"The People who walked in darkness have seen a great light"

May you all have a blessed Christmas. My sermon from the 10:30 pm Christmas Eve service is below. The lessons are Isaiah 9:2-7 , Titus 2:11-14  and Luke 2:1-14(15-20).

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The prophet foretold, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.”

Something happened long ago, in the shadows of an obscure desert town in a far corner of the Roman Empire. It seemed ordinary at first: 

The birth of a baby. 

At first, only his parents knew how extraordinary this was. All parents think their babies are extraordinary, of course. 

At first, no wise men came, no shepherds, no disciples, no adoring masses. No one was there but his parents. 

The gospel writer Luke tells us this baby was born in a stable; born not into wealth, not into power, not into social status or aristocratic inheritance. 

This baby, like so many tens of millions of babies then and now, entered life in relative poverty and without much of a chance. 

The survival of this baby, like tens of millions of other babies then and now, was not so certain at first. 

This baby was born out of wedlock, to Jewish parents from the hill country of Galilee, a land occupied by a foreign power, the Roman Empire. 

The mother was barely a teenager; her name was Miriam, or Mary. She was to have an arranged marriage with a man named Joseph, but she became pregnant – and not by him – before the wedding. 

That fact put her in grave danger because her pregnancy was a violation of the law.
Joseph was a carpenter, and in those days carpenters made simple implements like wooden bowls and mallets. 

Carpenters like Joseph led a meager hand-to-mouth existence. 

Joseph stuck by Mary when he didn’t have to. He could have had her stoned to death for dishonoring him, but instead the two fled their hometown of Nazareth. 

The gospel writer gives this a polite patina by saying they were going to Bethlehem to register for a census. Except that historians tell us there was no census. Mary and Joseph were probably fleeing the judgmental eyes of their relatives. 

Getting to Bethlehem was not easy and they were lucky to survive the journey. The road goes over hills and robbers hide along the way. 

They had nowhere to go in Bethlehem; either there were no relatives in Bethlehem or none would take them in. 

And so they had their baby in a stable – a barn. Other legends say they birthed this baby in a dark cave, and Bethlehem is riddled with caves. 

Caves also are where people are buried. To be born in a cave was not a sign of regal distinction. To be born in a cave was a sign of someone living in constant fear. 

There was absolutely nothing outwardly extraordinary about this birth.
Not at first. 

Then, the gospel writer tells us, the angels started showing up. 

The angels came to shepherds in a field, at night. The angels didn’t come to kings, aristocrats and high priests. The angels came to the shepherds. 

Shepherds were an even lower class than carpenters. They lived outdoors, slept in caves, and lived with sheep, and they smelled.

And these particular shepherds had the night watch. These shepherds to whom the angels came this night were the lowest of the low. 

The angels told them something extraordinary was happening: 

The birth of a baby in a stable, and this baby would be the messiah, the One who would bring them salvation and freedom, the anointed One of God they had longed for. 

How could that be?, these shepherds wondered. This baby? Here? 

The shepherds were terrified. We are but lowly shepherds, they said, and this baby is in a barn. 

This is not what we expect. This is very different than anything we have been told by every teacher we’ve ever heard. 

The shepherds went to see for themselves. They found the baby lying in a hay trough.
And then the lowliest of the low understood what this was about. 

It was about them. 

They expected a king on a throne tossing off judgments like thunderbolts, but found a healer who would lead a life of simplicity, prayer and truth. 

They expected a God of war. They got the Prince of Peace. 

Later people would try to explain this with complicated theologies, flavored by ancient Greek philosophy, medieval mysticism, modern scientific inquiry, post-modern skepticism. 

People would cover this baby in many layers of words down through the ages. He would wear a lot of swaddling clothes. 

But tonight we have a baby in a manger, only this baby. We are at the beginning of the story of a very frightened poor family long ago, and a naked baby in a stable. 

This messiah whose birth we mark tonight is different than anyone, or anything the world expects. 

He comes to set people free in their lowest places, in their lowest moments, and to bring unconditional love and unlimited healing that lasts beyond this world. He comes with no conditions, no strings attached. 

What better way for God to tell us this than with a helpless baby, born in the lowest caste, in the most obscure place on earth?

The world of power and politics is turned upside down by this one birth. Human expectations, human economies, human politics is upended. 

The story of Jesus – his birth, his life, and his death on the Cross, begins this night. 

The story of Easter begins on this night, too – the story of how Jesus rose from the grave to appear to his followers and give them strength and courage against all human odds. 

Christmas is this great bookend with Easter, and truly the two must be seen together for they are inseparable. 

Those who first saw the Risen Christ of Easter continued to write this story in the way they lived afterwards. The first Christians called this new religion simply “The Way.” 

Their story is also our story. We continue to write this story of Christmas and Easter each day of our life. 

This way of life, this way of faith, is not just about the afterlife. It is about this life. It is about how we live right now, here, today and tomorrow. 

This Christmas night, I would invite you to find ways to deepen your faith, to set aside a regular time each day for prayer. 

I would invite you to renew your faith by being in this faith community once again.
If you don’t have a regular community of faith, and you live here in Charlottesville, think about joining us here at St. Paul’s. 

If you have been away from this church for a while, make this your first day back.
And ask yourself this: 

How is God tugging at your heart tonight? What acts of kindness and generosity are calling you in the new year? 

What do you want to strengthen in your life, and what is dragging on you that you need to shed? 

Bring it to prayer. Have courage. Act. 

And then let’s get to work together in the new year: We have people feed, the sick to comfort, children to raise, and a hurting world needing every single one of us. 

This way of life will change everything in this world if we let it. 

This way of life begins once again tonight with the birth of a baby long ago. 

And the prophet foretold, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.” 

May you have many blessings this Christmas Night and always. AMEN.

The season of Mary, with prayers for peace and goodwill to all

This is the season of the one we call Mary: the Jewish maiden Miriam, mother of Yeshua, or Joshua, the one who we call Jesus.

On Sunday, and again today in the Daily Office readings, we hear Luke's account (Luke 1: 26-38) of how the angel told Mary she would be with child, and this child would be "called the Son of the Most High."

Mary declares she is a virgin, and the angel says she will be pregnant from "The Holy Spirit."

And so the Christmas story begins.

Through the ages, Mary has become larger than life, the "Theotokos," the "mother of God." For some she has remained a perpetual virgin, although the biblical accounts clearly state she had other children besides Jesus (and why wouldn't she?).

We almost lose sight of this perplexed, probably frightened, teenage peasant girl in a land long ago. Much would happen to her -- she would outlive her son, Jesus, and would be carried into her old age by the early Christian community.

We are still carrying her. We are still connected to her through this same Holy Spirit who came to her and comes to all of us, and gives us strength and hope and healing, often when we least expect it. Many encounter "Holy Spirit" as female, and why not?

Sometimes in my daily prayers I imagine myself sitting beside a river, and all of human experience is in that river. Mary herself is somewhere downstream, but I am still connected to her in that river, the same river where John the Baptist stands, the same river that brings water and life to people everywhere. We are all connected in this river just as the Holy Spirit connects us through her breath.

When you pray, your prayers will touch me, as mine will touch yours. We are connected to the poor, and the rich, to the Tea Party and the Occupy protesters. We are connected even to those who cause us the most pain. We are connected even to our enemies.

Lately, Steven Charleston, the retired bishop of Alaska, has been writing brief prayers from the heart and posting them daily on his Facebook page. Here is his prayer for today:

"Peace on Earth. Goodwill to women who work two jobs, to men who come home weary. Goodwill to those who carry our conscience into the streets, goodwill to the soldier missing home, to the student climbing the wall of tuition. Goodwill to the poor standing in line, to the elder sitting alone. Goodwill to the foreclosed family, to the pink slipped worker, to the new parents of an uncertain future. Goodwill to those in chronic pain, to those in chronic hope. Goodwill to the hungry of body, mind or heart. Goodwill to those who have given up and to those who have just begun. Peace, I pray, peace, and goodwill to us all."

Amen.

"How is it they live for eons in such harmony?" (but we don't)

I am not preaching today -- but if you are in the area, please come hear Pastor Nik in the pulpit. Today is sometimes known as "Mary Sunday," as the lessons will make clear: 2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16, Canticle 15, Romans 16: 25-27 and Luke 1: 26-38.

Our friend Karen in Tennessee sent this other day. Enjoy your Sunday . . .

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“We are fields before each other.”

~ St. Thomas Aquinas ~

How is it they live for eons in such harmony -

the billions of stars -

when most men can barely go a minute

without declaring war in their mind against someone they know.

There are wars where no one marches with a flag,

though that does not keep casualties

from mounting.

Our hearts irrigate this earth.

We are fields before

each other.

How can we live in harmony?

First we need to

know

we are all madly in love

with the same

God.

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And one more item today: Steven Charleston, the retired Bishop of Alaska, and who I admire greatly (and who I would love to have come preach at St. Paul's), wrote this on his Facebook this morning, and I pass it along to you:

"The incarnate story begins in humility. That is the first step in our own spiritual narrative. But how to take it? Not once, but over and over, as our life shifts through age and place. It is not feigned innocence or submission. It is what my ancestors believed was the gyroscope of the holy, the sense of inner balance that held a tension between pride and resignation, between limitation and possibility. What gave life to the sacred was a vulnerable power. That same divine energy resides incarnate in each of us, a hope that knows it can change the world, if only it is willing to seek shelter in the poorest home it finds."

Art by Flor Larios

The New Jerusalem inside each of us

I was up early today, long before dawn. It was still very dark out. I found the quiet and darkness to be calming and wonderful.

The distracting voices that always rush in the minute I am awake, though still lurking, quieted themselves for a time.

In the readings for the day, I was especially taken by the image of the "New Jerusalem" from Revelation 21:9-21 of a City with gates for all the tribes of Israel and all the apostles of Jesus, with jewels all over the place, with names I cannot pronounce, and the streets paved with gold.

I pictured there must be gates for all the peoples of the earth, and that this is the City where peace and justice reigns, so unlike the world in which we live.

I pictured many friends and relatives who have died, and who are now in this City, beginning with my Dad and my brother. So many people I know, I named as many as I could remember and asked forgiveness for those I could not remember. I pictured their faces, saw them happy and smiling. I found my own peace seeing them in this City, and my own fear of death dropped away in these moments. I waited awhile before praying for the people in this world; I wanted to stay in the City for a little longer, but I was told to go.

With the image of the City still somewhere in me, I moved onto to Luke 1:26-38, the story of the angel Gabriel telling Mary that she will be pregnant with Jesus. "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" she exclaims.

The angel tells her "The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you."

The line is meant to explain the virgin birth, but I was struck by something else about that line, something more important than biology. I wonder if the Holy Spirit "coming upon" Mary is why her image is so powerful to us still? Mary is changed, she is different, and it is more than being pregnant. Mary is changed forever in these moments. The Holy Spirit takes her form, overshadowing her, the two seem to merge. Maybe this is how and why the Holy Spirit comes to be seen most powerfully in female form?

In the darkness, I prayed she was with me. I prayed she would come to people I know who are sick and hurting, lonely and grieving in this world. I prayed their hurt would be lifted, that they would catch a glimpse of the City, and that my own eyes might help them see the City more clearly. I prayed that their fear will be lifted, and they will find peace and healing and comfort.

The next stop in my prayers was the "Collect" or opening prayer from this past Sunday -- and it mentioned preparing a "mansion" inside us for the coming of Christ. It hit me then that the City is inside me, a place I can touch, a place that is inside all of us that we can touch always.

"Greetings favored one! The Lord is with you," the angel Gabriel proclaimed. "Do not be afraid."

Mary: Mother of God? First disciple?

Today we reach the Fourth Sunday of Advent, or in popular lore, "Mary Sunday."

And though the gospel lesson for today, Matthew 1:18-25, is focused on Joseph, I still felt like preaching about Mary. Here is my sermon for today:

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The Blessed Virgin Mary

Grace and peace to you this Holy day.

We’ve officially reached the Fourth Sunday of Advent. In popular lore, today is known as Mary Sunday.

In a little while, we are going to recite the Nicene Creed, and we will say the following line: “by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary and was made man.”

Now I know full well that some of you will be literally or figuratively crossing your fingers when you say that line, or your voices will drop to a mumble.

So I want to spend some time today talking about the Blessed Virgin Mary. To see her, we need to cut through layers and layers of hazy church history and dense theologizing. To see Mary, we need to use a little mental archaeology.

What do we know of Mary? Not a great deal. Her name in Hebrew was Miriam. She was very young, maybe 13 or 14 when she became pregnant out of wedlock.

The Greek of the New Testament uses the word παρθενος, which we translate as “virgin” in English; the word also means “young girl” or “maiden.” The word has everything to do with her age and martial status, not just her biology.

This we also know: Mary was betrothed to Joseph, a Jewish man probably quite a bit older than she, and almost certainly it was an arranged marriage. She no doubt outlived him, for we hear little else about Joseph soon after.

In the Gospel of Matthew, an angel tells Joseph about Mary’s pregnancy and to not be afraid. The angel tells Joseph that a child will come and he is to take care of him and call him “Emmanuel” – God is with us. He has no idea who the father is – the angel doesn’t tell him. All he knows is the maiden he is about to marry is pregnant and not by him.

Jewish law held that Joseph, if he wished, could have had Mary stoned to death for what was an obvious tarnishing of his honor.

He could have dispatched her just like this, and no one would have thought it wrong.

It is a great act of faith on the part of Joseph that he weds Mary anyway and protects her child and takes her child as his own.

We don’t get much of a portrait of Mary in the Gospel of Matthew. She gives birth in a stable but we don’t hear from her in Matthew. She is almost a secondary character in Matthew.

It is to the Gospel of Luke where we must turn to catch a glimpse of Mary’s personality.

In Luke, we hear that an angel came to Mary in a dream, and told her she was with child, and that God was already dwelling within her.

Mary must have been terrified. She knew Joseph could have her put to death, and still she said “yes” to having this child, and she trusted all would be well even when reason was screaming otherwise.

"My soul magnifies the Lord,” Mary sings in the Gospel of Luke, “and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”

The rest of the story of Mary, Joseph and Jesus will unfold in the days and weeks ahead as we walk toward Christmas and the Cross and Easter beyond.

There is another side to the Mary story, and to hear it we need to fast-forward into the fourth century, to that Nicene Creed that we say, and to how early Christians struggled to understand their experience of the Risen Christ.

The church fathers, and they were men, knew there was something miraculous about the birth of Jesus, as indeed there was. But they struggled mightly with the idea that Jesus was both God and man at the same time.

To be God, they reasoned, he must be pure, he must be without sin, and by the fourth century sinfulness was becoming equated with the human body and sexuality. Some influential Greek philosophers saw the human body as revolting, and so all sex, even in the covenant of marriage, became sinful.

For Jesus to be without sin, they reasoned, he must have been born outside of sexual relations. The focus on Mary as a pure “virgin” came into high relief.

A legend even grew that Mary’s own birth must have been to a virgin mother, becoming known as the “immaculate conception” of Mary. Mary needed to be born in purity for Jesus to be born in purity. You can see where this is going.

Maybe all of that is true. But what is so unfortunate is how the human body came to be seen as a sinful vessel. Our current conflicts over sexuality began right here.

The Church began to lose sight of Mary’s humanity and her act of discipleship toward the child she bore. The ancient Church rendered Mary into a perpetual virgin.

The gospels note, by the way, that Mary had many more children after Jesus including his brother Jacob, whom we know as James.

His siblings pop up all over the place in the gospels, and yet the Church began to maintain that Mary was a perpetual virgin. Even in the gospel lesson you hear today, Joseph had marital relations with Mary.

The real miracle of Jesus’ birth is that God chose to walk among us as a human being. By so doing, God showed us that the human body is good, that our creation is divine, and our deepest most intimate and committed relationships with each other are truly ordained by God and should be cherished as sacred.

Something else happened as the centuries unfolded that clouds how we view Mary. The idea grew that Jesus was a mighty warrior, and you can see that reflected in medieval art in depictions of Jesus wearing armor and holding a sword.

With that grew the idea that Jesus was inaccessible, and so a counterbalancing cult of Mary grew. If we could not pray to Jesus, surely he would listen to his mother. So direct your prayers to Mary and she’ll talk to him for you. Call it heavenly triangulating.

Mary acquired a new title in Greek – Τηεοτοκος, the Mother of God.

Centuries later, Protestant reformers railed against the idea that they needed Mary to reach Jesus.

So they sought to rid Christianity of the cult of Mary. The new Protestants banished Mary statues and rosary beads, and mocked apparitions of Mary as superstition.

That reaction was also unfortunate side to it. In so doing, Protestantism lost sight of Mary as the mother of Jesus.

She was there at his birth and at his death; she is the one who ought to be thought of as the first apostle, the first disciple; the one who said “yes” every step of the way; the very blessed one who showed more courage than a legion of Roman warriors.

There is one more level to this that I would commend to you.

I believe the images of Mary are another way for the Holy Spirit to reach us in unexpected ways. The Holy comes to us not just in male imagery – not just as God the Father and God the Son.

The Holy Spirit can come to us as female, as she can and will touch us here in our heart in ways that will comfort us, give us courage and strength, and change us in ways we can scarcely imagine.

The Holy Spirit is like a wind that will blow where she will, and will show her face in ways that speak to us in the depths of our soul, and gives us strength and courage when we most need it most. The question is do we have eyes to see and ears to hear?

To me, this idea of Mary is a reminder that not all of life can be understood by our intellect. Not everything lends itself to neat equations and philosophical categories.

Much of life is inexplicable and only can be experienced as the inexplicable. Sometimes a legend or a poem is more powerful than a dense theological treatise.

The holy can come when we least expect it, coming as a friend who listens, or in the quiet of the night, or as an image of a young mother, or as a newborn child.

And so I bring you back to Mary, the Blessed Maiden Miriam, who rejoiced at hearing she would have her child, and was with him at every step of his life, even to his death and beyond.

She certainly had a mother’s worries, but she moved forward in faith anyway. She was truly the first Christian, and she still has much to teach us about how to say “yes” when it is hardest, and how to be a servant to the lowly, and what it means to face tremendous challenges with courage and even joy.

"My soul magnifies the Lord,” Mary sings, “and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”
Amen

Theotokos icon by Kenneth D. Dowdy.