Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Ecce Ancilla Domini! (Behold the Lord's Servant)
It seems that I've gotten a little behind in posting my sermons. Sunday, December 24th was a busy day; it was the fourth Sunday of Advent and it was Christmas Eve. This is my sermon from the morning service.
Here I Am (12/24/17)
Sermon
Good morning. I read a really interesting article the other
day by a man named Clark Strand, and it seemed to me that it was a perfect
understanding of the season of Advent. It was called: “Bring on the Dark: Why
We Need the Winter Solstice.” The winter solstice is the shortest day of the
year; this year, it was on Thursday. Or, if you prefer to look at it the other
way, the winter solstice is the longest night of the year.
As the author points out, it’s really easy to miss the
solstice; the constant presence of artificial light in our lives chases away so
much of the physical darkness that we don’t really notice the full impact of
the changing amounts of light.[1] And because we can chase
away the dark with the flip of a switch, we are given over to excess: too much
work, too many activities, too much stress, and never enough sleep. According
to Strand, artificial light gives us the illusion “that human progress is the
reason for the world.”[2] He continues:
Advances in science,
industry, medicine and nearly every other area of human enterprise resulted
from the influx of light. The only casualty was darkness, a thing of seemingly
little value. But that was only because we had forgotten what darkness was for.
Now that deeper darkness has turned against us. The hour of the wolf we call it
— that predatory insomnia that makes billions for big pharma. It was once the
hour of God.[3]
Perhaps we have spent
too much time and energy in our quest to chase away the darkness. We always
seem to squeeze in a little more work or a little more fun, while we fail to
follow the natural rhythms of life.
Our lesson from the Gospel of Luke doesn’t tell us what
time of day—or night—the angel Gabriel came to visit Mary, though I have to
admit, in my mind, I picture it happening in the darkness, or at least at
twilight, sometime when there’s a little more space for reflection. The day can
be messy and cluttered with people and work; there’s more room once the sun
begins to set. Maybe the appearance of an angel is less startling or even
frightening during the day, or maybe it’s just more dramatic at night. Either
way, Mary is perplexed by the appearance of the angel Gabriel, who tells her:
Do
not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will
conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be
great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give
to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob
forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.
“Do not be afraid.”
That’s all. Oh, and, um, your son is going to be the heir of David. No big
deal; nothing to worry about.
Shouldn’t she be afraid?
Isn’t fear the logical response?
I thought having any
baby ought to induce terror, but bringing the Son of God into the world? Mary ought to be terrified!
But she isn’t. And that’s truly amazing! Mary simply says,
“Here Am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your word.”
That’s not logical!
Logic, of course, is a human invention. We need to make
sense of things; we need to impose order upon the natural world. Daylight grows
brighter until the middle of the day, and then it gradually gets dimmer. That’s
the way it is. Clocks are also a human invention. They help us to define the
passage of time, but they don’t prevent the passage of time or affect the rate
at which time passes. The same is true for calendars: they give us a way to
measure the passage of time and seasons. Clocks and calendars are tools—they
give us information about our world and we use that information to make decisions.
Yet even though we know that there are only 24 hours in a
day and 365-ish days in a year, we try to cram more and more stuff into that
limited amount of time. We work longer hours because we need the money, or
because we’re afraid we might lose our jobs. We take our kids to more and more
activities, because we want them to be happy. And many of those activities cost
money, so we have to work even harder to keep everyone happy. It’s exhausting.
We’re tired and we’re stressed out, so we cut out
everything that’s not essential. We spend less time with friends and family. We
spend less time doing volunteer work or participating in recreational
activities. I bet some of you used to be in bowling leagues. We scale back our
participation in all types of relationships.
That’s definitely true in churches. More people work on
Sundays than ever before. Youth sports are on Sundays, so parents have to
decide between worship and baseball, or soccer, or swimming. Here at Rehoboth,
we have trouble finding people to serve on committees. People are reluctant to
serve on Session or Deacons because they’re afraid that they don’t have the
time. Work and school and kids’ activities are just too demanding! And let’s
not forget that many people are pulling double duty at home: they serve as
full-time care givers to a spouse or an elderly parent, or even a grandchild.
This is exhausting and frightening, and the only logical response is to pull
back and conserve your time and energy for your core functions and activities.
It’s a simple calculation.
But love has a logic all its own. Our story from the Gospel
of Luke shows us that Mary lives into that love. That’s why she doesn’t respond
out of fear or anxiety. No, Mary responds out of love!
Mary models the kind of
reaction we should have to [God’s] disturbance in our lives. She wonders and
ponders. She questions and considers. She answers in awe. And Mary’s reply to
God’s call understands that fear is characteristic of our response to God when
God disrupts our lives.
Because Mary knows her
God. And only a few verses later, she will testify to the God she’s always
known—the God who shows mercy for those who fear God; who scatters the proud in
the thoughts of their hearts; who brings down the powerful from their thrones
and lifts up the lowly; who fills the hungry with good things and sends the
rich away empty; who remembers Abraham and all of his descendants, which now
include her, forever. And, now, more than ever, Mary knows who her God is. She
knows what her God has done—for her, for her cousin Elizabeth, for the outcast,
the overlooked, those discarded, disenfranchised, dismissed.[4]
The logical response for
Mary ought to be fear, but instead, she embraces relationship. The primary
relationship is, of course with God. And because of that relationship, she
responds in trust. She responds in faith. She responds in love.
That’s what we need to do, too. Here at Rehoboth and in the
rest of our lives.
The good news is, it’s already happening! I see signs of
new life! This is why we need the darkness of Advent! This is why we can’t just
skip to the happy Baby Jesus! We have to pay attention to the darkness; we have
to rest; and we have to listen for God’s call in the still, dark season.
At the congregational meeting, two weeks ago, I saw three
people volunteer for two spots on the Session. This is a sign of new life.
After having the same Clerk of Session for about thirty
years, we have a new Clerk. She’s learning just how big the job is; that’s
great! That’s a sign of new life.
We have several new members of the Session who have never
served in leadership in this congregation before. That’s a sign of new life.
We have eight members of the congregation serving on the
Pastor Nominating Committee. Several of them have never served in leadership
before, and none of them have served on a PNC before, that’s definitely a sign
of new life.
We have celebrated the sacrament of baptism four times this
year. If that’s not a sign of new life, I don’t know what is.
We also have long-time members who continue to serve on the
Session and the Deacons; who continue to do little tasks, like organizing
communion; who continue to do big tasks, like compiling the budget; and those
who continue in the vital work of the church, such as taking meals to the
lonely.
Church is not just a place—it’s a relationship; a set of
relationships, really. The work that we do here in church is not just a set of
tasks, it’s the work of relationship. The winter solstice is good news: the
days continue to get longer; signs of life emerge around us. Soon we will
celebrate the birth of the Savior. Until then, wait patiently in the darkness
and consider the new ways in which you can participate in the work of
relationships. Set aside the cold calculus of fear and busy-ness; embrace the
logic of love, and let Mary’s answer, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord,” be
our answer, too. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Benediction
Now, beloved, as you depart from this place, remember that
we are called to be the Church, the body of Christ in the world today. We are
called to go forth and be instruments of God’s love and peace and love and reconciliation.
This is the work of relationship. As you do this work, do not return evil for
evil to any person, but know that we are all loved by God, and that we are
called to reflect that love to everyone we meet. Go forth and be the salt of
the earth and the light of the world. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, let
all God’s children say, Amen!
[1]
Clark Strand, “Bring on the Dark: Why We Need the Winter Solstice,” retrieved
from: https://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/20/opinion/why-we-need-the-winter-solstice.html?smid=fb-share&module=ArrowsNav&contentCollection=Opinion&action=keypress®ion=FixedLeft&pgtype=article
[2]
Strand.
[3]
Strand.
[4]
Karoline Lewis, “Mary’s Response,” retrieved from: http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5024
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