Incarnation: Our High Calling

Christmas I; John 1:1-18; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC; 12/27/15

Jim Melnyk: “Incarnation – Our High Calling”

The story is told of a Hasidic rabbi who disappeared every Sabbath Eve, ‘to commune with God in the forest’ – or so his congregation thought.

So one Sabbath night they deputed one of their cantors to follow the rabbi and observe the holy encounter.  Deeper and deeper into the woods the rabbi went until he came to the small cottage of an old Gentile woman, sick to death and crippled into a painful posture.

Once there, the rabbi cooked for her and carried her firewood and swept her floor.  Then when the chores were finished, he returned immediately to his little house next to the synagogue.

Back in the village, the people demanded of the one they’d sent to follow him, ‘Did our rabbi go up to heaven as we thought?’

‘Oh, no,’ the cantor answered after a thoughtful pause.  ‘Our rabbi went much higher than that.’” (Joan Chittister, There is a Season, Quoted in Synthesis)

Theologian and author Isabel Anders writes, “John’s Prologue is poetry, and, as such, should always leave us breathless, longing, believing – even as we are faced with the temptation to unbelief that continually nips at our souls” (Synthesis, December 31, 2006).  Whenever we even begin to try to understand, let alone talk about, the holy mystery that is “Incarnation,” poetry seems to be our only recourse as we realize that there is no human reality that can even come close to what the opening words of John’s gospel try to tell us: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God….  What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness [has] not overcome it…. And the Word became flesh and lived among us….” (John 1:1, 3b-5, 14a)

John’s opening lines speak of the Logos – the very first fruit of creation – begotten of the Father before all time began.  The poetic language addressing the Logos – the Word that is God – would have reminded ancient listeners of the words from Ben Sirach, who wrote about Sophia – Divine Wisdom – in the same poetic way, quoting her as saying: “I came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and covered the earth like a mist,” and who also likens Wisdom to Torah – given to God’s people and understood to be an agent of the Divine (Sirach 24:3, 22-23).  The author of the Wisdom of Solomon gets caught up in the same poetic imagery, calling Sophia “a breath and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty” (Wisdom of Solomon 7:25).  And all these expressions of the ancient writers: from Sirach, Wisdom, and John, are meant to remind us of the opening lines from Genesis: “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the deep, while a wind – or the Spirit – from God swept over the face of the waters (Genesis 1:1-2). 

We seek to speak of the majesty and mystery that is God, and what best comes to our lips are words of poetry and awe. Once again this season we have heard the story unfold – from our deepest desires and heart-felt longing to know and understand the heart of Divinity, to swaddling cloth, straw-filled mangers, and heavenly choruses – and even those stories we recite are poetic – filled with images that challenge our minds.  We long to find ourselves fully within the presence of the Living God and we fear it at the same time – we hope for there to be something – someone – greater than ourselves – someone beyond us – and yet to even think of finding ourselves in the midst of such Presence is mind-boggling at best and downright terrifying if we’re being truthful. 

Yet, in the midst of humanity’s self-centered life, the Cosmos bends to the will of God, and reconciliation between the human heart and the heart of God takes on new meaning and new life – what we called Christmas Eve “this God burst into our lives.”  And in the midst of all the joy and wonder of this holy mystery – this bending of the Cosmos – this God burst into our lives – God seems to whisper in our ears: “Please get it right this time ‘round.  Please, for the sake of my love, for the sake of the world, please, please, get it right this time ‘round.”

Christmas has to be more than a story we rehearse once a year.  Like Dickens’ Scrooge or even Seuss’ Grinch, it has to be a story that finds a welcome home, striving for life within our human hearts with every breath we take – taking over our hearts and becoming a part of who we are as people created in the image of the Divine.  If not, the story makes no sense.  If we leave the babe lying in the manger and fail to embrace who and what that child becomes, then the day – the season – really is only about tinsel and toys, carols and presents, parties and over-stressed charge accounts.

           

If, as theologian Parker Palmer wrote, Christmas is about “God taking the risk of incarnation – and in fact, doubling down on that risk by choosing the flesh of a vulnerable infant rather than a warrior king” (paraphrased), then the Incarnation takes on incredible meaning for us as God’s people – then the Incarnation is about more than God in Christ Jesus – it’s the poet’s song about God in us – about God in you – about God in me - as the collect of the day says, the light of Christ enkindled in our hearts and shining forth in our lives!  The Incarnation becomes the story of God’s desire for each of us to join with Christ in becoming a light that shines in the darkness – about God’s desire for us to become the ongoing incarnation of Christ in the world around us.

The Eternal has taken upon itself the skin of the temporal – so that we might take upon ourselves the fullness of the Eternal.  God takes on human flesh – think about the wonder, the meaning of that – God takes on human flesh so that we might take upon ourselves – take within ourselves – the nature of God.  And that incredible truth, my friends, should both awaken our hearts and shake our knees! 

Once again, Anders writes, “The Prologue to John’s Gospel dares to put words to what cannot be visualized and must be accepted by faith.  Love existed at the heart of Deity, and this love graciously extended to the creation, [each of] us included, wrapping us up in a cosmic plan that we can only catch a glimpse of as we ponder the immensity of our salvation.” (Synthesis)

Our calling is indeed a high calling – much higher than the rabbi’s supposed Sabbath Eve visits to heaven, and more like his actual visits to the frail woman in her cottage deep in the woods.  We are the children of God – and so, we are called to be the ongoing presence of Christ – the twenty-first century incarnation of Christ for the world – today – this very minute in this very place and wherever we go once we leave through those red doors at the back of the church.  Amen.

This God Burst in Our Hearts!

Christmas Eve, Luke 2:1-20; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC; 12/24/15

Jim Melnyk “This God Burst in Our Hearts!”

Poet Ann Weems writes,

When the Holy Child is born into our hearts

 there is a rain of stars

   a rushing of angels

                  a blaze of candles

 this God burst into our lives.

                          (Kneeling in Bethlehem, p. 27)

This God burst into our lives!  This is Christmas, my sisters and brothers – Christmas, my friends.  Think of the glory and wonder of this moment—this moment in time which becomes, for each of us, the fullness of time.  It’s Christmas – the moment in time when God burst into and upon us.  Christmas: God breaking into human history— God breaking into our history – in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.  Tonight, those of us who have used our labyrinth as a metaphor for our Advent journey now stand at its very center to witness the coming of Emmanuel, the coming of God with us. 

And even if haven’t walked the labyrinth in Advent preparation and anticipation for this evening, we still stand at the very center of the Divine/Human encounter we call Incarnation.  We will rest here for a time in the presence of our Lord, before we begin the journey outward from the center of the labyrinth – the journey outward, away from Bethlehem, to share the Good News of God in Christ with a world too often living on the edge of life.

We come to this night and once again we are met by Jesus: child of Mary and Joseph, and yet Child of the One God.  The God who spangled the heavens with stars and planets —the God of whom angels sing— the God who shaped the heavens and the earth and who breathes God’s own breath— Ruach— Holy Spirit— into our very nostrils – has come among us again.  And this is whom we proclaim this night— Jesus, the very Child of the One, Holy and Living God – “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father” (BCP, p 358).

Think of the glory of this One God who, in Jesus, becomes human flesh to dwell among us.  This God, who because of love – love for creation, love for humanity, love for you and me – is conceived in a human womb and born an infant – someone in need of human love and care.  Consider well, what it means for God to be made so new— to be made so vulnerable, so helpless, as a newborn child.  “A rain of stars, a rushing of angels, a blaze of candles— this God burst into our lives.”  This God burst who comes as a newborn babe, helpless and in need of human love.  Theologian Parker Palmer writes, “In the Christmas story, God – an airy word if ever there was one! – [God] takes the risk of incarnation.  In fact,” Parker continues, “God doubles down on that risk by choosing the flesh of a vulnerable infant, not a warrior king…” (Parker Palmer). 

And yet it is this same God burst who will grow to become the Christ of God— the One Who Takes Away the Sin of the World, and makes us one with God.  The One who will cleanse lepers and clear the Temple...the One who will give sight to those whose eyes are blind and to those whose hearts and souls are just as blind.  A child is born, and God thunders into our lives in the cry of this infant.

And who are the witnesses to this blessed birth— this God burst of heavenly love?  A mother, engaged but not yet wed, who could have been divorced, or possibly stoned for bearing this Child of God out of wedlock.  A father, struggling with his faith, unsure and prone to dreams and visions; a father who finally, after much internal debate, is willing to stand with the woman he loves.  And then there are the shepherds— unkempt, uneducated and unwanted anywhere around town.  Trusted with the sheep out in the pastures, they are trusted with little else – society’s ne’er-do-wells by some accounts – isolated from the world by their work, witnesses to the Ruler of all heaven, come among them in the person of a newborn child. 

Later, the other stories tell us, Kings or Wise men from the east, will come bear witness to this child— this God burst in human history.  Worshiped by rich and poor alike, outcasts and rulers, Jews and Gentiles, this Child comes to and for us; and God doesn’t take time to check out our religious or social status, our poverty or our wealth, our standing or lack of standing in the world, before breaking into our lives.

This is Christmas, sisters and brothers – Christmas, my friends.  We who “long for words like love, truth, and justice to become flesh and dwell among us” in an increasingly argumentative and violent world, find an answer in the Christmas story – and in all that moves beyond this holy night in the life and teachings, as well as the death and resurrection of Jesus (Parker Palmer).  God has come among us in the person of Jesus and we need to give more than our simple thanks.  In response to God’s great gift of life in Christ Jesus we need to give back to God our very lives – our very souls and bodies in thanksgiving. 

The Christ Child, born so long ago, longs to be born in our hearts and lives again— today – and with that birthing in our hearts and lives comes a certain vulnerability on our part: a willingness on our part to risk being Christ in a world that doesn’t always want to hear a reconciling word – that doesn’t always want to hear words of mercy – words of grace – words of acceptance, inclusion, and love.  Tonight, and every day, “[We] can,” as Barbara Brown Taylor writes, we “can decide to take part in a plan [we] did not choose, doing things [we] do not know how to do for reasons [we] don't entirely understand. [We] can take part in a thrilling and dangerous scheme with no script and no guarantees. [We] can agree to smuggle God into the world inside [our] own [bodies]” (Barbara Brown Taylor). 

Whenever we seek the Christ of God in another – whenever we seek Christ in our own hearts and souls – whenever we open ourselves up to the vulnerability of a God who takes on human flesh in all its frailty – “there is a rain of stars, a rushing of angels, a blaze of candles,” as God bursts upon us and within us, making us new, calling us to love and serve one another in the name of Christ.

God has come among us.  Heaven and earth are made one in this moment.  God is with us.  And we shall never be alone again.  Love runs rampant through our hearts.

Wandering Through Advent, Part 4

Advent 4C; Micah 5:2-5a; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-55

St. Paul’s, Smithfield, NC; 12/20/2015

Jim Melnyk: “Wandering Through Advent, Part 4”

We have been using our labyrinth as a metaphor for our journey through Advent.  As we come to the Fourth Sunday we move into the final quarter of our Labyrinth – standing on the verge of entering the center circle, our inward Advent journey almost complete.  I’m always caught by surprise by our stop in the Judean Hillside so many months before the birth of Jesus.  We don’t know how far Mary was into her pregnancy, but her cousin Elizabeth was six months pregnant with John, who would later be called the Baptist, and it seems Mary stays with her through the birth.

As we read the story today it dawns upon us that while pregnant, Mary makes not one, but two long-distance journeys between Nazareth and the area surrounding Jerusalem.  The first, somewhat early on, is to her cousin’s house. 

We may be talking anywhere between 80-120 miles depending on the route taken.  Later, while nine months pregnant, Mary will make the journey once again – going beyond Jerusalem by another 10 miles to get to Bethlehem.  One wonders if she had a copy of Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” on her iPod.

So we come to the final week of Advent having made our journey with Jesus, with John the Baptist, and now with Mary and Elizabeth.  It has been quite a journey – with signs of destruction and new birth, with challenges to prepare the way of the Lord and make his paths straight, with calls to repentance and joyful hope.  We come into the final week of Advent poised to step into the center of the Labyrinth – poised to step back once again into Bethlehem on Christmas Eve – and we recall today the faithfulness of Mary, both servant and mother of God.  Hopefully we marvel at the courage and the faithfulness of a young girl – at best a teenager –

who stands before the angelic messenger and listens to Gabriel’s proclamation about who the child she is now carrying will come to be; and who responds with both humility and strength upon hearing her cousin Elizabeth’s proclamation as well.

Today’s lessons for Advent 4 speak of humility and obedience – two character traits that rarely seem to be at the top of most American’s – or perhaps most human being’s – wish list.  We’re taught from youth to speak up for ourselves because if we don’t who else will?  Humility – that’s for the weak.  And obedience is something we struggle with as children and teenagers, and it becomes seen as a necessary evil in our young adulthood – something to put up with until we rise to the top and others are required to show deference to us instead. 

In our first lesson today we recall that Bethlehem is one of the smallest clans of Judah – seemingly of little or no account among the great.  But from Bethlehem came the most renowned king in Jewish history – David, who was the youngest of Jesse’s eight sons – only a shepherd on the hillside – too young to even be invited to the feast at which the prophet Samuel was to identify and anoint the new king of Israel.

How Israel’s history would have changed had Samuel said to God, “Bethlehem – that little backwater village?  Why should someone as important as I go there? Not gonna do it Lord!”  How would things have changed if Samuel, after the first seven of Jesse’s sons had paraded by, said, “That’s a wrap – don’t bother bringing the little kid down, nothing worth looking at here?”  Well, actually I’m pretty sure God would have found a way to bring David forward, although I’m also pretty sure things would have gone south in a hurry for ol’ Samuel had that happened.

           

And then the author of Hebrews channels a bit of the Psalmist for us – pulling out a bit of Psalm 40 to show that humility and openness to God mean more than all the burnt offerings we could ever envision making.  Last week we discovered that neither power nor status, neither wealth nor pedigree save us.  This week the author of Hebrews tells us that neither will our religion – or our religious observances – save us – hard words for Episcopalians with our love for liturgy to hear. 

Humility, obedience, relationship, love for God and love for neighbor – those are the hallmarks of what it means to be centered in God – those are the hallmarks of life reconciled with God and neighbor.

Today, as we stand on the verge of entering the center of our labyrinth – as we stand on the verge of witnessing the incarnation of God – we stop in the Judean hillside to glimpse Elizabeth’s witness to the Holy One cradled in Mary’s womb – and witness Mary’s vision of what it will mean for the heavens to break open and God to come among us in human flesh.

Of course it’s easy for us to focus in on the way Luke describes John, the future Baptist of fiery fame, leaping in Elizabeth’s womb.  It makes for good prophetic poetry. But let’s not be too quick to dismiss Elizabeth and Zechariah’s role in the whole story. 

Earlier in Luke’s story we’re told that Zechariah belonged to a priestly family and served in the Temple.  Elizabeth is a descendent of Aaron, who was the very first in the line of Israel’s priesthood.  We are told that both Elizabeth and Zechariah are known to be righteous people.  Their witness to the child that Mary carries in her womb basically gives Mary and Jesus “street cred” among the faithful of Israel – and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, even pronounces a blessing on Mary and the child she carries.  Later, Matthew and his story of the magi, will offer that same credibility among the gentiles.  Elizabeth’s proclamation sets us up for Mary’s powerful – words that follow – words we heard sung in the canticle this morning.  “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

What follows is anything but the words of a meek, lowly, teenager who is unsure of herself, or anxious about what God is doing in her life.  Perhaps Mary’s journey from Nazareth to the Judean hillside – like an extended labyrinth walk – has given her time to ponder the angel Gabriel’s words to her.  Perhaps Elizabeth’s proclamation has underscored Mary’s thoughts and wonderings.  Who knows?  What we do know is that Mary’s deep faith leads to a song of praise that spans the history of two faiths – echoing Hannah’s proclamation when she finds herself pregnant with the child who will one day become the prophet Samuel. 

Both Hannah and Mary sing of a hope that God’s promise will dawn for a world desperately in need of a Savior – a world where those often forgotten and lost will find a place at God’s table with those who have all that they need – a world where love for God and love for neighbor will finally bridge a world so often at war with itself.  As Theologian Walter Brueggemann writes, “[Mary’s] poetry and the song invite us to move out beyond the world given us by ‘the hard men,’ and into a new, different world” – a world lived in mercy, grace, and love (Sojourners Online, Preaching the Word, 12/20/2015). 

And we are invited today to not only join in Mary’s song, but to offer ourselves to partner with God in bringing about the reality of a new world – of offering ourselves, our souls and bodies, to God’s service in bringing about the kingdom of God today.

“As we move like Mary ‘with great haste’ toward the birthing, I hope we can linger a bit longer in that little hut in the Judean hill country with Elizabeth and Mary, if only to learn how to be better receivers of God's surprising work.  If the fuller restoration of creation is ever to come about, it will be when we give up control, somewhat as these two women did before the greater things stirring in them" (Glen V. Wilberg, Synthesis Today, 12/15/2015).

As we stand on the verge of entering the center of our labyrinth, it may well be that the promise of our Lord will catch us by surprise as this Advent season comes to a close.  And being caught by surprise, perhaps we will allow ourselves to give up some of the need for control in our lives, and embrace the humility and obedience of those who have gone before us, joining our voices in song with Elizabeth and Mary, and looking with hope for the coming of God among us once again.