Give Out of Your Abundance…Out of your Poverty

The below sermon was preached on the 25th Sunday after Pentecost – 2018 at St. Julian’s Episcopal Church. An outline and interpretation of today’s Biblical readings relied heavily upon the sermon, “A Tale of Two Widows” by Bishop Robert Barron. Here’s a link to his sermon for further reference.

When I was going through the formal discernment process for the priesthood, my fellow discernment candidates and I were asked to spend one night out on the streets of Atlanta. We spent the day walking the streets, talking to our homeless brothers, sisters, and siblings. We had Holy Eucharist at a local shelter, then we gathered up sleeping bags found an abandoned parking lot in downtown Atlanta and slept – or at least tried to sleep. I wish I could say it was a humbling experience in that I learned an important lesson in humility and poverty and charity. Perhaps I can lift up those virtuous things in hindsight to a certain degree, but in that moment, it simply was not pleasant to say the least. The parking lot that was chosen for us was beside a MARTA station whose trains came in and out of the terminal at all hours of the night. Sounds of sirens from nearby Grady Hospital would interrupt any chances of sleep. Trash, drug paraphernalia, and smells so rank littered the parking lot as well as our senses. Late night drug deals and possible prostitution were openly witnessed. Even though our bodies were worn out and our feet aching from walking all day, sleep simply did not come. Two weeks later I would find myself becoming extremely ill from a deadly bacterium strand I picked up that night. I was hospitalized twice, lost 10 pounds, and it took me one whole year to regain the weight back. I remember being frustrated and angry with the Diocese of Atlanta for my illness. I wrote a hostile letter to one of the Canons in the Bishop’s Office expressing my anxiety, hostility, and anger towards the ordination process, and blamed them for my illness that was still inflicting my body. More on that later…

Today’s first reading from the Book of Kings sets up a similar tone in power dynamics. The context is this:  We’re in Sidon in the 9th century BCE. The notorious Ahab and Jezebel sit on the thrones. Famine and draught are in the land, which the prophet Elijah attributes to the sins of the King and Queen. There is a lowly widow, and she (as well as her son) are down to their last meal. She has no future. She sees no hope. Then Elijah comes to her and says, “Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink.” As she walks away in order to fill his request, he further orders her to bring him something to eat as well. He is asking for something she cannot give. Upon first glance the beginning of this story strikes me as cold. It was Elijah himself who ordered others to take care of the widow and the orphan. Why, then, would he kick this widow while she was down not following his own advice? I find no comfort in his words; and yet, the story continues with a miracle. She acquiesces, gets him his water as well as makes the cake, and her family is fed (and continues to be fed) from the abundance it produces even as the land remains stricken with famine.

Perhaps the lesson is this: When we are down to our last meal, and have hit rock bottom, God (like Elijah) comes in. But did you notice what happened? Elijah did not comfort the widow; instead he asked her for something. She’s in dire straits, has nothing to give, and yet is still asked to do so. Why give something when in reality she needs to receive? And yet: Reality isn’t all what we see is it? The further lesson is this: Elijah asks her to give, and in doing so she receives Divine grace. Abundance comes from the willing gift.

Turning to today’s Gospel we discover the scribes and the Pharisees milling around the Temple. Bishop Robert Barron describes them as being in a hording mode. They are hording and garnering for attention, honor, privilege, titles, etc. Mark’s Gospel contrasts the professional religious with the widow. She gives the last thing she has for the gift and glory of God. Unlike the widow in Elijah’s story, however, we do not know what happened to her. We do know that in the very next chapter, Jesus predicted the Temple’s destruction. This was telling in that the widow gave all she had for a building that (historically) would not be there in a few decades. Put differently, she gave out of her poverty to what would one day be an impoverished place; and yet, we know God received her gift with pleasure for he knew her heart, and would give her grace in His Son whose Body became a grace-filled temple for all.

The great spiritual truth from both of these stories is one of paradox; that is, we have and obtain love by giving love away. Want more love, give it away? Want more faith, share it? Want more joy in your life, make other people joyful. It’s not about clinging to power, but contributing out of our abundance as well as our poverty. It’s not about holding on, but letting go. It’s not about hoarding but sharing.

It was these hard lessons that I personally learned in another street encounter in downtown Atlanta. Discernment candidates were at a local homeless shelter celebrating Holy Eucharist again. After the service, a homeless man came up to one of the deacons, shared a bit of his story with him, then asked the deacon to pray over him and bless him. The deacon laid hands on him, prayed, then pronounced a blessing upon him. Just as the man was turning to walk away, the deacon grabs him by the shoulders and orders the man, “Now it’s your turn. Give me a blessing.” The man (as well as myself) was shocked. Worlds collided. Heaven was awakened. I was humbled. Here was a man who spent his days walking the streets. He got to experience Holy Eucharist that day, but where I was able to go home, he (later that evening would have to) gather up a sleeping bag (if he had one) find an abandoned parking lot in downtown Atlanta and sleep – or at least, try to sleep. It would not be pleasant to say the least. The parking lot would be beside a MARTA station whose trains come in and out of the terminal at all hours of the night. Sounds of sirens from nearby Grady Hospital would interrupt any chances of sleep. Trash, drug paraphernalia, and smells so rank would litter the parking lot as well as his senses. Late night drug deals and possible prostitution would be openly witnessed by him. Even though his body would be worn out and his feet aching from walking all day-everyday, sleep simply would not come. He had no status in society to write hostile letters to his representatives, expressing his anxiety, hostility, and anger towards his situation. He had hit rock bottom; and yet, the deacon (like Jesus) asked him to give. “Give me a blessing.” And he did.

At that moment, all my anger towards the diocese left me. I understood that I was hording title, power, privilege and prestige. In that man’s blessing I was broken and in my newfound brokenness I was asked to give. Later, my gift would be to humbly apologize to my elders, not complain about my illness, and pray that one day I would become the priest that God (not myself) had in mind. This morning, I wonder what your rock bottom is? I wonder where you find yourself impoverished. Perhaps Elijah and Jesus get to experience your weakness, and yet ask you for something you think you can’t give, but hope to discover that you can. Give away a blessing today, perhaps out of your abundance, perhaps out of your poverty.

The Dream is Still Alive

Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping; that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace. (BCP, 134 – 135)

The above is the Antiphon, or short prayer, found towards the end of night prayers, or Compline, in the Daily Office of the prayer book. It’s also the prayer I recite when tucking Henry (our 7-year old) into bed each night. For me, the theology found in this short prayer is deep and wide. Alternatively, the popular, “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer many of us prayed as children seems shallow and dreary in comparison.

Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping; that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace.

For centuries, humanity has been fascinated with sleep and what dreams may come. In every culture there are stories and fairy tales that help make sense of what happens to us when we sleep. Practically speaking, sleep is associated with rest and relief, but within the realm of storytelling, sleep serves greater purposes. When a character from a novel, play, or movie sleeps this often signifies their innocence, while waking up is leaving behind one’s innocence (i.e. Sleeping Beauty). Sometimes when a character sleeps, this signifies an internal struggle – something that must be conquered in their waking life (i.e. Macbeth or Hamlet). Sleeping and awaking also signifies enlightenment (i.e. Buddha), dying and rising (i.e. Elijah under the tree), as well as our place within the passages of time (i.e. Rip van Winkle). Our dreams become montages of the subconscious and whether we pay attention to these flashes of insight hinders or helps the gods of providence.

It’s been said that the stories from the Bible as well as the ancient liturgies of the Church are the dreams of God. Somehow and someway we are invited to participate in these dreams. We read and read into these dreams weekly as a community, and daily as individuals or families. When we wake up from sleep, sometimes we ask our partner or our children, “What did you dream last night?” Sometimes dreams can be remembered; but oftentimes, not. I believe the best ways to remember a dream is to, upon waking, immediately write the dream down, or name it out loud. I had a professor in seminary who said her first words upon waking from sleep were always, “Lord open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.” These are the opening lines to Morning Prayer as well as the 15th lyric in Psalm 51. On my good days, I try to follow this practice of hers for in my mind when I recite those lines, I’m not waking up from the dream of God, but continuing in it with more awareness. I am continuing where I left off before sleeping: “Guide us waking, O Lord…” (and now that I’m awake) “may watch with Christ.”

Not all dreams are good. Young parents learn about night terrors from their toddlers. Soldiers often complain of nightmares and other symptoms of PTSD within their waking and sleeping lives. Sometimes we are suddenly awakened in the middle of the night with a deep intuition that something is wrong. In the morning, we learn the truth of this suspension with shock and confusion. If the overarching dream-like theme of the Bible is love, and the overarching theme of Christian liturgy is love incarnate, then our world around us filled with pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth are the villains found in the nightmares of these dreams. These characters assault love; and yet, we must pay attention to them. Somehow and someway we are invited to participate in these dreams whether they comfort or scare us. How do we do this? How do we combat the nightmares and terrors of our lives?

The first step is to remember the true dream. The true dream is God’s love for us and God’s invitation to participate in His Love. This is not merely an ideal. It is ultimate truth. Love is the way, the truth, and the life. Love grounds the very fabric of the universe. There is nothing as deep and wide as love.

Once we know the dream, we are to participate in it. Like Elijah we are to “Get up and eat.” We take our fill from the Bread of Life whom gives us strength for the journey up to Mount Horeb or Calvary – whichever comes first. Participation in the dream of God is anything but easy. The dragons of sin and the beasts of burden, despair, and apathy are all along the hero’s path wanting to destroy the Dreamer that is bigger than the hero; and yet, the hero must act on behalf of the Dreamer.

The third step is to realize that everything belongs to the Dreamer. Everything belongs to God. Give God your hopes, but also give God your nightmares. God is big enough to take them. As Christians we liturgically practice giving our hopes and nightmares to God when we prayer the Prayers of the People collectively, and call on God in intercessory prayer individually. We practice forgiveness because we have been absolved. We practice peace because it has been given to us by Christ. We do these virtuous acts of worship and prayer in order to practice love and remember the truth found in the dream of God.

Denying the dream of God – saying it isn’t real; or worse, actively and intentionally going against the dream and Dreamer – turns heroes into villains and saints into sinners needing redemption. Hell, it seems, is made real, and one is tempted to wonder if Satan wins out in the end. When we find ourselves in these moments of existential unclarity what we must do is to remember the dream. Remember love. What we are to do is pray that God will guide us waking and guard us sleeping. Like a sentinel of Advent, we are to watch with Christ so that in the end, and whether it is sleep or death, we are to rest in peace.

The more I communally participate in the liturgies and practices of the Church – Daily Prayer, weekly Eucharist, monthly confession, and yearly feasts and fasts – not to forget the occasional baptism, and Christian weddings and funerals – the more I am convinced that these ancient practices work. They are not quick fixes, that’s for certain. They are not glamorous or sexy. They do not fit in with any business model or have an entrepreneurial spirit. Instead, they remind me of the dream of God and how I am invited to play a part in it.

As someone who loves the Church and her practices, it saddens me that many in my own generation and younger no longer find its practices and liturgies beneficial. Church is boring; It doesn’t feed me or my soul; I cherish my Sundays – are just some of the responses I get from friends or acquaintances who graciously and candidly share these things with me. Gandhi once famously said that he loved our Christ, but disliked our Christians. “Your Christians are so unlike your Christ,” he quipped. There is some truth to this saying of Gandhi’s as well as the opinions from my own generation; and yet I find hope because the dream of God is still alive. Jesus once invited others to come to him, those who were weak, tired, and weary, and he would give them rest. So many times, people who have been away from the practices of the Church come back out of this sense of tiredness. Like prodigals they return, but I often wonder about the ones who never even had a chance. The ones whom our grandparents would call “lost”. What about them? This isn’t just a problem of our time. It was a struggle for the Church from its very inception. The original Church was made up of Jews (read here insiders) who wondered if the dream of God extended to the Gentiles (read here outsiders). Thank God, the early Church through the theology of St. Paul decided that all were invited to participate in God’s dream through God’s Son, Jesus Christ. The early Christians gave their lives for this dream – often bypassing Mt. Horeb to get to the cross of Calvary.

My invitation to you is simple. It’s to ask another person what they dreamed last night? If they can’t remember their dream, get curious about their hopes and dreams for themselves or their families. The point is to get them to talk and for you to listen. It’s to pray for them, but also to keep an ear out for the dream of God in their subjective dreams. If you are so bold, point out where you see God moving in their hopes and dreams. If you are even bolder, share the Church’s dream of God with them. Invite them into full participation into the love, life, and light of God’s dream. If, on the other hand, someone shares with you a nightmare wonder with them if they believe God to be with them in their despair? Wonder with them if they believe God to be suffering alongside them? If the Church is to survive (and I believe She will) it is to not only practice her prayers and liturgies, remembering her dreams and the Dreamer, but it’s also inviting those who don’t yet know her dreams and ultimately her Dreamer into the life of the Church. Introduce someone to the Dreamer this week by asking, “What did you dream last night?”

Listening for the Voice of God

On page 853 in The Book of Common Prayer there is a question: Why do we call the Holy Scriptures the Word of God? The prayer book answers this question in the following way: We call [the Holy Scriptures] the Word of God because God inspired their human authors and because God still speaks to us through the Bible. I stumbled upon an interesting picture this week. It was one where a young man sat anxiety laden, body stiffened, and hands tightly clasped at his breakfast table. Opposite the table laid a closed Bible. The caption below the picture angrily asked the question, “Why won’t you speak to me God?” Perhaps God was wondering a similar question in regards to the young man; that is, Why aren’t you listening to me, dear one? If we are to believe the Church when she says the human authors of the Bible were inspired by God, and that God still speaks to us through its poetry, prose, Gospels, letters, history, laws, and stories, then this tells us at least two things. One, be open to God’s inspiration both in yourself and of others. Two, open your Bibles and read them. Don’t leave them sitting at breakfast tables gathering dust. The truth is that God still speaks to us through God’s creation and through God’s inspired Word. We might even take that extra step reminding ourselves The Word of God was made flesh – that is, Jesus Christ is the personified Word of God whom still speaks to us today if we have the ears to hear him, the experience to see him in the other, and continue to listen for his voice throughout Holy Scripture.

When I was in the eighth grade I was inspired to read through the Bible in a year. This was all made possible by a trend in Christian publishing houses of the 1990’s – mainly, a resource entitled, The One Year Bible. One Year Bibles were very popular then; the covers coming in a variety of primary colors, the text in an assortment of translations – NIV, NKJV, KJV, NRSV – to name a few. Southern Baptist Churches at the time were preaching and teaching out of the New International Version, so my parents purchased an NIV One Year Bible for me on my birthday. All I had to do was wait until January 1st and start. I don’t know where the inspiration came to read through the entirety of the Bible in a year, but looking back I do remember being in a Bible study class where it was mandatory that certain Bible verses be memorized weekly. The very first Bible verse of those lessons was Psalm 119:11. I still remember it, and even have a memory of the room I was asked to recite the verse in. The Psalm was not in the NIV or NRSV translations, but the King James. Psalm 119:11 had the poet proclaiming to God, “Thy Word have I treasured in my heart that I may not sin against Thee.” It’s a verse that has been with me ever since. The poet’s words usually surface at times in my life where life is really giving me (or someone I love) a real beating. When my heart is open enough to listen to God speaking to me, I usually hear God’s voice through a Psalm here or a Gospel passage there. Nowadays prayers from the prayer book bubble up as well as the Our Father or even the Hail Mary. When God speaks to me through the ancient words of the Bible or from the prayers of His Church – that Psalm – Psalm 119:11 usually comes to mind after my anxieties have finally fallen away, and my soul has been restored. “Thy Word have I treasured in my heart that I may not sin against Thee” is then delivered to God in a prayer of thanksgiving, and with a spirit of gratefulness. I’m thankful that God was and is with me even in the valley of the shadow of death, and acknowledging his presence with that simple verse from the Psalms turns my head and gives attention to the virtue of joy even in the midst of sorrow.

As I have matured in the faith I have recently found God’s Holy Word in God’s Holy People. I am thankful for spiritual friendships, fellow disciples of Christ, and strangers and neighbors disguised as Jesus himself (Matt 25:35-36). It hasn’t always been this way. I used to find comfort, solace, and relationship with God only through the Bible and a few close friends or relatives here and there. St. Paul’s metaphor of the Church as The Body of Christ was always abstract to me. I felt and experienced the power of its image; and yet, couldn’t fully grasp it. Intentional life within a parish community has broadened Paul’s imagery for me, and the gifts of God found in the people of God help point to a larger lesson of love – that is, all were created in the image of God so that when we see, experience, live, and love one another, we see, experience, live, and love Christ’ body in the world. If this is the case, then “Thy word I have treasured in my heart” is the word of the Lord witnessed in Holy Scripture and within one another – the Body of Christ, the Church. With that insight, getting to know my Bible is just as important as getting to know my neighbor. Both introduce and reintroduce me to new life found in Jesus Christ. Both remind me of the faithful promises of God. Both remind me that God is always reliable when I am near to peace, and when I am far off (Eph 2:17).

This week, dust off your Bible and get to know God through it. Starting with the Psalms or St. John’s Gospel are always good places to begin again. If reading God’s Holy Word is a constant practice of yours, try listening to God’s Holy Word in a stranger, a neighbor, a friend, or even an enemy knowing all were and are created in His Image. In doing these two things – seeking inspiration in God’s Word and one another – you are living out the two commandments Jesus said were the greatest; that is, love God and love your neighbor as yourself (Mk 12:30-31). Treasure these relationships in your heart; and joy (even in the midst of sorrow) will be near.

Thy Will Be Done

Lectionary Readings: Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15; 2:23-24
Lamentations 3:21-33
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
Mark 5:21-43

We find hope in Christ (Lam 3:21). We find mercy in Christ (Lam 3:22). We find rest in Christ (Heb 4:1). We find creativity, imagination, and love in Christ (Wis 4:13/1 Cor 13:13). We find healing and wholeness in Christ (Mk 5:34). We find compassion in Christ (Lam 3:32). We bear all things in Christ (1 Cor 13:7). We find our very existence in Christ (Wis 2:23).

We obey Christ (Heb 4:11). We wait for Christ (Lam 3:25). We are desperate for Christ (Mk 5:23). We press in on Christ (Mk 5:24). In fear and trembling, we fall down before Christ revealing our thoughts and intentions found deep within our hearts (Mk 5:32, Heb 4:12).

Living into the truth of being in Christ (Acts 17:28), we start to excel in everything – in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in utmost eagerness, and in our love (2 Cor 8:7). One way to test the genuineness of our love over and against the earnestness of others is to empty ourselves so that Christ may fill us (2 Cor 8:8-9). The act of emptying (kenosis) was first the act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for [our] sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty [we] might become rich (2 Cor 8:9). Rich in what? Again, rich in everything – in faith, speech, knowledge, eagerness and love; and yet, the act of emptying oneself requires of us not only to do something but even to desire to do something (2 Cor 8:10). In Christ our desire to give hope, mercy, and rest, to acknowledge creativity, imagination, love, and compassion is to practice hope, mercy, and rest, while acknowledging creativity, imagination, love, and compassion. Put simply, we begin to live in Christ when our beliefs begin matching our actions, we start practicing what we preach, and we give what we have. We believe in Christ and our actions show this (Eph 5:2). We preach Christ crucified and practice resurrection (1 Cor 1:23). We give love because we have it to give (1 Jn 4:7). For if the eagerness is there, the gift [of love] is acceptable according to what one has—not according to what one does not have (2 Cor 8:12). Edward Everett Hale (1822 – 1909) once quipped, “I cannot do everything but I can do something, and what I can do I will do, so help me God” (2 Cor 8:13). Hale was not only acknowledging the abundance of gifts God gives us, but also aligning those gifts to the will of God. It is the virtue of humbleness instead of the vice of apathy that allows us to do something but not everything. It is the virtue of prudence instead of the vice of pride that allows us to seek out the will of God with help.

Who was around Jesus seeking out the will of God? Was it not everybody who wanted to know God’s will? It was great crowds that gathered around him (Mk 5:21). It was a religious leader falling at Jesus’ feet (Mk 5:22). It was a great crowd pressing in on him (Mk 5:24). It was a woman who came up from behind him, touched him, and was healed but later (like the religious leader “fell before him” (Mk 5:27, 33). Those that were seeking the will of God were also the people that came from the religious leader’s house (Mk 5:35). It was Peter, James and John whom Jesus invited into the will of God (Mk 5:37).

When we seek out the will of God sometimes we are like the people weeping from grief and despair, and the next minute God makes us laugh (Mk 5:39-40). The will of God had Jesus leaving “the crowd” and his disciples again bringing in only Mom, Dad, Peter, James & John to the young girl (Mk 5:40) revealing healing and wholeness as the will of God. Finally, Jesus healed the girl and in a practical move instructed the parents to “give her something to eat” and to “tell no one” (Mk 5:42-43). Sometimes the will of God is something we treasure, pondering it in our hearts (Lk 2:19).

Who are you in today’s Gospel story? We already know the truth that it is in Christ where we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28); and yet, we still must seek the will of God in our lives. Are you the crowd pressing in on Jesus for a closer look (Mk 5:24)? Are you a leader begging mercy from another leader (Mk 5:23)? Are you the unnamed woman desiring healing, yearning to be named (Mk 5:25)? Are you Peter, James, and John putting your head down, and doing as you are told (Mk 5:37)? Are you the mourners whose weeping lingers night after night (Mk 5:38)? Will joy, indeed, come in the morning (Mk 5:40/Ps 30:5)? Are you a grateful parent or caregiver who has been anxiously grasping for some shred of good news (Mk 5:40)? Are you the little girl hungry for more (Mk 5:43)? Are you overcome with amazement (Mk 5:42)? Are you bursting at the seams to go tell it on the mountain (Mk 5:43/Isa 52:7)?

The abundant will of God is found in each one of those characters tailored made just for them (2 Cor 8:14). The will of God is found in each one of us as well (Mk 3:35). We find hope in God (Lam 3:21). We find mercy in God (Lam 3:22). We find rest in God (Heb 4:1). We find creativity, imagination, and love in God (Wis 4:13/1 Cor 13:13). We find healing and wholeness in God (Mk 5:34). We find compassion in God (Lam 3:32). We bear all things in God (1 Cor 13:7). We find our very existence in God (Wis 2:23). We obey God (Heb 4:11). We wait for God (Lam 3:25). We are desperate for God (Mk 5:23). We press in on God (Mk 5:24). In fear and trembling, we fall down before God revealing our thoughts and intentions found deep within the pounding of our hearts pulsating on the will of God (Mk 5:32, Heb 4:12) praying:

Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done (on earth as it is in heaven) (Matt 6:10). Amen.

The Cult of Why

**Below is an adaptation of Fr. Brandon’s sermon preached at St. Julian’s Episcopal Church on June 25, 2018.**

The Church gifts us with another lesson in spiritual maturity today. Through her poetry, prose, and prayer we discover that suffering is real; and yet, the one who calms the storm is the same one who will see us through it.

Psalm 107
Psalm 107 is a poem describing a rescue; specifically, a rescue at sea. You may have noticed the Psalm was not given to us in its entirety. This is due to the fact of its length; therefore, it is cut short for worship. Reading the whole of the Psalm we would soon discover other themes of rescue – rescues from the desert, prison, sickness, and death. In each of these contexts, God was able to rescue because God is good, and his steadfast love endures forever(107:1). God, so it seems, rescued the troubled gathering them in from the lands, from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south (107:3). Couple this beautiful imagery with today’s Gospel, and God is personified in Jesus so that when we hear Psalm 107:28,29, the disciples are echoing the voices of the oppressed but it is the voice of God that has the final say: Then they cried to the Lord in their troubles, and he brought them out from their distress; he made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.

Mark’s Gospel
We’ll continue our deep dive into the Gospel of Mark through the summer and up until Advent. It was at this year’s Advent when we learned St. Mark’s thesis of who Jesus was. You’ll remember the opening line of Mark’s Gospel: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1). St. Mark’s opening line seems tame to our 2,000-year-old Christian ears, but if we were to go back all those years we would discover that this opening line was highly political and highly controversial leading many who believed (and lived) it into the role of martyr. 2,000 years ago in Rome the title, Son of God, belonged to Caesar. It was Caesar, and Caesar only who was the Messiah – the anointed one, the son of God. Anyone who claimed otherwise was labelled an enemy of the state, and if found would be called traitor and executed a criminal. Put differently, to claim Christ over Caesar was to make a political statement claiming that it is God (and God alone) who is good, and his steadfast love (mercy and grace) endures forever. Power, The Song of Mary in St. Luke’s Gospel reminds us, shows its strength by scattering the proud in their conceit, casting down the mighty from their thrones, and lifting up the lowly. Power that comes from God fills the hungry with good things and sends the rich away – empty. The power of God remembers his promise of mercy. Mary’s soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and her spirit rejoices in God our Savior because of these promises and more. Therefore, when St. Mark in his opening line proclaims that Jesus Christ is Son of God and not Caesar, we bear witness to Christ as Son of God when he heals, when he forgives, when he teaches, and today – when he calms the storm. It is Jesus Christ, not Caesar who has control over life, death, wind and rain. It is Jesus Christ, not Caesar, who acknowledges the oppressed, the fearful, the lonely who come at him like a tempest blowing in from the east, the west, the north, and the south.

The Forest of Why
As a priest I often bear witness to persons who suffer – suffer in body, mind, and spirit. One common thread I’ve noticed through the years is that persons often begin their story and situations with questions of “Why”? Why has this happened? Why now? Why me? I usually try to point them to the “Why Poetry” of the Bible – mainly, the Psalms whose corpus makes up an extensive amount of lamentation, suffering, and longing. It’s always good to find others who have asked similar questions and surround ourselves with them.

The question of Why, I’ve noticed is like entering into a forest. For a long time, you take a path and the path seems normal enough, but if one stays on the path long enough they will start to question the path. They will notice a rock and think to themselves, “Didn’t I see that rock a moment ago?” Then they will notice a bird’s nest and ask, “Did I not just pass by that same tree and nest two miles back?” Suffering persons who remain on this path will discover that it is not a hike through the woods, but a trail that simply circles. Once this is realized, a new path through the woods must be discovered. That path, I believe does not ask the question of “Why” but of “What”. What’s next? What do I do now? What am I called to be? I believe we cannot fully understand the question of Why because of our mortal nature (See today’s reading from the Book of Job); however, we can live into the questions of our lives by asking the right questions at the appropriate times.

The Path Out of the Woods
The past two weeks have been dark times in our country that have left us with questions of Why. On our southern boarders we have wondered with millions of Americans why are children being separated from families? Why are there so many refugees here and all around the world? Why is there so much suffering especially to the least of these? Within our own borders images of children not usually seen have been remembered with questions of Why. Why are there so many children in foster care, orphanages or find themselves homeless? Why are children exploited and objectified? We can travel into the woods a bit and spot reoccurring rocks, trees, nests, and streams. We can point to adults – the parents and guardians in their lives. We can point to policies and the politicians. We can also name hard truths like incompetency, divorce, addiction, mental illness, abuse and neglect. When one discovers that they are lost in the woods all kinds of emotions happen. Fear captures the senses sending the mind and heart racing. Anger usually sets in masking the fear a bit asking “Where did I go wrong?” “Why did I make that turn?” When we turn on the T.V. or scroll through our news feed it is usually the question of Why that brings out similar emotions. Anger and fear are made manifest in opinion pieces, blog postings, and in comment lines raising a fist with questions of Why. Then, all of a sudden, we remember that God is good, and his steadfast love endures forever. Then we remember that Jesus Christ is Lord and Caesar is not. Then we calm down, admit that we are lost, and cry out for peace. Cry out for mercy. Cry out for help. The stillness comes when we have an eye on Our Savior who helps us start to answer a new question – the question of What.

What You Can Do
Wednesday was World Refugee Day. What you can do for a refugee is to support them because Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not. The good folks at The Episcopal Migration Ministries can help you answer the question of What. The Starting Over ministry serves children and reunites them with their families in this space every single Thursday and Saturday. What you can do is give your time, talent or treasure to this ministry here. S.H.A.R.E. House is a ministry in Douglas County serving women and children who are victims of abuse and neglect. The S.H.A.R.E. House provides a safe place for women and children to rest from the addictions of abuse. Also, in Douglas County is Youth Villages, a place where children with mental and physical impairments can remember what it’s like being a kid without scorn or judgement. These are just some of the What’s in our midst when we are surrounded by a cult of Why’s. They are tangible ways to (as Bishop Wright says) “Not only [be] fans of Jesus, but also followers of him.”

Spiritual maturity combines the contemplative with outreach, the poetry with the prose, the fans with the followers. Our prayer life informs our family life, community life, and our life in this country; and yet, we pray not to Caesar but to the one who says peace, to the one who continues to calm the storms in our own lives, who continues to invite us to not only worship him in the beauty of his holiness, but to follow him.

Hands

We hold hands. We shake hands. We pump our fists and give ‘high-5’s’. We labor with our hands, as well as use them to give (and receive) comfort. We use our hands for eating and drinking. We take care of our hands with water, lotions, and massage. When we are surprised or even scared we use our hands to cover our mouth, our eyes, or our ears. We pop our knuckles and clip fingernails. We use our fingers to turn pages in a book, or to scroll up and down on our smart phones. We decorate our hands with rings, or henna tattoos. We fold our hands into our lap, or in posture(s) of prayer.

Our hands can also be violent. We can punch and push with them. We can strangle, slap or hit with them. They also come to our defense. We can block a punch, push, slap, or hit with them.

Hands can be bruised, mangled or disfigured. Some people have no hands at all and do the most extraordinary tasks with other parts of their body.

Hands can reach out. Hands can withdraw. Hands can be creative. They play instruments, draw, paint, or make pottery. Put a tool in the hand and yard and house work gets done, crops are planted, and cities are built.

The sense of touch can be found within our hands. With our hands we can tell the difference between the softness of velvet or the hardness of rock. We understand that the texture of sand is certainly different than the wetness of water. Left to the elements our hands can be burned or frozen. One can have calloused or soft hands usually as a result of one’s work, vocation, or hobby. Finally (but not exhaustively) hands with their fingers can leave behind prints letting the world know that you and I were most certainly here.

So where do these images of hands show up in today’s scriptures? The first one can be found in the Book of Deuteronomy:

…the Lord your God brought you out from [Egypt] with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm…

The Psalmist tells us:

I heard an unfamiliar voice saying *
“I eased his shoulder from the burden;
his hands were set free from bearing the load.”

From our Gospel according to Mark:

…a man was there who had a withered hand…then Jesus said, “Stretch out your hand.” [The man] stretched it out, and his hand was restored…

Finally, from Paul’s 1stletter to the Corinthians: (here I quote mid-sentence)

…always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.

Even though today’s reading from the Epistle doesn’t explicitly mention hands, it helps me contemplate the hands of Jesus that were crucified upon the cross. It also invites me to remember the hand and finger of St. Thomas who reached out and touched Jesus’ side and Jesus’ hands. In Thomas’ curious act his body mixed and mingled with Christ’s body and his hands were able to remember the death of Jesus. I believe Thomas’ act made the resurrected life of Jesus visible and tangible in his body in the way he carried himself from then on out – The way he was changed by a touch of the hand.

Where are the hands that shaped you? Are they still around, or do only their prints remain? How do your hands shape you and the world around? Do you (like St. Thomas and St. Paul) carry within your body the death and life of Jesus? If so, where is Jesus leading you now? What is Jesus inviting you to pick up? What is Jesus asking you to put down? Is the voice of God a familiar one, or an unfamiliar one saying “I eased [your] shoulder from the burden; [your] hands were set free from bearing the load.”?

How grateful we are to worship “…the Lord our God whom brought us out from the land of Egypt/the land of slavery/the land of despair/the land on isolation/the land of loneliness/the land of grief/the land of sin and dis-ease with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm…”

How marvelous that Our Savior Jesus Christ sees our withered hands and hearts…and responds by saying, “Stretch out your hand.” AND “Lift up your hearts” and when we do, our hands are stretched it out, our hearts are lifted up to the Lord, and they are restored…

Finally, my friends, know that the life found within you is not your own. Just like the Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath, so too is he Lord of our lives. In his hand are the caverns of the earth, and the heights of the hills are his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands have molded the dry land. Come, let us bow down and bend the knee, and kneel before the Lord Our Maker. For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of this hand. Oh, that today you would hearken to his voice! (Psalm 95:4-7) Oh, that today you would hearken your life into his hands.

Listening & Responding

It’s been documented that the desert in which Moses lived for a time had tumble-weed like bushes that would spontaneously burst into flame. This was due to a perfect mixture of climate and the precision of heat (usually in the form of lightning) onto the dead leaves of the bush. It was not unlike the starting of forest fires in the hot summer forests of California. For Moses, then, to see a burning bush from time-to-time would not have meant much; but to see a burning bush in which the leaves were not consumed in flame would have caught his eye, peaked his curiosity, and no doubt would have compelled him to investigate the unexpected miracle. Remembering the story, Moses did exactly that. He investigated the miracle and the miracle-worker’s voice was also heard. The voice was none other than the commanding voice of God’s compelled to teach and inspire Moses so that the glory of God would be known within the land again. Fast-forward to John’s Gospel where the voice of God is personified in Jesus Christ, and this voice (or Word of God) seems to be doing what God has always done – showing up in unexpected ways, and teaching us the way of discipleship.

John’s Gospel has Jesus performing seven (7) miracles followed by seven (7) “I am” statements. The seven miracles function much like the bush that burned but was not consumed. The miracles are there to get our attention, to get us curious, and to draw nearer to God. The seven “I am” statements found within John are no longer for the seeker, but for the convert – the one who has heard the voice of God and responds – but how is the response made manifest? I would answer it is made manifest by listening and responding to the voice of God in all aspect of one’s life.

In the Acts of the Apostles, we get a story of evangelization and conversion. St. Philip (compelled by the Word of God) is commanded to go on “a wilderness road.” The wilderness may be a metaphor for chaos and at the same time trusting in God to accompany Philip into a place he could not attempt to walk through alone. Put differently, the life of a disciple is being called into those places that are uncomfortable; yet having the faith and hope that God will see you through. The story continues with St. Philip opening up the scriptures to the Ethiopian eunuch much like the Resurrected Jesus opened up the scriptures to the two strangers walking on the road to Emmaus. If Christ is the Word of God, then St. Philip reveals Christ’s presence within the scriptures of old. The eunuch is converted by the Word of God found within those scriptures and responds by getting baptized. He then goes on rejoicing while St. Philip continues making order out of chaos by “proclaiming the good news to all the towns.” This story not only teaches us about evangelization and conversion, it also reminds us that Christ can still be heard in Holy Scripture.

Not only can Christ be heard in Holy Scripture, Christ can be known to us in worship. Our Psalm for today reminds us of this when it states, “My praise is of him in the great assembly; I will perform my vows in the presence of those who worship him.” Worship is an integral part of the life of a disciple. After the eunuch was baptized the scriptures tell us that he “went on his way rejoicing.” Even though the story of the eunuch ends there, it would have been my hope for him to find a worshipping community that can help him perform the vows he has made to God through the ministry of St. Philip. The life of a disciple isn’t just about a one-time conversion experience, but the ongoing conversions within the life of God found with fellow disciples of God. Like God, known more fully to us through the relationship of the Father to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, we become more fully known not in isolation, but in our relationships to Christ and one another.

The life of a disciple of Jesus not only listens and responds to the voice of God in scripture and worship, but also in the ways in which we love. 1 John 4, “Beloved, let us love one another for God is love…God sent his son into the world so that we might live through him.” Did you catch it? If God is love, then we live through him. If God is love, then we live through love. Not just our own love, but a higher love, a higher ground, a place where the bush burns, but is not consumed. A disciple of Christ is one who lives into this truth, and when he fails to do so, repents and returns to the Lord. God is constantly converting us back to his love time and time and time again which leads to the great “I am” statement found in today’s Gospel.

Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.” Apart from love, dear friends, you/we can do nothing; thus, the life of a disciple is one who will let God pluck and prune us – Plucking those branches that have no life in them and pruning those branches that need further training in love. The one who has heard the voice of God and responds makes God’s love manifest by listening and responding to the voice of God in all aspect of one’s life. I believe God wants every part of our being because God wants to purify it in love so that we may be more loving in all the ways in which we live, and move, and have our being.

This week, I invite you to pray today’s Collect daily as a way of remembering that God desires his presence in all aspects of our lives. Looking back to the prayer, we are asking God to be fully known to us as we follow in his footsteps. Also living into the ethos of this prayer leads us into life eternal. Put differently, the amazing relationship we have with God guides us into the deeper waters of love. Let us close this time by praying it again:

Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life: Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Questions Epiphany Bring

During Epiphany we remember three miracles: The baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan with the voice of God the Father giving approval for this act, the wedding feast in Cana where ordinary water was turned into extraordinary wine; and finally, the star that led the Magi to Bethlehem. These Epiphany miracles remind us Jesus’ ministry has begun. They also foreshadow his death and resurrection, and how we are compelled to take up our crosses and follow him. The Season of Epiphany invites us to find the miraculous in the mundane, and to walk alongside Christ as a disciple.

During what is sometimes referred to as the “Octave of Christmas” – those 8 out of the 12 days of Christmas – the Church’s calendar begins to reveal what following Christ truly entails. December 26, the day after Christmas, is St. Stephen’s feast day. The irony in the placement of this feast is clear. On December 25th, we remember the birth of Christ, the Messiah into our world, and the very next day we remember the death of Stephen, one who followed him. St. Stephen was the first martyr of Christendom, and revealed what the cost of discipleship can sometimes entail. The 20th century theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer said this about discipleship: “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”

On the second day of Christmas, we remember St. John the apostle and evangelist. John takes us away from martyrdom for a moment and helps us focus on Calvary’s cross in a very intimate way. From the cross, Jesus looked down and saw his Mother Mary; he then looked to John, and again at them both and said, “Woman, here is your son.” Then He said to the disciple, “Here is your mother” (John 19:26). A classic interpretation of this story is that Mary represented the Church. John was to be joined to her, and the Church to him. Christ compels us to do the same through the graces his Church offers.

The third day of Christmas is the Feast of the Holy Innocence. Here, we are reminded that those who stand in the way of the State (represented by Herod in the story) will be punished and even killed for the sake of Truth. It is Jesus Christ that is King of Kings and Lord of Lords, not emperors, kings, congress, or presidents. Historically it is the State that is willing to sacrifice the least of these in order to gain power; whereas, Christ lifts up the least of these as the ones who will inherit the true Kingdom founded upon Him.

Finally, on the octave of Christmas the Church remembers Christ’s Holy Name. Here, we remember the name the angel gave him – the name Emmanuel – which means God with us. This name is important because if the call to discipleship is to loose our self for the sake of Christ (again, represented in St. Stephen) then Christ (as Emmanuel) is always with us. He’s with us in our joys and our sufferings. He’s with us corporately in His Mystical Body – the Church. He’s with us whether we are Jew or Gentile as St. Paul reminded us in his letter to the Church in Ephesus (Ephesians 3:1-12).

God is with us is a great Christmas truth that continues into this season of Epiphany. In two weeks, we will celebrate the Confession of St. Peter, the apostle. Peter confessed to Jesus that he was indeed who he said he was. Jesus is the Christ, and Peter would spend the rest of his life stumbling around trying desperately to figure out what following him meant. Peter, in other words, is very much like you and I.

The following week, we have the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. Paul’s story is a conversion story in the extreme. It was he who by persecuting the Church was persecuting the very Body of Christ. Christ appeared to him and told him this. Paul repented of his sin, and followed Christ. He then went on to produce most of the canonized letters found in the Bible’s New Testament.

On the 40th day after Christmas, and really the day that ends the Christmas stories, is the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple. Here, we remember Jesus being presented by his parents to the priest; and yet like Anna and Simeon who were waiting on him in the Temple, we too must ask how we are to present ourselves to him. Again, do we fight against him and recollect our egos like Herod; or do we die to our egos, take up our crosses and follow him? These are short questions, and the Church gives us 40 long days in which to contemplate them.

After tomorrow, which is the Baptism of Our Lord, the Church will change its liturgical colors from white to green. Green signifies growth, and Epiphany truly is a season in which we are invited to grow into the likeness and image of Christ. Will you be like Peter this season, proclaiming Christ is Lord, yet wondering how to follow him? Will you be like Paul, in need of conversion from this or that in order to truly follow in his path? Ponder these questions that the Church naturally gives at this time, then live into their answers knowing God as Emmanuel is always with you.

An Incarnational Faith

**Redacted from my sermon preached on the 1st Sunday after Christmas**

John 1:1-18

I am convinced that the more the Christian immerses herself into the life of the Church, the more freedom she receives. A fidelity to Christ allows those spaces and places within one’s heart to continually make room for his love and grace. St. John said we must “receive him” – a passive act that does not grip or grasp at truth, but accepts truth “as is.” The Christian then has the opportunity to imitate the will of God not only with her lips, but in her life giving up her very self in service to him. Again, putting this theology into the language of John, “[Christ] gave power to become children of God, who were born, not…of the will of man, but of God.” The will of God is like Mary’s song, a passivity that leads to freedom…the freedom to walk in love as Christ loves us, the freedom to love neighbor as self, the freedom to pray for those who persecute you. As Christians, we point to these graces when we give our fidelity to Christ and his Body – the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. When we follow the doctrines, disciplines, and life found within the Body, we open ourselves up to a deeper grace that continually gives itself away.

What I am writing the world has never fully accepted, and just a quick look at the latest polls on church attendance and its decline over the past 50 years should give us pause. This is nothing new; however. St. John wrote, “[Christ] was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.” When we accept Christ we are receiving the reality that we are not our own. We are accepting the revelation that God is in control, and we are not. These truths are hard to shallow, especially to a materialistic, hedonistic, and individualistic society; however, they are still truths that the church holds up for all the world to see.

The Church holds these theological truths up daily, weekly, and seasonally in its common life. Let’s look at all three of these. As catholic Christians we are gifted with a breviary. A breviary is a fancy word for a prayer book. In our prayer book are structured prayers for morning, noon, evening, and bedtime as well as other contextual prayers, not to mention the Lord’s Prayer and The 10 Commandments for other devotionals and meditations. Outside of the breviary, yet part of the traditional practices within the church, are the Stations of the Cross (formally done as community on Good Friday, but open to anyone during the year) mediations, the rosary, and silent forms of prayer – to name a few. These daily forms and practices of prayer help ground a Christian in an intentional way, that is, a way of communicating with God and further discovering his will for us.

In addition to daily prayer, there is weekly worship and participation in Holy Eucharist. Each Sunday, Christians gather together and receive both Word and Sacrament; that is, the story of God as revealed in scripture, song, and prayer and how we participate in the ongoing history of Christ in the world today. At Holy Communion, we receive the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ within us that gives us strength for the journey outside these walls as well as puts us in communion with the saints of his church.

The Church also participates in theological truths found seasonally. In Advent, we look for the coming of Our Lord Jesus Christ into the world in the form of a child, and await his coming in glory sometime in the future. Advent is a season of anticipation. At Christmas, we celebrate the mystery of God coming into the world in our own form; thus, sanctifying our very bodies making them holy and acceptable to him. At Epiphany, we acknowledge that the gift of God extends beyond those found on the “inside.” God’s truth is for everyone, and he is constantly calling the world to be united through his son. During Lent, we remember our beloved dustiness, and how these bodies are temporary as we await a participatory resurrection in Christ. During Holy Week, our souls are torn like the curtain in God’s temple. We knew truth, and yet we sacrificed it for our own relative truths. At Easter, we are forgiven for this as God raised Jesus to new life – God has done a new thing and continues to do new things. Finally, on the Day of Pentecost, we further acknowledge that the Church is for all God’s people, and participation in his Church is none other than the participation in Christ’s Body through the Holy Spirit. All of these seasons provide the various moods and colors found on earth as it is in heaven, and when we fully participate in these what we find is a rhythm to life grounded in Christ’s grace and love.

Finally, we have the sacraments and sacramental rites of the church. We have Holy Baptism, Holy Eucharist, Confirmation, Holy Matrimony, Holy Orders, Reconciliation of a Penitent (a.k.a. Confession), and Ministration at the Time of Death (a.k.a. Last Rites). When we combine a daily life of prayer with the weekly celebration of Holy Eucharist found within the context of the Church’s calendar, and in communion with the sacraments and apostolic teachings of the Church, we are truly letting go and letting God. We are truly entering into the life of the Church as God has revealed it, not egotistically creating it in our own image. All of the above practices are non-rational spiritual technologies, and yet they point to a reality named Christ – the only true reality.

So why am I doing a teaching on the church today instead of talking about Christmas? Well, Christmas reminds us of our incarnational faith. We are spirit mixed in with flesh and flesh with spirit so much so, that they cannot be separated. The above practices use our bodies, minds, and souls to further communicate God’s love within us, and in the world around us. This New Year, accept the invitation Christ has given, and increase in his hope and love within his incarnational faith.

Go

**Sermon preached at the midnight mass Christmas Eve service at St. Julian’s**

And [Mary] gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. ~Luke 2:7

 Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.” ~Luke 9:58

It’s been said that Jesus’ shortest sermons ever can be boiled down to one word, “Go.” “Go, your faith has healed you” (Mark 10:52). “Go. Teach all nations. Baptize” (Matt 28:19). “Go. The harvest is plentiful, and the laborers, few” (Luke 10:2). At one point in Jesus’ ministry, he told his disciples, “I am going away. Where I am going you cannot come” (John 8:21). In tonight’s Gospel, the shepherds get a positive reinforcement of the command, “to go”. The angels persuaded them in this regard, and they replied, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” The scripture continues, “So they went with haste… and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.”

Tonight, we go. We travel, making haste with those shepherds the journey to see the Son of Man lying in the manger because there was no room in the inn…because the Son of Man had no place to lay his head. In this regard, the Son of Man slept underneath the stars like a lowly shepherd. No wonder the two related; and the scene of the manger foreshadowed it all for us:  The Son of Man would suffer, die, and be buried in a tomb that was not his own. It is a story of poverty as common as breathing, and as old as the wind; and yet this night shepherds and angels join in a chorus proclaiming holiness. In that manger scene was the man who would one day say to the poor, those that mourn, the meek, hungry, and merciful, “You are blessed, and you will be a blessing.” Not much nostalgia tonight, is there? No reminiscing here. In fact, there are two different reactions/responses we gain from the characters in our story this evening. The shepherds go again, making “known what had been told them about this child.” The scriptures continue, “and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.” Put sequentially: The shepherds were doing the work they had always done. They stopped this work; discerned a word from the Lord; acted upon that word which transformed their lives; and then went and told others about it. This is the call of a convert and disciple – a classic call to repentance: To turn from something to something (all together new) by the power of God. This process of repentance is ongoing. It’s not one moment in time, but a lifetime of giving up oneself for the service of God and a chance to participate in His holy story.

The other reaction/response came from Mary. The scriptures read, “But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” I think Mary needed something to hold onto. In the season of Advent, we learned that Mary’s very soul would be pierced. Pierced, possibly by despair as she kept giving more and more of herself, and eventually her son to the world that wanted nothing more than to destroy him. At that moment when lowly shepherds sang out the music of angels, she knew that Jesus was going to be bigger than her. She knew she would have to let go and let God time and time again. As a mother, these selfless acts would be piercing. As a follower of God, she understood them to be necessary. “Where I am going,” said Jesus, “you cannot come,” would later be directed at his disciples, but I wonder if he didn’t have his mother in the back of his mind while commanding this?

Tonight, you will leave. Go to the parking lot. Get in your vehicles, and go. Some of you will go home. Some of you will go to a place that welcomes you, be that another family’s home, or a hotel. In other words, you have a place to lay your head. But if you will, I’d like for you to do something. When you walk outside, and feel the cold brushed up against you, look up. If you don’t do it immediately after church, look to the sky on your drive home. This is the night where angels once gathered in those skies, but it is also the night where the one they proclaimed had no place to lay his head. When thinking on these things, I believe we carry with us the two responses mentioned earlier. We have the response of the shepherds who could relate to this holy family bundled up in a manger. Their response was one of repentance and praise. The other response is treasuring these things in our hearts. Not in some nostalgic, worldly way, but in a Godly way. That is, recognizing the holy in the mundane and being grateful. This Christmas why not be grateful? Return to the manger. Sing with the angels. This Christmas, join Mary, the shepherds, the disciples, and Jesus in his mission and ministry…
and “Go”.