Starry, Starry Night

I was standing in the church kitchen when I saw the stars.   They were just there, on the wall by a back door.  One silver and one gold.  I wasn't really sure why they were there, except that it was Epiphany and I knew Fern was going with "what's epiphany?" for a theme, it said so on the sign.

I should explain that I wasn't at my church on Sunday.  Fern did the service and the sign out front said "What's Epiphany?" so I assume since January 6 is Epiphany, she meant "the" Epiphany not just any old epiphany.  Although … hold that thought, I'm having an epiphany.  I'll come back to that.

I'm on a sabbatical leave for the next three months.  In the United Church, a minister has an opportunity, after five years of ministry, to step away from the regular week to week church work in order to work on something different, for which you wouldn't normally have time.  The idea is that it be time to refresh and renew, be creative and inspired, and bring that back to your ministry at the end of it.  I'll be doing some work around children's stories and learning resources.  But I'm getting away from my point here a bit, so ask me about it sometime.

So, the stars.  I looked around and there was another one over the office door.  And then there's the three really nice big ones we put up at the front at Christmas time.  Stars everywhere, it seems.

Yes there are.  And there were, too.

In the wonderful Christmas story we tell, the magi arrive at the stable with their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, having followed a bright new star from distant lands.  Except: they wouldn't have arrived at the manger, would they?  The star had to appear, they had to interpret the sign, get things together and travel.  Then they stop to see Herod and move on.  That's going to take some time.  Matthew (in whose gospel we find this part of the story) even says "and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was.  When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.  On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage" (Matt. 2:9-11).

So, okay, the magi were a little late to the party. They still get the job done, though: Jesus is revealed (it's an epiphany!) as the promised one, the messiah.  And they brought gifts to acknowledge a king.  But, wait a minute, what about that mobile star?

The way Matthew tells it, the star moved.  The magi didn't just navigate their way to it, the star led them.  It went ahead of them and "stopped over the place where the child was."  That's a pretty amazing star.  And, even more amazing still, only the magi seemed to be aware of it.

Surely, if everyone could see it, at some point Herod or his people would have gone "hey, what's that in the sky?  And why is it moving this way?"

So maybe the magi could see it because they were looking.  Just as the angels in Luke's story appeared to the shepherds, the lowest of status in society, maybe the star appeared to the magi because they were already seeking it.  Matthew doesn't suggest that it was the biggest star, just that the magi "observed his star at its rising."  They noticed it, it got their attention and it meant something to them.  And they followed this sign to Jesus.

Look around you.  The sky is full of stars.

Thurman says it better

Well, that's Christmas.

I'm pretty sure I say that every year, as many do, but I hope you understand that I say it in jest.  The day we anoint as Christmas may have passed, but Christmas isn't over.  It's just begun.

Pretty sure I say that every year, too, probably in some long-winded, explanatory way.  But not this year.  I want to talk about beginnings for a moment, not endings, so here's some words from the great Howard Thurman that I'm pretty sure covers the "Christmas is over" thing.  If they seem familiar, they're the basis for Jim Strathdee's hymn "I am the light of the world."  It first appeared in Thurman's 'The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations' in 1885.

When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and the princes are home,

When the shepherds are back with their flocks,

The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,

To heal the broken, 

To feed the hungry, 

To release the prisoner, 

To rebuild the nations, 

To bring peace among people, 

To make music in the heart.

That's the thing about Christmas, it's just a beginning.  It seems like the culmination of weeks of preparation - and celebration - and now it's done, but it's not.  It's a birth.

"In the beginning."  The same words open both the book of Genesis and the Gospel of John, each a story of creation and light coming into the darkness.  We draw our Christmas Story, the birth narrative, from the gospels of Luke and Matthew, but John has a birth story to tell, too.  A story of God becoming flesh and of love being birthed into the world, of light coming that cannot be overcome by darkness (John 1:1-20).

There is life ahead for this love birthed into the world, just as there is for Jesus.  Just as there is for us.  Here we are at the beginning of a new year, witnesses, like John, to the love, the light and the life that is at the heart of the Christmas story.  

Well, that's Christmas.  Now, let's get living.

There needs to be an Innkeeper

We tell a story at Christmas.  The story we tell is full of angels and shepherds.  There's a man and his very pregnant wife who rides on a donkey all the way to tiny Bethlehem.  There's a manger full of hay and assorted animals standing around.  There's a baby born in the night and three kings who followed a great star to find this baby.  Oh, and there's an innkeeper who turns Mary and Joseph away because there's no room, only to then have a change of heart and offer them a stable out back.

Except there isn't.  An innkeeper, I mean.  There just isn't.

It's the Christmas Story we tell by putting together the accounts of Luke and Matthew.  Then we throw in some creative interpretation and maybe even add a detail or two that's not actually in Luke and Matthew and we get the picture perfect scene that makes a Christmas Creche (or nativity set), a beautiful card and a beautiful story.

I don't want to belabour the point that it's the story we tell, not the story that's in the Bible.  I think there are valid reasons to tell the story the way we do, just as there are valid reasons to examine more closely what the Bible really says.

Maybe the most important reason for the story we tell might be this: surrounded by the world of today, we need to hear a pastoral story of hope and peace.  Perhaps then, we might step out of our crazy, hectic, stressful, hurting and broken world and spend a moment at the manger with a quiet, smiling baby who represents the coming of God's love into the world.  After all, the world around the manger that night wasn't really so different.  It was hurting and broken, too.  And that story we tell is about God doing something different from the world we know.

There's a wonderful Christmas prayer from the Iona Community in Scotland that says "you crept in beside us.  And no one knew.  Only the few who dared to believe that God might do something different.  Will you do the same this Christmas, Jesus?"

That's why we need to imagine the peaceful fields of sheep, even with an angel host above it.  Or a cozy stable with a nice warm and comfy manger full of hay.  Or the glow of candlelight while we sing "Silent Night" before going out into stillness of a moonlit Christmas Eve.  God's love doesn't explode on the world, it creeps in.  The moment at the manger is just the beginning.

Oh, and about that innkeeper.  There's no innkeeper in Luke.  It just says that "there was no place for them in the inn" (Luke 2:7).  But, just imagine, whether it was a busy and crowded town or a single overwhelmed innkeeper, it helps us to put a face on that.  Because that face could be ours.

Mary and Joseph were guided by angels, messengers from God, who told them what to do and to not be afraid to do it.  Same with the shepherds.  The magi (the three kings) followed the star, a celestial guide of a prophecy.  But the innkeeper and the people in Bethlehem that night, they didn't know who was coming or what was happening.  All the innkeeper had to do was answer the door and decide whether to let them in.  And a manger was enough.

Find a quiet moment to wonder about the Christmas story and the child in the manger.  Will you make room?  Not just on Christmas Eve, but each day ahead, will you make room for God's love?

Finding Joy

Shrek's been in the house the last few weeks.  Our church in Bashaw has hosted nine performances (and all the costumes, sets and rehearsals) of Shrek: The Musical.  And it was awesome.  "Really, really," as Donkey says.

After the final show, one of the audience came up to me and said "are you the pastor of this church?"  I said yes and he said "well that was just wonderful.  I think it's great that you allow this here."

Not the first time I've heard that comment and I'm still so surprised to hear it that I don't really know what to say.  I said "thanks."

The thought never crosses my mind that we "allow it."  I think we treasure it.

I should mention, if I haven't before, that Bashaw Community Theatre stages its performances in the church itself, not in the hall.  The swamp and castle for Shrek cover the cross (and most of the front of the church).  Just as the sets did for all the previous plays.  So I can see why some people might think that there's an issue of appropriateness.

Not to mention content, right?  Shrek's full of ogres and fairytale characters and, well, there's that burp and fart competition that Shrek and Fiona have.  Oh, and Pinocchio says "crap" and Little Red Riding Hood says the swamp "smells like butt."  But I'm pretty sure I've talked about this kind of thing before.  This isn't our first play with farting.  Or fairytale characters, or fighting, running, yelling or anything else that people might think is inappropriate to a sacred space.  Don't even start me on the symbols of ancient Egyptian religions in Aida or the man-eating plant in Little Shop of Horrors.

Yes, I can see why there may be some questions and we've had them, too.  There has even been times that we changed a thing or two.  What's always been important to us, I hope, has been that we are true to our understanding of what makes a space sacred.

And that has been on my mind this week, because the third Sunday of Advent is joy and I think that is a big part of it. 

It would be easy to point to the enjoyment of everyone in the audience, it's really good entertainment.  How do you value the smiling and wondering faces of children and adults enthralled with Shrek, Donkey and Fiona only a few steps away from them or the fun the cast and crew have in putting it all together?  There's a lot of happiness to go around.

But, more than that, there's a deeper and more profound joy. A place is not made sacred because we say so or because we put a label on it, it's made sacred by the spirit of those who gather there to create a community in which everyone's gifts are acknowledged, encouraged and embraced.  It's made sacred by the sharing of struggle and success, the moments of achievement and fulfillment, the lifting of spirits, the warmth of relationships and yes, even the happiness.  When people feel welcome, appreciated and safe, then amazing things happen.

You might enjoy a great show, you might feel touched by the ideas and themes or even the performance itself.  One person at Shrek said that it's so great to see something that's so much fun for kids, but has such a great message about how we judge others and about knowing who we really are.  But there's more: there's a sense of family.  For cast and crew, it comes from all those hours together, from all the hard work, the learning and growing and, most importantly, the relationships we build.  That's the deeper joy of knowing a place where you belong because you're you.  That's a place where love is shared.

We call it community theatre, but I'd hope that might be how we'd talk about church, too.  And, yes, I know that not all churches are like that, nor are all groups that call themselves "a community."  I also know that the ideal that we call a "family" can struggle as well.

But, listen, here is good news: the joy of Christmas is that very thing.  It isn't about the stuff that will make us happy for a moment, but the moment that will stick with your heart through happiness and grief, struggle and success, comfort and conflict.  In that moment will be love, shared.

That's what makes the family or community.  Or church.  That's what brings true joy, that love is present and we belong in it.

In the darkest moment, light came. 

In the meanest moment, love came. 

In the quietest moment, the Word was spoken into life.

And in the loneliest moment, we found belonging.

Turn to Peace and Goodwill

A good opening line's important.  This week, mine was going to be "is it just me, or is everyone a little edgy lately?"

That could be a good opening line, but it's not right now.  Right now, it's trite, foolish and dismissive.  Because the answer's "yes."

And it's not hard to see why.  Look what's happening in the world: another mass shooting, terrorism, violence, climate change, the economy, unemployment, poverty, hunger.  Perhaps, though, it's not because any of that's new, but because it's not.  And it's become significantly closer and more personal.  We're getting "wore down," as my wife would say, and we're showing it.

We're becoming overwhelmed with fear, hurt and anger.  And we're expressing it.  Look beyond the usual generalizations we make about media and government, and look at what people are saying and how they're saying it.  Look at social media and the day to day conversations we're having in coffee shops and meetings, even street corners.

Facebook's always been a place where people will post - and believe - pretty much anything, but lately grumpy cat's been replaced with vitriolic and often personal attacks, not always based on substantiated fact.  "Trash" or "smack" talk isn't just isolated to intimidating opponents in a competitive sport, it's made it's way into everyday use.  And we're responding.

But it's not just talk.  It's confrontation and fight.

Remember the movie The Untouchables, way back in 1987?  Jim Malone is talking to Eliot Ness about Al Capone - in a church, no less - and he says, "you wanna know how to get Capone?  They pull a knife, you pull a gun.  He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue.  That's the Chicago way!  And that's how you fight Capone.  Now do you want to do that?  Are you ready to do that?"

No.  Say "no."   The right answer is "no."  That wasn't Ness's answer, but, to be fair, in the end they got Capone on tax evasion.

Still, it's tended to be our answer for a very long time.  So let's just pause and take a moment to remind ourselves that we have a choice.  That choice should be informed by love, not hate and by hope, not fear.  Those are the things that bring peace and goodwill, things that should be on our mind at this time of year.

As part of our Advent, preparing the way for Jesus, we meet John the Baptizer, too.  The gospel of Luke describes him with the words of the prophet Isaiah, as a lone voice, "crying in the wilderness" that people should prepare with repentance.  Please don't be taken aback by that word.  We've loaded it up with guilt and sin, required certain behaviour from it and made forgiveness conditional on it, but that's not what it's about. And God's forgiveness isn't conditional, anyway.  But to repent simply means to turn away from behaviour that's hurtful and destructive and turn to what is true.  John called people to turn towards the love that was coming their way in Jesus.

As we turn towards Christmas, take a moment and make a choice.  In the face of all that overwhelms us, choose to hope.  Choose to bring peace.  Choose to love.

Something's Coming

Winter is coming.

If you’re a fan of Game of Thrones, you might hear that statement a little differently than if you were a snowmobile enthusiast.  In GoT, winters can last years and be unduly harsh, not to mention all sorts of nastiness that comes from north of the wall.  Snowmobilers can’t wait for that first snowfall, just enough to make it worthwhile taking it for a spin.

I guess.

The first one’s made up and you might not have any idea what it’s about.  Or even care.  But, to be honest, I’ve never been on a snowmobile, so I don’t really know what that’s like.  (Please don’t offer to take me for a ride.)

It rather depends on your perspective.

Advent is here, and that means that something’s coming.  Literally.  Advent means “coming” in Latin.  These four weeks remind us to prepare, to get ready, because something’s coming.  What that is, exactly, depends on your perspective.

This could be the liturgical season of Advent, or, as some may know it, Shopping Season, the Season of Stress, the Party Season, Cold for the Holidays, "Oh My, Is It December Already?,” "Is It Christmas Yet?,” and even, yes, my personal favourite, “winter is coming” (you have to hear it in John Snow’s voice).

That last one's a little tricky, too, because, well, you know … for some people, even saying the "C" word is wrong.  It's religious and we can't have that in our secular society.  Say Happy Holidays or Season's Greetings, even Compliments of the Season (what does that mean, anyway?), but don't say Merry Christmas.  Oh dear, I just did.

Maybe "The War on Christmas" is more of an American thing, but we get caught up in it, trying so hard to be politically correct, I suppose.  Some celebrate other faith festivals at this time of year and some celebrate a good time and perhaps they'd rather not hear about Christmas or see the symbols or hear the songs.  So maybe Happy Holidays is good.  Well, if you get holidays now.  Or Seasons Greetings.  That's good because there are a variety of seasons, right?

Jews celebrate Hanukkah this month.  Buddhists celebrate Bodhi Day in December.  Then there's the Winter Solstice (Modraniht if you're a traditional Saxon), Saturnalia, Pancha Ganapti. Christmas, Yule and Kwanzaa.  And it's winter, just plain old winter.  So maybe a generic greeting is good.

Or, maybe we could use what's appropriate and respect our uniqueness.

I think we could spend a lot of time worrying about keeping the "Christ" in Christmas in word and song and symbol.  But isn't it more important to keep the "Christ" in Christmas in deed?

Near the beginning of Dickens' classic "A Christmas Carol," Scrooge tells his nephew that he should "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.''  "Keep it!'' repeated Scrooge's nephew.  "But you don't keep it.''

Precisely.

Keeping the "Christ" in Christmas isn't really about words and symbols, it's about how we live.  It's about recognizing that, as Christina Rossetti wrote, "Love came down at Christmas," the same love Jesus preached and taught and - most importantly - lived.  When we live that love each day, not just on Christmas Day, we truly keep the "Christ" in Christmas.

Oh, Advent.  You probably thought I got off on a bit of a tangent there.  Not really.

Advent is traditionally observed as the time of preparation for Christmas, a time of waiting and expectation, a time of hope.  But the "Christmas" that we prepare for isn't just a commemoration of the past event.  Jesus did come, Jesus lived and died and lived again,  and continues to live on in us.  Jesus also invites us to live as he taught, loving each other in this and every moment.  Jesus also invites us to look forward with hope to his coming to us again, whether that’s in some later apocalyptic moment or in those little moments each day when we see Jesus alive in others around us.  So Advent is, in a sense, a time to prepare to celebrate what has been, engage what is and hope for what is to come.  That's a lot of preparation to be observed.

So maybe it's time to do less observing and more experiencing.  Advent is the time to "let every heart prepare him room," as Isaac Watts wrote in "Joy to the World."  In the life lived after that first Christmas, Jesus taught us how to prepare to receive him again.  And again.  And again.  That'll put the "Christ" in Christmas.

Location, location, location

Perhaps now is a good time to talk about borders.

We use borders to define us.  Despite our constant crossing of them, over reaching them and claiming land beyond them, the borders of our nations define the area in which a certain authority, society and culture has rule.  Our understanding of our place is determined by them.  In Canada, “this land is your land, this land is my land,” but only from Bonavista to Vancouver Island.

And that vast geographic territory has such a diversity within it.  The cultural mosaic, a term first used in the 1920’s to describe the influence of so many eastern Europeans and Scandinavians on the prairie landscape, still describes the vast array of cultures and traditions that have found a home here.  Multiculturalism is a part of the Canadian identity - within our borders.

Even in The Lion King.  Remember that moment when Mufasa is showing young Simba the kingdom and they look out at the vast expanse of the land?  Mufasa says that “everything the light touches is our kingdom.”  And Simba asks “what about that shadowy place?”  “That is beyond our borders,” replies Mufasa, “you must never go there, Simba.”

Even “everything the light touches” has a border.  Darkness.

The thing about that, though, is that we see a border - our border - as describing the edge of what’s within it.  Our kingdom is defined by what it contains.

This week is Christ the King Sunday or Reign of Christ.  It’s the last Sunday of the church calendar, as Advent marks the beginning of the year, and an opportunity to consider the image of Jesus as King, an evocative and powerful image, but a confusing and confounding one for many.  What kind of king is Jesus, if the term “king” still has any meaning for us? What, or where, is the kingdom of Jesus?  How does Jesus rule in the world?

The gospel story is from John 18, after Jesus is arrested and taken by the temple authorities to Pilate, the Roman governor.  They want Pilate, the representative of the power that governs them to deal with Jesus, who, they say, claims to be king of the Jews.  Imagine the scene: Jesus, with only the clothes on his back, no money, no army, none of the trappings of what we might recognize as  power, stands before Pilate, in the heavily fortified praetorium, his soldiers nearby, surrounded by all the wealth and power of the mighty Roman empire.  And Pilate asks Jesus if he is a king.  My kingdom is not from this world, Jesus says.  When pressed by Pilate, Jesus says “You say that I am a king.  For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice” (John 18:37).

Who really has the power here?

Pilate brings all the physical might of Rome, who’s borders reach almost to the edge of the known world.  But empires fall and borders change and the world grows.  Even with all that power, Pilate seems to wonder at what’s really happening here.

The kingdom Jesus speaks of us has no borders and cannot be contained.  It springs from the smallest geography of all, the heart, to encompass the vastness of life.  If Jesus rules in your heart, geographic borders will not stop you from embracing your neighbour, offering aid and care to those in need.  If Jesus rules in your heart, love and compassion will stand up to hate and fear, wherever it is found.  If Jesus rules in your heart, justice and respect for all, no matter how different, will be the goal of all law and governance.   If Jesus rules in your heart, equality and understanding , grace and, above all, love will be the way we live with each other.

Those aren’t just poetic words, they’re real, practical and doable.  We bring the kingdom of God by living out what’s in our hearts, not by closing our minds, sealing our borders and separating ourselves from the world.  In the world where Jesus rules in our hearts, the light does shine everywhere, even into the shadowy places.