So it’s my tradition after the prayer of the day to talk to all of God’s children. And I brought with me a few books I read with my kids. It’s a popular series that you might know too and it’s all about a pigeon who can be a little much. The series is by Mo Williams and started with a pigeon begging us to drive the bus. The series has grown to include books like “the pigeon has to go to school,” “don’t let the pigeon drive the sleigh,” “the pigeon needs a bath,” and “the duckling gets a cookie.” Open a book As we can see, this pigeon can be a lot. The pigeon complains. The pigeon whines. The pigeon has big dreams, big emotions, and shouts all the time. And as we see when the pigeon finally agrees to do what it should do – like take a bath – it delays delays delays, arguing that the water is too cold, too hot, too cold, too hot, too wet, too reflective, not enough toys, and too many toys. This pigeon is up and down and all around. And while this pigeon can be pretty funny, this pigeon is also pretty exhausting. And when we get to the end of each book, the pigeon usually discovers that what it was afraid of, what it was worried about, and all the energy it spent avoiding the good thing it could do wasn’t necessary in the first place.
Now one of the reasons why I think these books are so great is because we can imagine pigeons – and ourselves – being exactly like this. We don’t always want to try new things or we have big emotions that we always like to share or we don’t always know how to be flexible when things happen that we don’t expect. This pigeon is something we especially see in kids your age – but also in adults who pretend they’re not like this but they are. We are inflexible; we want what we want; and we will drag our feet when we things don’t go our way. And if we’ve ever seen a pigeon in a city – especially New York City – we notice that they act this way too. They are everywhere; they eat everything; they run into the road; they take over sidewalks; they don’t seem very clean; and they’re everything we try to avoid. We’d rather celebrate a hawk or a cardinal or a blue jay. But a pigeon is just too much – and something we want to avoid.
Yet in today’s reading about Jesus – we’re going to hear about how, nearly 2000 years ago, the holy spirit – God’s energy – God’s force – the feeling of God’s presence in the world – showed up as a pigeon. It won’t use the word “pigeon” in our Bible – it’ll call it a DOVE. But a DOVE is just a pigeon! We just pretend that it’s not. We think of a dove as all white and graceful and peaceful and wonderful and holy and innocent. But a DOVE is a pigeon – and can act like every other pigeon too. And I wonder if that is a good reminder of what the Holy Spirit is like. The Holy Spirit is sometimes wild, unpredictable, and full of big emotion. The Holy Spirit pushes us – like it does this pigeon – into new experiences where we get to make God’s love real in the live of others. The Holy Spirit comes to transform us from being this kind of pigeon that tells God no or pretends that God doesn’t want us to be as kind or as caring or as sacrificial as God wants us to be. The Holy Spirit is a pigeon that transforms us when we are like this pigeon who doesn’t realize just how big God’s story can be. But like the pigeon in the books, what the Holy Spirit does by pushing us to be kind, to love, to serve, to form new relationships, and to not our own wants, ego, or needs get in the way of our ability to recognize everyone around us as beloved children of God – the Holy Spirit is what helps us grow fuller into the person God knows we can be.
15As the people were filled with expectation and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
21Now when all the people were baptized and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
My sermon from Baptism of Our Lord Sunday (January 12, 2025) on Luke 3:15-17, 21-22.
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So for those of you here in the sanctuary, it’s not hard to notice all the different ways Christmas lingers. Even though we had a lot of amazing volunteers come together to put away the creche, the tree, and the candles – stuff remains. There’s, for example, the dozen or so poinsettias sitting in our narthex and the stray box of ornaments that haven’t quite made it into the storage space behind me. And since our cleaning service won’t be here until later in the week, there’s also a lot of plastic pine needles sitting at our feet. I’m also pretty sure those at home can see the light brown glaze of hay still covering the steps leading up to the altar as well as the shimmer of all the silver and gold glitter that, no matter how much we vacuum, will never go away. One of the major outcomes from these big celebrations, worships, and moments is that they linger longer after they happen. And in our reading today from the gospel according to Luke, we discover how Jesus needed something to linger with him too.
Now the baptism of Jesus is always our first Sunday after Epiphany and even though I’ve preached on it a bunch of times, I’m still not entirely sure what this moment might mean. It is a bit odd that the Son of God would need some kind of ritual washing to show how God was always with him. This baptism Jesus experienced wasn’t exactly like what we do when God baptizes us with a little bit of water and a few special words. But these kinds of ritual washing have been part of our human story for centuries. Using water as a way to tend to our relationship with God was a big part of Jesus’ own Jewish identity and served as a way to refocus people’s mind, spirit, and energy towards the God who loved them. We often need this kind of gift since we pretend as if our ego, our wants, and our perspective are the only things that truly matter in our world. Ritual washings can invite us to not only recognize the ways we fail to be who God knows we can be but to also reaffirm that, in spite of all of that, the creator of the universe still cares about you. The baptism John practiced was, I think, something along those lines – helping folks recognize how being with God makes a difference in the here and now. And so, one day, when word of what John was up to in the wilderness finally reached Jesus, he put down what he was doing and went to see what was going on along the shores of the Jordan River.
Now when Jesus arrived, his experience as described in the gospel according to Luke was a bit different than we see in the other versions of Jesus’ life. We don’t, for example, see John pointing to Jesus as the One holding that winnowing fork nor is it implied that everyone heard that booming voice from heaven. Instead this moment – while big – is also very muted. And Luke acts as if Jesus – the One who was there when the universe was made – was only one person indistinguishable from everyone else in the crowd. All those people along the shore of the Jordan River had gone through the same ritual; heard the same words; and felt the same kind of fear, awe, wonder, doubt, and hope such a moment can bring. But once the water had dried from his hair, something very personal happened. Jesus was doing what he often does in Luke – praying – when he saw the heavens open and the Holy Spirit manifested in the physical form of a fancy looking pigeon. It was the kind of event that, I think, was big enough for everyone around him to witness and see. Yet when the voice echoed from above, the message Divine spoke was for Jesus alone. The “You” in “You are my son” is not a general “you” meant for everyone in the crowd. It’s the kind of “you” entirely focused on Jesus himself. God the Father, God the Creator, and the God who is, and was, and will be – told Jesus not only that he was the beloved; but that God was already well pleased with him. Before Jesus had shared a single story; before he healed anyone who was sick; before Jesus casted out a demon and before he took his first steps towards the Cross – Jesus heard from above that he already mattered. This wasn’t, I think, meant as an affirmation of what Jesus would do. It was, instead, a reminder of who God always is since there was nothing the Son of God needed to do to earn a place within the Trinity he was already a part of. Rather, the word God the Father shared was a word the Son of Mary needed to hear since he had a lot of living left to do.
I’m not sure, from a deep theological perspective, if Jesus really needed to be baptized. But I do think that he, like all of us, needed something to linger with him as he moved through what was about to come. Jesus longed for the assurance that when the troubles and tribulations came, everything about him wasn’t merely arbitrary, random, or meaningless. The Son of God knew what could be yet the Son of Mary needed the affirmation that being known by God and knowing God does more than simply tend to our fragile egos. There is something that fills our soul when we realize that all of this actually matters. The prayers we say; the worship we do; the communion we share; and the wonder we make real in the lives of others through acts of service and care does more than simply give us something to do. Rather, the gift of faith invites us to realize how we are part of a holy story that doesn’t let our individual story be the limit of what God is all about. And while it would be awesome if life was full of over-the-top experiences that show us what faith can be; what we often get instead is the bits of grace, mercy, kindness, and love that lingers long after those big moments are gone. It’s the pine needles of hope; the shimmer of a peace; and the glaze of wholeness that carry us into a meaningful life while living through moments that often feel meaningless. I’m not sure if I’ll ever come across a deep theological explanation about Jesus’ moment that will open my mind to the fullness of what this moment in Jesus’ life was all about. But I do know that as someone who needs from God all bits of words, prayers, feelings, knowledge, and experiences that show me all the different ways God’s love lingers in my life and in the life of others; I appreciate how it seemed as if Jesus once needed the same. And while I’m not always sure how those bits of faith will be made real in your life, I hope that God will give you every bit of grace, hope, and love that you need to be carried through everything that this life might bring.
1In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, magi from the east came to Jerusalem, 2asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star in the east and have come to pay him homage.” 3When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him, 4and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it has been written by the prophet: 6‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah, for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’ ” 7Then Herod secretly called for the magi and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” 9When they had heard the king, they set out, and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen in the east, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Matthew 2:1-12
My sermon from Epiphany Sunday of Christmas (January 5, 2025) on Matthew 2:1-12.
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The late John Lewis, who served 17 consecutive terms in the US House of Representatives and helped organize the 1963 March on Washington, often used the phrase “good trouble” to describe his philosophy as a civil rights leader. “Good trouble” was, for him, a way of paying attention and doing something when the wider community wasn’t acting right, just, or fair. As a believer in non-violent but direct acts of protest, this “good trouble” led him to be arrested at least 45 times as well as beaten while trying to ride the bus, order a meal, buy a movie ticket, and register to vote. “Good trouble” is a very memorable phrase that sticks with you but when I went to find when it was first used, my google-fu wasn’t up to the task. So I turned to the next best thing I had: the 3 volume graphic novel entitled March. March is an artistic autobiographical portrayal of Rep. Lewis’ life from growing up as a faithful five year old preaching to the chickens he raised on his family farm through Bloody Sunday at the bridge in Selma and the signing of the civil rights act in 1965. I assumed if there was one book that could point to the start of good trouble, this would be it. But the first person to use the word “trouble” in the comic book wasn’t Rep. Lewis himself. It was, instead, his parents who told him to “stay out of trouble” when he started going to school. Their advice to their son who was a bit of a dreamer, regularly asked questions, and whose empathy included the chickens his family would often eat for Sunday dinner – is something most of us have offered to our own kids or heard from our own parents and guardians. But the “trouble” they had in mind wasn’t about getting into fights or not doing their homework. They were worried Rep. Lewis might say something when he noticed that the white kids had better books, better schools, and better playgrounds to play in. Rep. Lewis never considered himself the best student but his education opened him to wonder what the world could – and should – be. When he graduated high school, he left Alabama to study at the American Baptist Theological Seminary in Nashville, Tennessee. Rep. Lewis was planning to become a preacher yet his time in seminary invited him to question the trouble he – and his friends – were experiencing because of the color of their skin. We have a habit, I think, of imaging trouble as primarily a bad thing. Trouble is what we get into when we go against our parents, our neighbors, or our friends. We often carry ourselves through life worried about the trouble we might run into. And when we cause trouble, being held accountable for it is something we do our best to avoid. Trouble is also, though, a word we use to set ourselves apart from others – often claiming that a troubled mind, a troubled neighborhood, a troubled school, or a troubled kid deserve everything that happens to them. But trouble isn’t always simply an unholy thing since our God, as we see in our reading today from the gospel according to Matthew, often has the habit of troubling our lives and our world with love.
January 6th is the official end of the Christmas season and a celebration in the church that we’ve moved to today. It’s known as Epiphany when we recognize how God’s movement in the world was manifested for everyone. The magi, who were sort of like a philosopher, scientist, astrologer, and mystic all rolled into one, were the kind of people who observed the stars as a way to pay attention to the divine. While they were busy looking up, they noticed some kind of astrological event that they assumed announced the birth of someone special. With this star troubling the sky as they knew it to be, the magi dropped everything to see where this new thing would take them. After crossing the contested border between their home and the Roman Empire, the magi headed to the place they expected a special newborn king to be. But when they arrived at the palace of King Herod to offer homage – this physical display of reverence reserved only for royalty and for gods – their presence troubled the king who didn’t know Jesus had already been born. King Herod had a habit of using violence even against his own family to maintain his grip on power and was a little freaked out that someone he didn’t know was already attracting attention from outsiders who had money, status, and power. And while our translation likes to describe Herod as “frightened,” another possible translation of that word is “troubled.” He was troubled to discover the status quo he worked so hard to maintain was being undone by things he couldn’t even see. And so after listening to his advisors and to those outsiders who had announced what God had done, Herod caused all kinds of trouble for others while trying to remove this child from his world.
Now when trouble comes, it has a way of causing pain and suffering in the lives of others. But trouble can be so much more. A troubled Herod reacted with violence as a way to maintain his status quo, acting as if his story was the only story that mattered in his world. Yet the baby he went looking for would, in later years, use trouble as a way to bring life rather than destroy it. In the words of Rev. Meda Stamper, when “Jesus, troubled when he [saw] Mary of Bethany weeping, raise[d] her brother Lazarus from the dead. Jesus, troubled when he realize[d] he [would] soon die, embrace[d] the hour for the glory of God. Jesus, troubled that one of his own [was] about to betray him, comfort[ed] his friends and promises them infinite joy to come, and the presence of the Spirit to guide them.” Jesus, when troubled by the limits we try to place on God, always chooses to trouble us out of what we expect and into something more. And this is, I think, the kind of God we truly need. We need a God willing to trouble our selfishness, our sorrow, and our pain into something more. We need a God who troubles the trouble we cause in the lives of those around us. What we need is a God who does what our God chooses to do – claiming a manger rather than a fluffy bed in a place as their first bed so that we won’t be the only trouble makers in the world God loves. The trouble God causes, though, is “good trouble” since it lets dignity, hope, and love be at the heart of who we get to be. Knowing exactly what “good trouble” actually looks like, though, can be hard since it’s not always easy to even believe in the ways we unfairly trouble our own lives and the lives of others. But I wonder if we can let the magi and Jesus show us what good trouble is truly all about. We can, with God’s help, pay attention to what God is up to by keeping ourselves open to the possibility that our story isn’t the only story that matters. We can show up, ask questions, and accept that the limits of our own experiences and our imaginations will not be the limit for our God. The good trouble of God will trouble what we imagine is holy and right in the world and since it invites us to notice the ways we refuse to let God’s light shine in our hearts and in our lives. Yet this “good trouble” will also carry us through all the trouble we live through. We don’t always know the full extent of the trouble we create, the trouble we cause, or the trouble we blindly do because we can’t imagine life as being anything other than what it is. But the God who troubled the chaos at the beginning of creation and called it good and the God who troubled the waters at your baptism to claim you as God’s own – will not let your troubles limit the love God has for you. The God who led the magi is the same God who chooses to be with you. And it’s this God who went through the trouble of the Cross – and into beyond – who promises to replace the troubles of our lives with the good trouble of peace, hope, and forgiveness today – and forever.
41Now every year [Jesus’s] parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. 42And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. 43When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents were unaware of this. 44Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. 45When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. 46After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. 47And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. 48When his parents saw him they were astonished, and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously looking for you.” 49He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” 50But they did not understand what he said to them. 51Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth and was obedient to them, and his mother treasured all these things in her heart. 52And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years and in divine and human favor.
Luke 2:41-52
My sermon from the First Sunday of Christmas (December 29, 2024) on Luke 2:41-52.
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So like I said during the children’s message, today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke is our only glimpse into what Jesus’ childhood was like. Beyond the few words describing Jesus’ presentation in the Temple when he was a few days old or the visit by the magi or when he became a refugee while fleeing from King Herod’s murderous wrath – these words are all we get until Jesus was 30 years old. We never hear about the games he played with his friends on the street, what subjects he enjoyed in school, or how he’d roll his eyes when his parents told him to clean his room. What we get, instead, is a story of Jesus – and his family – living out their Jewish identity and faith in a very tangible way. Every year, Mary, Joseph, and their children would take a religious pilgrimage from their home in Nazareth to explore Jerusalem during the season of Passover. They – along with friends, family, and neighbors – would join together in caravans as they walked more than 90 miles to the city. My hunch is that since this was an annual event, they would visit the same places, stay in the same homes, and hang out with the same people. But this sameness didn’t mean everything remained the same when Jesus was 12. Instead when it was time for everyone – and everything – to go home, Mary and Joseph soon discovered that Jesus was gone.
Now before we call Mary and Joseph out for what happened, I think it’s important to note that Jesus chose to stay behind. Mary and Joseph, from what we can tell, were simply doing what parents and guardians get to do: they cared for Jesus; guided him; cultivated his faith; and would occasionally drag him to places while he groaned and fussed. His parents, though, also trusted him, giving him the space to be independent and to grow. Jesus didn’t enter this world fully formed. He wasn’t going to, at the age of 3, be the adult in the room. Since he was fully human, he discovered what it’s like to live within the boundaries his parents, and others, placed on him. Learning how to live within that kind of structure is one of the ways we discover who we are; But when we learn how to stretch them, we find out who we can be. Jesus, like all of us, knew how to push through into something new. And so that might be why this scene feels incredibly real. I’ve been that 12 year old kid testing boundaries, pushing back, and staying behind rather than rushing off to wherever my parents want me to go. Yet I’ve also been the parent who’s been terrified when, for a few moments, I have no idea where my kids actually are. There’s a sense that, at this point of the story, Jesus and his parents were being very much themselves. Jesus, when he walked away, headed to the place God promised to be. While there, he wasn’t pretentious nor did he act like a know-it-all. Rather, he listened, asked questions, and paid attention to those who had lived deep and faithful lives. When Jesus was 12, he was a kid who got it – and his presence even made those who knew so much grow in their own understanding of themselves and their God. And at the same time, Mary and Joseph were being completely themselves too. When they noticed Jesus wasn’t where they expected him to be, they dropped everything to find him. They looked for him among their family and friends before heading back to the city. I imagine they wandered from place to place, feeling incredibly worried, scared, and hopeful all at the same time. And when they finally found him, that moment was filled with awe, joy, and an incredible amount of frustration. Everyone had been exactly who they were supposed to be yet that didn’t mean that fear, angst, and worry never showed up. That’s why, I think, Mary’s words to Jesus are very full though they’re pretty tame compared to what we might say if we can’t find our kids. Yet Jesus’s response to his mom – and his very first words recorded in the gospel according to Luke – is kind of a riddle. On one level, it feels a bit like what we’d expect a kid who got caught might say; a sort of divine shrugging of the shoulders that says we’re the problem for getting upset in the first place. But the words we translate as “in my Father’s house” aren’t really that clear. Rev. Meda Stamper, in a commentary about this passage, noted these Greek words don’t really specify what exactly they’re referring to. A better – and entirely less workable translation – would be something like “in the undefined-plural-somethings of my Father” is where I’m supposed to be. We often understand these plural somethings to be a kind of place, like the Temple; or a group of people – aka the teachers; or maybe even referencing the religious business going on in God’s holy city. “But it is perhaps most helpful to leave [the translation] open, to think of it as all the somethings—[the] places, [the] people, [and the] doings—that advance the purposes of God’s love for the world.”
And so just like Jesus, Mary, and Joseph did what they’re supposed to do – God was going to reference all God does through the life Jesus lived. The fullness of Jesus’ story isn’t only about how it began or how it ended. Our Jesus also includes his “rebuttals of the devil in the wilderness; [the way he declared his mission in Nazareth that triggered an attempt to throw him off a cliff; everyone of his teachings, the healings, and every parable he ever told.] Always and everywhere, we see all these somethings of the Father lived out in Jesus’ boundary-crossing life [which wouldn’t let the ways we tried to end his story be the limit of what all our lives could be.] The somethings of [God] are not [always easy to accept] and they [often transgress the societal and religious norms]” we assume are holy and right since faith and hope will always burst through our imaginations into something more. Yet these “somethings of God are… not…[only] for a particular person, clan, or [even one specific] nation.” They are for everyone since everyone needs a God who chooses to be with them in the lives we actually live. That doesn’t mean we’ll always know exactly what that looks like nor will doing everything right always give us the end result we hope for or expect. But it does mean that we have a God who will be our God and who will hold us through. The story of Jesus as an almost teenager wasn’t only trying to show us how amazing Jesus always was. It also served as a reminder of who our God is. And the God we have is One who chooses to be open to all that our life will bring so that a holy kind of love can open us to what God is bringing about in our lives and in our world.
In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Luke 2:1-20
My sermon from Christmas Eve (December 24, 2024) on Luke 2:1-20.
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So I think there’s a moment every fall when we feel like we’re finally in the Christmas season. It might show up when we buy that plane ticket to visit our family or when we mail our first (of many) lists to Santa. What sets Christmas in motion for me varies from year to year but this time, what made Christmas begin was the conversation my wife and I kept having after we put up our Christmas inflatables. This year was busier than usual so it took a bit of time to put them on our front lawn. But for some reason both of us couldn’t remember where our 8 foot tall inflatable Santa had gone. I assumed I misplaced it in our garage so I spent way too long digging through all kinds of junk trying to find it. Searching for that box while also taking care of everything else I needed to do made the whole thing a very annoying inconvenience. And after spending several days trying to find it, I realized that our giant and fragile plastic friend had actually come apart on a windy day last year. We often assume, I think, that Christmas is defined by what we see around us: the twinkling lights, a golden Christmas tree, and the hope we might get a moment of joy and peace at some point this week. But it’s also a season when all kinds of inconveniences become our norm. There is, for example, the weeping and gnashing of teeth parents and kids both express while trying to get to their holiday concerts on time. Every store we go to, every highway we drive down, and every airport we find ourselves in is just full of people doing exactly what we want to do too. And when we open the mountain of cardboard boxes sitting on our front porch with several being from online orders we forgot we even placed, the time and energy spent to return the things that were the wrong size or color or are just broken is something we don’t want to deal with. For a season filled with songs about being merry and bright – these inconveniences pile up in ways that are not physically, emotionally, or spiritually healthy. And while that, on its own, would be enough to make this joyous season into a very difficult one – there’s also all the heartbreak and sorrow and grief we feel that we’d trade for any of the inconveniences I named above. If we could make every inconvenience simply go away, we’d do it so that this season can be full of the peace, comfort, and kindness we imagine it’s supposed to be about. Yet it’s kind of amazing that while we do everything we can to avoid every possible inconvenience, we’re spending this moment celebrating the God who chose to live through every inconvenience life throws our way.
Now as I reflected on Luke’s version of Jesus’ birth, I couldn’t help but notice all the inconveniences that kept showing up. It began, as we just heard, with the incredible inconvenience Mary, who was 9 months pregnant, and Joseph faced when they left their home in Nazareth and headed to Bethlehem. The Roman Emperor decided on conducting a special kind of census asking people to return to the places their ancestors came from. The roadways and pathways were full of people traveling mostly on foot and the lines at every pitstop would have been ridiculous. I’m sure the amount of patience people had was practically zero while they looked for places to stay in towns that were never really their home in the first place. The number of people – as well as the biblical call to always show hospitality to strangers – would have caused these inconveniences to spread to those living in these places as they invited complete strangers to stay in their homes. And if that wasn’t enough, the plan Mary had for her own birth went completely out the window since strangers – and furry little friends – were the only midwives she could find. These minor – and major – inconveniences snowballed as even the sheep and oxen noticed a wrapped baby shaped burrito sleeping in their food dish. And while everyone was wondering where they were now going to eat and sleep, a whole bunch of shepherds suddenly burst in after they were told by an army of angels to inconveniently leave their sheep behind to visit a new family who needed as much rest as they could get. There was, at that moment, a lot of joy, love, and awe while they participated in God’s manifestation in the lives of very ordinary people. But rather than choosing to transcend our inconveniences, God took the fullness of whatever life had to offer – straight on.
And so that means, I think, that God decided to experience what it was like to be inconvenienced by the whims and egos of others. God chose to discover what comes with being vulnerable, fragile, and needing to be cared for. God accepted the inconveniences that come with having to talk, converse, and form relationships with folks who we will never fully understand and who will never fully understand us too. And we did our very best to push aside and cast down the inconvenience to our own lives caused deep and holy love that invites us to experience life in a new way – God wouldn’t let us be the inconvenient end to Jesus’ story. The inconveniences we inflict on ourselves and on others aren’t always intentional. Yet the God who showed up on Christmas intentionally decided that your life, while you live it, should instead be inconvenienced by a grace, mercy, and faith that will always transform us into something more. God knows that when we notice another person’s needs, wants, struggles, and joys – our eyes can be inconveniently opened to the multitude of ways God moves through our world and our lives. A God who chooses to become truly human is a God who won’t let our inconveniences, our fears, and our sorrows be the end of the story. Rather the God-who-is-with-us will be a God who-is-with-us no matter how inconvenient our lives become. In this season full of inconveniences that I’m sure will generate even new ones when you head back home and draw closer to the first light of Christmas morning, I pray that you hear the promise at the heart of this story: that there is no inconvenience, no sorrow, no heartbreak, and no grief that will ever keep God from choosing to be with you no matter what comes next. And may the Jesus who was born; who lived; who is here; and who lives with us through every inconvenience that comes our way continue to show you how transformational, inspiring, and life-giving His holy and everlasting love will always be as He continues to inconvenience the ways we try to limit what God’s love will always choose to do.
In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” And Mary said: My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for you, Lord, have looked with favor on your lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: you, the Almighty, have done great things for me and holy is your name. You have mercy on those who fear you, from generation to generation. You have shown strength with your arm and scattered the proud in their conceit, casting down the mighty from their thrones and lifting up the lowly. You have filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. You have come to the aid of your servant Israel, to remember the promise of mercy, the promise made to our forebears, to Abraham and his children forever.
Luke 1:39-55
My sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 22, 2024) on Luke 1:39-55.
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So I’ve fallen into the habit of repeating the same story over and over again whenever I’m asked to participate in Woodcliff Lake’s Christmas tree lighting. Two weeks ago, Father Jason from Our Mother of the Church, a handful of councilpersons, and a group of Christmas carolers stood in front of the Talbots and Chico’s at Tice’s Corner. We were there to mark the Christmas season by plugging in a large plastic tree. All of us standing in the front shared a holiday blessing with words focused on hope, peace, and joy. But I, though, couldn’t help but include in my remarks a certain legend about why we even have a Christmas tree in the first place. It’s shared that roughly 500 years ago, Martin Luther was walking home in the middle of the night through a path on the outskirts of a nearby forest. Everything was, at the time, cold, dark, and covered in snow. Luther knew how to get home but kept losing his way since flashlights and Google maps hadn’t been invented yet. Yet, while he walked, Luther noticed how the moonlight reflecting off the snow covered trees provided just enough twinkling light to guide him home. The feeling of being supported by something beyond himself could help but remind Luther of the Christmas story. And so when he got home later that evening, he tried to recreate his experience for his family and friends. He decided to go out into his year, cut down a small evergreen tree, and bring it inside. After making sure it was clear of any stray animals, he added to the branches a bunch of lit wax candles. Luther wasn’t the first person to decorate a tree for Christmas and he wasn’t very good at following any kind of building fire code. This legend, though, reminds us how God often chooses things outside of us to reflect what God’s love is doing in our world. It isn’t only what’s inside of us that reveals what our life with God is supposed to be. Rather, when we need a prayer, a word, and a little twinkling light to guide our way, God often surrounds us with experiences – and people – who reveal what kingdom of God is all about.
Now for the last two weeks, we’ve spent time with John the Baptist near the beginning of his public ministry. He was busy inviting people to recognize God’s vision for their lives and John’s background added a little credibility to his words. His father had been a high priest who oversaw the rituals conducted at the Holy Temple in Jerusalem while his mom, Elizabeth, became a mom when everyone assumed she was too old to be one. Those two things on their own sound pretty on par for any biblical story. But what made John’s family even more different was how his mom had a younger cousin named Mary. Thirty years prior to John’s ministry, that Mary left home to spend some time with Elizabeth. She had, in the verses right before this, learned how she was going to become a mom herself. The angel Gabriel, after announcing what God was up to, ended his words with an almost throwaway mention that Elizabeth was pregnant too. Rather than choosing to stay with her own parents, girlfriends, or those who might be awfully suspicious of this unwed pregnant teenager, Mary chose to visit an elderly kinswoman who, like her, was scandalously pregnant. Both of these women knew how dangerous giving birth could be and they would need the wisdom of others to help carry them through. And while we don’t know the names of those who Elizabeth relied on during her pregnancy, we get to see who Mary chose while in the midst of her holy, scandalous, and unexpected story.
The Rev. Nadia Stefko, in a commentary she wrote about this passage, couldn’t help but identify with the relationship of Mary and Elizabeth. She had grown up with a slew of older sisters who blessed her with “their [ability] to see something [she] was struggling with in a different light.” Each one of them lived lives full of all different kinds of joys and struggles. And so when Rev. Stefko needed someone to help light her way, they were there to offer her a wisdom bound with the kind of love that gave her hope when she needed it the most. That doesn’t mean their interactions were always peaceful, kind, and extremely patient. I’m sure there were plenty of times when the weeping and gnashing of teeth rather served as a better metaphor for the kind of arguments that came up when they struggled listening to one another. But when we’re feeling lost, alone, and need a little help to bring us someplace new, God often uses those around us to illuminate what God has – and is doing – in our lives. We often are so wrapped up in our own story we don’t always recognize the grace and the light guiding our way. Our choices, our decisions, the things that happen to us and the things we don’t always freely admit we did – can feel like the summation of what our life is meant to be about. God, though, chooses to use people to remind us that we’re not here to live this life on our own. These close relationships can be the sign of what God’s kingdom looks like in our world. And when they are working at their best, they offer the “giving and receiving of the reassurance … we need, even when we can’t quite see [all of] it for ourselves.”
Now Mary and Elizabeth, after receiving words and promises from the Divine they didn’t expect could have chosen to focus only on their own incredible experiences. They were, after all, literally birthing God’s imagination for our world through their own very human bodies. Celebrating, naming, and inviting others to recognize what God was doing in them was a perfectly reasonable way to live. But when they first saw each other, they chose – in their own way – to see and acknowledge what God was doing in each other’s life. That, I think, was no small feat since both were possibly pretty nauseous, exhausted, and living through all that comes while at different stages of their pregnancy. Yet by choosing to notice the light at work in each other’s life, they helped each other discover the light working on their own. That, I think, is why – when Elizabeth greeted Mary with the word “Blessed!” – Mary’s first recorded words since the angel’s visit was a mighty song we call the Magnificat. “Despite all the unknowns, Mary [knew] it [was] going to be alright, in part because her trusted kinswoman [told] her so—with her words and by her very presence alongside her (complete with leaping womb). And Elizabeth [also] suddenly [knew] that things will be OK for her as well, even though she and her husband have not been able to exchange a word since before her strange pregnancy began.” It’s through each other’s presence, care, and words that enables them to continue to embrace the story God had in mind of them. We, I think, get to experience our own faith story in a similar way by paying attention to the words others share about the ways God is moving through each of us. And when we – like Mary and Elizabeth – reveal the light at work in the lives of those around us, that’s often when we grow in our own ability to see how God’s love is transforming us into something more too.
John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Therefore, bear fruits worthy of repentance, and do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
And the crowds asked him, “What, then, should we do?” In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise.” Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”
As the people were filled with expectation and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
So with many other exhortations he proclaimed the good news to the people.
Luke 3:7-18
My sermon from Third Sunday of Advent (December 15, 2024) on Luke 3:7-18.
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A few weeks ago, a mom in Pompton Lakes made the news. Jennifer Watts, during the holidays, has a lot of people stop by to visit. They’re coming, though, not to admire all the decorations all over her house. People come to visit the coat rack sitting on her front lawn. Since 2019, that coat rack has braved the cold and frosty air with a sign letting everyone know that: “If you need a coat, take one. [And] If you want to help, leave one.” When she first started this project, her first sign was simply an old pizza box with the words written on it in sharpie. But since then, her neighbors have supported her by installing an industrial grade clothing rack as well as signage that would fit any designer boutique. No one who visits has to prove they need a coat nor does anyone donating a coat get to make themselves the center of the story. Instead, people visit all day – and all night – to give and receive. Jennifer recognized that she could use what she had – her own front yard – to empower others to use what they have to to change the lives of hundreds of people they will never meet. And as we heard in our reading from the gospel according to Luke, these small acts we can do have a habit of becoming the big things that change the world.
Now this is the second week listening to the start of John’s public ministry. God, through John, chose to engage our world through the history we create and live through. God regularly chooses to show up while we’re living our lives which is exciting – and terrifying – all at the same time. It is a gift that God moves through our world but also scary to know how God chooses to experience the impact of what we say and do. John’s ministry, from what we can tell, began in the wilderness which – in the Bible – is never meant to be a majestic place like Yellowstone or Rocky Mountain National Park. The wilderness is always the place where our sense of control breaks down. The wilderness is where living is hard and all we can do is lean on God. It’s also the kind of place we’d expect a prophet to be since they were chosen by God to proclaim a message that would afflict the comfortable while also comforting the afflicted. Even though John was in the wilderness, his words were for people living their lives and they soon felt compelled to see what this prophet was all about. These folks from all different kinds of places and all different kinds of backgrounds wanted to hear what God’s imagination was for their lives. It didn’t take long before a crowd gathered around John and he was well aware of the power their presence and attention gave him. He knew his words mattered which is why, I think, he spoke very carefully. He knew they would expect a bit of fire and brimstone since that was what they expected a prophet to do. But rather than only focusing on the crowd itself, he chose to highlight two specific vocations that mattered in his world. God wasn’t merely inviting people to do good, be kind, and to truly share. John also invited those around him to recognize their place in God’s word and how God’s love will always push us beyond the status quo.
When it came time to answer their question, John could have leaned into the fire, the violence, and the winnowing fork. He chose, though, to share something parents – and teachers – often repeat over and over again to young kids in preschool. John told those around him to share: to recognize when they have two coats and to go find the nearest outdoor coat rack waiting for their donation. Realizing what we have while discovering what we can give, is a skill we always need to work on. And when we finally do give, that’s when we start to see our neighbors as more than people who are beneath, below, or against us. It’s very natural for us to spend all our energy and focus on what we don’t have, which is why John’s simple words are rather hard. But when it came to expand on what he said, John chose to highlight those in the crowd who served as soldiers and as tax collectors, John’s attention to these two professions reveals how sharing often upends the ways we choose to live in the world since these professions were more than a symbol of evil rulers. They were also essential when it came to how communities managed themselves and their commitments to one another. Those who collected taxes and those who patrolled borders, defended cities, and enforced laws were how people defined who belonged and who didn’t. And while the rules would never be applied equally among all people, the assumption was life was meant to be about how one got ahead of everyone else. Tax collectors were specifically designed to collect more than they were supposed to since that extra was the wage they earned. And soldiers were paid poorly on purpose so extortion, violence, and living off the booty collected after battles was how they stayed loyal to those who employed them. At the heart of their story was that belief that life can only be defined by those who had power over them and who they, themselves, had power over others. And in a world that refuses to share – or pretend sharing only matters at certain times of the year – knowing what we have, what we get to give, and not letting what the world allows be the limit of what we do – will always change us – and our world – into something more.
This point is also, I think, strengthened by the words John uttered at the end of proclamation. Rather than claiming any authority or power over others, he pointed immediately to the One who might have been in the crowd with them. John’s words can feel a bit over the top since he included a lot of fire and burning. But what he said isn’t, I think, defining Jesus as the One who would separate people into good and bad; loved and unloved. Rather, the separation he described was about how our life is meant to be food for others. The wheat John identified is the part of the plant that can be ground into flour while the chaff wouldn’t be able to feed anyone at all. Instead of choosing to compete with, and against, each other – John invites us to imagine a different way of being where sharing, caring, and being for one another is at the heart of who we are. And while God could have said these words as a kind of emperor on high telling us what to do; God, in Jesus, chose to show us how we can love God and our neighbors at the same time. This kind of living isn’t only for the saints, the faithful, or the pure of heart. It’s also a way of life we can live since, through baptism and in faith, we have been united with the One who refuses to let us live on our own. We can, with an old pizza box, a coat rack, and our front lawn bring healing to those in need. And when we give and share, we also lean into the love at the heart of what God chooses to do.
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”
Luke 3:1-6
My sermon from Second Sunday of Advent (December 8, 2024) on Luke 3:1-6.
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So last week, during my children’s message, I introduced the writer of the gospel according to Luke as someone who we don’t know much about but they seemed to care a lot about people’s healing and wholeness. He was, from the few times his name appears in Paul’s letters, a doctor who regularly used the pop culture of his time to paint a picture of who Jesus is. Luke wasn’t, I think, an eye-witness to Jesus’ ministry so what he did was collect the stories people shared around dinner tables, during worship, and through letters and other documents including the gospel according to Mark. Jesus’ life was, for Luke, rooted in a kind of recent history which is why he often began different story arcs within his version of Jesus’ life through the lens of history. For example, in chapter 1, we’re introduced to John the Baptist’s family by also identifying who was the king of Judea at the time. We’ll also, in just a few weeks, see Luke do the same thing by naming a certain Roman Emperor who wanted to know just how many people lived in his Empire. Both of those bits of Luke’s story, however, pale in comparison to the start of our reading today. When it came time for Luke to kick-off John and Jesus’ public ministry when they were both around 30 years old, Luke made it clear that when the Creator of the universe shows up, God enters into the history we create.
It’s not easy, though, to see this since the names Luke dropped lived almost 2,000 years ago. History can feel very old, abstract, and even be romanticized to the point where it becomes a fantasy no one actually lived through. We have a responsibility, I think, to recognize what Luke tried to do since each of the rulers he named had their own stories, histories, and reputations. Now Tiberius wasn’t the Roman emperor who ordered the census that kicked off Mary’s journey to Bethlehem. He was, though, in charge when Jesus’ walked along the shores of Galilee and was known as a rather “cruel, perverse, and self-indulgent” ruler. Tiberius was also the one who appointed Pontius Pilate as governor of Judea who then presided over Jesus’ trial and ordered his crucifixion. Another of the leaders named by Luke was Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great who had turned the Holy Temple in Jerusalem into one of the largest religious complexes in the ancient world. He, like Ponitus Pilate, served at the pleasure of the Emperor and he used violence to maintain his grip on power. He is the “Herod” who not only interacted with Jesus during his public ministry but who also eventually ordered John the Baptist’s beheading. Herod Antipas’ brother, Philip, ruled a neighboring region and renamed a city after himself that was located next to a mountain covered in temples dedicated to Roman gods including one that proclaimed the Roman Emperor as the Son of God himself. It was in the shadow of this mountain when Peter would declare Jesus to be the Messiah. We don’t know very much about the other ruler Luke mentioned since Lysanias oversaw a very tiny kingdom centered in modern day Syria. His reputation has been mostly lost to history. After naming these political leaders, Luke then included two who oversaw religious life within the Holy Temple of Jerusalem. Caiphas would be officially in-charge during Jesus’ trial but his father-in-law, Annas, still wielded considerable influence while Jesus was busy showing what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. Luke’s naming of these leaders doesn’t strike us in the same way it did for those who first heard his words since we don’t have the same relationship with these leaders like they did. But during this Advent and Christmas season, when the world around us demands we be happy, thankful, and full of holiday cheer regardless of what is truly weighing on our hearts, the names Luke dropped show us that no matter how much history we’ve lived through, God’s claim on our are lives and on our world is so much bigger than everything that life can bring.
When Luke the historian shows up in our Bible, it’s an invitation to remember that our God chooses to show up in the real world. God doesn’t work only in the abstract; nor does grace, faith, and eternal life only happen to other people. God works through concrete events and with real people who are experiencing history itself. Not only is Jesus’ life, death, resurrection, and ascension the example of who God is; Luke’s words also reveal how much of God’s story is lived out in our own story too. In the words of Professor Troy Troftgruben, “God saves not … ‘somewhere over the rainbow,’ but in history.” And “as corrupt, messy, and complicated,” human life can be, it’s in this place, with these imperfect people, and within the history we create through the actions and choices we make – that’s where God chooses to be. And that, I think, is why God chose to participate in our history by experiencing that history first had. It’s why God chose to feel what it’s like to grow up and how so much of our life is impacted by those who believe that having power over others is the only way we can ever feel safe, secure, and in control. It’s this same God who also discovered how our relationships with one another are full of their own history that we don’t always learn from. And when Jesus showed everyone what happens when God’s love comes near, we struggled back then – and we even struggle today – to make God’s holy history part of the lived history we get to create everyday. By rooting the story of God in the life people live, God, Jesus, and the gift of faith itself cannot be seen as something abstract or something that only matters when our end is near. Rather, the God who showed up; who lived; and who refused to let the Cross-shaped history we create be the limit of what our future will be – is the same God who, in baptism and through faith, chooses to show up in your life too. We can’t help but be as human as we are and, whether we realize it or not, we participate in the history that is unfolding around us. This history doesn’t merely happen to us; it is something we create through the ways we serve God and one another. As beloved children of God living within God’s own creation, it is easy to feel as if everything – including Christmas – only depends on us. But Luke, John, and Jesus remind us that we do not get to live through this history on our own. Our lives and our world are held by the God who chooses to make their presence known in, and through, history itself. And we are invited to wonder and ponder what it means to create history with the One whose mercy, forgiveness, hope, and love shows us what living is all about.
[Jesus said:] “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Then he told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place and to stand before the Son of Man.”
Luke 21:25-36
My sermon from the First Sunday of Advent (December 1, 2024) on Luke 21:25-36 and Psalm 25:1-10.
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In my neighborhood images about the future are everywhere. There is, for example, an inflatable plastic train filled with sun-faded elves who are heading to the North Pole. On the house next to them are icicles along gutters who shine brightness at night and that will never actually melt no matter how warm the air actually gets. And just down the block is a twelve foot tall skeleton whose scary Halloween-esque face has been cheered up by the bright red of Santa’s hat. Most of us, even if we’re not believers, can’t help but be focused on all the stress and fun this season brings. There’s the plans for winter break; the questions about which toys in Santa’s sleigh are meant for us; and the expectation for the kind of peace and comfort being sold in most TV commercials. But that doesn’t mean this season will be exactly what we want. There’s also all those other emotions and thoughts and sadness that make this season more difficult than we want. Christmas is an event and experience that demands our focus, attention, and care. Yet it’s also, at this moment, happening in the future even though the air is filled with the smell of Christmas cookies and Cyber Monday deals. Even if we’re trying to hold onto the anticipation at the heart of the Advent season, every Christmas card, every online order we place, and every ornament we hang on the tree is a downpayment for the hope we need for Christmas to be. And so it’s fitting, I think, that on this first Sunday of December – this first day of Advent – we are keeping our eye on the future which is also a big part of what our reading from the gospel according to Luke is all about.
Now the start of Advent is always hard because every town tree lighting, every targeted ad on our social media feeds, and way too many Hallmark movies inspired by the Kansas Chiefs are trying to turn every moment into a soft-focused version of Christmas morning. The coffee and hot chocolate were drinking on Christmas morning while kids quietly opened gifts while surrounded by those who loved them best – is too often the limit of what we allow Christmas to be. But God choosing to break into the fullness of our life will be something different since it’s not what power and authority typically do. Rarely would we choose to embrace the kind of fragility, vulnerability, and weakness God did to feel what being human is all about. The Christmas we expect often runs headfirst into the Christmas we get which isn’t always full of snowflakes falling gently from the sky. And the words we just heard from Luke seem to fit the real energy Christmas brings. These words from a larger conversation Jesus had right before the Cross. He, like any good physician, was being a bit proactive by inviting his followers to prepare for what life might bring. He, in the verses right before the ones I just read, hinted at Jerusalem’s destruction and the disciples’ own persecution since they had the audacity to proclaim that someone other than the Emperor was king. After prepping the community for the hard work of faith, Jesus then encouraged all of them to be ready. Those hearing these words for the very first time wouldn’t have been entirely surprised since he mostly quoted from the prophets – such as Daniel, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and even the Psalms. They pointed to a future day when God would, once again, intervene decisively in the world. The stuff of life we all live would be transformed into something more. Now the verbs Jesus used are the ones we usually associate with Christmas morning. What we’re longing for is a kind of comfort that fits the Mary who we regularly proclaim as being completely mild. Yet Jesus’ promise “this generation” will see all God’s power up close and personal pushes us to wonder what Jesus’s words – and this entire season – are meant to do. And this, I think, is an invitation to let Advent and Christmas – with all its anxieties, joys, happiness, and way too many unmet expectations – be as complicated as it truly is.
Saying that, though, is easier than doing it since we live in a culture that makes the joy of this season depend entirely on us. What we need is some kind of spiritual tool to let us live into the fullness of this season which we find in the opening words from our Psalm today. That poem began a very simple yet profound declaration – inviting us to fully participate in whatever this future might be. That word – “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you” can be a kind of mantra that speaks into this current moment. So when we heard Jesus say today that “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves” – we can respond with those other holy words: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” As we race to finish our never ending todo list attempting to make this season match every expectation we have placed on ourselves – we can shout into the sky “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” When Jesus spoke knowing the Cross was almost here – telling his friends how “People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken” – we can join with them by saying: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” And when Jesus looked at those whose future would be complicated since they would see their hopes, dreams, and imagination transformed into something more – he offered the promise that his word and his relationship with each of us would never fade away. It’s this gift that we have done nothing to earn that propels us to offer our soul, our time, our energy, our focus, and our trust to the One who is always there for us. These words from Psalm 25 will not, nor are they meant to replace our doubts, worries, and fears. They serve, instead, as a reminder that our faith is never in vain. What we long for, what we hold onto, and what we trust never fully depends on us. It rests on the One who chose to be with us even when it feels as if Christmas will never come. The promise at the heart of Jesus’ words – the promise at the heart of the the Advent and Christmas season – and even the promise at the core of those Christmas inflatables that we put up in our lawns – is simply that no matter how chaotic and uncertain and pain filled our world and our lives might be, we are already wrapped in God’s future. And since God is holding us through what will be, we can face the fullness of our lives, of this season, of a future holding all our hopes and our disappointments, with the simple phrase: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.”