Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Shine the Light on Who You Really Are


Baptism of the Lord
January 12, 2020
Isaiah 42:1-9; Matthew 3:13-17

            We talked last week about Spiritual Affective Disorder, a play off of Seasonal Affective Disorder, and how, either way, what you need is more light. This week, we’re going to take that more light and shine it on you. You can tell your fears and insecurities to calm down; this is not a harsh spotlight that’s going to reveal all your flaws and imperfections. Jesus is not that kind of light. Instead, this is the kind of light that bathes you in a warm glow, that makes you feel loved and secure and peaceful. It’s the kind of light you see in any picture of Jesus’ baptism, where you’ve got Jesus and John in the water, and the heavens open and the Spirit of God descends. And that image of heaven opening and the Spirit descending is most likely visualized with yellow light. I’m talking about that kind of light. Now, we are not Jesus, we are not the Savior of the world, and we are not God’s only begotten Son. However, we are God’s children. And we do experience baptism. And God’s Spirit does descend upon us.
            There was a couple at the church where I was baptized who are artists. For my baptism, they presented my family with this painting:

I will confess I always found it strange as a kid, perhaps because I didn’t live through much of the ‘70’s, and so the bright orange color always seemed jarring to me. Yet you can see God’s Spirit descending as a dove on my name. You can see the light around the dove’s head, right above my name. I think the orange, besides being a popular color in the 1970’s, also helps add to the feeling of light. And you can see the waters of baptism surrounding me. This is what happens at each of our baptisms. God’s Spirit descends upon us. There is light around us. And we are there in the middle of the waters of baptism. And, whether you heard it or not, at your baptism, just like at Jesus’s, a voice from heaven said, “This is my beloved child. With you I am well pleased.” Pleased not because of anything you’ve done, but simply because of who you are: God’s handiwork; God’s masterpiece. Whether you’re feeling it today or not, you are perfectly and beautifully made. You are made in the image of God and you are God’s beloved child.
            Isaiah 42 is paired with Jesus’s baptism because the words that God speaks are so similar. Listen to them again, “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him, and he will bring justice to the nations.” Unlike last week’s Isaiah reading, when God’s people were returning from exile, this week the people are in exile. Babylon has destroyed the temple, plundered Israel, and taken the people away in chains. “This was utter, complete devastation of the political, social, economic and religious life God’s people had known for centuries.”[1] And it caused an identity crisis. Who were they now? Were they still God’s people? How were they going to worship if they couldn’t do it in the temple? Had God abandoned them? Who were they without the promised land? Into that identity crisis, Isaiah speaks this word, reminding the people of who God is, how God works, and that they are still, always, God’s people even if the surroundings and buildings change.
            A similar theme is found in Psalm 89 as well. That psalm is a royal psalm in that it “describes God's gracious work on behalf of and through the person of ancient Judean kings,”[2] in this case King David. It begins with praise for God’s steadfast love and faithfulness and God’s covenant with David. It ends with the psalmist crying out to God, because somehow that covenant seems to be endangered. One theory is that this psalm was written during the time of Babylonian exile, when Jerusalem was destroyed and there were no more kings. The middle of the psalm is the part that speaks to me, that reminds me of baptism and the reassurance that I belong to God, that I am important to God, that God knows my plight and is faithful to what God has promised me. It says, “I have found David my servant; with my sacred oil I have anointed him. My hand will sustain him; surely my arm will strengthen him. The enemy will not get the better of him; the wicked will not oppress him… My faithful love will be with him…   
He will call out to me, ‘You are my Father, my God, the Rock my Savior.’… I will maintain my love to him forever, and my covenant with him will never fail.”
            Baptism is a covenant. It’s a promise made to God and by God and it involves more than just the person being baptized; it involves all of us, the faith community. Baptism is joining God’s family, that’s why it’s part of regular worship services and not a private service. I don’t do private baptisms (and I’ve been asked) because it’s important for the family of God to be present, since we have a role to play, too. We promise to nurture, to love, to pray for, to help the person grow in their faith and in their love of God. And, here’s the great thing about the church: even if you don’t worship in the church where you were baptized, the congregation you’re currently a part of takes on that responsibility. We’re all part of the household of God, each local church. And so while another local church may have been the ones to say out loud those promises, we here and now are still bound by those same promises, because they were making them on behalf of the Church universal. We are to love and nurture each other, to pray for each other, to spur each other on in works of love and mercy, to help each other along the journey.
            Sometimes, sadly, the local church doesn’t do that. And when hurt by the church, some people choose to leave it altogether. Others simply find a different church that will nurture and support them. The good news is that even when we break the covenant, God still keeps it. God is faithful. And God’s part of that covenant, to sustain you, to strengthen you, to delight in you, to love you; that part never changes. It never gets broken. There are times when the covenant may seem to be endangered: when you may wonder if God isn’t pleased with you, or if God couldn’t love you. But remember, we base those ideas off our actions and our own perceptions of ourselves. “I’m too messed up; God couldn’t possibly love me.” Or, “I’ve made some bad choices that God can’t be pleased with.” This is why it’s important to shine the light on who you really are: God’s beloved child. God delights in you because you’re you. God loves you and will always love you, no matter what, unconditionally. You may turn away from God, but God will not turn away from you. There are times it may seem like it, in which case I suggest reading Psalm 89 as if God’s talking about you and insert your name: “I have found [Heather] my servant; with my sacred oil I have anointed her. My hand will sustain her; surely my arm will strengthen her. The enemy will not get the better of her; the wicked will not oppress her. My faithful love will be with her, I will maintain my love to her forever, and my covenant with her will never fail.” It makes a difference to add your own name in there, doesn’t it? But God is speaking to you.
            Now, Isaiah 42 talks a little bit more about this covenant. “I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people and a light for the nations, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.” Light isn’t shined on us just so we can sit and look pretty. Life isn’t all about us, no matter how egotistical it’s socially acceptable to be. We are called to walk in the light, God gives us light so that we might share the light with others. We love because God first loved us and God invites to go share that love with the rest of the world, to remind others that they, too, are a beloved child of God, made in God’s image, and God delights in them, too. We, God’s people, are to be a light for the nations. Through us, God wants to open eyes that are blind, free captives from prison, and release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness. We do that with God’s help. We do that by living into our baptismal vows. In just a few minutes, we’re going to reaffirm our baptismal covenant, so I’m not going to repeat it now.
            However, here’s what you need to know next. We didn’t read all of Isaiah 42. After this covenant is a call for all creation to sing to the Lord a new song. God delights in us and wants to use us to bring about justice and liberation, and so God’s delight bursts forth through creation with “roaring seas, lifted voices, songs of joy, and shouts of praise [as though] creation cannot contain itself. And through the din, we glimpse the exilic community – renewed in hope, commissioned and inspired to participate in God's reconciling work. May we who follow in Christ's baptism remember that we are likewise.”[3] Our faith community, our branch of God’s family, let us remember who we are and whose we are. May we be renewed in hope. May we be reminded of God’s covenant to us, that we are important to God and loved by God, that God delights in us, simply because of who we are: God’s children.

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Thursday, January 9, 2020

Spiritual Affective Disorder


Epiphany of the Lord
January 5, 2020
Isaiah 60:1-6; Matthew 2:1-12
Spiritual Affective Disorder[1]

            In 1984, Dr. Norman Rosenthal and his associates at the National Institute of Mental Health published a paper on their research into what is now called Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. Dr. Rosenthal noticed that he was much more depressed during the winter after moving from South Africa, where it was mostly sunny, even during the winter, to New York, where winters are mostly cloudy. His study on light therapy found that the reduction in natural light did, in fact, make a difference. While initially greeted with skepticism, SAD is now widely accepted and Dr. Rosenthal’s book called “Winter Blues,” first published in 1993, is now in its fourth edition. How many of you suffer from SAD or know someone who does? It only has about a 1% rate in Florida, but about 9% of the population in New England has it. The National Institute of Mental Health lists four main treatments for it: vitamin D, psychotherapy, medication, and the light boxes that were part of Dr. Rosenthal’s original study. The basic idea is that you need more light. So, it’s a good thing, that here in the bleak midwinter, the light of the world was born just 12 days ago.
            Isaiah 60 is part of what’s called Third Isaiah, which covers chapter 56 through the end of the book, chapter 66. It dates to the 6th century BC, when the exiles in Babylon were allowed to return to Jerusalem. There was some conflict between those who had never left and those who now returned. Living conditions were difficult. Jerusalem was in ruins. God’s people were no longer fighting against a common enemy but amongst themselves. The first couple chapters of Third Isaiah have to do with gloom, despair, calls to repentance, and yet also, a yearning for light. In Isaiah 59, the chapter before the one we read this morning, it says, “We look for light, but all is darkness; for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows. Like the blind we grope along the wall, feeling our way like people without eyes. At midday we stumble as if it were twilight.” Then the chapter ends with God’s response. Thus says the Lord, “As for me, this is my covenant with [my people]. My Spirit, who is on you, will not depart from you, and my words that I have put in your mouth will always be on your lips, on the lips of your children and on the lips of their descendants—from this time on and forever.” It practically echoes Psalm 119, the basis for our threshold song this morning, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. When I feel afraid, think I've lost my way, still you're there right beside me.” That’s what God’s promising. “My Spirit will not depart from you. My words will always be on your lips.” Then, turn the page, chapter 60, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you. See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the Lord rises upon you and his glory appears over you. Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” Boom! We look for light but we can’t find it. Sounds a bit like depression or Seasonal Affective Disorder, doesn’t it? The Lord promises “My Spirit and my words will always be with you.” And then it’s time to arise and shine, for your light has come.
            Now, we usually celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the birthday of the church, after Jesus’s death, resurrection, and ascension. Jesus promises the Holy Spirit to his disciples. Yet here, six centuries earlier, the Lord is also promising that the Spirit is with us and will always be with us. We know the Holy Spirit has always been around, since Genesis 1, when the earth was a formless void and Spirit hovered over the waters. The third person of the Trinity has always been around. Yet God promises the Holy Spirit here, in Isaiah 60. God makes it part of the covenant with the people who are returning to Jerusalem and with those who never left. We’ll talk more about the Holy Spirit next week when we celebrate Jesus’ baptism and remember our own. But for now, know and trust that God’s Spirit will never leave you and is active and moving still today.
            God says that God’s words won’t ever leave us, either. What is the word for today? “Arise and shine, for your light has come.” It reminds me of that song I learned as a kid, “Rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory. Rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory. Rise! And shine! And, give God the glory, children of the Lord.” Anyone else know that one? Now, there are times when we don’t feel like rising and shining. There are times when we’re not in the mood to give God the glory, we’d rather give God a piece of our minds instead. There are times when, rather than Seasonal Affective Disorder, we have Spiritual Affective Disorder. It’s like somebody forgot to turn on the lights in your spiritual life. Or maybe the music is missing. It feels hard to get up and go. We lead lives that are too crowded, busy, overcommitted, sometimes disturbing and uncertain. We find ourselves disconnected from God, living in the darkness of chaos and uncertainty. It may be from the news just in the last four days: wildfires burning in Australia, escalating conflict in Iran, a potential split in our denomination, a family who lost their little two year old boy. Things can feel heavy and out of our control, causing us to feel depressed spiritually. Why should we bother rising and shining? 
            Well, those wise men certainly rose and shined when their light came. They studied the skies; they knew all the stars and their rotations. And then came a special star, one that wasn’t like the other ones. A star that compelled them to pack up their bags and follow it. The tug they had been waiting for all their lives. It came! Their light came and they arose and shone. They brought gifts from their home countries, strange gifts to be sure, but gifts to honor a king.  They were paying attention, they saw the star when it arose, and they knew they had to follow that star with royal beauty bright, so that they might go worship the king who had been born, so that they might go worship Jesus, who is the light of the world.
            “Arise and shine for your light has come.” This is true for you as well. Your light has come and it is time to rise and shine. It is time to throw off whatever spiritual doldrums you may have found yourself in. These next few weeks we’re going to look at spiritual practices to get us out of the mid-winter blues and into the light of our lives. We know the treatments for Seasonal Affective Disorder. Let’s work on treatment for Spiritual Affective Disorder. Let’s see how experiencing the everyday activities of our lives as blessing, as filled with God’s offer of radiance, can offer us a chance to be filled with the Light in whom we believe. This first week we affirm that the very act of “arising” each day is a gift from God. This might look like a prayer when you first wake up – “Thank you, Lord, for waking me up! Thank you for another day!” This might look like speaking up in situations when you normally would rather keep the peace no matter the cost. This might look like sharing your faith with someone who hasn’t heard the story of why you follow Jesus. In case you hadn’t noticed, arising and shining takes courage.  But we can do these things because our light has come. Jesus, the Light of the world, has come. As we begin this new year, you are invited to open up to the light of God's love and grace. Light therapy isn’t just for Seasonal Affective Disorder, it’s also for Spiritual Affective Disorder. We need more light. We need more Jesus. Seek him out. Search for him, just like the wise men. Because you know what? Unlike the returned exiles in Isaiah 59, when you search for this light, you will find him.
Let us pray: Giver of Light, You shine a radiant joy into the darkness of life.
Open my heart to the brightness of your glory, that I may find the light of your love in all I do. Amen.

[1] Idea for Spiritual Affective Disorder as well as a few other pieces of this sermon came from Worship Design Studio’s worship series, “SAD: Spiritual Affective Disorder”

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Incarnate Joy


Christmas Eve 11 p.m.
December 24, 2019
Isaiah 9:2-7; Luke 2:1-20

            I asked my stepdad if he would play the special music for this service, and he not only said yes, he also asked me what I would like him to play! Usually, with most musicians, they already have a piece or two in mind before they agree to play and I have little if no say in the matter. Instead, the world was wide open with possibilities for tonight! However, one of my favorite Christmas carols is not in our hymnal and rarely gets sung at Christmastime unless by a soloist and that is “O Holy Night.” So, I asked my stepdad to play “O Holy Night,” and his response was, “I even have two versions of it!” Thank you, Jim, for playing tonight.
            This Advent and Christmas season we have been celebrating the 300th anniversary of another favorite Christmas carol, “Joy to the World.” Earlier in Advent, I challenged our congregation to engage in those preparations and traditions that bring joy to them and to others, such as playing your favorite Christmas music and singing along OUT LOUD. I tend to practice what I preach and so I put in one of my favorite Christmas CD’s that week. “O Holy Night” came on and the singer just rushed through this phrase that caught my attention and my reaction was no, we need to spend more time there. There’s a line in the first verse that says, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” The artist rushed right through “weary world” and held out “rejoices” for longer. “The weary world re-joi-ces…” But the truth is we are the weary world and we need to hold onto this truth that with “a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” It was interesting, I got a new Christmas CD this year, from a kickstarter that I backed, so I wasn’t completely sure what to expect, and that artist also covered “O Holy Night,” only she sang it much slower. The first CD came out 15 years ago, and I think we were less weary then and so we could rush through the “weary world” part. Things were different 15 years ago, pre-recession, pre- a lot of things. But now, I think this new artist nailed it: with “a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” We need to spend time there.
            I don’t know about you, but I’m weary. And I think we, collectively, are weary. Weary of competing, wearing of over-compensating, weary of over-working, weary of perfectionism, weary of worrying, weary of anxiety, weary of fear, weary of the divisions, weary of the difficulty of communicating, weary of so many things. I’m sure you can add many more items to the list. It’s not exhaustive. I’m wearing of trying to be exhaustive.
            In Isaiah we read, “You, God, have increased our joy; we rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest; as people rejoice when dividing plunder.” That last bit about plunder sounds a bit like kids at Christmastime, right? Or at the Easter egg. People rejoice when dividing their plunder. That’s the level of joy God is offering us: a giddy, giggly, big smiles, laughing, carefree kind of joy because of the abundance of what there is. Same idea with joy at the harvest, and I think this presupposes a good year when the harvest is abundant. How much joy there is in gathering the crops, storing them, preparing them to sell or for feed, it’s an abundant, happy, giggly joy.
            “The weary world rejoices.” Talk about a low to a high all in one short sentence. I read a devotional the other day that talked about part of why the world likes Christmastime and society gets into it, whether they go to church or not, is because of the break it offers. We in the church know the church calendar and seasons and rhythms with Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost, Ordinary Time, and so on. Farmers know the rhythm of the land and the weather seasons. Teachers and students know the school calendar. But for other folks, life gets a bit more monotonous and Christmas completely changes the pace of things. The weary world, those who are weary of the monotony, who pay less attention to the changing of the seasons and the times, they need a reason for joy. We need a reason for joy. And that reason is the “child that has been born to us, a son given to us, authority rests upon his shoulders and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”  
            “A thrill of hope and the weary world rejoices.” That thrill of hope isn’t Luke Skywalker, the “new hope” that began the Star Wars saga. That thrill of hope is the appearance of Jesus, God made flesh, incarnate, God come to live and be with us and never leave us. Another tidbit for you, the original title of “O Holy Night” in its original French is Midnight Christians. The literal English translation says, “Midnight, Christians, is the solemn hour, When God as man descended unto us/ To erase the stain of original sin/ And to end the wrath of His Father. The entire world thrills with hope/ On this night that gives it a Savior.” I grew up with my mom saying, “Nothing good happens after dark,” which is pretty good with kids and teenagers, when you want them home and safe. However, dark, midnight, holy night, is when Christ was born. “O holy night! The stars are brightly shining, It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, Till He appear'd and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.” For the weary, a thrill of hope, and an offer for abundant joy. Thanks be to God.

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Tuesday, December 24, 2019

Peaceful Joy


4th Sunday of Advent
December 22, 2019
Isaiah 7:10-16; Matthew 1:18-24

            This week’s theme is peace and it’s been hard to think about peace this week. I looked it up and discovered that last year I had trouble preaching on peace, too, because the times don’t feel very peaceful. The kids are excited to be on winter break! News pundits and politicians are in an uproar. Retail outlets are clamoring for your last dollar. And time is running out on your to-do list. Christmas is only 3 days away. So, in the middle of all that, let’s talk about peace. On the one hand, your reaction may be like Jeremiah when Jerusalem is under siege, “They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace.”[1] Saying peace when there is no peace. Except we know where peace can be found, even in the midst of turmoil and chaos, because the Prince of Peace is being born again in our hearts this day. There is a way to be peaceful even amidst the storm. It’s a deep, inner peace. It’s tapping into that deep well of joy that we’ve talked about this Advent, because in that deep well of joy you can also find peace. And remember what Paul says about God’s peace – it’s a peace that passes understanding.[2] So you can be calm in the middle of the storm, and it may not make sense to those around you who want you to be just as frantic and scared as they are. But when you’re connected to God’s peace that is beyond understanding, well, the rest of that phrase that Paul writes is that God’s peace “will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” And you can calmly respond to what’s going on around you, picking out your priorities, without getting caught up in the whirlwind and the chaos. Because you have inner peace, the kind that only comes from God.
            What’s that look like? Well, it does not look like King Ahaz in our Isaiah reading this morning. King Ahaz of Judah is under siege by Ephraim and Syria because he wouldn’t join their alliance of small nations to unite against the mighty Assyrian Empire around the year 735 BC. If we were to have read the beginning part of the chapter, it says that “the hearts of Ahaz and his people were shaken, as the trees of the forest are shaken by the wind.”[3] Now, the trees of the forest are not shaken easily. They have strong roots and tall trunks. And because they’re all together in a group, it’s harder to shake them than one tree by itself. But King Ahaz and his people are shaken, like trees in a forest shaken by a wind. This is bad. And the Lord tries to give Ahaz some hope. The Lord says, “Ask me for a sign. Any sign. You can even ask me for the moon!” God’s really trying here. But Ahaz says no, and quotes Scripture that says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”[4] Well, Scripture may say that, but when God says test me, ask me, I want to give you sign, don’t you think you’d better ask?
            But, here’s the problem. Ahaz doesn’t really trust God to save him. He gives the Sunday school answer, quoting Scripture, and already has in mind a different savior. Ahaz, who’s under attack because he wouldn’t join an alliance against Assyria, calls on Assyria to protect Judah! And Assyria does, but then Assyria doesn’t leave Judah. They take over and conquer Judah. Ahaz was shaken and he was leaning on his own knowledge and understanding. God invited him to a different way, a way of faith, and Ahaz said no. He chose not to lean on that rock of ages and connect to that deep inner well or joy and peace. God says, “I’ve got this!” and Ahaz says, “No thanks. I can handle it.” Can you imagine? Yet how many times do we do that? God says, “I’m here. I’ve got this.” And we reply, “No thanks. I’ve got it.” And then it snowballs. And gets out of control. When we really should have just turned it over to God in the first place! Oh we of little faith.
            Yet, the curious thing is that God gives Ahaz a sign, anyway. I told you, God was determined to give this sign. It’s like Ahaz says no and Isaiah says, “Too bad! You’re gonna get one, anyway! The young woman will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Emmanuel, which means God is with us.” Isaiah gives an unwanted, unasked for sign that affirms life in the midst of certain death and destruction. The enemy is attacking, I am shaken to my core, I have my own plans for my escape, and God gives a sign of life and hope. God offers a reminder that God is with us. That’s what Christmas is each year: a reminder that God is with us, Emmanuel. And that can draw up that sense of deep inner peace. God is with me. God is with you. Ahaz didn’t listen to it, didn’t trust it, didn’t want it. His loss.
            And so God saves that sign and gives it again in a different time and place, to a man named Joseph, whose family was from Bethlehem. Now, Joseph is a person of peace. He’s engaged to be married but his fiancée has turned up pregnant and the baby isn’t his. Rather than raise a fuss about it, rather than publically humiliate Mary, rather than turn it into this big tabloid scandal, which he could have done, he decides he wants to spare Mary from all that. Joseph is a good man. And even though Mary has shown up pregnant before the wedding night, he doesn’t want to expose her to public disgrace. He wants to keep things quiet, although he doesn’t know how exactly. One night, while he’s trying to figure it out, he has a dream. An angel of the Lord appears to him in the dream and tells him, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” This is to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel.” God gave Joseph the same invitation to trust and to faith. And Joseph accepted it. After he woke up, he did what the angel said. He took Mary as his wife, and when she gave birth, he named the baby Jesus. Jesus, which means “the Lord saves.” A promise and a sign that God is with us. And we never hear Joseph fuss. Even later, when God appears in another dream to tell Joseph to take Jesus and Mary and flee as political refugees to Egypt, Joseph just does it. He doesn’t say, we don’t have the papers. He doesn’t ask how they’re going to cross the border. He just does it. Joseph is connected to that deep well of joy and peace, at least as far as what we’re told about him. He takes Jesus as his own son, teaches him his trade of carpentry. Is it any wonder that the Catholic Church canonized him into Saint Joseph? He’s the patron saint of families, fathers, expectant mothers, explorers, pilgrims, travelers, immigrants, house sellers and buyers, craftsmen, engineers, and working people in general.
            While it’s easy to canonize Joseph and demonize Ahaz, the point is that God issues this same invitation to trust and to faith to each of us, too. We’re also invited to receive this sign of life in the midst of chaos and endless to-do lists. We’re also invited to draw water with joy from the wells of salvation.[5] To connect to that deep well of joy and peace, knowing that what is going on around you does not have to affect your level of peacefulness. As we heard our Peaceful Advent candle say, “We can shift from joining the chaos to being in the quiet eye of the storm where Emmanuel, God with us, has set up residence. And we can be Emmanuel for each other when the storms threaten to overtake the people, community, and creation around us.” It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of this season, but that’s the commercialism. God is not inviting you to a whirlwind, but to a manger, to a setting of all is calm, all is bright, to a season of peace and joy.

[1] Jeremiah 6:14, 8:11
[2] Philippians 4:7
[3] Isaiah 7:2b
[4] Deuteronomy 6:16
[5] Isaiah 12:3

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Tuesday, December 17, 2019

Unabashed Joy


3rd Sunday of Advent
December 15, 2019
Isaiah 35:1-10; Luke 1:46b-55

Last March southern California’s desert experienced what is called a super-bloom. You see, when the desert blooms, it goes all out. It’s not just a few flowers here and a few there, half-hearted and partially hidden. Oh no, when the desert blooms, it does it abundantly. And this past spring, it was so abundant that the super-bloom could be seen from space! Here’s one of the pictures of it on the screen. 

This was a rare super-bloom, created by the perfect storm of what individually are two quite harsh and undesirable conditions.[1] First, these plants have to have prolonged dormancy, as in many wildflower seeds must remain asleep through many seasons and decide to wake up at roughly the same time after a long hibernation. So, all these flowers stayed dormant for years, and didn’t bloom for years, and then decided to all bloom again at the same time. The other major factor was that southern California had an extra-long rainy season, followed by an unusually cold winter which locked the moisture in. So, plants that don’t bloom for years combined with extra rain and extra cold (nothing there that sounds good), and yet they produce this super-bloom of flowers in the desert. They create this beautiful picture of joy, unabashed joy. The poet John Keats wrote “a thing of beauty is a joy forever.” There are more pictures online, if you want to google them after worship. They are amazing.
            And they give you a visual for what Isaiah’s talking about in our passage this morning. Isaiah 35 begins with the desert rejoicing and blooming, “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.” Here [gesture at screen] is what that looks like. The desert isn’t really a place you think about blooming and blossoms, you tend to think sand and cacti and barrenness, but here it is, definitely not always barren. Now, it’s really weird, Isaiah chapter 35 seems out of place from its surrounding chapters. Chapters 34 and 36 are not sunshine and rainbows, or flowers. Chapter 34 is about judgment and desert creatures meeting with hyenas. Chapter 36 is about Assyria attacking and conquering Judah. Yet here in the middle is this chapter, it’s only the ten verses we read this morning, and it’s about flowers in the desert and rejoicing in the wilderness. This chapter doesn’t make sense in its context. It interrupts the desolation going on around it. It’s as if, as one commentary put it, “The Spirit hovered over the text and over the scribes: “Put it here,” breathed the Spirit, “before anyone is ready. Interrupt the narrative of despair.” So, here it is: a word that couldn’t wait until it might make more sense.”[2] This picture of beauty in the desert refuses to wait until things are better. And so in the midst of a story of desolation and wilderness, here is chapter 35 with a chorus of creation saying to one another, “Be Strong. Do not fear. Here is your God.”
I have to tell you, I love those words. Right there in the middle of the chapter, “Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.’” They were life-changing to my family six years ago. They were an answer to prayer. Six years ago, my husband and I were faced with the decision of whether or not to move from North Carolina to Maryland. He’d been offered a promotion with his company to a position we knew he was ready for and would enjoy far more than what he had been doing. We were given a weekend to decide, the weekend of the 3rd Sunday of Advent, when this Scripture reading is assigned. At the time I was an associate pastor at a large church in Chapel Hill and one of my duties in worship was to read the Scriptures at all three services. So, three times, I read this passage. “Say to those who are of a fearful heart;” my husband and I were fearful. Our oldest was 16 months old. We knew we wanted a second child. Most of our family is (still) in North Carolina. I had a couple contacts in Maryland from when I’d lived here years ago, but we didn’t really know anyone. And God says, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.” Once we took fear out of the equation, it made sense to move. This passage is the reason I am your pastor; otherwise, we’d still be in North Carolina! So, “Say to those who are of a fearful heart,” those who are in the wilderness, in the desert, those who are discerning the next step, those who are in the midst of desolation and despair, say to them “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.” Isn’t that the word we all need? In the midst of chaos and grief, the desert will conspire to bloom. The wilderness will rejoice. It’s odd, it doesn’t make sense given the context, but it will happen. There will be joy.
            At the end of the chapter, it says “A highway will be there, and it will be called the Holy Way… it shall be for God’s people; no traveler… will go astray.” This highway for God’s people is the way home, the way of salvation. “Everlasting joy will be upon their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.” Talk about unabashed joy. There in the blossoming desert will be a highway for God’s people where joy will abound. Joy will crown their heads. And they will be overwhelmed, not by lists or medical bills or loneliness or grief or insecurity, no, they will be overwhelmed by joy. Isn’t that good news? Isn’t that a promise to hold on tight to? Yesterday may have been wilderness. Tomorrow may be wilderness again. But today is chapter 35, today is the day when the desert blooms and you are overwhelmed by joy and it’s a good day. 
            And isn’t that good news for Mary, who’s in a wilderness of her own, pregnant and unwed. She knows what the Holy Spirit told her, and she knows what others are saying, anyway. Her heart could be quite fearful, and yet she sings out with unabashed joy this song called the Magnificat, from the first word in Latin. “My soul magnifies the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” God is great. God has done and will do great things. Holy is our God. That’s what Mary is saying as a pregnant, unwed teenager. She’s singing about joy. It takes courage and love to sing our songs of joy while in the midst of suffering and in the wilderness. It’s not the easiest thing to do and it probably gets her just as many weird and dirty looks as her pregnant belly does. Yet her song is truly one of joy. It’s not like those unhelpful sayings that seem to be joyful, but actually aren’t. Do you know what I mean?
            Artist Emily McDowell was 24 when she was diagnosed with stage 3 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. After 9 months of chemo and radiation, she went into remission and so far is still cancer-free. However, she received some terrible responses after her own diagnosis that now she designs irreverent greeting cards that say things like, “There is no good card for this. I’m so sorry.” Or,             “When life gives you lemons, I won’t tell you a story about my cousin’s friend who died of lemons.” Because that’s not really helpful, is it? Yet when we hear about lemons, or whatever it is, our brain naturally connects with what else we know about lemons and then usually it’s out of our mouths before we’ve stopped to think about whether we’re saying something helpful and kind. The motto for Emily McDowell’s greeting cards is that they’re “for the relationships we really have.”[3] Another one of my favorites says, “Thinking about you is like remembering I have ice cream in the freezer.” I don’t know if you like ice cream like I like ice cream, but that gives me the warm fuzzies. Or, in other words, a feeling of comfort and joy. It’s not a trite saying. It’s not one that makes you question your faith in God. Another of Emily McDowell’s empathy cards says, “No card can make this better. But I’m giving you one anyway.” It’s the acknowledgment that words sometimes fail us in the wilderness, or reaching out to someone else in the wilderness. And all we really want to say is, “I’m here for you. I love you. I’m not going anywhere. And God has not abandoned you, either.” Mary knew God had not abandoned her. And in the middle of this unexpected pregnancy, with all the usual discomforts of pregnancy, Mary sings with joy. She focuses on joy.
We like to think that if we can get through the suffering, then joy will come, that it’s an either/or. After the operation, the pain level will go down to zero. After I get through this marathon, then I get to relax. We like Psalm 30 that says “Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” And we tend to read it as either/or: weeping or joy, when it’s really a both/and. The truth is that these deep feelings get tangled up together. That’s why we cry tears of joy. That’s why this scene of unabashed joy in the desert is found in the desert. Strong emotions have more in common than a strong emotion and a lukewarm emotion. Joy is a strong emotion. And there are times when that’s what we feel even when it makes no sense with our surroundings. We have a great day in the midst of a bunch of lousy ones. Sometimes that makes us feel guilty. Sometimes that one great day is what gets us through all the lousy ones. I don’t know what your wilderness is, whether it’s medical-related or relationship-related or just having a fearful heart. In the midst of that, hear these tidings of comfort and joy; true, unabashed joy that interrupts your “regularly scheduled programming.” Thank God!
             

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Tuesday, December 10, 2019

Loving Joy


2nd Sunday of Advent
December 8, 2019
Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-15

            We began our Advent series last week with Hopeful Joy and preparing room for Jesus to be born. This week is about love and the phrase from “Joy to the World” to “repeat the sounding joy.” Have you ever thought about what it means to “repeat the sounding joy”? That second verse is about all people and nature singing and repeating the sounding joy. This is getting at the power of music and singing together. Singing is created by our breath and vibrating sound waves, that’s how your voice box works. It’s all reverberations that literally pass through your body. That’s why we often have a physical response to music, whether it’s clapping or dancing or singing along. Even if you’re just listening, these vibrations still resonate within your body. That’s why there’s something powerful about lifting our voices together. There have been studies done showing that singing in a choir has physiological benefits including making you feel happier, helping to forge social bonds, and just overall improving your sense of well-being.[1] Now, back to “repeat the sounding joy” – this is reverberations of love spreading throughout the world. It’s repeating and passing on the good news of love, of God loving the world so much that God sent Jesus. And before we get to the cross and Easter, one atonement theory is that God saved us when Jesus was born. Becoming incarnate, God becoming man, putting on flesh, being born here among us, begins the story of how Jesus saves us. That’s the good news of Christmas! Jesus is born! Gloria in excelsis deo! Now there’s a tune that reverberates within your body and everyone around you! Most music has a memorable phrase and melody. The phrase and sound that should be vibrating through you so that you know it and those around you can feel it is one of love: God’s radical, unconditional love for all people. God loves you. And God’s love often shows up in radical and unexpected ways.
            Let’s look first at Isaiah. “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; and a branch will grow out of his roots.” This is new life, a shoot, coming from something that appears to be dead. Right? The stump’s what’s left after you cut down the tree. It’s not good for much, other than to spark a child’s imagination when they play on it. Picture a stump you’ve seen in your mind. Have you ever seen a new branch come out of it? Yet that’s what God’s saying here. From Jesse’s family tree, this great family tree that you can find in Matthew chapter one, and includes Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, includes King David, apparently the family tree has stopped growing. It’s been cut down to a stump. Yet a new shoot is going to come out of it. New life is going to grow in a place that is not only unexpected, but a place that we had given up on new life happening. It’s like John the Baptist’s parents. They were old. Elizabeth was post-menopausal. And Elizabeth and Zechariah in their old age become pregnant. We have a tendency to decide too soon where something can’t grow. Whether we’re impatient, or just decide we’re being realistic, when something looks dead, we don’t expect new growth out of it. We give up on it. Too much has happened. Too much is broken. It can’t be fixed. It can’t become life-giving again. Now, here’s what’s true. It may be unfixable. And it will never look like what it did before. But God is at work here. New life is emerging and that stump, instead of anchoring a tall, strong tree, is now anchoring a new branch that needs just as much love and care as the big tree did. God will make a way where there appears to be no way. Watch if he won’t!
            Can you think of times when you saw something growing that shouldn’t have been? A plant that came up between the cracks. A house plant you thought was dead and then suddenly has a new shoot on it. A couple who has struggled with infertility finally getting pregnant. Life will find a way. In the Pixar movie, “Wall-E,” Eve the robot’s one job is to find signs of biological life among all the trash and debris left on Earth. The only sign of organic life you see previously in the movie is a cockroach (because cockroaches can survive anything). Then Eve finds a small plant. One small plant, and it changes the course of the movie. 
The plant Wall-E and Eve find is growing in an old boot
What image do you have of something growing where nothing should grow? Where had you lost hope, only to have hope restored by new life? That’s God’s radical love showing up. God doesn’t let you go, ever. Instead, “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” What a vision of radical love!
            Another vision comes in John the Baptist, not just in his roots, but in his ministry. John the Baptist has one basic message, which is the same as Jesus’ when he starts preaching, “Repent, the kingdom of heaven has come near.” Repent. Turn back to God. Do something that shows you’ve changed your hearts and your lives. Why? Because the kingdom of heaven has come near. Jesus has come near. God has bent low. And John doesn’t preach and baptize the people out of anger, although he’s certainly pretty angry with the Pharisees and Sadducees. They only came down to the river to be baptized because it was the popular thing to do. They don’t intend to change their ways at all. But John, out of deep love for God’s people, is standing in the river, with them, in the waters of baptism with them, for the sake of their salvation. John is the voice of one calling in the wilderness, God is at work here. New life is emerging here. Here in the wilderness, here in the darkness, here in the desert, here in your brokenness, God is at work. John is meeting the people in the wilderness of their lives, meeting them where they are, yet loves them too much to not encourage them to change their lives, to draw close to God, who has literally drawn close to you. It’s like that phrase you may have heard, God loves you as you are, unconditionally, and God also loves you too much to leave you the same. I love you. I want what’s best for you. And these things you’re doing that are life-draining are not what’s best. These things you’re doing that are drawing you away from God are not what’s best. Seek after those things that are life-giving, those things that draw you closer to God. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.” John has such deep loving joy for God’s people that he feels compelled to share that love, to share that God has bent low, that God is still at work, that God is bringing forth new life where you thought there was none. That’s John’s radical love for God’s people. That’s what his refrain means, when he says, “Repent, the kingdom of heaven has come near.” That’s the love that reverberates through his action of baptizing the people and encouraging them to reorient their lives back to God.
            One final example that I’ve been saving til the end, because I didn’t want you thinking about it for the whole sermon, is Judy Duvall. Many of y’all knew her much, much better than I did, as I only met her once, when we Christmas caroled at her house last year. The end of her obituary says, “In lieu of flowers, the family asks for you to love everyone you meet without conditions. Just, be kind to one another.  She would have wanted that.”[2] Love reverberates out and spreads. Kindness is contagious. It’s like the story of the passenger smiling at the taxi driver who then smiles at a lady walking by who then arrives cheerfully at work. The reverberations keep going. And not just in this day and age but also at this time of year, make sure your reverberations of full of love and kindness. People are more stressed. People feel more pressure with 4th quarter and end-of-year reports. People are busier with holiday gatherings and events. We’ve got to-do lists that are a mile long and what feels like very limited time to get them done. What happens when overwhelmed people meet overwhelmed people? Raised voices, miscommunication, and hurt feelings. And those spread to the next people they interact with. Instead, find your favorite Christmas music and sing along. OUT LOUD. Take a deep breath before responding because what feels like a criticism may be intended just as a comment. Choose to be kind and gracious. Assume the best of others. Love them unconditionally and let those reverberations spread out from you. And lest you forget, this isn’t just giving off good vibes. These are reverberations of love that come from the deep joy that you’re connecting to during this season. We talked last week about that being why we do many of the traditions and rituals during Advent: because they’re a way to tap into the deep joy of knowing you’re unconditionally loved and accepted; because it’s time to draw near to God, who is drawing near to us in this baby about to be born. Repeat the sounding joy. Connect to that well of deep joy and love found in Jesus and share it, with everyone you meet. Have more patience in the parking lot and on the roads and in the store. Greet people you don’t know with a smile and a welcome, as if you’re about to invite them over to your house. Feel the loving joy that runs through your very being. And repeat the sounding joy of God’s radical love for all people.


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Hopeful Joy


1st Sunday of Advent
December 1, 2019
Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14

            There is a movie coming out on Christmas Day about World War I called “1917.” The first lines in the preview are from the actor Benedict Cumberbatch who plays Colonel Mackenzie. He says, “I had hoped that today might be a good day. Hope is a dangerous thing.” Hope is a dangerous thing. There are times when we don’t dare to hope, because we don’t want to risk being disappointed. There are times when we don’t want to get our hopes up, because we’re trying to be realistic. Yet it seems reasonable to hope that today might be a good day. Now, what happens when we combine hope with joy? Our theme for this Advent is joy, as we’re celebrating the 300th anniversary of “Joy to the World.” When we add joy to hope, what does it look like? What does it feel like? Joy that is hopeful is active. It looks like a smile and an upturned face. It’s expectant and anticipatory, much like many of us are sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner or like little kids on Christmas morning. Hopeful joy.
            This is joy that cultivates and nurtures hope. Take a look at our Isaiah reading for an example. Isaiah chapter 1 is a realistic picture of what’s actually going on in Judah – violence, bribery, unfaithfulness, desolation, trampling on the poor. God’s people not following God’s laws. God calls for repentance, tells the people to “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of those who have no one to speak for them. Plead the case of the poor.”[1] Yet by and large, God’s people are rebelling against God, doing as they please, and criticizing those who need help. That’s chapter 1. So chapter 2 feels almost like Isaiah is starting over again: “That’s what I observed right in front me. Now this is the vision that the Lord gave me of what will happen in the days to come. People of every nation will stream to Mt. Zion, God’s holy mountain, including those who were enemies of Israel and Judah. God’s word will go forth from Jerusalem; God will judge between the nations. The people will be transformed by this teaching. Can you see it? They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” This is where joy cultivates hope. It looks like a temple high on a mountain that all people come to and where weapons of violence are turned into tools for cultivation and farming. That’s a vision of hope, and not just of hope but of hopeful joy.
All people coming together. That’s been one of my guiding visions for my ministry, although I usually draw on Revelation 7 where John’s vision describes all people, from every nation, tribe, people and language, coming together to worship God together. It’s a vision of hopeful joy. All people coming together. And regardless of differences, worshiping God together. And adding in Isaiah 2, not just worshiping together but also offering up their weapons, placing them on God’s altar, and receiving back those same instruments now transformed into plows and shovels and rakes and hoes. It sounds like good news for our community. If we were to offer up violent words and actions that do harm, whether they’re intended to or not, and receive back tools for nurturing and cultivating. What would our community look like then? What would our church look like? That’s a vision worth pursuing. And it is a dangerous thing, because the enemy does not want us to have hope. Satan doesn’t want us to change or to be more purposeful in our actions. The enemy doesn’t want us to come together. He’d rather we stuck with violence, with racism and sexism, with divisions. That’s why this vision of hopeful joy is dangerous: because it can change the world.
            And doesn’t our world need changing? Doesn’t our world need hope? We know things are not as they should be or could be. Christian author Sarah Bessey wrote a blogpost last week called “Does Advent even matter when the world is on fire?”[2] She writes, “How do we celebrate or ‘get cozy’ or turn towards Christmas when our hearts are broken by Syria’s refugees, by Hong Kong’s protests, by Brexit, by the U.S.A. impeachment proceedings and detention camps, by broken treaties, by one another? When, in response to every crisis, our communities seem splintered and divided even in how to bind up each other’s wounds and careless words are flung like rocks at our own glass houses? When perhaps we are lonely or bored or tired or sick or broke or afraid? When we are grieving and sad? In these days, celebration can seem callous and uncaring, if not outright impossible. But here’s the thing: we enter into Advent precisely because we are paying attention.” Advent is a season of hope and anticipation. It is hope in the midst of all that’s going on. Hope knows that all is not as it should be. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have hope for something better. You don’t hope for peace when life is calm. You hope for peace when there is conflict and violence. We celebrate this season of Advent because we know that all is not as it should be.
            My new favorite Advent song is called “Waiting for You” by The Many. It begins, “The earth cries out/ Nothing feels right/ The world cries out/ No justice in sight/ Fires burning everywhere/ Too many, too hot, too bright/ We are waiting for you. We are waiting for you. We are waiting for that Gloria in excelsis Deo, Gloria in excelsis Deo,” that chorus from “Angels We Have Heard on High.” We’re waiting for Christmas and for the angels to sing again. We’re waiting for Jesus to be born again. We’re waiting for all to be made right with the world. Yet we don’t passively wait, sit back and put our feet up. Mark down the days on our Advent calendar. No, hopeful joy is active. And so finding joy, choosing joy, and recognizing things that spark joy is how we act out hopeful joy.
One good way to connect to that deep joy, where joy always lives, whether we’re tapped into it or not, is through rituals. This is a time of year that has a lot of rituals. Decorating for Christmas, which some of our neighbors did well before Thanksgiving. Putting up the Christmas tree. Playing your favorite Christmas music. Participating in our community cantata. Going Christmas caroling. Going to the horse parade. Baking Christmas cookies. Decorating gingerbread houses. Coming to worship during Advent as we light one more candle each week and Christmas Eve worship. These are all activities that have become traditions for so many of us because they help us tap into that well of deep joy. We do them each year, not usually out of a sense of obligation, but because we feel happy when we do them. They bring us joy. They are life-giving. We do these rituals each year because they’re a way to act out our hope, because they are places where joy lives. They help our hope turn into reality.  
            Our Romans reading this morning begins by saying, “You know what time it is.” And we respond by thinking, yes, we know what time it is. The busiest time of the year. The time I make a super long checklist to get everything ready. The time when I don’t want to schedule one more thing or commit myself to one more thing. The time when I have lots of shopping to do. Or, I don’t have to shop, but there are too many good sales to pass up. So, it’s time to spend money. But that’s not at all what Paul is getting at. We don’t read this passage about what time it is on the first Sunday of Advent because the time is the holiday season! Paul’s not saying wake up and go shopping! Paul’s saying, wake up from complacency. Wake up from accepting the status quo. Wake up from hopelessness. Wake up from the little things you do that cause or further division. Wake up and get dressed, not to go participate in capitalism but to go participate in God’s work of loving the world, bringing hope, sparking joy. “Paul knows what time it is: it is time to wake up and look forward to what God will do in the future and what God is beginning to do now in your life and mine.” It’s not time to go through the motions of Advent and Christmas. If that’s what you’re doing, if long-honored traditions are no longer bringing you hope or connecting you to deep joy, then don’t do them anymore. Find new traditions that do spark hope and joy. You’re allowed to do things differently and stop doing things that are life-draining. If a family member takes issue with it, then tell them just that. That old tradition doesn’t bring me joy anymore, it’s actually extremely draining, and so I thought I’d try this instead. And chances are, they will say ok. Your favorites are allowed to change. Your traditions are allowed to change.
            What time is it? Time to connect yourself to deep joy. Time to be hopeful, not just in attitude but in your words and actions. Time to actively live into that vision of hope. Hope is a dangerous thing. Nobody likes to be disappointed. Colonel Mackenzie has to hope the message gets there in time to stop 1,600 soldiers from walking into a trap. What do you see? Not just what’s right in front you, but what do you see that could be? What’s the vision you see? Do you see what I see?

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