On Christmas Morning

I would be remiss if I were to talk about Christmas without mentioning the red bicycle. The red bicycle was a Schwinn with 20 inch tires, the kind of bicycle that was soon to be in high demand for converting into a stingray with a banana seat and butterfly handlebars. At the time I had not ridden a bicycle and so pretty promptly my older brother was riding it around and around the driveway, but I did learn with some help and training wheels. That was one of the great Christmas presents. There were certainly others that at the time were more highly valued, but that was one of the most challenging, even daunting, to absorb.

Of course, the most daunting Christmas gift to absorb is the one we are all given this morning as we are every Christmas morning and that is the birth of Christ.

This morning, with the help of Linus and the Peanuts gang, we are reminded of the words we have just heard that we will hear again whenever we open the king James Bible, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, and listen to the words from the gospel of Luke chapter 2, that introduce us to the introduction of our savior into the world.

As Leo Tolstoy put it when describing another mother giving birth, this is the world's most solemn mystery now unfolding: when Mary, the mother of Jesus, in an unexpected accommodation, is giving birth to her firstborn son. 

Soon, according to some accounts, there would be a lot more of a fuss, but at the time, shepherds aside, and them the least of these the children of men, there was not much of a celebration. There was not much to mark this birth out from the birth of any other child.

His parents had some mysterious stories to be told, both by Joseph and by Mary,  and so did her cousin Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. 

I don’t think the stories had spread very widely by the time. This little child was born in Bethlehem, the city of David, a city, small yet not least among the cities of Judah, for in it was born this child who was to be king of the Jews and crucified as such.

I hope that isn’t jumping ahead too far in our story— it certainly isn’t jumping to the end, which is yet to be told or known or experienced.

And so we have the story which tells itself in our hearts, but also bears repeating for every Christmas and beyond.

Some people call the Episcopal Church a Christmas church because our emphasis is so much on the Incarnation; more than on the crucifixion which some Roman Catholics may be accused of dwelling upon too much, or on the resurrection and Easter, which are often the province of other denominations more inclined to look beyond Good Friday to the happy ending of the resurrection.

But we know the happy ending was there at the beginning, not just the "in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth" beginning, but the "in the beginning was the Word" beginning.

For Jesus, this little child, in whom the fullness of God was pleased to dwell comes for us, the fullest expression of God, of God’s will, of God’s grace, of God’s presence, of God’s love. that we can imagine or experience in our lives.

This child, yes, born 2000 and more years ago on the far side of the world in a small town, somehow becomes present to us and brings present to us the love of God, and that is what we celebrate today.

Merry Christmas.

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• Isaiah 9:2-7

• Titus 2:11-14

• Luke 2:1-14(15-20)

• Psalm 96

https://lectionarypage.net/YearABC_RCL/Christmas/ChrsDay1_RCL.html

https://ctktucson.org/

"The world's most solemn mystery was now being slowly enacted." 

[Sounds like the Nativity... it's from "War and Peace", as Andrei's wife gives birth. (Vol. 2, Part 1, Ch. 8.)]

hope beyond hope

 A long time ago a friend of mine from the church we attended in Manhattan, St Clement's off Broadway, developed a one-man show he called The Reverend Billy Show. It later developed into a full choir revival tour style revue, in which his character, cracked street preacher Reverend Billy, would deliver two or three raving sermons - that were actually pretty good. 

But at first it was a one man show with just his character, Reverend Billy, in a clerical dicky, a white suit, fabulous hair, a bull horn, and an imaginary online congregation. He would stand at the pulpit and rave about commercialism, egregious bombing of innocents, and other apparently Quixotic concerns of the time. And he had a creed, which we repeated: 

We believe in the god that people that don't believe in god believe in. Chant that.

Reverend Billy's creed came to mind as Sarah and I read about mid-century German theologians, including Karl Barth and Paul Tillich, and especially Dietrich Bonhoeffer. 

At that time the world was plunging into despair, desperation, cynicism: no hope. There was no hope, but as some of those brave theologians put it, there was hope beyond hope. Beyond despair. 

It sounds absurd. But this is a time when absurdities are not unfamiliar, either. Hope beyond hope.

The times of the mid-twentieth century in places like Germany were times of extreme, of government unleashed upon the innocent, of babies born in the face of fear. Of families torn apart by arbitrary detention. Of executions personally authorized by the head of state. Of exile. Of famine. Of despair.

And of hope beyond hope.

The Blessed Virgin Mary, her cousin Elizabeth, her husband-to-be Joseph, and the children that came to them, lived also in a time of uncertainty, despair, and precarious hope. 

The world hinged upon a word. "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb," the angel greeted Mary. She could have said no. Angels held their breath. And then she said, "yes."

Yes, to the improbably babyish salvation of the world. An innocent, among many born that year, was to survive the massacre of its age-mates - ordered by the king - and become ... the hope of the world.

It seems impossible but it was so. Is so. In the small room at the back of a home in Bethlehem, and in the small home the family returned to in Nazareth - but not yet - a child arrived, was welcomed, and grew. 

But not yet: first the child and his parents fled by night from Palestine through Gaza into Egypt, there to remain until the implacable search blew over and it appeared to be safe to return home. 

We here may not know, or may not have known, what it meant to be nearly hopeless, in a village surrounded by an imperial enemy, with disciplined troops nearby, always vigilant for signs of resistance.

We may know, through our own experience or that of family members or refugees we have encountered, or aid workers we have known, just exactly what that was like.

There is fear. But there is always hope. There is darkness. And-- there is light. 

And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not - cannot - put it out. For in him was life, and this life is the light of all people. Merry Christmas, once again. 

December 29, 2024. Lessons & Carols. Episcopal Church of Saint Matthew, Tucson. 8 & 10:30am

In those days...

In those days, Rome was strong, and young in its strength. It had a ruler so powerful he was called a living God, king of kings, and prince of peace. He was called the Emperor Augustus, and he was Emperor of all the world we knew.

His Legions, each five thousand strong, tramped the straight roads of empire, leveling high places and raising the low before them, arrow-straight through the heart of the nations, ruling them all and binding them all, in the darkness of imperial power. He closed his fist in his might, his boots trod across the world.

And he made peace: the peace of Rome, the quiet of empire, the velvet night of unchallengeable authority.

There was no questioning who was in charge… of this world that we knew.

Who were we?

We were just ordinary workingmen trying to make a living – shepherds, staying out in the fields all night, tending the sheep, guarding the flock, keeping watch.

We had seen a lot of strange things, at night, out in the fields. We had our share of bear stories, wolf stories; we'd fought lions.

But we had never seen anything like this. Right in the middle of an ordinary night, right in the middle of an ordinary job, something broke through from a realm beyond our sight.

A choir of heavenly messengers filled our eyes. Unto you, they sang - unto you!

Salvation comes, the king is born, and God has fulfilled his promise. Go and see: go into the town and look for a baby, an ordinary baby, all wrapped up and ready for bed, but sleeping in a manger – that's him.

That BABY is God incarnate: a baby lying in a manger, gently breathing, his folks standing by. This is the sign of God that everyone has been waiting for. This is the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Son of David, Christ Almighty – don't you want to tell somebody about it?

We're no angels. We're just shepherds, working the night shift on a far hillside. The mother herself saw no angels tonight, only us -- bringing the message, confirming what she knew in her heart, that today, in the City of David, is born a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

He had come, the Savior, the Messiah we were looking for – but not as we were looking. He came to us as a helpless infant, a baby: the hope of the world wrapped in swaddling cloths.

And this child, born to marginal people in a marginal town in a marginal province on the distant edge of the greatest empire the world had ever seen, quietly moved to the center of life. Humble and obedient, Joseph and Mary became more exalted than Herod had ever been; and their son, their Son, was in his infancy more powerful – though invisible in his majesty – than any Caesar would ever become.

Somehow, through this child, peace and righteousness and justice began to work their way in the world, the world that – after all – God, not Herod, had made. And into God’s world he sent his own Son, who became for us the Bread of Life.

We were ordinary workingmen, leading a workingman’s life. Into the very fields where the sheep lay came the extraordinary messengers, bearing glad tidings.

“On earth peace, good will toward men!”

Our lives were changed. Even after, later that night, as we trudged back up the frosty hill-paths to our flocks, we knew that the dawn that was breaking that morning was a new day indeed, for us, for our people, and for the whole world.

How then on an ordinary day are you to recognize the Christ Child? How is he born in your life – in your town?

You go about your business in your ordinary way – and yet: something extraordinary is happening even now, in your heart, in your life, in your will.

Christ is being born. God has sent his Redeemer to you, to establish the way of peace, to bring righteousness and peace to the world he has made, to the person he has made, to you.

Unto you is born this day a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary’s lap is sleeping, whom angels greet with anthems sweet while shepherds watch are keeping? This, this, is Christ the King; whom shepherds guard and angels sing: haste, haste, to bring him laud, the Babe, the Son of Mary!

JRL+


Fred B. Craddock et al., Preaching through the Christian Year (Trinity Press International)

Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Today (Anglican Book Centre)

Hugh Keyte & Andrew Parrott, eds., The Shorter New Oxford Book of Carols (Oxford, 1993) No. 53.

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HOPE * PEACE * JOY * LOVE

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined. … For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:2, 6)


Dear Beloved in Christ:

The days are getting shorter and darker and colder, and yet there is something growing every day, coming closer every day, becoming brighter and warmer every day: the coming of the Christ Child.

God’s self-giving love is shown to the whole world in his beloved Son, and the joy and peace that he brings us from God the Father, so that we, believing in him, may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

God comes down to us at Christmas; we anticipate this joyful event every day of Advent, and spend the season of waiting and watching in preparation for his coming into our lives and hearts.

As the days grow closer, as we reach the fulfillment of expectation in the joys of Christmas, we remember those we love, those near us and those far away, those who came before and those who are yet to come, and we think of the other people that God loves, that he knows and we have not known, and we bring them all before the Lord’s Table.

We offer our prayers and thanksgivings for the blessings we have received, and our intercessions for those who have gone without. We remember them, and know that even if we forget, God has them close to his heart. We know this, because Love came down at Christmas.

God has come to us, in the person of a person like ourselves, a little one, an infant, helpless and wailing, like any other; defenseless, humble, a servant. And yet in this very moment he showed his glory— glory not as the world knows it, but glory in the strength of the Spirit of God, a glory that is so strong it can give away its power, so bright it can carry through the dark, and so big that it can make itself as tiny as a whisper— a still, small voice, through which God can speak.

From the smallest of voices to the loudest hosannas, we gather each year at this time, to thank God for the gift of hope, of joy, of peace, and of love, that we know in Christ: unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given…

Merry Christmas everybody, and God bless us, every one!



The Rev. John Leech, Priest and Rector



You are always welcome at St. Alban’s!

Worship with us this Christmas season:


St. Alban's Christmas Worship Schedule

Sunday December 21 –
8:00 a.m. Holy Eucharist (traditional)
10:30 a.m. Holy Eucharist (contemporary)

Wednesday December 24 – Christmas Eve
5:30 p.m. Family Eucharist with Children's Pageant
(All children are invited to take part!)
10:30 p.m. Festive Eucharist

Thursday December 25 – Christmas Day
10:00 a.m. Holy Eucharist

Sunday December 28 –
8:00 a.m. Holy Eucharist (traditional)
10:30 a.m. Lessons & Carols, with Eucharist

Sunday January 4 – The Epiphany (observed)
8:00 a.m. Holy Eucharist (traditional)
10:30 a.m. Holy Eucharist (contemporary)


St. Alban’s Episcopal Church
21405 82nd Place West (near Five Corners)
Edmonds, Washington 98026
(425) 775-0371
http://www.stalbansedmonds.org

Holy Eucharist every Sunday at 8:00 a.m. and 10:30 a.m.
Healing Eucharist every Wednesday at 9:00 a.m.

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workingman's life

In those days…

Rome was strong, and young in its strength. It had a ruler so powerful he was called a living God, king of kings, and prince of peace. His name… didn’t matter: he was called Caesar Augustus, and he was Emperor of all the world we knew.

His Legions, each five thousand strong, tramped the straight roads of empire, leveling high places and raising the low before them, arrow-straight through the heart of the nations, ruling them all and binding them all, in the darkness of imperial power. He closed his fist in his might, his boots trod across the world.

And he made peace: the peace of Rome, the quiet of empire, the velvet night of unchallengeable authority.
There was no questioning who was in charge… of this world that we knew.

Who were we?

We were just ordinary workingmen trying to make a living – shepherds, staying out in the fields all night, tending the sheep, guarding the flock, keeping watch.

We had seen a lot of strange things, at night, out in the fields. We had our share of bear stories, wolf stories; we'd fought lions.

But we had never seen anything like this. Right in the middle of an ordinary night, right in the middle of an ordinary job, something broke through from a realm beyond our sight.

A choir of heavenly messengers filled our eyes. Unto you, they sang - unto you!

Salvation comes, the king is born, and God has fulfilled his promise. Go and see: go into the town and look for a baby, an ordinary baby, all wrapped up and ready for bed, but sleeping in a manger – that's him.

That BABY is God incarnate: a baby lying in a manger, gently breathing, his folks standing by. This is the sign of God that everyone has been waiting for. This is the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Son of David, Christ Almighty – don't you want to tell somebody about it?

We're no angels. We're just shepherds, working the night shift on a far hillside. The mother herself saw no angels tonight, only us -- bringing the message, confirming what she knew in her heart, that today, in the City of David, is born a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

He had come, the Savior, the Messiah we were looking for – but not as we were looking. He came to us as a helpless infant, a baby: the hope of the world wrapped in swaddling cloths.

And this child, born to marginal people in a marginal town in a marginal province on the distant edge of the greatest empire the world had ever seen, quietly moved to the center of life. Humble and obedient, Joseph and Mary became more exalted than Herod had ever been; and their son, their Son, was in his infancy more powerful – though invisible in his majesty – than any Caesar would ever become.

Somehow, through this child, peace and righteousness and justice began to work their way in the world, the world that – after all – God, not Herod, had made. And into God’s world he sent his own Son, who became for us the Bread of Life.
We were ordinary workingmen, leading a workingman’s life. Into the very fields where the sheep lay came the extraordinary messengers, bearing glad tidings.

“On earth peace, good will toward men!”

Our lives were changed. Even after, later that night, as we trudged back up the frosty hill-paths to our flocks, we knew that the dawn that was breaking that morning was a new day indeed, for us, for our people, and for the whole world.

How then on an ordinary day are you to recognize the Christ Child? How is he born in your life – in your town?

You go about your business in your ordinary way – and yet: something extraordinary is happening even now, in your heart, in your life, in your will.

Christ is being born. God has sent his Redeemer to you, to establish the way of peace, to bring righteousness and peace to the world he has made, to the person he has made, to you.

Unto you is born this day a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary’s lap is sleeping, whom angels greet with anthems sweet while shepherds watch are keeping? This, this, is Christ the King; whom shepherds guard and angels sing: haste, haste, to bring him laud, the Babe, the Son of Mary!

JRL+

Fred B. Craddock et al., Preaching through the Christian Year (Trinity Press International)

Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Today (Anglican Book Centre)

Hugh Keyte & Andrew Parrott, eds., The Shorter New Oxford Book of Carols (Oxford, 1993) No. 53.

St Alban's Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Washington
December 24, 2007.

unto you a child is born

We were just ordinary men trying to make a living - out in the fields all night, guarding the flock, keeping watch. We had seen a lot of strange things, at night, out in the fields. We had our share of bear stories, wolf stories; we'd fought lions.

But we had never seen anything like this. Right in the middle of an ordinary night, right in the middle of an ordinary job, something broke through from a realm beyond our sight.

A choir of heavenly messengers filled our eyes. Unto you, they sang - unto you! Salvation comes, the king is born, God has fulfilled his promise. Go and see: go into the town and look for a baby, an ordinary baby, all wrapped up and ready for bed, but sleeping in a manger -- that's him.

That BABY is God incarnate: a baby lying in a manger, gently breathing, his folks standing by. This is the sign of God that everyone has been waiting for. This is the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Son of David, Christ Almighty -- don't you want to tell somebody about it?

We're no angels. We're just shepherds, working the night shift on a far hillside. The mother herself saw no angels tonight, only us -- bringing the message, confirming what she knew in her heart, that today, in the City of David, is born a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

How then on an ordinary day are you to recognize the Christ Child? How is he born in your life -- in your town?

You go about your business in your ordinary way -- and yet: something extraordinary is happening even now, in your heart, in your life, in your will. Christ is being born. God has sent his Redeemer to you, to establish the way of peace, to bring righteousness and peace to the world he has made, to the person he has made, to you.



JRL+
Christmas, Christmas Eve, Luke 1:1-20, John 1:1-14 (15-18), Isaiah 9:2-7, Titus 2:11-14,Isaiah 62:6-7, Psalm 96, Psalm 97, Psalm 98, Titus 3:4-7, Hebrews 1:1-4

Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Today (Anglican Book Centre)

Fred B. Craddock et al., Preaching through the Christian Year (Trinity Press International)

St Alban's Episcopal Church
Edmonds, Washington