Falling In Love All Over Again

Christmas Day; Isa. 52:7-10; John 1:1-18; St. Paul’s, Smithfield, 12/25/2016

Jim Melnyk: “Falling in Love All Over Again”

Christmas is about falling in love – about falling in love with God.  On the surface it seems like it’s about music and lights, wonder and magic – but in reality it’s actually about mystery, awe, and love.  Christmas is about opening one’s heart once again to the presence of God in our world and in our lives – and it’s about the heart of God being held wide-open for us.  Christmas is about falling in love all over again.  Christmas is about the mystery of the Word of God made flesh, and the people of God being inspirited – being filled – with the Incarnate Word.

Christmas asks us to put aside for at least a few moments our best scientific-critical mindsets and revel in the mystery of the Word made flesh.  That is, allow ourselves to revel in what it might mean to believe in a God who can and does love us into existence – and who can and does love us throughout our existence.  Author Thomas Moore, writing about the spiritual life, tells us, “We live in a society that sees a mystery as a challenge, and you are successful only if you dispel the mystery and replace it with an explanation.  Religion,” explains Moore, “takes a different approach to the mysterious.  Rather than try to explain it away, [religion] creates ritual and song and story around the mystery, holding it and revering it.  Religion,” and I would say religion at its best, “assumes that a mystery is valuable in itself…. It is a powerful, unfathomable truth that is to be honored and lived – and which offers insight to our own humanity and our reason for being. (Thomas Moore in A Life at Work, quoted in Synthesis).

And so each year we tell the same story – the same old, old story of Jesus and of God’s love.  Because it is a story that touches our hearts and our souls – because it is a story surrounded by and enfolded in mystery – because it is a story that helps us fall in love once again – even if only for a few moments or a few short days – because if only for a short while, it gives us hope – it gives us the ability to fend off the demons of this world – it gives us the confidence to carry out our baptismal calling to seek the transformation of this world. 

Christmas is about falling in love all over again!  Have you ever fallen in love with God?  Have you ever wanted to fall in love with God?  Have you ever considered that God has fallen in love with you?” For me the answer is “Yes!  Yes this has been true for me!”  At the same time I realize how easy it is to forget that love, and how wonderfully the season of Christmas works to remind me of that love.

I also realize that apart from mystery, these questions about a God who falls in love with us, and who desires more than anything else in this world that we fall in love in return – well, absent the mystery – absent a belief that God can and does desire to be in relationship with us – it makes no sense. 

Last night I said, I don’t know about you, but I need and want a God who falls in love with us – a God who falls in love with me of all people!  I need and want a God who dreams of a creation that finds its “purpose for being” wrapped up in the wonder and the mystery of love. 

I need and want a God who embraces my humanness – our humanness – who embraces our frailty – who embraces our needs – who embraces our hopes and our dreams.  I need and want a God who chooses to be identified with us in the most tangible of ways – in our very flesh and blood.  For if God isn’t a God who is so intimately connected with us and with the whole of creation, what’s the point? As Julian of Norwich wrote centuries ago, “Would you know [our] Lord’s meaning in this?  Learn it well….  Love was our Lord’s meaning.”

Throughout time humanity has fallen in love with God – the real sort of love – the kind with all the bumps and bruises – with cantankerous grumbling and with contented sighs – along the way. 

We – God and humanity – speak poetic words of love to each other.  We fight with one another – sometimes we fight rather unfairly!  We – God and humanity – forgive one another and we make up with one another.  We are transformed by one another’s hopes – we are transformed by one another’s dreams and by one another’s fears.  We are transformed by one another’s love.  This is the God of Christmas – this is the God who calls to us across time and space – this is the God who enters into our human space – this is the God who calls to us in the very depths of our human hearts.

           

Christmas and the love of God are mysteries we are called to revel in rather than puzzles we are challenged to unravel.  Former Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori has said that Advent “is the season when Christians are called to live with more hope than the world thinks is reasonable.” 

Episcopal priest and blogger Susan Russell reminds us that Christmas is the moment in which we experience the incarnation of that hope – more hope than the world thinks is reasonable.  Christmas, Russell reminds us, is about “a God who loved us enough to become one of us in order to show us how to love one another.  We wonder again,” writes Russell, “at the power of a love great enough to triumph over death and we claim a Christmas Truth greater than any of the traditions it inspires: the mystical longing of the creature for the Creator – the finite for the infinite – the human for the divine – all wrapped up in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” 

And just perhaps, I believe, as we revel in the mystery that is Christmas, we might catch a glimpse of the mystical longing of the creator for the creature – a longing of the infinite for the finite – the divine for the human – a longing for love returned – a longing for us to fall in love one more time – and perhaps this is the most outrageous and comforting hope of all.  Amen.

Christmas Eve 2016; Luke 2:1-20; John 1:1-18; St. Paul’s Smithfield

Jim Melnyk: “Much Higher Than That!”

Sister Joan Chittister “tells the Hasidic story of the rabbi who disappeared every Shabbat Eve, ‘to commune with God in the forest’ – or so his congregation thought (There is a Season).

So one Sabbath night they assigned 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.  ‘Oh, no. Our rabbi went much higher than that.’” (Quoted in Synthesis)

When I let my imagination run wild I can see that very same rabbi, lovingly moving about a cave-stable in Bethlehem one dark night as a young woman does the hard work of giving birth to her first-born child.  I can see the rabbi lighting the lamps and sweeping away the dirty straw – placing fresh, clean rushes in their place.  In my mind’s eye I can see him building the fire and cooking a meal for the exhausted couple – and perhaps several others who have found shelter with them that night.  I envision him keeping the fire going through the night in an effort to keep everyone warm and comfortable – and then gazing on in wonder – along with some wide-eyed shepherds – at the miracle of new birth before returning to his modest home by the local synagogue. 

Our story reminds us that God does not come among us in the glorious splendor of princely palaces – but rather, as the carol reminds us so poetically, God comes among us “in mean estate where ox and ass are feeding” (The Hymnal 1982, 115).

In another fashion, the Gospel of John tells us how the Word became flesh and dwelled among us.  John reminds us how that same Word is the Light of the World, and that it shines in the darkness, and how the darkness – or the brokenness of this world – will never overcome that Light.  But the Incarnation is about more than God in Christ Jesus some 2,000 years ago.  “The incarnation wasn't a 33-year experiment, a one-shot incursion by God into human history. The marvel of the mystery is that God loves the world so much, that God takes on human flesh – and has never since ceased to have human flesh.

In St. Paul’s words, ‘We are the body of Christ,’” (Ronald Rolheiser) and that reality of incarnation can have immense ramifications if we open ourselves to the hope of God for us, and for all whose lives we touch.

The Incarnation is about God loving us enough to take on human flesh in each of us.  The Incarnation is about God being made alive in you – it’s about God being made alive in me – in each of us – in all of us!  The Incarnation is about God’s desire for us to be a light that shines in the darkness – a desire that we will be the ongoing incarnation of Christ in the world around us – talk about immense possibilities for the life of this world!

I don’t know about you, but I need and want a God who falls in love with us – a God who falls in love with me of all people!  I need and want a God who dreams of a creation that finds its “purpose for being” wrapped up in the wonder and the mystery of love. 

I need and want a God who embraces my humanness – our humanness – who embraces our frailty – who embraces our needs – who embraces our hopes and our dreams.  I need and want a God who chooses to be identified with us in the most tangible of ways – in our very flesh and blood.  For if God isn’t a God who is so intimately connected with us and with the whole of creation, what’s the point? As Julian of Norwich wrote centuries ago, “Would you know [our] Lord’s meaning in this?  Learn it well….  Love was our Lord’s meaning.”

Christmas is the hope that we will come to recognize ourselves as Children of God – the hope that we will somehow come to recognize ourselves as the Light of God shining in the broken darkness of this world.  Christmas is the hope and promise of God made alive – in and through us by the power of God’s Holy Spirit – so that our world might be healed of its brokenness and sustained in love.  Tonight.  This very minute.  Now. 

The Eternal has taken upon itself the temporal – so that we might take upon ourselves 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 – might take within ourselves – the very nature of God.

Like the rabbi in the Hasidic tale, our calling is indeed a high calling.  We are the children of God – and so, we are called to be the ongoing presence of Christ – the incarnation of Christ for the world – tonight – this very minute – and beyond.  Amen.

An Uncertain Prophet

Advent 3A; Isa 35:1-10; Matt 11:2-11; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 12/11/2016

Jim Melnyk: “An Uncertain Prophet”

John the Baptist is unsure.  John the Baptist, the person whom Matthew likens to Isaiah’s “voice crying in the wilderness,” suddenly finds himself lost.  John is one of the central figures in half of our Advent stories every year – he’s the one who baptizes Jesus, the one who sees the dove descend upon Jesus and hears the voice of God call Jesus the Beloved Son, he’s the man who calls Jesus the “lamb of God,” and suddenly he finds himself struggling with all that he has said publicly about Jesus since his cousin first came on the scene.  The one who once proclaimed Jesus Messiah now wrestles with doubt, and finds himself questioning all that he has come to believe – a first century prison cell can have that effect on a person.

It seems strange that someone so central to the season of Advent – the season that proclaims the coming of the Son of God – that this person comes to doubt Jesus.  How can this person, so full of fiery zeal for God –  so sure of his message that he challenges Pharisees, Sadducees, and soldiers – one so sure of his message that he dares to challenge King Herod – how could such a person come to doubt all that he had proclaimed? 

John had been proclaimed a prophet of the Most High at his birth.  He was proclaimed to be the one who would go before Messiah to prepare the way of his coming.  He was the one called to awaken God in the hearts and minds of all God’s people – a messenger of challenge and hope.  And yet we find him this morning assailed by doubt.

Advent is for us a season of anticipation and expectation – a season of hope rather than doubt.  Advent proclaims a time of change that will enlighten the hearts and minds of all God’s people – leading us into a deeper experience of God’s love.  Advent is a time when fear and hate are to be cast aside so that the love of God might flourish like Isaiah’s vision of flowers blossoming in the desert.  And John the Baptist is the great messenger of that hope. 

Yet today’s Gospel lesson tells us that even after all John has experienced involving Jesus, he is unsure. “Is this how the kingdom of heaven is to come?” he thinks.  “With prison bars and shackles, simply for my telling the truth?  Are you really the one to come, Jesus?  Did I make the right call at your baptism?  Is it you, or should we look for another?  Are you really the Messiah?   

John had been riding high on the expectation and hope of a coming Messiah who would cleanse the world from sin and oppression.  He had recognized Jesus as the one sent from God to usher in God’s kingdom.  John had felt sure of God’s saving action unfolding in history – saw himself as the herald of the coming reign of God – and now he’s sitting in prison and nothing even remotely resembling the final judgment has taken place.  There is not even a whisper of God’s mighty wrath at work.  Nothing has changed for John – that is, except for prison.

Jesus, the person whom John had proclaimed as Messiah, has shown no pretense of political action at all. There are no speeches about revolution – there are no armies – no new kingdom – there is no raging against Rome, or against those who have failed to remain faithful to their covenant with God.  Nothing close to his own message proclaimed by the Jordan River.

Not only that, but Jesus has been meeting with, speaking with, and breaking bread with the very Pharisees, Samaritans, tax collectors, and sinners that John had so vehemently denounced – perhaps some of the very people John had called “a brood of vipers.”  John’s world has been turned upside-down and all that he has hoped for seems lost.  “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?”

Our lives seem to follow a similar pattern, don’t they?  We start out so sure of ourselves and how things will work out in life.  We grow up saying our prayers at bedtime, secure in our faith.  We may even start out believing in magic and wishing upon stars.  But then the bottom drops out on us and we begin to doubt.  It happened that way for John.  It happens that way for us, as well.  We have trouble at home, or at school, or at work, and we begin to doubt God’s presence in our lives.  A loved one gets seriously ill or dies, or a spouse or parent leaves us, our job implodes, and suddenly we’re in pain and unsure or afraid of the future.  We look all around us and see anger and hatred treated as if it’s supposed to be the new normal in our society, and we struggle with that reality.  We wonder, “Where has our sense of civility gone?”

We wonder where God is in the midst of our lives and the life of our world.  We wonder, “Are you the one to come, and what does that matter anyway?”  We wonder, “God, are you really there?  Did you really come among us?  Are you really with us now?”  We want to live lives of anticipation, of expectation, and of hope – but when it turns out differently than we longed for, we become unsure – maybe even a little disillusioned or afraid – and we begin to doubt. 

But doubt doesn’t mean our faith is gone – it doesn’t mean we don’t believe.  Rather, the exact opposite is true.  Theologian Paul Tillich once said, “Doubt is the beginning of faith.”  And theologian Frederick Buechner said, “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith.  They keep it awake and moving.”  In the midst of our doubts we turn and ask God “why?” and even if all we can do is ask “why,” in risking that question we are carrying out an act of faith.

The Good News is that Jesus does not condemn John’s doubt.  Instead he asks that John answer his own question in light of the true witness of Jesus’ ministry.  Basically Jesus says to John,

“You have looked for a Messiah and you have found one – just not the Messiah you were expecting.  I have not come to proclaim God’s wrath – I have come to proclaim the unfailing mercy of God – even as the prophet Isaiah proclaimed.  See?  The blind receive their sight and the lame walk.  Lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear.  The dead are raised and the poor have Good News proclaimed to them.  John, your Messiah has come.  Your hope is being fulfilled.  God is present and the reign of God is breaking into this world.  Only it’s not as you expected.  John, you have not hoped in vain.  God is faithful.”

We, like John, are often filled with questions – yet God does not condemn our doubts.  Even in the midst of doubt, we are still the people of God – we are still called to be messengers of the living Christ – proclaimers of God’s reign on earth.  We are a people called to remain faithful even in the midst of unfulfilled hopes and expectations because God remains faithful, and God comes to us in ways we cannot always see and do not always expect.  God came to John in the person of Jesus with a message of mercy and love rather than a message of warring wrath, and that message of God’s love still remains valid for us – for this world – today.

Jesus asks us today, “What do you go out into the wilderness of your lives – what do you go into the wilderness of your questioning hearts – to see?” Along those same lines we might ask ourselves, “What do we come out into this place to behold Sunday after Sunday?”  My hope is that we come together in this place to behold a God who comes among us with power and with mercy – a God who comes to meet us in the midst of our doubts and confusion, and a God who in Word and Sacrament, offers us the healing and strength we need to continue the saving work of Jesus Christ in the world today.

God has come into this world in a way that not even the wisest of this world could have ever envisioned or understood – as one who welcomed the lost and the least as well as the strong and the faithful.  The risen Christ continues to come among us – breaking into our lives – in ways we cannot always understand, or at times even realize.  God is faithful.  God comes into our lives giving us power to change this world in the name of Love and in the promise of Belonging – giving us power to carry out the reconciling work of Christ.  “Come, thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free; from our doubts and fears release us, let us find our rest in thee” (The Hymnal 1982, Hymn 66, paraphrased).