Courage at Christmas

Three hundred years after Jesus, a man posed an experiment. His name was Augustine and he wrote this experiment down in a book. People would read this book and ask themselves this question for hundreds and hundreds of years. The dilemma would shape our understanding of God and of how we are saved. This is the experiment:

Imagine that God offers you a deal. God offers you everything: power, pleasure, wealth, honor, freedom, even peace. Nothing will be a sin, nothing will be forbidden or impossible for you. You will never be bored and you will never die. And there is only one condition...if you accept all this, you will never see the face of God.

What would you choose? Would you choose to live your life comfortably and pleasurably for all eternity and never see God's face? Would you?

You see, ever since we fell from God's grace, we have suffered. And the only way back to God, the only way to be saved is to move through suffering and even death. There is no other way to God but through the cross, through pain. And there is nothing that we are more afraid of than pain except perhaps death.

When my father-in-law found out that he had cancer, I don't know how scared he was but we were sure scared. For one thing, he had to shave his head. We all cried together in the hotel room that day. Everything seemed so unknown. I didn't want him to feel pain. I did not know what to say, what the future might hold.

I remember vividly how my husband walked into the bathroom to help his father shave his head. They ran the water in the sink. My father-in-law sat down in a chair in front of the mirror and his son stood behind him. My father-in-law took off his shirt. So did my husband.

"What are you doing, son?" he asked.

"Dad, I can't make this cancer go away but I can be there with you. I am here with you, every step of the way."

And my husband began to shave his head.

The Middle East is exploding. Egypt is burning. Syria is suffering. There is starvation and deprivation all over the world. People are homeless on the streets of Jacksonville and there is talk of a financial cliff. But all this did not touch us directly. It was hard but it was far away or it might not happen or it was the pain of unfortunate people whose lives were somehow different than ours.

But then, a young man walked into an elementary school with guns and shot children as they cried and cowered in a corner. He shot teachers, principals, counselors, little blond girls who were just learning to read, a disabled boy, a playful first-grader, and he looked like any of us. He could live right down the street from our schools from our children. We try to make sense of it, but no one can even begin to imagine any kind of mental illness that could take you that far into evil. No one can even begin to understand why. This is our country. This is our backyard. And we are afraid. That little town in Connecticut had no idea that horror was about to visit them. They had no idea. And neither do we.

Mary was so young. She was only 13 or 14. She had never had a baby before but I'm sure she knew that many women died that way. Giving birth was dangerous, it could be deadly. When we are afraid, we long for familiar settings, for something we know. But Mary had no idea where she was. She had never traveled this far away from home. This was the land of her husband's ancestry. This was Bethlehem. And she didn't have a home.

She could feel the pains coming. They couldn't find a room. She must have felt her fear mounting. Where could she have this baby? How could they stay warm? Would they all die?

The Romans could kill Jews for no reason. King Herod was paranoid and afraid of the coming of a Jewish Messiah. The land was tense, it was about to explode with violence. And Mary was bringing a baby into all this mess.

Mary was afraid. To be human is to be afraid. We do not know how we got here, we do not know when we will die. We dont know why God made us exactly as we are and we dont know when God will take us home. When someone is dying, I tell them that it is so much like birth. You never know when it might happen.

We are not in control of our lives. And we are afraid, deep down inside, afraid of what we do not understand. So we numb ourselves with routines and schedules and comfort foods and rituals and belongings, pretending that we do have control, that our lives are up to us, but the truth is that we are fragile. This entire earth teeters in a balance between good and evil and we never know what is coming next. No matter how much we plan and save, we do not know know what will happen tomorrow.

What does a mother do when her baby cries out in the night, afraid of the darkness? She goes to the child. She is there with the baby. She cannot make the night go away, she cannot make the darkness go away, but she can stand there with that child in the midst of the darkness.

That is why God became human tonight, because we were afraid. Because we still are afraid and we live in a broken world, where we do not know what will happen next. We do not know when a man will walk into our schools with a gun and kill our children. And so Jesus came, not to fix it all, for we must try to do that ourselves, but just to be with us.

And Mary, on that holy night, did not give into her fear. She lived for something more than that. She entered into the pain and the darkness and brought Christ into it and that is what we are called to do.

It is OK that you are afraid. I am too. It is OK to be lonely or sad or frightened. Mary was too. Don't try to erase your fears by drinking or getting really mad or trying too hard to control everything. Just be scared. Let fear knock on your door. But don't let it have the last word. It did not have the last word on that holy night you know, and it didn't have the last word when my father-in-law had to shave his head, or even when those children died. Fear does not win the day. Church bells will ring, Jesus will come.

Do you want to see the face of God? Begin by looking at that baby and then watch him grow. Model your life on his life, do as he did. Give your life to him and you will see the face of God, you will.

Amen.

The Truth about Christmas

After Friday morning's tragedy, is there anyone here who does not believe that this world has fallen from God's grace? Is there anyone who still thinks that there is no such thing as sin or brokenness? Is there anyone who does not think that there is such a thing as evil?

Like you, I have spent the past forty-eight hours in shock and sadness and prayer. I cannot fathom how anyone could walk into a school and shoot children. It is a horror like the brutality of Nazi Germany. I cannot get my mind around it. It is the slaughter of the truly innocent.

All over Facebook and the news, people have started to try to reason and explain it. If it we only had for gun control...we should have better locks on our schools...and people have pondered how this young man must have been mentally ill as if we should be feeling sorry for him, as if we are heartless if we don't feel that way.

I know that Jesus calls us to pray for our enemies, but I have not gotten there yet. There is a time and a place to mark atrocity, to say, with every ounce of our being, that this was EVIL and WRONG and that nothing can change that. Nothing can take away the horror of this event. It is a scar that will mark us forever. There is no understanding it, no justifying it, no reasoning can approach it. It is...horror.

I overheard a man in a store say, "Yeah, and all this happened at Christmas! It just wrecks Christmas!"

We have tried so hard to makes Christmas into a sweet and fuzzy holiday, compete with pretty wrapping paper and snow covered hills. We do with Christmas what we do with Christianity and with Christ himself, we domesticate them and try to use them as comfort blankets. But Christ cannot be tamed. The event of the incarnation was not a fairytale.

Remember that Jesus came into a world where King Herod was killing babies. Remember that he was born in the dirt. And remember that there was a man who came before Jesus to get us ready. John the Baptist.

Into our broken world, John comes screaming. He does not tell us to get out our stockings and our decorations, he tells us that the world is about to be torn apart. Torn apart!! He likens Christ coming to an ax being laid to the root of a tree. We will all perish unless we change our lives and follow him.

To be Christian means to stand against everything that happened on Friday morning. It means to devote yourself, body, mind and soul, to serving God and to protecting the innocent. You have been baptized with the fire of the Holy Spirit. The ax is lying at the root of the tree and you must decide for yourself: are you in or are you out? Will you bear fruit for God?

Do you want to be part of a community that devotes itself to trying to help solve issues of violence? Then get on board. Do you want to teach children that they are loved by God and that, no matter what, Jesus loves them? Then join us. But don't think for one second that you can just come here on Sunday and go home and be comfortable. Because once you are baptized with fire, God has invited you into a radical new kind of life, a life in which you are no longer the first priority. God must come first. You must give of yourself, all of yourself. Your life is no longer your own, for we cannot sit still so long as tragedies of this nature continue to occur.

I know that there are many political views in this country right now, but let us not misunderstand that most good Americans are trying to stand for justice and we all want what's best for our children. Our enemies are not those who disagree with us, we have a much larger, darker, and more broken world to focus on. Let us not waste time on our political arguments and neglect the true issues that surround us.

When the crowd asks John the Baptist what they should do to be ready, he talks all about money and stuff. Give up your extra cloak, collect no more taxes than the amount prescribed, give away food, be satisfied with your wages. Live a just and generous life. Live a just and generous life.

And focus on love. At the same time as we stand up to the horror at this tragedy, let us look to the doctors, nurses, counselors, fellow parents, teachers, firefighters and all others who are in the trenches serving and loving the wounded and the grieving. Let us remember that the world is not so full of darkness that there is no light. Love is real and it is all around us.

In a moment, Father Perry will bless the marriage of two people who found one another in times darkness. Liesl was a drinker who loved parties. Paul had suffered in a terrible car accident and had been in a coma for six months. Half of Pauls brain no longer functions. Liesl saw in him a man who was struggling to be whole again. And she found peace in loving him and helping him. By loving Paul, Liesl found herself again.

That is the miracle of the Christian life, that when you give your life away, God gives it back, and a much better version.

When that little baby is born in a manger, remember that you belong to Him. We are the followers of a holy child and we will strive to serve children and the poor, those less fortunate, those vulnerable and helpless- because we see that little baby within them. And he calls us every single day of our lives asking us to help make this world a better place.

Practice Awareness

About seven years ago, a cat wandered into our driveway. At least, that is what Jacob, my son, tells me. We took the cat to the vet and the vet told us that she was a fine cat. We named her Cocoa.

Cocoa was loving and sweet but she had one terrible habit. She liked to pee in the corner of the living room. What a horrible stench! I ran to the grocery to stock up on cleaning supplies but she would not stop.

One evening, Jacob called me to my bedroom. He had cocoa on her back, happy and purring. He pointed to a distinctly male looking private part.

"Mom, what is that?" he asked.

"Jacob, the vet said that cocoa was a girl."

"Well, then what is that?"

"I have no idea..." I said.

Jacob called his dad in and JD too reiterated that the vet told us she was female. JD too had no idea what that thing was.

Finally, out of desperation and now convinced that the stench in our house would prevent anyone from coming the visit again, I returned to the vet.

"Oops!" he said. "Actually Cocoa is a boy. And he needs to be neutered. That will stop the spraying."

So we had Cocoa neutered. And now we call him THE COCONATOR.

And we no longer go to that vet.

What is Advent? The word means The Coming. It is the four week period before Jesus comes into the world. It is four weeks of waiting. Advent has everything to do with how we see the world and whether or not we are really awake and looking at life itself.

You see many of us live our lives without really looking at each moment with an open heart and mind. We think that we know how our lives should proceed, so we live mostly unconsciously, unaware of God's ever-changing presence around us.

While the rest of the world rushes on with their Christmas carols and jolly songs, ancient Christians used to pause and wait. They would read stories from the Old Testament, stories that promised that a Messiah would come to save then and adopt them as His own. They would hold onto those stories for dear life. They would look up, expecting that, at any moment, Christ could walk through the door and call them home. It was a wholly different way of living.

To wait in this life means to admit that you do not belong here. It is to admit that you find this world beautiful and meaningful but that it is not home, that we don't belong here, that we are waiting for something better. We wait for a place where there is true peace, where we can see God face to face.

Many of us don't realize that we are waiting until our bodies begin to fail. Once our bones begin to crumble or our heart is weakened, we begin to wonder of God might have something more complete in mind for us, a place without pain or hunger. To be a Christian means to wait.

I have begun to believe that the quality of our awareness is as important as faith itself. I would not ask a person, "Are you saved?" as much as I would ask them, "Are you awake to God's presence?"

Are you waiting for a day when you can see God face to face? Are you waiting for a kingdom in which there is no hunger or fear or poverty or suffering? Do you long for that? If you do long for it, how do you wait?

Christian waiting is not passive. We don't simply believe that Christ will come and rescue us. Jesus was quite specific when he told us that we must be alert, that his coming will happen quickly. We must practice awareness of his presence now if we are to run into his arms in the day to come.

There is nothing that puts us to sleep more than our own business. We plan out our days and schedule everything. We know exactly what each moment is supposed to look like. And we no longer see anything.

That is why we must practice awareness. It is essential, in this day and age, to schedule time with God alone. Sit down alone and listen for God. Picture Christ walking towards you. Read scripture. Like physical exercise, the heart must be trained to unburden itself of worries and distraction if we are to be alert to Christ's coming. You must practice your faith daily by praying, by listening to God. It is imperative.

Carinette is just one of fifty-seven dark-skinned, bright-eyed, Creole-speaking children who live at the orphanage in Haiti. She is seven. She eats mainly rice and beans. She plays with the rest of the kids. She sleeps under a tin roof with the other girls. She hears the Haitian rain pounding on the tin roof at night. But she is unlike all the other children. Carinette has been adopted.

Carinette's parents came to meet her. They are Americans who raised three children and decided to adopt another. They came giving her a bear, photos of their family, cookies and granola bars. She stored the teddy with the director so it wouldn't be ruined (toys don't last that long at the orphanage). She shared the granola bars and cookies. And she walks about clutching the pictures. Her parents had to return to the States to finalize the paperwork. They should come for her in a month, maybe two. So Carinette lives looking up. She is awake and alert. She has a home and they are coming for her. It could be any moment and she will be going home.

That is how we Christians must live, just like Carinette. We must cling to the pictures that we have been given, the stories from Scripture, the promises that Jesus made. We must be alert and awake, for we do not belong here. Our Lord is coming to take us home. What kind of pictures can you carry with you to remind you to look for the coming of Christ? Can you practice daily thanking God? Can you sit alone in silence? Can you watch the sun rise every morning and strive to really see it?

Be on guard that your hearts are not weighed down, Jesus says, or that day will catch you unexpectedly.
Practice awareness. It is the only way.

Listening to God

On Veterans Day, I often find myself thinking back to the wars that this country has struggled through and the suffering of our soldiers. I think of men and women who quietly died in prisoner of war camps in Japan, who bled in the deep jungle of Vietnam, whose bodies exploded in a bomb in Afganistan. And I wonder if I could ever give the world what they have given, their very lives. When we look back on our lives, will you and I feel as if we have given enough? Will we feel that we have tried our best to make the world a better, safer, freer planet for all? Or will we look back with regret and think that we took the easy way out?

Nancy Klein has written a book. It is called Time to Think. In it, she remembers what her mother told her as she lay dying. "Nancy," she said. "I am so sorry for the state of the world that I am leaving to you. I wish that things were better. Our economy is struggling. The future is uncertain. There is so much potential for violence all over the world. Things are hard. I wish I could have made them better, but now it's up to you." Nancy thought a lot about her mothers words. Her mother never worked. She never went to war. She just raised Nancy and her siblings. But her mother had one great gift. Her mother knew how to listen.

When Nancy would come home from school, her mother would sit at the kitchen table with her and eagerly listen as Nancy recounted her day. And she did not just want to hear the events of the day. What she really got excited about were Nancy's ideas. She wanted to hear what Nancy thought about everyone, as if Nancy's thoughts mattered. And, as a result, Nancy grew up with the rare ability to think for herself. When everyone else was just trying to fit in, Nancy was thinking. She became a professor. And she has spent her life researching one incredible fact.

Nancy believes that the act of listening itself can change the world. She believes that when one person stops everything that they are doing and gives their undivided attention to another person, without judgement and without criticism, and tries with all their might to truly hear the thoughts of the individual in front of them, that the listener unleashes a great power in the speaker. And when that person is heard, they begin to feel safe to truly think deeply. And in the language of Scripture (not from Nancy) the logos comes into the conversation. And there is no telling what will happen.

Jesus walked into the temple with his disciples and he gave them a rare running commentary on what he saw there that day. There were the scribes, the teachers of the law, parading around in their robes. They loved to be respected and greeted in the marketplace. They said long prayers for the sake of appearance. And Jesus condemned them.

I always get a little nervous when I read these passages. After all, I wear robes. I parade around. I like to talk. Was it the robes that made Jesus mad? Was it the words? Was it the fact that they got paid?

I think that what made Jesus furious with the scribes and the Pharisees was one very simple fact: they did not listen. They were all about themselves. Their hearts were not open to God or to anyone else. The doors of their hearts were shut. They spoke prayers but they did not listen, meanwhile the holy one in the temple that day was a poor widow who put all her money in the collection plate. She did it quietly, but Jesus, who truly watched and listened, who saw the heart, Jesus saw her.

In fact, when you think of it, Jesus did teach and talk, but he also did an awful lot of listening. When the crowds thronged around him and they brought the suffering to him, before Jesus healed them, he always listened. He asked people what they wanted. When he looked at a person, he truly saw them, whether it was the rich young man or the poor widow. He saw directly into the heart of a person. And it was this fact that changed lives as much as the healing itself.

Some of the greatest learning experiences I have had have been in the office of a therapist or spiritual director. It is sad that we have to pay just to have someone truly listen, but I find it a relief to be able to talk about myself without guilt or shame. It is worth the money. When I was in my early twenties, I went to see a therapist who was a native American man. He was so kind. I was in a lot of pain at the time and I sat there and cried in his office for about three straight months. It took three months for me to even look around and notice the objects in his office. He was so attentive, so quiet. He would sometimes ask a simple question, or just smile at me.

After about six months, I was sitting in his office babbling about something when he interrupted me. I was annoyed that he would bust in on my monologue, but he simply said, "Kate, I'm sorry to interrupt, but look out the window..." and there was this beautiful buck staring in our window. He had huge antlers and he just stood there, staring at us in silence. I was dumbstruck.

About ten years later, I returned to Connecticut for a visit and decided to go to see this wonderful man and thank him for his listening. We sat in his office once more. I asked him if he remembered seeing the buck and he said, "Oh, yes. But do you remember what you were talking about at the time?"

"I have no idea," I said. "I was just babbling on about something."

"No," he said. "You were saying that you felt called to the priesthood but you wished that God would give you a sign that he wanted this of you. You just wished God would give you a sign."

I'm afraid that I began to cry again. I cried because God was listening. But I also cried because this old man listened and he never forgot. He was listening to me when I had stopped listening to myself.

This Veterans day, I want you to try to listen to just one person. Sit still. Don't let your eyes wander. Don't speak much. Just take a genuine interest in someone and really work to hear them. Listening to others is good practice, for when you can listen to others, you can listen to God. In fact, many times God will speak to you through others.

God bless those scribes and Pharisees. They thought so much about themselves that they did not listen. They forgot that God acts most powerfully when the logos has room to be heard, when we quiet down and make room for someone else to be wiser than we are. That is when great things happen.

Why doesn't God just fix us?: The story of a blind man

He had a father once. His father's name was Timaeus. We do not know what happened to his father. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he just could not deal with having a blind son. Everyone dreamed of having a son in Jesus' day. A son meant a future, someone who could make an income, someone to care for you in your old age. Timaeus must have been thrilled to have a son, to know that his bloodline would continue, that he would have help, support, recognition.

It would not have taken long for his parents to realize that their baby was blind. Or perhaps he had been born with some sight but it had been taken from him gradually, slowly, painfully. He could have fallen ill and lost his sight. He could have had an accident. Whatever happened, at some some point, Bartimaeus became blind. And, at some point, his family left him. By the time we meet him, he is alone. The son of Timaeus is alone and blind.

He sat beside the road on the way to Jericho. It was a good road to beg, narrow and windy. People who were traveling could not avoid the blind man. They could not pretend that they didnt see him. The road was too narrow for avoidance. No, people would have to pass right by and their discomfort, their shame, their guilt would sometimes bring them to give him food or water or better yet, money. And occasionally someone gave him something not out of guilt but out of genuine kindness. And these moments were probably like light itself to him.

Most blind people can hear really well. They must hear, it is all that they have. They are forced to depend on their other senses. Those senses sharpen. Bartimaeus must have heard rumors about this Jesus, the one who could heal, the one who performed miracles. He must have heard people talking as they walked, listened in on conversations as travelers processed what they had heard, what they had seen, as they discussed the way that Jesus looked, the miracles that he did. He cured the blind! The lame walked! The dead came back to life! They were saying that this Jesus from Nazareth was the Messiah, the Son of David.

Bartimaeus began to hope, you know that he must have begun to hope. Would Jesus ever walk his way?

Then, one day, he heard the name. Jesus was coming! Crowds were amassing in Jericho to see him. He would pass right this way, on this narrow road. This was the chance of a lifetime. This was the moment.

Bartimaeus was used to being shoved aside, ignored, even trampled in crowds. How would he get Jesus to come to him? How could he make sure that Jesus came, that he healed? The only thing he had was his voice. So as Jesus approached, Bartimaeus began to yell. People told him to be quiet. They told him to shush, but he ignored them. This was his only chance, the chance of a lifetime.

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Bartimaeus was smart! He was acknowledging that he believed Jesus to be the Messiah. "Son of David," he cried out again, "Have mercy on me!!"

Jesus hears him. He hears the urgency in this mans voice. He hears the plea, the desperation, the hunger, the need. But instead of walking to the blind beggar who sat on the side of the road, instead of walking by him like everyone did and healing him on the way, Jesus stops and stands still. He tells his disciples to call the blind man. Jesus wants him to walk, to meet him on his own two feet. Jesus calls him to come.

And there is this moment when the blind beggar must get his rigid body off the ground and grope his way forward to the King of Kings. Only after his walk, only after he comes on his own two feet, in his sloppy, unsure, groping way, does Jesus heal him. And you would think that he would have walked tentatively, not knowing what was out there, but when Jesus calls him, Mark writes that he throws off his cloak and jumps up! He is bound and determined to seize the moment and find the Lord.

I find it fascinating that the Son of God made the blind man walk to Him. Why? Jesus had walked for hundreds of miles and would walk further still. He would have to pass Bartimaeus anyway. Why ask the poor man to get up and make such an effort?

Somehow, I believe that the effort was important. You see, when we ask God to fix things for us, God often wants us to go in on it with Him. God wants us to come first to Him, before all of our problems are solved, before we are healed. In fact, the healing often begins when we realize that the first steps must be in God's direction. You may think that the first and most important thing you need is for your problems to be solved, but the first thing is always to grope your way forward in the dark towards God, not knowing if anything will get better, not knowing if God will answer your prayers but somewhere, deep inside, understanding that it is your only hope.

It is hard to understand why the Maker of the Universe would want us to get up and walk. Why doesn't God just do it all for us? Why does God ask us to try stuff when we cannot see clearly, when we are not even sure what it is that God is asking of us? Dont you sometimes feel like you are trying to do God's will and you don't even know what that will is? That you are groping in the dark, hoping that at least your efforts please Him?

That blind man must have looked like such a fool, in front of all the disciples and the crowds. Jesus asks the disciples to call Bartimaeus for him. He does not do it himself, so the blind man does not even know the sound of his Master's voice. He has to walk around in the dark, listening to the movement, the beating hearts, the sounds of many voices. Until he finds the Lord.

The blind man is healed because asks, yes, but also because he gets up and goes out to find Jesus. He doesn't just wait for God to fix his life, he acts to fix it too.

Dean Jose Angel is here today. He is the Dean of the Episcopal Cathedral in Havana, Cuba. He lost his voice a number of years ago, and they tried everything that they knew how to in Cuba. But no one could heal his voice. He came to the United States, hoping to find some help for his Cathedral. He did not know how he could continue to preach without a voice.

Here, about one year ago, as Dean Jose struggled to read just a portion of the Eucharistic prayer, Dr. Ryan Uitti, a neurologist at Mayo, was watching and listening. After the service, Ryan told Dean Jose that he believed he knew what was wrong. His problem was neurological, not vocal. He began a treatment plan at Mayo. You will hear him celebrate today. His voice is coming back.

Dean Jose prayed to God for help, and then he asked for help and he came to us, and we came to him. And a miracle occurred.

Theodore Roosevelt once uttered these words in a speech in Paris, France in 1910...

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood: who strives valiantly...who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly."

Today, you will be invited to bring your pledge cards up with you to communion. You will be asked to place them in a basket before the altar of God. Some of you might feel like the blind man, groping your way forward, thinking, why should I give when I need so much? Why should I get up and walk forward and give a portion of my income to God? Why doesn't God just give to me?

God gives best when you give too. God gives best when you go in search for him with your whole self, with your body, your mind, your resources, your talents, your money. Get up and walk. Dare to walk into the arena of life. Haven't you ever wondered why we only bring communion to those who cannot walk to the rail? Its not for convenience, it's because it is essential that you get up and walk to Jesus. Even if you have no idea which way to go. You may need to grope forward in the darkness to find Him. But when you find Him, He will open your eyes more. You will see. And you will give thanks.

And so Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus, walked to Jesus, and his eyes were opened. And he gave thanks to God.