The World in a Stable

Just before I put away our nativity scene (our creche or manger scene, if you like) this year, I paused for a moment to take it all in, one last time. We might put the figures away and box up the stable, but I like to think the characters continue on with us.

What adventures are ahead? I don’t really know, but I feel better knowing that we can go together. If not in person, then in story and in heart, in imagination and awareness. I think that’s comforting. And inspiring.

We have further stories of Jesus to guide us, but what about the shepherds and the magi? The shepherds may well have returned to the comfort of their flocks and fields, but the magi, fearful of Herod, it says, “returned home by another road.” Wherever they went, I’m sure they took with them the experience of meeting Jesus and all it meant. For the shepherds, hoping for a messiah, it meant a promise kept and hope realized. For the magi, following a sign in the sky, it meant a prophecy fulfilled. For all of us, it means that same love they found can be found in every journey.

That’s ahead. Before we put it away again until next year, it might also be useful to consider how everyone in the nativity scene got here, arriving at the tableau it represents. 

I like to think of the angel as the stage manager in this production directed by God. The angel instigates and moves the action on, but the characters live it.

Mary and Joseph arrived here both by the grace of God and the command of the oppressive occupiers of their country. That night was the intersection of the divine and the earthly powers.

I think of any animals that might have been on hand as innocent bystanders, unintentional witnesses of a new life in the world. But then, animals are much more in tune with creation around them, so who’s to say that they didn’t instinctively know that the creator was coming there?

The shepherds were on hand because they were told to be. As much as they might have been waiting in hope for the coming of the messiah, the good news was proclaimed to them and they followed directions to find Jesus. That’s part of their story, they then went and told everyone “what had been told them about this child” and they were “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.” Everything they had seen and heard brought them to Jesus.

But the magi are a different story entirely. They were seekers. They were from a different culture, different religion, different world entirely, but they followed a sign, the star, which they interpreted to mean a prophecy was fulfilled. They didn’t know where they were going and I don’t think they really knew what they would find until they found it. And somehow they knew it was just the right thing.

However they came, from wherever they came, they all met Jesus and found just what they were looking for: love, unconditional, innocent and new, just like a child. We all know God our own way, we come to God our own way and we are all loved by God, just as we are, whoever we are, however we are, wherever we come from. And we can love, just as we are. A child will show us how.

The Light Shines

There's an old celtic story I like that begins with two brothers who don't get along. They competed with each other most of their lives and when their father died, they fought over who should inherit the family farm. Their bitterness and ill will was fracturing the community in which they lived.

Tired of trying to mend their relationship, the local priest finally said to them both, "look, I'll make you a bet. You each take one half of your father's land and work it, harvesting all that you can. We will divide the big barn into three parts. Whoever fills the barn the most, by sunset on the last day of the season, will win. If one of you wins, then you claim the farm and the other moves to another county. If I win, the two of you will embrace each other, work the farm together and live as brothers should."

"But you have only the land around the church," said one brother. "That's hardly good to grow anything," said the other, "what will you grow?"

"That's not your concern," said the priest. "Do we have a bet?"

The brothers knew the priest could not win, so they leapt at the chance to claim the farm once and for all. They agreed.

All summer they worked, tilling and planting, nurturing their crops. And the priest seemed to do nothing.

As the crops ripened, they harvested all they could, working hard from dawn to dusk, one eye on their work, the other on their competition. Still, the priest did nothing.

The barn became increasingly full and the two brothers seemed so close, one could hardly tell who might win. But the priest's part of the barn remained empty.

On the very last day, as the sun set, the brothers bundled in the last of their crops. The priest was nowhere to be seen. The brothers laughed and waited impatiently to measure their harvests, confident that each was the winner.

But just as the last bright rays of the sun shone on the barn door, the priest appeared. He walked straight into the barn, took a lantern from his pack and lit it. The light from the lamp filled the barn, illuminating even the darkest corners.

The brothers realized the priest had won. Looking at their great harvest by the light of the priest's lamp, they also realized the foolishness of their quarrel. Inspired by the light, their love for one another became a bright light in their community.

I know what you're thinking: boy, those clergy are smart! No? Oh, well, then maybe you're thinking that it was just a trick on the priest's part and you can't believe that the two men fell for it or gave in quite so easily.

But that's the thing about light. We take it so for granted. We can easily forget its power to illuminate truth and wisdom as well as "stuff."

The Gospel of John doesn't have a narrative birth story for Jesus. Instead, John talks about "the Word" become flesh and how "the true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world" (John 1:9). Jesus, John says, is the light which shows us how to live. Jesus, John says, makes God "known" to us.

The candles we light at Christmas shine on more than a child in a manger. They symbolize the light that comes into the world through the life of Jesus. They symbolize the light that, like the priest's lantern, shows more than "stuff."

This is the light of love, grace, compassion and justice. It doesn't tell us where or how to step, but offers us illumination as we journey.

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.