Christmas 1 2012

Christmas 1, 2012

          There was a time in the Church’s history when the liturgy concluded with the same reading as our Gospel reading today. So, just as everyone was prepared to leave—suddenly there was this one extra reading, called the last Gospel reading. And this would have been exciting, especially if the previous hour or two of church liturgy weren’t enough. Needless to say, after any number of liturgical renewals, this last reading was removed from the liturgy.

All the same, it is an important reading—and one which has continual relevance to us as followers of Jesus Christ. This is because the purpose of this particular Gospel reading expresses how amazing it is that Jesus was ever here on earth. The writer’s point, as we can see in the reading, is that God came to make a home with us.

In fact, the word that he uses to describe the way that God dwelt among us is the word “tabernacle.” This is probably not a word that means much outside of a particular context. But a tabernacle is a tent used to house holy things. We read about Peter asking to build tents on the mountain when Jesus is transfigured, and Elijah and Moses appear with him. We call the box where the reserve sacrament is kept a tabernacle. More importantly, the tabernacle was a tent that was used to house the Ark of the Covenant—the ornate box which was a representation of God’s presence with God’s people.

  

Obviously the Ark itself wasn’t God—and certainly didn’t contain God. Instead, it held the tablets on which the 10 Commandments were written; it held a pot of manna, the heavenly bread that God gave Israel while they were in the wilderness; and it held the rod of Aaron, a staff like the one Moses had to show miraculous signs. The Ark was a sign of God’s Presence. It was a thing through which God chose to participate in the lives of the people. But, as such, the Ark was dangerous.

We read in the Old Testament that the Ark was kept hidden away from most people, and only the high priests ever saw it. When the Temple was built in Jerusalem, the Ark was kept in a space called the holy of holies—and from many stories in the Old Testament, we know that no one would dare touch it for fear of death or plague.

And while the Ark may have been a sign of the immanence of God, it did very little to really make God any closer to humanity. Nothing about it particularly expressed the qualities that we see in ourselves that we identify as personable. Nothing about the Ark was invitational, but served instead as more of a memory of another time.

 Ironically, invading armies that sacked the Temple were said to have believed that the Israelites were atheists, because they didn’t have a proper god in the holiest place. All they found was this gold plated box with cherubim on the top.

  

However, this is not to say that God was not intimately in love with Creation. There is a whole wealth of stories about God calling humanity and all of Creation back to loving  relationship—that’s the whole point of all of the 66 books that make up the Bible.

Sure, there are stories of punishment and exile—but there is always the overarching promise of love and homecoming with God. In fact, there was always such love there that inevitably, God knew that sending letters by prophet, and making covenants were not really the best way for us to get to know God, or for God to get to know us…

So, in an action which was very uncharacteristic of any god—the Holy One, the Almighty God, poured God’s Self out in the most profound self-giving act imaginable. God became man. God took the gamble to be born into an unfriendly world of danger, disease and high infant mortality. All of it just to make a home with us. All of it to prove, just by his showing up, that we are loved and worthwhile enough to live with God.

In the season of Christmas, then we celebrate this strange mystery of God breaking into our world in such a quiet and unassuming way. Sure there was a star, and a sky full of angels—but the birth of a child is not the biggest thing. But of course, it’s really an amazing thing at the same time. And in the case of Jesus’ birth, it marks God’s willingness to be with us in a deeply personal way.

 I’m not just talking about living with Jesus in our hearts, either—unfortunately the power of that terminology has lost some of its punch. What I’m talking about is a God who not only seeks relationship with us, but a God who comes to be one of us in Jesus Christ.

What’s more, when Jesus returned to the Father, he took with him all that it is to be human—to have a life, friends, a family and a name… All of the things that we consider normal to the human condition; and probably all of the things we sometimes take for granted. But in Jesus these things are all made extraordinary and holy; and in this way he makes a way for us to make a home with him. This is the reason for our Gospel text today…

Because the significance of the reading reminds us what this season is about—that not only are we loved by God, but we are known by God.

I think it’s this “being known” by God which is so poignant. Because to be known by God is to be known beyond our knowing ourselves. So, all of the little precious things that are important to us, God knows them intimately. The reason for our quiet moments, our frustrations, our deeper passions...they’re known and cherished. And while these may seem like simple things to anyone outside of ourselves—to God they’re angelic. Divine, even.

 In Jesus Christ, God mysteriously makes his home with us in the weirdness of this life, and by his presence sanctifies all of it—because in the Word becoming flesh in the birth of Jesus, we see that God longs to be ever closer to us, and will stop at nothing to make it happen.

Christmas 2 2015

2 Christmas 2016 (Year C)

We started in the Advent season with readings that gave us a glimpses of prophetic hope. God was calling out to Israel in their exile to tell them that all would be restored, all would be made right, and God would come and dwell with them.

Of course, we also read about John the Baptist calling people a “brood of vipers…” Likewise there are generally some apocalyptic readings in Advent—after all, it is kind of the end of the world. Or, perhaps (better stated) the end of a world, namely the world that Israel had known.

But, then we have Christmas, and suddenly our readings are full of light, shepherds and angels. “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace and good will toward all people…” Yet even as lovely as the story of Jesus’ birth is—it still happens in the midst of an oppressive empire; under the eye of a bloodthirsty king (that would be Herod); and, the mass murder of children on Herod’s orders…This is why December 28^th is the Feast of the Holy Innocents, to commemorate this terrible event.

As to Mary and Joseph, angels told them about all that was supposed to happen, and even explained how most of it was supposed to go. But, even with all of that, there was no real way of them to know what it would all mean. Besides, they certainly wouldn’t be the first victims of happenstance that caused God’s plans to run afoul. So, I would imagine that no matter how certain all of the epiphanies and promises that they received seemed to be—the reality for them is that they were fugitives from a mad king on their way across dangerous country. Unmarried and pregnant was certainly not much help either, especially considering what a scandal it would have been in First Century Palestine.

But that’s to say, we often find that when we look back on events in life, we often begin to see their meaning in retrospect. In those moments, we may even begin to see the places where Providence made a way, and the choices that were before us all conspired to lead us just to the place we needed to be…

Then again, I sincerely doubt that there were quiet moments in the successive years where Mary and Joseph sat reminiscing over a glass of Manischewitz, laughing at their own foibles… In fact, Wise Men from the East not withstanding—I would imagine post-traumatic stress being more relevant to their memories than sentiment. After all, rather than everything lining-up perfectly for an easy birth for the Savior of the World, instead Mary and Joseph were hunted and the world was very dark and dangerous.

No, I don’t imagine that there was a lot of nostalgia for Joseph and Mary. What I do believe, however, is that there would always be the memory of how they were surprised by hope.

In fact, I think many of us are surprised by hope—even if the situations in our lives aren’t always the easiest. It seems to me, in fact, that hope, real hope, happens to us in unexpected ways. That’s not to say that things are instantly better, or even that that things become clearer or easier.

  

 But, hope, as a deeply sustaining thing, can impress upon us such a sense of vision beyond ourselves that we find that even the toughest places in life will inevitably come to their end—perhaps even their completion and perfection. That is the meaning when we talk of Christian hope, after all. It is that seed of promise that waits in our hearts to germinate, so that we might see all things (good or bad) come to their true perfection.

It almost sounds too good to be true, so much so that it may even seem to border on naïve. And yet, there are those who have suffered and experienced greater adversity than many of us, but still hold fast to hope. In particular, I’m reminded of the Dali Lama who was forced into exile by the Chinese occupation of Tibet, and has even survived seeing death and destruction all around him. Even still, he remains one of the most encouraging and hopeful people in the world, perhaps in spite of any return to his home being imminent, and certainly in spite of the difficulties in the world.

Hope is far from naïve, and, if anything, the hope that is born in the midst of great adversity is almost an act of defiance. It’s defiance against the threat that all hope can be extinguished, even if life is the cost. Hope is the defiance against the belief that abuse, and fear are the only real powers in the world. And hope is the defiance against the idea that God is too far from us to know what it’s like down here—because the surprise about hope is that God chose to be born into all of this chaos, and pain, and fear. But in the quiet surprise of that night was that hope came into the world to change it forever by being born as a child.

I said it on Christmas Eve, and I’ll say it again; ever birth of every child is an icon and reminder of the birth of Jesus. And with each birth is kindled the potential for hope to continue to shine brightly in the world. But in Jesus’ birth began the turning tide for the hope of all of us; because in him the powerless find a champion, and all of us find a king. In him we find the archetype for the true conqueror as even in his humility, he has the power to break Death itself… In this way, Jesus has proven hope.

Where all of this finds meaning for us, as we consider all that the new year may bring, is simply this: We should always hold fast to hope. That’s to say hope may seem a thing hard to come by in our lives. We may feel that in even considering hope that we’re wasting our time. But the message of Christmas, and Mary and Joseph is that we may yet be surprised by hope at any time…we just can’t give up on hope before it’s born.

Christmas Day 2013

Christmas Day 2013 (Redux from 2011)

          

As you will probably recognize, our Gospel reading today is the Prologue to John that we have been reading at the end of our services throughout the season of Advent. The reason we did this, is not only because it was something that used to be done at the end of every Eucharistic service, but because it is this reading that frames most of our theology about Jesus. In fact, there are many scholars who would say that much of our understanding of all of the Gospel narratives is seen through the lens of John’s Gospel—and this reading in particular.

Of course the most important thing that is revealed in the readings, is that God came to make a home with us.

In fact, the word that he uses to describe the way that God dwelt among us is the word “tabernacle.” This is probably not a word that means much out of a particular context. But a tabernacle is a tent used to house holy things. But not just holy things, even today it is the practice of observant Jews to keep the feast of booths—or tabernacles to remember Israel’s 40 years of wandering in the wilderness.

In the Gospels, we read about Peter asking to build tents on the mountain when Jesus is transfigured, and Elijah and Moses appear with him.

We even call the box where the reserve sacrament is kept a tabernacle.

But, the tabernacle was also a tent that was used to house the Ark of the Covenant—the ornate box which was a representation of God’s presence with God’s people.

Obviously the Ark itself wasn’t God—and certainly didn’t contain God. It was a sign of God’s Presence. It was a thing through which God chose to participate in the lives of the people. As such, the Ark was dangerous.

We read in the Old Testament that the Ark was kept hidden away from most people, and only the high priests ever saw it. When the Temple was built in Jerusalem, the Ark was kept in a space called the holy of holies—and from many stories in the Old Testament, we know that no one would dare touch it for fear of death or plague. Every year when the High Priest would enter this space, it’s said that they would tie a rope around his waist and put bells on him—so, in the event that God struck the High Priest dead, and the bells stopped ringing, they could pull him out without too much trouble.

And while the Ark may have been a sign of the immanence of God, it did very little to really make God any closer to humanity. This is not to say that God was not intimately in love with Creation. There is a whole wealth of stories about God calling humanity and all of Creation back to relationship—that’s the whole point of all of the 66 books that make up the Bible. Sure, there are stories of punishment and exile—but there is always the overarching promise of love and homecoming with God. In fact, there was always such love there that inevitably, God knew that sending prophets, and making covenants were not really the best way for us to get to know him, or for him to get to know us…

So, in an action which was very uncharacteristic of any god—the Holy One, Almighty God, poured God’s Self out in the most profound self-giving act imaginable.

God became human.

God took the gamble to be born into an unfriendly world of danger, disease and high infant mortality. All of it just to make a home with us. All of it to prove, just by his showing up, that we are loved and worthwhile enough live with God.

In the season of Christmas, then we celebrate this strange mystery of God breaking into our world in such a quiet and unassuming way. The true Light that is life and the Light of all people was silently coming into the world.

Sure there was a star, and a sky full of angels—but the birth of a child is not the biggest thing. But of course, it’s really an amazing thing at the same time. And in the case of Jesus’ birth, it marks God’s willingness to be with us in a deeply personal way. I’m not just talking about living with Jesus in our hearts—unfortunately the power of that terminology has lost some of its punch. What I’m talking about is a God who not only seeks relationship with us, but a God who comes to be one of us in Jesus Christ.

What’s more, when Jesus returned to the Father, he took with him all that it is to be human—to have a life, friends, a family and a name… All of the things that we consider normal to the human condition; and probably all of the things we sometimes take for granted. But in Jesus these things are all made extraordinary and holy; and in this way he makes a way for us to make a home with him. This is the reason for our Gospel text today…

It may seem odd that our follow-up to the birth narrative of Christmas is not some continuation  of the story. But the significance of the reading reminds us what this season is about—that not only are we loved by God, but we are known by God.