Rise Up

Friday morning at around 4a.m. while his daughter dozed somewhat fitfully on the couch next to him having been up to provide medicines and words of comfort and love multiple times during this night and many nights before, Donald Riddle died as peacefully as he could given the days of pain and wasting away that had been his life for these past few weeks and months.

The breath we had been holding for so many days is now released with grief and loss, but also with relief and peace. With a sigh too deep for words, we breathe again as we put one foot in front of another into the new reality in which we now live. But we know we walk with arms of support around us, prayers of strength and concern, love and comfort. We thank all you who have held us in your hearts as we made this journey with La Donna’s dad. And we embrace God’s gift of death in this life as a end to suffering, and we praise God for memories that even now rise up in our hearts and minds and speak of a life well lived, well connected, well loved.

We will celebrate his life in many ways. There will be a funeral service in South Bend on Tuesday morning at 10:30a.m., visitation at St. Joseph Funeral Home on Mayflower Road, in South Bend from 2 to 8p.m. But for most of you reading this, instead of a long winter’s journey, the best way to offer condolence is through the website set up by St Joseph’s. Simply go to http://www.sjfh.net and click on his name, Donald Riddle. There you can read the obituary that La Donna wrote and sign the guestbook if you so desire.

Most of you reading this didn’t know Don, I realize that. And some have heard me speak of him, the man he was, the family he helped to shape, the life he led. I say without equivocation that he was a man of faith. He was not demonstrative in the least about that faith, rarely spoke of matters of theology or ritual, especially with his Pastor Son-in-law. There were a few occasions over our many decades together that he would quiz me on some theological issue or church historical event or, and this is what puzzled him most, ask my opinion about the behavior of people who claimed faith. Most of the time I had to join him in a shrug of the shoulders or wide-eyed shake of the head as we examined how allegiance to Christ is lived out in some quarters.

I treasured those conversations, as rare as they were. Because they invited me into the mind of a man who lived deeply, observed widely, considered profoundly, but most importantly who lived boldly. By that I don’t mean that he was loud or brash or coveted attention, by no means. If anything he was the opposite of that. He was a quiet man, who lived his convictions more than he declared them. And in so doing redefined for me what it means to be a prophet of God.

He would shy away from the designation, I have no doubt. But someone who lives as an example of obedience and service, who puts caring for neighbor above self, who remains faithful to his covenants, abides by his own word, he is an example of the prophet raised up in our midst. At least that is what comes to my mind as I ponder our words from Deuteronomy for this week.

We are concluding our series on Call with a reminder from the Old Testament that God will take care of making sure the Word is heard. And it just might be from a surprising source. Take a look:

Deuteronomy 18:15-20 The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people; you shall heed such a prophet. 16 This is what you requested of the LORD your God at Horeb on the day of the assembly when you said: "If I hear the voice of the LORD my God any more, or ever again see this great fire, I will die." 17 Then the LORD replied to me: "They are right in what they have said. 18 I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their own people; I will put my words in the mouth of the prophet, who shall speak to them everything that I command. 19 Anyone who does not heed the words that the prophet shall speak in my name, I myself will hold accountable. 20 But any prophet who speaks in the name of other gods, or who presumes to speak in my name a word that I have not commanded the prophet to speak-- that prophet shall die."

We tend to focus on the hard stuff. There is a high calling to the role of the prophet, there is appropriate warning that such a calling be not taken lightly. There is danger and threat and life and death wrapped up in here. That is important to acknowledge. We are often far too casual about these faith issues, as if they were only trivial matters like what to have for lunch or what to wear on a Wednesday, instead of the deep issues of value and purpose, of meaning and eternity. So, be reminded, pay attention to how you speak and how you live.

But for me, in this moment, this is less a warning and more a comfort, or a promise. The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet. What a blessing. What a promise, to know that there will be those who will speak for God, who will represent that Presence in a tangible way. And even better “I will raise up a prophet ... from among their own people.”

One of us, could be you, could be him or her, could be me. And maybe it is all of us in turn. It isn’t really clear whether this raising up is for an office or for an event. We tend to think of a prophet as a career choice. Do you want to be an engineer or a dancer? Well, no, I was hoping to become a prophet, do you know a good college that has a prophetic track?

Sounds a bit silly, I know. And yet when we envision a prophet what comes to mind is someone who signs up for the long haul, who joins the union, wears the name tag. But maybe the promise here in Deuteronomy is that when a word of God is needed, there will be someone who can speak it. When the community is struggling for direction or decision, God will put it in the heart of someone from among us to speak that divine word. Maybe it is a role we can all play in turn.

What it takes is a willingness to be used by God. It also takes a life of dedication to that Word, we study, we listen, we contemplate, we become familiar with the Word that God has spoken so that when God speaks to us and through us, we can recognize it. We can speak it and know that we bring a Word in season, know that we speak with authority.

Or do we? Maybe we don’t know that we are filling that role. Maybe we just speak a word that seems right to us, never realizing that is more than just our word, it is the Word. Maybe when God raises up a prophet, everyone knows who it is but the one raised up. And maybe we don’t even speak that Word, but simply - or profoundly - live it out in front of any who pay attention.

That’s what this passage is about too, paying attention. God says we are held accountable. For hearing and not doing, for doing and not hearing, but also for hearing and doing. And if we want, and most of us do, want our lives to count, there is no better way.

Though I don’t think I ever said it in words, I loved my father-in-law. And I will take his example to heart, and speak with my life more than just my words. Let us rise up to life shaped by the Word, colored by love of God and family and neighbor. Rise up.

Shalom,
Derek

And Then What Happened?

It is a beautiful day today. If you are sitting in your family room with a cup of cocoa and looking out over the pristine hillsides covered with their white blanket, glistening in the bright sunshine. But if you are out trying to make your way through roads not yet cleared, it is a mess. I’ve already made two trips to the high school to drop of kids who are engaged in extra-curriculars today and then a little bit longer trip to retrieve the crazy dogs from the kennel where they spent a couple of nights while I was off leading a retreat and La Donna continues her vigil for her dad.

Yes, that’s right, I was traveling over the past couple of days. I was part of the group that crawled along I69 and then was sent off on a cross country journey by men in reflective jackets, following big trucks from Tennessee, bumper to bumper at the blistering pace of 15 miles an hour until we could re-enter the Interstate a little further south, beyond the terrible accidents that closed the road.

I was only about fifteen minutes late to my first session because I made up time at a breakneck pace around and through Indianapolis and boy did I have a story to tell. I had so much fun telling it that the next day some of the participants asked how I would have started if I had not had such a harrowing trip down! Well, I causally replied, there is always something to tell.

There is always a story to tell. That’s is what I do, that is what I am, a teller of stories. What I love most of all, is to take an experience that is not unlike the one that you have had a million times, but to tell it in such a way that it sounds different, sounds funny, sounds fantastical, over the top. Sometimes for the sheer entertainment value. I love, for example, getting my nieces going at Christmas time. They are a great audience for family stories, especially ones about their dad. And the goofier I can make him look the more they like it!

Most of the time, however, because of my other passion, the story isn’t simply for entertainment, but to make us think. A story can help us see something of significance, even in our own lives, that we might have missed in the normal course of things. A story can make us laugh at ourselves, which is something we all sorely need since we have a tendency to take ourselves way too seriously most of the time.

Like Jonah. Now he is a guy who seriously needs to lighten up. He is unique among the prophets of the Old Testament in that the book that carries his name is not really about what God spoke though him to the people of God or to the world at large. Instead this is a book about a man who struggles with his call. And it is told in such a way that you can’t help but laugh at Jonah. This is one true comedy in the whole bible. There are funny bits throughout, but this is a laugh riot from beginning to end. And to spend a whole lot of time trying to figure out whether it is historical or not, whether there really was a fish that swallowed a man, whether there really was a herd of cows wearing sackcloth and ashes, is to miss the joke. It is better understood as a parable, like the wonderful and sometimes funny stories that Jesus tells in the gospels. Full of truth that is bigger than history. So, did it really happen like it is written? Maybe, maybe not. Who knows? But did you hear the one about the prophet of God who was called to go east and he jumped the first boat going west? Here’s how it turns out:

Jonah 3:1-10 The word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time, saying, 2 "Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you." 3 So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the LORD. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days' walk across. 4 Jonah began to go into the city, going a day's walk. And he cried out, "Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!" 5 And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. 6 When the news reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. 7 Then he had a proclamation made in Nineveh: "By the decree of the king and his nobles: No human being or animal, no herd or flock, shall taste anything. They shall not feed, nor shall they drink water. 8 Human beings and animals shall be covered with sackcloth, and they shall cry mightily to God. All shall turn from their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands. 9 Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; he may turn from his fierce anger, so that we do not perish." 10 When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.

The lectionary skips verses 6 through 9, I put them in here to point out one of the themes of the Jonah story. From beginning to end, the outsiders get it before the insider does. The king of Nineveh gets it, from a one sentence sermon by a reluctant prophet, in a way that the prophet himself never does. “Who knows,” he declares, “God may relent.” It’s worth a try, let’s get on God’s good side. Which is the very side that Jonah, the card carrying prophet of God, didn’t want to be on. Or at. He wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Well, except inside a fish. Wasn’t happy about that.

When Chapter three begins, it says “the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time.” You almost have to read capital letters and italics in there: A SECOND TIME. And the word says “get up.” Why does he have to “get up”? Because he is lying on a beach covered in fish vomit, that’s why. Talk about God reaching out in your lowest moment. Can’t imagine getting much lower than that. God didn’t reach down with a helping hand, however, it was a mission, a ministry, a calling that came to Jonah in his fishy smelling moment.

God is nothing if not persistent. That’s part of the message of Jonah. God won’t leave you alone, will come back again and again with a call. Just when you think you’ve gotten away clean on your boat to Tarshish, or in the belly of a fish, God calls again. A second time, and a third and ... When God has something for you to do, you better believe you’ll hear that voice. Maybe not as directly as Jonah did. Maybe it will be an image that won’t go away. Maybe you’ll stumble across a need more times than could be explained by coincidence. Maybe the voice of God may sound like someone you know who raises a question or makes a suggestion. Who knows?

Unfortunately, the other message from Jonah is that a call from God is likely to be something difficult, or something you’d rather not do. It may be dangerous or risky, it may be uncomfortable or strenuous. Yes, it is possible that the call is your very heart’s desire. But more often it is not. And sometimes even when it is something you’d really like to do, there are hurdles to leap and obstacles to overcome. Or someone close to you won’t think it is a good idea and try to talk you out of it. That is just the way it goes, it seems.

But on the other hand, what a story you’ll have to tell! How God called you and you went, how you leaped tall buildings and mended broken hearts, how you diverted the course of mighty rivers and taught “Jesus Loves Me” to children who smiled so big you thought the sun was shining in the room, how you changed lives and set wayward feet back on the right path. We used to call those stories testimony. And telling those stories built up the church, sustained the faithful, and gave us all a good chuckle from time to time.

So, God called you, eh? And then what happened??

Shalom,
Derek

Voice in the Night

The hospice nurse says it can’t go on much longer. Even though it feels like we have been on this journey forever, it now appears that La Donna’s dad only has a few more days at best. Prayers are always appreciated, thank you.

Last Sunday we got a call that it seemed like the end, so instead of leaving on Tuesday, like she has been doing for a couple of months, she left on Sunday afternoon. Now it is Saturday and he is still hanging in. But because death seems so close, La Donna is not coming home this weekend. And in fact is making plans to be gone all next week too, should that be necessary. She is where she needs to be, and we are happy to make it possible for her to be there. But we seem a bit lost around here.

It’s not that I’m incompetent as a dad and runner of a household. No, really. It’s not. It’s just that we get used to certain patterns, certain rhythms. We get used to defaulting to certain ones to make certain decisions, to fulfill certain tasks. And when the one who usually makes those decisions, does those tasks, is no longer around, there is a void. An emptiness that seems to suck the life out of everything. It becomes hard to do the things that we would normally do ourselves. There is a lack of focus, a depletion of will, a general malaise that settles down up all of us and we don’t even know why for sure.

All of which describes the situation for the boy Samuel. But he didn’t know it. He was just a kid, doing what he was told. He didn’t have any sense of the big picture. He didn’t know what was behind the scenes, what was underneath the daily duties he performed without question, or what was above the ceiling which caught to wisps of smoke from the lantern in the holy place. All he knew was duty, and he did it. Mostly because there wasn’t anyone else to do it. Eli, his mentor, was going blind and could no longer perform the duties of his office. And his sons, who should have been stepping up to fulfill those duties had already made such a mess of their power and authority that faith in the institution of the priesthood was at a very low ebb.

But Samuel just did his job. No matter what was swirling around him, he performed his duties. And this was the result.

1 Samuel 3:1-10 Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the LORD under Eli. The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. 2 At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; 3 the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the LORD, where the ark of God was. 4 Then the LORD called, "Samuel! Samuel!" and he said, "Here I am!" 5 and ran to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call; lie down again." So he went and lay down. 6 The LORD called again, "Samuel!" Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call, my son; lie down again." 7 Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, and the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him. 8 The LORD called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli perceived that the LORD was calling the boy. 9 Therefore Eli said to Samuel, "Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, 'Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.'" So Samuel went and lay down in his place. 10 Now the LORD came and stood there, calling as before, "Samuel! Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant is listening."

“The word of the Lord was rare in those days.” Seems an odd sort of beginning for a story that takes place in the temple of the Lord. And yet there it is. So, Samuel’s days were filled with the thousand little details that Eli could no longer perform in order to keep the rituals ready for the people of God, who were like sheep without a shepherd, because the word of the Lord was rare in those days.

Makes you wonder what people turned to when they didn’t have access to the voice of God, doesn’t it? What sorts of authority did people call on, what sorts of diversions did they obsess over, what sorts of voices did they listen to? To fill the empty nights and to cover up the loneliness of living what sounds did they ache for?

Living a directionless life is draining as well as pointless. It messes with your sense of self-worth as well as emptying you of ambition and of hope. So, what are we left with these days, when “the word of the Lord is rare”? Are we just supposed to generate our own direction? Are we left to our own devices? It is, indeed, all about us after all?

Or do we listen deeper? Is there something to hear after all? We’ve convinced ourselves that what we see is what we get, or this is all there is, or ... whatever. But even though the word of the Lord is rare, even though those who are supposed to speak for the are going blind, the “lamp of God has not yet gone out.” We may have given up on God, but God has not given up on us.

The Voice still calls. It may be night in our souls, the darkness of doubt and fear and emptiness, but the voice still calls. That is what our faith tells us, when our ears are wearying of listening to the silence. But then, there isn’t any silence any more, is there? That may be why we don’t hear, not because it is too quiet, but because it is too loud. Loud in our world with distractions aplenty, voices calling, blaming, warning, vying for our attention. Loud in our souls where we are filled up with our own questions and fears, filled up with our own failures and inadequacies. It is so loud we don’t hear the Voice any more, the Voice that leads and comforts, the Voice that challenges and guides. We don’t hear it anymore because we’ve stopped listening. Or if we do hear it it sounds just like all the other voices around us. No wonder Samuel thought it was Eli. No wonder we think it is a spouse or a friend, or a book we read or a song we heard. No wonder we thought it was indigestion or an impulse to do something really crazy. Because we’ve forgotten how to listen for the voice.

When Eli finally, finally!, figures out what is going on he begins to teach, he begins to mentor. Instead using Samuel as someone to do the grunt work, to clean now ask questions later, he finally begins to introduce him to the source of the voice. He names that source “Lord.” Say “Speak Lord,” says Eli, that’s what you say. That’s the beginning of putting yourself within hearing distance of the Voice. And then, having identified the source, put your self in position, “your servant” the one who follows, the one who obeys, the one who does. “Your servant is listening,” that’s what you say, says Eli. You say, I know who you are, I know who I am, and I want to hear what you have to say. I want to be led, I want to be taught. I want to be claimed, you say.

It isn’t easy, Samuel gets it wrong at first. Speak your servant is listening. Misses the address, missed the identification. But that’s ok, that will come. Because it comes from a servant’s heart. Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.

I got an email and now I have laundry to do. Listen, and follow.

Shalom,
Derek

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