Ordinary

Have you ever wondered what the characters in the Nativity story were really like? I have. This meditation might help you to think a little differently about them.

She was absolutely ordinary. She had no distinguishing features to set her apart from the rest of her friends. In fact, she was pretty much like all the rest of us. She wasn’t terribly attractive. Her nose was a little bit too big, and her skin tended to be oily. Her hair was a nondescript brown and straight as a stick, which explained why she usually pulled it back into a rather unflattering pony tail. She wasn’t the best student. Although she worked hard in her high school classes, she usually made C’s and an occasional B- (which was always a cause for celebration in her household). That wasn’t good enough to get her into college, and everyone knew it. She wasn’t exceptionally talented, either. She wasn’t on the soccer team, in the show choir, or on the cheerleading squad. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would always be the last one chosen for anyone’s team. To top it off, she was – well, “big-boned.” When she was a baby, her father had nicknamed her “Punky” because he called her “his little Pumpkin”; and the nickname stuck. She had always bought her clothing in the “chubby girls” section; and she never managed to outgrow that addition padding. The neighborhood children didn’t care, though. Punky may not have been popular with her fellow teenagers, but she was a hit with the children. They all loved her! If she happened to walk past the playground, they would run to her and tug at her jeans, begging, “Play with us, Punky! Swing me on the swing! Go down the slide with me! Let me sit on your lap!” They all knew that Punky loved them just as much as they loved her.

Punky was engaged to Jack, a boy who was a few years older than she was. Jack had gone to vocational school and was employed with a construction firm. He wasn’t a brilliant worker, but he was steady and reliable; and you could count on Jack doing his very best on any job that he did. Punky and Jack had agreed to wait to be married until Punky was out of high school. Punky’s parents were afraid that if she didn’t get that diploma now, she never would. They were afraid of something else, too. They were afraid that Punky wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibilities of being a wife, let alone being a mother! She wasn’t a great cook. Oh, Punky could make toast, and boxed macaroni and cheese, and even fry hamburgers. But she would never be able to whip up a standing rib roast, twice-baked potatoes, and broccoli au gratin. She wasn’t a natural housekeeper, either. Why, sometimes she had trouble folding the laundry!

And that’s just what Punky was doing on the morning when her life changed forever. She was struggling with a fitted sheet that didn’t want to be folded (and the sheet was winning), when she noticed a strange light in the corner of the laundry room. It was intensely bright, yet soothing and welcoming at the same time. As she gazed at it, wondering what it could be, she heard a voice that sounded like it was coming from the light. “Good morning!” it said. “Do you know how happy God is with you? I hope that you’re ready to be a mother, because you are going to give birth to God’s own son!”

Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I? Punky’s real name was Mary; and Jack’s real name was Joseph. Mary and Joseph. You know the rest of the story: how Mary gave birth to the Christ child after she and Joseph were forced to travel far from their home. I hope that you’re not offended that I have pictured Mary as such an ordinary girl. I have described her as not especially smart or talented, and not even especially attractive. We usually imagine Mary very differently, don’t we? The pictures of Mary that we see always show her as beautiful, with perfect features and flowing hair; and we just assume that she was as smart and as talented as she was beautiful. But if the Christmas story tells us anything, it is that God chooses to come to us through very ordinary people. Mary wasn’t special because she was prettier or smarter or more talented than anybody else. She was special because God chose her to give birth to the Messiah. God has chosen all of us, too – all of us who are ordinary people just like Mary. We are the ones God has chosen to give birth to the Christ child. We are the ones who will give birth to the Messiah by shining God’s light into a dark world. We are the ones whose words and deeds will reflect the glory of Jesus Christ. God didn’t choose us for that job because we’re anything special. God chose us ordinary people because we, like Mary, have God’s favor.

During our recent Christmas Eve worship service, each worshiper lit a candle; and for a brief time, the whole sanctuary was filled with light. If each one of us ordinary people gives birth to the Spirit of the Christ child in our lives, the whole world will be filled with God’s light! I invite you to carry that Light with you throughout the coming year, and to give birth to the Christ child every single day of your ordinary life. If you do that, then people won’t have to search for the Messiah in a dark stable. They will see the Child in you.

Family Gatherings

So, how are the family gatherings going this year? Do you look forward to them, or do you break out in hives at the thought of holiday reunions? This sermon that I preached on the second Sunday of Advent ponders what God thinks of our human family -- and why God decided to join the party.

The holidays are the season for family gatherings. We’ve just finished Thanksgiving, and now we’re headed into Christmas. For many of us, that means that three, four, or maybe even five generations are all together in one place at one time, elbow to elbow, sharing meals, memories, and merriment. Those experiences can be marvelous! When a family is loving and supportive, you can feel like you’re in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting, with everyone joining together in harmony: grandma and grandpa, mom and dad, sisters and brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Family isn’t always like that, though. Family gatherings sometimes are less like a Norman Rockwell painting and more like a scene from Murder on the Orient Express. We all have at least one relative who gets on our last nerve; and some of us have whole families that we would like to ship en masse to outer Mongolia! I’ll bet that you’ve met these relatives sometime along the line (even if they are someone else’s relatives): Cousin Ben thinks that he’s funny, but his never-ending jokes are usually offensive. Aunt Maggie is a complainer. Nothing is ever good enough for her, whether it’s the food, the wine, or the gift that she got in the white elephant exchange. Uncle Christopher thinks that he’s still a young stud, and he’ll hit on every woman in the room during the course of the evening. And we can’t forget Cousin Lil, who can’t stop talking politics. She usually ends up in a screaming match with someone who is at the opposite end of the political spectrum. I don’t know about you, but relatives like these make me crazy! The trouble is, if I want to see the relatives that I do like, I have to put up with the relatives that I don’t like. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. After all, I could curl up with a cup of cocoa and a good book in front of the fireplace, and I wouldn’t have to put up with all the nonsense! Sometimes I seriously consider skipping the party altogether.

We probably all feel that way now and then. Even God considered skipping the party long ago. You heard some of God’s thoughts in this morning’s scripture reading from the prophet Hosea (11:1-9). The text begins with God reminiscing, as we all do at the holidays: how God brought the Hebrews out of Egypt and led them to their own land. God pictures Israel as a child, and Godself as their mother: giving birth to a nation, teaching them to stand on their own, feeding them, and comforting them tenderly. And what did those people do in return? Why, they worshiped Baal, the Canaanite fertility god! The Israelite nation was like a spoiled teenager who shows up at the family gathering and then sulks in the corner with his head buried in his smartphone because he’d rather be someplace else. By the middle of that reading from Hosea, God has had it with Israel! God is not only going to skip the party; God is planning to give Israel a lesson that it will never forget! But the reading doesn’t end that way. On the verge of throwing the book at Israel, God suddenly stops. “How can I give you up?” God asks. “How can I hand you over? How can I treat you like other nations that I have destroyed?” In fact, God decides not to do things that way anymore, because God isn’t a human being who responds in anger when human beings turn into jerks. God decides not only to join the family gathering, but to arrive patient and loving. You heard how God did that, too. It’s in the gospel of John. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son… And God didn’t send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save it.” (John 3:16-17)

Things haven’t changed much since Hosea’s time. Oh, we may not worship Baal anymore; but we give God plenty of reasons to skip the family celebration year after year. In his classic story “A Christmas Carol,” Charles Dickens indicated two of them. Near the end of the visit of the Ghost of Christmas Present to Ebenezer Scrooge, the ghost throws open his robe to reveal two emaciated children. One, he announces, is Want and the other is Ignorance. They are the results of humanity’s greed and thirst for power. Those dreadful children are still at every single family gathering that we humans have during the holidays. There are those who are hungry and thirsty and cold because some of us, like Scrooge, hoard the resources that we have. And there are those of us who live in ignorance, because some of us don’t really care about anybody but themselves. With family like that, why in the world would God want to show up?

But God does show up, year after year after year, ever since the son of two peasants was born in a barn in a little town in the Middle East. And the things that we emphasize at Christmas time are not the things that concern God at all. We focus on shining lights and beautiful decorations and gaily wrapped gifts, all in a cozy family room by a cheerfully blazing fireplace. But because God cares about injustice, we should ponder the injustice of a government that forced people to travel miles from their homes just so that taxes could be increased. Because God cares that we live lives that are fulfilled, we should contemplate the blackness of a midnight stable – like the blackness that we live in most of the time – and that the child born there is our Light. And because God cares about our behavior, we might consider that the Christ child was born in the midst of animals because we behave like animals ourselves most of the time. Jesus was born so that he could teach us what justice is really all about; so that he could lead us out of the darkness that we live in; and so that he could show us how to live as human beings instead of like violent, greedy animals. Jesus wasn’t born to condemn us; Jesus was born to save us! Jesus was born because we were getting on God’s last nerve; but God couldn’t bear the thought of skipping the family gathering, so God took steps to fix things!

This year, when we celebrate the birth of the Christ child one more time, stop and thank God for coming to the party! You might even try just a little harder to be the kind of person that God would really like to associate with. After all, we’re the reason that God is here at all. This year, let’s make God feel welcome, shall we?

In the Dark of Night

Advent begins where all our lives begin -- in the dark. The scripture for the day reflects that, predicting that it will be the darkest before the Messiah arrives. As I point out in this sermon, that frequently holds true for our personal lives, as well.

It seems an odd scripture to choose to begin the season of Advent (Mark 13:24-37). Although we are surrounded by twinkling lights, glittering tinsel, and shining ornaments, today’s scripture paints a dark picture. “The sun will be darkened,” it says, “and the moon will not give its light. The stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.” And what is the reason for all this cosmic commotion? The Messiah is on the way; and these heavenly signs are just the beginning of the upheaval that will result when he arrives. But we don’t know when that will occur. “You do not know when that time will come,” Mark cautions. “It may be in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn. So… keep watch!” Mark’s warning reminds me of the Christmas song that begins, “You better watch out! You better not cry! You better not pout! I’m telling you why…” Mark isn’t looking forward to Santa Claus, though. He’s anticipating the second coming of the Messiah, the one who is going to arrive “with great power and glory.”

But the Messiah didn’t arrive that way the first time. He didn’t descend from the clouds; a young woman gave birth to him in a little village stable. He didn’t sit on a throne; he was laid in a feed trough. And he wasn’t surrounded by the fragrance of exotic perfumes, but by the sweet smell of hay. In fact, he crept in so silently in the dark of night that almost nobody noticed that he had arrived at all. He brought God’s realm of peace, justice, and joy with him; but since it isn’t completely here yet, we read Mark’s words and look forward to his second coming when everything will be made right.

Now, if we stop there – if we see this scripture only as a commentary on the Messiah who came once and will someday come again – then we confine Mark’s insights to the far distant past and to the far distant future; and they don’t have much to say to us today. And that would be a pity, because Mark’s comments apply to us, too, as we live our lives right now. When he says that the sun and the moon become dark, he is describing a universe that is falling into chaos. Doesn’t that happen to us, too, every now and then? Oh, we may not see the sun and moon literally turning black; but we are thrown into deep darkness more often than we would like to admit. When the checkbook has shown a negative balance for weeks; when the doctor comes into the room where you are waiting and says, “I’m afraid the news isn’t good;” when the voice on the other end of the telephone says, “I’m sorry, there’s been an accident…” At those times, the stars fall from the sky, and we are plunged into darkness. At those times, the darkness is so deep that we almost drown in it. At those times, we can’t see our hands in front of our faces, let alone the future if there is one, and we’re not even sure about that.

But those are the very times, Mark declares, that the Messiah is about to arrive. When our world is in turmoil and there seems to be nothing that we can count on, it is then that we can count on the Messiah creeping in beside us as silently as he did on that long-ago night in Bethlehem. There is no darkness that can keep him out of our lives. The gospel of John assures us of that when it says: “In him was life; and the life was the light of all people. The light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

He is right here this morning, you know. No matter how difficult your circumstances, no matter how dark your life, no matter how black the night that surrounds you, the Messiah has already crept in beside you bringing you comfort and courage and peace and joy. As Advent begins once more, by all means, anticipate his coming again in glory – but be thankful that, even as we wait for him, he is already here.