Wednesday, December 31, 2014

The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph



December 28, 2014



On this, the feast of the Holy Family, we’re is invited to reflect, not only upon that holy threesome who have figured so importantly in our salvation history,
but also upon all the other families that comprise the universal family of humankind.
Unfortunately, and due to a variety of factors, the ties that bind us one to another within our global network of families have suffered a series of assaults over the past several decades.
This is a fact that need not be argued; the evidence of relational weakness and even decay is obvious and this weakness affects every one of us to one degree or another.
Now, I’m not just talking about the nuclear family, I’m talking about all families, traditional or otherwise, who are joined together in love.
Attacking families just because they don’t necessarily “look like” the traditional father, mother and two-point-whatever children is just another symptom of our being scared for the family unit.
Rather than lament the fact and belabor the point, our attention might be better directed and our efforts better spent in trying to effect change, conversion and growth within the family unit.
"If we can change the culture of our families" says Steven W. Vannoy [i] "surely that change will radiate out to touch those around us. "In this way, our society will be improved from the inside out, family by family.
The following fable offers a powerful example of the contagious grace of change.

The membership of a once numerous order of monks dwindled over the years, until there were only five brothers left in what had been a thriving community.
For years, people from the surrounding area had been drawn to the monastery in search of the learning and spiritual renewal they found there.
Now, no one ever visited as the spirit of the place and its inhabitants seemed to be slowly dying.
One day, however, a rabbi happened by to visit.
When he was about to leave, one of the brothers asked the rabbi if he had any advice on how to revitalize themselves and make their monastery a spiritual center once again.
After a few moments, the rabbi replied, "The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."
Flabbergasted, the brothers replied, "The Messiah among us? Impossible!"
As the weeks passed, the brothers puzzled over the rabbi's startling revelation.
If the Messiah were here, who would it be?
Maybe, Brother Timothy. . . he's the abbot and in his capacity as leader, he could surely be chosen to be the Messiah ....
It couldn't be Bro. Mark; He's always so argumentative, but, he's usually right
...Or maybe, it's Bro. Pius who tends the garden and the animals. He could probably nourish a troubled world if he were the Messiah.
Surely, it could be Bro. Dominic; he's studious, learned and familiar with all the great spiritual writers.
 It couldn't be Peter, could it?
Certainly, the Messiah couldn't be the one who cleaned toilets, dirty laundry and scrubbed the pots and pans each day.
Or, could it?
Since the monks were unable to determine which one of them was the Messiah, they began to treat one another as though each were the one.
Moreover, just in case he himself might be the Messiah, each monk began to treat himself with new respect and to conduct himself with greater dignity.
Within a few weeks, the monastery's occasional visitors were awed by the love, goodness and revitalized spirituality they experienced.
They returned again and again and brought new friends along.
Soon, a few young men asked to be admitted to the order and the monastery thrived again.

Imagine the possibilities for growth and renewal if each family were to take to heart the rabbi's words, "the Messiah is one of you. "
How much more might spouses love and cherish one another...
how much more might parents value their children, protect them, teach them and lovingly attend to their needs ...
how much more might children honor and appreciate their parents.
How much more might we look upon love as the only important criteria for determining what is & is not a family
If each member of every family were to reverence one another as the Messiah, i.e., as Jesus who is our Savior and brother,
how much might that strengthen and secure those familial bonds that are the infrastructure, without which our society has no future.

Today, the love shared among the Holy Family offers us both a witness and a challenge.
To love one another as they did requires that we look beyond the faults and idiosyncrasies that annoy us in order to discover the Christ who lives in each of us.
Such love requires that we replace nitpicking, nagging and criticism with wise counsel, humbly offered, and encouragement and praise, generously bestowed.
Such was the love that became incarnate among us and which we reveled in celebrating at Christmas.
Such is also the love that has brought us to the end of this year
If our children’s children’s children are to look upon the next millennium, it is this love which will make it possible.

Christmas Day 2014

Birth of Christ 
Giotto, 1266?-1337 

December 25, 2014



There's an ancient legend that when God created the heavens and the earth and everything in them, they were created through the use of words:
"Let there be light," and there was light.
"Let the waters teem with living creatures," and it was done.

            Everything that God made with words was good.
            But God was especially proud and fond of the man and woman because they contained God;           a part of God's life-giving spirit.

            This made the devil jealous and angry.
            And so, one day, when God was enjoying the company of the man and the woman, the devil "happened" by.
            He walked up to God, and with a sneer asked him what he liked so much about these creatures.

            When God was ready to speak, the devil craftily put a bond upon his tongue. God could not talk!
            God's creative power was in words and the devil had bound that power!
            The devil laughed at God and struck the man and woman many times very hard.
            As time passed, the devil came back to mock God.

            He scoffed at God's silence and helplessness. God responded by holding up one finger. "One?" asked the devil.
            "You want to say one word, is that it?"
            "Yes," nodded God, pleading with sad eyes and urgent hands.

            The arrogant devil thought to himself, "What harm can God do with just one word?"
            So he removed the bond from God's tongue.

            Then God spoke one word in a whisper in the middle of the night.
            God spoke it for the man and woman, and it brought them great joy.
            It was a word that gathered up all the love and forgiveness and creativity stored up the whole time of the long silence.
            The one word spoken was "Jesus!"

            God has spoken this "word" to us once and for all and won't take it back:
            Jesus is with us and for us for all time.

            And he will always be enough. 

Christmas Eve 2014


Image: "Testify to the Light," 
© Jan Richardson

December 24, 2014

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
What do you do when you love someone?
Whether it's a couple falling in love, a mother to a child, a friend to a friend, a husband to a wife...
you want to communicate your love.
And so you say, "I love you."

Sometimes you make a phone call to the beloved in the middle of the day for no good reason.
Or you leave a welcome home note or write a love letter or compose a poem.
You communicate.
And you act.

You want to show your love.
So you give the one you love a hug, or fix them a cup of tea, or listen, or you ask them to marry you.
You show your love.

In much the same way, God wants to communicate and show his love for us.
For thousands of years God has been talking to us of his love.
It began at creation -- when God expressed himself and spoke the world into being.
It continued with the creation of humanity in his divine image, and when he called Israel to be his people,
and when he rescued them from slavery in Egypt.

And so we might know better how to live our lives, he gave us the law, and spoke to us through the prophets.
This is how God expressed his love for us -- over and over by word and action...
but it wasn't enough.

It wasn't breaking through the hard defensive shell of our sinful nature.
It wasn't reaching all of God's creation...
it hadn't broken through to the gentiles...
it had not conquered sin and death.
So God did something new.
God did something unheard of, never expected, something considered scandalous...
God communicated to us by taking every ounce of love he had, every word of hope and courage,
and he sent it to us in the most fragile and vulnerable of packages: in the flesh of a newborn baby.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
The Word became flesh...
Jesus Christ is the full communication of God's love for us.
A merciful God -- with all power and knowledge –
chose the humility of human flesh and became powerless and dependent.

Our images of the birth of Jesus are hopelessly colored by years of Hallmark cards and made for television specials.
Mary is always sweet, clean and serene.
Joseph stands stoically by at all times.
Jesus never cries.
These are sentimental images -- and weaken the harsh reality of that night.
Several years ago in New York City on Christmas Eve, St. George's Episcopal Church was getting ready for its annual evening service, which always included carols, instrumentalists, dancing and a living representation of the Nativity.

This year, as people started to arrive, they were greeted by the sight of some street people on the front steps.
A man and woman with a shopping cart and a bundle of rags. Several people stopped to offer help and some invited them in out of the cold.
They politely declined all offers.
Finally, one of the vestry members approached the Rector and said, "We've got a problem."
He wanted to call the police and have them remove the street people.
Eventually a patrol car came by and the people were asked to move across the street where they wouldn't disturb the worshipers.

It was a beautiful service that night, and the nave was full, standing room only.
Finally, the climatic moment arrived:
Dancers dressed in white appeared at the back of the nave to lead the holy family down the center aisle.
As the holy family entered you could hear gasps of recognition. The holy family was the homeless couple from the front steps. The baby Jesus was the bundle of rags they had held in their arms.
As the angels led the holy family toward the altar they wept, as did most of the congregation.
Jesus entered the world as a homeless child, in utter humility and poverty.

And on this dark evening, two thousand years later, he awaits to enter our hearts in the same way.
He waits patiently, with great humility, to be invited to come and live within us.
And when we do invite him in, it is as though love itself begins to grow within us.
God sent Jesus so that we can be born anew, by the Holy Spirit, and become children of God.
God sent Jesus to break the power of sin and death that rule our lives.
And as Love grows within our hearts, we find ourselves proclaiming that unconditional Love to others.
We become the ones with beautiful feet, preaching the good news of God's salvation on the mountain tops.
We begin to recognize and honor God's presence in the humble and the poor...
and reach out with a love beyond our own.

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
And dwelt among us.

Tonight we listen and remember and hear again the great telling of God's love for us.
With humble hearts, let us receive again the good news of Jesus Christ and return our thanks.

Merry Christmas

Fourth Sunday of Advent B


Image: "Magnificat," 
© Jan Richardson

December 21, 2014



Do you remember sitting in the classroom as a kid, when the teacher was calling on students for an answer you weren't prepared to give?
Do you recall the feeling? "Oh please ...don't call on me! Don't ask me ...I'm not prepared!"
Our tradition is filled with stories of people being called on, being asked to do things they didn't want to do or feel equipped to do.
Moses, for example, tried to squeeze out of the terrifying task of confronting
Pharaoh with the excuse that he couldn't speak well enough.
Jeremiah, called to be prophet in a nation gone astray, also responded: "I don't know how to speak ... I’m too young!"
An unmarried teenaged Jewish girl, called to bear a child, responded: "How can this be? I'm a virgin."
But God has continued to call people to take on awesome responsibilities, perform tasks they hadn't anticipated or didn't feel equipped to do, and certainly wouldn't have chosen in a million years.
The unexpectedness of the call and the reluctance to embrace it has elicited familiar responses: "Who, me? Why me?" "How can this be? "I'm too young; too old." "I have a family to take care of."

In addition to the reluctant reactions, we notice that most of those chosen for hard tasks have been rather ordinary folks.
They've been people whose lives have moved unspectacularly along until the call came, the voice spoke, the finger of God touched them.
However that call has been delivered or however the messenger is named, the summons is essentially the same: "There is something I want you to do, or to say; someplace I want you to go; Something I can do only through you."

And once the challenge is accepted, there is no turning back or stopping what has been set in motion.
Men and women set out on arduous journeys to new places.
Apprehensive, inarticulate people become bold leaders or fearless prophets.
An insignificant teenager bears the Son of God.
Ordinary people partner with the Holy One, and extraordinary things happen.

Today's readings tell us something really quite amazing as we prepare for this Christmas season.
It's not that there wouldn't t be any Christmas without God's empowering action (though that is true).
The amazing thing is that there wouldn't be any Christmas without us-
without that simple Jewish girl!
The amazing thing is that what God wants for this human race will manage to get done through those willing to cooperate and be a part of the action!

You would think that God would have learned by now that we're a rather inept bunch-
not the kind of folks you'd rely on to accomplish big things.
Perhaps it is that one little word uttered by Mary in today's gospel and by so many others before her and since-
that tiny, but powerful "Yes!"
"Yes, I'll bear the child." "I'll go..." "I'll speak out..."
Perhaps that "yes" is what keeps God coming back to us again and again, extending the invitation, issuing the call, planting the seed, seeking us to help inch the Kingdom along.

The exciting event we are about to celebrate is not so much about what happened 2000 years ago in Bethlehem.
The exciting thing is what is happening here, among us as a pregnant people called in so many ways to give birth to God made flesh in our lives!
And, like Mary, Moses, Jeremiah, Isaiah and all the others, we are no doubt perplexed, reluctant, resistant to that call.
Like those who have gone before us, we wish it were not so.
We wish that the call –  whatever it is – would come to someone else.
"Please, don t call on me ...."

But we too can take heart in Gabriel's words to Mary: "Don't be afraid!"
We take heart, because along with the call comes the assurance that God is with us.
As we prepare for the great feast of God born among us, let dare to speak that most powerful of words,
that "yes" that links us to Mary and all the others.
Let us shout it, if we are courageous enough, or whisper it if we are afraid.
But let us each speak the word that God longs to hear.

This Christmas, as we ponder what God asks of us, let us thunder our resounding "Yes!"

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Third Sunday of Advent B



December 14, 2014



This is Rejoicing Sunday.
Right in the middle of the sober Advent waiting game, we take time out to take delight in what we're waiting for.
Isaiah strikes the tone in the first reading when he rejoices over the Day of the Lord-
the Sabbath, the Sabbatical, the Seventh Day-when work stopped, fields lay fallow, debts were cancelled,
slaves set free, property returned to its owner. It was a time to let God break into human affairs.
Things were turned upside down, looked at from God's point of view:
the lowly were lifted up, the proud were brought down.
Time stood still, and the perspective was from eternity:
crimes were pardoned, sins forgiven, families reunited.
It was a time of grace, a time of rejoicing anticipating the time when God  would live with his people.
That's what Isaiah was shouting about, longing for.

Then it actually happened!
God did break into human affairs--physically, by becoming human.
And all humanity should have rejoiced.
But only a few idle shepherds did; because the rest of humankind was busy about more important things, and could not stop for a little baby.
It's been that way ever since.
Even when we know he's coming;
even when we set aside a special time of preparation.
We fill it with cards and shopping and gifts—all nice things--
but we forget it's all for that baby.
Once in a while, someone remembers.
Like Paul, who just couldn't get over the fact that Jesus came and was coming again.
He kept repeating: "Rejoice! Be thankful! Be prepared!"
And they did for a while; then they forgot again.
Why do people forget certain things, even when they are reminded?
Because they don't really hear them.
I have a friend--maybe everyone knows someone like this-who doesn't hear certain things.
That's called Functional Deafness--a nice way of saying that people hear what they want to hear.
Nobody likes to hear things that hurt.
Especially things they can't do much about.
Who wants to hear that they have cancer;
or that there are a million and a half abortions each year in our country alone?
We don't want to hear these things because we cannot handle these things.
Studies of dying report that the first response is disbelief ,
then resentment, then several other steps before people actually accept the incontestable fact that they are dying.
Why do we have so much difficulty hearing a baby being born 2000 years ago?
Because that baby was set for the rise and fall of many
and you know how every single person feels
threatened about rising and falling over someone else.
We can't handle it because that baby was a light shining in the darkness--
and you know how dark things hate to have the spotlight thrown on them.
We can't handle it because that baby shot straight as an arrow through a crooked world-
he became a simple, honest man who did what he was supposed to do,
among clever people who did what they wanted to do.
And you know, the world has never quite discovered what to do with a simple, honest person.
They can't be bought or sold or used; they're practically worthless.
Except to wonder at, or talk about, or get rid of.
So they did.

But once in a while someone did hear. who knew who he was by the grace of God and was not threatened by men acting like God or God acting like a man.
Because Paul was able to handle everything
he was able to hear anything.

Once in a while a hearer comes along.
So, in case there is a hearer among us now, let me say it simply:
the Son of God is human like us.
He lives among us, with us, in us.
A God-man takes a bit of getting used to.
That's why he started out as a baby.
So he could grow on us.
But for now he's just a little baby.

So rejoice!

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

What Do You Think About Pope Francis



Francis has undoubtedly made waves in his first
two years as pope. But how happy are Catholics with the job he's doing?

It's hard to believe that almost two years has passed since Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope. And in that time he's made plenty of headlines and drawn both enthusiastic praise and sharp criticism. As Pope Francis nears his second anniversary we want to know how you feel about him. Is he the best pope in decades? Or are you pining for the days of Pope Benedict XVI? 

What do you think about Pope Francis' papacy so far? Take our survey. Don't miss this opportunity to voice your opinion!

2nd Sunday of Advent Cycle B


John the Baptist Preaching
Rodin, Auguste, 1840-1917

December 7, 2014

 The year is ending,
 and there is a strange mood upon us, upon our church, upon our land.
 Our deepest longings and most profound yearnings still tug at our hearts, unfulfilled in the past and uncertain in the future.
 What can this Advent celebration teach us about those longings and yearnings?

 Throughout this season, in the readings from the prophets of old, deserts bloom, exiles return home, mountains run with wine, the deaf hear,
 the blind see, virgins conceive, barren women give birth, lambs graze with lions and children play with snakes.
 The Advent scriptures turn the world as we know it inside out and upside down.

 But in the midst of the splendor of these images and the fullness of the promises, we must remember who are the Advent people to whom the prophets preach, who are the Advent people who hear the prophets.

 For instance, in today's first reading, Isaiah proclaims comfort and care to people in exile.
 To the sorrowing, confused and frustrated refugees, the prophet proclaims a straight road, a highway in the desert.
 In today's gospel, John the Baptizer proclaims forgiveness to the sinner, healing to the sick, the gift of God in wind and fire to a people sorrowing, confused and frustrated by foreign oppression and political hopelessness.
 Throughout Advent, the message of the coming of our God is proclaimed to a broken people .



 Why preach God's splendor and promise to such people?

 I think it is because the broken know their powerlessness.
 They have faced the disappointment of their deepest longings but they cry out for fulfillment.
 The prophets promise God's fullness to people who know their emptiness, the depth of their hunger.

 Where does that leave us?
 Today's scriptures (indeed, all of Advents readings) call us to encounter our broken-ness.
 God summons us to that tender place within us where our deepest longings reside.
 Embrace your yearnings, says the Lord, and reach out for more.

Be an Advent people.

 Dare to face the sorrow you experience in the way your family lets you down, in the way your parents do not understand you,
 in the way your brothers or sisters or children move on without a thought for you.
 The readings call us to face our powerlessness and to find there the presence of God manifest in our hope for more.

 Today's scriptures call us to confront the frustration we experience because we never seem to make enough money, to have enough things, to find satisfaction in our work.
 They call us to confront the emptiness we feel in the midst of so many things and invite us to find in the emptiness itself the presence of God manifest in our will to reach toward more.

 Today's scriptures call us to engage the confusion we experience because our spouse lets us down, our friends do not seem to care, our associates are concerned more with themselves.
 They call us to face our need and our hunger and to find in the hunger itself the presence of God manifest in our longing for more.

 The Advent message is strong and clear:
 Only in the encounter with our broken-ness will we be open to God.
 Only in that encounter will we discover that God alone can save.

 The Advent scriptures challenge us:
 Can we dare to face our sorrow, confront our frustration, engage our confusion?
 If we can, we will come to see that only God can fulfill our longing, only God can give us more.

 We can be an Advent people open to God and to God's power to save.

10 Reasons to Follow the Liturgical Calendar


With the arrival of Advent this upcoming week, I’ve been thinking a bit about the benefits of following the Christian year. I’ll admit that this is a tradition I once disregarded with sneers of haughty derision. But over the past decade, I’ve grown to see the liturgical year as one of the more important of our Christian traditions. Here are a few reasons why.
1.    It reminds us that we are a people set apart, and as such our lives aren’t oriented around nominal civic holidays and observances. When I was growing up in Baptistland, I never heard of the liturgical calendar. Church just wasn’t organized that way. Oh sure, we had our annual 6-week Christmas celebration, and Easter was a fairly big deal. But next to those, the biggest “feasts” we celebrated were Independence Day, Mothers Day, and Fathers Day, and Thanksgiving (and in that order). Most of the year was spent in a sort of liturgical purgatory; a perpetual ordinary time without the guidance of any real Christian organization, and revolving around whatever the pastor wanted. But as Christians, we serve a higher throne, and our purpose in gathering together isn’t ever nationalism, cultural pride, or sentimentality. I love grilling on a warm summer evening, but the 4th of July has nothing to do with the Christian story, and neither do fond remembrances of mom and dad, or commemorating that one time the Pilgrims let the Native Americans dine at their table.
2.    It distinguishes our holy days from their secular knock-off celebrations. I do love many things about this time of year. The weather, hitting the mall late into the evening, holiday parties, watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (“Where’s the Tylenol?”). But, as fun and exciting as these things can be, the discipline of the church year helps us realize that these things are merely periphery.
3.    It organizes and shapes our lives by the Christian story, instead of the things the kingdom of the world holds valuable. Our lives are divided up into semesters, work schedules, electric bills, tax deadlines. Intentionally choosing a gospel-centered organization system helps us to maintain our first allegiance to Christ and his kingdom. Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Stop worry being the “Happy Holidays” police or petitioning to keep the nativity scene on City Hall lawn. We serve a throne that calls us to rise above that noise.
4.    The colors are so pretty. I’m kidding, of course. Sort of. Not really. The changing colors of the liturgical year can be powerful and meaningful symbols of our response to the holy events.
5.    It brings texture to our gathered worship. The object and definition of our worship never change, but observing the Christian year allows our corporate worship to reflect all the feelings and nuances of the gospel events. In that sense, it is a powerful rhetorical device, driving home the drama of the Christian story.
6.    It unites us with the holy catholic church, past, present, and future. As I’ve mentioned before, Christ wasn’t crucified during Clinton’s first term, and we don’t do the Christian life in a vacuum. We are part of a long faith tradition, and one that has observed the Christian year in one form or another practically since the actual events themselves.
7.    It disciplines us to linger in the valley instead of rushing toward the mountaintop. Our culture believes wholeheartedly in the right to instant gratification, which plagues the church like festering boils on Egyptian necks. Like a kid locked unattended in a candy store, left to our own appetites, we will gorge ourselves with the sweet, sugary stuff until we puke. We need the anticipation of Advent to truly recognize the miracle of Christmas. We need to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, sing along with the heavenly host, and be homeless in Bethlehem, before we hear the cry of the Word become flesh. We need to walk with Christ for those 40 days, see him ride into Jerusalem over the path of palm branches, dine with him in the upper room, fall asleep in the garden, and feel the hammer locked in our palm’s grip as the nails pierce our Savior’s body. Yes, we are an Easter people, but Easter doesn’t happen without the terror and anguish of the week before. It’s time to forsake the supreme quest for the Hollywood ending, and be willing to put off the unbridled excitement for our own edification.
8.    It helps church leadership avoid the narcissistic pursuit of their own personal agendas. In the churches where I grew up, and a couple others I’ve served since, corporate worship was held hostage by the personal agendas of the pastors. I’m not completely against the sermon series (of course, I think the Lectionary is the greatest and most relevant sermon series possible), but so often they’re driven primarily by the personality instead of the Christian story. Following the Christian year doesn’t totally eliminate that possibility, but it’s a very helpful check.
9.    It is an effective method of discipleship. While churches everywhere are falling for the latest and greatest discipleship program in the effort to revitalize their congregations, the best option might be older than all the rest. I like what Chaplain Mike over at the Internet Monk says about this curious phenomenon.


“I don’t know why so many Christian groups think they need to reinvent the wheel when it comes to “discipleship programs.” This time-tested annual pattern for the life of individual believers and the Church together that is focused on Christ, organized around the Gospel, and grounded in God’s grace, is sheer genius. It is simple enough for a child. It offers enough opportunities for creativity and flexibility that it need never grow old. Each year offers a wonderful template for learning to walk with Christ more deeply in the Gospel which brings us faith, hope, and love.”
10. It forces us to remember the parts of the Gospel story we often forget or neglect. I’m ashamed to admit that though I grew up in church, I didn’t know what Pentecost was about until I was in my twenties, nor did I ever observe the Lenten season, understand Epiphany, or know the Bible talked about Christ ascending into heaven. I don’t remember hearing most of those words used, or if they were, they were too far embedded into an unrelated sermon series that I didn’t get it. I’m sure that some people grow up in liturgical churches and still don’t get it, but my Christian journey is poorer for not having the opportunity sooner.
Note: Before I publish this, I can already see the comments hitting my inbox. “Show me in Scripture where it says to do all that stuff!” Well, you’re missing the point, and unless you’re into the regulative principle of worship, which most of us aren’t, you may be asking the wrong question. The purpose of Holy Scripture isn’t to dictate every detail of our lives for us, and that includes Christian worship. Instead, we should use the powerful, creative minds our good God has given us, informed by the themes of Holy Scripture, to weigh the benefits of anything we use, be it hymnals, choirs, traditions, or anything else. In this case, I think it’s clear that a yearly walk through the gospel story brings a personal, depth and richness to Christian worship and formation, and it should be thoughtfully considered by all Christians and Christian congregations.


Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Tis the Season for Holiday Music, or: Why I Hate Christmas




Opening Sentences
In many of our churches, it’s beginning to sound a lot like Christmas. Which is a big problem. Because, Auntie Mame, it’s not even a week past Thanksgiving Day now.
To borrow a line from Chevy Chase’s greatest performance, “Where’s the Tylenol?”
Call to Advent Worship
I don’t really hate Christmas.
But I do hate what our culture has done with the church’s season of joy. And how many supposedly Christmas people seem content to follow along like little red and green sheep with their decorations and their music and their outfits, completely oblivious to the fact that the sole reason for Christmas creep is so it can be further exploited by retailers as they peddle all the crap we don’t need, don’t have room for, and will possibly be all the poorer in soul for owning.
The church’s answer for this, of course, is Advent. I love how Joan Chittister puts it. “Advent relieves us of our commitment to the frenetic in a fast-paced world. It slows us down. It makes us think. It makes us look beyond today to the “great tomorrow” of life. Without Advent, moved only by the race to nowhere that exhausts the world around us, we could be so frantic that exhausts the world around us, we could be so frantic with trying to consume and control this life that we fail to develop within ourselves a taste for the spirit that does not die and will not slip through our fingers like melted snow.”
Wow. The race to nowhere. It conjures up images of commercial Christmas, doesn’t it?
Holiday Homily
It seems to me that the church couldn’t denounce that kind of Christmas too forcefully. And as a church musician, I’m particularly bothered with the indiscriminate mass consumption of Christmas music. Oh, I don’t suppose it’s inherently wrong to bring out a few of the secular classics in mid December. Heck, I even find myself excitedly anticipating my first seasonal hearing of Andy Williams’ “Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season.” Even so, I think we can easily overdo that stuff.
But the sacred music of the season can be a nearly sacramental presence in our life, if we’re careful not to abuse it. And music has the unique power to add richness and depth and dimension and life to the Christmas cycle. But if we’re clumsy, if we don’t choose carefully, if we turn the work of the people into an sing-along of old favorites, the music can be a messy, blurring presence that is detrimental to the whole thing.
It’s bad enough that we can’t turn around without hearing some muddy, self-indulgent pop recording of one of our treasured songs and carols, but the contemporary American church itself so often chooses to show up unprepared for the inaugural Christ event itself by caving into our cultural appetite and musically rushing to the manger. Used poorly, Christmas music can undo everything, transforming us back into undisciplined, spoiled children rifling through shreds of paper and ribbon, hoarding stuff that won’t last.
There’s a mega-church in Houston whose broadcasts I occasionally listen to on my Sunday commute. Yesterday, the first day of Advent, before the Thanksgiving pecan pie had been fully digested, they had their congregation of thousands sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” apparently not noticing the glaring tension between the date and the final stanza’s opening line.
“Yea, Lord, we greet Thee.”
It was more than a little nauseating, and I wasn’t even there.
The words of the Apostle are pregnant with meaning, “When the fullness of time had come.” Among other things, it reminds us that waiting isn’t new, and it’s never been easy.  And as church musicians, if we want our music to truly serve the liturgy, we absolutely must wait for the fullness of time to come instead of rushing the season.
A Lingerer’s Litany
Use the self-imposed time of waiting for Christ’s first appearance to learn how to keep awake for his next.
Follow the Baptist’s (John, not Paige Patterson) call to repent, and practice being God’s people every day.
Rejoice, because the kingdom of heaven is so very near.
Ponder anew the beautiful craziness of the whole story, and how you wrestle with its implications in your own life.
So wait.
Wait for “Yea, Lord, we greet Thee.”
Wait for “Star of wonder, star of night.”
Wait for “Worship Christ the newborn King.”
Wait for “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see.”
Wait for “This, this is Christ the King.”
Wait for the holy night.
Wait for the happy morning.
And no matter what everything around you tells you to do, wait for Christmas.
And then linger there a little while, after the marketplace dies down, Santa has his cookies, and everyone else plunges back into the frantic pace of their de facto ordinary time.
After all, we worship because we’re shaped by the Christian story. Not the Wal-Mart story.