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.

In the Center

Colossians 1:11-20
Christ the King
November 20, 2022

Willia, G. Carter

 

May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. 

 

He has rescued us from the power of darkness

and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, 

in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. 

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; 

for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created,

things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—

all things have been created through him and for him. 

He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 

He is the head of the body, the church;

he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. 

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 

and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things,

whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Today, at long last, is the day of confirmation. Six young adults will stand soon and profess their Christian faith, confirming the promises that their parents made at their baptism. I was trying to remember my confirmation class. That was a long time ago, shortly after the Ice Age thawed and the last pterodactyl took its final breath. Can anybody older than me remember what you had to learn?

My father grew up as a Methodist. I don’t know if his church ever required him to learn anything. He merely had to endure the minister. When there was a pause in the action, Dad said, “I believe,” and that was sufficient. They let him in the church, and that’s when the true learning began.

My mother was a different story. She was nurtured as a Presbyterian. Mom recalls having to memorize the Westminster Shorter Catechism, a document from 1647. The catechism is shaped by 107 questions and 107 answers. The questions are tough, and the answers are not “yes” or “no.” It was a lot to learn, and she had a tough instructor. He wouldn’t let the class fudge a single word in each prescribed answer. And when she could recite the whole thing, they let her in. 

What do I remember about my confirmation class? Not much. I remember an endless series of Saturday morning classes, perhaps two hours long. We met in a large room because there were a lot of us there. The teachers handed out textbooks to a room full of seventh graders. Then they proceeded to read the textbook to us.

Not the most engaging way to teach. Occasionally, the teachers asked us to find a Bible verse and read it. But I can’t recall if the verse was ever explained.

After long series of Saturdays, they told us we were ready. The boys were instructed to wear neckties (clip-on ties were acceptable). The girls were told to wear dresses. At the appropriate moment, we were paraded in front of the congregation. Maybe the pastor asked us some questions, just like I will ask our class in a little bit; I don’t remember. Maybe there was a prayer; I can’t recall.

What I do remember is something Gordy Christiansen said to me while we stood in line to get a piece of cake. He was an old dude, probably in his late forties. Had a twinkle in his eye, always quick with something to say. He asked me about the classes, and I don’t know what I said. He put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, “Billy, if you forget everything else, don’t forget Jesus. Jesus is in the center of it all.”

All these years later, that’s the one thing I remember from my confirmation class. And it was good advice.

The apostle Paul and his young friend Timothy wrote the text for today. They sent it in a letter to a small, struggling church in a land we now call Turkey. The city of Colossae was once bright and opulent, but the years had not been kind. The economy was shaky, the smart kids had left town, and the best years of that city were behind them.

But none of that matters to Paul. He wants to confer a holy blessing. “May you be made strong,” he says. “May you be prepared to endure everything with patience,” he says. “Keep thanking God for all things,” he adds, “for God has made it possible for you to share what all the saints have shared.”

These are gracious words, words of encouragement, the kind of general words that you offer to people that you haven’t yet met. As far as we know, Paul had never been to that town, much yet to that church. So he says, “Be strong, keep enduring, be thankful,” when suddenly he starts talking about Jesus. And he says a mouthful. He doesn’t know these people – but they have Jesus in common. With this, he’s off and running.

He is the image of the invisible God.

The One through whom all things were created, the Beloved Son, the Savior who rescued us.

All of God fills all of him.

He has reconciled us to the Father, making peace through the blood of his Cross.

He is firstborn from the dead. He comes first in everything.

Now, we don’t know if he has said all these things before. There’s a good chance he is quoting an ancient hymn to Christ, something the church members would have known. Or perhaps, as somebody said in a Bible study this week, this might have been an early statement of what the Christians preached and what they believed. Like an early Apostles’ Creed. Might be, but we don’t know.

But here’s what we do know: Paul and Timothy have an enormous view of Jesus. They don’t mention that he was an itinerant teacher. They don’t allude any of the parables he taught that we’ve been studying this fall. They don’t refer to his miracles or his healings or humble birth or his mother. All they can see is his size!

The Jesus that they perceive is more than the Galilean Carpenter who cracked a few jokes and collected some fishermen who never understood what he was talking about. Oh no - they see a Lord who is working in “all things.” They may have seen him as a first-century peasant, but his resurrection has revealed how big he is. This comes up six times:  

• “all things” are created in Christ
• “all things” are created for Christ
• “all things” are created through Christ
• “all things” are created after Christ
• “all things” hold together in Christ
• “all things” are reconciled to God through Christ

To quote Gordy Christiansen, “If you forget everything else, don’t forget Jesus. Jesus is in the center of it all.” He is at the heart of everything we trust and do, the center of all that we teach and sing.

When we work for justice, it’s because it is his justice. When we feed the hungry, it’s because the hungry are his people. When we call out public lies, it’s because he is the standard of all Truth. When we confront personal grievances, it’s because his forgiveness cancels everything that would separate us from God and one another.

Jesus is not that personal good luck charm to make you happy, or that free get-out-of-jail-or-hell card that you have but others do not. He is so much greater than that. He is Lord and Savior of the totality of existence, what many have called the Cosmic Christ. He is the One “through whom all things hold together,” which means his grace is the glue of the universe. He’s that big. He stands in the center.

Now, I wonder what they thought in Colossae, that small, rusty city that received this letter. Probably the same thing they think in Clarks Summit in 2022. We think about a lot of things – the Penn State game, the oak leaves in our rain gutters, whether to put snow tires on the car, and how glad we are not to live in Buffalo.

One mother is worrying that her kid might get the answers wrong in the confirmation ceremony (the Catholics call this a sacrament, you know!). Somebody else just realized he didn’t blow out a candle before he came to church. Another person must reschedule a flight through Charlotte to visit to Dad for Thanksgiving.

Meanwhile, somebody around here may have covid and doesn’t know it yet. A Volvo has been parked in, so the owner must stick around for the confirmation reception. There’s not enough dip for the crudité tray downstairs. The Finance Committee wonders if next year’s pledges will keep us afloat. These are the things we think about.

To which Paul and Timothy declare, “Take a breath. Chill out. Hush your heart. Jesus is Lord, the Lord of all.” We are here because he has created us for himself. Everything we fuss about is held only by his grace. We are forgiven because all things are forgiven; I checked the text, and it does say, “all things.” And it’s pretty sweet to breathe and realize that we loved, and rescued, and saved, and commissioned to do good things, all because Jesus gave his life for us, and now gives his life to us. Pretty sweet, indeed.

This is what salvation feels like - and reconciliation, and redemption, and all the rest of those ten cent words. It is the deep assurance that all is well with God, so all things will be well with us. All things. All of them.

Christ Jesus stands in the center, right where he has always stood. He turns to you with shining eyes, and once again he says, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32)

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

Living the Dream

Isaiah 65:17-25
November 13, 2022

23rd Sunday of Pentecost.

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity; for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord— and their descendants as well. Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; but the serpent—its food shall be dust! They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord.

When I told someone about the text that I selected, he sniffed and dismissed it saying, “Isaiah 65 smells of funeral lilies.” I have to agree; this ancient poem resides on the Top Ten list of readings for a memorial service. It ranks up there with the 23rd Psalm, the 21st chapter of Revelation, and the promise from Jesus to “let not your hearts be troubled.” And if I’m honest, someday far in the future, I want someone to read it at my funeral.

Yet I don’t think for a minute that this is a poem about death. Isaiah gives us a vision for life.

It comes near the end of his collection of writings, after many chapters full of pain. Suddenly there is the promise of healing and restoration. God describes a flourishing life for all. If there was trouble, it’s interrupted by joy. If there was despair, the burden has been taken away. If anybody was robbed of life, life is given back – with abundance.

For the first time in the Bible, Isaiah offers the vision of new heavens and a new earth. Why are they new? Because the old ones are worn out. The Creator of all things promises a new creation. It’s a preview for the season of Advent, which begins for us in a few weeks. More than that, it’s the promise of a new life that is an alternative to the life we have known. Imagine a world, says the prophet, where everything connects, like a puzzle where all the pieces fit.

With vivid colors, Isaiah paints a picture where heaven and earth are one. No more weeping or distress. Life will never be cut short. People will live out the full length of their days. There will be continuity between human dreams and their fulfillment. Families will build houses and live in them. Farmers will plant vineyards and taste the wine. Every worker will enjoy their daily labor, and every soul will be thoroughly alive. That’s the picture.

At the center is an astonishing vision of peace: predators do not consume, and the prey doesn’t hide or run away. The wolf and lamb coexist. The ravenous lion has become a vegetarian and steps up to the feed bin next to the ox. Imagine this, says the prophet Isaiah. Imagine a life where everything fits.

This is what God dreams for the world. This is the dream that God implants in the imagination of the prophet Isaiah. This is the dream that emerges to be written down in the Bible, where it is waiting to be rediscovered by every generation and lived with fresh energy.

It is a powerful dream, because it is an alternative to most of the stories that actually appear in the Bible. God created a new earth once before, and by page three in the book of Genesis, Cain has risen up against his brother Abel. Not long after that, Pharoah enslaves a whole race of people as his work force.

God comes again to break Israel out of slavery, offering a number of commandments to guide the nation’s life – commandments that are regularly broken. The people cry out for a leader, a good leader. Soon, most of their kings (and a few of their queens) are maneuvering and manipulating their way to greater power, climbing over whoever is in the way.

We can’t ever dismiss the Bible as a book of fairy tales. No, it offers honest observations about the human animal. We live in a world where good work is met with resistance and the innocent are crucified.

And we are reminded of the recurring problem with the human race: God implants within us a dream of peace, yet we keep choosing something less than the dream. We don’t need to blame the devil or anybody else for this. No, we are the ones who choose. Every day some people are demeaned as something less than the image of God that they bear. The weak are plundered, often to increase the profits of the arrogant. Those who are deemed different are dismissed. And everybody is shouting over one another.

This is why so many of us regard the Bible as truth: it tells the truth about real people.

Yet the Bible also speaks the truth about God. We live because God is patient, “slow to anger and abounding with steadfast love.” And every day, we have the opportunity to live out the dream that God has for us. Imagine the wolf and the lamb feeding together. Nobody gets hurt. On God’s holy hill, there is no destruction, only peace. And God speaks up to make the promise, “I will rejoice and delight in my people.”

One of the reasons why some of us listen to sermons is to catch a glimpse of this grand vision. We connect to one another in faith communities to amplify this dream, which has been planted in our hearts and minds. Left to our own devices, we would merely slide back into the mud and muck of chaos, and act like wild animals. All progress would be lost. Yet Isaiah 65 says there is an alternative.

The alternative is peace – peace within ourselves, peace between one another. The Hebrew Bible calls it “shalom.” Shalom is the balance between all the forces of life. Shalom holds the continuity between past and present. Shalom is a life lived without aggression or its ensuing damage. We can welcome one another as neighbors, and not competitors. We can live in harmony with everybody we meet. This is God’s dream, and it is given to us. We can work on it now or wait until God makes it happen. Either way, it comes as a gift from a new heaven for a new earth.

One summer day, I hopped the bus to New York City with one of our daughters. She was a college student, studying art, and we wanted to visit a few galleries. It turned out to be a major disappointment. The Metropolitan Museum was closed, the Frick collection was shut down, and the Guggenheim was undergoing renovations.

Every few steps, we heard another siren in the distance. By the Central Park boat pond, a little kid was screaming at his mother. A couple of panhandlers tried to shake us down. We were just about ready to call it a day when suddenly we stepped into a quiet grove of elm trees. Three paths intersected in the shape of a teardrop. Before us was a mosaic of black and white stones, covered with bouquets of flowers.

To our surprise, we had come upon the memorial to the songwriter John Lennon. It’s right there by 72nd Street, right across from the apartment building where he had lived. In the center of the mosaic is the title of one of his most famous songs, “Imagine.”

You probably know that song. Lennon sang of a world as Isaiah saw it: a globe without borders, a world without greed or aggression, a community of living beings dwelling together in peace. Right across the street is where an assassin took Lennon’s life one night when he returned from a recording session. We paused, drew our breath at the pain of the memory.

But there, in that mosaic, is the invitation that remains: imagine. It is a holy invitation.

It leads me to make a modest proposal – that we live the dream that God has for us all. That we live as generously and graciously as Jesus. That we set a high standard of how to respect one another, serve one another, and love one another. It’s not enough to have the dream; it must also take flesh in what we do with our lives.

The first Christians forged the church by living like Jesus as best they could. They didn’t take any orders from the Roman empire. They lived the Isaiah 65 dream. People outside their circle were drawn inside it. They caught a glimpse of how all of us can take part in God’s shalom. Even the fiercest critics looked at the church and said, “See how much they love one another.”

What if the people in your community could say the same thing about you? What if each of us could treat one another with such respect and compassion that our neighbors said, “We want to be part of a group like that?” Now that would be living the dream.

Maybe it starts with small, steady steps that benefit the lives of others, like taking a meal to the woman who just came home from surgery. Or introducing ourselves to the neighbors whose names we do not know. Or reading a story to a child. Or listening to the stories of those older than ourselves. Or planting a grove of trees that could outlive us. Or offering a safe haven to someone in danger.

Shalom always begins by offering an act of kindness. I think of the woman who heard a strange noise in her neighborhood. It had been a difficult week in her town, an election week, full of all the political bluster of November. A loud noise erupted outside her home, and she went to see what it was. It was a man with a leaf blower working his way down her street. He doesn’t live nearby, but he was clearing all the leaves from everybody’s yards.

Somebody asked, “Why are you doing this?” He replied, “It’s been a difficult week, and this is a way to offer some goodness and blessing.”

Imagine that. Imagine shalom.

Let us pray.

Holy and loving God, do not allow us to be so consumed by the aggressions of this world that we cease to see what you imagine for us all. Implant within us a vision of your peace and well-being. And make that vision so attractive, enticing, and beautiful that we will work for it until the day when you make all things new. We pray this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

 

© William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

As recorded on Day 1. 

Link: https://day1.org/weekly-broadcast/6352a6926615fbf67d000085/bill-carter-living-the-dream