Christmas 2

Christmas 2A, 2019

On a Sunday that brings us wise men in search, it seems appropriate to begin with a lost poem found, “Noel,” one of two previously unseen poems by J. R. R. Tolkien, discovered in a 1936 school annual in England.

Grim was the world and grey last night:

The moon and stars were fled,

The hall was dark without song or light,

The fires were fallen dead.

The wind in the trees was like to the sea,

And over the mountains’ teeth

It whistled bitter-cold and free,

As a sword leapt from its sheath.

The lord of snows upreared his head;

His mantle long and pale

Upon the bitter blast was spread

And hung o’er hill and dale.

The world was blind, the boughs were bent,

All ways and paths were wild:

Then the veil of cloud apart was rent,

And here was born a Child.

The ancient dome of heaven sheer

Was pricked with distant light;

A star came shining white and clear

Alone above the night.

In the dale of dark in that hour of birth

One voice on a sudden sang:

Then all the bells in Heaven and Earth

Together at midnight rang.

Mary sang in this world below:

They heard her song arise

O’er mist and over mountain snow

To the walls of Paradise,

And the tongue of many bells was stirred

in Heaven’s towers to ring

When the voice of mortal maid was heard,

That was mother of Heaven’s King.

Glad is the world and fair this night

With stars about its head,

And the hall is filled with laughter and light,

And fires are burning red.

The bells of Paradise now ring

With bells of Christendom,

And Gloria, Gloria we will sing

That God on earth is come.

To this grim and gray earth, God on earth is come. God on earth is come. To this place and this time. God on earth is come. 

And, here we are...

Holding up light to the grim and the gray. 

Looking for light along the way. 

Here we are.

Come from all corners of creation. Come to worship, come to praise. 

Come to proclaim in the midst of all that is ALL, ALL that might be!

And, the war hawks ride on the currents of fires. 

And, kings, despots, and demoniacs rattle sabers while the babe sleeps.

And, hatred is typed and evil is cast and the powers that be cling tight to their rule. 

And, and, and...

We gather still. 

We gather to proclaim that God has come. We gather to proclaim that love will prevail. We gather. 

The holy I Am has gathered us in,

“Hear the word of the Lord, O nations, and declare it in the coastlands far away; say, "He who scattered Israel will gather him, and will keep him as a shepherd a flock."’

Gathered for a purpose, gathered from all corners, gathered...

To offer our praise to a king whose rule is of love. A Lord whose purpose is perfection, perfection of being within a paradise for all, “today you will be with me in paradise”.

You. You will be with me. 

No matter where, no matter how, you will be with me.

Kings from the East, of all races and nations.

Paupers and peasants from fields and ghettoes. 

You will be with me. 

And the Gospel is proclaimed. The good news is made known. 

And the mighty stumble, and demagogues quake. 

Quake at the news that the truth has been made known. 

The truth, that the world is too dangerous for anything but truth, and too small for anything but love. 

So, we tell the truth in love. 

The truth that Christ is born, and true worship is given to a better ruler, a greater king, to one for whom there is no precedent or antecedent other than the hope of all creation. 

In the Gospel of Matthew, the Gospel we will hear the bulk of this year in our Sunday liturgies, we begin by hearing the who and how of Jesus’ identity. His birth and the foreshadowing of his destiny.

In Matthew’s telling, we are invited to connect Jesus’ birth with the promise of God’s ongoing intervention in the liberation of God’s people. Matthew begins with phrasing that harkens back to Genesis at the beginning of the Gospel. He offers us a genealogy that firmly sets Jesus as an heir of David and sets Mary, his mother’s, conception amongst other scriptural narratives in which women have given birth under unusual circumstances. 

But, not only does Matthew use the law and the prophets of Judaism to reinforce the who and hence of this child, he incorporates the Gentiles.

And, this, this is where, and when, the wise men come in. Foreign dignitaries carrying the gold, frankincense and myrrh—gifts fit for a king, gifts fit for the grave. The symbolism of that which they carry, borrows from the tension between life and death, war and peace. This is a baby who a king wishes dead. This is a king who will conquer even death. 

These gift giving men are astronomers come from afar—afar, in this case, most likely being the region, we now call Iran. A detail important to note in times like these. 

They are outsiders to Jewish culture and custom, and the wise men’s presence at the side of the child born king is a pointed display of the expansiveness of Jesus’ ministry. Jesus won’t merely be the king of the Jews, he will be the king of creation. This birth and this child will become a unitive force between the Jews and the Gentiles and, in this, his influence will extend far beyond the limits of cultural, religious and political boundaries.  

This child is the heir of David and he has inherited the full weight of prophecy. This is the one who will “bring forth justice to the nations”. 

This vulnerable child lies at the center of a complex web of political, religious, and military resistance to oppression.  

And, so the wise men who have searched, who have followed the star in its rising, become allies to this new creation. In confusing the trail, in returning home by another way, the wise men defy the powers that be—and work in accordance with God’s will, to shelter a child. A child whose life represents the fullness of God’s love. By defying the powers that be, the wise men amplify the power of God love in this world. A power made known in the fragility of breath, and flesh, of a child born. 

As I shared in this past week’s e+Chimes, I’ve been praying this passage all week. Exploring the question of what it means that outsiders to the Jewish community, in this case the wise men, become allies in protecting a Jewish child from discovery and death. 

And, this has led me to a place of deep prayer and consideration. How will I protect those in danger from the power of evil in this world? How will I show up as a light bringer to those whose lives have been shadowed by threats of violence and histories of hate? 

How? In this grim and grey world, where people are quick to anger and swift to revenge...How will I?

But, it is not just me, it is we...so,

How will we spread the light?

How will we find the way?

Another way.

A way towards peace. A way towards non-violence. A way towards justice. A way towards mercy.

A way towards our God...

God, whose love endures in this grim and grey world. God, whose love shows up even as fires rage and despots howl. God, whose love offers us another way. 

Another way if we are willing to take it. A way born of hope, born of faith, born of trust—trust in a baby whose birth defies all hate and whose life proclaims all love.

And Gloria, Gloria we will sing

That God on earth is come.

Amen.

Epiphany 5A

I got WAY behind in posting sermons, so I’m dropping a few now...my apologies!

Scripture can be found here

Jesus Light of the World, Shine Upon Us, 

Set us free with the truth you now bring us.

When I was a child, my sister and I fought tooth and claw.

And, the fight’s outcome ALWAYS hinged on whose story was believed.

Whose panted defense and justification was more plausible. 

Panted, because we’d go running to be the FIRST to get to whichever parent appeared to pass judgement. 

And, I can tell you...that I always told the truth. 

Equally, I can tell you...my sister believed her truth to be true. 

So, I ask you, whose truth is true?

Will you decide? Will you be the arbitrator of our lifelong battle?

[pause]

Whose narrative are we to believe? Who is the righteous one? And, who decides?

“the righteous [who] will be kept in everlasting remembrance. [Who] will not be afraid of any evil rumors;” 

You chanted these words just a few minutes ago.

Do you believe them? Or do you believe evil rumors?

Do you know how to tell the truth?

Do you know how to hear the truth?

As a child, I fully believed that I told the truth and that the words my sister spoke were but evil rumors. 

But truth, I’ve come to know, is far more complicated than right and wrong. And, I now know that the lie of any truth we told was the way in which we used our truth to destroy. 

Truth that does not lead to freedom, is rooted in lies. The lie that some are less than others. The lie that creation is ours to exploit rather than steward. The lie that cleverness is better than goodness. So many lies…

Which brings me back to the truth which we seek…the truth that is salt, the truth that is light, the truth that leads to life.

How will we know this truth when we see it?

“I didn’t know if I believed it because it was true, or because it was beautiful”

These words were the unscripted reaction of the physicist, Peter Higgs, who first theorized the Higgs Boson particle. He spoke these words in a candid video shared by a fellow physicist who had come to his home to surprise Professor Higgs with the news that his theory had been proved, and when I saw that video I was moved by his words. I was moved, because the pairing of truth and beauty seems a useful and powerful tool for discerning the good and the right. 

What would it mean if we were to dismiss the vicious and the ugly, the unkind and the evil, the manipulative and the disingenuous, from the point of prioritizing the beautiful truth?

The beautiful truth of God, the beautiful truth of belovedness, beautiful truth of creation, the beautiful truth of God’s desire for all to be set free...

Can anything short of this beautiful truth be true?

We cut today’s reading from Isaiah short in the interest of time, an option offered by the lectionary but, for us to explore the truth, I must share the remainder of the lesson assigned for today. So, listen, listen... 

“If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, 

if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, 

then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday…

you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to live in.”

Does the truth we speak repair? Does the truth we speak restore? 

Or is it the pointing of the finger and the speaking of evil?

What is the truth for, if it is not for liberation?

I believe that the beautiful truth of God’s love, as made known to us in creation, is the a priori truth--the first and essential truth. And, as such, anything that does not speak of this truth must be examined and unpacked and questioned, no matter where that “truth” has come from. 

Hence, Paul’s assertion that  “My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.”

Our faith rests not in human words, but in the power of God. God whose generosity of love has brought light to the world—a light that shines on all, a light that allows us to see and to notice God’s care for all of God’s beloved children. 

Hear the words of God as proclaimed by the prophet Isaiah, 

“Why do we fast, but you do not see?
Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”

Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day,
and oppress all your workers.

Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
and to strike with a wicked fist.”

Hear the words of the prophet. If we fail to see or notice the love of God which we are called to serve, none of this— the prayers, the music, the sermon, the fellowship, will matter. It doesn’t matter if we don’t tell the beautiful truth, the beautiful truth of God’s love. The world needs our beautiful truth, our beautiful truth to counter any forces of evil that would deny and destroy any of God’s beloved children.  

Telling this truth, will take work. It will take the indefatigable voice of a body sharing the labor, sharing the labor so that when one falters another fills. It will take hope, hope that love will win and that the kingdom of God, in its perfect mercy, will overpower the imperfect judgments and casual cruelty of the kingdoms of this world. 

So, thanks be to God, that as Christians we share one body, that as Christians we know what it is to hope even in the face of death, and that as Christians we know that love will prevail. 

A beautiful truth indeed…

One of the beautiful truth tellers of our faith, is a man I had the opportunity to meet when I was a college student—the Reverend William Sloane Coffin. 

He was the retired pastor of the acclaimed Riverside Church in New York City, a Freedom Rider during the Civil Rights Movement, arrested with Daniel Berrigan and Dr. Spock for protesting the Vietnam War, and an advocate for gay rights who urged his congregation not to condemn people for “the way that they love”. And, there he was, hanging out with a bunch of college students who had no idea of the witness they had in their midst…

A prophet, a truth teller, a witness. A witness to the transformative power of God’s love who, in his famous benediction, reminded his congregation that,

“The world is too dangerous for anything but truth, and too small for anything but love.”

If these words sound familiar, it is because I’ve spoken them in blessing upon you all here, at St. Clement’s. 

But, I’ve never used the entirety of his benediction, and so I want to offer it to you, as a gift. As a gift, and as an act of hope and defiance,  

“May the Lord bless you

and keep you.

May God’s face

shine upon you and

be gracious unto you.

May God give you the grace

never to sell yourself short;

grace to risk something big

for something good;

grace to remember that the

world is too dangerous

for anything but truth and

too small for anything but love.

So, may God take your minds

and think through them;

may God take your lips

and speak through them;

may God take your hearts

and set them on fire.”

Amen.

Christmas

Lectionary readings can be found here

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Imagining Hope

It began innocently enough, it was Sunday School of course…

And the children, the children, were asked to consider what they imagined angels to look like.

Anticipating talk of halos and wings…the grown-ups waited for the predictable answers.

But, children are anything but predictable.

You can imagine.

Wings of fire. Eyes alight. In human form. A monstrous sight.

You can imagine.

And so, can they. And this is where the dinosaur enters the pageant, stage left. And, here is the traveling cat with his tiger print slippers. And, here is the baby and there are the sheep. And, an Angel of the Lord…

An angel of the Lord, whose terror and glory inspires fear and trembling.

You can imagine.

How it was.

You can only imagine how it was.

There are no photos, no baby book or lock of hair.

There is no record of his birth.

Other than a story. A story that would capture the imaginations of us all…

And one told another and another told another…so on and so forth through time and space until, we reach this point in time. This point in this place where we gather to tell the story again. To read, mark, and inwardly digest the improbable, wonderful, and beautiful truth of God become us. Become one of us.

And, the best, perhaps the only way to begin to imagine, is to consider one of us. To begin with a human baby. To begin with a child. To begin with the encapsulated hope for a lifetime.

The pageant begins with a proclamation, a teenager processes down the aisle, confronting the evils of the world with her words.

For all the boots of the tramping warriors
and all the garments rolled in blood 
shall be burned as fuel for the fire. 

For a child has been born for us,

She prophesies. This child, standing between us and the evils of this world. She cries out.

A child has been born for us.

Dividing the waters, making a way out of the chaos and into the calm of creation.

A child has been born for us.

A child has proclaimed it.

Listen. Listen to the children prophesy!

They prophesy! Around the world, the children prophesy!  

And, from the baptistry, a baby cries.

Six weeks old. Nestled against the woman who bore him, he has no words. Yet his voice is mighty.

We pause in wonder at the immensity of his presence. So small, so, so small. Yet he is everything in this moment—upstaging us all.

The grace of God has appeared.

Angels and animals lean in to see. This grace. This grace made manifest in our midst.

He is one of us.

He is us.

And, it is this fragile, mewing, creation that is prophesied to stand in the breach.

This is it. This is all.

And, we wonder, that a baby like this, a baby like us, became the baby of our salvation.

Imagine.

Imagine. On this night when we mark his birth, imagine.

God in the flesh, abiding in us, always with us, born in us.

Born in us,

a baby who will change the course of the world in his breath and in his being.

Fully human, full divine.  This baby will change everything.

This baby will…

But, tonight he is simply a baby. Swaddled tight against the night.

And all our hopes and all our dreams.

They press in on the scene.

Come for us. Come for us!

Lord Jesus, come for us!

And our cries are answered.

Our cries are answered.

And, a baby is born.

But, not just any baby, EVERY baby. Every baby is born into the hopes we hold, into this world we inhabit.

Listen, all of you. Each and every one of you. Each and every one of you, once a baby, now grown, now the home of the abiding Christ. You, YOU are the culmination of hopes and dreams. You are the possible of God’s love. You are.

And, when we enact the story of God’s salvation we turn story into flesh. We turn the Word into the World. We become the story. We are the story.

The story of hope.

The story of an unceasing love.

The story of one become many. One become the body. One become flesh. One become us.

The body of Christ in the world.

The body born anew this night.

The body that stands in the space between hope and fear, between love and hate, between what is and what might be.

The body of Christ.

We are the body of Christ.

And on this night, my heart aches with the joy of who we are. Of who we will be.

When Christ is born in us.

Born not for Christmas, but for the fullness of God’s love.

Dear friends in Christ, let us live as the hope of the world. Let us take this one moment in time as a beginning of all that might be and live. Live as Christ’s body, doing the work that will bring peace to this world.

I want to end with the words of theologian Howard Thurman. His poem, “The Work of Christmas” reminds us of why this story matters to us and to the world,

“When the song of the angels is stilled,

when the star in the sky is gone,

when the kings and princes are home,

when the shepherds are back with their flocks,

the work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,

to heal the broken,

to feed the hungry,

to release the prisoner,

to rebuild the nations,

to bring peace among the people,

to make music in the heart.”

Amen.

The poem “The Work of Christmas” is from Howard Thurman’s The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations.