Silent Night

Luke 2:1-20

Just about a week ago, a friend announced to the Facebook world: “It’s official. I’m flunking Christmas.” I laughed in painful recognition.

Have you ever felt like that? Felt like you couldn’t get Christmas right?
I know I have.

For some of us, it’s a challenge to live up to the expectations our friends, neighbors, or kids and family have.
Or it’s that pressure to be happy when you don’t want to celebrate.
Or when you want to be happy, but all your attention is taken up with an illness in the family, a crisis at work, so you just don’t have time and it seems like Christmas is passing you by at warp speed.

There are lots of ways to feel like you’re flunking Christmas. Because when you’re preparing for something that’s really important, to you or to people you care about, you want it to go right,
and in life, things go wrong.

There’s a story about that that has been on my mind this year.
A story about a little church in Austria, not quite 200 years ago.

A church where the organ broke on Christmas Eve.
Maybe the mice ate the bellows, maybe the works were rusted; there are several versions of the story, but they agree that it was about to be a Christmas with no music.

So the pastor of that little Austrian church put his head together with the musician, who happened to have a guitar, and with a little poetry, and a little music, they saved the day.
Or at least the candlelight service.
And the world got the carol “Silent Night.”

Now, you can go on the internet and find out that that story may be a bit of a myth. But it still has power, because it’s about a Christmas miracle.
And it’s okay with me if “Silent Night” was written months ahead instead of in a musical emergency.
Because that’s how lots of miracles happen, after all.
Months, years, sometimes centuries of work, some public, some secret. Lots of people contributing a little bit at a time.  Miracles like cancer remission come from years of labor by scientists, hours of care from doctors, techs, and nurses, months of patience on the part of the patient.

Some miracles happen slowly and deliberately. Like the miracle we celebrate tonight.
Pregnancy takes time. It takes cooperation.
God made flesh is a miracle of process, of becoming,
A miracle that we recognize in a moment of revelation, or by living with it, year after year.

And that process of living with it is part of the Silent Night miracle story, too.
Whatever happened with the organ, there’s evidence that people loved the carol from the first time they heard it.
From the village church in Austria, Silent Night began to spread.
It’s been translated into most of the languages on earth, and a few that don’t belong to this world, including Klingon and Elven, so that Star Trek and Tolkien fans can sing a favorite carol in the far reaches of space or Middle Earth.

I imagine it’s so widely sung because this carol does such a good job of bringing peace.
In the middle of Christmas chaos: wonderful presents and epic failures, meal triumphs and disasters, errands and lists and chores and prep, loneliness and pain or enthusiasm and joy,
the tune and the words can create an island of stillness,
a blessing of bright calmness,
where our hearts and bodies sneak a breath of the heavenly peace we long for.

There’s another story about Silent Night.
One I’ve clung to this year, with the shadow of violence and tragedy that’s been in the news and in my heart since the Newtown shooting.


On Christmas Eve, 1914, the trenches of the Western Front were filled with soldiers far from home, in a noisy, messy, violent, hell.
The Pope’s proposal of a Christmas cease-fire had already been rejected by the leaders of both sides, but as the night darkened, German soldiers began to put small Christmas trees, lit with candles, on the edge of their trenches.
A few were met with shots, but as carols began to drift across the battered no-mans land,
something changed.

On the ground that night, the war stopped.

British troops, German troops, French and Belgian troops, in some places, exchanged carols, handshakes, even presents, and the hundred-year-old Austrian carol “Stille Nacht” was sung in German, French and English,
on one precious silent night,
without guns, or enemies, or fear.

As long as I can remember, I have sung Silent Night in church on Christmas Eve, with the lights turned low, the candles glowing,
and felt peace slipping through and around and into me, and us,
as we make a quiet space in the joy or the noise or the chaos of Christmas,
to remember the peace of God sleeping in his mother’s arms, a miracle of life and love.

A week ago, I sang this carol with nearly 300 others gathered on the west side of Chicago to pray for silent nights in our streets, in our everyday world. Nights without gunshots, without the tragedy of lives lost to crossfire, or petty quarrels, or mindless anger. And for a moment, it seemed so possible, so near.

A carol from a little church in Austria, two hundred years ago, is fresh and powerful now in war, in worship, in witness and prayer.
It’s a miracle, again and again.

In a world where noise of every kind – visual, audible, emotional, and especially electronic – surrounds us at work, home, church and in the car,
it reminds me that God appears quietly.

In a world where someone is at war, all the time,
it reminds me that God dreams of peace for all of us, and that’s why we worship a sleeping baby tonight, instead of a warrior king.

And when I feel like I’m flunking Christmas, because the bulletins aren’t done, or the presents aren’t right, and I’m tired or frustrated or grieving instead of merry, Silent Night creeps into my soul,
and reminds me that we can’t flunk Christmas.
That miracles, love and peace don’t depend on getting it right,
but on God slipping in to the world, quietly,
when we need God most.

It’s not the only way to remember that. But Silent Night’s stories remind us that when plans go wrong, a door opens for unexpected beauty.
That peace can break out,
in a busy Bethlehem,
a horrifying battle of nations,
or a tired heart.

You can’t flunk Christmas, after all.
We can fail expectations – our own and others; we can even fail God’s expectations – but we can’t fail Christmas,
because Christmas is all about God slipping into our world when things are going wrong.

The stories of Silent Night, like the story of the baby in Bethlehem,
remind us that Christmas isn’t about what happens when we’re perfect,
but about how God transforms the messes,
the broken parts,
the emptiness or loneliness,
even the hope and the work in our ordinary lives
by coming among us, quietly,
and making peace by falling asleep in our arms.

Shhhhhh. Merry Christmas.

Magnificat

Luke 1:39-56

I want to try a slightly different way of entering scripture this morning.  In fact, I want to do a little meditation together that will let the scripture enter us….

Let’s start with the women:
Elizabeth has been alone for five months, in seclusion as long as she’s been pregnant.  She’s past menopause and way past expecting a baby.  And who knows what she knows about this baby – the angel who announced it to her husband struck him dumb at the same time, so he hasn’t said a word to her in all these months.

Then Mary comes,

and Elizabeth’s body, the child inside of her,

recognizes something extraordinary.

She exclaims in wonder,

marveling at the presence of God that her body has revealed to her.

And she blesses Mary.

Mary,  who is pregnant long before she was expecting to be,

probably in trouble with her fiancé and his family.

And Elizabeth blesses her:

Blessed is she who believes that God’s promises come true!

There’s blessing all over the place.

Blessing for Elizabeth, rejoicing in the presence of God under her roof.

Blessing for Mary, that her unexpected child brings joy,

and blessing for both of them,

through their trust in God’s promises.

That trust, that blessing, makes Mary sing.  She sings about her blessedness, and about God’s dream for the world, the dream that Mary shares, that Mary gets to help accomplish.

Will you reflect on that song with me,

listening to the scripture, listening to your heart?

First, listen for the blessing.

How have you been blessed by your faith,

blessed by your trust in God?

Listen to the words:

"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. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

NRSV

Listen to your heart:
How have you been blessed by your faith, blessed by your trust in God?

*********

When Mary sings about her blessing,

she sings about God’s dream for the world,

a world where the hungry are well fed,

the powerless made strong,

and the powers-that-be turned upside down.

What parts of God’s dream for our world appeal to you most?
Where does God’s dream for a world made new tug at your heart?

Listen to the words:

Mary said, I'm bursting with God-news; I'm dancing the song of my Savior God. God took one good look at me, and look what happened - I'm the most fortunate woman on earth! What God has done for me will never be forgotten, the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.  His mercy flows in wave after wave on those who are in awe before him.  He bared his arm and showed his strength, scattered the bluffing braggarts.  He knocked tyrants off their high horses, pulled victims out of the mud.  The starving poor sat down to a banquet; the callous rich were left out in the cold. He embraced his chosen child, Israel; he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.  It's exactly what he promised, beginning with Abraham and right up to now.

(the Message)

Listen to your heart:

What part of God’s dream for our world appeals to you most?
Where does God’s dream for a world made new tug at your heart?

*********

Mary said yes to God,

probably before she fully understood what having this baby was about,

but that yes made her part of God’s dream,

meant that she helped make God’s promises true.

What is God inviting you to say “yes” to this Christmas, in the coming year?

That yes might sound like saying “no” to other choices,

but listen for how God is inviting you to help God’s promises come true, for you or for the world?

Listen to the scripture:

Mary said,

“ With all my heart I glorify the Lord! In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior.  He has looked with favor on the low status of his servant. Look! From now on, everyone will consider me highly favored because the mighty one has done great things for me. Holy is his name.

He shows mercy to everyone, from one generation to the next, who honors him as God. He has shown strength with his arm. He has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations. He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones and lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty-handed. He has come to the aid of his servant Israel,

remembering his mercy, just as he promised to our ancestors, to Abraham and to Abraham’s descendants forever. ”

(Common English Version)

Listen to your heart:
Where is God inviting you to say “yes”? 

How is God inviting you to help God’s promises come true,

in your life, or in the world?

*********

Mary and Elizabeth blessed each other,

with their trust in God,

by sharing God’s dream,

by saying yes, and helping to make God’s promises come true.

I hope we can do the same,

this Christmas, and in the coming year,

because what Elizabeth said about Mary is true for us, too, if we take it to heart:
Blessed are you who believe that God’s promises to you come true.

Amen.

Within reach

Luke 3:7-18, Zephaniah 3:14-20; Philippians 4:4-7, Canticle 9 

On Wednesday morning this week, everything went wrong.

I woke up late; the cat had gotten into something he shouldn’t, public radio was fundraising instead of telling me news, and in the middle of my morning errands, hopping into the car to rush back to the office for a meeting,

the car wouldn’t start.

And wouldn’t start.

And wouldn’t…

Well, anyway, you probably know how that goes.

And when I finally arrived at the repair shop, all the folks at the desks were dealing with a sudden computer outage.

Half an hour later, I knew a few new things:

A new starter is expensive.

The closest part for my car was 90 minutes away.

They were still checking on the funny noise in the engine which might not be related.

I was about to miss a lunch meeting.

And I needed a new headlight.

Check your gut right now, if you’re me.  What’s going on in there?

Here’s the funny thing: I was totally calm right then.

Those guys with a line of customers and a computer outage were being friendly and calm and patient, in spite of a frustrating morning.  And that was contagious.

It wasn’t a big thing, just a lot of little things – the way something was said, a smile instead of a neutral expression, releasing the tension in humor instead of bunching it up in your shoulders. And little acts of generosity, like a ride to my lunch meeting.

By 3 pm, I had a car in perfect working order, a free fix for the funny noise, a productive lunch, and a backlog of reading and emails off my desk, thanks to all the waiting.

I had a big bite out of my bank account, too, but for a day with an expensive unplanned car repair, Wednesday was terrific.

Has that ever happened to you?  Think for a moment; recall a time when someone’s simple actions made a bad day good, or gave you hope, or just made you smile a little more.

It doesn’t always happen that way.

Life has a lot of rough edges.  And they cut deep, as often as not.

Today, the “pink” Sunday of Advent, is supposed to be “joy” Sunday.  Our readings, our canticle, our music, are all about rejoicing, giving glad praise and thanks to God for the nearness of our salvation.

And then we get to the gospel, which plunges us right in to John the Baptist yelling,

“You bunch of SNAKES!  What makes you think you can escape the coming judgment day?  You think you’re safe because you’re children of Abraham, the people who belong to God?  Think again – God can get better children out of rocks than you!”

Way to ruin the mood, huh?

John’s speech starts with snakes, and ends with unquenchable fire.

But Luke calls all of that “good news.”

And he means it.

Probably because most of what John says is about repentance. And repentance is a joyful thing. Because it’s not about being miserable, mad at yourself for your mistakes, and sad because you’ve hurt or lost people who matter to you.

Repentance is about changing your heart; turning around and starting fresh.

And his advice is so simple.

Share.

Be fair.

Don’t be a bully.

John’s talking to the people who aren’t supposed to be the good folks.  He’s talking to the people you expect to cheat, at least a little. In his day, those were the day laborers, the tax collectors, the mercenary soldiers.  People we would trust about as much as an unknown car mechanic.

And he’s telling them: If you have enough, share. Food, shelter, clothes.  Just share some of it.  Don’t take more than you’re owed – we all know the system’s set up for you to graft from it, but that doesn’t mean you have to.  Don’t use your power to get your own way – even if people expect you to.

It’s so simple.

The coming of judgment and salvation doesn’t require endless days of prayer and fasting – repentance, change of heart, is incredibly within reach.

That’s the big, beautiful, joyful truth of Advent and Christmas: God is near.

God is changing everything so that God comes within our reach. Close enough to touch, to hold in our hands, to lean on. 

Close enough to kick us in the shins and get us off our butts. 

Close enough to embrace when we need shelter.

It’s simple.

Our salvation, our holiness, our ability to live up to the standards of the kingdom of God is totally within reach.

And that’s particularly important when life shows its rough edges,

when life is hard enough to bruise, sharp enough to cut deep.

Days like Friday,

when people all over the nation cried for the pain and fear of Newtown, Connecticut,

when the parts of life’s path that are supposed to be smooth got suddenly sharp and dangerous.

On days like that, there are hundreds of little things that trigger our responses, that shape the way we react, and the way we affect others.

Facebook crystallizes these conversations and reactions – post after post, where grief and offered prayers mix with anger and complaints about gun control or social decline.

Then one of my friends posted a quote from Mr. Rodgers,

an action that changed my responses on Friday, that changed my heart:

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'

To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world."

So many helpers on Friday.

Teachers and staff and students who kept each other safe just by being quiet together, staying out of the way.

First responders just doing their jobs to the best of their ability, to contain the danger and respond to the tragedy.

Millions of people offering quiet prayers.

Look for the helpers. 

There will always be those who simply do what they can,

and it is those actions that transform the world,

whether it’s an ordinary car repair day,

or a nation-shaking tragedy.

And that’s good news.

Because you and I get to make a difference.  Every day.

Any tiny choice or action for generosity, fairness, and joy could be the place the kingdom of God breaks loose to embrace the world.

Can you think of one thing you could do this week?  

One small choice or action to be helpful, to be hopeful?

Remember that.  And please do it. The actions that change the world, that transform us, are all within reach.

Today is a day for joy,

because today, and this season, are all about recognizing that God is touchably near, that holiness, and hope, and living up to the kingdom of God, are entirely within our reach.

A day for giving thanks to God, because God chooses to be that close to us, on the awful days, the best days, and the ordinary days,

and God invites us to come closer, one simple action at a time,

today and always.

If only...

2 Samuel 23:1-7, Revelation 1:4-8, John 18:33-37

Have you ever found yourself saying, “If I could just have this, or do that, then everything would be okay”?If we won the lottery, if I got that job, lost 15 pounds, or if we could just get through one day without…then things would be better, I could be a better person, we could get things done.

If only more people came to our church, and gave lots money….just think of all the wonderful programs and ministry we could do.

If only.

It’s a wonderful thing, sometimes, if it creates hope, or action, when we try to make the world we want come true – whether that means changing our habits, preparing and interviewing for a new job, inviting someone new to church, or making phone calls and voting for your favorite candidate.

But not always.

Sometimes it’s just an escape,

a happy fantasy that doesn’t motivate any action, the way I used to imagine being a princess (which in my seven year old mind involved no chores, lots of books and pretty dresses, and sleeping late – actually, most of that still sounds pretty attractive!)

Winning the lottery would make a lot of those things possible (not to mention a new kitchen), but I don’t generally buy a ticket.

What about you?

What’s your “if only?”  Does it motivate you to change? or make you comfortable with what is, and less likely to change?

You see, today is an “if only” sort of Sunday for the church.

It’s a Sunday we call the Feast of Christ the King. A Sunday set aside to celebrate the idea that someday, preferably soon, Christ returns to rule the whole earth, obeyed by all nations and people.

There are glimpses of that perfect kingship in scripture.  Our reading from Revelation today is a vision of the shock and awe of the coming of Christ, as King, descending from the clouds.  The reported “last words” of David say that a good and godly king is like sunshine on a clear morning – full of hope and abundance – and that’s what we’re supposed to look for in Christ the King.

Chances are, more people would come to church, too.

If it sounds attractive, it’s supposed to.

The whole idea of “if only…” is that one or two changes would make the whole world a better place, one we’d love to live in.

That’s more or less why we celebrate Christ the King Sunday.  It was created in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, in the hope that celebrating Christ’s kingship would turn the rising tide of secularism and neglect and disrespect of the church. (Worked great, hm?)

I’m not sure when the Episcopal Church picked it up, but we do like occasions to celebrate. If only more people were paying attention to God, and scripture,
if only more people were making this kind of time in their week, their lives, to follow Christ,

wouldn’t the world be a better place??

I do think the world would be a better place with God more in charge, and us less so,

but that’s the trick.

God being in charge makes us less in charge.  God being in charge is likely to disrupt all our comfort zones, challenge our habits, and generally upset all of our expectations and order.

And that’s the trouble with Christ the King Sunday.

Because Jesus is exactly the king that nobody is looking for.

Exactly the king to disappoint all our expectations, challenge our comfort, and disrupt our habits. Even our church habits.

It’s not just that the man dumped over all the furniture in the Temple.

It’s his absolute refusal to take charge and turn the world into the one we were hoping for.

He’s not going to provide a chicken in every pot – an even range of economic prosperity and food security.  Instead he’s the kind of king who stuffs you with bread and fish when you’re not expecting it – and then vanishes.  The kind of king who refuses to make bread out of stones, even though he could feed the world if he chose.

He’s the kind of king who seems to yield to the opposition – to the religious authorities who can’t get it right, the political appointees of the foreign occupation force.

He’s the kind of king who would fail miserably on a battlefield, who is useless when we want to win the war, to prove we’re better than the other guys. 

Instead he’s the kind of king who gets tangled up in criminal prosecution, death, and endings – and then asks us why we gave up before resurrection.

The cross we hang over the altar at Calvary is a beautiful representation of our hope in God’s promise to us, and it’s incredibly misleading.

King Jesus is exactly the opposite of what we hope for.

And that’s a good thing.

Because God doesn’t deal in “if only…”

God deals in Truth.

Truth that comes down to the fact of our creation, that God is already in the world:

the Body of Christ, the face of humanity created in God’s image, to be good stewards, to take God’s care of one another and the world.

The reign of Christ, the kingship of God, comes down to when and how and whether we hear God’s truth in our hearts, calling us to let go of comfort in favor of service, to toss away security in favor of resurrection, to quit being right and being in charge in order to be generous and healing.

I do believe that one day Christ, God the Word, will rule the world. But I don’t believe it’s going to look like our triumphant cross; I don’t believe it’s going to involve the shock and awe and power of an arrival from the clouds.

I believe it’s going to happen from the ground up.

From the change in your heart, in mine, in others, when “if only” changes to “amen,” the ancient word that means “so be it; truth.”

Truth: If we don’t have enough before we win the lottery, we won’t have enough after, either.

Truth: It’s not the authority of the church, or frequent attendance, that Jesus teaches. If more people came, you and I, already here, would have to grow and change and reach out waaay beyond our comfort zone.

Truth: Our king is dead, and resurrection comes when we’re not looking.

Truth.

Christ the King has already come. 

And it definitely wasn’t triumphant.

But it was life-changing, world-changing, and real.

So today we look back to look ahead.

We remember that generosity, healing, life abundant, and death-defying love are already here; that God rules in the ways we least expect,

and the only question is whether we’ll notice,

overturn our own expectations,

and celebrate.

Amen.

Apocalypse Prep

Mark 13:1-8


Last weekend I had friends staying with me while they attended a science fiction writers and fans conference. She’s a doctor, he’s a writer, but at this conference they were part of the Zombie Squad – a commitment that involved walking the halls in specially designed zombie-defense riot gear to draw attention to their cause, and meeting convention-goers at an information table with flyers.

You see, the Zombie Squad is a national organization whose mission is “to educate the public about the importance of personal preparedness and self-reliance, to increase its readiness to respond to disasters such as earthquakes, floods or zombie outbreaks.”

“If you are prepared for zombies,” they say, “you’re prepared for anything.”

And they’re probably right.

I’m not prepared for zombies, myself, but the Zombie Squad gives some really good advice. They have a list of what you’ll need in your “Bug Out Bag” in case of evacuation or other emergency: water, food, first aid, batteries, duct tape, sunscreen, cash, toilet paper, can opener, etc. etc.  

It’s not much different from the list offered by the American Red Cross for non-zombie emergencies.

They suggest learning CPR and first aid skills, and knowing your evacuation route, just like the Red Cross – and they also emphasize forming a support system, paying attention to the news, and helping your community prepare through blood drives and food drives.

After all, if we’re ready for the zombie apocalypse, there’s not much a hurricane, earthquake, or flood can surprise us with.

It can be very appealing to be ready for anything. Knowing that we’re prepared for the end of the world gives us a sense of control in the face of chaos, and helps us manage our fear.  It’s just plain practical.

 I’ll bet that’s what Peter and James and John and Andrew were thinking when they took Jesus aside to pump him for information about disaster preparation.

It started when the disciples were admiring the Temple, the beauty and sturdy power of the building at the heart of their national and religious identity – and then Jesus announces that one day it will be destroyed so completely that not one stone will be left on another.

Yikes!

 So a few of them take him aside and ask – just exactly when will this be, and just exactly what’s supposed to happen then???  After all, if you know what and when, you can pack your bag, make your plans – you can be prepared.

But Jesus – as they might have expected after hanging out with him for a year or three – turns their hopes and questions upside down.

He never tells them when.  Eventually, he tells them that not even he knows that.  But he does give them an entirely different kind of preparedness lesson. 

You see, the Christian apocalypse doesn’t start and stop with disaster.  There are wars and earthquakes and chaos, even evacuations, but those are only incidental.

The word apocalypse means revelation, the lifting of the veil, and it’s the ultimate revelation of Christ, the return of the Messiah to bring the end of the age and the final reign of God, that Jesus is telling his disciples about, today.

For that, you don’t prepare to control the chaos.

For the apocalypse Jesus is talking about, you prepare to surf the chaos.

To ride through the upheaval of everything we’re used to, balanced in faith and trust.

For this apocalypse, you don’t manage the fear, you let go of the fear.  For this you don’t protect yourself, you take the risk of proclaiming good news – joy and hope and love – in the face of endings, chaos and fear.

We only heard the beginning of Jesus’ apocalypse preparedness lesson this morning.  It starts with what we heard: Watch out for false prophets.  Apparently there are going to be a lot of them, all claiming God’s authority.  (Have you noticed that happening?  I think some of them have TV shows now.)

There will be war and rumors of war, earthquake and famine – all things you and I have seen, more than once, in our lifetimes.  Jesus tells us not to be alarmed, because these are not really the end, only the beginning of the birth process.

Jesus goes on to predict that his followers will be hauled in front of governments and power brokers to testify. That the highest priority, the first thing, is that good news must be proclaimed in all nations. And to prepare for that, we come back to letting go of fear and anxiety, because the Holy Spirit does the speaking, through us. 

To let the Spirit work, we have to make our worry get out of the way.

The good news must be proclaimed most of all when it’s natural to worry, to be afraid; when it seems like the world is ending:

In little apocalypses like cancer, the ending of a marriage, the loss of a job and identity. 

Bigger disasters like hurricanes and earthquakes and global financial crisis. 

And most importantly, in the coming of the kingdom of God to overturn all our expectations and fill the world with God’s will.

Stay alert, Jesus says, because I have already told you everything.

I looked back through Mark’s gospel, and what Jesus has told us, over and over, is:
“Follow me” (1:17, 2:14, 10:21)

“Whoever wants to be first must be servant of all” (9:35, 10:44)

“Do not be afraid” (4:40, 5:36, 6:50)
“Go in peace, your faith has made you whole.” (5:34, 10:52)

And that’s what we need in the face of apocalypse.

Earthquakes and famine, flood and fire, are part of the end of the world, and part of the world we live in.  It wouldn’t hurt any of us to follow the example of my Zombie Squad friends and make sure we have supplies to keep our selves and our families safe.

But Jesus is preparing us for something completely different:

for following him into chaos that we ride in faith and trust,

letting go of fear and anxiety,

proclaiming good news that spreads

hope, joy, peace and wholeness.

If you’re going to pack a bag for that, you’ll need a few things that aren’t on the other list:

Courage.

Peace.

Faith, and trust in God.

Community.

Compassion.

Good news of joy and hope

You already have the instruction manual, Jesus tells us. “I have already told you everything.”

So pack your bag, or pack your heart: with courage, trust, love, and hope, and toss away all the fear.

The apocalypse – the revelation of the full-blown reign of God – is coming.

And if you’re ready for that,

you’re really ready for anything!

Take heart

Mark 10:46-52

The internet is full of articles and blog posts about what to say – and especially what NOT to say – when someone is sick.  You can find these stories in print, too – in newspapers and books, and occasionally helpful brochures.

They offer good advice on the difference between “Let me know if I can help,” and “Can I bring you dinner and a funny movie tonight?” or “I’m free on Monday if you need a ride anywhere.”

There’s good advice on how to tell the difference between support and slogans before you say something, and the vital importance of real listening and real love.

I’ve read lots of these, as friends send them around or post them on Facebook, but I’m not sure any of the folks in today’s gospel story had heard that advice.

To start with, the crowd of neighbors is hushing Bartimeus when he’s calling out for help.  Of course life is easier when we don’t have to pay attention to illness and injury – but to give credit where it’s due, the crowd switches gears quickly when Jesus starts to pay attention.

And here’s the thing that made me think of all those articles about how to help someone who is sick – when Jesus hears Bartimeus calling out for help he turns around to talk to the crowd. To the neighbors and family and friends.

Jesus stops and says to the crowd, “Call him here.”  Invite him to come to me.

And the crowd does.  Those friends and family and neighbors turn to Bartimeus and say:

“Take heart!  Get up! Jesus is calling you!”

Now, there are lots of ways to discourage someone by telling them that they should be cheerful. But this, I think, is a little different.  I believe this is the crowd suddenly discovering and proclaiming an important gospel truth:

God is calling you.

God is calling you, looking for you, inviting you to come,

even while you’re sick, or broken in places, imperfect or in pain.

God is calling you, looking for you, inviting you to come,

right now, as you are, not later, when you’re better.

So take heart.  Respond.  God is calling you.

That’s what we’re here for today: we’re here to say that to one another. I think that’s what we do when we have a chance to pray with one another about healing and hope. It’s the job of the faithful community to help one another respond to God’s call, to have the courage to meet God in all our brokenness, to remind one another that we are called by God, invited to meet God, just as we are.

It can be hard to pray for healing when a condition is chronic, when we’ve gotten used to feeling awful, when we think it’s minor, or when we think it’s our own fault.

Bartimeus knew about that. Like any blind person in first-century Palestine, he would have known the doctors couldn’t heal him, had gotten used to his blindness, and used to the idea that blindness and disease are God’s way of paying back sin – yours, or your parents, or grandparents….

We don’t think that way in 21^st century Lombard, but we do get used to the things that are broken in our lives, we get used to our pain and our limits. From time to time, we do blame ourselves – and sometimes we’re right.

So we too sometimes need the community to give us the courage to respond to God’s call.

And then the story can go on.

When Bartimeus stands facing Jesus, encouraged and surrounded by his community,

Jesus speaks directly to him:
“What do you want me to do for you?”

It sounds like that question the articles say you’re not supposed to ask – that open ended, vague  “how can I help?”  But instead it’s a question we don’t always hear, but we always need to answer:
What do you truly want?  What would make you whole?

Sometimes the answer is as direct as the medical diagnosis: I want the bone healed, the cancer gone.

Sometimes it’s different from the diagnosis.  Sometimes we need to ask God for a different kind of healing: for grace and strength in the face of something that has no cure, for release, for the return of hope, or the renewing of lost relationships; for forgiveness.

Jesus looks at Bartimeus, as he looks at so many lepers and blind men and crippled women in the gospels, as he looks at us, today, and offers all of that.

But he never heals until he’s asked.

And the asking takes courage.

That’s why, a couple of times a year, at Calvary, we stop the ordinary rhythm of our Sunday worship, and stand in front of this altar – together – as God invites us to name our healing.

That’s why we pray here, together, why we stand up with one another and put our hands on each other’s shoulders,

because healing takes courage,

and that takes community.

We stop today, and pray, and interrupt the usual, because Jesus tells us to call one another: to give each other courage. To proclaim this gospel truth to the brokenness or need inside our neighbor:

“Take heart! Get up! God is calling you!”

So that the story can go on.

When Bartimeus stands in front of Jesus and receives his sight, he goes on to follow Jesus on the way – the way that leads to Jerusalem and beyond.

So today we’re called to en-courage one another, to proclaim to our neighbors right here, and beyond these walls:

God is calling you:

 flawed and needy as you are, bruised and ordinary as you feel, 

inviting you to name your healing

so that the story can go on.

So take heart, today. Take heart with all your soul.  Call and encourage one another. Listen and respond. For God is calling you.

Some Days...

Job 1:1, 2:1-10

Do any of you know this book?

Some of you know this story better than others, so you'll remember how it starts:

I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on my skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast Anthony found a Corvette Sting Ray car kit in his breakfast cereal box and Nick found a Junior Undercover Agent code ring in his breakfast cereal box but in my breakfast cereal box all I found was breakfast cereal.

I think I’ll move to Australia.

Alexander gets the worst seat in the car pool, his teacher doesn’t like his drawing or his singing, his best friend says they aren’t best friends anymore, and then Alexander doesn’t get dessert at lunchtime, while all his friends have yummy treats.

Then they go to the dentist, and he’s the only one with a cavity. (He's going to move to Australia before he has to go back to the dentist!) His brother pushes him into a mud puddle, and when their mom comes back Alexander gets in trouble for fighting back and being dirty. He has to get ugly boring shoes because the cool ones don't come in his size. 
And it just keeps going:

There were lima beans for dinner and I hate lima beans.

There was kissing on TV and I hate kissing.
...It was a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.  

Have you ever had a day like that?

Why do those days happen???  Do you have any ideas?

Well, people have wondered about that for years and years and years and years.  There’s a story in the Bible that comes from 2500 years ago that is about the very same question.  We read a part of that story today.

It’s a story about a man named Job, who has not just one, but a whole LOT of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.  He loses his money and his family, and he gets sick with an awful, icky, itchy disease.

In the story, there are lots of ideas about why this might happen.

The story teller thinks that maybe it’s because God is trying to prove that Job is a very good person who will love God no matter what horrible things happen.

That’s one idea, but personally, I don’t think God messes up our lives just to prove something.  The whole Bible tells us God loves us too much for that.

Job’s friends tell him it must be because Job did something really bad.

It’s true that sometimes bad days happen because we do things we know we shouldn’t do.

But Job knows he didn’t do anything bad like that.

So Job decides that he isn’t going to give up until God comes to explain to him just why he’s having a horrible, awful, very bad year.  He calls God, and calls God, and finally God comes.

What do you think God says to Job?

God talks a lot about the wonders of the world - about wind and storm and stars and whales and mammoths and everything else, and finally Job says: "I get it.  It's just too hard to explain or understand." 

The Bible story tells us that maybe it is just too hard to explain why horrible awful no good things happen, and the only thing we can do is to keep on remembering that God loves us, and God will be with us, even when we can’t understand what’s happening.

And that sometimes, "Why?" isn't the right question, but love and trust are always a good answer.

I think that Alexander might have the same answer at the end of his bad day.

When I went to bed Nick took back the pillow he said I could keep and the Mickey Mouse nightlight burned out and I bit my tongue.

The cat wants to sleep with Anthony, not with me.

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

My mom says some days are like that.

Even in Australia.

Quotations from Judith Viorst, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, illustrated by Ray Cruz. Atheneum Books for Young Readers, New York, NY, 1972

Using Your Tongue

James 3:1-12 [Mark 8:27-38; Psalm 19]

Have you ever said something and suddenly found your hand flying up to cover your mouth, as though you could shove the words back in?

I have.

Words of anger.

Truths that didn’t belong where I said them.

Or just plain stupid mistakes.

Words are risky things.

Mitt Romney knows something about that this week – about the way what you say can start a firestorm of trouble, a hurricane of words and statements and arguments and criticism. 

Even if you meant to say that.

He’s not the only one. 

Every candidate and most appointed leaders in the world know this (at least everywhere there’s a free press.) And every free press knows this. Many of you know this experience as well as I do, and James the apostle clearly knew it, too.

“All of us make many mistakes.” he says.  And “every species of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species, but no one can tame the tongue!”

Think about your tongue for a moment.

Think about its power to shape words – which it does without your conscious direction.  Think about its power to direct your body, your attention, even your whole self.  If someone else got hold of your tongue and pulled – just that tiny bit of you – the rest of you would come along. 

It’s a small but powerful part of the body, and it shapes the world, too.

Year after year, Republicans and Democrats try to shape our experience of today and our plans for the future by the words they choose and the way they use them. 

Our own words about ourselves and our families create “the smart one and the funny one;” our words and their words create the family pariah (or piranha), and the office power-broker.

A few wrong words can break a friendship, and the three little words, “I love you,” spoken honestly, deeply, and often can heal all kinds of injury or create a new future.

When we call God “Father” and “Lord” over and over, we relate to God as a powerful man instead of as, say,  a mother or an artist. There’s a difference between the titles “Messiah” and “prophet,” between death and resurrection as defeat or as salvation – all the questions raised in Jesus’ conversation with the disciples that we heard today.

And James points out that our words about others affect our relationship with God, too.

He marvels at the way our tongues can bless God one minute, and curse a human being – made in God’s image – in the next minute.              How could it not affect our relationship with God to tear down God’s image in another person – even in the most annoying or politically scary person we know?

You and I live in a world where the tongue sets fires every day and hour.  With a cable network for every point of view, an online world where the people we “talk” with are far away and unfamiliar, it grows easier and easier to say inflammatory things. 

Anyone with a Facebook feed or a Twitter account – or for that matter, anyone who reads “Speak Out” in the Lombardian – knows how easy it is to say something destructive about neighbors, the cable company, or any government official or political candidate.

And those words: words we speak, words we hear, words we write and read,

words that spark anger and hate, separation and disgust,

all those words break down our image of God and our ability to bless.

And we need that ability to bless.  Because just as words can destroy, they can also build up.  Words can create a powerful, hopeful future.

Even political words:

“Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

“It’s morning in America.”
“Yes, we can.”

Those are words of blessing, words that create a world of commitment, and courage, and abundant possibility.  Those words build a new and better world.

So do simple words, like “I love you” or “I’m so happy to see you.”

Calm words in the face of panic, grateful words in the midst of loss; words of thanks and praise for everyday gifts like a helpful clerk, a well-behaved child, a good and easy friendship.

All those are blessings. Blessings that shape our selves and the people around us into the beautiful image of God, words that create a hopeful future and a joyful present.

In the biblical tradition, words of blessing offer praise, and invite God to create growth and abundance; to infuse grace into the world and the ones we bless.

It’s our job, yours and mine, as followers of the Messiah, and as the image of God,

to bless.

To use our tongues to start a fire that gives light to the world, rather than burning it.

To use our tongues to build up, not to tear down, to heal those wounds that other words have left.

So in honor of James,

in honor of a country that shouldn’t be divided by words,

and in honor of God’s word made flesh,

let’s start the blessing, now.

Let’s start by blessing one another, today.

You’ll need a partner for this.  Find someone.

You’ll offer your partner a blessing.

Start by saying something nice.  Not about what they’re wearing, but about what they do or who they are.  If you don’t know your partner well, remember that you know she is made in God’s wonderful image, that you know he is a beloved child of God.

Then ask God to strengthen that beauty, to increase that grace and that love.

If no other words come to you, use the blessing that God taught the people of Israel:

            May God bless you and keep you;

            May God shine light on you and be gracious to you;

            May God look favorably on you and give you peace.

***

Take that blessing with you, and pass it on.

Practice words of blessing this afternoon,

this week, at home and at the office,

online and in your heart.

Offer up the prayer from our psalm today:
“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.”

Because the power of your tongue will change the world.

So let it bless, and build up,

and light up the world.

And may the blessing of God our Creator, who spoke the world into being, and of Christ the Word Incarnate, and of the Spirit who gives breath to our words, be among you this day, and remain with you always. Amen.