"Make This Christmas Thing Last"

Christmas Eve 2017

Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-20

            The latest Marvel Comics superhero movie is the third Thor movie, Thor: Ragnorak. It received significantly better reviews than the previous two Thor movies, which were not very good. One reason that this Thor movie was better was that for the first half hour or so, Thor isn’t invincible. He loses his mighty hammer, which means he doesn’t have a lot of the power he’s used to having available to him. Thor’s still strong, but so are other guys. He’s captured and pitted in a Roman gladiator type contest, which he loses. Thor, this great Norse god, is weaker than his opponents, for the first time in any of the Marvel movies. It makes him a little more relatable, because it makes him a little more average, and it’s part of what made this Thor movie better than the previous ones. We see him lose. We see Thor as if he wasn’t a superhero, as if he wasn’t one of the Avengers.

            Christmas is similar, in that at Christmas is when God took on human form, that’s what the word ‘incarnation’ means. God loves us so much that he sent Jesus, who was both fully God and fully man. Jesus wasn’t your average person, but he was a little more relatable than some God whom you couldn’t even look at face to face or you’d die. Jesus was here, among us. Walked the earth, ate food, loved people, got upset, forgave people, fed people. Physical, tangible, material. That’s what Christmas is about: God becoming material. Not exactly the sort of materialism one typically associates with Christmas. Christmas isn’t about things and decorations and presents under the tree. Christmas is about God becoming material in baby Jesus. That’s the greatest gift of Christmas. God came down in the person of Jesus Christ.

            The early church had to flesh out this doctrine and just what we believe about Jesus. A clergy colleague of mine refers to this as the “first war on Christmas.”[1] You see, in the 4^th century, there was a prominent church deacon named Arius who taught that Jesus was not fully God, that Jesus had not been around since the beginning. This teaching was in spite of the very first verse of the Gospel of John saying, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” And Arius gained quite a following. Well, the 4^th century was also when the Roman Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity and made it the state religion. Constantine didn’t want division in the church and so he convened the first Council of bishops at Nicea. One of those bishops was the gentleman we know as St. Nicholas. While we are familiar with the legend about St. Nicholas secretly giving gifts, another legend says that at this Council, St. Nicholas became so enraged by Arius claiming that Jesus wasn’t fully God that he punched Arius in the face! The other bishops deemed such violence inappropriate for a bishop and they stripped him of his title and put him in prison. He managed to escape later on and the Council went on to determine that yes, Jesus was both fully God and fully man. Arius was declared a heretic. And the Nicene Creed was written, declaring Jesus as eternally begotten of the Father, true God from true God. That’s also found in the second verse of “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and that’s why it says Jesus was “begotten, not created.” Jesus wasn’t created, because he’s God. Yet in Jesus, God put on human flesh. That’s the incarnation. And if you hear the phrase “living incarnationally,” which I used to hear when I served in Nicaragua, it means living with the people. God came here, to live with us.

Christmas is about God being here. That’s what Emmanuel means, God with us. God is no longer in the pillar of fire during the exodus or a spirit hovering over the water in Genesis or kept only in the Ark of the Covenant. God with us. Emmanuel. We’ve been singing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” all Advent and now Emmanuel is here. God became incarnate and is now here among us. That’s what we sang in the second verse of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; Hail th’incarnate Deity, Pleased with us in flesh to dwell, Jesus our Emmanuel.” It’s curious that Emmanuel didn’t make it into the list of names in Isaiah 9, along with “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Yet that’s because Isaiah already talked about Emmanuel back in chapter 7. Just two chapters before Isaiah talked with the King of Israel, King Ahaz, who was terrified at the imminent attack from an enemy country. Through Isaiah, God told Ahaz that he would survive the attack and to ask for a sign. Ahaz refused to ask God for a sign, yet God gave him a sign, anyway: “The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Emmanuel (which means ‘God is with us’).”[2] Jesus, Emmanuel, is God-with-us.

            I don’t know if your family has a special family prayer that’s always said before my meals. My mom’s family does. It’s actually from the hymnal, “Be present at our table, Lord.” It’s usually a good sign when a new significant other joins the family dinner table and is quick to learn the prayer, because it means they’re invested in the family. It’s grace, said before dinner, an invitation, “be present at our table, Lord.” We know God is everywhere, yet it helps us to state the obvious and it helps us to make it an invitation to intentionally include God at the family dinner table. God is here, present. God is with us. God is with you. That’s Emmanuel. That’s what we remember and celebrate at communion, too. This is our church family dinner table. We begin the Great Thanksgiving, the great prayer before the meal, by saying “The Lord be with you. And also with you.” Emmanuel. God is with you.

            So, now what? It’s 2017, not 2,000 years ago. Jesus lived his life on earth, died, was resurrected, and then ascended into heaven. He didn’t leave us alone, he send the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit, to be with us. God is still with us. Yet, what now? Well, now we spread the good news. We offer light to those who still walk in darkness. We hold out hope for those who have lost their hope. We spread joy. We spread peace. We remind each other that God is with us, whatever situation we’re going through. God is with you at school and at work and at home and in the hard phone call and in the doctor’s office and in the waiting room and at the graveside. God weeps with you at the bad news and celebrates with you at the good. God gives you strength to give a hug to someone who needs it. God gives you courage to help a stranger.

            The Trans-Siberian Orchestra has a song called “Old City Bar.”[3] It’s about a bunch of strangers at a bar on Christmas Eve. A child comes inside the bar and asks if the crowd knows that there’s someone lost standing outside the door. The bartender takes all of the cash out of the register, flags down a cab, puts the lost girl in the taxi with instructions to go to JFK so that she can get home for Christmas. The next stanza says,

“If you want to arrange it

This world, you can change it
If we could somehow
Make this Christmas thing last
By helping a neighbor
Or even a stranger
To know who needs help,
You need only just ask.”

Now what? Now we spread that hope and help and love from that Christmas. We can “make this Christmas thing last” by helping those who need help, whether a neighbor or a stranger. We can be Jesus by helping those who need help, by doing what Jesus did: walking alongside each other, sharing our food, loving each other, forgiving each other, whether neighbor or stranger. God is here. Let’s help make his presence known and felt. Amen.

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[1] http://www.wesleybros.com/wesbros/visitfromsanta1/

[2] Isaiah 7:14, NIV

[3] https://genius.com/Trans-siberian-orchestra-old-city-bar-lyrics

Naming the Blessing as a Blessing

4^th Sunday of Advent

December 24, 2017

Luke 1:26-55

            James Whitcomb Riley was a poet from Indiana around the turn of the 20^th century. Two of his better known poems are “Little Orphant Annie” and “The Raggedy Man”, which are the inspirations behind Little Orphan Annie and the Raggedy Ann doll, respectively. Much of his work was for children and when he died, one of the memorials dedicated to him was Riley’s Children Hospital in Indianapolis. He’s also thought to have been the first one to write the duck test, when he penned, “When I see a bird that walks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck.”[1] It’s abductive reasoning, which starts with an observation and then seeks the most likely explanation. When something looks like a duck and quacks like a duck and waddles like a duck, most likely, it’s a duck. But sometimes it’s hard to tell that it’s a duck. The mandarin duck – which waddles and swims and quacks, and is, in fact, a duck – has a patchwork quilt of feathers brighter and more colorful than your Christmas tree, has sails on its back, pronounced crests and a differently shaped beak. Doesn’t look at all like what we think a duck should look like, but it’s a duck.

         

   Similarly, there are times when God’s blessings don’t always look like what we think a blessing should look like. Or maybe not what we expect a blessing to look like. Our Gospel this morning was the annunciation to Mary, when God sends an angel to Mary to tell her she’s favored by God and going to bear God’s son. Before we get into Mary’s response, I want to consider her family’s response to this news. Mary is usually thought to have been around 12, 13, 14 years old. She was engaged to Joseph but they weren’t married yet, so she would have still been living at home with her family. Can you imagine her parents’ reaction? Or, more for that culture, her father’s reaction? His daughter’s engaged, everything’s set for her to marry Joseph and she somehow gets pregnant. Is he going to believe it was God?? Not likely. And when Joseph denies it was him, because Joseph was going to end the engagement Mary quietly, what then must her parents have thought?! Anger, shame, embarrassment, fear for Mary’s future, who would want to marry her now? We’re not told anything about how Mary’s family reacted. This is speculation. Yet it’s speculation based on human nature and based on the historically negative reactions to out of wedlock pregnancies. I mean, Hester Prynne has to wear a scarlet letter A on her clothing in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel from 1850! I imagine some of Mary’s family still responded with love and compassion. I expect others were ready to stone her, which the punishment for women caught in adultery according to the law of Moses. Jesus saves such a woman in John 8 by telling the would-be stone throwers to let whoever is without sin to be the first to cast a stone.[2] And… they all leave. Either way, we’re not told much about Mary’s family, but they don’t stone her, they don’t disown her. Yet they couldn’t have been too pleased, either. They would have seen this as an unwanted pregnancy and definitely not as a blessing.

            Now, Mary’s response. Mary is a thoughtful, reflective person. When the angel greeted her, Mary “was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.”[3] And we’ll read tonight how after the shepherds come to visit baby Jesus, Mary “treasures all these words [the shepherds told them] and pondered them in her heart.”[4] Mary is someone who thinks about things. She doesn’t just say, “Okay,” to the angel. The angel says, “You’re going to have a son,” and Mary’s response is to ask, “How? I’m a virgin.” She’s pragmatic and she doesn’t assume anything. Now, I realize that the statistics say that only 85% of American Christians believe Mary was actually virgin, which means that if there are about 70 of us here this morning, then 10 people don’t believe.[5] My point, though, is that Mary doesn’t assume she’s about to sleep with Joseph, or be raped, or break her promise of faithfulness to Joseph and sleep with someone else. She doesn’t say, oh cool beans, I get to have a romp in the hay before I’m married. Mary says, in effect, “I’m not sleeping with anyone. So, HOW am I going to get pregnant?” The angel tells her the Holy Spirit is how she’s going to get pregnant. It’s going to be like a mini-Pentecost, Pentecost being when we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the Church.  And so, being told, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God… For nothing will be impossible with God,” is enough for Mary. She probably still has her doubts. She knows the neighbors will talk. But Mary knows God has clearly called and chosen her to do this. And so she says, along with Samuel, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and so many others, “Here I am, Lord.”

            That’s the funny thing about answering a call from God. You can say yes, and follow through, and still have your doubts about it. It’s saying, “Ok, God. You called me to do this. I have no idea how it’s going to work out, but I trust you.” It’s being faithful to the call, even when you don’t have any idea how God is going to work it out. After Mother Teresa’s death, it was revealed in her memoirs that she had doubts that God even existed, but that didn’t stop her from doing God’s work.[6] I’ve shared with y’all that being a pastor was not my idea. Well, even during seminary, when I was learning and training to become a pastor, I still wasn’t sure about it. God had called, and so I was on the path, I was in seminary. But I really wasn’t sure about being a pastor. I think I spent most of seminary waiting for God to say, “Sike! Just kidding. You can go back to Nicaragua now. Or use your seminary studies to serve me in this other way.” I would not have been surprised if God had said that. But God didn’t. And here I am, now in my 8^th year of serving as a pastor. And it may be too soon for y’all to have an opinion or you may disagree, but I will tell you that my last DS, in Baltimore, affirmed me as a pastor and told me I’m a good pastor. When I answered God’s call, I had a lot of uncertainty and doubts. I imagine Mary did as well. She wasn’t really sure whether this pregnancy would be a blessing or not.

            Now, the next thing Mary does is go visit her cousin, Elizabeth. We’re not told if her family sent her away to hide the pregnancy or if Mary would have done this trip, anyway, to see her relative who was barren for so long but now six months pregnant. And Elizabeth does for Mary what my last DS did for me. Mary agreed to bear God’s son, but she’s a contemplative person. She’s not sure how this is all going to work out. Then Mary enters Zechariah’s and Elizabeth’s house and greets them and Elizabeth calls her “blessed.” “God has blessed you above all women, and your child is blessed. Why am I so honored, that the mother of my Lord should visit me? When I heard your greeting, the baby in my womb jumped for joy. You are blessed because you believed that the Lord would do what he said.”[7] Elizabeth tells Mary in no uncertain terms, “Cousin… that’s a duck.”  Now, this conversation between Elizabeth and Mary is not usually included in the reading for today. Usually, it’s the angel and Mary and then the Magnificat, which was what we read responsively. The people who designed the lectionary left out this vital conversation because, well, we KNOW it’s a duck.   But it’s important to hear Elizabeth’s affirmation of Mary. Twice Elizabeth calls her blessed. Blessed is Mary among women because of this pregnancy and blessed is Mary because she believed what God said. This unwanted, un-planned-for, not socially acceptable pregnancy is a blessing. Elizabeth, who had waited her whole life for a baby, whose barrenness was a disgrace and has made her somewhat of an expert on this particular species of bird, is the one to call a duck a duck and to name the blessing as a blessing.

            Sometimes, we need that. Sometimes we need others to point out our blessings. To remind us of the ways God has blessed us. To remind us that we are blessed simply because we believe and trust what God promises and that God will be faithful to those promises. Blessings don’t always come how we expect. They don’t always look like what we think blessings ought to look like. We’re not always sure they’re ducks, and not God testing us or maybe not God at all. We have our doubts, and doubts are okay. As long as you stay faithful. I had doubts about being pastor, I never had doubts about God calling. This life is not one I ever dreamed of. Yet it is a blessing. It’s a blessing to be with y’all, to walk alongside you, to be part of this community. It’s a blessing.

            Mary’s response to Elizabeth naming the blessing as a blessing was to sing what is often called the Magnificat, the first phrase in Latin. “My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.”

            One last poem this morning, the one that was inspiration for this sermon, which ultimately is from God, came through a poem that a clergy colleague of mine in North Carolina wrote:

Naming the Blessing as a Blessing: A Poem of Mary and Elizabeth

By Laura Johnson[8]

Was no one there to rub her back
when she got sick by the side of the road?
Poor child, that Mary,
fleeing the angel’s earth-shattering words to Elizabeth’s tranquil countryside.
Did her traveling companions pretend not to notice
her queasiness and sleepy eyes and swelling gut,
or did they whisper too loudly in her direction
with obvious glares of disdain?
One can only imagine.

How did she hold it all in –
the fear and questions and what if’s and well maybe’s
and the, how in the world will I tell Joseph,
and the, did the angel really mean The Son of God,
and the mantra of survival, on repeat, to convince herself…
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I
can
do
this…
…right?…

Did she get sick with fear when she saw the familiar home
where Elizabeth was waiting unsuspectingly?
Did she regret this unplanned journey and think of turning back?
Did she fear that this
one and only safe-haven
wouldn’t be safe
after all?
What then?
One can only imagine.

But from what I know of spiritual sisterhood, here’s what I imagine…
A courageous knock, bolder than she felt.
The waddling footsteps, heavy with child.
Mary’s wildly-beating heart and aching feet and sick stomach.
A look of surprise.  Elizabeth begins,
“Mary, what are you doing—”
Then widened eyes.  Her wrinkly hands cover her long-prayed-for belly and
the baby dancing with joy inside.

And then –
a kind, knowing, Holy Spirit smile –
so genuine that Mary wants to weep and sigh in relief and (finally!)
pour out her secretly burdened heart
and unravel the tangled mystery of angels and prophecies and theology
and (gulp)
babies.

But then, before she utters a word, the unexpected:
Mary, your blessing is greater than all.
Elizabeth names what Mary knows deep within…
knows, but won’t dare admit,
until she hears it named aloud
in this longed for, life-saving, life-giving
haven of safety.

This blessing is greater than all.
This blessing will save the world.
This blessing will come through me.

Her calling crystallizes and there she stands,
humbled, speechless,
amazingly
joyful.

Here’s what I imagine next:
Mary opens her mouth (because she has to say something),
But all she can do is sing.
Not of fears and what if’s and what next’s and how will I’s…
but of him.
Because none of that matters, not really, not now, not in light of him…
He who is but a tiny life within her,
though still – somehow – Larger than Life itself.

It makes you wonder…
What would have become of that poor child, Mary,
had Elizabeth ignored
those inspired kicks within?
If she hadn’t offered the safe embrace of holy sisterhood?
If she hadn’t named the blessing as a blessing?
If she hadn’t looked deep into those searching eyes and said, you. can. do. this…?

What would have happened if Mary had no one to help
shoulder the load
of the blessing so great
that, (like many callings)
was too heavy to carry alone?

Thank goodness,
one can only imagine.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duck_test

[2] John 8:7

[3] Luke 1:29, NRSV

[4] Luke 2:19

[5] http://www.pewforum.org/2017/12/12/americans-say-religious-aspects-of-christmas-are-declining-in-public-life/#religious-nones-explain-much-but-not-all-of-decline-in-belief-in-christmas-story

[6] http://time.com/4126238/mother-teresas-crisis-of-faith/

[7] Luke 1:42-45, NLT

[8] https://ourworldisstillbeautiful.wordpress.com/2017/12/12/naming-the-blessing-as-a-blessing-a-poem-of-mary-and-elizabeth/

John the Voice

3^rd Sunday of Advent

December 17, 2017

John 1:6-8, 19-28

            “John the Voice” is not a title we’re used to hearing. Anyone know who I mean? He’s usually called John the Baptist. Except, not in the Gospel of John. (Different John, by the way. It was just as common a name 2,000 years ago as it is today.) The Gospel of John is different in many ways from the other three gospels, including its description of John the Baptist. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all talk about John the Baptist, as the baptizer, the one who baptizes people in the Jordan River. John’s not Baptist, as in the denomination; he’s John the Baptist because he baptizes people for repentance for the forgiveness of their sins. He tells people to turn back to God because the kingdom of God is near. And Luke goes one step farther and tells us about John’s family, his mom Elizabeth, who is cousins with Mary, the mother of Jesus, and his dad, Zechariah who’s a priest. They’re an elderly childless couple when God sends an angel to tell Zechariah that they’re going to have a baby who they’re going to name John. It’s a bit like Abraham and Sarah back in the Old Testament, and Sarah’s response is to laugh when she’s told she’s going to have a baby in her old age. Zechariah is also dubious and because he doesn’t believe the angel, he is struck mute until the baby is born. The neighbors ask what they’re going to name the child, and Zechariah writes, “His name is John,” and then he is able to speak again. Zechariah’s first words are, “Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel, because he has come to his people and redeemed them.”[1] This is the history of John the Baptist. And then we also know from Matthew, Mark, and Luke that John is this wild man who wears clothes made out of camel’s hair with a leather belt and eats locusts and wild honey. Yet none of that is in the Gospel of John; it’s in the first three Gospels, which are also called the synoptic Gospels, because of their similarities, but not in John’s Gospel.

John’s Gospel is different. Instead of telling us all those details about John the Baptist, John’s Gospel says, “There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.”[2] That’s what John the Gospel writer wants you to know about John the Baptist. He is sent from God. He came as a witness to the light, so that others might believe. He is not the light but was sent from God to testify to the light, which is Jesus. John’s main vocation, his main job, his calling from God is to be a witness. Likewise, our work is to point to Jesus. I am not the focus, you are not the focus, there is no other leader we are to point to. And this is because we cannot save ourselves. We are not salvation ourselves. There is no person who can save us besides Jesus Christ and our job is to point others to Jesus, that they may also come to believe. Our church is not the focus. The sanctuary decorations, no matter how beautiful, are not the focus. Only Jesus can save.

There once was a conversation between two theology professors – true story. One of them was feeling overwhelmed by all that he had to do, end of the semester finals and grading, and everything else. He shared this with his colleague, who replied, “Jesus has already come.” And he said, “Yeah, I know Jesus has already come. I still have a lot to do.” And the colleague said, “No, Jesus has already come.” The first professor said, “Yeah…? Jesus has come. What’s your point?” The colleague said, “Jesus, the Savior, has come. And you are not him.” You are not the savior. I am not the savior, of anything, so I hope you haven’t had illusions of me “saving the church.” Only Jesus saves. That is not our job. That is not our responsibility. That is not our burden. Our job is to point to Jesus.

There was a German Renaissance painter named Matthias Grünewald. He painted the crucifixion of Jesus more than anything else and in one of the paintings, he put John the Baptist in it.[3] Now this is chronologically incorrect, because John died before Jesus, but artists take liberties. In this painting, with Jesus on the cross in the middle, and his mom weeping on one side, on the other side is John the Baptist, and he’s painted with a finger pointing to Jesus. 

This is John’s sole purpose. To point to Jesus. To bear witness to the light, which is not him.  John is very clear that he was not Jesus, he is not the Savior, he is not the long-awaited Messiah who was coming to save God’s people. And we are not the Messiah, either. And neither is anyone else. Only Jesus.

However, the Jewish leaders and priests try to pinpoint John on to just who he is exactly. And John says, I am not the Messiah, I am not Elijah, I am not a prophet. And the leaders say, “So, who are you? Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” Now, the Gospel of John is big on “I am” statements. This is the Gospel where Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. I am the gate. I am the resurrection. I am the way, the truth and the life.” Lots of “I am” statements. And John gives one, too. John says, “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’” John the Voice. This is what John says about himself. I am the voice of one calling out in the wilderness. The reference is to Isaiah 40:3, “A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” That’s who John claims for himself. The voice of one calling in the wilderness, get ready for God. God’s coming. God’s on the move. Prepare the way for God.

Let’s take this in two parts. First, what does it mean to be the voice that cries out? In particular, a voice that calls out from the wilderness? Well, it’s usually countercultural. It usually goes against the status quo. It usually calls for change, which is what John said. The Bible phrase is that he preached a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. To put that in other words, he called for people to turn back to God, to stop doing what was wrong, to ask forgiveness for what they had done that they shouldn’t have done, to redirect their focus off themselves and put their focus back on God. That’s what John invited people to do. He said, the kingdom of God is near. The light is coming. Jesus is coming. Get ready. God is bending low. And John does it from the wilderness, from the desert, perhaps because then the voice stands out more than when it’s just one voice among many in the crowd. A voice calling out from the wilderness draws attention. It may or may not get credibility as this single, wild voice, yet it stands out and is heard. Maybe not listened to, although we’re told John baptizes many, but it’s at least heard.

Second, the message of getting ready and preparing. There is a temptation to focus on our waiting for Christ instead of our waiting for Christ.[4] Do you see the difference? One puts the focus on us. It’s our waiting and our preparations and our crazy Decembers. The other way puts the focus on Jesus. Jesus is who we’re waiting for and getting ready for. Jesus is the reason for the season. Christmas is not your birthday. If what you’re doing this month isn’t helping you get ready for Jesus, then I suggest you stop doing it. If baking cookies doesn’t help you get ready for Jesus, don’t bake them. If elaborate decorations, however beautiful, don’t help you prepare, don’t put them up. This season of Advent isn’t about you. It isn’t about your loved ones. It isn’t about “the presents! The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!”[5] That’s what the Grinch thinks Christmas is all about.  And the Grinch learns that “Maybe Christmas, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas… perhaps… means a little bit more!”[6] Now, the Grinch is, of course, from Dr. Seuss and Dr. Seuss doesn’t include Jesus. But that’s the more that we as Christians know that Christmas means. It’s about a baby. And your focus this Advent season shouldn’t be inward. This is not the time for introspection, because it’s not about you. Instead of inward, your focus should be forward.[7] Jesus is coming. Keep your focus on him. Remember, you’re getting ready for him, not for family and guests and Christmas dinner and parties and whatever else is on your list. Remember, none of that stuff will save you. And some of that stuff isn’t helpful in getting ready for Jesus, so say no. Do what’s healthy and life-giving. Get rid of the traditions that are life-draining. Life will not end because you don’t have all the decorations up you used to put up or you don’t go to your company Christmas party or, heaven forbid, for me, listen to John Denver and the Muppets Christmas album. That’s a tradition that’s life-giving, by the way. My husband even bought me the digital version. But if it’s draining, if it doesn’t keep your focus forward on Jesus, stop. John the Voice called for people to turn back to God. If what you’re doing isn’t turning your attention to God, then it may be time to stop doing it.

And you know why? Why this all matters? Because today’s wilderness keeps growing. Billy Joel released a song in 1989 called “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” Each verse describes a decade, starting with the 1950s, through the 1980s. Well, you could write a whole verse on the fires that have happened just this past month, and are still growing[8]: the fires of rage in the Middle East as peace there is threatened; the literal wildfires raging through communities in California; sexual harassment allegations sweeping through our country like a wildfire as women become emboldened to speak out, because their voices are finally being heard; a tax bill poised to burn through the poor and middle classes and usher in another Great Depression (because all the same signs from 1929 are there); the flames of war between North Korea and the United States slowly rising; the barrage of muzzle fire as gun violence tears apart family after family across our country; the fire of investigation steadily banishing the darkness hiding the truth about Russia’s involvement in our elections; net neutrality’s flame being extinguished.  It feels like so much of the world is burning.

It feels like the wilderness is growing. It feels all the more like we need John the Voice’s message crying out from the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord. Clear the way for the Lord’s coming! Get the road ready for the Lord!”[9] We need a voice crying out, get ready for Jesus. He’s coming. It’s not about us, thank God. And no person can save us, but Jesus. But Jesus. Life in the wilderness, but Jesus. Thanks be to God.

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[1] Luke 1:68

[2] John 1:6-8

[3] https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4f/Mathis_Gothart_Gr%C3%BCnewald_022.jpg (I couldn’t find a title for the painting.)

[4] Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 1, p. 68

[5] From “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” by Dr. Seuss

[6] Ibid.

[7] Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 1, p. 68

[8] Thanks to Jaye White for compiling the list.

[9] John 1:23, NRSV, ESV, NLT