Born

a Sermon for Christmas Day A
Text: Luke 2:1-20

[Note: the original sermon was preached from sparse notes. What follows is a reinvisioning based on those notes.]

GOD of Hope and Wonder, you gave us the greatest gift of the season: yourself. Be with us as a parent and child, that we might love you and one another so unconditionally. Amen.

Origins
We love origin stories. We love to know where things come from, and what in our past drives us today. Comics shoot up in price when a character’s origin is featured. The most popular episodes of TV shows are the ones that flashback to a poignant moment in a character’s life.

Jesus’s origin story is no different. We love responding to the question of where Jesus came from. What is interesting is that the four canonical gospels give us very different options.

1. Mark has no origin story, beginning with Jesus as an adult.
2. John begins with the creation of the world and speaks about the origin of Jesus’s ministry.
3. Matthew gives the birth story and then speaks of the wisemen and the flight into Egypt.
4. Luke offers the birth story (this time with shepherds) as well as a later trip to Jerusalem for the 12 year-old Jesus and his parents.

Because of this devotion to origin stories, we might give more interest to the beginnings of things, than where they actually go.

The Reason
I’m sure you’ve seen this cliché somewhere or heard someone say it. I saw this week on the sign outside of a real estate office. It says “Jesus is the reason for the season”. Reason for the season? What does Jesus really have to do with Santa Clause and mistletoe and gift giving? This season in which we storm the stores and gobble up ridiculous stuff and then give it to people who don’t need one more thing cluttering their lives: Jesus is the reason for that? Really?

Okay, that may be a bit cheeky, but so is a little rhyme that is supposed to remind us, not of our faith, but of that pastoral image of a little baby born. But this story isn’t supposed to be the beginning—the origin story—but the middle chapter. The story is a story of relationship between GOD and the people, and the introduction of Jesus serves as an important moment in the midst of that relationship.

The Event
So let’s put on our thinking caps for a moment. Let’s all pretend to be world-class theologians and think about this actual event. And ponder what it really means. We might drift a little close to heresy, but what fun would it be if we didn’t?

Let’s think about what the second person of the trinity is doing with these observant Jews that accept GOD’s call for them, to bring the king into this world.

1. GOD chose to give up omnipotence to be human
2. GOD didn’t become an adult, but a small, vulnerable child

GOD accepted the human process, of growing in the womb, coming through the birth canal, and facing the cold, bright, frightening reality of birth. The divine deity accepted complete and total vulnerability and utter dependence on its chosen parents. Part of me believes we don’t have stories of Jesus’s early life in the canonical gospels because we don’t want to envision our GOD as helpless, swaddled, and crying for milk or attention.

And just as profound, GOD chose to be a child to Mary, not just a parent to her.

Our Event
We celebrate this day a GOD who loves us enough to share in our experience.
Who came to us 2000 years ago and still comes to us today.
Who invites us to love each other with familial love.
Who loves the poor and unlovable—and yet still has room to love us.

May GOD’s peace be with you this day and always.

Where's the Fire?

a Sermon for Advent 3A
Text: Matthew 11:2-11

[Note: the original sermon was preached from sparse notes. What follows is a reinvisioning based on those notes.]

GOD of Hope and Wonder, you invite us into waiting and watching. Help us to see in our expectations true joy and new understanding. Amen.

John
Where’s the fire? Where’s the fire, Jesus? You promised me a fire and a cleansing of the world. You said it! So where’s the fire, Jesus?

John speaks from anger, hurt, anxiety, fear—has he wasted all this time? Has his ministry of preparing the way for this Messiah, this liberator and conqueror been in vain? Because…well…look at this guy. Jesus sure wasn’t matching John’s expectations of a liberator and a conqueror. The very word

Messiah=military leader.

And let’s speak plainly here: John is a man of action. He most certainly would do the work of GOD himself—not send his disciples instead. What kind of Messiah is this Jesus, that lets the disciples do the dirty work?

The Baby
In this season of expectation, we have the opposite expectation. Who are we expecting? A fragile baby. An innocent, innocuous baby that can’t threaten us or frighten us or challenge us or transform us. We expect the innocent pastoral image of a baby welcomed into the world by loving parents.

So John expected a powerful conqueror and received a healer.
We expect a healer and forget about the conqueror.

Jesus
After John’s people leave, Jesus turns to the crowd and asks them about John. He asks three times: “What did you go out [into the wilderness] to see?”
A prophet!
And what did you find?
A prophet!

Jesus isn’t just messing with our expectations, he is inviting us to deal with them. Because, once we see something, we are changed by it. He says that what they found was more than a prophet—a way prepared for them to follow. A road is being paved for us.

Advent is a season of waiting and watching, of expecting and seeing.

The opportunity to watch something is the opportunity to process something. To prepare ourselves for that road. It is the opportunity to be changed—and transformed forever.

Mark Bozzuti-Jones, in his Advent devotional, compares Advent to an expectant mother. That this season of waiting and anticipation is also a season of planning and dreaming and hoping; a season of cleaning and building and gathering. We are changed in the waiting.

For many of us that have had the fortune of being part of a child’s birth, it isn’t in the birth where the real transformation occurs, it is in the expectation.

Birth Stories

a Sermon for Christmas Eve

Text: Luke 2:1-20

One of the interesting things about childbirth is the talking afterward—being able to share in your birth story. I could have told you that a year ago as Rose and I were preparing to have our beautiful daughter, Sophia. Everyone seemed eager to share their birth stories—many of which involved children that are fully-grown. As new parents, we enjoy sharing in our birth story.

Jesus’s birth story doesn’t really get the full treatment, does it? It says simply:

“While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”

We don’t get to hear about Mary’s labor or the circumstances of the delivery. We don’t get to hear who cut the umbilical cord or how they stopped the bleeding. I’ve read that if you give birth at department store or in a cave, you should use shoelaces to tie off the cord. I don’t think that’s what they used. For a birth story, that’s pretty uninspiring—probably wouldn’t make A Baby Story. I’m sure there are ways that Luke could have given us a little more pizzazz. What did the inn keeper look like and how was his “sorry, guys” delivered? Did he say it with irritation? “If I made an exception for you, I’d have to make it for everybody!” Did he say it with condescension? “You know, there’s a pretty nice barn around the corner—you might be a little more…comfortable there.” I’m just curious. In any event, Mary and Joseph’s birth story seems to be a bit short.

What we get instead is a thorough conversation between an angel and shepherds. In this part, we actually get some dialogue! Some action! We get the angel appearing out of nowhere and he gives them their instructions and then suddenly there’s a whole posse of angels singing. And then it says something funny: it says “When the angels had left them”…as if they wanted to make a grand entrance and then wander home. Maybe they had to hoof it. Anyway, all of this action and all of this dialogue gives us the fireworks of the story.

But before we go any further, I have to tell you something. The angel didn’t appear to random people. He didn’t stop some yahoos on the street. He picked out shepherds in the field. You probably have the wrong impression of shepherds. Growing up on Christmas pageants where little 7 year-old boys get to play shepherds gives each of us a certain mental image. And our image of Jesus as shepherd gives a certain regal flair to the job. But shepherds aren’t the cool kids in school. They’re lower class workers who sleep in the fields with their sheep. They’re people that wouldn’t be allowed in most places because they smell funny. To take this impression even further, over the course of the first two chapters of Luke, angels appear to Mary and Elizabeth and to shepherds. We’re not talking about powerful movers and shakers—the corporate CEOs and Wall Street bankers here, but a girl, an old woman, and day laborers.

And it’s hard with our pastoral picture of the manger scene, with our adoration of this brand new baby born to the world, to think about what it means. To think about the innocence of birth and of childhood in the context of the whole gospel.

My favorite scene in Talladega Nights has Will Ferrill’s character, Ricky Bobby praying for that sweet baby Jesus—the Jesus of birth and of Christmas—the Jesus that is innocent and can’t be held accountable for what the adult Jesus says and does. The baby Jesus isn’t confrontational or difficult or rebellious or argumentative. He is purely sweet and innocent and not the Jesus we know.

Except that he is. He is the adult Jesus. We don’t celebrate tonight only the birth of Jesus as if He were reborn again in a couple of hours, just as he was born again this time last year. We celebrate Jesus’s birth. We celebrate this moment in time where God said something to the effect of: “These people need a pick-me-up”. And God, the Great Mystery, joined us on earth in a new way—a way that is different even than God’s presence at creation. Remember in Genesis 3:8 it says “They heard the sound of the LORD God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze” as God is walking around the Garden looking for Adam and Eve. This is completely different. This birth, growth, living, death. This the whole kittencaboodle of the life package.

But remember, the text doesn’t dwell on Jesus’s birth, right? It doesn’t say “Jesus was born,” but that “[Mary] gave birth to her firstborn son.” Jesus is referenced only as Mary’s firstborn son. Even Jesus’s birth, God’s birth in a human person, isn’t the centerpiece, is it? And really, poor Mary, the mother doesn’t get the literary backpatting for her part either. It’s the shepherds—those day laborers that propel this story. It’s the shepherds who not only believe the angel and follow the angel’s instructions, but race to see this miracle baby. They race to see who is going to lead them. Think about that for a second. In Roman occupied territory, in a land in which the emperor calls himself King and “Son of God”, these shepherds are running to the mangerside of this little baby boy. I could imagine if these guys were royalty and the baby born was a legitimate heir to Henry VIII or something, right? But this is the Messiah, in Greek, literally anointed by God. This is the big one.

The way this story is told, the way it is set up, isn’t supposed to be simple and easy. It is to showcase the choice—the biggest choice in their (and our) lives—which god are we to follow: the one we call simply, God or the Roman Emperor. The shepherds lead us to the right choice, don’t they? Isn’t that what they’re there for?

The Christmas story is scandalous and troubling. It overturns the order of things and suggests opposites—a leader born among animals, the marginalized are given awesome responsibilities, and the upper crust and the in-the-know are left ignorant of what’s going on. That shepherds are given the authority of attending to Mary and Joseph shortly after the birth of the Messiah is unbelievable. This is what choosing God is like. It is trusting, following, and running to find the anointed one with such exuberance that it can’t be contained. It is telling, professing, and proclaiming the good news of what has happened. It is finding, rejoicing, and worshipping God for all that has occurred.

This scandalous Christmas story is about Jesus without talking about Jesus. It is about how we relate to Him, and therefore God. It’s about us and our choice to follow the unconventional God, revealed through unconventional messengers. It’s about how we relate to a world that makes so much sense to us and seduces us with the promise of wealth, power, and prestige. It’s about simultaneously resisting temptation and giving up control. The Jesus revealed to us on Christmas is an innocent and beautiful baby; it is also the Jesus of life and death—the Jesus of growth and suppression—the Jesus of happiness and sorrow. The Jesus revealed tonight is the Christ born and crucified. The Jesus revealed tonight is the Jesus we meet in our neighbors, our loved ones, and our guests and in strangers and enemies.

May we behold Jesus, the source of good news and great joy, revealed to us in the miracle of birth. Amen.