Sermon for December 21, 2011 - Longest Night

The carols are being played, the stores are bursting at the seams with product on display.  Lights are up around town, and everyone is talking about their Christmas plans.  Though this can be a joyful season, it can also be an isolating one, a season that makes us feel left out because there are times when we just can’t wear that same saccharine smile that is on everybody else’s face.  It might be because we have lost someone near and dear to us, and the holidays are flooded with painful memories or just a sense of something missing; it might be because the season overwhelms us with ever growing to-do lists and we long for some moment of peace and pause that we just cannot find; or it might be because our hearts are just heavy and we feel like crying, and there is just no place to share that, to let it go.

And so we come to the longest night.  Only eight hours of light boxed between sunrise, sunset, and the long dark.  And even when the sun is out, it is so low in the sky as to create the feeling of eternal dusk.  It can weigh heavily on us at times.  This year especially, not only the cold and the dark, but the damp makes a potent mix that can chill us to our very core.

And in the midst of this natural movement of the seasons, we have Christmas.  It is funny how the Holy Spirit works.  The past couple of days I have been wondering about the relationship between Christmas and the Longest night of the year, in preparation for tonight’s service.  This morning I received an email from the Center for Action and Contemplation written by Richard Rohr.  In his brief message he describes the historical view of the Winter Solstice, not as a day that embodies the death of the sun as we might think about it, but rather as the day which marks its rebirth.  For early Christians, who lived in the Northern Hemisphere, this was significant and could not be overlooked.  Christmas and the Winter Solstice used the symbol of the rebirth of the sun in the sky, as a sign of the birth of light on earth.

When it comes down to it, Christmas is about one simple story.  A story so precious and gentle, so beautiful and meaningful that it has carried on for two thousand of years.  It was not on a bright sunshiney morning that God came into the world, but rather on a dark cold night.  That is where we meet God.  On those dark cold nights, when we feel like the light of the world is barely creeping over the horizon, if at all.  In Christ, born in a stable, living with the lonely and the isolated, mourning the death of a friend and weeping in the Garden of Gethsemane, we see God’s promise being fulfilled.  We have become engraved on the divine palms, as nails driven into the cross.  God does not abandon us to the darkness alone though at times we may feel it.  God walks with us through those darkest times, carrying whatever burden we carry, weeping whenever we weep.

All the while whispering into our ears, “Oh my precious Child, wherever you walk, I will walk with you.”  Speaking to all of creation, “Oh my love, my love, wherever you go, I will go.”  Sighing with a weeping heart, “You are mine.  I am with you in all things.  You are not alone.  I am there, and my heart is breaking with your.”

Sermon for December 18, 2011 - Ramifications

The Scripture Passage for this week was Luke 1:26-38

Has anyone seen the movie Saved?  It’s a great movie, and it does a good job of pointing out some of the inherent hypocrisies of Christianity.  The story is of a young girl who goes to a Christian High School, and she discovers her boyfriend is gay.  She doesn’t know what to do, and she worries for his immortal soul.  She soon comes to the conclusion that sex before marriage is less of a sin than being gay, so she decides to have sex with her boyfriend, with the hopes that it will make him straight.  That’s the first 10 minutes.  Well, she ends up getting pregnant, and the movie goes on from there.

The persecution, the condemnation, and the judgment that she faces at school from her peers, and from the school’s principal are a key theme in the movie.  But held against that, is the love, the compassion, the Grace she receives from all the other outcasts in the school.  From the only Jewish kid at the Christian school, from the brother of the seemingly perfect Christian girl, who is a self professed agnostic, but readily points out all the hypocrisy of the school, from the principal’s son, and from her gay now ex-boyfriend.

What does it mean to be the Body of Christ in the world, and who embodies Christ more in this movie?

Last week, we spoke about the Magnificat, about Mary’s song of Joy to God.  It was a joy that swelled within her, as she experienced and encountered the wonder of God’s Grace.  We spoke about how important and yet how difficult it is to truly understand and accept that Grace which is freely offered to everyone.  We spoke about how wonderful an idea it is, that our value is not dependant upon what the world around us says about us, but is based only on the faith that we, as in all of creation, are the Beloved of God.  Our value does not come from anything we do, or anything the world says about us, it is simply a matter of faith that we have value.

That love of self is important.  It should not be confused with selfishness and egocentricity.  But rather it is a marveling at our own createdness, a respect and admiration for God’s handiwork in our very nature, and a honoring of that handiwork by devoting our lives to figuring out who we truly are.

But you may recall, I ended with some words; they might be hopefilled, they might be ominous, they might be a bit of both.  I said, “There are ramifications of such a notion.”  Since we’re continuing with Mary in our scripture readings for this week, I’d like to continue with our discussion of Grace as well, and what those ramifications are.

Today we’re going to talk about that love of the other.  I’m cautious about separating love of self and love of other.  I don’t think we can love the other as deeply as we do when we love ourselves, and I don’t think we can love ourselves as deeply as we do when we love the other.  But for the sake of practicality, today we’re talking about the love of the other. 

Once again, we need Mary’s help in this understanding of the ramifications of Grace, and how that Grace calls us to love the world.  Mary brings that love out in all of us.  She draws it forth from us, and helps us to see how possible it is.  And she does it all under the radar.

A teenage girl, pregnant out of wedlock, mystery father, from a poor village in the backside of a rebellious country in the dusty corner of the Roman Empire.  And remember from last week, by proper Law, so great was her sin that she could by all rights be stoned to death.

And we love her.  We love this social deviant, this outcast, we love this young girl who according to society did something so horrible as to deserve death in her time of history.  Gabriel is right, she is the most favored.  Not only favored by God, but favored by the world, by two thousand years of history.

And that we do hold her up is a sign of how possible grace is.  Love is possible, and not just for those we like, or agree with, or think are morally upright.  Love is possible, and fully embodied, when we realize what Grace says.  That everyone, that all of creation, has value, simply because of the love of God.

This Sunday is the fourth and final Sunday of Advent.  It is the Sunday of Love.  And what better way to celebrate love than to see how broad, and how far reaching it can be.  Yes, loving family is good.  Yes, loving friends is good.  Yes, loving our community is good.  Yes, loving ourselves is good. 

But who are the “social deviants”, who are those outsiders that we stone every day, not literally but metaphorically?  Or even literally!  How many gay kids get beaten up every day as we sit back silently?  Often it is Christians who do it!  “Send them to a special camp to get fixed.  Because it says in the bible that it is wrong.”  Yeah, well, it said in Mary’s sacred text that she should be executed, and how well would that have worked out for us?

We were able to move beyond social convention when we first held up Mary as beloved in God’s eyes and in our own eyes.  What other social conventions can we move past today?  Who else in the world needs to be held up as beloved? 

What about addicts?  What about the homeless?  And not just saying “yeah, the mentally ill ones should be helped”, but what about the ones who got there because of poor decisions?  What about our First Nations sisters and brothers?  What about prostitutes?  What about the billions of poor in the world?  What about the earth?  The earth is groaning under the weight of humanity, do we need to hold up the earth as a beloved creation of God’s, rather than as an impediment to our wealth?  Who or what are all those aspects of creation that we stone everyday, stone with our economic systems, stone with our politics, stone with our words, that deserve to be loved?

One week from now we will be celebrating Christmas.  We will be celebrating how God’s love became embodied in the world, in Jesus.  And let’s ask ourselves how that love became embodied.  Did it come into the popular crowd? Did it come in the hallways of power?  Did it come with all those perfect people who followed all the rules, and condemned anyone who didn’t?  Did it come to people who had made all the right decisions?  Did it even get a room at an inn?  Or did it come into the world in a stable, with the animals, stinking of crap, born to a woman who by all rights could have been condemned, worshipped by poor shepherds and foreigners, living, sleeping, and eating with sinners, with prostitutes, with outcasts, with people who had made mistakes in their lives, with deviants, with people no one else wanted to touch, with those who the rest of the world thought they were better than?  Did it come breaking all the rules and conventions itself?

And when you answer that, answer this, what does it mean to love?  Where is God’s love in the world?  Yes, there are ramifications of accepting God’s Grace.  Thanks be to God, Amen.

Sermon for December 11, 2011 - Mary's Revolution

Scripture Reading for this week: Luke 1:39-56

Every year in December I have a list of movies that I try to watch before Christmas.  Since it is entirely unacceptable to watch a Christmas movie in May, I think I feel I need to get it all in now, because it will be another year before I have the opportunity again.  My list contains movies like A Christmas Story, with Ralphie longing for an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-hundred Shot Range Model Air Rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time.  Scrooged and Elf are both on the list somewhere, along with a few others.

But the movie I most associate with the season is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  I have watched it every year since I was a little kid.  This wonderful movie is about a man who wants his Christmas holidays with his family to be absolutely perfect.  And as I reflected on this sermon, one scene came to mind.  Chevy Chase as Clark Griswald has spent all day with his son putting lights up on the house.  When all the work is done, he calls everyone, wife, kids, parents and in-laws out for the plugging in ceremony.  A drumroll, a loud singing of “Joy to the World!” and then… Nothing.  This moment I think defines the movie.  Clark, imagining something perfect, longing to offer and to feel that sense of Christmas joy, is sadly disappointed.

This Sunday is the Sunday of Joy.  And as I prepared for today’s service I really struggled trying to figure out what joy is and where it comes from.  Is it really about getting the right present, having the perfect meal, spending time with family and loved ones?  I think those are all wonderful things, and we should not belittle them.  But if we don’t have those, are we resigned to be joyless?  Like Clark Griswald, so often we associate our joy with the world around us, some ideal vision of how things should be.  “The only way I can be happy is if….”  Our sense of worth becomes dictated by the world.  And then we fill in the blank.

In our Gospel reading for today, we read about Mary’s encounter with her cousin Elizabeth, and more than that, we hear her wonderful and joyous song, the Magnificat.  To be honest with you, as I re-read it this week, initially, it made me a little bit mad.  “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”  I read that.  Then I read it again.  And I thought to myself, “Really? Has God done that?“ I mean maybe occasionally, but it doesn’t take long to find hungry people in the world, it doesn’t take long to look upon the faces of the lowly.

But as I reflected on this reading, I began to get a glimmer of the joy that Mary is sharing in her song.  “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant, so from now on all generations will call me blessed.”  Think about who is singing these words: a country girl, who could have been stoned by Deuteronomic law.  She wasn’t just nothing in the world, she was less than nothing.  A social deviant, a misfit, an outcast.  And yet she is singing.  She is singing about how blessed she is.  She has a powerful song of joy because she has tapped into a source of joy that is beyond the world around her.  

At its heart, the joy that resonates throughout this song, is the joy that comes with a profound and embedded acceptance of grace.  This song embodies that essential component of Christianity, Grace.  Mary has done absolutely nothing to be called blessed by all generations.  Nothing.  From the perspective of the world, she is worthless, a hell-raiser who would best serve society by being stoned to death.

But she’s experienced something.  She gets it, and it lives within her.  “I might not be worth anything to anybody else.  I might deserve to be killed in the eyes of everyone I meet.  I might have no value to the world around me.  But I am worthy.  I am worthy of dignity, of compassion, of care, I have an intrinsic value simply because God says so.  Simply because God has given me the gift of having value to the world.”

That is Christ.  That is Grace.  Mary doesn’t just carry Jesus in her womb.  She carries Christ within her heart, and that is the joy she is singing of.  The joy of someone who knows there is nothing she can do to earn God’s love, because it is there, first and foremost before we do anything,  And it is that love which makes her worthy of all the value in the world.

And we fight this!  We fight this tooth and nail because it is so counter to everything that the world wants us to believe.  Kids bullying someone in the school yard because they are different; Economic systems that say some people are of more worth than others; Social systems that say anyone who does not fit into our definition of normal (by race, or gender, or sexual orientation) is of less value; Media saying you have to look a certain way in order to be considered beautiful; Religious institutions that say you need to do this or believe certain proper dogmas in order to be considered one of the saved; these are some of the weapons we use against grace.  And they are powerful.

We fight the idea of grace, because we cannot fathom it.  Because we cannot control it.  Because it doesn’t make sense.  And we have gotten very good at fighting it.  So good that the fight even begins to invade our very selves.  We begin to question our own worth, our own value. 

I have spent a tremendous amount of time considering whether or not to go to school next year.  One of the reasons I have decided to put it off was because I looked at my own motivations.  Ministry is not the most respected position anymore, and I realized a part of me longed for that “Dr.” in front of my name so that I would be seen as more valuable by the world.

We cannot comprehend that each and every person in this room is worth no more, and no less than anyone else in the world, and yet we are all worth a tremendous amount, simply by the virtue of God’s love.  That is grace.

Now be aware.  When you let this idea wash over you.  When you contemplate the ramifications of such a notion.  When you realize the world we live in and the tremendous systems that push against the very idea of Grace.  When you understand that we do not come anywhere close to loving the way God loves, because we truly cannot comprehend how it is possible.  When you do this, you begin to see cracks in the system, you begin to see gracelessness everywhere, and you will not be the same.  You will long for the Reign of Christ, and you will live a life that tries to embody it.

The Magnificat of Mary are words of a revolution.  The powerful are brought down, and the lowly are raised up.  The coming of Christ turns the world upside down.  The rich lose what they think they have, and the hungry are filled.  A life filled with the acceptance of Grace will break through the shackles of despair, of condemnation, of judgment, and will begin to sing with that worthless young girl who we call blessed. 

Everything in creation is of intrinsic value.  That is Grace, that is love, that is joy.

Sermon for November 27, 2011 - Immanuel

The Scripture reading for this Sermon was Isaiah  64:1-9

Has anyone seen the movie 500 Days of Summer?  It’s the story of a young man, Tom, moving through the 500 days of his relationship with a woman named, Summer.  It’s one of my favorite movies.  The movie starts with his desire for the unattainable girl that works in his office, moves through their relationship and breakup.  And throughout it all, it is the story of Tom longing for something beyond himself; so much so that the movie begins with the quote “Tom believed he would never be truly happy until he found the one.”  He longs for the one. 

But it is not until he discovers that there is something within himself, that things start to happen.  A transformation occurs in his life.  He begins to see a power from within making its presence known; a power that is not dependant on anything in the world around him.  It is only as he begins to discover that true self that he becomes happy, that he becomes content, and that relationships begin to flourish.

Our scripture reading for today comes the book of Isaiah; Third Isaiah as this section is called.  Isaiah was probably written by three writers, or three groups of writers, from different times in the history of the people of Israel.  Third Isaiah is often located after the Exile into Babylon, as the Jews have returned to Israel, and are undertaking the work of reconstruction.

What we heard today was actually a psalm of lament on behalf of the entire community.  All those who had returned to the Promised Land are crying out to God in one voice, all of them longing for a response.  They have wondered where God was in the midst of their Exile, and now they wonder where God is as they go about rebuilding their home.

“We hear stories,” they cry out, “stories of mountains quaking at your presence; stories of nations trembling; stories of how you meet those who serve you, who work with you, who remember your ways!  Where are you O God?!  We long for you!  Our very being yearns to know your presence!”

As with all of our most intense emotions and feelings, that sense of longing is both wonderful and painful at the same time.  I remember when I turned nine or ten, I really wanted a Gameboy for my birthday.  I longed for one, and all day I was running around the house singing the Gameboy song from the commercial.  But I also remember the anxiety that came with it.  What if I was wrong?  I really wanted one, the prospect of not getting one was at times overwhelming.

Longing can make our minds fill with excitement at a possibility, it can make our hearts soar with the prospect of romance, it can give us energy and motivate us into some sort of action.  But it carries with it the sadness that comes with something unattained, something beyond our reach.

The Jews cry out, longing to know God again, longing to feel God’s countenance upon them.  And very often this relates to our own longing for God.  There is the wondrous hope that somehow, someway we will find what we seek, that the Holy will fill our hearts and our minds. 

But in the midst of this hope, we ourselves cry out as we look at the world around us, as we see the wars, the violence, the destruction.  We ourselves cry out as we gaze within our own hearts, as we know pain, as we know anxiety and uncertainty, fear and trepidation. 

We ourselves hear stories, of a world at peace, of justice reigning.  We ourselves hear stories of those who claim to have felt God touch their hearts, who claim to experience God every minute of every day, who claim themselves as enlightened. 

We long to have something solid to grasp onto, some voice that cries out within our hearts so loud that we can literally hear it within our ears.  “Just give me a sign, O God!  Just show me where to go, what to do, touch my soul in such a way that all doubt is banished from my being and I can rest in you!  I long for you, O God.”

At its heart, longing is trying to fill a void.  To fill some sense that a piece of me is missing, and perhaps this will fill it.

The passage from Isaiah ends with a wonderful image of God as a potter.  As the community cries out with longing, wanting to know God again, the psalmist writes,  “We are the clay and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” 

This is one of my favourite images in the bible, “we are the clay, and you are the potter.”  Isn’t that marvelous?  That image of each of us being handcrafted; every aspect of ourselves, our bodies, our hearts, our minds; our emotions, our feelings, our thoughts, our sexuality, all those things that we like about ourselves, all those things that we don’t like about ourselves, have been created and contain some indescribable aspect of the Holy.

There is something powerful in this image.  It shows us that what we truly long for, we already have; it already exists within ourselves and those around us.  As we long for a God beyond ourselves, we begin to see that God exists within ourselves.  The divine has been woven into our very being, the way a potter puts herself into her work, the way an artist puts herself into her paintings.  This is the essence of incarnation, of Immanuel, of God with us.  This is the essence of Christ that we have seen embodied in Jesus, for whom we now wait.

This is the essence of Advent, of what we are symbolically waiting for over the next few weeks.  Not the idea of a world RE-made in God’s image, but rather the knowledge that the world IS made in God’s image!  A world where we can cut through all those ideas of who we think we should be, no longer seeking solace in things beyond and see ourselves for who we truly are.  And more than that a world where we can look at others, not looking for who they should be, but looking at who they are, in all their wondrous createdness.  A world where we fill those voids of longing, with the knowledge that God exists here, in the world, and that we are a part of it.