A Christmas Wish

I wish for peace this Christmas.

My wish is not so grand as to ask that the world will see less conflict, an end to war and violence and a more cooperative approach to all relationships. I would like that and it’s truly important. I forever hope that we will continue to struggle towards that peace. And I mean the hope of faith and certainty that we will get there. One day.

But this Christmas, I wish for something simpler, something more personal: peace for you.

I wish for peace that is a quieted spirit in a frenetic world.

I wish for peace that is rest from anxiety.

I wish for peace that is the warming of cold hearts.

I wish for peace that is the healing of broken hearts.

I wish for peace that is a moment of comfort in grief.

I wish for peace that is forgiveness.

I wish for peace that is a healthy mind and body.

I wish for peace that is having enough.

I wish for peace that is contentment with being just who we are.

I wish for peace that is found in belonging.

I wish for peace that is time with those we love.

I wish for peace that is found in dreams and in remembering.

I wish for peace that is found in visions and learning.

I wish for peace that is a warm bed.

I wish for peace that is a sky full of stars.

I wish for peace that is fresh air and clean water.

I wish for peace that is wholeness.

I wish for peace that is knowing we are all loved.

I wish you peace this Christmas.

Imagine that

Last week, I wrote about the song “Mary did you know.” I mentioned the controversy around it (yes, Mary did know, why are you asking?) but went in the direction of how valuable it is to ask questions and wonder about the characters in the Christmas Story. How else can we engage them, get to know them, relate to them. Imagine the story coming alive. Imagine the different perspectives in the story from all those characters. Imagine what that might say to us today. Imagine the timeless story finding its way into today’s world.

Wonder. Imagine.

I also suggested that the angel’s visit to Mary provided only the big picture, not the details of getting there, first to the birth and then the life which will be lived. In talking about that, I referred to the expectations of the people for what kind of messiah would be coming. It’s something we’re often reminded of, particularly at Christmas, but also later, when Jesus arrives in Jerusalem that last week of his life. I wrote “remember, just like so many of the other characters in the story, Mary’s understanding of the messiah they were expecting was likely a warrior-king with wealth and armies that would overthrow the oppressor and restore the glory of Israel. Truly, that would be somebody that would be worthy of ‘the throne of his ancestor David.’”

Someone called me on my minister-splaining and suggested that it’s possible Mary didn’t think that at all. What if the reason Mary was chosen, the reason she was “favoured” by God, was because she believed that the messiah could be something different? What if Mary knew the messiah could be a bringer of peace, not war, a healer, a builder, a lover? What if Mary could already imagine something different? What if there were others who wondered that, too? “You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one,” sings John Lennon in Imagine.

What if that’s how the adult Jesus connected so closely with the twelve seemingly random people he chose as his inner circle of friends? What if that’s how Jesus connected with all his followers: that they, too, dreamed of love and peace and grace, that they, too, intuitively knew we are all both human and divine?

That’s a lot of questions, but that’s just my point: I want to know more. I want the characters in the story to be more than flat, one-dimensional set pieces that justify a particular religious thought or tradition. I want them to be people that I can relate to, complicated and simple, fearful and strong, faithful and tempted, loving and challenged by love, divine and human.

Mary may have been “meek and mild,” she may also have been tough and strong. Perhaps she was innocent and naive or she may have been an old soul, aware of the wonders of the universe. She may have been so much more than the bare words of old gospel writers. I wonder if she could tell us more about that. 

Is it any wonder?

“Mary did you know” has become a popular Christmas song recently. I like it. I like the idea of being able to interact with a character in the Christmas story, asking questions and wondering what they might be thinking or feeling. For me, wonder is a key component of Advent and Christmas, both the wonder of amazement and the wonder of understanding.

If you, somehow, haven’t heard it, “Mary did you know” is a series of questions, asking Mary, as a new mother, if she knew what her son would do and be when he grows up. There’s mention, in the questions, of some of the miracles from the gospel stories and scriptural references that describe the son of God, but wondering about the answers is left to us.

There’s some controversy about it, though. Some folks don’t like the idea of questioning Mary or her awareness of what was happening. Some just think the song, at best, is redundant. Because the answer is “yes.” Yes, she did know. Read the story. It’s pretty clear. The angel tells her the child will be the son of God and “he will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (Luke 1:32-33)

Okay, but there’s not a lot of detail there. Certainly Mary accepts the angel’s words (“let it be with me according to your word”) and seems secure in her understanding of the big picture, secure enough to inspire the words “surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.” (Luke 1:38, 48-49) But I wonder what Mary was feeling about the first steps on this journey and I wonder if she expected that grand description to turn out, in detail, the way it did for her and for her son.

I’m not questioning the presence of the divine in the story, nor am I suggesting that Mary felt anything less than fully trusting in God. But I also think that here is a moment to wonder about the very human characters experiencing this wonder, to come closer to them and their story, a story of meeting God and sharing love in a way that could not have been expected. I want to be part of that story.

The angel didn’t say anything at all about the hardships that were ahead even before the child was born, nothing about shepherds or magi or Herod or how Mary and Joseph, a poor young couple, would provide for the Son of God. And remember, just like so many of the other characters in the story, Mary’s understanding of the messiah they were expecting was likely a warrior-king with wealth and armies that would overthrow the oppressor and restore the glory of Israel. Truly, that would be somebody that would be worthy of “the throne of his ancestor David.” How could that be her son?

Jesus was something different. I’d like to wonder about what Mary thought of that. I’d like to wonder if she had expectations for the future like anyone else or simply the hope - the certainty of hope - that, whatever happens, God is with us and that is enough. Perhaps it was both. I wonder if she could tell us more about that. 

More than meets the eye

Christmas is coming. And through this season of Advent that prepares us for it, we hear many voices that are part of the Christmas story: of angels and prophets, of key characters, and of minor characters, too.

And then there’s John the Baptist.

John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, is a cousin of Jesus, born only a few months before him. In fact, his birth story in Luke 1 is parallel, but opposite that of Jesus. John’s parents are elderly and unable to have children, but the angel Gabriel appears to his father and tells him that they will have a son who will be the one to prepare people for Jesus. When John is born, Zechariah sings a great song of blessing about his child: “you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways” (Luke 1:76).

But - and it’s a big but - this isn’t the only part of the story we hear. We also meet the very adult John, who comes out of the wilderness to call people to repent and be ready, to “prepare the way of the Lord,” because the very adult Jesus is about to appear. Sure, he baptizes, but he’s an announcer, an advance man for Jesus.

Okay, you might think, Jesus is about to appear, it’s Christmas. But with all the prophets predicting the messiah and all the angels telling people what’s happening and all the characters in the story, do we really need this cousin from the wilderness, right now, too? Luke says that he’s lived in the wilderness all his life, doesn’t cut his hair, and doesn’t drink. Mark and Matthew both say he wore camel hair clothing and ate locusts and honey. a real rustic cousin who also seems to be plain speaking and truth telling.

Colourful and charismatic, sure, but why do we need this voice calling to us now? Because the prophets and angels and magi are all part of the story we celebrate as an anniversary at Christmas. John calls us to remember that Jesus didn’t just come in the past. Jesus said he would return and, while that might be at sometime in the future in the style of the book of Revelation, it might also be even now. John reminds us to be ready to meet Jesus at anytime, anywhere, in anyone. He reminds us that we prepare not just for a specific event or a specific Jesus, but for the coming of the love, hope and grace embodied by Jesus. What John really calls us to is an open heart and an open mind, a willingness to be able to see the love that is all around us here and now, in each person, each life, each creation.

One of the things I appreciate most about hearing John in the midst of the Christmas story is the contrast between him and the other main “announcers” in the story, the angels. There’s no description of Gabriel or “the angel of Lord” who appears to the shepherds or “the heavenly host” that join them, but think about how we envision them. Light - “the glory of the Lord” - is the only clue in the story, but we imagine them beautiful with long white robes, wings, halos, and they fly in the sky, of course. John comes out of the wilderness, dirty and unkept, wild, raw and rough. Yet each has a message to share.

In preparing for Christmas, in preparing to meet Jesus, it’s not the trappings, the dressing up or the decoration that’s important. It’s the love. It’s the hope. It’s the grace and the peace. It’s God.

These Days

And just like that, it’s Advent again.

On the church calendar, Advent’s the four Sundays before Christmas, the countdown to the big day. No, wait, that’s wrong: it’s the count up to the big day.

That’s the great thing about Advent. Whether you begin on the first Sunday and go by the Sundays, like the candles on an Advent wreath, or have an Advent calendar that begins with the first day of December, Christmas is the culmination of days of preparation and anticipation.

Advent’s the beginning of the church year for many christians. It doesn’t match our calendar year because it’s not chronological. The church year doesn’t mark the passing of time, but rather the telling of a story, the meaning of which is, in many ways, timeless. That means we can start the year with these weeks of looking forward, a time of getting ready for the story of Jesus to begin.

On the first Sunday of Advent, we’re going to reach way back to do that, back to the prophet Jeremiah. “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David.” The days are coming - the word advent comes from the Latin word for “coming” - when a new branch will appear on David’s family tree, a branch that will be right and good.

Jeremiah offered hope that righteous descendant of David was coming. With Jesus, many believed that hope was fulfilled. But hope doesn’t just end. Hope lives because hope is life. Hope isn’t casual, wishful thinking, but the certainty that we are not alone, that we are part of this great oneness of spirit which is in creation, that we are connected to each other by it and enlivened by it. It is much greater than just one moment.

As is Jesus. Jesus promised to return and his early followers believed that to mean the imminent return of this divine person they had just meant. When they didn’t happen, it became more like Jeremiah’s words: that day will come, one day. But they missed the possibility that Jesus - that spirit both divine and human - was alive in all of us, always. Jesus is always here, appearing in moments we least expect it. The days that are coming are everyday.

Jesus told them to watch for signs, many of which were about the destruction of this world. The “end times” were necessary for the new to arrive. But he also offered an image fitting a branch of David’s family tree. He said, look at trees: when they have buds on them, and leaves, you know that spring is here and summer is coming. It’s a sign.

Right now, we see only barren trees, cold temperatures, snow on the ground and shorter days. It may feel like winter in other ways, too. But there will be a time when those trees will have leaves again and grow bigger and stronger. Right now, they’re waiting, getting ready to return, but the days are surely coming.

What Kingdom Will Come?

For many churches, the year begins with the First Sunday in Advent, the season that prepares for Christmas. That's usually at the very end of November or the beginning of December, so about a month, give or take, before the beginning of the calendar year. The last Sunday of the old year - New Year's Eve, if you like - is known in many churches as Reign of Christ Sunday or Christ the King Sunday.

It may seem like that’s an image from antiquity - because it is - but the Sunday celebration was only established in 1925. The Pope at the time, Pius XI, was concerned about the post-war world that had achieved a military peace, but not a real one. He saw the rise of secular nationalism and groups like the nazi party and wanted to encourage something very different: the idea that true peace will come when Jesus rules in our hearts and lives. That’s a pretty solid idea, if you ask me, as long as people understand that the point of Jesus was to show us what we’re capable of when it comes to living lives of love, grace, compassion, caring, understanding, patience - the list goes on. The life of Jesus is our example, whatever language we us, religious, royal or otherwise.

For many, the language of religion is already going to require explanation. And now we’ve added the challenge of understanding the language of kingship in a meaningful way. In a modern era where hierarchy, structure and power are challenging issues, wouldn’t it be easier to find a simpler metaphor and more readily understood language, straight forward and to the point? Maybe. Or maybe struggling with this image could help us better understand our relationship with Jesus. Wherever we get our understanding of kingship, from history, culture or Disney, Jesus is going to challenge it, now as then, because Jesus challenges power over others, Jesus challenges unequitable and unjust structures. From the beginning, Jesus challenged our understanding.

Having a pretty clear idea of what kind of king they wanted didn't help the first century Hebrews understand Jesus. He didn't give them that kind of king. They wanted a warrior, he gave them peace. They wanted someone who would hate the enemy, he told them to love everyone. They wanted someone to restore their glory and riches, he told them to give it all up. They wanted someone who was powerful, as they understood power, and he gave them vulnerability. They wanted someone to serve, he was their servant. They wanted someone who would take back what was theirs, he gave them someone who sacrificed for all.

In his last hours, Jesus was arrested and brought to Pilate, a governor appointed by the Roman empire, a man with power and armies, a man who lived in a very structured society that believed their emperor was a God, a man who’s job was literally to keep the peace by force. When Pilate asks Jesus if he is a king, I imagine Jesus replying first with “what do you mean by that? Your kind of king or mine?” Because the kingdom of Jesus isn’t this.

Jesus’ kingdom is a place of true peace, with justice and equity for all, ruled, not by a person, but a spirit of love, grace and compassion. That list I mentioned earlier that’s the life of Jesus, that’s how we build it. It’s not about control or force or strength of arms, it’s not about dominance. Whatever language we use, it’s still just about being Jesus, together.

Faith in Giving

The Widow’s Mite is the traditional name for a Bible story in the gospels of Mark and Luke about a poor widow that gives her last two coins to the temple treasury. Jesus comments to his disciples that, while they’ve seen many rich people contribute just a part of their wealth, she gave everything she had. “All of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on” (Mark 12:44).

“Mite” is the word used in the King James Version of the Bible to describe the coins, “two mites, which make a farthing.” That’s obviously early 17th century language rather than 1st century Judea, but the meaning is clear: they were small and of very little monetary value, likely equivalent to a fraction of a penny. But value is relative and to her, they were everything.

Many a church financial campaign in the past has cited this text as an example for giving. I’m going to say “financial campaign” rather than “stewardship” because if we’re looking at the widow’s personal stewardship, her use of her “mite” should raise some concern. Why would she give “everything she had, all she had to live on?”

In fact, one might argue that better personal stewardship was being shown by those who gave “out of their abundance.” We don’t know how much they gave, just that it wasn’t “everything.” They might have been generous, too.

I know, it’s not likely Jesus meant that. It was just a few chapters earlier that Mark tells the story of a rich man who asks Jesus what he should do and Jesus says “sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor” (Mark 10:21). That rich man wasn’t about to do that and Jesus sadly comments on how hard it is for the rich to come to the kingdom.

Okay, so the rich could give more. We could all give more. But, what if it’s not about money? And what if it’s also not just about the widow?

What if the widow’s real “might” is her faith in God, that, giving all that she has to God, or, at least, the Temple which does God’s work, she, and others in need, will be cared for and provided for. After all, care of widows and orphans is enshrined in the Law, the Law that’s at the heart of Jewish life. We should all have such faith.

Thing is, just before this tableau plays out, Jesus has been in the Temple and offered a warning to everyone about this, a condemnation of the scribes, the officials who have responsibility for the care of widows and orphans. They like to dress up and appear pious and demand respect for their rank, he says, but at the same time they’re stealing from widows. Jesus calls out their hypocrisy and greed.

What if this story is both a tale of profound faith and a condemnation of institutions that don’t honour it, that just “go through the motions.” Remember, too, that in Jesus world, the Temple and the Law were more than institutions, they were daily life. What if, in the gifts we offer and the sacrifices we make, we could have faith that they would be honoured by institutions and society alike. What if, in this complex weave which is our life, we must have faith in each other, that God - and all the love, grace, compassion, empathy and justice which is God - is present in both offering and need. What if we could build a world like that?