Sermons

You are my witnesses, says the Lord, and my servant whom I have chosen, so that you may know and believe me and understand that I am he. Before me no god was formed, nor shall there be any after me. Isaiah 43:10 (NRSV)

MEDITATION FOR CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003

Imagine for a moment, being out in the fields…it is a cold, but clear night. The stars shine brightly above you. Around you, you can hear the soft bleating of the sheep, settling in for the night, huddled together for warmth. As a shepherd, you must stay awake, keeping an eye on things, making sure no sheep wander off, keeping them safe from thieves in the night. As you sit down against a tree, your mind begins to wander, thinking back over the day. It had been a typical day in the fields. You chuckle to yourself as you remember the way your littlest sheep kept looking back at you, making sure you were there all the time. You are thankful for the friendship you share with the other shepherds, the joys and the sorrows you tell one another about at the end of the day. Even though you cannot see them at this moment, you know they are out there, watching over their flocks, and you are glad for their presence on this dark night. As you watch the night sky, you believe your eyes are playing tricks on you—for a star seems to be descending towards the earth, not burning out as they usually do, but instead becoming brighter. Instinctively, you check on your sheep and begin to circle together with the other shepherds, who you can see as the light grows brighter and brighter. Soon you are in a tight group, terrified at this unusual and strange being that stands before you. You heart is beating wildly when you hear this being speak, “Do not be afraid—I bring you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find the child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” You barely have time to understand these words when the dark night sky fills with light. You and the other shepherds drop to your knees, your hands before your face the light has become so bright and you hear, you hear singing, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” And then, as suddenly as they appeared, they are gone. All is quiet and dark once again…you dare not speak, what is there to say? And yet you hear your voice, as if it is someone else’s, saying, “Let us go now to Bethlehem…”

Let us go now to Bethlehem…isn’t that why we are here on this holy night? To go and see and wonder at the mystery, the gift, the child born this night so long ago. This night, which really is no different from any other night, compels us to this place, to see this thing that has taken place. There is something that draws us here, even those of us who do not normally darken the doorways of churches feel drawn to enter and participate in this holy mystery that we call Christmas. We know there is more to it than the commercialism that lies all around us, but perhaps we are not sure what that something more is, or maybe we need to be reminded, we need to be grounded and find ourselves once again in this story. What might we find if we venture to the Bethlehem that lies in our hearts this night? Dare we risk it? Leaving the safety and security of life as we know it? Dare we trust it? What if we arrive to find its all been only a dream? There is something in us, deep in the core of our being, that says yes, let’s take the risk…yes, let’s trust that we indeed might find something there in Bethlehem. That is why we’re here this night…we want to get closer to the manger, to peer into it, to see for ourselves these things that have been told us. The thing to know is that we all journey to Bethlehem by different ways. Like the shepherds, some of us have experienced a momentous event in our lives that sends us running to the manger each year to find again the Christ child born in our hearts. Others of us travel more like the three kings, traveling over a great distance and at great length, each year coming closer and closer to the child born in the manger. Certainly some of us over the years get drawn off the path, following other signs that perhaps seem more inviting or maybe they are just easier to follow. But as we stick to the path, we find that we are not traveling alone—others are there with us, friends, family, the saints who have gone before us, strangers who offer a hand or a kind word along the journey. And this great company we find encouraging. It helps us keep on the path, as we come ever closer to the manger, a growing awareness of the awesome and powerful thing that happened there that night so long ago. Of a God who loves us so dearly that nothing short of breaking into our world, living amongst us and our brokenness, will suffice. This is what this night is about…we welcome the infant born on this night, and we think about the sweetness, the joy a new baby brings. But Christmas is much more than that—so much more. Christmas is about a God who stands beyond time breaking through that barrier, coming to us in our time. It is about a God who wants to get into our skin to fully understand what it is like for us. It is about Emmanuel—God-with-us this night and the next and the next…Surely we can compare our hearts, our lives to Bethlehem—that busy, crowded town, that simple, basic manger, that nowhere special kind of place. Perhaps we have filled our lives with busyness, crowded it out with things and activities and responsibilities, it has become so crowded that there is no room, no room for the coming of our Lord. He is shoved to the outer recesses of our mind. Perhaps we find in our hearts a sense that we, too, are nowhere special, that we are nothing special. We wonder what such a great God would want to do with us anyway? Can God really know me and my life when I am just one person, nobody in particular? Dare I go and see?

Let us, with fear and trembling, go now to Bethlehem—for in that crowded busy place, God finds room to enter into our darkness, in the simplicity of a manger, the Christ child is born, light shining around him and through him. Indeed it is nowhere special that God’s greatest gift is born, a gift that changed the world forever. A gift that can change your life and mine—if only we dare to go to Bethlehem, “to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” God does not wait for us to be ready, for a fancy room to be prepared, for a heart to be made clean. No, God comes to us in our darkness, in the midst of our busyness, in our simple confession that Jesus is Lord. God breaks into the world, born into our hearts and lives, reaching out with a love as tender as an infant’s, as fierce as a parent’s. God only knows what can become of us!

We do not know what became of those shepherds who went to Bethlehem that night, only that they returned, we assume to their fields and to their flocks. They returned glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen. We are here now in the midst of a long tradition of those who have gone before us, gone to Bethlehem, and returned sharing the story of great joy they found there. We come here this night to be part of this story. To join our voices in glorifying and praising God for all we have seen and heard. May the light that shines in the darkness, shine in our hearts this night, and the next and the next…Christ is born! Let us listen for the angels and go now to Bethlehem, for we shall find him in you, in me, in the faces of those around us. Amen.

WELCOME HOME

I’d like to ask you this morning to close your eyes for a moment and envision that place that represents home for you…maybe it is your actual house where you live or a particular place in your house or yard; maybe its with another person or in another person’s home; maybe it is the home of your childhood; maybe it is a special spot outdoors. Picture that place or that person where you feel most at home…I want to ask for some response now (my husband always thinks I step too far out on a limb when I do this, but you all are pretty good about participating, so I’m trusting that will hold true today, too!)—define home, what is it that makes you feel like you are home? (hope for some response)

Our gospel lesson today, this familiar parable, presents us with the struggle of coming home, of being at home. This parable is so familiar for us, I think, not only because it is a story that is often shared at church, but also because we can easily find ourselves in this story---this story that deals with family relationships, with the quest for independence, with loyalty and duty, with seeking to discover what it takes to feel at home, to be at home. As we listen in on some of the thoughts and struggles of these two brothers, I would invite you to consider who it is you feel, at this point in time, the most kinship with.

Whew! I am so stuffed, I couldn’t eat another bite! That was some meal (looking around), this is some party! More than I ever would have dreamed my father would have done for me, more than I ever would have even hoped. I was so scared to come back here--all I had hoped for was to be allowed to live as a servant, to know that I would at least be given food enough to survive. I thought running off to that distant country was such a good idea—that I needed to figure out who I was, just me, without my father’s reputation or my older brother’s shadow. I thought I could show everyone that I could do just fine on my own, that I could make it as my own person. How wrong I was…I found out how hard the world can be, how misleading, how shallow, how lonely. When it came down to it, I cut myself off from everything that gave me life—my family, my homeland, my father. Why couldn’t I have seen that without those things I would have no life? I had to learn it the hard way—and how lost I became—it seems the more I splurged on myself and my whims, the deeper in the hole I fell until I thought I couldn’t climb my way back out. But there was something that I had held on to, something that was a glimmer in the back of my head or maybe it was my heart. It was here, it was home…I thought maybe if I could just return to this place I might begin to find my way again. That’s all I wanted—and if not that, then at least to breathe the air I had always known, to live next to all I had thrown away, to remember who I used to be. And yet I didn’t even get to say all I had planned—my father, he saw me, he had been looking for me. (chuckle) I never saw him run like that before…in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him run at all—so undignified. But there he was, his skirts pulled up around his knees, and he was running…to me. The joy of his embrace, the love I felt in his kisses and his laughter at seeing me—and after all I have done to him. It was too much. And now, this party. He is so happy to have me home, it seems it doesn’t even matter where I’ve been or what I’ve done. But the neighbors, they have come at my father’s invitation, but they don’t seem to be too happy to see me—I hear them whispering about where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, how I insisted on having my father’s money and my own way. I think they are embarrassed for my father in his joy, they seem to think maybe I’ve snookered him again. But I felt it, his joy is real, it is deep, and it is even overwhelming. I know I don’t deserve this attention, this robe, this ring, even these sandals. Mostly I know I don’t deserve the love he is lavishing upon me. It hurts my heart to see how happy he is, knowing what I’ve been. I cannot ever live up to this love. But something is stirring in me, calling to me—it is the future. I was lost, my father is right, but I cannot live here, be here as the one who was lost. I cannot remain the runaway who returned. I must live now as the one who is found, the one who has not come home, but the one who is home. And if I am home, if this is truly my home, I must learn to be like my father—to run out and embrace others, so that, they, too, can experience this joy of finding, of being, home. Speaking of, I haven’t seen that older brother of mine—he’s the smart one, he’s known this joy all along. I wonder if he’s out in the fields—maybe I should go to him.

A party! Can you believe it? I didn’t know anything about this party—but then again, no one ever tells me anything. And had I known, I would have put my foot down. A party for that spoiled brat? No way! How many of you out there are the oldest in your family? You know what its like then, huh? To have to be the responsible one—its expected of us, isn’t it? My younger brother though, well he’s a different story altogether. Can you believe his nerve asking my father for his share of the inheritance and the right to use it now? How selfish and what an insult to my father! He might as well have just said, “You know, dad, I wish you were dead already, so I could get what’s coming to me.” And it was just like him to run off and squander it all. He never was responsible—well, he never had to be! It serves him right that he lost it all, that he ended up feeding pigs. What better place for a guy who spends his money on women and drink and fast living! But now here he is—wonder of wonders. He hits rock bottom and the first place he comes is back to daddy! And what does my father do? He throws this party! I tell you that boy gets everything. It doesn’t matter what he does. Then there’s me—I get up, go out to work everyday, look after things for my father, and for what? I’m not appreciated at all—why father has never even given me a goat to celebrate with my friends. Work, work, work, that’s what’s expected of me. And another thing, who does dad think is going to be around to take care of him when he gets older? That other son of his? No, I tell you, it will be me—the responsible one. The thing is, I can see taking him back, letting him live with the servants maybe, working it off, giving him the basic necessities. But a robe and a ring and sandals? Killing the fatted calf? I just can’t understand it. What is the matter with my father? Has he gone mad? And you heard what he said to me, “come to the party, please!” Is he nuts? Why on earth would I want to do that? He was dead, but is alive again, he was lost and has been found! Why couldn’t he have just stayed lost? If it were up to me, I’d say things were better here without him. And what was that other thing my father said to me? You are always with me and all that I have is yours. Is that supposed to make me feel better? How can I rejoice in that when I see the extravagance he wastes on my brother? Right now, I’m just too bitter…

So, who do you resonate with? Can I ask how many of you have empathy for the younger son? And how many of you identify with the older son? We can reflect on this story on many levels, and I imagine that what hits home with most of us in this story is the personal level. We have known what its like to hit bottom, to feel lost and to return—even to be afraid to return. Or maybe we have known what it is like to feel unappreciated, to feel that as hard as we try, no one notices, no one cares. And we compare ourselves and our work with the attention others who seem to do nothing receive. Perhaps we have stood in both these brothers’ shoes at different points in our lives and on our spiritual journeys. But today I want us to think about this story in terms of the church, this church, this family. What does it mean to be the younger son in this church family? Who would you say acts like this younger son? Who among you feel like this younger son? Maybe it means you came to this church as a child, left for some time for whatever reason, and have now come back. Because you moved back to the area, or you just decided it was time to get back to church. Maybe it means you have come from a far off place—that you are new to this community and to this church, unsure of how you will fit in, looking for signs of welcome. Maybe it means that you kind of come in and out—sporadically attending, looking for a place, a niche in which you can share your interests, your talents, your time. And maybe you feel you don’t fit in, don’t belong. Regardless of how you describe being the younger son in this church, ultimately what is being sought is the recognition of that feeling of home we talked about earlier. Feeling at home is a deep need for most if not all of us. Experiencing that overwhelming joy and love overflow, lavished upon us, ourselves as we enter this place just as the father bestowed it upon his long lost son, it is something for which we yearn. Have you ever been asked, “where is your church home?” Church, especially, should be the place we can call home, we know as home, we know we are welcomed with open arms—regardless of where we have been, what we have been doing. The message we should get, we, each of us, even as we approach this church from afar, is “we don’t care where you’ve been---we are so glad you are here now! Welcome home!”

Let’s turn our attention now to the older son, asking what does it mean to be the older son in this church family? Who would you say acts like the older son? Who among you feel like this older son? Maybe you have always come to this church—your whole life. Or maybe you joined at some other point in life, became active, found a place for yourself and took on jobs in the church. You know how much time and effort you give to this church, you have been there through thick and thin, you are always willing to roll up your sleeves and dig in. You know that for the church to carry on, there are things that need to be done, and by gum, you’re the responsible type, you’ll do it! You look around and wonder, why is it always the same few who do the work? Why don’t more people pitch in? I’m willing to help, to do the work, but the truth is, I’m getting tired. It’s becoming that we always do the same thing. I only have so many ideas, but I suppose that’s good enough. Somebody’s got to do it. Maybe, on your really bad days, you might even think, this church ought to be glad I’m here to do this because otherwise it wouldn’t get done! Maybe you even resent those whom you feel aren’t doing their part. Do you know what’s missing when we get to feeling this way? The joy! The joy of being at home—because we are stuck in the trenches so to speak, we forget the joy and sometimes we may even refuse to join the party, the celebration it is to be at home! Here in this place we need to reach out to each other, pleading with each other to come in and join the party! Reminding each other that this is a place of joy, for we can become numb to that, we can easily forget it. We can too often plug along out of a sense of duty and responsibility, rather than a sense of joy and gracious love. And when that is lost, we, too, become lost. And we need to hear the words, “Welcome! Remember this is home!”

You see, friends, in the end, we may feel we’re the older brother, we may feel we’re the younger brother. But we are called to something more. Henri Nouwen wrote a wonderful book called The Return of the Prodigal Son, and in this book he explains that we may be rebellious prodigals who have to find their way home, or judgmental elder siblings who have forgotten what a blessing it is to be home, but the goal of the Christian life is to become like the father. It is our call to welcome others, to welcome each other—those who come from a far off place, literally or spiritually, as well as those who have always been here. How do we welcome each other home, and how do we relate with one another within this community of faith? What can we say and do, so that all who come to this place will know the welcome, the comfort, the joy that is home?

Friends, as we come to this place, our God runs to us, embraces us, overflows with joy that we are here.

Let us take a moment to embrace one another, saying the words, “Welcome home!” And may this moment be symbolic of the open arms with which we have been enfolded and with which we will strive to embrace each other. Amen.

THAT WHICH IS ALREADY HAS BEEN

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…” As I met this past week with several of the elders of this church, one of the things we talked about was how things tend to run in cycles. In our day, we are such very linear thinkers. We think of time as past, present and future, as if the one as nothing to do with the other really. What has been has been, what is is, what will be will be. But linear thinking is not biblical thinking. The Hebraic understanding of time was not so much forward moving, as it was circular. Those of you who farm may understand this best—time is marked by the seasons, by when its time to plant, when its time to water and weed, when its time to harvest and so forth. And every year these same times come around—it is a cycle. Here in the church we have our own cycle as we progress through the liturgical calendar. Each year begins with the season of Advent, the season in which we anticipate Christ’s coming—both in final victory and as we remember his coming as an infant in a lowly, humble manger. We celebrate his birth with Christmas, we remember his life and ministry in the time between Christmas and Lent. During Lent we recall and walk with Jesus on his way to Jerusalem—to the crowds that would scorn him, to his agony in the garden, to his death on a cross. We rejoice in his resurrection at Easter and we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. We enter a season dubiously named “ordinary time” in which, in reflecting further on the life of Jesus Christ, we further grow in our own faith, strengthened, comforted, challenged by his teachings and his sayings to his disciples, until, ultimately, we come to Christ the King Sunday—the day we celebrate Christ’s ultimate victory over sin and death in the world. And then we start all over again with Advent. Each year, as we live through and pray through this liturgical cycle, we, at least hopefully, grow deeper in our faith, engage in a deeper relationship with our God and with one another in the church, even as we recite the same stories year after year. If we think about time—whether in the church or in farming, or in life itself, in a sense, we can often say that what comes around goes around. In the opening chapter of Ecclesiastes, this wisdom writer notes “what has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun” (1:9).

A college chaplain shares the story of meeting with a group of students one night in a dorm room. The students had asked their chaplain to lead them in a discussion of Christian worship. Trying to engage the students and discover what it was they were interested in about worship, he asked them “those of you who have seen Christians at worship, what would you say is the strangest thing that you’ve seen?” And undergraduate spoke up and said, “I think the weirdest thing is when, at the beginning, in the opening parade…” “You mean the processional?” the chaplain asked. “Yeah, that—where they bring in that great, big book.” “The Bible?” the chaplain queried. “Yeah, and they bring it up front and put it on the lectern and you can see the person bringing it in sort of turn toward the preacher and say, ‘here, work from this.’ That’s really weird.” And the chaplain thought about this for a while and decided that in truth, the fact that a group of 21^st century North Americans who pride themselves on innovation and progress should gather and, just for an hour on Sunday morning, say to one another, “let’s all believe that these ancient Jews knew more than we do. Let’s just try that for an hour, and see where we’ll be.” That, thought the chaplain, really is strange that we submit ourselves to these ancient writings week after week![1] That which is already has been.

And yet we do submit our lives to the words of Scripture. Every week those words from that great, big book come around, they have been around for quite some time, and still we do not discard them. Rather we gather, in the certain faith that as God has spoken to others before us, so, too, God will speak to us now—through these very same words. We submit ourselves day after day, week after week and year after year to these words from long ago, trusting that God will speak a new word, a living word to us through them. For these words do not just speak about the past, but with the life of the Spirit living in them, they speak now to us in the present, calling us into the future. We find in these words the saints---those earliest of faithful people who said yes to God, who sought to walk in faith, to live as God had called them to live. As we hear words of Scripture, we are also often reminded of others, who down through the ages, have also lived as examples of the faithful. We are reminded sometimes of Saint Francis of Assisi or Saint Bernadette. We are reminded of Mother Teresa or Dorothy Day. Or we are reminded of our own mothers or fathers, our spouses or friends, teachers or grandparents who along the way revealed something of the light of Jesus Christ to us.

Today is the day in the life of the church in which we celebrate All Saints’ Day. We give thanks for the lives and witnesses of those who have gone before us—those who have taught us along the way, those who have given us life and shown us love, those who have revealed to us something about the grace and nature of God by how they lived and sometimes by how they died. It is a day in which we remember and honor the past, acknowledging what has been before us as the springboard for today and for our future. As we gather around the words of Scripture, we remember those who recorded these words, whose lives embodied these words, and as we are aware of others who have done the same, we see that as they were living out these words in faith, they were also thereby showing us the way forward. And as we remember these folks, these saints, we are reminded ourselves that we are not the first to walk this path of faith, to tread along on this journey, but that countless others have gone before us, some of whom have faced the same or similar challenges as we do today—in our lives, in our church, in the world—and who have left a mark, an imprint, something that teaches us, guides us, encourages us as we too step out in faith. Yes, All Saints Day is a day when we give full expression to our belief in the communion of the saints. We recognize that we are a part of something that has been long before we ever existed, and those who have gone before will show us the way forward, if we will but follow. That which is already has been. We are not the first and we will not be the last.

A college student was having a conversation with his elderly neighbor. The young man complained, “its just that you in the older generation will never understand us—you grew up in a world that was totally different than ours and we are worlds apart. I don’t know how we can ever really connect. My world is full of things you never knew. We have cable TV, computers, the internet. We have cell phones and text messaging, digital music and DVDs.” The young man paused and the older neighbor took advantage of the moment to weigh in his thoughts. “You are right,” the gray haired man replied, “we didn’t have any of those things growing up…so we invented them! What are you going to do for future generations?”[2]

In other words, what is the legacy you will leave for those who follow behind you? How will those who follow you be the better for your time here on earth? How will your presence teach something or provide something for those who come later? We, too, can look back on our past and ask the same questions. This church, Timber Ridge, has a rich and wonderful history from which there is much to learn and be gained, insights to discover as you seek to be faithful in this time and place. Yet this does not mean we are to simply repeat it or imitate it generation after generation. This year marks the 30^th anniversary of Shenandoah Presbytery. This past week at the presbytery meeting, there was a time of historical reflection, as there has been at each presbytery meeting this year. Two of the former executive presbyters were asked to share some of their reflections and at the end were asked what they might tell this presbytery now as it seeks to move forward into the future. Homer Phipher, who served from the mid-80s into the mid-90s, said this: This presbytery has deep roots and a cherished history. But what I would want to say is that as you honor your past, your history, be careful that you are not bound by it. I believe this is something of what we hear in our Scripture reading this morning—for everything there is a season, a time for every matter under heaven. And later the writer says, “God has made everything suitable for its time.” And so we take our past—the past of this presbytery, the past of this church, the past of our lives, the past of our faith—and we can recognize and honor those things and those people that have been a part of making us who we are today. For what we see in them, in those who have journeyed before us is how they have inspired us and others to want to believe in and follow the same Christ Jesus that they followed. And ultimately, what we admire in them is part of what we ourselves are called to imitate, part of what we hope God will work in and through us, part of what God calls us to be and live out in the world here, now, today. But that is just the thing—we have to be who God is calling us to be, not merely a replica of what has been before. We have to shine the light of Christ in the way that God is asking of us to do today. But we do not do it alone. And we do not have to reinvent the wheel. There is a sign at Winchester cathedral in England that is read as one enters the church. It says, “you are entering a conversation that began long before you were born and will continue long after you are dead.” Being a Christian, part of the body of Christ, means we do not make up the faith as we go. Scripture teaches us, the saints will teach us, if we only listen. That which is already has been. It is our task to determine how to continue along the road of faith---we can look back, and if we really look, we can see where detours, wrong paths, have been taken, even in good faith. And we can learn to avoid those same steps, those same roads. There is a line that runs through the Scriptures, through the ages, through our days today and it is to this line that we are called to cling. And as we follow this line, tracing it through time, we find that it runs in a circle. What goes around comes around---and we all return to the same source of life, love and hope…for we all return to the same Jesus Christ. That which is already has been. And it is to Christ alone to whom we are finally and ultimately bound—us and all the saints—to Christ, who was and is and evermore shall be. Amen.

JOY

Children’s Message on J-O-Y!

Ask a child to take a letter “Y” and go off and stand by themselves, holding up the letter for everyone to see.

Do you ever get caught up in yourself, to where you’re just thinking about what you want to do or have? Often when that happens, we end feeling like Brett looks over there---alone and maybe kind of lonely. Brett, what would make you feel better? (If other people were over here too). Yes, we don’t feel so all alone when we are with others.

Send another child over to stand with first child, holding up the letter, “O.” Plus when we have others around us, sometimes we forget so much about what we want and need and we pay attention instead to what the others need and are able to help them. But in our faith, there’s one thing that’s still missing to make us complete.

Send a third child over to hold up the letter “J”. As Christians, we also have Jesus in our lives. Now if you look over there at those three, what word do they spell? That’s right—JOY! And as Christians we are blessed to live our lives with JOY. But in order to do that, we have to keep things in the right order—we have to put Jesus first in our lives, then others, then yourself. And when we can remember to do that—to follow Jesus first, no matter what, then to tend to the needs of others, and finally to take care of yourself—then we indeed have JOY in our lives and that JOY flows out to everyone else around us!

Note: this concept is not original, but source is unknown

MEDITATION FOR CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003

Back to Top

WELCOME HOME

Back to Top

THAT WHICH IS ALREADY HAS BEEN

Back to Top

JOY

Back to Top