Rumbling with Vulnerability, thanks to Brené Brown Preached on January 5th, 2020 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: John 1:1-14 Last week, during our Christmas Music and Meditation, Marian talked about the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols that is broadcast live by the BBC on Christmas Eve. The service is held in the chapel of King’s College in Cambridge. The chapel is, in fact, a grand stone church resembling a small cathedral, with an immense nave and high carved stone ceiling. It was founded by King Henry the VI in 1441. On Christmas Eve the air is clear and cool, the acoustics are perfect. The service begins with the clear high voice of the single boy chorister, singing the first line of “Once in Royal David’s City” the processional hymn. As the worship progresses, the organ swells, the full choir and congregation raise their voices. There are many anthems and carols. The readings are imparted clearly, articulated by the best of speakers. They begin with the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, leading through the prophets to the birth story of Jesus as told by Luke and Matthew. The second to last carol is a rousing rendition of “Noel, noel!” good news, good news! This is the pinnacle of the service. The church falls silent. The Dean of the College steps up to the lectern, and with the most perfect diction announces: “St John unfolds the great mystery of the Incarnation.” Then the reading of our gospel passage for today begins, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God.” The lesson is taken from the King James Version of the Bible, in which the light “shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not.” The congregation gives full attention to this poetic reading of the great mystery, ending with this verse: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us … full of grace and truth.” There are no more readings or prayers. This is the ultimate message. The congregation is invited to depart in peace, singing “Hark the Herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King!” We do not hold a service of nine lessons and carols here at Wollaston Congregational. And still, in our Christmas Eve service, that same passage is our ultimate reading. It takes place just before we gather in a circle, to share the candlelight as we sing the carol “Silent Night.” Like the congregation at King’s College, John’s hymn to the mystery of the incarnation is the last message we hear before we depart to celebrate Christmas. And so, I ponder, what did I, what did we, what did the people in the congregation at King’s take away? For myself, I know it was a warm glow, a misty eye and a feeling of comfort. God has come to us in the Word made flesh, we are going to be OK. Like every gift at Christmas, though, this passage also needs to be unwrapped. Warm glows, misty eyes and feelings of comfort depart as the New Year begins and we return to work. Reality sets in again as we are faced with worrying news. On a global level there are threats from Iran in the wake of the killing of General Qasem Soleimani; and reports of devastating wildfires in Australia. In our lives we may face difficult diagnoses, family strife, or conflict at work. And, here in our church, we know we will be facing difficult decisions this year. We must grapple with what it means to the community of faith in these times. How might we be strengthened in our personal struggles? How might we provide leadership for the community? And how do we differentiate our faith community from other social gatherings in our culture? The wrapped gift cannot be left on the mantel, or under the tree. It needs to be opened and put to use. And so, this morning, we are going to unwrap that gift John eloquently “unfolds” to us at the beginning of his gospel. We won’t explain the mystery of course. But we can get a little closer to what John really intends to communicate. We can be drawn more deeply into what it means for our church, our lives, our community and our world. And so we pause to ask what is really meant, in the phrase “the Word became flesh and lived/dwelt among us”? The Word, according to John, has been with the Father since the beginning of time. The Word was present as God spoke the world into being. And now, in this grand introduction to John’s gospel, the Word comes to us in the person of Jesus. The phrase “dwelt among us …” comes from the poetry of the King James Version. It’s not everyday language. It’s not what we would say, for example, when our long lost homeless cousin comes to sleep on our couch. And it’s not what John said either. John’s words are most literally translated as “the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us.” Or to use Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase “the Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood.” This isn’t a Word who lives in the towers of academia, or in a fine bishop’s palace. This isn’t a Word who resides in a gated community, or is protected by bodyguards. This is a Word who gets up close and personal. This is a Word who pitches a tent among unhoused tent-city dwellers, travelers, and refugees. This is a Word who shoots hoops in the neighborhood, and goes to community development meetings. This Word – who was with God from the beginning, who spoke creation into being – lives among us in the rough and tumble of everyday life. That is to say, the Word – God come to us in Jesus – is not afraid to lead a vulnerable human life. During Jesus’ life time the disciples called him teacher and Lord and yet, according to John’s mystery, Jesus does not Lord it over them. Instead of conventional leadership of power and control, Jesus adopts an attitude of servant leadership. If we skip to the end of the gospel we will recall an event on the night before Jesus’ crucifixion. After supper Jesus knelt on the floor of the upper room with a basin of warm water and a towel. One by one he removed the disciples’ sandals and washed and dried their feet. When they objected and asked why he, their leader, was doing this he responded “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13:12-15) The attitude of Jesus, the Word, who lives among us in the rough and tumble of life is “servant leadership.” We might also call it vulnerable leadership. Author Brené Brown writes about vulnerable leadership in the book “Dare to Lead.” This book is concerned with leadership in organizations. And yet Brown connects leadership with love, as she quotes a writing of Christian writer and theologian C.S. Lewis, “The Four Loves”: “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” Brown repeats Lewis’s message: “To love is to be nerable.” Thinking of leadership in terms of love throw us off balance a little. We are used to love in terms of intimate relationships. We expect love from our romantic partnerships, in our family and among our close friends. But what about vulnerability and love in leadership? Does that ring true for you? This, Wollaston Congregational Church, is my hope for us here in our church this coming year: that we would bring an attitude of vulnerability and love into leadership. That we would take on the attitude of daring leadership that has been modeled for us in Jesus, the Word, who moved into the neighborhood. According to Brené Brown, daring leadership means building a community of trust. It means creating wise boundaries. It means sharing our truths appropriately and wisely. It means, according to Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, speaking the truth in love. Brown calls this “rumbling with vulnerability.” Our speaking the truth in love, or rumbling with vulnerability, does not depend upon me preaching a fine sermon or impressing you with my ministerial credentials. It depends upon us cooking and breaking bread together. It depends on us meeting in one another’s homes to talk through the difficult stuff. It depends on us going together to hold the hand of a loved one in hospice care. It depends upon us speaking the truth in love, about our lives, our world, our congregation and our future. It depends on us naming the elephant in the room and speaking out loud about our greatest fears. In this coming year, I hope you will trust me enough to be vulnerable, so that I can serve as your leader. And I also hope that you will each rise to the occasion and claim your role as leaders too. That will take courage. It will also take vulnerability: rumbling with vulnerability. There are many ways that this could go wrong. And there are also many ways it will go right. That is why it feels like a risk. For the past three years, here with you, I have wondered how to differentiate the community of the church from a typical social gathering. Now I think I know how it is different. The church is a community in which the Word has become flesh. It is the neighborhood where Jesus has made his home. That is how we are distinct from other social groups. We dare to lead – one another and the community. And we rumble with vulnerability. So, as we begin this New Year of ministry, let’s not be afraid to unwrap the gift of God come near, the Word, made flesh and living among us. May all God’s people say, Amen
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