Arctic Blast

As I sit here in the church gathering space, coffee urn plugged in, cookies and granola bars set out, and winter clothing lined up across a white, plastic fellowship table, windows bordering the darkness, rattle with each breath- extinguishing gust, tree limbs wave furiously illumined only by the sodium vapor lights whose metal poles creak and groan in mournful protest.  Here I sit waiting:  Waiting for anyone needing refuge and respite from the arctic blast which has overwhelmed our city.

Despite the fear and unknown of this dark and blustery night, all I can think of is the beautiful artistry of the gospel writer, John, whose paint brush leaves strokes of brilliant hues upon the easel of my heart conveying heaven’s divine beauty. 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.  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... 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.” (John 1:1-4, 14).

 I am captivated by these words. “In the beginning was the Word” … “and the darkness did not overcome it” … “The Word became flesh and lived among us” … “full of grace and truth.”  I could revel in their beauty day in and day out.

 These words not only capture my attention for their beauty, but also for what they say about God.  They remind me of a God whose love is so extreme, that God wraps himself into the confining space of human flesh, entering my world of brokenness, messiness, division, heartbreak, and rejection.    

How must it have been for God to look on the world not from a holy place above the fray, but eye to eye, in our midst, watching the ways we mistreat each other, divide ourselves up, create hierarchies, build towers of Babel unto ourselves. How different being “flesh” must have felt from home, from golden walkways and angelic beings, echoing joyous strains of “hallelujah” all the time.

But the Word made flesh didn’t pack his bags and go back from where he came.  He didn’t turn away from that ragtag group of disciples, passionate but often completely misunderstanding the mission. He didn’t turn away from men or women, Jews or Gentiles, unholy Samaritans or oppressive Romans. He didn’t turn away from the sick or the afflicted. Even the dead caught the Word’s holy attention. The Word made flesh crashed through social barriers, religious convention, and everyone’s expectations.

 The Word made flesh chose to dwell among us, but far from building an impressive palace overshadowing us, the Word made flesh wept, experiencing the full range of our emotions, rejections, and heartaches. The Word made flesh full of grace and truth, is right here in the midst of the howling arctic winds and the frightening darkness that pushes up against these windows. Why am I sitting here at church offering a place of refuge from the frostbite-laden darkness of this night?  Because the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ, is the light of the world; the light no darkness can overcome.  Not even the wind chills.  The Word made flesh is here. God incarnate. God with us. God among us.  Jesus is here, especially in the darkness.  Where else could I possibly be?

Peace and Love,

Pastor Doug

In From the Cold

“And the word became flesh and lived among us”

According to all weather reports, record cold temperatures are on their way to Rochester.  Tuesday, January 7th, may be one of the coldest days on record with projected wind chills of around −20 degrees.   Though my life may be inconvenienced by these kinds of temperatures, I at least have a warm home in which to seek refuge.  But what about those who have no such luxuries?

In my sermon this morning, I talked about our call to put flesh and blood on God’s love and mercy.  That’s what followers of the One who became flesh do.  Christ’s love and mercy don’t come through osmosis or by words on paper.  They come through us.  We are Christ’s hands and heart.

With this in mind, I invite you to join me at Incarnate Word this coming Tuesday evening from 7 to 10 pm, as I open our doors to those seeking a hot cup of coffee and a place to warm up for a while.  I’m not sure if anyone will even avail themselves of the opportunity, but I have to do something.  If you can’t join me, I invite you to offer prayers for those who have limited or no shelter.

Not sure how much of a difference these efforts will make.  But if they make a difference to one person…

Peace and Love,
Pastor Doug

A Look Toward Sunday’s Sermon

“And the Word became flesh and dwelled among us”.

What does the word becoming flesh actually look like?  I have no problem imagining shepherds abiding in the fields by night or a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, and lying in a manger, but a word becoming flesh and dwelling among us?  Not exactly a “Kodak Moment”.  Talk about theoretical.  And yet, it seems to me that if the church is going to be relevant, we need to wrestle deeply with what it means for the church that Jesus, the Lord of the Church, became flesh and dwelled among us. It sounds nice that God, through Jesus, took on our flesh and blood – healing and teaching us, but what does that mean for our daily lives?

It’s easy to talk about God moving into the neighborhood, but much harder to embody and reflect it.  If God is in the neighborhood are we?   Are we alleviating hunger, advocating for the most vulnerable among us and working for justice?  If so, we’re in the neighborhood.   

I wonder sometimes if this image of God becoming flesh and dwelling among us has had the unintended effect of saying, “Well, Christ is out in the world, so I don’t need to be”.  As followers of Christ we know better.  We know that Christ doesn’t heal and feed by osmosis.  Christ’s hands are our hands.  If Christ is dwelling among us, then he is dwelling in us.

Journeying out in the neighborhood doesn’t begin on the streets.  It begins in the place where Christ has promised to be present in a healing and feeding kind of way:  in worship.  Being in the neighborhood begins in worship.  There, I said it.   Serving up giant helpings of justice and mercy out on the streets happens only after we have received generous portions of God’s love in worship.  And if it takes longer than 60 minutes to be fed well then talk to the head-chef; the host of the meal. 

How can we possibly reflect Christ if we rarely find ourselves in the place where stories are told about him; reflections are shared; hymns are sung; and prayers are offered?  And all of this over a meal, hosted by a God whose abundant love knows no boundaries.

Our presiding bishop, Elizabeth Eaton, says it even better. 

“At the center of our life together is worship and at the center of our worship is the crucified and risen Christ.  When we gather for worship we turn our gaze away from ourselves to the source of our life and hope and salvation.  When we gather for worship, we are encountered by the living God in Scripture, proclamation of the gospel and the sacraments.  God meets us and transforms us.  We taste, touch, and see the love of God in Christ.”

See you Sunday,

Pastor Doug

Jesus is the reason for the season?

 

 

I hate clichés.  If you want to know how to push my buttons, go ahead and start spouting some.  Trite and contrived statements just don’t cut it for me:  especially statements of faith that sound like they just came off the clearance rack at a Hallmark store.  Two such faith clichés that drive me to drink are “Jesus is the reason for the season” and “Put Christ back in Christmas”.   I don’t even know what those phrases mean.  Do we even know who Jesus is?  Each gospel writer paints a different portrait of him.  Luke tells us that Jesus blesses the poor while Matthew says that he blesses the poor in spirit.  Well, which one is it?  The evangelists even have different names for him.  Is Jesus Son of God or Son of Man?  Is he a teacher or the Messiah?  Is he the Vine or the Good Shepherd?  Is he the Bread of Life or the Living Waters?  Is he the King of the Jews or the Prince of Peace?  While Mark goes to great lengths in emphasizing Jesus’ humanity, John goes to the other extreme of depicting his divinity.  Which Jesus is the reason for the season?  What Christ are we to put back in Christmas?  Is it the Jesus who in Matthew’s gospel literally referred to the Pharisees as “snake bastards?”

Here’s a story of Jesus I never see depicted in Christmas yard ornaments. “In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God…and the word became flesh and dwelled among us”.   How do you tell that story in someone’s front yard?  How do you tell the story of Jesus taking on our flesh and blood and moving into the neighborhood? 

A babe wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger only tells part of the story and is not the reason for the season.  Christmas is about God joining us on the journey; making himself plain as day to us.  No more guessing.  No more looking under rocks for him.  Christmas is a reminder to us that when we look at Jesus, we’re looking at God; and when we see God, we see love poured out in abundance for us in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

So maybe Jesus is not the reason for the season.  Do you want to know who was at the center of God’s Christmas idea?  Do you want to know who God desired to lift up on the very first Christmas?  Do you want to know who is in God’s heart at Christmas?

You!

Peace and Love,

Pastor Doug

A Year After Newtown

On the eve of the one year anniversary of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Ct., an 18 year old kid goes into his high school in Centenniel, Colorado, armed with shotgun and molotov cocktails to hunt down a teacher.  When all is done, a 15-year old girl is critically injured and the young gunman has killed himself.  Meanwhile, gun control and mental illness healthcare are a joke.  Have we learned nothing?  Clearly those we've elected have failed us miserably.

A farm bill will soon be voted on in Congress which will further cut SNAP support for the most vulnerable among us.  It's been reported that in New York State, 850,000 will be adversely affected by further cuts with an average of another $90/month being cut from food income.   What are the options for those already not able to put enough food on the table?  And let us not think for a moment that non-profits can take up the slack.  All of this is enough to make me almost want to give up all hope.

Ironically, here we are in the season of Advent; a season that emphasizes hope:  Hope not based on the illusion of generic optimism, but hope that names the crap all around us.  Advent acknowledges that the world we live in is broken and that we're broken.  Advent vigorously opposes the false prophets who assert that if you just have enough faith life will be happy.

Advent admits that God's rule is not yet apparent in the world; God's promises are not yet fulfilled.  Even if everything does not work out for the best and we do not live happily ever after, Advent hope means there are still things worth living for, worth suffering for, worth dying for.  Which means Advent is a season of waiting.  Waiting is what we can do if we have hope; we can endure the problems of the present in the promise of a better future.  Advent waiting is not passivity.  It is more like the kind of waiting practiced by a cancer support group, whose members have decided they will live with cancer, not just die from it.

People of faith neither accept nor give easy answers to the problems of evil and suffering in the world.  In our liturgy, in the framework of our church year, we are invited to journey with a God who has entered into the brokenness and vulnerability of our humanity promising to never leave our side. The season of Advent gives voice to God and to our own legitimate voices of grief, sorrow and doubt.  This is precisely why the season of Advent is a blessing.  A culture that has been celebrating Christmas since Halloween has no means to deal with tragedy.  But the scripture readings and hymnody of Advent give voice not only to our pain but also to the hope that we are not forsaken by  God.

There will be more school shootings and I will continue to hold my breath everytime I drop my kids off at school wondering in the back of my mind....

Those who are hungry will continue to suffer at the hands of societal apathy and I will have my doubts that God can break through hardened hearts....

But will we give up?  Will we throw in the towel and just let the cards fall where they will?  Or is there a glimmer of hope that a crokus can grow in the desert?   That a drop of water can be found in parched sand?  That a vulnerable baby in Bethlehem can overthrow a powerful emperor in Rome?  That an empty tomb can follow a cross of death?  Is there hope after all?   Join me in worship.  Join me in prayer.  And together let's find out.

Peace and Love,
Pastor Doug

Mary's Protest Song

The problem with the church in these days leading up to Christmas is that we’ve toned our message down to “milk toast” consistency.   Jesus’ birth has in many ways become just another sentimental love story of boy meets girl; girl meets God; girl has God’s baby….

What if our celebration of Christmas is more than just telling a story of a cute little baby in Bethlehem?  I think we have underestimated the radical implications of what it means that God has become one of us.  I also think that we have underestimated Mary’s radical rebelliousness.  In Hebrew, Mary’s name is Miriam which literally means “their rebellion”.  She and her people certainly have a lot to rebel against.  The Roman Empire has demanded that she and her people revere Caesar as God or Son of God.  Taxation has been corrupt and oppressive.  The Empire’s construction projects are backbreaking and exploitative.  Religious leaders have colluded with the Empire in a temple system that favors the rich while abusing widows and orphans. 

It is in this context that an angel visits Mary informing her of God’s plans both for her and her people.  Unlike the temple priest Zechariah, who resists this insider information, Mary not only welcomes it, but becomes a willing conspirator in God’s holy mischievous plot.  Upon hearing of God’s plans that she will bear the Christ child, this knocked-up, teenaged, unwed mother living in poverty breaks into a raucous song of protest:  The lyrics of which go something like this:

“My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant…He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1).

There’s a fancy Greek word that some really smart people like to toss around when it comes to Mary.  They refer to her as “Theotokos” – “Mother of God”.   But I once heard someone say that Mary should go by another name.  “Punkotokos”.  “Mother of all rebels with a cause”.    (Now we’re talkin’!!)  And what might that cause be?  Well, given all that her son did in his life, my guess is that the cause has something to do with loving enemies, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, tending the sick and visiting those in prison.

Does the church dare to join this rebel cause?  Do we dare say to “The Man” that there is an alternative way of living, wherein the lowly are lifted up and the mighty are brought down?  Does the church dare to come down off its pedestal of dogma, doctrine and tradition to actually embody Mary’s protest song?

How we answer these questions, will determine our future (as well it should).

Peace and Love,

Pastor Doug

God's gift of Advent

"Born thy people to deliver, born a child, and yet a king; born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring.  By thine own eternal Spirit rule in all our hearts alone; by thine all sufficient merit raise us to thy glorious throne" (ELW #254).

Time is a gift of God's creation.  It is that measurement by which we mark events past, present and future.  The church year is how we tell the story of God who stands above time, and yet has acted decisively in time.  For its part in the marking of time, the season of Advent places us squarely between past and future events:  Between the comfort of knowing that God so loved the world he sent his only son to die for it, and the discomfort of knowing that the crucified, resurrected and ascended Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead.

The season of Advent reminds us that life beyond the bells of Christmas is fraught with crooked roads and cavernous valleys.  Advent reminds us that like our ancient forebears, we often find ourselves in exile crying desperately for God to tear open the heavens and come down so that the mountains of brokenness and pain might quake in God's presence.

And yet in this season of Advent, we along with the prophet Isaiah are invited to see beyond our present time of exile to the day when hearts will be healed and those held captive will be set free.  What better place to view life beyond exile than in that place of God's promised presence?  In the word proclaimed and the sacraments shared.

In the  coming weeks as we begin preparations for Christmas celebrations, let us also take God's gift of Advent time to prepare our hearts for that day when our exile shall be no more and we shall greatly rejoice in the Lord once and for all.

Peace in Christ,
Pr. Doug