where to begin?

a note from our new Moderator, The Rev. Thomas Stout!

Glimpses of Grace

Pictures from the Presbytery Meeting at First & Central on January 21, 2012

Yes...it snowed...followed by a helping of freezing rain!

The meeting started with a worship service with Cynthia leading the Opening Sentences. We had great representation by nearly the entire Confirmation Class.

Jeanette led us through the Prayer of Confession.

In the midst of the service, our good friend, Tom Stout, was installed as the Moderator of the Presbytery...

...and presented a commendation to outgoing Moderator, Barry Gray.

Instead of a traditional sermon, Tom, Emily Schwenker, and Anne Gunn led us through a Lectio Divina on Mark 1:14-20. Was a good discipline of listening for a bunch of people who talk for living!

Tim and Randy presided over the Lord's Supper -- and we're very grateful to the Chancel Choir for their music and worship leadership. 

Tom began the "business" portion of the meeting -- making history by being overruled twice by the commissioners -- all in due deference and respect!

One of the highlights of the  meeting was the official "Welcome" by the host church. Typically one of the pastors does this, but we yielded our time to Jack and Izzy!

Our Executive Presbyter, Jim Moseley, gave a rousing "State of the Presbytery" talk -- complete with props -- the round thing is meant to be a steering wheel! 

Most of all, by this time, we were ready for lunch!

The Temperature of Spit

I couldn’t help but think of the Laodiceans when I heard the request.

Sitting, a couple of weeks ago, at a planning session for yesterday’s Presbytery meeting, it was announced that a couple of other pastors had requested a Special Called Meeting for the purpose of voting on two overtures to the General Assembly of the PCUSA.

Now…before your eyes glaze over in the muck and mire of Presbyterian polity – give me just a generous paragraph or two to unravel this.

A presbytery is a collection of churches in a geographic region. In our case, basically all of Delaware and a little bit of Maryland comprise our bounds and within those borders live 53 congregations of varying sizes and theological/social leanings. All adhere to some basic tenets, all consider themselves Christian, all Reformed, all Presbyterian. It’s a big tent and room for a wide array of faithfully held beliefs.

That “big tent” is held up by two formidable supports – the Book of Order and the Book of Confessions. Together they comprise the constitution of the church with the Book of Order providing guidance for how we live together as a denomination, and the Book of Confessions recording our more salient beliefs.

Over time various groups, even factions, have attempted, and occasionally succeeded, in tightening or loosening particular aspects of both documents as the church evolves and matures. The most recent tectonic shift was the removal of one of the last barriers to ordination. On our side of the street, we said “Thanks be to God” for that and other progressive moves.

As you can imagine, not everyone is thrilled with this shift in polity and the more conservative branch of the church is striving to find ways to keep the former “business as usual” on life-support. One way they have dreamed up is to have a “presbytery within a presbytery,” called an “overlay” so they can live with the old rules in a new system. It’s not currently part of our system of government and the constitution would have to be significantly changed to allow for it – a longshot at best.

But that and all other longshots begin at the local level – with a Session of a particular church--in this case, St. Andrews Presbyterian Church in Newark, DE. They crafted an overture to create an overlay presbytery and have sent it on to the next highest level, the Presbytery, for ratification so it can sent to the highest level, the General Assembly, for debate and consideration. (You may recall that our Session sent an overture to the General Assembly for same-gender health and pension benefits.)

Now getting a piece of business like that through this presbytery has little or no chance of approval. We vote 2 to 1 with a progressive slant on all major issues and furthermore, these latest changes to ordination standards have just taken hold and we’ve not had a chance to live together under the new rules. Yet, St. Andrews wants the Presbytery to discuss their overture, which is their right. Only this is where the story intersects with you – the people of First & Central.

Along with the overture came the request that the business be heard in a “special called meeting” of the presbytery, meaning not yesterday, and they further requested that the meeting be held in a “neutral” location, meaning not our sanctuary.

Now, I don’t know about you, but at first I was offended – angry, actually. I mean, is our atmosphere toxic? Do the molecules in our space behave differently? Is there a virus running loose that turns sane minded people into radical liberals? You mean, if you and I were worshipping in a different church we might think differently? Is the Holy Spirit that runs rampant in this structure a different spirit that inhabits another?

You get the point – and it really hits home when you consider that we’re called to be the church, the body of Christ, sisters and brothers, co-laborers in the field of righteousness – yet working in this vineyard changes who we are or the decisions we might make?

Just because, to cut to the chase, we’re perceived to be a more progressive church that means that a piece of business from a conservative church might not get a fair hearing?

Well, when I recovered from my pompous righteous indignation, I remembered the laodiceans.

Poor slobs that they were.

Here’s how “The Message” records the same passage that Jenn read a few minutes earlier:

Write to Laodicea, to the Angel of the church. God's Yes, the Faithful and Accurate Witness, the First of God's creation, says:

"I know you inside and out, and find little to my liking. You're not cold, you're not hot—far better to be either cold or hot! You're stale. You're stagnant. You make me want to vomit. You brag, 'I'm rich, I've got it made, I need nothing from anyone,' oblivious that in fact you're a pitiful, blind beggar, threadbare and homeless.

You’re not hot, you’re not cold; you’re lukewarm, tepid, the temperature of spit.

Laodicea is a neutral church. A church with no reputation, no one really has knowledge that it even exists. It’s a church that stands for nothing, that causes nary a ripple in theological pond. It’s a church that is beige, that has no color or diversity, that doesn’t debate or discuss or disagree. It’s a church that expends all of its energy avoiding controversy.

The church in Laodicea is one of 7 mentioned in these opening chapters of Revelation. Each church is personally addressed in the opening of the letter and six of the churches are referenced by what the author finds both positive and negative about the congregation.

That’s common today.

We describe churches in our vicinity the same way. “We used to go to that church – they had a great children’s program and lots of things for the youth, but the preaching wasn’t very good and the minister was too liberal!” Or, “they do a lot in the community and are very mission minded, but they really ignore the older adults and don’t appreciate the people who built the church.” Or, “the music program is fabulous but that’s all they have – in fact the worship service is really just a concert that begins and ends with prayer.”

The seven churches in Revelation are perhaps the earliest examples of the kinds of things that can go wrong in any church. Things like the danger of losing the love and closeness that they had at first, or the fear of suffering declining status and membership, or doctrinal compromise, or moral and ethical compromise, or spiritual deadness, or a failure to hang in when times get tough, or according to John, worst of all, lukewarmness.

Remember I said that six of the seven churches were referenced by the good and bad traits the author had found? Well, one was noteworthy in that the author had only a negative assessment, and it was the church in Laodicea – their crime was that they were neither hot or cold, they were lukewarm, tepid, the temperature of spit.

In fact, that church has the dubious honor of a permanent place in our modern dictionary. Look up the word “laodicean:’ it means “lukewarm, especially in regards to religion.” John considers it the most cardinal of sins for any Christian or congregation.

The good news is that no one who even remotely knows First & Central Presbyterian Church would mistake us for “First & Neutral Church,” or label us as “laodicean.” Surely, of the sins collectively committed, “lukewarmness” isn’t one of them!

The opposite of laodicean is passion. This church has passion and spirit.

For better or for worse, we have a reputation.

It ranges from great music, to community involvement, to active in social issues, to welcoming gay and lesbian folks and families, to being a vanguard of the city, to being a tad stiff, to opening our doors to the ignored and overlooked, to hosting provocative speakers and events, to the Labyrinth, to offering ourselves as an oasis to the city—its residents and workers. We’re known for housing the Urban Promise Academy, the Children’s Chorus, and Rodney Street Tutoring. Some think of us for starting up Meals on Wheels, and others still remember when we opened our doors and withstood the riots of the late 1960s and early 1970s.

I don’t doubt that we’re perceived a little liberal, a little gay, a little snobby, and a little aloof. Some of that is well earned and deserved.

Yet the point is, whatever our reputation – we have one – and it’s not tepid. And again I say, "Thanks be to God!"

We can't control what people think of us, but we can keep from becoming tepid.

This is a congregation that has been in the forefront of issues and causes for years and years. Today, we simply continue a grand tradition of rousing the rabble.

But enough about First & Neutral. Let's talk about you.

What is your reputation? What are you known for?

I mentioned in my weekly email that we recently held a memorial service for the mother of one of our neighbors and in the course of planning it; I listened to stories about the dearly departed and was delighted by the spice and heat in what I heard. This was not a bland woman...and was, in fact, quite the opposite! Now, a person like that is not always an ideal parent, but at least her kids know why they’re in therapy!

What do you stand for? What is your reputation? How would people sum up your personality or character? Would they use non-neutral terms? Would you be described in vivid hues or indistinguishable shades of beige?

Most of all would they know your compassion for the ignored and overlooked or your passion for justice? Would they know of your devotion to Christ?

I’m convinced that the world has reached its quota of tepid people and that not only does the church need to shake its laodicean reputation, but we as individuals need to step up and out, take risks, embrace confrontation, and speak our faithful convictions even when outnumbered or shouted down.

I know so many of you well – and I know you to be people of strong faith and principles…and so these words should simply reinforce. This wouldn’t be a church with a reputation if it didn’t have a few spicy folks in the pews!

I close with a Franciscan benediction:

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that you my live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in the world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

I pray it be so…

.

Pretty good opening line...

Call me Ishmael 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. 

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

If you are thinking Melville, Dickens, Austen, or Tolstoy – grab a pen and jot down the name of the person who introduced you to great literature. And by “introduced” I mean some unreasonable teacher who forced you to read the classics under the threat of great punishment!

The editors of American Book Review selected what they consider the most memorable first lines of novels. The titles on the list span centuries and genres and include classics and even some contemporary novels that are certain to become classics.

An opening line is without question the most important phrase of any work. It’s an attention-getter and either grabs the reader or not. A mediocre opening might barely entice the reader to venture to the next sentence, but a lackluster opening is the kiss of death.

I know that I have only a few seconds to either convince you to listen or risk losing you for the next 15 minutes. The first sentence is the most crucial of any written work and every author is intimidating by the crafting of same…every author, that is, with the possible exception of God!

Now, given the fact that this church is known to be a tad progressive, even, God forbid, liberal – it should come as no surprise that this preacher doesn’t accept the Bible as the literal word of God. I’m sorry if that comes as a shock but I’m of the stripe that claims that we “take the Bible so seriously that we don’t take it literally!”

In that light of considering the Bible as God’s Word and a work of great literature, we add to the above listing of august opening lines its first sentence:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. (Genesis 1:1-2)

It’s not “Call me Ishmael” but it’s a pretty great opener!

Every student of the Hebrew Bible, and/or every member of this year’s Confirmation Class, knows that the word for “wind” in this sentence is translated from the Hebrew “ruah” – and it equally appropriate to substitute “wind,” “breath,” or “spirit” – same word used interchangeably. It’s up the interpreter to decide which to use. Frankly – that’s a lot of leeway for a nerdy scholar.

Other equally nerdy scholars claim that this first line also contains the “premise of all biblical faith.”

That’s a lot of weight for an opening sentence.

Now, while it may be the premise of all faith, it’s not where the story began. The people who remembered this saga are themselves in the “formless void” of the Exile, staring at the face of the waters of Babylon, having seen their carefully ordered life shattered into deep darkness. They had known the halcyon days of the United Kingdom ruled under the charming and charismatic Kind David where unemployment was low, interest rates favorable, health care cheap and available, and national security unimpeachable.

You know those days. Career is chugging along, family is healthy, 401k is robust, and the world has order and purpose and promising trajectory. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good.

Then…a spot on an X-ray or a downturn in the market, or a merger and subsequent layoffs, or a phone call from the police, or a diagnosis with no cure or treatment.

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD. Lord, hear my voice!” (Psalm 130)

And so, from the perspective of the ones who crafted the opening line of the Bible, they asked…

Where does one look in order to trust the ongoing ordering of the Lord when the temple is destroyed, one’s power has been shattered, and one’s captors follow a different calendar and worship different gods? Shackled in a prison cell, with only a slender slice of sky visible, the ongoing division between day and night might be your only sign that God is yet creating order out of chaos, the wind or spirit of God yet moving over the “face of the waters.” (Richard Boyce, Feasting on the Word, year B vol. 1, page 223)

It puts things in a different light, doesn’t it?

This first of two creation stories in the canon isn’t the grand prologue with humanity in the starring role, God’s agent of creation—no, this is the story for people whose lives have been shattered, whose hope has been swallowed by that deep and formless void, whose lives are chaotic and dark.

This creation story is a way of holding onto hope when all signs of order in our lives have been destroyed and we must look out for signs of the creative work of God beyond our control. If God is still creating order out of chaos in the succession of day and night, maybe God will one day create order once more out of chaos in the lives of God’s people. Hold on, and do not lose hope. (ibid)

This opening line is not solely an introduction to an epic; it is rather a confession of faith. A faith that states unequivocally that…

• God was before the beginning.
• God is creator out of nothing. 
• God is creator out of chaos.
• God’s Spirit/Wind/Breath “ruah” is present in all places, even and especially those that are dark, void, formless, and deep.
• God’s ruah is more than present – God’s breath sweeps over the face of the waters, the places in our lives where hope has been overwhelmed and all but drowned.

Jesus is immersed, baptized, in the muddy, chaotic waters of the Jordan and God’s Spirit, the one that swept over the face of the waters of creation, was yet again breathing life.

And just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit [ruah] descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Today as we remember our baptisms, I wonder if there are places in our lives that are dark and void and formless and deep that need God’s wind [ruah] to sweep over them, to remind us that God has created out of chaos, that God will again bring the breath of life to those places where the spirit of hope has been overwhelmed.

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.

This is the opening line of the Bible, it’s the first sentence of Creation, and it is the premise of our faith.

That’s a lot of weight for a few words.

Hacking Life

Presbyterians are known for many things, and those things run the gamut from courageous and innovative to fearful and petty.

The list of things for which Presbyterians can be proud of is extensive: our role in the founding of this country and the formation of our system of government, the proliferation of public education, women’s rights, civil rights, the ecumenical movement, global and domestic mission, healthcare, peacemaking, disaster assistance, and concern for the environment. You could probably add a few things or possibly take issue with one or two that I’ve listed, and surely the church has not always been as prompt or strident as was needed, but on nearly every issue of national and global importance, the PCUSA has staked a claim and with rare exception, is on the side of justice with a preference for the poor, the ignored, and the overlooked.

Frankly, it’s the last thought that keeps me invigorated and passionate about my denomination. Despite its flaws, with rare exception, its heart is in the right place.

Oy…and we do have our flaws!

Now, I’m not going to start this brand new year with a litany of all that’s wrong with our beloved church – if nothing else – we don’t have that much time! However, for purposes of this morning, let me simply summarize all of my discontent, frustration, and outright aggravation with these: sluggish and near-sighted.

It’s a joke, and not a good one, at how slowly our church moves. “Glacially” is a term I hear often. The Session of First & Central made a fairly large decision not that long ago – and from start to finish – the presentation, discussion, debate, and decision consumed only a portion of one meeting. The assembled Elders were pleased with the not only the outcome, but the process as well, and pronounced it “nimble.”

Of all the words you’ve ever heard to describe the Presbyterian Church – in any of its incarnations – would “nimble” come to mind?

We are a methodical people and “decent and in good order” is our scriptural justification for lethargy. Yes, we are sluggish, and sometimes too little too late – and we have a tendency to get wrapped up in our own little problems and skirmishes and lose sight of our mission as a church.

But go back to that long list of things about which we could be proud because I forgot one: we have an ailment named after us!

Presbyopia

According the US National Library of Medicine:

Presbyopia is a condition in which the lens of the eye loses its ability to focus, making it difficult to see objects up close.

 

People usually notice the condition at around age 45, when they realize that they need to hold reading materials further away in order to focus on them. Presbyopia is a natural part of the aging process and it affects everyone.

So, our denomination is the namesake of a universal condition in which people lose their ability to focus and see things that are right in front of them.

By golly, I think they have us nailed!

Interesting that presbyopia sets in at around 45. Recent statistics from the Stated Clerk report that “the median age of Presbyterians is 61, up from 58 in 2001. Four out of five worshipers in PC(USA) pews today are age 45 or older.”

80% of Presbyterians either have presbyopia or are on their way.

Explains a lot.

We’re increasingly unable to focus and have trouble seeing things that are up close. We have old eyes. That’s what “presbyopia” literally means. It’s from the Greek translated as – “elderly vision”.

We may be afflicted with “elderly vision”, but what we sorely need more of is the “vision of elders.”

At a 80^th birthday party last week for an elder of the church, in response to a question about a recent move to a retirement community and the requisite downsizing, he surmised the arduous task thusly: “Only thing we’re sure of is that we have stuff we don’t need.”

He may have meant that literally, but there’s wisdom in them words! Made me think about the stuff I don’t need – stuff stuff and emotional stuff and opinion stuff and prejudice stuff and judgmental stuff and fear stuff. Stuff that I have, my family has, my church has, my community has, and my country has. It’s a great one-line resolution for 2012 – taking inventory of the stuff we don’t need.

One thing that won’t be on that list? Wisdom – the vision of elders—knowledge tempered with perspective and experience.

I find it telling that Luke spills all kinds of ink on two with “elderly vision” – Anna and Simeon – a rare gender-balanced depiction of faith and wisdom. They both have a lot of miles on them and they’ve seen wholesale changes in their world and culture; and they, despite pronounced presbyopia, recognize with sharp clarity, the baby before them. Simeon’s eyes may not be 20/20, but they have seen “God’s salvation.” For Simeon, that’s not simply a bold declaration, it’s a stark imperative of decision.

When we offer a blessing over a baby during baptism, I doubt many of us proclaim, to the shock and awe of unsuspecting parents, “This child is destined for the falling and rising of many, to be a sign that will be oppressed so that inner thoughts will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” “Oh…and here’s a certificate for framing that says all that…”

And then the prophet Anna, an octogenarian, began to speak about the child to whom “all who were looking for redemption.” Two people with the vision of elders who saw what many were looking for and they spoke with clarity and conviction. Elders of the community graced with the vision and voice of wisdom.

Luke closes our visit with these two remarkable people with a brief synopsis of Jesus’ childhood and youth: “The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.” Another way of saying that he hacked life.

In our vernacular, “hacker” doesn’t necessarily have a great connotation for it frequently means someone who breaks into computer systems, occasionally to do real damage, but mostly simply for the sport of it. Most have had at least one of those emails from bank or credit card companies disclosing that that there had been a breach in their security and some personal data might have been stolen. Evidence of a hacker at work.

Yet, if you think about it – hackers are people with vision – albeit it at times with a healthy dose of mischief.

A hacker doesn’t accept arbitrary or imposed boundaries – but works to circumvent, work around, or undermine.

A hacker doesn’t accept simply “what is” – but lives a world of “what could be!”

A hacker doesn’t accept conventional constructs – but wonders how those same components could be put to work in innovative ways.

A hacker doesn’t accept limitations – but sees them as challenges and temporary obstacles.

A hacker doesn’t accept the status quo of a system – but is willing to take risks, even to point of running afoul of the law.

A hacker doesn’t accept the prescribed linear course – but lives in a world of taking unexplored routes, engaging unlikely folks, and finding new ways to sought after destinations.

Couldn’t we replace the term “a hacker” in the sentences above with the name “Jesus”?

Somewhere between the time he was presented to Simeon and Anna and the start of his ministry in his 30’s – Jesus hacked life.

Now, of course, having a famous father didn’t hurt – but Jesus saw life differently, he had a new vision of what the world could be – he saw the world, not through the lens of legality, purity, and conformity – but through compassion and love and justice. He broke into established systems, altered input, and radically influenced outcome. He tinkered with the intricate components of life and tweaked perception. He re-wired our perception of the poor, the ignored, and the overlooked. He programmed his life for hope and possibility. He operated in a system of forgiveness and new beginnings.

Jesus hacked life – and calls us to lead a hacking life – and that is what we, in more sophisticated circles, call wisdom.

The irony is that most hackers that we read about are likely in their twenties – but the folks who have really figured out how to hack life are our elders. They’ve seen enough not to take life too seriously; and they’ve experienced enough to know when to take it very seriously. We shouldn’t be surprised when Luke introduces the infant Jesus to the elders Anna and Simeon – it’s the merger of vitality and perspective that served him well.

On this first day of a New Year – I’d wish that for all of us – that our vitality – that of Hanover, First & Central, the PCUSA, and that of our families and communities might be merged and tempered with the perspective of experience and knowledge; that we might not just react to the events and changes of our world, but that we might engineer progress; that our vision would be clear and far-reaching and focused, not myopic and clouded; that we wouldn’t settle for an existence when God gives us life; that we’d approached that life not as something to be endured, but something to be hacked.

Friends, Luke tells us that Jesus grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him. May it be so for each and every one of us – this coming year – and all that follow.

Isn't it Obvious?

It is the rare person who has had their life publicly chronicled since birth.

I’m thinking of people like Caroline Kennedy or Prince William, which means that future biographers have a plethora of print and video to scour. Their problem is the reverse of ancient biographers—today’s writers have too much information to sift and glean.

Luke had no such documentation when he wrote the story of Jesus’ birth from the perspective of cross to crib. He knew how Jesus’ life ended, and although a generation had already passed since the crucifixion, the end of life experiences of Jesus were well planted, some could argue flourishing. Somewhere along the line, someone had to ask, “Where did this guy come?”

It happens all the time – someone does something noteworthy and sooner or later, the media quickly pastes together a retrospective on their life – perhaps visiting hometowns, interviewing teachers and classmates, digging up yearbook photos and write-ups, etc. By now, the routine is almost predictable. Many times that’s done with the slant of digging up factors that might point to the current events or circumstances.

Luke did the same thing; yet in a somewhat unpredictable way.

Luke probably couldn’t come up with many details about Jesus’ birth – and that’s in large part – the point. Given the details and sequence that he does employ, scholars surmise that he was trying to ground the birth narrative on three distinct levels: religious, secular, and symbolic.

The religious, prophetic history of the Hebrew people, as fulfilled in Jesus, is not a thesis for Luke to establish but is rather a way of telling the story, of weaving old and new together as one fabric. No characteristic of this gospel is more pronounced that the insistence on the continuity of Judaism and Christianity. The Hebrew and Christian Scriptures tell one story, not two. God is not starting over with Christians, having failed with the Jews. For Luke, every believer – Gentile and Jew alike, can properly say, “Abraham and Sarah are my father and mother.”

The second level is secular history. Luke pins the birth of Christ to the backdrop of a census. Much ink has been spilled in the debate over the accuracy or existence of such a wide-scale event – yet regardless of that outcome – Luke’s intention in clear: to tie the secular and sacred worlds together. Religion is not a realm unto itself; it is a factor of all of life. The world is God’s, and the gospel is for God’s world. Mary’s baby is God’s “yes” to the whole world.

And the third level is symbolism. Why wouldn’t Luke just do what his predecessor Mark did – have Jesus the adult man, a follower of John the Baptist, begin his ministry after John was shut down? Why would Luke take pains to present a picture of a baby? One possible answer is that perhaps it was to convey that God’s child was vulnerable as every infant is vulnerable, was subject to all the conditions under which we all live, and fully identified with every human being’s need for love. That same baby birthed in a non-descript way basically went unnoticed.

Unnoticed, that is, except for the attention of some who they themselves were an inconsequential bunch.

Shepherds in a field outside of Bethlehem, the poor and overlooked of that and every society.

Shepherds were not just materially poor – they also suffered poor reputations. They were the “Squeegee Guys” of the 1^st century. You remember the squeegee guys in New York City – up until former Mayor Giuliani put them out of business, they’d rush up to the car while stopped at an intersection, smear dirty water on the windshield and then harass the driver for payment? Shepherds, for multiple reasons, were treated both religiously and socially as “non-persons.” They qualify easily as the least likely to have found God’s favor.

Yet that’s kind of a theme of the Bible – folks who are least likely finding favor with God.

Yet, here’s where God made a mistake.

Any C- marketing student knows that in the public’s perception – the messenger is as important as the message. If one wants to announce an event – an earth changing event at that – then one doesn’t use Squeegee Guys to tell it!

Why would anyone listen to a bunch of smelly shepherds? Surely the Creator of the Universe could have figured out a more dramatic way of getting the message out!

But that’s re-writing history and the story we have is the story we have.

The shepherds, minding their sheep and their own business, in the foothills outside of Bethlehem are told that the Messiah has been born and they’ll find the baby wrapped like every other newborn and they’ll find him in an animal’s feed trough. What would be more common, more ordinary, more non-descript to a bunch of people who tend animals for a living than a manger? They were looking for something common to them and non-descript to the rest of the world.

This was not a case of earth looking to heaven – this was heaven looking to earth. This was a case of the extraordinary pointing to the ordinary. When the shepherds finally did make it to that manger – it was a time that heaven and earth met – each witnessing each other.

And that’s exactly where we find ourselves this morning – heaven and earth staring right at each other each wondering what to make of the other – wondering who would believe it if we told ‘em.

Why would anyone today believe a message of “peace” any more than they believed the arrival of a savior as told by the shepherds?

Peace? In today’s world? Shalom in the Middle East, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Nigeria, in Indonesia, in America, in Camden, in Wilmington, in our families, in our own lives, deep within our soul? Shalom – a wholeness of life that’s somehow made possible when all the forces of our lives mystically and precariously find balance?

Yet that’s the unlikely message told folks nobody would believe: “and on earth, peace.”

It’s still the message – and today – we’re the folks nobody would believe.

It is a hope of the Gospel that somehow this non-descript birth of a vulnerable baby, who grew into a most extraordinary person, might somehow change the people we are.

It is a hope of the Gospel that the realization of God’s love for humanity as made known to us in the teachings, actions, and resurrection spirit of Christ might fill us with some degree of gratitude.

It is a hope of the Gospel that the embodiment and expression of that gratitude might be visible; that we would love one another in a way inconsistent with our greed-based DNA, and that people would equate “Christian” with “Shalom.”

It is a hope of the Gospel that as we proclaim the message of Christmas, that God came among us as an ordinary child, that when someone should ask, “why would anyone believe them?” that the answer would be, “isn’t it obvious?”

Amen!

Cameo Appearance

This is the one Sunday each year that Protestants are comfortable talking about Mary, and truth be told, that’s probably not a true statement for all churches as I heard from a Lutheran pastor a few weeks ago that they’d never use blue in their church – “it’s Mary’s color!”

Poor Mary. The only mistake she really made was believing, kind of, what she was told.

I found this short piece by Madeleine L’Engle that Mary was not the first woman the angel Gabriel visited – but was the first to say yes.

And how unsurprising it would be for a fourteen-year-old girl to refuse the angel. To be disbelieving. Or to say:

“Are you sure you mean—

I couldn’t anyhow—

I’d be afraid. No, no, it‘s inconceivable, you can’t be asking me—

I know it’s a great honor but wouldn’t it upset them all, both our families?

They’re very proper, you see.

Do I have to answer now?

I don’t want to say no—

But I can’t commit myself to anything this important and I should ask my parents and I should ask my—

Let me have a few days to think it over.”

Sorrowfully, although Gabriel was not surprised to have it happen again, the angel returned to heaven.

How could Gabriel not have expected those reactions? Fear is where we live—and although in this season we broadcast hope, love, joy, and peace – we’re kidding ourselves if we don’t blanch a bit when the angel admonishes Mary – “Do not be afraid!” How can we not be afraid? We can’t help it – and it’s something we know how to do!

Fear is a large part of our inner landscape and commands a sizable parcel of our emotional map.

What if the economy doesn’t recover, or our savings are wiped out, or we can’t afford our house, or my parents outlive their money, or my father’s surgery doesn’t go well, or they don’t find out what’s wrong with me, or our child gets sick, or my partner leaves me, or I can’t handle the stress and anxiety?

And Gabriel says… “Do not be afraid!”

Parker Palmer, an author on Quaker spirituality said recently:

If you learn your inner landscape well enough you realize yes, there's a piece of turf in there called fear. And you can choose to stand there if you want, but there are other places in that inner landscape where you can stand as well if you work at it. You can stand in a place of hope. You can stand in a place of appreciation of beauty.

 

You can choose where you stand within yourself if you know your inner landscape, where you stand as you move toward other people, the news of the day, the events of your own life, the situation of the moment. Those are actually choices that you can make. They're not always easy, but they're impossible if you're not reflective about your own inner dynamics.

There's no perfection in that. You screw up. But you can also stand in a place of self-forgiveness, which is also somewhere in there, and cut yourself some slack and try it again.

We are bombarded with “annunciations” all day every day – from the moment we begin our morning routine with the radio in the background proclaiming snarled traffic, skittish stock markets, frustrated occupiers, mixed sports reports, political candidates raising and falling with the tides, and the occasional heart-warming story of someone doing something decent. It shouldn’t be a surprise when we miss something important. Navigating the highways and byways of our lives, to say nothing of our “inner landscape,” takes far more time, energy, or stamina than most of us have. Simply getting through the day wears us out.

But Mary’s not overwhelmed by Gabriel’s annunciation, she’s perplexed: “How can this be?”

Awareness that we’re not fully in charge or our lives or destiny is rarely a constant, and ebbs and flows. Startling news, either good or bad, is cause for a time out – an aria during which to mull emotion and feeling before continuing our story.

Mary’s aria is simply, “How can this be?”

Her puzzlement, her perplexity is a much needed break in the action to adjust to astonishing news, to question whether or not her trials and tribulations, or God’s magnificent promises, are for real, and to contemplate potential repercussions or unintended consequences.

But that’s almost laughable because really, isn’t life more or less a free-fall of unintended consequences?

“How can this be?” is a reverberating refrain that reminds us just how much we don’t know. These may be the four most honest words in the Bible. They may be the clearest statement of faith ever uttered.

How can this be? We admit, first of all, that we’re clueless. It means wandering into the wilderness of our inner landscape, to turf that’s uneven, uncertain, and rocky. Step one, then, is admitting the obvious: we don’t know everything.

Step two is in two parts: a-neither does anyone else, b-but God does.

We’re in trouble the moment we think we have a lock on the truth. When absolutes creep into our vocabulary that profess exclusivity – we have really screwed up. But as Palmer reminds us, after doing so, we “can stand in a place of self-forgiveness, which is also somewhere in there, and cut [ourselves] some slack and try it again.”

That’s what Mary did. She expressed her questions and her doubt, and then Mary tried it again and she decided to take Gabriel at his word and uttered: “here I am, the servant of the Lord.”

Honor yoked with struggle. Not hard to see in her face an expression that somehow communicates, all at once, wariness and curiosity, caution and boldness.

Such is the stuff of a cameo appearance by Gabriel – a messenger with words of such import they are prefaced with “do not be afraid.”

And although our friends from the Roman church have elevated Mary to a status mostly out of reach, we still have a few things in common with the Mother of our Lord:

• At this point in the story, none of us, Mary nor those here today, have ever met Jesus face to face and all of us are living off of the hope of a promise. Mary is told what’s coming, and we live lives in the dawn of the hoped for return.
• Mary was an insignificant person, really even to give her status of “person” in her culture is a stretch, from a backwater, non-descript land that mattered to no one, a young, unmarried woman of no estate or notice. Why would God bother with her? Why would God bother with us? But God did bother with Mary and for whatever reason; God chooses to bother with us.
• Mary was unsure, had doubts, even questioned and resisted and frankly, while consistently depicted as faithful, understanding, and loyal – never really figured it all out, yet was a “servant of the Lord” till the end. If those descriptors don’t apply to us, then I’m not sure we’re doing this right. Honestly – my spiritual life is marked by doubts, questioning, and resistance, yet my faith compels me to strive for understanding and loyalty expressed as service.

It’s possible, even probable, that the angel Gabriel has yet to make a cameo appearance in our lives – and I’m not sure we’d know it or hear it with the cacophony of competing annunciations raining down – but of this I am sure: We, too, are among God’s favored ones – simply because we are all children of God – not because of special status or position or worth or wealth – but because God calls us God’s own.

And I’m sure that God calls us out of a place of fear and prods us to explore places of hope and peace and love and joy in our inner landscape. A fearful people eschew gratitude and generosity and grace – hallmarks of followers of Jesus. God seeks for us the fullness of life, exploration of all landscapes, knowing that we travel those places not alone, but with God and one another.

And lastly, I’m sure that our only vocation is the same as Mary’s: “Here I am, the servant of the Lord.” If all of this doesn’t find tangible and visible expression in how we live our lives, how we view the rest of the world, how we spend our money, allocate resources, write church budgets, engage our leaders, or care for the ignored and the overlooked – friends – it’s all carols and candy canes – meaningless tunes and empty calories – so grab your plant, let’s go home, and shop some more.

God came into the world in a particular time, at a particular place, in a particular person – but that event is not limited historically for it has been replicated in ways great and small throughout the ages – including this one.

Isn’t it possible that God is in the world at this particular time, right now; at this particular place, on the corner of 11^th and Market; and in the particular person…of you?

How can this be?