Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

When I was on Sabbatical several years ago, I happened to be in Dallas Texas looking at churches to learn from, and I happened to drive past an Episcopal church with the banner advertizing an upcoming service called the “U2-charist.” Well, needless to say I was intrigued and changed my Sunday morning plans so that I could join this church for worship.

I have since discovered that this wasn’t unique to that Dallas congregation. There are a number of churches who have set a service of communion to the music of U2. Much like the study series on the old Mayberry television show, the church is often looking to popular culture as a way of connecting faith and life. Much of it seems shallow and desperate, but sometimes it helps us hear the gospel in new ways.

The Irish band U2 has always been upfront about their Christian faith, though many - inside and outside the church - deride them for it. But I have always found their subtle presentation of faith to be captivating. Perhaps, and this seems to be what upsets many inside the faith, it is their uncertainty that is so intriguing. U2 songs seem to be more about questions than about answers. The song reflected in the title of this study epitomizes that best for me. The final verse and chorus reads like this: I believe in the Kingdom Come / Then all the colours will bleed into one / But yes I'm still running / You broke the bonds / You loosed the chains / You carried the cross / And my shame / And my shame / You know I believe it / But I still haven't found / What I'm looking for.

Sort of an “I believe, help my unbelief” kind of theme. Where many of us live our lives, somewhere between doubt and certainty. Which just might be the oddest way possible to begin a reflection on the Baptism of the Lord.

If you keep up on all things liturgical then you know that the Sunday after Epiphany is the Baptism of the Lord. So, we go from Christmas and all that celebration, to Epiphany (which is on the 12th day of Christmas - hence the song) and the wisemen finding their way to the child, and then we leap forward some 30 years to the baptism of Jesus. The main characters of the story are Jesus (duh) and John the Baptist. And I doubt that you could find a couple of guys more certain about faith and their role in the world than those two. They seemed to radiate faith and confidence. That was part of John’s appeal, I believe. Folks flocked to this wild man from the desert with his questionable sartorial choices and fad diet from an entomologist’s nightmare. There was more than the curiosity factor at work here. There was a longing for certainty. Mark’s version which we year this time, pares down the conversation and the sermon, but the other gospels reflect a man who railed against doubters and the powers of this world that would confuse us. He hands out advice like a man writing a Dear Abby column. He knows what’s what and who is whom. Mark, on the other hand, just gets to the point, he knows his place, the role he is called to play in this drama of salvation and he plays it with passion. Take a look:

Mark 1:4-11 John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6 Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7 He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8 I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit." 9 In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10 And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11 And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

So, where does all of my musing about uncertainty come from? I can’t read about John without remembering Jesus comments later on, in Matthew and Luke. Jesus says to the people and their fascination with John “What did you go out to see?” (Matt 11:7-15 & Lk 7:25-30) And in both accounts these remarks are occasioned by the questions that came from John when he had been imprisoned and faced certain death. Suddenly even John’s certainty seemed elusive.

What did they go out to see? Someone who knew. Someone who had found what he, and they, were looking for. So John gave it to them, with water and with words. They glimpsed in the gathering of the multitudes (I love the preacher estimate of the size of the crowd in our passage “the whole countryside ... all the people of the city”) That was why they splashed into the river to be baptized by this crazy man. He had something they wanted. He saw what they were looking for.

And he pointed it out. It’s not me, he declared over and over, though they thought it was him. That’s why they kept coming and kneeling and letting the water of his certainty wash over them. But it wasn’t him, it was another, it was that guy. That guy was Jesus, who came to be baptized by John. Not, I believe, because he needed the repentance and the certainty that was on offer. But because he wanted to be present. He wanted to align himself with a move back toward God, a movement toward certainty. And because he wanted to be a memory that would come back to them when the doubts came creeping back in.

Glimpses, that’s what we get. We want certainty, we want to be sure. But we get hints. We get whispers. And yet the baptism of Jesus reminds us that those hints are all around us. Just open your eyes and see and be reminded. See presence in the drops of water that bead up on our glass on a humid day. Because baptism tells us that if this water is a carrier of the Holy Spirit, then any water can be. The water you showered with this morning, the water you drank when you were thirsty after a long hard day, the water you gaze out upon in your favorite rest and renewal place, it is all vibrating with the Spirit. It is all a reminder that you were claimed, that you are a beloved child with whom God is well pleased.

Of course we need reminders of our baptism. It is too much of an event to keep in our hearts all the time. We forget what a transformative moment baptism is. We forget that everything old is torn away, like the heavens were rent apart, as Mark says. We forget that our orientation is from that moment, our new life is claimed in that moment. We forget that what we are looking for, longing for is already ours in that moment. We lose our grip, we forget it even happened. We are still running, we are still looking for what we already have.

Remember your baptism. It isn’t just an empty ritual for Sunday mornings. It is a way of living that keeps our eyes open for the descending doves of the Spirit. It is a choice that we can claim to embrace the possibilities in front of us instead of the doubts within us. It is an opportunity to know that we are loved and claimed and that whatever darkness is hiding away in our past or our hearts need not define us any more. It is a family we’ve entered into, who will run with us as we search for what we are looking for, and who will avoid saying “told you so” when you realize what you are looking for has been with you all the time.

Shalom,
Derek

Describing the Indescribable

How do you describe the indescribable? How do you explain the unexplainable? It is beyond our capabilities, to be honest. It escapes us. And yet we try. We see a glorious sunset and we want to describe to someone who wasn’t there. We wax eloquent about hues and shading, about cloud formations and transitions, and when we are done they say “sounds nice.” Nice? we think, nice? It was mind blowing, heart stopping. And you think it was nice?

Tell them about a landscape you saw, or a concert you heard. Tell them about an intimate moment with the love of your life, and if you are lucky they will smile and say “nice.” Or something equally deflating. Because it doesn’t transfer. You can’t recapture the moment and pass it on to someone else. No matter how good you are with words, you can’t describe the sight you saw or the experience you experienced in a way that transfers it into someone else’s mind and heart.

The best you can hope for is that the description you provide allows them to recall a similar sight or moment in their own life. Association sometimes works. They can say, well, I remember a sunset I saw from my cabin on the coast, it was ... And then your eyes glaze over as you begin to think, it couldn’t possibly be as spectacular as the one I just saw. You can’t describe the indescribable.

So, have some sympathy for John. He is trying to give us the essence of the Christmas story. He doesn’t want to tell us the surface of the event, like Matthew and Luke. They were interested in happenings, in personalities. Who said what when and where. They are like journalists. Which, though complicated - which is why their stories are so different - it is still easier than what John sets out to do.

John wants us to see the grandeur of this sunset - or sunrise, which might be a bit more descriptive. He wants us to understand the nuance of the symphony that God has composed and conducted and played in our presence. Wants us to not just hear the notes, but to follow the story, to see beneath the surface into the intentions and purposes, the meanings and the applications. He wants us to not just see the landscape, but to be a part of it. To stand in awe of it even as we walk through it, abide in it.

So, of course he falls back on poetry. Of course he sings a song, he tells a story. There aren’t enough facts, there isn’t enough reality to contain a thesis on incarnation. Instead we get this.

John 1:1-18 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. 6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. 12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. 14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. 15 (John testified to him and cried out, "This was he of whom I said, 'He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.'") 16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. 17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.

And I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The only way I know to say this same thing with even simpler words is this: Merry Christmas.

Shalom,
Derek

Keeping Watch

OK, here’s the deal. I barely have time to breathe this weekend. It is the last weekend before Christmas and we seem to have put all our eggs in this basket. Once I wade my way through this bible study and get it sent to all the waiting masses (that’s you), I have to finish preparing a narration to the Music department’s Christmas Spectacular, which begins at 3:30pm, and then is followed by a chili supper fund raiser for the Youth Music trip to Kentucky this summer. Once that is consumed, it is back here to complete preparations for the Fourth Sunday of Advent Services here at Aldersgate Community United Methodist Church.

Once those services are over (in the can, as they say in the biz) then I hightail it to the Finance Committee meeting which is trying to finalize the church budget for 2012. Then it is home to prepare to help Ellen Rhoades, our Parish Visitor and Senior Adult Coordinator lead a “Blue Christmas” worship service for those who are struggling this season because of loss. Then it is back home to help host the Youth Christmas Party at our home. I think my job will be to keep the crazy dogs from actually eating anyone. (Just kidding, youth! They won’t eat you. Come on to my house!!) Which also means that somewhere in the midst of this I ought to be doing my part to help clean up the house in preparation for company. (And figure out where to hang a pinata - really? A Christmas pinata, Amanda? Hmmm, too bad the ice is gone from the pond.)

Now, I suspect that many of you are thinking “that’s nothing, look at this list!” And you can pull out your own schedule of craziness. I know I’m not the only one who has too many things to do this season - although it sometimes seems like it! “Nobody knows the troubles I see.” But I’m not the first to put too much on his plate at this time of year. You’ve got a schedule that makes you shake your head, don’t you? Well, if you don’t, I can always look back at the shepherds.

I know, we are used to thinking that they were lazy, relaxing in the fields, dozing and drinking, time on their hands. We aren’t the first to think that of them. That’s why they were considered unclean. They were rough characters, kept from proper worship and proper interactions with the “good people.” When Luke tells us that the people were “amazed at what the shepherds had told them” we rightly think about the wonder of the story itself. But the added ingredient to their amazement was the source of the story. It was the shepherds who told this story. The shepherds who, according to them anyway, got a voicemail from God. No, a direct message, better than a telegram, a visitation. A manifestation. An angel, a whole host of them, singing and dancing in the heavens, about a baby in a manager. Uh-huh. Just what did they keep in those leather flasks all night long anyway?

I’m sure that is what went through the minds of at least some of those hearing this tale. These are shepherds after all. But what if we’ve been a bit unfair to the shepherds? I read a commentator some years ago who said that we ought to see the shepherds as small business owners. They were hardly the only occupation who had to deal with ritual uncleanness, those rules were almost impossible to keep. Certainly there were some in the business who were disreputable characters, but what business doesn’t have their share of disrepute?

Maybe the issue was they were busy. Luke doesn’t say they were lazing about in the field. He says they were keeping watch. It was an important job. Someone even speculated once that perhaps this was not an ordinary, run of the mill flock of sheep. That maybe this was a group of the Temple lambs, ones raise spotless, unblemished so that they would be worthy of that sacrifice. It seemed likely that in Luke’s mind at least this was symbolic, that the announcement of the child born to be the perfect sacrifice would be announced with full angelic accompaniment to those who were keeping watch over the sacrificial lambs. Keep watch, says the child grown into a man, for you do not know when the day will come. Maybe he remembered the story as he said that. The story his mom told when he was little and would sit and soak up every word she said. The story about that night after a long trip to Bethlehem. The night when the stars seemed brighter than they do today. The night when a manger was the only refuge from the dark and the cold.

The night when they came, the shepherds, bringing with them the smells of the animals in their care. And how they told anyone and everyone who would listen what had happened to them. How they were keeping watch, doing their job, worrying about the predators and the hazards out there in the darkness. Worrying about how they were going to get the sick ones to eat, and the angry ones to live in peace. Worrying about the fluctuations in the price of temple lambs, how they used to make a good living but now were just getting by. Worrying about how long it was going to be until their next day off, when they could go and see their families, and wash the smell of sheep off of them for a little while at least. When they could pretend to be just like everyone else.

And then the sky exploded. They thought their hearts would stop beating in their chests. They thought it was the end of the world. They thought they would never hold their little babies, or kiss their wives, or laugh with family ever again. They thought all their mistakes were coming back to trip them up, all their failings, all their doubts and brokenness, they thought what the villagers thought of them was going to be their legacy. They thought they were doomed to disappear into the dark like all the others they tell ghost stories about around the fire in the middle of the night, when they are trying to keep one another away because the wolves are prowling.

As quickly as all these thoughts raced through their minds, came another, fast on its heels. Fear not. The voice spoke in their heads without having to go through their ears somehow. Good news. They heard or felt, or just somehow knew. To you is born a savior. To you, us? They thought. Surely not, maybe the “good” people in town. Maybe the priests and leaders, the rich and powerful, they thought. A sign to you, a babe wrapped in cloth, lying in a manger. Now mangers they understood. Mangers were their business, their language. Mangers and saviors seemed to make some odd kind of sense to shepherds.

Then the song began, and glorious one it was. It brought tears to the eyes of these rough and burly men used to the hazards of the wilderness. It made their hearts light, their minds rest, their hope soar. It was glorious. When it ended they didn’t dare to breathe for a long moment. When they did they looked at one another, hoping they weren’t the only ones to hear this message. But they could tell by the look on each face that it was real, and it was theirs. Let us make haste they said. They made room in their busy schedule, they made their way, breathless and hopeful, like Moses and the bush, they turned aside to see.

What are you keeping watch over? What will you make room for?

Luke 2:1-20 In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 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. 8In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 11 to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, 14 "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!" 15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." 16 So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. 17 When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. 19 But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Shalom,
Derek

Guide My Feet

I am suffering from list withdrawal. An amazing confession, I know. I have indicated in this space that while I am not a list-maker myself, I married one. And she is an expert to say the least. This time of year is usually list-a-palooza. Or list-orama. Or list-normous. Or ... well you get the idea. Her list-making traits kick into hyper-drive and we all have lists aplenty. And then there are usually lists of lists to keep track of the lists that were handed out, and often a master list on big pieces of paper or white boards in conspicuous places. You can’t brush your teeth or get a snack from the fridge without checking the list in front of your face.

But this time, nothing. OK, not nothing. As she prepares to leave on Tuesday morning to spend time with her dad, she tells me things I need to remember. Tells me. As if I were going to remember. And I do. Mostly. Well, at least I think I do. Can’t really tell, I guess. If I don’t remember them, then I can’t really remember to do them, can I? So, I do what I remember and when she comes home she asks about the ones I didn’t remember. Argghh. How she remembers, I don’t really know. But she does.

What is worse she remembers the things she didn’t tell me to do because she thought I would just know to do them. “Did you tell me to do that?” I’ll ask. “You should have known,” she’ll reply. “It happens every week.” Or “It needed to be done.” Or something like that. Which implies if I had been paying attention I would have known and done it. And she is right. But I have become dependant on her lists.

I’m suffering from list withdrawal. Knowing what to do is a tricky thing. Almost as tricky as knowing what to say. Just ask Zechariah. And he had nine months to think about it. Remember him? He was John the Baptist’s dad. Zechariah the Baptist. From the Jerusalem the Baptists. Good family. Long history. Usually involved in church work. In fact that is where he was when this part of his story really begins.

He was doing his duty, tucked out of sight in the Holy of Holies, supposedly in conversation with God on behalf of the people, when an angel shows up. Gabriel, he says his name is, at least he says that eventually, right after he gets honked off at Zechariah for not doing his job.

The encounter starts innocently enough. The angel appears scaring the wits out of Zechariah. And this messenger proceeds to give the message. “Your prayers are answered! You wife is going to have a son, and you are going to name him John (which means “God’s Gift” - so that you and everyone else will know how this whole thing happened) and then you will dedicate him to God’s service.” Pretty cool, really. Just the sort of thing you’d expect to happen in God’s sitting room, wouldn’t you?

Well, unfortunately, Zechariah didn’t expect it. Didn’t trust it. Tried to push it away, probably cleaned his glasses on his robe and stuck his finger in his ear and did the wiggle thing that everyone who isn’t sure about what they heard does. Then puts his foot in it. His mouth, that is, not his ear. He had managed to gather a part of what was scared out of him earlier, but only manages a half-witted response: “Prove it.”

The angel rears up to his full, divine warrior height and puts his hand on the hilt of his sword and leans in to Zechariah and snarls “You don’t know who you are messing with, bud. But because I’m one of the nice ones, instead of separating your head from your shoulders, I’m only going to stop up your tongue in your head. And you will be unable to utter a single word, a tiny sound, until you learn a little obedience, Priest-dude.”

This weekend’s reading is the first thing he says after all that. For nine months he has been gestating a response to the Lord’s angel, and now he is about to deliver. And this is what he says:

Luke 1:67-79 Then his father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke this prophecy: 68"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. 69 He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, 70 as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, 71 that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. 72 Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant, 73 the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us 74 that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, 75 in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. 76 And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, 77 to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. 78 By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, 79 to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."

A different tone, to say the least. One of humility and praise. But most importantly for Zechariah, a note of hope. Confident hope. Like Mary’s song of a few verses earlier, Zechariah sings as though what he and we have longed for has already happened. “The Lord has looked favorably, the Lord has redeemed, the Lord has raised up a mighty savior for us.” Where, the onlookers might reasonably ask? And with a grin Zechariah would point to the swelling belly of Mary and say “Right there!”

The crowds would roll their eyes and cluck knowingly at one another. Nine months without a word, it would drive anyone a little batty. And Zechariah was a preacher, for heaven’s sake. Can’t think of a worse punishment for a preacher than telling them to shut up for nine months. Might as well have separated his head from his shoulders. Gabriel had a mean streak in him. So, Zechariah could be forgiven for spouting nonsense, his relatives and friends allowed.

But it wasn’t nonsense. He was doing his job. He was living in hope. A confident hope. A powerful hope. A transforming hope. A hope that gives direction.

It’s a list-making hope, it seems to me. He concludes his recitation, after the praise and the confident celebration of the completion of God’s promises, after the marching orders to his new born son who had a role to play in this salvation drama, whose name was going to be John by the way, despite the relatives complaint that no one in the family had been named John. Or, we’ve never done it that way before! But Zechariah concludes his delivery on the most auspicious of birth days, with God’s promise of light. And this light is a comfort, a guard against despair and hopelessness. This light is a comfort against the inevitability of death. This light is a comfort because it will show us how to walk.

Guide my feet is a list receiver’s plea. Help know where to go and what to do. Guide my feet in the ways of peace. Give me a list so I know how to please you. Give me a list so I know how to keep my life right. Give me a list. I’m suffering from list withdrawal.

Maybe Zechariah’s proclamation is asking God for the grace to make his own list. Guide my feet so that knowing where to walk is bred into me. So I don’t have to wonder. So I don’t have to wait. All I have to do is walk where the light is. Serve without fear, serve where the hope is.

I’m making a list.

Shalom,
Derek

Upside Down

It is Saturday morning as I write this. A day of scurrying around and putting things away. Things that should have been put away days ago. But no one seemed to care all that much. Just pile it up, let it sit, no big deal. Except this morning it looks like a big deal. It looks like no one cares. It looks like no one lives here any more. Like something better came up and every dropped - literally dropped - whatever they were doing and headed out. It looks like the Visigoths swooped in and set up camp in our family room and kitchen.

OK, before I get email from the Visigoth Anti-Defamation League, let me quickly say that some of my best friends are Visigoths. No, better yet, some of my teenagers are card carrying Visigoths. Well, if they could keep track of their cards. We stumble across all sorts of stuff that we had lost track of these past few days. It’s that kind of day around here. And now, it is raining too. Great.

So, you might well ask, what brought about this change in perspective. If clutter and disarray was acceptable, almost unnoticeable yesterday, why the concern now? La Donna is coming home this morning. Funny how the world looks different because that advent. It is as though we found our glasses, or rubbed the sleep out of our eyes and were finally able to focus on the rubble and a rising panic puts wings on our feet as we scurry around trying to bring order to the chaos. Even the dogs seems to be arranging their chew toys in some semblance of order. Granted it is an order that only makes sense in a canine perspective, but order is order.

Let me be clear, it isn’t fear that motivates us. Well, not completely. I mean no one wants to hear that “Guys!” of exasperation, the “what were you thinking?” as she salvages what once might have been edible from under the coats that should have been hung up and sorts out the paper for recycling from the receipts to be filed away. That eye rolling enhanced sigh can cause many a stout heart to fail, believe you me!

But is more about the joy of the reunion, more about wanting to provide a bright and shiny welcome. It is also about not adding to her burden by getting the feeling that we are unable to function without her. Because she is coming back as a respite from her own vigil, her own waiting. She has spent these past few weeks with her dad as he navigates his final journey in this life. Not every advent is anticipated with comfort and joy.

Luke 1:46-55 And Mary said, "My soul magnifies the Lord, 47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 48 for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. 50 His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. 51 He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53 he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. 54 He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, 55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

Mary didn’t write this song, but it was still soul music for her. It came from the depths of her new experience. Mary was be all accounts very young, a teenager or even preteen. And yet there is a depth here. A surprising prophetic depth that can barely be understood, let alone explained.

A few verses earlier in Luke’s account she is standing with a puzzled look on her face in front of an angel. “How can this be?” she squeaks. It is beyond her, this whole event, this Annunciation, and you can hear the capital A in the description. Certainly Mary could. She knew, somehow, that this was big, bigger than her and for some unexplainable reason including her. “How can this be?”

And now, in the presence of another, a woman too old to be a mother, more suited for the geriatric ward than obstetrics, Mary - too young to be a mother - sings with a wisdom beyond her scant years. Sounding like a prophet of old, she should have slipped in a “thus saith the Lord” somewhere along there, then we wouldn’t have had reason to doubt where she stood. She stands in a line of proclaimers who want us to know that God is about to turn the world upside down. And she does it with a song. A song of praise and hope, a song of confidence and glory, a song of blessing and presence. A song of completion though all is just barely begun.

It is because she now sees differently. The life within her has affected her vision, and she sees what is out of place but she is also able to see how it ought to be - or can be - or will be. And she sees it so clearly it becomes an is. Notice all the past tense verbs in Mary’s song. “He has shown strength... He has scattered ... He has brought down and lifted up ... He has filled the hungry, He has send away the full. He has. Not he will, or He might, or maybe someday something like this just might occur. He has, Mary sings. From her soul. The soul now giving life to God, the soul now housing the savior, about to birth the hope of the world. No wonder she sings soul music.

Soul music, according to one definition is gospel music that has gone to town. The styles, the forms, the passion of gospel music burst out of the church and began to address the world, secular themes and issues and became known as soul music. The gospel at loose in the world. What better description for Mary’s song can we find than that? This isn’t simply a song about spiritual themes and churchy attitudes. This isn’t a song about faith development divorced from interaction in a messy and broken world. This is soul music, echoing the cry of a heart longing for redemption and the hope of a faith resting in the promises of God while working through the body of Christ to bring this hope to reality in the world in which we live.

No doubt there are some music afficionados out there who are thinking to themselves, “I’ve heard some of what is called soul music and it sounds about as far from the gospel as you can get.” And you’d be right. That’s always the danger when you take your faith to work outside of the church, it can get messy, it can get confusing, it can lose its way. It happens at times, that’s part of the risk of living your faith. But it can also get deeper, get stronger, get more real. Listen closely, those themes, that hope is still out there, being sung by those who wouldn’t call themselves churchy types, in fact go out of their way to distance themselves from us. And yet the passions, the hopes still bubble away out there. And maybe our job is to see with new eyes this world in which we live. See it as something worth working in, something worth cleaning up, because someone is coming home.

La Donna got home in the midst of writing this. We managed to clear some of the surfaces before she got here and her homecoming was less painful than it might have been. It looked a little like someone had bothered to prepare the way. We got caught up, choked back some tears, laughed at our feeble efforts to maintain equilibrium in this advent time. And we proclaimed the goodness of God, who has given us this gift of precious time, even while we long for peace and for rest. But do not doubt that it will come, it is here, in God’s own time. The Mighty One has done great things and holy is His name.

Shalom,
Derek

Deus Ex

At dinner last night, Rhys asked me what “Deus Ex Machina” means. Apparently they ran across the phrase in one of his classes (English lit, probably, doesn’t seem to be a Statistics or Engineering kind of phrase. Maybe AP Psych, but then I’m not so sure) He was stumped by it, or they didn’t cover it in class, or he had trouble wrapping his head around it.

He is a Latin scholar so he could have figured it out. And probably did, but the words, the translation didn’t make sense to him. Deus Ex Machina - God out of the machine. What? It was a theatre term, I explained. It was a device to resolve all the convoluted plot lines that the play had spun out in ever increasing tragedy and suspense. When it got to the point there was no possible solution, when nothing could untangle the mess that had been made, when the hero was on the brink of despair and the villain was about to win, when the ingenue was about to be devoured and the soldier was mortally wounded on the field of battle, when the audience was in tears and chorus was singing lament, then Deus Ex Machina! On a squeaky pulley would be lowered a cut out cloud and an actor with a booming voice and a cotton wool beard would proclaim that all was now resolved. Wrong was put to right, the evil would be punished and the good and faithful would be rewarded. With the snap of divine fingers all was put right again. And the audience would clap until their hands were sore, and as they shuffled to the exits they would turn to their companions and say “That was a close one! I wasn’t sure they were going to get out of that mess.” They would wipe away a remaining tear and breathe a sigh of relief as they pulled their night-on-the-town coats tighter against the chill in the air and went out into the night.

“You’re kidding,” Rhys said to me with a look of disdain. “You mean to tell me they actually bought that?” It was a standard ending to a lot of the Greek tragedies, I told him. “And they didn’t go demand their money back? Nobody today would be satisfied with that kind of thing, a little bit of magic and all the bad goes away. Things aren’t that simple anymore,” he declared as he cleared his dishes. He shook his head at the gullibility of ancient Greek theatre goers, “Deus Ex Machina,” he snorted and then headed back down to the basement where the computer was waiting for him to come and save a galaxy by swooping in with faster than light space ships, firing weapons of unimaginable power against alien monsters of incredible resilience, knowing that even if he lost, he had more lives in reserve, and you could always reboot and start all over.

Isaiah 64:1-9 O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence-- 2 as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil-- to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence! 3 When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. 4 From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him. 5 You meet those who gladly do right, those who remember you in your ways. But you were angry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed. 6 We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. 7 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. 8 Yet, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. 9 Do not be exceedingly angry, O LORD, and do not remember iniquity forever. Now consider, we are all your people.

Maybe those Greek theatre goers were on to something. Isaiah’s lament, which launches this season of Advent sounds suspiciously like he was longing for someone to lower a cut out cloud so that we could hear a cotton wool filtered booming voice pronouncing that all would be well once more. God out of the machine, God tearing open a hole in the heavens and come crashing down. Yes, it would be terrifying, but it would be better than this silence, than this absence that seems to be our lot these days.

My son’s cynicism is echoed by a world that says we are on our own. If there is going to be any resolution to our problems then it is up to us. We’ve got the resources. We could make things right. We could bring peace. We could end hunger. We could end conflict in the Middle East, in Sub-Saharan Africa, in Congress! We could, but we don’t. We haven’t. But we could. Or could we?

Isaiah, in a rare departure from his normal mode of discourse, in this passage stands with us. At least he stands with those of us who are tired of the world as it is. Those of us who are weary from wars and rumors of wars. Those of us who are broken-hearted by the faces of the children who suffer abuse and neglect. By the long lines of the hungry and the hurting. By the growing statistics of poverty in our own neighborhoods and around the world. By the mixed up priorities of millionaires who argue about slices of big money pie around a game played by children in the street who steal shoes to be like their “heroes” on the court.

It seems beyond our capability to fix it, to make it better, to make it right. We might have the resources, but we don’t seem to have the will. We might have the ability but we don’t have the incentive. As long as we live in a world of “what’s in it for me?” we aren’t likely to make a dent in the brokenness of creation.

Thus Advent. More than a countdown to Christmas, Advent is the reminder that we are all still waiting. Yes, the messiah was born in a manger, but the kingdom he proclaimed seems as far off as ever in the history of the world. So we wait. We watch and wait. We wait with longing in our hearts. We wait by leaning into what is coming. We wait with hope, even though our hearts are breaking.

They are breaking precisely because we want more, we know there is more. So we cry out to God. O that you would tear open the heavens and come down! Turn this world upside down, if you have to, or right side up. We don’t deserve it, except that your Son came and gave his life for us, to make us worthy of your presence, your kingdom. And we can’t do it on our own. As hard as we might try, as much as we might work, our efforts are like filthy rags. But remember, please, that we are yours. Even though we forget more often than we would like to admit, you remember. Don’t you? Please say that you remember us. That’s the word we are longing to hear this Advent season. That you are still our God and we are still - despite it all - your people. Please.

Before descending to his games, Rhys said “OK, what’s the “machine”? That’s what I don’t get.” Well, I told him, the direct reference was to the machinery that brought god onto the stage. The squeaky pulley and the cut out cloud. But in wider use it means the story, the plot, the drama. It means life, this machine we live out day by day.

Advent tries to remind us that God is in this machine we live moment by moment. If we could become aware of that presence this season, then Advent will have served us well.

Shalom,
Derek

All the Angels

I am planning this weekend to present a plan for 2012, both in terms of worship themes and for reading through the Bible in one year. I will be inviting the whole congregation to join me in this exercise of Bible reading (and any others of the fans of the LNBS who would like to join in, I can send you the format we will be using). Since this is Bible Sunday and we will be presenting Bibles to the kids at Children’s Time, I thought it was a great time to introduce the project for 2012.

You’ll be hearing more about it all is this space, and others, as I roll out the worship themes for 2012, from January through December. It is something I have never done before, at least on this scale, and I am excited about it all. I am calling 2012 “A Year of Taking Jesus Seriously,” and I am hoping for a dynamic year of worship and discipleship and service. So, watch for it! Or better yet, ask me and I’ll tell you all about it!

I bring it up here, however, to tell you about one particular experience that I hope will finally get us into our text for this week. One of the topics we will be exploring this year (during Lent - if you much be specific) is the whole area of Spiritual Disciplines. These are the practices that John Wesley called the Means of Grace. It is how we both live out our faith and experience more deeply the presence of Christ.

I was looking for a good list, since there are a variety of them out there, and I ran across a website from an evangelical Christian group that call them the tools of the devil. Needless to say I was intrigued. Paragraph after paragraph the site condemned Spiritual Formation and these practices as heretical and designed to lead people astray. Individuals who I had considered teachers and leaders in the faith - Richard Foster, Dallas Willard, Henri Nouwen, Adele Calhoun and many others - were vilified in very negative terms. Foster, for example, was described as that Quaker Mystic, as though that was about as negative as the writers could be.

I don’t know why this stuff surprises me. But it always does. I’d seen it before. Something that I consider helpful and Christlike for my own faith as well as for teaching others (I’ve done courses on some of those authors up there) is now being presented as the very antithesis of the faith and a sign of the coming apocalypse because those who think themselves Christians were dabbling in what amounted to witchcraft and Satanism.

Part of the argument – OK, I probably gave it too much of my time by reading page after page looking for some sanity in the midst of the tirade – was that the authors were afraid that those who promote Spiritual Disciplines were saying that we can earn our way into heaven. That our salvation was all something we could do, by practice (or incantation, as they described it) instead of by grace through faith. And that the Bible doesn’t list these Disciplines anywhere. That it is all about believing and not about doing.

Which made me think these dudes have never read the end of the 25th Chapter of Matthew. Which seems to say the very thing that this editorialist was red-faced against. Take a look:

Matthew 25:31-46 "When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33 and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 34 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35 for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.' 37 Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?' 40 And the king will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.' 41 Then he will say to those at his left hand, 'You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42 for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.' 44 Then they also will answer, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?' 45 Then he will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.' 46 And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."

I suspect that the creators of the website I was reading have a Bible with a hole in it toward the end of Matthew. It can’t have fit very well into their unwavering and dead certain theology. Or they believed that Jesus was having a bad day and not really saying what he meant. Or that Matthew was putting words in Jesus mouth long after Jesus had left and therefore couldn’t correct him so easily.

This passage seems to say that very thing that we all know isn’t true: that we can earn our way into heaven by doing good works. And yet here is the King Jesus in all his glory, with all his angels, telling us exactly that. Just do it. Just get out there and serve Him, by serving those who need, the least of these. And then, whether you realize or not, you’ll be serving Him. And you’ll get your reward.

Whether you realize it or not. Actually, this parable is not inconsistent with Jesus teaching all along. “What is the greatest commandment?” “Love God and Love neighbor.” He couldn’t, or wouldn’t separate them. Our believing and our doing have to be two sides of the same coin. You can’t have one without the other. You can’t believe, you can’t have faith and not act on it. You can’t accept the saving power of Jesus Christ and not be transformed into a servant of Christ. It is not just that good works are “nice” as my evangelical friends were arguing, it is that they are essential. They are one in the same.

Some scholars argue that “the nations” that are gathered before the throne in this parable include everyone but those who are already followers. This parable, they argue, is the answer to the ubiquitous question “What about those who haven’t come to believe in Jesus, but still live Christ like lives?” If they served people, they served Christ, whether they realized it or not. Christ was at work in them, whether they realized it or not. Because, as he told us, without him, we can do nothing.

Which makes that verse from Hebrews all the more interesting, the one about entertaining angels unaware. Because maybe what Matthew 25 says is that sometimes we are those angels. Whether we realized it or not!

Shalom,
Derek