Salt, Light, and Scouting

W.D. Boyce, a Chicagoan, finds himself lost and disoriented on the streets of London one particularly foggy day in 1909.  A local lad appears out of the mist and guides Boyce through the soupy conditions to his destination.  Wanting to express his gratitude, Boyce offers the child a tip, but his young guide refuses to take it, explaining he is a Boy Scout merely doing his good turn for the day.  Boyce, unaware of the scouting movement, nevertheless is impressed and makes inquiries.  Before leaving London he visits the Boy Scout Headquarters and meets with its staff, possibly even with Lord Robert Baden-Powell himself.  Upon returning to the United States, Boyce launches scouting here and the Boy Scouts of America is incorporated on February 8, 1910.  Its stated purpose at the time is “to teach [boys] patriotism, courage, self-reliance, and kindred values.”  Former President Teddy Roosevelt becomes one of its many early and ardent supporters.

Just 12 years later, St. Paul’s Vestry meets on May 17, 1922 and suspends its regular order of business to give “the privilege of the floor” to Mrs. Arthur Woolford.  She is interested in organizing a Boy Scout Troop here at St. Paul’s.  It appears most (if not all) members of the Vestry know little or nothing about the movement.  No action is taken on the 17^th, but one week later the body reconvenes for “a special meeting… held in the office of M.K. Kendrick in Room 441 of the American Bank & Trust Company.”  The purpose is to consider, endorse, and sponsor the creation of Boy Scout Troop #3.  Several letters pertaining to scouting are read and a proposed charter is presented.  Still, the Vestry needs more time to deliberate the matter.  Eventually a troop is formed and scouting begins at St. Paul’s.  Various troops of Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts, and Brownies are formed over the years. 

The Vestry minutes of October 18, 1965 record the following:

Mr. Rusty Hundley came before the vestry to answer questions concerning his requirements for the God and County Scouting Award.  He did just fine.  A motion was duly made by the vestry that Mr. Rusty Hundley has passed the necessary requirements to receive this award.  Rusty thanked the vestry for their time. 

In January 1988, Carrington Pinner, Joseph Brooks, and Garrett McGehee attend a Vestry meeting as part of working toward a God and Family Cub Scout award. 

The last troops organized at St. Paul’s came about in the mid-late 90’s.  Still, many of our young people have participated in troops not sponsored by our parish and in recent years, Ben Leonard, Hack Gallotta, and Sean Leonard have held their Eagle Scout ceremonies in our sanctuary.  The current mission of Boy Scouts of America is “to prepare young people to make ethical and moral choices over their lifetimes by instilling in them the values of the Scout Oath and Law” and I am grateful to Macey Olenjack for suggesting we observe Scout Sunday today. 

I think it pairs nicely with today’s gospel reading as Jesus tells his followers “You are the salt of the earth” and “You are the light of the world.”  In ancient times salt serves several functions, none more important than as a preservative.  It is rubbed into meat to prevent it from spoiling and it is such a valuable commodity Roman soldiers receive it as their pay (it is from this we derive our word salary).  As salt, Christians act in ways to preserve the world from corruption and decay.

Just as the ancient value of salt may be lost on us, so too may be the value of light.  I jokingly tell people the word “Suffolk” is an old Nansemond tribal term meaning “ambient light.”  It is never dark in downtown Suffolk and it is never completely dark in my house.  This would be completely foreign to Jesus’ listeners.  They know the experience of lighting an oil lamp to pierce the utter and complete darkness of their homes.  They recognize the impossibility of nighttime travel without some type of lantern.  As Christians, the way we live and move and have our being in this world is to be an illumination of God’s purpose for all humanity.  We guide people from the world’s darkness to God’s light by living life as God intends.

I grew up going to church pretty much every Sunday.  I learned about the biblical images of salt and “this little light of mine” from an early age.  I understood Jesus called me to a higher ideal than what I saw around me and scouting helped me develop this in practical ways.  I learned how to interact and cooperate with others.  I learned how to be faithful in carrying out the chores and tasks assigned to me.  I gained a profound reverence for the outdoors and a sense of responsibility for the care and keep of God’s creation. 

My initial experiences with scouting were less than stellar.  With my first troop on my first campout, I shared a tent with a friend and we were the two youngest boys on the weekend.  In the middle of a rather chilly night the older boys pulled out the stakes of our tent and it collapsed.  This particular troop had the rather curious practice of having each scout bring his own food to prepare and eat.  I awoke in the morning to discover troop leaders had “raided” my food.  I was furious and walked out of camp.  And I walked.  And I walked.  And I walked.  Some two hours and twelve miles later I walked into my house.

As you might guess, this led to a trial with a second troop.  Along with a friend from the neighborhood, we were again the two youngest in the troop – the membership of which consisted largely of our neighborhood’s bullies.  It is a cold Saturday morning and my new troop is camping.  The older boys inform us younger scouts they will give us a five minute head start to run off in the woods before they hunt us down, tie us to a tree, and leave us for the day.  It was terrifying.

The third troop I tried proved to be my lucky charm.  It focused on the ideals of scouting and was committed to helping boys experience the timeless benefits of the movement.  We camped once a month – year round in Ohio.  We were divided into patrols and each patrol spent weekly meeting time planning out what it needed and how it would be organized for the campout.  I learned to cook, to clean up, and to carry water.  I also learned the joys of hiking, mapping, and reading maps with a compass.  Within a year I was one of the older boys and led my own patrol.  The experiences I had with previous troops greatly informed how I used my age and position.  I used it as an opportunity to lead and to guide, to encourage and to uphold mutual expectations.  I would not have used these images at the time, but it gave me a place to practice being salt and light. 

Here is a newsflash for all of you: I am still not perfect at it.  There are times I should be thrown out on the path and trampled under foot and there are times when a basket should be put over me to cover what it is I am burning.  But I am trying.  Scouting was for me a wonderful place – among other things – to figure out what it means to be a follower of Jesus in a setting not entirely set within the context of the church. 

Well, enough about me.  What about you?  When did you first embrace your call to be salt and light?  As you were growing up how did you personally experience the world’s decay and darkness?  In what ways did your life shine God’s love and grace for all to see?  How do you experience it today and how are you salt and light in 2017?  May I suggest these questions set the agenda for conversation around the table as you enjoy today’s Souper Bowl Lunch!

Changing the Way We See the World

We just heard the first twelve verses of Matthew’s record of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount”.  This opening passage is known as the Beatitudes because in the Latin each begins with the word beatus meaning, blessed, happy, or fortunate.  It is not only an incredible teaching, but also a phenomenal piece of literature set within a historical context. 

Of the four gospels, Matthew’s is written primarily for late 1^st Century Jewish readers.  The author does several things to connect Jesus’ teaching with his intended audience.  First, he sets each beatitude in a structure reminiscent of the parallelism found in the Psalms and other poetic writings of the Hebrew Scriptures.  Beatitudes 1-3 and 4-6 each contain exactly 36 words in the original Greek.  The final two beatitudes contain 35 words.  This is not by accident and would not be lost on Matthew’s readers.

He makes an even bolder statement in describing the setting.  Jesus is on a mountain overlooking the Sea of Galilee when the crowds gather around him.  The text tells us he begins to speak and teaches them.  Mathew places the moment in contrast to one of the most significant events in Hebrew history: Moses receiving God’s 10 Commandments on Mt. Sinai.  Some 1250 years before the Sermon on the Mount, only Moses can go before God.  There, the people must to remain at the foot of the mountain and anyone who transgresses beyond the allotted distance perishes.  A thick cloud shrouds the mountain Moses ascends because no human can bear to look directly at God’s glory and live.  In Jesus, we have God in flesh and all people are free to approach him without fear or apprehension.   This message too would not have been lost on Matthew’s original readers.

The sharpest contrast between Moses and Jesus is found in the content each delivers.  God gives to Moses a series of commands – “Thou shalt” and “Thou shalt not.”  Whereas Moses prescribes the do’s and don’ts of moral and ethical behavior, Jesus describes it.  He commands no one to be poor or meek or merciful or pure in heart.  He directs no one to search for a reason to mourn or to seek just causes or to make peace or to be persecuted.  He simply says as you do these things you are blessed.  People who live this way, Jesus says, are happy.

Through his initial teaching on the Sermon on the Mount Jesus does not intend to change the world, rather he intends to change the way his followers see the world.  It is as if we are wearing a pair of glasses with lenses designed to filter out a specific light frequency.  Jesus invites us to remove these glasses and wear a pair he prescribes; a pair which allows us clearly to see the world as he and God have created it to be.  The world is not changed by changing our glasses, but how we see the world is changed.

Jim Barringer, a Christian musician and church teacher, says this is how the world looks if you look at it through the glasses the world gives you: 

·       “Blessed are the rich in material wealth, because they pull all the strings and have all the nice things.”

·       “Blessed are those who put on a stiff upper lip and pretend they aren’t hurting, because vulnerability is weakness.”

·       “Blessed are the aggressive, because nice guys finish last.”

·       “Blessed are those who have low expectations, because they will never be disappointed.”

·       “Blessed are the merciless, for they will become CEOs.”

·       “Blessed are the people who only care about morality when it’s convenient, because they will have a much easier life.”

·       “Blessed are the winners, because everyone who’s not a winner is a loser.”

·       “Blessed are those who don’t take a hard stand for anything, because persecution isn’t fun or easy.”

In the prime of his career, Charles Barkley appeared in a magazine ad clutching a basketball with a menacing look on his face.  The caption read, “The meek may inherit the earth, but they’ll never get a rebound.”  It is hard to argue against the world’s logic, but we might want to ask if, in the end, is a rebound that important.

This week I watched a PBS documentary about the residents of 740 Park Avenue in New York City, a building home to thirty-some billionaires.  Their lives are marked by power and opulence.  Residing at various ends of the political spectrum, each contributes millions of dollars to various political campaigns, lobbyists, and think-tanks in order to influence legislation as well as public opinion for their benefit.  I cannot imagine what it is like to live in a lavishly decorated, 20,000 square foot New York City apartment or to have members of congress dedicated to doing my bidding.  But I do challenge the notion that any or all of the residents of 740 Park Ave. are any happier than I am.  Most put on a good public face, to be sure.  But I imagine each to be so driven by competition and a burning desire to promote self-interest that the pleasures of their material things – extravagant beyond anything any of us will ever know – are fleeting at best.  They spend their lives trying to staple the morning dew to a flower’s pedal; an enterprise that does not make for happiness.

They may say even if their lives are not happy, they are no less happy then ours, and they have all the nice things.  I disagree.  We have things money cannot purchase.  Through this weekend’s Vestry retreat, as each of us shared why this church is important to us, two themes surfaced again and again: first, we find God in this place, and second, we experience God’s love for all people in the common life we enjoy with one another.  These are relationships that transgress education, social status, and economic well-being.  Our relationship with one another is ground in the Beatitudes.  It is lasting.  It is real.  It is eternal.  And it is blessed.

Jesus teaches the crowds out of God’s deep love for each of us. 

·       While destitution is not a virtue in and of itself, Jesus recognizes there are riches to be found in poverty that no amount of wealth can purchase.

·       In a world clutching tightly on to everything, Jesus says letting go and mourning a loss is a path to comfort and healing.

·       The world tells us to lash out at our enemies, to have a strong and immediate response to every perceived insult, threat, and attack, but Jesus suggests there is a value to enduring injury with patience and without resentment; a response he calls meekness.

·       Jesus says happiness involves recognizing the connections we share with one another and knowing, as Paul says, when one person suffers, we all suffer.  This is why we crave for a just world where every person is rightly treated. 

·       Our Lord suggests happiness does not come from what you can do to others or in what you can make others do for you, but rather in discovering what others might need from you and offering it to them; in doing for others those things they may not be able to do for themselves – being merciful.

·       Jesus says happiness comes from having a personal and godly integrity.  Our behavior, our actions, and our deeds do not change to harmonize with the situation.  Our pitch in life emanates from our Baptismal vows.  We are pure in voice and in heart. 

·       And we work to create harmony among individuals, within a group, throughout our community, and in our world.  Happiness is found in peace – in concord, not discord.

·       We accept pursing happiness as Jesus describes it at times will not be popular.  It will put us at odds with those who define their happiness through the colored lenses of the world’s glasses, which come in many different hues and shapes.

Karoline Lewis, a seminary professor writes, “The Beatitudes are a call to action for the sake of creating the world God imagines.”  I cannot imagine a more difficult or a more meaningful pursuit in life.  The world presents us with so many easier and lesser paths.  We are a part of a movement that men and women have given everything for, even their lives, in witness to the truth of and the life inherent in the teaching of God’s Son incarnate.

The Call

Before I launch into today’s sermon, let me admit I “mis-preached” (if there is such a word) last week.  Today’s Lectionary reading from the Gospel does not take us into what is known as Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount,” as I said it would.  It will next week, so you have seven more days to take up my challenge to read Matthew 5-7.  Before we get there, we find Jesus calling his first followers.

Calling.

A farmer stands in his field, looks up in the sky, and sees a most unusual cloud formation.  The billowy puffs seem to spell out the letters G, P, and C.  He takes this to mean Go Preach Christ and assumes it to be a personal call.  He rushes to tell the leaders of his church and, impressed with his story and enthusiasm, they invite him to give the sermon on Sunday.  Well, the farmer’s message is long, tedious, and incoherent.  When it finally ends, one church elder leans over to another and under his breath remarks, “I think G P C means Go plant corn.”

Every ordained person I know can tell you the story of his or her call.  Early in my teenage years I began to consider pursuing ordination as a career, first in the Presbyterian Church (the church of my youth), and then in the Episcopal Church after I graduated from college.  I was 24 when I first went to seminary.  The average age of my classmates was 45.  Several of them described resisting God’s call to the ordained ministry for years and years before finally embracing it.  Others said God had been calling them for a long time, but they did not recognize it until recently.

Even though I had been thinking about the ordained ministry since my youth, I have a very clear recollection of when I heard “The Call.”  It came just a month or two before I graduated from seminary.  I was talking with the Rev. Churchill Gibson; a legendary clergy figure known throughout much of Virginia, who was serving as the school’s chaplain at the time.  Whereas most professors thought and talked like academics, Churchill had a very folksy, down-to-earth sensibility.  In the course of our conversation he said to me, “Keith, do you know why it is easy for God to get people like you and me into the ordained ministry?”  “No,” I said.  “It’s because we don’t have any other options.”  I thought about that for a little while.  Churchill was not saying there is nothing else I was capable of doing.  He was saying there is nothing else I really want to do.  I began to ponder what I might enjoy doing if I was not ordained.  Nothing came to mind and that moment, as unspectacular as it was, became the moment really heard God’s call to me.

Some years ago the Lily Foundation funded a research team to explore the similarities and differences between ordained clergy and lay people.  The team identified vocation and calling as important spiritual experiences and theological concepts for clergy that often are at the center of our preaching and teaching.  The team also learned very few parishioners actually feel called, believing what they do with their lives does not matter or have an impact on the church or the world. 

There is an old saw: Do you know how we separate Republicans from Democrats in the Episcopal Church?  With an Altar Rail.  While this may not be entirely accurate, it is likely the Altar Rail that separates those of us who feel called from those who do not.

As Jesus launches into his public ministry he picks up and moves from Nazareth – the city of his childhood and youth – to Capernaum, a fishing village on the shores of the Sea of Galilee.  It is here he begins to teach and preach and heal.  And it is here he begins to invite people to follow him as his disciples – folks who will learn from him and pattern their lives after his example. 

The location appears to be such a minor, insignificant detail, but it matters.  Jesus did not set up shop in the capital city of Jerusalem.  He did not look for recruits in the Temple.  He was not interested in political leaders or academic thinkers.  He “invited” very ordinary people to follow him and to work with him.  Peter, Andrew, James, and John are not particularly gifted nor are they well positioned in the echelons of notoriety or power.  They are average people who are willing to believe God does extraordinary things and they are willing to be a part of what God is doing.  This is “the call” they welcome.  And in so doing, they will become witnesses to the work of God in Jesus Christ and foundation blocks in a movement that changes the world.

Are you called?  Eric Liddell, the Olympic champion and central figure in Chariots of Fire, once said to his sister, “When I run, I feel God’s pleasure.”  He perceived running to be his call.  You may protest elite athletes enjoy a luxury most do not; that they are so uniquely gifted it is impossible for them to ignore their abilities as being anything other than a gift from God to be used for God’s glory.  You may say, well, that is fine for them, but it is not me.  It is not who I am.

The Presbyterian minister Frederick Buechner is known for articulating the most helpful definition of calling in our day.  He says God calls you to the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.  Think about that for a moment.  Can you discern what gives you joy and can you imagine how it meets a desperate need in our world today?  It explains why some of us are so committed to St. Paul’s Food Pantry.  It is a place where our joy intersects a crucial need in our community.  It is why some of us organize bible studies or teach in the Sunday School.  We delight in the message of God’s story and recognize the hunger many have for knowledge, guidance, meaning, and support. 

And it explains why Beth Bagley, Jim Gordon, Christa Hall, and Dan Jones offer themselves for election to service on St. Paul’s Vestry at today’s Annual Meeting.  Each finds “deep gladness” being involved in our parish.  Each perceives the need we have for leadership at this time.  Each is called to things both menial and momentous.  They will unlock doors on Sunday morning and set coffee pots in motion.  They will oversee St. Patrick’s parties and parish breakfasts.  They will pull weeds and spread mulch.  They will monitor budgets and make sure copiers and computers are working properly.  They will also sit with me as we seek to discern God’s will for us as a parish.  We will consider trends and contemplate where God’s Spirit is leading us.  These four people, along with the eight Vestry members who return, are answering a call.  It is God’s call because they are glad to do it and they perceive the parish’s need for their time and talents.

From this I hope you sense not all calls are life-long endeavors.  I hope to be a priest for life, but this is not my only call.  At a clergy conference in November 2015 we were challenged to listen for a “big thing” God was calling each of us to do.  This is what I discerned: “I want to help St. Paul’s celebrate well its 375^th Anniversary.”  We are well on our way to doing this, but believe me when I say I am also aware this “call” will come to an end in about six months.  It is not a life-long pursuit.  Something else will have to emerge and in the second half of the year I look forward to working with our Vestry to discern what it might be.

So, many calls – perhaps most – are not “for life.”  Here is another thing to note about calls: For the most part, they are not tied directly to an aspect of the church as a religious institution.  Bill and Ginger Owen, through their work with the BARKS program, which provides an opportunity for children to read out loud to therapy dogs, is a wonderful example of this.  They are the embodiment of deep gladness intersecting the world’s deepest need.  I think about George and Phyllis Cornell who have taken steps to ensure their beautiful property on the Nansemond River will remain as it is in perpetuity.  I think about John Rector who understands how the personal and business decisions he makes impacts the dozen or so folks who work on the shop floor of the company he manages. 

Calling.

Ultimately, answering God’s call becomes the primary source of life in our lives.  Your call is unique.  It may be life-long or it may be for only a while.  It may be manifested within the life of the church or it may manifest the life of the church in the world.  But here is the central truth about God’s calling: if you don’t perceive it or heed, the world is poorer for it… and so are you.  What thrills you when you think about it?  What fills you with joy and meaning and purpose?  God calls you to it and to do it in Jesus’ name for the sake of the world.

Come & See

Here is a partial definition of the word epiphany:

·    An usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something. 

·    An intuitive grasp of reality through something usually simple and striking. 

·    An illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure.

The first chapter of the Gospel of John is built around some huge theological statements, which have their foundation in John’s epiphanies of Jesus:

·    In the beginning was the Word…

·    All things came into being through him…

·    The light shines in the darkness…

·    To all who received him… he gave power to become children of God…

·    And the Word became flesh and lived among us…

These are ideas knit together after considerable reflection on intuitive perceptions and realizations about Jesus.  They are theological expressions of the epiphanies John encountered first-hand.

This morning we read even more from the first chapter of John.  This time it is John the Baptist who is making profound declarations.  When he sees Jesus pass by he proclaims to everyone within earshot:  

Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! 

It is an incredible statement, given the role of the innocent lamb in the sacrificial rituals of the Temple.  He goes on:

He ranks ahead of me because he was before me.

I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. 

I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.

John the Baptist says these things, but no one seems to pick up on them.  His words do not make for an epiphany because on this day no one follows after Jesus.  He repeats them the next day and this time two of his followers decide to approach Jesus.  Here is where the chapter turns from big ideas and proclamations to, well, the startlingly ordinary and mundane. 

Even though the two men are “following” Jesus, it is Jesus who has to initiate the relationship.  His question, “What are you looking for?” can mean anything from “What is your deepest longing and desire?” to “Why are you tagging after me?”  By addressing Jesus as “Rabbi/teacher”, it is clear they see him as someone who possesses something of value, but have not yet had the profound epiphanies detailed in the beginning of the chapter.

The disciples pose to Jesus what appears to be an odd question: “Where are you staying?”  Jesus’ response is open and gracious: “Come and see.”  And it hints at something even deeper… if you come with me you will see (as in perceive) who I am.”  Given the disciples spend “the day” with Jesus and given the reference to four o’clock in the afternoon, it appears the disciples are asking Jesus if they can spend the Sabbath with him.  This explains why Andrew gets his brother before the sun goes down and the Sabbath begins.  Three individuals searching for a Rabbi to teach them spend an evening with Jesus; sharing supper, saying prayers, singing hymns, and enjoying one another’s company. 

The first chapter of John’s gospel proclaims Jesus is infinitely more than a teacher, but for the remainder of the Season of Epiphany we will encounter Jesus as a teacher.  In fact, of the ninety different times people address Jesus in the four gospels, sixty times they address him as “Teacher.”  Today, when we hear the title teacher we tend to associate it with a person who imparts specific knowledge or who develops certain skills in a classroom setting.  Teachers teach and then evaluate through a variety of quizzes, tests, and papers how well students have learned.

This is not the kind of teacher these followers hope to find nor is it the kind of teacher Jesus is.  They are looking for what we might refer to as a kind of life-coach/shaman.  They long for a guide to illuminate, to admire, and to emulate.  And they believe deeply God is sending just such a teacher to show them how to live. 

The world is always hungry for a person who can help us live fully and faithfully in our own time.  I read an article this week discussing Joshua Cooper Roma’s new book titled The Seventh Sense.  The book builds on a century-old insight articulated by Fredrick Nietzsche that those living at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution needed to develop a sixth sense to help them manage the new conditions it created.  Roma suggests we are now living in a new era, which he calls the Age of Network Power, and we need to develop a seventh sense in order to navigate a our world of constant contact.  Roma states we need a seventh sense to give us “the ability to look at any object and see the way in which it is changed by connection.”

If you don’t have a clue what this means, you are not alone.  I too struggle to grasp it!  Still, it highlights for me our constant need to return to Jesus the Teacher.  How do his timeless words speak to the challenges, demands, and opportunities of our time?

Next Sunday the appointed readings of the Lectionary take us back to the Gospel of Matthew from which, over successive weeks, we will hear Jesus’ teaching in what is known as the Sermon on the Mount.  These teachings, found in chapters 5-7, will challenge us, stretch us, comfort us, and reassure us.  They will be epiphanies revealing the true nature of the Kingdom of Heaven, which we advance by living in to in our earthly realm.

We Episcopalians are notorious for loving the bible while never actually reading it on our own.  Let me issue an Epiphany challenge: why not set aside ten minutes this week to read the Sermon on the Mount!  I know, it means locating your bible, actually opening it, and finding the Gospel of Matthew, which, by the way is the first book in the New Testament, which, by the way, follows all the books of the Old Testament.  Chapters 5-7.  Most bibles break down each book into chapters and verses.  If finding these three particular chapters feels like it is well beyond your skill set, you have two options: either come and see me and let me help you, or do a Google search on “The Sermon on the Mount” and let the instrument requiring a seventh sense take you to the promised land.

We are like those early followers asking Jesus “where are you staying?”  In the coming weeks we will learn what happens if we accept Jesus’ invitation to “come and see.”  We will have the opportunity anew to apply the timeless teachings of the Teacher to our contemporary lives.  All the while, we will gather in friendship and fellowship to discern Jesus in our midst as we say prayers, sing hymns, and enjoy one another’s company.

Reeds & Wicks

Turn back the clock to the 3^rd Sunday in Advent when we considered John the Baptist and how he becomes disillusioned as he sits in prison.  Do you remember how he expects a Messiah taking a winnowing fork to the evil weeds of society and swinging an ax at the root of every “tree” not bearing good fruit?  When he baptizes Jesus this is what he expects his cousin to do.  John envisions the a Clint Eastwood-like figure who will ride into town, take out the thugs, beat down the henchmen, and best the oppressive cattle baron, restoring law, order, and decency to the oppressed citizens. 

In this morning’s first reading we hear a competing vision from a prophet who lives 500 years before Jesus and John.  Isaiah envisions the Messiah to be servant figure who is filled with God’s Spirit.  This Messiah will “faithfully bring forth justice” for “all nations”.   So here is the first difference between John and Isaiah’s visions: John believes the Messiah will side with us (the good) against them (the bad) whereas Isaiah understands the Messiah will be for everyone, bringing health and wholeness to all.

Here is the second difference.  John says the Messiah will come with a winnowing fork and an ax: tools for judgment, punishment, and destruction.  Isaiah foresees something very different:

A bruised reed he will not break,

and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.

This evocative image is one of my favorite poetic descriptions in the entire bible.  A bruised reed is something damaged, hurt, wounded.  In its fragile condition it is in dire need of healing and care.  A dimly burning wick is near exhaustion.  It has given its all and has no more to give.  Its work has drained it of its energy.  It needs to be revived with new oil, new purpose, new life.

Perhaps the best word to describe Isaiah’s Messianic servant it is gentle.  The servant will be gentle with the bruised and exhausted. 

Bernard, the 12^th century saint who founded the Cistercian monastic order, had to learn gentleness before his movement could attain any level of success.  In the beginning Bernard believes his followers need to live austere lives in harsh conditions.  Those who put themselves under his guidance find Bernard to be extremely severe and rigid in his expectations.  The confession of even the slightest failure is meet with strictness and repercussions.   Bernard expects perfection of his followers and tolerates nothing less.  He breaks the bruised reeds and quenches the dimly burning wicks.

Then God comes to him in a holy vision and, as Bernard reports it, he is infused with “a gentle, kind, amiable, and tender spirit.”  It transforms him and changes how he approaches the task of leading his order.  His instruction becomes marked with kindness and consideration.  He wraps his followers in his arms and leads them forward, not as a demanding figure, but with tremendous compassion and encouragement.  The order begins to attract new converts and grows by the hundreds as Bernard becomes renowned for guiding followers to holiness and faithfulness.

Perhaps the first place you can begin to extend God’s gentleness is to yourself.  Some of us experience God to be much like Bernard was early in his project.  We hold ourselves to an impossible standard and define ourselves based on our sins and short-comings.  We operate under the misguided assumption things that bring us joy and pleasure must be wrong.  For some, God is the God of dreary old Germanic hymns, not the God of the joyous sound of a Jazz Band. 

How would your life be different if you began to know yourself first and foremost to be a beloved child of God?  Every parent knows a child needs correction and discipline, but this is not the primary function of the relationship.  Parents nurture.  Parents guide.  Parents encourage.  Parents cheer.  Parents rejoice.  Parents caress.  Parents marvel.  This is how God relates to you.  And when you are like a bruised reed or like a dimly burning wick, always remember you are never more valuable to God than when you are vulnerable.

Because gentleness is the mark of how God relates to us then it must be a trait of how we relate to one another.  Francis de Sales, the 17^th Century Roman Catholic bishop of Geneva, talked often about what he called “little virtues.”  “Occasions for practicing courage, magnanimity, and great generosity are rare,” he said.   These are the big virtues.  “But gentleness, moderation, honesty, and humility are some of the virtues by which every action in our life should be colored.”

Sadly, this week we witnessed another example of what gentleness does not look like as four Chicago young people viciously attacked and humiliated a mentally disabled youth.  And because the assault was broadcast on Facebook Live for 30 minutes, technology has given us a window into a world we would rather not see.  There is no denying this heinousness is a part of the fabric of our society, but it is only a part.

Far less sensational yet having a far greater impact are the countless expressions of the little virtues we see all around us all the time.  I think of Bill Peachy at Friday evening’s Epiphany service inviting a visitor who did not want to receive communion to come to the altar rail to receive a blessing.  His was an act of gentleness.  I think about the joy on our children’s faces when they come into the Parish Hall in route to the Nursery.  The Nursery is not a space without rules to be sure, but they experience it primarily as a gentle place where they are loved.  I think of how a dozen or so of us gathered at Panera just before Christmas to spend time with Peggy Moore who was back in town for lunch.  We made it a priority to lift up the spirits of a bruised reed and in the process found the oil replenished in our own dimly burning lamps.

Francis de Sales was known for encouraging people with these words: “Let us be what we are and be that well.”  I like this.  I don’t have to be you and you don’t have to be me.  We don’t have to measure ourselves against the gifts and talents of others.  All you need to do is be the best you possible.  All I need to do is be the best me I can possibly be.  And de Sale would remind us, to be the best you possible is to infuse those little virtues into everything you do.  Lets start with gentleness.  Keep an eye out for a bruised reed and for a dimly burning wick.  This is a place to begin.  And don’t lose sight of yourself, of your bruises and the ways in which you are spent.  Be good at being gentle with others and with yourself.

Embracing Tenderness

Let me take you back to August.  I am sitting in my car in the parking lot of a grocery store.  I have taken a phone call and am doing a lot of listening as a person I have never met is telling me about the life of his son who I don’t know, but will officiate at his burial in a few days.  It is hot outside, a typical boiling summer day in Hampton Roads.  I am grateful for my car’s air-conditioned as the call continues for well past twenty-five minutes. 

Across from me a family has left the store and is now getting into their car, an SUV.  I observe two brothers, one about 8, the other 3.  The younger brother is at the age where he wants to do things for himself.  On this hot afternoon, he wants to open the car door without assistance and climb up into his seat without help.  The older brother stands immediately behind him.  He is attentive, but does not interfere.  The three-year-old opens the door and grabs hold of car’s frame to hoist himself up.  But he has not opened the door far enough and it swings back and closes on his hand – not hard, but enough to hurt.  The little boy screams out in pain and begins to cry.  A woman emerges from the other side of the SUV.  She has been loading bags of groceries into the car and I have not seen her until now.  She is too old to be the mother of the boys.  I judge her to be their grandmother.

Immediately I put myself in the grandmother’s shoes.  It is hot.  She must be tired.  My guess is she wrestles with a frustration that comes from being responsible for raising her child’s children.  What is she going to do, I wonder.  Will she explode in anger at the older boy for allowing this to happen?  Will she scold the younger boy for attempting things beyond his abilities?  Will she snatch him up, drop him down in his seat, buckle his belt, slam the door, and mutter to herself about her miserable life?  And what about the older brother?  What will he do?  If he gets in trouble will he retaliate on his little brother?  Or, will he just jump into the car and try to avoid what is about to happen?

What I have described so far unfolds in over no more than 15 seconds.  The entire episode will conclude in less than a minute, moving in a direction I do not foresee.  On this hot day, standing on the asphalt blacktop, after a stressful and expensive visit to the grocery store, as her frozen goods begin to thaw, the grandmother meets the three year old, opens her arms, lifts him up, and embraces him with a hug suggesting nothing else in the world matters more to her than this child’s comfort.  It is as if time itself is standing still.  When the boy is ready, the grandmother puts him down and he begins again the task of opening the door and getting himself into his seat.  The older brother stands by.  There is not a single trace of anger, resentment, or contempt on his face or in his body language.  He is more ready this time to stop the door if it closes, but he allows his younger brother to do things for himself.  On this second attempt all things go well.  Once the groceries are loaded, the grandmother gets behind the wheel of the car and drives away.

It is a truly unremarkable event except that it radiates with the breath-taking tenderness woven by a loving God into the fabric of all creation.  It is a moment revealing in a tiny way the magnitude and majesty of the Incarnation where God takes all of humanity into an embrace to heal us and to renew us.  It is emblematic of who we are to be for one another: caring, encouraging, compassionate, selfless, agents of healing, fostering growth. 

The French chemist Louis Pasteur once said, “When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments; tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become.”  You and I, together we bring these same sentiments to this holy night as we gather again in the Bethlehem stable.  We marvel that God would come into this world as One so vulnerable and pure.  We imagine what this child will grow up to do and to be, how he will become the Savior of the world and the Lord of our lives.  But before he can become the Light of the world he must know the tenderness of his parents’ love.  It is an essential ingredient of who he becomes.

Tonight we bring to this tender scene the harsh reality of our dark world.  We hold close the cries of the children of Aleppo, the suffering and loss of those run down at a Christmas market in Berlin, and the image of an ambassador assassinated at an art show meant to foster communication between two countries attempting to forge a better path with one another.  Many of us this night are apprehensive about the state our world is and are fearful of where it is heading.  If you extrapolate forward the way things are, it seems reasonable to be concerned.

Over the last few weeks, several of you have asked me where we can turn for hope.  What message of peace and reassurance does the Christian faith offer to us in these dark and uncertain times? 

I think about the circumstances surrounding Jesus’ birth.  Mary and Joseph live in an occupied land.  The far off Roman emperor has forced all people to be enrolled in a census for the purpose of even more onerous taxation.  Joseph must travel to Bethlehem in order to be counted in his hometown.  His fiancée, in the late stages of her first pregnancy, must accompany him.  There are no accommodations available once they arrive, so they shelter in an animal stall.  This is where their baby is born. 

Herod, the governor of the region, who is a paranoid megalomaniac, learns of the birth and its connection to an ancient prophecy.  Threatened, he seeks to eliminate the child by slaughtering all the children in the region.  Joseph gathers his family and flees to Egypt for safety.  Jesus begins his life as a political refugee.  

Change a detail here or there and these events read like anything you will find happening in our world today.  This is just one more child who will be raised in harsh and dangerous conditions.  But here is the amazing thing best described by the gospel writer John: this little baby is the Light of the world and “the Light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it.”  It is a wonderful image.  The smallest candle or oil lamp, when placed in a dark room makes the room no longer dark.  The Light of Christ, emanating from the manger, is more powerful than all the evil and hatred and violence surrounding him.

If you were to ask me what has been the most powerful, life-changing, world-shaping event I witnessed in 2016, do you know what my answer would be?  It is not the stunning results of our presidential election.  It is not the horrible effect of senseless acts of terrorism and violence.  And it certainly is not be the comings and goings of various athletes and celebrities.  No, none of these.  Here is my answer: “I saw a grandmother hug her crying grandson in a store parking lot and the boy was comforted and renewed.”

Tonight we celebrate the promise and the hope of the power of every tender and compassionate act of love.  It is the power of God at work in this world.  Yes, human sin can and does challenge God’s love, but it cannot prevail against it. 

The philosopher William James observed “there is an organic affinity between joyousness and tenderness.”  Tonight, we are invited to enter into the joy of Christ’s birth by embracing its tenderness as a mark of who we are and how we live.

Joseph Creates a Future

A high school English teacher moves to the blackboard at the beginning of class and writes these words in chalk, “A woman without her man is nothing”.  “Today’s assignment,” the teacher announces, “is to give this statement correct punctuation.”  All the young men in the class write, “A woman, with her man, is nothing.”  The young women, on the other hand, have a different take: “A woman: without her, man is nothing!”

John Gray’s 1992 book Men Are from Mars, Women are from Venus has sold more than 50 million copies.  Although roundly criticized as being stereotypical in its approach to gender descriptions, the book has helped men and women understand each other better.  Gray contends men and women approach life in such different ways it is as if we are from different planets.  Each gender, he says, is acclimated to its own planet’s society and customs, which is completely foreign to the other gender.

One example of our differences is how each gender typically responds to stress.  Men, when faced with difficult problems or situations, tend to become non-communicative so they can work out how best to respond.  Gray calls this “retreating to the cave.”  Women, responding in an entirely different manner, become communicative so others can help them work through their options and opportunities.  For women, often the solution is not as important as the opportunity to express emotions and to receive empathy.  Again, Gray’s approach has been criticized for relying on stereotypes, but behind many stereotypes often there is an element of truth.

Most of what we know about the birth of Jesus is drawn from the Gospel’s of Matthew and Luke.  While we tend to fold together the elements of each version, the two gospels present two distinct and very different stories.  Luke is focused on Mary.  An angel tells her she will bear the Son of God.  She responds by singing the Magnificat.  True to Gray’s thinking about stressful situations, Mary travels to visit her cousin Elizabeth.  They greet one another and there is more singing.  Luke tells us about the census and the journey to Bethlehem.  He tells us about the birth in a stable and the visiting shepherds.  It is a rich, lush story full of wonder and joy.

Matthew describes Jesus’ birth from Joseph’s perspective.  True to Gray’s thinking, when he learns his fiancée is pregnant Joseph retreats to himself to figure out how to respond.  He could have Mary stoned to death, but decides to keep the matter quiet and between them.  He will give her a simple writ of divorce and be done with it.  An angel speaks to him in a dream and gives him a new direction.  He takes Mary as his wife.  In classic Mars style, the text simply says, “Mary bore a son, and Joseph named him Jesus.”  Lean and to the point, just the way a man would tell it.

Matthew uses one very telling word to describe Joseph.  He says Joseph is a “righteous” man.  It means he is a good person, moral, and (in the extreme) it can even indicate he is without sin.  It is not easy, I think, for a good and moral person to tolerate the failings of those closest to him.  We expect our spouse and our siblings and our children to live up to the moral and ethical code we expect of ourselves.  Joseph must have been deeply disappointed when he discovered Mary was with child.  Her version of how it happened must have seemed laughable to him. 

He has, at best, two options.  As we noted, he can make the matter public and demand she be executed by stoning.  This would be the path of righteous indignation.  Or, he can opt for the more merciful path of divorce.  It will free him of Mary and responsibility for an unborn child that is not his.  She will have to return to her family and hope her father will take her back under his care. 

Have you ever received an email with a sentence or saying automatically fixed to the end?  A colleague sent me an email this week and at the end he inserted this quote from John Schaar:

The future is not a result of choices among alternative paths offered by the present, but a place that is created--created first in the mind and will, created next in activity.  The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating.  The paths are not to be found, but made, and the activity of making them, changes both the maker and the destination.

I think Schaar is right about the present and the future and about our role and responsibility in moving forward.  And I think Joseph’s story illustrates exactly what Schaar describes.  Before he goes to sleep and encounters an angel in his dream, Joseph is very much pondering the future by weighing the merits of the different paths available to him in the present.  But after the angel speaks to him Joseph begins to consider the possibility of a future only he can create.  Remaining engaged to his pregnant fiancée is not an option given to him by his culture, but it is the decision he embraces.  He makes his way forward into the future in a new way.  The path is made one step at a time by taking one step after another.

It seems to me, for one reason or another, I have been preaching the same message in my sermon for the last several weeks.  The kingdom of heaven is not something God does for you, rather it is something God does through you.  Either you are a willing and active participant or nothing happens. 

Mary provides the ultimate illustration of this.  The kingdom of heaven literally begins insider her body and comes into this world through her womb.  Joseph, for his part, embraces the possibility God wants to do something through him.  He faces what most likely is the most critical and difficult decision of his life and decides to make a new path and create a future in partnership with God’s Spirit.

We are just two weeks away from entering the 375^th year of our parish’s existence.  We will observe and celebrate this momentous occasion in different forms and fashions.  No one is forcing us to do it.  We can sit back and do little or nothing.  We choose to create our future by using the occasion to remember, to reflect, and to give thanks.  I believe God will act in and through our celebrating in ways we can scarcely imagine, but would not happen if we did nothing at all.

I always love concluding the reading of Morning Prayer by reciting these words from Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus: “Glory to God whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.”  God’s power, working through us, can do amazing things indeed, but only if we are willing to allow it to happen.  The kingdom of heaven is not something God does for you, but something God does through you.  It is something God creates in partnership with you.  Either you will create the future with God’s Spirit moving through you, or you will not.  Either the kingdom of heaven will be born through you, as it was through Mary, or the world will remain a cold and lonely and lifeless place.  Either you will work with God to protect what is good and precious and vulnerable, as God worked through Joseph, or what the world needs most will be lost.  Either your heart will be open to God and it will become a place for the kingdom of heaven to be imagined and then created, or the world will drift along visionless and dark.

“Just as the candle is host to the flame, so too may you burn with the power and the glory of God’s Spirit.”