Christmas Eve 2021

Luke 2:1-20

Luke says “In those days” a decree went out and Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem.

I would guess most of us have had “one of those days” in our experience. You know, ‘one of those days’…

when you’re trying to balance family and work, and everything is lopsided;

or when the last thing you want to do is plan a long and arduous trip;

or when bad news hits too close to home.

Certainly, the last 21 months of pandemic have felt like a string of “those days” and we almost certainly have more ahead.

Here in the gospel, Luke tells us that “in those days” when everything is not always merry and bright, God shows up and “does God’s saving work with a lullaby and a baby’s cry.”

The birth of Jesus doesn’t happen without birth pangs and mess, but in Jesus, we see God enter the world as an infant and we witness the birth of hope.

Hope promises us that God is with us even “in those days.” It is not the same as being merely wishful. Hope is grounded

in who we know God to be;

in knowing what God has already done; and

in believing that God will continue to act for us.

Indeed, that is the “good news of great joy for all” that the angel proclaims to the shepherds. That in Bethlehem was born not just a child, but a Savior for every one of us.

It is Good News that

God chose to be born among everyday people, like the shepherds, not kings;

God chose to be born in humble surroundings, not a palace;

God chose to be “born in the places where people need him most.”

Joy comes when we recognize God’s love for us. It is not just warm fuzzy feeling, but something planted deep within us by God that abides in us and enlivens us.

The news that we have a Savior who loves us brings great joy not only to us who celebrate Christmas in a warm sanctuary filled with candlelight and poinsettias, but to those who are by themselves tonight; to those whose lights were cut off yesterday or who don’t know where their next meal will come from. It brings joy to those who are in bunks at the emergency shelter, or in beds over at the hospital.

We have a Savior who meets us where we are so that we will know how much we are loved.  

So, this Christmas, no matter where you find yourself, may you have great joy, knowing God is here now to be your Savior.

Amen.

Fourth Sunday of Advent "Close to Home: Seeking Sanctuary"

Luke 1:39-55

One reason we tell stories from Scripture is to see where our stories connect to God’s story and to see the places where God has been at work in the stories of others so that we might recognize where God is at work in our own lives, too.

Today’s gospel invites us into one part of Mary’s story. Told by Luke, it immediately follows the annunciation when the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her she would bear the son of God and she responded by saying,

“Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38 NRS)

In today’s gospel, Mary has traveled to her older relative Elizabeth’s home. Their meeting is joyful and the Holy Spirit reveals to Elizabeth the identity of the baby whom Mary is carrying. Elizabeth cries out with a blessing for Mary and Mary bursts into song.

Before I talk more about her song, the Magnificat, I wonder about Mary’s story up to this point.

Some of our hymns and carols describe Mary as ‘meek and mild’ and she is painted in Renaissance portraits of the Madonna and Child as serene and peaceful, gazing at the child cradled in her arms. The music and images reflect her peaceful and humble acceptance of her place in this story that we hear in her response to the angel.

Elsewhere when her story is told, the focus is on how fortunate she was that Joseph remained with her, emphasizing the shame that can be placed on an unwed mother. It’s possible that shame would have driven her to travel to her relative’s house and even more likely that, despite her confident response to Gabriel, Mary was filled with uncertainty and even fear. She would have wondered how Joseph, or her parents would understand and feared punishment and even stoning for a charge of adultery. Her story teaches us that faith has space for both trust in God and apprehension about the unknown.

But I wonder what other stories we could imagine for Mary?

Mary and Elizabeth exuberantly share the news of their pregnancies and their awe at what God has promised. There’s no hint of dismay or exchange of superficial pleasantries but deeply felt, genuine joy. Mary is hopeful and expectant, trusting what God has already done. Her song echoes that of Hannah and the psalmists, drawing on tradition and Scripture that would have been written on her heart.

Hearing the words of her beautiful song of resistance and redemption, one colleague imagined Mary as “young, scrappy and hungry” like Hamilton in the song “My Shot” in the musical by the same name. While only a young woman between 12 and 16, Mary seemed to see clearly and spoke with wisdom.  She named the ways that God has already cared for the lowly, hungry and poor, recalling God’s mighty acts known in Scripture.

Mary understood that God was fulfilling God’s promises to God’s people in the child she carried. She believed that God’s mercy and salvation were incarnate – made flesh – in her child.

Of course, the story would have turned out very differently if she had said, “No.” when Gabriel spoke to her. God designs us with free will; surely, Mary could have run away and hidden from God’s messengers. But she didn’t.

She cooperates with God, participating in what God asks her to do, and she gives us this song, where she declares what she knows, speaking of God’s actions in the past and claiming God’s promise for the future.

Proclaiming “my soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,” Mary directs our attention to God and God’s actions for us. In Jesus, God’s salvation is already accomplished – nothing separates us from the love of God who reconciles us to God’s self and restores us to life. When parts of our stories make it impossible for us to see for ourselves how deeply God loves us, Mary invites us into her story and reminds us that the unexpected is always at hand.

Let us pray…

Holy God,

Thank you for the story of Mary, the mother of our Lord Jesus that we may witness the depth of your love for us.

Your story is one that forever invites us to be our full selves.

Give us curiosity about each person’s story that we would witness your grace and gifts in them. Help us find connections to Your story so that we can recognize where You are active in our lives even now. We pray in Jesus’ name. 

Amen.

Third Sunday of Advent "Close to Home: A Home for All"

 Luke 3:1-18

At my grandparents’ house there was a big iron farm bell that hung outside their kitchen garden. And no matter where we were on their place, when you heard the bell toll, you knew you were being called home.

The prophet Zechariah, prophesying in the 7th century BCE, first tells Jerusalem that they will suffer catastrophe, destruction and exile and then he concludes with these verses that we heard today.

Now he promises Jerusalem and Zion – God’s people – that despite their disobedience and the suffering they have endured, God rejoices over them with singing and jubilation. Reviving the metaphor of God’s relationship to God’s people as one of deep love and intimacy, like a marriage, the prophet promises God forgives them and will gather them in and bring them home.

John the Baptizer too is calling God’s people home. He begins, in the verses we heard last Sunday, with a call to repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Sin is anything that separates us from God, anything that keeps us from being who God has created us to be and to live according to God’s commands. And unless we repent, or turn away, from sin, we cannot live in the fullness of God’s love.

Echoing the prophet Isaiah, John sets out some house rules for living as God’s people.

I remember some of the house rules my grandparents had. The big ones were that we had to have shoes on to come to the dinner table and you didn’t pick up your fork until Grandmommy picked up hers. Others like the dogs staying off the furniture and writing down any long-distance phone numbers we called. More than merely good manners, those rules gave us structure and taught us how to live together.

When John declares:

'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.  5 Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; 6 and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'" (Luke 3:4-6)

he is announcing what life together in God’s kingdom looks like.

When the valleys are filled and the mountains are made low, the playing field is leveled, and it creates a just landscape where everyone can participate in God’s kingdom here one earth without obstacles or barriers.

John’s words prompt me to think about our house - our sanctuary here at Ascension - and how, despite our efforts to love our neighbors, we still have barriers that keep people from coming into this house to worship.

In our physical space, our restrooms aren’t accessible and if you can’t navigate stairs, there’s no way to move between the two floors of this building without going outside.

And physical space is only one part of how we call people home and welcome people so that they may know God’s love. We must recognize the ways some of our structures and institutions are rotting or compromised and in need of repair.

This is the call to God’s people: to clear the threshing floor and separate the wheat from the chaff so that we may both preserve the good and reject and destroy the things that keep us from living faithfully as God’s people.

Hearing John’s call, I wonder what it would take for us to remove barriers and expand our welcome and ability to call people home to God’s house here at Ascension. And I invite your curiosity and wonder too. Where might God being calling us to expand our welcome?

The words can sound harsh, but neither Zephaniah nor John hold back when they address God’s people. God is present in our midst and that should disrupt our routines and get our attention. God’s abiding presence with us and for us should not merely be a footnote in our lives; it should transform our ways of being with each other and in the world.

So how might we re-order our house that it would better reflect God’s kingdom? What would we need to do differently that all might flourish and know God’s rejoicing over them?

Zephaniah’s invitation to God’s people wasn’t to return to what they had done before exile. It was an invitation into a new life with their God. We too are invited to look for the ways that God is redeeming our future. In this Advent season, we are invited to faithfully re-imagine what coming home to God can look like, knowing that God rejoices over us and loves us.

Let us pray…[i]

Good and gracious God,

We cannot thank you enough that you are forever welcoming us home, just as we are.

You paint a picture of a world that could be and remind us that there is enough love to go around.

Thank you for the voice in the wilderness that calls to us.

Give us courage to live as your people and be transformed by your radical welcome and unchanging love.

We pray in the name of your Son, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Amen.

[i] Adapted from a prayer by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org.

Second Sunday of Advent "Close to Home: Laying the Foundation"

 Luke 1:68-79

Today’s psalmody wasn’t from the book of psalms at all; instead, it is one of the three canticles or songs of praise that we find in Luke’s gospel. First, we hear the Magnificat – the verses that Carol sang – that is Mary’s prophecy and hymn of praise and then later, when Jesus is presented at the temple, we hear the faithful Israelite Simeon’s prophecy and song, called the Nunc Dimittis that announces what God will do in Jesus.

These verses that we sang today, which are also called the Benedictus, are the song of Zechariah, husband to Elizabeth and father to John the Baptizer.

Earlier in the gospel, Luke told us that Zechariah, a Jewish priest, and his wife Elizabeth “had no children…and both were getting on in years.” (1:7) And then the angel Gabriel announced to Zechariah that Elizabeth would have a child and they would name him John, but Zechariah was skeptical, and the angel took away his speech until the birth of the child.

It’s during her relative Elizabeth’s pregnancy that we hear the annunciation to Mary that she will bear a son and name him Jesus, and Mary then travels and stays with Elizabeth and Zechariah for three months.

When Zechariah uses a tablet to tell the people their newborn son will be called John, his voice is restored, and Luke tells us that Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke these words.

His words follow an ancient Hebrew blessing format that begins with a statement of praise (1:68a), follows with the reason for that praise (1:68b-74) and concludes with a formula for praise (1:75-79). These words of blessing express more than mere thanksgiving or gratitude; instead, they reflect the certainty that God has made a promise and that what has been promised will happen.[i]

Imagine having all those months to ponder God’s promises and what God is doing through the child that Mary will bear and through the child that his own wife Elizabeth is carrying.

Luke leaves it to our imagination to hear the tone of voice Zechariah used when he spoke these words. Perhaps they were loud and jubilant, reflecting a Spirit-filled excitement, or perhaps they were delivered with Spirit-led conviction, wonder and awe.[ii]

Either way, Zechariah makes a bold proclamation, announcing what God will do with certainty even before it happens.

Remember Luke is writing after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, and the people Luke was addressing were living under the rule of empire. The promises and the future they had imagined appears to be in jeopardy. But here Zechariah declares that, despite Whatever else you are witnessing, God is trustworthy, and the promises of God will be fulfilled.

He is confident that God will bring about the salvation of God’s people, even though John is a newborn infant and Jesus hasn’t even been born yet. [iii]

In his words, we hear an invitation to God’s people to live in the already but not yet, living as if God has already triumphed;

living into God’s future for us, undeterred by the obstacles and challenges the world throws at us.[iv]

The foundation of our faith, and of our lives,  is God’s promises to us.

In Jesus, God promises us grace, unmerited and unearned forgiveness and mercy. God promises to rescue us from our sin and death, to protect us from our enemies and to deliver us into new lives where we are free to love God and our neighbor and we are invited to serve.

As we hear Zechariah’s words of prophecy and promise, will we sing with shouts of thanksgiving for what God has already done, in this place and in the generations who have worshiped in this congregation, and will we share his anticipation and confidence that God will continue to work in, among and through us?

There is plenty of uncertainty in the world. There is division, hatred and violence. And the pandemic lingers. It would be easy to be discouraged.

But we worship a God who overcomes and makes a way forward. A God who intervenes and brings life into barren places. A God who chooses surprising people to carry the Good News of divine love and tender mercy into a hurting and fearful world.

Like Zechariah, may we always remember this is the God to whom we sing.

Amen.

[i] Karla Suomola. Commentary on Luke 1:68-79. Luther Seminary. workingpreacher.org

[ii] Adam Hearlson. Commentary on Luke 1:68-79. Luther Seminary. workingpreacher.org

[iii] ibid

[iv] ibid

First Sunday of Advent "Close to Home: Homesick"

 Luke 21:25-36

Today’s the first Sunday in Advent, the first Sunday of the new Church year, and the beginning of the season leading up to Christmas. The season’s name which comes from the Latin word adventus meaning approach or arrival, invites us to anticipate the coming arrival of the new thing that God is doing in Jesus.

This Advent, our worship theme is “Close to Home” and I ask you to take a minute to think about how you define home.

Saying “Home is where the heart is” recognizes that “home” is not only a building or even a city. “Coming home” means returning to what’s familiar and comforting. Finding one’s “home away from home” is about belonging in a place. And when things hit “close to home” they affect us not just at the surface or in superficial ways, but deeply, in our hearts.

This Advent, we name the paradox that we both have a home in God and our home is not yet complete.

God calls each of us to make our home in God’s love and
God is still working and inviting us to participate in building God’s kingdom and a home for all.

We begin by realizing how far we are from our divine home, from the place of belonging that we are invited to find in God’s love and where the comfort of God’s peace settles upon us.

I wonder whether you remember ever being homesick?

I remember when our oldest daughter went to boarding school for her freshman year of high school. For several months her emotions were running high, and her telephone calls home were drama-filled, and at the heart of it was homesickness. It wasn’t a simple wish for favorite foods or people, but an overwhelming feeling that all was not right with her world. That important parts were missing. That nothing could help.

Our gospel text is Luke’s “little apocalypse” and while he names the suffering and tumult that exists in the world, his words are hope-filled, reminding “all who live on the whole face of the earth” (v. 35) that God is present in the midst of the chaos.

Here Luke tells us that God enters into our homesick world and promises redemption. God promises to rescue us from our sin and restore us to the life that we have in God through Jesus Christ.

That is God’s promise for all of us who yearn for our home to be made whole, made right and made well. For me, whole, right and well means
the reconciliation of broken relationships,
the resolution of conflict in places where there is no peace,
and the restoration of health to those who are ill.

Luke assures us that we will see the kingdom of God drawing near and know that God is close to us. He compares our knowing God’s presence to seeing that the trees are beginning to bud and knowing, without anyone telling us, that the season is about to change.

He urges us to be attentive and watchful, and to see how God is showing up in our lives and those around us. Where do we see God draw near today?

A rabbinical colleague told this story of how God showed up:

In Judaism, there is a ritual that happens on the one-year anniversary of a loved one’s death. The rabbi made phone calls and sent emails so their congregation would know the event was taking place on a particular evening, and then he found himself, waiting in darkness about ten minutes beforehand, when, piercing the darkness with their headlights, cars began streaming in and people got out, grasping their prayer books, and entering the building in silence. There they worshiped together, joining in a tradition that reaches back to the third or fourth century. Woven into their worship was centuries of communities coming together to grieve and to celebrate.

God shows up in our words for worship, our rituals and traditions and in our gathering together, and God also shows up in our everyday lives.

While Emma was home for Thanksgiving, we took a few minutes to go through her late grandmother’s jewelry box. Jamie’s dad Jim left it with us when he visited in October and asked for our girls to choose some pieces from it. We sat the dining room table and as we opened the drawers and looked more closely, we shared memories. There was a small devotional medallion dedicated to Mary, my mother-in-law’s class rings from high school and college and even a charm-sized football from a championship game Jim played in the 50s. It was just a few minutes of remembering and reminiscing, and it was a sacred time honoring the woman we knew as mother, mother-in-law and MomMom.

In the ordinariness of our days, in our grief and in our joy, God shows up and accompanies us in all things to make the world whole, right and well.

Let us pray.

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for your promised Son Jesus and for the redemption you promise to us all.

Help us pay attention to the surprising ways you show up to heal our homesick world and relieve suffering.

Give us courage to participate in making your kingdom known here on earth and creating a home for all.

We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

Amen.

Christ the King Sunday

John 8:31-37

Today, on the last Sunday of the Church year, Christ the King Sunday, we are in John’s gospel, where we hear Jesus speaking to Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor over Judea. The scene is from when Pilate is questioning him after his arrest. And Jesus tells Pilate,

My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over ... But as it is, my kingdom is not from here. (John 18:36 NRS)

Here in the U.S. most of our images of kings and kingdoms come from mythology, literature, movies or plays: we know Shakespeare’s King Lear, Olivier’s Zeus, Sean Connery’s King Arthur, or more recently Jonathan Groff’s King George in “Hamilton.” Beyond those references, most of us don’t have a working understanding of kings and kingdoms.

But Jesus and Pilate understood both, and they understood power.

The late Marcus Borg, a theologian and scholar who wrote about the historical Jesus in a number of books including one titled The Last Week, described what took place just a few days before this scene, on what we celebrate as Palm Sunday at the beginning of Holy Week.

In Jerusalem, it was the beginning of the week of Passover, the “festival that celebrated the Jewish people’s liberation from” Pharaoh who had enslaved the people of Israel centuries earlier.

The Roman governors of the region lived nearer to the Mediterranean coast, but for the major Jewish festivals, they regularly traveled to Jerusalem. Proceeding down the western Watershed Ridge, Pilate and the imperial army would have approached Jerusalem in a mighty procession with armored foot soldiers, the cavalry on horses, weapons, banners and all the sounds of a conquering army.[i]

In contrast, instead of riding high atop a warhorse, Jesus rode into town on a donkey, not as a conquering hero, but as a humble servant king.[ii] For Roman citizens familiar with the governors’ triumphant marches, Jesus’ arrival would have been a clear and obvious challenge to the status quo.

And that is the challenge Jesus presents to Pilate in this scene. Jesus is not saying that His kingdom is other-worldly or heavenly, but that His kingdom doesn’t follow the rules known to society and the world.

He is saying,

My kingdom is neither of nor from this world. It is completely unrecognizable to you because your position and power come from human institutions and structures, and your security is found in soldiers and battalions. Your future relies on the strength of the empire.

That was, after all, the understanding of empire, kingship and kingdom in the first century, and it is persistent. It’s the origin of sayings like “might makes right” and “history is written by the victors.” As King George sings in “Hamilton”, “When push comes to shove, I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love!”

Thanks be to God that in Jesus we know a different kind of king, and in Scripture we have the promise of a different kind of kingdom and might.

The King we have in Christ is humble and has a servant’s heart, and in His Kingdom, where we are co-heirs with Him, we are called not to earthly power or privilege, but to love.

The Feast of Christ the King is a reminder to us all that Christ our Lord is given all power in heaven and on earth and therefore, nothing is exempt from his empire. Establishing this festival day for the Church in 1925, Pope Pius XI (11^th) reminded Christians that Christ, not earthly rulers, must reign in our minds, in our wills, in our hearts and in our bodies (paragraph 33, Quas Primas).

In a few months, Ascension will celebrate our 99^th year as a congregation. Back in 1923, a group of folks decided that Shelby needed a Lutheran congregation. They knew that in a world drowning in bad news, the Church had Good News to proclaim to our neighbors and community, news of a Lord and Savior who is not subject to any other authority; news of a King whose weapons are love and compassion, forgiveness and mercy; news of a Kingdom where love reigns and grace is abundant. As we enter into a new Church year, may we remember who our King is and live as kingdom people here on earth.

Amen.

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[i] Marcus Borg. The Last Week. 2-3.

[ii] “Passion/Palm Sunday, March 25, 2018.” https://bishopmike.com/, accessed 3/22/2018.

25th Sunday after Pentecost

Psalm 16

A time of anguish, rumors of war, earthquakes and famines. The authors of our texts today are describing a world full of uncertainty, of fear and of trials to be endured by believers. The threat level is elevated and imminent. We believe Mark’s gospel was written soon after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple, so those first hearing his words would have been witnesses to the destruction of that sacred space and the ways God’s people had worshiped for generations.

And it’s into this air of anxiety that God breathes words of hope and promise through the psalmist.

Although Psalm 16 is attributed to David, the first king of the united Israel, its author is unknown. Because of the different historical backgrounds of the psalms, scholars believe there were multiple psalm writers throughout ancient Israel’s history.[i] The ambiguity of the Hebrew grammar allows people of all genders to hear their own voice in the words of the psalmist.[ii]

This psalm is written as a plea for God’s safety and security. The opening verses acknowledge that the world is falling apart, and nothing makes sense.

The psalmist says when she feels danger, she runs for her life, and finds shelter and refuge under God’s wings.

It is in life with God that we find our safe place, the place where we do not have to be troubled or afraid. There we can look at the people and events around us and find some clarity. Fear no longer drives our decision-making. People-pleasing no longer motivates our actions. Because our safety and security is found in God.

Because God chooses us first, therefore, we are free to choose God over against the lies of the world and the evil we encounter.

In our life together, we are invited to make a home with God and find our place of belonging. A place where God’s peace and Word settles in our hearts. A place where we are not alone or helpless because God is within reach.

When this psalm is sung, the refrain is, “Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices; my body also rests secure.” (v. 9)

Our gladness – our happiness, joy or contentment – isn’t fleeting or circumstantial. It is a completeness that comes from finding our identity in God as God’s children and not searching for that identity and belonging in other places.

Our rejoicing isn’t superficial. It is the response to the grace we’ve received from God who desires relationship with us more than judgment and loves us even when we are not loving toward ourselves or others. It is the response to knowing whose we are from the inside out and knowing that God’s love is unshakable and irrevocable. The Hebrew translates as “ecstatically shrieking”; this isn’t a quiet and reserved thanksgiving but a full-throated shout to the Lord!

And finally, our rest is not temporary. We have found our place and we settle into life with God, sheltered from the uncertainty around us and protected from the tumult or topsy-turviness of the world. And there we can remember that God is God, and we are not, and find our rest.

Of course, there will be times in our lives when we don’t feel safe or secure or God feels distant. Then the refrain provides a focus and invites to examine what’s going on. What doesn’t feel true? Where am I struggling? What is going on in my heart or relationships, my soul or interior, and with my body? And we’re invited to ask God about the things that scare us, the places where we feel unsafe, and the ways God feels absent. And listen.

Life with God isn’t magic, but spiritual practice. So, when we fall out of practice or we recognize the ways we have left God out of our lives, we’re invited then to return to God - to return to home - with all our heart, soul and body.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

We give thanks for the refuge you provide from a sin-filled world.

Thank you for the grace you give each one of us to find new life in you where we are loved and forgiven.

Thank you for making a home for us and providing us with what we need each day.

Gladden our hearts, lead us in rejoicing and help us rest secure in your love.

We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.

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[i] Fred Gaiser. “Summary of Psalms.” Luther Seminary. Enterthebible.org

[ii] Joel LeMon. “Commentary on Psalm 16.” Luther Seminary. Workingpreacher.org