A Good Sermon is Hard to Find

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

"Fulfill All Righteousness? What?!" (Baptism of the Lord)

Matthew 3:13-17

13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14 John would have prevented him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" 15 But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." Then he consented. 16 And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."

He woke up that morning as he had done for some time now: he likely spent the night on some hard, flat surface, perhaps with nothing more than a rock to support his head. He got dressed in what had become his trademark camel’s hair shorts and leather belt, and walked out into the world picking bits of locust out of his teeth and crystalized bits of honey from his beard. He was going down to the river, down to the Jordan, to take his usual place there in the water, to preach his usual message of repentance and baptism for the forgiveness of sins, but it wasn’t a usual day. As he left for the river, he noticed on his calendar that that day his cousin was coming to the river. Things were about to get real.

You see, he had grown up his entire life hearing about his cousin, how God was really his father, how an angel told his aunt Mary she was pregnant with the baby, how angels were there when he was born. Now, John himself had been born under some pretty spectacular circumstances, but his cousin Jesus was on another level. Of course, John understood that to some degree. Jesus had likely been a disciple of John’s, following his cousin in the desert, listening to his message of repentance and forgiveness. No doubt, John had come to see in his cousin all that he had been told about him, so on that day, as John headed for the river knowing Jesus was coming, perhaps John mulled over in his mind what he was going to do that day, how he would introduce Jesus to the crowd—for there was a crowd.

Matthew tells us there was a crowd from all over in verse five just before our text this morning: “the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan.” A crowd would be good. After all, if John is going to introduce Jesus, he’s going to want a crowd, and this crowd would have been just right. They had gathered there at the Jordan because of John: maybe they wanted to hear his message; maybe they wanted to witness the spectacle; maybe they were desperate for any sign of spiritual fervor or political uprising. Whatever brought them to the river, they came in droves, and John was going to make the best of it. In fact, John looks out in the crowd and sees Pharisees and Sadducees (some of the real religious folks of the day) and decides to really turn up the brimstone: "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” You can almost feel the heat of their embarrassment and anger at being called out by this country preacher standing in a muddy creek. Perhaps John was in rare form that day, encouraged by the knowledge that Jesus was coming down to the river, that all these folks were about to witness firsthand all that he had come to know about his divine cousin. Why, he even works it into a sermon: “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."

“Yessir! Preach!” I can hear them now, can’t you? John was (as they say here in the South) really shelling the corn! I mean, he calls the religious folks snake, tells them to bear good fruit or else be burned up, and then he starts talking about someone coming after him, a headliner to his opening act, who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and FIRE! John’s water baptism would seem puny in the blaze of a fiery baptism. John practically says so himself when he says he isn’t even able to carry the shoes of this one who’s coming after him. He’s really hyped up Jesus’ arrival! I can imagine the folks there at the Jordan expecting some real showstopper to come strolling up on the banks of the Jordan, someone with an even more outlandish appearance than John, someone with an obvious power and authority in his cadence. Why, I can imagine them whispering to one another, “Where is this guy? I’d like to meet him. Is John going to go get him? Because if he is, I’d rather stick around for the main event than settle for the opening act!” I suppose it’d be like someone coming out on the stage at a concert, putting on a great show, and then saying to the audience, “If you liked that, then you’re going to love the next guy about to come on stage.”

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him.” That’s it? Jesus just showed up? Well, not exactly. I mean, Jesus was intentional about being at the Jordan that day, and he was intentional about being baptized by John.[1] This wasn’t an accident; Jesus didn’t come with other intentions only to find himself moved by John’s sermon to be baptized by him. No, Jesus meant to be there, but come on: John had just spent six verses railing against the religious leaders and building up Jesus as one who would baptize with fire, who had a winnowing fork in his hand, as one who come to take names and judge sinners for their sins, and Jesus just shows up like it’s no big deal! Then, on top of such an underwhelming entrance, he does the last thing anyone would expect this guy John had just been preaching about to do—he came to John to be baptized! What in the world is going on?!

Jesus’ baptism has caused many a Christian down through the centuries to scratch their heads. Why does Jesus get baptized? What’s the point? Did he actually need to repent of something? That doesn’t line up with Christian orthodoxy. Was there some grand, mysterious reason behind this? Did Jesus want to model the proper way for baptism so we Baptists could spend centuries trying to correct our Catholic, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, Methodist and other baby-sprinkling brothers and sisters? We’ve come up with all sorts of ideas as to why Jesus went down for baptism when he had nothing of which to repent and no need for forgiveness. It’s been something we’ve struggled with from the beginning of the Church. It’s why Matthew tells us about John’s question to Jesus in verse 14: “John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’

I mean, isn’t that just like Jesus? Really, isn’t it? John thought he knew Jesus (he did grow up with him after all, knew about him from the time he was old enough to know anything), thought he knew what to expect when Jesus showed up, preached him up in a big way with dramatic imagery and fiery language, but then Jesus just shows up and wants to be baptized. It’s understandable that John would question Jesus’ actions, but again, in typical Jesus fashion, Jesus doesn’t really answer John’s question in a clear, direct, well-outlined way. All Jesus says is. “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” What does that even mean?! I suppose we might think that Jesus means baptism is some piece of righteousness, some deed necessary to accomplish in order to achieve righteousness, but that misses the original intent of the word. Jesus doesn’t come to John because he needs the effects of baptism, because he has some sin of which he needs to repent. No, John baptizes Jesus as an act of obedience, a part of God’s in-breaking kingdom coming through the incarnate Christ.[2] It’s not exactly a cut-and-dry sort of answer, but the point is that it doesn’t really matter why Jesus came to be baptized, he came to John to be baptized—Jesus came to John to be baptized—and to deny him baptism would be to do the very thing so many of us are guilty of doing—refusing to accept what Jesus calls us to do because of what we think about it. If John had refused to baptize Jesus, I doubt things would have turned out much different (in fact, there’s no mention of Jesus’ baptism at all in John’s gospel), but if he had refused it would have been because of John’s own expectation s of what Jesus was supposed to be, of who Jesus was supposed to be. John had preached an image of Jesus as a powerful judge and fiery preacher, yet Jesus came to be baptized by John himself; there’s more than a bit of dissonance there.

Again, though, isn’t that just like Jesus? So many of us believe we have Jesus all figured out. After all, we’ve heard about him our whole lives, read about him our whole lives, many of us have even been involved in churches where we’ve worshipped him most of our lives, so we’re pretty sure we’ve got him figured out. We know what he’ll do, what he expects of us, who he likes and doesn’t like. We’re pretty sure we’ve got Jesus all figured out, but then something comes along and jars us, causes us to question what we think we know about Jesus: we lose a job, receive a surprise, devastating diagnosis, go through a divorce, have a family member come out, hear a sermon that challenges us, meet someone who causes us to question what we know about ourselves, lose a loved one unexpectedly. Something shakes the comfortable ground beneath our feet and whatever certainty we had about Jesus is suddenly less certain. How we respond to Jesus in those times says everything about the kind of faith we have in Jesus.

You see, John could have refused to baptize Jesus. He could have insisted and said, “No, no, no. Jesus, I’m not fit to carry your shoes, let alone baptize you. You’ve got it wrong. There’s just no way I’m supposed to baptize you. It doesn’t make any sense.” John could have protested, claiming he believed that Jesus was too good, too righteous to need baptizing. He could have refused, but he would have been out of line with God’s will and purpose. In the same way, we can argue with Jesus when we’re confronted by him, when we’re made uncomfortable by the reality of Jesus’ power, grace, and love. We can argue, quote Bible verses, cite tradition, and even claim we know Jesus to be better than whatever it is with which he confronts us, but the more we push against Christ, the more we claim to know better, the more we simply refuse to acknowledge that maybe the things that shake us, that make us uncomfortable, the realities that cause us to question, may in fact be from Christ himself, the more out of line we may become with God’s kingdom purpose for our lives.

See, even though John may have imagined Jesus’ arrival at the Joran differently, even though he may have initially protested baptizing Jesus, John demonstrated his faith in Christ by following through with Jesus’ baptism, even with such a mysterious reason from Jesus himself. John demonstrates his faith in the One he had heard about from birth, the one he had grown up with, the one he was absolutely sure he knew as well as anyone, and he demonstrates that faith in the wake of shaken convictions and challenged assumptions.

Is your faith in Christ one that can withstand having your assumptions shattered? Is your faith in Christ one of obedience, even to those things which you might think are below you or below Christ? Or is your faith one that requires certainty, the type of faith that needs final answers and for your imagined images of God to be reality? When our faith is built upon required certainties and those certainties are shaken or shattered altogether, our faith can be shaken or shattered altogether, for it is a faith in a god made in our image. But when our faith is truly placed in Christ—a Christ who challenges everything, who calls us beyond ourselves, whose place is so often with those we deem to be “other”—when our certainties our tested, our absolutes shaken, our faith remains, for Jesus remains. Amen.

[1] Preaching Through the Christian Year: Year A (p.82).

[2] Feasting on the Word, (pg. 239 “Exegetical Perspective”)

"Good News of Great Joy!" (Christmas Day)

Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)

1 In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. 8 In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 11 to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, 14 "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!" 15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." 16 So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. 17 When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. 19 But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Have you ever read a book, and then, after you’ve read it, someone makes a movie about it? You liked the book, so you decide to see the movie. You pay the unholy price for an evening ticket, forego the pricey popcorn and gallon bucket of soda, and find your way into the middle of the dark theatre. You sit through two hours of what you had hoped would be a cinematic masterpiece, only to say to yourself, “That wasn’t anything at all like what I thought it would be!” Don’t you just hate that?

You know, I wonder if the biblical authors and their original audiences would feel the same way if they had a chance to witness some of our theatrical interpretations of Scripture. How would John feel about Mel Gibson’s portrayal of Jesus? How would Moses critique Charlton Hesston’s performance in The Ten Commandments? Or for that matter, how would any of those ancient New Testament writers feel about that peculiar musical Jesus Christ Superstar?! It is hard to say, but I do think that perhaps Luke would take some objection to the ways we dramatically interpret this portion of his nativity narrative.

I can just see him now, seated somewhere about the middle of any given sanctuary about this time of year. Perhaps the children’s ministry is performing some sort of nativity play, complete with an angry innkeeper, a live goat, and Sister’s Sue’s grandbaby starring in the lead role of our Lord and Savior. Luke is trying hard to sit still in the pew, twitching with anxiety as he watches his intellectual property being bent to the breaking point. Just as he seems to be settling down, he loses it when the shepherds make their appearance (never mind his confusion at the appearance of the magi); you can almost hear him leaping from his seat and shouting “You’ve got it all wrong! Bathrobes and bed sheets do not a shepherd make!”

You know, he just might be right. After all, he did write it! But even if our interpretation is a bit romanticized, what exactly might we be missing? I mean, these shepherds really don’t play that big of a role, do they? The answer is in what Luke tells us (and maybe even what he doesn’t tell us).

Notice the way Luke describes these shepherds, or rather, the way he doesn’t describe them. He simply calls them shepherds. There is no narrative embellishment regarding the way they look, the way they act, their number or their ages. Luke simply says in verse 8, “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.” While there are many good arguments regarding the symbolism attached to these shepherds (i.e., the Davidic link to Bethlehem shepherds, the importance of shepherds in the Israelite community, etc.), it is likely that they are simply a personification of those to whom Luke dedicates the focus of his entire gospel—the marginalized.

Throughout Luke’s gospel we see an emphasis on Jesus’ teachings regarding the poor, women, Gentiles, and sinners. One could argue that Luke’s Jesus has a preferential option for the poor and downcast (one may even argue from the entire Bible that God has such a preferential option, and I happen to think God does). Therefore, it is likely these rather enigmatic shepherds are meant to stand as a sort of symbol for everyone who would have read or heard Luke’s gospel.

That is exactly the role of the shepherds; they act as a sort of placeholder in Luke’s gospel, setting up his audience from the very beginning. They are a symbol for all the people to whom the gospel is given. In fact, it is even reflected in the language of the angel in v. 10: "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for ALL the people.” This good news is not for only a select few, but for all people; it is not the sole property of the shepherds—it is for all people. With the inclusion of the shepherds, Luke has invited us all to take part in the birth of the King of kings. Therefore, we ought to invite all people to the manger, to the cradle which holds the light of the world and the hope for all humankind. Christmas, the birth of Christ, is for ALL the people.

There is something further to learn from these shepherds. Luke includes them as a symbol for all people, yet he doesn’t just leave them in the fields, watching their flocks. No, the shepherds head towards Bethlehem, towards the feed box which holds the Bread of Life. In verse 15 they say, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.” They are moved and motivated by curiosity to seek out the sign about which they have been told. We’re not told how far they had to go or how long it took them. Luke just simply tells us in verse 16 “So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.” They found Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, but what does that even mean?

The angel told them in verses 11 and 12 “Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." This family, this baby, was the Savior. What a powerful statement! And what emotions these shepherds must have had when they came upon this humble scene in Bethlehem! There, there in that feed box (such a strange place for an infant) lay the Son of God, the Messiah, the Savior! Luke goes on to tell us that “When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.” Now don’t be mistaken by the translation of these verses. The shepherds did not run out to tell everyone about the birth of Jesus. No, they told everyone who was there what the angels had told them. I mean, they had to explain themselves; how many people do you know who go around at night looking for strange babies sleeping in barns?! They had to find him, and when they did, they told everyone there why they were there in the first place. Everyone was amazed: “Hey Joe, get a load of this: these shepherds were just sittin’ out in a field when an angel showed up with a choir and told them we’d be here! Isn’t that something?!”

Weren’t you that way the first time you really heard who Jesus was—amazed? Weren’t you like these shepherds, who, after they heard this wonderful news, sought out Christ? And when you found him, did you not tell everyone around you how wonderful it was? It was like the feeling you had as a child on Christmas morning, seeing the wonderful gifts waiting for you under the tree: you tore through the paper, excited about what was inside, and once you unwrapped it, you ran around the living room to show everyone what you had just received, only to set it aside for the next gift, or to play with it for a while before losing it in the back of your closet.

Finding Christ is like that to some folks, you know? But how I wish it wasn’t! You see, these shepherds were so caught up in the initial wonder of what they had found, so caught up in this Christmas morning feeling, yet Luke tells us in verse 20 that “The shepherds returned [home].” I can’t even begin to count the number of times I have seen a child receive a gift in excitement and anticipation, only to find it lying somewhere in a forgotten pile some minutes later. They are so thrilled that they have received a gift from someone and so happy that they have received something so special, yet it does not take long for the new to wear off and for complacency to find its way back to its place in the heart.

Surely these shepherds weren’t like this. Surely Luke meant to tell us that they ran throughout the town like an ancient Paul Revere shouting the arrival of Salvation: “The Messiah is coming! The Messiah is here! He’s here, and he’s in a manger in Bethlehem!” No. No, all we are told is that they returned home; they returned to the way things were. Could Luke not have simply mentioned at least one of them in the latter portions of the gospel, perhaps as a bystander during the Sermon on the Plane (Luke’s version of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount), or perhaps he could have given them a recurring role in his second volume Acts and had them brush shoulders with one of the apostles, have one of the make a dramatic appearance at Pentecost or something. Unfortunately, there’s not even a pseudo-tradition of these shepherds, not even a made up story tracing its roots back to an old shepherd story. They just simply disappeared. They’re never heard from again.

Are you like that? Have you received the good news, felt the overwhelming joy of salvation, yet, after the new wore off, did you return to the way things were? Let me challenge you, as you leave this place this Christmas morning, as you go out from here to dinners with friends and family, as you return to exchanging gifts, watching Christmas movies, drinking cider and hot chocolate, don’t let things simply return to the way things were before you heard the good news. Don’t let the feelings, the emotions, and the reality of the birth of Christ be stored away with the old Christmas ornaments. Embrace the fullness of what the birth of Christ means: hope, peace, joy, and love. Christmas is not a time to simply rekindle those seasonal feelings and convictions. Christmas is the jumping off point; it is literally the birth of good news. This Christmas, pick up where those shepherds left off; don’t simply return to the way things were before the season, but allow the love of God to change the very way you live your life. Let Christ be born in your heart in such a way that you will not want to simply “return,” but in such a way that you will seek daily to live those words from the angel, that you will seek to one whose very life says to everyone, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.” May you be one who gives the gift of God’s love to all people, every, single day, by your words and works of hope, peace, joy, and love. Amen.

"Dreaming Dreams and Naming Names" (Fourth Sunday of Advent)

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." 22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: 23 "Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us." 24 When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

My sixth grade teacher, Ms. Royals, had gotten the class’s attention and called out a list of names to come speak with her at the front of the class. Now, I don’t remember every name she called, but I remember two: a girl names Shawn Howell and my name. While the rest of the class went back to work writing sentences with spelling words or something, Ms. Royals proceeded to tell us that we were going to be a part of the Christmas program that year. We would be doing a nativity on the stage, and Shawn would be playing Mary and I would be Joseph. It wasn’t difficult; I just sat on a haybale in a flimsy, brown robe for about twenty minutes, but that may have been the beginning of what has grown into a sort of soft spot for Joseph.

You see, we Protestant Christians tend to keep Mary at arm’s length (after all, we don’t want folks to confuse us with our Catholic brothers and sisters who we incorrectly claim worship Mary). We give her a nod, though, once a year about this time, singing songs like “Mary Did You know?” (which, by the way, of course she knew—she was the first one who knew!), and we put her out on the lawn or on an ornament on the Christmas tree. We pay a little more attention to Mary at Christmas time, but if we pay little attention to Mary, we pay no attention to Joseph.

We tend to view Joseph as a superfluous addition to the nativity scene, as if he were our appendix—not really necessary for anything, but he came with the set. We don’t really sing songs about Joseph; when we put our nativity sets out he can often be easily lost among the shepherds (while Mary clearly stands out in her usual blue and white robes); you can even buy nativity sets where the Christ child is attached to Mary, so Joseph can be left out altogether! Why, Joseph is even ignored in most of New Testament, only appearing in the nativity stories and mentioned only a few other times in reference to Jesus’ local identity. He gets about as much “screen time” as the disciple Philip (some of you are wondering right now if Philip really is one of the twelve disciples—he is). For most Christians, it seems that Joseph is really a non-essential character, only worth mentioning once a year and only in order to explain who he is and why he’s next to the baby Jesus and not one of the three blinged-out wise men (who weren’t at Christ’s birth anyway, but that’s a sermon for another day…).

Despite how we may feel about Joseph, the truth is he is one of the most important players in the nativity story—really he’s one of the most important figures in the whole of God’s story, because without Joseph, without his devotion to his betrothed Mary, the nativity story—Christ’s story—could have gone very differently. Joseph is so important to the story, that Matthew connects Jesus back to David and Abraham through Joseph in his genealogy of chapter one. Then, Matthew goes on to tell us the rest of the nativity story—short as it is for him—in the text before us this morning.

We’re told in verse 18, “When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.” Now, how do you think that went over with Joseph the first time he heard that? Who do you think he heard it from? He didn’t hear it from an angel as Mary did. Did Mary come over to the shop while Joseph was on his lunch break? “Sit down, Jo. I’ve got something to tell you and you’re not going to believe this…” Did Mary run to tell him after she found out, or was she so frightened of what might happen that she sent a friend, a relative to tell him? Did she hide it from him until she couldn’t anymore? I don’t know. After all, the text just says, “she was found to be with child;” it’s not very descript. It’s not very descript, but I can imagine it was a very troubling conversation, one filled with tension and overrun with emotion.

I suppose some folks might think we’ve grown somewhat immune to the reality of unwed, teenage mothers, that we almost celebrate it with shows like 16 and Pregnant, but take a walk down the hall of any high school. It won’t take you long to find out which girl or girls are expecting—they’re usually at their lockers alone, at the lunch tables alone, in the back of the class alone. Even the teachers and parents tend to give them sideways glances as they walk down the halls, as they try to soak up as much education as they can before inevitably disappearing from school, perhaps eventually dropping out to take a minimum-wage job and endure a lifetime of criticism for their choices. If it’s that hard for such a mother now, you can imagine what it must have been like for Mary, so I wonder how she told Joseph.

In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter how she told him, because we have his response outlined for us in this morning’s text: “Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly.” I suppose, if I were cynical about the whole thing, I’d say this is just another example of a man walking away from a life made difficult by an unexpected pregnancy while the woman is left to pick up the pieces, but really, for Joseph’s context, it’s not. You see, Matthew only uses one word to describe Joseph, the Greek word diakaios translated (in the NRSV) as “righteous.” Joseph is a righteous man, a man grounded in the Law, the teachings of the scriptures, a man who sought to live justly, to do the right thing. He had every right under the Law to cast Mary out, to reveal her condition to the community and shame her. It would have been the right thing for him; after all, he wouldn’t want word getting out that he had married a woman carrying another man’s baby. Can’t you just hear the fellas at the jobsite where Joseph would have worked: “There’s Joseph; you know he’s raising another man’s baby. Sure is. Wife got pregnant before they got married, said it’s ‘God’s baby.’ Can you believe that? Poor sap, probably believes the moon is made out of cheese. I bet she’s playing him for all he’s worth too.” It would have been the right thing for Joseph, to bring Mary’s apparent sins light in the midst of the community, to call her out for her apparent shortcomings and infidelity. It would have protected Joseph’s reputation as a righteous man, as a man who lived “by the book.”

Of course, if he had a been a literal fundamentalist, Joseph could have had Mary dragged out before the men of the community and stoned to death![1] I suppose there might be some folks who’d think that was alright. I can hear their reasoning: “You see, Joseph, the Bible says in Deuteronomy 22, ‘If there is a young woman, a virgin already engaged to be married, and a man meets her in the town and lies with her, you shall bring both of them to the gate of that town and stone them to death.’ It’s in the Bible Joseph, so you gotta do it! You can’t have a woman getting off scot-free from an obvious adulterous encounter. If you don’t make a stand, before too long you’ll have women sleeping around all over and when they turn up pregnant, they’ll claim it’s God’s baby too! You gotta put an end to it now, Joseph. That’s what the Bible says.” Of course, there are a lot of folks who like to read the Scriptures like that, cherry-picking this or that passage in order to justify their own comfort, their own selfishness, bigotry, and ignorance. It’s shameful really; it misses the whole point.

But Joseph, he apparently didn’t read the scriptures that way, because he doesn’t do any of that. No, Joseph decides to dismiss Mary quietly, to give her the option of packing her things, the chance to start life over somewhere else, the opportunity to lay low for a little while. Maybe Mary could pass the child off as her mother’s, as the child of a late sibling or cousin; maybe she’d get away with it if Joseph just let her slip away quietly and pretend none of this every happened. That was his plan…but then he went to sleep.

Matthew tells us, “just when [Joseph] had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.” The angel tells Joseph to not be afraid to take the pregnant Mary as his wife, and then the angel says to Joseph “you are to name him Jesus.” Joseph has to name him Jesus; there won’t be some sky-splitting announcement from heaven, no angelic presence by the manger writing the child’s name down on the birth certificate, and it’s not up to Mary to give the child his name. Joseph is told to do it.

Now, it’s easy to get caught up in the meaning of the name Jesus (from the Hebrew “Joshua” which mean “YHWH saves”) and lose sight of just what it means for Joseph to name the child. You see, if Joseph gives the child a name, that means Joseph claims responsibility for the child, that he claims the child as his own to raise, nurture, and look after. This may be the most radical things put forth by the angel Joseph’s dream! Really. Joseph is told to claim the child as his own, to give him the name Jesus, to step in where so many others would have bowed out. It’s radical not only because of the immense responsibility that comes with caring for a child, not only because of the nature of the child in Mary’s womb, but because it goes so strongly against what Joseph had been taught through the scriptures! He was supposed to expose an engaged woman pregnant with someone else’s child—not marry her! He was supposed to have such a woman stoned to death or at least have her and her unborn child removed from the community—not take her in, care for her, and name her child as if he was his very own! That’s not in the book! It’s not in the book…

You know, sometimes we get so caught up in what we think is in the book, that we overlook what the whole book is really about. Sometimes we get so caught up in trying to find a text here or a verse there to get out of a difficult situation that we ignore the voice of God calling us deeper into it. Sometimes we get so caught up in trying to justify our positions and convictions with the words of scripture that we miss out on what the very Word of God is calling us to do.

You see, I know some folks who, had they been in Joseph’s place, would have argued with the angel in his dream. Really. They’d have said, “Whoa now. Hang on a minute. You’re telling me to go on and marry her, to name the baby too?! You must not read your Bible like I do, because the Bible is clearly against such a thing.” You know, I bet there’s some folks, when heaven gets to them, are going to pull Jesus to the side in an attempt to set him straight on all this “love your neighbor” business! Why, I bet there are folks today (just as there were then) who, if Jesus walked through the front door of this sanctuary and stood in the pulpit to declare the arrival of God’s kingdom, would argue—with Jesus!—that the Bible says it wasn’t time for it! Would you believe that there are even folks who would deny food to a hungry man because they believe the Bible says if a person doesn’t work, they shouldn’t eat?![2] It’s true. There are people who call themselves “Bible-believing Christians” who use the Bible to justify all manner of things from a denial of proven medical procedures to ignorance surrounding issues of the environment and even their own discomfort and hatred of those different from themselves. And they’ll do it such things all the while saying “It’s in the book!”

Imagine if Joseph had done that. I’m certainly glad he didn’t. I for one am glad that Joseph—a righteous man—believed most in the love that is foundational to understanding the very nature of God, a love that does not cast a young woman and her unborn child into the spotlight of shame, a love that does not hold so tightly to the conveniently contrived proof-texts of the Bible that grace and redemption cannot find their way through, a love that shows the way to God more fully than any string of chapter and verse citations used in defense of one’s own discrimination and ignorance. It is that great love of God we celebrate this season, a love that says to all of us that in spite of our sins, in spite of our selfishness, in spite of our repeated rejection, in spite of everything we do that stands in direct opposition to what God calls us to be, God still longs to be with us. God is with us! That’s what the angel said, isn’t it? “They shall name him Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us." God is with us, in spite of every well-meaning way we try to keep God from others and ourselves, God is still with us. Amen.

[1] Deuteronomy 22:23-27

[2] This is a poor understanding of 2 Thessalonians 3:10

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

"Joy for the Journey" (Third Sunday of Advent)

Isaiah 35:1-10

1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus 2 it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God. 3 Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. 4 Say to those who are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you." 5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; 6 then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; 7 the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. 8 A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God's people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. 9 No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. 10 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

By now, most of you (if not all of you) have your trees up, nativities out, lights strung, and stockings hung. You’ve been listening to songs like “Jingle Bells” and “Frosty the Snowman” for at least a few days, and you’ve probably already watched Christmas Vacation, Elf, Miracle on 34^th Street, some adaptation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, or my personal favorite and forever Christmas classic Ernest Saves Christmas at least once. You may have already gone to company Christmas parties or tacky sweater parties where white elephant gifts were exchanged. Maybe you’ve already eaten your weight in white fudge Oreos, sausage balls, and all kinds of dips and cheese balls. Why, I bet some of you even still have hot cider on your breath or a half-eaten candy cane in your pocket! It’s December 11^th, the third Sunday of Advent, but everywhere we look it seems like it’s Christmas.

I wonder when that happened. In what year did Christmas begin to just suddenly show up? I mean, when I was a kid it felt like Christmas took forever and a day to come around. I was pretty young when I came to learn what the phrase “slow as Christmas” means. Every year as a kid, it felt like the days between the start of the school year in August and December 25^th were at least 40 hours long and they just got longer as the calendar flipped around to December. I remember all that excitement, all that anticipation, all that wishing that Christmas Day would just get here, that I would shut my eyes on whatever day it was and when I opened them again it would be Christmas morning. Of course, it was always sort of anti-climactic: the day would eventually arrive; I’d get up early, open presents, change out of sleeping clothes to get in the car and head over to my dad’s or my mom’s house (depending on what year it was and whose house I woke up in on Christmas morning); from there, we would travel to my grandmother’s house to eat dinner and swap presents; at some point in the afternoon, we’d decide we had all had enough of each other and load up to head back home or to other relatives’ houses, and by the time we wound up back home the day would be over, and all that longing, all that waiting, all that anticipation would be over—and it’d all feel just a little bit underwhelming.

It’s sort of that way as an adult too, I suppose. We place so much pressure on Christmas Day, on shopping for gifts for people who already have more than they need, on attending parties, programs, functions, and events that have more to do with obligation and habit than celebration and joy, on trying new recipes, perfecting old ones, wearing the right clothes, or hoping for perfect weather. The season becomes all about that one day, and we pile so much expectation upon it that we collapse under it all when it doesn’t turn out the way we want it or when it’s all over and we realize we’ve put so much work into something that took so long to get here but is over in the blink of an eye. When we celebrate Christmas this way, there may be joy, but it’s only for a day and then it’s on to whatever’s next on the calendar (usually the New Year’s celebration).

That’s why I like to celebrate the season of Advent. Advent forces us to wait, to live with the anticipation, to hope, to look forward without looking over what’s right in front of us. In the recognition of Advent there is a necessity to not solely focus on the destination, but to find joy in the journey, in the waiting, in the meantime. In Advent, it can’t just be about the gifts, the schedules, the parties, the presents, the dinners, and the dates on a calendar; it’s about marking time with themes like hope, peace, (as we reflect today) joy, and love. By marking time with the recognition of Advent, December 25^th becomes a day for which we’ve prepared, a day whose meaning isn’t lost in wrapping paper and shuffling between parents’ homes. When we focus only on the day (as many tend to do outside of the tradition of Advent) there may be joy for that day, but when we embark on the journey of Advent, there is joy along the way, joy that prepares our hearts, minds, and spirits for the ultimate joy of that day to which we most look forward.

Of course, finding joy on the journey isn’t always easy. A journey takes time, and time requires patience. Even the smoothest road becomes monotonous, and the most luxurious car seat begins to feel uncomfortable when one’s posterior has occupied it for hours on end. The straightest highways inevitably become crowded with traffic when there’s an accident, road work, or rush hour in the city. There are people you meet on the way that cause confusion, people who seem to like slowing others down and messing folks up. It isn’t always easy finding joy on the journey, and that’s why I think we become so preoccupied with the destination, whether it’s Christmas Day, a vacation spot, or our own home after being away for so long.

By the second half of the sixth century B.C., the people of Judah cold only dream of home, a destination for which they had longed since being exiled to Babylon by the emperor Nebuchadnezzar. Jerusalem had been destroyed, the temple looted and razed, and now those who had once sat in comfort in their own homes in Judah had little more than the hopes, visions, and dreams of the prophets who were exiled with them.

Then, along came the Persians. When the Persians conquered Babylon, the king Cyrus allowed the exiles to return to Jerusalem (he was actually called “Messiah” by the same prophet of our text this morning in chapter 45, verse 1). No doubt the journey seemed long, dangerous, and there were likely those who had just rather stay put in their new homes, even if they were in a far-away land. It was out of this atmosphere of hesitant hope that another prophet in the line of Isaiah arose (scholars sometimes refer to this prophet as “Third Isaiah”); his prophetic career took place in exile, just before the captives would return to Judah with Ezra and Nehemiah to rebuild their cities and their temple.

In the text before us this morning, this prophet Isaiah tells about blossoming deserts that shall rejoice with singing, about the strengthening of weak hands, the firming of feeble knees, the encouragement of the fearful, the giving of sight to the blind, the unstopping of deaf ears, the leaping of those who were once lame, of waters flowing in the once-parched desert. It’s an image of a rough way made smooth, a dangerous direction made safe, a wide wasteland made navigable by a grand, holy highway leading to the very pace they’d all want to go. It’s a vision of safety, a vision of hope, a vision of joy as it describes a highway free of the “unclean,” a path void of the dangers that were once typical of such places in the wilderness. It’s a vision—not of the destination, but of the journey, and it’s a vision of joy on the journey.

Now, at first, I want this passage to be about the stress-free journey that comes for those of us who are faithful to God’s calling, those of us who find ourselves listed among “the redeemed.” I want to read these words about blooming deserts and traffic-free highways as words that speak to the ease with which one might experience this life on the way to a glorious rest in eternity. I want to do that…I want to believe that. I want to believe that the journey of faith is like my idealized Christmas morning, full of joy, warm feelings, and without a seeming care in the world, but I know that’s not how it is. I know the journey of faith is more like the days leading up to Christmas: sure there are joyful days, moments like those we experience when we gather with friends for good food or come into this room to worship, but there are also those difficult days, those days when the wind is too cold to keep the chill out of my bones, those days when someone else’s frustrations are turned on me simply because I was an easy target, those days when nothing goes my way and all I want to do is go to bed, but there’s still work to be done.

The journey, it seems, is almost always more complicated than the destination. It’s even there in the words from this prophet Isaiah—though one might miss them if one reads too fast. Yes, the prophet speaks about a transformed desert and a holy highway, but he also talks about hands that need strengthening, knees that are feeble, eyes that can’t see, and ears that can’t hear. He makes commands of those traveling on the journey to help those who are otherwise handicapped, those with the weak hands and deaf ears, but that isn’t always easy, and it implies that there are those on this journey who need help, those who aren’t necessarily fit to make the journey alone. Not only that, but the prophet says that on this highway God is paving, “the unclean shall not travel on it” (I suppose that’s good news; after all, you don’t want those kinds of folks slowing you down, getting in the way, messing everything up) …no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.” Now, that bit about fools not going astray sounds great—if you’re a fool, but if you’re one of the “non-fools” it sounds a bit disappointing. After all, if a fool can’t wander off, that means that fool will be on the same road with you, and that same fool might tend to swerve into your lane or ride the brakes for fifteen miles or drive behind you with his high beams on. This journey won’t be taken on a gravy train with biscuit wheels. In fact, you’ll have to walk! The prophet says so: “the redeemed shall walk there.” Already, I can hear some folks saying, “You know, this place ain’t really that bad. Let’s just stay here.”

And in some ways, I think that’s exactly how this thing called faith is—it’s a journey, complete with ups and downs, with folks who need your help, folks who will slow you down, folks who are way on up the road from you, fools who’ll get in the way and cause confusion. There may not be the great dangers others might face who don’t travel on this same heavenly highway, but it is still a journey, complete with uncertainty and frustration, doubt and misdirection, the helpers and the helpless, the fools and the arrogant. It’s a journey that requires us to want to take it, to want to leave where we are even now, even though where we are is safe, comfortable, and certain. Faith is more than a destination; it’s the joy found in the journey.

The Christian life isn’t only about finding joy in a hoped-for destination in the “sweet by and by.” It’s about finding joy in the journey in spite of weak hands and feeble knees, in spite of fearful hearts, blind eyes, and deaf ears. It’s about finding joy when the desert is dry or when the water springs up from unexpected places. It’s about finding joy when the highway is paved smooth and the travel is easy and when there are potholes and fools going the wrong way.

That’s why I think we need Advent, why we need these signposts along the journey to remind us of hope, peace, and (this morning) joy. We need to be reminded that the birth of Christ isn’t just about some resting place on the other side of the grave; it’s about finding joy in God’s creation, about finding joy on this journey of faith. We may look forward to Christmas Day, but we need to be reminded of the ways in which Christ is born into our lives every day, just as we may look forward to the joys of heaven, but we need to be reminded of the ways in which Christ is calling us to bring the joys of heaven to reality here on this side of eternity. Perhaps this Advent, we need to be reminded that just as Christmas isn’t a single day, a destination on our calendars, faith isn’t a destination. Perhaps as much as we need to wait, to prepare ourselves for the arrival of the Christ child through the season of Advent, we need to wait, to prepare ourselves for the arrival of God’s kingdom through the days, weeks, months, and years of our lives, of this journey called faith.

May we take these precious few days we have leading up to Christmas and see in them the precious few days we have on this earth, days we have to journey on in faith, and may we find in them the joy that comes from a faith that lived out in flesh and blood, in hands and feet, a faith lived out in this journey we share together. Amen.

"When Creation Goes Right-side Up" (Second Sunday of Advent)

Isaiah 11:1-10

1 A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. 2 The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. 3 His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; 4 but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. 5 Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins. 6 The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. 7 The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. 8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder's den. 9 They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. 10 On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.

This week, I came across an article from The Washington Post with these words comprising the first paragraph: “BANI SAIFAN, Yemen — The family of Osama Hassan faced a wrenching choice as his tiny body wasted away. Should they use the little money they had, in a time of war, to take the 2-year-old to a hospital? Or should they buy food to feed their other children? His family chose food.”[1]

The article includes pictures of hopeless parents holding the skeletal bodies of their young children (some just days before their deaths), a picture of an 18-year-old girl who looks like a woman entering her second century of life, and the haunting images of hospital beds with tiny, twig-like legs sticking out of white sheets and stacked rocks on the scratched ground, marking where the bodies of at least a dozen children lay. Was there some sort of widespread disease taking the lives of these children? No. Was there some deep drought that had struck the crops and the livestock so that food was scarce and the children couldn’t eat? No. Were their parents too lazy to work, too busy trying to make money to feed their families that they overlooked the needs of the very children they were working so hard to feed? No. Then why are they dying? Why are their already tiny bodies wasting away to skin, bones, and bloated bellies? One word: war.

On Friday, November 18, in the Syrian city of Aleppo, nurses and medical staff rushed to evacuate patients from a local hospital, even grabbing babies from incubators (some of them undernourished and at least one with medical tubes still attached). The hospital had been badly damaged and those babies and other patients needed to be relocated in order to receive adequate medical attention and to keep themselves safe.[2] What happened to that hospital? Had there been an earthquake? No. A terrible storm? No. Had there been some kind of freak accident that caused the power to go out and some of the walls to come crashing down? No. There had been an air raid on the city, and bombs were being dropped, even on the hospital. What caused sick babies to be snatched from their incubators and already sick and suffering patients to flee from a hospital? One word: war.

In the African country of Nigeria at least 400,000 children are at risk of starvation, 2.6 million people have been driven from their homes and displaced, and at least 6.3 million are dealing with hunger and potential starvation.[3] Has the economy crashed? Is there no food coming in? No. The country has been under the oppression of the terrorist group Boko Haram for seven years. It’s not a natural disaster, not an economic crisis driven by poor investments and greedy lenders. It’s one word: war.

Of course, it’s not just in far-away lands where the effects of war are felt. I remember living in Waco, Texas, a city that houses a VA hospital, a city where patients from that hospital would walk out its front doors and down the streets of the city. They’d walk down the highways and service roads along Interstate 35. I’d see some of them standing in the medians of busy intersections, waving wildly at the cars that passed. I’d see some of them digging through the trash cans at gas stations, sitting on the curbs of streets right off an exit, holding a cardboard sign. I had friends who told me stories about large groups of them living together in the “hobo jungles” in the park, in torn tents and half-rotted furniture. Once, they were young men and women with hopes and dreams about futures filled with families. Now, their memories keep them up at night, drive them to irrational behavior, force them to seek sanity in cheap, glass bottles or tiny pills they trade among themselves. What happened? Poor life decisions? Bad upbringing? No. It’s that same word again: war.

It’s not supposed to be like this, you know? This world, it isn’t supposed to be like this. We humans were not created for conflict, for fighting, for war. Creation wasn’t meant for this, and it shows. We’ve not only scarred each other, but we’ve scarred the very earth with our fighting. Why, there are even some places left uninhabitable on this world because of our wars, and the very thing that drives so many nations to fight is warping the weather patterns of our only planetary home in such a way that looks frightening to many. The world isn’t supposed to be like this. I suppose, however, if there is to be any consolation, any slight solace to be found in the seemingly unending conflicts of our present age, it is to be found in the reality that humankind has been this way for centuries, that such turmoil and war have not entered this world in the last few generations, but seem to have been around as long as there were at least two (groups of) people with varying ideas and an unwillingness to compromise.

The effects of war we see today were just as prevalent in the times of the first prophet Isaiah, somewhere towards the end of the eighth century B.C. Isaiah had heard of the devastation caused by the Assyrians, how they had conquered the Northern Kingdom of Israel, how they were laying waste to nations across the region, how they were turning their aggression towards the Southern Kingdom of Judah. Isaiah prophesied in the wake of Uzziah’s death of God’s coming judgement on Judah for the ways the nation was beginning to follow in the same paths of negligence, greed, and idolatry that had ensnared the Northern Kingdom. The prophet spoke of God’s coming judgement, yet he foretold of a remnant that would survive, a small number who would live to see a new day dawn for the people. It’s in that spirit of optimism that Isaiah speaks the poetic words we’ve heard this morning.

To be honest, though, these words seem a bit…well…crazy. I mean, the prophet speaks about shoots growing out of dead stumps, about a coming king who will judge by “righteousness” and “faithfulness”—not by what he sees and hears (you know, the senses most folks in positions of authority tend to use to make decisions and pass judgement). The prophet speaks about wolves lying down with lambs, leopards taking naps with baby goats, calves, lions, and fat baby sheep snuggling together while a little child rounds them up like a shepherd. He talks about cows and bears grazing in the same field while their babies play together. He speaks of a coming day filled with vegetarian lions and poisonous snakes so timid children can play with them! What is all this? What had the prophet eaten (or drunk) before he gave this prophecy? Wolves don’t live with lambs—they eat them! Cows and bears can’t graze in the same field; bears have been known to like beef! And I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to let Kohl down on the same ground if I even hear there’s a snake nearby! It just doesn’t make sense! Green shoots growing out of stumps, no hurting or destroying taking place on the “holy mountain”—I’m sorry, but I don’t pay real close attention to the news and even I know there’s hurting, killing, bombing, fighting, and all sorts of conflicts happening on that same mountain, and much of it is because so many people believe that mountain to be holy!

It all just seems crazy—impossible. It seems impossible to think that such peace, such tranquility, could ever exist in this world. It seems impossible to stop people from bombing one another over disagreements about imaginary lines. A future where no child will go hungry on account of war, famine, greed, or even natural disaster seems impossible. A time when people will cease hating one another because of where they live on this planet, or the color of their skin, or which book they call holy, or how much oil, money, or gold they have, it just seems impossible. To imagine a world where peace—the sort of peace we hope for when we light the second candle of Advent—reigns and the thought of raising arms against another human being is recognized for the sin it is…well, that just seems impossible, as if all of creation is turned upside down. Well, maybe it is.

Maybe that’s the point of all of this. Maybe that’s the point of this season and our need to wait, to hope, for peace. Maybe creation is upside down. Maybe this world is so messed up, so irreversibly, impossibly soaked with sin that to fix it, to put it back right, is impossible. Maybe it is impossible for sheep, wolves, bears, cows, snakes, and children to all live together without one biting the other. Maybe it is impossible for hurting, destroying, fighting, and conflict to cease on the “holy mountain” or anywhere in this world for that matter. Perhaps the peace we long for, the peace for which we’ve lit this candle today, perhaps such peace is truly impossible. Perhaps it is as impossible as a new, green shoot sprouting from a cut, dead stump. Maybe it’s as impossible as a nine-month-pregnant virgin. Maybe it’s as impossible as the Creator of the universe, the One who set the stars on fire, being born to a teenage girl and her soon-to-be husband in some barn about behind a motel. Perhaps it is as impossible as angels singing to shepherds and Magi following a star to worship a toddler with expensive gifts. Perhaps peace is as impossible as the death of God upon a cross or his resurrection three days later. Maybe…Maybe it is that impossible to turn creation right-side up, and if it is…well…thanks be to God, for a shoot will grow from a stump, a wolf will shack up with a lamb, a lion will eat hat from the bail, a baby will play with a snake, violence will meet its end, and the Babe of Bethlehem, the incarnate God, the crucified Christ, the resurrected Savior, the Prince of Peace will reign. Hallelujah! Amen.

[1] From the article “In Yemen’s war, trapped families ask: Which child should we save?” on The Washington Post’s website (accessed 12/2/2016): https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/middle_east/in-yemens-war-trapped-families-ask-which-child-should-we-save/2016/11/30/c2240cf4-7d60-4132-989f-2128b077efbb_story.html?hpid=hp_hp-top-table-main_yemenhunger-735pm%3Ahomepage%2Fstory&utm_term=.969b84453e85#comments

[2] From Al-Jazeera: “Syria war: Air raid hits children's hospital in Aleppo.” (accessed 12/3/2016): http://www.aljazeera.com/news/2016/11/air-strike-hits-children-hospital-syria-aleppo-161118163200380.html

[3] From The Zimbabwe Star: “Boko Haram: 400,000 children at risk of starvation in Nigeria.” (accessed 12/3/2016): http://www.zimbabwestar.com/index.php/sid/249896065

"In the Days to Come" (First Sunday of Advent)

Isaiah 2:1-5

1 The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. 2 In days to come the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. 3 Many peoples shall come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. 4 He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. 5 O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!

One of my favorite movies is from 1997, an Italian movie written and directed by Roberto Benigni. It is a movie about a husband and wife who own a little book shop, and together they have a son. It is during their son’s birthday party that the story takes a dark turn: you see, it takes place in the early 1940s, during World War II, and this man (Guido), his uncle (Eliseo), his wife (Dora), and their son (Joshua) are Jews. Guido, Eliseo, and Joshua are arrested during Joshua’s birthday party and forced on a train bound for a concentration camp. When Dora hears of their capture, she volunteers to board a train headed for the same camp.

It isn’t long after their arrival that Guido’s uncle is sent to the gas chambers. The terrors of the camp are real, yet Guido does his best to protect his son from them, to give him hope amid such horror. So, he tells his son that they are a part of a great, complicated game, and in order to win the prize (his very own tank!) Joshua must do everything his father tells him to do. Guido uses his imagination and charm to convince his son to hide, to be quiet, to stay out of sight of guards and even other prisoners in the camp.

Eventually, news reaches the camp that the Allies have won and are on their way to liberate the camp. The Nazis begin to abandon the camp, burning records, corpses, and executing prisoners. The place is wild with the sounds of dogs barking, guns firing, and men and women screaming. Guido takes his son Joshua and convinces him to hide in a box, telling him that he has won the prize but he must do this final thing if he is to claim it. As Joshua hides in the box, Guido heads to the other side of the camp in an attempt to find his wife, Dora. He’s captured by a Nazi soldier. The soldier leads him in front of the box where Joshua is hiding. After making eye contact, Guido gives his son a wink and mockingly marches in front of the box. The soldier leads him around the corner and down an alley. We hear the rifle fire. It’s one of the most heartbreaking scenes in any movie. Yet, it’s also a powerful image of hope, because, you see, hope is most keenly felt by those who are broken, by those at the end of the line, by those who would otherwise have nothing left to call them on. Guido’s hope was for his son, a hope in what lies beyond the terror, a hope for what waits in the unforeseen future, a hope that is bigger than the present and even our very selves. It’s that kind of hope we celebrate on this first Sunday of Advent.

It’s the hope of which the prophet Isaiah speaks in our text this morning. Isaiah talks about what will happen “In days to come,” but at the time the prophet first spoke these words, “the days to come” seemed bleak. The nation was on the brink of destruction, and God was calling them out for their iniquities through the prophet: they had been greedy, absorbed in their own self-interest, those in power had been corrupted, and the religion of the day was little more than lip-service and habitual ritual[1] (I suppose it sounds a bit familiar…). The Lord had threatened to pour out his wrath on the people, to turn his hand against them. God was angry with the nation because it had forgotten its calling, overlooked the teachings of Torah to find power, wealth, and prominence among the nations. There was political tension in the atmosphere as the Syro-Ephraimitic war had been raging, catching the southern kingdom of Judah and its capital Jerusalem in its crossfire.[2] The “days to come” seems filled with fear, anxiety, and uncertainty as the Lord’s wrath seemed eminent and the world around them spun out of control, yet the prophet says, “In days to come the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it.”

Here the world is falling apart and things seem terrible, but the prophet is talking about a future when the Lord’s house will be set on the highest mountain and every nation will flow to it like an ever-growing stream of living souls. Doesn’t he know what’s going on in the world?! Has Isaiah looked out the window, read a paper, turned on the news? It’s horrible out there! Markets are crashing. Wars are raging. People are rioting in the streets. It’s a mad world, but all he can say is “In the days to come the Lord’s house will be on the highest mountain and everybody is going to want to go there.” He’s daydreaming, got his head in the clouds. He’s preaching on and on about days unforeseen, a hope that is to come then, but what everybody wants to know is what about now?! That’s true, isn’t it? We all want to know about now. Oh sure, it’s nice to dream about the future, about the “sweet by and by,” but what are we supposed to do now?!

I can remember times when I was kid, waking up some nights and walking into the kitchen. My mom and step-dad sitting at the table; one of them would have the checkbook, while the other one sorted through the envelopes on the table. It was a regular sort of ritual in our house growing up. I can remember a few times, when some of those envelopes were pink or stamped with red ink, and they would look worried, maybe overwhelmed, and I’d ask my mom, “Is everything alright?” Momma would say to me every single time, “Everything is going to be alright.” It’s “going to be alright,” not “it is alright,” but “it’s going to be alright.” She spoke about an unforeseen future, days to come when paying the bills would be easier, when the envelopes wouldn’t stack up, when decisions would be made about which pair of shoes to by rather than which bill to pay. It was as if she said, “It’s not alright now, but it will be one day.”

That’s how I imagine these words from Isaiah. After all, they’re pretty far-fetched notions when they are weighed on the scales of present reality. The prophet speaks about a day when “Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.’" A day when people will want to go to house of God—and learn?! People who call themselves religious hardly have the time or want to take the time these days to get out of bed and go learn about their faith, their God, but Isaiah, you’re telling me there’s coming a day when many people will want to go and learn (from God, God’s self no less)?

Isaiah also says that God will be the ultimate judge between the nations. Now, before too many of you get all Left Behind excited about that notion, understand that when Isaiah says, “[God] shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples,” what the prophet means is that God will be the one who dissolves disputes, cancels conflicts, and wipes out the need for war. This isn’t the apocalyptic judge we’ve painted in our imagination, wielding a gavel in one hand and a thunderbolt in the other, waiting to send all “those people” to hell so the rest of “us” can go on enjoying the hereafter. This is a God who acts as judge in order to bring peace! I mean, just look at the result of such judgement from God according to the prophet: “they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”

Nations will stop spending trillions of dollars on weapons and war and will instead spend such resources on those things which help rather than harm? You mean to tell me, when God judges the nations, armies are going to put down their weapons, convert them into farming implements, and folks who once fought each other, soldiers who once studied the strategies and tactics of warfare will now seek to live in peace with one another while learning to walk in the path of God from God God’s self?! You mean to tell me that young men and women will no longer be used to fight the wars of the wealthy, that religion will no longer be warped as a justification for bloodshed and violence, that young children will no longer have to live in fear of bombs falling on them in hospitals, that the hunger for oil will no longer drive the will to fight, and the boundaries we so foolishly fight over will one day be erased?

And here I thought my momma was being naïve when she used to tell me everything is going to be alright.

How in the world can the prophet Isaiah speak about such wide-eyed, foolhardy notions when his world was crumbling? How can we read such words in worship in such a world where the news in our papers, on our televisions, and in our social media reminds us daily of just how messed up it all is, of just how upside-down this world we live in really is? How can we sit here in November of 2016 and decorate a room with green garland, purple paraments, candles, magi, shepherds, Mary, Joseph…? How? Well, because we have hope.

We have a hope that is greater than any single one of us, a hope that is greater than anything in this whole universe (or multi-verse[3]). We have an eternal hope, a hope that says, “It’s going to be alright,” not because we’re unsure of what the future holds, but because (as the old song says) we know who holds the future! We have the kind of hope that makes us want to decorate a tall tree with red flowers and hand wreaths in the windows. We have the kind of hope that we want to tell on the mountain, the kind of hope that calls us to love others even though they may be our enemies, the kind of hope that says the kindness we show today makes ripples on in to eternity, the kind of hope that calls us to that great mountain of God, a mountain higher than all mountains, where all the nations will flow like an ever-growing stream of souls to learn the ways of the Lord and walk in God’s path.

So, friends, as the prophet calls to the house of Jacob with such words of hope, I call to you, “come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!” Let us look forward not only to the arrival of the Christ-child at Christmas, but to those days to come, when our hope will be realized, when many will say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths,” when the Lord “shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples,” when the great militaries of this world “shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks,” when nation shall not lift up sword against nation,” when they “shall they learn war [no] more.” O Church, “come, let us walk in the light of the Lord,” and let us have hope! Amen!

[1] Tisdale, Leonora Tubbs. "First Sunday of Advent." In Preaching God's Transformative Justice: A Lectionary Commentary, Year A, edited by Dawn Ottoni-Wilhelm, Ronald J. Allen, & Dale P. Andrews. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2013 (p.1).

[2] Birch, Bruce C. "First Sunday of Advent: Isaiah 2:1-5 (Exegetical Perspective)." In Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1 (Advent through Transfiguration), edited by David L. Bartlett, & Barbara Brown Taylor. Loisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2010 (p3.).

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Multiverse (accessed 11/27/16 at 12:12 A.M. CST).