“Anywhere But Nineveh”

Pastor David L. Haley

Jonah 3: 1 – 5, 10

January 22^nd, 2012

          “Next, God spoke to Jonah a second time: “Up on your feet and on your way to the big city of Nineveh! Preach to them. They’re in a bad way and I can’t ignore it any longer.” This time Jonah started off straight for Nineveh, obeying God’s orders to the letter.

          Nineveh was a big city, very big — it took three days to walk across it.

          Jonah entered the city, went one day’s walk and preached, “In forty days Nineveh will be smashed.”

          The people of Nineveh listened, and trusted God. They proclaimed a citywide fast and dressed in burlap to show their repentance. Everyone did it — rich and poor, famous and obscure, leaders and followers.

          God saw what they had done, that they had turned away from their evil lives. He did change his mind about them. What he said he would do to them he didn’t do.”  - 1 Samuel 3: 1 – 5, 10, The Message

Do you find, as I find, that living in a community as diverse as ours can be challenging? Does it stretch you, as it stretches me?

Here’s an example. I was shopping at Marketplace on Oakton, one of my favorite places to shop. I love the Greek music (at least I think it’s Greek), and not only the variety of foods, but the variety of people who shop there.

One day when I was checking out, the checkout lady sneezed. I said, “Gesundheit.” She said, “What’s that?” I said, “It’s a blessing in German, for when you sneeze.” I asked, “And what’s your language?”  She said, “I speak Farsi and Turkish.”

“Farsi,” I thought; “I don’t even know where Farsi is spoken.” When I got home I looked it up, and learned that Farsi is the most widely spoken Persian language in the Middle East, and is spoken in Iran and Afghanistan.  So the next time I saw her, I continued the guessing game: “So you speak Turkish and Farsi? Are you from northern Iraq?” She said, “No, I’m from Tehran, Iran.” “Oh,” I said, feeling completely ignorant, a failure in both geography and linguistics.

Another day, I asked another of the checkout ladies, who looked very Greek, “So, are you are Greek?”  “No,” she said, “I’m Assyrian.”  “OK,” I thought, “I give up. I know nothing.”

That’s how – in our town – we’re all continually challenged and continually learning. It’s also why our community has formed Coming Together in Skokie, to celebrate our diversity. Beginning with the Indian community in 2010, and the Filipino community in 2011, this year, we have the opportunity to learn about the Assyrian community. In a community that speaks some 90 languages, we’re just getting started.

Because there are many Assyrians in our community, you may already know more than I do. How do you celebrate a culture that is thousands of years old, but has no country to call its own? What do we make of a civilization that invented almost everything, including literature, whose descendants show up in our community and sometimes our church, but speak little English? How are we so ignorant to get their religion wrong, often thinking of them as Muslim, when Assyrians were one of the first peoples to become Christian, and have been now for 2,000 years, often paying a heavy price for it in the countries from which they have come, such as Iraq. But they are not Christian like we are Christians, so we think of them as foreign and different.

I think back painfully to last summer, to our first 8:30 worship service.  Among the 30 or so people in attendance, there was a man – a stranger – wearing a suit, which of course stood out. If I remember, he also carried a Bible, which stood out more. Afterwards, as I talked with him, he told me he was an Assyrian, and had just arrived here the week before from Iraq. He stressed that he worked with our troops during the war as a translator, and said that now that they were here, he and his family were quite anxious about how they were going to make it. I failed to get contact information, thinking I would see him again. I did not. But I have thought about him – and the others like him – often since.

I also thought about that man and others like him this week when I read today’s Old Testament story, the story of Jonah, whom God called to go to Nineveh, the ancient capital of the Assyrian Empire. (Hey, I know those people, they live in my neighborhood!) What Jonah learned is what we need to learn: that God’s love for others – including those who are different, outsiders, or even our enemies – is at least as great as God’s love for us. The only difference is, now God is not calling Jonah to reach out to them, God is calling us.

That is the theme of these Sundays in Epiphany, God’s call to us.  Last Sunday, we heard how God called young Samuel, but also a modern day prophet, Martin Luther King, Jr. This week, we hear of Jesus calling disciples, but also of God calling Jonah. People are being called all over the place. It’s only a matter of time before God’s calls us, if God hasn’t already.

When God calls, it’s useful to note that we have before us today, two models of response.  One is the IMMEDIATE response, like Simon and Andrew, James and John, who left their boats and followed Jesus, without even asking questions. If you have always felt – as I have always felt – that they responded too quickly, then you may be more interested in the model of response offered by Jonah, which was to buy a ticket in the OPPOSITE direction.

More reluctant than Amos, more fearful than Jeremiah, less confident than Hosea or Isaiah, Jonah comes to us as one of the sourest and yet most successful of Old Testament prophets.  While other prophets preach on Israelite soil, proclaiming God’s word to God’s people, Jonah is called to be a foreign missionary, to declare God’s word to a strange people in a foreign land.

Yet Jonah’s problem wasn’t that they were strange people in a foreign land; it’s that they were Assyrians.  Jonah would have been happy to preach hellfire and damnation, because frankly, they deserved it. In Jonah’s opinion, reflecting that of his contemporaries, they were a horrible people with nasty habits. “Face off” in Assyria did not mean a hockey game. They were Israel’s longtime enemy, and therefore God’s enemy, right? After all, the Assyrians had humiliated and crushed the Israelites, stripped them of their culture and land. Surely God could not love them, and would never forgive them for what they had done. So when God says: “Go west to Nineveh.” Jonah says, “Nineveh; anywhere but Nineveh” and Jonah went east to Tarshish.

If you know anything about the Bible, you know what happens next, how Jonah managed to be such a blessing to the crew that they threw him overboard, into a whale of a problem. He did have a profound religious experience, and sings a wonderful Psalm in Jonah, chapter 2, but somehow doing so in the belly of a fish would tend to detract from the experience. Jonah was so bad, even the fish spit him out. It gets even more unbelievable from here: as someone once noted, that for which Jonah is best known, being swallowed by a whale, may be the most believable part of the story.

You can run from God, but you cannot hide. And so: “God spoke to Jonah a second time: “Up on your feet and on your way to the big city of Nineveh! Preach to them. They’re in a bad way and I can’t ignore it any longer.” Why did God call Jonah a second time? Because he disobeyed the first time. God is persistent! “This time Jonah started straight for Nineveh, obeying God’s orders to the letter.”  At least he is educable; no prophet left behind!

The truth is, we’ve all had days like that. You believe God is calling you to do something, you’d just as soon not, but the Voice is persistent, relentless, and you give it a try. For example, once I decided I was not going to give out money to the homeless who asked. So the next guy who asked, I offered to take into a restaurant and buy him a sandwich. He accepted, and we were talking and eating, when suddenly he threw down his sandwich and ran out the door. “Was it something I said?”  I count it as a learning experience, just as Jonah did the fish, I hope.

When Jonah gets to Nineveh, he’d obviously spent a lot of time on his sermon. It consists of 4 words in Hebrew, 7 or 8 in English, depending upon what version you read. His delivery must have had all the enthusiasm of Rev. Lovejoy on the Simpsons’: “Forty days more . . . and Nineveh . . . shall be . . . overthrown.”  It had to be the most boring sermon in history, with the possible exception of a few I’ve preached. “Hey, thought Jonah, “let’s not go overboard, “because after all, I’ve done that.”

What happened next surprised everybody.  Sometimes it’s not the messenger or the Message, it’s God. So despite Jonah’s lack of enthusiasm or eloquence, it worked. Everybody in Nineveh repented, from the king all the way down to the cattle, maybe even the dogs and cats. So successful was Jonah’s mission that even God repented, and decided to spare the city from invasion

If you don’t see what’s coming next, you haven’t been paying attention. On learning how God changed his mind, Jonah was furious. He lost his temper and yelled at God, “God! I knew it — I knew this was going to happen! When you kept saying “that GREAT city”, I wondered if you didn’t have a soft spot for the Assyrians. I knew you were sheer grace and mercy, not easily angered, rich in love, and ready at the drop of a hat to turn your plans of punishment into a program of forgiveness!” Jonah may be the only prophet in history to turn a hymn to God into a song of complaint.  Forgiveness, after all, is a great thing, until we have to extend it to others.

The author Leonard Sweet has observed that Jonah is stuck in Schadenfreude; you know that word? It means “malicious joy at another misfortune.” Jonah drips with it. Unfortunately, sometimes we do too.

Jonah is the patron saint of anyone who secretly smiles when the prom queen shows up at the 25^th reunion with 60 extra pounds and her third husband. Jonah is the soul mate of the employee who feels delicious pleasure when the mean boss is sacked with 15 minutes to clear his desk. Jonah is the poster child of all who appreciate reading in the newspaper about the “family values” politician photographed in a hot tub with “a woman not his wife.” Jonah is the precusor of those who find anything to rejoice about when bombs and missiles begin to fall, because that means peaceful means have either failed or not been tried, and innocent people are sure to suffer and die.

Jonah reminds us that even in the community of faith – perhaps especially in the community of faith – we confuse what we hate with what God hates, and forget that what we may hate, God loves, more than we can even imagine. According to Jonah’s story and Jesus’ story, God loves even our enemies, an excruciating thought for those of us like Jonah, who delight in the notion that God detests the people, the ideas, and organizations that we detest.

Jonah reminds us that “wickedness” springs not from the fact that you are not like me, or that they are not like us; wickedness ensues when people are not like God, whether those people happen to be Assyrians, Afghans, Democrats, Republicans, Muslims or Methodists. Jonah reminds us that God’s plan is that everyone should turn from wickedness, toward the only God who can free us from a whale of a problem; the only God who can transform an entire city; the only God who can do the hardest thing of all: melt hateful hearts.

There’s more to Jonah, but we don’t have time; because we’ve got work to do. Because, like Jonah, now God’s calling us. To reach out to those who are different, who are outsiders, even our enemies. Unlike Jonah, we may not have to go to them, because they have come to us, to our church and to our community.

The first event in this year’s Coming Together in Skokie will be next Sunday afternoon at Niles West High School, starting with an exhibition of Assyrian art at 2:30 pm and a cultural celebration at 3:15.  If you get the chance, ask them this: Where are you from? What language do you speak?  Ever hear of a guy named Jonah?

“What I Learned at Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken”

Pastor David L. Haley

1 Samuel 3: 1 – 10

January 15^th, 2012

          “The boy Samuel was serving God under Eli’s direction. This was at a time when the revelation of God was rarely heard or seen. One night Eli was sound asleep (his eyesight was very bad — he could hardly see). It was well before dawn; the sanctuary lamp was still burning. Samuel was still in bed in the Temple of God, where the Chest of God rested.

          Then God called out, “Samuel, Samuel!”

          Samuel answered, “Yes? I’m here.” Then he ran to Eli saying, “I heard you call.

Here I am.”

          Eli said, “I didn’t call you. Go back to bed.” And so he did.

          God called again, “Samuel, Samuel!”

          Samuel got up and went to Eli, “I heard you call. Here I am.”

          Again Eli said, “Son, I didn’t call you. Go back to bed.” (This all happened before Samuel knew God for himself. It was before the revelation of God had been given to him personally.)

          God called again, “Samuel!” — the third time! Yet again Samuel got up and went to Eli, “Yes? I heard you call me. Here I am.”

          That’s when it dawned on Eli that God was calling the boy. So Eli directed Samuel, “Go back and lie down. If the voice calls again, say, ‘Speak, God. I’m your servant, ready to listen.’” Samuel returned to his bed.

          Then God came and stood before him exactly as before, calling out, “Samuel! Samuel!”

          Samuel answered, “Speak. I’m your servant, ready to listen.”    - 1 Samuel 3: 1 – 10, The Message

I’d like to share with you today what I learned 11 days ago at Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken in Memphis, Tennessee. Other than that it was some of the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten in my life, and how the next day we wished we’d taken a bag full to eat in the car on the way home. And how FedEx and Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken are both based in Memphis. Interesting possibilities?

But before we talk about that, you need to know that this is one of those days when we cease searching for God, and God comes searching for us, for a man or woman, boy or girl, who will answer the call to do God’s will.

I can’t say I look forward to this Sunday. Obviously, I answered a call from God, or I wouldn’t be standing here today. But, like all who answer God’s calls, there are times when I get weary. There are times I like to pretend like I’m deaf, not listening to God’s call, like husbands sometimes do to their wives. Sometimes the call of God is hard and asks us to go in directions we’d just as soon not go, and do things we’d just as soon not do. And so we pretend we’re not listening: “You talkin’ to me, God?” “Did you say something?” “Because I thought I heard something, but maybe it was my iPhone.”

In accordance, the Old Testament story today is a classic biblical story about the call of God: the story of the boy Samuel, who hears and answers God’s call. “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”  As we hear this story, may the prayer of Samuel become our own.

I heard a seminary professor say this was favorite story in the Bible. He said his parents read it to him when he was little, and ever after he said, “When is the Lord going to call me?”  Sure enough, in time, the Lord did.

If you know the story, you will remember it began in the same Temple. In 1st Samuel 1, poor Hannah, childless and barren, comes to the temple seeking God’s favor.  So fervent was her praying, the old priest Eli thought she was drunk, and tried to send her away.  But she persisted, and received Eli’s blessing.

And God granted Hannah’s prayer. She became pregnant and had a child, whom she named, Samuel, “God Has Heard.”  She was so happy in 1 Samuel 2 that she sings a song that Mary, the mother of Jesus, would one day emulate. Hannah dedicated Samuel to the Lord, and took him back to the temple, where he would be raised as a priest.

But, as it turns out, Hannah was also lucky, because she’d been met by the priest Eli and none of his miserable sons. As 1 Samuel, chapter 2 makes clear, they were a bad lot: they didn’t know God and cared less about the people. Eli kept getting reports on how his sons were ripping off the people and sleeping with the women, women like poor Hannah who came seeking help, only to be taken advantage of. Eli took them to task: but they were too far gone and refused to listen to a thing their father said. You would think they were teenagers!

Maybe this is why the story says “The word of the Lord was rare in those days.”  With priests like that, and a temple like that, maybe God’s tongue was tied.  But that’s about to change.

Here’s little Samuel, asleep in his bed, in the cute little robe his mother had made for him.  And the Lord called, “Sam – u – el. Sam – u – el.”  Off Samuel went, little feet pitter-pattering across the floor, running to Eli, thinking Eli was the one who called. “Wake up wake up” Eli says: “What?” Samuel says, “You called; here I am!” And Eli says, ”Go away, kid; you bother me!” I didn’t call; go back to bed.”

Samuel goes back to bed. There it is again: “Sam – u – el. Sam – u – el.” Off he runs to Eli: “Wake up, wake up!” “Now what?” says Eli. “You called?” “Samuel, do you think this is a game? I’ve got 2 masses and a funeral tomorrow; please get a drink of water, go to the bathroom, go back to bed and leave me alone.”

The third time it comes. “Sam – u – el. Sam – u – el.” This time he finds Eli already up. It had finally dawned on Eli that maybe this was God calling Samuel. So he tells Samuel: “Look – the next time – first of all, don’t wake me up.  Secondly, say this: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

So Samuel goes back to bed, and once again the voice calls. And Samuel says: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

Even though that’s where our reading ended, that’s not the end of the story. What God calls Samuel to do, may have made him wish he’d covered his head with his pillow. What God called them to do was fire his mentor Eli, and tell Eli’s sons, “In my office now!” Dread it though he did, Samuel reported to Eli every word he’d been told. And Samuel said: “God is God: let God do what God thinks best.”

Still today, the call of God is often hard, asking us to go in directions we’d just as soon not go, and do things we’d just as soon not do. The most famous people God calls to do this are called prophets; of whom Samuel was – after Moses – one of the first. “Nice work if you can get it,” the writer Saul Bellow once said of the job of prophet, “but sooner or later you’ve got to talk about God.”

Martin Luther King, Jr., was such a man, whom God called in a way he did not expect. All he’d ever wanted to be was a preacher, like his Daddy. When the Montgomery Bus boycott took off in December of 1955, King was a 26-year-old minister with little more than a year’s experience as pastor of Mongomery’s Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. When black residents chose him – without his knowledge – to head the Montgomery Improvement Association to continue the protest, King would later admit that his unanticipated call to leadership “happened so quickly that I did not have time to think it through. It is probable that if I had, I would have declined the nomination.”

Sure enough, things heated up. The death threats against him and against his family came, and he was shaken. So in January 1956, as with Samuel, it was a nighttime conversation with God that saved him.

“It was around midnight,” he explained years later. “You can have some strange experiences at midnight.” (Samuel would agree to that.) A threatening phone call had gotten to him: “N—–, we are tired of you and your mess now, and if you aren’t out of this town in three days, we’re going to blow your brains out and blow up your house.”

King said he sat in his kitchen before an untouched cup of coffee and thought about:

“a beautiful little daughter who had just been born. . . . She was the darling of my life. I’d come in night after night and see that little gentle smile. And I sat at that table thinking about that little girl and thinking about the fact that she could be taken from me any minute.

And I started thinking about a dedicated, devoted and loyal wife   who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her. And I got to the point that I couldn’t take it  any longer. I was weak. Something said to me, you can’t call on Daddy now, he’s up in Atlanta a hundred and seventy-five miles away. You can’t even call on Mama now. You’ve got to call on that something in  that person that your Daddy used to tell you about, that power that   can make a way out of no way.

And I discovered then that religion had to become real to me,  and I had to know God for myself. And I bowed down over that cup of coffee. I never will forget it . . . I prayed a prayer, and I prayed out loud that night. I said, “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I think the cause that we represent is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now. I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage.     And I can’t let the people see me like this because if they see me weak    and losing my courage, they will begin to get weak.”

And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for     justice. Stand up for truth.  And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world” . . . I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on.     He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.” (Martin Luther King, Jr., “Thou Fool.” sermon, Mount Pisgah Missionary Baptist Church, Chicago, Aug. 27, 1967, pp. 11-14, King Papers.)

It was that midnight encounter with God in the kitchen, which gave King the strength and courage to go on, through all the years, until that sad and tragic day in Memphis.

Which brings us back there.  You see, before we ate at Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken, we’d toured the National Civil Rights Museum, 3 blocks away.

Through the use of displays and an audio CD, you are taken on a chronological tour of the struggle for civil rights in our country. For example, there is a white hooded sheet of a Ku Klux Klan member, surrounded by pictures of lynchings. Interactive displays are the most powerful: you board on a Montgomery Bus to sit by the figure of Rosa Parks, in her defiant seat in the front of the bus, as you hear the bus driver yell at her to get out of that seat, and what was going to happen if she didn’t. There is a lunch counter where the figures of students sit, while angry figures stand around them, threatening them, harassing them. There is a burned out bus, a testimony to the courage of the Freedom Riders – white and black – who rode through the south. You walk under the arches of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, where marchers were brutally beaten by police. Finally you stand near the interior of Room 306, to look out the window onto the balcony at the spot King died.

It gives you a greater appreciation of the moral courage and tremendous price, paid by all those who fought in the long struggle for civil rights, and especially those like Dr. King, who paid the price in their own blood. Little did we ever expect that the call to greater justice and righteousness would come through the unwavering voice of a Baptist preacher, and that the way it would come would be through walking, sitting, praying, singing, and most importantly, the non-violent resistance of those who were it’s victims.

So what did I learn at Gus’ World Famous Fried Chicken, as we ate there afterwards? Not only that the chicken was very good, but that in a restaurant, three blocks from where Dr. King was killed, whites and blacks and Asians and all people of color could sit down together to eat without question, ONLY because of the tremendous price paid by those like Samuel and all the servants of God since, who heard the call of God and answered, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

May this prayer become our own.  Amen.

“Who’s Your Daddy?”

Pastor David L. Haley

The Baptism of the Lord

Mark 1: 4 – 11

January 8^th, 2012

“At this time, Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. The moment he came out of the water, he saw the sky split open and God’s Spirit, looking like a dove, come down on him. Along with the Spirit, a voice: “You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.” – Mark 1: 9 – 11, The Message

The family and I took some time off last week after the holidays and went down to visit my folks in West Kentucky. My dad is 91 and my mom is 81; so far they’re doing okay. Then we went down to Memphis, where I had my first church. I was associate pastor of Trinity United Methodist Church in midtown Memphis from 1976 to 1979. I don’t have many friends left there now; but the ones who remain are quite dear.

Of course, almost every stop involved pictures. “Here’s a picture of Jenny at her wedding;” “Here’s a picture of Corey at his graduation.” With the help of a friend with a key, we even went inside Trinity Church to show the girls my picture on the wall, which they both laughed at.

That picture was taken by the man who accompanied us: Earl Major, now 88. For about 50 years, Earl was one of the finest photographers in Memphis. So when we went back to his apartment, he showed us what remains of some of his most memorable pictures: children and grandchildren, pictures of his dear wife Mabel, who died in 2009; and some of the notables, who – over the years – he was privileged to photograph: Bishop Patterson, former head of the Church of God in Christ; Fred Smith, CEO and founder of a little company called FedEx; and some musicians we’ve all heard of, such as Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash. Yes, unfortunately, one of Memphis’ most famous is missing: Earl never got to meet or photograph Elvis.

What’s most interesting about these pictures of Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash, is that these were likely some of the first pictures taken of them, just when they were starting out, long before they were famous. The one of Johnny Cash, for example: taken long before Johnny became the Man in Black who played in prisons. In the picture Johnny Cash looks about 17 years old, baby faced with curly hair, dressed in white, looking scared. Who would ever guess the legend he would come to be?

I have told you about this, because today, upon the occasion of the Baptism of the Lord, I wonder whether we might not visualize the life of Jesus in the same way? Over the last 2 weeks, at Christmas and Epiphany, we’ve seen Jesus’ baby pictures, such that we have.

Today we skip to the next biggest event of his life where God’s glory was seen, his baptism in the River Jordan by his cousin John. Like you, I wish we had more pictures of Jesus as a child and a youth, but we don’t. Like what he might have looked like when he entered first grade, what he looked like at his bar mitzvah, or a picture of Jesus with his mom. In fact, it would be great if they’d told us what he looked like at all.

As with family photos, all four Gospels have different pictures in the family album. Only Matthew and Luke record Jesus’ birth stories. Three of the four Gospels – Matthew, Mark, and Luke, describe Jesus’ baptism using similar language; only John does not. Clearly, by the way they all reported it, it was a big event, of critical importance in Jesus’ life.  Let see if we can understand why, and why it might also be important for us.

As I said before, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, all reported it in the same way. John was out at the Jordan River, preaching a baptism of repentance, and suddenly Jesus stood before him. At first, it was like every other baptism. But then amazing things began to happen. As Jesus came out of the water, it was if the sky split open, and God’s Spirit descended – like a dove – upon him. Along with the spirit, came a voice, affirming, “You are my son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”

Such a scene raises many questions. Did everyone see and hear it, or only Jesus? Did God’s Spirit come upon Jesus as God’s Child only then, adopting him, as some in the early church believed, or did the vision and the voice only affirm who he already was and always had been, as most of the church believed.

It also raises profound psychological questions in addition to theological ones. Why was it so important for Jesus to hear he was God’s special child, chosen and marked by God’s love, the pride of God’s life? Might it have been because up to this point in his life he’d only heard otherwise? In a culture where boys were named for their fathers, such as “Jesus, son of Joseph,” as Jesus walked through Nazareth, might he have overheard what was said about him?

“Who’s that?” “Jesus, son of Mary.” “In other words, Mary’s bastard child.” “Who’s his father?” “Good question.” “Some say Joseph; others say Joseph only did the right thing.” “Anyway, Joseph’s dead now; so the boy doesn’t have a father.”  So we just call him “Jesus, son of Mary.”

So, how affirming for Jesus to hear, on the special day of his baptism, God saying to him irrevocably that whatever others might say, know that “You are my Child, chosen and marked by my love, the pride of my life.” If God has a refrigerator, Jesus’ picture would be on it. Perhaps this is why this day was so important to Jesus; it was the day he was given a name, and a destiny.

It is no less so with us. I never get tired of quoting the late Henri Nouwen, who in his book, Life Of The Beloved, says that these words spoken by God over Jesus at his baptism are also the most important words spoken about us, and reflect the most intimate truth about us.

There are so many voices in life seeking to tell us who we are, to label us, and with that label set our destiny. Perhaps the most critical of those are our parents.  Did their voices tell us – can we still hear them telling us? – either that we are gifted and smart and loved, or that we are worthless, stupid, or unloved? For some these latter are fatal pronouncements we never escape.  There are so many who suffer from low self-esteem which leads them to outlandish and even tragic lives, in search of the acceptance they never received from their primary family, their parents. Parents: be careful what you say to your children; it can become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Beyond our parents, there are some many others who seek to label us: by class or age or ethnicity or skin color or sexual orientation or how much money we have or don’t have. With these labels they try to put us in a box, again, shaping our destiny, putting us in our place, never to escape it, or rise about it. Sadly, sometimes those in the church, those who call themselves “Christians,” well-meaning but ignorant people, have been the worst.

How wonderful to break through all that and to hear the truest word about us, the one God speaks. In a sermon preached 12 years ago on the Protestant Hour, the Rev. Rosemary Brown said:

“For us to hear God’s voice speaking those words in the deepest      core of our being, as the deepest truth about us, more indelible than      the most corrosive comments anyone can make, can be one of the most powerful and formative experiences of our life, and can bring          about a greater degree         of peace, trust, and intimacy with God than we         have ever known. To hear those words spoken of us, to know this   truth about us, renders our life in a new perspective, it provides     the    only true motivation for a lifetime of discipleship and service.” (The      Rev. Rosemary Brown, “The Apple of My Eye,” sermon preached on the Protestant Hour, March 12, 2000)

Even now, as we practice Christian baptism, and parade these cute babies and precious children before us, let us affirm to them, even as we hear again for ourselves, these words spoken at the baptism of Jesus: “You are somebody.”  “You are my Child, chosen and marked by my love, the pride of my life.”

Then let’s watch the difference it will make, because the assurance and certainty of God’s love for us, always makes a difference.

For decades, Fred Craddock has been one of the most respected preachers in the country, and a renowned storyteller. I found out recently he was born not that far from me, in Humboldt, Tennessee, and that he himself never got received the affirmation from his father that he sought all his life. He’s 83 now, has begun to show the symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease, and has retired from preaching.

Over the years, he has told this story: He and his wife Nettie were on vacation in the Great Smoky Mountains, in a restaurant eating dinner. Early on, an elderly man approached their table and said, “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” said Craddock.

The man said, “Are you on vacation?”  Said Craddock, “Yes,” but under my breath I was saying, It’s really none of your business.

“Where are you from?” the man asked.

“We’re from Oklahoma.”

“What do you do in Oklahoma?”

Under my breath but almost audible, I was saying, Leave us alone. We’re on vacation, and we don’t know who you are.  I said, “I’m a Christian minister.”

He said, “What church?”

I said, “The Christian Church.”

The man paused a moment and said, “I owe a great deal to a minister of the Christian church,” and he pulled up a chair and sat down.

Said Craddock, I said, “Yes, have a seat.” I tried to make it seem like I sincerely meant it, but I didn’t.  Who is this person?

The man said, “I grew up in these mountains. My mother was not married, and the whole community knew it. I was what was called an illegitimate child. In those days that was a shame, and I was ashamed. The reproach that fell on her, of course, fell also on me. When I went into town with her, I could see people staring at me, making guesses as to who was my father. At school the children said ugly things to me, and so I stayed to myself during recess, and ate my lunch alone.

In my early teens I began to attend a little church back in the mountains called Laurel Springs Christian Church. It had a minister was both attractive and frightening. He had a chiseled face and a heavy beard and a deep voice. I went to hear him preach. I don’t know exactly why, but it did something for me. However, I was so afraid that I was not welcome since I was, as they put it, a bastard. So I would go just in time for the sermon, and when it was over I would move out because I was afraid that someone would say, “What’s a boy like you doing in a church?

One Sunday some people queued up in the aisle before I could get out, and I was stopped. Before I could make my way through the group, I felt a hand on my shoulder, a heavy hand. It was that Minister. I cut my eyes around and caught a glimpse of his beard and his chin, and I knew who it was. I trembled in fear. He turned his face around so he could see mine and seemed to be staring. I knew what he was doing. He was going to make a guess as to who my father was.  A moment later he said, “Well, boy, you’re a child of . . .” and he paused there. And I knew it was coming. I knew I would have my feelings hurt, I knew I would not go back again. He said, ‘Boy, you’re a child of God. I see a striking resemblance, boy.’ They he swatted me on the bottom and said, “Now, you go claim your inheritance.” I left the building a different person. In fact, that was really the beginning of my life.”

Said Craddock, “I was so moved by the story I had to ask him, ‘What’s your name?’ He said, “Ben Hooper.”

I recalled, though vaguely, my own father talking when I was just a child about how the people of Tennessee had twice elected as governor a bastard, Ben Hooper. (Craddock Stories, Fred B. Craddock, p. 156-157)

The assurance and certainty of God’s love for us, always makes a difference.  As it did for Jesus, as it does for us.  “You are my Child, chosen and marked by my love, the pride of my life.”  Amen.

“A Story to Begin a New Year”

Pastor David L. Haley

Epiphany Sunday

Matthew 2: 1 – 12

January 1^st, 2012

“After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in the territory of Judea during the reign of King Herod, magi came from the east to Jerusalem. They asked, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We’ve seen his star in the east, and we’ve come to honor him.”

When King Herod heard this, he was troubled, and everyone in Jerusalem was troubled with him. He gathered all the chief priests and the legal experts and asked them where the Christ was to be born.  They said, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for this is what the prophet wrote:

       You, Bethlehem, land of Judah, by no means are you least among the rulers of Judah,

       because from you will come one who governs, who will shepherd my people Israel. ”

            Then Herod secretly called for the magi and found out from them the time when the star had first appeared. He sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search carefully for the child. When you’ve found him, report to me so that I too may go and honor him.”  When they heard the king, they went; and look, the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it stood over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were filled with joy. They entered the house and saw the child with Mary his mother. Falling to their knees, they honored him. Then they opened their treasure chests and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Because they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they went back to their own country by another route.” (Matthew 2: 1 – 12, Common English Version)

Here we are, on the first day of the Year Of Our Lord 2012.

Anybody here think they’d never live to see it?

Anybody got a big event, a major milestone coming up in 2012?

Anybody anticipating a big change in 2012?

Anybody anxious or fearful about something frightening or difficult that awaits you in 2012?

The thing is, while some of these things we might be able to predict, mercifully, most of us do not know what awaits us in the year to come.  As Reinhold Niebuhr notes in his “Prayer for a New Year” (included in today’s bulletin), “every tomorrow is an unknown country,” and “every decision is a venture of faith.”   Good thing we got a lot of faith. Or, maybe we don’t.  Maybe we don’t have a lot of faith, and that’s why we come to church, because, based upon our experience so far, we need more, to face up to the challenges life is giving us.  We’re like the guy who came running up to a priest in the middle of a hurricane, carrying a crucifix, frantically asking, “Hey Father, how do you work this thing?”

That’s why, on such a day as this, I’ve always loved the story tradition gives us, on or around New Year’s Day, for the Feast of the Epiphany, January 6^th.  It’s the other Christmas story, the story of the Magi, or the Three Kings as we most often call them, who go on pilgrimage in search of a new King who is born, led by a star in the sky, until they arrive – after a few detours – at the place where the Child is. After they honor him with gifts they have brought, they return to their own country by another way.

Given its antiquity, there is a lot we don’t know about this story, like who they were, how many there were, where they came from, or whether they posted photos of their journey on Flickr.  In spite of this, even their brief appearance has sparked Christian imagination for twenty centuries.

Like those Magi of long ago, let’s approach this New Year like a quest that lies before us, in time if not in space.  Let’s do so, on this 1^st day of a new year, by asking ourselves three questions.

Like the Magi, are we open to Epiphany, new truth God reveals?

Because, whatever we may or may not know about the Magi’s journey, there was a time and a place it began.

Did they note the new star only after a lifetime of seeking, anticipating and awaiting the time and place to look? Or was it serendipitous, a surprise one night while on the rooftop, studying the stars?  But there it was, now what?

What are the stars on your horizon? What is it in your life – especially in the year to come – that draws you, leads you, illuminates your life, and fills you with hope?  Is it something new we have learned, in a book, from a friend, in a class?  Is it a life lesson we have picked up along the way? Is it a new baby or grandbaby to be born in the family? Is it something in our bodies, our hearts, or our minds that has gradually revealed itself to us? Has someone or something changed our thinking, altered the way we feel, changed the way we act?

It was exactly such a new truth Matthew was trying to teach the church, which is why he included this story.  One of the most controversial issues in the church at the time Matthew wrote was whether only Jews could be Christians, or whether Gentiles (pagans) could, too. Imagine, if they hadn’t changed their mind about that, we wouldn’t be sitting here today. But Matthew provocatively suggests, “Guess who the first ones were to worship the newborn Christ were? Not Jews, but strangers, from far off lands to the east. Time to draw the Christian circle larger.  And that was only the beginning:  As Scott Hoezee noted in a commentary on this text a few years ago:

“What Matthew may be trying to convey . . . is the reach of grace. Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers. (Scott Hoezee, Lectionary Commentary, 2010)

Some of us believe God is still launching new stars today, reminding us over and again in the church, that it’s time to draw the circle wider, wider than we thought before.

Think of it this way: those same stars the wise men followed, they’re still up there. The same stars people have told stories about, navigated by, gazed at, for millennia, they’re still there. Sadly, most of us don’t notice them, for the most part because we rarely look up, especially at night. Every now and then, walking home from a meeting, I like looking up to see old Orion in the winter sky, with three stars in his belt, a reminder of things far greater than whatever we were talking about in our meeting.

But though they are the same stars, we don’t look at them in the same way as they did 2000 years ago, 1000 years ago, even 500 years ago. After what we learned from a Polish guy named Nicolai Copernicus, and an Italian guy named Galileo Galilei, who suggested, that instead of the sun moving around the earth – as the Bible teaches – the earth moves around the sun: heliocentricism, its called. For this Galileo was charged by the Catholic Inquisition with heresy, and forced to recant.  You’ll be happy to know that in 1992, Pope John Paul II expressed regret for how the Galileo affair was handled, and issued a declaration acknowledging the errors committed by the Catholic Church tribunal that judged the scientific positions of Galileo Galilei. Yes, we in the church may change, but we do it VERY slowly.

Now, when we look at the stars, we don’t think of the myths of ancient heroes, but we know we’re looking into space, and think of sun and moon and planets and stars and constellations.  Because a new star has arisen, and our mind has been changed.

What new star will arise, what new truth will God teach us this year?

       The second question we need to ask, like the Magi of old, is “Having experienced epiphany, a new truth arising, are we willing to follow it where it leads?”

After all, it may be that though many saw the star, only a few undertook the journey to follow where it led.

I have always loved poet T. S. Eliot’s imaginative description, in his poem, Journey of the Magi, of the difficulties they faced:

‘A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Consider this: sometimes the greatest truths in life, the greatest life lessons we learn, we arrive at not by staying home, but by leaving home. All through the Bible God asks people to leave where they are: Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sarah, the children of Israel, the exile, Jesus into the wilderness, Jesus calling the disciples to leave their boats behind.  Sometimes to find the truth, not only about us but the truth for us, we have to leave the familiar, and go on a journey, undertake a pilgrimage, as the Magi did, even though it almost cost them their lives. Oh, but what they learned along the way.

Now there’s an uncomfortable truth to begin a truth year with: we can’t stay at home and huddle, not even here at church, but we’ve got to go out.  Out there, to where God is calling us.  To the community.  To a new class.  To go visit somebody.  To go on a mission trip. To go on a journey with Jesus.  What door is God calling us, together, or you personally, to go through in 2012?

The final question is this: Having experienced the epiphany of a new truth, and choosing to follow where it leads, (two big assumptions) are we willing to be changed?

T. S. Eliot, in his Journey of the Magi, suggests that the Magi were changed, though not in a way that we might necessarily think:

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

Sometimes what makes us into distinct human beings, people of character, is not how we are alike everybody else, but how we are different.  What we have seen, and what we have suffered, and what we have experienced on our journey through life, has made us distinct, If we are fortunate, we might say it has given us character, hopefully not made us boring, but interesting.

As a parent, having experienced childbirth, you will never be the same. If you have ever been deeply in love, or had your heart broken by someone you love, you will never be the same. If you have ever sat at the bedside of someone you loved, and watched them die, or worse, as too many of our young soldiers have experienced, watch your best friend die violently, you will never be the same. Along our spiritual journeys, having experienced both the grace of God and the costs of discipleship, we will never be the same again. You may savor or regret such life lessons, joyful or painful that they were, but my guess is we would not give up the wisdom and character they gave us. There is a Native American aphorism which says, “No wise person ever wanted to be younger.”  I have always said I would only want to be young again, if I could only do so knowing what I know now.  I paid a high price for it.

Having undertaken their journey by the light of a new star arising, the Magi were changed by their journey, as we are changed by ours.  As we now move away from Christmas into a new year, I love how Peter Gomes, preacher at Harvard Church, who we lost on February 28^th of last year, put it:

For we have come from an encounter with the world of the possible in     the midst of the impossible.  We have seen God . . . and survived to tell     the tale, moving about not knowing that our face shine with the encounter, bearing the mark of the encounter forever, and marveling in the darkest night of the soul at that wondrous star-filled night. (Sermons,

p. 28)

Whatever 2012 brings, if we remember this, we can handle it.

Personally, at the end of 2012:

I hope to still be alive

I hope to have more friends, and closer friends, not less.

I want to learn something new.

I want to go a journey.

I’m willing to gain new scars, as long as I can learn the lessons and the wisdom that comes with them.

I want to experience the mystery and grace which leads me to worship, and in turn, offer such gifts as I have.

Today let’s begin on this pilgrimage together.  Amen.

“A Christmas Story”

Pastor David L. Haley

Christmas Day

12/25/2011

Good morning, and Merry Christmas to you all!

Today we get the rare privilege of worshiping on Christmas Day.  Even though most of us are tired, having just concluded worship 12 hours ago, there is something about Christmas Day that is unlike any other. It brings to mind scenes of Ebenezer Scrooge dancing through the streets of London, a smile on his face and bells tolling in the background, or of George Bailey running through the streets of New Bedford, yelling “Merry Christmas” to all.

However, I have found over the years that when Christmas Day falls on this sequence, and we celebrate Christmas Eve Saturday night and Christmas Day Sunday morning, my parishioner’s most common advice over the years has been, “Keep it short.”  So instead of the 45 minute sermon I had planned on the Incarnation, that’s what I intend to do.

Those of you who listen to Chicago’s classical music station, WFMT, may remember that each year, as part of their Christmas Day programming, Studs Turkel would host a special Christmas program of story and song.  One of the stories he would play was John Henry Faulk’s story about a West Texas Christmas.  I made a tape of it about 10 years ago, but then in 1994, after Faulk died in 1990, National Public Radio played it, and it has become for their audience also an annual Christmas favorite.  That’s where I got it from, and so you will hear their introduction.

Let me say, this story always got to me personally for a couple reasons.  First, the West Texas accent is pretty much the same one my parents speak in West Kentucky, so this story sounds close to home for me. (If you want to hear what I talked like before I got civilized, this is it.)

Second, you need to know that my Dad, Ben Keys Haley, now 91, was born in 1920, as the son of sharecroppers. (And, to make it even more real for me, John Henry Faulk’s voice sounds a lot like my Dad’s voice.) While, as a child of the 50’s I did OK in term’s of Christmas gifts (usually some kind of gun, either play or real), every Christmas my Dad used to tell me how when he was a kid he always felt fortunate at Christmas to get oranges and maybe some clothes, which always seemed unbelievable to me. Of course, I had no idea what the Great Depression was, or what it might have been to grow up then, especially in rural America.

So the story you are about to hear, told by John Henry Faulk, harkens back to a time in America, when people were poorer, when the evil of segregation was still in place, and to when Christmas was simpler, but the joy of Christmas Day was no less great.

Sit back and enjoy. (If you need any translation of the accent, just ask me later. – Pastor Haley)

[Readers: You may read or listen to the story on National Public Radio here  Click the sound icon by “Listen” at the top of the page to hear Faulk tell the story, or read the transcript below]

“What’s Your Christmas Moment?”

Pastor David L. Haley

Luke 2: 1 – 20

Christmas Eve

December 24, 2011

What’s your Christmas moment?  What is it that makes you feel like it is really, finally Christmas?

For some of us, our Christmas moment is almost a conditioned response. It’s when the Christmas tree or those exterior lights are up, (as it was for Clark Griswold, in Christmas Vacation.) Or perhaps it’s those special ornaments we hang on the tree, or that crèche scene which has been handed down for several generations.

For some of us, it’s all about the food.  The way we know it’s Christmas is when we break out our traditional Christmas goodies. For example, Melissa Clark, in the NY Times, told how her Swedish boyfriend wanted to introduce her and her friends to some of his favorite Scandinavian Christmas food. The mulled wine known as glogg, for example. He even called his father in Lund, Sweden, for the recipe. It was irresistible, but it was only after all the guests were thoroughly drunk that they realized that instead of the usual splash of brandy one stirs into a glogg pot, Max had used the whole bottle. And then there was the can of surstromming, traditionally made by burying sea creatures in the sand, where they decompose until they are as soft as runny cheese. As soon as the can opener pierced the lid, everyone in the room sobered up. Eventually, someone threw the can of fish out the window, and they all picked up where they left off, eating meatballs and drinking the glogg, whose spicy, winy scent finally covering up the fish stink. (Mulled Wine Fumigates a Foul Recollection, By Melissa Clark, New York Times, December 20, 2011).  Some traditions we are glad we don’t have.

For some of us, our Christmas moment requires music.  I won’t speak for you, but for me personally, it’s not “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” Although I try to avoid stores and shopping malls as Christmas approaches, when I do have to go, I tire quickly of all those songs about Frosty and Rudolph and Santa, now that they’re afraid to play Christian Christmas Carols. Don’t get me wrong, I like Gene Audrey and Bing Crosby as much as the next guy, but, personally, most of my Christmas moments I owe to the classical music station WFMT, and good Lutheran Carl Grapentine, who plays the best Christmas music ever. Like, for example, John Rutter’s “What Sweeter Music:”

What sweeter music can we bring

Than a carol, for to sing

The birth of this our heavenly King?

(Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

For likely all of us, our Christmas moment definitely requires family. As my son Chris said, when he was deployed as a Marine to Iraq over Christmas of 2009: “You have everything you could ever want here, except your friends and family, which is everything you could ever want.” Indeed, for some of us, that’s what the celebration of Christmas is about: the joy of children’s faces when they see presents under the tree on Christmas morning. The news that grown children are on the way, or even better, have arrived. Last year when Chris was driving home for Christmas from Kansas, there was a winter storm advisory.  Picturing he and his wife out on icy roads, I called to advise on routing.  After I’d gone on for awhile, he said, “Dad, you know I’m already here.  “Where?” I said. “Chicago,” he said. “Then why are we having this conversation?” I said. This Christmas, one of our friends is awaiting the arrival of her son home from a deployment in Afghanistan. Having safely survived his deployment, I’m pretty sure when he arrives home he’s going to be crushed to death by his mother’s hug.

For some of us, maybe many of us here tonight, it’s not Christmas until this service, when we hear Jesus’ birth story again and hold those candles high, as we join in singing “Silent Night.”  As humorist Garrison Keillor once put it:

“I am pretty much hardened to Christmas music, except at the end of the Christmas Eve service when the lights dim and the glories stream from heaven afar and the heavenly hosts sing Alleluia and then, from long habit, tears well up in my eyes and I weep for the dead who enjoyed Christmas so much and for humanity in general, and then we go sashaying out into the cold starry night and walk home.”  (“All I Need for Christmas”, Garrison Keillor, Dec. 19, 2007)

But the problem is, if our Christmas moment is dependent upon any or all of these things, what happens to Christmas when we can’t do them? What if I can no longer string lights, or put up a tree, or am on a restricted diet, or am far from family and friends and home at Christmas, or can’t get out to go to services? When we are no longer able to do these things or meet these conditions, we may feel like we miss Christmas.

Indeed, some do.  If you are out of a job and finances are tight, or this is the first Christmas since mom or dad or your spouse has died, what previously was your Christmas moment may now only make you sad and depressed. Some of our associations with Christmas moments carry such emotion, even a familiar Christmas carol like Silent Night can make us weep.  If you know someone like that, give them a call this Christmas.

In truth, the best Christmas moments might well be those which come without conditioning, unplanned, without preparation or expectation. Not in the midst of some artificial, imagined life, but in the midst of the life that we actually live, with its setbacks and surprises, joys and sorrows, deaths and resurrections.

The story of the first Christmas was that way; maybe this is why we so love it. Mary and Joseph are stressed, weary, inconvenienced travelers. They are ordinary people, like people we know, trying to make their way in the world, squeezed by the threat of rising taxes and family demands, weary from a variety of struggles. The inn is full; your flight is cancelled and the hotels are all booked and you’re stuck overnight in the airport. The Messiah who is good news for all the people is an ordinary baby, born to ordinary parents in a room filled with that which is ordinary: sweat, blood, tears, makeshift blankets and diapers; the raw, immediate joy that comes with new life. Before dawn colors the sky, the new parents find themselves greeting strangers; shepherds who show up in work clothes to see the Child, the One they’d been told would be Savior, Messiah, Lord.

In spite of its ordinariness, it’s a story full of Christmas moments. When the angels showed up to the shepherds, that had to be a Christmas moment. After running to Bethlehem, when they saw the child, that had to be a Christmas moment. Mary definitely had a Christmas moment: “Mary kept all these things to herself, holding them dear, deep within herself.” And a final one for the shepherds: “The shepherds returned and let loose,” “glorifying and praising God for everything they had heard and seen.”

To me, this is the true Christmas moment of the story. The story of the Incarnation, of God becoming one of us, with us in life, is that it didn’t happen in some imaginary life, but in this life which we know and experience and live every day, with its setbacks and surprises, joys and sorrows, deaths and resurrections.  Whatever happens to us in life, it is not something foreign to God, we know that God is with us.

What is your Christmas moment?  I’ll tell you what mine was this year. On Friday, November 11^th, one of my best friends, Uwe Gsedl, 52, suffered a massive gastric bleed, which almost killed him.  I’ve known Uwe and his wife Kristina since before 1992, when I officiated at their wedding. Four months after the wedding, Uwe suffered a serious stroke and almost died.

In the early morning hours of Saturday morning, November 12^th, surgeons struggled to saved his life through a last ditch effort, the by the removal of his stomach, even then against high odds. Throughout, he suffered hypovolemic shock, major organ failure, and received 41 units of blood.  He was in intensive care, sedated, and on a ventilator for 2 weeks. Although I visited frequently, due to his condition, we were never able to talk. On he night of our Charge Conference, December 7^th, he called to ask when I was coming to see him.

So on Sunday afternoon, December 11^th, I called and said, “I would like to come see you, but I need to know if you’re too tired, have had too much company, or are not up to it?  “No,” he said, “There’s no one here but my wife. ‘Please, come.’”

It takes about an hour to get from here to Marianjoy Rehab in Wheaton, where he had been moved. As I walked from the parking garage to the lobby, I saw what looked like Christmas carolers inside, singing. As I got closer, I recognized that they were Christmas Carolers from my previous congregation, First United Methodist Church of West Chicago. When I entered (to their great surprise), in their midst was Uwe, surrounded by his family, weeping, as they sang: “Silent night, holy light, all is calm, all is bright.” He was not the only one who wept tears of joy.  Today, Christmas Eve, he was discharged for good, just in time for Christmas, a true Christmas miracle.

Said German Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, killed by the Nazis in 1945: “The joy of God has gone through the poverty of the manger and the agony of the cross; that is why it is invincible, irrefutable.”

May this invincible joy of God be our joy, and may our experience of it be our Christmas moment, this year and every year.  Amen.

“Two Words That Change Your Life Forever”

Pastor David L. Haley

Luke 1: 26 – 38

December 18^th, 2011

I once heard a quote attributed to British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, one of the great orators of the 20^th century, that if he had to make a speech lasting two hours, it would take two minutes to prepare.  But if he had to speak for two minutes, it would take two hours to prepare. Today, two minutes is about all I have.  Yes, preparing took more than two hours.

You may be wondering, “What are the ‘Two Words that Change Your Life Forever?’” Several possibilities come to mind: “I do.” “I’m sorry.” “He/She’s dead.”  But the ones I have in mind are these two: “I’m pregnant.” (OK, technically three)

Whether those two words strike fear or joy in your heart, I suppose, depends upon your situation in life.  What they do, at the very least, is raise is more questions.  How old are you?  Are you married, do you have someone you will help you with the baby? How are you going to work, how are you going to support yourself and the child? What will it do to your life?  Or, at least, the next 18 years of it?  Are you male or female?

Sadly, we know, that if you are male, and hear those words from your girlfriend, fiancé, or spouse, one sad and cowardly possibility is to walk away. It happens. It quite likely has happened to people sitting in this room today. 

On the other hand, it’s also possible that if you’re male, and in a committed relationship, those words “I’m pregnant,” mean “We’re pregnant.” Even then, for men, those words may hold more of a fascinating possibility than a knowledgeable reality. Okay, in nine months we will have a baby; what’s going to happen between now and then? Will my wife be sick and throw up every day? Am I going to have to go out in the middle of the night to buy strange food? Will we ever have sex again? And other inconveniences.

Of course, for women, the words “I’m pregnant,” mean something quite different. It’s not a fascinating possibility; it’s a actual physical reality. This developing human being will soon be taking over your body, at least until its exit into the world, which in itself has been compared to pulling a watermelon out of your nose. All mothers here who experienced childbirth know what I’m talking about, women who didn’t may be relieved, and all men, definitely are.

Of course, whether you are male or female, after the words I’m pregnant, whatever happens, whether you make it full term to delivery or not, your life will never be the same. The experience of pregnancy, and birth, and raising toddlers and teenagers, will shape your life irrevocably. You senior parents and grandparents among us, does it get better or worse?

Did Mary think about all these things that day when the angel Gabriel came to her, long before she would ever tell Joseph, “I’m pregnant,” before she herself would be told, “You’re pregnant.” When the angel Gabriel dropped in that morning for coffee to say, “God has a surprise for you: You will become pregnant and give birth to a son and call his name Jesus,” it wasn’t yet an actuality, it was still a possibility, an invitation. 

If Mary was a young woman, some say younger is 14, she almost certainly did not know what she was in for. Do any of us, parents, ever know what we are in for? Perhaps Mary didn’t know about the physical stuff, perhaps not the social stigma she would experience for having a child of uncertain paternity, perhaps not what it would be like to raise a child as a single mother, if Joseph died early, as the Gospels suggest. She certainly could not know what the circumstances of his birth would be like, what a precocious child and young man he would be, or what evil men would do to him while he was still young, very young.  Mercifully, Mary would not have known she would have to watch the torture and death of her own child, helplessly standing by. As the elderly Simeon prophetically said to her during her visit to the Temple following the baby’s birth, “And you, Mary, a sword shall pierce your own soul.”

Whether she knew any of this on that day of the Annunciation or not, the most remarkable hinge on which the whole story turns is whether Mary would say “Yes” to God. This is not God forcing himself up on Mary; we know what that’s called. This is Mary saying “Yes” to God’s invitation, and for that all generations have called her blessed.

I love how Renaissance painters have portrayed this moment, as almost every Renaissance artist did. For example, consider this one by Fra Angelico, from the monastery of San Marcos in Florence.  It is a stunningly beautiful expression of the mystery and grace and courage of Mary’s experience. The artist painted the angel as a lovely but ordinary person, looking almost as young as like Mary. And the angel awaits Mary’s answer. So, it’s more than an annunciation; it’s an invitation, awaiting Mary’s response.

God still does it, you know, asking us to do God’s will. Perhaps not to have a baby, although God sometimes still does that too. Every day, and sometimes in special ways, God asks us to do God’s will. We may never know for sure, any more than Mary, when and in what way the request will come.  

This last week before Christmas, can be a busy and frightening week for all of us, no less so for us pastors. And yet, every year at this time of year, just when I’m already scared whether I’ll make it, God often asks of me one more thing, like to hold a funeral for someone who has died. This year, it was for Jean Tinio, held here to a packed church yesterday.

But I remember one in particular. Sunday afternoon, December 15^th, 2002, just about this time of year, the phone rang, and it was one of my fireman friends. He and I were often the two senior members of a four-member ladder or rescue company.  He owned a Heating & Air Conditioning business; I was a Methodist preacher. Guess who was most useful?  On this particular day, it was to be me, because he said, “Dave, my daughter just died, and I was wondering if you could help us.  We’re not very religious and we don’t go to your church, so if you can’t do it, I understand.” “Yes,” I said to him, “Yes,” “I’ll help you in every way I can.” 

All most everyone in town knew his daughter, who was 21, one of those special people born with Down’s Syndrome; who bagged groceries at Jewel. In her short life, she had touched many people; the day of the funeral, the funeral home was filled. I said, to those sitting before me: “Some people like to think of angels as fearsome beings who always have to preface their remarks with, “Do not fear”; but the real angels in life are more often sweet souls like this, who once they get our attention, teach us by their lives, and change us profoundly.”  At last, when her Dad spoke, he said it best, better than I ever could: “I cried the day she was born and the day she died, but I laughed every day in between.”

“I’m pregnant.” Two words that will change your life forever. But another word is equally powerful: “Yes.” Like Mary, will you say “Yes” to God?

 “Transitional Objects”

Pastor David L. Haley

December 11^t, 2011

“There once was a man, his name John, sent by God to point out the way to the Life-Light. He came to show everyone where to look, who to believe in. John was not himself the Light; he was there to show the way to the Light.

When Jews from Jerusalem sent a group of priests and officials to ask John who he was, he was completely honest. He didn’t evade the question. He told the plain truth: “I am not the Messiah.”

They pressed him, “Who, then? Elijah?”

“I am not.”

“The Prophet?”

“No.”

Exasperated, they said, “Who, then? We need an answer for those who sent us. Tell us something — anything! — about yourself.”

“I’m thunder in the desert: ‘Make the road straight for God!’ I’m doing what the prophet Isaiah preached.”

Those sent to question him were from the Pharisee party. Now they had a question of their own: “If you’re neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet, why do you baptize?”

John answered, “I only baptize using water. A person you don’t recognize has taken his stand in your midst. He comes after me, but he is not in second place to me. I’m not even worthy to hold his coat for him.”

These conversations took place in Bethany on the other side of the Jordan, where John was baptizing at the time.” – John 1:  – 8, 19 – 28 The Message

What was your “transitional object?” Was it a blankie or a teddy bear?

What ratty, scruffy, ripped, dirty, never-out-of-your-sight-or-out-of-your-grip security item got you through your childhood?

• In bed, when everything was dark and scary-looking, when monsters lurked under your bed . . . it was there for you.

• On long trips, when the surroundings were unfamiliar . . . it was there for you.

• When Mom and Dad were gone, the babysitter was uninteresting, and your brothers and sisters were annoying or abusive . . . it was there for you.

• When you faced all those firsts — your first overnight, your first trip to the dentist or doctor, your first day of school, your first airplane flight, your first camp-out (or your first day at college or on the new job) . . . it was there for you.
• When parents fought, loved ones died, fever raged, or tensions rose . . . it was there for you.

You may still have your security-blanket tucked away somewhere (just in case), with other childhood items and memorabilia.  Maybe you haven’t seen it for years.  But isn’t it amazing how such items retain their magical power to calm, soothe, and restore, long after we’ve supposedly outgrown them?   Pick up and hold one of your own — or your children’s — old bedraggled stuffed animals or baby blankets.  I guarantee you’ll feel warmth and comfort ooze out of it, through your pores, into your bloodstream, and straight to your heart.

That warmth and comfort is left-over love, of course. That’s what childhood security blankets did for us — they acted as handy, portable, touchable transmitters of love in our lives.  Psychiatrists call such stuffed animals, blankies, babies, or whatever they may be “transitional objects” — a cold, clinical word for a warm fuzzy.

Transitional objects, the experts say, help young children to simplify and concretize the love, affection, and security they need.  In loving, nurturing households these transitional objects soak up the love and give that emotion a furry tail, a fluffy cushion, or a cuddly fabric to hold on to. In households where love is scrimped and abuse is present, sadly, the transitional object itself may become the source of that scarce commodity.

While we adults don’t often tote around teddy bears or squares of flannel like Linus’ security blanket in Peanuts, don’t let that convince you we grown-ups don’t cling to transitional objects of our own. Some with serious downsides — like alcohol, tobacco, or drugs — come to mind.

During the holidays we turn to more benign forms of transitional objects to remind us of the love we have known and that we seek. Instead of moth-eaten blankets, we find comfort and love in our cherished traditions and memories of Christmas.

The rituals of what we do and when, such as when we get the Christmas tree or open the gifts or what we eat, become transitional rituals to get us through the holiday.

Scarred and cracked ornaments — no longer ornamental — are again arranged in places of honor because they have become transitional objects, representing more than just decoration.

Whether gluing back together a crushed creche, enduring a feast of “traditional” ethnic foods (such as lutefisk), or laboring to get over-tired, over-wired children to a Christmas Eve church services — we do all sorts of weird, unreasonable, seemingly senseless things throughout the holidays, in order to create an atmosphere of expectation and an aura of love.  We use the things of Christmas as transitional objects for the meaning and fulfillment we seek in our lives.

Truth be told, God is an advocate of transitional objects. God’s love is so vast, God’s dream for creation so dramatic, that finite beings like ourselves can never grasp its height, depth, length, or breadth. So God gives us transitional objects to help us prepare for and receive the greater love that awaits us.

John the Baptist — or John the Witness, as he might be better called in John’s Gospel — is a perfect example of one of the great transitional objects God allowed people to experience.  John’s whole reason-for-being was to point away from himself toward the one who was to come — the Messiah, the Christ, the Light of the World, the Love of God made visible.

John the Witness preached that God was about to step into human history and into the lives of men and women. Standing up to his hips in Jordan’s waters, uncouth and unkempt, smelling like someone who wears wet camel’s hair would likely smell, John must have shaken his tangled mane in frustration when people kept asking if he himself was the Messiah.

“Of course not!” he would shout. “Do I look like, feel like, talk like, or smell like, the Light of the World!?”

What John was, what he knew he was and what he claimed to be, was a “transitional object”, a finger pointing to the One of whom he felt unworthy, so much as even to untie the thong of his sandal.

The Gospel of John describes this coming One in inimitable terms. It calls him the Logos, the Word, the True Light coming into the world who enlightens everyone, of whose grace we have all received.

But before the arrival of the Word, God sends first this gruff, unsophisticated voice to get us ready. Before the coming of the True Light, God sends the searchlight of John, as a glimmer of the Light dawning. His job is not to get everything decorated and everyone ready for Christmas, but to “Prepare the way of the Lord.” He came to point to the Light of God, to remind all who would listen, that the dark forces of the world are not finally as powerful as they appear, that even the dark places of life are illuminated by “the Word who became flesh and lived among us, full of grace and truth.

Whether we know it or not, whether we want to admit it or not, we too are “transitional objects,” pointing with our lives to something, the question is “What?” To ourselves?  To things? To truth and beauty?  Or to the Light of the World, who coming into the world, enlightens everyone?  Sometimes, we even get caught up with the finger pointing, and not the One the finger points to.

In which case we should repeat the anti-confession John taught us, which we sometimes forget: “I am not the Messiah.”

In all humility, we – like John – are “transitional objects,” pointing beyond ourselves, to something greater.

• God calls us to be “transitional objects” for the children God has given us, our love becoming an embodiment and reflection of the greater love God has for them, pointing them to the One who will be with them long after we are gone.

• God calls us to be “transitional objects” of Love for those in this life to whom love is a stranger, to whom God seems far away.

• God calls us to be “transitional objects,” speaking words of comfort and encouragement for those who live alone or in silence, who long for an incarnate word of God.

• God calls us to be “transitional objects” of Light, for those who live in the darkness of suffering, loneliness, or lostness.

Can you see yourself in this way?

The German theologian Karl Barth was arguably the greatest theologian of the 20^th century. From 1921 until his death in 1968, he kept over his desk a copy of a painting by the 16^th century German artist, Matthias Grünewald (1470-1528).

Matthias Grunewald Crucifixtion Painting

In the painting, the crucified Christ hangs in the center of the picture and to one side stands John the Baptist “with his hand,” as Barth said, “pointing to Jesus in almost impossible way.” The reason Barth kept this painting before him, was because John’s hand pointing to Jesus was Barth’s model for himself. And, not only for himself, but for all Christian believers, like you and like me.

Will you be a transitional object this Advent, and in the year to come? Will you point beyond yourself to Jesus, the Light of the World, who was, and is, and is to come?

[Note:  For this sermon I am indebted to Leonard Sweet, for sermon materials upon this theme presented in Homiletics (now Preaching Unleashed), in 2002.]

“Back to the Beginning”

Pastor David L. Haley

December 4^th, 2011

“The good news of Jesus Christ — the Message! — begins here, following to the letter the scroll of the prophet Isaiah.

Watch closely:

I’m sending my preacher ahead of you; 
          He’ll make the road smooth for you. 
          Thunder in the desert! 
          Prepare for God’s arrival! 
          Make the road smooth and straight!

John the Baptizer appeared in the wild, preaching a baptism of life-change that leads to forgiveness of sins. People thronged to him from Judea and Jerusalem and, as they confessed their sins, were baptized by him in the Jordan River into a changed life. John wore a camel-hair habit, tied at the waist with a leather belt. He ate locusts and wild field honey.

As he preached he said, “The real action comes next: The star in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand, will change your life. I’m baptizing you here in the river, turning your old life in for a kingdom life. His baptism — a holy baptism by the Holy Spirit — will change you from the inside out.” – Mark 1: 1 – 8, The Message

        Late on a recent Sunday night I sat down to watch Terence Malick’s latest film, The Tree of Life. The film, which won the Palme d’Or at the 2011 Cannes film festival, is the impressionistic story of a Texas family in the 1950s. It follows the life journey of the eldest son, Jack (played as an adult by Sean Penn), through the innocence of childhood to his disillusioned adult years, as he tries to reconcile a complicated relationship with his father (Brad Pitt). Like so many of us, Jack finds himself a lost soul in the modern world, seeking answers to the origin and meaning of life while questioning the existence of God.

        But as I said, it was late on a Sunday night, and I kept passing out. I woke up every now and then to see an orange flicker on the screen, pictures of galaxies and planets, massive waterfalls, even dinosaurs. Completely confused, I decided it was time to go to bed.

        The next day, I looked up some reviews, to try and figure out what was going on before I tried watching it again. It turns out, what Terrence Malick does, is to place Jack’s family and Jack’s life – and ours along with it – into context: specifically, the history of the universe. That flicker of flame on the screen; that’s God. Galaxies and planets; that’s the Big Bang and creation of the universe. Massive waterfalls; the creation of the earth. Dinosaurs; the evolution of life.  

         Not in other words, but in images, Malik seems to say, to keep our lives in perspective, go back to the beginning. There’s a lot that went on before we got here, and there’s a lot that will go on after we’re gone, until 5 to 7 billion years from now when the sun will turn into a Red Dwarf and engulf the nearest three planets, including earth, possibly what St. Peter was referring to in 2 Peter, chapter 3. Which makes us feel pretty small, self-absorbed, and fleeting. Nevertheless, by the whisper of prayers throughout the movie, Malick also seems to say, God hears our prayers.

        Today, 2nd Sunday of Advent, to keep our lives in perspective, we do something similar: we go back to the beginning. Back to the beginning of the story of Jesus, back to the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, as we prepare to celebrate the birth of Christ at Christmas.

        If you have compared the beginning of the four Gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John – you might have concluded that Mark has a rather lame opening, especially when compared to the other Gospels. In Mark one finds no genealogies as in Matthew, no angels or shepherds or birth in a manger as in Luke, no hymn to the eternal Word. Surely Mark could have come up with something more creative than “The good news of Jesus Christ begins here . . .”

         Given how the Gospel of Marks ends, in the middle of a sentence (Mark 16:8), some have jokingly suggested that perhaps the whole first page of the codex, containing both the beginning and the ending, fell off somewhere along the way so that the real beginning and ending got lost.

         But here’s the thing: As suggested by Michael Bridges and George Baum, of the Christian duo Lost And Found, the original gospel may have been just three words: “He is risen!” (Actually it was accompanied by heavy breathing due to running from the tomb: (huff, huff, huff) “He is risen!”  But then the questions began.

         “Who’s risen?”

        “Jesus is risen!”                                                  

        “Jesus who?”

        “Jesus of Nazareth!”

        “Who’s Jesus of Nazareth?”

         “The King of the Jews, the Messiah, the Son of God.”

         “Who’s his mother?”

         “OK, let’s start over and go back to the beginning.”

        How do you tell the story of the Gospel? According to their audience and purpose, each Gospel chose to begin in a different way: Matthew with Jesus’ genealogy, Luke with Jesus’ birth, John with Jesus’ divine pre-existence, and Mark: Mark with the story of John the Baptist preaching out in the wilderness, where Jesus shows up to be baptized. If we only had Mark’s Gospel, Christmas might be quite different; in fact, it might not exist. To which some of us might say, “Glory to God in the highest!”

        But even with this odd beginning – as is usually the case in the Bible – the more you know, the more you get out of it.  So when Mark quotes part of Isaiah 40, he’s quoting the whole thing.

        Have I ever told you the story of the prisoners?  There’s a jail full of prisoners, one of them is new. On the first night, the new guy hears someone call out, “No. 1.” Everybody laughs. Then someone calls out, “No. 3.”  Everybody laughs. The new guy asks the guy nearest him, “What’s that all about?”  The guy says, “Well, we only knew a few jokes, and we got tired of telling them over and over. So we just gave them numbers, and call out the number instead.”  “I see,” said the new guy. After a few minutes someone calls out, “No. 7.” Dead silence, nobody laughs. ”What was that?” asks the new guy.  “Oh that – that was Bob – he never could tell a joke.”

        When Mark quotes Isaiah 40, “A voice cries out in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert, a highway for our God” it’s like he’s saying “No. 1.”  In alluding to Isaiah 40 he’s quoting the whole thing; he’s not only explaining who John the Baptist is; he’s also explaining who Jesus is, and what’s about to happen. “The glory of the Lord is about to be revealed.” “Here is your God.” “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms.” Mark is saying: “The good news about Jesus? It really began way back there in Isaiah, when God promised comfort to God’s people in exile.  God’s true comfort is now showing up!”

        Of course, it’s not just the beginning of Mark, 1, verses 1 through 8, it’s the whole sixteen chapters that are just the beginning. Maybe that why, after Jesus’ resurrection, the story ends so abruptly: after all, how do you end a story about one who was dead, who lives again?

        That’s why down through the centuries, we who are caught up in the story, who now find ourselves in the story, keep finding it necessary to go back to the beginning and start over, like children learning the alphabet. Once a year we go back to the beginning to hear the story again; to keep learning new things, to keep seeing new implications, to gain new insights, and most importantly, to put more of it into practice in our own lives.

        We do so in this way, because we can’t go back to where Jesus’ story began to become a part of our lives. Was it a place, in our home or in a church where our parents taught us or took us?  Was it a time, like Jack in the Tree of Life, when we took an inventory of our life and realized something was missing, and that we were part of a larger story, beyond ourselves? Was it a time when, like Israel of old, we felt in exile, far away from God, and the comfort and presence of God revealed itself in our life? I have a friend who told me that one of his proofs of God is that recently, when he was down and depressed, not one but five of his friends (one of whom was me) called him out of the blue, after a long absence, to ask how he was doing.  Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. 

        Whenever we lose our way, as a church or as individual Christians, it’s time to go back to the beginning, back to the story of Jesus. No matter how badly we’ve failed, we can start out again, seeing and living in the light of God. No matter how isolated and alone we may feel, we can begin again, to look for and find God in our life together, week after week. No matter how routine and stagnant we may feel our lives have become, we are both comforted and challenged by John the Baptist’s promise:

        “The star in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand, will change your life. I’m baptizing you here in the river, turning your old life in for a kingdom life. His baptism — a holy baptism by the Holy Spirit — will change you from the inside out.”  

        Sunday by Sunday, week by week, season by season, through the years, has that happened?  Have we been changed from the inside out?  Do we evidence new ideas, new attitudes, new yearnings, changed behaviors? How is Christ changing us from the inside out? What crooked ways have been made straight, what rough places made plain? 

        In the days and weeks and months and year ahead, you can be sure we’ll see more of the same: more rancorous and partisan political rhetoric, more consumerism, more foreclosures and joblessness, more deferrals of dreams, more difficulties along the way. Caught up in this story, we have the chance to declare something new, something different, something more, as we invite people into relationship with the God who creates light out of darkness, who gives life to the dead, and who rejoices in new beginnings.

         Oh, and that movie – Tree of Life – how does it end? On a beach, in heaven, apparently – which is good because I’d love to end up on a beach – where Jack and his family, and who knows, maybe you and me and all families, are reconciled and made new. 

         Perhaps the English poet T. S. Eliot was right, when he said in his poem Little Gidding, that:

         “We shall not cease from exploration
        And the end of all our exploring
        Will be to arrive where we started
        And know the place for the first time.

                         -      T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding (No. 4 of ‘Four Quartets’), V.

        Back to the beginning. “The good news of Jesus Christ — the Message! — begins here!”  Amen.

Mark 13:24-37

November 27, 2011

Preached at Central UMC in Skokie by Kelly Van (Pastoral Intern)

We spend much of our lives waiting.  As children we could hardly wait for birthdays, school closure days and getting our first pet; we could hardly wait to grow up.  Now, as adults, we wait at shopping centers and at doctor’s offices; we could hardly wait to graduate, to have a job, to find a mate, to get married, to have our first child or grandchild, hopefully in that order. Sometimes we wait for something to happen, while other times we wait for something to stop happening.  Whatever the case may be, waiting for the future to unfold is a universal human experience.

Advent is a time of waiting.  What should we wait for?  Are we to wait for the birth of Jesus Christ? That event has already taken place.  Advent, according to the church calendar, is four Sundays before Christmas.  It begins, not only to look back in remembrance of the birth of Christ, but to look ahead with promises of Christ’s return. Today’s Scriptures reveals to us that Advent is a time of waiting for the reign of God, a time of preparing for Jesus’ second coming and a time that God will make all things new.  It is time for Christians to announce that God’s incarnation into human affairs through Jesus Christ is not the end of God’s plan, but the foundation for future hope of the fulfillment of God’s promises.

Isaiah Text reflects the dark days in Jerusalem, around 500 B.C., after the return from exile in Babylon.  The bright hopes of the new creation did not turn out so well.  Life was difficult for the Israelites during Isaiah’s time which moved him to instruct God’s people on how to pray for demonstration of God’s saving power.  Isaiah’s hope in God is stronger than his frustration; therefore, he begs God to tear open the heaven and come down.  Christians believe that this cry of hope has been fulfilled 2000 years ago in the birth of Jesus Christ. 

Has life been difficult for you?  It has for me especially around April 27, 1975.  My family as well as other families had to pull up our roots and departed our country as quickly as possible since Vietnam was about to turn over to communist regime. The leaders, including my father, worked for a non-profit organization similar to World Relief, organized and packed all the available food, water, and supplies.  They then gathered their wives and children onto a motorboat to do their last mission for the needy people living along the Mekong River.  My family of six members was among the 85 people on that boat to escape.  Stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, we heard over the radio that our homeland was taken over by the communists on April 30, 1975. 

While we were deserted on the ocean, pirates came with guns and knives, God’s presence was draped over the women and children in the lower deck and they were hidden from the armed pirates.  Since the women and children were out of sight, the pirates were only able to seize our food and water supplies and departed without hurting anyone.  

Not long after, the children began to cry because of hunger.  We were surrounded by water; however, parched from thirst.  We knew that besides God there is no reliable hope.  If not to God, who else should we turn to when we are oppressed, overburdened and feel hopeless? Who besides God can we call to our rescue? So we lamented just like the Israelites, “O God, Come and save us.  Let your face shine, that we may be saved.” And then we waited for God expectantly.

God heard our cries and sent forth rain providing us water to quench our thirst and protecting us from the storm so that all 85 of us were safe, unharmed and able to live another day.  As we waited to be rescued from God, we gathered as the body of Christ and had church services on the boat.  We worshiped God, our Savior, with familiar hymns that we had memorized such as: “It Is Well With My Soul,” and “Shelter from the Storm.”  We also recited Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” and Psalm 121 “I lift up my eyes to the hills.  From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.” We were at peace under the circumstances because we knew that the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and Jacob is also our adopted Parent and that God loves us just the same.

Though Scriptures of Isaiah invite us to cry out to God and acknowledge the difficulties that we face in life, they do not permit us to become fixated in it.  Instead, we are encouraged to turn our gaze to God and wait expectantly.  Isaiah refers God both as father, who has given us life and who cares and sustains us and as a potter who has molded and shaped us as the work of the Crafter hand. The psalmist portrays God as a shepherd who is attentive to the sheep and leads the flock beside still water to restore their souls.  Through these imageries, we can be sure that God cares for us; we are the apples of God’s eyes.  Our waiting for God may be tiresome and discouraging, but do not be dismay for God is here with us as we wait.

We live in the presence of God and our lives have open access to God given by Jesus Christ.  The profound truth that Paul was reminding his friends in Corinth is that the grace of God has been given to them and that grace was evident in the gifts that they processed. The church of God is filled with God’s children where both material and spiritual gifts are found.  Who we are and what we have are really gifts from God and not our own achievement; therefore, they are held in trust.  They are not to be use as we want to use them, but as God wants us to use them; not for our profit or prestige, but for the glory of God and the good of humanity.  Paul was reminding the Corinthians that they were living in the presence of God.  Perhaps they had forgotten.  Perhaps we have forgotten.

We can seek ways to encourage one another and find strength for ourselves through the church which is the body of Christ.  What happened to us through Jesus Christ is beyond speech and knowledge.  We have all the gifts and talents that we need through the grace of God given in Christ Jesus.  The Word of God declares in Corinthians, “You are not lacking in any spiritual gifts, as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ who will sustain you to the end.”(I Corinthians 1:7)  Friends, our God is faithful; God is right alongside to keep us steady; God will never give up on us. 

The gospel reading for today speaks of the grand arrival of God’s kingdom.  People have been wondering about when the end time would come for over 2000 years. It is what we pray for when we say “Thy kingdom come.”  We are forewarned four times: to keep a sharp lookout for we don’t know when the time will come; to stand watch as a gatekeeper; to stay at our post watching; and to keep watch. The reason for this constant watchfulness is that we do not know exactly when the fullness of God’s kingdom will come; it can happen any time. 

The parable illustrates waiting and preparing as the proper way to act in the face of the coming kingdom. Waiting for the kingdom is compared to the attitude shown by servants in a household as they wait for their master’s uncertain return. Since they do not know the precise time of his arrival, they should be expecting him always and be careful to be found doing their duties.  Waiting and watching for Jesus in our midst is not about passivity.  His words in this Gospel passage commend anticipation and preparedness.  The kind of waiting this passage has in mind is an active waiting that has come to know full well that the one who is coming is recognizable, even before fully arriving. Jesus’ message about his appearance encourages support, not idleness. Matthew Skinner who is a professor of the New Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota explains that Expectancy means looking alertly for opportunities to come alongside Christ and embody Christ’s purposes in the present, as well as in the future.  We expect that Christ is all around us.

Jesus instructs us to direct our vision elsewhere to find signs of God’s present.  The outcome is not just about waiting for another physical appearance of Jesus in the future.  We are to patiently and watchfully train our attention on where Christ might be manifested today.  So in advent we ask where Christ and his message are apparent within and outside of our Christian communities. 

As we wait with expectation we are encouraged to prepare for the day of fulfillment.   We wait for that day in partnership with others who wait.  In our waiting we are attentive for justice, compassionate toward those who lament and forgiving of those who wrong us.  We live between the time of Christ’s first coming and the time of revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ.  We believe in the ultimate Christian hope: eternal life with Christ in the kingdom of God is worth waiting for and worth working toward.  Relying on God’s promise to us, we firmly believe that “Heaven and earth will pass away, but God’s words will not pass away. (Mark 13:31)  Therefore we keep watch for Scriptures proclaimed in Isaiah: “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagle.  They shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”(Isaiah 40:31)

The 85 of us sat on the boat as a community of faith encouraging one another, finding strength through God and through our church family.  We were shipwrecked and dehydrated; we used our every strength to wait on the Lord.  We cling on the hope that though we are weak and ordinary, we are the work of the Master hand created in God’s image.  God has suited us for the purposes that we are to serve.  There is a void inside of us that can only be filled by heart to love God, minds to serve God, spirits that long for God, and souls to live eternally with God.  As we wait expectantly, we praised God and prayed in unison the Lord’s Prayer.  “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be your name.  Your Kingdom come your will be done on earth as it is in heaven…”  God sent an enormous US ship to our rescue.  To our amazement, God not only redeemed our souls and restored our relationships with God. God saved our lives so that we can be witnesses to the “Good News.”

During this Advent, let us actively wait for the Reign of God, preparing for Jesus’ second coming and participating with God to make all things new.  We are the light to the world in what we say and what we do.  We are God’s hands and feet.  God calls us to shine a light to be witnesses to his mercy and love; not only through our words but also in our deeds.  We are called not only to share the Good News and preach the Gospel, but also to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and visit the prisoner.  When we serve those in need—like lonely homebound people who need company, those who have lost their homes and possessions due to job loss or natural disasters, those who mourn because of wounded souls and broken relationship, or when we raise prophetic voices against injustice and violence and organized community to resist the principalities and powers of this world.  We are witnessing to the Lord’s coming.  Amen.