ADVENT 4B: The Holiest of Words

Lectionary Gospel Text:  Luke 1: (26-27) 28-38
And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Of course, this was not in the plan.  She was supposed to get married, have children, and live our her life in quiet anonymity with the quiet and little-known Joseph.  She knew what her life was going to hold. So, when God's Presence suddenly is revealed, breaking into her quietly-orchestrated little world, of course she was afraid.  After all, things were never going to be the same.  There would be no going back and the way forward was murky at best.  And so, Mary hesitates, if only for a moment.  The angel, God, all of Creation, the existence of all who would come after her, hangs, suspended, not moving.  The world stops, straining to hear the Word. Things would never be the same again.  History was at this moment shifting and swaying, not sure of what it would become.  So, she takes a breath--one last breath as the quiet girl Mary.  And with a voice that shakes all of eternity, she responds, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."  "YES."  Nothing would ever be the same again.

On some level, the word "Yes" is perhaps the holiest word of all. It is what changes things; it is what moves us forward; it is our response on this journey that we call faith; it is our way to God.  God calls us, asking us to go a different way, to change our lives and shift our plans, and for one step, or one lifetime, or one eternity, to follow a sacred road that we did not see before.  For this child Mary, when the mystery of God broke into her consciousness, into her plans, she probably did hesitate.  Good grief, who wouldn't?  Don't you think God expects that to be our initial response?  I mean, you'd have to be completely naive or so incredibly self-absorbed and arrogant to not know what was happening to you.  But Mary was anything but naive and nothing near arrogant.  She DID know.  Oh, not the details.  She didn't know how this would alter not only her world, not only her community, but all worlds and communities that ever were and ever would be. She didn't know how difficult and frustrating her life would be.  She didn't know that a little more than three decades later, she would be standing at the foot of two cross-boards helplessly watching this life that she was bringing into the world slip away.  She didn't know how incredibly blessed she would be.  She didn't know what she would become--the lovely subject of artists and sculptors, the namesake of great cathedrals and small house churches, the mother of the world.  She didn't know.  She just knew that it was the way that was hers.  So, yes. "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

Christmas Eve is only a week away, when the wildly spinning world will stop, if only for a moment and once again welcome hope and peace into the world.  But that moment is not the holiest one.  The holiest moment of all is the one that comes next, the one that after the initial hesitation, after the initial, "How can this be?", when we put down our carefully-packed baggage filled with plans and preconceptions, when we open our closed minds and and our cynical hearts, and become virgin enough to birth the Christ into our little world.  It is the moment when we say "Yes", knowing that it will change us forever. "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be
For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me
Shine until tomorrow, let it be
I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

("Let it Be", Words by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, 1970)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0X_Gd1y2MFo&feature=related

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

 
In this season of Advent, give yourself the gift of being virgin enough to move forward, of being open to birthing the Christ into your life, of forming the holy and the sacred on your lips and then speaking the "Yes" that God and the whole world is waiting for you to speak.

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

ADVENT 4B: 'Bout Time We Start Dancin'!

Lectionary Text: Romans 16: 25-27
Now to God who is able to strengthen you according to my gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages but is now disclosed, and through the prophetic writings is made known to all the Gentiles, according to the command of the eternal God, to bring about the obedience of faith—to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever! Amen.

In this Fourth week of Advent, we read this doxology along with the imminence of Jesus’ birth.  Read alongside the story of Mary as God-bearer, we have the sense that the full Gospel is starting to unfold.  This is in no way a “replacement” for the Law of Moses; it is that Law seen to its fulfillment in the new humanity, the new Adam, in Jesus Christ.  Gentiles have been “grafted” into a story that was already taking place, already in full swing.  This is nothing new.  It is, rather, the doxology.  For Paul, HIS gospel was the “unveiling” of something that had been around from the very beginning.

Scholars think that it is quite possible that Paul did not write these verses but that they were attached to the end of the letter perhaps AS a doxology, a statement of praise and proclamation.  But regardless of who wrote it, this is a statement of response.  It is, to use Paul’s words, an “obedience of faith.”  The Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ invokes our response; otherwise it is virtually meaningless.  In Feasting on the Word, Cathy F. Young quotes Helmut Thielicke when he says, “Faith can be described only as a movement of flight, flight away from myself and toward the great possibilities of God.”  The whole gospel in its fullness is about our response.  It is our faith that moves it and opens up the possibilities that God envisioned.

Advent is about letting ourselves envision what God envisions and then moving toward it.  Because into this world that often seems random and meaningless, full of pain and despair; into this society that is often callous and lacking of compassion, directionless and confused; into our lives that many times are wrought with grief and a sense that it is all for naught; into all of it is born a baby that holds the hope of the world for the taking.  We just have to be open and willing to take it.  The great illustrator and writer, Tasha Tudor said, “the gloom of the world is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.  Take joy!”  This is what this doxology says:  All of this that has been laid out for you, all of this that has been created; all of this that has for so long been moving toward your life, take it.  Take joy!  Tomorrow will be your dancing day!

I love Christmas Eve at St. Paul's.  I actually don't know how to explain it.  It's magnificent; it's magical; it's mystery.  It's like nothing you've ever experienced before. It moves you into someplace that you have not been before.  It takes you out of yourself and gives you a glimpse, albeit a tiny, tiny glimpse, of what it's all about, of why we're here, of that to which we journey.  This will be my eighth year to participate in the processional that winds through the nave, encompassing everyone who is there in music and candlelight and incredible joy.  I say processional because, even though it comes toward the end of the service, it leads us to something more.  It leads us to our response.  It brings me to tears.  (I will say that in these last seven years, I have been brought to tears each year--six because it has moved me beyond myself and the seventh because, I have to tell you, Gail caught Emily's hair on fire with her candle and had to hastily put it out with her bulletin.  Thankfully, Emily had very little hair product on her hair that night!  We were laughing so hard we couldn't even see where we were going!  (See, you just don't know what will happen when you let us loose!)

But the point is that this is our way of taking joy, of connecting to the mystery of the God who came and comes. Often, our choir will sing an Old English carol that I have grown to love (in fact, let it be known, that I want it sung at my funeral!)  because it is a song of joy, a song of deep abiding love.  It is the song that we should all be singing.  It is our invitation to joy.  The song itself is more than a carol.  It has additional verses (although some are extremely anti-semitic).  It tells the story of Jesus' life, the Gospel, the Good News--the birth, the life, the death, the life.  It is the Song of Joy and our invitation to join in!      

Tomorrow shall be my dancing day; I would my true love did so chance

To see the legend of my play, to call my true love to my dance;

Sing, oh! My love, oh! My love, my love, my love, this have I done for my true love.

Then was I born of a virgin pure, of her I took fleshly substance

Thus was I knit to man’s nature, to call my true love to my dance.

(Refrain)

In a manger laid, and wrapped I was, so very poor, this was my chance
Betwixt and ox and a silly poor ass, to call my true love to my dance.

(Refrain)

Traditional English Carol

OK, the time is not here yet, but don't you think it's 'bout time we start dancin'?  Somehow our world has taught us to hold back, to not "count our chickens before they're hatched", to be reserved.  But God?  God just wants us to start dancing so that everyone else will join!

 
In this season of Advent, give yourself the gift of taking joy, of realizing what God holds for you, of dancing the dance to which you've been invited!  Let tomorrow be your dancing day!

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

One Who Is Mighty and Brave

Lectionary Text:  Matthew 14: 22-33
Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds.²³And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone,²⁴but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them.²⁵And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea.²⁶But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear.²⁷But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”²⁸Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”²⁹He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus.³⁰But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!”³¹Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”³²When they got into the boat, the wind ceased.³³And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

One year ago today, I adopted a rescued Labrador retriever.  He had been picked up in some place downtown where people throw food for homeless dogs.  He landed at B.A.R.C. (For those non-Houstonians, that's the Bureau of Animal Regulation and Control.  I think they used to call it the "city pound".) and was there, unbelievably, for three months. On the night before he was to be put down, someone at B.A.R.C. called Scout’s Honor Rescue and told them to come get this “wonderful little black lab” before they put him down.  He was put into foster care and, unbelievably, I found him on the Internet with his own page asking to be adopted.  (Isn’t technology amazing?) Somewhere along the way, someone had named him Vader, which I just thought was odd.  So, I changed his name to Maynard. (Which, admittedly, YOU may think is odd!)  It means “one who is mighty and brave”.  It just seemed to fit for a rescue dog.  He had been hungry and homeless and out in the elements.  He had been caged and deserted and begging.  But when he came home with me, it took a little while.  He was enamored with the dog toys.  He was amazed that there was dinner every night. He thought the yard and the walks were wonderful.  But when I left him, there was a look in his eyes.  I think he always wondered if I was really coming back.  A year later, that look is not there.  He has been swept into my unpredictable life.  He has often been the last one picked up from his weekly daycare outing and a couple of weeks ago, he had to be “emergency boarded” because his owner got tied up at a hospital with a pastoral care visit.  And yet, he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I will come and take him home.  That is what it means to be one who is mighty and brave—not that fear no longer exists, but that it is no longer the controlling force in one’s life.

Recasting fear is not easy.   Sometimes life is just scary.  Sometimes life changes in an instant.  And sometimes that unknown ending of life as we know it looms larger than we ever thought it would. Yeah, sometimes the winds and the waves pound so loudly that we can’t even hear ourselves think.  Sometimes life is just scary.  God never calls us to leave our fears behind.  They are part of who we are.  But faith empowers us to recast them, to reshape and remold them into something different.  Think about the "recasting" of a thrown pot.  You do not discard the clay; you simply remold it into something that works a little better.

Faith gives us the ability to recast fear into trust.  God created all that is from chaos.  Imagine what God could do with the chaos in our lives today.  God is good at dealing with chaos.  God has done this before.  Our only job is to get out of the boat and trust that, when it’s all said and done, God will take the chaos of our fears and recreate them into trust in what God can do.  “Do not be afraid”, for God has recast your fears into life.  It is knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that God will always bring you home.

You see, faith is not a shield that we create that protects us from harm.  It is not something that we accomplish or wear like a badge of honor.  I don’t even think it’s something that is measurable.  It’s not something that we check off of our “to do” list.  Rather, faith makes us realize that we’re not in this alone.  Maybe God will pull us out of the storm in the nick of time.  Maybe not.  I think it’s much more profound to believe in a God who will get in the storm with me, who will hold me, allow me to wrestle, allow me to fight against the waves.  I believe in a God who doesn’t demean me or dismiss me for being afraid.  Sure, I’m afraid!  After all, there’s a big wave coming my way right now!  What kind of semi-emotionally-adjusted human WOULDN’T have fears?

You know, Peter had fears.  He admitted he had fears—ghosts, storms, death.  Jesus never said to him that those were unfounded or baseless or stupid.  Jesus just held out his hand and cheered him on.  “Peter, you almost have it, hold on, hold on.”  It is no different for us.  In his 1833 Journals, Ralph Waldo Emerson said that “the wise man in the storm prays to God, not for safety from danger, but for deliverance from fear.” We need to trust our fears.  They are part of our very being.  They are part of the way God made us to be.  But they don’t need to control what we do or who we are.  There is a way to recast those fears into something that is life-giving.

Of what are you afraid?  No, I mean REALLY afraid--that terrifying, nail-biting, knuckle-whitening feeling that washes over you like waves.  Take it.  It is your fear.  It is real.  And then trust, trust that God can create even from this chaos that consumes your life.  I think God has done that before.  In fact, I think God is REALLY good at it, sort of has it down to an art (or at least a promise we can trust.)  And when God asks you to get out of the boat, go ahead.  What's the worst that can happen?  Maybe you'll sink to the depths of your soul, but God will sink right along with you.  (Hmmm!  God has done that before too!)  And maybe, just maybe, if only for a moment, you'll walk on water.  And maybe you won't.  Does it really matter?  Faith is not about always coming out on top.  I don't even think it's about relying on God always pulling us out at the last minute.  Maybe that's not what's going to happen!  I think faith has more to do with knowing that God is there on the mountaintop and there in the depths of our existence.  And THAT will make us one who is mighty and brave!

Happy "Adoption" Day Maynard!

Grace and Peace,

Shelli        

WALK TO JERUSALEM: Called to this Work

Scripture Text:  John 1: 1-4, 29-42
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people...The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.” The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o”clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

The writer of John's version of the Gospel According to Jesus Christ presents this as a sort of "prelude" to Jesus' ministry.  This passage begins by celebrating Jesus' origins, tying them back to the very beginning of Creation, tying them back to the Creator of us all.  Then we are given a witness by John the Baptist attesting to who Jesus is, reminding us that this Jesus Christ is the one whose coming was announced by the angel, the one who was born years before in that dark grotto in Bethlehem, the one who he himself had baptized and who God's Spirit had entered.  This was the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.  Now it was time to begin the work.  This was Jesus' calling to ministry.  And what did he do first?  He called others, saying, "Come and see...come and see what you haven't seen before."
 
Now I know that often when we talk about “calls” from God, many of us squirm in our seats a little. Calls are something that a lot of people limit to clergy. But as early as the Hebrew Scriptures, we read of a qara, which means to call, call out, recite, read, cry out, proclaim, or name. The word was used both as a summons or a general call as well as a specific election, the calling of someone to do a specific task that needed to be done. And, here’s the point—the call is to everyone. It is that voice, sometimes silenced by our busyness and our preconceptions, that is buried deep within our being. It is that voice that calls us to be who God created us to be.  But you will notice that God doesn’t just throw a blanket over humanity to see who will pick it up. And nowhere in the Bible does God really ask and wait for volunteers. The call to each of us is very unique and specific. God calls us to our own part of God's creation, our own part of the Kingdom of God that is ours to build.  God calls us to walk this road to Jerusalem.

Note here that two disciples follow Jesus as a direct result of John’s witness. John showed them the light. And then two others are called. One is named Andrew we are told, who then gathers his brother Simon Peter. Both become disciples. But the other one that is called is unidentified here. We are not clear who this is. This anonymity is reflective of the writer’s understanding of discipleship as a broader vision. (In essence, the “other disciple” is us!) Discipleship is meant for all of us. Yes, all of us! And when Jesus calls us to follow, the answer is always “come and see”. You have to come and see for yourself. God calls, God names, and God calls each of us by name. Just, come and see!

So how do we respond? What does it mean to respond to our call from God? What does that look like? That calling is to each of us to become the part of God’s Creation that we are called to be. It is at the very center of who we are as followers of Christ. And nowhere in the Scriptures do we read of calls from God like "Hey, if you're not too busy, on your way home from work, could you feed some homeless people?"  or "Listen, I don't want you to inconvenience yourself, but when you have time, could you speak out against injustices in this world?" or (my favorite!) "OK, once you've "made it", once you have all of the money that you need to be secure and you are completely adept at what I'm calling you to do, then, very carefully, so as not to make yourself uncomfortable, could you follow me?"  God does not call perfect people.  God calls us. 

The “called” life is one of tensions and convergences and wonderful coincidences that God melds together into a wonderful journey of being.  It seems that God is continually calling us into places and times that we’ve never been, constantly empowering us to push the limits of our “comfort zones”, to embark on a larger and more all-encompassing journey toward a oneness with God.  It seems that God always calls us beyond where we are and beyond where we’ve been, not to the places that are planted and built and paved over with our preconceptions and biases but, rather, to places in the wilds of our lives with some vision of a faint pathway that we must pave and on which we must trudge ahead.  Thomas Merton says that “there is in all visible things…a hidden wholeness.”[i]  It is the image of God in each one of us that must be reclaimed and nurtured so that we might take part in bringing about the fullness of Creation, in bringing the Reign of God into its fullness.  Perhaps, then, the meaning of calling is not one in which we launch out and pursue a new life but is instead one that brings us to the center of our own life, one that brings us home, back to the womb, back to God.  T.S. Eliot says that “the end of all our exploring… will be to arrive where we started…and know the place for the first time.”[ii] 

So, back to the story.  This is the beginning of Jesus' ministry.  This is the beginning of his own walk and his own work.  We don't usually think of Jesus being "called".  We're more comfortable just imagining him already there, as if he dropped into our lives already formed.  But that's not the way it works.  God did not just plunk down into our human existence without any connection; rather, God in Jesus inserted the Divine Calling into a long, successive line of called ones--some who were ready and some who were not, some who went willingly to do what they were asked to do, and others who fought the fight of their lives to keep it from happening and lived to tell the tale of encountering God--and it keeps going.  So Jesus had to be called.  It's what it's about.  Jesus was formed and then called and then called others who called others who called others...well, you get the drift!  And one way or another, they responded.  Jesus was not the lone ranger.  And those that he called went.  They were nothing special--just ordinary people like you and me.  They were ordinary people asked to take on the work of discipleship and they ended up with a life that they never could have foreseen or imagined.  It is in the ordinariness of our lives that God calls us and asks us to join in the work, to join with Jesus Christ in this work of ministry, to walk with Jesus on this walk to Jerusalem.  Come and see!  It will be magnificent!  And the work has begun...

So, in this Lenten season, listen for where God is calling you and then...come and see!  Because that is the way to Jerusalem...

Grace and Peace,

Shelli 

---

[i] Wayne Mueller, How Then Shall We Live?  Four Simple Questions that Reveal the Beauty and Meaning of our Lives, (New York, NY:  Bantam Books, 1996), 3

[ii] T.S. Eliot in Pilgrim Souls: An Anthology of Spiritual Autobiographies, ed. by Amy Mandelker and Elizabeth Powers (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999), 146

Let's Go Fly a Kite!

I saw a kite flying today.  It dawned on me that it had been a really long time since I had seen one.  Do people not fly them anymore?  Is it because I live in the inner city where everything is sort of on top of everything else and there's no room?  I used to love flying kites when I was little.  Mine was blue and red.  I probably wasn't that great a kite-flyer because mine crashed a lot.  But I still loved it. I loved running along on a windy day trying to make sure that my kite stayed airborne.

Kite-flying is an interesting phenomenon, when you think about it.  You have to know how to control it against the wind and, yet, you also have to realize that you really can't control it at all.  It's more an exercise of response than control.  Really good kite-flyers have to learn that they really don't have control at all once the kite is up.  Keeping the kite flying is a matter of steering with the wind; in essence, you have to relinquish the control that you have and follow where the wind takes you. 

Maybe kite-flying would be a good Lenten practice!  So much of our lives is about control.  In fact our society implies that if we don't have control, if we're not in charge, then we have somehow failed.  That completely flies in the face (cute pun intended!) of our walk of faith.  Walking this walk of faith, this Way of Christ, is not about control; it is about response.  You have to follow where the wind takes you.  Now don't get me wrong, you still have to DO something or you'll crash into the ground (another cute pun intended!).  You still have to stay with it and sometimes run to keep up but, always, always, there is something more that will allow you to fly.

So, for one of your Lenten practice, go fly a kite! (cute pun NOT intended!--Just do it!)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli