Call the Midwife Christmas Message 2021 Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 2:1-7 Picture by Lane Connors On Christmas Eve we always read the story of Jesus’ birth from the gospel of Luke, because Luke offers us the most human details. These are details of location, circumstances, and a particular moment in history. The whole world is changed because one particular child was born in Bethlehem. This child is born in the same way everyone who ever lived came into the world. This is the way the Holy One chooses to come to be with us at Christmas. When Mary and Joseph arrive in the little town of Bethlehem, there is chaos. It is not still or silent, and no way is it calm. The town is still as small and insignificant as the day when the shepherd boy, David, was called in from tending the sheep many generations before. A great family has descended from David’s house since those days, and so very many have returned to comply with the rules of the Roman census. Joseph brings his new young bride, Mary, who is pregnant. They seek out shelter, but this should not be a problem. Joseph has family in Bethlehem, after all, cousins, aunts and uncles. They will be happy to accommodate the carpenter who had migrated north to work in the new Roman city. We’ll imagine that great aunt Miriam and great uncle Rubin take the young couple in, along with other cousins who have arrived in town. Miriam embraces Mary, and looks down at her belly. “She is going to deliver while she is here,” she thinks, “I must notify the midwife.” They set the young couple up, next to cousins Judah and Ruth whose three children are bedded down around them. Rubin laughs at the sight of all the relatives crammed into their one room. “We should set up as an Inn, Miriam, we could make some good money.” Perhaps that night or the next night, but some time during their stay, Mary begins to feel labor pains. Miriam takes the young couple aside, “you can’t have your baby in here, it’s too crowded. I’ll take you down to the animals’ room.” They gather their bundles and bedrolls. Mary has brought swaddling for the new infant. She clumsily negotiates the rough incline to the animals’ nighttime quarters beneath the house. Miriam has put out fresh clean hay. They will have the company and the body heat of the household livestock: a goat and her kid, a few chickens, the donkey resting after his long journey. Once they are settled, Miriam rushes off to call the midwife. The long running BBC TV drama series “Call the Midwife” celebrates it’s tenth season this year. This series tells the story of the midwives of Nonnatus House, a nursing convent in the deprived East End of London, during the late 1950’s and 1960’s. Anglican nuns and non-religious midwives serve the community of Poplar, based out of the communal house. They deliver babies, and care for families of all kinds, as well as the elderly and infirm. The word midwife means “with woman.” A midwife is with the mother through her labor, never leaving her side, empathetic and encouraging. “Call the Midwife” is a compelling series and - full disclosure - I am a fan. The writers do not shy away from important social issues. Over the course of the decade they have dealt with attitudes to towards disabilities in parents and babies, racism and anti-immigrant sentiments, homophobia and hypocrisy, domestic violence, poverty among the working classes, the huge social change brought about by the birth control pill, and the dangers of backstreet terminations. There are times when the nuns’ strict religious beliefs run contrary to the common sense of the non-religious midwives and there are disagreements. In spite of dealing with tough issues, the show is always heart-warming. Each episode features at least 2 or 3 births, which are beautifully and accurately portrayed. Birth is a painful, messy process and the outcome is not always joyful. In the 1950’s most babies were born at home. In the overcrowded slums of Poplar, that often means a one-room apartment with outside plumbing shared with other families. The midwives are summoned by from a public call box or by a child sent running to Nonnatus House. The midwives arrive on their bicycles, donning gowns and masks, and ushering the men outside. They demand boiled water, clean towels and fresh newspapers, and a requisite pot of tea. In a recent episode, the midwives were so shocked at the rat-infested conditions one woman was living in that they summoned the absentee landlord, much to his shame. I have watched the show devotedly for these past 10 years. I never get tired of seeing the births. Birth is such a vulnerable and precious moment. Whether a child is born in a royal palace, or on the road to a refugee mother, the process is the same. And the needs of mother and baby are the same: healthcare, compassion, cleanliness, encouragement, nutrition, warmth, and privacy. Like her mother and grandmothers before her, Miriam knows to call the midwife. All the way back to the time of Moses, midwives has ushered new life into the world in all kinds of circumstances. And so, we hope that Miriam has found a skilled midwife who will gently encourage Mary to push at the right time, who will massage her back and wipe her face, who will loosen the cord if it is around the baby’s neck, who will receive the child into a clean blanket, rub him to get him breathing, clear his airways if they are blocked, and gently place him on Mary’s breast. Luke’s story reminds us that Jesus experienced all the particularities of the time in which he is born: the Roman rule that dictated his parents return to Bethlehem, the culture of extended family and hospitality, the profound sense of identity of the Jewish people. He experienced the vulnerability of birth, received love and belonging among family and friends, and he endured the pain of grief, rejection, suffering and death. And, as John’s gospel tells us, God in Christ is universal, the eternal Word. Like a midwife Christ is with every child, with every adult, with every elder who was ever born into the world. And, like a midwife, Christ lives among us knowing our every joy and our every pain. This is the way the Holy One chooses to come to us this Christmas. May all God’s people say, Amen
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Finding the Holy One in Forgotten Places Preached on December 19th, 2021 at Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 1:39-55 We have finally reached the 4th Sunday in Advent, as we continue our Advent reflections on “Housing the Holy.” This week we are invited into the vision of two prophets, who see what God is doing in our midst. They remind us that God is to be found in the seemingly insignificant and forgotten places, because that is where the Holy One is housed. The first prophet is Micah, of ancient days, who prophesied to the “powers that be” in Jerusalem many generations before Jesus. Micah resides in one of the small towns outside Jerusalem. He lives at a time when the Northern Kingdom of Israel has fallen, and the Southern Kingdom, Judah, is fighting the overpowering Assyrian Empire. The kings of Judah are determined to fight, but towns outside the city bear the brunt of the warfare. While the political and religious elite keep themselves well-fed and comfortable, the people of the forgotten places outside Jerusalem suffer terribly. No wonder Micah looks forward, with a prophet’s view, to the coming of a new ruler who will bring peace. In his poetic style, Micah anticipates that “swords will be beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks” (Micah 4:3). The money and resources spent on war will be redistributed to the poor and the hungry. “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more; but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4:4) Micah envisions the coming of the new king of peace who will appear in the smallest most insignificant town, Bethlehem Ephrathah. The second prophet this morning is Mary, who is the first prophet and disciple of the gospel of Luke. She has been recently visited by the Angel Gabriel, who has broken the news that she is to gestate and birth the coming savior, a child who will be called the Son of God. Mary’s response was “yes, let it be” and so she is in the early stages of pregnancy, unmarried and very young. In the passage we read today, Mary has traveled to her distant cousin, Elizabeth’s, house. By contrast Elizabeth is elderly and assumed to be past her child-bearing years. None-the-less, she is pregnant too, in her sixth month with the child who will grow up to be John the Baptist. These two women not only prophesy with their voices, they prophesy with their whole bodies. This is the way Luke chooses to begin his gospel: with a coming savior so embodied that even his herald is still in utero. And Mary and Elizabeth’s bodies communicate with one another before anything is said! The child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy and expectation, recognizing that Mary is also pregnant and will birth an even more significant child. Mary and Elizabeth also speak, of course. They give voice to the vision that is evolving in their meeting. Elizabeth goes first: "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." (Luke 1:42-54) And then Mary responds with a song that envisions a world in which God reigns. Mary uses a prophetic device in which she speaks as though what will be has already happened. God has scattered the proud, God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, God has filled the hungry with good things. Months before she and Joseph arrive in the little town of Bethlehem desperately seeking shelter, Mary makes a house for the holy. The uterus is a wonderful home, perfectly evolved. Nature sees to it that the developing embryo, then fetus, and eventually infant, is protected against the outside world. The fetus is supported in perfectly balanced amniotic fluid. They are fed – to the point of malnourishment of the mother – via the placenta. Their bones are formed and their lungs and brains develop over the course of the pregnancy. They are totally dependent upon the mother’s body. The possibility of a live birth depends entirely upon the safety of the mother. Of course, not every pregnancy will become a child. There are losses and tragedies for both mother and child. In Mary’s time – still in our time today – pregnancy and labor can be dangerous for both. A culture that houses the holy protects expectant mothers, with pre-natal care and support for the family when the baby is delivered. Let’s be sure to say, we are not judging a woman’s medical decisions here. We are talking about pregnancies in women who wish to carry them to term and have given their consent, like Mary. We are talking about the kind of care the prophet Micah demands of the leaders of his day: care for the women and children of the community with safe affordable housing, adequate food and clothing. Mary houses the holy one in her body until the delivery in Bethlehem. We can tell from the outpouring of her song of praise, that she has a clear vision of what his coming means. She has seen it from her little town of Nazareth and she sees in from Elizabeth’s house. Mary’s child will be born to an insignificant young woman in the forgotten and disregarded town of Bethlehem. He will usher in the world that Micah speaks of: where ploughs are beaten into pruning hooks, the hungry and fed, and mothers and children are housed and protected. The Holy One often appears in the forgotten and disregarded places: in our world, in our cities, in our towns. Not only that, the Holy One often shows up in the forgotten places of our heart and our souls. A couple of years ago, I rediscovered a long-forgotten place in my heart. I had no idea that it would be used to house the holy. I was feeling a strong desire to do more with my hands. I had always made things in my younger years. Now it felt as though I was spending too much time in my head. Fond memories of learning to crochet with my grandmother were surfacing in my mind. She had crocheted a colorful blanket for my most beloved baby doll. When I was old enough she taught me some skills. We made small items together and created all kinds of patched together projects: purses, hats and ponchos. Our church expert in crochet, Kate, kindly helped me relearn the basics again. The techniques began to come back to me. I wanted to create blankets and shawls, something I could share that might bring comfort to someone else. Besides, my family didn’t really want too many of my projects around the house. After making a few cozy Afghans from squares, I graduated onto more delicate white baby shawls. Even with my frequent mistakes they were beautiful. I crocheted shawl after shawl, uncertain of where they would be going. Finally it came to me. A friend was serving as a chaplain in the mother and baby unit at St Elizabeth’s Hospital. Perhaps some of the mothers there would like them for baptism shawls. My friend took them gladly, telling me, these will bring comfort to mothers who are having difficult pregnancies or whose babies had complications. A forgotten gift from long ago had come to the fore. Now there were shawls: to wrap around an anxious mother’s shoulders, or to swaddle a struggling infant. These shawls would house the holy. There are forgotten places in our church, too, that might gestate and birth the holy this Advent. Just this past week Kate told me that we had some sleeping bags that could be donated to our Advent drive for the population served by the Manet Health Outreach Team. [1] The people who are served by Manet’s team are homeless or have substance use disorders. I’m sure you’ve seen the kinds of places people sleep rough: in underpasses, derelict properties, sometimes parks and woods. A makeshift camp may be set up in any forgotten corner, where the residents won’t be moved on too soon. When Kate told me we had sleeping bags, I pictured a couple of scruffy unclaimed “lost and found” items from the youth groups who have stayed in our building. But in a cabinet at the back the storage room downstairs she showed me 10 beautiful, sturdy, warm, and practically brand-new sleeping bags. They had been purchased by City Mission for their groups who stayed at Wollaston Congregational Church. We had to suspend the youth group program soon after the bags were bought. Since then City Mission has changed their focus and stopped hosting service groups. [2] Having taken out the sleeping bags, our storage room was a little less cluttered. At the same time Kate found gifts that can truly house the holy: the overlooked people who cannot come inside. Sleeping bags from a forgotten place on our church will house the holy this year. All it took was the vision that it is time to let them go. Do you have a vision of a forgotten place where that the Holy One might be birthed in you, this Advent time so that Micah’s and Mary’s visions might be realized? Maybe -a long forgotten passion for peace? -or a treasure, stored away, no longer useful to you, but still of value to someone who needs it? -perhaps you have rusty constructions skills that could be put to use on a Habitat for Humanity project? -or out of practice, nesting and home-making skills – cooking, sewing, mending, knitting – that could make room for the holy? Or maybe, just maybe, your long forgotten gift is love, love buried deep within. You could house the holy simply by loving them, befriending them, wrapping your arms around them. Mary’s body housed the Holy One, who was born in Bethlehem of Judah. And so, as the carol says, “O Holy One of Bethlehem … be born in us today … O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Immanuel.” May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://www.manetchc.org/manet-community-health-center-opens-new-community-outreach-and-prevention-services-office-in-quincy/ [2] https://citymissionboston.org/ How Much is Enough? Joy Sunday Preached on December 12th, 2021 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 3:7-18 On this third Sunday in Advent when the theme is Joy, we hear the echoes of rejoicing in most of our lectionary texts. The minor prophet, Zephaniah, begins “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” The text from the prophet Isaiah, that serves as our psalm for this Sunday reminds the people of the abundance of God’s saving grace, saying “with joy draw water from the wells of salvation.” And, the letter from Paul to the church in Philippi, exhorts the early Christians to “rejoice in the Lord always.” Then we come to the gospel passage that brings us back to the wilderness and John the Baptist. Crowds come from all over the region around the River Jordan to be baptized and John calls them a brood of vipers! He asks them “who warned you to feel from the wrath to come?” And exhorts them to “bear fruits worthy of repentance.” This is not a feel-good passage. It is not what we expect on this third Advent Sunday. The crowds who come to John include the despised tax collectors, who work for the Romans and are known for extortion. He advises them to collect no more than what it due. And then there are brutish soldiers, who hail from many places around the empire. They patrol the villages, keeping a check on any uprising. It’s easy for them to abuse their power, and take what is not theirs: food, money, the young women of the countryside. John tells them not to extort money, not to threaten the people. He tells everyone in the crowd, if you have then share. An extra coat? Give it to someone who doesn’t have one. If there is food in your pantry, provide for those who are hungry. The people cannot argue that the problems of poverty and homelessness are too large to solve. John tells them to start right where they are. This is the work of their repentance and their baptism: who is on their doorstep? What do they have that they can share? How can they provide hospitality for the people they encounter in their own neighborhoods? The gospel passage selected for Joy Sunday this year seems oddly out of sync. The story of John the Baptist’s appearance may make us wonder why we devote an Advent Sunday to Joy in the first place. John addresses matters of extortion, violence and poverty. While Isaiah celebrates the never-ending spring of God’s mercy and salvation, John challenges those who take and keep too much for themselves. John anticipates God’s action as being one of pruning and cutting away. John does not shy away from the pain and suffering of his time. Instead he reminds his followers that what they have right now is enough. Simply having one extra garment allows someone to share the gift of clothing and warmth. Simply having food on the table allows someone to share the gift of a meal. And perhaps this is how they will find joy. In some churches, there is a tradition of holding a “Blue Christmas” service on December 21st, the longest night in the Northern Hemisphere and the winter solstice. A “Blue Christmas” is a service honors members who have lost loved ones or are experiencing grief for some other reason. It is a time to recognize that not everyone will be merry, or even happy, at Christmas. The intention is to provide space for those who feel left out of joyous Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations. We have not observed this tradition while I have been at WCC. But I hope that our Advent services and evening reflections, and even our Christmas services, make space for anyone who is experiencing grief or pain. To be honest, most of us experience some degree of grief or pain at Christmastime. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise. Even if we have not recently lost someone, memories of loss come back to us at this time of year. We may also experience the pain of unmet expectations. Our hopes for a happy family gathered around the hearth are rarely met. There is usually someone who is out of sorts, drinks too much, or doesn’t show up. The expectation of a perfect celebration in a spotless home with every detail of decoration and festive food perfected, lead to someone feeling exhausted and underappreciated. And how many of us hope that this will be the year when our parent, our child, our spouse or our partner perfectly reads our minds and present us with the most lovingly chosen, perfectly wrapped gift? Here at Wollaston Congregation Church, we may lament that the Christmas services are not as lavish as they used to be. Each year, it may seem that there are not enough poinsettias, not enough people in the congregation, not enough singing, not enough joy. We may not see an abundance of joy in the story of John the Baptist. But perhaps this is the place where we find out what is really meant by Advent joy, and how much is enough. Later in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus is an adult and has begun his ministry, we will hear a parable. Jesus warns his followers about greed and seeking an abundance of possessions in life. The story of the “rich fool” tells of a farmer whose land produces so abundantly that he runs out of room in his barn. Instead of sharing the abundance and celebrating with the community, the man re-invests all his money to build more barns. He wants to store away his grain and his possessions. Once he has built the barns and stored his things away, then he will relax, eat, drink and be merry. But that day never comes, because the man will die before he has a chance to enjoy himself. The story of the rich fool contains a word frequently used at Christmas and yet rarely found in the gospels. That word is “merry”. The man who is on a constant quest to store away more and more, imagines that when he finally has enough he will eat, drink and be merry. This story says nothing about joy. Although our gospel passage this morning does not sound very joyous, the gospels frequently mention joy. In fact, first occurrence of joy in Luke’s gospel is said by the angel to Zechariah, who will be John the Baptist’s father. Zechariah is told that his son will be a joy, and many will rejoice because of his birth. Even dour John will bring joy! The contrast of the word “merry” with “joy” brings up a particular memory for me, concerning my grandmother who lived with my family in her later years. I’ve spoken about my grandma before. She was generally a quiet person although she had some strong opinions. Her life was one of both austerity and kindness. During the depravations of the early of the 20th century and then World War II, she had learned to give away her second coat. When she heard that a church member had fallen on hard times she walked down to her home and handed her a ten pound note. When my grandfather died, Nellie, an unmarried congregant with intellectual challenges became her regular Saturday dinner guest. When my mom and my aunt were young, Grandma began preparations for Christmas by having them decide which of their toys they would give away. My mom continued this practice with my brother and myself. We had to “make room” for our new gifts by donating some toys to the children’s hospital. After Grandma moved in with us, she continued her various activities including a weekly “women’s meeting” at our church. When Christmas came around, we were informed that the Women’s Meeting would be leading the Christmas Eve service. My aunt and my cousins, my mom and myself crowded into the usual “family pew” in the chapel. When it was time for the message, our jaws dropped in unison, as Grandma stood up. I’d never known Grandma to speak in church. That had been my grandfather’s role. She began a reflection on a greeting that was becoming more popular in UK at the time: “Merry Christmas.” Typically we would wish one another a “happy Christmas,” but probably as a product of movies that hailed back to the Victorian times, “Merry Christmas” making a come back. For my grandmother’s generation of Methodists this was a conflict. “Merry,” in English parlance, sometimes refers to intoxication. The Methodists of my grandparent’s age continued to abstain from alcohol. This was because of the great social problems caused by alcoholism, particularly among the working classes. To my knowledge my grandma never drank a drop. But this isn’t what her message was about. Her reflection concerned the deep happiness of Christians because of the birth of Jesus, as opposed to the surface merriment of celebrations of the season. And so, Grandma concluded the message by saying that, yes, she did wish us all a “Merry Christmas” but much more than that, she hoped and prayed we would have a “Happy Christmas.” I hope you can understand that the expression “Merry Christmas” will always remind me of this short, simple and profound Christmas message. Even that was enough that Christmas Eve. And, so, friends, it turns out that John the Baptist points the way to joy on this third Sunday. He reminds us that we have enough, even enough to share. He reminds us that hoping for future merriment, by storing away our abundance in bigger barns, is not a wise goal for our lives. Instead, we are to find joy in opportunities to share what is already enough. This year here at Wollaston Congregational Church we have the opportunity to share the gift of warmth and clothing, through our Missions Project for the population served by the Manet Community Health Centers Outreach Team. This team targets people who are homeless and those with substances use disorders. And, also, as a Church, we are in the midst of determining how much is enough for us … enough space, enough activity, enough accumulated “stuff” of our historical church. If and when we decide to turn over the majority of our space to the community, we will need to do some pruning and cutting away. May we do it with joy. May all God’s people say, Amen Opening the Door: Bringing Down Mountains and Leveling Valleys Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On December 5th, 2021 Scriptures: Baruch 5: 1-9 and Luke 3:1-6 This week we begin our new Advent sermon series, “Housing the Holy.” [1] This series will unfold as we go along. We will pray, sing, take in the minor keys of Advent, as we ponder the theme. We will be reminded that while our culture is full of the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations and celebrations, here in church we pause and wait. Instead of filling our lives with activities and stuff, we are invited to make room, clear a space, both physically and spiritually. Last week we would have begun to think about “Making Room” for the Holy. And this week we turn our thoughts toward “Opening the Door.” The scriptures we hear at this time of year focus on the prophets. And over the course of the next weeks we will be introduced to many prophets, some we already know and some may be new. My Old Testament professor in seminary used to say: Prophets have insight, not foresight. Prophets interpret the signs of the times. They mediate between God and the community. When God calls on them to speak, they generally resist, because they know that what they have to say will make them unpopular. They warn the community about the consequences of their action and inaction: their failure to take care of the poor, the migrants and immigrants, their failure to take care of the environment. And they also bring words of comfort and consolation to those who suffer. This morning we meet two prophets: Baruch and John the Baptist. You may not have heard of Baruch, as his book is not usually part of the Protestant Bible. It is in the Apocrypha of the Bible which is part of the Septuagint: a Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures. These books were stored in the libraries of the ancient world. Baruch is the person who was the scribe to the well-known prophet Jeremiah. We don’t know exactly when the person wrote in the name of Baruch lived, but we do know that his oracles are intended to comfort a people who have experienced devastation, and are far from home. Baruch offers the hope that the exiled and the displaced will be brought home to Jerusalem, that their paths will be made easier by the leveling of mountains, the raising of valleys. They will bask in God’s mercy and righteousness. The second prophet we meet this morning, is sometimes known at the last prophet of the Old Testament. John the Baptist straddles the time before Christ and the time of Jesus. He lives on the cusp of the two eras. He will gather a following of people who are dissatisfied with the religious and political status quo of his time. And then he will disappear, executed by Herod Antipas, and Jesus’ ministry will take over. We know John as Jesus’s older cousin, the one who prepares the way. In the passage we read from Luke’s gospel this morning, John appears in the wilderness. We have skipped the foreshadowing of John’s birth story in earlier chapters. Luke is careful to name the political and religious powers of the time: the Emperor, the Governor, the rulers, the High Priests. They reside in Jerusalem, and the Roman cities. John resides in the wilderness. It is said that prophets speak truth to power. But the powerful do not often listen. And so John goes around the region on the other side of the Jordan river from Jerusalem “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Baruch re-assures his people that God will make the way level and straight for them to come home. John places responsibility on the people. He instructs and commands “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” Next week will hear some specific instructions on the way of life John proposes, but for now we hear John calling for repentance. To repent means to turn around, to re-orient oneself. “Times are changing,” says John, “we are about to see the in-breaking of God into human history. Turn yourself toward it, pay attention, prepare yourself, make it easier for God to do the things that God is doing.” Let’s imagine, for a moment that we live in the region around the Jordan. We are country dwellers, downtrodden by Rome’s encroachment on our land, and the demand for taxes. Or we steward the land because we are in collaboration with Rome. Either way, we know who we are and what we are doing. Our harvests are taken to provide food and wine for the empire. We have become a part of a vast machinery and have little option but to cooperate. Our religious leaders operate as collaborators, keeping the peace with Pilate, who governs Judea, and Herod who only wants to feather his own nest. The temple collects the taxes that are funneled back to Rome. The occupiers justify it all by claiming to provide us with infrastructure, goods and services from all over the world. But there is little benefit and a great deal of suffering for us. Most of us lie at the bottom of the food chain. Even though we live in the land, we may as well be exiled from Judah and from Jerusalem. It has become foreign territory. This is no longer home. When John arrives to challenge all this, we may think that we have found our savior. Like generations of prophets before him, he speaks truth to power. He reminds the religious authorities of their responsibility to widows, orphans and sojourners: women, children and immigrants. John’s message may motivate us to resist and organize guerilla warfare on Jerusalem. But the Baptist preaches something else. “Come to the Jordan for the baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. If we are going to join this movement to make the way of the Lord straight and level, we must turn around, and reorient ourselves.” Do we understand what it would mean for every valley to be filled and every mountain being made low? -For the mountains that get between the uninsured and healthcare to be made low? -For the vast valleys that are spread between those who incurred student debt and paying it off through meaningful work to be filled? -For the bandit-ridden desert and the rough winter oceans, the migrants must cross toward a better life, to be made smooth and safe? -For the twisted maze, with traps and detours, that keep bringing a person back to the substance to which they are addicted instead of the stability they need, to be made straight? Like John’s community in the first century, we today live on a cusp. For some years now, the mainline protestant church in America has been facing a “new normal.” We have acknowledged the loss of attendees in churches and the distractions of the culture on Sunday mornings. We have noticed the busyness of a new generation of families and their lack of interest in church and faith. Our neighborhoods looks very different from the way they looked in the past. The new normal has come with a new neighborhood and a new community. We cannot assume our neighbors are descended from European protestants. Over the past few years Church people have said to one another “We have to re-imagine. We have to adapt to this new normal. Things will never be the same as they were in the past.” We still have to re-imagine and we still have to adapt, but now we are not alone. Massive cultural institutions are having to adapt to changes beyond their control. Institutions like employment, housing, the service industry, entertainment, healthcare and medicine. Everyone has to re-imagine. In our reading this morning, John offers us the key to “Opening the Door” to the holy this Advent. Our re-imagining means the re-orientation of repentance. And, still the call to adapt and change seems daunting. Some have closed their heart to imagining. Instead, they are doubling down keeping things the way things used to be. Some think there is a “war on Christmas” and they intend to fight back, instead of opening the door to housing the holy. Are there ways in which our hearts are closed to imagining? I know I can sometimes feel that my door is closing instead of opening. I allow the door to swing open just a little and the cold air rushes in. It’s dark outside. There are strangers out there. They speak different languages, laugh at different jokes. They wear strange clothes and cook foods I’ve never seen or tasted before. At the park where I walk there is a large community of people I think are northern African immigrants. There are older ladies, who walk together or alone on weekdays around the perimeter. They wear head-coverings and long flowing skirts with practical shoes and sweaters when it is cold. I hold our dog on the far side as I approach them because they seem nervous of her. I try to smile, but they don’t make eye contact. In my mind these ladies don’t approve of my walking attire and my uncovered hair. Probably, though, they are reserved and cautious of white women like myself. In the summer large family groups gather on the grass and eat picnics. And just a few days ago I encountered a family walking with their 3 children: each child a head taller that than other, beginning with the toddler. The mom tagged along, wearing a lovely red flowing dress and head covering. When they arrived at the soccer field they produced a ball and all played together. I had not expected to see the mom run and kick the ball, but she was good. I don’t know how to open my door this community. We live in the same neighborhood and walk the same paths in the park, and yet there seem to be mountains and valleys between us and our experiences. This morning’s theme is giving me an opportunity to think harder about opening my door. I have a few ideas: maybe get to know where the people I see in the park come from. Perhaps there is a café or restaurant where I can try their food. Do they drink tea or coffee? Are they in need of anything, or do I need something from them? If I am able to offer hospitality, it must be on their terms, not on mine. Also, we grapple with opening our doors to housing the holy. It seems challenging, and yet it is probably as simple as imagining: mountains brought low, valleys lifted up. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Worship Design Studio Worship Series “The Inn”, designed by Dr. Marcia McFee, www.worshipdesignstudio.com/theinn |
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April 2022
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