a service by Carrie Eikler
with Hannah Kalend, Sarah Kalend, and Jensen Scott
Throughout Advent we have talked about preparing for the Christ child by exploring the many faces of God that come alive in Jesus: the hidden face of God, the comforting face of God, the restoring face of God, and the indwelling face of God. Tonight, as we prepare to see the face of God in the Christmas story, the human face of God, we cannot take ourselves out of the equation. The young girl Mary was given a message that she should bear all of this into the world. And we might wonder, as she prepared to bring the Christ child into the world,
what are all the faces Mary wore?
Mary is not a flat character in the Christmas story. She is not simply a willing recipient of God’s command. At times she does simply accept, but at times she is terrified…and at times she claims that what could be a horrible situation, she will use to show how God loves those just like her, those who society would reject.
These are not different than the many responses we may have when called to bear Christ in the world. We may acquiesce, we may be terrified, we may be joyful! Likely, throughout our walk of discipleship, we will feel all of these: joy, embarrassment, ambivalence, fear, confusion. We can find solace with Mary, that while we might not carry the Christ within us as a baby, we join her in someway, bringing Christ into the world.
I invite you to hear the stories of Mary, the range of her emotions. This night in your life of discipleship, how do you relate to the different faces of Mary? What pain and fear, or joy and thanksgiving accompany you, as you bear Christ into the world? Our God invites you to join Mary, and bring these to the manger tonight.
(*Monologues written by Peter Slofstra, Reformed Worship, September 2001)
Matthew 1:18-25
FEARFULLY PREGNANT
Right now I am very alone.
At first I felt a little skeptical, like Sarah when the angel told Abraham she would have a baby. Wondered what on earth was going on. [Chuckles]
A girl of thirteen should answer back to an angel? I have to admit I was a bit proud of having been chosen by God for such a special task . . . for all of, maybe, five minutes.
“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it happen to me just as you say.”
Then I told my mother, “I have seen an angel! He had a message for me.”
Mother was more concerned with preparing dinner for the men. “Mary,” she said, “bring me some oil. Bring the flour.” She was too busy then to hear about an angel’s message.
She did stop to listen when I told her about the baby.
“Mother, it is not going to be Joseph’s baby.” [Realizes what she is saying, breaks off]
And that’s when I began to realize that while I might be blessed among women, it was a very mixed blessing.My mother lives in disgrace. My father wants to know who the father is. “I’ll beat him within an inch of his life,” he screams.
Luke 1:26-37
GREATLY TROUBLED
Joseph came to talk to me today. Now I am very much alone.
He looked so sad, not angry as I thought he might be. Sad. For himself. For me. For the baby. We were betrothed.
He was struggling. Wanting not to believe the voices in the marketplace. Wanting to believe me. Oh, how I need him to believe me!
But he said that he could only believe his own eyes.
I feel utterly abandoned. Even by God. I cannot understand why God has supposedly chosen me for the highest honor ever bestowed on a woman but has allowed my family and friends to totally reject me. If it were not for the evidence growing daily inside me, I would doubt the whole thing. The baby and I are in grave danger.
My father sold some of our animals recently, and the rumor is spreading that the money was used to buy Joseph’s silence.
When I mentioned that my cousin Elizabeth is also having a baby, my father thought it would be wise—and safer—for me to visit her. I can assist her during her own preparations—after all, she is not exactly young.
The angel himself told me that Elizabeth was pregnant! I hope she will believe me.
Luke 1:38-45
DEEPLY TRUSTING
She looked at me and said, “Mary! What a blessing to see you, my dear!”
How ready I was to hear those words.
I had traveled with a caravan down to Judea. My father supplied me with a donkey. You can imagine Elizabeth’s surprise when I arrived.
[Reflects] She called me a blessing. What a change from what the people back home were saying!
“And you, also, Elizabeth. Adonai sar shalom. Blessing be yours, and God’s peace within your walls.”
Elizabeth couldn’t wait to tell me her news. A woman at her age, barren for years, now pregnant in her sixth month.
She was surprised to hear that I already knew. Who would have thought that an angel would have spread such wonderful gossip!
I was surprised to hear that Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, had met Gabriel too.
I told her, “Gabriel came to tell me that I am also to be a mother. Elizabeth, I am to bear the Messiah.”
Then Elizabeth winced. I quickly came close to support her. She said she’d just felt the strongest kick ever.
And then something amazing happened. Elizabeth became filled with the Spirit of God. She said, “Mary, my dear, you are blessed among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! How fortunate I am to have the mother of my Lord come to me. The babe that kicks within me is leaping for joy to hear your voice.”
First, the angel called me blessed, and now Elizabeth. Even her unborn baby knew!
Looking at the beautiful smile on her face, I remembered Gabriel’s words, “For nothing is impossible with God.”
Luke 1:46-56
VERY JOYFUL
I’m bursting with God-news;I’m dancing the song of my Savior God.God took one good look at me, and look what happened—I’m the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten, the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
He remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It’s exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Preparation
sermon by Carrie Eikler
with solos by Jacob Lewellen
Luke 1:47-662 Samuel 7:1-11
People, look east. The time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the guest, is on the way.
In 1928, Eleanor Farjeorn wrote the text and tune to one of my favorite Advent hymns, People Look East. Bringing together the festive preparations of one's home with the faithful preparation of one's heart for Christ, the guest, she somehow ties up all the tricky feelings I have around Christmas. Like-- love the decorations, the smells, the bells, the parties, what many would call "the trappings" of the season.
And as I think about preparing my home for Christmastime, it leads me to wonder, how am I preparing myself to again receive the meaning of the Christ-child into my life? At our Simplicity Circle last Saturday night, we were discussing rituals handed down to us, or ones we have created in order to reclaim some of the perspective during the Christmas season. Sue Overman shared a story: when her children will little, they found an old manger--or something to work as a manger--and a bale of straw from the Yoder’s. All throughout Advent, when the children did something kind, or helpful, or good they were able to take some straw from the straw bale and lay it in the manger. By the kind and generous acts of the children, they were in a way, helping prepare a place for the baby Jesus, not just in the manger, but in their hearts and lives as well.
But preparation is a complicated thing. As much as we may talk about Advent being a time of preparing, we know that Christmas comes anyway whether or not we are prepared. But what if we took it seriously? What if we thought of Jesus as in the hymn, as Love, a guest who is coming to dwell with us? There are things we would want to do to make ourselves ready, not because our guest won't come if the cobwebs of our soul aren't swept away, or the dust of our spirits brushed aside. But, because we know that when we've prepared, we enjoy the grace of the company of our guest, and we are more comfortable dwelling with one another. People look east and sing today; Love the guest is on the way.
Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there:
Give up your strength the seed to nourish,
That in course the flower may flourish.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the rose, is on the way.
In talking about houses we are presented with a minor conflict in our reading from 2nd Samuel today, a conflict of interest between King David and God. At this point in Israel’s history, David has secured his kingdom as well as a palace for himself. Up to this point, the Israelites have been carrying the Ark of the Covenant wherever they went on their nomadic journeys. This ark was believed to house the spirit of the Lord. When they were stable for a while, the ark resided not in a permanent temple, but in a tent, or tabernacle, that could be raised and lowered as the need presented itself.
But now that David feels secure in his kingship, he would like to build a temple for the Lord, which was not an unwise political move. Ancient Near Eastern kings would often engage in temple building to legitimize their rule and ensure favor from their gods. But it would be David’s son, Solomon, who would build this grand temple in Jerusalem, not David. In fact, God lovingly chastised David, through the prophet Nathan, essentially saying, “I haven’t had a house up till now, what makes you think I need one?”
In fact, the LORD seems to prefer the movable system, saying it allowed him to be among the people. This divine freedom appears threatened by the idea of a permanent residence, and as commentator Bruce Birch explores the idea of building a temple is treated as an “attempt to domesticate and control the presence of God.” (NIB, 1257). So to David’s lofty ambitions, God responds with a proposal of a different house.
It is through David that God proposes to build not a house of worship, but a house of descendents. It is through David’s line that God will multiply and build a people who will worship and house God in their very beings, almost as if it is in their blood. God’s desire to be among the people may just in fact translate into God being within the people. And for the early Christians, who look at the life of Jesus, this promise becomes clear in a new way. The seed that will be nourished with God’s presence will flourish not in the bricks and mortar building, but the flesh and blood people, and most intimately, and most clearly in the life and love of one person. People look east and sing today, love the rose is on the way.
Stars keep the watch. When night is dim,
one more light the bowl shall brim,
shining beyond the frosty weather,
bright as sun and moon together.
People look east and sing today;
Love, the Star, is on the way.
So I wonder what Mary thinks about all this. What does it mean to her that her betrothed, Joseph, is in David’s line, that an angel has just told her she would bear a child without regard that she is a virgin, and that she is in all senses housing the messiah in her womb? Her people have been occupied for generations, the glory days of David’s kingdom is in the distant past! Who is she to give birth to the one who would save her people?
The author of Luke acknowledges the social humiliation of what it would mean for Mary to be an unwed mother. He purposefully transforms the shameful situation into a story of exaltation, in the words we heard today…Mary’s Magnificat. In accepting the bitterness of her situation, she realizes that even lines of kings and wealthy men have nothing on the God who loves the poor and sets the captives free, who looks on the lowly with thanksgiving. And if we needed more proof, just take a look at Jesus’ genealogy as recorded in Matthew.
Now if you have ever read the first chapter of Matthew you will know it begins as a rambling account of fathers begetting sons, 14 verses of generally meaningless names to many of us. There are names of men who we read found favor with God, and men who were less than idyllic forebears to the chosen one. But interestingly, in what is generally a male-dominated account of proving Jesus’ ties to the royal David dynasty, there are four women mentioned, aside from Mary. I don’t blame you if you missed it, because generally we like to skip over the boring genealogy to get to the good stuff.
But in the genealogy there is Tamar, a woman whose used sexual power against her father-in-law in order to assure the rights coming to her as a widow; Rahab, who is a prostitute; Ruth, who is an foreigner and is devoted to her mother-in-law even in the face of new marriage; and the wife of Uriah who is known to us as Bathsheba, another sexually promiscuous woman whose illicit affair with King David bore a son.
This is the house that God has chosen to dwell in. These are men and women that were not embarrassing enough to sweep under the rug, but human enough to nail down in writing!
We are the house that God has chosen to dwell in! So even if we think we’re not where we should be, or where we want to be, or the perfect vessels to do ministry, or to do justice, or to do mercy, we are reminded that preparation and perfection are not the same thing.
So maybe it’s not a matter of being 100% prepared to be a house for God, but the act of preparing that is the real transformative work. Mary prepares: in the midst of social stigma and without seeing her child, she prophetically proclaims her love for God and willingness to be used by God…she prepares. Tamar, and Rahab, and Bathsheba and Ruth prepare: when they accept God working through them to teach us something in spite of desperate decisions or by simply being an outsider…they prepare. Even King David prepares: when he steps back from plans that may only serve his desire to show political strength…he prepares to begin the message that God dwells brightly with the people. People look east and sing today, Love, the Star, is on the way
Angels announce with shouts of mirth
him who brings new life to earth.
Set ev’ry peak and valley humming
with the word, the Lord is coming.
People look east and sing today;
Love, the Lord, is on the way.
And we? It’s not a question about if we are prepared to receive Christ, but how we are preparing to receive him. How do we make room for Christ in our daily living? How do we acknowledge our bodies as vessels of the Christ? How do we treat our world as the home where God dwells, on earth as it is in heaven? It’s one thing to think about receiving a tiny baby Jesus, with the warm feelings of Christmas cards and lyrics that paint a silent night. But it’s another to think, how we are preparing to be houses for the man who will challenge us, startle us, move us towards discipleship, and live and die with us as all human beings live and die. How do we prepare ourselves for receiving that Jesus?
It’s all in the preparation, and the assurance that in spite of our flaws, our cobwebs and dust bunnies, our skeletons in the closet, God already made the decision to come to us and dwell within us.
As we prepare to move into a time of waiting worship, hear these words from poet Ann Weems—(Kneeling in Bethlehem, 13)
Our God is the One who comes to us
in a burning bush,
in an angel's song,
in a newborn child.
Our God is the One who comes cannot be found
locked in the church,
not even in the sanctuary.
Our God will be where God will be
with no constraints,
no predictability.
Our God lives where our God lives,
and destruction has no power
and even death cannot stop
the living.
Our God will be born where God will be born,
but there is no place to look for the One who comes to us.
When God is ready
God will come
even to a godforsaken place
like a stable in Bethlehem.
Watch...
for you know not when God comes.
Watch, that you might be found
whenever
wherever
God comes.
with solos by Jacob Lewellen
Luke 1:47-662 Samuel 7:1-11
People, look east. The time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the guest, is on the way.
In 1928, Eleanor Farjeorn wrote the text and tune to one of my favorite Advent hymns, People Look East. Bringing together the festive preparations of one's home with the faithful preparation of one's heart for Christ, the guest, she somehow ties up all the tricky feelings I have around Christmas. Like-- love the decorations, the smells, the bells, the parties, what many would call "the trappings" of the season.
And as I think about preparing my home for Christmastime, it leads me to wonder, how am I preparing myself to again receive the meaning of the Christ-child into my life? At our Simplicity Circle last Saturday night, we were discussing rituals handed down to us, or ones we have created in order to reclaim some of the perspective during the Christmas season. Sue Overman shared a story: when her children will little, they found an old manger--or something to work as a manger--and a bale of straw from the Yoder’s. All throughout Advent, when the children did something kind, or helpful, or good they were able to take some straw from the straw bale and lay it in the manger. By the kind and generous acts of the children, they were in a way, helping prepare a place for the baby Jesus, not just in the manger, but in their hearts and lives as well.
But preparation is a complicated thing. As much as we may talk about Advent being a time of preparing, we know that Christmas comes anyway whether or not we are prepared. But what if we took it seriously? What if we thought of Jesus as in the hymn, as Love, a guest who is coming to dwell with us? There are things we would want to do to make ourselves ready, not because our guest won't come if the cobwebs of our soul aren't swept away, or the dust of our spirits brushed aside. But, because we know that when we've prepared, we enjoy the grace of the company of our guest, and we are more comfortable dwelling with one another. People look east and sing today; Love the guest is on the way.
Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there:
Give up your strength the seed to nourish,
That in course the flower may flourish.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the rose, is on the way.
In talking about houses we are presented with a minor conflict in our reading from 2nd Samuel today, a conflict of interest between King David and God. At this point in Israel’s history, David has secured his kingdom as well as a palace for himself. Up to this point, the Israelites have been carrying the Ark of the Covenant wherever they went on their nomadic journeys. This ark was believed to house the spirit of the Lord. When they were stable for a while, the ark resided not in a permanent temple, but in a tent, or tabernacle, that could be raised and lowered as the need presented itself.
But now that David feels secure in his kingship, he would like to build a temple for the Lord, which was not an unwise political move. Ancient Near Eastern kings would often engage in temple building to legitimize their rule and ensure favor from their gods. But it would be David’s son, Solomon, who would build this grand temple in Jerusalem, not David. In fact, God lovingly chastised David, through the prophet Nathan, essentially saying, “I haven’t had a house up till now, what makes you think I need one?”
In fact, the LORD seems to prefer the movable system, saying it allowed him to be among the people. This divine freedom appears threatened by the idea of a permanent residence, and as commentator Bruce Birch explores the idea of building a temple is treated as an “attempt to domesticate and control the presence of God.” (NIB, 1257). So to David’s lofty ambitions, God responds with a proposal of a different house.
It is through David that God proposes to build not a house of worship, but a house of descendents. It is through David’s line that God will multiply and build a people who will worship and house God in their very beings, almost as if it is in their blood. God’s desire to be among the people may just in fact translate into God being within the people. And for the early Christians, who look at the life of Jesus, this promise becomes clear in a new way. The seed that will be nourished with God’s presence will flourish not in the bricks and mortar building, but the flesh and blood people, and most intimately, and most clearly in the life and love of one person. People look east and sing today, love the rose is on the way.
Stars keep the watch. When night is dim,
one more light the bowl shall brim,
shining beyond the frosty weather,
bright as sun and moon together.
People look east and sing today;
Love, the Star, is on the way.
So I wonder what Mary thinks about all this. What does it mean to her that her betrothed, Joseph, is in David’s line, that an angel has just told her she would bear a child without regard that she is a virgin, and that she is in all senses housing the messiah in her womb? Her people have been occupied for generations, the glory days of David’s kingdom is in the distant past! Who is she to give birth to the one who would save her people?
The author of Luke acknowledges the social humiliation of what it would mean for Mary to be an unwed mother. He purposefully transforms the shameful situation into a story of exaltation, in the words we heard today…Mary’s Magnificat. In accepting the bitterness of her situation, she realizes that even lines of kings and wealthy men have nothing on the God who loves the poor and sets the captives free, who looks on the lowly with thanksgiving. And if we needed more proof, just take a look at Jesus’ genealogy as recorded in Matthew.
Now if you have ever read the first chapter of Matthew you will know it begins as a rambling account of fathers begetting sons, 14 verses of generally meaningless names to many of us. There are names of men who we read found favor with God, and men who were less than idyllic forebears to the chosen one. But interestingly, in what is generally a male-dominated account of proving Jesus’ ties to the royal David dynasty, there are four women mentioned, aside from Mary. I don’t blame you if you missed it, because generally we like to skip over the boring genealogy to get to the good stuff.
But in the genealogy there is Tamar, a woman whose used sexual power against her father-in-law in order to assure the rights coming to her as a widow; Rahab, who is a prostitute; Ruth, who is an foreigner and is devoted to her mother-in-law even in the face of new marriage; and the wife of Uriah who is known to us as Bathsheba, another sexually promiscuous woman whose illicit affair with King David bore a son.
This is the house that God has chosen to dwell in. These are men and women that were not embarrassing enough to sweep under the rug, but human enough to nail down in writing!
We are the house that God has chosen to dwell in! So even if we think we’re not where we should be, or where we want to be, or the perfect vessels to do ministry, or to do justice, or to do mercy, we are reminded that preparation and perfection are not the same thing.
So maybe it’s not a matter of being 100% prepared to be a house for God, but the act of preparing that is the real transformative work. Mary prepares: in the midst of social stigma and without seeing her child, she prophetically proclaims her love for God and willingness to be used by God…she prepares. Tamar, and Rahab, and Bathsheba and Ruth prepare: when they accept God working through them to teach us something in spite of desperate decisions or by simply being an outsider…they prepare. Even King David prepares: when he steps back from plans that may only serve his desire to show political strength…he prepares to begin the message that God dwells brightly with the people. People look east and sing today, Love, the Star, is on the way
Angels announce with shouts of mirth
him who brings new life to earth.
Set ev’ry peak and valley humming
with the word, the Lord is coming.
People look east and sing today;
Love, the Lord, is on the way.
And we? It’s not a question about if we are prepared to receive Christ, but how we are preparing to receive him. How do we make room for Christ in our daily living? How do we acknowledge our bodies as vessels of the Christ? How do we treat our world as the home where God dwells, on earth as it is in heaven? It’s one thing to think about receiving a tiny baby Jesus, with the warm feelings of Christmas cards and lyrics that paint a silent night. But it’s another to think, how we are preparing to be houses for the man who will challenge us, startle us, move us towards discipleship, and live and die with us as all human beings live and die. How do we prepare ourselves for receiving that Jesus?
It’s all in the preparation, and the assurance that in spite of our flaws, our cobwebs and dust bunnies, our skeletons in the closet, God already made the decision to come to us and dwell within us.
As we prepare to move into a time of waiting worship, hear these words from poet Ann Weems—(Kneeling in Bethlehem, 13)
Our God is the One who comes to us
in a burning bush,
in an angel's song,
in a newborn child.
Our God is the One who comes cannot be found
locked in the church,
not even in the sanctuary.
Our God will be where God will be
with no constraints,
no predictability.
Our God lives where our God lives,
and destruction has no power
and even death cannot stop
the living.
Our God will be born where God will be born,
but there is no place to look for the One who comes to us.
When God is ready
God will come
even to a godforsaken place
like a stable in Bethlehem.
Watch...
for you know not when God comes.
Watch, that you might be found
whenever
wherever
God comes.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Making Things New
sermon by Torin Eikler
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11 John 1:6-8, 19-28
In 1996 and ’97 there was a rash of church burnings in this country. Most of the churches that were targeted were African American churches though a few were the home of predominately white congregations. Burnings like those are nothing new. There have been at least three black churches burned every year since before the Civil War with the occasional white church thrown in the mix. And, if talking about it this way seems a little crass or uncaring, the reality in the United States is that most people don’t know about this disturbing incarnation of bigotry and those who do tend to take it for granted as just another reality of life in this culture. The big difference this time was all in the numbers – and, of course, the media coverage. Over the course of those two years, over 180 churches were the victims of intentional arson and most cases included obvious evidence of racial motivation. A few churches a year spread across the south don’t make nearly as good a story as a wave of attacks reaching from Florida to Texas to Oregon to New York.
As sad as this truth is, there was good that came out of the increased news coverage. Not only did the National Council of Churches begin an ecumenical effort to link churches in a push to rebuild, industrial suppliers donated millions of dollars worth of materials to the effort. And, even more surprising, the response of pastors and congregants who were interviewed all across the nation did not, for the most part, express anger or a desire for vengeance. Their response was sadness and regret for the conditions that produced so much hate between Christians from different backgrounds. Many times pastors reflected that they would prefer that the arsonists were not punished according to the laws involved but that they were asked – not forced, just asked – to attend worship services with the congregations they had wounded for a year in the faith that they would come to appreciate the power of a diverse unity in the body of Christ. Those words of compassion and hope were small, important steps away from division and toward restoration in the community of faith.
I had the privilege of working with a congregation as they continued down that path in search of renewal. Their pastor was one of those who expressed compassion instead of fury, but when I arrived to help with the reconstruction of their church they were still confused, a bit angry, and depressed. They were hurt in deep ways that take a lot of time and care to heal. Yet, over the course of the year that I spent with them, I watched their wounded spirits heal and their shaken faith strengthen as they witnessed an outpouring of care and support from sisters and brothers they had never known before. Where they had been broken and despairing, they found themselves filled with a renewed sense of hope and purpose born of knowing the power of God’s restoring care first hand.
A few years later while living in Elgin, Illinois, I met a woman who was in the midst of a crisis – a life crisis and a crisis of faith. Lori had lived a hard life without much comfort. She left home early as a way of escaping all sorts of different problems. As is sometimes the case, the problems she fled were not linked to her family, her home, or her surroundings, and she found them bearing down on her no matter where she went. She did not graduate from high school, and as a result, she had problems finding work that paid well enough to support her. Soon, she found that alcohol, drugs, and sex provided an easy way to forget her worries if only for a time. Eventually, she found herself alone and homeless for a time. Slowly, with the help of her family, she got herself off the street and made her way out of the drugs and alcohol. Her relationships, though, did not improve much, and when I met her at church, she was living alone with a four-year-old son. All through these times, her family was close by and helped as they could, but they were not in a position to support her, and she was not of a disposition to return home to live. She got along with a manufacturing job and a grandmother who could help with child care.
Lori’s situation was not unique, and she was not an unintelligent woman. When she lost her job because of layoffs, she managed to avoid a return to her old habits of escapism – partly thanks to her devotion to her son. But, she did begin to slip into depression and despair. Her hope for a way out – cosmetology school – was either too expensive or required a high school diploma. And, while she began the process of getting her GED, she was dispirited by the amount of work it required.
As you may have guessed, Lori was not one to ask for help. Her pride and stubbornness was what had kept her going in many situations, and her time on the street had conditioned her to hide and vulnerability from others. But, she did have some friends at the church – some of whom had known her for most of her life. Together, these people raised enough money to get her started in the school she had been accepted to and to support her family for a while. Knowing her nature, they went to talk with her as a group and explained that they could help if she was willing to do cleaning and secretarial work at the church each week as well as studying until she was able to earn a GED.
Lori accepted the offer. She began to focus her attention on her studies in preparation for the next GED exam in four months. She finished the application and enrollment process with the cosmetology school. She worked faithfully at the church getting the building and printed materials ready for worship each Sunday. In the process, the cloud of her depression slowly evaporated. She began to smile, and when I talked with her she talked about her hopes and dreams rather than everything that was going wrong. Where she had been one more person about to give up and settle into despair, she flowered into an active, lively part of her congregation and her circle of friends. Eventually, she requested a rebaptism saying that she felt that she felt her life and her spirit had been renewed by the Holy Spirit and the care of brothers and sisters in faith – the restoring power of God.
Just two stories of the transforming touch of our God in the midst of everyday life – two stories among the millions we would hear and even see around us if we were looking – two stories of the promise of restoration that has been spoken by the prophets for generations, a promise we know through the Christ we prepare to receive anew each year.
Isaiah spoke the words of this promise to the people of Israel who had lived in exile for generations (words that the youth learned this summer in bible school):
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me… he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn in Zion – to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord…. They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.
That is the promise we have – a new heaven and a new earth. The old shall pass away. Yet, there is no reason to think, as many do, that this means an entirely new creation. The image of the New Jerusalem coming to earth in Revelation seems to point toward a different reality – a renewal, a restoration of what is to what it was meant to be. And, who among us knows what that is? None of us can know what God has in mind. That is the nature of the enigmatic One we serve. We do not really know God. We do not know really know Christ. We do not really know the Holy Spirit. And we cannot know what the restoring power of God will bring when it comes in all its terrible wonder. Still, we wait for the time to come as God plans in God’s time.
Yet, we cannot simply wait passively for the things that shall be. The promise asks more of us than that. Isaiah told us this in the reading we heard last week – prepare the way of the Lord, make straight a highway for our God. John the Baptist echoes the thought in our reading for today. Pulling his audience away from their ideas of who he was, he said, simply, “I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord.’” We are not simply a people waiting for restoration and redemption, for we have received the gift of redemption already. And, we are called to prepare for the coming of the Day of the Lord in which all things will be restored.
When we reach out to sisters and brothers to help rebuild and repair homes and churches that have been destroyed, we answer that call. When we offer our caring hands and hearts to support those who are lost in despair and remind them of hope, we answer that call. And, it’s the stories we tell about those times when we meet with unexpected restoration that move us. Whenever we hear about people bringing healing or comfort or building others up or speaking words of freedom and compassion, we find ourselves lost in tears or laughter or renewed commitment to serve as best we can. When we share our own stories – stories of the times we have seen or experienced renewal and restoration in surprising times and unusual places, then we proclaim hope and promise to those lost in pain and depression. We make the way a little straighter for the Lord to bring restoration in the lives of people here and now, and we prepare a way within ourselves for the Lord to come to us as well.
Brothers and Sisters, let us prepare for the coming of the One we know – and don’t know. We have felt the touch of his power in our own lives, and that is just the beginning of what may be. The Christ is coming into the world again – making all things new. We do not know how his promise will be fulfilled, nor do we know when that time will come. Yet, we know that he comes to bring salvation – to restore righteousness and justice with mercy and compassion. As we wait for that time – for the advent of the restoring light of our God, let us work to make straight a way for its coming in the wilderness and desolation of our world and in the wild and desolate places of our hearts and souls. Let us prepare to welcome Christ’s coming with joy and praise.
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11 John 1:6-8, 19-28
In 1996 and ’97 there was a rash of church burnings in this country. Most of the churches that were targeted were African American churches though a few were the home of predominately white congregations. Burnings like those are nothing new. There have been at least three black churches burned every year since before the Civil War with the occasional white church thrown in the mix. And, if talking about it this way seems a little crass or uncaring, the reality in the United States is that most people don’t know about this disturbing incarnation of bigotry and those who do tend to take it for granted as just another reality of life in this culture. The big difference this time was all in the numbers – and, of course, the media coverage. Over the course of those two years, over 180 churches were the victims of intentional arson and most cases included obvious evidence of racial motivation. A few churches a year spread across the south don’t make nearly as good a story as a wave of attacks reaching from Florida to Texas to Oregon to New York.
As sad as this truth is, there was good that came out of the increased news coverage. Not only did the National Council of Churches begin an ecumenical effort to link churches in a push to rebuild, industrial suppliers donated millions of dollars worth of materials to the effort. And, even more surprising, the response of pastors and congregants who were interviewed all across the nation did not, for the most part, express anger or a desire for vengeance. Their response was sadness and regret for the conditions that produced so much hate between Christians from different backgrounds. Many times pastors reflected that they would prefer that the arsonists were not punished according to the laws involved but that they were asked – not forced, just asked – to attend worship services with the congregations they had wounded for a year in the faith that they would come to appreciate the power of a diverse unity in the body of Christ. Those words of compassion and hope were small, important steps away from division and toward restoration in the community of faith.
I had the privilege of working with a congregation as they continued down that path in search of renewal. Their pastor was one of those who expressed compassion instead of fury, but when I arrived to help with the reconstruction of their church they were still confused, a bit angry, and depressed. They were hurt in deep ways that take a lot of time and care to heal. Yet, over the course of the year that I spent with them, I watched their wounded spirits heal and their shaken faith strengthen as they witnessed an outpouring of care and support from sisters and brothers they had never known before. Where they had been broken and despairing, they found themselves filled with a renewed sense of hope and purpose born of knowing the power of God’s restoring care first hand.
A few years later while living in Elgin, Illinois, I met a woman who was in the midst of a crisis – a life crisis and a crisis of faith. Lori had lived a hard life without much comfort. She left home early as a way of escaping all sorts of different problems. As is sometimes the case, the problems she fled were not linked to her family, her home, or her surroundings, and she found them bearing down on her no matter where she went. She did not graduate from high school, and as a result, she had problems finding work that paid well enough to support her. Soon, she found that alcohol, drugs, and sex provided an easy way to forget her worries if only for a time. Eventually, she found herself alone and homeless for a time. Slowly, with the help of her family, she got herself off the street and made her way out of the drugs and alcohol. Her relationships, though, did not improve much, and when I met her at church, she was living alone with a four-year-old son. All through these times, her family was close by and helped as they could, but they were not in a position to support her, and she was not of a disposition to return home to live. She got along with a manufacturing job and a grandmother who could help with child care.
Lori’s situation was not unique, and she was not an unintelligent woman. When she lost her job because of layoffs, she managed to avoid a return to her old habits of escapism – partly thanks to her devotion to her son. But, she did begin to slip into depression and despair. Her hope for a way out – cosmetology school – was either too expensive or required a high school diploma. And, while she began the process of getting her GED, she was dispirited by the amount of work it required.
As you may have guessed, Lori was not one to ask for help. Her pride and stubbornness was what had kept her going in many situations, and her time on the street had conditioned her to hide and vulnerability from others. But, she did have some friends at the church – some of whom had known her for most of her life. Together, these people raised enough money to get her started in the school she had been accepted to and to support her family for a while. Knowing her nature, they went to talk with her as a group and explained that they could help if she was willing to do cleaning and secretarial work at the church each week as well as studying until she was able to earn a GED.
Lori accepted the offer. She began to focus her attention on her studies in preparation for the next GED exam in four months. She finished the application and enrollment process with the cosmetology school. She worked faithfully at the church getting the building and printed materials ready for worship each Sunday. In the process, the cloud of her depression slowly evaporated. She began to smile, and when I talked with her she talked about her hopes and dreams rather than everything that was going wrong. Where she had been one more person about to give up and settle into despair, she flowered into an active, lively part of her congregation and her circle of friends. Eventually, she requested a rebaptism saying that she felt that she felt her life and her spirit had been renewed by the Holy Spirit and the care of brothers and sisters in faith – the restoring power of God.
Just two stories of the transforming touch of our God in the midst of everyday life – two stories among the millions we would hear and even see around us if we were looking – two stories of the promise of restoration that has been spoken by the prophets for generations, a promise we know through the Christ we prepare to receive anew each year.
Isaiah spoke the words of this promise to the people of Israel who had lived in exile for generations (words that the youth learned this summer in bible school):
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me… he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn in Zion – to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord…. They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.
That is the promise we have – a new heaven and a new earth. The old shall pass away. Yet, there is no reason to think, as many do, that this means an entirely new creation. The image of the New Jerusalem coming to earth in Revelation seems to point toward a different reality – a renewal, a restoration of what is to what it was meant to be. And, who among us knows what that is? None of us can know what God has in mind. That is the nature of the enigmatic One we serve. We do not really know God. We do not know really know Christ. We do not really know the Holy Spirit. And we cannot know what the restoring power of God will bring when it comes in all its terrible wonder. Still, we wait for the time to come as God plans in God’s time.
Yet, we cannot simply wait passively for the things that shall be. The promise asks more of us than that. Isaiah told us this in the reading we heard last week – prepare the way of the Lord, make straight a highway for our God. John the Baptist echoes the thought in our reading for today. Pulling his audience away from their ideas of who he was, he said, simply, “I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord.’” We are not simply a people waiting for restoration and redemption, for we have received the gift of redemption already. And, we are called to prepare for the coming of the Day of the Lord in which all things will be restored.
When we reach out to sisters and brothers to help rebuild and repair homes and churches that have been destroyed, we answer that call. When we offer our caring hands and hearts to support those who are lost in despair and remind them of hope, we answer that call. And, it’s the stories we tell about those times when we meet with unexpected restoration that move us. Whenever we hear about people bringing healing or comfort or building others up or speaking words of freedom and compassion, we find ourselves lost in tears or laughter or renewed commitment to serve as best we can. When we share our own stories – stories of the times we have seen or experienced renewal and restoration in surprising times and unusual places, then we proclaim hope and promise to those lost in pain and depression. We make the way a little straighter for the Lord to bring restoration in the lives of people here and now, and we prepare a way within ourselves for the Lord to come to us as well.
Brothers and Sisters, let us prepare for the coming of the One we know – and don’t know. We have felt the touch of his power in our own lives, and that is just the beginning of what may be. The Christ is coming into the world again – making all things new. We do not know how his promise will be fulfilled, nor do we know when that time will come. Yet, we know that he comes to bring salvation – to restore righteousness and justice with mercy and compassion. As we wait for that time – for the advent of the restoring light of our God, let us work to make straight a way for its coming in the wilderness and desolation of our world and in the wild and desolate places of our hearts and souls. Let us prepare to welcome Christ’s coming with joy and praise.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The Uncomfortable Comforter
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Psalm 85:1-3, Isaiah 40:1-11
Advent 2
Last week we entered into the season of Advent by exploring the hidden face of God, the places where God seems absent and yet somehow, strangely present. I've thought a lot about that image as we enter into the season of expectant waiting for the Christ-child. I myself am waiting, at times quite anxiously, for the birth of my own child that is strangely hidden from me, yet actually--physically--a part of me. You can't get much closer than the little boy in my womb, but I still must wait for his hidden features to be revealed.
This week we encounter God who is calls to comfort the people. After some of the prophet Isaiah's words in the past few weeks, we certainly need a bit of comforting. Let me recall some of these words - "you were angry and we sinned"…"There is no one who calls on your name, or attempts to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity." Not so cheery.
Today, however, we are greeted with the words "Comfort, comfort o my people!" and we likely want to sigh and say "yes! This is the God I want during the holiday season. Tidings of comfort and joy and all that." But as is often the case with prophets who speak God's words, even with Jesus who is the Great Comforter among us, words of comfort aren't necessarily…comfortable.
It is true, our text today bookends nicely with comforting images. "Comfort, comfort oh my people" rings nicely with the final verse of today's reading, "He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep."
But who can really feel warm and fuzzy with the words in-between? "Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain…A voice says, "Cry out!" And I said, "What shall I cry?" All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the LORD blows upon it; surely the people are grass."
Granted, there is no smiting, or vengeance, or fire, thank goodness. But what is here that may make some us uncomfortable with this comforting God?
What images of God bring you comfort?
It may be the white bearded male figure that dominates Western Christianity. And that's OK. But it doesn't have to be that. It might be more like a source of light that surrounds you, no human characteristic at all, and that's OK, too. As I was thinking about the God of comfort that seems to be present in Isaiah's text today, I pictured God the comforter like an African American woman bellowing out civil rights songs. In particular, I pictured the singer Odetta who died on Tuesday at the age of 75.
Born in Alabama, Odetta moved to LA when she was 3. She was classically trained and was preparing to be an opera singer when she found herself drawn to the San Francisco bohemian life of a coffeehouse performer. After that she fell in love with folk songs, and brought a powerful voice to the civil rights movement that melded African American spirituals with blues with folk with gospel with the politics of the day.
And if you have ever heard Odetta, you know that God is in her voice. It can make you weep without knowing if you're sad or happy. It can make you stand up for a cause and then knock you back down again if you start to get to cocky. It can draw you into her embrace singing "we will overcome" and then release you into the throws of police dogs singing "the times they are a-changing" as you are forced to encounter the question "which side are you on?"
This week, in this text as portrayed by Isaiah, the God of comfort for me is like Odetta. She's not like the comforting grandma on the porch you go to when you skin your knee, hoping she'll give you a kiss and some apple pie to make it all better. She's the grandma who will sit you on the edge of the bathtub, pour the alcohol on the wound, bandage it, give you a hug and pat your rump as she says, "now, try to climb that tree again…and be careful this time. They'll be pie later". Because she knows that's what needs to be done for your body, and your spirit.
So maybe the uncomfortable comfort that Odetta shared with the God in Isaiah, and especially that uncomfortable comfort that Jesus Christ brings, is that it is genuine comfort.
False comfort that tries to cover everything up and make it alright. Genuine comfort lives in the reality of what is and seeks to make a path through.
False comfort says that pain can all go away. Genuine comfort recognizes that pain will never go away in this imperfect world, because there's always more that can come our way.
False comfort says close your eyes to what is going on and forget about it. Genuine comfort says open your eyes and live in the hope that even in the midst of difficulties, we will overcome .
But what I feel most exemplifies this genuine comfort is that it always begins in truth. Isaiah spoke the truth about the corruption of his people and God responded. Odetta spoke truth about social evils and the people woke up. Jesus speaks truth about our shattered souls and we can find healing. It's the truth that hurts, as the saying goes. But it is truth while it may sting like alcohol on a wound, that is necessary to heal and for us to be whole. And it is the promise that we can be whole beings, not just patched over wounds, in God's sight that is the real comfort. Comfort, comfort O my people.
O my people. There's another rub of this uncomfortable comforter, and maybe why we read these comforting word with a skeptical ear. It doesn't sound like the personal comfort we want to encounter…that comfort that is all about me, my distress, my dis-ease. Isaiah is not speaking of a comfort that is hand picked for each of our woes. Isaiah speaks to the people, not to individual circumstances.
It’s a reminder that while God is present to comfort each of us, at times the comforting God gives words that a community that needs to find comfort together. And this involves the very uncomfortable task of putting aside each of their personal discomforts and frustrations and focusing on the truth that needs to come to them as a people.
Today as we prepare to welcome new individuals into our community through membership we commit to being God's face of comfort to them. As they commit to being faithful partners with us , they bring to us new and fresh words from their journey that may challenge us as a people. As we join together in the community of faith, new members and old members, we recognize that God's word of comfort and challenge is still alive and well, as it always should be.
Comfort, comfort o my people. It can sting like a wound when we recognize there is more to God's comfort than just what we want out of it. When we are first faced with the truth that in God's eyes we are more than just individuals, but part of God's people, it may seem strangely lonely. But it is because we come to God as a people, together, that God blesses us with genuine comfort--comfort that comes from God, through the hands and hearts of one another.
Psalm 85:1-3, Isaiah 40:1-11
Advent 2
Last week we entered into the season of Advent by exploring the hidden face of God, the places where God seems absent and yet somehow, strangely present. I've thought a lot about that image as we enter into the season of expectant waiting for the Christ-child. I myself am waiting, at times quite anxiously, for the birth of my own child that is strangely hidden from me, yet actually--physically--a part of me. You can't get much closer than the little boy in my womb, but I still must wait for his hidden features to be revealed.
This week we encounter God who is calls to comfort the people. After some of the prophet Isaiah's words in the past few weeks, we certainly need a bit of comforting. Let me recall some of these words - "you were angry and we sinned"…"There is no one who calls on your name, or attempts to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity." Not so cheery.
Today, however, we are greeted with the words "Comfort, comfort o my people!" and we likely want to sigh and say "yes! This is the God I want during the holiday season. Tidings of comfort and joy and all that." But as is often the case with prophets who speak God's words, even with Jesus who is the Great Comforter among us, words of comfort aren't necessarily…comfortable.
It is true, our text today bookends nicely with comforting images. "Comfort, comfort oh my people" rings nicely with the final verse of today's reading, "He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep."
But who can really feel warm and fuzzy with the words in-between? "Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain…A voice says, "Cry out!" And I said, "What shall I cry?" All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the LORD blows upon it; surely the people are grass."
Granted, there is no smiting, or vengeance, or fire, thank goodness. But what is here that may make some us uncomfortable with this comforting God?
What images of God bring you comfort?
It may be the white bearded male figure that dominates Western Christianity. And that's OK. But it doesn't have to be that. It might be more like a source of light that surrounds you, no human characteristic at all, and that's OK, too. As I was thinking about the God of comfort that seems to be present in Isaiah's text today, I pictured God the comforter like an African American woman bellowing out civil rights songs. In particular, I pictured the singer Odetta who died on Tuesday at the age of 75.
Born in Alabama, Odetta moved to LA when she was 3. She was classically trained and was preparing to be an opera singer when she found herself drawn to the San Francisco bohemian life of a coffeehouse performer. After that she fell in love with folk songs, and brought a powerful voice to the civil rights movement that melded African American spirituals with blues with folk with gospel with the politics of the day.
And if you have ever heard Odetta, you know that God is in her voice. It can make you weep without knowing if you're sad or happy. It can make you stand up for a cause and then knock you back down again if you start to get to cocky. It can draw you into her embrace singing "we will overcome" and then release you into the throws of police dogs singing "the times they are a-changing" as you are forced to encounter the question "which side are you on?"
This week, in this text as portrayed by Isaiah, the God of comfort for me is like Odetta. She's not like the comforting grandma on the porch you go to when you skin your knee, hoping she'll give you a kiss and some apple pie to make it all better. She's the grandma who will sit you on the edge of the bathtub, pour the alcohol on the wound, bandage it, give you a hug and pat your rump as she says, "now, try to climb that tree again…and be careful this time. They'll be pie later". Because she knows that's what needs to be done for your body, and your spirit.
So maybe the uncomfortable comfort that Odetta shared with the God in Isaiah, and especially that uncomfortable comfort that Jesus Christ brings, is that it is genuine comfort.
False comfort that tries to cover everything up and make it alright. Genuine comfort lives in the reality of what is and seeks to make a path through.
False comfort says that pain can all go away. Genuine comfort recognizes that pain will never go away in this imperfect world, because there's always more that can come our way.
False comfort says close your eyes to what is going on and forget about it. Genuine comfort says open your eyes and live in the hope that even in the midst of difficulties, we will overcome .
But what I feel most exemplifies this genuine comfort is that it always begins in truth. Isaiah spoke the truth about the corruption of his people and God responded. Odetta spoke truth about social evils and the people woke up. Jesus speaks truth about our shattered souls and we can find healing. It's the truth that hurts, as the saying goes. But it is truth while it may sting like alcohol on a wound, that is necessary to heal and for us to be whole. And it is the promise that we can be whole beings, not just patched over wounds, in God's sight that is the real comfort. Comfort, comfort O my people.
O my people. There's another rub of this uncomfortable comforter, and maybe why we read these comforting word with a skeptical ear. It doesn't sound like the personal comfort we want to encounter…that comfort that is all about me, my distress, my dis-ease. Isaiah is not speaking of a comfort that is hand picked for each of our woes. Isaiah speaks to the people, not to individual circumstances.
It’s a reminder that while God is present to comfort each of us, at times the comforting God gives words that a community that needs to find comfort together. And this involves the very uncomfortable task of putting aside each of their personal discomforts and frustrations and focusing on the truth that needs to come to them as a people.
Today as we prepare to welcome new individuals into our community through membership we commit to being God's face of comfort to them. As they commit to being faithful partners with us , they bring to us new and fresh words from their journey that may challenge us as a people. As we join together in the community of faith, new members and old members, we recognize that God's word of comfort and challenge is still alive and well, as it always should be.
Comfort, comfort o my people. It can sting like a wound when we recognize there is more to God's comfort than just what we want out of it. When we are first faced with the truth that in God's eyes we are more than just individuals, but part of God's people, it may seem strangely lonely. But it is because we come to God as a people, together, that God blesses us with genuine comfort--comfort that comes from God, through the hands and hearts of one another.
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