Dec 27 2020 John 1:1-14

Today, in the common lectionary used by many churches we hear a different sort Jesus birth narrative. Christmas day, we hear Luke’s account, full of human-ness. Today, to round out the picture of Jesus’ complex nature, we hear John’s account, full of Jesus’ divine-ness.

Some of the preachers in my diocese agreed to record a sermon for an assigned Sunday, and we shared those recordings. This gave exhausted church leaders the opportunity to take a few Sundays off in preaching, as they’ve also figured out how to connect virtually, and be digital and social media wizards. Today was my Sunday. Here’s the text of my sermon, and below is a link, should you want to see it instead. Merry Christmas!

https://youtu.be/etqM_9Y2ENs

Merry Christmas.

I have always appreciated our tradition’s fierce insistence that Christmas is more than a day, it’s a season that stretches until Epiphany. This year, perhaps more than any other, I’m grateful to hold on to that sense of Christmas joy and wonder. So again, I say, Merry Christmas!

If you were able to catch a Christmas service, you heard the traditional story of Jesus’ birth. His parents were unmarried, she was a teen, they were refugees in a strange land, and effectively homeless. This is the context in which God chooses to join us. To me this absolutely illustrates that Jesus was fully human. His life carried all the human challenges, risks and emotions that our lives do. Through his fully human nature, Jesus fully understood our lives and our plight. That means, that through his fully human nature, God fully understood our lives and our plight.

Today we hear another sort of Jesus’ birth narrative, a very different narrative. It begins with a phase used earlier in Scripture, “In the beginning was the word”.

Word is a tricky word to translate as originally intended. In Greek, word is logos, or the basis of logic. Word is the mastermind behind the way things are, logos is the source and reasoning. And in John’s birth narrative, the word is Jesus.

In the beginning was the Word, was the source, the logic, the reason. We’ve heard that opening before; In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. This is no accidental repeat. With this opening, we are intentionally reminded of the very beginning. It’s the same beginning. God created heavens and the earth, and now we hear the Word was there too.

Looking back at the creation of everything, God created it not by conjuring, or imagining, or wishing it into being. God said, let there be light. And there was light. The creation narrative uses words or speech in very powerful ways. In Genesis, as in our day, words have the ability to bring things into being, things that didn’t previously exist. In current day, examples can be seen of things being created through words – both horrible and beautiful. Hate speech creates something that cannot be undone. Hurtful words to children create permanent scars. Words matter, and words create. And words can create things of beauty and worlds that previously didn’t exist. A spoken statement of love. A beautiful poem. Words create now, and Words created then.

So with these simple six words, we’ve learned a great deal about Jesus’ birth narrative through John.

1. We are to hearken back to the beginning – the very beginning, when God created all things. But as opposed to being created in the beginning, the Word was right there, all along.

2. Jesus, as the word or logos, is the mastermind, reason or logic behind all things.

3. Words create new realities. God spoke the heavens and earth into being, spoke us into being. Jesus is that new word.

From this multi-faceted and dense opening, John’s narrative story continues into something that has been referred to as a cosmic birth story. Where Luke’s telling with the manger, the inn, and the shepherds illustrate how Jesus was fully human, it’s fair to say that John’s cosmic birth story illustrates how Jesus was fully divine.

The Word was with God, the Word was God. As someone with a very strong sense of the tangible and logical, I am drawn to Luke’s fully human exploration of Jesus’ nature. As a fallible human, who knows I cannot do all, know all, understand all, I can appreciate John’s narratives that round out my understanding of Jesus – fully divine.

In the beginning God created heavens and the earth. In the beginning was the word. Have you ever seen photos taken from the Hubble telescope?. I’m not an astronomy nerd, and I couldn’t describe what you’re seeing technically, but I can tell you is that these photos are spectacular. They are photos of stars, and galaxies millions of years way. They have spectacular colors, and shapes, and are what I imagine God sees when God looks out over God’s creation.

During one of the Eucharistic prayers we hear the words, at your command, all things came into being, the vast expanse of interstellar space. These images are what I envision when those words are spoken. What we hear today, links Jesus to these same images. In the beginning was the Word.

So from Luke’s story, we get the image of Jesus fully human and from John, Jesus fully divine. And here’s the magical part of John’s story. It continues, and does a beautiful way of merging these two truths that seem a mutually exclusive. Fully human. Fully divine.

John continues, and the Word became flesh and lived among us. After hearing about Jesus, fully divine, in the beginning, with God, now John says that all of that divinity is wrapped up in human flesh, in this baby born to the unwed refugee homeless teen.

When I hear this, I get a picture in my head. Imagine a genie bottle being opened up, releasing all sorts of magic, but there are a few changes. First what’s coming out of the bottle is the vast galaxies, perhaps something you’ve seen from a Hubble photo. Second, run that image in reverse. So the vast expanse is being sucked back into the bottle. Finally, the bottle is an infant in a manger.

This human Christ child has all of this. This infant, this galaxy producing, from the beginning of time, God child who lived among us. It’s no wonder that the shepherds quaked with fear.

While there are other instances of God interacting with humanity – the burning bush, Daniel and Lion, the whole Exodus story, this is the first time God enters our world as a human. Theologian Richard Rohr says it well, “Christ is the image of the invisible God”.

Jesus Christ – fully human and fully divine. That’s pretty spectacular good news. But, there’s more. In the midst of John’s cosmic birth story we hear that “There was a man sent from God whose name was John”. While we frequently refer to him as John the Baptist, today, it’s more fitting to think of him as John the Witness. John who testifies to the light so that all might believe through him. This little bit about John falls in the middle of this amazing birth story. Why? Perhaps it’s because of John’s role, and what it means for us. John testified to the light, so that others might believe through him. The light John speaks of is a light that cannot be overcome by darkness.

Here’s where you and I come in to this story. It’s not just John that’s sent by God to testify to the light, to point people to the light. You and I are called, by God, to testify to the light. We can shine that light, and others can see it in us, and though us, we point others to Christ’s light, to God’s love.

This is the last Sunday of 2020 and some, many, would say good riddance. But through this strange 2020, there have been uncountable examples of Christ’s light shining in the otherwise dark year. Fire responders saving lives and property throughout our communities, medical professionals and chaplains showing up to give care, and love to people affected by the virus, store employees, mail carriers, business owners who carry on, despite the pandemic, for us. And the ways we have adapted with video church, delivered groceries, and video gatherings with family and friends.

If you think about it, there are hundreds of examples of seeing Christ’s love in others. Far from dampening it, the surrounding darkness of this year has just made that light even more stark, more bright.

That is what Christmas is about, and that is why we hear this interrupted cosmic birth story. Jesus, fully human and fully divine is a light that cannot be overcome by the darkness. And like John the Witness, we are sent by God to testify to the light, to let Christ’s light shine through us, to point others to God’s unbelievable and unending love.

So go be the light. Merry Christmas.

Dec 25 2020 – Merry Christmas (repeat, but worth) (I think)

This is something I wrote in 2018. Still true. Perhaps because it’s a universal, timeless truth.

This Christmas morning, in the quiet of the house, I'm thinking about Christmas mornings in the past.

As a kid in Evanston, waking up and running downstairs to find the presents from Santa in the stocking and under the tree. We weren't allowed to open anything except the stocking, until our parents woke up, seemingly hours later. With them, we'd rip through the presents, and then enter the late morning coma-quiet, playing with presents. From there, we'd make our rounds to visit family friends, and eventually return home for a lovely dinner.

The Christmas in college I spent in East Berlin in the home of a Lutheran family, torn apart by the Berlin Wall. Their Christmas was quiet, absent the cultural support and frenzy, and the genuine lit candles on the tree were as beautiful and risky as their faith.

The Christmas after my mom died in late November. It was hard to get in to the Christmas spirit that year, although I went through the motions.

The Christmases in Seattle with our small kids. Coming home from Christmas Eve Service to finish wrapping and putting out the presents. Those Christmases I was the one late to rise, much to the disappointment of the kids.

The Christmas morn I was awoken by church bells in Greece. The kids were worried Santa wouldn't find them. Santa found our balcony for the stockings, and all was good with the world.

The Christmas mornings with my grown kids and their girlfriends or boyfriends. The cycle continues.

Christmas mornings are full of a lot of external pressure for performance and perfection. And those expectations never are true or comfortable or helpful. It is supposed to be this beautiful morning where everyone gets along, and you get the right gifts. And when everything is perfect, you are finally complete. Everyone is happy, smiling, healthy.

But it's rarely really like that, is it? Someone isn't healthy or happy. Family doesn't magically become the Rockwell people you've envisioned. And the perfect gift doesn't arrive or isn't as perfect as you'd imagined. With expectations like that, it's really hard to arrive at Christmas afternoon with a sense of celebration. More often, we're disappointed that things didn't turn out the way we'd imagined, never mind that it was never reality.

For me, this is a constant struggle on Christmas, or any holiday laden with expectations. But if we can strip away those expectations, and just LOVE, it's a magical day. Love the imperfect family members, in all their imperfection. Love the aging parents or bickering children. It's who they are, and I'm a part of their life. Love the gifts or hugs given in love. Beneath the hype, gifts that are given or received by loved ones are a token of that LOVE.

On top of all of that, it's Christmas morning. God has entered our world again in this human form. God in Christ lives among us to show us what the Divine is like. And God in Christ lived among us to learn from us mere mortals, and show the Divine what humanity is like.

God doesn't expect our Christmas to be perfect. Christ's certainly wasn't. But God wants us to know we are loved, and to show that love to all around us. That is something to Celebrate.

Merry Christmas!

Dec 23 2020 Luke 1: 26-28

Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.  

I’ve always appreciated Mary, her humility and her strength.  This year, it seems even more so.  This morning’s reading retells the story of when the angel Gabriel came to Mary, telling her she was going to have a son. How can that be, she asked. Gabriel’s response was that with God, all things are possible.  

Some people, and maybe me at another time, would hold on to this commitment from Gabriel. With God, all things are possible.  And while I believe that, it’s tough. It’s tough because if it’s true, if with God, all things are possible, why is there hunger, oppression, war, pandemic?  I do not believe God wants these things, but I also don’t know why they persist, if through God, all things are possible. 

Holding on to God’s ultimate power leaves me perplexed.  Why aren’t things like I think they should be? No war, no hunger, no oppression, no pandemic.  Perhaps that’s because I’m not God, and although I think I have a pretty good list of things God should want and God should do, I also suspect there are plenty of other people in the world who also have lists of what they think God should want and God should do.  And with some of those lists, I’d find common ground. But with others, I suspect I’d find no common ground.  My idea of what God would want to do is fallible, and if not wrong, it certainly is not empirically right; it can’t be because I’m not God.  

So to hold on to the “with God all things are possible”, I think it’s a slippery slope to have that morph in to, “with my idea of what God should do, all things are possible”.  That’s a dangerous thing.  

Rather, I’m drawn to Mary’s response. Let it be with me according to your Word. I can’t know what God’s plans are, or why some things happen or don’t happen. I shouldn’t presume that if things don’t turn out the way I think God should script them, God’s impotent, or uncaring.  Rather, I should know that God’s providence is bigger than my imagination.  My job, should I choose to accept it, is to simply have faith, and respond that yes, here I am. Let it be according to your word. 

I suspect that everyone has things in their lives that are imperfect. That it would be easy or at least nice, to have God fix them, because with God, all things are possible.  It certainly is true in mine. My loved one has had a relatively stable few weeks, but is beginning to make choices that I fear will cascade into less stability. While I believe that with God all things are possible, it is dangerous for me to hold on to that part of this story without Mary’s response. I would love it if God would make this illness go away, or would give our loved one more stability.  But I’m not going to stop my prayers with what God should do, because that is just a thinly veiled substitute for what I think God should do, and as it turns out, I’m not God. 

Because all things are possible with God, I need to pray that I have the humility and strength to respond as Mary did. Let it be according to your word.  I cannot know God’s master plan.  But I have faith that there is one, and that I, if I can be more like Mary, play an important role.  I just don’t always know what that is. 

Dec 13 2020 Luke 1:46-55

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

So opens some of my most beloved words from scripture. And there are a lot of ones I love. But this one is one of the best, as far as I’m concerned. Mary has visited her cousin Elizabeth, who recognized the Holy One in Mary. Mary’s response, known as Mary’s song or the Magnificat is Mary’s assent to God’s wacky request of her. The Angel Gabriel visited her, told her she was going to bear God’s son, and she agreed.

God is asking Mary for something big. Mary had the advantage of having an angel emissary. But the truth is that God is asking each of us for something. There are little somethings, and there are big somethings, and I think we each have both. The little somethings come in the way of how we behave, and act, and see the world. How do we love God and Love our neighbor every day? How do we show light in these dark days and dark time?

These little asks of God are hard for us because we sometimes don’t hear them. We’re too busy making our own noise. Noise that comes in over-busy monkey brain, constant talking, or even constant petitions and transmitting prayer to God. We need to stop and listen. I speak from first-hand knowledge. I definitely need to pause and listen more.

The little asks are hard because sometimes we hear them, but then are too busy to respond, or the request is inconsistent with our plans. I’m guilty here too. There have been times I know I’m supposed to stop and talk to someone on the street, or be compassionate to a frustrated co-worker, but I don’t. I’ve got places to go, things to do. But secretly, I know that nudge was God. Why, I wonder would I ever imagine my plans or intentions are better than God’s?

But however bad I am at responding to God’s small requests, there’s hope. I can pause and listen to God. I can stop and respond better to the Spirit’s calling me to love my neighbor, or love God. What is it going to cost me to do that? It might cost some time, but more challenging, it will cost me the illusion of control. At any moment, on any day, God’s will is what I should heed, not my own well-intentioned, and well-executed plans. To that, all I can do is recite the Lord’s prayer, every day, several times a day. Thy will be done.

In addition to the small, daily requests of God, God asks each of us to big and seemingly impossible things. All the time. We have the same problem of not hearing or thinking we’re too busy for these big asks. I also feel ill-equipped. I can’t possibly [fill in the blank].

But here’s the thing. We aren’t asked to do them by ourselves. God is with us. Always. And we are not asked to do more than we can do, although we are frequently asked more than we think we can do.

I’ve had this sense at least four times in my life, where I thought the task ahead was way bigger than I could do. I’d have preferred opting out of these, but that was not a real option. After my mom died, I had to move my confused dad from his home in Illinois to Washington, to take my turn being the adult child caring for the aging parents. We had to pack up everything he was going to take for his new life in a new state and new assisted living facility and get on a plane. Everything else was being left to be sold. He sort of understood what was happening. I didn’t think I could do it. And I did.

My sophomore aged son was tanking his high school year, and was going to drop out. Helping to parent the final three years of what should have been his high school years was incredibly difficult. I knew I had to. And I did.

At one point I was sensing that God was calling me in to ordained ministry. It was very complicated, as I still had small kids, whose Sunday mornings might look very different, and they didn’t ask for that. My husband doesn’t go to church, so that added another possible complication. I didn’t think I could continue or finish. But after seven years, I did.

For the past five years, we’ve been dealing with the deepening illness of our loved one, which began with another child dropping out of high school, car accidents, one of which totaled a volvo, a diagnosis significant persistent mental illness, multiple hospitalizations, and a tumultuous few years. Often, I don’t think I can do it. And I do.

I don’t say this because I’m singularly spectacular at hearing God’s big asks. Often it takes me years to understand it is God’s call, rather than just crappy luck. Often it takes counsel from friends, to remind me that this is all part of God’s ask. But looking back, these each were big asks. Each changed my life in significant ways. And I’m certain God is not done with me. Just when I figure out my current new normal, I’m learning to expect a new big ask.

By way of a quick update, our loved one returned from a trip to visit their family of origin. They’ve been back for a few days, and we’re all having a lovely time. There’s gratitude, laughing, shopping trips. They even made us dinner last night. While things are good, we’ll try to take some steps towards further community engagement, getting them out for more scheduled events, and normalize things like medicine management and exercise. Given the nature of the illness, this is not a permanent improvement, or indicative of things to come. It is a moment of grace and respite that will allow all of us to deal with the next episode.

This morning, I’m thinking about the Song of Mary, and God’s big asks of each of us. What is it that God’s calling you to do? Maybe you don’t know because you need more stillness. Or silence. Or a freer calendar. Maybe you do know and don’t think you can. Who’s God put in your world to help? Mary had Gabriel, Elizabeth and Joseph. Who’s your Elizabeth? In response to God’s request of you, what’s your song?

Dec 10 2020 Bless

One of the spiritual practices that the Episcopal Church has instituted during this Advent is a series of simple meditations to help become the Beloved Community. Today’s meditation focuses on the practice of Blessing. It reads, “Call or write a family member with whom you desire a closer relationship. Share with this person how they are a blessing”. I don’t have much immediate family remaining, surprisingly. They are all a blessing, for sure. My brother is definitely a blessing. He’s always had a heart of gold, and has probably always been the nicer of us two kids. I should learn more from him.

 I have in-laws, and they’re all immense blessings. I’ve learned a lot from that whole family, inherited by marriage. It’s interesting how different families of origin are. I always assumed that my upbringing and my family was the way everyone’s family was. Learning about and loving my husband’s family, it’s fascinating how very different upbringings are, even those that appear to be similar – two parents, white collar work, family meals,  

When my husband and I married, we created a new family of origin, melding his normal and my normal. Our son, born into this family, probably thinks it’s normal. It’s as if we had a cycle, like a wave length, that everyone knew and operated around. When our son was little, we fostered then adopted a girl. It was fascinating how her wave length was just a little different than ours. Her normal was very different than ours. None of these ‘normals’ is bad, it’s just interesting to me how we all think it’s what everyone does, and it really is never that universal. 

I’m thinking about families of origin because our loved one went to visit her family of origin, for what was intended to be a few months. As best I can tell, the visit was going well… until it wasn’t. Last night, there was yelling, name calling, and threats of turning our sick loved one out onto the streets. Needless to say, they’ve decided to return to our home. As I was told last night, we’re old and boring, but her family of origin is making her pretty upset. 

It will be good to see my loved one. To tell them what a blessing they are to me, even in the midst of name calling, and accusations coming from the illness. It will be good to again try to normalize the wave length of this normal. Now on to the logistics of rerouting prescriptions, a train ticket and a third party uber. All in a day’s work. And I’m blessed to do it.  

Dec 6 2020 Mark 1: 1-8

The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.

In Mark’s Gospel, the beginning of Jesus’ story actually begins with John the baptizer, as foretold in the book of Isaiah, in the Hebrew Scripture.  John was sent ahead of Jesus to prepare the way, to point people to Jesus. One of my favorite underused words is used to describe John, a harbinger or a person that announces the approach of another. 

John’s described as a man with fiery words and opinions, wearing rough clothing, eating locusts and honey. Icons of John show him with wild hair, and a wild look in his eye.  He is an icon for me of what it means to be a deacon. Deacons are to point people to Jesus, to work for justice and truth, and to speak hard truths to power, particularly when people are being hurt.  As a deacon, I have felt like I was a voice crying in the wilderness, wanting others to feel the loneliness of the orphan, to stop the abuse of the victimized, to comfort the homeless. Deacons are called to be prophets – not fortune tellers, but people who can paint a picture of God’s kingdom here on earth, and help bring people to that truth.   

And it’s such a short distance between being the impassioned prophet, and the maniac. Take John the Baptist.  If I encountered John in downtown Portland, I would probably chalk it up to deinstitutionalization, that horrible and incomplete social policy experiment where institutions were closed, turning nearly 500,000 significantly mentally ill people out onto the streets. Community mental health institutions were to pick up the slack, but that system was never funded nor implemented.  Now these people make up the majority of our nation’s unhoused population. 

In any case, there is a fine balance between prophetic voice, and madness.  My loved one, for example, sees a future that I cannot see. They talk about things that I do not understand, and their sense of reality is different from my understanding.  To be clear, I’m not suggesting John had a mental illness.  But I’m suspecting it might be difficult to tell the difference between Holy people through history, and people experiencing mental illness.  Not sure what that means, but it is interesting.  

Update – Our loved one took the train to Seattle to visit biological family, with plans of staying there for two months. I’ve heard it’s not perfect, but we stand prepared to help support them in their journey, and meanwhile will enjoy the peace in our house that remains.  

Dec 2 2020 Update

Yesterday, our loved one returned from the hospital after 30 days. It was a sweet day. They made me a collage, including a positive affirmation they’ve been repeating to themselves. They took care of several necessary errands, including getting a new bank card, and picking up medicine at the pharmacy. They did several things they definitely could not have done a month ago. The time in the hospital definitely did stabilize them.

We also had celebratory Dominoes pizza for dinner, their favorite. We all sat at the table and they entertained us with stories about the hospital, some very funny, some sad. There was a twinkle in their eye we hadn’t seen in some time. We also learned more about the auditory hallucinations (voices) that are in their head that result in the certitude that I’m stealing things that my husband is a pervert. We were able to talk about that, and express our deep sorrow that those thoughts ever came, as we’d never want to be those things.

We also were able to talk about medicine: its impact on them, and how it’s a very very quick ride from skipping one dose, to deciding they never need meds again. Regularity is critical, because the first symptom that returns without medicine is the thought that there’s nothing wrong, and meds aren’t needed. Who hasn’t missed one dose of a daily medicine? It’s horrible that the effect of this missed dose is so damaging.

Our loved one wants to travel to Seattle to visit extended family for several months. A previous visit did not end as well as hoped, so we are a little apprehensive. And we want to fully support their wishes and desire for self-determination. At this point, a casual offer to come was made, and our loved one is hopeful that further communication with the host will occur to make this trip a reality. It’s possible the offer won’t materialize, which would be very disappointing for our loved one. That dissapointment would be double edged, too. First comes the dissapointment that extended family does not follow through (wouldn’t be the first time), and then the practical dissapointment that our loved one would be again stuck at our home, without viable housing options.

Meanwhile, we are continuing with our pursuit of permanent guardianship, and steps slowly being taken in the legal field to arrive at a hearing. We’ve no idea when that might happen, but we’re taking baby steps.

In my work world, I have the opportunity to lead discussions about where people are seeing God in their world. During this season of Advent, we embrace -or at least tolerate – the dark. Four weeks of darkening days in my environment, ending with a day with only 9 hours of light. Throw in a pandemic and a persistent serious mental illness, and this Advent feels dark.

And yet, we await God incarnate. We have hope. I’m not sure of the right theological terms, but I tend to rely pretty heavily on the idea that through the Holy Spirit which is within us all, I don’t actually need to wait to meet God incarnate. I meet God in nearly every interaction I have with another human being. Yesterday, the pharmacist was really struggling, hours behind her orders including ours. But I waited for an hour while she tried to get to our order. Once we finally paid, the pharmacist apologized profusely. And what I saw was God incarnate, helping us get meds to keep my loved one stable.

At the dinner table, we laughed and joked and were serious about a 30 day inpatient involuntary hospitalization. God incarnate around the table.

Today, I get the opportunity to take socks and hats to people living on the streets. They will not always be grateful, or lucid. God incarnate.

This morning, I’m thinking about Advent, about darkness, and about the insistence that God incarnate is all around, all the time. More than a manger, that’s what makes these days brighter for me.