Jesus, In storage

Jesus, in Storage
Luke 2: 41-52
December 27, 2009– Christmas 1B

The Sunday after Christmas is such a weird Sunday. On the one hand, folks have, in essence, been doing Christmas since the day after thanksgiving. We’ve shopped, and planned, and cooked, and had our fill of Christmas songs. But on the other hand, the church tells us that Christmas really starts on Christmas day, and goes for the twelve days afterward. That’s lovely. We can put on a brave face on Sundays, and sing Christmas songs just a few more times– though most of us will take down our trees and decorations this week. So we can be ready for the New Year, of course.

Whether or not we realize it, most of us are already done with this year. We’ve already moved on to 2010, even though we won’t officially welcome it in until Friday. I’ve already flipped my calendar over, and am furiously filling up another year. I’ve already decided what things I wish for the New Year– the things I loved about this one, and what I hope to never repeat.

Even though the church says Christmas is a season, we’re so past that. On to bigger and better things, as our society decrees.

And then here the lectionary makes a really interesting choice–even as we’re being told to celebrate Christmas and to revel in the babe in the manger, suddenly we’re thrown into a different world.

Gone is the babe. New parents Mary and Joseph have exited the stage. There is no miracle and wonder.

No, none of that. Instead, we’re thrust into Jesus’ teenage years– which just isn’t a pretty picture. Having both been a teenager, and spent a few years working with them, I’ve come to realize that nobody is at their peak of niceness in their teenage years. Just yesterday at breakfast, my dear parents and aunt were discussing what a foul creature I was as a 15 year old. (Which was a surprise to me, as I’m sure it is to you! ;-p)

Part of that whole “fully human” thing we proclaim we believe is that Jesus is an obnoxious teenager– just as all of us were.

It’s funny. The scriptures don’t bother giving us any “in between time”. It’s almost like we blink our eyes and Jesus is taken from being a sweet baby to being a surly teenager.
I guess that’s how I hear it works. Parents are always saying things like “I just can’t believe how fast they grow up… it seems like it was just yesterday that he spoke his first words, and now he’s got his driver’s license.”

And as I understand it, parents’ first instinct usually seems to be to hold on tighter and tighter, and pray to high heaven that their holding on keeps the child small and safe for that much longer. It’s like foot binding in China: women’s feet were wrapped so tightly that their feet will not grow very much. Most parents I know wouldn’t ever admit that they were trying to bind their kids, but I wonder if it’s something that’s so natural that people don’t even realize they’re doing it.

As I understand, one of the most commonly used phrases in any given house that has teenagers is, “You’re grounded!” Usually this means the young person isn’t allowed to watch TV or go out with their friends or whatever.

But, I think, in addition to saying that phrase, every parent prays that their child is indeed grounded. Grounded in what the family stands for and believes, grounded in a love that knows no bounds, grounded in the knowledge of the words “remember who you are.”

We don’t ever see Mary and Joseph tell Jesus he is grounded, though if I had ever made my parents look for me for three days, and then have the audacity to answer them in the same tone that Jesus takes with his parents, it wouldn’t have been pretty. But like all parents everywhere, Mary and Joseph must’ve prayed that all that they taught him would take root.

In this passage, we see Jesus for the first time as beginning to have his own identity– one that is completely separate from his parents’.

Psychologists use a fancy sounding word: self-differentiation. Basically, what that means is one’s ability one’s ability to separate one’s own intellectual and emotional functioning from that of the family.To have a well-differentiated “self” is an ideal that no one realizes perfectly. They recognize that they need others, but they depend less on other’s acceptance and approval. They do not merely adopt the attitude of those around them but acquire their principles thoughtfully. These help them decide important family and social issues, and resist the feelings of the moment. Thus, despite conflict, criticism, and rejection they can stay calm and clear headed enough to distinguish thinking rooted in a careful assessment of the facts from thinking clouded by emotion.1

And that’s exactly what’s going on here. Jesus is realizing that he has things he is supposed to do that don’t line up with his parents’ expectations. Perhaps, if his parents had their way, he’d be a carpenter– like his dad. That’s the way things worked after all– there was a lot to be said for learning the “family business”.

We can give Jesus the benefit of the doubt here, I think. Maybe Jesus wasn’t really trying to tax his parents patience or to give them the scare of their lives. Perhaps he was simply doing the thing that had been laid out for him to do.

But put yourself in Mary and Joseph’s shoes for a few minutes. How do you respond when a young person wants to be their own person? Those of you that have been parents would know that better than I would, I guess. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to let a person develop their own identity, especially when it is different than the way you imaged it to be. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to let a teenager out of the house with blue hair or a skirt that doesn’t come down to their ankles, like the one you picked out would’ve done.

I guess, though, every parent prays that a child will not only be grounded in the family’s beliefs, but that they also pray that the child will have wings to fly away and be their own person. I think parents do pray that, but the fact that they get what the pray for may not make the letting go any easier.

I’ve tried to put myself in Mary and Joseph’s shoes, and at least in my imagination, they are desperately wishing that Jesus was something he just isn’t any more: the sweet little baby boy who hid behind his mother’s skirt with a big, gap-toothed grin.

I don’t think Mary and Joseph were the only ones guilty of this. Perhaps we not only do it with our children, and the children of the church, but perhaps we also do this with Jesus.

Truth be told, Jesus is a lot easier to deal with as a baby. As a baby, he doesn’t demand much of us– he doesn’t ask us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. He doesn’t tell us to turn the other cheek when we’ve had our feelings hurt. He doesn’t stick his nose into our finances, or have anything to say about stewardship of all that has been given to us.

I wonder how many times and how many ways we’ve tried to make Jesus into the things we think he ought to be.

Maybe Jesus ought to be a pacifist?
Maybe Jesus ought to only be a buddy, who doesn’t care how we behave?
Maybe Jesus ought not to tangle with the way things are done, and ought not to challenge us to be better than we are?
Maybe Jesus ought not to be…. whatever.
To take the scriptures seriously is to have our toes stepped on all over the place. And no doubt, Jesus says things to each of us that we could’ve lived our whole lives without hearing. And his call to radical discipleship, if we follow and heed it, will upset the way we do everything.

We, like Mary and Joseph, wish Jesus would stay as a baby.
We’d just as soon him not challenge us, or interfere in our lives.
And we’d be ok if he never, even from his first steps, was making his way to the cross.

As I was working on this passage, I ran across a preacher who tells this story:

A former student once told me that her little daughter, the week after Christmas, asked her mother to stop the car when they were driving past the church they attended. The child wanted to go into the church and see how the baby Jesus was doing. She remembered that Jesus had been born there a few days ago, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. The mother tried to explain it was a pageant that the child had seen, and that the baby Jesus by now had been put away in the church storage room until next year. This alarmed the child. She wondered who would feed the baby Jesus in the storage room.2
He goes on to talk about the child wanting to feed Jesus, and it’s a cute story. But I got stuck before my brain could go that far with the preacher. My brain got hung up on the image of putting Jesus into storage.

I’ve never thought about that– but we do it, every year, without fail. This week or next, even this church will take down its nativity, and the whole Holy family will go into storage until next Christmas when we “need” them again.
Sure, it’s the only practical thing to do. Who needs to see that when we’re all dripping with sweat in July, right? And besides, if we left it out year round, it would surely rot.
And while I’m sure I’m the only one who ever gave a thought to this, what if it weren’t just a practical thing? What if we were also either figuratively or symbolically putting Jesus into storage, you know, until we need him again.
Gosh, we’d feel terrible. We’d never do that on purpose!

But what if we pushed Jesus farther and farther into a storage container, every time we try to make him into the things he isn’t?
What if Jesus gathered more and more dustbunnies every time didn’t heed his words, and remake our lives according to his call to radical discipleship?
And what if, we bury Jesus farther and deeper every time we don’t let his amazing grace govern our relationships with all people?

What if?

My prayer is while we may physically have to put the Jesus figure into storage, that that’s all it is. My hope is that Jesus, the real, grown-up, challenging Jesus is such a part of our lives that for anyone to suggest Jesus might be in storage is positively ridiculous. May we, like Mary and Joseph, finally have the courage to let Jesus be the things he was meant to be–not the things we’d have him be.

Amen.

The Darkest Night

The Darkest Night
A Homily for Christmas Eve– From the eyes of someone who might have been, or might yet be

It’s not that the house was haunted, because he definitely didn’t believe in that sort of thing. The memories were just too strong. He looked at the easy chair, and suddenly he saw Poppy “reading”, though Poppy seemed to do most of his “reading” with his eyes shut. He looked at the pantry, and there was Grandmother’s apron clad back digging around for just the right ingredient. If he looked at the front window, immediately, he was taken back to Christmases of long ago, where he and all the cousins were playing with trucks and dolls under the tree. He looked at the old threadbare sofa, and there he was with his arm around Amy’s shoulder, sneaking a kiss, and daring to dream about the days when they’d have kids to enjoy for Christmas. But that was before. A lifetime ago.

If you had asked him this time last year what he thought his life would look like in a year, he couldn’t have guessed it would be like this. Even in his wildest dreams, or nightmares for that matter. This time last year, he had a beautiful wife on his arms, two children that were every bit as presentable as a father might wish his children to be. He had a job at a downtown firm– he was what people would have thought of as an “up and coming.” The job gave him lots of luxuries that had come to represent to him life, security, and maybe even status. He had a little red sports car that he used to zip all over town, from this cocktail party to that one.

And only a year ago, that was his world. His kingdom, even.

In the year since last Christmas, his wife and two picture-perfect children left. Amy said it was because he was a workaholic, and that if she was going to be a single mom anyway, then she might as well really be a single mom.

He’d tried to pour himself into work, but mostly what he poured himself was another glass. Of whatever. It didn’t even matter. He never got wildly out of control, but gradually things just didn’t matter as much. He went into work disheveled and unshaven once too often. He’d been late for one too many meetings. “We tried to overlook it, you know”, his boss had said. “But your clients are complaining, and it’s making us look bad. Besides, there’s a recession, you know, and business just isn’t what it used to be. Take care of yourself, Pete.” And with that, he no longer had any place to go to avoid home, whatever that was. That was in March.

Not that the severance package wasn’t nice, but it just didn’t last that long. He remembered Amy saying something about them not being able to afford the lifestyle they were living, but he just assumed she was worrying too much, like she always did. Since she paid the bills, he didn’t know, not really. But then they started coming in: credit cards (who needed five different credit cards, anyway?) house payments, car payments, private school tuition. It wasn’t long before he’d had the phone disconnected, just so he wouldn’t have to come home to an answering machine full of messages from debt collectors.

Oh, if he were on top of his game, he’d have been irate. All that could seriously damage a man’s reputation. But what did it matter now?

He’d meant to return their calls, meant to get himself together. But it just seemed like too much work. So he just ignored them.

In October, Grandmother became sick. She’d always managed ok, even after “Poppy” as the grandkids called him died. First it was Pneumonia. Then it was a dislocated hip. Somehow, she just never managed to come home, not really. And somehow, he’d never managed to go visit, though he and Grandmother had always been especially close.

It was only when the lawyer called, asking if he could come take care of a few things to “get the estate in order” did he realize that she was gone. Wasn’t there someone else? No. The aunts and uncles were mostly gone, or were enjoying retirement in Florida like his parents. The cousins were all ensconced in life– raising beautiful children, living the lives they always imagined were theirs for the taking. It made the most sense for him to go, with no job, no family, no life that couldn’t wait.

Standing at his grandmother’s sink, he realized for the first time that he was excruciatingly lonely. He longed for someone, anyone to call just to see how he was. Or maybe he could call them. His parents? No, he’d declared his independence from them years ago, when they told him he was too young to get married, when they had given him just one ounce too much of “parental advice”. He didn’t mean for it to end their relationship, but as they made obligatory birthday and Christmas calls, the strain of having nothing to talk about discouraged him from trying to repair it. No, he couldn’t call his parents. They were a lifetime ago.

Amy? Maybe he could call her, just to wish her a Merry Christmas. But then what’s-his-face might answer, and well, the thought of that awkwardness wasn’t worth it.

He realized he was utterly alone, except for Dolce, his grandmother’s very old mutt dog– a present to her from Poppy, named so because that’s what he called Grandmother when they were first married. He was freshly home from the war, and he’d always loved that Italian word for “sweet”. Poppy thought Grandmother needed some company, but they never took to each other, not really. Mostly, Dolce rode around with Poppy in the farm truck, at least until Poppy died. Then Dolce sat at Grandmother’s feet while they both feigned indifference, though Pete knew Grandmother talked to the fleabag often. Dolce, though, was well past her time when she was great company. These days, the dog just wanted a nice, warm, soft place to sleep.

TV? Surely there’d be a nice law show on, something anything to take his mind off this Christmas nonsense… Oh, that’s right– Grandmother never saw the need for a TV. The radio? Surely that would keep him company. Not, of course, that that was an easy feat. Poppy and Grandmother didn’t have digital radio, or even a CD player. But, finally, music started coming out of the box– which would have been great, had Judy Garland not started wailing out “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”.

It was more than he could take, and who could blame him? Judy Garland and her little fairy tale world had no right to tell him to have a merry little anything. Poppy and Grandmother had no right to leave him. Amy had no right to pursue a life of her own, and take his children away from him. His parents…well they had no right to take him at his word that he wanted to be free from them.

It was Christmas Eve, and the only place that was open was the Pizza joint a few miles down the road. Dolce raised an eyebrow as he called and asked for the Meat Lovers Supreme. Normally, he was health conscious– well, except occasionally having one too many. Food had never been his vice. But now, really, what did it matter if he had a heart attack? Who would care? Who would even notice him missing?

He was about to pour himself a glass of brandy that Grandmother kept for “medicinal purposes” when the doorbell rang. The pizza guy already?

But when he opened the door, there was what looked to be a casserole-bearing well wisher– the kind that always show up at funerals. Before he could wonder who she was, the woman said, “Oh Peter, you sure aren’t the little boy I remember. It’s been so long, I’m sure you don’t know me anymore, but I’m Olive. I was your grandmother’s best friend. I just live down the road, and I saw the lights on as we came home from church. I had heard that you were coming, and well… I thought you’d need something to eat. It’s not much, just a little ham on some biscuits that we had earlier.”

“Ummm… well thanks.” Somewhere in his head, a voice told him to be a gentleman, and before he could stop himself, he heard himself saying, “Err…would you like to come in?”

Olive looked at him for just a second, before tears filled her eyes. “I miss her so much. She was so proud of you, you know.” Somehow they managed to make it to the recliner and threadbare sofa, respectively, as Olive continued “I remember her praying over you the night you were born, from her living room, not the hospital room, because you came early. She prayed that you would grow up to be a great man who always remembered who he was.” Olive looked up, and dabbed her cheek. “But she prayed if that wasn’t possible, that you’d always know whose you were.”

“Your Grandmother wasn’t one who talked about her faith a lot, because it wasn’t something that was easy for her. Your “Poppy” as you children called him was the one who listened to every special The Gaithers put out, the one who’d listen to a radio preacher if he wasn’t up to church, and the one who loved a good hymn-sing more than just about anything. But your grandmother and God wrestled, a lot, I think. I remember her wailing aloud to the heavens when she lost her first born to one of those childhood diseases. I sat here as she cried for days when your “Poppy” died, rubbed her shoulders as she asked the young well-meaning pastor not to read her the 23rd psalm, because she just wasn’t ready to hear it. No, your grandmother never had a touchy-feely faith, but for her to pray that you’d always know whose you are was no small thing. Of all the grandchildren, I think she had a suspicion that you would be the one with the fiercest need to make your own way in the world. She always said that you were the one most like her, perhaps the one that would struggle the most.”

Really, how could someone respond to that? Fortunately he didn’t need to, because Olive started talking again.

“Your Grandmother told me about all the things that have been going on in your life the last few years.”

Oddly, Olive said it without any judgment. Did Grandmother really know, really understand? Surely Olive would’ve caught her instincts from whatever Grandmother said.

“I don’t mean to pry, or offer you any unsolicited advice, but I was thinking about you on the drive over, and what I would say to you. But mostly, I kept thinking about how you’re probably comparing this Christmas to all the others you’ve known, and how hard that must make this year for you. If you’ll excuse my saying, you don’t need any Hallmark pictures telling you how Christmas “ought” to look. Well-meaning though they are, they’re far from true. Christmas has become a greeting card holiday–with no depth, and no room for anyone who can’t sing “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” with gusto.” I know your “Poppy” always gathered you children around and read the Christmas story before bed every Christmas Eve. Don’t mess with the tradition, but don’t read it from his Bible– maybe that’s not the version for you tonight. Read it from your Grandmother’s bible. I’m sure it’s on her bedside table, where she always kept it.”

“Umm.. Ok. I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Well, I’ve got to be going. I promised Joe I’d be right home. I never liked those people that said ‘let me know if I can do anything’, but I hope you will anyway. Goodnight, Dolce. Merry Christmas, Peter. ”

“Thanks for stopping by. Err…Merry Christmas to you too.”

As he shut the door, he knew that he would not be taking the kindly neighbor’s advice. He knew the Christmas story after all. Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wisemen, a baby in a cloth. It’s not like it had changed in all the years he had heard it.

But as he gave the radio another shot, Olive’s words rung in his ears “She wanted you to remember whose you are.”

What did that even mean? He was nobody’s, not anymore. But for some reason, it was important for Grandmother’s best friend to tell him that… out of all that she could’ve said.

“Remember whose you are.” The words haunted him. It became clear that he wasn’t going to get any peace, so he went upstairs, and found the well worn Bible on grandmother’s table.

Before he could ask himself any questions, the pages fell open to the first chapters of Luke, and a small booklet fell out. It was a small version of what they had always called a “blue book” in school–the kind they took essay tests in. It was well worn, and in Grandmother’s tiny, scrawling hand, entitled “Promises for the Darkest Night”. Then as an afterthought– “Promises for even me”

It wasn’t a manifesto, no “this is what I believe”. Instead, it was what must’ve been some of Grandmother’s favorite passages. In her booklet, there was no oft quoted 23rd Psalm. There were no shepherds and wisemen, no chubby cheeked babes, and no sweetly smiling Mary’s. The pages were dripping with raw emotion, crinkled in places with tear drops that had smudged the ink.

The booklet was filled scriptures that Grandmother had wrestled with, and had evidently decided were the things she’d ground herself in. In the margins, countless notes written as if Grandmother were having dialog with the writers, or with God himself. Peter imagined her pouring over her own Christmas book, long after the others had gone to sleep.

On the last two pages were quotes from the prophet Isaiah. On the left, a note at the top said “what they read at Christmas” and had the familiar words,
“Behold, I will create
       new heavens and a new earth.
       The former things will not be remembered,
       nor will they come to mind.
 18 But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create,   for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight 
       and its people a joy. 19 I will rejoice over Jerusalem 
and take delight in my people;  the sound of weeping and of crying 
will be heard in it no more.
 23 They will not toil in vain or bear children doomed to misfortune; 
for they will be a people blessed by the LORD, 
 they and their descendants with them.
 24 Before they call I will answer; 
 while they are still speaking I will hear.
 25 The wolf and the lamb will feed together, 
and the lion will eat straw like the ox, 
 but dust will be the serpent’s food. 
 They will neither harm nor destroy 
 on all my holy mountain,” 
says the LORD.

She had circled words, and underlined things for her emphasis. She wrote, “When, O Lord, when?” and “Lord, rend your heavens and come down”.

On the last page, she scrawled at the top “What I read for Christmas, on the darkest night.” And another page from Isaiah. 1 But now, this is what the LORD says—
       he who created you, O Jacob,
       he who formed you, O Israel:
       “Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
       I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
 2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; 
     
  and when you pass through the rivers, 
they will not sweep over you. 
      
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; 
      
the flames will not set you ablaze.
 5 Do not be afraid, for I am with you; 
      

Scrawled at the bottom, “a promise for me, even when I’m not sure.” In another ink, in a hand that had changed for all its years of writing, “A Promise for Peter, even when he can’t remember whose he is. This is the meaning of that baby in the manger.”

“She wanted you to remember whose you are” Olive had said.

For Grandmother, that was the most important, even when she had questions, even when the “traditional” Christmas story wasn’t enough for her and didn’t line up with her experience, she knew whose she was.

Could you will your faith to someone? He didn’t know. The sky didn’t open up, and angels never sang “Gloria, In excelcis deo”, but Christmas found Peter. Perhaps one day the shepherds and wisemen and sheep and the chubby cheeked babe would be his Christmas story. But for now, he decided, it was a blessing to be like his grandmother. Shaky, imperfect, world-worn, and full of questions. But beloved anyway.

And that just might be the wildest Christmas story ever.

Singing, dancing women…and a Topsy-turvy Gospel

From Luke 1: 39-45, Preached on Advent 4

Finally. We’re in the fourth week of advent, and finally there is someone who is excited. Advent started out with scary lectionary readings about signs in the heavens, and parables about fig trees. Then Zechariah was struck mute because he wasn’t quite sure about the angels words to him. Last week, John was all up in our faces, and called us a “Brood of Vipers”. Talk about “Merry Christmas” and a dose of nice holiday cheer.

But this week, we find somebody who’s merry and not bothering us with their “Bah Humbugs”. Two somebodies, in fact. Two pregnant, impossible women. One too old, one, truthfully, too young– at least according to our standards. One married to a high priest, one not married at all. Impossible, no doubt.

And these are the two chosen to herald the news that the world is about to be shaken up. Peek with me into their world, on this day.

(From Mary’s Thoughts)
Who can I tell? Who can I trust? They’ll throw me out of the family. When Joseph finds out, he’ll call me all sorts of names. Or worse, he won’t call me anything. He’ll just turn and leave.

The angel made this sound like a blessing, but he didn’t tell me what to do in the meantime. There’s nowhere I can go, no one who will believe my story. I’m bearing the Son of God, and I can’t show my face anywhere.

I don’t know that she’ll understand about me, but the angel said Elizabeth was having strange things happening to her, too. Besides, she’s my family– distant though she is. Maybe she’s a haven for me. Or maybe, once she hears my story, maybe she’ll throw me out, and shake my dust from her doorstep. After all, no one would want one such as me ruining their family’s reputation.

(From Elizabeth’s Thoughts)
Pregnant, at my age? What will people say? Nobody would bother to say anything if Zechariah fathered a child by a younger woman. But for me to be pregnant at my age?

It’s not that I’m not overjoyed. I’ve prayed for this for years, until I didn’t dare pray it anymore. We’ve moved on. We’ve long since quit praying that God would give us a child.

And now here I am, at my age. And I’m going to have a baby. But who can I tell? Who would understand? I’ve talked to Zechariah, but he can’t talk back. He didn’t understand the angel’s news…so all he can do is listen until this baby is born. It’s great to have a listening ear, but what I want is someone who can share my joy without letting all their questions get in the way. If only…

*****

Can you imagine this meeting? I imagine the shocked look on Elizabeth’s face when she opens the door and finds a relative from long ago. I imagine Mary, with her head bent, not quite daring to look in Elizabeth’s eyes. But after a long moment, after Mary finally dares to look at Elizabeth, and they have a second to take each other in, and then joy takes over.

I imagine Elizabeth catching Mary in a big bear hug, the smile on her face uncontrollable.

Suddenly they are dancing around, and laughing like little school girls– the joy between them tremendous.

In the instant that Elizabeth takes Mary into her arms, suddenly Mary knows that all well be well. But Elizabeth takes it a step farther, and says with a sparkle in her eyes, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”

And all this because of a well-timed kick from a baby.

I don’t know much about babies or pregnant women, having never been around many, but I would think the fact that a baby kicks is not an event to write home about. I mean sure, when the glowing mother-to-be is standing in a group of people, she’ll say “Ooooh…he’s kicking.” And everyone will put their hands on her belly, as if it somehow belong to all of them.

But unless I’m mistaken, this isn’t a once in a lifetime occurrence. My understanding of these things is that baby kicks happen often.

Yet, as Luke is telling us this story, he wants to make sure we realize that something is different about Elizabeth’s unborn baby’s movement. Luke has Elizabeth attribute it to joy– as if to say that the joy between these two women is so strong, that even the baby feels it.

We don’t know much about Elizabeth, other than she was married to now mute Zechariah and that she’s expecting a baby, well after that should be a possibility. But, I think, after having already received a miracle herself, Elizabeth is open to seeing miracles in other places. She expects that her world, and indeed the whole world, is about to be dumped on it’s head. I wonder if she feels like she’s in an M.C. Escher painting, where nothing is as it should be.

Yet oddly enough, Elizabeth character doesn’t seem to be terribly fearful. Instead, she is about to be a sanctuary for Mary, who is cut off from her community, which in turn allows Mary be a sanctuary for her.

Make no mistake. These women, by virtue of their pregnancies that don’t follow anyone’s rules, are outcasts. They can’t go anywhere and be part of any “in” crowd.
“Marginalized” is a popular word these days– and it refers to all those who aren’t in the center of things. That ugly word refers, oddly enough, to two women whom we would consider to be abundantly blessed.

In this beginning to a Topsy Turvy world that Jesus ushers in, God provides these women with the two things they desperately lack: community and connection.1

Though most of us loudly say how much we love this time of year, secretly, I think we’ve all been battered by the world in some way, and I think we feel that more at this time of year than we do at any other. For some of us, we’ve been battered by too much to do, and not enough time or money to do them. For some, we’re battered battered by the memories of Christmases that aren’t any more, or how Christmas is “supposed” to look.

Whatever it is, it weighs on us more than we’d care to admit, and when things get quiet, we feel it deep within our hearts. I think we’re in need of a sanctuary more than we’d like to believe.

I’ll bet you’ve never thought about it– about what a sanctuary you find when you’re here. So many of us were shocked earlier this year when there was a church shooting, as much as anything, because we just don’t think about that sort of thing. We feel safe from the world here. I hope, though, it’s deeper than that. I hope it’s a place where we not only feel safe from the perils of the world, but it’s a place where we find acceptance, and feel loved and nurtured.

I think that’s what Elizabeth and Mary must’ve found in each other.

That’s nice to think about– about how they were able to smile conspiratorily together– but sanctuary is not something we give much thought to. Perhaps such a thing is a luxury so common in this place that we neither think about what our world would be without it, nor what another person’s world might look like without it.

Our first instinct is never to think about how another person has been battered by the world, or how they are without community that we all crave so much. Our first instinct, instead, is to think how “those” people (whomever they are– they’re different for each of us) aren’t like us.

I think it’s really interesting that Elizabeth and Mary, the two outcasts, sing and dance around together. Elizabeth never lectures Mary, never asks any questions, never bothers to think about her own reputation. Instead, they rejoice at the opportunity to share their blessings together.

When I first started working this this story, I thought that maybe this was Mary’s passage. But as I’ve sat with it, I think Elizabeth plays a much bigger role than I would have guessed at first. Because Elizabeth had already seen a miracle, she was much more open to believing that other miracles might be out there. Because she her eyes and heart had been open, and she dared to hope beyond the possible, Elizabeth was a safe place for Mary. I think by giving Mary a place where she felt loved and cared for, Elizabeth gave Mary the courage to see her situation as a blessing, and gave her the hope that leads to her song.

My first instinct when I began crafting a sermon was to focus on Mary’s song, and what a Topsy Turvey world she saw being ushered in by Jesus. Maybe that instinct was right, just not in the way I saw it playing out. There is something Topsy Turvy afoot, and we see in the ways that these two outcast women are role models. What they offer to us is not only a joyous look at the coming savior, but through their actions, they invite us to offer sanctuary to all whom we meet. They invite us to take the ones who aren’t like us, the ones who might hurt our reputations, the ones who aren’t doing the things we think they ought to be, and bring them into our safe fold. They invite us to rejoice with those in our midst, opening our arms to them. After all, we’ve seen a miracle, and that opens our eyes to the miracles that just might be taking place in the lives of those around us. Who knows? Perhaps by so doing, we’ll help someone find the courage and hope to sing their own song.

Preachers all over talk about what a problem it is to preach the incarnation: that is, when God became human. They talk about how hard and inconvenient it was that God in Jesus was born a baby, of a virgin mother, in inconvenient circumstances. It’s fleshy and earthy and full of things that we just as soon not think about or preach. It would have been a lot easier if an angel did all the proclaiming, if Jesus wasn’t like us at all. It would’ve been easier if Luke had left these singing, dancing, pregnant, outcast women out of it.

But Luke put them in, and hoped we could hear their story anyway. And today, they are the ones heralding the good news, more beautifully than most preachers could. The news they herald is that no matter how far out we are, we are brought into community. They herald that the sanctuary we find in each other, and pray that we might offer other people, makes all the difference in the world. But perhaps the best news they herald is that miracles are all around, and might even be happening in the life of someone who isn’t on the “inside”.

I don’t think fleshy, earthy Jesus would mind these “impossible” women proclaiming that message, because that will be a big part of his ministry: taking the ones we consider “out” and doing something miraculous and life changing with them.

And thanks be to God for that.

A break in the clouds…

Literally. The sun is out– for what feels like the first time in a while. It’s a clear, cool day– beautiful. But perhaps more than the literal break in the clouds, is the more important figurative break in the cloud that’s been hovering over me for several weeks. It’s been a pretty good week, despite being quite sick both Monday and Tuesday mornings.

After I quit my usual routine of being sick in the morning (nope, not pregnant… ), DH and I were able to go out and go shopping on Monday. Our church’s men decided to “adopt” a family for Christmas. DH is president of the men, so I guess that’s how he was the one to go shopping. We, armed with a few hundred bucks and a long list for five kids, braved walmart. Though I felt pretty scroogy, by the time we left, I felt just a little bit of joy in my heart. While we were there, we realized we have very little idea about kids, so we had to call the parents to ask about sizes, etc. I don’t know, I guess the man felt compelled to tell me his story because we were helping his family, but how they got there was of no importance to me. I think he wanted to tell me, so I didn’t think they were people just taking advantage of the system. Truthfully, that never crossed my mind. What did cross my mind is that these kids might not get much of a Christmas, and that we could help give them one. Just something nice, no expectations, no strings attached. I’m not sure– maybe that’s when the clouds started breaking.

When we finished shopping for them, we decided to do our Christmas Shopping– mainly because that was the first time I’d felt well enough, but also because there haven’t been many days when we’ve been able to go. We were able to buy lots of great things for our loved ones, didn’t spend what we didn’t have, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Yesterday, after he took me to the doctor, we came home, and blew up our air mattress. The six of us (me, DH, two dogs, and two cats) had a great time watching TV under the Christmas tree. Too, I managed to do some straightening…and we even got some outside decorations up.

Today, the sun is out, and I’ve gotten a lot done. I got to talk to my “big brother” for a while– which is a rare occurrence with life these days. I’m going to head out in a little while and take a walk with my puppy. Tonight, I think, we’re going to wrap presents and bake sugar cookies.

Little by little, my inner Grinch is being replaced with a joyful spirit. Maybe by time Christmas comes, I’ll be well… and nice. Maybe. A few more blue sky days like this, and my heart will quit being “three sizes too small.” My cousin comes in on Saturday, and then my parents and aunt will be in for Christmas Eve. I’m starting to get a little excited about wrapping presents, and having everyone in for Christmas. Maybe I’ll even be able to think about my menu in the next few days.

I don’t know that “it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas”, but its a least starting to feel that way.

In Sickness and In Health

“In Sickness and In Health”– those are popular words of marriage vows. Every husband and wife expects to have those tested, but as church members call a pastor, those words never come to mind. Yet, for my church, these words I think, have been a part of our covenant life together. I’ve spent most of the fall in ill health, in one form or another: swine flu, bronchitis, mystery illness that’s made me sick to my stomach for over a month… only to name a few. And even when I’m not actively sick, I’m still not well. But between sicknesses I’ve been pushing myself so hard, I just get sick again and again. I’ve wiped out my immune system so I catch any germ that wanders by my face. I’m 28, but the words “I just can’t do what I used to do” ring true for me, and I’ve had to slow down considerably.

Yet, the 95% of people that love me at the church have continued to love on me, even during my sickness. They’ve supported me, and offered help, and advised me to slow down. They’ve checked on me and worried about me and prayed for me, and lowered their expectations considerably so that I might really get well. All that would’ve been amazing, and it would have been above and beyond. But then, Sunday, they surprised us with a Christmas Love Offering– I’m beyond grateful. I’m not gonna lie, we weren’t exactly sure where the money for Christmas presents was going to come from, as I have more doctors bills than anyone ought. (Though, no doubt, it could be infinitely worse. I’m one of the lucky ones with insurance.) But what bowls me over, besides God’s provision that always shows up at such amazing times, in such amazing ways, is that folks could love us this much– especially at a time when I’m doing only the barest of minimums.

For better, and for worse.

Indeed.

Get behind me, Satan

A wise mentor said, “Where the Lord is most at work, Satan is most at work too.” To be perfectly honest, I’ve spent a lot more time contemplating the Lord than I have Satan. I believe that there is evil within the world, but I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about “Satan”– I don’t know that folks in my denomination really talk about this as much as do folks in some other traditions. But maybe for the first time, I’ve been contemplating the idea of a force that is really working against me.

For the past three Sundays, I’ve been so sick that I’ve either gone home completely, or preached a really bad sermon, or just sat down and let a video preach to my congregation. (Well, it had a purpose, and the folks really wanted to see it, but still…) Granted, I’ve been sick on other days too (it’s been a really rough few weeks!) but it’s been the absolute worst on the days that I needed to feel my best. Sundays are not the time for a preacher to be sick. Folks have suggested that it’s anxiety, but I really don’t think so. I LOVE to preach, and worship. Perhaps it’s excitement, and maybe that’s been the catalyst for such nasty sickness. (Though a good part of my congregation, I think, believes I’m pregnant despite my repeated arguments that I’m not.) I think it’s interesting that the day I was preaching the John the Baptist passage where he calls his followers a “brood of vipers”, was the day when I was the most sick. (Which I was going to preach as good news– NOT as the finger pointing passage it could be).

Perhaps this is ridiculous. Surely there is an “earthly”, medical, logical explanation. And who am I that Satan (whatever or whoever that is) would want to bother with me anyway? Yet I can’t help but wonder.

But, I think, what I hold onto is if Satan is the most active where the Lord is most active, then the converse must also be true. Wherever Satan is most active, there the Lord is hardest at work. Pithy though it sounds, for me this is a great comfort. Besides, if I might be right about a force working against me, then that must mean that the church is taking steps towards God… which I’d guess, would anger a devil, but would actually be quite good news. Hmmmm….

Ghosts of Christmases Past

I remember the year that Dad’s best friend (ever the jokester) convinced me that I heard sleigh bells following our Christmas Eve service, and had me so stirred up that it was hard for me to sleep. I remember the year that Dad accidentally confirmed my suspicions that there was no Santa Claus. I remember the years that my best friend would come from wherever she was living at the time, and we would make cookies galore, and take our baby dolls to the mall to do “shopping”. I remember the year we tried a new recipe from the Betty Crocker cookbook, and do to a misprint in the recipe, our carefully crafted sugar cookies tasted more like play-do. And then I remember the year, our freshman year in college, that she didn’t come for the first time. We told ourselves we’d see each other after the new year, but she was in a skiing accident, and there were no more Christmases together. I remember the year that DH and I were dating, and everything seemed extra sparkly and magical. And then I remember our first Christmas as a married couple, when we learned what it was to combine our traditions and start new ones of our own. And I remember last Christmas, our first in our new town, when I had the whole church over, and made most of my own decorations. And then I remember the few days after last Christmas, when my parents were in a horrible wreck, and my world spiraled for a long, long time.

All different. But all Christmas, nonetheless.

This year is, for some unknown reason, very different than all the others. By tomorrow, I’ll be able to see Christmas Day on the 15 day forecast, and there is no part of me that recognizes that Christmas is coming. It’s not cold. I’ve done nothing to get ready: no buying, no wrapping, no baking. I’ve done none of the usual “It’s Christmas time” sorts of things: No Frosty or Claymation Rudolf. I’ve listened to Christmas music, and I’ve sat in front of my lit tree, and I’ve even gone to visit what has to be the biggest Christmas light display ever. And still, it in no way feels like Christmas. I feel like in some ways, I’m going through the motions.

Yeah, I’m a preacher. And I’ve been preaching that Advent is different from Christmas. Advent is the time of waiting, whereas Christmas is the time of celebration (and it doesn’t start until the 25th as my Dad says every year.) But, usually, by this time of year, Holiday Cheer has found its way into my heart. I’ve tried to be very contemplative, but maybe I’ve been too contemplative. Or maybe, I’m haunted by ghosts of Christmases past, and those ghosts make me think Christmas is supposed to be this way or that. Or maybe I’m grieving the loss of carefree days of childhood when I sat back and watched and reveled in the magic.

Or maybe my scrooge side is coming out.

Whatever the case, I’m praying “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.”

Not Superwoman, or even super…

It’s been a wild few weeks (couple of months). Wild enough, I guess, that I haven’t bothered to post much of anything other than sermons… probably because that’s all I’ve done worth noting. October started with bang as I got to do the wedding for a childhood friend. Then just a few weeks later, my mother-in-law had a lumpectomy. Then I got the swine flu, and was pretty much bed ridden for two weeks. Then a birthday. Then Thanksgiving (with not only my parents but my inlaws too… no disasters on my “First” Thanksgiving!). And then, guess what. I was sick…again. I’ve been nauseated for two weeks (and despite what my church members think, I’m not pregnant.) I missed one Sunday when I had to go home because I was er…tossing my cookies. Then this Sunday, I barely made it through the service because I was so dizzy and nauseated. I feel sick of heart because I feel like I’m letting my church down because I can’t be and do everything I want to do. Sometimes, I can’t do much of anything, in fact. I know they waited for a pastor for a really long time, and I want to be and do everything they dreamed of.

I’m headed toward burn-out, at which point I’ll be thoroughly useless. My friends tell me so. My husband and parents say so. The executive presbyter said so. And today, a church member even said so. (Which I really appreciate– the fact that folks want to care for me, even when I’m reluctant to care for myself.) I talked to a dear mentor who, recalling his days as a young pastor, said “I can remember the day when I said to myself ‘I’m going to make that church go’. So I did just that– had meetings and took on new projects–and did my best to make it go.” While really helpful to hear, I’ve never quite said that to myself. It just seems like if the church is to grow and be “successful” (whatever that is), there is a lot of work to do. As my husband loves to quote, “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.” So I’ve been trying different things, and daring to hope for different results. Where is the balance? What I can’t figure out is how to do so many things for the church (that need to be done if we want to grow), and still have any time to be a wife, and a writer, and a runner (or any of the other things I remember loving to do.) I’d sure love to hear any thoughts folks have…

Being sick has had a few advantages, in that I’ve gotten to snuggle with my puppies (who look at me like, “oh yeah. We remember you– you used to be fun.”), and too, I’ve had some time to think about some things.

I’m finally realizing a few things (in no particular order)
1. I’m not superwoman, or even as super as I used to think.
2. I’m a workaholic–despite all my professions otherwise. It’s not that I mean to, it’s that there always seems to be sooooo much to do.
3. I don’t really know how to relax.
4. If given the choice, I think I’d push and push and do and do– even at the expense of all the things I think are fun and soul-filling.
5. I’m really tired of being sick.
6. I’m no good to anyone when I’m sick and out of commission.
7. My body is going to behave in a way that directly relates to how I treat it.

One of my church folks begged me to cancel our Tuesday night study until after Christmas. I feel like I’m letting the church down, but on the upside, I have a few hours before the session meeting tonight. My initial thought was to work on the sermon, or bulletin, or powerpoint or any of the other things I should be doing, but I’m trying really hard to resist the urge to do those things. If the weather will hold off, I think I’m going to take my puppy for a walk (which I think would make me feel better, and ward off some of the gloomies I’ve been feeling.) After that, maybe I’ll read, and knit, and pick out Christmas goodies to bake on my day off (which might finally help it feel like Christmas.) Besides, if I have a plan for my day off– maybe I can convince myself that that’s better than filling the day with work. Tonight, I think, I’m going to ask the session what I can do to cut back a little. Maybe.

A King for “In the Meantime”?

A sermon preached on Christ the King Sunday, from Revelation 1:4-8

Well, this is the second time I’m preaching a sermon from the book of Revelation– which I swore I’d never preach on at all. (God has a marvelous sense of humor…) But yet again, as I consider the world we live in–I fall in love with words that were meant to bring me comfort. Somehow they grab ahold of me, and offer me something that none of the other passages quite will: a word of very deep and real hope, even in the midst of turmoil.

Today is Christ the King Sunday, a day which is celebrated on the last Sunday of the Christian year, and it’s a place where we may stop and consider both a beginning and an ending. As we look at the end of our Christian year, we celebrate all that Christ’s reign on Earth and in Heaven means for us. Maybe it’s like a high point: a final chapter in Christ’s book of days, before we start reading the story all over again next Sunday. Next Sunday, we will begin to be presented with pregnant women, anxious father’s to-be, a world with no room, and all the other things with which we are flooded during the time of ardent waiting during Advent.

But today, we see not only who that tiny little baby grew up to be, but what his life here on Earth meant for us. The man who lived like us, and died in a way that we will learn to do– but today, we envision him on a great and glorious throne and we hail him “King of Kings, and Lord of lords.”

Oh, I can speak the language as well as anybody can. I could quote divine liturgies that talk about Christ’s rule in creation. But as I look around, as I hear about people starving to death, or mothers who sell their five year old daughters into prostitution, or about gunmen who are teased to their breaking point, my heart becomes heavy.

I’ve told you that I’m not so great about keeping up with the news. Partly, it’s because I’m busy and am never around the TV during news time, and I sure don’t have time to read the paper. (Though as I say this, I have several preacher’s voices in my head, reminding me that Karl Barth said I ought to be preaching with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.) But as much as the busyness keeps me away from the news, that’s also partly a defense mechanism. Truthfully, I can’t bear to watch it, and have more or less adopted the mindset that “No news is good news.” I can’t bear to watch how awful human beings are to one another: the ways that we literally kill each other, and the ways that we make another person’s life a little less worth the living.

When I do happen to catch a news blurb, or my news-saavy husband tells me something that’s going on, my prayers/cries of anguish alternate between “Lord, rend the Heavens and come down!” and “Hey! Who’s in charge here?”

Oh yeah, I can “talk the talk” like anyone. But as I look around, it doesn’t feel like there is a King. In fact, it feels more like it’s kind of a “free for all” for anyone who wants to take charge.

I went to the movies for the first time in forever, and we went to see a movie based on a beloved children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are. This is the story of a boy who doesn’t feel like he is loved enough. His sister and her friends are mean to him, and his mom is too busy worrying about money to worry about him as much as he’d like.

So he sets off on a wild adventure, and happens upon this place full of wild beasts who are nothing like he has ever seen. He’s about the wildest thing they have ever seen too, and their first instinct is to eat him. But, being a little boy with a great imagination, he makes up this long list of conquests which are somewhat impressive to the wild things. Finally, he tells them he’s a king.

At first, they look at him a little skeptically. After all, he’s only a small child. But the wilder his tales become, the more they believe him. And besides that, they’ve been desperately looking for a king. (The fact that they’ve eaten all the kings they’ve had, notwithstanding.) But they’re looking for someone who will right all the wrongs that have come into their land. They suspend their criticisms of him and why he doesn’t look like a king, and suddenly they’re his most loyal subjects. In return for their loyalty, he promises to make them a brave new world where only happy things can be.

This has been rattling around in my brain as I’ve been working on this sermon. One of the things that grabbed my attention is to what an extent all of us are so willing to settle for a king. In fact, it doesn’t much matter whether or not that person, or thing, or institution even has any credentials. We’re just nervous enough about the state of the world, that we’d happily let anything that even hinted that it might be powerful have our undivided attention.

Oh sure, we know that Jesus is our Lord. But, we reason, that’s a much more spiritual thing. It’s kind of one of those things that works fine for contemplation, but if we were honest with ourselves, perhaps we’ve relegated Jesus’ lordship to only one of those spiritual things. Practically, a king like Jesus is no good. Really, we think to ourselves, Jesus doesn’t do anything. Now, of course, we would never intentionally let anything take away from the ways that we serve Christ. We definitely don’t mean to. We’ve just created for ourselves a nice dualism where we have Earthly kings and a Heavenly king. And we’d even go so far as to tell ourselves that that’s ok, never meaning any harm.

I wonder if we’ve created all these other “Kings” because more than once, we’ve been disappointed in the sort of King Jesus has turned out to be. He never came charging in on a big white horse with his battle sword drawn. The closest he came was riding into town on a little, tame colt, in a small parade. He wasn’t born into a palace greater than we can imagine. Instead, he was born in a place meant to house barnyard animals. He’s never once made our lives any easier. Instead, he complicates them infinitely as he subverts “the norms” that we’ve come to appreciate. He’s not vanquished the ones who hurt our feelings. Instead, he’s told us to consider all better than ourselves. He’s not rewarded us for our careful accumulation of wealth and accomplishments. No, he’s told us we can be the greatest by giving ourselves away.

I’ve been thinking about what makes it hard for us to trust in Christ’s lordship, and I’ve come up with two things.

First of all, movies and books have told us what we’re supposed to think about Kings. We know what kings are supposed to look like and do. And Jesus hasn’t met any of the criteria. Just what kind of king is this Jesus guy anyway? Well, surely not the kind we thought we were looking for.

So instead, we settle for the kinds of earthly “kings” that promise to make us a brave new world with only things that make us happy. We’d choose a king named “Sir Stuff”, or “Prince Power” or whatever else. We seek first those kingdoms, and hope they live up to their campaign promises. Things are great for a while, until we realize we need more and more and more, and that instead of resting easy as beloved children in the arms of the One who loves us, we’re mean-spirited, power-hungry, possession-loving little monsters. And then we turn and look at our “kings” with wide-eyed wonder and can’t believe that we have been let down.

Maybe, if we’re lucky, we turn back to Jesus. But then we’re back to the problem of Jesus not behaving the way we think he ought to.

Another scene that grabbed my attention in Where the Wild Things Are, was when the wild things realize that Max is just a little boy, and not any sort of king at all. One character, Carol, was particularly hoping that Max would turn out to be a great king, and is wildly disappointed when Max doesn’t do anything that Carol thinks he should. Carol, the wild thing, complains about this fact to Max. And Max hangs his head and says, “I’m haven’t ruled the Vikings, and I’m not a king.” Carol is quiet for a while, then wonders exactly what Max is. Max says simply, “I’m a Max. I’m just me.” And Carol reminds Max of his earlier fear that he wasn’t much loved by saying, “Well that isn’t very much, is it?”

I wonder how many times we’ve been disappointed in the things of the world, and finally in our frustration turn to Jesus, only to find him standing there staying that he’s not going to slay our dragons for us, that he’s not larger than life, and that life with him isn’t only going to “cookies and milk” moments. Then like Carol, we ask Jesus what he is, and when he says, “I’m just me”, we turn our backs thinking that that’s not very much at all.

The other thing, I think, that is a hinderance to us trusting Christ’s reign is that we’re used to fads. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, think back to the 1980’s. I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of glad I don’t dress now like I did then. Or think about all those Christmases where you stood in line waiting to get “The Toy” of the year– which was nothing like the previous year’s “Toy.” We’ve gotten used to the fact that things don’t last. They either break, or they go out of style.

So then, this Jesus guy, who doesn’t look or act much like the King we think he ought to be, shows up. And while we know we’re supposed to think of him as an Eternal King, we don’t, because we can’t really contemplate anything that lasts forever.

I think this passage where a people like us finds a hope that we won’t always be like this.

We love the pieces of this passage that talk about Jesus who is going to come. While we don’t yet know what to do with ourselves, we trust that Jesus is coming to reign and that he’ll “sort everything out”. That gives us a hope for a future beyond ourselves, and that’s easy for us.

What causes us to stumble is that Christ might already be reigning. The world doesn’t feel that way. I don’t feel that way. When I ponder the coming of Christ, I’ve envisioned myself being made whole, and perfect…or at least nice.

I wonder if it might dash our hopes to really realize that Christ already reigns. Does that crush our dreams of being able to love like Christ loves one day? Does that make us hang our heads, and send us back to our original thought that maybe we should have an “earthly” King, and a “heavenly” one, you know, just in case?

Or does it give us hope that the process is both long, and ongoing? And that we are being made new over and over again?

I don’t know how you feel about it, but here is what I can offer you.

This passage isn’t about a backup plan. In fact, it’s about the beginning and end, and every piece of bliss, and every road of turmoil in between.

This whole book is about a revelation (one revelation, not lots of them) of who Christ is, what Christ has done, and what that means for us.

The book is about more: more power, more transformation, more dignity for God’s children. More than we can see presently, more than we can dare dream.

And this book is about promise: things are not as they seem. The things that seem so final and sure turn out to be neither one. The earthly kings which we are so willing to give so much power turn out to be mere pretenders.

This passage begins with familiar words, “Grace and Peace to You”, words which are a rare commodity these days. But the promise in this passage is that the days when those words are the first on our lips are being ushered in by the one who is both already here, and still yet to come.

This passage is not about a king for “the meantime”. In fact, if we take the words we see today seriously, it negates our need to even bother with the “in the meantime” thoughts.

The one we worship and celebrate today is the “King of King and Lord of Lords.” Even if the world says otherwise. Even if we accidentally let our allegiance roam to other beings. The promise I see is that Christ is still king, and king over even the “even ifs”. Can your “in the meantime kings” say that?

Didn’t think so.

As you’re waiting for the days when the clouds are rolled back, and everyone knows just what sort of king Christ is, may you not look at the ways that Christ doesn’t match up with the world’s expectations. May you instead stare with wide eyed wonder at the ways that Christ is changing the expectations, and giving you a hope for more.
Coca-Cola has taught us that their product is the “real thing”. But if you had to choose a “real king”, who would you pick? The ones who make all sorts of “campaign promises” and who are here today and gone tomorrow? Or would you pick the One who tells you that the road might be tough, and filled with potholes, but that the journey will be so worth it? If I had to guess, I’d think that this last choice is the one that has some staying power.

A king for “the mean time”? Or the King of Kings, Lord of Lords– who has dominion over all things?

Glory be to the one in whom we have our beginning and the one in whose hands is our ending; the one who is, and who is to come.

Amen.

20 things for my 28th year

I watched “the Bucket List” this weekend, and while I’m still thinking about what would be on mine, here’s a start for what I hope my 28th year of life will bring. I thought I could come up with 28 things, but my brain got tired at 20. I wish:

1. To give myself away, in love and in possessions, and trust that everything else will fall into place as it needs to
2. To “Do it anyway” as Mother Theresa puts it
3. To learn how to set and maintain healthy boundaries between personal and professional life
4. To save some time an energy for both myself and my husband
5. To be published again, in other, wider venues.
6. To learn how not to kill plants with alarming regularity
7. To learn to savor my mornings, without letting the world take that away too soon.
8. To run a 10k and/or do another triathlon
9. To run with my doggie more often, just because she loves it so much.
10. To rely less on ready-made things, including dinner
11. To either come to terms with the fact that I’m not a neat person, or actually learn to be a neat person.
12. To learn to appreciate small gestures of love for what they are, without comparing them to what I think they ought to be.
13. To worry less about the grumblers, and more about everyone else.
14. To finally finish the sweater and the quilt I’ve been working on.
15. To learn to live more simply, and rely less on “stuff”.
16. To do one thing outside my church life that really matters to me– on a regular basis.
17. To read more for fun.
18. To find a great coloring book for adults (not an “adult” coloring book!)
19. To use my china more often, just because
20. To laugh deep belly laughs more often, lest my face become creased with deep frown lines.