1 Advent
Texts: Mark 13:24-37; 1 Cor 1:3-9; Isaiah 64:1-9

So this is the first Sunday in Advent – the first Sunday in our new liturgical year. Here at Hope we’re buzzing with new ideas – the decision to seek out more pastoral staff, our youth group is hopping, Sunday School is vibrant…I can go on for longer, but that’s not really necessary.

It seems that energy often runs high at this time of year – at least, if you buy all the hype from radio and TV about the ‘season of Christmas.’ At least, some of those ads tell you that your energy is brimming; others tell you you’re tired; burned out, and you can take a load off and let someone else do all your Christmas work for you – for a price. Ah, we can never ignore the Christmas hype. When Wal-Mart employees are trampled to death in New York by people looking for that ‘great Christmas gift,’ it’s difficult to ignore.

Of course, it’s also difficult to avoid the Christian hype. “Remember the reason for the season,” we’re urged. Calm, serene pictures of mangers, parents, babies, and farm animals clomp their way into our consciousness. There’s a whole lot of triumphalist messages associated with that: Christ came to save us; Christ came to conquer; Christ came to triumph.

Interestingly, that Christian message often misses the point of the Advent season – to prepare for the coming of Christ. We’re told “look up, and see the glory of the choir of angels,” and so we often miss the Christ child, born in a manger – at our feet.

As we prepare for the coming of the Christ we sometimes need to look beyond the urgings to look ‘up’ – to spend big, give big, everything big – to ‘celebrate’ his coming; to sing with the choir of angels, as it were. But the angels don’t know when Christ is coming. So we need to look down – for a baby in a manger, for a poor family travelling, desperately close to the time of birth. For Christ came down – to the lowly, to the poor, to us.

At least, kind of to us – at the times when we can bring ourselves to admit that we, though blessed through material wealth, remain as spiritually poor
as every other soul that has ever sought Jesus Christ.

At times, many of us are very similar to the Corinthian community to which Paul wrote. They were pretty affluent, but in the first part of the first chapter Paul is more concerned that they know where their blessings come from.

The Corinthians were rich; not only did they have money, but Paul stood amazed at the tremendous number of spiritual gifts they had been given as well. But they often had trouble remembering where those gifts came from.

“We’re righteous,” they’d say, “we’re blessed because we deserve it. We’ve worked for it.”

But Paul knew better. He knew that all gifts came from God, all manner of blessings not because people deserved it but because God was full of love and that He gave joyously.

So Paul appealed to the Corinthian community; that as they gave thanks for their blessings they needed first to remember the ultimate source of those blessings – God. The attitude is gratitude, as some phrase it.

And he reminded them: “God is faithful, by Him (and not by yourselves) were you called into the fellowship of His son Jesus Christ our Lord.”

The Almighty came down to show grace to the needy.

In my reading over the past week I was reminded of a story that many of you have probably never read before – it doesn’t show up in our lectionary, at all. It’s a story from 2 Samuel 9 about King David – but really, in the end it’s about how the king comes down.

King David sat on the throne of Israel, surrounded by servants, slaves, and supplicants. He was the richest of the rich; in all of Israel he was tops. People lived and people died at his command. He was a great warrior, could have anything he wanted. Had everything he wanted.

But he was troubled. He was troubled because a long time before he had promised the old king – King Saul – that he would look after his descendants. Now, Saul and his son Jonathon had been killed in battle many years before and as David settled into his fancy new digs he forgot about his promise, a covenant he had made with his friend Jonathon to care for his descendants.

In 2 Samuel chapter 9 we pick up the story: one cold night King David remembered that covenant. Calling a servant to him, he asked “is there anyone left of Saul’s family, to whom I could show kindness?”

And the servant replied that yes, there was. Jonathon’s son Mephibosheth, who lived and worked as in someone else’s house. The son of royalty lived as a pauper. The son of a beautiful man – as the Bible describes Jonathon – was a cripple.

He was a cripple, you see, because when his nurse had received word of Saul and Jonathon’s death she had picked him up to flee with him, but as she ran she stumbled and dropped the baby, leaving him lame in both his feet.

Now in David’s time if you were lame, you were lame because you deserved it. And nobody wanted anyone near them who was being punished by the Almighty.

But David sent for Mephibosheth, and he came. Crippled, poor, broken. He came to the King’s table and knelt as if to serve. Actually, he knelt to plead for his life, asking, “what is your servant, that you should show regard for a dead dog such as I?” As we come in humility before God, the son of the fallen came before God’s chosen.

But, even as our own Gospel story reminds us, that wasn’t David’s plan.

David took him, dressed him, and waited for Mephibosheth to be seated at the banquet before the King’s family could eat. They waited, while the lame man hobbled to the table and took his seat beside the King, like one of the King’s own sons. The poor, the deformed, came into the presence of the king and was treated like royalty. And he dwelt there, the story ends, always.

That’s grace. That the riches we have given through God we may share with those who have less, or have none. King David found that although he had everything he wanted – even another man’s wife – he that wasn’t enough. To be complete, he was compelled – even obligated – to show grace to others even as grace had been given to him by God.

I’d be willing to bet that none of you can remember the gifts that you were given in the Christmases of your childhood; but that all of you can remember when your family showed grace to another – helped in times of trouble. Or maybe, like mine, your family was the recipient of grace like that, and have since then done your best to carry on that kindness.

Our response to the blessing of God in our lives is that we, like David, in turn go and seek out and serve the people in the same way the he sought out and served Mephibosheth.

Keep awake. Watch. Watch for those images and actions of grace; those tiny, squirming bundles of hope through which we feel the presence of Jesus Christ.

Because he is coming: Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again, and we await his coming with hope that often not even words can express.

Amen.

I wonder...

Y'know, I wonder sometimes...

...about how much money some city churches spend to get those freakin' pompously annoying 'keep Christ in Christmas' ads on the radio...

...if I'm the only one tired of hearing and reading sermons that tell me I'm rich, spoiled, consumeristic, and need to DO MORE to help all the poor, underprivileged minions of society that I'm oppressing...(and no, I'm not picking specifics; I listen to and read a lot of sermons online)

...if maybe I'm hypersensitive to those messages because, quite frankly, I've stared at the last can of food in my pantry with nothing in my bank account and wondered what to do next...

...that maybe the most important part of my calling as a minister is to help people feel loved and cared for...

...and to stop pretending that I'm smart or erudite or knowledgeable because I certainly don't feel that way...

...if my supervisor knows that I think he's right pretty often, even if I don't let him know that...

...where my socks go when my wife does the laundry...

...why I don't do the laundry more often myself...

...if I can ever tell my wife and children that I love and adore them often enough...

...if I can ever openly say that my identity as a minister is irrevocably tied to my identity as a man; a husband and a father without being labelled a paternalistic pig...

...why I even worry about that...

...why the fur on the bridge of a cat's nose is so soft...

...if higher biblical criticism is really just a load of bunk...

...how I can be the best possible husband, father, and provider for my family.

funniest.video.ever.

growing up, we had a cat that had a love affair with the vacuum cleaner. He loved it.

But this takes the cake:

something that suits

because my heart is heavy, and my soul is burdened with sorrow.

This song was played during Holy Communion at the memorial service of Judith Lopez Damian. Please God, be with her husband and young son.

Holy Mary, mother of God, abide with us now, and in the hour of our death. Amen.

It's been a long week. The wife of a friend died after a short -- too short -- fight with cancer. Her husband and 8-month-old son miss her dearly. I'm certain she misses them.

You could pray for them, if you wanted to. Not big, complicated prayers. Just little ones.

And then maybe include yourself. That could be good.

take two minutes.

take two minutes tomorrw, to remember those who have gone before.

If you haven't before, go to a Cenotaph service. Look those men and women in the eye, and say 'thank you.'

But damn you if you don't at least take those two minutes.

pictures...

as in, family pictures. That we went to a studio and got. Today.

You may have noticed that members of my family -- myself excluded -- are very photogenic. I'm not so much -- the light reflects off my rather (ahem) high forhead and back into the camera, producing a high amount of glare.

But seriously, my boys love the camera. The Boy mugs for the camera every time he sees one, and Boy2 is interested, though now mostly he seems concerned that they be a possible source of nourishment. But even he's been known to produce a smile or giggle for a picture with a little prodding.

Not so today. Today, though they giggled and laughed before we sat down for our portrait, as soon we were posed their faces lost all expression. Seriously, folks. It was scary. So now we have family pictures. The coDirector and I are smiling and happy (and she should be; she looked gorgeous) and our children look like poster children for a brainwashing cult.

bah. from now on, our families get pictures of the us looking harried and the boys cookie-smeared and stinky, but at least happy.

oof.

today I pulled a long white hair out of my beard. At first I thought it was just caught in it. Then I noted it was rooted firmly, in amongst others of its kind.

Venerable, right? I'm trying for venerable.

Hallowe'en

So I forgot to post pictures of the Boys for Hallowe'en.


Boy2 was a little lumberjack -- would that be a lumberjohnny?




And The Boy was a fireman. Now he wants to wear that coat all the time.

5:15 am

It's 5:15 am.

Snow gently falls outside the window; big flakes have fallen during the night, leaving the trees across the street picture-postcard perfect.

I'm impressed my wife hasn't yet begun the Christmas music -- it's been on since the beginning of this month, but not yet today and we've been up for 20 minutes.

My youngest is sitting on the floor, gnawing a cookie. My eldest son is reading a book, as best as he can.

In a few hours we'll dress them warmly and take them outside to play in the new snow. Neither one knows this, but neither do they know that I hope that the world they grow up in will look drastically different from this one.

In the wake of the election of Illinois Senator Barak Obama to the White House, I hope that the change that is promised comes to pass. I'm not a terribly political person, but as a Christian I've been offended at how easily it's been assumed (by President Bush, Senator McCain, and several politicians here in Canada) that myself and people like me can be manipulated by the tossing off of a few glib catchphrases.

And I'm thankful that my country doesn't quite expell the same amount of pseudo-religious rhetoric that floats up from down south. It would be hard for me to name the religious traditions of our last four or five Prime Ministers. Roman Catholic, mostly, with a couple of Anglicans thrown in for good measure, I suppose.

I'm incredibly thankful that in Canada, I can be poor and not have to watch my children suffer for it. In the United States, I admire President Bush for his No Child Left Behind policy; I hope it can better be remembered as his legacy than any number of other things.

During the past eight years I've prayed that my own Prime Minister and the American President would be strong, caring leaders. I've not been disappointed in that.

But change is good.

And I hope that this snow doesn't melt immediately. 'Cause this change is good, too.

The Gospel of Christ is like a crucible in which we are formed.

We enter it willing, and knowingly bring ourselves to the refiner's fire.

The law is the heat that breaks us down, melts our hearts, shapes us into new forms

and new expressions of being.

As by metallurgist, we are squeezed and pounded, bound by laws

and the Creator's discerning hand. The slag is not wanted; it is not of the Creator's desire

though we ourselves may fear to be less without it.

The gospel is the soothing coolness of grace that calms us and affirms our new form.

It sets us into the New Creation; something that is pleasing to the eye of the Creator

and gives glory to his Name.

Toddler Property Laws

If I like it, it's mine.

If it's in my hand, it's mine.

If I can take it away from you, it's mine.

If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.

If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.

If we are building something together, all of the pieces are mine.

If it looks just like mine, it's mine.

If I think it's mine, it's mine.

If I give it to you, and change my mind later, it's mine.

If it's broken, it's yours!

-unknown