Rejoice

sermon by Torin Eikler
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11 John 1:6-9, 19-28

When I first heard that Carrie and I were expecting a child (the first time around), I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face. I was giddy with excitement … so giddy that I skipped part of the way down the street to the Co-op where we worked to meet Carrie and rejoice together. (A few moments later, I got myself under control. People were watching after all.)

That feeling of joy continued for weeks – weeks in which I would find myself smiling foolishly or walking with an extra bounce in my step or humming one of the many lullabies that my mother had sung to me as a child. But as time wore on and the enormity of the change and the responsibility that was headed my way took on more and more immediacy, I was overtaken by a growing sense of worry, and I began sleeping poorly and eating more than I needed and bighting my nails … more than usual.

About six months into the pregnancy, my sense of anxiety had gotten so intense that I began to break out in hives. It started with a couple of little, itchy bumps along my waistline, and I made sure to check our cat for fleas. But there were none to be found. And over the course of a couple of weeks, I was getting them all over my legs, my belly, and my face. On one memorable day, Carrie called me from work, and after I had spoken the first words of greeting, she asked if I the hives had come back. Apparently, my lips were swollen enough to distort my voice.

(pause)

It still happens to me sometimes. Not the hives (thankfully), but getting so caught up in the worry and the responsibility that I lose touch with the joy of having young children … miss out on the surprise of new experiences and the wonder of living. So, I try to remind myself to slow down from time to time – to … slow … down … and revel in my children.

And it’s the same, for me, with the holiday season. I start out with a sense of joy and anticipation as I get together with family over Thanksgiving. Then we move into Advent, and I’m bouncing around, humming carols as we get out decorations and imagine what Christmas day will look like. And the closer we get, the more I begin to worry about the details: how will we manage the scheduling, what are we going to do for the Christmas Eve worship (and this year there’s Christmas Day to think about too), is it even possible to keep our boys from obsessing about gifts….

On top of that, we hear Isaiah and Mark and John the Baptist calling us to repentance and reminding us that the rough places must be made smooth, the valleys lifted up, and the mountains made low before the glory of the Lord is revealed. There is still so much inequity and injustice that we – that I – should be working to change, and I feel guilty as I pass people with worn clothing and weathered faces on my way to and from buying gifts or getting treats to fill stockings.


I need the reminder to slow down and pay attention to the coming of Christ as much as anyone else.

Slow down, we seem to say every year. Advent and Christmas are not about the hype and the parties. They are really not even about the time spent with family. They are about the amazing truth that God came among us – a reminder that the holy, the sacred, the sublime are not found in some far away place but in the mundane stables of our lives.
This week, I read a story by Kathleen Hirsch. She talked about this same struggle to slow down and simplify in order to make the Christmas season more “spirit-centered….”
“A few years ago,” she said, “I decided that our family Christmas season would be simple, insofar as that was possible with a toddler....” I reduced my to-do list by half and … turned off the television. There would be no Arthur or video versions of Winnie-the-Pooh this Advent.
Every morning…, we opened a door on the calendar and then, over our Cheerios, talked about whatever came up: the wise men on their trek, the guidance of stars, a mother on a donkey. After I picked up my son from a morning at day care, we’d share a quiet lunch and spend afternoons reading Christmas picture books, baking gingerbread men inside and making snowmen outdoors. Nothing was rushed….
Each afternoon was more peaceful than the one before. Surprisingly, the work of the season seemed to take care of itself…. On the Sunday before Christmas we put up the tree and added new paper chains. After dinner we would set up the crèche and arrange the stable animals in their places of honor, ready for the arrival of the baby Jesus.
I was potting the last of the jam when my son disappeared from the kitchen. I heard rummaging in the living room, then the metallic tinkle of ornaments on the lower boughs. Minutes later he was standing beside me, a solemn three-year-old holding a stuffed red heart that he’d taken from the tree.
“Mommy,” he announced. “Pretend that I am Gabriel.”
“Kneel down, Mommy,” he instructed me.
I obliged. Gabriel and I were face to face, inches apart, in front of the stove.
“Mary,” he addressed me. “You shall have a son. And this,” he extended the plush red heart toward my face. “This is your holy.”
“You must carry your holy with you always, Mommy – even around your neck – so that Jesus will know that he is holy too.”
Then, perhaps overcome by the force of his own inspiration, my Gabriel turned and fled back to the crèche to distribute more of the “holy” to the creatures assembled there.
Slowly I got to my feet. For a moment my son had seen heaven and had offered me a glimpse…. Without the holy, life – even simplified, even with terrific gingerbread and jam – is dust….
I looked at the heart again. My world doesn’t involve a lot of angel sightings, but as I reflected on what had just transpired, I realized that my world didn’t leave much room for wonder either. My son was far better attuned to the ways in which the sacred speaks. I comes to us on the wing; it grazed the heart. Only after long contemplation does it coalesce inot something that we can put words to.


We are a dedicated and caring people in this congregation, and we struggle with ourselves and with the world all the time. We work to make straight a way for the Lord’s coming. But whether we are focused on filling the pits of injustice in the world or smoothing out our own internal, spiritual disorder, or just trying to find a way through the wilderness of holiday preparations … we can easily get so absorbed in what we are doing that we miss out on the wonder of God’s presence. There is always something more to do, some new spiritual practice to try, and even when we are just trying to slow down and simplify things, we are often blinded to rejoicing by our sense of responsibility or guilt or worry.

(pause)

The good news is... it doesn’t have to be that way. We are not the Messiah. We are not even the Voice calling in the wilderness. The mountains and valleys of the wilderness have already been made straight and level. The glory of the Lord has already come… is coming … is here … in the power and presence of a baby who brings salvation to the world.

There is still good work that needs to be done. There are still hungry people to feed; despairing friends who need hope; lonely, homeless, suffering neighbors who would benefit from our care. There is still our own struggle to make a manger of our souls. And in the midst of it all – what we most need … what we most need to “do” … is to find peace - that special kind of peace that opens our eyes and hearts to the holy around us, within us, … within everyone.


After a few weeks of suffering those hives, I had a helpful conversation with a couple of friends – fathers that I respected. Both of them laughed a little when I shared my predicament, but then they began to talk. And as is the way with advice, it poured out with stories to illustrate. I can’t remember it all, but the gist of it was … it’s important to remember, they said, that what children really need the most is love and adults who are there for them whenever they need it. You can’t do everything, … and you don’t need to. Most of it just happens. So relax. Trust yourself and trust God. Just go with the flow, and try to connect with the wonder and the joy your children find in the world. Even if that’s all you can do, you’ll give them exactly what they need most, … and you’ll give yourself a gift too.

It was good advice – good enough to relieve my tension and send those annoying, itchy bumps packing. And so I offer it to you today. During this season of excitement and expectation relax. Don’t try to make yourself relax. Don’t schedule it into your life among shopping and cooking and everything else. Just relax. Trust yourself. Trust the God who brings good news to the oppressed and binds up the brokenhearted.

You are invited to witness the coming of God into the world – a gift of wonder and glory … of hope and promise. Rejoice.