The top of the hour glass is full again.
Maybe today really is different in certain ways.
I'll look more closely today and tomorrow.
Maybe there will be some e-piphanies.
As I sit here on New Year's Eve, reflecting on 2009 and the past decade, with enormous help from the media, I'm faced with this question: Will the new year really be new?
What's the difference between December 31 and January 1? Really? Will January 1 be any different from December 30 or June 30 or last January 1? Why is it we make such a fuss over the changing of the year or the decade, for that matter?
The fact of the matter is that even those among us who are most committed to maintaining the status quo will be engaged in some degree of revelry tonight. I suspect even many of the "stay the course" brigade will have a list of resolutions. Our lists might include things like losing weight, getting more exercise, having a healthier diet, doing a better job of recycling, gaining discipline in attending worship and saying our prayers, spending more time with the family, reading more books, joining Facebook, and being a generally all around nicer person.
I have friends who are dead set against new year's resolutions. They believe having them only sets one up for failure. That may be so, but then any resolutions, goals, or objectives do the same thing, don't they? Any attempt at change, growth, or progress involves some risk of failure. I happen to like resolutions because I believe it is better to fail trying to do something worthy than to succeed trying to do nothing.
So, with or without resolutions, I ask again, how will January 1 be any different than December 31 or any other day?
If there is a difference, maybe it is one of perception. The slate is not really going to be wiped clean, but we like to try to see it that way. And, in so doing, perhaps there is at least some extra room for something new to emerge in our consciousness, in our pattern of behavior, or in our way of life. Maybe, just maybe, looking at this particular tomorrow opens up room for something new and different. If that happens, we may understand God's words to the Prophet Isaiah, "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? (Isa. 43:19)"
So, I'm going make some resolutions. And, I'm going to look at January 1 as a different kind of day and as the start of something new – something new in my life and in the lives of those around me – and pray with all my might that God will have something to do with it so that it will not just be up to me and you. Maybe my first step, or yours, will create space for grace to see things through.
On a television program concerning the birthplace of Jesus, a commentator said, “a Christian that doesn’t believe Jesus was born in Bethlehem is a Christian without a pulse.” While he may gone a little too far in setting up such a geographical litmus test, I am intrigued with his description of “a Christian without a pulse.” What kind of Christian has no pulse? A dead one? One without a heart? One whose Christianity is all form and no substance? One who is overly invested with being right? It occurs to me that if there is any part of the Christian story that is likely to restore our pulse to us when our heart of faith stops beating or quicken it when it is weak, it must be the story of the Christ Child. I’m not talking about the sentimentality and sugar-coated department store version of the Savior. I’m talking about the version we knew best when we were children, the one we know best today when the child within us is once again touched by it with wonder, love, and praise. It doesn’t mean that we discard our questions or our theological inquiries. But it does mean that that which keeps our hearts beating within our breasts draws its life from a manger in Bethlehem. Because of that phenomenon of inner transformation, when people come among us week by week when we gather here to worship throughout the rest of the year, they will find our pulse. Our joy and witness will be palpable.
This is my Christmas wish for all of us: that tonight every one of us will recover the meekness that is the pulse of faith. It is the manger in our hearts in which Christ is born anew. It is the simplicity and receptiveness of childhood that allows us to trust the good news to be good, that builds bridges between ourselves and our Creator as well as with our neighbors, and especially those we have trouble liking. Such meekness as God expresses toward his creation. Before the God whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, yet who stoops to come under our roof, let us once again find the meekness that permits us to bow before him.
Writer Max Lucado expresses it this way as he speaks of the Holy Birth: “So… while the theologians were sleeping and the elite were dreaming and the successful were snoring, the meek (and penitent) were kneeling. They were kneeling before the One only the meek and penitent will see. They were kneeling in front of Jesus.”
Phillips Brooks has been called “the greatest American preacher of the 19th Century.” Born December 13, 1835 in Boston, he attended the Boston Latin School, Harvard University (where Phillips Brooks House was named after him), and Episcopal Theological Seminary in Alexandria, Virginia. He became an Episcopal priest in 1860, and became Rector of the Church of the Advent, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He was known for his support of freeing the slaves and allowing former slaves to vote. In 1869, he became Rector of Trinity Church in Boston. In 1872, he helped design the Trinity Church building, which today stands in Boston’s Back Bay. In 1891, he was elected and consecrated Bishop of Massachusetts. In 1865, while in the Holy Land, he was invited to assist with the midnight service on Christmas Eve. Brooks wrote about his horseback journey from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, “I remember standing in the old church in Bethlehem, close to the spot where Jesus was born, when the whole church was ringing hour after hour with splendid hymns of praise to God, how again and again it seemed as if I could hear voices I knew well, telling each other of the Wonderful Night of the Savior’s birth.” It was that blessed moment in his life that inspired him to write one of the most cherished of all Christmas carols, O Little Town of Bethlehem.
How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n;
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.
The Gospel of God begins with the Incarnation, God’s coming among us as the vulnerable Christ child. God in the flesh is the wondrous gift that is given to those whose hearts are meek enough to appreciate the gift and trusting enough to appropriate the gift. So, come. Together, let us go to Bethlehem to see this thing that has come to pass, so that we will have a pulse and so that the world of need at our doorstep will become a better place when we step into it because the pulse the world feels in us is the pulse of the One we have come to worship this Holy Night and who draws us back again and again to give us the wondrous gift.
On December 6, the music department of the University of Kansas presented the annual Vespers concert. Some people in the audience were disappointed and angered by projected images depicting figures who were assassinated and scenes of the past, particularly from the 1960's. One person wrote a letter to the Lawrence Journal World complaining that Vespers "used to be a fun and uplifting beginning to the Christmas season.
This year, someone felt the need to turn it into a political statement,
which was in extremely poor taste."
I sort of understand her reaction, but it caused me to think about what a "fun and uplifting beginning to the Christmas season" we've been having during Advent: warnings from Jesus about the end times, a call to repentance by John the Baptizer, Zephaniah's message about restoration of those who are victims of oppression, and, finally, next Sunday, Mary's Song, with its images of scattering the proud, casting down the mighty, and sending the rich away empty-handed. Merry Christmas, indeed!
If the lady was "disappointed and angry" about the KU Vespers, I wonder how she feels about Advent?
Of course the message of Advent and Christmas is one of hope, light, joy, love, and peace. But all of that comes with a price. It is quite possibly the most revolutionary political message of history. I'm not sure the KU music department, with all due respect, could possibly cast a more political statement regarding Christ's birth than that which is found within the pages of the Holy Bible.
The late Roman Catholic activist Dorothy Day wrote the following message regarding the revolutionary and ever-contemporary reality of Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word of God:
There is no use in saying that we've been born 2,000 years too late to welcome Christ. On the contrary, it is with the voices of our contemporaries that he speaks. With the eyes of store clerks and children, he looks at us. With the hands of slum dwellers and suburban housewives, he reaches out. He walks with the feet of the soldier and the tramp. With the heart of all in need, he longs for us to shelter him. And, the giving of shelter or food or welcome to anyone who asks or needs it, is giving to Christ and making room for his holiness to dwell within.
Have you seen any homeless, hungry people lately? Is there plenty of emergency shelter from the cold for people who are living on the street, or is there "no room at the inn?" Do all the children have warm clothes and plenty to eat? Are there political entities that are making matters worse instead of better for the most marginalized and vulnerable of our neighbors? If we make it harder on them, will they just go away?
According to the Herald Angel, the message of Christmas is supposed to be good news for "all the people." The way I read it, God's gracious intention is to bring about universal liberation, spiritual, emotional, and physical, and God's Church is the primary instrument of that liberation. Sometimes that means we have to use our material resources and at other times it means we have to speak a prophetic word.
Come, Lord Jesus! Liberate the liberators! Be born anew in us so that we can make your good news an incarnate reality for others – not just at Christmas, but every day.
On Tuesday evening of this week, I attended the ordination of William Breedlove to the Sacred Order of Priests at St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church in Mission, Kansas. A fine congregation of lay persons, priests, deacons, and the Bishop of Kansas were there to set this man apart for priestly work in Christ's one holy catholic Church.
Throughout my ministry, the hangings and vestments used for ordinations have been red, symbolizing the Holy Spirit and the ministry of the Apostles. However, on this occasion, we were asked to wear white. The explanation that was given was that it was to emphasize the relationship of Holy Orders to Holy Baptism.
Perhaps it was the change of color that nudged my consciousness and caused me to hear certain elements of the service in new ways. For example, at the beginning of the portion of the liturgy referred to as The Examination, Bishop Wolfe read these words from the Book of Common Prayer:
My brother, the Church is the family of God, the body of Christ, the temple of the Holy Spirit. All baptized people are called to make Christ known as Savior and Lord, and to share in the renewing of his world.
It was as if I heard those words for the very first time. Everything that follows in the liturgy emphasizes the priestly work of nourishing Christ's people from the riches of his grace for the building up of the family of God so that all may fulfill the calling we all share by virtue of our Baptism, to "make Christ known as Savior and Lord, and to share in the renewing of his world."
These are truly powerful words about a powerful force set loose in the world! May we reflect on them as we enter the time of Advent when we offer Ember Day prayers for those in Holy Orders, those discerning a call to ordained ministry, and all Christians in their vocation. December Ember Days are Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday following December 13 (St. Lucy's Day). The Book of Common Prayer offers three prayers for use on those days. Here is the one that applies to all the Baptized:
Almighty and everlasting God, by whose Spirit the whole body of your faithful people is governed and sanctified: Receive our supplications and prayers, which we offer before you for all members of your holy Church, that in their vocation and ministry they may truly and devoutly serve you; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
Our family from Russellville, Arkansas visited us in Lawrence over the Thanksgiving holidays. On Friday, we had an outing that took us along the "Farmers Turnpike" over to Lecompton, the territorial capital of Kansas, just west of here. Since neither of our vehicles could acomodate six people, we took both cars. The two nephews, Jake and Jon, were with Gay and me and their parents, Joy and Gregg, followed in their car.
Our route took us over the oxbow lake. As we crossed over it, I noticed a bald eagle sitting on a tree limb. I pointed out the window so Joy and Greg could see the eagle. They nodded and after a minute or so, we drove on. When we arrived in Lecompton, I said, "wasn't the bald eagle a surprise?" They replied, "what bald eagle?" They thought I was pointing at the lake.
On the return trip, we went back to the oxbow lake to see if the eagle was still there. When we arrived, there were two of them! They were calling to each other. Joy took this great photo of one of the pair.
There's an epiphany in this event. Sometimes, we have to revisit an experience in order to get the full effect. Often, the experience is twice as rich as the original when we look again. Even more so if we miss the point the first time! It's the same when we catch a glimpse of God's hand at work in our lives. If we'll look closely, it becomes a moment of wonder, an occasion of praise, an opportunity for transformation, an experience of love divine.
My friend, Deacon Patty Minx, and I had a Facebook chat this morning regarding the subject of Advent waiting. She pointed out that while we are waiting on God, God is also waiting on us. That, too, is a very helpful insight, and one that came because we revisited the matter of waiting, seeing past our own experience to God's experience of us. Moreover, it is moving to be reminded that Advent and Christmas have to do with God coming to us and arriving when we least expect it.
I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew
he moved my soul to seek him, seeking me;
it was not I that found, O Savior true;
no, I was found of thee.
Many of us have just spent some time gathered around the table with our
families and close friends for a Thanksgiving feast. This may be a
teachable moment, when we can connect the dots that form a picture of
family life and family identity.
Families seem busier now than
when I was a child. It's easy to understand, particularly with more
two-career households, more activities for children and youth, and
significant shifts in cultural values. When something has to give,
family meals may fall by the wayside. And yet, family meals are not
only a time for strengthening family ties and keeping track of your
children's lives, they can actually lead to better physical and mental
health for your children and for the entire family.
Studies in
recent years have concluded that family meals are a central feature in
better nutrition, mental health, academic achievement, vocabulary,
parenting, and family life in general. Many of us can recall how we
learned the story of our family and came to an understanding of our
place in that family while sitting at the table with our families.
Have
you noticed that as the trend away from family dining has increased,
worship patterns on Sundays have also changed? I suspect the same
factors that make it more difficult to gather the family around the
dinner table also make it more difficult for Christians to gather
around the Lord's Table. I invite you to consider that the health and
well-being of the Church is impacted by regular worship in ways that
are similar to ways our families are impacted by regular family meals.
When God calls us together as to recall the family story and share in
the family meal, we are nourished and formed as Christians. We remember who and
whose we are.
Maybe the adage, "The Family That Prays Together
Stays Together," is not so trite after all. I do understand that many
people do not have good memories of family and home. Many have not
found the church family all that wonderful either. However, there is
universal hunger for a sense of belonging and identity that we might
call "family feeling." Those who have found surrogate families will
tell you how much it means. Those who have returned to their church
families or found new ones will tell you how it has impacted their
spiritual journey.
Now is a good time to pause and reflect on
the busyness of our lives and consider what valuable times with our
families and our church family have been crowded out. If we are too
busy to gather around the table – at home or at church – maybe we are
just too busy for our own good and the good of those whose lives are
closely linked with ours. At home and at church, we need that time
together!
I was visiting with my friend Lynn and we were talking about how people from my part of the country are inclined to like spicy food. The topic of Tabasco sauce, that distinctive hot elixer cooked up by the McIlhenny family down in Avery Island, Louisiana, came up. Lynn said she could never understand why her brother put Tabasco sauce on lasagna. I told her that was unthinkable. She said, "Right. It ruins the flavor of the lasagna." "No, I said, "it ruins the flavor of the Tabasco sauce."
Sometimes we see things from different perspectives, depending upon where we stand. Some may think the influence of the Christian faith ruins the flavor of the culture in which we live. Someone else may conclude that the culture in which we live might ruin the flavor of the Christian disciple. Let's try to keep ourselves spicy!
While at the Diocese of Kansas Gathering of Presbyters last week at the Spiritual Life
Center in Wichita, I saw The Last Supper depicted in some small
porcelain figurines around a small table on a shelf near the
Refectory. Someone (probably one of my colleagues) had rearranged the
figures in an interesting way. Instead of Jesus being seated in the center and all the disciples gathered around him, Jesus was positioned at the corner of the table, extending bread-filled hands outward, while the disciples were all centered on themselves. There is an epiphany here!
Do the disciples of Jesus have a tendency to mistake deliberation for mission? Are we too busy with our meetings to offer the Bread of Life to the world at our doorstep? Are we too focused on feeding ourselves to be useful to our Lord in feeding the multitudes? How can we who receive him become a sacrament to a world in need?
I just returned from the Diocese of Kansas Gathering of Presbyters. We met at a very nice Roman Catholic retreat center in Wichita from noon Monday until noon Thursday. Shortly after we convened on Monday afternoon, one of our presbyters told us that she and her husband were observing their wedding anniversary. She asked us to sing a stanza of I Can't Help Falling In Love With You into her mobile phone as their home answering device was recording her call. The idea was that her husband would receive the message with our singing when he arrived home after work.
Today, she told us the result of that call. It seems her husband was very tired when he arrived home and he'd listened to the message with the singing but didn't think too much about it. She had left another message explaining that the singers were her fellow presbyters. He did not hear the second message. Later in the evening, after he rested awhile, he returned to the voicemail and listened to the explanatory message. He called her and told her that, not having had the explanation before he heard the song, he thought she had held her mobile phone near a CD player with the music playing on it. He was very touched and amazed when he learned it was actually about fifty presbyters singing the song. He said, "I thought it was one voice."
One Voice! A metaphor for Christian unity! An affirmation of the unity and collegiality we share! A testimony to the tether of the Spirit drawing us together. A sign of promise for our Church when her priests are able to join their voices into one! A relief from the discordant tones we've heard so often! Distinctly different voices wondrously joined into one!
One Voice! May our song continue and may many others join the chorus! I am grateful for the experience of collegiality of these priests and Bishop Dean Wolfe who shepherds us.