Christmas Stories Christmas 1C 2024

 Christmas Stories

We all have Christmas stories. Stories of Christmases throughout the years. Family stories, church stories, shopping stories, all kinds of stories that are related to Christmas. In our house growing up it we always remember what we refer to as the year of the goofed up waffles. My father had meant to make waffles for all of us, and evidently forgot to add the oil or butter to the recipe so that what we got was library paste that stuck the waffle iron shut. We all settled for scrambled eggs and I don’t recall that waffle iron ever being used again! 

We have just read evangelist John’s Christmas story. No angels, no shepherds, no kings, no stable, not even Mary or Joseph. For John it begins before the dawn of creation: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. … and the Word became flesh and dwelled among us …” Or, as Eugene Peterson translates that last part: “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.” [John 1:1-18] 

The word “dwelled” in the Greek means something more than just “lived.” It is more like “he set up a tent to live among us.” Which is why in the final blessing each Sunday I take the liberty to substitute the words “dwell among us” for the Prayer Book’s “be amongst you” or “be upon you,” seeking to direct our hearts and minds to the fact that Jesus has not pulled up his tent stakes, but remains in the midst of his gathered community of people every time we come to share bread and wine. Jesus still dwells in the neighborhood. And the Neighborhood R Us! 

Then there is one of my Christmas stories. As I left church at St. Peter’s one Christmas morning, off to have family dinner out at our house, my car began to have fits and eventually died right there in the middle of the road at a stop-light. Several cars cautiously pulled around me as I sat through several light changes considering my options, when I noticed in the rear-view mirror that a somewhat menacing blue pick-em-up truck was behind me and not moving. It felt somewhat threatening until suddenly a young man showed up at my window asking if he could help. I allowed that if our bumpers matched up, perhaps he could push me into the nearby Exxon station where I could park the car overnight and call for someone to pick me up. He said, “Sure,” and off we went. 

Once at the Exxon station, the young man asked if he could take me somewhere. I asked where he was headed, which was just up the street. He said that it would be no problem to take me out to Sykesville. I said thank you and I threw my things in the back of the truck and off we went. As we were talking, I found out that sadly, his Christmas was pretty much over since he had just dropped off his son to his ex-wife for the rest of the day. Then a bit further down the road he asked me where I had been that morning. I said Saint Peter’s. 

He said, “Really! I have been attending the Monday Night NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meeting there for over seven years.” Which set us off on a conversation about the merits of the 12 step programs, and the effort he and his group makes each year to be good tenants with a service project. In fact, he was going to be the person who that spring was going to power wash our handicap ramp and then seal it! He then shared how worried they were that some nights they get a lot of people who hang out in the parking lot and that they are trying to control that. I said not to worry, and that that my support and that of the parish for the program was unqualified and we would help work with them on any problems. When we got home, just as I was getting out of the car he said one last thing: “You know, before I had NA and your church in which to meet every week I would never have stopped to help you.” I said, “Thank you for making it possible for to make it to Christmas dinner, and Merry Christmas.” 

People are always asking me about angels and wearing angel pins and reading angel books and often you can watch angels on TV. Then it struck me after he pulled off in his blue pick-em-up truck that once the Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood, you don’t hear anything much about angels anymore in John’s gospel. Once God set up shop right here, that first Christmas when God came to dwell amongst us, God’s work and God’s messengers have tended to look a lot like you and like me, and like, well, young men in blue trucks. 

Week nights and Saturday mornings we let total strangers come into our Parish Hall. Many of whom have had entanglements with the law, and the rest who have been fighting the demons of drug and alcohol addiction for some time. Not the kind of people that most people would hand the keys to the company store and say, “You’re welcome to use this space … help yourself.” But we do. And have for many many years. If we ever had reason to question why we give them the keys to our sacred space, my angel in the blue pick-em-up truck sure answered that when he said, “Before NA and meeting in your church I would have never stopped to help anyone.” 

Anyone. He did not recognize me. He had no idea who I was, let alone the rector of St. Peter’s. He did not even ask until we were half-way to Sykesville. He did it because he was and still is a changed person. His life had been touched by Jesus in our parish. Whatever his life had been like before coming to meetings at our parish, little did he ever suspect he would become a Christmas angel. 

Which is precisely why the Word becomes flesh and blood and moves into our neighborhood. God in Jesus could see that sending angels and prophets and all kinds of messengers was just not getting the job done to transform God’s world into the kingdom of God: a place where the light of God’s Word shines in the darkness and lives are being touched and transformed. The Word came to dwell among us to give us “power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.” 

Our being here makes that possible. Every dollar we spend on electricity and insurance and maintenance makes it possible for people to find a power greater than themselves and to become children of God. Some of us come on Sundays, and some come on week nights and Saturday mornings. Someone rescued me that Christmas morning. And that someone had been touched by the power of God. Because of the stewardship and sense of mission that dwells in that parish and in ours, the Spirit of Christmas manifests itself in many different ways every day of the year. 

Our mission is to maintain a place for that Spirit to dwell. To make a place for God’s Son to set up his tent and live among us. And like John the evangelist and countless others since that first Christmas morning, we must remember to tell the stories of Christmas again and again until all the world is filled with the Power and the Glory of the Lord. Amen.

The Boy Born to Be The Bread of Heaven Christmas C 2024

 

The Boy Born to Be The Bread of Heaven

O gracious Light,

pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven,

O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed!

 

Now as we come to the setting of the sun,

and our eyes behold the vesper light,

we sing thy praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

 

Thou art worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices,

O Son of God, O Giver of life,

and to be glorified through all the worlds. 

This ancient 3^rd or 4^th century hymn is from a collection of early Christian hymns to be sung in the morning, the evening, and at meals. It is sung at candle lighting rituals, and often at Evening Prayer in our Book of Common Prayer (1979). It seems to sum up why we gather on Christmas Eve: to sing praises to Jesus Christ, the Christ Child, the Light of the World. To praise him with happy voices! To glorify his name through all the worlds! 

Luke’s telling of the birth came during a time of great disruption. The Emperor Augustus ordered that everyone return to their hometown to be registered. It was a census. It resulted in a great migration. Joseph and Mary had to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem. That’s about 70 miles by foot or by donkey, at twenty miles per day, a rocky and dusty four-day journey, and she being great with child. Try to imagine if everyone in the U.S. had to return home, and you might get some idea what a disruption this really was. A tactic of control on behalf of the Empire. 

Bethlehem, literally means “House of Bread.” It was the breadbasket of Israel. And home to a shepherd boy become king, David. David of the House of Bread, a distant ancestor of Joseph of Nazareth. After four hard days of travel, there are no rooms available. Which was surely true in every town so the Empire knows who and where people are to be taxed to maintain the Roman Legions keeping the region under the thumb of the Emperor. The result is many homeless people. 

Mary gives birth to a baby boy. The child is wrapped in swaddling cloths and laid in a manger – a wood or stone feeding trough for animals. They find themselves with the animals as there is no room in the inn – which is a misleading translation of the Greek word, kataluma. This is no Motel Six. There’s no chocolate on the pillow. It’s a kataluma, possibly a caravansary - often a large two-story building surrounding a courtyard with a well. The upper story of the building has lodging for travelers, the lower story is where animals were kept. Or, it may be a private home, perhaps friends or relatives of Joseph, where again people lodged on the second floor where there may be one or two guest chambers, which alas are filled. Either way, Mary and Joseph end up with the animals and a manger for a bed. The wood of the manger is the hard wood of the Cross. Foreshadowing at its best! 

If it was indeed a caravansary, no doubt there would be eating and drinking going on up above them, so being with the animals may have been a plus – it was likely more quiet, away from whatever drinking, gambling, and the inevitable fighting among various competing caravans looking to cash-in on whatever they were bringing to market. And the animals might make it a bit warmer in the mid-winter, even if it was somewhat malodorous. 

It is interesting, though, isn’t it. There is the contrast between the opulence and unchecked greed of the Empire on one hand, and a rather humble birth place for a child born to be the Son of God, or God incarnate. He who would one day pronounce that he was to become bread, born in the House of Bread. He who would instruct his closest friends and followers that to eat the bread he blesses is to eat his flesh. This child who one day we come to consume in a Sacred Meal spends his first night, or nights, in a feeding trough. The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven. 

But talk about disruption! The public announcement of the birth of this child takes place outside of the House of Bread – in a field, where some shepherds tend to their flocks. Shepherds were near the very bottom of the social rankings. Often slaves, they were considered unreliable. They were prohibited from testifying in a court of law! Yet, God sends messengers, a great host of messengers, to make them the first people on Earth to know who this child is to become: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. Can we hear them, like Mary before them, shouting out, “How can this be? 

They race into town, find Mary and Joseph in the kataluma, and the baby lying in a manger. This unreliable group of shepherds then proceed to tell Mary and Joseph the news the angels had told them. Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth Good Will to those whom God favors – which seems not to be the Emperor, not to be the Empire, but people like these lowly shepherds. It’s all too much. And yet, it is everything. The child shines with the brightness of his everliving Father in heaven! 

Years ago, at a midnight mass in a little church in Nicaragua, some peasants in a Christian commune called Solentiname, led by a priest, Ernesto Cardinal, who invited them to comment on this story Luke tells us this evening about the birth of Christ. Rebeca said, “From the moment of his birth, God chose conditions like the poorest person’s, didn’t he? I don’t think God wants a great banquet or a lot of money or for business to make profits off the celebration of his birth.” Felix chimed in, “The Scriptures are perfectly clear. The fact is that Christ was born a poor little child, like the humblest person. The Scriptures keep telling us this, and I don’t understand why we don’t see it?” A young man there said, “With today’s Gospel, it seems to me that no poor person should feel looked down upon. Christ is with us poor people.” The birth of this child was destined to become a larger disruption than the Emperor’s census! 

Father Cardinal once said, “The peasants began to understand the core of the Gospel message: the announcement of the kingdom of God, that is, the establishment on this earth of a just society without exploiters or exploited..” Just as Israel under Augustus and Rome was not a just society. Nicaragua was under the fiefdom of the Somoza family, which the United States sustained in repressive power for over 50 years. The Somoza regime eventually sent the military to Solentiname to rape, pillage, and destroy the people, the commune, and use the church for military barracks to keep the Gospel from being spread. Thanks to an Empire bureaucrat named Herod, the same thing happens to Bethlehem, which forced Joseph to take Mary and Jesus to immigrate to safety in Egypt.

The child born that night in the kataluma is believed by many throughout the years to be a Light to the World, who shines light on unjust societies while giving birth to a new world of justice and peace for all people; a world that respects the dignity of every human being. And so, we light the final candle on the Advent Wreath, and sing one of the most ancient hymns of the church to praise his Light, to praise his name, and to remember the kind of world he wants us to hope and imagine is possible. It all begins in a lowly manger – a feeding trough, among animals on a cold winter’s night that was so deep. O come, let us adore him; O come, let us adore him; O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

 

Let it be with me according to your Word Advent 4C

 

Let it be with me according to your Word.

Advent. A time of waiting. A time to prepare. We have identified at least two prayers this Advent to give some sort of shape to our waiting and our preparations: Come, Lord Jesus. And then this from Maggie Ross: Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy. This Fourth Sunday in Advent suggests to us another prayer from that moment in time that makes Advent possible. This, of course, is the Annunciation-when the Angel Gabriel appears, or perhaps better, is suddenly perceived to be with a young woman named Mary. 

My new favorite portrait of this moment is a sixteenth century painting by Lorenzo Lotto that shows God in the clouds sending Gabriel into Mary’s kitchen, with a clearly alarmed cat dashing away from the angel, and Mary, with her back to Gabe, who is on one knee with a lily seeming to make a proposal, as Mary seems to appeal to the viewer, her hands palms-up facing us, perhaps inviting us into the experience of the very surprising holiness that has taken hold of the entire scene! So that the angel is not only proposing to Mary, but also to the viewer, you, me, all of us who dare to hope, pray, prepare, and wait for the arrival of Christ in our lives. [i] 

I suspect Lorenzo Lotto’s scene is closer to what it must have been like than the traditional placid, quiet, orderly depictions with which we are all too familiar. This is the moment. This is the starting point. For without Mary’s response, we would not be here at all. For indeed, she was asked, not commanded, to participate in the most extraordinary way to exceed all human expectations. After being invited to bear a child of God, God incarnate, she becomes, as our Orthodox siblings call her, the Theotokos, the Mother of God, and calmly replies, “Let it be with me according to your word.” [ii] 

Maggie Ross, reflecting on the Annunciation, writes that she suddenly realizes “…that the bread made God and the God made bread with which we live so intimately in the Eucharist was possible only because of her response, her acceptance; that the Sacrament is the earthly and tangible culmination of her saying, “yes.” Let be with me according to your Word. [iii] 

To sit with this story, we need not only let go of our own very real human expectations, but also to let go of any and all concepts we have of God and try to begin to understand God’s concept of us – who, and what, and how we are meant “to be.” We may recall that night when Nicodemus went to see Jesus in the dark of night, only to be told of his need to be “born again,” or “born from above.” Poor Nic cries out, as Mary does at first, “How shall this be?” Just as John the baptizer’s father Zechariah cries out, “How shall this be?” Just as Abraham’s and Sarah’s laughter when they learned that he, age one hundred, and she in her nineties, would have a son! 

“How shall this be?” it turns out, is a central dimension of faith and just what God’s concept of us is all about. As we read in Hebrews, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” [iv] It turns out it’s those things that are ‘unseen’ which are most central to faith. Surely, Mary never saw, let alone imagined, what she was being asked to do: to bear Christ to the world. Do we begin to understand that what God asks of Mary is what God asks of us all? That we are to bear Christ to the world in all we say and all we do. 

This leads Maggie Ross to conclude, “This is the answer to Nicodemus: that in order bear the Word of God, to enter the Kingdom, we must indeed be born from the Spirit, not for the second time in the womb of our natural mothers, but continuously in the love of the Mother of God that brought forth her Son, and at the same time, like her, to bear him as well. Mary, then, is my mother in this second birth, just as she is Nicodemus’s mother.” [v] Mary becomes the Mother of us all. 

Mary then rushes to see her cousin Elizabeth, who in her advanced age became the surprising and surprised mother of John the baptizer. Elizabeth understands. What ensues is one of the very first song texts of our tradition which we call the Magnificat, or Song of Mary. The Greek text is unclear as to whether Mary or Elizabeth made this pronouncement, but it is so vitally important to understanding who and what we are meant to be that we read it twice on this Fourth Sunday of Advent. It is so central to what it means to be a follower of Christ, that every household is expected to read it every evening as appointed in our Prayer Book for Evening Prayer. It is a revolutionary creed really. It speaks to turning the world right-side-up again: it speaks of scattering the proud, casting down the mighty, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry, and sending the rich away empty. All of which is wrapped in repeated mention of God’s everlasting mercy! As Jesus asserts in the Beatitudes, “Blessed are the merciful!” 

One wag once suggested that the Beatitudes are attitudes of being, what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ: merciful, peacemakers, righteous, pure in heart, the salt of the earth, the light of the world. [vi] Long ago I heard a French hymn by the poet, Didier Rimaud. It’s called Les Arbres dans la Mer – Trees in the Sea. It is based on Jesus teaching his followers how with just a tiny bit of faith as small as a mustard seed, one can plant trees in the sea, help the blind to see, the lame to walk, and set prisoners set free. The English text of the poem goes something like this:

            1

Look! The Virgin has a child,

A man is born of God,

Heaven is among us,

the people are no longer alone!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see trees in the sea

Beggars who are kings

The powerful overthrown,

Wealth is shared!

2

Look! Water turns into wine,

Wine becomes blood,

Loaves multiply,

People are no longer hungry!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see trees in the sea

Deserts full of flowers

Harvests in winter

Granaries are overflowing!

3

Look! the lame can walk

the blind see the light of day

the deaf are delivered

the people are no longer in pain!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see the trees in the sea

Executioners without work

Rusty handcuffs

Prisons are useless!

4

Look! The cross is empty and bare,

Your graves are pierced,

and the man stands

the people are no longer afraid!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see the trees in the sea

Guns buried

Armies discarded

Mountains dancing!

 

I believe this is the vision Mary and Elizabeth mean to share with us every day. This is what it means to take that first step into God’s kingdom. I believe were we to read the Magnificat, the Song of Mary, at least once a day, this vision can become not just a part of us, a part of our Community of Love, but a reality for all the world. For this we wait. For this we prepare. This is Advent. 

It all begins when we join with Mary and say, “Let it be with me according to your Word.”

Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.

Come, Lord Jesus, come… 

---

[i] https://www.etsy.com/listing/976761420/annunciation-angel-young-mary-god?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_ps-d-art_and_collectibles&utm_custom1=_k_CjwKCAiAgoq7BhBxEiwAVcW0LNLhcv56CLFHGbzacxyIuAyH1hRDAcEU-xdSXnR1I2Zwkd4zCoqzyBoCW8AQAvD_BwE_k_&utm_content=go_21506855477_167985809239_716809480969_pla-314954651933_c__976761420_5328323151&utm_custom2=21506855477&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiAgoq7BhBxEiwAVcW0LNLhcv56CLFHGbzacxyIuAyH1hRDAcEU-xdSXnR1I2Zwkd4zCoqzyBoCW8AQAvD_BwE

[ii] Luke 1:38b

[iii] Ross, Maggie, The Fire of Your Life (Paulist Press, New York:1983) p.19.

[iv] Hebrews 11:1

[v] Ibid, Ross p.20

[vi] Matthew 5:1-16

The Wrath to Come Advent 3C

The Wrath to Come

“You brood of vipers!” John cries out. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come!” [i] This, no doubt, strikes us a fine “how do you do?” to a crowd that has gathered from all of Jerusalem and all of Judea to participate in John’s ritual bathing in the River Jordan. The man in the wilderness crying! 

It should be noted that the word “wilderness” connotes more than a place beyond a civilized city like Jerusalem – the place believed to be where Abraham was all set to plunge a knife into his only son Isaac; the of the Temple, with its holy of holies, the resting place for the Ark of the Covenant with the tablets of the Ten Commandments; the very place where it was believed God’s, YHWH’s finger, touches the Earth to hold it steady, safe and reliable. Wilderness also describes the broken, fractured, and dangerous state of the world, civilized or not. Even before the Roman occupation, the regions of Israel known as Galilee and Judea were beset with a religious elite placing financial demands on the people; rapacious land owners, the oiko-despots, who bought up all the farms of families so far in debt that they were reduced to tenant farmers, or worse, slaves, producing crops for the profit of others; no possibility of ever retiring their debt. With Rome came more tax collectors, who often were Israelites conscripted to collect the taxes, but were only paid by what they themselves could get away with tacking on to the tax, which were more like tolls on the roads to take goods to market. They were seen as collaborators with the Empire’s greed. And, of course, the military, loyal only to Caesar and no other, who also supplemented their meager pay by demanding protection money, food and clothing from the already burdened am haretz, the people of the land. 

To this picture of Judea in the time of John and Jesus one must remember that at the time Luke assembled this account of the Gospel and the Book of Acts, Jerusalem had suffered a terrible holocaust. The Temple and the city lay in ruins, while nearly one million Israelites had been killed, with as many as 500 being crucified daily by the Roman Legions. First Century Israel was indeed a wilderness, broken and unsafe under the Roman Empire’s rule of brutality. 

Enter John, son of Zechariah, one of the Temple priests. John is portrayed as one of a long-line of God’s prophets. He issues a call to repent – to turn society’s lives around back to the Way of the Lord as articulated in Torah: a way of life rooted in Love of the God of the Covenant, and love, compassion and care for one’s neighbor. All neighbors, including strangers from other lands looking to Israel as a place to escape famines and brutalities in neighboring regions. 

Perhaps the single most important take-away in this story of John preparing the way for the arrival of Jesus is the sheer number of people who come down to the river. And the incredible cross section of society represented. All of Jerusalem, which then as it is today, perhaps the single most cosmopolitan city on Earth. People from all the world, east, west, north and south travelled trade routes that ran through the region, and many stayed to witness the miracle that was God’s people descended from Abraham and Sarah. And as Luke portrays it, there were also tax collectors, who might be Jews or Gentiles, and Roman soldiers, all of whom were Gentiles. 

The crowd represents the peculiar character of God’s people called Israel: when things were bad, when life had returned to wilderness status, when the world was truly broken and in need of repair, they did not point fingers at one another, and did not blame others for the broken state of affairs. Instead, the people of God take responsibility for their failure to live lives that reflect the love of God and love of neighbor. It must be our own fault that things are this bad, they would say. We need to repent. We need to turn back to the Way of our God. And so they join in John’s ritual bathing. 

So, they turn to John, who greets them roughly, and warns that there will be a reckoning in the Day of God’s Wrath. The axe is set at the root of the tree, says John. Trees that do not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown in the fire. The people beg John to tell them what they need to do in the meantime. 

To the general crowd it begins with baby steps: share food and clothing with all those who are without resources – those who hunger and thirst, and who cannot afford a winter coat. The tax collectors ask what they need to do, and the task is simple: do not jack on surcharges above the tax itself for yourself; just collect the tax. And the Gentile soldiers ask, what can we do: do not extort money from our citizens; don’t make false accusations; be happy with your pay. 

That is, the coming presence of the Lord that John announces calls for “changes in the nature of human life, so that justice, compassion, and honesty take the place of their opposites.” [ii] This is what repentance is to look like: justice, compassion and honesty with one another. The people are astonished, and begin to wonder if John is “the One who is to come.” To which he says emphatically, “No! I am not worthy to tie or untie his shoes. But be ready! For he will baptize you with water and fire! His winnowing fork will be in his hand, sifting to gather the wheat into his barns, but the chaff he will burn with “unquenchable fire!” If that does not motivate them to repent and become more loving toward one another, thinks John, nothing can. 

Sidenote: Poor John. He has a skewed vision of what the time of Jesus will look like. The wrath of God embodied in Jesus will look more like a good shepherd who has compassion on his flock. He feeds people. He heals people. He welcomes people. He serves people, not asking them to serve him. There’s no winnowing fork in his hand. It’s up to us to choose to be gathered into his Body, or to opt out and become chaff of our own choices – choosing not to seek justice for others, not to be compassionate toward others, not to be honest with others. It’s up to us. Jesus calls us. We are to respond. 

Years ago, Maggie Ross, an Anglican Solitary, or anchorite, wrote a book, The Fire of Your Life.While reflecting on loneliness as portrayed in George Balanchine’s ballet, Prodigal Son, a story that only appears in Luke’s Gospel. The Prodigal Son descends into utter despair, loneliness, and a grief that brings him to a moment of repentance – a turning back toward home and his father. His father, who welcomes him home with open arms. 

Ross concludes, “The wrath of God is his relentless compassion, pursuing us even when we are at our worst.” To which she adds a prayer, “Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.”  [iii] This is the very essence of Advent – do we choose to turn, to repentance, to return to a life of justice, compassion, and honesty which is the very heart of God’s relentless pursuit to bring us home, our true home wrapped in the arms of his never-ending love and mercy. Will we choose to become those people who live lives of tikkun olam, those who repair the world? If we so choose, the Wrath to Come will be a day to rejoice and give thanks! 

Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.

---

[i]  Luke 3:7-18

[ii] Brueggemann, Gaventa, et.al., Texts for Preaching Year C (Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville: 1994) p.20

[iii] Ross, Maggie (Paulist Press, New York: 1983) p.137.