Tag: Advent

Sermons

Magnifying our Advent Jubilee

Third Sunday of Advent – December 13, 2020 – Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Canticle 15; John 1:6-8, 19-28 – STEM-Wide Morning Prayer via Zoom

Today’s portion of Isaiah 61 might sound familiar to you. If it does, it may not necessarily be because you’ve heard it directly from Isaiah.

You might also recognize it as the text for Jesus’ “first sermon” as it appears in Luke’s Gospel account. Remember that story of Jesus, just as he is beginning his ministry? At the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth he unrolls the scroll and reads, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

This text puts us in mind of something else you may have heard of, the “Year of Jubilee.” According to the Hebrew Bible (Leviticus 25: 8-13, to be exact), every fiftieth year, debts were to be forgiven, slaves freed, and property reverted to its original owner. This was a practice meant to manifest the benevolent mercy of God, a way to act out (at least as best anybody on Earth can) the reality of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Today’s tech gurus might call it a “hard reset.” It was a chance to wipe the slate clean, to start once again from a place of purity, unfettered by money owed and shackles bound. 

The important, some might even say miraculous, thing about the concept of Jubilee is that it was prescribed for everyone—no exceptions. It was meant to squelch that dreadful “me-first” notion that seems to have plagued each one of us since birth. We could think of it as a societal depiction of what we all learn—or are supposed to learn—in kindergarten: that sharing is caring, forgiveness is important, and selfishness does not lead to true success.

It’s no wonder Jesus chose this text for his first sermon. Not only is it a very real way to begin to enact God’s heavenly vision on earth, but it sets the stage for Jesus’ entire ministry by unveiling an extremely counter-cultural message, one that asks its hearers to confront some fairly uncomfortable scenarios. Having your debts forgiven may be one thing, but can you imagine forgiving the debts owed to you? The very notion upsets our concept of fairness. Jesus is going to be doing a lot more of that! Just think of the parables we’ve heard in the past several weeks about the talents or the laborers in the vineyard.

Today, in the middle of this season of preparation, it is especially important to remember that Jesus didn’t just make up all the counter-cultural stuff he preaches. His words are firmly rooted in God’s ancient law, and they were even echoed by others before him.

Jesus may be the “reason for the season,” but he isn’t the first person in the Gospel to give voice to this Jubilee prophesy. He wasn’t even the first person in his family to do so. That honor goes to his mother, Mary, whose song we sang this morning. 

“My soul proclaims he greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my savior.” We often call this important passage by its Latin name, the Magnificat. Perhaps the most famous translation of the first line goes like this: “My soul doth magnify the Lord.”

Magnify. During Tuesday’s Bible study, Amy brought to our attention the powerful images this word might generate for us. I found myself shot suddenly into a past where I stood in my grandmother’s kitchen, in front of the drawer where she kept her calendar, playing with the magnifying glass laying at its side.

What does it mean for one’s soul to magnify the Lord? Surely it’s more than holding an old magnifying glass up to your heart, enlarging the logo above your shirt pocket. I think it more likely has something to do with living your life in a way that draws attention to God’s vision for the world.

Mary magnifies this vision by reveling in the joy of a God who magnified her. “For he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed.”

God’s selection of Mary, a pitiable young girl by many standards, becomes for her—and for us—a kind of Advent Jubilee, a sign that something new is indeed coming to pass. The slate will be wiped clean, not only in the coming of Jesus our redeemer, but in the manner in which he comes—by a poor virgin’s womb.

God’s selection of Mary is a reminder for us that God often works in the ways we least expect, ways that tend to scandalize the so-called “natural order of things.” Perhaps God’s surprising methods are themselves something that we should by now have come to expect, for God has employed them over and over again.

God’s unconventional methods stretch all the way back to God’s covenant with Abraham, back to ninety-year-old Sarah’s pregnancy. (Joyful news to be sure, but no laughing matter.) And they stretch back to that Levitical prescription for the Year of Jubilee, and back to Isaiah’s proclamation of good news for the oppressed. Yes, this news that Mary’s son will soon share is news that God has been sharing for a long, long time, and it is news that takes center stage in her own familiar song.

A virgin, pregnant. The proud, scattered. The mighty cast down with the mountains. The lowly, like the valleys lifted up. The hungry, filled. The rich, sent to bed without dinner for a change.

And then there is, of course, a person I haven’t mentioned yet—John. The Baptizer, like Isaiah and Mary, knows what’s on the way. He knows that Jesus is coming to tell us God’s Good News like we’ve never heard it before. And so he joins the chorus of those crying out God’s favor, telling us that rough places will soon be made like a plain.

Yes, in their own way, I’d say that all of these folks pretty much sum up God’s vision for the world. A dear friend of mine puts it this way: the way things always have been need not be the way they always will be.

This is a vision that you and I know, too. It’s a vision of God’s mercy, a vision revealed at Christmas and confirmed on Easter—Death doesn’t get the last word! Your sins are forgiven! Salvation is at hand! It’s a vision that truly magnifies God’s presence among us. And it’s a vision that we must share—especially right now.

There’s no use repeating the laundry list of despairs that many of us have felt this year. I’m certainly not suggesting that we deny them. It’s just that it’s so often our habit to focus on them instead of God’s vision for us.

I know we’re still about two weeks from Christmas, but things are certainly ramping up. So I’d say it’s high time we took some time away from despair and started with a clean slate. I’d say we ought to magnify the Lord. Yes, I’d say we might as well revel like Mary in the joy of the One who comes, at least a little bit, until we hear the angels sing.

Sermons

Fourth Sunday of Advent

Fourth Sunday of Advent – December 22, 2019 – Matthew 1:18-25 – Epiphany, Sherwood

Today of all days may be one to be brief. We’ll be back Tuesday evening. However, even though we’ll get a double dose this week, it’s important to spend some time with today’s gospel. 

This morning we hear Matthew’s version of Jesus’ birth story, a unique privilege of Year A of the Revised Common Lectionary. We always read from Luke on Christmas Eve and from John the following morning, but it’s only during Advent of Year A that Matthew’s account creeps in on the Sunday closest to Christmas.

“Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.”

First, there is an explanation of marital status. Mary and Joseph are engaged but not yet living together as husband and wife. In order to better understand their situation we must escape our present-day understanding of marriage.

Being engaged meant something very different in first-century Palestine than it does in 21st century Tennessee. There was no proposal on bended knee, no diamond ring. There was, however, a formal process of betrothal.

For all intents and purposes, after their betrothal, Mary and Joseph were what we might consider today to be husband and wife. They were bound by a very serious contractual obligation that was difficult to get out of, but they didn’t live together yet, so it wasn’t Facebook-official.

Next, Matthew gives us the scoop on Joseph. He’s a righteous man through and through. Moral. Ethical. A devout Jewish man with great respect for God’s teachings. When he learns that his wife/fiancé/betrothed is pregnant, what is he to do?

He could initiate a very public separation, humiliating Mary in the process, but he refuses. Instead, he devises a plan to take care of the situation quietly. There is a certain amount of compassion in Joseph’s response. Being a righteous man, he will obey God’s law, but he will not risk harming Mary’s reputation in the process.

Then enters an angel of the Lord. “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” By naming the boy Jesus, Joseph will adopt him as his own, thereby grafting him onto David’s royal line. 

Joseph’s naming of Jesus is an important detail. Not only does it link Jesus to David’s lineage, but it is further evidence of Joseph’s compassion, identifying him as a man willing to take a leap of faith, trusting in God’s new plan for salvation.

Joseph’s faith is an example for us. He trusts that the solution he envisions is not necessarily the one God has in mind. Joseph may be a righteous man, but only God can tell us what true righteous is. True righteousness isn’t just about following God’s teachings. It’s also about joining in God’s plan for salvation, a plan that is established and renewed in Jesus Christ, God made flesh. [1]

In Joseph’s example we see how God can transform our understanding of salvation. The promise of the incarnation changes our hearts and minds, freeing us to respond gratefully to the work that God is doing in the world. [2]

God’s plan for salvation may have been set in motion when God became flesh, but it didn’t end there. The saving work of Jesus continues today in the ministry of all the baptized.

When the bishop visits on the Feast of the Epiphany, he will baptize a few of our own into the household of God. Through baptism we each take our place in the Church, the body of Christ on earth. 

As members of this body, our ministry is to reconcile all people to God. When we go about the world, fueled by prayer, scripture, bread, and wine, we engage in incarnational ministry, embodying acts of loving kindness made possible by God’s redemption of our flesh through Jesus Christ. 

Another way to say the same thing is this: God is with us. That sounds a lot like the prophecy that Isaiah delivered; it sounds a lot like the good news that Joseph believed; and it sounds a lot like the hope we cling to today, the same hope that carries us into Tuesday night and sustains us forever. 

[1] Thomas G. Long, Mathew, Westminster Bible Companion (WJK: Louisville, 1997), 14.

[2] Ibid., 12.

Sermons

Advent, take three

Third Sunday of Advent – December 15, 2019 – Matthew 11:2-11 – Trinity, Winchester

John clearly has his doubts about Jesus. Even from prison he sends his disciples to ask, “Are you the Messiah, or should we wait for another?” In other words, “Tell us, Jesus, is there someone else coming whose sandals you are not fit to untie?” 

The question is, where does John’s doubt come from? [1] Wasn’t he the one who told us that Jesus was the real deal in the first place? 

Wasn’t he the one who told the crowds, “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me . . . He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

Wasn’t he the one who said to Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” Surely this is the same John. Why does he doubt now?

Perhaps his doubts arise from present circumstance. He who was once a prisoner of hope, is now a prisoner of Herod. Time spent locked away may have taken a toll on his prophetic spirit. 

Or perhaps his doubts are caused, ironically, by his knowledge of Bible. John knows well that the prophets say that the Messiah will bring a fiery brand of judgement and uproot disobedient nations. 

John doesn’t see Jesus of Nazareth living up to those expectations. [2] Jesus is not destroying delinquent nations. Instead, Jesus is walking around preaching to poor people. What a letdown, right? Maybe he’s not the one after all.

John’s doubts reveal that he doesn’t quite understand the scandalous nature of Jesus’ ministry. At least, not yet. Fortunately, Jesus clears things up. He says to John’s disciples, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”

These words not only describe Jesus’ ministry, they point us to the very nature of God. [3] God is not a God of wrath and judgement in the conventional sense.

God’s judgement is mediated through loving acts of grace. These people don’t have enough food. Feed them. These people can’t stay warm. Clothe them. These people are sick. Heal them. These people wander in darkness. Tell them the Gospel Truth.

Talk about uprooting the nations and exercising judgment! Jesus’ ministry embodies a radical opposition to the status quo. The difference is, it doesn’t demand our attention in the way we are accustomed to.

We like shiny objects and elaborate productions, but that’s not the way Jesus works. If you ask me, John takes all that stuff about fire and destruction too literally. Sure, God is a destroyer, but not because he lays waste to erring nations. God is a destroyer because he destroys death and brings about life.

Jesus embodies the role of the Messiah because he heals the sick, restores the weak, and saves the lost. The fire he kindles is not the fire of fury, but the Spirit of God, which burns away the remnants of sin and death.

We hear echos of this Messianic role in today’s Collect. “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us . . . let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us.”

This is not a prayer to a God who punishes brutally. This is a prayer to a God who saves mightily. That divine might may not always look like we expect to, but nevertheless it is present in the One who tells us to turn the other cheek instead of hitting back.

Proof that the Kingdom of God has arrived does not come in the grandiose actions of a savior du jour, but in the constant presence of the savior of eternity.

That said, it’s hard to recognize God’s presence in the world, and that makes it easy to doubt God’s power. We have heard the voices of God’s prophets drowned out by gunfire. We have known patriarchs to edit our history books before they go to print. We have tasted the bitterness of hasty words that rinse the flavor of grace from our mouths.

We have even willingly chosen to ignore God’s work in the world, patting our pockets and saying, “I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t have any cash on me today.”

Whether we overlook it, or whether we refuse to see it, Jesus is among us, quietly embodying salvation. Jesus is among us, reciting the names of the dead as they are welcomed into heaven. Jesus is among us, recording the history of the oppressed in permanent ink. Jesus is among, forgiving our trespasses and helping us muster up the courage to forgive those who trespass against us.

For the most part this is quiet, behind-the-scenes work. We so crave attention-grabbing theatrics that we tend to ignore the real nation-uprooting, judgment-exercising, status-quo-challenging work of God happening all around us. When we don’t see it, we assume it isn’t there. Like John, we begin to wonder who we’re really waiting for, all the while forgetting that Jesus has already come, not with trumpet fanfare, but with an infant’s cry in the still, dark silence of the night. 

 

Notes:

[1] Thomas G. Long, Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion (WJK: Louisville, 1997), 125.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

Sermons

Came. Coming. Here.

First Sunday of Advent  – December 2, 2018 – Jeremiah 33:14-16; Luke 21:25-36 – Trinity Church, Winchester

Today we begin again. We begin a new liturgical year by waiting with patience and expectation for the One who is promised to us. We begin by waiting for Jesus.

We wait, not only for his coming in flesh, but also his coming in glory. Because we focus on both the incarnation and the “parousia,”Advent is an interesting time of the church year to say the least. It both completes and renews our annual liturgical cycle. It renews our year with the longing for Jesus’ birth and concludes it with the expectancy of his second coming. 

For this reason we might say that Advent is “a season under stress.” This stress makes for a season of some conflicting interpretations and practices. We see evidence of this conflict in today’s scriptures. One calls us to joyful longing and one to judgment and dread. [1]

“The days are surely coming,” we hear from Jeremiah, “when [the Lord] will fulfill the promise [he] made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah . . . I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.”

As Christians we understand Jeremiah’s interpretation of the coming Messiah to be fulfilled in the birth of Jesus Christ. This is a text of promise. It communicates our Christian hope of redemption and deliverance at the hand of the Messiah who comes, even as a baby. 

From Luke, on the other hand, we hear Jesus himself, at the end of his public ministry. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations . . . People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” It sounds a lot like, “Lo, he comes with clouds descending.” 

Like today’s reading from Jeremiah, we can hear this passage from Luke as a text of promise. One day the Lord will come in glory to redeem us from the sin and destruction of this world. There’s hope!

However, the passage is scary and a little unsettling. We hear in it the dread that accompanies judgement. It is in this sense a text of terror. There will be distress on the earth. “People will faint from fear.” Watch out, Jesus warns, so that you are not caught off guard, as if in a trap.

Hearing eschatological, even apocalyptic, texts like this one, the Church seems to interpret them as either texts of promise or texts of terror. [2] But the two are not mutually exclusive. Advent reminds us to see them as both. The conflicting nature of these texts is not a bad thing; it is something to be cherished. 

Today’s texts remind us of Advent’s complexity, but they are not our only liturgical reminders of the ambiguous nature of the season. Throughout its history the Church has emphasized both penitential and anticipatory aspects of Advent. 

Some might silence the Gloria in favor of the Trisagion, as we have done, to emphasize a penitential component of the season. Some sacred ministers will wear deep purple—or even black—to orient worshippers toward a mindset of repentance in preparation for impending judgment. 

On the other hand, others prefer to emphasize the joyful expectancy of the incarnation by adding a bit of greenery to liven things up. My childhood parish used to decorate for Christmas before Advent 1. If you were to visit different parishes over the next three weeks you would see varied interpretations across our denomination. You will certainly see pieces of each in this parish.

The nature of this season beckons us to sit in tension for a while. Adopting either of these approaches wholesale—whether donning the metaphorical sackcloth of repentance or decorating the tree and singing carols—is not advised. The point of Advent is to live into its ambiguity. 

We don’t know much about the origin of Advent. If you’re interested, I can recommend some books on the subject like Waiting for the Coming by J. Neil Alexander. In it he tells us that one thing is clear from examining Advent’s somewhat fuzzy past: the church is not willing to settle for one story or another. Advent is not only about the judgement, hope, and expectation of the second coming or joyful longing and preparation for the incarnation. Advent is about participating in both of these realities. [3]

These two themes are inextricably intertwined for a very good reason–they remind us that our beginning is linked to our end. The Jesus who came is promised to come again. Our celebration and remembrance of the past and the hope and expectation of the future  meet in our present reality. 

Today’s collect helps us understand. Give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light now—in this mortal life in which your Son came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he comes again in glorious majesty, we may rise to the life immortal.

Right here, right now, we know that the same Jesus who came, and is coming, is among us and working in us. You may have heard it before. It’s sounds a lot like…

“Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”

“We remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in glory.” 

That’s past, present, and future. Jesus walked among us. Christ will come in judgement of us. The Risen Lord is with us now. Came. Coming. Here.

If you dwell in Advent’s ambiguity and wait patiently, you will learn the most valuable lesson of all. Jesus is with you now, even while you wait for him. You have a whole lot to look forward to in the future. You have a whole lot to celebrate about the past. But you also have a whole lot of living to do right now. The good news is that Jesus is with you, and he guides you along the way.

Remember him, as a vulnerable infant, Expect him, like a valiant figure in the clouds. But most of all, experience him in the flesh like his disciples always have, in the breaking of the bread and the prayers. 

 

[1] J. Neil Alexander, Waiting for the Coming: The Liturgical Meaning of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany (Washington: The Pastoral Press, 1993), 23-24.

[2] Ibid., 20.

[3] Ibid., 24-26.