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.