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.