Sermon, "Beyond Membership: Follow," Mark 8:27-37

Sermon 2/3/13

Mark 8:27-37

Beyond Membership: Follow

            I have this bad habit, and some of you might share this too. It’s one I’ve had since childhood, that often drove my mother crazy, as she would look on, exasperated, trying to convince me to do it a different way. If I have eight bags of groceries to carry into the house, rather than taking two trips with four bags on each trip, I will do anything I can to arrange the bags just so and carry them all at once. “Why don’t you just put something down and go back?” my mom would ask, which of course, would be very sensible. And my experience over the years tells me that carrying eight bags at once is usually not any faster than carrying four bags at a time in two trips. Carrying eight bags usually means you go a lot slower, you end up in pain, having cut off the circulation in your arms, where you’ve tried to carry the extra bags, and sometimes, you end up dropping or tearing bags, and having to go back anyway.  

            Maybe it is a family trait, because we have a favorite family story about my brother Todd that we all like to share. When Todd was maybe four years old, we were having our traditional Easter morning egg hunt with the family. Todd was pretty anxious to get more eggs than anybody else. So, rather than taking the few seconds to rush back to the living room and drop off a couple eggs at a time, he was kind of holding the eggs under his arms, so he could keep his hands free for the search. Well, as it turns out, a couple of the eggs were not quite hard-boiled all the way through, and Todd ended up with egg yolk running down his arms, crying, saying with repentance in his voice, “I was selfish!” Naturally, we repeat that story as often as possible.

            One more story that leads us even closer into our text. I came across a blog post from a woman who, every January, does 31 days of nothing – buying nothing, that is. Of course, she buys gas and groceries. But she tries to cut back on the miles she drives, to cut back on buying “optional” groceries – sticking to the basics, and to buy nothing that falls into other categories. No going to the movies, no eating out, no buying clothes. Could you do it? I’ve been reading this particular blog for a couple years, and I’ve seen her challenge before, and always admired the challenge, but nothing more. This year, I just can’t seem to get the idea out of my head. In fact, I am planning to make this my Lenten discipline this year. I’ve been a little unhappy with my own spending habits lately, and I feel like God is calling me to seriously examine what I’m buying, what I’m spending, and why. But I’ve found that as I’ve been making my plans, I keep coming up with mental excuses for why I can’t complete this challenge. Or “exceptions” to my rule. For example, I normally eat out with some pastor friends on Fridays. And in my head, I kept trying to argue that these meals should be an “exception” to my rule. As if I can’t just tell them what I’m trying to do, and have them support my efforts. I finally told them of my plans, and they promised we could eat meals at our homes together for a month, no problem. I also figure by telling you about my plans in a sermon, I will now actually have to follow through and do it!

            Our human behavior is to try to add more and add more into our lives, without ever being willing to set something down to make room for the more we desire. And eventually, we find that it is simply not sustainable. I read somewhere that in order to sustain the average American lifestyle, we would need 5.3 earths. It just doesn’t work. You can’t add more and more and more without making room, without giving something else up, without there being a cost. And when we try to force more, we end up losing control of what the cost will be. So instead of picking our favorite Easter eggs, whichever ones we tucked under our arms will be the ones we lose, with yolks running down our sleeves. We have a saying: the best things in life are free. What we mean by this, of course, is that the things we truly value, like love, friendships, and family, are things that money can’t buy. But these things still have non-monetary costs. They require time, and commitment, faithfulness, caring. Maybe we’re more willing to spend in that way, but they cost.

            Our text today asks us to consider what the cost of discipleship might be, and whether we are willing to pay it. What do we need to put down, in order to take up following Jesus? At the beginning of our text, we find Jesus asking about how people see him. Who are they saying he is? The disciples tell him: some are saying he is John the Baptist, some Elijah, or another of the prophets. And who, asks Jesus, do you say that I am? Peter answers boldly, rightly: You are the Messiah. But then Jesus begins to talk about what that means, his being the Messiah. He tells them about the suffering he’s about to go through, his death, and his ultimate resurrection. Somehow, though, Peter, who just called him Messiah, didn’t understand what that title would mean. He didn’t understand the cost associated with it. He rebukes Jesus, and in turn, Jesus says, “Get behind me, Satan.” Then Jesus turns to the crowds and says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?” If we want to be disciples of Jesus, he calls us to deny ourselves, take up the cross, and follow.

            We’ve been talking about what it means to move Beyond Membership. Last week Pastor Aaron talked about finding God, and the blessing that God is always finding us. But what do we do when we’re found? Membership is a good thing, but it isn’t usually something that’s very costly. Of course, depending on what you are a member of, your fee may be steep or a bargain. But membership usually focuses on the benefits that you, the member, receive, rather than on things that are expected of you, the member. For example, I have a Regal Club Card for the local movie theatres. The cost to me was nothing – I just had to sign up. I probably am paying through mailing lists I didn’t mean to be on, and by allowing what movies I see to be tracked for marketing purposes. But I expect the focus to be on what I get: discounts on concessions and occasional movie tickets. I wouldn’t pay for this benefit. I pretty much want it to be free, and I want the benefits from my membership.  

            We’re members of a congregation, a denomination, of the Body of Christ. But sometimes I think our language of “member” gets us confused, and we start thinking of Christianity as sort of an add-on, a member benefit we signed up for. We want to pretty much live and act and behave in the same way we would if we weren’t followers of Jesus. We might add on: a Bible study here, Sunday School there, serving on a commission. But essentially, our lives don’t necessarily look very different from the lives of those who haven’t claimed the title disciple. Do we want them to? Do we want our lives to look different? “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

            The Bible is full of stories of people whose lives look radically different before and after encountering God. Their lives don’t change by addition, by just adding a little extra God-stuff on to their existing daily patterns. Their lives change so drastically that they have to change their name, or leave the country, or they end up in prison, or they’re chased of town, or they come face to face with a lion, or they leave their nets by the sea and ditch the only career they’ve ever had, or they end up on a sea voyage . . . or they give up their very lives. Those touched by God in the scriptures don’t lead the same lives anymore. They’re completely transformed. That sounds so frightening, doesn’t it? Overwhelming? Costly?

            Jesus says that disciple means examining our lives and seeing what we must put down, let go of, leave behind, so that we have room in our hands, in our hearts, in our lives, to take up the life-quest of being imitators of Jesus. Costly, yes. But Jesus suggests that the alternative is costly in more troubling ways: not following Jesus might give us the whole material world, but we have to give up our souls to get it. Following Jesus requires us to hand over our lives to God’s direction, but our lives are saved in the process. Real life, from discipleship that is worth the price.

            What’s in those bags that you’re trying to carry eight at a time? What’s in those Easter eggs that you’re trying to stuff under your arms? Put them down, so you can put on Christ. Your whole life will change. And it will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

            Amen.

Grandma

My grandmother, Dorothy Mudge, died yesterday evening, with her children at her side, with words of love paving and smoothing her way. Everything in our beings tries to keep us going, and it isn’t easy, letting go of life. My grandmother was a strong woman, and it took some long days, this letting go.

For the first ten years of my life, we lived around the corner from my grandparents, in Westernville, NY, pretty much a two-street town. They lived on one street, and we lived on the other. We were at their house almost every day. We ate dinner there almost every night, where we always sat in the same places, and my spot was right next to Grandma. I spent every Friday night at their house for years, along with my big brother Jim. Jim would hang out with my Uncle John, in his very cool bedroom that I hardly ever got sight of, and I would spend my time with Grandma and Grandpa. We’d watch Dallas and Falcon Crest. We’d watch country western music concerts, and baseball games. (I still associate baseball with boredom, since I always fell asleep on the couch once baseball came on.) Grandma would tuck me in on the couch with the “magic blanket.” It was a blanket that was so worn and torn that my grandmother had sewn a new cover for it, but she used this white almost illusion-like silky material, that felt so fancy and dream-like to me and my cousins that we all loved to be covered up with it. 

When Grandma would tuck me in at night in the little bedroom next to hers and Grandpa’s, she would tuck the blankets in around me so tightly that there was no chance I would even be able to roll over, much less fall out of bed. Popcorn and homemade chocolate shakes were a Friday night mainstay (even if I always got very small portions compared to Jim…), and she always had my favorite Little Debbie Nutty Bars, and those single size cereal boxes (of which I always ate the cocoa pebble first, impatiently, and was left with frosted flakes at the end) in the cupboard.

Grandma taught me and many of my cousins how to bake. She always made the communion bread for our little country church, and for years I couldn’t dissociate the two. Communion bread = Grandma’s homemade yeast bread. She’d always make us our own little loafs to keep (which once caused Todd to exclaim as he ate his loaf in the backseat of our car, “I’ve got the bones of Jesus back here!”) and eventually helped with the bread too. I remember kneading the bread taking what seemed like an hour to be ready enough. Every year we made dozens of “bunny cakes” for Easter, and delivered them all around town. As a child, I was responsible for coloring in bunny years, and placing the jelly beans for eyes and nose, and in the coconut-grass the bunny sat in. It took me years to graduate to more advanced roles!

Grandma lived her whole life in such a small region of Central New York – Marcy, Verona, Westernville, Rome. She worked for a few years outside the home – that’s how she met Grandpa, working at Rome Cable – but mostly she was a homemaker, raising my mom and her siblings and taking in foster children and planting beautiful flower gardens and going to church and being in the UMW, and so on. Her family was her life. But she loved to get little tastes of the adventures her children and grandchildren were having. We’d print her out itineraries when we went on trips, and she’d follow along, day by day, thinking about each place we visited. At Thanksgiving, she thought it was very wild that she’d be willing to try the Tofurkey (“just a bite”) that the vegetarians were having for dinner. She’d attend a play of Todd’s. She ventured to Ohio and New Jersey for my graduations – big deal trips for her – and to Georgia when Aunt Bet lived there – her children being the only things that would get her on an airplane. She emanated joy when Uncle Bill was installed as a District Superintendent, and took visible pleasure, just last week, in hearing that the Bishop had called Bill to see how she was doing. She was content with where she was and who she was, and thrilled to see her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren go places and do things she’d never dreamed of doing.

One of my favorite things about Grandma was hearing her talk about Grandpa. My grandpa, Millard Mudge, died 15 years ago. They celebrated their fiftieth anniversary just months before he died, and Grandma would always say that she “had a fifty year love affair.” My Uncle Bill would say that Grandma was Grandpa’s one weak spot, the person he hardly ever said no to. When my grandmother talked about Grandpa, her whole face lit up, always. She looked radiant whenever she was talking about him. I realize that one of the things I mourn in Grandma’s passing is that one of the last living links to Grandpa in his younger years is gone. My grandpa was nine years older than my grandma, and he and his siblings have all died. Grandma was the only one who could tell stories about Grandpa as a young man, about their courtship, about those earlier years. Of course, the rest of us have our own memories of Grandpa, but Grandma takes a precious piece of those memories with her, and I wish I had written down every story. Of course, we never do. And we’d never enjoy the living if we were too busy recording, I know. I just want both.

A dozen or so years ago, Grandma was diagnosed with uterine cancer, fairly advanced. She was from a generation of women who generally went to the doctor only when absolutely necessary, and after months of experiencing symptoms, the diagnosis indicated a pretty serious cancer, the same cancer that claimed her own mother’s life. Grandma went in for a hysterectomy, and during the surgery, the surgeon nicked her bowel. Grandma developed necrotizing fasciitis, more colloquially known as “flesh eating disease.” She spent months in an induced coma, and more than once, nurses called family to the hospital, expecting her to die. She lost most of the muscle in her stomach forever. And she was ready to die. She was ok with it. Except, it just wasn’t happening fast enough. My grandmother was a determined woman. She knew what she wanted, and usually could make it happen! And so when she wasn’t dying fast enough for her plans, I think she just decided to be done with that whole cancer thing. She started to get stronger, to heal. She started telling people she didn’t have cancer anymore. We told her that wasn’t right. But we were wrong. The cancer was gone, and stayed in remission until sometime last year. She had a dozen more years than we believed possible.

I think we were in denial, for a long time, that Grandma’s health was failing for just that reason: she was so tough, so determined, that it was hard to believe she would ever die. I know that sounds silly. But if you knew my grandmother, you know what I mean. She had a strength of spirit that was hard to match. That strength of spirit meant things weren’t always conflict-free in my family. She had an opinion about most of the life choices of her family members, and she usually let you know it.

But one of the gifts I experienced in these last weeks was a letting-go of all of that conflict. I watched Grandma’s face light up, even when I thought she wasn’t aware enough for it to be possible, as each person came to visit her, and that radiant smile was there again, free of worry or stress or anything but taking joy in her loved ones. Another gift was watching my Uncle John, her caretaker, blossom with his skill and strength as he took care of her every need. I can’t tell you how many hours John spent by Grandma’s side, how many of his own plans he put aside for the time in order to make sure she was ok. She was able to stay at home, despite the high level of care she needed, because of him, which was her deepest desire. Another gift was watching my mother demonstrate unconditional love in ways that are so deeply moving I can’t really even convey it.

Another gift is the strange joy that comes in the midst of sorrow of having my wonderfully large and close family be together. We’re not good at doing things in small and subtle ways in my family. If many families might be sensible enough to have only one or two people at a hospital, for example, when someone is ill, we’ve never been able to function like that. We all turn out. We all go. We all watch and wait together. Even today, meeting with the funeral director, there were seven of us there, all squeezed around a tiny table that clearly usually only had two or three at it. This is a part of our family identity that I treasure so much. I love that I’ve grown up with cousins who see each other regularly, with aunts and uncles that I depend on, with a “Gigi” – great-grandmother – that my nephew Sam will have known well – even if it means that at five, he has more knowledge of mourning then I had as a teenager. One of my biggest fears is that we’ll lose touch with each other, drift apart. I’m always surprised when I hear about families that don’t stay in contact with each other. I would hate that. We work best together, and one of the reasons I’ve gotten so interested in genealogy is because I’m bound and determined that we’ll stay together.

I still can’t believe that Grandma isn’t at her house right now, sitting on her couch, watching her birds, or squirting the squirrels with her water gun, so they wouldn’t eat up all the birdseed.

I love you, Gram, and miss you already.

  

Sermon for Baptism of the Lord Sunday, "Clean Slate: Refresh," Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Sermon 1/13/13, Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Clean Slate: Refresh

You often hear people comment on how quickly children grow up. Blink, and you’ve missed it, and your baby is a teenager, or suddenly an adult. I feel a little that way when reading the accounts of Jesus’s life: just last week, we were talking about the Christ-child, maybe a toddler when the Magi visited him. And suddenly, we’re meeting the adult Jesus. The Bible only gives one account of Jesus between birth and adulthood: Jesus at age twelve, in the Temple, in one brief scene. It is left to our imaginations to picture Jesus at 7, or 16, or 25. Today, though, we find ourselves turning back to another character we haven’t seen since his birth, as our scene opens on John the Baptist. People are gathering before John, preparing to be baptized. Earlier in this chapter, John preached to the crowds about bearing fruits worthy of repentance. He called them a brood of vipers, which apparently did not offend them enough to make them leave, but instead prompted them to ask John what they should be doing, and so he instructed them in ways of living that would prepare them to be good fruit. He baptizes them as a sign of their repentance. Today, we pick up with the tail end of his comments. We read that the people are filled with expectation, and they are wondering if John is the Messiah. But John says, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Then, suddenly, we read: “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized . . .” Again, it seems like we’ve missed something while we blinked. The passage doesn’t tell us anything about Jesus coming to be baptized. No verses of conversation with John. No explanation of why Jesus would need to be baptized. Just, “When Jesus also had been baptized . . .” Here in Luke we read that after the baptism, while Jesus was praying, heaven opened, and the Holy Spirit descended on him like a dove, and a voice came from heaven saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The other three gospels give us a little more detail, though all four accounts together are hardly ten frustratingly short verses total. This is an important scene – Jesus’ baptism is one of a few events recorded in all four gospels. But it raises for us some important questions. If John was urging people to be baptized as an act of repentance, if he meant people to come to him to receive a symbol of forgiveness for sins – why was Jesus there? Why did Jesus need to be baptized at all? Surely Jesus didn’t need repentance, or forgiveness, right? What is this scene all about?

In our United Methodist traditions, we practice infant baptism. In fact, we will celebrate today the baptism of an infant, James Ethan McGuire. As long as churches have existed, though, those within the church have disagreed on whether or not infants and children should be baptized, or whether individuals should wait until they are old enough to be baptized at their own request before receiving the sacrament. Our United Methodist understanding is that baptism is primarily a symbol of what God is doing for us, not what we are doing for God. Baptism, as we understand it, is an outward symbol of God’s grace working within us. So this grace is working in us before we are even aware of it. From day one and before day one, God is already working grace through our hearts and souls, calling us into a relationship with God. We call that prevenient grace, something you’ll be hearing more about next month. When we are ready to accept God’s grace on our own, with our own voice, we go through confirmation, our public acceptance of the grace that has been at work within us, our public declaration that we’re going to do our part in this relationship with God.

This understanding of baptism as a symbol of God’s grace helps answer our questions about why Jesus comes here to see John, to be baptized. Why does Jesus need to be baptized? Obviously, he doesn’t need to repent in the same way we do, but “to repent,” in its literal meaning, means to turn around, to turn back, to go a new direction – God’s direction. Jesus doesn’t need to turn a new direction in the same way we do – he doesn’t need to get off a wayward course. But his baptism does mark a change in direction for him, in that now he begins his ministry of preaching and teaching. Before he calls disciples, before he reads from the scroll in the temple, before the crowds start following him, he comes to be baptized. Now he shifts his identity from Jesus, child of Mary and Joseph, to Jesus, Son of Man and Son of God.

I think that Jesus, like the crowds, was filled with expectation and anticipation. He was about to make a huge change in his life. For thirty years, we have virtually no accounts of what Jesus was doing, what his life was about, what he said, who he spoke with. Apparently the gospel writers did not consider any of this significant, because it seems that the tasks Jesus was about, the preaching and teaching he had to do, the road to Jerusalem he had to take – all of this was to happen in such a short period of time. His baptism represents the beginning, and Jesus himself seems to see it as the starting point. So I believe that when Jesus came to be baptized by his cousin, though he may not have come to repent, he was certainly coming to mark a change in direction – a beginning. He was setting into motion a course of action for his life where there would be no turning back. No un-doing it. Here, Jesus was signaling he was fully ready to follow God’s call, God’s claim on his life. And as he comes to the waters, as he makes this commitment through baptism, he hears God’s voice: “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” There, at the start, Jesus has an affirmation, a reminder, a confirmation of what he knows – he is God’s beloved, and God is well-pleased with him. With this heaven-opening proof of God’s love for him, surely Jesus is ready to begin his ministry with all the certainty he needs that God is with him, in him, and working through him in everything he will face over the next three years.

What stands out to me when I hear God’s words to Jesus in this text is that God is already well-pleased with Jesus. It’s a pre-existing condition, you might say. Jesus is at the start of his ministry. He’s about to do a lot of wonderful things. But he hasn’t begun yet. But these words from God don’t come at the end of Jesus’ journey. They don’t come during Jesus’ arrest and trial and crucifixion. They come at the beginning. At the start. Something that is already true. God is already well-pleased with Jesus, Jesus is already God’s beloved – just because. Because Jesus is the child of God.

And that is what we celebrate in our baptism. It’s symbol, a sign, a reminder, a way God speaks to us and says, “You are my child, my beloved, with you I am well-pleased.” Maybe our relationship with God, our parent-child relationship with God is different than how Jesus related to the one he calls Abba – but some things are just the same. God’s love for us is a pre-existing condition. It is an unshakable reality for us at the beginning of our days, not something God says to us only at the end, after determining whether we’ve measured up for not. We are God’s, beloved. With us, God is well-pleased, simply because of love for us. Simply because God created us. Already, God loves us.

Today’s theme word in our Clean Slate Series is refresh. Fresh means literally “having its original qualities unimpaired.” In other words, “still in original condition.” So, to refresh is to return something to original, unimpaired condition. Maybe, there are a lot of things about our lives that we can never “return to original condition.” Maybe I won’t ever make it back into the dress I wore for my senior pictures in high-school. Maybe you will never come close to the record you set for the track team when you were a teenager. Maybe your reflexes aren’t as good, and maybe your vision will never be 20/20 again. But baptism – baptism is God’s promise that God’s love for us is still in original condition! Always! That’s why instead of “re-baptizing,” we simply renew our baptismal covenants, remind ourselves of the promises of baptism. Because God’s promise to us of unconditional love is still in mint condition – no do-over required. You are already God’s beloved, a child of God, made in God’s image. And with you, God is well-pleased.  

Today, we will celebrate a reaffirmation of our baptismal vows. Today, you have an opportunity to remember, if you’ve forgotten, the love that God has for you. You have an opportunity to remind yourself that you are God’s child, that God pours grace upon grace out into your life, and into your heart. You have an opportunity to commit yourself again to God’s plan for your life. You have an opportunity for a beginning, a change of direction, a parting of the heavens as God smiles upon you to remind you that you are Beloved. May God’s love bless you today, this year, and always. Amen.

Sermon for Epiphany Sunday, "Clean Slate: Reflect"

Sermon 1/6/13

Matthew 2:1-12

Clean Slate: Reflect

Today is Epiphany Sunday! Perhaps your decorations are already long-put away. Surely, you’ve noticed that the stores have already moved on to Valentine’s Day, with sad little bins in the corner of slightly worn Christmas merchandise on clearance. But in reality, yesterday, Saturday, was the last day of Christmas – the twelfth day of Christmas. You may not realize it, but that song that you can never get out of your head, with the partridge in a pear tree? Those twelve days of Christmas start on December 25^th, when Christmas begins, and end on January 5^th, and are then followed Epiphany day, January 6^th. We’re blessed, this year, because Epiphany day only occasionally falls on a Sunday, and you have to celebrate it when we’re just “close enough.” But today, we celebrate Epiphany on Epiphany. Aren’t you excited? It might help if you were reminded just exactly what Epiphany is. It is the day when we celebrate the Magi coming to see Jesus and bringing him gifts, which is significant because it represents that Jesus is light to the whole world, celebrated even by these foreign strangers, not just the people of Israel, not just a chosen few. Jesus is the light of and for the whole world. But of course, even though it is not a church holy day, today is also special because it is the first Sunday in a new year – 2013. We even survived the Mayan apocalypse. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Another year is here. A new beginning. And we have so many feelings, worries, and hopes wrapped up in the potential of a new year that it would be hard for us to ignore.

            So, appropriately, this month we will be focusing on the theme Clean Slate, as we think about new and old in our church and in our lives. We are at the start of a new calendar year, of course. It is 2013! We have a new baby in our midst – the Christ Child. Next Sunday, we celebrate Baptism of the Lord, and with it, a chance to renew our own baptismal vows and renew our covenant with God. New starts seem all around us, just as God promises. In Christ, we are new creations.  That’s what God promises.

The trouble is this, though: Do we want all things to be new? We talk about doing new things in a new way all the time, especially in the life of the church, when we find that doing things how we’ve always done them just isn’t working anymore. You have probably participated in any number of conversations in any number of settings brainstorming how we will do a new thing – we even have a group that’s been gathering to do just that thing at Liverpool First. Pastor Aaron, as you know, also works for the Annual Conference, and his whole job is about helping congregations revitalize – that means to “re-life” them! But, I suspect, sometimes you’ve felt cynical or jaded, or at least politely skeptical that anything will change as a result of these conversations. And then, true enough, things seem to stay the same, don’t they? Why is that exactly? If everybody agrees that things need to change, and we all plan ways to do a new thing together, and things still stay the same, what's happening? I can only conclude that we all must be benefitting, somehow, from things staying exactly as they are. Do you want to see change in the church? In the world? Tell me how you have changed. How have you repented, and changed the direction of your mind, your life? Or better yet, figure out how you are benefitting from things staying just as they are.

Do we want all things new, a fresh start, a clean slate? We are a people of contradictions. Yes and no. Yes, we want better lives. No, we are not ready to let go of what we have in order to get there. Nothing is worse than the unknown, is it? And God is always seeming to offer us this new life, but asking us to go into uncharted territory to get there. We want change, sure, but unless we know what God is changing us into, we aren’t really ready to commit.

So, about these poor Magi – about Epiphany – can they have some mention here? Where do they come into clean slates? We really know very little about these wise men. They appear only in this passage from Matthew. He describes them as men from the East, which may have meant they were astrologers from Persia, interpreters of stars and dreams. The idea that they were kings comes from a verse of a Psalm that talks about kings bringing gifts to the Messiah. The number three was just layered onto tradition over time, perhaps because three gifts are named, along with traditional names for each of three wise men. But again, these ideas are not mentioned in the Bible. What we do know from the Bible is that these wise men came to the palace of King Herod looking for a newborn king, since they had seen a star that was significant to them. But when Herod gave them information about where to find the child Jesus, they changed course, and visited the home of Mary and Joseph. When they found Jesus, Matthew says they were overwhelmed with joy. They paid him homage, and gave him the gifts they had prepared, and satisfied with their journey, they returned home.

I am struck that the Magi started a long journey with an expectation of what they would see – a king in a palace. They brought costly gifts. And nothing went like they planned. Jesus wasn’t at the palace. And when they did find him, he was in a normal home, in a small town, the child of a carpenter and his wife, totally normal by every visible clue. They could have decided they had gotten it all wrong and taken their gifts and gone back home. But Matthew says they were overwhelmed with joy. Nothing went as planned, but they simply changed their course as a new plan was laid out for them. They went where they were led. They were thrilled with where they were led. They didn’t judge Mary and Joseph and Jesus by their outer wrappings. They recognized the Holy in the child they saw. Could we be so ready to have our plans upset? Ready to follow wherever God was leading us? Could we be so joyful even when what God brings us isn’t in anyway what we are expecting? Can we lay all our gifts at the feet of Jesus, who is to be found always in the low places, and not in palaces of gold?

An epiphany is a light bulb moment. The A-ha moment. The wise men had an epiphany – God-with-us is not God, out of reach, in a palace, far above and beyond us. God-with-us is the child Jesus. The world had an epiphany – this God-with-us is God with all of us, not just some – it can’t be any other way. I pray that this Epiphany, you find your “light bulb moment,” when even though there is no palace, no gold crown, no throne, the gift of Jesus becomes remarkably clear to you, and you are overwhelmed by joy, as you, a disciple, reflect the light of Christ to the world. I pray that together, we can commit to following wherever Christ leads us, right into the unknown new life God offers. It’s a clean slate. Amen.

Sermon for Christmas Eve, "What Brings You Here?" Luke 2:1-20

Sermon 12/24/12

Luke 2:1-20

What Brings You Here?

            In our church newsletter this December, I shared with folks the results of a study done by one of my colleagues, about why people come to church services on Christmas Eve. The number one reason: Family — People responded, “this is what my family does and I want to be with family. That was 30%. Then came music – “I love the Christmas music and want to sing the familiar and favorite songs.” (22%) Then came Experience – “I love the songs, the candles, the story, the feeling.” (16%) Next was Focus – “Christmas has gotten so crazy; I like the clear focus on the reason for the season.” (12%) Next, Habit: “We do this every year.” (11%) And then, at number 6, faith. “This is the most special and important event in my faith; I wait all year for this.” (5%) Why are you making this Advent Journey? Why will you show up on Christmas Eve? Habit? Family? Music? Faith? To see the child in the manger? Where do you fall in those categories? What brought you here tonight?

What brings You here? That’s the question we’ve been asking. All throughout Advent, all season long, as we’ve been preparing our hearts and lives for Christmas, we’ve been looking at different figures in the stories of Jesus’ birth, and we’ve been asking: What brings them to the manger? Literally, or figuratively, what brings them to this intersection where their life and their journey brought them into an encounter with this Christ-child? We’ve looked at King Herod, at Joseph, at Elizabeth and Mary, at angels and shepherds and Innkeepers, some of whom we hear from throughout this very night. And to each, we ask, “What brings you here?”  

What might surprise you, what surprised me in rereading a story that is so familiar to me, is realizing that almost no one in Christmas story set out looking for a Savior, for a Messiah, for a Christ-child. Mary and Joseph – they were probably faithful Jews, and maybe they had a vague hope of a messiah to come, like many of the people of Israel. But they clearly had no idea that they would become key players in the unfolding of God’s plans. They were just a couple, engaged, planning their future life together. And what brought them to Bethlehem was the government! Most of the people who would have been near Jesus, near the stable, near the inn, in town – they were all there to make sure they paid their taxes! That’s what brought them to Bethlehem. Mary and Joseph had encountered angels – messengers of God’s good news. So their faith brought them spiritually to the hour of Christ’s birth. King Herod gets mixed up in the story, brought by fear, motivated by the need to make sure he kept as much power as he could for as long as he could. The shepherds: the first Christmas started out just as another day keeping sheep for them. We don’t know anything about them. Their names are not recorded for us. We have no idea what happens to them after this night. We don’t know why the angels chose to appear to them, of all the possible witnesses to Christ’s birth. But it seems to me that their very ordinary-ness tells us something about how God works, and who God’s good news is for. If anything, shepherds were people who lived on the fringes, the edges of society. They lived outdoors most of the time, spent most of their time with animals. They weren’t looking for a savior. Their journey to Bethlehem was a last minute trip, a decision made on the spot because they were curious to see this strange thing the angels told them about, and they couldn’t pass up such a fantastic invitation. No, no one set out on this night looking for a Savior. But the Savior they found. And to most – it brought overwhelming joy, or abiding peace, pondered in a mother’s heart.

            That’s what brought them here. But tonight, what I most want to know is not what brought this collection of characters together two-thousand years ago, on the first Christmas. That’s important. That’s compelling, a story I want to hear. But what I’m most interested in tonight is this: What brings YOU here? What brings you, you in the pews, here, to this place, at this time, on this night? Why are you spending time here on this night?

            Maybe we are like the innkeeper. Here because it is our job, because we have to be, just getting it done, not really involved in the action, observing from a distance. Maybe we’re like those who were just in town to pay their taxes – we’re here without a big plan, a big purpose, big expectations. Maybe we are like Mary and Joseph – here because we think God has big plans for us, even if we’re nervous, unsure, overwhelmed with what those plans might be. Maybe we are like Herod, fearful of what God might be up to, what God might want us to change about the way we’re living, what God might do to shake up our priorities. Maybe we’re like the shepherds, and we’ve stumbled onto the manger, brought here out of curiosity, because someone invited us, because it was something different in the midst of our ordinary lives. What brings You here?

            But whatever brought you here tonight, the main thing is that you are here. To some of you, maybe it was an easy decision to come here tonight. Maybe there is nowhere else you’d want to be. But increasingly, there are a million other options for where you could be tonight. And however it happened, whatever other choices you had, whatever your reasons were, somehow, you made it to this place today, to this worship service. We are so glad you are here, soaking it in, even if don’t know quite what to do with it all, with the story of Christmas, with this Christ-child who is Savior, with God-with-us.

            Whatever brought you here tonight, whatever made all of our paths intersect on this evening, the main thing is that you are here. Because child in the manger, whose birthday party you’ve stumbled on, this child was born because of you! Because God is for you, with you, in you, and delighted in you, full of love for you. God has come for you. Your path, whatever road you took to get here, has led you to the manger, and the child Jesus was born because God wanted to be closer to you. This gift is for you. That’s the good news, and we so need some good news!

            Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

            Amen.

           

Sermon for Third Sunday of Advent, "Journey - What Brings You Here?: Elizabeth"

Sermon 12/16/12

Luke 1, selected verses

Journey – What Brings You Here?: Elizabeth

            Why? Why? That’s the question that I’ve heard and read and seen since Friday’s unfolding events, the tragic taking of lives in Connecticut this week, lives of children so young it makes our heads spin with confusion at the total senselessness, the total out-of-order-ness of it all. All anyone has to do is picture the child in their life closest to this age – your own child or grandchild, your niece or nephew or neighbor or godchild – experiencing a moment of the fear that these children in Connecticut did – to have your head swimming, your eyes filling, your mind asking: Why? Why has this happened? How can we make sense of something so awful?

I spent a lot of time yesterday reading people’s reactions to the tragedy online – in news articles, facebook posts, blog entries – some of the forums that people are using to try to make sense of something awful. I came across this prayer from Walter Brueggemann, written in a different circumstance, but perfect in the context of yesterday’s mid-Advent horror. It’s called Christmas…the Very Next Day:

Had we the chance, we would have rushed to Bethlehem to see this thing that had come to pass.

Had we been a day later, we would have found the manger empty and the family departed.

We would have learned that they ­fled to Egypt, warned that the baby was endangered, sought by the establishment of the day

that understood how his very life threatened the way things are.

We would have paused at the empty stall and pondered how this baby from the very beginning was under threat.

The powers understood that his grace threatened all our coercions;

they understood that his truth challenged all our lies;

they understood that his power to heal nullified our many pathologies;

they understood that his power to forgive vetoed the power of guilt

and the drama of debt among us.

From day one they pursued him, and schemed and conspired

until finally…on a gray Friday… they got him!

No wonder the family ­fled, in order to give him time for his life.

We could still pause at the empty barn—

and ponder that all our babies are under threat,

all the vulnerable who stand at risk before predators,

our babies who face the slow erosion of consumerism,

our babies who face the reach of sexual exploitation,

our babies who face the call to war, placed as we say, ‘in harm’s way,’

our babies, elsewhere in the world, who know of cold steel against soft arms

and distended bellies from lack of food;

our babies everywhere who are caught in the fearful display of ruthless adult power.

We ponder how peculiar this baby at Bethlehem is, summoned to save the world, and yet we know, how like every child, this one also was at risk.

The manger is empty a day later… the father warned in a dream.

Our world is so at risk, and yet we seek after and wait for this child named ‘Emmanuel.’

Come be with us, you who are called 'God with us.'

Our world is so at risk. And into this context, the Christ-child is born, yet again. Today, it seems fitting that our scripture focus brings us into the lives of two pregnant women, both in precarious, risky situations in different ways. Last week, I shared with you that Matthew’s gospel tells the story of Jesus’ birth from the perspective of Joseph and his dreams. This week, we turn our focus to the gospel of Luke, who tells the story from Mary’s perspective. But today, we particularly focus in on Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth, and her role in the story.

            To understand Elizabeth, we have to back up to the beginning of Luke 1. Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, is a priest in the temple. We read that both of them were “righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord.” This statement is important, because right after it, we read that Elizabeth was barren, and that both Elizabeth and Zechariah were “getting on in years.” In other words, both of them probably had reconciled themselves to the fact that there would be no children for them. Today, many people, many families, still have to struggle with infertility issues, not being physically able to have children when they are so wanted. We can sympathize with Elizabeth and Zechariah in this. But I’m not sure we can fully understand how linked having children was in the ancient world to fulfilling your duty, your destiny, your purpose. Children meant security and financial stability, in addition to being able to carry on a family line. But more, children were signs of God’s blessings, God’s promises being carried out, and so the inability to have children was seen as a cause for concern. Was God punishing sinful people, by making them barren? Many would have thought so. Today, still, many of us wonder “why,” when facing these struggles. But the scriptures spell it out for us, in multiple places: A couple’s childlessness was not equivalent to God’s judgment on them. I am not sure I can even convey what radical new thinking this was. So when we read that Elizabeth and Zechariah were righteous, blameless, following the commandments, we aren’t being told how impossibly perfect they were, we’re being told that they didn’t have children because they didn’t have children, not because they’d done something wrong that God was punishing them for. That’s important.

            Zechariah is chosen for duty in temple. The priests draw lots for service, and Zechariah’s turn is up to offer the incense, an honor. Alone in that part of the temple, Zechariah is greeted by a messenger from God. He’s terrified, overwhelmed with fear. But the angel tells him not to be afraid. God has heard his prayers, Elizabeth’s prayers. She will bear a son, John. He’ll be full of the Holy Spirit even before he’s born, and his purpose will be to make the people ready for God. Zechariah asks one question: “How will I know this is so? Because Elizabeth and I are getting rather old.” Gabriel, the messenger, seems astonished at his doubt. Because of it, Gabriel says, he will not be able to speak until John is born. Zechariah exits the sanctuary, and it is clear he has had a vision of some kind. I wonder how he communicates to Elizabeth what is about to happen, what signs and gestures and notes he must resort to. But Elizabeth doesn’t seem surprised. She becomes pregnant, and Elizabeth notes it as a sign of God’s favor.

            It is months after this when we encounter Elizabeth again. Gabriel has visited Mary and announced to her that she would bear a son, Jesus, the Savior. And Gabriel also tells Mary that Elizabeth is now six months pregnant, and that her pregnancy is a sign of this: “Nothing will be impossible with God.” Upon hearing this news, we read that Mary goes “with haste” to visit her cousin. We don’t know why she does this, but we can speculate that Mary would enjoy the privacy this would give her, there in the hill country, with her pregnancy that could be the cause of a community scandal, that she could be of aid to her older cousin, who undoubtedly will experience a more physically stressful pregnancy than young Mary, and that Elizabeth could be a comfort and source of knowledge and wisdom for Mary, especially given their parallel journeys.

            We don’t know if Elizabeth knew of Mary’s pregnancy before her arrival or not. But immediately when Mary enters, the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps, and Elizabeth herself is “filled with the Holy Spirit,” the first person in the New Testament to earn this description. Elizabeth says to Mary, “‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leapt for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.’” I think her words describe both Mary’s response and her own to what God has shared with them. After this scene, we see Elizabeth give birth to her child, and with a now-vocal Zechariah, name him John. And then, Elizabeth is never mentioned again. We next see John, her son, as an adult, in the wilderness, preaching repentance, just before he baptizes his cousin, Jesus. But this is the only snippet we have of Elizabeth’s life.

            Today, our gospel lesson brings us an encounter between two women who might have asked a lot of questions, might have asked a lot of “Whys” in response to what has happening to them. We have Elizabeth, who the Bible describes as “getting on in years,” and barren, conditions that make her husband even doubt the angel Gabriel when he tells him Elizabeth will bear a son, and she is here several months pregnant with a child we know will be John the Baptist. And we have Mary – probably a young teen, who is engaged, but not yet married, also suddenly found to be with child – the child Jesus. These two women could have, might have, wondered about God’s timing in their lives. Why couldn’t Elizabeth have become pregnant 20 years earlier? Would it have made a difference if John were 20 years instead of a few months older than Jesus? Why couldn’t Mary have become pregnant after marrying Joseph? For a young unwed woman in Mary’s day to be found pregnant could carry the penalty of death by stoning. Why put Mary at such a risk?

            But Mary and Elizabeth gave birth to children who, in the very act of fulfilling God’s promises spent virtually their whole lives being at risk. John grows to be a man known for being odd, eccentric in his lifestyle, and one who speaks the truths that no one wants to hear. He loses his life when he won’t stop saying things that make other uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable: John’s words make them dangerous, violent. And of course, Jesus – he is pursued throughout his entire ministry. Constantly, religious authorities tried to trap him, corner him, trip him up. Ultimately, they arrested, beat, and executed Jesus. Oh, we know the story of life from death. We are Easter people. But Jesus, infant so tender-and-mild, was at risk, always.

A few weeks ago, I got to give the message at LIFE, during the worship time of our youth program. We’ve been focusing on the themes of our Advent candles, and I was talking about peace. The Bible talks a lot about peace. We call Jesus the Prince of Peace. Indeed, Jesus speaks of the peace he gives to us. But as we were talking about the dividing walls we build up between ourselves and others, both literally and figuratively, we talked about the difference between peace and safety. I think, so often, we mistake the two, think they are the same thing, peace and safety. We build walls of all kinds, thinking we will find peace, but safety is the best we can hope for with our methods. Jesus never promises us safety. He calls us to follow him by taking up crosses – not pretty crosses, decorative, gilded, or glittering – crosses that were symbols of giving up your life. Seeking peace is risky and costly.

             I keep returning to Elizabeth’s words to Mary: "And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." Elizabeth and Mary’s pregnancies were risky, and yet God was working through them, to fulfill God’s promises. John was at risk, and yet he prepared the way, fulfilling God’s promise. Jesus was at risk from day one, and yet he drank the cup that was place before him, humbling himself in death on a cross for us, fulfilling God’s promise. Our world is at risk – and yet God-is-with-us. Our children live in a world where we cannot promise safety. But we can promise Jesus. We can promise God-with-us, even when God must weep with us. We are at risk, and yet it is only in risky, costly discipleship that we walk the path of peace, the path of Jesus. Christians are always called to walk this strange, tenuous line. At risk – yet God is with us. It only takes one candle to cancel the power of darkness – and we are preparing again and always for the birth of the light of the world, God’s promise in the flesh.

            “Our world is so at risk, and yet we seek after and wait for this child named ‘Emmanuel.’

Come be with us, you who are called 'God with us.'” Amen.

Sermon for Second Sunday of Advent, "Journey - What Brings You Here?: Joseph," Matthew 1:18-25

Sermon 12/9/12

Matthew 1:18-25

Journey – What Brings You Here?: Joseph

            Are you the kind of person who can remember your dreams? Some people seem to be able to recall them easily, and some people never remember their dreams. I usually fall into that latter category, not remembering anything other than blurry images from my dreams. Do you wonder what our dreams mean, if anything? Are they just leftover thoughts from our day, thoughts our full and busy minds could no longer hold? Some dreams seem pretty straightforward in meaning. When I first became a pastor, I prepared my sermons much earlier in the week than I do now. This wasn’t because I was so much more diligent or because I was so much less a procrastinator. No, this was because like clockwork, I would have nightmares about forgetting to write a sermon and being caught unprepared on Sunday morning, unless, in real life, I had already finished my work early in the week. Pretty easy to figure out what those dreams meant! Other times, I just have no clue. I once had a very elaborate, multi-part dream, that involved train tracks, coins falling, and chasing after a seminary friend. I was curious about it, since it was so vivid and I actually remembered it, so for fun I looked up in a “dream interpretation” book what each of the items in my dream might mean. Every single thing in my dream meant: money. Money, money, money. So much for that!

            Still though, dreams can be powerful. Shortly after my grandfather died, back in 1998, my mother had a clear dream, where my grandfather, no longer frail from illness, but healthy and happy, visited her at work, and assured her that he was ok. This dream gave my mom an incredible sense of peace, in the midst of the pain and grief. She felt like God was reminding her that her father was ok – more than ok – and she trusted the message she received and was comforted. What have your dreams been telling you?

            The scriptures are full of stories of God communicating through dreams. In Genesis, we encounter Jacob dreaming a vision of a ladder ascending into heaven, Pharaoh, dreaming of feast and famine in Egypt, Joseph, Jacob’s son, dreaming of his role that will set him apart from his eleven brothers. And the dreams continue through the prophets, and into the New Testament, where we encountered Peter, back in October, who experienced in a trance a vision of God opening the table to Jew and Gentile alike. Dreams can be powerful. And dreams play a significant role in the story of Jesus’ birth, as today, we turn our journey’s focus to Joseph.      

Now, you might think Joseph is a pretty significant figure in the New Testament, in the story of Jesus, and of course, he is: He is the husband of Mary, Jesus’s mother, and he is Jesus’ earthly father, the parent who raises him. But if you think about what we read about Joseph in the scriptures, you might be surprised to realize that other than passing mentions, like, “Hey, isn’t that Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph?”, and the scene where Jesus is twelve and stays behind in the temple while his parents, not even named separately, are searching for him, Joseph is only mentioned, only appears in relation to the birth and surrounding events of Jesus. That’s it. So, it is significant, too, for us to note that every scene in the birth story where Joseph appears, we hear about a dream he’s had that contains a message for him about God’s plan, how God will use Joseph to help usher in the birth of Jesus, the savior.

            We first encounter Joseph in the gospel of Matthew. Luke’s gospel tells the birth story mostly from Mary’s point of view, but Matthew focuses on Joseph. Matthew tells us that Mary has been found to be with child, from the Holy Spirit, and then tells us how Joseph responds. Joseph, we read, is a righteous man. We don’t know what Mary has told Joseph about her pregnancy – whether she told him the child was God’s, and Joseph doubted, or whether Mary even had a chance to explain at all – we don’t know how Joseph learned the news. But Joseph, preparing to divorce Mary, a legal step that would have to be taken even after an engagement, chooses to do so discreetly, wishing to shield Mary from the full punishment she could have received – death by stoning. Just as he is planning the divorce, he has a dream. A messenger from God tells him in a dream that indeed, the child Mary carries is from the Holy Spirit. They’re to name the child Jesus – which means savior – and he will be God-with-us – Immanuel. When Joseph wakes up, we read that “he did as the angel of the Lord commanded, and wed Mary, who eventually gives birth to Jesus. After Jesus is born, we encounter Joseph in Chapter 2, as twice more, a messenger appears in Joseph’s dreams, and directs Joseph where to flee, where to move to so that Jesus is safe from those, like King Herod, who would do him harm.  

            I’m amazed by what we don’t hear in these short passages with Joseph. We don’t hear Joseph ask questions. We don’t hear Joseph say, “Why me?” or, “I don’t think I heard you right,” or “I don’t believe you” or “that’s totally ridiculous, God,” or “that’s just not a practical way to have the savior come. Don’t you have any more sensible ideas?” Joseph dreams, and when he wakes, he acts. Throughout my ministry, a common question I’ve had people ask me is this: “Why doesn’t God speak to us as clearly as God spoke to people in the days of the Bible? Why don’t we hear God or see God in the same ways anymore?”

But let me ask you, if God spoke to you like God spoke to these biblical figures, would you believe it? Even as you are ready to say, “of course I would!,” try to be very honest with yourself. When Aaron and I went through the process to be ordained, we had to take a psychological assessment, with hundreds of questions, and several of them asked the question, “Do you hear voices?” in one way or another. Now, for pastors-to-be, that’s a loaded question! Do you mean the voice of God? But no, we knew that “hearing voices” was something that would be sign of concern, of mental health issues. If we encountered God in the ways folks did in the scriptures, I suspect we, and others, would mostly think we were crazy. I think God speaks to us in ways that we can hear God. And so if it is easier for us to hear God through careful study of the scripture, through prayer, through practices we somehow consider “logical,” God will speak to us that way.

            But what if our relationship with God could be so much richer, what if our discipleship could be so much deeper, what if the dreams we could dream with God could be so much more vivid if we could learn to believe what we proclaim: nothing is impossible with God! I recently took my nephew Sam to see a movie, “Rise of the Guardians.” The story is about Jack Frost, who joins Santa Claus, the Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny as guardians over the children of the world. Deep stuff, right? The conflict comes when children begin, because of a villain, to stop believing in these guardians, causing them to lose their powers, and eventually to disappear altogether. Jack Frost eventually finds a way to help the children believe again, by helping them to use their imagination, have fun, and experience joy.

            What kind of imagination, what kind of believing did it take, do you think, to believe that the automobile could exist? The airplane? The television? The computer? The smartphone? Just yesterday, I downloaded an app for my phone where you can hum a tune into the phone, and the app will tell you what song it is. I was just marveling, awe-struck, that such a thing is possible, and it isn’t even new technology anymore! Sure, all of these inventions and innovations have hard science behind them, facts and figures. But without imagination, without believing there must be some way to make it work, we would never have all these things in our world. 

            Is God speaking to you? Is God trying to find a way to make God’s dreams into your dreams? Our aim is to be more open, more willing to hear and see God in unusual ways, so that we are ready, like Joseph, to acts, when God puts a dream – sleeping or waking – into our mind. There’s a brainstorming exercise that we’re going to try soon with our Visioning Team at Liverpool First, where you imagine all the ways you might build a better bathtub. There’s no restrictions. Every idea you think of gets written down, and no one is allowed to say, “Well, that wouldn’t work because…” A carpeted bathtub? Sure! A bathtub on wheels? Sure! A bathtub where you soak in peanut butter? Sure! No wrong answers! I’ve used this activity before, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it is for sensible adults to let loose and dream about a better bathtub. It is nearly impossible for people to refrain from trying to limit themselves to practical suggestions. Nearly impossible.

            Could a baby be the savior of the world? Impossible! …Nearly. Could Mary’s pregnancy be from the Holy Spirit? Impossible! At least you’d think. Could Joseph endure the scandal of staying with Mary anyway? He couldn’t stand it, could he? Could he believe in dreams? God’s dreams? Impossible? Essential. Life-changing. Life-saving. World-transforming.

            Let’s dream, friends, and be a bit impractical. Nonsensical. Unbelievable. Occasionally even a little ridiculous. Because God-with-us has a dream to share. Let’s make God’s dreams our reality. Amen.