Calling

A New Kind of Beautiful

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Luke 1:26-38

26In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, 27to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. 28And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” 29But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” 34Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” 35The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

The text says that Mary was much perplexed.  I’ll bet she was!  The truth is, this young girl was so confused at first. Well, of course she was confused!  And on top of that, she was terrified.  You see, to put it into the context in which Mary lived, there is a folktale that is told in the Apocryphal Book of Tobit that tells of a jealous angel who would appear on a bride’s wedding night each time she married and kill her bridegroom. This story, of course, was part of the culture in which Mary lived.  She had grown up hearing that story. And remember, that even though Mary and Joseph had yet to be formally married, they were betrothed.  This is more than just being engaged.  The commitment had already been made.  There had already been a dowry paid. So, Mary could have thought that this angel was coming to kill her bridegroom.  Not only would she lose her intended spouse but she would be left with nothing.  As one who was already betrothed, she would essentially be relegated to the class of widow with no resources.  Then the angel tells her not to be afraid.  Don’t be afraid? Good grief…she was terrified!

I think Mary’s initial response (as its translated in our Scriptures) is one of the most profound phrases ever: “How can this be?” How can this happen when it doesn’t make sense?  Why me?  Why of all the people in the world that you could have chosen, why choose me?  In other words, you have got to be kidding me!  We identify with this.  Even when we intend to obey God, we struggle when it is so far out of the parameters of the life we have or the life that we have planned that is makes no sense.  It is the question of faith. It is what we all ask about our lives.  Because, surely, in this moment, Mary saw her world toppling down.  And the world waited.  God waited.  How can this be?  Because, you see, it CAN’T be–not without God and, interestingly enough, not EVEN without Mary.

The passage tells us that Mary pondered these things.  I love that image of pondering.  So, what does it mean to ponder?  If you read this Scripture, it does not mean thinking something through until you understand it or until you “get it”.   Nowhere does it say that Mary was ever completely sure about what was going to happen.  Nowhere does it say that she ever stopped asking questions, that she ever stopped pondering what this would mean for her life.  It really doesn’t even tell us that she actually stopped being afraid.  Nowhere does it say that she expected this turn of events. 

And then this angel shows up.  What if Mary had said no?  What if her fear or her plans had gotten the best of her?  What if she was just too busy planning for whatever was going to happen next in her life?  What if she was waiting for the world to change before she committed to something that would so drastically change her life?  What if she really didn’t have time to do any pondering today? Now, as much as we’d like to think that we have the whole story of God neatly constructed between the covers of our Bible or on that nifty little Bible app that you have on your iPhone, you and I both know that there is lots of God’s work that is missing.  We really just sort of get the highlights (or at least what the writers think are highlights).  Who knows?  Maybe Mary wasn’t the first one that God asked to do this.  Maybe she was the second, or the tenth, or the 386th.  After all, this is a pretty big deal.  I mean, this pretty much shoots that whole long-term life plan thing out of the water.

But, you see, this story is not just about Mary; it’s also about God.  And through her willingness to ponder, her willingness to let go of the life that she had planned, her willingness to open herself to God’s entrance into her life and, indeed, into her womb, this young, dark-haired, dark-skinned girl from the wrong side of the tracks was suddenly thrust into God’s redemption of the world.  We don’t really know her.  We’re not given a resume’.  We don’t know her family (except for the one cousin that would birth the one known as John the Baptizer).  Who are her people?  Maybe that’s the point.  Because it is in this moment that all those years of envisioning what would be, all those visions that we’ve talked about, all of the waiting, all of the preparing, all of the journeying and planting that the people of God have done, it is here, in this moment, that they begin to be.  This is the moment.  Just let it be.

That’s what this whole Advent journey has been about:  Preparing us to respond, to respond not to the gifts that we think God will bring, not to what we have experienced before, but to what God offers us in this moment. We are no different from Mary.  God is waiting on our response; waiting to hear whether or not we, too, will say “yes” to birthing the Christ Child in our own lives.

What do we miss as we wait for the changes we so desperately want in our world today?  What do we miss when we are unwilling to put ourselves out there, to risk that our lives might dramatically change?  What do we miss when God calls us and we make excuses or turn and look away?  We miss what could be.  We miss the world changing, if only a little bit.  We miss becoming who God sees we can be.  We miss the new kind of beautiful God has waiting for us.  When the world begins to change, even in small ways, have we situated ourselves to see it?  When the world begins to change, where are we?  When the world begins to change, are we so grieving our losses and our sadness and our regrets over the past that we let the beauty that begins to be slip through our fingers?

So, God waits patiently for Mary to respond. The world stops, hangs suspended if only for a time, its very salvation teetering on the brink of its demise. This is a world that is wrought with injustice and poverty, with corrupt leaders and wars, with economic peril.  This is a world like ours.  Oh, sure, if Mary had said no, God could have gone to someone else. Surely God could have found SOMEONE to birth the salvation of the world. But it wouldn’t have been the same. After all, the Divine did not just plunk a far-removed piece of the Godself into a womb. Our understanding is that, yes, the Christ was fully Divine; but Jesus was “born of a woman”, fully human and, as a human, Jesus carried Mary’s unique and specific DNA with him. Mary was not just a container through which God came into this little world. Mary’s DNA, Mary’s response, Mary’s “how can this be?”, Mary’s “yes” is written all through the salvation of the world. In this moment, this moment for which the world has waited, the moment for which we have prepared…in this moment, the history of the world begins to turn.  The Light begins to come into focus and the heavens begin winging their way toward us, full of expectancy, full of hope.  Mary said “yes” and the Divine began to spill in to the womb of the world. Salvation has begun.  The world is with child.  The world is beginning to change.

“What is the good if Mary gave birth to the Son of God 2,000 years ago, if I do not give birth to God today?”  He says that “We are all Mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born.” (Meister Eckhart)

Lyrics

… Told my troubled heart don’t worry
Hope is here
The tides are turning

… I can see
I can see
A new light shining down on me
A new way
A new road
Oh to a new kind of beautiful
A new kind of beautiful
Not like it was before
It’s a new kind of beautiful

… Take my hand
The worst is over
Weight is lifting off our shoulders

… I can see
I can see
A new light shining down on me
A new way
A new road
Oh to a new kind of beautiful
A new kind of beautiful
Not like it was before
It’s a new kind of beautiful

… Oh, ohhh
Whoa
A new kind of beautiful
Oh, ohhh
Whoa

… I can see
I can see
A new light shining down on me
A new way
A new road
Oh to a new kind of beautiful

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Why Exactly Are We Reading This?

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“Herod’s Birthday Feast”, Edward Armitage, 1868

Scripture Text: Mark 6: 14-29 (Proper 10B)

14King Herod heard of it, for Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, “John the baptizer has been raised from the dead; and for this reason these powers are at work in him.” 15But others said, “It is Elijah.” And others said, “It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” 16But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.”

17For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. 18For John had been telling Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” 19And Herodias had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, 20for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him. 21But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. 22When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” 23And he solemnly swore to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” 24She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer.” 25Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” 26The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. 27Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, 28brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother. 29When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.

Why are we reading this and what, pray tell, does this have to do with us?  No, I didn’t choose to write on this passage.  It’s actually the chosen Gospel passage for this week based on the Revised Common Lectionary.  And, when you say you’re going to write on the lectionary, this is what you get.  So why is this Gospel passage part of our Scriptures at all?  It’s often recognized as one of those so-called “texts of terror” and seems to be tastelessly and somewhat haphazardly nestled among tales of Jesus’ healing and teaching and miracle-making.  And then this passage appears which isn’t even really focusing on Jesus at all.  That is the reason that I love the Lectionary.  It invites us to broaden our scope of what life holds and our view of where God is and how God moves in and through our lives.  No longer can we pick and choose that to which we will listen or plan the way in which God speaks in our lives.  No longer are we limited to our thirteen favorite passages.  Instead, we must open ourselves to God’s Holy Presence in every aspect of life, including those things that we’d rather just ignore.

We usually know John the Baptist as our “Advent guy”.  He was the one that leaped in the womb when Mary, pregnant with Jesus, entered the house.  He would grow up to be this wild wilderness-sort of man who wore animal skins and ate locusts and honey and preached a seemingly hell-fire and brimstone version of repentance to all he saw.  He was the forerunner, the one who would point to the Light that was to come.  And, if you remember, he was the one that baptized Jesus.  And after the baptism, we are told that John was arrested.  And today’s passage begins to come to be.

It’s an odd story, almost fable-like.  Herod Antipas has had John arrested because John had denounced Herod for putting aside his legitimate wife and marrying the wife of his brother. (Whoever told us that soap operas were a modern invention?)  And yet, on some level, Herod found John sort of fascinating, maybe even respected what he had to say and yearned to hear more, although he definitely thought it was disturbing and confusing and there was no way he could admit this fascination to anyone.  But he certainly did not wish him dead.  But this was not the case with Herod’s wife. So, in order to accommodate his wife’s wrath, he has John arrested.

And then Herod throws himself a birthday party, a big to-do with lots of good food, good wine, and dancing.  And the entertainment for the evening was provided by the young, beautiful, dancing daughter of either Herod’s new (and John had contended illegitimate) wife or of Herod himself (the passage is a little confusing on that fact).  Some people think that this was Salome’, who is depicted as one of the “bad girls” of the Bible. (Don’t know one way or the other!)  Well Herod was so pleased with her performance that he promises her anything.  The world was hers.  She could have anything that she wanted.

So, the young girl runs to her mother just outside the room.  Here was Herodias’ chance.  Her nemesis John would meet his demise and she would be rid of him forever.  And the young girl returns to the party and makes the fateful request for John the Baptist’s head on a platter.  Herod must have nearly choked.  This was not what he wanted!  His vengeful wife and this spoiled child had crossed the line.  He knows that no matter who John is, he does not deserve death.  But, as the governor, he was in what he construed as a tenuous position at best.  After all, he had made a promise and had voiced it aloud in front of numerous witnesses.  If he didn’t follow through with it, no one would trust him again.  So, to save face and to secure the balance of power, he complied.  After all, he was governor.  Some things have to be done for the good of society and for the preservation of the way things are.  And, let’s be honest, there is not one of us here who doesn’t want to be liked by others.  Herod was no different.

But this is not just an historical account about Herod.  I really do think that somewhere in this passage, we are meant to find and look at ourselves and our own lives.  Because we, too, make our own concessions—not to the point, obviously, of ordering someone’s death but in our own way we also bow to convenience and convention.  On some level we all live our lives wanting to be victorious and successful, wanting people to like us, and, like Herod, we sometimes miss the opportunity to do the right thing.  We close our ears and our minds and we look away, hoping the whole messy thing will just go away (or at least we won’t have to read about it!).  And we miss the opportunity to stand up and be who God is calling us to be.

Maybe that is the reason that this horrible story is here in the first place; otherwise, we’d all be tempted to start thinking that this Christian walk involves following some sort of miracle working-healing-rock star-Superman character.  Well, sign us all up for that!  But it’s not about that.  Jesus kept telling everyone not to say anything about all those miracles because following Christ does not mean going where the miracles are; it means becoming Christ-like.  It means becoming holy.  It means, finally, becoming human—fully human as Christ showed us how to be.

This story is one that is not about Jesus; it is rather about one of his followers, one who never wavered in his powerful witness.  This, like so many of the Scriptures, is a story of contrasts.  I think maybe the Gospel is a story of contrasts.  Think about it.  It’s always presented this way:  You can follow the crowd, be accepted, be what the world expects you to be.  You can follow the norms that society has laid down for us.  Or you can follow Jesus.  You can back away into the crowd and say that something should be done or ask why no one is doing anything.  Or you can follow Jesus.  You can BE the change.   We’re not called to admire Jesus; we’re called to become like Jesus.  And sometimes that means that we stand up.  Sometimes that means that we speak out. Sometimes that means we don’t follow the jerks down a terrible storyline.

Years ago I had the opportunity to visit Auschwitz.  I was struck by the obvious, of course. But what surprised me was what was around it.  It is located on a former military base in southern Poland near Krakow.  It’s out in the country away from the town with a railroad track running straight through it.  But around it are farmhouses—century-old farmhouses.  In other words, they were there in 1942.  And I wondered why they didn’t say anything.  There were cattle cars coming and going and the smell of burning flesh at times.  And I realized that as German as I am, those could be my relatives.  Why didn’t they say anything? Would I have said anything?  I fear that answer.

See, holiness is sort of a complex thing.  We crave it, we pursue it, and we try our best to attain it.  But most of us have to be honest with ourselves.  We want it at our beckoning and on our terms.  We don’t want to stir things up or get involved in places that are uncomfortable, that might reflect badly upon us.  We are a lot more like Herod than any of us care to admit.  We opt for convenience and convention and complacency and in a way spend our lives fearing the mystery of holiness, fearing what entering holiness and the unknown would mean for our lives.  Because, I will tell you, holiness will mess up your life more than you can possibly imagine.

You know, I once heard someone refer to the Christian life as linear—as a sequence of steps as we move from creation, through growth and the pursuit of Christian perfection so that we might finally reach that place where we are one with God.  I don’t think that’s right.  I don’t think of Christian perfection, or heaven, or whatever you imagine it to be as something to which we somehow graduate.  It’s actually here and now.  If we just open our eyes, we will see glimpses of the sacred and the holy everywhere.  We will be aware that God is calling us to do something different–now.  And I think God knows that there is a time when things that are wrong come to light.  There is a time when we really are called to look at our own lives and sort of re-evaluate. When we finally stop doing what we think we should be doing or maintaining the life we’ve worked so hard to build or trying to please those who we think we should be pleasing and listen for that which God is calling us to be we will become aware of that holiness of which we are already a part.

There is no doubt that this is still a bizarre thing to include in our Lectionary or even in our Scriptures.  But maybe it’s a call to us to redefine what we think our lives are.  Maybe it’s a way of realizing that becoming holiness does not mean our comfortable business as usual.  Retired United Methodist Bishop William Willimon says that “It’s a fearful thing to commend our spirits to God because well, who knows what God will do with our lives?”  That is the crux—submitting one’s life to God means that one gives up control, gives up the “plan” that one has laid out for his or her life.  Submitting one’s life to God means that one’s life as he or she knows it ends.  And that is indeed a scary thing. 

A familiar poem by Robert Frost includes the line, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”  That is it.  That is discipleship.  It is not straight; it’s not linear; it is not easy; it is not predictable.  Sometimes it’s messy.  Sometimes you will lose standing or power or that comfortable existence that you’ve so hard to maintain.  Sometimes you will find yourself waiting for someone else to do something, to do the right thing.  What if that’s supposed to be you?  Sometimes you have to stand and do the right thing. 

How would history have changed if Herod had done the right thing, if he had ignored his need for power or recognition and instead had done what he knew was right?  We’ll never know.  What would have happened if some of those farmhouses had had the courage to speak out?  We’ll never know.  But we can do the right thing now.  We can stand and speak for justice and equality and mercy.  We can be the change that the world needs.  That’s what discipleship is.  It’s showing the world what it means to be courageous, to be the one, to be fully human.

Never for the sake of peace and quiet deny your own experience or convictions. (Dag Hammarskjold)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Sent

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Scripture Text: Mark 6:1-13 (Proper 9B)

He left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. 2On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! 3Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. 4Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” 5And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. 6And he was amazed at their unbelief.

Then he went about among the villages teaching. 7He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. 8He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; 9but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. 10He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. 11If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” 12So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. 13They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

This story is told in all four Gospels, so it must have been seen as important.  It must be a story to which we should listen.  The truth was that Jesus wasn’t seen as a prophet or a Messiah by this crowd.  He was just one of them, this little kid that had made good and of whom they were very proud.  This was the kid that they had helped raise.  They probably thought that his ministry would be a reflection on them.  But Jesus was going off-script, so to speak.  And when they looked at him, they did not see a reflection of what they were expecting but a dim view of something that was a tad unfamiliar.  Jesus was standing there, calling them to change, calling them to look at things differently, to step out of their carefully constructed boxes and away from their earthly temples of who they thought they should be and actually become the people of God. So, who did he think he was?  God?

And then he called the disciples and sent them out.  Now, truthfully, they were already “called”.  That had already happened.  This was the sending.  This was the place where he gives them the authority to go out and BE his disciples. And, if you read a little farther, he tells them not to take any food or money, not a bag, not even a change of clothes.  This always struck me as weird.  So, they go out into the world without really being prepared?  I think maybe Jesus didn’t want them to be weighed down.  He didn’t want them to rely solely on themselves because when we do that, it becomes about us.  And this was not about the disciples; it was about the journey on which they were called to go. 

Then (still reading farther) Jesus tells them that if someone doesn’t welcome them, if someone doesn’t listen, if someone doesn’t extend hospitality to them, if someone out and out rejects them, don’t worry about it.  Just “shake off the dust from your feet”.  That is hard.  When you feel like you’re right, when you feel like you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, it is really hard to walk away from rejection.  But it’s another reminder that it’s not about us.  Sometimes stuff just doesn’t happen the way we plan.  Maybe the person that comes to them next will get through.  Maybe no one will ever get through.  Maybe they’re just locked into their own preconceived notion of who God is and who they should be.   Jesus essentially tells them not to worry about it.  Do what you can because that’s what you’re there to do.  Just let it go.  Your mission is to bring healing and reconciliation to those who need it.  Your mission is to tell the story.

You know what Jesus DOESN’T say?  (I am fascinated by this idea…maybe what Jesus doesn’t say is just as important as what he does!)  Surprisingly, he doesn’t tell them what to say to people.  He doesn’t give them a prescribed set of Biblical interpretations or some pre-ordained “orthodox” theological premise.  He gives them no notes, no reading hints, and no check-off list of beliefs that they are supposed to accept and espouse.  He gives them no bulletin or video screen to prompt their words.  He doesn’t give them some bizarre 1-minute “elevator speech” to convert someone to the faith while they’re flying between Floor 1 and Floor 4.  (I’m sorry.  That was always an odd concept to me.  I actually think starting a faith journey is a lot more substantive than a 1-minute elevator ride.  But that’s just me.)  Instead, Jesus tells them to proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God.  He sends them out to tell the story—to anybody, to everybody, to whomever they encounter who will listen.  And he tells them to adapt, to be nimble.  He reminds them that it’s not about them or what they think.  It’s about the good news.  It’s about God.  And he leaves room for them to wrestle with their own understanding.

I know.  “Adaptable” and “nimble” are not the first words that come to your mind when you’re talking about our faith.  They are certainly not the primary words used to describe the church.  But maybe they should be.  What if faith is not, after all, a fortress?  What if belief is not intended to be rigid or staid? What if our theological understandings actually grew?  (Goodness, mine have!) What if our faith means openness to change, openness to the newness that God offers us?  What if our faith was adaptable to that change?  What if our faith grew into something we never imagined because we were open to it?  What if our next crisis of faith, our next crisis of the church, made us recognize the way that God had turned our path just a bit?  What if we went out into the world as God’s disciples to tell the story, to invite, to gather, rather than to convert?

So, the picture on the left is an image of the Choluteca Bridge over the Choluteca River in Honduras.  It was built in the 1930’s by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and it’s an important bridge on a very busy road called the Panamericana.  The picture on the right is the same bridge after Hurricane Mitch in 1998.  Now, contrary to your first thought, no, the hurricane did not do anything to the bridge.  The bridge is fine.  The hurricane moved the river.  (Oh my!) Adaptable and nimble…things happen, things out of our control.  But our faith tells us that God will turn our paths toward the new river.  But if we don’t listen, we will find ourselves on a bridge to nowhere.

Faith and belief and religious expression are messy.  Jesus knew that.  I think he also knew that they change.  They grow.  Sometimes they even shrink.  That’s why we’re sent out—to keep telling the story.  The words will change.  The people will change.  Churches will change.  (They grow, they split, they regroup, they rediscover who they are…looking at you United Methodists!  It’s all OK.)  Sometimes even the river will move.  But, most of all, WE will change. And God will walk with us through the bends and curves and speed bumps that we find.  If someone doesn’t want to hear us, it is not our job to ram it down their throat.  There is someone else that has the words they will hear.  Let it go.  Faith is not about rules or prescribed beliefs or, of all things, laws and politics.  Faith is about a story.  Just tell the story.  Tell it from your heart.  It’s there.

Jesus told the disciples he sent out to take nothing with them, to travel light.  It was so they weren’t weighed down and tempted to stay where they were.  We could take a valuable lesson from that.  It’s hard but sometimes we need to be more open to change.  Because this world that God created is always changing, always growing, always alive.  There’s sort of a wildness to it, not to be tamed or fixed, but to be embraced and entered.  We are called to go out into the world and change it.  But, more importantly, we are called to move to where God is leading us and allow ourselves to be changed.  Our traditions and our theological understandings and our beliefs and our religions are not theories.  They simply give us the words to tell the story and the story is God’s.  So they went out.  And we are called to do the same.

“Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” (G.K. Chesterton)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

What Now?

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Lectionary Passage:  Matthew 2: 1-12

2In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” 3When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 6‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” 7Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” 9When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

New Year’s Day is always somewhat mixed for me, filled with hope for the future, maybe a chance at a “reset” but also regrets for what the past year has left undone and a sadness for what is left behind.  I always have this feeling that I’m somehow leaving those that are not here to celebrate behind, like I’m moving into a place where they are not.  This year is especially bittersweet.  The good part is that 2020 is over.  I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to see this one leave.  But as I write this, there are officially 346,859 Americans that are not stepping into the new year with us because of Covid-19. One of those is my funny, flamboyant friend Brian.  And left behind with him is my friend Lahonda and sweet Maynard, the wonder dog.  Brian and Lahonda were musicians.  Maynard just sort of had his own song.  The music is still here but it is different.

This Scripture is used for Epiphany, which is not until January 6th but is celebrated by most churches this Sunday.  But it’s also a good reading for New Year’s, for that time of resetting what is normal, of rethinking what it is that is your life, and perhaps figuring out a way to carry the past with you in a new way. Now is the time to go back to what is “normal” (or in our case, parademic-normal).  But, regardless, what does that really mean?  What do we do after it all ends?  What now?  The truth is, “after” is when it begins, “after” is when it becomes real, and “after” is the whole reason we do this at all.

The text that we read begins by setting us “in the time of King Herod”.  And in it, we find that the last question of Advent comes not at Christmas but afterward and is asked not by an individual but by a group.  They believe that the star (or, for some, an unusual conjunction of heavenly bodies that produces an especially bright light—hence the “Christmas Star” name given to the recent conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in our solar system) marks the birth of a special child destined to be a king.  And they ask, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?

And so Herod hears that a king had been born in Bethlehem.  Well, the formula is simple—a king is born, but a king is already here; and in Herod’s mind and the minds of all those who follow him, there is room for only one king.  The passage says that King Herod was frightened and all Jerusalem with him.  They probably were pretty fearful.  After all, there was a distinct possibility that their world was about to change.  It seemed that the birth of this humble child might have the ability to shake the very foundations of the earth and announce the fall of the mighty.  Things would never be the same again.  So Herod relies on these wisest ones in his court.  The writer of Matthew’s Gospel says that they’re from the East.  Some traditions hold that these wise ones were Magi, a Priestly caste of Persian origin that followed Zoroastrianism and practiced the interpretation of dreams and portents and astrology.  Other traditions depict them with different ethnicities as the birth of this Messiah begins to move into the whole world.  In fact, the early Western church gave them names that depict this.  (No, these names are not in the Bible.)  But according to tradition, Melchior was a Persian scholar, Caspar was a learned man from India, and Balthazar, a scholar with a Babylonian name.  These three areas represented the known world at that point.  The Messiah had come to every nook and cranny of the world.

But, regardless of who they were, somewhere along the way, they had heard of the birth of this king and came to the obvious place where he might be—in the royal household.  So, sensing a rival, Herod sends these “wise ones” to find the new king so that he could “pay homage” to him.  We of course know that this was deceitful.  His intent was not to pay homage at all, but to destroy Jesus and stop what was about to happen to his empire.  It was the only way that he could preserve what he had.

According to the passage, the wise men know that Christ was born; they needed God’s guidance, though, to find where Christ was.  When they get to the place where the star has stopped, the passage tells us that they were “overwhelmed with joy”.  They knelt down and paid the new king homage and offered him gifts fit for a king.  Even though later interpreters have often tried to place specific meanings on these gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, it is possible that the writer of the Gospel of Matthew simply thought that these gifts, exotic and expensive as they were, were gifts that would be worthy of a great and mighty king.  They were gifts of joy, gifts of gratitude, gifts of celebration. 

And then the passage tells us that, heeding a warning in a dream, these wise and learned (and probably powerful and wealthy) members of the court of Herod, left and returned to their own country, a long and difficult journey through the Middle Eastern desert.  But rather than returning to their comfortable lives and their secure and powerful places in the court of Herod, they left and went a different way.  They knew they had to go back to life.  But it didn’t have to be the same.

We often profess that Jesus came to change the world.  But that really didn’t happen.  Does that mean that this whole Holy Birth was a failure, just some sort of pretty, romantic story in the midst of our sometimes-chaotic life?  Maybe Jesus never intended to change the world at all; maybe Jesus, Emmanuel, God with Us, came into this world to change us, to invite us to travel a different way.  Maybe it has to do with what we do after.  It has to do with how we choose to go back to our lives.  Do we just pick up where we left off?  Or do we, like those wise visitors choose to go home by another way?  Do we choose, then, to change our lives, to listen to the familiar music in a new way?

God did not just visit our little earth so long ago and then return to wherever God lives.  God came as Emmanuel, God with Us, and that has never changed.  The birth of Jesus means that God was born in a specific person in a specific place.  The Christmas story affirms to us that God is here, that the Messiah for whom we had waited has come, that we are in God’s hands (and God is in ours).  But the Epiphany story moves it beyond the manger.  And all of a sudden we are part of the story.  We are part of the Incarnation of God, the manifestation of God’s Presence here on our little earth.  The God in whose hands we rest danced into our very lives and is now all over our hands.  It is our move.  God was not just born into the child Jesus; God is born into us, into humanity.  And the world really hasn’t changed.  I don’t know. Maybe it never will. But we have.  Our music is the same; but it sounds different to us.  Because, it’s up to us.  Christ’s coming means that we need to get going.  We are called to change the world.

When the song of the angel is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone, 
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
     
To find the lost,
     To heal the broken,
     To feed the hungry,
     To release the prisoner,
     To rebuild the nations,
     To bring peace among brothers and sisters,
     To make music in the heart.
                                                               
(Howard Thurman)

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, ‘Give me a light that I might go safely out into the darkness.’ And he replied, ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.  That shall be more to you than a light, and safer than a known way.’ (M.L. Haskins)

Happy New Year!

Shelli

The Other Side of the Manger

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The Annunciation of Joseph, St. Joseph’s Church, Nazareth, Israel

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. 19Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20But 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. 21She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ 22All this took place to fulfil 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.’ 24When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, 25but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son;* and he named him Jesus.

Ahhh…those words…”Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.”  After weeks of reading about John the Baptist and the Assyrians and people in exile and stories of years upon years of people waiting and waiting, we FINALLY get to one of “the stories”. Doesn’t it sort of stop you in your tracks?  This is it.  This is that for which we’ve waited, that for which we’ve prepared, that for which we’ve hoped.  This is the beginning of the story that we love. Now I know what you’re thinking.  This is about Joseph.  Where is Mary?  Where is that Annunciation story to which we’re more accustomed?  [Advertisement:  That is tomorrow!]  So, today, we’re going to look at the other side of the manger.

Poor Joseph! He really doesn’t get much of the spotlight.  In fact, the lectionary only has us read this passage once every three years, and, technically, this is not one of those years.  In the Gospels, the writer known as Matthew is the only one that even talks about him.  So Joseph is usually relegated to supporting cast status and we often just skip him.  It’s easy to do because he doesn’t even have a speaking role.  There’s no “how can this be?”, no offering of his opinion, no shaking his fist in utter disbelief.  He’s actually almost rendered speechless.  So we really know very little about him. We know he was from Nazareth, a sort of no-name town in Galilee.  We can surmise that he was a carpenter because Jesus is described as the son of a carpenter several times in Scripture.  And we know that he was engaged, or actually betrothed. to Mary.  Now understand that this is not like our notion of an engagement.  This was a marital contract.  It just wasn’t consummated.  They were not just dating.  They were really pretty much considered husband and wife.  And you know what?  Joseph had plans.  He had some idea laid out of how his life would go. 

You know, when you think about it, Joseph had to be hurt, probably even angry at Mary.  But he had apparently already decided what he was going to do (a plan that it should be noted in the face of the tradition was EXTREMELY merciful and compassionate).  He was going to quietly dismiss her and, I suppose, Joseph would have faded into the pages of the story.  Maybe Mary could have gotten help from her cousins.  Maybe Jesus and John would have grown up like brothers.  It could have all worked out.  And then came the dream.

It was apparently a wild fit of a dream.  I mean, the Lord came.  That cannot have been a comfortable situation.  And, true to form, God tells him not to be afraid.  “Oh, no,” Joseph thought, “I have read this before.  When the Lord tells you not to be afraid, things tend to happen–things like the floor of your world on which your standing giving way and you falling uncontrollably into something that you never imagined and for which you certainly could never have planned.  Hold on!”  And the Lord hands him a story that doesn’t even make sense.  Joseph is being asked to step back into the story.  And oh what a story it has become!  Joseph is being asked to raise the child that IS the Messiah.  Joseph is being asked to love him and guide him and discipline him (Good grief, how do you discipline a Messiah?  I mean, does he get like some sort of Divine time out?)  Joseph is even told what to name the child—Emmanuel, “God With Us”.

Well, I’m betting that Joseph’s first thought when he awoke was that he had eaten some bad lamb or something.  He probably laid there for a few minutes processing it all.  I mean, remember, we know from the verses before the ones we read that Joseph was descended from a long line of dreamers.  In fact, old Grandpa Jacob (like 34 “greats” ago) had fought back, wrestling until the break of day!  Remember that?  And then Joseph got up and moved out of the way and followed.  He had plans.  He had a reputation to think of.  He had a face that he had to present to the temple.  He had a life.  But Joseph moved aside and fell speechless.  And then, and then God gave him his voice.

The name “Joseph” means “God will add” or “God will increase”.  God called Mary as the God-bearer; but God called Joseph to also respond, to add to the meaning of the story.  After all, it is the Joseph side of the story that once again upsets the social and religious expectation apple cart, so to speak.  It is Joseph that must break the ranks of laws and righteousness and instead become human.  This beautiful nativity story is both wondrous and scandalous at the same time.  We tend to relegate it to a star-lit evening.  Mary had made a choice that would change her life forever.  And so, somehow Joseph had to trust this strange news that he, too, was being drawn into the story.  Somehow Joseph had to get on board with God turning his whole life upside down.

So, are you ready?  Are you ready for what comes next?  I’m not talking about whether or not you’ve cooked everything, or finished your shopping, or wrapped the gifts, or finished trimming the tree.  Are you ready for what comes next?  Are you ready to birth the Christ into your life?  Are you ready to add to the story?  Are you ready for the unexpected, for your plans to be shattered and your world turned upside down?  Are you ready for the floor of what you know to give way?  Are you ready for the night when the angel comes?  So what will you do?  Most of us don’t go running through the darkness to Bethlehem.  We hold back or we wait or we cower in the darkness hoping that someone else will do it.  But heading into the darkness, into the unknown, is the only way to see the Light of the World.  And if you pay attention, you will have a night when an angel comes and asks you to turn your world upside down.  And if you let yourself fall into it, THAT will be the beginning of everything that God has in store for you.

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us. Joseph Campbell

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Doxology

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Advent 4B Lectionary Text: Romans 16: 25-27

25Now to God who is able to strengthen you according to my gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages 26but is now disclosed, and through the prophetic writings is made known to all the Gentiles, according to the command of the eternal God, to bring about the obedience of faith— 27to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever! Amen.

This passage that our lectionary assigns us for the fourth Sunday of Advent is a doxology.  It comes at the end of Paul’s Letter to the Romans.  Interestingly, though, it’s not found in every translation of the letter and in some it appears in a different place (like after Chapter 14 or something).  So, truthfully, we’re not sure what it is. Scholars think that it is quite possible that Paul did not write these verses but that they were attached to the end of the letter perhaps AS a doxology, a statement of praise and proclamation.  But regardless of who wrote it, this is a statement of response.  It is, to use Paul’s words, an “obedience of faith.”  The Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ invokes our response; otherwise it is virtually meaningless.  German theologian Helmut Thielicke said that, “faith can be described only as a movement of flight, flight away from myself and toward the great possibilities of God.”  The whole Scripture in its fullness is about our response, about our movement, our journey.  It is our faith that moves it and opens up the possibilities that God envisioned.

We read this doxology alongside the veritable imminence of Jesus’ birth, the story of Mary as God-bearer, as the one who responded to God’s call to birth the Savior into the world.  The story is truly beginning to unfold.  And, yet, the story has been there all along.  As Christians, we come into a story that is already there.  God has been calling and people have been responding for thousands of years before Jesus.   It’s not new; it’s continuing.  (Maybe instead of “Old Testament” and “New Testament”, we ought to call it “The Story of God” and “The Continuing Story of God”.  I like that!)  The Letter to the Romans is the Apostle Paul’s understanding of that story.  (It’s really incredible.  You should read it “cover to cover”, so to speak, if you haven’t already.  It is truly a masterpiece.)  And at the end, either Paul or someone who read Paul’s letter and then wrote a response of praise, added this doxology.  It was the writer’s praise to God for the unveiling of something for them that had been around from the very beginning.

So why are we reading a doxology?  Doesn’t that come at the end of something?  Isn’t that the point where we pick up our purse or put our jacket back on set to music?  Isn’t that the point where we put our bulletin away and get ready to get out of there first so we can go eat?  Well, here’s the deal.  We are one week away from Christmas Eve, one week away from the end of all our looking and waiting and preparing for the coming of God yet again.  And part of our preparing is thinking about what comes next, what we’re going to do with all this preparing, all this waiting, all this changing that we’re doing to ready ourselves for God.  See, if you’re not thinking about what you’re going to do with it, what actual response you’re going to make, then the preparation is worthless.  The call means nothing without a response and the proclamation is empty without the doxology.

Advent is not just the “pre-Christmas” season.  These days leading up to Christmas Eve call us to envision what God envisions and then move toward it.  I think it’s a season that teaches us to see through the shadows of the world.  Because this world often seems random and meaningless, full of pain and despair, sickness and loneliness, and even death.  But into this world that is often callous and lacking in compassion, directionless and confused; into our lives that many times are wrought with grief and a sense that it is all for naught; into all of it is born a baby that holds the hope of the world for the taking.  We just have to be ready, open, and willing to take it—and respond.  The great illustrator and writer, Tasha Tudor said, “the gloom of the world is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.  Take joy!”  This is what this doxology says:  All of this that has been laid out for you, all of this that has been created; all of this that has for so long been moving toward your life…take it.  Take joy!  And, as part of your Advent preparation, listen for how you are called to respond. 

The Advent mystery is the beginning of the end in all of us that is not yet Christ.  Thomas Merton

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

The Journey Beyond Ourselves

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Water13Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” 15But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. 16And 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. 17And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 17: 1-9)

I remember when John baptized him.  Jesus, dressed in white, got into the water and John pushed his head under.  As he emerged, the heavens seemed to open as if God was pleased.  It was special, sort of an affirmation of who he was, who I had known he was all along.  In that moment, I began to understand that his role was bigger than our family, bigger than my son, even bigger than these that he had gathered around him.  I knew that but in that moment I began to understand it.  I was here to walk with him as he prepared not only to be a rabbi, a teacher, but to take on the ministry to which God called him.  And in that moment in the waters of re-creation, his ministry began.  This is the moment when God claims this child of God as the One who God calls.  This was the becoming and the beginning that he needed.  I had to begin to let go of what I knew.

I thought back to that time in Jerusalem when we found him in the temple with the rabbis.  My first reaction was relief that he was found.  I wanted to take him and hold him and never let him loose again.  My next reaction was anger that he had worried us so.  But the scene of him sitting there listening to the rabbis, understanding more than most adults will ever understand, made up for it all.  I knew then that he was beyond me, that I was here only for a time to help lead him to what he was called to do.  I knew that he was meant to be something more even than what I had thought.

So many of us get so wrapped up in those things that we can control or those that make us at least feel in control.  We want to be safe and comfortable.  So in this Christmas season, we often tend to wrap ourselves in our shopping, our plans for meals, and our family gatherings, our traditions of the way we do things and the expectations that they will be like they’ve been before.  These memories remind us all that we are continuously called beyond ourselves.  God calls us to newness, even in the midst of the familiar traditions that are so much a part of us.  That is the way God transforms us.  That is the way God moves us beyond ourselves.  That is the way God loves us.

God travels wonderful paths with human beings; God does not arrange matters to suit our opinions and views, does not follow the path that humans would like to prescribe for God.  God’s path is free and original beyond all our ability to understand or to prove.   (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

FOR TODAY:  How is God moving you beyond yourself?  How is God bringing newness even to the traditions that you hold so closely?

Peace to you as we come closer to that holiest of nights,

Shelli