Christmas Eve 2015

Christmas Eve 2015

The words “Peace on Earth, and good will towards all people” may seem a little hard to accept given the way the world appears to be year after year. I suppose we might even join Charlie Brown in his cynicism when we consider how commercialized gift-giving seems to have become. And yet, even in the midst of all of the apparent chaos and dysfunction in the world, there is still this promise of peace and hope to guide us. And, if we’re willing to accept it, there are even places and moments where light pierces even the thickest dark.

Of course, I don’t mean to sound sentimental, or even naïve when I talk about hope. After all, inequity, and violence are ever-present in our media, and even in our streets. Advertisements for seasonal gift-giving over the past few years have tempted us to not only find the “perfect gift,” but to treat ourselves to something, as well… So, it’s easy to have our clarity obscured by so much sadness and self-absorption.

I’m also afraid to say that, for me at least, I take no real comfort in seeing signs all over telling us to “Keep Christ in Christmas;” often these words coming from churches who don’t offer services on Christmas day, ironically. And I sadly find little encouragement in being reminded to remember the “Reason for the Season…” Unfortunately, I find myself instead thinking about how Christmas was never really considered a major feast day in the Church—not to mention that Jesus was not likely born in December, but that festivals in this season were long celebrated by Pre-Christian cultures for centuries.

So, it’s more likely that the season was about ancient people trying to hold on to hope and light through the dark of winter rather than the birth of the Savior.

I know, I positively slop-over with hope and Christmas joy once I get started. But, the truth is, I believe we still find immense hope in this season—and not only hope, but when we’re paying attention, we’re even able to see the promise and evidence of Light in the world. And, the story of Jesus birth is more than sufficient to help us to discern that light and hope.

The thing is, it’s only the Gospel of Luke that seems to have any real interest in Jesus’ birth. While Matthew’s Gospel mentions some of it—the truth is that the details we know of the story all come from Luke. As we see from our reading tonight, (the familiar Nativity story) the Gospel writer is concerned about setting the historical stage for the birth of Jesus. We’re told that this amazing thing happened when Augustus was Emperor of Rome. Quinirius was the governor of Syria; Herod was king of Judea—and rather than being contextual information, this would have been the appropriate way of recording history. So, in a real way, the Living God was coming into time and place through the birth and Incarnation of Jesus.

But that’s to say that the time and place that Jesus was born was not peaceful. In fact, we get the impression from the Gospels, and even from history that hope was in pretty short supply for God’s People. Even more than today there was famine, and infant mortality was commonplace—maybe this was the reason that they didn’t name their children until they had survived more than 8 days…

Of course there were wars happening—maybe not close at hand since Rome kept everything under control. However, there were groups who had turned to violent ends as a way of rebelling against Roman occupation. So terrorism and violence were well-known.

Into all of this, God chose to take the unimaginable risk to send Jesus, to live among us, teach us to love God and one another, and inevitably be the way of salvation for all of Creation. What’s more, it’s a wonder that anyone would have noticed that it happened at all. But such is the way of hope…quiet and easily over-looked.

Maybe this is why the Church took so long to celebrate the birth of Jesus. After all, the other three Gospels seem to ignore the birth story—and really for a long time throughout history, the only people who celebrated birthdays were pagan emperors…

But, then again, it seems to me that we do celebrate Jesus’ birth because there is something about it that we really need. In fact, in the same way that pre-Christian cultures found ways in this season to remind them of hope in the darkest and coldest of seasons—perhaps we need the hope that comes with Jesus’ birth, not just in the cold of winter—but in the apparent darkness of this world.

In this quiet unexpected way, Jesus who is very God of very God, and is made man by the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary becomes an icon of hope and salvation. And because he becomes one of us in his humanity, we ourselves become a kind of icon of hope—and a reminder of salvation that Jesus’ birth portends. This only confirms that we bear the Image of God.

If you’re familiar with icons, you’ll know that like icons on a computer, these are images that represent far more than what is in front of us. In just one way Jesus is the icon of the hope of humanity, and even the hope God has in humanity. But, even in each of us—in every other birth whether it is exactly like that of Jesus or not—we’re given a reminder (even another kind of icon) that hope endures, just as life will endure. And with each new life, there is light, added to the world and potential for hope and peace. And with every life made new through Jesus, we see the light in the world become even that much greater.

The point is, it may only be in Luke’s Gospel that we hear the story of Jesus’ birth—Luke whose name means “Light.” But it’s through the Gospel of John that we recognize that Jesus is the True Light that was coming into the world, and that he is the Light and Life of all Creation. But all four Gospels, every bit, speak to and resonate with the real world that we live in—a world that is still wondering where that promise of “Peace and Good will toward all people” is for us.

And yet, here in the cold and the dark, we continue to celebrate the birth of the Light—not only because we need it, but because in this celebration we join in claiming what our pre-Christian ancestors were claiming with their midwinter celebrations (whether they realized it or not). We join in claiming what our ancestors in the faith were claiming when they chose to celebrate Christmas in the midwinter season. We even join in what God was claiming with the birth of Jesus—and that is the promise that no matter how dark it may get, there will always be a Light of hope (hope for humanity, and even hope in humanity).

That Light of hope, of course, is Jesus Christ who not only joined us in this world as one of us, but even takes what it is to be human back to God.

What this means for us then, is that when we need to be reminded of the Light and hope that is in Christ Jesus—even when our sight of him is somehow obscured… We only have to look as far as those people around us—these living icons of God’s Image, and the promise of light and life. Perhaps, then, when we can see more clearly the Image of God in one another, illuminated by the hope that is in Jesus—perhaps then we’ll truly see “peace on Earth and goodwill toward all people…” That, after all is the hope in this season.

Christmas Eve 2014

Christmas Eve 2014

If you can believe, it’s a little difficult to write a sermon Christmas Eve… After all, as many of the

Carols and Hymns remind us, it’s an old, old story. So, I suppose the trouble is in trying to invite people into a place where we can really contemplate how profound a thing it is that Christ Jesus was born for all of us.

But as I was thinking about all of this—with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head—I also remembered this sculpture that I had seen depicting the Holy Family. I first saw it in the office of the church where I did an internship, and it was such an intimate and sweet portrayal, I guess it stuck with me.

Anyway, the sculpture is called “A Quiet Moment”, and it features Joseph sort of enfolding Mary and the newly born Jesus. What caught my attention foremost was that it wasn’t the traditional way that we often stage the Nativity scene. Often we see Joseph craned over the crèche, and Mary sitting, piously doting on the Holy Child… Of course no one is touching, Mary doesn’t look anything like a woman having just given birth, and Jesus lays separate from everyone (probably freezing)…

I think what I liked most about this sculpture, then, was that it offered a different idea of what was happening. Not only did the Holy Family look as if they liked one another—they actually looked like a loving family. Joseph, for all that he may have been perplexed, doesn’t look on passively—instead, he takes his role as husband to Mary quite seriously, and holds his small family protectively from the cold, and anything else that might threaten their quiet moment.

Well, honestly, as we were preparing the bulletins for our service tonight, I did my best to find an image of this sculpture that would work for the cover. But, as you can imagine, trying to print a three-dimensional object well in two-dimensions is difficult. So, instead, I decided to recreate the sculpture myself—but in doing so, I decided also to add some things—some aspects that have come up for me as I’ve meditated on both the original sculpture, and the Nativity itself.

So, if you’ll indulge me for a moment, and look to the cover of the bulletin, you’ll see what I came up with… Now, keep in mind, I’m not an artist—so, bear with me.

Now, one of the first things I wanted to get right was the movement of the sculpture—sort of  the way that the lines and shape of the work makes your eyes move around it. I also wanted to make it clear that these weren’t Western European people—but Semitic people, and well…Jewish. So, Joseph not only has payot, or the sidecurls worn by Orthodox Jews. After all, for what little is told us about Joseph in Scripture, we know that he was considered a good and pious man.

Along with this, Joseph is also wearing a tallith, the prayer shawl, also worn by Orthodox Jews—which, like the side curls were reminders to God’s People of God’s faithfulness and the Law. These things actually come from a particular observance of Hebrew Religious Law, and are to be used as constant reminders of Israel’s identity as God’s People.

Anyway, it’s no accident that he’s using it to keep all of them warm, because just as the prayers that are said when putting the prayer shawl on—we’re thankful that we’re called to remember God’s Law, and wrap ourselves in tzitzit (or threads). We might remember that the shepherds were told that the Child would be found in the manger wrapped in strips of cloth…

Another prayer says, “How precious is Your kindness, O G-d! The children of men take refuge in the shadow of Your wings... For with You is the source of life; in Your light we see light. Bestow Your kindness upon those who know You, and Your righteousness on the upright in heart.” So, I thought it appropriate that the shawl that would be considered a reminder of God’s sheltering Presence for all of us, should be used by the man who would raise Jesus to shelter he and Mary. Perhaps, it would have been such warmth and care from Joseph that even allowed Jesus to so easily refer to God as Father…

Mary, of course, is laying in repose, holding the infant Jesus. In my mind she would have been quite tired—not only from giving birth, but the long journey that was only just behind them. But at this point, she’s pictured resting with her little son; safe from all the troubles of the world for at least a few minutes.

Now, obviously this isn’t a profound work of art—but, it’s not meant to be… Just as the bulletin says, it’s mean t to be a meditation on the sculpture that inspired it. But, if nothing else, I hope that what it does accomplish is that it would be an invitation to think about this moment. This birth that we’ve heard about, sung about, even told others about so many times. This birth that is far more than just a really good story—but is the way in which God chooses to be with us, by literally joining us in this human life.

The Light of Light has descended and has dwelt among us—God has broken into our reality to be the Savior of all of us… Yet for all of its profound power and meaning—it may have been just as quiet as this moment pictured here.

I pray that our own lives can be as quiet and peaceful as that moment. May we remember that we are always overshadowed by the brooding wings of God, our loving Father. And I hope that this season calls us again to share the hope and light that has come into the world through Christ’s birth. Peace and Amen.     

Christmas Eve 2013

Christmas Eve 2013

American culture is difficult to sort out. Because we each come from such diverse backgrounds, it’s hard to claim any sort of shared history or heritage or even identity as a single people. And so, I suppose this is the reason why it’s almost impossible for us to share in the celebration of any but civic holidays.

However, Jewish culture has always understood the importance of commemorating and celebrating things. Whether it’s Chanukah, and commemorating the restoration and re-consecration of the Temple after it had been sacked and desecrated; or the Feast of Tabernacles which commemorates the 40 years of wandering in the desert—Jewish culture has held on to a number of holidays which rehearse and remember the stories and histories of their people. After all, such stories recall God’s breaking into history and the lives of the Jewish people—and so, the celebration of such events is an act of devotion as much as it is a reminder of how they came to be who they are, and have been throughout history as the People of God.

So, of course, the stories associated with these events are very important because they are inextricably woven into the fabric of Jewish identity.

While we’re not bad about building traditions, we’re less able to commemorate certain events that have shaped us as a people. Of course, part of this is because we live in a country that is relatively young in the grand scheme of things, and so it’s difficult really to say what would merit our national attention and remembrance. I won’t go into how we’ve traditionally celebrated things like the 4^th of July…

However, beyond cultural and national identity, we also have a spiritual identity and heritage. And tonight, we not only commemorate the most powerful in-breaking of God into our history; but we also rehearse part of the story that reminds us of who we truly are as children of God. What’s more, it’s a story which reaches back, not only beyond national heritage, but as far back as human heritage. Because, this is a story that begins with our First Parents, whose rebellion set the whole Creation into disarray, and broke the heart of God.

What, I think speaks most powerfully, however, is that rather than God playing the hero in the story—instead, God is the Beloved who never stopped throughout the whole of history trying to help us to be reconciled.

God intervened and delivered Israel from Egypt and a life of slavery. In the wilderness, God called Israel to be God’s People that they might become the way in which all humanity and Creation might be made whole.

God gave Israel a home, and chose to give them a sign of God’s Presence with them in the Ark of the Covenant and the Temple. And for all of the promises which God made, and for all of the promises humanity continued to break, God continued to pursue Israel, and through them, all of humanity.

 However, the messengers of God, the Prophets—even as they attempted to call the people back to faithfulness—always pointed to a bright future when God would come among us in a completely unexpected way…not through more prophetic messages, not by freeing Israel from Rome, but through the birth of a child, who would also be very God of very God.

We’re told that the whole of human history has always tended toward this birth. In fact, the Early Fathers regularly point out that the birth of Jesus is the beginning of our redemption, and the completion of humanity.

In him we find the center and axis of all that was and is and is to come. In the Revelation to John, we’re told that only through him can the whole of history be interpreted.

 He is the heart of every story of every person on Earth, because every story of humanity has pointed to him. And so tonight, we do our feeble best to celebrate his breaking into the world, and his story beginning; the true story of all of us—the story of who we are as children of God. The story of our redemption, and our hope yet to come. Happy Christmas.

Christmas Eve 2012

Christmas Eve 2012

While Christmas is on e of the two major feast days in the Christian Church (the other being Easter), it may interest some people to know that Christmas was not always a holiday on the Church calendar. In fact, it was over the course of centuries that there was debate about whether or not it was even proper to celebrate a birthday, let alone the birth of Jesus. This of course was coming from the perspective that only pagan emperors and pagan gods celebrated their birthdays.

However, as the Church grew and took root in the world, there became certain times of year that were kept as holy days. And after being abolished numerous times, then reinstated and reinvented—somewhere in the 19^th century with Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, we begin to see our modern understanding of Christmas taking its place as both a religious and a secular holiday.

The date for Christmas, as many of you might know is not necessarily the true date for the birth of Jesus. In fact, it more likely coincides with a number of Pre-Christian and pagan holidays like Yule. Many of the symbols that we use are actually reflective of these older celebrations. So, things like evergreens, Christmas trees, even the Advent wreath are all things that have been adopted by our Christian tradition as symbols to reflect light and life and the promise that the cold of winter will not prevail.

Another ancient celebration that was kept at this time of year was Dies Natalis Solis Invicti, or the “the birth of the unconquered sun.” Literally, this was a celebration of the birth of the Roman sun god—and was celebrated as a reminder that the darkest part of the year was not hopeless, nor was it the end of the world.

Now as much as I wish I could have been the first to make the connection between the “unconquerable sun” and the “unconquerable Son”—I can’t. In fact, as you can imagine, it’s been used quite a lot by the Early Fathers and any number of other saints in between. And while talking about some of the pre-Christian and pagan roots of our Christian celebrations may make some uncomfortable; I think it’s important to remember that such celebrations and symbols were the attempts by people to understand and approach mystery.

So rather than stealing or adopting such things, instead we have to understand that Christianity has instead affirmed the deep human longing found in these symbols as we also hold fast to hope.

So for us, like our pre-Christian forebears, we also wait in hope. In this dark season, we surround ourselves with reminders of light in the candles of the Advent wreath. We keep in mind the vitality of our souls by the evergreen garlands and trees—all of them giving an outward sign of the hope that we await in this cold dark season.

Like them we’re not only waiting in the dark cold of winter, we also wait in a world that is often cold and dark. We wait in a world that is sick with violence, selfishness and division. But just as this season teaches us, we are surrounded by reminders of the hope that we await in Christ.

So tonight, as we celebrate the first Advent of our Lord, in his birth, we are reminded that there is yet hope. We’re reminded in the mysteries and sacraments that we’re given that we don’t hope in vain. Because we know that in the Second Advent that we await the truly unconquerable Son, Jesus Christ. The one through whom all things were made, and through whom all things are made new.   

Christmas Eve 2011

Christmas Eve 2011

It’s estimated that there may be something like 300 sextillion stars in the known universe. (For those of you who are wondering, that is a 3 followed by 23 zeroes…) It’s also postulated that there could be about 50 million planets which could support and foster intelligent life. All of this of course is predicated upon any number of assumed constants and assumptions about our universe. Of course, we use the terminology “observable universe” because all of these factors are based on what we experience from our very tiny speck of a planet. Because in reality, there could be a limitless horizon beyond what astronomers and physicists can see…

In our own neck of the cosmic woods, our sun is apparently pretty small compared to other observable stars. However it is big enough to hold 1.3 million Earths inside with room to spare.

It sort of puts things into perspective when we think about our place in the universe.

Now, outside of Earth’s ability to support and foster intelligent life, our planet is largely unremarkable. In the grand scheme of things, we are a very small place. And in our complex, and seemingly quantum tininess, we simply continue to spin insignificantly and quietly in the vast beyond, and exist. When we consider all of this, it might make us wonder what the meaning of our lives—our histories—even our presence could amount to in a universe which is so largesse.

We probably don’t need the musings of astronomers and physicists to know how very small we are… The Psalmist speaks rightly, I think, when he writes: “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars you have set in their courses. What is humanity that you should be mindful of them (Ps. 8:4)?” It’s likely that we don’t even need to consider much beyond our own city, let alone our planet or universe to know how tiny we really are. This, of course leads to even more questions, like: If God has called all of this wondrous universe into being—what do I matter?

It’s an overwhelming question, especially with how easily our lives can become background noise in a larger world. I suppose it gets at that common need in us to know and be known—especially by God. It might lead us to wonder why in the world God would care for a relationship with us. With all of the grand things that happen in the universe and the very immensity of it… And in answer to that, I have to say that I have no really good response.

But then there was this one moment…this one time when all of Heaven and the whole of Creation turned its attention our way. It was the moment when God and all that is waited with bated breath for a young girl in Nazareth to say “Yes.” After all, even in this immense universe, she had a choice…

This wasn’t just agreement to God’s plan—it was a choice that Mary made to acquiesce to God. Honestly, it might have been easier at that time in history to have said “no.” The fact is, we don’t need to put on our historical lenses to know the cultural stigmas of being pregnant out of wedlock…

All the same, in all the universe,  she was willing to be the mother of the Son of God. And in her agreement she represents humanity’s “yes” to God as well. It’s a shining example of humanity’s ability to forgo selfishness, and says something of what we can be at our best. In this case, something far greater than our little place in Creation.

In the same way, it says everything about God. Here we see that God chooses to take immense risk to not only be close to us, but to join us in humanity in the self-giving act of the Incarnation. By this self-emptying, the God of all the cosmos becomes as tiny as any one of us.

We’re told that his birth happened at the height of Rome’s power. Aside from rumors, no one but a mad king and three wise men were paying any attention for signs. There was also a mass census which had everyone in busy disarray. It seems an awfully big world for such a seemingly small event as a single birth. Ironically, in John’s Gospel we’re told that

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him (Jn 1:10-11).

All the same, we see God’s longing for such intimacy with us, that God would come to us in the form of a child—to be with us, and be one of us.

What this meant at the time for Israel, was that God suddenly had a face, and a personal, utterable name. God was no longer only represented by the Temple in Jerusalem. The transcendent, far off God was now so immanent as to have a home, a mother and friends. In fact, God was so very immanent that almost everyone missed him being here.

But just by being here with us, Jesus proves God’s love for us. What’s more, when Jesus returned to the Father in his ascension—he brought with him what it is to be human. So that now, not only does God dwell with God’s people—something of us is part of God. And so, in some very mysterious way, the Creator of all the vastness of the universe knows us, and loves us and is forever with us.

So in the Incarnation…this way in which God breaks into our reality, we’re called to more than simple remembrances of past things. Christmas and Advent are no longer opportunities to look backward. Because for us Jesus, the one who is coming into the world, is both historical, but also the one we hope for and wait for—he is also our constant in life. A life which is chaos, and unpredictable—even frightening in its asymmetry. Life is broken and beautiful and because of the mystery of Jesus’ participation in humanity, it is also made somehow holy. Because in him we find the response to Creation’s longing. A longing perhaps most beautifully expressed in the familiar hymn:

“In sorrow that the ancient curse should doom to death a universe, you came, O Savior, to set free your own in glorious liberty. When this old world drew on toward night, you came; but not in splendor bright, not as a monarch, but the child of Mary, blameless mother mild.”

So tonight, for a brief moment, in the hush after the din of shopping; in the midst of anticipation for the magic of Christmas morning—we wait and watch. We make a place in our hearts for more than the Christ Child, but a place for him who is to return.

Just like those who waited for the Messiah to come in his first advent, we wait for his return in a second kind of advent. We look for him to break upon this world once again in glorious light—heralded by a firmament full of angelic hosts. And once again all that is in the universe will turn attention toward our little place in Creation.

Because just like that vast expansive universe, and all of the most finite things in existence—we ache to see the beloved return. After all, I imagine that we’re all a little lost, beaten up and tired in this big-big world. Even so, we wait with hope for one we have known and knows us. We wait for him to once again draw us out of darkness and hold us up to the Light. “O Come, thou Dayspring from on high, and cheer us by thy drawing nigh; disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death’s dark shadow put to flight. Rejoice, Rejoice! Emmanuel will come to thee…”