Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

And yet.

For many people, this is anything but “the very best time of the year.”

Even a cursory scan through the news will give you more than a few reasons why. The economy’s struggling, there’s unemployment, there’s environment issues, violence and oppression seem to be thriving, people are on edge and anger seems to be spilling out all over the place.

And that’s the big picture. Look at your community, your neighbours and friends. There are people who are hurting, grieving the loss of a life close to them, grieving the loss of a relationship or a job or a home, struggling with health issues, broken in body, mind and spirit. It’s hard to find the Christmas spirit when your own is cracked and broken.

And yet.

The real story of Christmas - not the lights and trees and decorations, not the parties and the big dinners, not the gifts, not the “traditions” passed on through generations - the real story of Christmas has a special place for the world weary, the tired and the broken.

For all the warm, fuzzy comfort the traditional manger scene presents us with on Christmas Eve, the real story is hardly that. 

No angel says “it’s going to be just fine, don’t worry.” Mary and Joseph don’t say “yes, this is just how I wanted it to happen!” Shepherds don’t book the night off to party with the angels and magi don’t say “this is just what we were expecting.” In fact, an overarching theme of the story isn’t comfort, happiness or celebration, it’s fear. Yes, fear.

What the angel does say, repeatedly, is “don’t be afraid.” I imagine something Mary and Joseph said to each other, repeatedly, as they began their life together with a difficult journey, is “don’t be afraid.” And I’m pretty certain that when the shepherds showed up at the manger - and later on, the magi, too - their first words were likely “don’t be afraid.” I can’t begin to guess the number of people we don’t meet because they’re in the background of the story, but I imagine many of them, living in a poor country, oppressed and afraid, could have used someone in their life who said “don’t be afraid.”

Even more so because I don’t think that’s all that was said. That’s just the first part, “don’t be afraid.” The important part’s the next bit, the important part is the whole point of the story. Don’t be afraid: you’re not alone. God is with you. And so am I.

There’s no promise that the way ahead will be easy or even that things will get better. No one says “it could be worse” or “look on the bright side.” No one says “cheer up” or “you’ll get over it.” No one says “don’t cry.”

What is promised is that the child will show love to the world, a child that, in the Gospel of Matthew’s part of the story, an angel says is the fulfillment of a prophecy of Isaiah: that the child is Immanuel, which means “God is with us” (Matt. 1:22-23).

That child will grow up to spend time with the broken, the hurting and the marginalized. He’ll show the poor they have value, he’ll remember the forgotten and show the lonely that they’re not alone. He’ll try to teach us that love is life-giving and that life’s not just about happiness and celebrations but true joy, which we can find in each other, not in things. His life will be about showing us what the story of his birth does: God is with us and God is love, love that is in every heart, not just on Christmas Day, but every day.

What are you expecting?

This whole ”expectation" thing in Advent is tricky, isn’t it?

We even have a hymn for that: "Come, thou long expected Jesus.” It’s on old time classic by Charles Wesley, but we don’t sing it that often anymore. People expect something more contemporary. It’s best to be prepared for it, though.

That’s the two key words we most often use to describe Advent: preparation and expectation. Week after week, we hear scripture readings and perhaps their accompanying sermons calling us to be prepared for the coming of the Messiah who was prophesied. We need to be ready because something's coming.

Yes, something's coming, alright.

I think it’s often easier to get our heads around preparation and expectation than we might think. Too easy, maybe. We know what's coming and there's only these many days left. There's things to do, places to go, people to see, decorations and wrapping and don't forget the concerts, pageants and parties. Gotta be ready. And there's never enough time. Next to Merry Christmas, I bet the most common expressions at this time of year are "are you ready?" and "no."

But you know that already, don't you? You've been there, done that and been told it a hundred times. And on top of that, of course, that isn't the kind of preparation and expectation we mean.

No, perhaps it isn't. On the other hand, we use the same two words, preparation and expectation, we do the same kind of build up to "The Main Event," we tell the same story each year, follow the same traditions each year, even use the same decorations. And we're always trying to top last year.

Maybe the issue's the same: we think we know how to prepare because we know what to expect. We do what we do because we think we know what's coming.  Not only are we expectant, we have expectations. And they're not always met.

But maybe there's another way. We tell this story that’s full of characters that were caught completely off guard with the unexpected. Mary didn't expect to be pregnant. Joseph sure didn't expect that either. And I don't think either of them thought the manger was an ideal place for a baby. The shepherds didn't expect a visit from an angel choir. And the magi, well, I suppose you could argue that they knew the prophecy, but I don't for a moment think they really expected the star to lead them where it did.

None of them were ready. But they were open. Open to the unexpected and the possibilities that come from believing that God was with them.

And because they were, a moment was created, a turning point when prophecy was fulfilled and Word became flesh and a new life began living in a way that would teach us something about how we live.

What if we could hear "be prepared" and "be ready" as "be open?" What if we could be open to the unexpected instead of focused on our own expectation? Maybe we could create another turning point, one that would bring us closer to a world full of God's peace.

One of my favourite tellings of the Christmas story is a video from St.Paul's Church, Auckland, New Zealand, produced by their St. Paul's Arts'N'Kids.  As the children show us, God is in heaven - as only children might imagine it - surrounded by angels, deciding how best to help the people. Each time he reveals a part of his plan (which becomes the Christmas story), the angels react with surprise and amazement. And then, each time, just to punctuate it, one little angel pops up and says "they won't be expecting that!"

Be open this Christmas and let the unexpected find you.

A message for any time or place

There's something magnetic about John the Baptist. Based on his description in the Bible and the words he says there, we have a picture of someone smelly and dirty with wild unkept hair, dressed in animal skins. He came from the wilderness where he lived on locusts and honey. He seems to shout a lot, he’s frequently angry and is often critical of others. He demands repentance and, when he proclaims that the kingdom of God is near and that one mightier than he is coming, it sounds more like a warning than encouragement.  His description of that mightier one as someone who will separate the wheat from the chaff and bring unquenchable fire sounds more fearful than inspiring.

And yet, crowds come to hear him and be baptized by him and to follow him. People seemed to really be paying attention to him. Although, that ultimately lost him his head.

Still, I was thinking that I'd change my style and start preaching like John the Baptist. I won't bathe, I'll grow my hair out (what's left of it) and I'll wear animal skins. And I'll yell at people a lot, maybe even call them "a brood of vipers" (Matthew 3:7), and threaten them with judgement and unquenchable fire. I'll pass on the bug eating, that would be gross, but I do like honey. I could probably get my own TV show.

Or be put away.

The thing is, look past the presentation and consider why people listened to John. Because that’s our dilemma of discernment: did people listen because John preached fear or because John preached truth? Many "preachers" today present us with that same dilemma, minus the crazy behaviour and animal skins. Mostly. The yelling is often still there.

How do you hear John's message? Is it that we should repent and turn to a new way because that way is true or that we should repent and turn to a new way … or else?  Is it fear of what could be coming our way or an earthy way to the truth?

I think John had truth and sincerity on his side. His call to repentance and his announcement that something’s coming rang true with people. That's why we hear it in Advent more than other times during the year.

John may easily appear to us as a man "out of time and place,” both by his appearance and by putting him in the weeks leading to Jesus' birth. After all, they were cousins and born months apart. But the words of the adult John calling people to repentance are equally important to the birth of Jesus as they are to his adult ministry.

To repent doesn't mean "sorry," it means to turn away, to make a change, a sea-change of spirit. An old anglican prayer has the best description of repentance as "to turn from your wickedness and live."  This Advent season, John steps out of the wilderness to shout at us, calling us to turn aside and come to Bethlehem, to turn from what keeps us from God and discover that God came to us in a distant Christmas past, is coming to us now and will come again, as Jesus promised, in the future. 

Far from "out of time," John's message of repentance is for all time.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

It’s Advent this week, the beginning of the church year: four Sundays set aside to prepare, watching and waiting for what is to come. Something’s coming and what’s to come is Christmas, isn’t it? The coming of Jesus. Yes it is, but which one may be the question.

The stories we hear in Advent remind us to be ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus over two thousand years ago, how we might see Jesus in the world today and also that Jesus promised to come again in the future. When, Jesus doesn’t say. And that’s the part that many people struggle with, especially those who believe that the return of Jesus is the “it” moment, the day of judgement, the end of things. It would be good to know when that will be, right? Well, no. It’s not about predicting the moment, it’s about being prepared for the moment. Hear me out on this.

The coming of Christmas each year reconnects us to the past, calls us to look around us in the moment and draws us into the future. This is how we prepare, by learning and living now. Jesus encourages us to love, giving his own living as the example. Jesus doesn’t call us to perfection, but to love. Right now. It’s only by taking to heart and living the love the adult Jesus teaches us that we can be ready for the baby Jesus in the manger, this year or any year.

And, let’s be clear, Jesus teaches us to live that love from the heart, not to simply behave as we’re told will get us into heaven. Jesus isn’t like an angelic Elf-on-a-Shelf, watching our every move. Nor is God like that guy judging if you’ve been naughty or nice,  who “sees when you’re sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.” I don’t think we get rewarded for behaviour.

Jesus did everything he possibly could, including give his own very human life, to bring us back to a relationship with God that was right and true. A relationship with a God who is love, who offers grace and peace to all and, in the end, welcomes us all home. It’s never about behaviour with Jesus, it’s about living the love that’s in our hearts into our lives. That’s life-giving. And I think that’s what it means to be ready, to be awake and prepared for “that day and hour no one knows.”

I think God means for us to live today and to expect Jesus in this moment and every moment. Not because the end is near, but because the next moment is a beginning, something new. We should expect to meet Jesus, not descending from on high in glory, but coming round a street corner. We should expect Jesus in the next person we meet. I think Jesus will surprise us by being least like what we expect and most like what we should be, so I think we should be open to finding Jesus where and when we don’t expect. We should look for Jesus, not in great churches or cathedrals, but in a stable or a barn.

The thing is, I think, we get all wrapped up in this all-encompassing, cosmic vision of Christ coming in clouds of glory. It’s a cataclysmic, universe changing moment and the universe is a big place. But what if it wasn’t about the universe out there, but your own “universe?” What if it was about just you?

Jesus may be speaking to us as a community, but what if Jesus is calling to each of us to be prepared for ourselves. Having met the Jesus of history and learned from him, having met the Jesus alive in those around us and learned from them, Jesus calls us to be prepared to meet Jesus in person when we pass from this life. Maybe it’s not a great cosmic moment but an everyday one. Are you ready?

How I Know You

It will likely come as no surprise at all when I say that people often respond to things I say or write. Partly because I actively encourage it. I always try to remind people that I’m expressing my thoughts and ideas and hope it will inspire them to think about their own. I don’t have the final, authoritative word, I just try to offer something that I think might be meaningful.

Partly, also, because I, well … I say stuff. Sometimes people don’t care for what I said or how I said it.

Both those things are good, I think, particularly when they inspire some meaningful conversation.

I recently had a phone call from someone who didn’t care for something I’d written in a column. They left a message on my voicemail and, to be more specific, it wasn’t about the content of the column, it was about the manner in which I referred to Jesus.

I wrote about Jesus telling the story of the pharisee and the tax-collector who go to the Temple to pray. It - the column, not the story - began “oh, Jesus. Sometimes you say the darndest things.” Later, I also say “good old Jesus, hanging out with the ‘wrong’ crowd.”

My caller was “saddened” by the way I referred to Jesus. They found “the casual way” I referred to Jesus as “almost blasphemous.” It was “disrespectful” the way I talked about “the Kings of Kings, the Lord of Lords” and “Holy God.”

I’m very glad they called and I’m actually honoured that they shared with me how they know Jesus. I mean that sincerely. I’m sure they’re not alone in how they felt and I appreciate they were bold enough to say so. Furthermore, it opens a door.

The church year ends this week (the new year begins with Advent) and, in many denominations, the last Sunday is known as Christ the King or Reign of Christ. It’s an opportunity to consider how we understand that image of the King of Kings and what it might mean for us today. Many of us will hear about Jesus showing us how to bring the kingdom of God here and how love needs to reign in our hearts.

Maybe it’s also an opportunity to consider how we personally imagine Jesus.

I know the King of Kings and Lord of Lords and I appreciate that image, though I might understand it differently. The biblical source is Revelation 19, though lots of people might know it best as “the other words” that are part of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. It certainly evokes a sense of solemnity, dignity and holiness. I grew up in a tradition where those things were most important and I respect the glory that those things extol.

But I’ve also come to know the Jesus who sat down in the dirt with people who were hurting. I’ve imagined the Jesus who would wade into the river to be baptized by John, the Jesus who wasn’t afraid of being “unclean” by spending time with lepers, the Jesus who, I think, would share food and conversation with people others would rather avoid. That Jesus would listen a lot, but would also be happy to tell a joke and share a laugh and even play with children. That’s the Jesus that would sit down next to you and say “how are you today, my friend?”

I’m not saying the King of Kings wouldn’t do that, I just think we all imagine Jesus in the way that allows us each the best way to connect. Sometimes we look up at the throne of glory, sometimes we look up at the cross and sometimes we look across the table at someone who’s just as ordinary as us.

Hope Lies Ahead

Are you tired? I’m tired.

It’s mid-November and I’m already tired of winter. I know it hasn’t even really started yet. Still, I’m tired of it. But that’s not what I mean.

Like most people, I probably work too much and don’t rest, let alone sleep, enough. But I don’t mean that kind of tired, either. And yes, I know I “only work for an hour on Sunday morning ha ha ha.” That joke gets a little tiring even, but, again, not what I mean.

No, I think it’s something different. This is going to get ugly, so please bear with me to The End.

I’m tired of the angry back and forth when people don’t instantly agree on something. I’m tired of the need to vilify the person when we don’t like their ideas. I’m tired of the lack of compassion towards the poor, the sick and the elderly and the lack of desire to help those who can’t help themselves. I’m tired of the need to be able to say whatever we feel like without any thought or filter, just because we think we should be entitled to. I’m tired of entitlement period. I’m tired of hate and bigotry being justified as opinion because they’re not, they’re hate and bigotry and I wish they stopped. I’m tired of betrayal and I’m tired of being anxious and fearful.

I’m tired of war, in all it’s forms. I’m tired of bombs going off and bullets flying. I’m tired of the destruction and hurt inflicted on people and on the planet. I’m tired of oppression. I’m tired of violence. I’m tired of natural disasters and the disasters our presence inflicts on the earth. I’m tired of hearing that a few hundred died here or thousands there or even one on their way home from the store, as if they’re just numbers.

I’m tired of nations fighting with each other. I’m tired of earthquakes, famine and plagues. I’m tired of reading the news and I’m tired of hearing that being tired of all that makes me a “snowflake.” Winter isn’t coming, it’s here.

Now, if you’re still with me, this wasn’t just a rant. I have a point. I imagine Jesus’ disciples were feeling much the same when Jesus talked about The End.

See, the church year, unlike the calendar year, ends at Advent. Advent begins the new year, anticipating the arrival of Jesus at Christmas. So as we come to the end of the year, we hear scripture readings in church that remind us of, well, The End. And sometimes that can feel like The End is happening right now. And I’m tired of that.

The gospel of Luke records a story of Jesus and the disciples walking in the temple. The disciples are admiring the wonder of the temple, but Jesus says “as for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” (Luke 21:6) He proceeds to tell them how The End will come, basically outlining a summary of what I said above. Except, the point isn’t to scare anyone, it’s to give them hope.

Yes, hope. We can so easily become fixated on the pain, the suffering, the destruction, the “dreadful portents and great signs.” But there is no life in that. There is only tiredness and death. But The End will be followed by The Beginning, it always is. The hope is not in the death, but the new life, not in the ending but the beginning.

In Luke, Jesus tells this little apocalypse just before he’s arrested. The disciples will already know the tiredness of what they’ve seen, the fear of the authorities and enemies of Jesus circling. In a few days they will know the grief of the cross. A few days more and the hope Jesus promised them will be real: they will touch the new life that is in him.

I’m still tired. But I have hope, hope that new beginnings are ahead, hope that new life will come because love wins. Always.

Remember to Live

You might have seen this heart-warming story last week. Joshua Dyer, a 14 year old boy from Herefordshire, England, was asked in school to write a poem for a local veterans group concert, part of the Remembrance Day observance this year. He came up with a short piece called “A Thousand Men Are Walking” that was shared on social media and went viral. He’s been on the news, asked to read it at events and even received a note from Prince Phillip who thanked him for “such a moving and heartfelt piece.”

It’s a beautiful poem worth reading, repeatedly even, and easily found on the internet. (That’s a hint to read it, if you haven’t already.)

I find it ties together several themes for Remembrance Day: the sacrifice of so many, the gratitude of those they saved, that they live on in our hearts, that they’re in a better place now where there’s no foes and no war, just a beautiful, tranquil place. I love this image he writes: “they dream of those they left behind and know they dream of them.”

He remembers. And yet, he wasn’t there, nor has he been where they are now. Still, he remembers.

It’s just my opinion, but I think it’s important to understand that remembering isn’t just about memory or history or hanging on to something we’ve experienced or been told. It’s more than that. To remember is to re-connect, to literally re-member that person or moment or experience and bring it into this moment where it becomes part of who and how we are, not in the past, but now.

Joshua reminds us that the dead are still alive in our hearts. We remember why and how they died and, reconnecting with the stories of those moments, I hope we learn something about war and the importance of, as he writes, “the path of peace they paved.” I also hope that we live into honouring that remembrance not just one day of the year, but everyday. Then, it will have become part of who we are and help frame who we will be.

He also doesn’t glorify war. Instead he glorifies where they are now, in the heaven he describes. There, they are also still alive, it seems, dreaming of those they let behind and knowing we dream of them. It’s worth noting, too, that he doesn’t specify who the “one thousand men” are. Only that they’re still alive.

Still alive. Alive in our hearts and alive with God.

There’s a slightly ridiculous sounding story from the gospel of Luke where sadducees (very conservative temple authorities who don’t believe in the resurrection or an afterlife, amongst other things) try to trap Jesus with a question about marriage. Using a Jewish law that requires a Hebrew man to marry the widow of his brother, they set up the improbable scenario where a woman’s husband dies, she marries his brother who also dies and so on through seven brothers. They ask Jesus who she’ll be married to in the next life.

It’s another face-palm moment for Jesus, I think, but it leads to something important. First of all, he says, the next life isn’t like this one. We might imagine it is, for our own comfort, but our human constructs don’t apply there, especially the societal structures that frame their near impossible scenario. Being in the presence of God is just that, where there is love and peace and contentment.

More importantly, says Jesus, God is God of heaven and earth. From God’s perspective, there’s no dead and alive, there’s simply alive, alive in heaven and on earth. God, says Jesus, “is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive” (Luke 20:38). Maybe our earthly view needs opening up a bit.

I wonder if that might not help our remembering this Remembrance Day. God is God of the living. Those who sacrificed are alive in our hearts and alive with God. We who are living this life, remember and honour them by living into the life they made possible, one where freedom provides the opportunity for peace, compassion, grace and love. Joshua’s “one thousand men” are walking in peace; “they do not march for war.” Perhaps when he writes “they dream of those they left behind and know they dream of them” we could remember the dream we all share is life.