Diving Deep Second Sunday of Epiphany January 13, 2013 Luke 3.21-22

“I was wishing,” says C. S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian, upon learning that he is a descendant of pirates, “that I came of a more honorable lineage.”

“You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve,” Aslan the Lion replies. “And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. Be content.”

It comes as no surprise that right after narrating Jesus’ baptism, Luke launches into Our Lord’s genealogy, which he traces right back to the Original Orchard Thief himself. The entire ritual shouts the Savior’s willingness to wallow base-over-apex in the muddy end of our troubled gene pool.

Jesus dives into the Jordan as deep as the Suffering Servant of Isaiah: “Behold, my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him.” (Isa 42.1) He plunges deeper down to the prophesied king of the ancient psalmist: “Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee.” (Ps 2.7) He touches bottom by identifying with Isaac, the chosen child marked out for sacrifice:  “Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering.” (Gn 22.2) Then as he resurfaces in a burst of bubbles, the vehicle of life that has weathered sin’s flood, he goes all the way back to Noah: “And the dove came to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off; so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth.” (Gn 8.11) That is the same deep dive in which we follow Jesus in our own baptism.

In this light, it is worth noting that all this happened while Jesus prayed. Jesus prays a lot in Luke’s Gospel, when calling disciples and getting transfigured and facing the cross and forgiving his enemies. (Lk 3.21, 6.12, 9.18-22, 9.28-29, 11.1, 22.32,41, 23.34,46) It is almost as if his identity with his human family was more than an act, as if he heard from God the same way you and I can – and must; almost as if he was content to be a Son of Adam along with the rest of us.

During Epiphany we celebrate the bursting forth of the light of Christ into our darkness. Maybe it is a good idea to remember that this light did not chase away the reality of who we are, but instead illuminated it. We are sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, whose lineage Christ both bore and redeemed, and that is “both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth.”

Come On In, The Water’s Fine!

Doug

Two Halves That Make Us Whole, Sunday January 6 2013, Epiphany Sunday Year C, Matthew 2.1-12

It was a weird business. Herod already sat the throne like a cowboy on a rodeo bull: He'd fadged up a Jewish pedigree, won a war against the Gentiles and went Extreme Makeover on the temple - all signs that should have cemented his claim to be messiah. And he killed anybody who seemed to need it. Still, he worried.
What he didn't need - what nobody really needed - was a bunch of hippies drifting in from out of state to jab a cattle prod into the delicate underbelly of the whole fragile situation.
They came from the East - like maybe New York; probably talked funny, too. And they spouted a bunch of New Age mysticism about Saturn in retrograde and the winter solstice. Didn't know the Bible, though. Herod called in his tame preachers who'd all done AWANAS as kids and didn't hesitate to cite chapter and verse on the twenty of the coming king. "Bethlehem," they chirped in unison. The fastest among them stepped forward, his finger pointing to the passage as he announced, "Micah 5:2!" But even as the winner collected his prize - a laminated book mark imprinted with the Ten Commandments - he knew he'd stay away from the City of David. Nothing good could come of this.
Matthew wrote to reassure - and to challenge - a Jewish church that found itself suddenly flooded with Gentiles, half-trained foreigners who had figured out that nature only started a sentence which only Scripture could finish. They had enough sense to see that "the world is charged with the grandeur of God" but not enough education to know what to do about it. The Evangelist drops a couple of hints to his fellow-Israelites: First, these newcomers need your Bible knowledge if they're to complete the journey, and second, your Bible knowledge is no good to you if it doesn't reinterpret your own world and send you on the same trip.
Epiphany - literally "the shining" - reminds us that the star of Bethlehem was essentially a reading lamp meant to shed enough light on Scripture to help us find the Lord. We can go blind by staring at the light and we can go blind by reading in the dark. The only safe course is to let both books - life and sacred text - send us off on a journey to Jesus.

Wise Up!

Doug

"Love" December 23, 2012 Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year C Luke 1.39-56

            When Dancer and Prancer and company froze Rudolph out of their reindeer games, the North Pole got a little bit colder. Fortunately, the very freak feature that earned him the cold shoulder might also have warmed him back up. Science says so.

            Research recently published in the scientific journal “Acta Psychologica” reports that the skin temperature of lab subjects actually drops .378 degrees when they are excluded from a game of catch. Touching something warm – like a steaming cup of coffee or, say, a glowing red nose – reverses the effect.

            Mary lets loose with the Magnificat only after her kinswoman Elizabeth extends an embrace. Perhaps the Virgin required sufficient geographical and emotional distance from the gossiping tongues of Nazareth before her own tongue could call out in praise to God. Perhaps John’s gestational gymnastics warmed her to just that degree that praise became possible. She fled the cold of exclusion for the healing embrace of love.

            But what about those we would rather not embrace? There are times when justice seems to demand that we crush rather than hug. Some behavior deserves to be left out in the cold.

In his book “Exclusion and Embrace,” Miroslav Volf recounts how, in the winter of 1993, he delivered a lecture on forgiveness. As he concluded, the formidable Jurgen Moltmann rose to put the first question: “But can you embrace a cetnik?” At that moment the cetniki – Serbian terrorists – were marauding through Volf’s native Yugoslavia looting and raping Volf’s own people. “No, I cannot,” replied the theologian with integrity. “But as a follower of Christ I think I should be able to.”

The birth of Christ is all about an embrace that brings warmth to those excluded by the cold of sin. As we rejoice in this truth, however, we must also remember that if Christ’s arms are flung wide to receive us, it is because they are pinned in place to the wood of the cross. Sometimes it is only through the crucifixion of self that we open to others the warmth that gives them life.

Come On In!

Doug

            

Joy December 16, 2012 Third Sunday of Advent, Year C Philippians 4.4-7

Joy

December 16, 2012

Third Sunday of Advent, Year C

Philippians 4.4-7

            N. T. Wright asserts that the key term of first century Judaism was “hope”: The Jewish people looked forward to something that God would do. The key term for Christianity, Wright says, was “joy”: Christians looked back to something God had done.

Devout Jews hoped in a coming Messiah; Devout Christians rejoiced in a risen one.

            That joy pervades Paul’s pen in the little thank-you note of Philippians. The apostle peppers his prose with terms for joy: He “joy” in some form fifteen times and even throws in a synonym on two more occasions for a whopping total of seventeen references in a letter of 104. On average, Paul stops to rejoice about once every six verses!

            Two things about this festivity: It is public, and it is secure. Paul calls for a public rejoicing. While we usually hear his mandate for mirth as a call to private joy, his world would have heard it in terms of public celebration. Paul calls for public parties of praise where all can see the church’s victory in Christ. Paul offers a secure rejoicing: The word for “guard” in verse seven conjures the image of a squadron of soldiers standing sentry duty over a treasure chest. Christian joy is not some sloppy self-hypnosis: Steady prayer imparts a peace that makes rejoicing real.

            But don’t miss verse five, with its whispered reminder about a gentle spirit. Chauvinistic celebration often steamrolls those left silent by grief. In the spirit of the Christ who never broke a bruised reed and who nurtured the guttering flame of even the smokiest wick, let us deal out our joy in doses appropriate to the patient.

I Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart,

Doug