Count and Be Counted

25 12 2009

A Christmas Eve Meditation from
Southminster Presbyterian Church
Boise, Idaho

Luke 2:1-20

I may have told you this before, but I am a fan of irreverent Christmas Cards. Like this one, with Jesus singing “Happy Birthday to Me”.

But my all time favorite one is one I don’t have a copy of. It shows Mary yelling at a teenage Jesus as he is walking out the door of the house, “Jesus Christ, I don’t care if you were born in a barn, close that door”!

Because our manger scenes show Jesus in a stable. But it probably wasn’t a barn far away from the town. It was likely the place where a family kept their animals—a first century garage, as it were.

And here’s your free Greek lesson for the day, my Christmas gift for you. The Greek word that is used when Luke says there was no room for them in the Inn is the same word he uses at the end of Jesus life, when he and his disciples gather in the Upper Room. So the text doesn’t necessarily mean a hotel. It could also mean a guest room at his grandmother’s house.

But they didn’t have a room.
They may not have been out of a room because the family didn’t want them, or because they couldn’t afford a place. They may only be in the manger because they were unlucky travelers. This text reminds us that Jesus very birth takes place in the midst of occupation and oppression. When the Roman Emperor announces that all of the world should be registered, the residents of Palestine had to obey, like pawns on a chessboard. Joseph and Mary didn’t get to say, “we’re sorry, this isn’t a good time for us. Mary’s very pregnant. Here’s a note from her OB saying she shouldn’t travel”. They packed their duffel bags, hopped on their donkey, and joined the crowded lines in airport security. Their travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem, as the rest of the world is also on the road to be registered, might be better recognized today in the people around the globe who are refugees or internally displaced people. People who aren’t traveling on vacation, but are traveling because of political forces over which they have no control.

It is into this kind of a situation that God chooses to be born. God’s biggest “act of revelation and reconciliation was not an announcement of universal principles or truths; instead it was a baby.” A baby born to parents living under occupation.
And then the angels announce the birth of the Savior. But they don’t post it on Twitter or CNN.com. Katie Couric doesn’t get the scoop on the evening news. The angels don’t appear at Herod’s annual holiday party and tell the hoi polloi about Jesus’ birth.

They go to some shepherds in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. Being a shepherd was, and is, a humble profession. And Luke’s gospel, the whole way through, is a reminder that while Jesus came for all of the world, he particularly came for the least and the lost. So it is fitting that Jesus, who would grow up and hang out with tax collectors, sinners, and women, would, even as an infant, surround himself with those he came to save.

But I think Luke’s message was more subversive than even he realized. Because remember that the whole world has been ordered by the emperor to be registered? To head to their hometowns to be marked in the census so that the Romans can appropriately tax them? But these shepherds aren’t on the way to be counted. They are still in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.
The shepherds are so far outside of political and social power that they are not even worth registering.
They don’t count at all.
They are not counted.

This should challenge our notions of who receives God’s favor.
Even though we should know better, we buy into the cultural and political messages that God favors the wealthy, or God favors the famous. That God favors the people who have it all together or even that God only favors those who favor God.
But the good news of the Savior’s birth was announced to people who didn’t count to the powers of the world.
God’s grace is like that.

It is given into the places and people where we would never send it. This is Good News, friends.
“To YOU is born THIS day in the city of David a SAVIOR, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

We can’t control God’s grace and how God chooses to dispense it. But we can believe the good news that we, too, like the shepherds, are the recipients of it.

One of my wise friends said to me yesterday, in her Christmas greeting,
“May the army of God show up to disrupt your otherwise ordinary night tending sheep.”
And it was an unsettling blessing.
But she’s exactly right.

These shepherds, on an ordinary night tending sheep, had their lives turned upside down by a greeting from God’s forces. What they saw in the manger ushered in a new world, where God made clear that God was FOR humanity by becoming one of us. What they saw in the manger made clear that while they may not count to the emperor, they counted to God.

This Good News on this Holy Night ought to give us hope to live into a new reality, one where all of God’s children count and are counted. A world where people are no longer pawns on a chessboard and can live their own lives in safety and peace. A world where Christ’s message of love, salvation, and grace is not seen as subversive by the powers of this world but as good news for all creation.

As we go back to our ordinary lives, tending sheep or whatever it is that we do, feeling uncounted by the powers of this world, remember that you have been counted by God. That God came to earth to save exactly you. And, like the shepherds, may this news be so unexpected, so good, and so true, that we can do no other than to glorify and praise God for all we have seen and received.
Amen.


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Categories : Luke 2:1-20

December 13, 2009 "Brood of Vipers"

17 12 2009

A Sermon preached at Southminster, Dec. 13, 2009
Luke 3:1-18
Zeph 3:14-20

While the gospel writers all have different ways to tell the story of Jesus, they ALL begin the story of Jesus by telling us about John the Baptist. Each year we hear about John the Baptist in the Advent readings. It makes sense—Advent is about preparing the way for Christ’s birth and Christ’s eventual return and John is the one who calls us to get ready for that—but that doesn’t make it easy to accept. His message is impolite. It demands things of us. He is an equal opportunity prophet—he is as frustrated with those who do follow him as he is with those who don’t.

Before we can get to the sweet baby born in a manger, we have to deal with John.

And he is not someone I would invite to dinner. From the description of his clothing and his diet, he would be out of place in our midst. And from the description of his behavior, he would certainly make me uncomfortable.

People are coming from all over to be baptized by John at the Jordan River. Every church dreams of people coming from all over the county to be baptized, right? Wouldn’t we love to have every seat filled in this room each week? And what would we say to those who came to join us?

Well, let’s see. What does the text say?
“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”

How’s that for an evangelistic message?
“Welcome! We’re so glad you’re here, children of poisonous snakes!”

John, by calling them a brood of vipers, as opposed to a passel of vipers, or a crowd, or a bunch, or a gaggle, is claiming that they are the children, the offspring, of these vipers. And surely the snakes from whom they are descended didn’t lead them to repentance. John has not much nice to say about the religious leaders of his community.
So John asks them—who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Who, he wants to know, called them to this repentance.

I imagine the crowd on the riverbanks started to reconsider following this guy. “Umm…you did, John. You’re the one who called us here. Remember? Voice crying out in the wilderness and all that?”
But what were they expecting when they came to the riverbanks? One event that would magically change their lives so that nothing bad would ever happen to them? An easy, “presto!” moment of salvation that doesn’t require any change in your life?

John is calling them to something much deeper. Sure, he can baptize large crowds, but if they are just going to go home and live as if everything is the same, except now they have magic salvation power, then it is just a waste of everyone’s time.

To the crowd’s credit, they seem to get it. At the end of this long lecture about vipers, axes leaning against trees, and everlasting fire, instead of fleeing back to the comfort of their homes, they ask him “what, then, should we do?”

His answers are pretty specific. If you have 2 coats, you should share with someone who doesn’t have one. If you have plenty of food, you should share with those who are hungry. He might get all metaphorical with the axe lying at the root of the tree, but this is about as clear as it gets.

His answers are specific to different people as well. If you are a tax collector, those people who made their living by collecting money from their own people to give to the occupying Roman leaders, they are told to only collect what has been assigned—no skimming off the top at the expense of your people.
If you are a soldier, you should be a soldier with integrity.

Interestingly, his instructions are fairly modest. He doesn’t tell the tax collectors to stop being agents of the Romans. He doesn’t tell the soldiers to become pacifists. Following God’s call, for John, means to be who you are, with integrity. Not everyone needs to quit their jobs and become Pharisees, preachers, or prophets. But you need to approach your work differently.

So, heeding John’s call to repentance means that your life should be “of a piece”. In other words, you shouldn’t come to church on Sunday to be a Christian, and then rob, cheat, or steal during the rest of the week.
Bummer, isn’t it?

For John, “repentance had …everything to do with how one handled riches, executed public service, and exercised stewardship.”(Jennifer Ayres, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol 1 , page 68.)

So, every year during Advent, we are confronted by John. We just want to jump to a comfortable Christmas morn, when all is well. But in order to get there, we have to look at our lives. How are we living as Christ’s followers as we prepare for Christ’s coming among us?

John wanted those who were coming to be baptized to understand the life altering implications of their actions. Living as people of repentance means we share what we have, look out for others, live with integrity, and by so doing, prepare a way in the wilderness, making a straight highway for our God.

Because God is coming to live among us. To become flesh, to be incarnate.
And we are to prepare for that divine mystery.

Our other reading this morning was from Zephaniah. We don’t hear much about him most of the year. He won’t show up in your year of the bible readings until the end of May. Not much is known about this prophet, other than what he writes about himself. It is likely from the mid 7th century BCE, located in the reign of King Josiah of Judah.

Zephaniah didn’t know he was talking about Jesus, but in the passage we heard this morning, he says, “the King of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst; you shall fear disaster no more. The Lord your God, is in your midst, a warrior who gives victory.”

God is coming to our midst.
And not just to say howdy.

God’s incarnation is about justice and restoration and victory and renewal. At that time, God will deal with all our oppressors. At that time, God will bring us home. At that time, when God gathers us, God will restore our fortunes before our very eyes.

At that time.

This time that commenced at the birth of Jesus is still playing out. God will come back to remove disaster, to deal with our oppressors, to save the lame, and gather the outcast.

Advent is calling us toward that time as well.

Christmas is getting closer. The kids have one more week of school. The Christmas specials are airing 24/7 on TV.

But we are reminded by John the Baptist that there is work yet to be done.
People need to be treated with integrity and fairness.

Cold people need coats and shelter. Children at Grace Jordan Elementary need hats and gloves and are so thankful for your generosity in providing them.

Hungry people need food. And so we feed them, bringing in food for the pantry and for the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners the Mission Committee sponsors for various agencies in town.

We need to live as if John the Baptist is with us all year round, calling us to live lives that make a difference for others; calling us to prepare the way of the Lord in tangible ways that make life better for people who need hope; calling us to live out our baptisms in service. May it be so. Amen.


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Categories : Advent year C, John the Baptist, Luke 3:1-18, Zeph 3:14-20

Zechariah

17 12 2009

If pastors were honest about it, Zechariah is probably one of the stories we like the least. He is one of our own, a priest, serving God in the temple in Jerusalem. Remember back to your readings in Exodus about how the priests function in the temple. One priest would go in and make the offering. Possible encounters with the Divine were not taken lightly, so only trained professional priests did this. “Do not try this at home” might be the sign on the wall.
So, Zechariah walks in to the place where God lives, and the divine messenger walks in the door and speaks to him. But Zechariah doesn’t quite believe him.
Now, if Zechariah had encountered this angel in the produce section of Albertsons, or while out for a run on the greenbelt, we could sympathize with him a little more. Because we can understand missing the Divine while you are in the midst of your busy life.
But he’s in the temple.  This is why pastors are uneasy about this text. We spend a lot of time in God’s house. We listen for God. Except of course, for when the divine speaks to us clearly and we miss it all together.

Let’s look at what the angel says.
“Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.
You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit.
He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God.
With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

All of the usual angel stuff—do not be afraid, etc, etc.  But some very specific instructions too—your prayer has been heard. Your wife will bear a son. His name will be John. He must never drink wine or strong drink. He will be willed with the Holy Spirit even before he is born…

But Zechariah, even in the midst of the divine presence, can’t put aside human details. Like Sarah and Abraham before him, and like us after, perhaps, Zechariah allows very human details and limitations to question God’s movement in the world. “How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years….”

He doesn’t die in his encounter with the Divine. But he does lose his voice.  He doesn’t say another word until John is born.

Losing your voice, your ability to speak words that matter, is not a small consequence.
Most of the things for which I use my voice may not be too important. I order a sandwich at a restaurant. Or I remind my kids that they need to wear long pants and coats when it is 19 degrees outside.

But our voices do matter. Calling our family to see how they are doing and to tell them we love them. Speaking truth to right wrongs or stop injustice. Telling others where we have seen God active in our lives.

Losing your voice for 9 months would give you ample time, I suspect, to think about what you really want to say.
And Zechariah finally gets his voice back when he verifies that this child is to be called John, as the angel said, even though everyone thought his name should be Zechariah Junior.

And, once he has his voice back, did you notice what he said? Twelve verses of poetry so beautiful that I wonder if he had been composing it in silence those nine months.

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old.
And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Zechariah’s voice is back and it bursts forth in praise and hope and promise and thanks. And he also recognizes something about his son, John. Zechariah and Elizabeth may have been priestly class, but this child of their old age was something else all together. Zechariah recognizes that John will be the prophet of God. And he connects John to the Old Testament prophets before him. Malachi, which you heard today, spoke of a messenger who would prepare the way of God.  Malachi dates from the time of Ezra, which you have just finished in your Year of the Bible readings. His name actually means “my messenger” and he had an important message to share with God’s people, weary with exile, conquest, and displacement. “See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?”

I wonder if Zechariah, during his nine months of silence, and after coming to terms with Elizabeth and Mary’s pregnancies, poured over these prophetic passages, seeking to understand what was to come. Malachi’s prophecy, to which Zechariah connects his son by calling John the one who will prepare the way, is good news,
in a sort of frightening way.

The Lord we seek will suddenly come to his temple. There’s the good news. God will become flesh and pitch a tent among mortals. That’s the good news for which we’re preparing now. Jesus’ birth, as far as Zechariah saw it, was God suddenly coming to his temple.

But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” That’s the part of Malachi’s prophecy that gives me pause. If you are familiar with Handel’s Messiah, this prophecy is sung by a deep male voice. I can’t read the words without hearing the soloist in my childhood church singing the part. Handel wrote the music for that prophecy well because it is beautiful and dark and kind of scary.  And I’m sure the man who sang that role each year is the nicest person, but I confess to always being a little afraid of a man who would deliver such a prophecy.

But remember for Zechariah, this prophecy of Malachi is all good news. “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them!”

Redemption.

I know that this has been a difficult year for some of you. The Israelites, too, lived through successive bad years. And I think what Malachi would say to you is “don’t lose hope.” Trust God. Trust that there is a future with hope. Winston Churchill is quoted as saying, “if you’re going through hell, keep going”.
It is not a place where you want to stop.

But Advent hope is for this. Awaiting both the birth of God-with-us, and the return of God, means that we trust God has envisioned a future for us with hope and redemption.

Redemption.

The truth is that redemption sometimes requires a refiner’s fire. To see a beautiful metal, like silver or gold, you have to burn away the impurities. You have to be willing to let go of all of the things to which you cling—illusions of control, or pride, or even the certainty of how the future is supposed to unfold—all of those impurities need to burn away in the refiners fire, leaving you with a beautiful clarity that you can rely on God. And, Advent hope is also a reminder that God’s restoration happens outside of our control. We don’t get to decide what goes in to the refiner’s fire. We are what goes in to the fire. We are the ones in need of refining.

Maybe Zechariah’s nine months of silence were the refining fire he needed to go through to see his blessings clearly. To realize that he didn’t need to voice objections to God when God had made the path clear. To realize that his own son, and not Zechariah himself, was going to play a pivotal role in the story of God. To humbly see God’s work of redemption taking place in the midst of his own family.

We will come to the Table in a few minutes. And at this table we see Advent hope in tangible ways. A feast has been prepared. And not just for a few. Not just for those who can afford to pay for dinner. All are invited to this table and there is room enough for all. This meal has gone through the refiner’s fire of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. A tangible sign that God will provide and is providing.

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.
May it be so.
Amen.


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Categories : Advent year C, Luke 1:5-20, Mal 3:1-4, Zechariah