More than a day

I hope you’re having a Joyful Christmas.

You can have a merry one, too, and a happy one, but it isn’t always, and a few weeks back, I said that I would wish for everyone’s Christmas to be “joyful.” I mean that, so … Joyful Christmas to you.

And no, this isn’t a column that’s a week late. It’s still Christmas. Despite the number of memes that appeared on Boxing Day that say “ONLY 364 DAYS TIL CHRISTMAS” - often with the super excited face of Will Ferrell as Buddy, the elf - it’s still Christmas.

Technically, it’s a season. If you follow the church’s calendar, Christmas lasts - as a season - until Epiphany on January 6. That’s when we celebrate the arrival of the magi with their gifts and it’s a whole season, too. So, there’s twelve days worth of Christmas, just like in the song. So if you’re not following the church calendar, there’s still the traditional “Twelve Days of Christmas.” And don’t forget the traditions that celebrate Christmas on January 6 (Armenian Church) or 7 (Orthodox Church).

Still, some people like to get their decorations up early, do all the partying ahead of time and then take everything down and put it away on Boxing Day. That sounds like a good idea, “boxing” everything. Except that’s not the origin of Boxing Day. It dates from the 1600s in England when servants, trades people and others could expect to receive a gratuity of some kind, usually in the form of a Christmas box containing gifts, food and drink. Since they would likely have worked Christmas Day, they received it the following day. In other countries, the “box” is thought to refer to the Alms Box in churches which collected donations for the poor and sick, some of which was dispensed the day after Christmas on St. Stephen’s Day (remember “on the Feast of Stephen” in Good King Wenceslaus?). It’s a day of gratitude and thankfulness, not just for the day but the year before and the year ahead.

Remember, too, that at the heart of the story of Christmas Day (and we can debate “December 25” another time) is a birth. No matter what traditions, decorations or stories we add to it, it comes down to a story about the arrival of a little baby. So, yes, if you sang “Happy Birthday” to Jesus at some point, like we did at least once at our church, that’s appropriate. Thing is, though, despite those who celebrate a “Birthday Week” or even a “Birthday Month” (yikes), we tend to celebrate the day of our birth and, sadly, not the whole year. Why wouldn’t you celebrate you every day? After all, a birth day is just the beginning of a life.

In celebrating Jesus’ birthday, I believe we need to remember that Jesus is alive in each of us the other 364 days of the year, too. All that he taught, all the care and compassion and love that he shared, all of the wonder of life that he showed, all that began in this birth. Don’t wait a whole year to celebrate it.

I know it’s easier said than done.  There’s so much happening in the world that can dissuade us, so much around us that can make it difficult to live out what Jesus taught.  But in birth is promise.  New life brings new possibilities and every day, God invites us to new life in the promise of this child born in Bethlehem.

So, maybe don’t leave your decorations up all year. But maybe have a birthday week or month to remind yourself of the life Jesus lived and the one you live every day of the year. Maybe share that with others.

As Dickens’ Scrooge said “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!” Amen.

Right place, right time

Among all the beautiful decorations of Christmas time, my favourite is the creche or nativity scene.

It’s the tableau or diorama that represents the story of the birth of Jesus. It usually contains at least the baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph in a stable or cave where animals are kept, as it says in the Gospel of Luke. Sometimes there’s animals, especially a donkey, and there may be the shepherds who hear the story of the birth and have come to see, along with a sheep or two, also from Luke. There may also be magi, at least three, holding the gifts that Matthew describes, often with camels. And there might be an angel, too. Maybe even a star above it all. I recently saw one that had an innkeeper peering around the corner to see what was happening.

Pastors are often quick to point out what I already did, which is that this scene is created by at least two different sources and we sometimes add to it from others, like when we name the magi. That’s not in the bible. It’s also unlikely that Mary and Joseph actually had a donkey, the “stable” was probably just a cave, the magi probably didn’t get there until well after that night because the star didn’t appear until the birth and there’s a host of other things one could talk about to deconstruct this treasured Christmas tradition.

But why would you? Sure, there’s different perspectives and examining the individual stories can be truly meaningful. We should do that as well. But I think we put everyone there at the manger that night for a reason, even if we don’t really realize it at first. 

It’s because it’s right and true. Everyone belongs at the manger. We do, too.

A young couple, still trying to get to know each other, find themselves far from home. It’s late, there’s nowhere to go and she’s having a baby, a baby that’s, well, hard to explain. And yet, here he is and they wonder, with joy, at this tiny little miracle.

Shepherds certainly weren’t expecting to be there. They’re the lowest of the low in their society, poorer even than Mary and Joseph, and yet, they saw angels. Angels that gave them hope for something truly amazing. And here it is, in this tiny little miracle.

And over the side of the manger, they’re staring across at magi, wise foreigners from a distant land who have rich and expensive gifts. Their sign was a star and they weren’t even sure this was what they were looking for until they saw this tiny little miracle.

And don’t forget the animals. We put everything from sheep to pigs, chickens to camels in this stable, mostly, in fact, animals that wouldn’t even have been there. But we do, and they fit. This was their place, after all, and now there’s all these darn people in it. And this tiny little miracle.

Some people have even made their manger scene reflect changing times, different cultures and contemporary issues.

I can’t imagine that any of this was what anyone would have expected. And yet, here they all are, right where they belong. Poor and rich, the struggling and the seeking, the fearful and the certain, representing the ordinary, everyday uniqueness of all of us, here in one place together.

However you assemble your scene or tell the story, this is one moment in which we all belong there, sharing in this tiny little miracle.

Where's your Joy?

This year, I plan on wishing everyone a "Very Joyful Christmas."

I'm planning on it.  I'll probably forget every now and then and go with the old standard "Merry Christmas."  Some people like a good "Happy Christmas."  Or the new (relatively) "Happy Holidays," to be more inclusive.  Or even a "Season's Greetings."  I never really cared for that one: it seems a little impersonal and overly generic.  Which "season" and which "greeting" did you have in mind?  I think you should be able to be specific. And it could be winter or Advent or Christmas or Hanukkah, Yule, Kwanzaa,  Pancha Ganapati or others.

No, I'm going with "Joyful Christmas."  Here's why.

Not everyone is merry or happy.  For some, merriment is overwhelmed by grief, loneliness, pain, poverty, illness, unemployment or simply stress. 

But true joy - that's something different.  I believe everyone, somewhere deep in our hearts, everyone may find joy.  Sure, it can be happiness and merriment and all smiles and laughter.  It can be, but it is more than that: true joy, that's something that goes to the very core of who we are, the very deepest corner of our hearts, the very darkest place, and brings light.

I believe that true joy is found in the moment in which we find God present in our lives in a way which brings wholeness to our spirit.  There may be happiness, there may also be comfort and peace, a sense of rightness and a sense of certainty, but, most of all, of love.

Someone said that the real joy of Christmas isn't in the presents under the tree, but in the presence of God in our lives.  At Christmas, that becomes real in the baby born in Bethlehem.  Jesus came into the world so that we would rekindle our relationship with God, so that we might see the light of joy in the darkness.  "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us," writes the author of the Gospel of John, the "light of the world" became real.  Christina Rossetti wrote “Love came down at Christmas” with that same message. In living the Way of Jesus, we bring that presence to our everyday lives.

Still, joy is often not the first thing we feel.  The way to joy can take us through pain and grief, struggle and disappointment.  I know that it is easy to say and harder to live, but at the heart - the heart - of any feeling of loss is the remembering of that which has been lost.  The physical experience may be past, but we re-member and it grows in our living on.  In our disappointments, is it possible that we might find some joy in having done our best, or learned how to do our best from it?  Is it possible for us to look past the disappointment of an unsuitable gift and look more closely at the giver?  Can we find more in the relationship we have with that person, than the pair of bright orange socks they gave us for Christmas?

This is the story. God gave a baby, born to a poor couple who probably feared the questions people would ask about his parentage as much as they feared being able to afford to feed him.  The baby was born with little help in a dirty stable, far from home.  Angels didn't tell the wealthy or the wise first, they told poor, struggling shepherds that nobody really appreciated or respected.  The magi who came with gold, frankincense and myrrh had to work hard to follow the star and when they found the baby, they barely escaped with their lives.  Lots of children didn't, thanks to Herod's fear.

There's lots in the Christmas story that's about struggle and pain and fear.  But at it's heart is simply this: the joy of a moment of new life.  In that new life is the promise of the future. For all of us.

May this Christmas bring you joy.

Try saying that three times

I’m very grateful that there are people willing to get up in front of a room full of other people and help lead by reading something. Especially when that something is scripture. Even if you invite people to read from the translation or version that they’re most comfortable with, sooner or later it’s going to happen: you’re going to get names. Those old, oddly spelled, awkward to pronounce names from a very different time and place that leave people speechless.  There’s the classic “begats” - “so-and-so begat so-and-so who begat …” and so on. Or simply “so-and-so, son of so-and-so.” Those are important to establish lineage, which is often very important in the Bible. But another key purpose is to establish context.

This is a good time of year for that. We’re headed to Christmas and timelines are important, especially when we usually talk about John the Baptist on the second Sunday of Advent. He was the announcer of Jesus, the one who would proclaim his coming - as an adult. But we’re hearing his story - and his call to prepare - weeks before the birth of Jesus. John has a great birth story, too, by the way, very similar to Jesus’.  You can find it in Luke 1.

But we also hear about John, the adult, calling us to prepare. So here’s his introduction: "In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness" (Luke 3:1-2).

Okay, some of those aren't bad as biblical names go, but still. It would have been easier to just say “here’s John.” It's an important piece of the story, though, because it dates the events.  It's kind of like saying "in the sixty-sixth year of the reign of Elizabeth II, when Justin was Prime Minister, and Rachel was premier of Alberta, and John ruled in BC and Scott in Saskatchewan, during the papacy of Francis.”  Right, 2018, more or less.

Luke uses this same technique in another story we’ll hear soon. The story of the birth of Jesus begins "in those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria" (Luke 2: 1-2).

Except, as a means of dating things, it's complicated because these rulers and important people and big events don't always line up exactly. Lots of debate about that.

But is that Luke's only point, I wonder? And why are we hearing the story of John the Baptist - as an adult - during Advent?  Born a few months before Jesus, he was a cousin who's role was to proclaim Jesus' coming - not his birth, but his coming as "Lord" and saviour.  This story is thirty years after their births.  So why hear it now?

Of course, the "prepare the way of the Lord" is good advice anytime.  But I think this one sentence reminds us of something else, equally important.  It's not about when, it's about who.

Tiberius was the Roman Emperor, Pilate was a governor, Herod, Philip and Lysanius were kings (more or less, “tetrarchs,” technically), Annas and Caiaphas were high priests.  These were important, wealthy, powerful people. John was the son of an ordinary, everyday priest in the temple.

Augustus was an emperor, Quirinius a governor. Jesus was the just the son of a carpenter.

John and Jesus were nobodies. They had no status or station, no money, no armies, no power at all. But, "the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness" and the angel announced to shepherds that the Messiah is a "child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." Not what anyone expected.

Maybe this is to remind us to expect less and be open to more at Christmas time.  God doesn't speak to us through the bright lights, shimmering trees and miles of tinsel, but through one solitary star in the night sky.

The Days Are Surely Coming

The new church year begins this week. Not with a festival, cards, a big party or a special dinner. There’s not much decoration that’s for new year’s day, maybe even just a single candle on a wreath. A wreath with four other candles on it, and this first one isn’t even the most important. It’s the first one on a journey somewhere else. Lighting one each week, by the time we get to the candle that matters most, this first one might be just a stub. And yet, a blazing light, a star even, metaphorically speaking, because that candle represents hope.

Christmas is coming and the church year begins with Advent, a time of anticipation and preparation for Christmas. Four weeks with the themes hope, peace, joy and love.

I know what you’re thinking. You started preparing for Christmas with some shopping back on Black Friday or Cyber Monday. And there’s so many business Christmas parties, you might have had your’s back in November. You might even have put your tree and decorations up a respectful amount of time after November 11 and started your Christmas baking. Maybe you’re holding off on the Christmas cards until the last moment. Yes, that’s all preparation, that’s all anticipating The Big Day. It is.

You might also be preparing yourself for a time of year that’s difficult. Grief and loss are so sharply felt in those moments that others find happy, when we can’t find the sense of celebration that’s happening all around us. That, too, is anticipation and requires some preparation.

That’s right where the church year begins, with anticipation and preparation for what’s ahead. I think that’s why the first candle is hope. Whether you’re wrapped up in all that busy-ness or holding on to grief in the midst of all the chaos, hope reminds us, deep in our hearts, that there is something special ahead: calm at the end of the busy-ness, a light lifting of the grief, new life, the possibility and potential of a new beginning.

That’s the thing about hope. It’s not about when things - busy or hard or both - will be over, it’s about what will begin. Hope carries us through to that new beginning. Whenever, however, whatever it may be. Hope isn’t quantified by time or expectation. Hope is about the arrival of peace, inner joy and love and the wholeness that comes with them.

The prophet Jeremiah knew about hope. He lived in very dark times for the people of Israel. Conquered, occupied and exiled, the Temple destroyed, the people had good reason to feel hopeless. But Jeremiah told them that “the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfil the promise I made” (Jer. 33:14). That promise is about new life coming from the line of David, of the restoration of justice, righteousness and safety for the people. That hope references a promise made in the past, acknowledges the present struggle and offers hope that it will be fulfilled. Those days are coming, it’s certain.

In our own time, we might well feel like we need to hear those words, too. And in Jesus, Christians see the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy. Jesus is born from the line of David, so he is the new branch Jeremiah refers to. But I wonder if we aren’t limiting Jeremiah’s brave and inspiring words of hope with that “fulfillment.”

Each year, we commemorate the coming of Jesus in the distant past, while affirming his presence in our lives today and calling people to live into the way of Jesus in the days ahead. That’s hope.

Jeremiah’s prophecy is fulfilled with every act of kindness we share, every time we stand up for what’s right, every time we choose to love, care and support our neighbour, every moment of forgiveness, every selfless act of service. To me that’s being Jesus, over and over again. To me, that’s the new life, the affirmation of that hope, the sharing of that hope, reminding others that it’s present in them, too. It’s present in all of us. We’re all a part of fulfilling that hope.

I like that phat Jesus

Is that still a cool word to use, “phat?” It means excellent, cool, awesome. It’s african-american slang that comes out of the beginnings of hip hop music in the late 1970s and early ‘80s. Like, “a phat beat” means a really cool tune.

Yeesh, trying to explain the meaning of cool slang terms starts to sound really ridiculous. But there it is. I’m not making it up. Google it or check the Oxford Dictionary. Yes, it made the Oxford Dictionary.

So, I think Jesus is most definitely phat. Really, because I believe that Jesus is excellent, cool and awesome. I also think he was pretty hip for his day and his ability to connect with people was, in part, due to his openness to communicating in a way they’d understand. He could be the light of the world to those who felt in the dark. He could be bread to the hungry and water for the thirsty. He told stories that used contemporary images and metaphors that people would understand in their own context. Farmers heard about sowers and vineyards, people who fished heard about, well, fish.

That’s also why you will probably not ever hear me say that Jesus is phat. It’s just not my language or my image. And that’s the point. We need to image Jesus, describe Jesus and tell Jesus’ stories with language, images, metaphors that we understand. That’s what Jesus did. 

It’s important, of course - and I’m grateful - that we have so much scholarship and study that illuminates the meaning of the things Jesus did and said in the first century. In Roman occupied Judea. With a variety of very different kinds of people. But, rather than simply explaining things, couldn’t we use that scholarship to create images and metaphors for our own time? Jesus built relationships with people where they were, how they where. Wouldn’t we deepen our relationship with Jesus if we owned the images, metaphors and language of the stories?

Take this Sunday, the last Sunday of the church year before Advent begins. In many denominations, it’s referred to as Reign of Christ or Christ the King Sunday. The theme reflects the idea that it’s Jesus that should rule our lives, not the secular world. The world would be a very different place if it were Jesus’ kingdom.

Even as I write that, I think that needs way more explanation. To Jesus, that meant serving others, loving and caring and empowering people. It was never about power over others, never about how we might understand that image of a king. That’s presuming you have an image of a king in mind beyond fairy tales, knights and the historical royalty the world has experienced. There’s few places where there’s a king or queen that rules. You’re more likely to find countries with dictators, but then, that might be a similar image. My last name is King and I can’t really relate to this image of Jesus. It needs unpacking and explaining.

When you imagine Jesus, what do you see? There’s no physical description in the bible and yet, in the west, we’ve tended - until recently - to portray Jesus as a pale, white european male with brown or blond hair and blue eyes. Not at all what a first century Judean Jew would look like, but, yes, what we would look like. The dominant part of society, that is. And there’s the problem.

I think we do need to image Jesus in a way that’s meaningful to us. But we can’t insist that’s the only image and we can’t say that’s the only way to embody Jesus. I believe I’ve seen Jesus, and been inspired by Jesus, in a host of people in my life. Colour, gender, shape, style shouldn’t matter except in how it helps you relate to what’s in the heart. And hearing other people’s ways of imagining Jesus may even open a door and bring us closer.

So you’ll probably never hear me talk about phat Jesus. Although, I might say it and mean something else. I do have an idea that Jesus shared a lot of his teaching and built a lot of relationships over food. I know he walked a lot, but I also wonder if he might have been a little more husky than slim. I like food and I don’t walk enough. Wonder if Jesus looked like me?

Still Standing

Jesus and his followers were leaving the Temple, when one of his disciples makes a seemingly innocuous comment. “Look, Teacher! What massive stones! What magnificent buildings!” (Mark 13:1)

And they would’ve been right. Back in the day, the Temple was impressive. And it darn well should have been. After all, it was the house of God. So you’d expect that Jesus might say something like, “why, yes it is. The fine craftsmanship and sheer grandeur of the place is worthy of the glory of God’s presence.”

But he doesn’t. Instead he says that all these buildings will come down. There’ll also be wars and famine and earthquakes and this is just “the beginning of the birth pangs.” A lengthy apocalyptic passage follows reminding the disciples to keep watch, be ready and not be deceived by others claiming to be Jesus.

So, just a regular day, then.

Feels like it, sometimes, doesn’t it? That’s when it’s best to remember that what we so often fearfully refer to as “The End Times” are, in fact, “the beginning of the birth pangs.” The new heaven comes from the end of the old sinful ways. And that, we should engage with hope.

But let’s go back to the disciple and their admiration for the buildings for a minute. I think the context of this comment can give us something to think about. 

They’re leaving the Temple after a lengthy stretch of Jesus’s authority and teaching being questioned by the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders. These Temple authorities tested him and asked him questions hoping to embarrass him. At the end of all that, Jesus challenges us to be discerning about leaders who like to dress the part and be respected, but don’t “walk the talk.” He then observes a poor widow who gives all that she has to the Temple and commends her generosity and, I think, her belief in what she’s giving her money to. She trusts that she’ll be taken care of, as she should be, by the Temple - the extension of God’s love and grace. And now, here we are at the magnificence of the building.

So often we seem to live in a “bigger is better” world. Size matters, in structure and quantity. But what about quality and commitment? What about joy? Is the important thing the structure itself or what it stands for? That’s a question churches are continually asking, as are many other organizations where the people are the most important ingredient. Or they should be. The size and beauty of the Temple honour God, but what about the actions of the Temple, what about its care of the poor widow? Isn’t God honoured by love, grace and compassion being lived out?

What’s more is the question of which is the more durable, the building or what it stands for. The Temple will be undone by time, if not force, but God, loving and life-giving, grows and changes and lives. Always. We can see that in history, we can see that in the world around us and even in our own bodies. Structures, whether physical buildings, institutions, religions, hierarchies or societies can be broken down and pass away. But love, joy, hope, peace, grace, compassion - these are the things that carry on because they are endless, boundless and timeless.  Like God, they can’t be worn out.