Saved by Presence

Isaiah 63:7-9
Christmas 2
January 1, 2023

I will recount the gracious deeds of the Lord, the praiseworthy acts of the Lord, because of all that the Lord has done for us, and the great favor to the house of Israel that he has shown them according to his mercy, according to the abundance of his steadfast love. For he said, “Surely they are my people, children who will not deal falsely”; and he became their savior in all their distress. It was no messenger or angel but his presence that saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old. 

I am glad you’re here. The morning after New Year’s Eve, I’m glad anybody is here. The crowd resembles Christmas Day a week ago, which for us Presbyterians is always a low attendance Sunday. In our church circles, we prefer to celebrate Christmas at night, not in the morning. As for New Year’s, I can only presume a few reasons for the sparse attendance.

To tell you the truth, I’m embarrassed to have you here. I should have paid more attention to the scripture text for this morning. It was a full week for us, as it was for you: all our kids were in, we visited my mom and that side of the family, we had a funeral on my wife’s side of the family, there was dinner and a concert with a good friend, and a couple of days to relax and go to seed. Yet excuses won’t do. I should have read the text.

We’ve heard it before. It’s a brief burst of praise, selected by the ecumenical church for the readings on the Sunday after Christmas. In previous years, one of our liturgists put it into the air, and then we followed by singing, “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” If there was a sermon on that day, it might have been based on that ghastly story from the Gospel of Matthew. When an unhinged national leader discovers he will be replaced, he gives his blessing to an act of violence. The Bible says that’s the kind of world we live in. 

I have preached on that story about King Herod a half dozen times. I thought, “This year, I will give them a reprieve. Let’s go with Isaiah 63, verses 7 to 9. It’s pleasant enough.” And now I say to you I should have actually read the text. The whole text: verses 1 to 6 and verses 10 to 19.

Our three verses are in the middle of a very painful poetic section in Isaiah’s book. To isolate them from their context would violate everything that I was taught about preaching from the Bible. We must hear the whole book, not merely the gold nuggets that sparkle. As another preacher has said so well,

“These three verses are airlifted out of a chapter thick with divine wrath and human despair. In the verse preceding today’s (text), God declares, ‘I trampled down peoples in my anger’ (v. 6). In the verse following, God is the enemy of those who have grieved God’s holy spirit and ‘fought against them’ (v. 10).”[1]

Oy vey! Not much Christmas cheer there. Not a lot of festive celebration. The chapter is part of a larger conversation between God and the people, as heard in the faithful imagination of the prophet Isaiah. Neither God nor the people are happy with one another.

For the people’s part, they have returned from a seventy-year exile in Babylon. They had such high hopes for returning home. They dreamed of returning to the hills and valleys that their parents told them about; but the land has been desecrated and the economy demolished by violent. They had been on memories of praying in the Jerusalem temple, lifting their prayers, and keeping the sacrifices that connected them to their Maker; but that temple had been demolished, torn down stone by stone.

No doubt, some grumbled, wondering, “Why did we ever leave Babylon? Even there we had regular meals and a place to lay our heads at night.” Same old complaint from centuries before, after God released the people from bondage in Egypt. It’s far easier to stay with the old slaveries than to venture into the new freedom. So they were bitter. Glad to be home, but bitter about what they found.

And God wasn’t happy, either. After centuries of disobedience, if you sent your children off for seventy years of punishment, you might think they would have learned a lesson or two. But few lessons had been learned. God is worn out, discouraged, and disillusioned with his people. He gives them everything – and they either blow it at the roulette wheel or chase after a hundred substitutes for grace, mercy, and steadfast love. It happens repeatedly. Still goes on. I mean, look around – Christmas was just last week. Where did everybody go?

And yet …  And yet … the grace, mercy, and steadfast love continue. God’s love is still here. And for those who know where to look, some God’s children are living in that love and passing it around. These three little verses offer the evidence that grace continues even when the world is a mess. When the dust settles and the wreckage is cleared away, God speaks words of hope and assurance. His people respond with hymns of praise.

Twenty-two years ago, December 31 was a Friday night. The Doomsayers were predicting a global catastrophe on the brink of the year 2000. There would be apocalyptic solar flares, widescale flooding, earthquakes, and global famines, all because the Roman calendar was flipping over to a new page.

Most of the hype was easily dismissed, but some had reason for legitimate concern. Our friends across town at the Met Life computer facility were on high alert well past midnight, fearful that the actuarial tables could spin out of control and send the insurance business into a tailspin. Midnight came and went. Months of preparation and programming assuaged the fears. Sunday morning came, and the Christmas carols continued.

This is a metaphor for our experience, over and over again. Life is full of disruptions. Terrible things happen. People we love are snatched away. Institutions we have trusted are shaken. Yet God is still here. Christ has been born into our midst. And as the poet Isaiah, wisely observes, “The Lord became their savior in all their distress. It was no messenger or angel but his presence that saved them.” His presence. The Divine Presence. Or as Jesus would be named, “God-with-us.”

On this first day of the new year, we gather around his Table to claim that Presence for ourselves and for the world. The broken bread and poured-out cup are signs of God’s continuing grace, shown to us in the death and resurrection of Jesus. And no matter what lies ahead, we are a people of hope and praise, praise and hope. For God has come in Jesus Christ. He continues with us. We live in the abundance of God’s steadfast love.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, p. 147.

Calling All Angels

Calling All Angels!
Luke 2:8-15
Christmas Eve 2022
William G. Carter

 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

Normally I don’t preach a sermon in rhyme.
But Christmas Eve is a most special time.
So if you’ll indulge a few minutes to spare,
I offer some couplets as my gift to share.
For this night is different from all other nights.
The stars are rejoicing. Our candles are lights
That beckon the universe to join in rejoicing
And sing with the angels, the Good News re-voicing:
Calling all angels!

One angel’s enough to announce a new child
So Gabriel went to speak news that was wild.
To Jerusalem’s Temple, he went with great mirth,
To the priest Zechariah with his feet on the earth.
Old Zeck scratched his head and couldn’t believe
That his ancient wife would soon conceive.
He knew the old stories of Abram and Sarah,
Thought they were finished, and his wife was barren.
“You’ve got nothing to say,” said God’s messenger bright,
“so wait nine more months and see that I’m right.”
The priest stumbled out, as mute as a stone.
And in God’s good time, the promise was done.
The lesson for us is to always remember
An Angel speaks truth. And so in December
We gather this night beneath bright stars above
And listen for God to speak new words of love.
Calling all angels!

And then three months later, the angel was sent
To speak startling words of the announcement
That young Mary, too, would bear a miraculous baby.
It was certain and sure, and I don’t mean maybe.
“But how could this be?” she asked with a whim.
“I’m engaged to my Joseph and haven’t touched him.”
Gabriel nodded and he understood.
She was promised to Joseph (the worker of wood).
“In time it shall happen, and then you will see
That God can do anything,” he said with great glee.
This angel, he comes from the right hand of God.
He speaks what the Lord speaks, even if it’s odd.
So Mary, she pondered, then said, “Let it be,”
Not knowing yet trusting God’s strange mystery.
She believed in her soul what she couldn’t foretell,
’cause she knew in her heart she can trust an angel.
Calling all angels!

And then one more time, to shepherds at night,
This angel appeared and provoked a great fright.
The old story declares they were all “sore afraid.”
Would they, too, be pregnant? Oh, no, but they stayed
All frozen in fear, terrified in their wonder
That God should come find them wherever they wandered.
Dismissed as bad sinners by priests in the temple,
Rejected as thieves by the smart and the simple,
Yet to them the angel was sent that good night,
And to them came news that forever ignites:
That God, the Good Shepherd, had found them in grace,
“And you,” said the angel, “shall see God’s great face.”
They shuddered in wonder. “A Savior, for us?”
But Gabriel fiercely smiled ‘til they could adjust
To what they were hearing. This marvelous Word!
That “The Christ shall be like us,” which sounds so absurd.
The news was astounding and so unexpected.
Not one of them knew quite what God had projected.
They were shepherds, yet loved, not dismissed in disgrace,
But welcomed to witness the Child near their place.
The angel said all of this. O, how graciously they fared!
And then something more which they couldn’t have prepared.
Above them, around them, a multitude did sing.
They were bright, shining soldiers – a choir with wings
Calling all angels!

Now, here is the question that I raise this evening:
Why should God add ten thousand angels to sing?
Isn’t Gabriel the messenger angelic enough?
Can’t he get through to those who are rough?
Well, of course, he can. To the priest and the lass,
He’s already spoken with clarity and class.
But a multitude joins him in God’s generosity
To amplify grace without a shred of pomposity.
It’s “sacred excess,” the evidence of abundance,
And those who see scarcity are invited to dance.
The Bible enlarges what others can’t see.
Moments get larger and louder, so we
Can hear heaven’s exuberance in joining the song
That ignites the joy that drowns out all the wrong.

A “heavenly host” is Luke’s rare description.
It’s big, loud, and mighty, defying depiction.
A “host” is an army with armor and spears.
Fierce, strong, and powerful, they provoke fear.
But this host is different, a legion of joy,
Proclaiming good news in the birth of a boy.
What kind of army sings of this great grace?
The kind that drops weapons and reveals God’s Face.
This Face that shines mercy, forgiveness, and peace
And wages a mission for love to increase.
“Let peace rule on earth,” the army shall sing,
“God’s glory is shining on each person and thing.”
These are the words from the celestial choir
They sing with full gusto and heavenly fire.

Now, one single angel may announce a new birth
Yet a choir resounds with great news for the earth.
Voices are multiplied and gladly expanded
A community sings and all hearts are banded
Together they proclaim with one message for all:
The Christ’s birth signals our redemption from the Fall.
Our first parents distrusted what God had to say.
Disobedience was planted in our DNA.
But God now forgives our impulsive rejection,
Steps into our brokenness, dismisses dejection.
Through life, death, and raising, Lord Jesus restores
what disrupted God’s union with us; and what’s more,
Christ offers great light and the life eternal.
It’s sung in the angels’ bright anthem nocturnal.

I suppose you could have a Christmas by yourself,
You and your tree and your elf on the shelf.
But here you have come to join in the Song.
In pew or on YouTube, it’s clear you belong.
We gather to join and combine in one voice
In singing the Song that cuts through the noise
In a world so distracted by lesser pursuits
Like eggnog, and cheap toys, and brown furry boots.
There’s something above us, around us, and here,
Much holier than sin and greater than fear.
For God has come near us, descending from a cloud
To lift up the lowly and scatter the proud.
The Song from on high is best sung by a crowd.
It’s large and amazing and deserves to be LOUD.
Calling all angels – those far off and near!
Calling all angels – Oh, wait. They are here!

William G. Carter
Christmas 2022

Expecting Christmas

Matthew 1:18-25
December 18, 2022
Advent 4
William G. Carter

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

Christmas is a week away. It’s time to talk about a birth. There is a baby about to be delivered. Excitement is building. Anticipation is high. It is a time that comes with a high concentration of hormones and anxieties. So I’ve been thinking about some of the things people say during a pregnancy.

• Here come the experienced adults. With a broad smile, they say, “Congratulations!” Then with a smirk they add, “Oh, how your life is going to change.” They giggle and walk away, harboring a sinister secret for the uninitiated.
• “Get caught up on your sleep now. You’ll never going to get any sleep for the first six months.” Not helpful, even if there’s a shred of truth.

• “Is it a boy or a girl? What do you mean that you don’t know? What do you mean that you do know?”
• “Can we hope the child looks more like the mother than the father?” I’ve heard somebody say that.

• “Could you use my daughter’s rocking horse? We wanted to give it away after she fell off and hurt herself.”
• “Have you put safety plugs in all your outlets? Gates on all your stairways? Doorknob covers on your doors?” Words guaranteed to give comfort to new parents.

Of special notice are the foolish things said by men in particular. I remember from first-hand experience that men can be a bit detached from the pregnancy process. We are often stunned in wonder or captive to confusion. Sometimes we say something that puts our lives at risk, especially if addressing our wives.

• He said to her, “There’s no way you can be so sick so early on.” She said, “Watch your shoes.”
• He said to her, “Don’t say you’re pregnant. We are pregnant.” She said, “No, it’s all me.”
• He said to her, “It’s like you’re getting bigger every day.” She replied, “That’s how it works.”
• He said to her, “No, honey, the pregnancy is not making you fat. You were already a little bit large.”
• He said to her, “How soon after this kid can we start on the next one?” She gave him a black eye.

And there’s this comment, as thoroughly human as all the others: “What do you mean you’re having a baby? You know it isn’t mine.” We say all the pious words we wish, but that brings us right to the dilemma that Joseph was facing.

In matter-of-fact speech, Matthew declares, “She was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.” I don’t want to ask how that determination was made. I don’t want to know. The woman to whom he was engaged was probably a young teenager, barely of childbearing age. No doubt she had been kept under the watchful eye of her parents. Quite possibly their marriage had been arranged for them. They were children of villagers in northern Galilee. They did not have a lot of options.

Now, Matthew has already hinted that the pregnancy will be unusual. On the first page, he says, “Let me tell you about the genesis of Jesus Christ.” By “genesis,” he means the origin. The beginning. So he recites the genealogy and goes back all the way to Father Abraham. It seems orderly enough, reciting father after father, until he mentions a woman - Tamar – who had an illegitimate child. And then he cites Rahab the prostitute, and Ruth, the Moabite great-grandmother of King David. And then of King David’s eight wives, he singles out Bathsheba, the mother of Solomon, and refers to her as “the wife of Uriah.” That was a painful episode in the royal history.

Clearly, Matthew is signaling that the birth of Jesus will be an unusual birth. If you know the royal line through David, if you research any of our family trees, there are curiosities even in the ancestries of those who profess to be pure. In his veins, Jesus has Canaanite blood from Rahab and Moabite blood from Grandma Ruth. He is a descendent of illegitimacy through Tamar and Bathsheba.

But none of this is a comfort to Joseph, the woodcutter from Nazareth. He tosses and turns all night, wondering what he shall do. A child is coming to his fiancée Mary. He had nothing to do with it. It’s a miracle, as every child is a miracle. It’s a gift from the Holy Spirit, as every baby is a gift from the Holy Spirit. But he is not ready to handle the scandal, especially in a small town where everybody talks. He worries if they are talking already.

So he tosses and turns. What should he do? Matthew calls him “a righteous man.” That is, he will live by the Law of God. The scriptures teach him how to live and what to do. One of the texts is clear: Deuteronomy, chapter 22. To paraphrase it, if a man discovers his fiancée is pregnant by somebody other than him, she is to be taken out and stoned to death in front of the people. The impurity must be purged from the community.

But then, the Bible also includes the Word of God through the prophets. One of those prophets was Hosea, a holy man who married a woman who was continually unfaithful. The Word from the prophet was also clear: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice (6:6).” This was the Word to a community beset with impurities. Mercy, that’s what God wants.

So he wrestled with this, night after night, tossing and turning, bouncing one Bible text off the other. On the one hand, God said, “You are to be holy as I am pure (Lev. 11:44).” On the other hand, “You shall love the neighbor as yourself (Lev. 19:19).” This is how Jewish theology is worked out, by the way. You wrestle with the holy texts until they wound you and bless you. This is what Joseph does until he reaches his decision. He will dismiss Mary quietly. He will refuse to expose her or demean her. He will not allow her to face scorn or shame; with a baby, she will have enough to handle.

There. Done. Settled. Decision is made. Time to move on.

Except that it’s not settled at all. The very night he has reached his decision, he falls fast asleep. And we can expect there was even more tossing and turning. While he sleeps, the angel of God speaks to him in a dream. “Joseph, don’t be afraid.” What? How did the angel know?  “Joseph, do not fear taking Mary as your wife. The child does indeed originate through the Holy Spirit.” What? How can this be?

And then the angel says two things more: the child will be a boy and his name shall be Yeshua – Jesus – a name that means “salvation.” For he will “yeshua” his people from all their sins. Jesus shall grow into his name. He will save.

No doubt all of that is a lot to process during a deep night’s sleep. But all that tossing and turning opens the way to a new resolution. Plan A was the Deuteronomy Plan, to remove the impurity of an unexpected pregnancy. Plan B was the Hosea Plan, to show compassion and deep, faithful mercy. The angel opened the way to Plan C, to welcome the child as his own, to take Mary as his wife, and to build a life together that Joseph could never have imagined.

Once again, Joseph’s character is revealed. He is a righteous man, and his righteousness goes deeper and wider than an approach to the Bible that is as wooden as the timbers in his carpentry shop. It is the very righteousness that his adopted son Jesus will grow up to teach and practice.

For the day will come, some thirty years later, when Jesus will teach on the mountain, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you shall not enter the Kingdom of God.” Then he offers these examples:

• If a Roman soldier says, “Carry my pack a mile, carry it two miles. Take charge by going further.”
• If someone slaps you on the cheek, take initiative by offering the second cheek.
• If the Torah says, thou shall not kill, I say don’t even insult your neighbor.
• If common sense tells you, hug your friends and push away your enemies, I tell you to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

Let your righteousness go higher. And if the Words of Jesus challenged us to go further, the actions of Jesus turned his words into flesh. It is written in the Bible, “Don’t touch a leper” – and Jesus touched a leper in order to heal him. The Bible said, “Steer clear of sinners” – and Jesus invited himself to share meals with them. The Bible said, “Stop work on the Sabbath” – and Jesus labored tirelessly to preach, teach, and heal on the Sabbath. Maybe he picked up this attitude from Joseph and how Joseph treated his own mother. 

As somebody notes,

“Joseph is a good man… He loves his Bible and he knows his Bible... But he reads his Bible through a certain kind of lens, the lens of the character and nature of a God who is loving and kind. Therefore he says, “I will not harm her, abuse her, expose her, shame her, ridicule her, or demean her value, her dignity, or her worth. I will protect her.” Where does it say that, Joseph? It says that in the very nature and character of God.”[1]

 

Little did we know: the tossing and turning of Joseph had become an introduction of what it means to live by faith. Not a flimsy faith that hides behind religious rules without working through their contradictions. Not a cardboard faith that attempts to put on a good appearance without the character to back it up. Not the plastic faith that has no substance and therefore no compassion. But a real faith that lives and wrestles – and ultimately listens for what God is doing in the midst of our lives. This is what matters most of all.

 

Long after Joseph is out of the picture, Matthew surveys the ancient scrolls of scripture. He finds where the prophet Isaiah wrote of “a young maiden” who conceives a son whose name becomes “God with us.” Working backwards, he can say, “We know now who that is.” And he will even report Jesus saying in the power of his resurrection, “I am with you always.” (28:20).  All this is true: Jesus is God with us, still with us, always will be with us.

 

But for Matthew, it all begins with a woodcutter who learns his beloved Mary has been chosen to bear a son. It is not an easy discovery for him, for they are not yet married. Yet he will listen to the Voice of God, spoken through an angel. He chooses to take that child as his own. And we can take him as our own, too.  This is Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, and he will save us from our sins.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Fred Craddock, The Cherry Log Sermons (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press) p. 5.

Patience for Christmas

James 5:7-10
Advent 3
December 11, 2022
William G. Carter

 

Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.

 

 

The word for the Third Sunday of Advent is a word we all know. We have heard before. We know what it means. It is a well-tested word. This is a virtuous word. Mostly it is a very slow word. This word does not move quickly. We cannot rush it. We have to wait for it.

 

I’m talking about a word that has been tried, and in turn some of us find it trying. Children and adults alike have heard this word, been exhorted to practice this word, but the word goes unclaimed. So many people push against this word, only to discover it will not budge.

 

The word for today is patience. Patience. James says, “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.”

 

Patience is the second cousin of Anticipation. Two weeks before Christmas, some of us know about anticipation. Patience means that we do not open the corner of a wrapped package under the tree and peek inside. We have to wait until the time is right, and then all things will be revealed.

 

If we are not patient, it can get us into trouble. Like that speeding ticket on my record. It’s not that I haven’t gone speeding, but that I was finally caught. I was zipping a stretch of the Northeastern Extension of the turnpike that is normally neglected by the police and frequented by garbage trucks. I won’t tell you how fast I was going, because I would lose what little respect that two or three of you still have for me.

 

Suffice it to say, it was fast enough that if my loved one ever found out, they would have given me a lecture much like the lecture that I got from the State Police officer. And if I had not been speeding through a construction zone (about which I should have known better), the lecture I received would not have been quite so long.

 

Once I slowed down, I did a quick survey of my spirit. Why was I traveling so fast? Did I think I could get to my destination sooner? Was I hoping that by going faster I could cram more into the limited hours of my day? Was I already internally racing, and pursuing a speed that kept up with my spirit? The answer to all three questions, of course, is “yes.”

 

The cause of my speeding ticket was impatience. Life didn’t move as fast as I thought it should. And I wanted to sprint through all unpleasantness – I’ve never liked that long stretch of highway. I always want to zip right past it all. That’s a metaphor for how many people want to race through life. Do you know how that is?

 

It happens in church. A woman once told me she hated to sing all the verses of all the hymns. Couldn’t we simply sing the first verse and sit down? Get on with things: “I have a lot to do,” she said, “and I don’t want to spend the whole day in church.” Not that we were expecting a whole day out of her – just an hour…and she was in such a hurry.

 

The protests cut across all denominations. There’s a church nearby where people stand outside and smoke while the service proceeds inside. At the proper moment, they snuff out the butts and go inside for communion. They don’t want to wade through all that other stuff. Just get the body and blood and keep moving.

 

The truth is nobody grows spiritually by rolling through a drive-in window. It takes a while. It takes a long while.

 

That’s why the Bible is so hard to read. Not merely because of the big names or long-ago cultures - - but because it is a thick book. It has layers and nuances. It is written in different forms and genres, and you must ask what kind of literature you’re reading. And parts of the Bible are so well-written that they are subtle. You can’t sit on a bulldozer and scrape it away. There’s too much below the surface. You must read it over and over. When you do, some of the Bible begins to sink in. Not all of it, and not all at once - - because you have to keep at it. You have to cultivate some patience.

 

Some of the Bible comes to us as poetry. Not the kind of poetry that rhymes - - but the kind of poetry that slows down the words.

 

And some of the Bible comes to us as a series of wise sayings. It’s accumulated knowledge, piled-up wisdom, like snow falling in accumulated layers. At first, you might think it’s all light and pretty. But as wisdom piles up, it begins to sit heavily on your shoulders.

 

The word for today is patience. Spiritual growth comes through patience. Sometimes it takes years, and that’s why some people cruise on by, never understanding a word of it. They are running so fast that they forget where they are. And they miss more than they realize.

 

I’ve told many of you about conducting a funeral and a cell phone went off. To everybody’s astonishment, the owner answered it and began to talk. “Hey Sally…Where am I? I’m in a funeral right now… No, I didn’t know her very well… Oh, but she was a nice lady… Her husband looks like a wreck… Oh yes, there’s quite a crowd here… I didn’t expect a crowd this big for him…”  

 

By now, everybody else has stopped what they were doing, turned, and looked at this man. He looks up, smiles, nods, so self-important, because he could not wait until the twenty-five minute service concluded before he answered the phone.

 

What is his hurry? And yet, the really big things cannot be hurried…

 

• You worry about your health, and you pray, and there is no quick response.
• Your daughter is unhappy in her marriage, and you hope that things will turn around.
• The new management at work is demanding a lot, and you don’t know when they will lighten up.
• You find out you are pregnant for the first time, and after all the pregnancy stories you’ve heard, you really wish you could skip the next eight months.
• You lose a loved one unexpectedly, and you don’t know why you can’t fast-forward past all the scattered things you’re feeling.

 

Here is the corrective of faith – the psalms know it, others know it, James knows it – in all things, we must wait for the Lord. There is no amount of hurry that will bring God quicker.

 

Patience is an Advent word. The church has known this ever since Jesus ascended to heaven. We are forced to wait for him, wait until he returns, wait until he reveals himself. No amount of praying, no amount of rushing around, no amount of activity on our part will speed up that return. Because, you see, here’s the point: we are not in charge. We are not in charge of anything – that is the corrective that patience provides us.

 

We would like to think we are in charge. That was the fallacy of many Presbyterians about a hundred years ago. A good number of them believed that if the church only worked hard enough, if it cleaned up the society and did all the good deeds, somehow the Lord would be impressed enough to come and bring the kingdom.

 

The last time anybody looked, we’re still waiting…

 

Pay attention to those who work the soil. Brother James points and says, “Look at the farmer.” The farmer prepares the soil, plants the crop, and waits for the rain. He doesn’t stand over the seed and scream to “start growing.” It takes a lot of time – and a lot of patience.

 

I learned this from my grandfather, who was a potato farmer. He did his work and then it went underground. Time passed. One day when we had almost forgotten about it, Grandpa would announce, “It’s time to gather the spuds.” It wasn’t time, until it was time.

 

On my bookshelves across the book, there are about twenty books by Eugene Peterson. He was a pastor, and I had the pleasure of being in his presence a few times. He may have been a rock star of the spiritual world, but one of the slowest-talking people I’ve ever met. He points out that nothing ever happens quickly in the church or the world, because nothing ever happens quickly in the Bible. But there is a kind of “apocalyptic patience” that is a basic characteristic of God’s people. They hang in there. They stick it out. They are the kind of people who are “passionately patient, courageously committed to witness and work in the kingdom of God no matter how long it takes, or how much it costs.”[1]

 

They stay at it, he says, because they comprehend two basic realities of the spiritual life: Mystery and Mess. Faith deals “with the vast mysteries of God and the intricacies of the messy human condition. This is going to take some time. Neither the mysteries nor the mess is simple. If we are going to learn a life of holiness in the mess of history, we are going to have to prepare for something intergenerational and think in centuries.”

 

God is dealing with the Mess of the human situation: we are prone to sin, we get addicted to counterfeit gods, and we foul the air and poison our own soil. We turn on one another. Those are glimpses of the Mess…and it’s going to take a long time to undo.

 

The way God deals with this Mess is with a Mysterious Christ who is crucified and raised. The Mystery doesn’t happen on our terms, or on our schedules. All we can do is pay attention to what we’ve seen - - pay attention to the power of love, the unlocking of forgiveness, the necessity of self-giving, the perseverance of prayer - - we pay attention to these glimpses of God’s very being: love, forgiveness, self-giving, perseverance.

 

We pray to align ourselves with God, to ask for God’s will, even to participate in God’s timing. And we don’t pray, we have no means to endure. Pretty soon, we strip mine our neighborhoods and our institutions- - taking what we can grab, as cheaply as we can, and then we move on to do it all over again somewhere else.

 

That’s the hurried, plundering way of our culture: grab what you can, and move on quickly. It’s a favorite way to avoid the Mystery and the Mess, God and ourselves. By running off to the next job, or the next church, or the next spouse, or the next life circumstance, we miss that God will not run to meet us in the Next One - - but right here, right where we are, provided we are patient.

 

The word for today is patience. It was the Jewish mystic Simone Weil who said, “Waiting in patient expectation is the foundation of the spiritual life.”  In that, she echoes the continuing refrain of the Psalms: “Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your courage; wait for the Lord.” Because that’s about all we can do. Wait for the Lord. Be strong. Take courage. And pray…

(c) William G. Carter. All rghts reserved.

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[1] Eugene Peterson, The Contemplative Pastor (Dallas: Word Books, 1989) 55-58.

Hoping for Christmas

Romans 15:4-13
Advent 2
December 4, 2022
William G. Carter

For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy.

As it is written, “Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name”; and again he says, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people”; and again, “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him”; and again Isaiah says, “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.”

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Today is the Second Sunday in the season of Advent. The music is joyful. The purple color signifies our longing. And as we move toward Christmas, the apostle Paul gives us a good word, an Advent word, a word he repeats four times. The word is hope. We all know it.

But what is its substance? And where does it come from?

I thought of that yesterday, as I visited the Lackawanna Winter Market on Courthouse Square. Walking among the other visitors, I wondered, “What are all these people hoping for?” Some hoped for nice weather. They were not so lucky. Someone was looking for a good price on homemade candles and tried to talk the merchants down. Somebody else was hoping for a free sample of fermented cider. They were handing those out in thimble-sized cups.

It was a pleasant event and raised a recurring question for December. If Advent means shopping for bargains, the whole season has become a lot smaller. Faith has been discounted. Aren’t we hoping for something more than that?

One thing we know. Paul wasn’t hoping for the birth of Jesus. That had already happened, almost sixty years before. He writes to them from Corinth, the major seaport in southern Greece. He hopes to hop aboard a ship, go to Rome, and meet the people who would receive this letter. Yet he was hoping for something more than that.

In this enormous letter to the Romans, Paul has already spelled out the expansive hope of the Gospel. In chapter eight, he hopes for the redemption of the universe. “All creation has been enslaved to its own decay,” he says (8:20). “Yet God will finally release all things from that burden.” We will be free from death, free from sin, free from our worst mistakes – and this will be God’s doing. This is the center of our hope: redemption! All that belongs to God will be claimed by God. That’s chapter eight.

In chapter nine, ten, and eleven, he speaks of the people God loves, beginning with his own people, the Jewish people. He knows they have a long history of turning away from God, but he knows God has never given up on them. Then he acknowledges that God loves everybody else, too. He can see the inclusion of the Gentiles in God’s saving work. It’s like an olive tree with new branches grafted on. And this is big.

Paul had to be pushed beyond what he used to think. He once believed God was the exclusive property of Jews like himself. That was before Jesus Christ appeared to him on the road to Damascus and knocked him off his high horse. And when the dazzling light faded, he returned to the scriptures, the ancient Jewish texts. He had to rethink everything in light of the presence of the Risen Christ.

And there he found what he was searching for. He found it in the Psalms: “I shall praise you, O Lord, among all the nations.” (18:49). He found it in the final words of Moses, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, along with God’s people.” (Deuteronomy 32). He found it in the hymn book: “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles.” (Ps 117:1).

And then he remembered the Advent words of the Prophet Isaiah: “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.” (Isaiah 1:1, 10).

So here is the message for today: hope comes from our memory. Hope is more than a random wishing for things. It is remembering what God has promised. What God has promised is that we are all part of something really big. The whole creation is being healed. God is taking in the universe for repairs. There is a heavenly salvage operation, a salvation operation.

The sign to prove it’s true is Jesus. He comes from the family tree of Jesse, as Isaiah promised. He is risen to rule us all, just as the women announced from the empty tomb. He is the One who welcomes you and me into the family of God. He calls us to work with him as God heals the world. Hey, church, remember Jesus? He is our hope. And hope comes from our memory.

Now, memory can be slippery, especially for those of us over the age of fifty. I couldn’t remember where I put my car keys this morning. And my family tells me that, as I age, my memory not only has lapses. It has also gained enhancements. The stories have gotten bigger. The details sparkle brighter. The punchlines are sharper. I remember things that never quite went that way.

That’s why Paul’s memory does not come from his mind. It comes from his book. Our book. God’s Book. How far back can you remember? Paul remembers Father Abraham who lived two thousand years before him. God said, “Abraham, count the stars in the sky. That’s how many children you are going to have.” Abraham believed the Lord. That was counted to him as righteousness (Genesis 15:5-6). Paul remembers that, too.

This is where hope comes from, from the memory that all of us belong to God, and that we are part of God’s transformation of the universe. Remember that? As one of the scholars has said, “Just as Scripture’s purposes for humanity are inextricable from the very nature of God, the inclusion of the Gentiles is not a back-up plan nor a course correction: this has been God’s intention all along.”[1] God says we belong. We’re part of his redemption. That’s our hope.

Some years back, Michael Lindvall wrote some stories about a Presbyterian church in the imaginary town of North Haven, Minnesota. The pastor’s name is Dave, and he had to contend with a pushy old elder named Angus MacDowell. Angus had been there a lot longer than Pastor Dave and reminded him regularly of that. One December, he announced to Pastor Dave that his daughter, her husband, and a brand-new baby would visit for the holidays, and it was “time to get the baby done.” You know, “baptized.”

For nine years, the family had lived in Spokane, Washington, two thousand miles away. Pastor Dave said, “Why can’t they join a church out in Spokane and have the baptism there?” But Angus was Angus, phone calls were made, votes were promised, and the elders approved the baptism, which Pastor Dave had to do. Fair enough. As was his custom, he said, “Who stands with this child?” The immediately family stood. Dave splashed three times – Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and that was that.

Except that wasn’t that. After the service, a woman approached him at the door. She gave her name, “Mildred Corey,” and said, “My daughter Tina just had a baby named Jimmy. Shouldn’t we have him baptized, too?” Pastor Dave said, “Well, have Tina and her husband call me. We can sit down, talk about it, and schedule the date.”

“Tina doesn’t have a husband,” said Mildred. “She and little Jimmy live with me. She was confirmed in this church four years ago. Used to come to Youth Fellowship, and dated an older boy, and well...” She paused and then said, “She got pregnant and wanted to keep the baby and wants to have him baptized in her home church. But she’s afraid to talk to you, so I decided to talk to you.” Pastor Dave looked at Mildred, and said, “I will take the matter to the Session.”

He didn’t know how it would go. He explained to them that Tina was confirmed as a church member. She wasn’t married. The father had not been named (even though it was a small town, and everybody had a good idea who he was). They discussed the matter at length, a lot longer than they had discussed Angus’ grandchild from Spokane. A few kept asking, “How do we know they will show up again after we approve the baptism?” Pastor Dave wanted to say, “Well, at least they don’t live in Spokane,” but he didn’t say that.

After considerable debate, the Session approved the baptism. The date was set for the Sunday before Christmas. The poinsettias were decked out. The Advent wreath was lit up. The pews were full. And Pastor Dave said, “Tina Corey is presenting her son Jimmy for the sacrament of baptism.” As she came forward, he nodded toward Tina’s mother to ask, “Who stands with this child?” Mildred stood as Pastor Dave looked back to his little minister’s book.

But suddenly there was rustling in the congregation. Pastor Dave lifted his eyes to see Angus MacDowell stand, along with his wife Minnie, then a couple of other elders, and a sixth-grade teacher, and a new young couple, and soon, the whole church was standing up for little Jimmy.

The author writes,

Tina began to cry and her mother held on to the pew as though she was standing on the deck of a rolling ship in a great wind, which in a way, she was. For the Spirit was moving, blowing where it will and it had moved people in the most surprising ways. At first, the unexpectedness of the routine was unsettling, but then we all seemed to move into a quiet reverence, even little Jimmy who had been wiggling and squeaking. And as the water touched his forehead, he seemed to sense the importance and power of the moment. The water rolled onto his hair and then his nose and then his cheek, and his eyes were fixed as though he was concentrating on something. Every other eye was on him, who was, for this moment, everyone's baby.

I looked up and I noticed Angus straining to see the child from several pews back with an open-mouthed smile. And I thought to myself, maybe that's what Angus understood and I did not—that out there in Spokane, his grandson would have others to watch him grow and Angus would be here to help Jimmy grow.[2]

“Welcome one another, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God." This is our memory from the scriptures. We gather here to open the Book of Life and recall the grace and justice of God – as reported and remembered by those who came before us. We break the bread and pour the cup, remembering the self-giving love of Jesus that cancels anything that threatened to separate us from the love of God.

We remember Advent means God is changing the world, beginning with the likes of you and me. We build up on another, pledging to never consume, demean, nor take ill advantage of another person. We work for one another’s well-being, paying special attention to all who struggle. We make our life together a sign of the hope that the scriptures have planted within us.

Jesus Christ welcomes every person without restriction. Don’t you remember? Through Christ, God is saving all creation. Don't you hope?

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

[1] Kara Lyons-Pardue, “Romans 15:4-13 - A Plain Account.” Quoted in http://www.textweek.com/pauline/rom15.htm

[2] Michael Lindvall, The Good News from North Haven: A Year in the Life of a Small Town (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 2002) 181-186.

 

Staying Awake for Christmas

Romans 13:11-14
Advent 1
11/27/22
William G. Carter

Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

Here's a moment that you might have experienced, but probably won’t admit. You’re behind the wheel of a car. It’s a dark night in late November. You have miles to go. You’ve been traveling over the river and through the woods. Or you might be headed home. But you’ve been on the road for a while. Your brain is weary. The possibility of danger is high.

At any moment Bambi and the family could wander onto the road. If the night is frosty and the pavement is damp, the next curve may reveal a patch of ice. Something behind you might distract you – the kids might be arguing. An unmapped pothole could lie waiting to bite a chunk out of your front right tire. Yet the greatest danger of all is falling asleep.

Now, you’re not going to admit that to anybody. Not here, not in church. But I will admit it to you. If the day has been long, if the soul is tired, if the eyelids are heavy, you could be in big trouble. One bob of the head could land you into a ditch. A simple lapse in vigilance might deploy an airbag. Don’t tell me if this has ever happened to you. If it’s a familiar experience, just nod your head.

On the way to-or-from Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma’s, my father tried valiantly to stay awake. It was a six-hour trip. We always arrived in one piece, so I can assume he was successful. Sometimes he nursed coffee from a stainless-steel thermos. Once he ignited a cherry-flavored cigar (which wasn’t a good idea, especially with three of four kids prone to carsickness). Mom, in the backseat, might start leading a song.

If desperate, Dad would roll down the window. The blast of frigid air shocked all of us out of slumber. Whatever it took, he pressed to keep his eyes open. He knew what could happen if he didn’t.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the first Sunday of Advent, you might ask? Everything. Saint Paul writes to the saints in Rome to say, “Keep your eyes peeled. Don’t fall asleep.” He hasn’t met those people, but by chapter thirteen they are well acquainted. He has sent them the thickest letter in the New Testament. Not only the longest, but the thickest, for Saint Paul has rolled out the entire Christian Gospel, and then some:

All have sinned and fallen off God’s wagon. We have no excuse.

For all of us sinners, Christ died to bridge the gap between us and God.

In the power of his resurrection, he has freed us from sin and death.

Nothing shall separate us from this love of God.

The entire creation of God shall be redeemed.

All we need do is trust this is true.

Now, that’s the short version of the letter to the Romans. The hidden transformation of the cosmos begins with a crucifixion and an empty tomb. God is working it out even now. The final moment is close at hand.

And today Paul adds, “Don’t miss it.” Don’t miss what God has done in Jesus. Don’t miss what God is doing in the Spirit of Jesus. And for heaven’s sake, don’t miss the moment when the whole thing is finished. He has to say this because it is possible to miss it. There is the constant temptation to “fall asleep.”

Now, he’s not talking about the “sleep” of death. Occasionally he uses that euphemism to describe what happens when people slip away for the last time. They “fall asleep” (koimao) in the Lord, and he keeps them until the great and final day of resurrection.

But that’s not the word he uses for sleep here. No, he speaks an unusual word, a subtle word.

The word is “hypnos.” Sounds like “hypnotize.” It’s the kind of sleep we can fall into with our eyes wide open.

How many times was I driving the car, and I didn’t fall asleep, I didn’t nod off, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last ten miles? Do you know what I’m talking about? That’s what Saint Paul is talking about  

It’s that drowsiness of spirit, that numbness of the heart, that chilling of perception, that glancing but not paying attention. And Paul says, “Wake up!” (I’ve always wanted to say that in a sermon.) God’s activity is right at hand. Don’t miss it. Don’t nod off 

He’s speaking of a certain kind of slumber. It’s hypnotic, like losing count of road signs, or watching a silver watch swing back and forth and back and forth and back and… And he spotlights three general ways that this hypnotic slumber can overtake us: reveling and drunkenness, debauchery and licentiousness, quarreling and jealousy. (I’ve always wanted to say some of those words in a sermon, too.)

• Reveling and drunkenness – to use the Scranton euphemism, the Saint Patrick’s Day parade. Partying is just another word for over-consumption.

• Debauchery and licentiousness – I don’t have a Scranton euphemism for those, but they involve a kind of consumption as well. It’s possible to reduce another human being to something to be consumed.

• Quarreling and jealousy – no euphemism necessary. Just imagine a family Thanksgiving dinner conversation that goes off the rails. What’s the worst that can happen. Simply this: loved ones can consume one another.

These are nighttime activities, says the apostle, dangers that frequently happen after dark. If we are not careful, if we don’t use some restraint, if we don’t train ourselves to hold back, our natural impulses can take over. We consume – and end up consumed by our consumption.

Please note: Paul is not wagging his finger but offering a warning. And he’s giving his advice to Christian people, to those who know Jesus is alive – yet live in a world hellbent on gobbling up everything and everybody in sight.

The context of his words intrigues me. How many good Christian people have already overspent for Christmas?

It’s so easy to do. Point and click; you don’t even feel the pain. And speaking of overconsumption, I’ve just had two enormous family meals in the past three days. It’s good to be thankful – but gratitude came awfully close to gluttony. No wonder I’ve been terribly sleepy since Thursday afternoon.

Sometimes it’s hard to keep a clear-eyed view on what to do and how to live in a world like this. I think of all the movies that entertained us while pushing the limits. Some of you are old enough to remember Days of Wine and Roses or The Graduate. I asked my kids. They chuckled and said The Hangover. As for me and my generation, we bought tickets to see Animal House and watched it more than once.

We live in a culture that lacks restraint. And to be fair, it’s always been that way – and always will be. It was certainly that way in the Roman Empire of the apostle Paul. So he says, “Stay awake.” Don’t grouse or give in. Don’t boycott or sneak in the side door. No, here’s what you do: keep your eyes open.

Open for what? Open to God’s continuing work to forgive and not destroy, to love and not quarrel, to honor and not demean, to live without embarrassment as if you are standing in bright sunshine and not the shadows of night. Paul says to the Christian people, “You belong to the daylight, not the darkness. Live with honor.” This is how we stay awake. This is how we watch for God’s redemption of a hungry, overconsuming world.

I have a dear friend who took a fulltime teaching job at a Presbyterian seminary a few years ago. At the HR office, she was given a stack of paperwork to sign. There was the salary contact, a personnel policy, parking pass, and assorted agreements. Then they gave her one more piece of paper: the comportment policy. Know what that is? It was an agreement to live your life in such a way that it never becomes a scandal for the school where she would teach. They don’t want to see your name in the police blotter, nor hear it whispered in the rumor mill. 

I said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What’s that all about?” She said, “My supervisor never wants to see behavior from me that distracts our school from its mission.” The littlest incident can have enormous consequences. And it could become a distraction, originating from a subtle form of hypnosis, which becomes a falling asleep.

It gave me something to think about that, considering the advice offered by the apostle Paul. How can we live in ways that honor the Lord our God? How can we honor the people around us, refusing to demean or dismiss them? How can we show enough restraint to keep from embarrassing ourselves, always living honorably?

These are open questions with no simple answers. But they are essential questions as we begin the season of Advent. We prepare for the fullness of Light that has been ignited by the coming of Jesus Christ into our world. Though dimly seen by many, his light grows brighter. And his light will increase until it floods all the shadows. All things shall be seen for what they are.

So what I say, I say to all: stay awake.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.