run the risk of prosecution!

All of this insensitivity in the family circle, and in society and between ethnic groups and nationalities is sin-- pure and simple.  And the sad reality is that our whole world is shot through with it. In the Bible the Messiah is presented as one whose compassionate anger is inflamed by such things.  He comes in Malachi as a "refiner's fire." He is presented in the gospels by John the Baptist as coming with his "winnowing fork" to separate the chaff from the wheat. And in Luke 2 the angels sing

"Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and peace on earth

 to those with whom God is pleased".

 So who exactly is God pleased with? I'm not prepared to speak for the Almighty. But my guess would be that the Creator is not pleased with those of us who either contribute xo or condone the injustice and deprivation and hurt which is so prevalent-- both in our own homes and far away. And that is why seasonal songs which make of Advent and Christmas simply a bright and merry mid winter celebration distort the real meaning of this season.

 But doom and darkness is not the whole story. There is indeed joy in this season-- or at least the promise and possibility of joy-- because, according to the Scriptures, the Christ whose compassion and justice judges us is also the Christ who’s living Spirit can change us and save us.

"Fear not," said the angel, "I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people, for unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior who is Christ the Holy."

.  And those glad tidings---the fact of His coming—then and now and in the future—can be the source of something deep and real and life-transforming for us--the joy of Advent. We’ve been sold a bill of goods. Joy is so much more than the so-called “Xmas Spirit”.  Joy is not dependant on holly or mistletoe or getting the coolest present. Joy is the only clear-cut evidence for the existence of God in this incomplete and broken cosmos.

And the truth is that without genuine deep-down joy, we lose the possibility of becoming a more compassionate, more caring, more gentle, more generous, more loving person. Without joy you and I lose the capacity of being saved—saved from the broken--ness of the world—saved from exploitation—saved from lives of empty consumerism—saved from our selves.

One thing is pretty obvious. You and I aren’t going to experience salvation if we feel no need to be saved.  If we are not conscious of the somber side of Christmas, the darkness around us, much less the darkness in our hearts, in our own attitudes, in our own words and behavior, in our own government and in the world at large, we will never be able to grasp the truly joyful side of Christmas.

Oh, Advent/Christmas can be more fun than the routine times of the year.  Christmas has more excitement in it because of the enjoyable family and social events and church and community things which we all enjoy. But you and I will not know anything about the real inward joy that this season holds within it until we confront and confess our own contribution to the darkness of life and then pray:

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to me, I pray.

Cast out my sin, and enter in, be born in me today.

If you and I ever find ourselves praying that prayer with full and honest hearts—we’ll find it will be answered.  It may be answered dramatically, in a clear and instantaneous experience of a heart strangely and deeply warmed. It may be answered unnoticeably and gradually, in a life that begins to acquire more meaning and contentment. But that prayer will be answered, and you and I will be changed in the praying of it.

 Praying that prayer has implications. And we will find that acting on those implications will be occasions for awkwardness (even pain) as well as for joy. But we’ll realize that the risk of a bit of awkwardness for the sake of joy is a choice well worth making.

 Saying something tender and loving to someone who has come not to expect that from you may not be an easy thing to do. The words may sound strange and feel awkward as they come from your mouth. But they will lead toward joy.

Doing the right thing—the compassionate thing is a source of joy—as is refraining from doing that which would harm—ourselves or othersa.

Taking a more open and caring look at the kind of people with whom you have had little patience and for whom you have had no respect will not be an easy thing to do. You may even fear that you are compromising your principles. But it will bring you closer to Christ and lead you toward joy.

Dealing patiently and magnanimously with someone else’s rudeness and bullheadedness will not be easy, but it will contribute to calm and well- being in our own hearts. Giving with a full and generous heart is not always easy to do yet it is one of the great secrets of the joyful life.

Do you remember the TV show Night Court? In one episode, Bull-- the big bald bailiff-- is hit with lightning and thinks God is telling him to give everything to the poor. Actually Art, the maintenance man, over a walkie talkie was saying to Bull who was helping mount a television antenna: "Give it everything and pull."

In the last scene, after Bull has given everything away and finally finds out it was Art speaking, God really comes to him and Bull says,

"But I have the joy of giving to others and that's the way we get close to you -- by giving away. Thanks, God." God replies,

 "You are welcome.” And then God adds as an afterthought “Sorry about polyester underwear."

Friends, I would wish-- hope-- pray-- for you and for me and for all of us, the great joy, which Christmas holds as a real possibility.  It can be ours, but not until we first hear and respond to that uncompromising desert figure shouting, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand," And not until you and I open our hearts to that one of whom it was said

He will not shout or raise his voice or make loud speeches in the streets.

He will not break off a bent reed nor put out a flickering lamp.

He will bring lasting justice to all.

He will not lose hope or courage;

he will establish justice on earth. Isaiah 42:2-4

Nativity Scene built by children in a refugee camp in Northern Iraq

Thomas Merton

"A Voice in the Wilderness" given December 7, 2014

            Mark's Gospel does not begin with angels whispering in Mary's ear.

There are no shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night, no wise

men from the East following a star, no big-eyed Disney animals standing

around a straw-stuffed manger. Mark either does not know about those things or else he does not care about them. For him, the good news of Jesus Christ begins in the wilderness of Judea with an old-time prophet named John-- a guy who was perhaps the first bona fide prophet to turn up in Israel in 300 years. Like Isaiah, a living, breathing example of the Jungian “Wildman” archetype.

          Mark says John planted himself out in the middle of nowhere. He set up shop in the rocky Judean wilderness. And anyone who wanted to hear what he had to say had to go to a lot of trouble to get there, borrowing the neighbor's donkey or setting off on foot with enough water for the journey, which led down lonely trails thick with bandits.

You've got to wonder why someone would do a thing like that, especially someone from Jerusalem, where the Temple was, and where all the high priests and important rabbis were, and where all the accumulated wisdom of the religious establishment resided.

          After all, if someone wanted to hear from God, then why not simply stay in the holy city? Maybe attend some extra services or make an appointment with one of the chief priests? Anyone who would turn away from all that and set off for the wilderness was looking for something more, something real and deep,  something the Temple could not or would not supply.

          Whatever that something so many sought was, John apparently had it. He must have seemed as scary as someone from another planet. But when he spoke it was as if he were repeating what God was saying to him right at that moment, one sentence at a time. John didn't have many details. He didn't even know the name of the one who was coming, for instance, or what he looked like, but John proclaimed that the old world was about to end and a new world was spinning toward them, carried in the arms of God's chosen one.

          His breath heavy with locusts and wild honey, John proclaimed that someone was coming, someone so spectacular that it was not enough simply to hang around waiting for him to arrive. It was time to get up, get ready to prepare the way, so that when the long-awaited one came, He could walk right to their doors—their hearts—their lives.

          That was the good news that started with John. He was the messenger,

and the message lit him up like a bonfire in the wilderness.  People were drawn to him, not because of who he was and what he said, but because of what he offered them - a chance to come clean, a chance to be real, a chance to stop pretending they were someone else, a chance to start over again. And all they had to do in order to get started was wash themselves off--  literally.

          The idea of spiritual cleansing was not original to John.  Any religion based on a strict code of ritual purity— must offer the elect frequent opportunities to symbolically wash away the contamination of the world, or women, or sin, or whatever it is that they consider to be impure. There are pools-- presumably for such ritual purifications-- in the ruins of Qumran at the edge of the Dead Sea-- where some legends says John was raised.  So the Baptizer was using something that was already part of Israel's heritage--- transforming  it and opening it up in new and different ways.

          The problem was-- there were traditions about how and when and where

this symbolic cleansing was supposed to be done. The problem was-- the Temple crowd had not okayed John's twist on this venerable practice.  The problem was,  John offered spiritual cleansing to all those who came to him.           Anyone-- even women who were not allowed in the inner precincts of the Temple. Anyone— even notorious sinners who would not have dreamed of trying to get inside. Anyone--even Gentiles, apparently.  John's baptism ignored Temple worship and all of its rites and regulations.

          The Baptizer called on anyone who would listen  to repent, to wake up, to turn their lives around and take a look-- look inward at the wilderness of their own lives and hearts.  And he told them to take a look at what was going on around them-- in the wilderness of this world. Take a good look-- so that they would not miss the new things that God was doing right before their eyes.

          The Good News always begins with a messenger-- whether it is an angel

whispering in Mary's ear, or a parent telling a child a story, or a friend comforting us, or a family member confronting us, or even some stinky, skinny prophet standing knee-deep in a river. Those who insisted on staying inside the institutional religion never even heard his message. Only those who were willing to enter the wilderness got to taste this freedom, and were presumably still around when that spectacular someone John kept preaching about finally showed up, out there in the wilderness.

          Every single one of us knows where our own personal interior wilderness lies. And every single one of us has a long list of all the good reasons why we don't want to go there.  Painful and broken as our old lives may be, they are at least familiar territory. We know our way around our own shortcomings and bad habits and failed relationships.

          There's a funny kind of comfort in staying right where we are--even if we're stuck here. We know the ropes. We recognize the half-healed scars, and tell ourselves that we will be fed here.  We tell ourselves that we can find all we need here-- well almost all.

          But-- if you and I are truly hungry to feel the authentic touch of Infinite Grace in our very deepest self, if we truly long to be healed and made whole, we won‘t find that in the comfortable places of life. If we wish to ever truly be at home in our own skins-- if the brokenness within us and the brokenness we see all around us in this world chaffs like a camel hair shirt on raw skin, you and I will sooner or later find ourselves going into the wilderness in order to find God-- and find ourselves. 

          Thomas Garlitz writes:

          Until Christ comes  to clothe us in white robes of righteousness we have only the smelling death  rags of our own sinful state. Irritated to distraction by their coarseness we  begin our pilgrimage to the only relief possible, the cool waters of baptismal  salvation. Through the desolation of the wilderness -- that psycho-spiritual  place designed to bring us to aloneness with God -- we make our way, one  plodding step at a time.

          ….we focus on that one spot in the distant horizon. We tune our  ears to hear that one voice crying out, beckoning to us. We travel to the  point of no return. We discover an urgency deep within driving us on.

          ….by  walking this path of reflection and repentance, we prepare within ourselves a  straight path for the Lord to travel into our hearts.

            Why should you and I bother to seek God in that inner  wilderness of sin and self and wounded-ness within each one of us? Why should we even bother to try and plow a straight path for Jesus right through our selfishness and self-righteous ways and into our heats?

          Why try, through prayer and confession and meditation to curb our petty attitudes and gossipy mouths? Why bother to repent of our anger and inappropriate relationships? Why try to change our way of life and grow? Why fast? Why tithe? Why keep trying and trying and trying to understand and accept and forgive and ultimately come to love ourselves-- and one another?  Why keep trying to lower our defenses and prepare a way for the Lord-- right through the open doorways of our own hearts and lives?

The Good News always begins with the call of a messenger. It might be a prophet, or an event, a word spoken, a confrontation, a loss or tragedy, a joy, a disaster at home, a need in the community, or in the family, or the workplace. It may be an itch we can't scratch, a hunger for something more, something deeper in life, or something we can't even really name that we've endured for weeks or months or years, that we can finally stand no longer. It might even be three ghosts teaching us the true meaning of unselfish love on Christmas Eve.

          But why flee to the wilderness? Maybe we sense that it is there in the wilderness of our hearts, that real change, real growth, real communion with the One who made us becomes possible.  It's only there in our inner wilderness,  acknowledging and coming to accept that truest self that we don’t show to anyone else, that your and I can ever truly come to feel total acceptance and know the ultimate forgiveness of our God. It is only there-- confronting the shadows of our past and the gold that dwells deep within each one of us, that we can at last face and conquer those fears and drives, and honestly acknowledge our own unique strengths and weaknesses.

          It is there that you and I can at last learn to start loving ourselves. It’s there, that we can really begin to change. It is there, that we can begin to truly grow and become real.  It is there that you and I will at last be able to stand before our Maker and feel that healing touch that makes us whole. It is only there, in our deepest inner wilderness, that through the breath of the Holy Spirit, you and I can find new life and be saved.

          And while we’re at it, why should we bother to hunt for God in the wilderness of this world around us? Why bother to try and plow the path through this broken and sinful world for our God on Monday through Saturday-- instead of just Sunday mornings?

          Why should we bother to look for God at a church pantry, on a Christian help-line, in the nursing home, in the eyes of a child we're fostering, or a young person we’re mentoring as a Big Brother or Sister, in the struggle of an adult we’re helping reach for literacy, in the embrace of a child no body else wants, in the raucous noisiness of a Scout Troop we're leading? Why bother to seek God on a picket line, or in the quiet but firm testimony to what we know is right?

          Before Nelson Mandela was released from prison, Archbishop Desmond Tutu stood in front of the South African Embassy in Washington D.C. one

afternoon and said,

          'Those of you inside, are you listening? Do you hear me? You have already been defeated. Do you understand that? You have already lost and we on the outside have won. Out here, we know how this struggle for … freedom and liberation will turn out, for God is on the side of the oppressed. It's not "We shall win." Oh no! We have already won! Only you on the inside have not yet realized it. We outsiders have, and we know the future. We are the future.'

            God is on the side of the oppressed. They are the future. Psalm 85 promises that the Holy One will come to those who honor and seek their maker with integrity-- and that God‘s glory will dwell among them.  Why would anyone look for God anywhere else but in church on Sunday? I can't imagine--unless it is that voice we can no longer stifle, crying out in the wilderness, the one you and I cannot quite make out from here. The wilderness within us and the wilderness of this world around us.

           If you and I only listen for God in the expected, comfortable, settled places of life, we will miss half of what the Almighty is saying.  The good news is always beginning somewhere-- in the world, or in our spirits, or in our church-- for those with ears to hear and hearts to follow whichever way they are led-- even into the wilderness.    Amen.

Dr. King

"Waiting in Hope" given November 30, 2014

            There must have been a pretty fair number of absentee landlords in the Palestine of Jesus' time. There must have been a pretty fair number of servants who were left on their own, expected to run things perhaps even for years at a time.

Jesus starts a number of his parables with that basic premise--The owner goes away on a journey-- or an errand-- and entrusts a servant to make investments, or tend the vineyard, or watch the sheep, or just to be ready to open the door. But the owner doesn't give that employee any idea of an anticipated day and time when he or she will return. Just-- "I'll be back."

          Jimmy Buffet has a hilarious song called Gypsies in the Palace   about going on tour and leaving his home with two house-sitters-- "Johnny D." and "Snake". As Jimmy puts it,

We‘re gypsies in the palace,

he's left us here alone

The order of the sleepless knights

will now ascend the throne.

we ain't go no money,

we auin't got no right

But we’re gypsies in the palace

and we got it all tonight.

            Snake and Johnny D.  immediately shoot the lock off the liquor cabinet, eat all the food in the frig, play the stereo really loud, skinny dip in the pool, and head outon a quest to rescue any nearby damsels in distress from their condos.

          The party abruptly ends, when in the middle of a conga line around the pool, accompanied by the sounds of broken glass,  they get a call from  the boss  telling them he's coming home a day early.  They throw everybody out and spend the next day frantically cleaning up their mess.

          In the car on the way home from the airport, Johnny D tells Jimmy, "

Hi there boss we waxed your cars,

we raked and mowed your lawn

We couldn't find enough to do

The short time you were gone

Man, it sure is quiet here.

It's the same as in the parable. When the boss is gone, it's a test for the servants.  "Now boys and girls, I have to step down the hall to the principal's office to make a telephone call. While I'm gone, I have asked Mrs. Smith from across the hall, to listen in on you. Now, I hope that I can trust each and every one of you to act like ladies and gentlemen. I hope that I can do that. I do not want a repeat of that sad situation we had last week. And I'm sure that the fire department and the police and the rescue squad don't want it either. Now, I am going.  And each one of you has your math to do.  I am going.  I hope that I can trust each one of you."

          Absence becomes a test. School kids are rarely as clever as Snake and Johnny D at hiding their transgressions. The return will be a time of judgment and reckoning. "Mrs. Williams, come quick! The principal says chaos has broken loose in your classroom."

          A class that can only be trusted if Mrs. Williams is there, patrolling the aisles and watching the kids like a hawk is still a pretty immature bunch of kids. A servant who only works when the master is standing over his or her shoulder, supervising every aspect of every task, is a pretty sorry employee.

          This morning is the First Sunday of Advent.  We're assembled here to begin our preparations for the arrival of the Master. The Babe of Bethlehem is our Emmanuel-- a name that means "God-is-with-us". In Him, God is not absent from the world or from our lives--but in fact, present. In Him, God is among us.

          The seventeenth century French philosopher Pascal wrote that “there is a god-shaped piece of loneliness inside everyone.”   We long for that presence in our lives and in our world. We sing: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel".  We come to church, we send our kids to Sunday School, we pray, we work, we rage against the injustice and inequity of this world.

          Although the master seems  not to be physically present at the moment, we want to believe-- without any reservations or unanswered questions or nagging doubts-- that there is a Master, that the Universe has meaning and sense and ultimate justice.

We yearn with all our hearts for a sign or a miracle. But we’d gladly settle for a feeling, a saving moment, an instant of mindfulness, a holy paradox, a meaningful coincidence,  a moment of serendipity, a white light at the end of a tunnel-- some kind-- any kind of a sense that we are not alone.

            "O You who would tear down the heavens and come down", cries the Prophet Isaiah.  The prophet like us, pleads for the return of a God who like the householder, seems to be too often absent.

          And if you stop and think about it, most of the New Testament is written to help the early church deal with the fact that their Savior and friend had left them, and had failed to return as soon as expected. Where was he? Was Jesus, or God not there at all?

          Frederick Buechner writes about the contemporary experience of this seeming absence of God, as you and I sit in our pews on any Sunday morning.

As much as anything else, it is their (our) experience of the absence of God that has brought them in search of His presence.

          The absence of God is not just an idea to conjure with, an emptiness for the preacher to try to furnish.. The absence of God is that which is not livable. It is the tears that Jesus wept in the garden and the cry he choked out (on the cross) when his own tongue filled his mouth like a gag. The blackness of the preacher's gown speaks of the anguish of it. The Bible he preaches out of speaks of it.

            It’s not easy keeping the faith, day after day, Advent after Advent.  But you and I can endure that seeming absence. We can endure the slings and arrows and assaults of this world. We can take it-- if we can understand it. What’s so often the first thing we cry out in those terrible moments? Why me, God?

You and I can endure any suffering this world hands out to us-- if  we kniow that our suffering has purpose and meaning.  It is meaninglessness and the fear of emptiness that is truly unbearable.

          It was one thing when Jesus was here, in the flesh, among us.  But in this time between that first Advent in Bethlehem and that Final Advent yet to come, you and I must wrestle with our recurring doubts, with our faithlessness, with our spotty discipleship, with the anguish that Buechner writes about. You and I must find the spiritual resources in our midst as a community as well as within ourselves-- to persevere, to keep believing, to remain faithful, to keep on living lives that are ethical and kind and righteous.

          Oh, it can seem to be easy enough here in the Sanctuary on a Sunday morning. In the Word read and proclaimed, in the taking of the Bread and the Cup, in prayer together with and fellowship with  other believers, you and I can catch a glimpse of what we come here seeking-- the near presence of our Lord.

          But what about an hour or so from now?  What about tomorrow morning when we're back in the bad old world?  What about all those times when we must face alone the anguish of God's seeming absence? Can you and I be trusted then?

          When we must wait weeks for the outcome of the biopsy, when we learn our job will be "down-sized" into non-existence by a CEO with a platinum parachute, when the doctors tell us there is nothing more than they can do, when the bank’s threatening to foreclose, when the police call about our kid at midnight-- God can seem to be pretty distant. 

          When our spouse demands that we see a marriage counselor or else, when

the IRS just has a couple of questions about our last seven years returns, when our boss tells us to get into rehab or file for unemployment,  when our unemployment runs out and the economy still is lousy, when our cousin’s  National Guard unit is posted to Iraq for a third or fourth tour, faithfulness becomes a crucial life issue.

When someone we love doesn't seem to care about us, or our feelings, when we're unexpectedly pregnant at fifty, and the docs begin talking about high risk and Down's syndrome and pregnancy onset Diabetes-- faithfulness becomes much, much more of an issue for us.

          We believe that our Emmanuel was with us in that first Advent-- born in a cold stable, some two thousand years ago. And our faith proclaims an Advent yet to come-- a day when He will return in glory to complete human history. In the meantime-- in this time between His two Advents, you and I have to live out our everyday lives.

 In the meantime, we must wrestle with becoming more trustworthy servants. Because, in the meantime, God has put us "each in charge of our own work".  The Divine Absence becomes more than a test. It is a chance to grow.

          The class that can only be trusted when the teacher is there, will ultimately fail to ever get down to the real business of learning. So a good teacher knows that unless she steps out of the room now and then, the students will never learn self-reliance, never mature enough to take responsibility for learning on their own.

          The worker who is faithful to the job only when the boss is breathing over his or her shoulder is a pretty worthless employee. A good manager, a good employer must find people who are capable of continuing to work when the foreman's back is turned. Moral behavior motivated solely by the fear of God's omnipotent gaze is really nothing to write home about. A faith that is only real on the mountaintops and not in the valleys, isn't indicative of much spiritual depth.

          Jesus' first Advent taught us much about who God is and what God does. And yet, Jesus admitted that even he didn't know the day or the hour of his Second Advent. In the meantime—as Jesus promised-- you and I can know Him in the eyes of a beloved, in the helping hand of a friend, in the warmth of heart we experience when we reach out and minister to someone in need. In the meantime-- He promised-- you and I can encounter Him in prayer and worship, at His Altar..

          In the meantime, our God is tapping you and me on the shoulder all the time, unexpectedly intruding into our well-laid plans and schemes, with a Divine Surprise for us. In the meantime, the Spirit flies around barging into our lives at the most unlikely times and places, calling and empowering us to the most unlikely, unexpected, surprising, and joyful challenges and tasks. Absence is a test, yes-- but it can also be a joyous opportunity.

          Surprise, you're a grand-parent!   Go back to school and finish that degree. Take a Foster-child into your home. Go to Seminary. Become a missionary. Take Grandma into your home when she can't keep her own place up. Volunteer at school. Change jobs.

          Get out of that inappropriate, destructive relationship. Get into a more wholesome relationship. Start that business.  Join the Peace Corps .  Finish that novel.  Become a church officer, up your giving, tithe. Volunteer at a nursing home. 

          We do not know when or where His Second Advent will come. But we do know this. You and I have better things to do than stand around speculating about whether Jesus is going to come back on a cloud, or riding a white horse, or in a flying saucer; now, or next week, or in the year two thousand, or in the year three thousand. We all of us have work to do-- in the meantime.

          God’s world, God’s Commonwealth has been entrusted to a bunch of servants-- to you and me.  All of us, in this meantime have work to do-- sharing the Good News. We are called to witness-- with our mouths but even more with our lives-- in the factory, the supermarket, the office, the classroom. Some of us have reconciling work to do within our own family. Still others have inner work to do around our emotions, our fears, our addictions, our apathy, even our identities.

          In Jesus' first Advent, the world was given a glimpse of God's will for humanity-- the model of a perfect human life lived in harmony with the Divine Will, the model of a perfect human community, the dream of a world in which all peoples and nations work hand-in-hand-- under Christ’s Reign . We all have plenty to do--sharing and living out that dream-- each in our own tiny corner of this world.

          The parable reminds us that the test for our faithfulness is how well we do that work now.  Especially now--  when so many in the world are doubting, and yet the world is filled with so much need-- so many opportunities. God’s Realm seems to have been entrusted to a bunch of servants-- you and me.      Amen.