Sermon for Advent 3: December 15, 2013

Sermon for Advent 3: December 15, 2013

Matthew 11:2-11

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sisters and brothers of Bethany, I’m sorry to have to stand here and say this, especially on such a festive, snowy December morning and on the day of our Children’s Christmas Pageant, but here it is: I think we’re going to have to cancel Christmas this year.

The thing is, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on the Gospel lesson for this week from Matthew, chapter 11. And while at first I felt very judgmental about John the Baptist and his doubts about Jesus (after all, he was the one who leapt in his mother Elizabeth’s womb when Mary walked in the door—how could he, of all people, doubt Jesus is the Messiah?), at some point it started to make sense to me. John, the prophet who was supposed to be out announcing the coming of the Messiah, was instead sitting in prison. And Jesus, the guy he thought was “the one”, wasn’t doing anything but preaching and healing and eating with sinners. “Prepare the way of the Lord”, preached John. And frankly, I think he expected that if we prepared the royal highway, Jesus would make better use of it. John, and most everybody else, expected that when the Messiah came down that highway there would be a great and dreadful day, a day when evil and sickness and death and violence would be swallowed up and annihilated from the earth. But now John, messenger of the Lord, found himself sitting in prison. And outside, things seemed to be going along as usual.

It’s no wonder John had doubts! In fact, it’s a wonder any of us are sitting here at all, still following this guy Jesus. Because I’ve got to tell you, 2,000 years later, things outside these walls seem to be going as usual, Messiah or not.

Have you read the prayers on our prayer wall? Cancer. Death. Grief. Unemployment. So many people are still waiting for answers.

And have you watched the news? It’s been one year since Newtown; eight months since Boston; seven months since the tornados in Oklahoma; one month since the typhoon in the Philippines; and just 2 days since the last school shooting. So much pain! The whole world is still waiting for answers.

And this is why, dear people, I think we should cancel Christmas. Because, considering the evidence at hand, maybe Jesus really isn’t “the one”. Could this really the “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace” we’ve been waiting for, when he has clearly failed to eliminate evil from the world?

Listen, I know this comes as a shock, but never fear: I’ve sent a letter to Jesus (apparently he doesn’t do email) asking him to positively identify himself before we go to all the expense of throwing him a birthday party this year. After all, if he’s not really the one, then we need to save our resources to celebrate the guy (or girl) who is. If he’s not really the one, then we can stop fighting the “War on Christmas” everyone keeps talking about. And if Jesus is not the one we’ve been waiting for—and I’ve got to tell you, things aren’t looking good at this point—then I really need to start looking at new job opportunities.

Now I was hoping to get a reply before this morning’s sermon, but either the mail was held up, or Jesus was just too busy (or maybe had nothing to say for himself) because I haven’t received any kind of answer yet. So, until further notice, I think we’ll just have to put Christmas on hold.

PAUL: “Oh, sorry, Carrie, I forgot to tell you something. We did actually get a letter from Jesus the other day.” (pulls it out of his pocket from under his robes).

CARRIE: “Really? Paul, why didn’t you tell me?!”

PAUL: “Well, you know, it’s been a little busy around here this time of year.”

CARRIE: “OK, well, don’t keep us in suspense! What does he say?”

PAUL: “He says:

“Dear Carrie: Don’t cancel Christmas! Tell the people what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me. Also, next time, use Twitter. Signed, Jesus.” (Paul sits down)

CARRIE:

Is that it? That’s all it says? Well that’s perfect, Jesus. Just great. Tell the people what you hear and see. That’s your proof? Nice try.

Tell them what you hear and see.

OK, tell them the blind receive their sight: Well, this is easy to disprove, because we have a member right here at Bethany who is blind. In fact she was born that way. Her name is Hannah, and last I checked Hannah still had not received her sight. But then again…something miraculous did happen this week. Many of you generously contributed cash and even mileage points so Hannah and her brothers could go to Disneyworld this Christmas! Of course, Hannah won’t be able to see Mickey, but she’ll hear him, and she’ll feel the rides, and her parents and brothers will receive the gift of memories with her in the Magic Kingdom. “The blind receive their sight.” Do you suppose this is what Jesus means? Do you see what I see? If so, give me an Amen, sisters and brothers!

Jesus said, “Tell them the lame walk”:

Now this one’s tough. I’ve noticed lots of folks walking around with limps lately (me included!) In fact, last Monday our Bible study group gathered, and there was Dick hobbling around with his new titanium toe, and Beth came in on crutches after breaking her foot, and I had just come from yet another visit with the podiatrist. We were a pretty sorry bunch. But you know what? During that meeting, we shared our prayers and concerns, not only about our aching feet, but about the recent death of a parent, the hope of a job interview after long-term unemployment, and the joys of grandchildren about to be born. We laughed and cried and even did a bit of Bible study. We prayed for each other. And when we left, all of us were walking with renewed strength and hope. “The lame walk.” Do you hear what I hear?

Jesus said, “Tell them the lepers are cleansed”:

I have to admit, I don’t know any lepers personally. But I do know that lepers in Jesus’ time were not just sick. They were outcasts, shoved to the edge of town where no one would have to look at them or be infected by them. So I can tell you something I have seen and heard – I’ve received a number of emails from folks who have felt estranged from God for a number of reasons: Some have a gay son or daughter. Some have been divorced and remarried. Some had questions and doubts they never felt safe to ask, so they stayed away instead. But because they’ve experienced Jesus’ wide, extravagant welcome offered not only by Bethany but by the ELCA, they are no longer lepers and outcasts, kept outside the city gates. Now they’re coming back, sitting in these pews, eating at this table, and offering their gifts and talents in the service of God. Jesus cleansed the lepers. Sisters and brothers, do you hear what I hear?

The deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have Good News brought to them:

You know, I thought this would be hard, but I think we’re on a roll! I know some whose ears had never heard a word of grace and forgiveness in their lives, who have heard Good News for the first time right here, in the name of Christ. Because of Jesus, I’ve seen people raised to new life from the darkness of grief, depression, or addiction. I’ve seen how the poor and the homeless have experienced Good News through the ministries of PADS, the Food Pantry, and the Diaper Bank. And thanks to our sponsored missionaries (Danae and Steve Hudson and the Stubbs family) and our own ELCA mission personnel, Rafael and Robert, I have heard how the Good News has been shared all over the world.

Jesus said to tell the people what I’ve seen and heard. Sisters and brothers, do you hear what I hear? Do you see what I see?

So maybe we shouldn’t cancel Christmas after all! After all, even John the Baptist shared doubts at times. And it’s true: the world is not perfect. Bad stuff still happens. Jesus has brought the kingdom, and yet it’s also still on its way. Love has come, a light in the darkness, but we still need to share it. Christmas, then, is not about celebrating one magic day when everything was made perfect. It is about celebrating one night in Bethlehem, when God came near and ushered in a new age--an age of possibility and wonder. An age when it has been revealed to the world, through the birth of a baby, that God is not seated on a throne, far away, but is on the loose in the world, working within and through God’s people. This is our hope. This is our joy. This is who we’ve been waiting for: the child, the child, sleeping in the night. And he will bring us goodness and light. Amen. 

Sermon for the 1st Sunday of Advent: December 1, 2013

Sermon for the 1^st Sunday of Advent

December 1, 2013

Matthew 24:36-44

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith 

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“You do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” What a very strange thing to hear when all around us the “holy countdown” has started! Only 24 shopping days to Christmas; 15 school days until vacation; 14 days to the Bethany Christmas Pageant; 7 days to the Swedish Children’s Choir Concert; and approximately…20 minutes until the next showing of “A Christmas Story” and/or “Home Alone” on cable t.v. And in case you might forget, here in our worship space we have reminders of the countdown as well. Today, the first Sunday of Advent, we have one Advent banner, one Advent candle lit behind the altar, just one verse of “Light One Candle” to sing, and the worship space is once again awash in blue, the color of Advent hope.

Yes, the countdown to Christmas has begun! So what does it mean for us today to be hearing this particular Scripture text, in which Jesus warns believers we cannot know on what day our Lord is coming? True, this is spoken in reference to the second coming of Jesus, not his birth—but does this text mean we should give up on counting down anything at all? How are Christians to wait in hope of the Lord’s coming when we’re told we can never know when it will happen? Jesus seems to be telling us to wait, but not to get too excited. To be ready, but not to stop what we’re doing. To keep watch, but to understand we won’t know anything until it happens.

This kind of waiting-but-not-waiting is even more difficult to accept because of the fact that we really enjoy counting down hours, days, weeks, and months! During Advent we love to open little windows on paper Advent calendars and eat the chocolate, even if it does taste like plastic; Elf on the Shelf moves around the house; we work our way through Advent devotionals and mark days off on our work calendars. One of my favorite new options for counting down the days to Christmas (though it’s out of my budget) is the whiskey advent calendar from “Master of Malt.com”: 24 tiny tastes of whiskey from around the world, hidden behind little paper doors just like those bad chocolates we grew up with! Yes, it’s a little naughty…but it’s also a little nice, and besides, I have it on good authority that Santa prefers whiskey to milk with his cookies, anyway.

But we don’t just count down the days to Christmas. We also love to count how many months until the baby’s due date; how many more payments on the student loans; how many days until Christmas or summer vacation; and how many years to retirement. Some of you can also testify to what it’s like to count how many chemo treatments are left, and the joy that’s felt when you’re finally done. Amen?

Counting down the days, marking time, and anticipating some future event is one small thing that makes living this unpredictable, sometimes unexplainable, seemingly random life a bit easier to manage. So why does Jesus insist we cannot know the day nor the hour of his return? Why paint pictures of people going about their daily business in the field or in the mill, and the Lord’s return taking them by utter surprise, when he knows this will freak us out? How is this helpful, Jesus?

One answer lies in the fact that in Jesus’ time, as now, there were those who made it their career and mission to predict the end of all things. Just in our lifetimes, can you even count how many “end of the world” prophecies have come and gone? From the year 44 (before the Gospels were even written) all the way to December 21, 2012, there have always been predictions of Jesus’ return. But in spite of their anxious countdowns and dire warnings, all have passed without incident. Our apocalyptic hope remains just that: hope.

So it is into this context Jesus speaks these words: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”

Only the Father knows…this a constant reminder to all who seek to discover the holy egg timer that one can never know the mind of God. It is not given to us to know God’s timetable. Whether we’re talking about Jesus’ return and the coming of the kingdom; or the onset of labor, the outcome of a particular cancer treatment, the future of a relationship, or the day and hour of our death, we are like Noah, who knew nothing until the day the rains came and he entered the ark. The one thing we know for sure about Jesus’ coming (and about God’s timing) is that it will be unexpected.

We do not know on what day our Lord is coming. We cannot know what the future holds. But, my friends, this doesn’t mean we stop looking, stop hoping, or simply resign ourselves to apathy and ignorance! Counting down the days, decoding prophecies, making predictions and preparing for disaster is waiting, all right—but it is waiting in fear. Believers, on the other hand, wait in hope. We do not know what tomorrow will bring—but we are watchful and ready. We keep our eyes open for the ways in which Jesus is at the same time here right now, and yet still on his way. And we seek to clear the clutter from our minds so we can stay awake.

Anyone who has ever worked the night shift, sat up with a sick loved one, or chaperoned a youth group lock-in knows some strategies for keeping awake! Amen? But here are a few for us, as Christians who wait in hope for Jesus:

First: Pray. This one may seem obvious! But if we’re honest, we can always use improvement in this area. So during this Advent season, I invite you to come to worship a few minutes early (or stay a few minutes late) and visit the prayer wall at the entrance to the sanctuary. There, you can write your own prayers, as well as read the prayer requests of others. For what do you wait in hope? For what does the world wait? What darkness does Jesus, the light of the world, need to come and banish?

Second: Go about your daily work. Jesus says “Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left.” In other words: The proper thing to be doing when Jesus returns is the work to which you were called. Jesus doesn’t want to see you hunkered down, preparing for disaster, holding your breath for the worst case scenario. Live your life; pursue your dreams; be the person God created you to be.

And third: Get an Advent calendar. In fact, if you could find one, it would be great to have a calendar with chocolates for every day of the year! For I can think of no better way to be ready for Jesus’ coming than to celebrate each and every day we are given. Every morning, open the door of your day to see what God has revealed for you there. Eat that piece of chocolate and enjoy the sweet gift that is life! But rather than worrying about counting down, remember who you can count on.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, just as during Advent we can count on Christmas to arrive right on time, bringing again the joy of Jesus’ birth, so we can always count on God to come through for us again. We may not know the specifics, but we can trust that Jesus always shows up: not just on Christmas morning in the manger, but also every Sunday in the bread and the wine; in the reading of the Word; and in our midst, whenever two or three are gathered. And our faith tells us that one day, in his own time, he will come again in glory, just as was promised.

And so, dear people, during Advent and every day, we Christians wait in hope. All earth is hopeful—the savior comes at last. Thanks be to God! Amen.

4th Sunday of Advent: Living Together in Peace

4^th Sunday of Advent 2012

“Living Together in Peace” 

Micah 5:2-5a; Luke 1:39-56

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.  

 Hear again the words of the prophet Micah:

And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace.

One Sunday morning about ten years ago, just as my family was heading home after worship at Central Lutheran Church in downtown Minneapolis, my cell phone rang. We had just gotten to the parking lot and were still chatting about lunch options with Robert’s parents, Cindy and Ed, who were visiting from Oklahoma, when that familiar ringtone interrupted the conversation. I knew instantly what it meant—a baby was about to be born.

At that time, my pre-pastoral profession was working as a doula, otherwise known as a labor and childbirth assistant. In this role, I had the great privilege of accompanying pregnant women throughout the entire labor and birth process. However, it should be noted that babies do not come on a predictable schedule. Sometimes they come after you’ve had a good night’s sleep and have all your bags packed. Sometimes they come in the middle of the night. And sometimes…they come two weeks earlier than expected. And so it happened that I would not be enjoying Sunday lunch with my family.

Aside from missing lunch, the problem of the moment was that we had brought two vehicles to church that morning: our family-sized sedan with room for the two car seats and the diaper bag and everything else a family of four might need; and my father-in-law Ed’s pickup. Since not everyone was interested in joining me at the hospital for the joys of childbirth, I was given the keys to the truck.

Ed seemed a bit skeptical about entrusting his beloved Ford F-150 to me, and he was sure to give me a quick lesson in how to drive and park it. And then he said, with much seriousness: “In case there’s any trouble, you’ve got a pistol under the driver’s seat. Do you know how to use it?”

His words took my breath away. The idea that I would need a handgun to attend the birth of a baby had never crossed my mind. I was driving off to the hospital to be with a couple for the most sacred event of their lives! Furthermore, they had enlisted me, a doula, to join them, to help ensure the experience was healthy and peaceful. I knew for a fact that guns had no place in their birth plan. 

But it was no use arguing with Ed. After a few more instructions, I drove off in my father-in-law’s truck, armed and ready to welcome a new life into the world.

Robert gave me permission to tell this story about his dad, who died not long after this took place. We both agreed, however, that in the telling, it’s important to acknowledge that Ed was acting out of a sense of duty to protect his family. He wanted to be sure I was safe. He wanted to be sure his whole family lived secure. 

But this story begs to be told today, as we prepare for the birth of another baby—Jesus, the Prince of Peace—and all around us the world is debating whether we should be armed for the occasion.

In the interest of security, some would like us to be armed for every occasion.

The NRA has called for “armed police officers in every school in this nation” before the kids return to class in January. 

Others have suggested we arm the teachers, or at least the principals.

Here in Illinois, a federal appeals court has just overturned the last state law banning citizens from carrying guns concealed on their bodies. 

And in Michigan, the governor has vetoed a law that would allow concealed weapons even in schools, daycare centers, and churches—but only after intense public pressure in the days following the Sandy Hook massacre.

Please understand: my job as pastor is to preach the Gospel, not politics, and I confess that I don’t know any easy policy answers to the problem of our culture of violence. But as a preacher, I most certainly have a responsibility to preach the truth. Micah chapter 3, which comes just before our reading for today, gives a harsh warning to prophets who would stand and preach “peace” to those who are hungry, when they themselves have enough to eat. And the prophet Jeremiah bemoans: “From prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely. They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, ‘Peace, peace’, when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 8:11, 6:14)

And so I cannot stand here, at the end of an Advent season in which our worship and prayer focus has been “Imagine: Peace”, and preach to you “peace” when there is no peace. I cannot, after the deaths of 20 children and 6 teachers, one mother and one disturbed young man, ignore the fact that we have a problem in our country. We are afraid. We have lots of guns. But we have no peace.  

In this morning’s lesson from Micah chapter 5, we heard that “the one of peace” shall come out of Bethlehem, and with his arrival Jerusalem “shall live secure.” Our reading starts with verse 2, but if we step back just one more verse, we learn more about the situation of those who were hearing those prophetic words:

“Now you are walled around with a wall; siege is laid against us; with a rod they strike the ruler of Israel upon the cheek.” (Micah 5:1)

This is a description of Jerusalem’s situation around 800 B.C.E, but when I hear these words, I think of how we, today, are walled around with a wall. We live behind a wall of weapons, nearly 90 guns for every 100 American citizens. And yet we are not secure, no matter how many guns we acquire, for we are under siege by our own fear. 

The Israelites had no reason to think tomorrow would be a better day, or that the future would bring anything new. Our predicament seems just as hopeless. Just one week after Sandy Hook, with the funerals nearly done and the news crews withdrawing their attention from Connecticut and on to the next top story, we have every reason to think tomorrow won’t be any better, either. More guns will be purchased. More shootings will happen. More children will die! And we will still be afraid.

But then, into our hopelessness, into our fear, and into our sinful idolatry of guns and might and power over others, comes a tiny baby. He is the one we’ve been waiting for. He’s the ruler the prophet Micah prophesied would come out of Bethlehem: a new kind of king, bringing a new kind of peace. His name is Jesus, and he comes carrying a cross, not a conceal carry permit.  

The Prince of Peace, the one the world’s been waiting for, has finally come! But instead of bringing his army with him, we find him in an animal’s feeding trough. Instead of being encircled by guns and guards, we find him surrounded by a ragtag bunch of farm animals, field workers, and foreigners. By coming near to us in Jesus, a defenseless human baby, God thwarts the plans of those who would attempt to bring peace and security through gunpowder and assault rifles and weapons of mass destruction. God has done a new thing! He “has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1:49-53) The day God showed up in a manger, the world was given a new path to peace and security.

No longer do we find our security behind a wall, or in our ever-growing stash of weapons; nor do we find it in power over others. Now, we can beat our “swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks” (Micah 4:3) Micah chapter 4 even says we can “study war no more” because we’re no longer seeking our own defense. Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, who was born of a virgin and laid in a manger; who ultimately died on a cross only to be raised the third day, brings the peace that passes all understanding: Peace between us and the One who created us. 

My fellow Christians, we know this to be true, but we so easily forget. If you listen carefully, though, it’s there—even in our Christmas carols: "Peace on earth, and mercy mild. God and sinners reconciled." (Hark the Herald Angels sing) 

The Christian witness, especially at Christmas, is one the world desperately needs to hear: Guns do not bring peace. Arming ourselves will never make us live secure. The only chance at peace this world has is to live into the gift of peace given through Jesus Christ. Only when we fully receive the gift of being at peace with God will we be at peace with ourselves—and with each other.

My father-in-law, in his attempts to bring security and peace to his family, instead gave birth to more fear. No matter how many guns he bought, he was always afraid.  And the presence of so many weapons only made his family afraid, too. On the day he died, the last phone call we made before starting on the road to Oklahoma was to Robert’s mom. We had to ask her to remove the guns before we brought our toddlers into the house. “Move them all, Mom,” said Robert. “Yes, the one in the coffee table, and the one behind the recliner, and the one in the nightstand. And all the rest.” 

Today, poised as we are on this last day of Advent, with Christmas just hours away, we rejoice that Mary is in labor. God is about to do something new, and we have been invited to the birth! We have an open invitation to the stable tomorrow, to kneel at the manger where the newborn Jesus is laid. Are we going to welcome this new life with a gun under our seat? Will we approach the manger armed, or with open arms, ready to receive the gift of peace God has sent to the world? 

Come now, O Prince of Peace. In your mercy, forgive us, and show us your Way to live together in peace. Amen.

The Longest Night: A Service of Reflection during Advent

Reflection for the Longest Night Service
December 19, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from the One who is, who was, and who is to come. Amen.

The night I met my husband, I sat across a table with him at a party in Frankfurt, Germany. Mutual friends were determined to introduce us to each other, knowing we were both from Oklahoma. I was…uninterested. You see, I was in Germany for a year of studying music abroad. I couldn’t think of anything less interesting to do on my grand European adventure than to meet an Okie.

And so our conversation that night began with a quiz. I was clearly not trying to impress this stranger across the table, so I pestered him with questions—to be sure he was really from Oklahoma, you see.

What are the two major universities in Oklahoma? OU and OSU, he said.

What’s the state bird? Scissortail flycatcher.    

Where’s the best pizza? The Hideaway in Stillwater.

Hmmm…so far, so good.

But then I threw a zinger at him.

What is the state flower?

And he replied: Mistletoe.

Wow! He passed the test! I couldn’t believe it. And so we kept on talking. It’s been 18 years now, and we’re still testing each other daily.

But back to the point—in case you wondered what it was!—and the point is: Mistletoe is a mighty strange choice for a state flower.

The first reason it’s an odd choice is we rarely see mistletoe around these parts except when it’s hanging above kissing couples at Christmastime. But it sounds even odder if you happen to know the mistletoe is a parasitic (or, technically, hemi-parasitic) plant. This means mistletoe usually does not grow on its own, but instead survives by clinging to a tree.

Now, the story goes that mistletoe was adopted as the state flower of Oklahoma on February 11, 1893, after Chicago hosted the World Fair. Apparently all states or would-be-states, wanting to be part of the union, were requested to name their state flower at that time.

I’m not sure who chose mistletoe (or if it was chosen for them) but when residents of the Oklahoma territory found out, they were infuriated. There was much ado about a berry-bearing parasitic plant becoming their state flower. It took a while for them to get over it. Some still are not happy about it to this day! In fact, in 2004, they voted to officially adopt the Oklahoma Rose in its place.

This isn’t too surprising, really. After all, Okies—and Americans in general--are fiercely independent. Who wants to be associated with a parasite? We don’t need that kind of reputation! We pull ourselves up by our bootstraps! We survive the wild, wild, west, braving dust storms and locusts! We can do this on our own! 

So goes the American myth of independence. But if you are sitting here tonight, then I’m going to guess you have learned a thing or two about your ability to handle everything on your own. Some days—some weeks—some years—life knocks us off our high horse, and we realize how vulnerable we really are. When a spouse, a child, or a parent dies; when the doctor says “cancer”; when the boss says “laid off”; when the reporter says “26 dead, 20 of them children”; we are brought to the uncomfortable realization that we lack the strength to go it alone. This load is too heavy. This pain is too intense. This darkness will not be vanquished by my strength, my fortitude, or a positive attitude.

And so we gather here tonight, one of the longest nights of the year. We gather to acknowledge that we cannot do it alone. We need a light in the darkness. We need hope for tomorrow. We need a friend. We’ve been uprooted, and we need someplace to call home.

The poet Robert Herrick wrote:

“Lord, I am like to mistletoe,
Which has no root, and cannot grow
Or prosper but by that same tree
It clings about; so I by Thee.
What need I then to fear at all,
So long as I about Thee crawl?”

Sisters and brothers, tonight we come seeking the Tree of Life, Jesus Christ. We know, now more than ever, that we cannot live without Him. We, like the humble mistletoe plant, must be grafted into that tree in order to survive. We need His love, His grace, His forgiveness. We need the promise that this darkness is not all there is. We need the hope that one day, we will have the strength to bloom once again! We need to know we are not alone in the world.

Hear the words of beloved spiritual author Henri Nouwen:

“God came to us because he wanted to join us on the road, to listen to our story, and to help us realize that we are not walking in circles but moving towards the house of peace and joy. This is the great mystery of Christmas that continues to give us comfort and consolation: we are not alone on our journey. The God of love who gave us life sent us his only Son to be with us at all times and in all places, so that we never have to feel lost in our struggles but always can trust that he walks with us…
Christmas is the renewed invitation not to be afraid and let him—whose love is greater than our own hearts and minds can comprehend—be our companion.” (Henri Nouwen, “Gracias! A Latin American Journal”)

This year, my dear ones, amidst the lights and the trees, Santa and the elves, and all the other symbols of the season, perhaps the lowly mistletoe plant will be a Christmas symbol that brings you comfort.  When you leave tonight, I invite you to take a bit of it home with you--a gift from me. And over the next days, when you see it, remember that you, like the humble mistletoe, are never going it alone. You have an unshakable foundation. In Christ, you have a bottomless source of comfort and healing. Cling to Him, the One who became flesh and lived among us, and in whom we have life eternal. Amen.

1st Sunday of Advent: December 2, 2012

1^st Sunday of Advent 2012: December 2, 2012

Jeremiah 33:14-16; Luke 21:25-36

 "Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs"

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from the one who is, who was, and who is to come. Amen.

Every year, a large box arrives on our doorstep just before the 1^st Sunday in Advent, and this year was no exception. My sons know this delivery is a sure sign that Christmas is coming. These boxes have been mailed to St. Paul, Minnesota; Lincoln, Nebraska; Waco, Texas; Chicago, Capron, and now Crystal Lake, Illinois, but the sender’s label is always the same: “from Mormor.”

Mormor—the Swedish name for grandmother, a.k.a. my mom—has put together these Advent boxes since the boys were tiny. The idea is simple: every day they each have a tiny gift to open, plus special ones for the Sundays in Advent. Matchbox cars, bouncy balls, tree ornaments, pencils, and chocolates are common fare. Over the years, the boys have perfected their abilities to shake, squeeze, smell, and identify these little packages, moving the PopTarts and marshmallow Santas to the top and the pencils and socks to the bottom of the pile. This year, Mormor called to ask if Caleb and Zion, now 11 and 14, still wanted an Advent box. “YES!” they cried, and with gusto! I think Mormor may have to send Advent boxes to their college dorms in a few years. 

The arrival of the Advent box is a sure sign in our house that “the days are surely coming” when school will be out, when the snow will fall, when the presents will be under the tree—oh, and when Jesus is born among us again on Christmas.

Unfortunately, the biblical texts we have for this first Sunday of Advent, though they are indeed about signs and the expectation of things to come, do not mention chocolates or Advent calendars or twinkling lights or any of the other wonderful signs that Christmas is on its way.

Instead, we hear the words of the prophet Jeremiah, promising to a Jerusalem lying in ruin that “the days are surely coming” when God’s justice and righteousness will rule and Jerusalem will live in peace.

And we hear Jesus’ own words, words spoken to his disciples just before the Last Supper, just before he entered Jerusalem, and just before his earthly ministry ended in a public crucifixion. In those last days, Jesus told those closest to him: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves…Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

It’s strange to hear Jesus speak like this, on a day when we are celebrating the beginning of the new church year, the beginning of Advent, and the beginning of the holiday season of peace, love, and light. These are verses which have been interpreted by many to be signs of the end of all things, and so we may hear these words and envision being “raptured” or, even worse, “left behind.”

But consider that Jesus, himself, was approaching the end. He knew the likely outcome of his radical preaching, healing, and teaching. And he spoke these things to a people who were about to experience the world as they knew it to fall apart around them. 

It may be hard to understand how these words could ever be signs of hope or a promise of peace. We, who live in relative comfort and privilege, feel understandably frightened to hear about the stars and moon and sun moving out of their orbits, or the waves crashing in on us, or nations around us warring with one another. 

But is it possible for us to look outside ourselves and imagine how others might hear these words? 

Imagining ourselves as disciples in the 1^st century may be a stretch—but how might you hear Jesus’ words if you were living in Breezy Point, New York, this holiday season: still without power, your neighbors’ homes flooded and destroyed, your car filled with mold, your business unable to open, the insurance check not yet arrived, your kids wondering if Christmas will happen this year?

And how might you hear these words from Jesus if you lived in Syria today: the bombs relentlessly coming, your children hungry, the priest of your church killed in the crossfire, internet and phone communications cut off for the last 4 days countrywide? 

And, if you can do this—if you can imagine yourself in Breezy Point or Syria—then can you imagine how might you hear these words from Jesus when you’ve been out of work for 2 years, when the foreclosure is nearly complete, when the next drink is your first thought in the morning, when the doctors say your 11 year old child’s cancer has spread, or when the marriage counseling just isn’t working? 

Of course, the truth is, in spite of the lights and the trees and the parties of the season, and in glaring contrast to our beautiful surroundings today, for many among us—for many sitting in these pews today—Advent is not a season of peace. For many of us, the heavens are shaking. The things we thought were as constant and permanent as the sun and moon and stars in the sky are falling down around us. Powers and principalities, systems and situations we cannot control are roaring like a tsunami through our lives. 

And if these are the signs you see in your life this December, then perhaps these verses do not sound so out of place this morning. Instead of a prediction of the end, you might hear a description of your current reality. Instead of looking to the skies and wondering when Jesus is coming and whether you will be “left behind”, you hear these words and know that you can hang on—not because Christmas is coming, but because Jesus is coming again. 

Theologian and poet Dom Helder Camara, in his poem “It’s Midnight, Lord”, speaks of the way Jesus comes when we need him the most: 

“In the middle of the night,

When stark night was darkest,

Then You chose to come.

It is true, Lord, it is midnight upon the earth,

Moonless night and starved of stars.

But can we forget that You,

The Son of God,

Chose to be born precisely at midnight?

If you had been afraid of shadow

You would have been born at noon.

But you preferred the night.

Lord, you were born in the

Middle of the night

Because midnight is

Pregnant with dawn....

The darker the night,

The more joyful the dance;

The deadly past is dead

When the sun is reborn--

Precious present, gift of now.” 

Sisters and brothers in Christ, we can all hear these words and find the strength to stand up and raise our heads, for Jesus, his kingdom, and his peace, are drawing near. 

Yes, I want you to stand up! Stand up, because you know that when the credit card bills are piling up, when the doctor’s report is terrible, when the news from the Middle East is ominous, when the fiscal cliff is looming before us, we can trust in the One who said: “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

Stand up, because you may be in the midst of your bleak midwinter, but Jesus says spring is coming.

Stand up, because “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” says the Lord.

And so, my dear people, on this first Sunday of Advent, as you prepare for that holy day when we, with all the choirs of angels, praise God for being born among us a baby, I hope you will also find strength, and courage, and peace, to stand in the promise that Christ will come again. 

Chiefly, I pray that you will know that you are not alone. Know that the Bethany community, and the worldwide community of Christians, stands with you today, and joins you in praying this Advent season: Come, Lord Jesus.

Come, O Prince of Peace, and set your people free.

Come, and set things straight in our community.

Come, and make peace between nations.

Come, and make peace in my household.

Come, Lord Jesus, and be born once again in my heart, in my community, and in my world. Amen.