Sunday, December 26, 2004
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Archbishop of Canterbury's Christmas Sermon
It ought to shock us to be told year after year that the universe lives by the kind of love that we see in the helpless child and in the dying man on the cross. We have been shown the engine room of the universe; and it ought to worry us - us, who are so obsessed about being safe and being successful, who worry endlessly about being in control, who cannot believe that power could show itself in any other way than the ways we are used to. But this festival tells us exactly what Good Friday and Easter tell us: that God fulfils what he wants to do by emptying himself of his own life, giving away all that he is in love. The gospel reading sets this out in terms that cannot be argued with or surpassed. God is always, from all eternity, pouring out his very being in the person of the Word, the everlasting Son; and the Word, who has received everything from the gift of the Father, and who makes the world alive by giving reality to all creation, makes a gift of himself by becoming human and suffering humiliation and death for our sake. 'From his fullness we have all received'; Jesus, the word made human flesh and blood, has given us the freedom, the authority, to become God's children by our trust in him, and so to have a fuller and fuller share in God's own joy.
Read the rest here.
Read the rest here.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Christmas Day Children's Message
It was still dark out when David woke up. Being Christmas morning he couldn’t wait to rip open his stocking to find what Santa left him. But the rule was, no opening presents, no looking inside the stocking, no peering under the tree until after church.
But David wasn’t tired. He lay in bed staring at the street light just outside of his window, wishing the numbers on his clock radio would tick by faster so he could see what he was getting for Christmas.
David couldn’t wait anymore. He slipped off his covers, put his feet down on the cold floor and crept out of his bedroom, tiptoeing over his dog Daisy so not to wake her, and slinked down the stairs stopping at each creek in the floor.
It was so dark David couldn’t see, so he walked with his hands stretched in front of face so he wouldn’t bump into anything. David found the reading lamp that was on the coffee table and turned it on. He lightly removed the stocking from the fireplace and saw that there was a note resting on top that read: “It’s too early, David. Go back to bed. Love, Mom and Dad.”
David decided that there were probably more traps hidden inside the stocking, so he figured that it was best that he obey the note. As David turned the light off his foot bumped the coffee table just hard enough to knock over the Homer Simpson Santa doll parked on top. The Homer doll began to sing [press button] which woke up Daisy who began to bark, who woke up mom and dad and David’s little sister Marsha.
All at once, lights were on all over the house and David’s mom and dad were standing in front of him. Marsha was wiping her eyes as she made her way down the stairs. Daisy sniffed the Homer’s Santa suit.
David was caught.
“We knew you couldn’t wait until after church,” dad said not knowing to laugh or yell. “But now that we’re all up I’ll start cooking breakfast.”
“But I’m tired and want to God back to bed,” David protested.
“But not tired enough to look in your stocking before it’s time,” David’s dad pointed out. “But why is it that I have to nag you to get out of bed for church each Sunday, but you’ll get up early when presents are involved?”
“Does he really want me to answer that?” David asked himself. It sounded like one of those questions that parents ask just to make you feel guilty. David remained silent. And a little annoyed.
Finally, church was over. David was the first one out of church and he waited what seemed like forever for his mom, dad, and little sister to come out.
“David, we’re just going to make a quick stop on the way home today.” Dad said getting in to the car.
“Where?” David asked.
“You’ll see,” replied his dad.
Their car pulled up at the Eldercare home. “What are we doing here” David asked.
When they arrived inside other people from church were waiting. Together there must have been 15 church folks. The group made their way to the cafeteria and began to sing.
A crowd of wheelchairs and walkers encircled around the group. At the front of the line was Mrs. Grey. She taught David’s dad Sunday school when he was David’s age. Mrs. Grey grabbed David’s hand and held it tightly with both of hers. When David looked down Mrs. Grey’s face beaming with delight. “Thank you for coming! Merry Christmas!” she kept saying over and over again.
That night, as they were getting ready to say their prayers, David said to his dad. “Boy, Mrs. Grey sure was glad we came today. She couldn’t stop smiling all the time we were singing.”
“She doesn’t have any more family left,” dad replied. “So our church is her family.”
David sat for a moment remembering the songs they sang for Mrs. Grey and all the others who didn’t have a family, thinking how the angels brought the good news in song as well. He thought that he could be in worse company.
Then they said a prayer like this as we do now: Dear God. Thank you for giving us Jesus, and thank you for opportunities to share his message of love. Amen.
But David wasn’t tired. He lay in bed staring at the street light just outside of his window, wishing the numbers on his clock radio would tick by faster so he could see what he was getting for Christmas.
David couldn’t wait anymore. He slipped off his covers, put his feet down on the cold floor and crept out of his bedroom, tiptoeing over his dog Daisy so not to wake her, and slinked down the stairs stopping at each creek in the floor.
It was so dark David couldn’t see, so he walked with his hands stretched in front of face so he wouldn’t bump into anything. David found the reading lamp that was on the coffee table and turned it on. He lightly removed the stocking from the fireplace and saw that there was a note resting on top that read: “It’s too early, David. Go back to bed. Love, Mom and Dad.”
David decided that there were probably more traps hidden inside the stocking, so he figured that it was best that he obey the note. As David turned the light off his foot bumped the coffee table just hard enough to knock over the Homer Simpson Santa doll parked on top. The Homer doll began to sing [press button] which woke up Daisy who began to bark, who woke up mom and dad and David’s little sister Marsha.
All at once, lights were on all over the house and David’s mom and dad were standing in front of him. Marsha was wiping her eyes as she made her way down the stairs. Daisy sniffed the Homer’s Santa suit.
David was caught.
“We knew you couldn’t wait until after church,” dad said not knowing to laugh or yell. “But now that we’re all up I’ll start cooking breakfast.”
“But I’m tired and want to God back to bed,” David protested.
“But not tired enough to look in your stocking before it’s time,” David’s dad pointed out. “But why is it that I have to nag you to get out of bed for church each Sunday, but you’ll get up early when presents are involved?”
“Does he really want me to answer that?” David asked himself. It sounded like one of those questions that parents ask just to make you feel guilty. David remained silent. And a little annoyed.
Finally, church was over. David was the first one out of church and he waited what seemed like forever for his mom, dad, and little sister to come out.
“David, we’re just going to make a quick stop on the way home today.” Dad said getting in to the car.
“Where?” David asked.
“You’ll see,” replied his dad.
Their car pulled up at the Eldercare home. “What are we doing here” David asked.
When they arrived inside other people from church were waiting. Together there must have been 15 church folks. The group made their way to the cafeteria and began to sing.
A crowd of wheelchairs and walkers encircled around the group. At the front of the line was Mrs. Grey. She taught David’s dad Sunday school when he was David’s age. Mrs. Grey grabbed David’s hand and held it tightly with both of hers. When David looked down Mrs. Grey’s face beaming with delight. “Thank you for coming! Merry Christmas!” she kept saying over and over again.
That night, as they were getting ready to say their prayers, David said to his dad. “Boy, Mrs. Grey sure was glad we came today. She couldn’t stop smiling all the time we were singing.”
“She doesn’t have any more family left,” dad replied. “So our church is her family.”
David sat for a moment remembering the songs they sang for Mrs. Grey and all the others who didn’t have a family, thinking how the angels brought the good news in song as well. He thought that he could be in worse company.
Then they said a prayer like this as we do now: Dear God. Thank you for giving us Jesus, and thank you for opportunities to share his message of love. Amen.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Christmas Eve Children's Message
Monica loved Christmas decorations. The rule was that she couldn’t open the Christmas box until December 15th. Early that morning she sneaked into the back of the garage, pulled out the Christmas box and opened it like a precious and rare gift. She inhaled deeply. The small plastic Christmas trees gave off a unique fragrance which she smelled only at Christmas.
Monica’s mom grunted exaggeratedly as she lugged out the ladder to hang the lights. They got busy all morning, stringing lights, hanging sparking tinsel on the garland that surrounded their front window, and lining up the electric candles that welcomed people along their front walk way.
Finally, Monica and her mom stood out in front of their house admiring their creation.
“It looks wonderful,” Mom said.
“Just like it did last year,” Monica replied.
“We’re not done just yet,” Said Monica’s mom as Monica started toward the door, “We still have one more decoration to put up.”
Monica’s mom opened the trunk of the car and dragged out a large rectangle shaped box. Monica’s eyes bugged out as she ripped open the top and saw a manger scene, wrapped in plastic covering, ready to be fixed under the tinsel clothed garland that sparkled against the lights.
Together they unwrapped the wooden figures: Mary, Joseph, the Angel, and the manger where Monica was about to put the baby Jesus inside
“Not just yet,” Mom said. “The baby Jesus doesn’t come until Christmas.”
The 25th came before Monica knew it. It was colder and darker then she expected that night as she kneeled in the grass, admiring the manger scene on their front lawn. Mary and Joseph were there. A couple of sheep appeared to be waiting in eager anticipation.
“Time to go to church,” her mom shouted from the door. And together they climbed into the car and headed for church. As they drove down the street, Monica could see the lights dance off the tinsel that encircled the manger. To Monica, it looked like a halo.
When they arrived home, Monica was filled with Christmas Carols. And when they pulled up in the driveway Monica didn’t wait until the engine was shut off before she jumped out and ran across the lawn to the manger scene. She fumbled in her coat pocket for a second or two then pulled out the figure of the baby Jesus. She placed him in the manger and smiled. But after a minute her smile disappeared. She stared deeply at the baby.
“You know what really I want for Christmas this year, mom?” asked Monica.
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“I want dad to be here. And that we’d all be together again.”
“Me too, sweetie.” Mom said wiping an unexpected tear from her eye and putting her arm around Monica’s shoulder.
“But wherever he is, I hope he’s having a merry Christmas,” said Monica.
They huddled together in the frozen December grass; held each other gently, quietly remembering the promise of Monica’s favorite hymn: sleep in heavenly peace.
Then together they said a prayer as we do now:
Dear God, we thank you for giving us Jesus, and we pray for a day when he will bring all people together. Amen.
Monica’s mom grunted exaggeratedly as she lugged out the ladder to hang the lights. They got busy all morning, stringing lights, hanging sparking tinsel on the garland that surrounded their front window, and lining up the electric candles that welcomed people along their front walk way.
Finally, Monica and her mom stood out in front of their house admiring their creation.
“It looks wonderful,” Mom said.
“Just like it did last year,” Monica replied.
“We’re not done just yet,” Said Monica’s mom as Monica started toward the door, “We still have one more decoration to put up.”
Monica’s mom opened the trunk of the car and dragged out a large rectangle shaped box. Monica’s eyes bugged out as she ripped open the top and saw a manger scene, wrapped in plastic covering, ready to be fixed under the tinsel clothed garland that sparkled against the lights.
Together they unwrapped the wooden figures: Mary, Joseph, the Angel, and the manger where Monica was about to put the baby Jesus inside
“Not just yet,” Mom said. “The baby Jesus doesn’t come until Christmas.”
The 25th came before Monica knew it. It was colder and darker then she expected that night as she kneeled in the grass, admiring the manger scene on their front lawn. Mary and Joseph were there. A couple of sheep appeared to be waiting in eager anticipation.
“Time to go to church,” her mom shouted from the door. And together they climbed into the car and headed for church. As they drove down the street, Monica could see the lights dance off the tinsel that encircled the manger. To Monica, it looked like a halo.
When they arrived home, Monica was filled with Christmas Carols. And when they pulled up in the driveway Monica didn’t wait until the engine was shut off before she jumped out and ran across the lawn to the manger scene. She fumbled in her coat pocket for a second or two then pulled out the figure of the baby Jesus. She placed him in the manger and smiled. But after a minute her smile disappeared. She stared deeply at the baby.
“You know what really I want for Christmas this year, mom?” asked Monica.
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“I want dad to be here. And that we’d all be together again.”
“Me too, sweetie.” Mom said wiping an unexpected tear from her eye and putting her arm around Monica’s shoulder.
“But wherever he is, I hope he’s having a merry Christmas,” said Monica.
They huddled together in the frozen December grass; held each other gently, quietly remembering the promise of Monica’s favorite hymn: sleep in heavenly peace.
Then together they said a prayer as we do now:
Dear God, we thank you for giving us Jesus, and we pray for a day when he will bring all people together. Amen.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Advent and Christmas Greetings from Bishop Steve
Dear Partners in Ministry,
We are faced with the reality of a world in chaos. The war on terror dominates news and political agendas. Missile defense shields against "rogue" states and terrorist groups are being designed in both North America and Russia. The Middle East is in a high state of anxiety with the death of Yasser Arafat. The situations in Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan and other places continue to remind us how fragile the relationships between human beings can be, and how capable people are of inflicting harm on other people. Global warming looms in the background as a force the likes of which we have never had to deal, and whose consequences are as yet unknown. All of this creates a dynamic of fear which affects the whole planet.
Advent and Christmas remind us of another reality in which we live. God, the creator of all, chose to come to this tiny speck of dust in the vastness of creation to become one with the human beings God created. This coming was not in power or pomp or threat. It was in the form of a vulnerable baby, born in a stable to parents displaced by an unfeeling government in the backwater town of Bethlehem. Jesus grew up and confronted all the powers of destruction in our world, took into himself all the hate human beings could generate, and put them to death with him on the cross. This Jesus lives now among us in the people he claims for his own in baptism. This community, gathered in Christ, nourished by his own body and blood, is sent out into the midst of this world of chaos, pain, and fear, with a new word - Love. This love overcomes all fear and knits together a broken people with a mandate to heal the world. So with the angels and shepherds outside of Bethlehem, we prepare once again to sing God's song that will not fade, "Glory to God in the highest, and peace to God's people on earth." Christ is born! Alleluia!
+Stephen P. Kristenson, Bishop
Synod of Alberta and the Territories
We are faced with the reality of a world in chaos. The war on terror dominates news and political agendas. Missile defense shields against "rogue" states and terrorist groups are being designed in both North America and Russia. The Middle East is in a high state of anxiety with the death of Yasser Arafat. The situations in Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan and other places continue to remind us how fragile the relationships between human beings can be, and how capable people are of inflicting harm on other people. Global warming looms in the background as a force the likes of which we have never had to deal, and whose consequences are as yet unknown. All of this creates a dynamic of fear which affects the whole planet.
Advent and Christmas remind us of another reality in which we live. God, the creator of all, chose to come to this tiny speck of dust in the vastness of creation to become one with the human beings God created. This coming was not in power or pomp or threat. It was in the form of a vulnerable baby, born in a stable to parents displaced by an unfeeling government in the backwater town of Bethlehem. Jesus grew up and confronted all the powers of destruction in our world, took into himself all the hate human beings could generate, and put them to death with him on the cross. This Jesus lives now among us in the people he claims for his own in baptism. This community, gathered in Christ, nourished by his own body and blood, is sent out into the midst of this world of chaos, pain, and fear, with a new word - Love. This love overcomes all fear and knits together a broken people with a mandate to heal the world. So with the angels and shepherds outside of Bethlehem, we prepare once again to sing God's song that will not fade, "Glory to God in the highest, and peace to God's people on earth." Christ is born! Alleluia!
+Stephen P. Kristenson, Bishop
Synod of Alberta and the Territories
The Emergent matrix: a new kind of church?
Scott Bader-Saye has expressed my feelings toward the so-called "Emerging Church" better than I ever could, in an article in the Christian Century.
An Emergent definition of relevance, modulated by resistance, might run something like this: relevance means listening before speaking; relevance means interpreting the culture to itself by noting the ways in which certain cultural productions gesture toward a transcendent grace and beauty; relevance means being ready to give an account for the hope that we have and being in places where someone might actually ask; relevance means believing that we might learn something from those who are most unlike us; relevance means not so much translating the church’s language to the culture as translating the culture’s language back to the church; relevance means making theological sense of the depth that people discover in the oddest places of ordinary living and then using that experience to draw them to the source of that depth (Augustine seems to imply such a move in his reflections on beauty and transience in his Confessions). Relevance might simply mean wanting to understand why so many young people have said that attending U2’s Elevation Tour and hearing Bono close the show with choruses of “Hallelujah” was like being in worship (but a whole lot better).
This kind of relevance will also include the recognition that the church becomes relevant precisely by offering something that the culture does not. In a loud and frenzied world, that may mean creating a space where people can bask in silence and rest in liturgical rhythms. In a world of superficial entertainment, it may mean throwing parties that nurture deep and authentic community. In these ways relevance and resistance begin to look more like dance partners and less like competing suitors for the church’s soul.
Perhaps “relevant-resistant” is another way of naming the “incarnational” church. To incarnate the reign of God means to take on local flesh, to speak the vernacular, to dive deep into the cultural particularities of a time and place. But as Jesus shows, to embody God’s word in a time and place is both to participate in the world of the fallen and to offer an alternative to that world. The emerging church, to be anything other than a hip blip on the radar of American religion, will need to live the tension of “relevant-resistant” no less than it lives the tension of “ancient-future.”
Read the whole thing here.
The emerging church movement has some real creativity and passion. But I wonder how different it is in strategy/ideology than the MegaChurch models of the 70's and 80's. Both the mega and emerging confess to be speaking the language of the culture rather than the church. Fair enough. But as the author above points out, at what point do we cease to be an alternative way of being in the world because we've cozied up to comfortably to the prevailing culture? What gospel can we then proclaim?
An Emergent definition of relevance, modulated by resistance, might run something like this: relevance means listening before speaking; relevance means interpreting the culture to itself by noting the ways in which certain cultural productions gesture toward a transcendent grace and beauty; relevance means being ready to give an account for the hope that we have and being in places where someone might actually ask; relevance means believing that we might learn something from those who are most unlike us; relevance means not so much translating the church’s language to the culture as translating the culture’s language back to the church; relevance means making theological sense of the depth that people discover in the oddest places of ordinary living and then using that experience to draw them to the source of that depth (Augustine seems to imply such a move in his reflections on beauty and transience in his Confessions). Relevance might simply mean wanting to understand why so many young people have said that attending U2’s Elevation Tour and hearing Bono close the show with choruses of “Hallelujah” was like being in worship (but a whole lot better).
This kind of relevance will also include the recognition that the church becomes relevant precisely by offering something that the culture does not. In a loud and frenzied world, that may mean creating a space where people can bask in silence and rest in liturgical rhythms. In a world of superficial entertainment, it may mean throwing parties that nurture deep and authentic community. In these ways relevance and resistance begin to look more like dance partners and less like competing suitors for the church’s soul.
Perhaps “relevant-resistant” is another way of naming the “incarnational” church. To incarnate the reign of God means to take on local flesh, to speak the vernacular, to dive deep into the cultural particularities of a time and place. But as Jesus shows, to embody God’s word in a time and place is both to participate in the world of the fallen and to offer an alternative to that world. The emerging church, to be anything other than a hip blip on the radar of American religion, will need to live the tension of “relevant-resistant” no less than it lives the tension of “ancient-future.”
Read the whole thing here.
The emerging church movement has some real creativity and passion. But I wonder how different it is in strategy/ideology than the MegaChurch models of the 70's and 80's. Both the mega and emerging confess to be speaking the language of the culture rather than the church. Fair enough. But as the author above points out, at what point do we cease to be an alternative way of being in the world because we've cozied up to comfortably to the prevailing culture? What gospel can we then proclaim?
O Radiant Dawn
O Oriens,
splendor lucis aeternae,
et sol justitiae:
veni, et illumina
sedentes in tenebris,
et umbra mortis.
O Radiant Dawn,
splendor of eternal light,
and sun of justice,
come, and shine on those ,
seated in darkness,
and in the shadow of death.
Amen
splendor lucis aeternae,
et sol justitiae:
veni, et illumina
sedentes in tenebris,
et umbra mortis.
O Radiant Dawn,
splendor of eternal light,
and sun of justice,
come, and shine on those ,
seated in darkness,
and in the shadow of death.
Amen
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Christmas Eve Sermon
With many thanks to Pastor Edward F. Markquart of Grace Lutheran Church, Seattle.
Text: Luke 2:1-20
Tonight, as we assemble on Christmas Eve, people are being drawn to houses of worship throughout the whole world. Softly and gently, they come. It is as if the sanctuaries are like gigantic magnets, stretching their magnetic powers into all the world. People from all corners are being drawn to churches tonight. Silhouettes steal across the streets of Khartoum. Shadows toddle by streetlights in Hong Kong. Believers kneel in the tents and bunkers of Baghdad. In Norway and Nigeria, in Bolivia and Bangladesh, people are gathering.
And we too are drawn to the splendor of this story. We too have come to the sanctuary as millions of others are coming this night. We too come to see the candles gently push away the darkness. We too come to listen to the calm and hushed silence. We come to bathe ourselves in the familiar. Familiar songs. Familiar carols. Familiar stories. We too have joined that magnetic processional of Christians everywhere this Christmas night.
But, why have you come tonight? What drew you here?
Maybe you’ve come because it is a dark world in your life; you feel the darkness around you and within you and can’t escape it on your own. Perhaps you feel that you are really drawn to the darkness rather than the light, and you need to hear God’s promises all over again.
Maybe this past year you have felt the prolonged darkness of death, the loss of a parent, child, spouse, dearest friend. Against that deep shadow, you hope to catch a glimmer of God’s holy light.
Maybe you have come being dragged by the ear, because grandma really wants the whole family together. But really, you’d rather be home, watching TV or playing video games, sipping eggnog, warming your feet by the fire. But for the sake of family unity, you come. You’ve lost whatever faith that you might have had once. Part of you wishes God could be alive to you once again, part of you feels this whole God thing is lost on you.
Some of you have come because you are afraid. Deep down inside, you are afraid that you are going to die this year. You sense it, you know it. You have talked quietly with your doctor. This may be your last Christmas with your loved ones, and you want to make this Christmas special without drawing too much attention to yourself. You come because to go from this life to eternity, you can’t make happen yourself. You need a saviour to save you from death by sharing promises of resurrection, promises that begin with the baby in the manger. There is no need to be afraid, “for to you is born this night a saviour.”
Why are you drawn here this evening? Perhaps you have had a rotten time in your marriage this past year. It has been awful at your house and you are here because you want a new beginning. You want to have God help you with the new beginning of love; and if God is the source of all love and source of all newness, you want to have God help you to begin to love again. You want to turn over a new leaf with your partner, God has to be a crucial part of it, and so you are here.
I’ve asked myself why I’m here. Beyond the obvious you’d fire me if I didn’t show up, I’d say part of it is I love the message of Christmas. I want to hear the Bible passages from the book of Isaiah, the vision of turning swords into plowshares, tanks into trowels, bombs into blessings. I come tonight because I want to be a person of peace, to solve problems with love and healing and justice rather than war and conflict. The Christmas Eve service reminds me of my hunger for peace.
And I’m here tonight because I love Christmas music. I was once a musician so it is through music that God’s touches me most deeply. I come for my soul and spirit to be renewed and it is often through music that my heart is gently moved.
But, if I am honest, I also need Christmas Eve because I am afraid. Part of me is afraid that the message of Christmas and the message of Easter and the message of Pentecost and all the other Sundays is a lie, and that I am part of a big lie and maybe so are you. Maybe we are people fooling ourselves with human-made traditions. I am afraid that there is nothing beyond the grave but death. So I come to Christmas Eve for the same reason I come each Sunday. I come because here in worship my heart is opened to the promise that God IS Immanuel, God with us. And in God’s great mystery, I can believe.
For me, for you, for why ever we’ve come here tonight, God’s message is the same, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 1to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Amen.
Text: Luke 2:1-20
Tonight, as we assemble on Christmas Eve, people are being drawn to houses of worship throughout the whole world. Softly and gently, they come. It is as if the sanctuaries are like gigantic magnets, stretching their magnetic powers into all the world. People from all corners are being drawn to churches tonight. Silhouettes steal across the streets of Khartoum. Shadows toddle by streetlights in Hong Kong. Believers kneel in the tents and bunkers of Baghdad. In Norway and Nigeria, in Bolivia and Bangladesh, people are gathering.
And we too are drawn to the splendor of this story. We too have come to the sanctuary as millions of others are coming this night. We too come to see the candles gently push away the darkness. We too come to listen to the calm and hushed silence. We come to bathe ourselves in the familiar. Familiar songs. Familiar carols. Familiar stories. We too have joined that magnetic processional of Christians everywhere this Christmas night.
But, why have you come tonight? What drew you here?
Maybe you’ve come because it is a dark world in your life; you feel the darkness around you and within you and can’t escape it on your own. Perhaps you feel that you are really drawn to the darkness rather than the light, and you need to hear God’s promises all over again.
Maybe this past year you have felt the prolonged darkness of death, the loss of a parent, child, spouse, dearest friend. Against that deep shadow, you hope to catch a glimmer of God’s holy light.
Maybe you have come being dragged by the ear, because grandma really wants the whole family together. But really, you’d rather be home, watching TV or playing video games, sipping eggnog, warming your feet by the fire. But for the sake of family unity, you come. You’ve lost whatever faith that you might have had once. Part of you wishes God could be alive to you once again, part of you feels this whole God thing is lost on you.
Some of you have come because you are afraid. Deep down inside, you are afraid that you are going to die this year. You sense it, you know it. You have talked quietly with your doctor. This may be your last Christmas with your loved ones, and you want to make this Christmas special without drawing too much attention to yourself. You come because to go from this life to eternity, you can’t make happen yourself. You need a saviour to save you from death by sharing promises of resurrection, promises that begin with the baby in the manger. There is no need to be afraid, “for to you is born this night a saviour.”
Why are you drawn here this evening? Perhaps you have had a rotten time in your marriage this past year. It has been awful at your house and you are here because you want a new beginning. You want to have God help you with the new beginning of love; and if God is the source of all love and source of all newness, you want to have God help you to begin to love again. You want to turn over a new leaf with your partner, God has to be a crucial part of it, and so you are here.
I’ve asked myself why I’m here. Beyond the obvious you’d fire me if I didn’t show up, I’d say part of it is I love the message of Christmas. I want to hear the Bible passages from the book of Isaiah, the vision of turning swords into plowshares, tanks into trowels, bombs into blessings. I come tonight because I want to be a person of peace, to solve problems with love and healing and justice rather than war and conflict. The Christmas Eve service reminds me of my hunger for peace.
And I’m here tonight because I love Christmas music. I was once a musician so it is through music that God’s touches me most deeply. I come for my soul and spirit to be renewed and it is often through music that my heart is gently moved.
But, if I am honest, I also need Christmas Eve because I am afraid. Part of me is afraid that the message of Christmas and the message of Easter and the message of Pentecost and all the other Sundays is a lie, and that I am part of a big lie and maybe so are you. Maybe we are people fooling ourselves with human-made traditions. I am afraid that there is nothing beyond the grave but death. So I come to Christmas Eve for the same reason I come each Sunday. I come because here in worship my heart is opened to the promise that God IS Immanuel, God with us. And in God’s great mystery, I can believe.
For me, for you, for why ever we’ve come here tonight, God’s message is the same, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 1to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Amen.
Rescuing C 'n E Christians
It has become a minor sport for clergy and some church folks, to whine about “C ‘n E” Christians ("Christmas and Easter", for you uninitiated). I remember a few years ago the pastor at my home church, on Christmas Eve preached to folks who only show up on large festival holidays. He didn't offer a gospel message, but snapped “Where are you the other Sundays of the year!?” with venom dripping from his lips.
Awkward silence. It was a small miracle that no one got up and left.
I guess some folks assume that people come to church on Christmas out of nostalgia, or because they’ve been dragged by the ear by their grandma who wants the whole family together, or because they want a little religion to spice up their holiday celebrations.
And all this may be true. But I wonder if it is an oversimplification born out of pastoral frustration than out of a true concern for the integrity of the gospel. I wonder if many of the people who come to our churches on Christmas Eve come with a genuine hunger for God. Some say they’d rather be home, watching TV or playing video games, sipping eggnog, warming their feet by the fire because they’ve lost whatever faith that they might have had once. Many wish God could be alive to them once again. And, in the back of their minds, they’re hoping to be confounded with the undying message of the Invisible God who was born among us as a child.
This is my assumption as I prepare for Christmas worship. That people are coming seeking the child in the manger, anxiously waiting to hear the promises of heralded by the angels: , “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”
Awkward silence. It was a small miracle that no one got up and left.
I guess some folks assume that people come to church on Christmas out of nostalgia, or because they’ve been dragged by the ear by their grandma who wants the whole family together, or because they want a little religion to spice up their holiday celebrations.
And all this may be true. But I wonder if it is an oversimplification born out of pastoral frustration than out of a true concern for the integrity of the gospel. I wonder if many of the people who come to our churches on Christmas Eve come with a genuine hunger for God. Some say they’d rather be home, watching TV or playing video games, sipping eggnog, warming their feet by the fire because they’ve lost whatever faith that they might have had once. Many wish God could be alive to them once again. And, in the back of their minds, they’re hoping to be confounded with the undying message of the Invisible God who was born among us as a child.
This is my assumption as I prepare for Christmas worship. That people are coming seeking the child in the manger, anxiously waiting to hear the promises of heralded by the angels: , “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”
Monday, December 20, 2004
Still Working Towards Peace on Earth
News Release
Winnipeg, December 20, 2004 (ELCIC)-- This week Christians
around the world
ready themselves to hear the Christmas story and to sing
once again the
song of the angels, "Peace on earth. Good will to all". But
all these years
after the birth of our Christ, our earth is not peaceful.
It is, therefore,
worth celebrating a story like the one that follows
(Information from the
Lutheran World Federation).
Palestinian Lutheran Bishop Dr Munib A. Younan received
the 2004 Bethany
Award from the Bethany Foundation in Oslo, Norway for his
leadership in
working for peace, justice and reconciliation through
dialogue between
Christians, Jews and Muslims in the Middle East. The head
of the
Evangelical Lutheran Church in Jordan (ELCJ) was equally
recognized for his
continuous witness of Arab Palestinian Christianity in the
Holy Land.
The foundation, begun by the Methodist Church in 1897 also
honored Younan
for his service with the Augusta Victoria Hospital, an
institution run by
the Lutheran World Federation (LWF) Department for World
Service program in
Jerusalem. Younan has served as ELCJ bishop since 1998. He
is LWF
Vice-President for the Asian region, and a member of the
LWF Executive
Committee.
Accepting the award in October, Younan thanked the Bethany
Foundation on
behalf of Palestinian Christians, and paid tribute to his
friends and
colleagues in Norway for their partnership and support.
"This makes our
Palestinian church a church of martyria, serving suffering
people with the
love of God, even as it is suffering itself," he said.
The ELCJ has 3,000 members in congregations in Israel, Jordan and Palestine.
It joined the Lutheran World Federation in 1974. (ELCJ News)
The ELCJ is one of eight partners churches of the ELCIC.
More information click here.
Winnipeg, December 20, 2004 (ELCIC)-- This week Christians
around the world
ready themselves to hear the Christmas story and to sing
once again the
song of the angels, "Peace on earth. Good will to all". But
all these years
after the birth of our Christ, our earth is not peaceful.
It is, therefore,
worth celebrating a story like the one that follows
(Information from the
Lutheran World Federation).
Palestinian Lutheran Bishop Dr Munib A. Younan received
the 2004 Bethany
Award from the Bethany Foundation in Oslo, Norway for his
leadership in
working for peace, justice and reconciliation through
dialogue between
Christians, Jews and Muslims in the Middle East. The head
of the
Evangelical Lutheran Church in Jordan (ELCJ) was equally
recognized for his
continuous witness of Arab Palestinian Christianity in the
Holy Land.
The foundation, begun by the Methodist Church in 1897 also
honored Younan
for his service with the Augusta Victoria Hospital, an
institution run by
the Lutheran World Federation (LWF) Department for World
Service program in
Jerusalem. Younan has served as ELCJ bishop since 1998. He
is LWF
Vice-President for the Asian region, and a member of the
LWF Executive
Committee.
Accepting the award in October, Younan thanked the Bethany
Foundation on
behalf of Palestinian Christians, and paid tribute to his
friends and
colleagues in Norway for their partnership and support.
"This makes our
Palestinian church a church of martyria, serving suffering
people with the
love of God, even as it is suffering itself," he said.
The ELCJ has 3,000 members in congregations in Israel, Jordan and Palestine.
It joined the Lutheran World Federation in 1974. (ELCJ News)
The ELCJ is one of eight partners churches of the ELCIC.
More information click here.
Thomas Merton on Christmas
"The mystery of Christmas therefore lays upon us all a debt and an obligation to the whole created universe. We who have seen the light of Christ are obliged, by the greatness of the grace that has been given us, to make known the presence of the Saviour to the ends of the earth. This we will do not only by preaching the glad tidings of His coming, but above all by revealing Him in our lives. Christ is born to us today, in order that he may appear to the whole world through us. This one day is the day of His birth, but every day of our mortal lives must be His manifestation, His divine Epiphany, in the world which He has created and redeemed.”
From Thomas Merton’s Seasons of Celebration, (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, NY, 1965, p 112.)
From Thomas Merton’s Seasons of Celebration, (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, NY, 1965, p 112.)
Friday, December 17, 2004
Sermon: Advent 4 - Year A
Text: Matthew 1:18-25
I played Joseph in the church Christmas pageant when I was a boy. Being about 8 or 9 years old I thought I had really hit the big time. The older kids always played Joseph. I was usually shepherd, or even at one time a sheep; “baaing” away from the back of the crowd, nestled uncomfortably between the rear end of the donkey and the angel robes that stunk like mothballs. But as I was immersed into my new role, I was surprised to notice how limited my part was. As Joseph, husband of Mary, guardian of Jesus, my job was to walk with Mary to the manger then to stand there. I didn’t even have to look holy because no one was looking at me. The real action was taking place at the manger. Or on the hillside where shepherds cowered in fear and angels sang glorious songs of praise. Or the roadway where the three wise men carried richly symbolic gifts for the Christ Child. Me? I was a lump. Bland scenery strategically placed to fill in the gaps, with nothing else to do but to be a statue. No lines to read. No songs to sing. Nothing. It was the best job I ever had.
But I wonder if that’s what we do with Joseph, relegate him to the margins because we don’t know really what else to do. Joseph is part of the story. But not hugely. Peripheral, he just goes about his work unnoticed until we need something from him.
But take a magnifying glass to him and we get bigger picture. His fiancé gets pregnant and he’s not the father. So instead of exacting revenge on this helpless young woman by crushing her under the full weight of the law, he was going to cut off the engagement quietly so she wouldn’t be punished. At least not by any legal means; she still had to deal with the baby. But then the angel in his dream tells him that the baby is God’s child, so Joseph just shrugs his shoulders and marries the girl.
It could be easy to ignore Joseph because he is so quiet. He just calmly goes about his business. He doesn’t have very much to say. We can’t help but listen to loud mouthed prophets spitting truth at us. And we’re drawn to crowds of angels singing noisily in the sky.
But it is the Josephs who keep the machinery of the salvation story well oiled. Folks like Joseph don’t know the difference between doing God’s will and just plain old doing what needs to be done.
Internet sage Real Live Preacher says,
“Turns out Christianity is an Eastern religion. The earliest Christians were Hebrews. Semites. People of the East. They did not know how to separate mind from body. They were holistic before holistic was cool.
“In our world we have separated mind from body to our great loss,” he goes on to say. “Here a man may betray his wife and neglect his children, but say he loves them ‘down inside’.
“Bullshit. There is no ‘down inside.’ Love is something you do, not something you feel.
“Likewise, we think having faith means being convinced God exists in the same way we are convinced a chair exists. People who cannot be completely convinced of God’s existence think faith is impossible for them.
“Not so. People who doubt can have great faith because faith is something you do, not something you think. In fact, the greater your doubt, the more heroic your faith.” (RLP, the Preacher's Own Story)
Joseph knew this instinctively. Sure he had his questions. Anyone would have. Was that really an angel in his dreams or was it just the bad batch of wine before crawling into bed? Did his wife really get pregnant by God or is that just a story she made up to get herself out of trouble? So, yeah, he had questions. Good questions. But they didn’t bog him down from doing what needed to be done.
So not only did Joseph have a role to play, he played it very well. The NT takes pains to show us that he didn’t take the first bus out of town when Mary told him he was pregnant and that he obviously was not the father. And he didn’t drop everything and disappear when the angel came to see him. He married Mary. He got her to Bethlehem. He found lodgings for his family. He took his place at her side and dealt with whatever came their way. He listened carefully around him to the danger to his wife and newly born and adopted son, and rustled them out of Bethlehem to the safety to Egypt. (adapted from Peter Gomes, Sermon)
Because for Joseph, faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
On other words, at the heart of the story is a good and just man who wakes up one day to find his life ruined: a baby that’s not his, his trust betrayed, his name devastated, his future destroyed. It’s about a righteous man who looks at the mess that is his life, a mess he had absolutely nothing to do with creating and believes that somehow God is present in it. With every reason to walk away, Joseph stays put. He makes the mess is own and the mess becomes the place where the Messiah is born. (adapted from Barbara Brown Taylor, Believing the Impossible)
Because for Joseph, faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
But isn’t that the way God seems to work; behind the scenes where there’s no TV camera in sight? I’m thinking of people who run the cans over to the food bank when the bin gets full. Or the quick phone-call to the widower who just lost his wife, simply to see if he needs groceries, because they both know the only food he can make is cereal and toast. Or I’m thinking of the couple who find the time to drop off a pick-up truck at a man’s house who’s stuck in the hospital, and check back with him to see if he needed anything to make his stay more bearable. To the casual observer, these are not heroic acts. But to the divine observer, no greater heroism exists.
Because to these people, faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
Faith is making other peoples’ mess our own, and finding God hidden in it. Because these people know that God is found frolicking in the clutter, buried in our dirt, and wrestling with us in the mud because that’s where God needs to be: embroiled in the waste of our lives and mixed up in the chaos of the world.
These people, people like Joseph and people like you and me, insist on trusting that “God is still being born in the mess, among those who still believe what angels tell them in their dreams.” (BBT, ibid)
Or to say it another way: faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
May this be so among us. Amen.
I played Joseph in the church Christmas pageant when I was a boy. Being about 8 or 9 years old I thought I had really hit the big time. The older kids always played Joseph. I was usually shepherd, or even at one time a sheep; “baaing” away from the back of the crowd, nestled uncomfortably between the rear end of the donkey and the angel robes that stunk like mothballs. But as I was immersed into my new role, I was surprised to notice how limited my part was. As Joseph, husband of Mary, guardian of Jesus, my job was to walk with Mary to the manger then to stand there. I didn’t even have to look holy because no one was looking at me. The real action was taking place at the manger. Or on the hillside where shepherds cowered in fear and angels sang glorious songs of praise. Or the roadway where the three wise men carried richly symbolic gifts for the Christ Child. Me? I was a lump. Bland scenery strategically placed to fill in the gaps, with nothing else to do but to be a statue. No lines to read. No songs to sing. Nothing. It was the best job I ever had.
But I wonder if that’s what we do with Joseph, relegate him to the margins because we don’t know really what else to do. Joseph is part of the story. But not hugely. Peripheral, he just goes about his work unnoticed until we need something from him.
But take a magnifying glass to him and we get bigger picture. His fiancé gets pregnant and he’s not the father. So instead of exacting revenge on this helpless young woman by crushing her under the full weight of the law, he was going to cut off the engagement quietly so she wouldn’t be punished. At least not by any legal means; she still had to deal with the baby. But then the angel in his dream tells him that the baby is God’s child, so Joseph just shrugs his shoulders and marries the girl.
It could be easy to ignore Joseph because he is so quiet. He just calmly goes about his business. He doesn’t have very much to say. We can’t help but listen to loud mouthed prophets spitting truth at us. And we’re drawn to crowds of angels singing noisily in the sky.
But it is the Josephs who keep the machinery of the salvation story well oiled. Folks like Joseph don’t know the difference between doing God’s will and just plain old doing what needs to be done.
Internet sage Real Live Preacher says,
“Turns out Christianity is an Eastern religion. The earliest Christians were Hebrews. Semites. People of the East. They did not know how to separate mind from body. They were holistic before holistic was cool.
“In our world we have separated mind from body to our great loss,” he goes on to say. “Here a man may betray his wife and neglect his children, but say he loves them ‘down inside’.
“Bullshit. There is no ‘down inside.’ Love is something you do, not something you feel.
“Likewise, we think having faith means being convinced God exists in the same way we are convinced a chair exists. People who cannot be completely convinced of God’s existence think faith is impossible for them.
“Not so. People who doubt can have great faith because faith is something you do, not something you think. In fact, the greater your doubt, the more heroic your faith.” (RLP, the Preacher's Own Story)
Joseph knew this instinctively. Sure he had his questions. Anyone would have. Was that really an angel in his dreams or was it just the bad batch of wine before crawling into bed? Did his wife really get pregnant by God or is that just a story she made up to get herself out of trouble? So, yeah, he had questions. Good questions. But they didn’t bog him down from doing what needed to be done.
So not only did Joseph have a role to play, he played it very well. The NT takes pains to show us that he didn’t take the first bus out of town when Mary told him he was pregnant and that he obviously was not the father. And he didn’t drop everything and disappear when the angel came to see him. He married Mary. He got her to Bethlehem. He found lodgings for his family. He took his place at her side and dealt with whatever came their way. He listened carefully around him to the danger to his wife and newly born and adopted son, and rustled them out of Bethlehem to the safety to Egypt. (adapted from Peter Gomes, Sermon)
Because for Joseph, faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
On other words, at the heart of the story is a good and just man who wakes up one day to find his life ruined: a baby that’s not his, his trust betrayed, his name devastated, his future destroyed. It’s about a righteous man who looks at the mess that is his life, a mess he had absolutely nothing to do with creating and believes that somehow God is present in it. With every reason to walk away, Joseph stays put. He makes the mess is own and the mess becomes the place where the Messiah is born. (adapted from Barbara Brown Taylor, Believing the Impossible)
Because for Joseph, faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
But isn’t that the way God seems to work; behind the scenes where there’s no TV camera in sight? I’m thinking of people who run the cans over to the food bank when the bin gets full. Or the quick phone-call to the widower who just lost his wife, simply to see if he needs groceries, because they both know the only food he can make is cereal and toast. Or I’m thinking of the couple who find the time to drop off a pick-up truck at a man’s house who’s stuck in the hospital, and check back with him to see if he needed anything to make his stay more bearable. To the casual observer, these are not heroic acts. But to the divine observer, no greater heroism exists.
Because to these people, faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
Faith is making other peoples’ mess our own, and finding God hidden in it. Because these people know that God is found frolicking in the clutter, buried in our dirt, and wrestling with us in the mud because that’s where God needs to be: embroiled in the waste of our lives and mixed up in the chaos of the world.
These people, people like Joseph and people like you and me, insist on trusting that “God is still being born in the mess, among those who still believe what angels tell them in their dreams.” (BBT, ibid)
Or to say it another way: faith is not something you think. Faith is something you do.
May this be so among us. Amen.
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