Merry Christmas!
Immanuel – God with us. This is Gospel.
This Christmas news is the very best news we have to share with one another. In the mystery of pain and suffering, death and dying, anguish and grief, amid so many terrifying aspects of our existence for which we have no answers – when life tumbles in, when there is no reason to be found for what happened, when the way is not plain, when the journey is in the dark and the chill, we can dare to say to one another: “God be with you.” And God is. God is with us. Through thick and thin, God chooses to be with us.
This is the simple Christmas message. God is with us, at the raw heart of human life – bearing our burdens, sharing our sorrows, entering our suffering, laughing with us, crying with us – God chooses to be with the likes of us.
- modified from Rev. Henry K. Yordon
How the Grinch Stole Christ!
A fantastic version of the Grinch Stole Christmas by my friend, Rev. Molly Baskette:
The Jews down in Beth’lem liked children a LOT,
But King Herod up in his palace did NOT.
He hated their laughter—their cute button noses
He hated the way their cheeks bloomed like roses
Because even tho Herod was the richest around,
He was never happy—he always had a frown.
“How dare they be happy!
They have nothing you see
Yet they laugh and they play
And sing “Tum-Tittle-Tee,”
I am rich and I’m strong, and good-looking to boot,
I have all the smarts and I have all the loot
But you don’t see me laughing and carrying on
Just what do they know that I don’t? Now come on!
I want to be happy, too! I just don’t know how.”
And he sat and he thought and he fussed and he growled.
Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE KING
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
If children could make even poor people happy,
Then perhaps they could turn even him slightly sappy
He was the King, after all, and deserved to be glad
After so many years of feeling quite mad.
So he put on his fine clothes
And hitched up his fine horse
And went to borrow some children,
By choice or by force.
He went up to each house where he saw signs of toys
And he looked all around for the girls and the boys
The first house that he came to was small and secure
With a little girl playing in front of the door.
It was, of course, you know her: Little Cindy Lou Hebrew!
She opened her mouth and she said, “Who are you?”
“Why, I am the King!
And I’ve come to this end:
I’ll give anything
If you’ll just be my friend.
If you please—come with me and we’ll swim in the lake
And I’ll give you some tea, and we’ll play and eat cake.”
Little Cindy Lou was so young and so sweet
And the man looked so sad that she got to her feet
She followed him out to his coach and got in
She thought to ignore him would be a great sin.
And so it was with every child in town.
With Benjamin, Daniel and Mordecai Brown.
They all followed the King who looked so darn sad
Because they thought maybe—just maybe—THEY could make him turn glad.
The Grinchy King brought them back to the palace, you see
And showed them all into his huge treasury
“Play!” he said, “Play! Here’s a gold bar for you
And a chest full of rubies and emeralds too.”
“And for you, Dan! Your favorite! A thing-a-ma-jing!
It’s made out of silver, with platinum rings!
But Dan was confused
And Cindy was frightened
This was not why they’d come
now they were more enlightened!
He would not let them go! He would keep them forever!
He would use them to further his ghastly endeavor.
They would not see their parents, again, not at all.
And finally the tears began to fall.
The King tried to give them his jewelry and treasure
He had the maids bring every rich dazzling pleasure
Like truffles and cake and pate de fois gras!
He wheedled and pleaded until he was raw.
But the children sitting in the treasury just cried
They cried cried cried cried
They all missed their families
Who must have thought that they’d died.
And the King grew more angry than ever, and scared,
And locking the door firm behind him, he dared
To let out a bellow at his failure by lying
To get what the poor had without even trying.
When the good folks of Bethlehem caught wind of the hassle
They took all that they owned and set off for the castle
They stormed up to the gates and cried out for their tots,
“Let our children go free! You can have all we’ve got!”
They piled their puny things high on the gates
They piled up jewelry, and candles, and plates,
They gave it as ransom for the little lost ones
Who were their great treasure: when all’s said and done.
The King listened to the crying within and the crying without
He was scared and confused, too, but said with a shout,
“Silence! I am the King! Will you grudge me my pleasure?
I just want to be happy, and have what YOU treasure!”
But the crying within and without did not stop
And he sat himself down with a big tired PLOP!
To himself he said, “I know that kids are the thing,
Because I’ve seen them so often to giggle and sing.
Perhaps I just haven’t yet found the right one,”
And he swore to find every babe under the sun.
And the King was quite right
there was one overlooked
a little baby boy
whom everyone had forsook.
His name was Christ Jesus
He’d been born just that day
In a stable with cows
in a manger of hay/to Maria and Jose.
So the King sent out scouts to all parts of the land
And before much time passed, the last one was in hand.
Including our Jesus, who was found in the stable,
with Mary and Joseph, the heroes of fable.
The scouts had told Herod of this one, “He’s different—he’s holy.”
“He’s more than a sweet little babe roly-poly.”
And if this weren’t enough of the King’s depraved folly,
He said, “I’ll see this one mySELF, by gum-golly.”
And so he went down to the dark little stable
To look for the one who was still in the cradle.
Mary said to the great King, “I know why you’re here.
To see if this child can cast out your fear.
You think that you’re right, but believe me, you’re wrong.
You’re ordering delight and sequestering song.
To steal others’ children is not a good living.
The secret to your sadness is taking, not giving.
“You think this child will be your greatest possession?
He’ll never make you happy in your misguided obsession.
“But here, take the child, only on one condition:
That you stop all this nonsense and give the folks what they’re wishin’.
Give them back their children, the source of their joy,
Only then can you have our sweet baby boy.
“For I love him more than life itself,
even though he just came this morn,
But I know I must sacrifice him—
For that reason he was born.”
The King took the baby and went to the castle
Laid him on a bed of gold with silver tassels
And then went downstairs and unlocked the treasury
“Kids,” he said, “You are—every one—free.”
They raced to their mothers, they rushed to their fathers
They gave their grandparents big wet runny kisses
They walked back to town and told the whole story
And everyone hugged everyone, the lads and the misses.
But the King climbed the steps to the room with great doubt,
Something still wasn’t right—some part left itself out.
He had what he’d asked, but was no happier than before.
He’d won the short battle but lost the whole war.
Then he glanced down at Jesus
And his baby look seemed to say
“It’s in giving you receive,
That is the True Way.”
And suddenly in the darkness there came a great light
And the King understood what he hadn’t all night.
Then the King hitched up his horse
And went back to the town
Taking with him the child
of global renown.
He found Mary and Joseph still at the stable
Packing their things as best they were able.
They moved in a dream, as if not quite real,
Until hearing the baby, who let out a squeal.
Mary rushed to see Jesus, and Joseph did too,
And they were one big hug, stuck together like glue.
The King said with candor, “I see what you mean
about giving and taking and being so mean.
It’s not about being rich or about even winning
So I want to give back
what was yours from the beginning.
“I wonder,” he asked, with some awe in his tone,
“It’s just that I’m sick of always being alone.
Could I, if it wouldn’t be much of a bother—
do you think that I might become Jesus’ Godfather?”
Then Mary replied, “Well, there’s a problem, you see,
He already has one: the Lord Almighty!”
“But you can be his First Uncle!” she smiled and added.
And from that day on, he was gladder and gladded.
And so the King learned what others knew right from the start:
It’s in losing you find, and what he found was: HIS HEART.
Benediction:
And now one last word before we part:
May you lose your selves and find your hearts.
For this is the crux of the Christmas fable
Now go and repeat it, as best you are able.
Walking toward the Dawn
By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.
- Luke 1: 78- 79
The future is simply darkness. The present is more or less clear. The past, we can see, though it may be a bit grayer, especially as we grow further away from it.
But the future is darkness. We cannot see in to it. We cannot determine it. We cannot control it. Therefore, it can feel terrifying. Our routines and order give us a sense of security and possible predictability for the future.
This time of year is filled with darkness. In fact, yesterday was the longest night of the year. The beauty of our reality is that it can only get lighter from here. Each day, the light will slowly, minute-by-minute creep back into our days. Even though our eyes cannot see into the upcoming months, we can trust that when the dawn from on high breaks upon us, it will illumine everything more clearly.
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.
So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
-Jan Richardson
In the Path of the Beam
I cannot cause light; the most I can do is try to put myself in the path of its beam.
- Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Not to flood darkness with light so that the darkness is destroyed, but to enter into darkness, mystery, so that it is experienced.
–Denise Levertov
True Confession: I hate waiting.
Let’s be honest, I hate waiting. I hate waiting in line at the grocery store. I hate waiting for the books that I ordered from Amazon to arrive. I hate waiting when my friend says, “i’m on my way.” I hate waiting to eat the homemade cookies until after dinner.
In our lives of instant gratification, waiting has become something to be avoided, circumscribed, or railed against. But instead of feeling frustrated or angry, maybe I’ll try to explore another way of seeing these moments of waiting.
My spiritual director has suggested these seven spiritual gifts of waiting to practice in this season of Advent:
1. Patience
2. Letting Go of the Desire for Control
3. Living in the Present Moment
4. Compassion for Others
5. Gratitude for “What is” in Our Lives
6. Humility – Staying Grounded in Reality rather than Illusions or Inflations
7. Building Trust in God
If you and I work on practicing these gifts of waiting, maybe we’ll be less like the innkeeper who was too distracted by his own party, too preoccupied with his own to-do’s, to make room in his life for the Holy. Perhaps in our waiting we’ll learn to go of our attempts to control or orchestrate everything in our day, and allow God the space to break into our “perfectly controlled” Christmas plans.
And maybe in our waiting, we might be surprised by unanticipated joy.
Willingness
The angel said to Mary, “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 the Son of God”…Then Mary said, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” – Luke 1:35, 38
There is an old piece of folklore about Mary. Imagine, the story goes, that the angel of God had been wandering the earth since the beginning of time, asking peole if they would be willing to bring God’s child into the world. Mary was not the most pure, most holy, most beautiful; she was simply the only one gutsy enough to say, “yes.”
We often think of Mary as being selected by God because she is the most devout, the most pure of all women. She is the valedictorian of devotion and the obvious choice to be the mother of God.
But what if it wasn’t her devoutness or her purity? What if it was her willingness? She courageously agreed, and that set her apart.
In Gospel of Luke, Mary says to the angel of Gabriel, “Here I am.” Theses are words repeated by some of the most faithful in Scripture: Abraham says, “Here I am.” Isaiah says, “Here I am.” These are words of deep trust in God. And after uttering these words, no one ever stands still.
But most of time, we’re afraid to say, “Here I am” to God. We want to add a clause – “Here I am, God, but don’t disturb me too much.” “Here I am, but don’t ask too much of me.” “Here I am, but don’t lead me to do anything different.”
What if we stopped saying, “Yes, but….” and tried saying simply “Yes” to God?
I Will Light Candles This Christmas
Candles of joy, despite all sadness,
Candles of hope where despair keeps watch.
Candles of courage for fears ever present,
Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,
Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,
Candles of love to inspire all my living,
Candles that will burn all the year long.
-Howard Thurman
*In a long-exposure photo, the interior of Salisbury Cathedral is illuminated by trails of candles carried by choristers during the annual “darkness to light” advent procession in Salisbury, England, on November 25, 2011. Photograph by Matt Cardy.
The Power of Quiet Receptivity
Zechariah and Elizabeth were both very old and had been married a long time, when the angel, Gabriel, greeted them. Gabriel announces that the elderly and barren, Elizabeth, would give birth to a son. The son’s name would be in John and he is to be a prophet – the one preparing the way for the Lord’s coming. Naturally, Zechariah expresses his doubt to the angel, and God makes Zechariah unable to speak for the full nine months of Elizabeth’s pregnancy.
First of all, God has told him that his son’s name will be John. For Zechariah, this is a hard message because he will not pass down his patriarchal name. This is a clear departure from the Jewish tradition of lineage. Second, Zechariah is told that his son John will be a prophet, but not just any prophet, a prophet preparing the way for the coming Lord. For Zechariah, a faithful Jew, this is divergent, prophets have been part of Israel’s history but a prophet who will declare a new way, reformat the Temple structure, and prepare Israel for the coming Christ? Now that’s unheard of. It is no wonder that Zechariah suffered from a reluctance to change.
After being struck dumb for nine months, Zechariah asks for a writing tablet and etches out his son’s name, John, the name chosen by God. The Scripture says, “Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God.” The time of receptivity gave way to a time of prophecy, known as Zechariah’s song or the Benedictus. In Zechariah’s song, he speaks of the path in which his son will prepare for the coming of the Lord. It is only after he is humbled that he is able to see God’s mercy and speak free of his own self-interest.
Advent is typically known as a season of giving, a time in which we share our lives, our monetary goods, or homes with those who we love and those in need. Yet, it is also a time to receive, and a time to be open to new possibilities. As we prepare this season, let us find the humility and the receptivity to open ourselves to receive Christ and the newness that await us.
Bearers of Light
What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mothers of God.
-Meister Eckhart (15th century German mystic)
Rule Breakers
“For John came neither eating nor drinking and they say, “He has a demon”; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!” Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.” – Matthew 11: 18 – 19
They did not recognize John. They thought that he was strange. He acted weird. He dressed funny. They thought that he had a demon. Why in the world would someone fast so much? Why wear such bizarre clothes?
Then Jesus came, eating and drinking, a plain carpenter who liked to tell stories. They thought he was too relaxed. Too reckless with the rules. Too friendly to strangers. They thought he had little respect for social customs and religious traditions.
Both the Incarnation of God and God’s greatest prophet were missed, brushed aside, or dismissed because people got caught up in appearance, in custom, and in rules. Let’s not make the same mistake.
If we learn anything from John the Baptist and Jesus, we know God does not often come in a comfortable or expected way. We can bet that the Holy One will break a few rules. So let’s look a little harder and a little deeper, let’s look beyond the dress and the differences, and asking ourselves: Is God trying to tell me something here? And if so, what might that message be?
