Christmas at the Beach

"BEHOLD" given 12/20

            “Behold!” said Mary. “Here I am.” “I am God’s servant.”  How many of us have ever wondered what to do in a difficult situation?  How often have we wished that God would help us through the tough situations of life by making the Divine Will just a bit clearer? Haven’t we all from time to time, wished for a sign?  Not necessarily a giant hand coming down out of the sky pointing out a road we should take. Just a hint—something a bit definite, something sure and clear.

            We all know what it is to struggle with moral dilemmas, conflicting claims on us, difficult decisions, life crises. We’ve all wished at times for a bit of precognition—If I choose this path, this is what will happen. If I choose this other path, then that will happen.

            Our late Bishop Duecker used to tell of having just graduated from college, driving his car to grad school. He had been accepted at both Law School and Seminary. He was torn. What did God want him to do with his life? And as he traveled, he came to a place where the expressway literally split. On the Left was the road to Law School in Columbus. On the right, was the route to the Methodist Theological School in Ohio. Going 65 or 70 miles an hour, he had literally a second and a half to choose—not just a road, but the whole direction for the rest of his life. Right or Left? Lawyer or Preacher? It was an ultimate Kairos moment.

            Wouldn’t it be nice if God would just come right out and tell us which road we should take at such moments? Wouldn’t it be terrific if God would just come right out and tell us what we’re supposed to do? And not just in our lives. Sometimes this world we live in seems to literally chafe and whine for a solid, indisputable word from God.

            That’s in part the appeal of simply taking the Bible and everything in it absolutely literally—the whole kit and caboodle, every jot and tittle. What a great appeal in having a book that will guide your every decision, explain every question, solve every problem. All you have to do is deal with the internal contradictions and conflicting information, ignore what you don’t like, or understand, or can’t accept.

            The problem is that sort of simplistic use of scripture reduces God’s word to the level of the I Ching, or Tarot cards, or a crystal ball. The problem is that even when we say we’re taking the Bible literally, we still inevitably, end up interpreting it.

            You’ve heard of the guy who was faced with a problem and decided to find out what God wanted him to do by opening the Bible to any page at random and pointing at random to a particular verse. The first time he tried, he go “And Judas went out and hanged himself.” The second try he got “Go thou and do likewise.”

            No, better not take any chances of misinterpretation. What we need is something tangible—a physical presence, an audible, indisputable, instantaneous word from God. A pope, a council of bishops, a guru, maybe just a philosophy. Then we could be sure. Then we’d be secure in our choices.

            But is absolute clarity what we really want? The truth is, most of us rebel at God’s word when it comes into our lives—subtly, indirectly, gently. How would you or I truly react to a direct announcement from God? We’d most likely be terrified. We’d most likely not care for the instructions from on high. Then we’d have to choose directly—yea or nay--for or against God.

            If God, after all, is truly God, then what God announces, God will do. What God says, God accomplishes. And what God calls us to do , we must do. No buts; no excuses, no hesitations, no deals, no second chances, no pretending to misunderstand. Put your faith on the line. Put your life on the line. And do it now.

            That’s the dilemma Mary found herself in when Gabriel came to call. That moment of encounter is the very embodiment of what you and I both dread and desire with all our hearts.

            “Hail favored one. God is with you.”  Gulp. Luke’s description of Mary’s reaction is one of the great understatements in the entire Bible.  “But she was greatly troubled by this and wondered in her mind what sort of greeting this might be.”

            Mary had good reason to be troubled.  She was a faithful Jew. Mary would have known that being favored by the God of Israel wasn’t necessarily a bed of roses. Those favored by God were a pretty tried and tested and ragged crew—beguiled Eve, barren Sarah,  betrayed and enslaved Joseph, exiled and swindled and crippled Jacob, leprous Miriam, runaway Jonah, beleaguered Moses, abandoned Hagar, devastated Job, imprisoned Jeremiah, deserted Hosea, and clinically depressed Elijah. To be favored by God was in and is in many ways, to walk a knife edge of obedience, tottering between blessing and curse, wisdom and folly, even life and death.

            As a faithful Jew, Mary knew that to give yourself in servant-hood to God is to give all. God’s logic is rarely humanity’s logic. And while God’s Will for each of us is always in our long term best interest, it rarely is the smoothest or easiest path to walk in the meantime. No wonder that the second thing Gabriel said to Mary was “Don’t be afraid.”

            Mary was right to be afraid. Much less greatly troubled. Confronted by an archangel of the Most High, on an errand of unknown purpose and clothed in Divine glory, Mary’s heart must have stopped for a minute or two. Who knows in advance what the short term cost of such an irrevocable announcement from God Almighty might be?

            Maybe on second thought, we ought not to envy Mary such a clear-cut, direct address from God. Maybe, like ancient Ahaz, we might prefer to pray not to see a sign.

            But just as it was too late for Mary, it’s too late for us as well. We have made a commitment to follow.  We have heard the Heavenly greeting.

            “Hail faithful ones. Hail favored ones. Our God is with you.”

            You and I are here in this sanctuary, in this world, on a pilgrimage between birth and death, sin and salvation, struggling to find our own way between human wisdom and divine folly, curse and blessing, joy and despair. God has already spoken the Divine will to us in the person of Mary’s son, the only Begotten One, Jesus our Emmanuel, God-with-us.

            “Hail favored ones.” He says to us. “If you love me, feed my sheep.” “tell the Good News.” “Love one another.” The Heavenly messenger calling us is not necessarily an angel with golden wings. No you and I hear our call everyday in the faces and voices of Christ’s sheep—calling out to us to be fed. Fed in body, fed in spirit, fed in mind and heart.

            “The Spirit of God is upon me, and has anointed me.” Jesus would say in Nazareth. God has sent me to announce Good News to the poor, to proclaim liberty for the prisoners, and sight to the sight to the sightless, to let the broken ones go free, to proclaim that God’s time has come now.”

            “Hail favored ones,” You and I have heard that proclamation of God’s favor to us. If we’re honest, we admit that we didn’t really need an angel. God’s Will for us is clear enough—all too clear in the face of the spouse, or a parent, or an adult child we are alienated from; in the needs of the homeless stranger, the hungry child, the battered wife, the lost newcomer, the friend in need, the unemployed neighbor, the brother or sister enslaved to addiction, the oppressed believer in another land, the fellow church member in thrall to out-of-control emotions, or illness, or infirmity. We know the need. It’s those darned details we

have to figure out.

            “Behold!” said Mary after she’d heard what the Holy One wanted of her. “Here I am. I am God’s servant. Let it be as you have said for me.” With those words, Mary becomes the ultimate paradigm of faithful obedience to God’s Will.

            It can be a tad risky for Protestant preachers to say anything too awfully nice about Mary from the pulpit. So listen instead to what Martin Luther, the first successful Protestant, said about the Mother of our Lord.

            “The virgin birth is a mere trifle for God. That God should become human is a greater miracle. But most amazing of all is that this maiden should credit the announcement that she, rather than some other virgin, had been chosen to be the mother of God….had she not believed, she could not have conceived. She held fast to the word of the angel because she had become a new creature. Even so must we be transformed and renewed in heart from day to day. Otherwise Christ is born in vain. This is the word of the prophet,

          ‘ Unto us a child is born. Unto us a son is given.’  This is for us the hardest point, not so much to believe that he is the son of the virgin and of God, as to believe this Son of God is ours. Truly it is marvelous in our eyes that God should place a little child in the lap of a virgin and that all our blessings should lie in him.”

          “Behold!” said Mary. “Here I am. I am God’s servant. Let it be as you have said for me.” The growth of God within the womb of this young girl was what theologians call “a mystery”. Why her? Why in that place, that time? So too though, the Christ grows within us. Why us? Why here? Why now? That growth too, is a mystery, but just as sure.

            We are washed clean from sin by the waters of baptism and fed with the bread and wine of his Body and Spirit. We fill out and change, according to the demands life and our call  places upon us. We are nurtured and grow to meet those demands according to the love and power the Spirit generates within us. Like Mary, we wonder what the face of this new life is, and what it will be like at full term. Like Mary, we wonder if we’re strong enough to labor for God’s Realm in this world. We’re not exactly sure.

            But the gestating new life within us demands our commitment to growth. It will change our habits, perhaps even disturb or frighten us. It will stretch us, challenge us, transform our very beings. Yet it is the life God has announced to us. Like Mary, we are favored. Aware of the mystery and the possible scandal, may we too, offer our whole selves in worship and praise, saying with full hearts and total commitment.

            “Behold. We are your servants Lord. Let it be for us as you have said.”

            

"Living in Joy" given Dec. 13th

            Suddenly there was this strange character John. Nobody knew where he came from. They said he came from out of the desert. The desert? What was he? One of those crazy hermits? Or maybe part of those Essenes--that group of religious fanatics who had formed a co-ed monastery in the bottom of the Dead Sea?

            Who knew? Who could tell you anything about this John? What were his credentials? Where had he gone to seminary? Who had ordained him? What was his social security number? Did he in fact even have a social security number? A VISA card? A Master Charge?

            Where did this guy come from? You couldn't place him. You couldn't even get a handle on him by the clothes he wore. He had no designer labels in his jackets. He didn’t have a jacket! He clothing wasn't bought--it was found.  John wore worse than Salvation Army rejects--a ratty old camel skin loin cloth with a leather belt--designer clothes hand tailored by God.

            He seemed to be from nowhere. Totally independent, untouchable and untouched. No home, no mortgage, no job, no family. John was nothing more or less than a mouthpiece if you will--a voice, a message in the wilderness of his broken, occupied nation. "Repent!" He cried.

            And they flocked to hear him. He must have been filling some deep spiritual needs. The people came in droves from up and down the Jordan valley. They came to the riverbank to be baptized and to listen to the Baptizer speak of the One who would come after Him, whose sandals John claimed he was not worthy to untie.

            No wonder people began to ask him. Who are you? Are you the Messiah? Are you the reincarnation of Elijah? Are you a prophet? Do you come from God to save us? Are you.... who... what... when...????

            And to all of these things John answered simply, directly, almost gently--for him.

            "No. I am none of these things--none of these people. I am not Elijah. I am not the Messiah. I am no more or less than a voice crying in the wilderness of your lives. I am a voice that cries in the deserts of this tortured world. I am a voice that cries out Repent! The Realm of God is at hand! Make straight the way of the Lord's coming. Repent! Turn your life around! The long awaited One is coming and coming soon!"

            Sisters and brothers, for a such a straight-forward statement, this carries an incredible amount of meaning and significance for the world. And just as significant, just as meaningful is the message of Paul, written a generation later:.

            “Rejoice in the Lord!  Again I say, Rejoice!”

            The two messages don't seem to go together too well, do they? How can repentance be joyful? The rejoicing--that we can handle. But repenting is a different story. We modern day believers have gotten a misleading perception of what it means to repent.  And that preconception, that image of repentance in our minds has little to do with rejoicing.

            When we think of repentance, most of us think of somebody like John the Baptizer or some mediaeval saint crouched out in the desert fasting, or eating locusts and honey, praying day and night until the calluses on their knees get calluses. We think of a monastery, or even a prison cell, a scratchy bundle of hay to sleep on, a rough homespun garment, a cross on the wall--and that's it.

            Repentance for us means giving up something --sacrificing money or comfort or pleasures.  We get then word "penitentiary" from the same root word as "repent".  And that's the image I'm afraid, that sticks in most of our heads.

            Sure, we recognize that we all could stand to be better people. But it doesn't sound like much fun! Another word that comes from the same root as repent is “penance”. And that's what our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters have to do after they confess their sins in the little black box where the priest can't see you but probably recognizes your voice. That certainly doesn't cut much ice in our Protestant eyes!

            You can't fool us. Repentance would be a pain in the neck. Why, in order to repent, we might have to give up some of our favorite things-- like overeating, or gambling, or smoking, or drinking, or kissing our spouse, or kissing someone else's spouse. We might even, horror of horrors have to give up chocolate!

            I'm afraid that we just don't get the point about Repentance. The truth is that repentance and rejoicing are two sides of the same coin.  To repent means nothing more nor less than to turn in another direction--to turn your life around.  The truth is that real and lasting joy in the faith must always grow out of repentance.

             At age eleven, another young man named John went to sea. His life in his younger years reads an adventure story. He was drafted into the British Navy, deserted, was  captured and flogged, deserted again, was recaptured, enslavd, escaped and went back to sea. Eventually he became the master of his own ship. John was sailing on what was known as "The Middle Passage". That was, from North America to the coast of Africa and back again. John was the captain of a slave ship. He traded in the lives of human beings.

            Slavers never enjoyed a very good reputation among the sailors of the world. The conditions in their ships were horrendous. The slaves were packed into the holds--literally like sardines. As many as a third might die en route to America.

            I won't ruin your morning by saying anything more. Let me only add that to be a slaver was about as low as a sailing man could sink. It was certainly less than respectable in the eyes of polite society--at least in the North. That's the life that John was leading when he had the experience that changed him.

            You might say that he was born again, or saved, or got religion, or found God, whichever phrase means the most to you. The point is that suddenly John became a believer in Jesus Christ. In mid-ocean. In the middle of a storm so violent he thought he was going to drown.

            I wish I could tell you that John immediately gave up the slave trade, turned his ship around, sailed back to Africa and set the slaves on board free. That’s what the legends say. But what really happened is a lot closer to your and my everyday lives.

            Because the truth is that John remained in the slave trade for a few more years wrestling with his conscience, until eventually, the Holy Spirit got the better of him and he repented, finally left the sea, and took up a new profession. That took him a while---possibly because of his previous occupation, but eventually John found a bishop willing to ordain him, and he became a pastor in rural England. I suppose we might say he was trying to make amends for what he’d done.

            But John continued to wrestle with his conscience during those years, had a second spiritual awakening, and finally came to understand with crystal clarity that what he had been doing was not enough. That slavery was a sin. That his hands were still red with blood. That he was a wretched sinner for having followed that vocation. That he’d not truly repented, but had been hiding from his past sins, and by not speaking out he was still complicit in the slave trade. That he needed to do all in his power to make some REAL amends. That he could no longer in good conscience not speak out.

            And so once again John repented. This time, he went all the way. He turned his life around. He changed his mind. He changed his life.  He took up a totally new and different stage of ministry.

            He became, among other things, a passionate public activist against slavery. He wrote a scathing book describing the horrors that occurred on slave ships.  He mentored a young, rising political star named William Wilberforce, convincing him that God was calling him to remain in Parliament and lead the fight against slavery in England. 

            The other thing that John became was a song- writer, a hymn writer. He wrote of his saving, life-transforming meeting with Jesus Christ and of the pure, unadulterated joy that his act of repentance brought into his life. John Henry Newton wrote:

Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind but now I see.

Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come.

‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.

Yea when this flesh and blood shall fail and mortal life shall cease

I shall possess within the veil, a life of joy and peace.

When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun

We've no less days to sing God's praise, than when we first begun.

            It's not exactly an Advent Hymn. But maybe it ought to be. The hymn speaks directly to the effects of Jesus Christ's entrance into human life. No wonder that Hymn has remained so popular for so many years!  No wonder it's witness is so powerful!  Besides being a terrific expression of faith, it arises from an inspiring act of repentance. What an expression of the joy of believing, of salvation, of Christ's Advent and power!

            Sisters and brothers, John Newton was a friend of mine. I never met him, of course. But I like to think that anyone brave enough to stand up for their beliefs, anyone brave enough to change their mind and begin living their life in a new direction (however long it takes) is a friend of mine-- and of Christ's-- and of the world for that matter.          

            Sisters and brothers you and I ought to never be afraid to change our minds, to try something new, to repent, to begin listening to God for direction, to make amends for our sins, and to begin living our lives in a new direction. It might well take the Spirit a while to get through to us—as it did for John Newton. But we ought to never be afraid that living the new life that our God calls us to live will be too hard for us, or too drab, or too cheerless. The life of faith is a life that is in fact, rich, and deep, and challenging, and joyous.

            Perhaps we need to begin listening more carefully for the call of the Spirit in our own lives. Where is God calling you to turn your life around? How long has the Holy Spirit been trying to get through to you? Who do you need to forgive? From whom do you need forgiveness? Where in your life, are you being called to be a friend of Christ, and a friend of the world?

            Maybe its completing your education, or volunteering at a food pantry, or  teaching ESL, or tutoring, or working at a Mission. Maybe you need to reexamine the relationships and practices you are engaged in. Perhaps God wants to use you as a Scout leader, or singing in the choir, or as a volunteer here at church. Maybe you could consider giving up smoking, or becoming a foster parent. Or just visiting that friend in a nursing home. That new direction in your life might mean making peace with that brother or sister that you're estranged from, or reaching out to that neighbor in need.

            Acknowledging our sins and the harm we’ve done can be painful, yes. Truly making amends can be terrifying and even humiliating, yes. The life of faith is a life of commitment, yes.  But more than that, it is a life of unexpected joy! The satisfaction that comes from knowing that you are at last trying to live out God's will for your life as you perceive it, is deep and abiding. The improved quality of your relationships will astound you. The opportunities that open up will flabbergast you. The people around you will surprise you.The grace is indeed amazing at times!

            Sisters and brothers, true repentance, becoming a friend of Jesus our Christ and of the world, living the new life of faith will not keep us from enjoying life. The honest pleasures of this life are not denied believers-- including chocolate-- thank you Jesus!

            And as for the illegitimate pleasures-- the cheating, the lying, the anger, the bullying, the back-biting, the greed, the sneaking around, the same old sinful ruts-- we will find ourselves giving them up. We’ll lose our taste for them. But we will find, miraculously, that we won't miss them. It will be no sacrifice. Indeed, it'll be a pleasure to get them off our backs and out of our lives.

            One thing is clear. You and I will never change this world until we ourselves begin to change our own selves. We'll never see that Joyous final Advent yet to come, until it has first taken root in our own hearts. "You can't do it for the world, until you do it for yourself." Until we're no longer afraid to listen for the Spirit, to admit our wrongs, to repent, to make amends, to change ourselves—however long it does or doesn’t take, we'll never be able to stand up for what we believe, much less  change the wrongs we see all around us.

            One thing is clear. This world we're living in could desperately use some friends right now-- people and families and companies and churches and nations and leaders and institutions who aren't afraid to change their direction and begin to live in a new way.

            This world of ours is going through some exciting and frankly rather frightening changes. Our own nation is being challenged to live up to its noble ideals in ways we never imagined.  In countries you and I may have never heard of, as well as in our own towns and cities, men and women and even children and young people  are striving, working, praying, dying, hoping to better their lives, their lands, their world.

            The Holy Spirit is at work in the world around us, using believers and non-believers alike, empowering them, inviting them to turn their lives around and join with their Maker in the task of remaking, and reforming and reviving this tired old world, becoming joy-filled friends of God's Creation.

            You and I are invited as well. Let us listen for the ways in which we can begin to lead new and joyous lives. Let us pray that more and more people around the world will become friends-- of Creation, of Christ, of one another, of the world. And when enough of them do-- then at last, the Advent of Christ, the Second Coming, the Kingdom, the Realm of Shalom, the long-awaited Day of the Lord will finally begin to dawn. Come soon, Lord Jesus! Amen.

Every Religion

"Prepare the Way" given 12/6/15

            It's Advent time once again. The paraments have been changed to Purple. The candles are in place and lit. The greens have been hung. We our in the midst of waiting liturgically now, for the coming of the Christ Child into our world. We are called, once more, to prepare our hearts for the His entrance into them.

            It's Advent. And as they do every year, during this opening season of the church’s liturgical year, the Gospel readings direct our attention to the figure of John the Baptizer.             "Prepare ye the Way of the Lord!" The Baptizer proclaims to us. "Open your hearts and change your lives, the Messiah is coming!" He demands of us all.

            After so many centuries of prayerful waiting, the long-awaited word of God finally came-- but not to a palace or royal court, or even to the High priest in the Temple.  The word came, not to the powerful, not to Herod, not even to Tiberius Caesar in Rome. The word came to a man who had chosen to live apart from all of this. The word came to a man who had turned his back on home and family and comfort and leisure as well as from power and influence.

            The word came to John, who had fled to the desert. Apparently, John had simply chucked it all in one day. He had up and walked out into the wilderness, to pray and to listen there for God's word. John had been living out in the desert for so long he'd almost become a part of it, a crazy, hairy hermit eating whatever food came to hand, dressing in untanned animal skins.  John must have literally looked like the desert-- and probably smelled like it too.

            We have no idea why John had headed out into the wilderness in the first place. But he was not alone. Since the Exodus, the desert had held a distinctive spiritual significance for the Jews. It was (and still is) a rocky, forbidding place where, like the Hebrew children, you might wander lost. But it was also a place of holy solitude, where you might find yourself-- a place where you might define who you were.  Above all though, it was a place where, like Moses and Elijah and so many others., you went if you really wanted to encounter God.

            The desert, the wilderness, was a place of retreat, a place of prayer and renewal, a place of sanctuary from the sophisticated wilderness of the so-called civilized world. Whole communities, single people and families as well, had at various times fled from society and established themselves out there in the wastelands, seeking simplicity of life and of worship. They had fled, seeking to escape what they saw as the corrupt and meaningless religion of the Temple in Jerusalem.

            It was from the ruins of one of such community that the Dead Sea Scrolls came. Some scholars think that John the Baptizer came out of that same community as well.  In any case, John sought, as those who came before him sought, and those who came after him sought, to escape the snares and demands of this unfinished, sin-sick, blood-soaked, tear-soaked, polluted wasteland that we call our world.

            They wanted to flee to some place pure, some place uncontaminated. They sought the real, natural wilderness, scrubbed clean by God's hand. They sought it so that they could become pure through prayer and solitude-- like those who have been through a refiner's fire.

            Once he had, in fact heard God's word though, John did something you might not expect. He came out of the wilderness. And, according to Luke's account, John the Baptizer began traveling up and down both sides of the whole Jordan valley. He preached, he beseeched, he threatened, he begged those who stopped to listen-- to repent.

            He called upon rich and poor, great and small, Jews and pagans and Roman occupiers to change their ways. He demanded that they turn their lives around and begin to live in a new direction—with integrity and justice and holiness. John warned them to prepare for the coming of God's earthly Realm. And he baptized people, forgiving the sins of men and women and children as a sign of their new life and their entrance into the Heavenly Realm that was a' comin'.

            And perhaps not so surprisingly, people came to listen to him. He picked up disciples. People talked about John after they went away from hearing him preach. They told their friends and family.  In time, word of this baptizing new prophet even reached the court of Herod. Disciples flocked to John. A minor cult even sprung up around him.

            But despite all this, John remained essentially alone. The day that Jesus stood in the crowd before him on the banks of the Jordan, waiting to be baptized, only John recognized Jesus for who and what He was.  Nobody else recognized Jesus that day.  

            Apparently nobody else that day saw Jesus as anybody but just another face in the crowd. Only John the Forerunner pointed to Jesus and proclaimed Him as the real live Messiah, as Lamb of God. John the Baptizer sums up in his own person the whole of God's salvation history with Israel, and with the world. He literally straddles the Testaments. The last of the great Hebrew prophets, John points as they did, to the coming of Christ.  At the same time, John opens the Gospels and begins the process of the salvation of all humankind.

            By their very nature, confession and repentance-- preached by John-- must always precede forgiveness of sins and the new life-- brought into the world by Jesus. So by their very natures, John must always precede and proclaim and point to Jesus.

            There's always been in the Biblical faith, the temptation to flee from the world into the wilderness. The sheer raw beauty of the wilderness reflects the wondrous power of the Creator. In the wilderness, it's peaceful and quiet and you're sheltered from temptation. There are no distractions in the wilderness. There’s true holy solitude--just you and God.

            It's easy to be holy there. That wilderness/solitude tradition also carried over into Christianity. It was in the wilderness after all, that Our Lord Jesus struggled with His own identity and vocation at the time of His Temptation. Mystics, monks, nuns, and others still carry on that tradition of seeking God in solitude even in our day.  And holy solitude is indeed something that we all need on a regular basis in a mature, balanced spiritual life.

            But it can be hard to find the discipline, the time, and place where we can be alone with God in the midst of our busy lives. So there's always within us the temptation to take a once-a-week short cut, and flee from the world into the sanctuary. It's beautiful here. It's quiet and peaceful and we can listen for God's word without distraction. It's easy to be holy here.

            But our God will not let us stay in the sanctuary forever. Just as God's word called John out of the peaceful silence of his desert, so God's word calls us today. Just as the Divine command drove John from the serenity of the wilderness and into the cities and towns of the Jordan valley, so the Holy Spirit today is calling God's people out of the sanctuaries and chapels and into the hurley-burley of everyday life.

            That's after all, where you and I ultimately must live. John was rudely called from his chosen life of solitary prayer and meditation to a ministry of preaching and baptizing and prophecy. The church today-- you and I are rudely called forth from our Sunday morning prayers into Monday through Saturday witness and advocacy and sharing and ministry and intercessory prayer on behalf of the neighbor in need, on behalf of the exploited and hungry and homeless of our world.

            John came out of the wilderness, preaching in obedience to the word of God, pointing with his life and his words toward Jesus. I wonder, if John hadn't been there to announce that Jesus was coming, if John hadn't been there to proclaim and point out Jesus on the riverbank that day, would anyone have noticed? I wonder, how many times in your and my lives have you and I had the opportunity to point to Jesus? Far more than we're aware of, probably. I wonder how many have  not heard the Good News we bear? Far more than we're probably aware of, unfortunately.

            Theresa of Avila said that Christ has no hands to reach out and minister to the needy and suffering in this world—no hands except yours and mine.  Our Savior has no feet to carry the good news of salvation into this world—except ours. Our Redeemer has no one to point him out to the lost and broken ones of this world-except you and me.

How many times have we straightened a neighbor's crooked path through an act of kindness, or forgiveness? How many times have we filled in a friend's valley of depression by offering a sympathizing word, a shoulder to cry on, a friendly ear to listen without judging? How many times have we unselfishly celebrated with joy the unexpected blessing of another? How many times could you or could I have shown others by our lives, through our compassion, our caring, our giving, our sharing, the wondrous salvation of our God?

            If John hadn't proclaimed Jesus' coming and then pointed out Jesus that day, would anyone have noticed him? If you and I do not point directly at Jesus through the testimony of our lips, who will ever hear of Him?  If we do not proclaim the Messiah’s' coming by the witness of lives of faithful integrity and our loving ministries in His name, then who can ever be touched by Him? How we be touched? How can this church be revived? If Christians don't show others how the Savior’s Advent has transformed our hearts by the very way we live our lives, how can we transform our owm little corner of God's creation? How can we join with our Maker in the healing and transformation of the wasteland of this world?

And if we who call ourselves by His name, don't tell and show the world Him and His love, then how can Jesus Christ redeem and save the whole God’s Creation? Amen.

           

Henry Scott Holland "Death is nothing at all"

"The Dawn That is Near' given 11/29

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 13 of faith, hope and love. The Apostle concluded that the greatest of these three is love, He didn't add that the rarest and hardest can be hope. There's a Hebrew word for hope whose root means to twist or to twine. Maybe that's the best sort of hope that we can come up with in the middle of this second decade of the 21st Century.

Maybe this bad thing won't happen, and this good thing will. Maybe this possibility will occur instead of that one.  A hundred little threads that we twist together to make a strand of hope. A hundred strands that we twine together to make a cable strong enough to pull us along through life-- or maybe just through the day.

Hope is more than a feeling that just comes and goes. To hope requires an act of will. Just getting out of bed every morning is an act of hope. What goes on inside our heads has a direct relationship to what goes on in our lives in the world.  When you and I dare to hope, we find our attitudes changing, our behavior changing, our lives changing, and consequently our world changes.

But it’s hard, very hard for us jaded denizens of this cynical age to hope for more than what appears to be at least possible-- or even probable.  We know all too well how fragile hope can be. To hope is to risk disappointment at the very least. And in order to risk hoping for something more than merely possible, we risk looking and feeling foolish. More than feeling foolish, we risk looking crazy.

To hope for something that doesn’t seem to be at least vaguely possible is a kind of craziness. It's to risk being labeled a crank, or a fanatic, a dupe, (or even possibly a Cubs fan). Like Charlie Brown— year after year choosing to believe that Lucy won’t pull the football away before he can kick it!

            We've been disappointed one time too many. We no longer dare to risk radical hope, and we fear its radical consequences.

But deep inside us, there’s still an empty place where our great and wild hopes used to reside. So even when we are too world-weary, too rational to hope great hopes anymore, perhaps we can still be Christian enough to scrape together a little belief in mystery and at least say "Maybe". Maybe it really is darkest before the dawn. Maybe the dawn is nearer than it once was.

Because the truth is that for some of us, "maybe" is the most that hope can ever verbalize. Maybe, maybe things will get better—just a little. Maybe I can do some small thing to help make them a little better. Maybe Jesus might return someday. Yes, He might come. After all, He said He would. Yes, He definitely will come again, someday, maybe soon. Come soon Lord Jesus-- Maranatha!

Who knows how long it will be until the Final Dawn? Who knows what absolute holiness will look like? Perhaps like the Triumphant Son of Humanity, riding on a rainbow colored cloud, with skin like bronze and hair like fleece, eyes like fire and a mouth with a two-edged sword. Or, if your taste in symbols runs that way, maybe on a chariot of fire that looks suspiciously like a flying saucer. Or Maybe the Cosmic Christ will one day walk into the General Assembly of the United Nations, turn over all the tables, and announce that he’s takin’ over.

Or maybe He (or possibly She will) come back as in the first coming-- as a child, not yet born. After all, who can put a limit on the possibilities open to God? Who knows what or when it may happen?

It takes a special kind of craziness to dare to hope such brave and extravagant hopes in our grim and bloody world. It's craziness to look beyond the realities of history for the fantastic impossibilities of our God. It's craziness to wait for the Dawn of God's Reign to finally break through the darkness of this world... And it's even crazier to actually expect it.

It's been, after all, over two thousand years, and Our Redeemer has still not returned to us. And yet, something inside us will not allow hope to expire. So, every year we run toward that football thinking how hard we’re going to kick it. Because year after year we believe Lucy has repented and forsaken her sinful ways. How can we stop believing that people can change? How can we stop believing in possibility?

And so every day we climb back into the cockpit of our Sophwith Camel believing that one day—maybe not today—but surely someday—we will shoot you down, Red Baron! How can we stop believing that good is stronger than evil? How can we stop believing that right will prevail? How can we stop believing that the dawn is near?

The Dawn is near. Our faith proclaims that reality in the face of all the suffering and grim realities of this world that seem to contradict it. How fantastic that after twenty centuries something in us still dares to say at least, "maybe" to the fantastic possibilities of our God-- that we should take seriously this craziness-- this crazy, radical hope that the future is indeed in the hands of God, no less than the past.

“Hope is the thing with feathers” wrote Emily Diskenson. It’s fragile and easily crushed, like a little bird we hold in our hands. Hold it too tight and it is crushed. Too loose, and it flies away. We must hold on to hope gently, but firmly, lovingly, but not let it escape..

We dare not lose that hope. For Jesus' sake, let us not give in to the darkness. For His sake let us pray that He will continue to keep our hearts firm. For His sake, let us claim for Him, and pray and work for the fantastic possibility of His New Jerusalem. Here—today—on this earth—in our own individual corner of it. For His sake, let us sally forth once again into the darkness-- determined to bring the light closer-- even a little closer

--through our everyday acts of compassion and simple commonplace               deeds of kindness and charity

--through our believing, our praying, our witnessing, our ministering, our                       giving, our loving, our striving—no matter how fantastic or distant the          long awaited Dawn may seem.

For His sake-- and ours-- let us pray—let us work—let us hope. Come soon, Lord Jesus. Maranatha!                                                                         Amen.

"Sing to the King" given Nov 22

            For years, every weekday morning after Donna and I packed Gregory off to Middle School, we were in the habit of sitting down for a leisurely cup of coffee, changing the channel from Cartoon Network to Channel 5  and getting  our daily dose of news watching the Today show. There was something about Katie Couric’s air of cheerleader perkiness combined with concerned- but-not-worried young mom that could sometimes make bad news a bit easier to take. 

But that’s not so true anymore. We rarely watch the morning news—or the evening news for that matter. And can you blame us? Look at the recent news. Between natural disasters, nuclear disasters, a squabbling Congress, military struggle always threatening to re-erupt in the Holy Land,  terrorism at home and abroad, a squabbling do-nothing congress, husbands accused of murdering their wives, wives accused of murdering their husbands, respected leaders accused of inappropriate behavior, children and young women disappearing, and the lead-up into what promises to be the most divisive Presidential race yet, there’s not a lot of encouraging news to hear.  Even Katie Couric couldn’t make all that go down smoothly..

            Someone has dubbed our current era a time of “overwhelmed-ness." We have been so exposed, principally thanks to the media, to assorted evidence of tragedy, heartbreak, and despair that we are overwhelmed. The occasional natural or human-made disaster, which  in past decades we heard only vague reports of, long after the fact, has become our daily diet on the evening, morning and mid-day news.  I’m not saying things are necessarily worse than in any other era in the past—just that we learn about all of them  simultaneously as well as instantaneously. And as a result, we don’t have a chance to digest them before the next one comes around..

            There are people who spend their entire lives compiling statistics of humanity’s pain--: the number of deaths on the highway each year; the number of infants who die due to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome; the carnage due to cancer, or AIDS, or other killing epidemics. In fact, they don't even call them “Epidemics:” anymore. We call it a "Pandemics" because the results are so massive. Small wonder that such vast numbers of us are so overwhelmed.

            Some of us attempt to defend ourselves from being overwhelmed by the pain. We turn off the evening news when it begins, or else we become numbed.  We cloud our minds with “Reality TV”, or gossip about “so called celebrities”. Call me out of touch, but I still don’t know who the Kardasians are or why I should care about them.. We lose ourselves in engagement with the sports section of the daily newspaper rather than the current events section. Or we immerse ourselves in the semi-fictional “factoids” or supermarket tabloids or internet blogs.

            And yet, in our better moments, we know that this numbness, this psychic turning away is an inappropriate response to the problem. Tragedy is and always has been a fact of human life. And we must face facts. If we are going to do anything about the problems that beset us, we have to confront the problems honestly. 

            During an age of overwhelmed-ness, however, it is difficult to look at things honestly or realistically.

            In Shakespeare's Hamlet, the young prince muses to himself, asking what he ought to do in response to the sin of his mother and his uncle who had killed his father and now have married one another. Young Hamlet wonders if it is better to take up the sword against "a sea of troubles," or whether it is better to simply pull the covers up over his head, to end his life, to sleep, perhaps even to dream, and end it all. A psychiatrist would call it “clinical depression” But what it boils down to is a young man utterly overwhelmed by crippling indecision.

            Presently, there are many people who feel they lack the capacity to even talk about the problems of our world—much less the future.. In this second decade of a new millenium, how do we feel? Do we feel exuberant, confident—or at least optimistic about what lies ahead? Or do we feel depressed, cynical, and overwhelmed? Our problems seem so large, so intractable, so resistant to our little actions. What can anybody do?

Like Hamlet, we wonder if the most prudent course is simply to quit, to anesthetize ourselves in some fashion, to pull the covers over our heads, to sleep, to dream. Where on earth would we get the strength to take up arms against a "sea of troubles" when that sea has become an overwhelming flood? As Jimmy Buffet puts it, “Indecision may or may not be a problem for me.”

            This morning, at the end of the church's liturgical year, when we traditionally celebrate the "Reign of Christ," our text is from the Revelation of John. This last book of the Bible arose out of a deeply troubled church. Only in the first two chapters does the writer give us a hint of the troubles that these fledgling congregations faced, but we know, reading between the lines, that here was a church clinging for its very life on the fringes of the Roman Empire. You can almost see them there, a little band of Christians, most at the bottom of the social scale--surrounded in the pagan cities. They seem so small, so overwhelmed, huddled in the catacombs, hiding. What are they to do?

            Where on earth would anyone find hope for the future in such circumstances?

            But, Revelation begins with great shouts of praise. One might expect the vision to begin in despair. After all, the church is in trouble, and the empire is stepping up its persecutions of Christians. What hope is there in that?

          Yet despite all evidence to the contrary, Revelation is filled with sustained outbursts of exuberant joy and praise. The holy vision begins, not in despair, but in Doxology, in praise, in cadences that scholars believe were derived in great part from some of the hymns of the early church. They certainly sound like hymns. Listen again:

Grace to you and peace

from him who is and who was and who is to come,

and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, 

 and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness,

the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

To him who loves us and freed † us from our sins by his blood,

  and made  us to be a kingdom,

priests serving  his God and Father,

to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen

    Look! He is coming with the clouds;

          every eye will see him,

even those who pierced him;

          and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail.

   So it is to be. Amen. 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega,”

says the Lord God,

who is and who was and who is to come,

the Almighty.

            John the Seer, exiled and imprisoned on Patmos-- a bleak, rocky island one mile by four, should have been overwhelmed by the great sea of troubles that faced him and his beloved churches. He responded instead with an overwhelming affirmation of the grace and triumph of God in Christ. In Jesus Christ, John proclaimed, God had already decisively entered the world and was at that very moment, busily reclaiming a lost world. Revelation begins with poetry that evokes images of invasion, of cosmic battles, then of decisive victory by the Almighty God.

            Cut off from home and family and community of faith,  John responded to the seeming overwhelming-ness of the evil of his present age with an affirmation of the overwhelming-ness of the victory of God in Jesus Christ.

            Sweeping claims are being made here. John makes it clear. What happens in Jesus is not just something that is solely personal or private, as some mistakenly categorize Christianity. To the contrary, our faith is also very public. Political even. Cosmic even. Matters of vast importance are addressed. Seemingly intractable problems are defeated. There is no corner of creation that is immune from this sweeping influx of Divine grace.

            British theologian David Ford finds an analogy to the Wesleyan revival in England during the 18th century. In the mid-18th century, John Wesley began his ministry in an England that seemed overwhelmed by social problems. The gin trade had led to huge problems with alcoholism—even among little children. The Industrial Revolution had lain waste the rural English countryside, resulting in a vast influx of people seeking employment in the cities. Child labor was the scourge of the land. British ships formed the backbone of the slave trade. There was vast social dislocation and chaos. Things seemed overwhelming.

            Eventually, God brought forth John and Charles Wesley, who countered these problems not necessarily with a new social program for human betterment, but rather with a revival. In Ford's words, they "responded to the problems of the day with an overwhelming affirmation of Divine grace." The Wesley brothers responded to the problems of their day with singing, with hymns. Among the great legacies of the Wesleyan revival are some of our most beloved hymns such as "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing," "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," and "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling."  (Read in our Hymnal “Instructions for Hymn Singing”  # vii)

            What good do hymns do? Do they put food on the table? Do they solve any of our economic or social problems? What good did the hymns of Charles Wesley do for England? Or for that matter, what good do the opening hymns of Revelation do for the church in the First Century?

I think they respond to the overwhelming-ness of evil with an affirmation of the power of God. And that is the only place to begin. If you and I lack confidence in the ultimate triumph of the will and purposes of God, then we will never have courage to honestly face our situation. Some problems and issues can loom so large in our minds and hearts that you and I find ourselves literally stymied. We can’t figure out where to begin.  And as a result, we never do start.

In order to grow, in order to claim the victories we must first of all have some-place to stand and fight. We need some great foundational affirmation that will get us moving and enable us to be realistic and truthful about our circumstances. Only secure, confident people can be truthful. Only in truth can you and I begin. Only after we’ve begun the battle is it possible to triumph.

            So, Revelation begins with a great shout of joy, a great, exuberant, confidant affirmation of the power of God.

            Therefore, this morning, if you and I really want to face our world’s problems squarely, if we really want to move through this new world with confidence, if we really want to deal successfully with the issues of our lives, the best thing we can do is to begin to sing. We need to sing some exuberant hymn about the triumph of the grace of God. We need to feel our heart pumping. We need to believe in our victory.

            We’ve all experienced this. You come here and, despite the preacher’s best efforts in the sermon, despite the clear reading of God's word in Scripture, what really moves you, what really fills you with power to go on is the singing. When we join our voices together in some great hymn of praise, then you know, in the very depths of your being, that Jesus Christ reigns, that he shall rule until all things have been put under his feet, that the enemies of God will ultimately be defeated, that good will have the last word over evil, and that all shall be well. 

            You know this, not in some rational, intellectual way, but rather in the deepest, most profound depths of your being. Worship enables you to go on. And every honest preacher knows it to be true in his or her own life as well

            May I suggest that’s a major reason why we’re here this morning? You and I are looking for hope and strength to go on in an "age of overwhelmed-ness." We know very well that the only way to go on is to counter the seeming overwhelmed-ness of evil with a counterbalancing affirmation of the overwhelmed-ness of the power of God.

            Our God is not some distant, aloof, cosmic clockmaker, uncaring deity. Our God isn’t some empathetic but essentially powerless being. Our God not only cares, but also acts. Our God has power to heal the brokenness within each of us, and among all of us. The battle is not waiting to be joined. The battle is already won! And that's why we sing.

            Friends, sing boldly! Sing to the King!