First Sunday after Christmas

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the one to rule them all?

[— and in the darkness bind them!]

In the name of God, source of all being, eternal word, and holy spirit. Amen.

Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. 

(BCP 1979. Contemporary Collect for the First Sunday after Christmas Day)

Almighty God, who hast given us thy only-begotten Son to take our nature upon him and as at this time to be born of a pure Virgin: Grant that we, being regenerate — born anew – and made thy children by adoption and grace, may daily be renewed by thy Holy Spirit; through the same our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the same Spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen. 

(BCP 1662)

Eternal light, scatter the darkness from our hearts and minds, enlighten our lives with your glory, and give us the power and wisdom to live as sons and daughters of God;  — as children of light — through Jesus Christ our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

David Adam, Glimpses of Glory (SPCK, 2000) 18.

What does it mean to be children of light? The first chapter of the gospel of John presents a very different Jesus to our eyes. Christmas morning there was a Baby. Today, the first Sunday after Christmas, we hear that “in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God” – and that the Word has become flesh: the uncreated source of all being greets us from the cradle. 

Before the beginning the Word was with God. The presence of God among us, Emmanuel, is the Word through whom all things came to be. But the Word was there before – before there was a before! God expressed himself: and that self-expression was with God, and that self-expression was God, for only God could be that Word.

Yet that which caused all things to be, came among us, in the form of Jesus, in whom the fullness of God was pleased to dwell. And for all those who choose to receive him, that very fullness becomes available to us. We can receive it, into ourselves. And live its reality. 

Beyond the duties of church and family and nation, beyond our duties to ourselves, is the gift of following the one true light, found in Christ Emmanuel. God with us. That uncreated light, that presence, is present to us. 

And we can become children of light: as we accept its radiance. 

What does it mean to be children of light? Today when darkness is around us, how do we take in the luminous presence of God and let it shine forth in our lives? 

Only a few days ago the literal darkness of the winter night began to recede as the longest night of the year receded into the past. Only a few days ago the brightness of the everlasting dawning which is the presence of our Savior became manifest, once again, as we welcomed the child Jesus. 

And now we can become children ourselves again as we welcome again the presence of the Lord, the presence of the light, as we receive grace upon grace, love beyond love, in our inner lives – and in our outer lives as well.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the one to rule them all? There are plenty of self-nominated candidates who seek to answer this question. In our own past century Mao, Stalin, Saddam Hussein, and others, who put up vast posters of themselves, and statues, pushed themselves forward. Memento Park in Budapest is full of Soviet-era statues of self-nominated angels of light.

Back in the days of the Nativity, there was one simple answer to who is the one to rule them all: “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus…”

Caesar Augustus was ubiquitous, his image – and his troops – everywhere. Client kings like Herod the Great and his dubious offspring knew who was the boss. All the world — that is, the Roman, ‘civilized’, subjugated, world, knew who was boss. 

He was even proclaimed “savior of the world’ – that Roman world; for he has solved the problem of internecine war and inter-office bickering. No more civil war. Because he had won. He had defeated, and slaughtered, his rivals. Peace. 

Pax Romana. Pax Augusta. Peace in his time. In his way. Under his authority. 

Not.

The little baby we greeted this week of Christmas had something else to say. 

Before Augustus was, I AM. Before the beginning, when there was no light, no life, he was life, and light, and love. What Caesar Augustus ruled was darkness, not light: but there was light beyond.

What came into being

     through the Word was life,

    and the life was the light for all people.

The light shines in the darkness,

    and the darkness doesn’t extinguish the light.

Before Augustus was, I AM. 

Through him all things came to be. The logos, “the eternal word manifest in the reason and order of the cosmos of which it was the creative agent,” was not a new concept to first-century people. 

(Massey Shepherd, The Oxford American Prayer Book Commentary, 1963, 97)

But now– something new. The Word has become flesh, and dwelt among us. 

“This pre-existent, eternal and divine word has now been manifested in the flesh, in the person of Jesus Christ. And that life gives not only light to the understanding,” - intellectual knowledge - “that we may know the truth, but also power to the will, that we may be obedient sons [children] of God. For in Him [Christ] the glory of God was revealed in the fullness of ‘grace and truth.’”

(Massey Shepherd, loc. cit.)

The light still shines in the darkness and the darkness has never put it out.

The creator is not remote; he is Emmanuel: God with us. The word, eternal, became flesh. With us he dwells and so we see his Glory. Glory - light, shining, and more than light: life in essential union with its source. 

Right now, this morning, we remember the child, and the infinite possibility he seems to awaken in us, an infinite possibility for hope and joy. And love.

This little child is revealed in radiance, in sharp contrast to Caesar Augustus, as far from imperial pomp as what power is really all about: a creative, redemptive, power, made perfect in weakness, that means eternal, abundant life, and a light that both illuminates and empowers. 

This little light of mine, comes from that light. To carry that light into the world is our joy and our task. 

Today there are plenty of people who put themselves forward to tell you who is the one to be the leader. Who will the mirror reflect? Who is the one to rule them all? Is it the one we hope to see when we gaze into the mirror? 

If I controlled the clicker that chose the images that the mirror, the flat-screen, on the wall, projected, who would I see? Would I see myself? What would I do to shape that image? What would I not do?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the one to rule them all?

[– and in the darkness bind them!]

And yet beyond the mirror is the reality of the light. The light that was before all being, creating all and illuminating all. And in that harsh light, that glare of reality and truth, any puny effort to ‘rule them all’ is evident to fail.

We may want to count the cost. To submit ourselves to him, to become children of light, is to give up being our own back-lit mirrors. It is to accept the reality that in him is life and this life is the light of all people. There is no other source. He is the one. 

Thank God.

Eternal light, scatter the darkness from our hearts and minds, enlighten our lives with your glory, and give us the power and wisdom to live as sons and daughters of God;  — as children of light — through Jesus Christ our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

David Adam, Glimpses of Glory (SPCK, 2000) 18.

Christmas1

First Sunday after Christmas

● Isaiah 61:10-62:3

● Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

● John 1:1-18

● Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

https://lectionarypage.net/YearABC/Christmas/Christmas1.html

https://ctktucson.org/ 

https://www.facebook.com/ctktucson

JRL+

Be ware of darkness that casts itself as light.

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

small words

 In the name of God, source of all Being, eternal Word, and holy Spirit. Small words. Big meanings. Spirit. Word. Being. God.

Our first words as children sound small and seem simple. Hot, cold, brother, sister, mine, papa. Mama. But the meanings loom large. When we are small, is there anything more important than what those small words convey? 

The first words of the gospel of John are small words. 

Small words. Large meanings. Light. Life. Word. Flesh.

And then there are the words at the beginning of the four gospels. Matthew begins with a genealogy. Luke begins with birth announcements. Mark starts straight out with the Baptist in the wilderness. The gospel of John begins, “in the beginning” - or rather before. 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was with God in the beginning. Everything came into being through the Word, and without the Word nothing came into being. What came into being through the Word was life, and this life was the light for all people. The light still shines in the darkness and the darkness has never put it out… The Word became a human being and lived among us. We have seen his glory, glory like that of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” John 1:1-4, 14.

What this passage has personally meant to me has changed and grown over the years since I first read it. In high school days, “read the gospel of John first” was common advice to prospective converts. 

This advice held for many years for me, until at the suggestion of Carl F. H. Henry, the Key ‘73 initiative chose Luke-Acts for widespread distribution. 

Luke has the familiar Christmas story, with angels and shepherds and all. And Matthew has the magi.

Inter-Varsity used to tell people to read Mark first as the shortest and earliest. Read it without notes or advice, they said, as if it were in a sealed envelope you were opening for the first time.

Which would leave us to read it each with our own peculiar prejudices - or ones easily supplied. 

John however is admittedly abstract - where are we? In the cosmic vision of Christ Pantocrator, all-ruler, as in those Byzantine ceilings. His serene serious visage looms over us, grand and remote. The human Jesus appears later in John, but appear he does.

At first though we have some basic precepts to lay down. The creator is not remote; he is Emmanuel: God with us. 

Jesus was there from the beginning, in fact the beginning of all things began with him: he was already there and all that came into being came through him. Whoa! Heady concept. And how cool is that?

At least I thought so, as a teenager. And I thought I’d got it. At least a grasp on the coattails. How long could I, have I, chewed over the meaning of this passage ever since? And how long and how often have you?

However often we hear it we just seem to spiral deeper into its meaning. Once, some Sundays ago, Deacon Jefferson Bailey and I agreed that when we read the gospel in church, every time it says something new to us - and with the prolog to the gospel of John something deeper emerges. 

Indeed I like what Lesslie Newbigin calls it: not so much a prolog (as to a Shakespeare play) as an overture, as to an opera. And indeed John has everything in it - except the kitchen sink. 

Though it comes close even to that. 

The whole cosmos - the whole created order - is in there for sure, in just the first five sentences.

Julian’s hazelnut or cosmologist’s infinitesimal particle have nothing on John: before it began, he was - he, Jesus, as the Son of God, pre-existed, existed before, anything was made that was made… and so the mind-blowing (as we said in the sixties) phrase … ‘and all that came into being came into being through him.’

Through him all things came to be. The logos, “the eternal word manifest in the reason and order of the cosmos of which it was the creative agent,” was not a new concept to first-century people. 

(Massey Shepherd, The Oxford American Prayer Book Commentary, 1963, 97)

But now– something new. The Word has become flesh, and dwelt among us. 

It all sounds so abstract: source of all being, eternal Word, holy Spirit. 

If you had asked Mary on December 26th if it felt abstract you might have gotten a short answer. Joseph might remark that the organizing principle of the cosmos had just wet himself. 

[We have just heard on Christmas Eve the story of the manger, about the humanness of Jesus, and all of heaven’s glory in a little room. Shepherds kept their watch by night; and angels sang.]

“This pre-existent, eternal and divine word has now been manifested in the flesh, in the person of Jesus Christ. And that life gives not only light to the understanding,” - intellectual knowledge - “that we may know the truth, but also power to the will, that we may be obedient sons [children] of God. For in Him [Christ] the glory of God was revealed in the fullness of ‘grace and truth.’”

(Massey Shepherd, The Oxford American Prayer Book Commentary, 97)

Words. Simple, small, profound: light, life, truth, grace. All in Him.

Water, air, breath, earth, sun : light and life. 

Brother, mother, family, friend, guest : simple small words.

The great ideas are learned early. And last. 

In our lives, in our lives in Christ.

The simple small words of the Gospel, repeated, almost redundant, like the cards laid on the table one by one, or bricks laid one at a time, row by row – or stones, building slowly, row by row, into a great temple. 

Mind, spirit, heart.

The word, eternal, became flesh, and his tabernacle, his tent of meeting, he raised in the midst of the camp, as the sacred central place in the midst of the people of Israel on Sinai. With us he dwells and so we see his Glory. Glory - light, shining, and more than light: life in essential union with its source.

Now this little child is revealed in radiance, in sharp contrast to Caesar Augustus, as far from Roman pomp as what the planet is really all about: a power and a weakness that mean eternal, abundant life, and a light that both illuminates and empowers. 

It is all a bit much for the parents of a small creature, weighing a handful of pounds, and not yet the handful he will become by the age of twelve…  (Remember him in the Temple quizzing the elders?) … or the powerful teacher he will be as a full-grown man.

Here in the swaddling clothes is the mystery of the universe. A feeling common to many parents. Donald Nicholl said that a man gets serious when he becomes a father. (Dorothy, his wife, said for a woman it's as soon as she gets married.) And certainly things got serious for the first family almost immediately: shepherds, angels, soldiers, journey at night. 

Right now, this morning after Christmas morning, we remember the child, and the infinite possibility he seems to awaken in us, an infinite possibility for hope and joy. And love. 

And so as the light has come among us in this little child, this awesome beginning, we can say some more simple words, words Dag Hammarsjkold jotted down in his diary:

• For all that has been— Thanks! 

• To all that will be— Yes!

 (Hammarskjöld, Markings: 6, 83).

May it be so. Always. Amen.

The Overture of Light and Life

2021 12 26

https://www.episcopalchurch.org/lectionary/christmas-1/

Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

• Isaiah 61:10-62:3

• Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

• John 1:1-18

• Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC/Christmas/Christmas1.html

First Sunday after Christmas

Episcopal Church of Saint Matthew, Tucson, Arizona. 8:00 am & 10:30 am.

https://stmatthew.azdiocese.org/ sermon on the youtube

(17:15-30:00)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcR12Z13dhE

The Words of Life

 

The Overture of Light and Life

In the name of God, source of all Being, eternal Word, and holy Spirit. Small words. Big meanings. Spirit. Word. Being. God.

Our first words as children sound small and seem simple. Hot, cold, brother, sister, mine, papa. Mama. But the meanings loom large. When we are small, is there anything more important than what those small words convey? 

The first words of the gospel of John are small words. 

Small words. Large meanings. Light. Life. Word. Flesh.

And then there are the words at the beginning of the four gospels. Matthew begins with a genealogy. Luke begins with birth announcements. Mark starts straight out with the Baptist in the wilderness. The gospel of John begins, “in the beginning” - or rather before. 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was with God in the beginning. Everything came into being through the Word, and without the Word nothing came into being. What came into being through the Word was life, and this life was the light for all people. The light still shines in the darkness and the darkness has never put it out… The Word became a human being and lived among us. We have seen his glory, glory like that of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” John 1:1-4, 14.

Through him all things came to be. The logos, [λόγος], “the eternal word manifest in the reason and order of the cosmos of which it was the creative agent,” was not a new concept to first-century people. 

(Massey Shepherd, The Oxford American Prayer Book Commentary, 1963, 97)

But now– something new. The Word has become flesh, and dwelt among us. 

It all sounds so abstract: source of all being, eternal Word, holy Spirit. If you had asked Mary on December 26th if it felt abstract you might have gotten a short answer. Joseph might remark that the organizing principle of the cosmos had just wet himself. 

[We hear on Christmas Eve the story of the manger, about the humanness of Jesus, and all of heaven’s glory in a little room. Shepherds kept their watch by night; and angels sang.]

“This pre-existent, eternal and divine word has now been manifested in the flesh, in the person of Jesus Christ. And that life gives not only light to the understanding,” - intellectual knowledge - “that we may know the truth, but also power to the will, that we may be obedient sons [children] of God. For in Him [Christ] the glory of God was revealed in the fullness of ‘grace and truth.’”

(Massey Shepherd, The Oxford American Prayer Book Commentary, 97)

Words. Simple, small, profound: light, life, truth, grace. All in Him.

Water, air, breath, earth, sun : light and life. 

Brother, mother, family, friend, guest : simple small words.

The great ideas are learned early. And last.

The simple small words of the Gospel, repeated, almost redundant, like the cards laid on the table one by one, or bricks laid one at a time, row by row – or stones, building slowly, row by row, into a great temple. 

Mind, spirit, heart.

The word, eternal, became flesh, and his tabernacle, his tent of meeting, he raised in the midst of the camp, as the sacred central place in the midst of the people of Israel on Sinai. With us he dwells and so we see his Glory. Glory - light, shining, and more than light: life in essential union with its source.

Now this little child is revealed in radiance, in sharp contrast to Caesar Augustus, as far from Roman pomp as what the planet is really all about: a power and a weakness that mean eternal, abundant life, and a light that both illuminates and empowers. 

And so as the light has come among us in this little child, this awesome beginning, we can say some more simple words, words Dag Hammarsjkold jotted down in his diary:

• For all that has been— Thanks! 
• To all that will be— Yes!

 (Hammarskjöld, Markings: 6, 83)

Christmas1

This is the Sunday of Light: of the Light that shines in the Darkness and the Darkness has never put it out.

This is the Sunday we bear witness to the Light: the Light of the Good News of God.

What we have done this year, this past Advent and this ongoing Christmas season, is to bear forth into the world the Good news that is the Light of God incarnate in Jesus Christ.

We do this through our actions, as symbolic as our liturgy, and as concrete as our activity during the week, in the world. We show forth the Light, and we bear witness to it, potentially in all we do.

This past few weeks I have been the grateful witness and participant in many manifestations of the light in the midst of darkness. I have been aware of the darkness, of fear and misunderstanding and willful hate, of ignorance and exclusion and pompous piety. And I have been aware that throughout all of this we the witnesses to the light have not given up.

In fact, we have shone out! – in so many ways…

I see it in the processions – in the All Souls procession from St John the Evangelist parish church down to the mission church of San Xavier, and in Las Posadas right over on South Main Avenue with the schoolchildren of Carrillo School.

I have seen the light of Christ shining, being borne forth by his people.

I have seen it in the pointedly political bi-national Las Posadas on the border in Nogales, with the dioceses of Tucson and Nogales leading, and many people concerned with our border and immigration policy and practices taking part in a mildly long walk.

I have seen it in our Christmas celebrations, in church and community – church in community:

·     Advent Lessons and Carols

·     Bake sale at the Parade of Lights

·     Carols and Beer!

·     Longest Night service – and all our services.

When we take a gift to a friend or a greeting to a neighbor, when we wave someone ahead of us on the street or in line at the grocery store, it may not mean much to us – or to them. But it gets us going. It gets us started on another path than the one that leaves us in shadow.

When on Christmas Eve a few of us were talking through the fine points of the liturgy, Vicar Kate reminded us that the gospel book itself bears witness to the light. When it was carried first in procession, before the story of the Christ Child was read, it was the vessel of illumination. It carried a light that was leading the way – the light of the Good News of God.

As we heard that story again and for the first time that night, we could almost see the glow around the people gathered in the little town where the child lay. There in that faraway place, new Light had come into the world.

It came in dangerous times, in a risky way. It came in by the small door, not through palace gates, but in an ordinary small place.

Light comes to us sometimes without angels – or with only shepherds to witness. Sometimes we are the shepherds, the poor ones trying to keep warm on a cold night – just doing our jobs. But then…

The word comes to us and dwells among us, the word which is the light of all people.

We have a new job to do.

That job – that work – is to bear witness to the Light; what that means, how that plays out for each of us, is the daily task, and the daily opportunity, of our new lives in Christ.

May we as we go forth into the world into this new-coming year, bring with us a little bit of the glow of Christmas night, as we too, like the shepherds and angels before us, try to hold aloft the Light that reveals the truth to all, and the glory to all, of God with us.

Eternal light, scatter the darkness from our hearts and minds, enlighten our lives with you glory, and give us the power and wisdom to live as sons and daughters of God; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

John 1:1-18

Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

David Adam, Glimpses of Glory (SPCK, 2000) 18.

Preached at St Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Tucson, Arizona. Sunday 27 December 2016
JRL+

The Sunday of Light

First Sunday after Christmas

This is the Sunday of Light: of the Light that shines in the Darkness and the Darkness has never put it out. This is the Sunday we bear witness to the Light: the Light of the Good News of God.

What we have done this year, this past Advent and this ongoing Christmas season, is to bear forth into the world the Good news that is the Light of God incarnate in Jesus Christ.

We do this through our actions, symbolic as our liturgy, and our activity during the week, in the world. We show forth the Light, and we bear witness to it, potentially in all we do.

This past month I have been the grateful witness and participant in many manifestations of the light in the midst of darkness. I have been aware of the darkness, of fear and misunderstanding and willful hate, of ignorance and exclusion and pompous piety. And I have been aware that throughout all of this we the witnesses to the light have not given up.

We have not given in. I see it in the processions – in the procession on All Hallows’ Eve from St John the Evangelist parish church down to the mission church of San Xavier, in Las Posadas right over on South Main Avenue with the schoolchildren of Carrillo School. I have seen it in the more pointedly political bi-national Las Posadas on the border in Nogales, with the dioceses of Tucson and Nogales leading, and many people concerned with our border and immigration policy and practices taking part in a mildly long walk.

When we take a gift or a greeting to a neighbor, when we wave someone ahead of us on the street or in line at the grocery store, it may not mean much to us – or to them. But it gets us going. It gets us started on another path than the one that leaves us in shadow.

When on Christmas Eve we were talking through the fine points of the liturgy, Vicar Kate reminded us that the gospel book itself bears witness to the light. When it was carried first in procession, before the story of the Christ Child was read, it was the vessel of illumination. It carried a light that was leading the way.

As we heard that story again and for the first time that night, we could almost see the glow around the people gathered in the little town where the child lay. There in that faraway place, whether the child was in a barn or a cozy back room of a family home, new Light had come into the world. It came in dangerous times, in a risky way. It came in by the small door, not through the gates of the palace, but in an ordinary small place.

Light comes to us sometimes without angels – or with only shepherds to witness. Sometimes we are the shepherds, the poor ones trying to keep warm on a cold night – just doing our jobs. But then…

The word comes to us and dwells among us, the word which is the light of all people.

When we see it, when we hear it, we may not know how to ignore it. We have a new job to do.

That job – that work – is to bear witness to the Light; what that means, how that plays out for each of us, is the daily task, and the daily opportunity, of our new lives in Christ.

May we as we go forth into the world into this new-coming year, bring with us a little bit of the glow of Christmas night, as we too, like the shepherds and star-watchers before us, try to hold aloft the Light that reveals the truth to all and the glory to all of God with us.

 
Sunday 27 December 2016
St Andrew's Episcopal Church
Tucson, Arizona

• Isaiah 61:10-62:3
• Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
• John 1:1-18
• Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

in the city of the shepherd-king

One Christmas I got something unexpected in the mail – a shoebox, for women’s pumps, black, size 7-1/2 B.

Inside the box were three half-pound packages of coffee from Old Bisbee Roasters in Arizona.

There was a note, from my friend Colleen. When she bought the coffee for me, as a Christmas gift, she’d told the roaster that I was a minister. So he’d said to make sure to tell me that he ‘wants to have a personal relationship’—with me.

There was also a Christmas card. The outside had a cartoon of a little boy, presumably in a Christmas pageant, with a blanket on his head. It was captioned “What Christmas is really about.” Linus, Charlie Brown’s little brother, was reciting from the 2nd chapter of the Gospel of Luke:

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them… And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." So they went with haste…

The shepherds are not passive viewers; they take an active part in the story. And this is their action moment, when they speak, “Let us go down to Bethlehem…” and move toward the promised Child.

What did they go into the City of David to see?

Was the Child a nascent hero, like Hercules? Children’s books say that when Hercules was a baby he was already a super-hero. He strangled snakes in his cradle. And who knows what he got up to when he began to walk – but:

The Christ Child was not Superbaby—he was a real baby. He was vulnerable and soft. His surroundings, warm and fragrant from the animals, were none of his choosing. He was dependent on those around him. Joseph and Mary looked after him. But as we know from the story of the shepherds, he was already drawing toward him those who sought the peace of God.

There in the City of David the Shepherd-king of old, not in a wayfarer’s inn but in a stable, there the King of all shepherds in a manger lay, offering himself as manna, bread of heaven, bread in the wilderness, bread of life – offering himself in obedience and offering that obedience as savior of all; and offering that obedience, to all, as the way that salvation led.

He was the promised Child, the shepherd-king of Isaiah 40:

Comfort, oh comfort My people, Says your God.

Like a shepherd He pastures His flock: He gathers the lambs in His arms

And carries them in His bosom; Gently He drives the mother sheep.

(Isaiah 40:1,11 JPS)

Long ago and far, far away another shepherd abiding in the fields was keeping watch over the flocks by night: Cuthbert, a young man of 9th century Northumbria in northern England. He used to sing the psalms to the sheep at night.

And then one night, at the age of eighteen, he had a vision, or perhaps a dream, and the next morning he went down the hills to Melrose, where he became a monk. The story goes that that was the very night when Aidan, founder of Lindisfarne Priory on Holy Island, had died.

After some years as a monk, Cuthbert was sent to take Aidan’s place. And so he traveled on Cuthbert’s Way, over the hills again, to the Holy Island. There he found behind the priory a beach and across a small inlet of the North Sea a very small rocky islet. At night when the tide was low he would wade out to it, gaze back across the water to the priory where the monks were sleeping, and as they slept he would sing the psalms. “Like a shepherd he pastures his flock…”

The call to Melrose and the call to the priory were moments of decision for Cuthbert. He took action, and got involved in the story. He became a shepherd of men. In doing so, he recalled to mind the Lord that he served – that we serve: Jesus, the Good Shepherd.

The same Lord calls each of us – from field or from home – to come witness the coming of the Christ Child, to adore him, to receive him into our hearts, to share in his life – the obedience, the innocence, the hope – and to bring to the world hope and peace, joy and love, justice and mercy.

The shepherds of Bethlehem went into town to see if Jesus really was the Messiah they’d been waiting for. And they found him:

The Shepherd King,
Who calls each of us by name,
Who watches over his flock,
And sings to them of Paradise.


JRL+

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A Christmas Carol
Christina Rossetti

Before the paling of the stars
Before the winter morn
Before the earliest cockcrow
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable
Cradled in a manger,
In the world His Hands had made
Born a Stranger.

Priest and King lay fast asleep
In Jerusalem,
Young and Old lay fast asleep
In crowded Bethlehem:
Saint and Angel, Ox and Ass
Kept a watch together
Before the Christmas daybreak
In the winter weather.

Jesus on His Mother’s breast
In the stable cold,
Spotless Lamb of God was He,
Shepherd of the Fold:
Let us kneel with Mary Maid
With Joseph bent and hoary
With Saint and Angel, Ox and Ass
To hail the King of Glory.

Christina Rossetti: The Complete Poems (2001) 564-565.

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No one has ever seen God...

We might envision the Solar System as a vast arena of bleak spaces, cold small stones separated by uncrosseable distances, held together only by the distant pull of a tiny dot of fire.

In his science-fiction novels, Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength, C. S. Lewis reimagines the Solar System as the Field of the Sun, a glorious cloth-of-gold dance-floor across which parade the celestial giants, whose rays illuminate its farthest reaches.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

• In the beginning was the Word,

At the very beginning of all things, before anything was made, Christ already was.

• and the Word was with God,

Jesus is the second person of the Trinity; he is the face of God that we see.

• and the Word was God.

Christ and God are one.

• He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.

The Word – the logos – is the organizing principle through which all things come into being. This is he who redeems us. The one through whom we are made is the one through whom we are redeemed; the source of our creation is the source of our salvation.

• What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

• The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Dark as the world may appear, God is light: and this light surrounds us. We live in the light, we are children of the day.

• [There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.]

• The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

“The light which shone in Jesus, and which shines on as the name of Jesus is proclaimed throughout the world, is none other than the light of God himself, his first creation, the light that enlightens every human being.”—Lesslie Newbigin

• He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.

• But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

• And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.

The logos, the Word, the Christ, the One through whom all things come into being, this of all things the organizing principle, yet became human. This is the organizing principle of the universe – what kind of organizing principle is it that becomes a BABY????

One that is very close to humanity.

One that is personal, and loves us.

One whose Spirit acting in us causes us to cry out to God like children, “Abba! Father!”

• God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" (Galatians 4:6)

• (John testified to him and cried out, "This was he of whom I said, 'He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.'")

• From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.

This divine presence, this Word that dwells among us, brings the overflowing abundance, the full being of God, into human life. No wonder he is alive! No wonder that to be near him is to become – to be called to be – fully alive.

• The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

The apostle Paul, in his letter to the Galatians, compares the Law of Moses to a pedagogue, the slave responsible for accompanying young children to school.

• The law was our pedagogue until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. (Gal. 3:24)

The Law, in more modern terms, was like a schoolmaster or a teacher, or a big brother, or perhaps an au pair or a nanny, making sure a child got to school and learned its lessons.

But eventually you outgrow nannies – you don’t have someone dogging you or guiding you that closely. You make your own way to school. And you go on, into adult life.

• But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a pedagogue. (Gal. 3:25)

You grow up, and take responsibility for your own growth and development, your own learning. You put away childish things; you stand on your own feet.

Among the childish things you put away are the legalisms, the bad habits and false pieties, old patterns that hold you back from knowledge of the true and living God. They shielded you once from experiencing God more directly. Now they are as appetizing as baby food.

Puréed carrots. Strained beets.

It is time for something more grown up: nourishment for the adult soul.

How about some water, some oil, some bread and wine?

Grace and truth, mercy and faithfulness, come through Jesus Christ.

• No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.

But how do you learn the ways of God? Nobody has ever seen him.

You learn by following Christ.

This Jesus, whom his friends knew, ate with, talked to and laughed with and wept with, this same Jesus whom Mary held close to her and nursed: this Jesus who was presented in the Temple, this Jesus was the Son of God.

And the Son has made God known, not as will and idea, principle or precept, but as living “Abba”, Father.

Through following Jesus we get to know the heart of God. And that heart is a heart of love. So in knowing Jesus, this one whom the shepherds watched as angels sang, we learn that the organizing principle at the heart of the universe is – love.

Love God, and love one another, as he has loved us. This is the heart of God.

JRL+


The Lectionary Page http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearABC/Christmas/Christmas1.html

Oremus Bible Browser http://bible.oremus.org

Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary http://www.m-w.com/dictionary

New Proclamation, Year A, 2007-2008, Advent through Holy Week (Fortress Press, 2007)

Preaching Through the Christian Year, Year A (Trinity Press International, 1992)

Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Today (Anglican Book Centre, 1998, 2001)

HarperCollins Study Bible, Rev. Ed. (HarperCollins, 2006)

Raymond E. Brown, S.S., Introduction to the New Testament (Yale, 1997)

Lesslie Newbigin, The Light Has Come (Eerdmans, 1982)


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