Behold: God

Isaiah 9:2-7

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

Christmas Eve Year C

24 December, 2012

First Presbyterian Church, Clarksville

and Harmony Presbyterian Church

Dr. Robert Wm. Lowry

            For many in my generation, the poet laureate of childhood was Shel Silverstein.  His collection of poems and illustrations, “Where the Sidwalk Ends,” still has a place in my home.  He wrote such lyrical masterpieces as “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout, would not take the garbage out.”  And “Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too, went for a ride in a flying shoe.”  He is even the songwriter behind the Johnny Cash classic, “A Boy Named Sue.”

            One of my favorite Silverstein poems is from his book “A Light in the Attic.”  The poem is titled Whatifs.*

Last night while I lay thinking here,

Some whatifs crawled inside my ear

And pranced and partied all night long

And sang their same old whatif song.

Whaif I’m dumb in school?

Whatif they close the swimming pool?

Whatif I get beat up?

What if there’s poison in my cup?

Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?

Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?

Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?

Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?

Everything seems swell, and then
The nighttime Whatifs strike again!

            I am going to go out on a limb and say that I am not the only person in this room who knows what it is like to have the Whatifs crawl in your ear and keep you company at night.

            Whatif I had gone to law school rather than seminary?

            Whatif I had taken this job or that job?

            Whatif…

            Whatif…

If we are not careful, we can whatif ourselves nearly to death because our whatifs are so often tinged with anxiety and fear.  Anxiety about an opportunity lost- fear about a chance squandered.

            Our lives are not the only places vulnerable to what-if-ing.  Think of all the whatifs in the bible.       

            Whatif, when God called, Samuel had replied, “nah, too busy” rather than “speak, for your servant hears.”

            Whatif, when God called, Noah had replied, “no time to build an ark, we have a farm to tend.”

            Whatif, when the angels appeared and spoke to them, the shepherds had been just too busy to care; too busy to go to Bethlehem and see.

            If things were just a little different, how many of the dominos would fall?  How much of this house of faith would come tumbling down like a pile of blocks?

            Whatif is a dangerous game when we let the perfect, the absolute become the enemy of the possible. 

The story of this child is so implausible, so susceptible to whatifing it to death with our doubts and hesitations, we run the risk of missing what is right in front of us.

            Whatif this baby we are going to see is just another baby?

            Whatif the world is just too far gone for him to save?

            Our doubts and anxieties can put blinders on us if we are not careful.

            Yet, inside every anxious whatif is a whatif of possibility waiting to get out.

            Whatif this child really is God?

            Whatif this is the way God, implausibly and even impractically, chose to greet the world that morning in Bethlehem so long ago?

            I think it is no mistake that when God determined to send God’s son into the world, that child came first as a newborn baby.  Yes, I realize that if Jesus was to be fully human it had to happen this way.  But I tend to think that there was something else at work in the mind of God when the Messiah came to the world as a kicking, gurgling, drooling and, despite what the old hymn may say, crying vulnerable little baby.

            There is something about babies that sparks a hopeful whatif in all of us.

            Try holding a newborn without smiling.

            Try watching fat little legs kick in the air without some sense that, despite it all, there is still good yet to come in the world.

            It is no mistake that when God came into the world to save the world, when that great whatif actually came to pass, it all started with a little child; a newborn bringing and bearing witness to the hope of God in and for the world.

            Tonight, this night of all nights, we celebrate the promise and possibility of that child.  We break through all the clutter and anxiety of our daily lives and we celebrate that in the midst of it all, the most vulnerable form of human life can still come in, stare down the fear and cynicism that surrounds and remind us that goodness and mercy are yet alive and well in the world.

            In my life there were two occasions when it became abundantly clear to me that whatever gifts and skills God had given me to share in the world, being a doctor was not one of them.  The first reminder came in college during a semester of organic chemistry.  The second came on January 15, 2004.  In my life that is a day that will live in infamy and wonder.

            Most of the members of this particular medical mission group were veterans of prior Haiti trips.  When veteran visitors came we would usually leave the hospital and do a few rural clinics for people who could not easily travel to town. 

            It was not unusual for there to be some excitement at these clinics.  Usually it would center on a child or adult who had suffered some kind of accident.  Broken bones, some deep cuts that required a few stitches and such were the most common.  Occasionally, though, there would be a woman who was in labor.

            This was one of those trips.  A young woman who could not have been much more than 20 came into the clinic and based on the decibel level, was well into labor.

            The doctors talked and decided that the rough trip into the hospital would be too much for her and decided to deliver the babies right there.  She was in surprisingly good health and there were no indications that it was going to be a difficult or complicated delivery.  Plus, this was not the first time this had happened so they were prepared. 

            I was not.  I missed the day in seminary when they taught maternity ward assisting skills.  Usually when a child was born during a clinic day, I was on crowd control and helped the others keep the noise down.  This time, however, one of the doctors waved me over as if he had something else in mind for me.

            Thankfully my job in this whole production was to hold the scared young mother’s hand and try to keep her calm.  Thankfully that was the full extent of my job because it was the full extent of my skills!

            After less than 30 minutes, she gave birth to beautiful twins, a girl she named Simone and a boy she named Etienne.  As one of the doctors took care of her the other went back to running the clinic with the nurses and it was left to me and a translator to hold the babies until more family arrived to accompany mother and babies to the hospital a few hours away.

            It was a God thing that we were there that day not only because the mother’s and the babies’ chances were greatly increased because the doctors and nurses were there to care for them; it was a God thing because we got a little glimpse of something holy that day; hope.

            Haiti, even before the devastating earthquake in 2010, is a place where hope is in short supply.  It is a place where the most crushing poverty known to humankind is readily visible all around.  It is a place where hope, while not absent, is frequently hidden from view.

            I had not thought about that day in light of the Christmas story until I was writing this sermon.  I went to Haiti expecting to find nothing but desperation and despair and, that day at least, I found a baby.  Two babies in fact. Two little rays of light shining in a dark place, those new lives shined a little hope in our midst.

            On Christmas morning was born a child, yes, and that child was truly and fully God, but also that day was born hope.

            Time and again, I have said from this and other pulpits that I believe the greatest thing we as the church have to offer the world is a word of hope; a word of promise in the face of the world’s struggles and troubles.

            The song the angels sang so long ago, is our song now.  We as the body of Christ in the world are called to be the messengers of God, not because we are better or deserving or somehow possess secret knowledge, but because we have seen the baby.  We have heard the story of the birth of hope. 

            So we sing.  We sing the angel’s song.  And when we do share the angels’ song with the world and we are greeted by the skepticism of our age; when we invite the world to come to Bethlehem and see but the world replies,

            “whatif this is just any other baby?”

                        “whatif the world is beyond saving?”

                                    “whatif the promise of God is a dead letter?”

            We need only respond saying, “there is no whatif about it.”  In this child all our whatifs are answered by God’s “behold!”

                        “in this child hope is truly born;”

                                    “this child is a promise fulfilled;”

                                                “this is in fact God with us.”

            Brothers and sisters, God has invited us and we are called in the Spirit to invite all whom we meet, to come to Bethlehem and see the child of promise, the child of hope, the child who is God with us now and forever more.

            May the child of possibility and promise that is Jesus Christ dwell and grow and shine in our hearts and minds this Christmas and every day from now to the end of time.  

            Behold; God is with us.

            Come Lord Jesus.  Amen.

* I have searched my memory trying to recall where I read or heard this wonderful use of Silverstein's "Whatifs" poem with this text.  Despite my best efforts I cannot recall.  I will gladly give credit where it is certainly due if I ever remember or am reminded of the creative soul who pointed me in this direction.

How Shall We Live?

Luke 16:19-31

There are a lot of directions you can go with this text.

There is the one that leads to a critique of the rich man and the one that leads to sympathy for Lazarus.  There is the one that shows rewards in heaven and the one that shows torment in hell.  There is the one that shows the meek inheriting the earth and the one showing the powerful made low. There are many diverging roads available to us in this text. 

In my experience most preachers take the first one; critique of the rich man.  After all, there is little that is easier to do in the gospels than stand in the pulpit and beat the hell out of the rich.  In this story the rich man is a ready and easy straw man and a shallow and surface reading of this text can make it appear that “wealth is bad” is the central theme.

I am not so sure.  I think there may be something more happening in this text than just a critique of an unsympathetic rich guy.

Lurking beneath that surface this familiar text draws us to another perspective.  It is not a particularly easy one because unlike the rest it does not pit one against another.  No rich vs. poor or saved vs. damned.  It is a perspective that does not take sides and, as such, one from which none of us, not even the preacher, can hide.

If we press down on the edges of this text, a subtle yet essential question is posed; how shall we live this life? 

Setting aside the prejudice against or in favor of wealth, setting aside the political and social dynamics between the rich man and the poor man, setting aside questions about the life that comes after this one, and setting aside the question of who goes to heaven and who goes to hell, we are left with that one subtle question; how shall we live this life?

One answer to that question comes from a little man in a long green coat, his hat cocked to one side, standing with one foot on a steep roof, playing the fiddle.  “We are all fiddlers on the roof,” he says, “trying to scratch out a pleasant little tune without falling down and breaking our necks.”  And how do we keep our balance?  “I’ll tell you, “ sings Tevye in the opening song of the musical inspired by Chagall’s painting, “in one word, I’ll tell you.  Tradition!”

In some measure we are a church full of Tevyes, struggling to make meaningful music out of our lives but lacking a level place to stand.  We seek to know what God calls us to do and to be, before a new wind threatens to blow us off the roof.

 The people of Anatevka knew what God expected of them because they knew their traditions.  They were traditions formed by generations of observance and teaching. 

We, who live as followers of Jesus Christ, know how God expects us to live because we know the witness of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  It is in Christ Jesus that we find our tradition- our way of living.

When he is pressed on how we are to live, Jesus responds “you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul and your neighbor as yourself.”

That, Jesus tells us, is the law summed up;  that is the life God calls us to live. 

And that is precisely what trips the rich man up in our text today.  Traditionally known as Dives, which is not a name but in Latin means wealthy, the rich man is punished not because he was rich but because his riches distracted him from living a life of love for God and neighbor.   

At the heart of this story is not condemnation of wealth but condemnation of failure to hear the Good News and act on it. 

According to the story, it is too late for Dives.  I’m not sure that it is, but that is what the story tells us. 

What is certain is that Dives finds himself in his present condition not because he dirtied his hands with money but because he could not be bothered to dirty them by lifting up poor Lazarus and embracing him as a brother in Christ.

Those of us who, like Dives, neglect our neighbors, who fail in acts of piety and charity, not only neglect our neighbors; we neglect and offend God.

Yes, when we fail to live faithful, charitable, loving lives we offend God and we do violence to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

If you are getting a little uncomfortable hearing that, I can assure you it is no more comfortable saying it.  That sort of admonition from the pulpit is dangerous stuff and in our culture it is not something we are used to hearing and certainly not something I am used to saying!

It is nonetheless true.  This is a cautionary tale about what we reap when we sow indifference to God’s command to love.

This story is indeed a cautionary tale about ignoring God’s commands.

But it is also as story about the fullness of God’s call and love for humanity.  From the well fed and well-bred to the beggar grasping for crumbs from the table, none of us is outside the embrace of God and none of us live beyond the horizon of God’s notice.

The mistake that Dives makes is thinking that his wealth is a sign of God’s pleasure and permission to ignore God’s command to love his neighbor- even the smelly one at the gates. 

The story reminds us that we who have been en-grafted into the Christian life, we who have heard the stories and sung the songs and said the prayers, have not been inoculated against sin but initiated into the work of God in Christ.  My worship professor in seminary said that when we baptize babies into the family of the church, rather than kissing and hugging them, we should look them in the eye and say, “now your troubles are just beginning.”

He was right!  Being a disciple of Jesus Christ is not a get out of hell free card.  Faith in Christ is not fire insurance!  It is an all-encompassing way of encountering and being encountered by the world.

Duke Divinity School professor Stanley Hauerwas begins one of his classes by reading a letter.  It is from a parent to a government official.    The parent complains that his once obedient son has become involved in some weird religious cult.  The group has completely taken over his life and forced him to forsake what he was taught to respect at home and adhere to a strange new code.  The parent pleads with the government official to intercede and take action against this group and help restore this family.   

Then Hauerwas asks the class, “What is this letter about?”  The responses varied from it must be the Mormons to a concern that the kid had fallen in with the Moonies or some other controversial sect.  After letting them get worked up into a good lather about how destructive this cult was to the stability of the family, he tells these pontificating pastors-to-be the origin of the letter.  It is from a concerned father to the local governor in the third century Roman empire.  The cult he is so concerned about is this new sect the Christians.

Being a disciple of Jesus Christ is not a part-time occupation; it is not an amusing diversion for an hour or two each Sunday.  It is something that can and must define every part of our lives.  Listen again to Jesus’ words, “you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul and your neighbor as yourself.”  

The Christian life is defined by giving our all to God and neighbor.

For Dives, his wealth blinded him to the neighbor right at the gates to his own home.  His wealth rather than his devotion to God became his spiritual measuring stick and, in the fullness of time, he found that his life was wanting.

What, I wonder, blinds us in our lives?

It may be wealth.  It may be power.  It may be prestige. It may be admiration or adoration.  Whatever it is that serves as the metric of our lives, if it is not fulsome devotion to God and love for neighbor, it is a false measure. 

If there is a holy law- a theological litmus test by which we will measure our public and private selves let it be this; is mine a life that reflects love for God in heart, mind and soul?  Is mine a life that reflects the very love of God in heart, mind and soul? 

When Christ truly dwells in our hearts, minds and souls, there is not room for anything else.  The love, grace and mercy of Christ takes up every scrap of spiritual space we will give it. As the hymn says, “our hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus blood and righteousness.  I dare not trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus name.” 

            And when Christ is our all, nothing else can be. 

            In good times and bad, Christ is our all.

In life and in death, Christ is our all.

In sickness and in health, Christ is our all.

In plenty and in want, Christ is our all.

Christ is the means and the measure of every life of faith.

            We are all fiddlers on the roof, struggling to keep our balance while we scratch out a tune for our lives.  And just when the wind seems too strong, just when it seems that we will lose our balance, Christ, our all in all, helps us keep our footing and the music of our lives together goes on.

            In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.  Amen.

Behold: Joy

Luke 1:39-46

Advent 4 Year C

December 23, 2012

First Presbyterian Church of Clarksville

and Harmony Presbyterian Church

The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            Nothing in this text from Luke makes sense.

            It is about a poor, unmarried teenage girl who is pregnant going to visit her cousin, a woman well past her childbearing years who is, you guessed it, pregnant.

            The house is the house of Zechariah.  But upon entering, Mary greets Elizabeth rather than Zechariah.

            When Mary speaks, Elizabeth’s first words are praise to God for Mary because her words make the child in her womb jump.

            And all of this to prepare for the birth of the Messiah foretold by the angels who spoke to Mary.

            So we have unwed pregnant Mary visiting too old to be pregnant Elizabeth and upon entering the home, Mary breaks social custom and addresses first Elizabeth rather than Zechariah whose home it is at which time the words of unwed pregnant Mary make the child in too old to be pregnant Elizabeth’s womb jump at which point older Elizabeth breaks with social custom and gives praise and precedence for the child in younger Mary and for Mary as the mother of the Lord.

            Nothing in this text makes sense.

            This is not how things are supposed to work. 

            Of course, trying to make sense of the ways that God works in the world is a fool’s errand.  As the saying goes, God works in mysterious ways.  In fact when I was in seminary I had a professor who told us that when parishioners ask a particularly difficult theological question, you can just fall back on “well, it is a mystery!” 

I have to confess that I have used that escape hatch a time or two over the years

In truth, I have been using it on myself quite a lot over the last few months.  I suppose that the world makes no less sense in recent months than it did before but I for one seem to need to lean into the mystery of God more and more.

Over the last few weeks, another mystery, the whole phenomenon of the Maya calendar, has been occupying many people’s minds.  Were these ancient mezzo-American native people right?  Would the world indeed come to an end?

With few exceptions, most of us who quipped about the Maya calendar turnover last Friday did so tongue in cheek.  It made for a good laugh about not having to finish Advent and Christmas Eve sermons or not having to worry about holiday travel.  If the world came to an end, we would not have to pay our taxes, face another hot summer or endure another Alabama national football championship.

All in all the Maya gave us a good “the end is drawing nigh” punch line in the midst of a world that is less and less funny and working less and less the way we expect God’s world should or would work.

In a world where nations continue to rise up against nation; where people are divided by politics, poverty or religion; where the violence of our culture spares no one, including our children; a world where far too many children go to bed hungry or thirsty or despairing, making sense of things seems too much to hope for.  And the joy of the season?  Not easily found in this world of ours.

If this text makes no sense, this world makes even less.

This is not how things are supposed to work.

This is not how God is supposed to work.

In 1928, Thornton Wilder won the Pulitzer Prize for his book “The Bridge over San Luis Rey.”  The novel is set in the early 1700’s in Peru.  Five people crossing a rope suspension bridge across a deep river gorge die when the bridge collapses.  Brother Juniper, a Franciscan monk on his way to Lima, is about to cross the bridge.   He witnesses the collapse and the deaths of the elderly Marquessa of Montemajor, her maid Pepita, the young scribe Esteban, Uncle Pio and his young charge Don Jamie, a boy of about 7. 

As he watches the bridge collapse and the five victims plunge into the river below, Brother Juniper is overcome with a sense of dread that such a thing could happen.  As he reflects on the events of that morning, he finds himself weighted down with a question.  If this is God’s world and God’s providence reigns, how could this happen?  Surely there must be some reason that God would take the lives of these five people at this moment.

To find the answer to his question, Brother Juniper sets out to investigate the lives of each of the five.  Over the next seven years, he interviews and researches to learn about the lives of each of the five.  He searches for some reason that God would cause or even allow such a thing to happen.  In the end, he gets his answer.  Or at least, he gets as much of an answer as he is going to get.

It is a mystery. 

There is no obvious answer.  In fact, all evidence points away from this being an act of divine judgment.  The Marquessa, once a shameless social climber, has grown into a woman of deep faith and compassion.  Pepita, a nun sent to service in the Marquessa’s home, has developed a beautiful way with words and affection for her aging mistress.  Esteban, long despairing about the death of his twin brother, has learned to live and love living once again.  Uncle Pio leaves behind the fame of the stage to care for young Jamie.  And Jamie himself, just a boy, cannot have committed any sin so grave to deserve this kind of divine action.

These are five flawed, sinful but wholly redeemable people.  So why did they die?

This makes no sense.

This is not how things are supposed to work.

In the end, Brother Juniper comes to the same conclusion so many of us do.  It is a mystery.  The simple fact is that we do not know and we cannot know fully the mind of God.  Like brother Juniper, we are left with more questions than answers when we try to analyze and categorize and comprehend the mind of God. 

If we are waiting until we do fully understand God, we will be waiting a long, long time.  If we are waiting for some moment of epiphany when the world will make total sense, we will be waiting a long, long time. 

This text from Luke- this social norm violating, worldly expectation defying, and political order challenging text- does little to unravel the confusion and mystery of the world.  These words which are part of the proclamation of the coming of Messiah do little but confuse our expectations of how God almighty would come into the world.  Nothing here makes sense so there is little it can do to make sense of the world.  At least little that it can do to make sense on our terms with our vocabulary.

But this text is not about the logic of the world or even the logic of how we think the world should be.  It is about the goodness of God.  And the goodness of God is not about making sense of a confused world or even fixing a broken world.  The goodness of God is about making the world new. 

Even in the midst of chaos- like this text or like our world- God breaks through and the light of God shines through.  

And here, on this fourth Sunday of Advent, with the tragedies of the world still fresh in our hearts and our minds, this nonsensical text reminds us that even in the midst of chaos or social disorder or political unrest or any other thing, God in God’s goodness is never absent.  In fact, if anything God is evermore present in our times of need and trial. 

Brother Juniper realized, and we too struggle to understand, that the world does not work on an equation of action and reaction.  This perplexing story of a girl too young and a woman too old bearing children into the world is a story about how God really works.  God does not work in wholly predictable ways nor does God abandon us when the world goes askew from our expectations.  God does not only favor the well to do or the self-described righteous.  God’s goodness in God’s acts in the world are not dependent on the status or condition of the world. 

Instead, whatever the circumstance of the world, God just loves the world.  Loves it so much that God gave God’s only son to die for the world.

It may not be how we think the world would work, but it is how God works in and through the history of God’s creation.  When the works of God intersect the history of creation, they do so most often in unexpected and unusual ways.

The Greeks had two words for time.  There is chronos which is the time that ticks away on the clocks and slips by on the calendar.  It is the time of telling time.  The other word is kairos.  Kairos describes those moments, those opportune moments when chronos is intersected by an event that changes things- that shifts reality from its ticking trajectory. 

When they meet in Zechariah’s house, Mary and Elizabeth recognize it as a kairos moment.  They see it as a moment of great joy that transcends custom and politics and every other thing.

Something momentous is happening and they meet it with songs of joy.  They see a glimpse of the new world to come in the hope and grace of Christ and they cannot help but feel joy.  In fact, they cannot help but declare their joy in that moment and for the love and grace of God.  Joy, not fear or anxiety or even confusion, rules in that moment.

            Today we do not merely recall that kairos moment shared by Mary and Elizabeth, we celebrate that we are living in it.   We live in this centuries old moment when God with us came to truly be with us.  And, although Christ is not standing in our midst as Jesus, he is no less present.  And just as God sent the Christ child into the chaos of that moment so long ago, God continually sends the Holy Spirit to intersect our lives and our world and remind us that we are not alone.

            Friends, our world may not make sense.  This ancient text may not make sense.  But this does.  God is good and in that goodness, God is with us.  Even in the darkest hours of the soul; the most chaotic moments in history; the most joyless times in our lives, the goodness of God and the joy that is its companion seek us out until our souls leap like the child Elizabeth carried so long ago.

            With Mary and Elizabeth, may we glorify the Lord with shouts of great joy and forever give thanks to God.

            Come Lord Jesus.  Amen.

Behold: Salvation

Malachi 3:1-4

Luke 3:1-6

Advent 2 Year C

December 9, 2012

First Presbyterian Church, Clarksville

And Harmony Presbyterian Church

Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            Our two readings this morning, first from the writing of the prophet Malachi and the second from the Evangelist Luke, are about John; John the son of Zechariah, as he was known to family and friends; John the Baptist or the Baptizer as he is known to the church.

            The words from the prophet set the stage for John.  God says, “See, I am sending my messenger.”  In the Hebrew ‘my messenger’ is Mal-a-ki and it is this Mal-a-ki who declares the coming of another messenger, the one who proclaims messiah.  I suppose you could say that the declaration of God of the prophet Malachi is the foretelling of the coming of the one who will foretell the coming of the Lord.

            Paired with that prophecy is a reading from Luke’s Gospel.  It is a reading that recounts the fulfillment of that prophecy.  Malachi tells of one who will come, Luke tells that he has come.

            Now as a listener, it might be worth out time to consider what it is that this messenger has to say.  I mean after all, the message is so important that the coming of the messenger was foretold by another messenger!

            God’s Word came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.

            There are a lot of people in this world that I am glad I am not- a lot of jobs I am deeply grateful God has not called me to do.  Being the guy who was alone in the wilderness who is given the Word of God to proclaim the coming of the Word of God in the person of Jesus Christ is one that is easy to put at the top of the list!

            I mean imagine it.  You have a full life, I have a full life.  Imagine that in the midst of that life the Word of God came in and said, “proclaim the Word of God and the salvation of the world!”  Thank goodness John got that job, right?!

            Yeah, I’m not buying it either.                     

            Try as we might to cram this whole story back into John’s hands, the message that this messenger whose coming was declared by a messenger is not something that dies on the pages of the lectionary readings for the Second Sunday of Advent in year C.

            We come to this place and encounter the word of God in reading, in prayer, in song and, we hope at least occasionally, in sermon.  We come to this place to hear and to proclaim the same message that John proclaimed so long ago.

            Still, we do have it a little better than old John.

            Imagine having the burden of proclaiming the coming of the Christ on your own!  Thank goodness we have each other.  We have this community of faith, the whole of the Church of Jesus Christ to share the task of proclaiming the Lord’s coming so we are not alone in our work the way John was so long ago. 

            But make no mistake about it, we are called upon to be messengers just like John was because God’s Word has come to us as well.

            Now I don’t know about you, but when there are a bunch of people who are tasked with the same thing I am, I occasionally find myself thinking, “well, if I don’t get to it right away it’s OK.  Someone else will get to it sooner than I am able.”  We often have that tendency don’t we.

            We’ll leave welcoming new members to the welcome committee.

            We’ll leave the visible presence of the church in the community to the pastors.

            When it comes to understanding our place in the proclamation of God’s word it is tempting and often very easy to let ours individual selves fade into the background of the larger community of faith.  We become spiritual wallflowers, one eye scanning the crowd to be sure we are not noticed and the other watching the door to make sure we have a clean getaway route.

            John didn’t have that option, and we should be wary of it.  The God who encounters us through the word is the same God who told Jeremiah that God knew him by name in his mother’s womb.

            God’s call to proclaim is not some sort of generic ya’ll come casting call for the faithful.  Like John, we are encountered, in some way, by the Word of God.

            So if we are going to go around proclaiming this message, we should probably know what it is right?  Well, Luke gives us the message John proclaimed.  They were not wholly new words.  John did not go out and reinvent the wheel, instead he took God’s words and used them to proclaim God’s Word. 

as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.  Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth;

            Prepare the way of the Lord.

            When was the last time you used those words in conversation?

            “Robert, what have you been up to lately, well it is Advent so just the usual things- getting liturgies together, working on my Christmas Eve sermon, going to a few Christmas parties, you know, just generally preparing the way of the Lord.”

            Prepare the way of the Lord.

            Sounds really weird when you try to put it into conversation doesn’t it?!

            I think perhaps that is because, like John, our proclamation is meant to take less the form of words that are spoken than words that are lived.

            Our calling is not merely to tell the world to prepare the way of the Lord but to begin to actually do it; to fill in valleys and level mountains and straighten the crooked and make smooth the rough. In short, we are called to invite the world to join us in preparing the way of the Lord not by shouting a generic ya’ll come, but by inviting the world through our very living.

            John went down to the riverside and baptized.  He invited the people to come and join him in preparing the way of the Lord.

            I have a friend who is a Baptist preacher and we have a running debate on baptism.  He, of course, advocates for full immersion and I, in good mainline Protestant fashion, am find with a little sprinkling.  One time when we were bantering about it he said, “you Presbyterians just don’t get it.  John did not go down into the river and throw the water out on the people!”

            While I still disagree with him about baptism, I think he makes a good point about this reading today.  John did not stand by the river and passively throw water at people in the hopes that they might notice that they were a little wet.  He invited them down into the river.  He invited them to join him in living the word of God.

            For John’s community preparing the way of the Lord meant taking a tangible step toward joining a movement- being marked if only with water as belonging to someone or something else.

            Going down to the river and baptizing was how John helped prepare the way of the Lord, and the church continues that today.

            What else, I wonder, is there that we need to do to prepare the way?

            Perhaps another way of asking that is, what are the valleys we need to fill, the mountains we need to make low?  What are the obstacles we erect that divide us one from the other?

            God is not satisfied for us to peer at our neighbors across a great chasm whether spiritual, physical, political, economic or any other human made division.  God wants us shoulder to shoulder and if that means leveling mountains to make it happen, so be it.

            You know obstacles I mean; the things that divide us one from the other.

            Self-centeredness.

            Self-indulgence.

            That healthy dose of cynicism and doubt that makes us feel oh so postmodern.

            Fears based on gender, race, faith or lack of faith or a different kind of faith, physical appearance, sexual orientation or identity, ethnicity or nationality, economic status,…the list of all of the things that keep us from taking deep breaths of the Spirit in the presence of another.

            The way of the Lord is through the hearts and minds of God’s people.  If we are to make that way straight, we must be willing to let go the things that clutter the path of the Lord into and through our hearts and lives.

            Have no illusions. 

            It is difficult. 

            Preparing the way of the Lord is difficult and in our own lives it often seems impossible. 

            Knowing how great the challenges are, Isaiah and later John use images of nature to show how great the healing power of that love will be.  The deepest valley will be filled and the highest most unconquerable mountain will be made low.

            Every obstacle will be removed through the power of God.

            It begins with us and our commitment to remove the obstacles in our power.  With our individual hearts cleared of all that extraneous junk, the obstacles that divide the world will be removed so that the love of the Lord can sweep across all creation.

            And to what end?

            Why does John proclaim this message?  Why do we?

            What will happen when we prepare the way of the Lord?

            all humanity will see God’s salvation.”

            We struggle and labor to clear the path of the Lord not for ourselves or for the church or for Christians alone, but for all people in every time and place.  We clear the path of the Lord not for ourselves alone, but for the web of humanity that makes our world.

            That is the salvation John and we are called to proclaim.  Not salvation that comes through any action of ours but the salvation that is freely given by God in Christ Jesus.  We are called not to save the world, but to help clear away the clutter so the world can see that God already has.

            Just when it seems that all hope is lost.

            Just when it seems that the world is going straight to hell.

            A voice cries out from the wilderness; prepare the way of the Lord.

            The word of God calls out to us in this season of hope in the midst of a world of doubt.

            What will we do when we hear it?  Will we remain in the wilderness hoping that someone else will heed the call of God?

            Or, like John will we take God’s Word into the world and allow God to call us mal-a-ki, my messenger?

            In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.