Advent

"Red: The Colors of Christmas" - Matthew 22:34-40

Matthew 22:34-40

When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. ‘Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’ He said to him, ‘ “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’

When Pastor Aaron came up with this idea for a Midweek sermon series that was going to focus on “The Colors of Christmas,” I was all for it, and I thought of two things right away. I thought about one of those personality tests I had recently taken, by way of Facebook, that pretended to describe and define and diagnose my personality as a color. Have you seen that one yet?  You answer a bunch of questions and choose a few pictures and animals and color schemes that appeal to you and you are given a color to describe your personality. I think I was BLUE, but I don’t remember or have any idea about what that meant or why. For some reason that stuff is interesting to me, but I give it as much credence and credibility as my astrological sign.

And the other thing I thought about right away was Taylor Swift. For a pop superstar, I think she’s kind of a genius and a musical phenom - if you believe all the hype about how young she was when she started writing all the music she's produced. Well, she has this song called “RED,” where she cleverly uses colors to describe feelings and emotions, all of which, for Tay-Tay, of course, have to do with her latest, or current, lost love or crush or boyfriend, or whatever.

Anyway, for example, she says that loving this particular guy is RED, like ‘driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street, faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly;’ And she says ‘losing him was BLUE, like she’s never known,’ and ‘missing him was DARK GRAY, all alone.’

But loving him, for Tay-Tay, was like RED, and sometimes, even, “burning” RED.

Well, I’d bet all of Taylor Swift’s money she wasn’t thinking about Advent sermons when she wrote that little ditty, but it made me think about the color RED, some, and about how a poet or a songwriter can give legs to the emotions and feelings and sensibility of something as simple as a primary color. And RED - as a color for Christmas – is as complex for old preachers like me as RED – as a color for young love – can be for a pop-princess like Taylor Swift.

Maybe it’s a sign of the times more than anything this time around, but the RED I think about first is the RED of anger and hatred and fear that seems to be burning its way through the world these days. Of course we see it in the streets of Paris and in San Bernardino. And this kind of RED is alive and well in the ways and places where people are fighting their wars and terrorizing their neighbors and fleeing from the war and terror that threatens their lives. And I see this kind of RED – and I feel this kind of RED, frankly – when I listen to too many people feeding it and using it and taking advantage of it and preying upon it to perpetuate even more of it – fear and hostility and hatred, I mean.

And it’s not all that big, this kind of RED. It’s not all newsworthy, of course. I caught a glimpse of RED, on a smaller scale, from a parent at a basketball game last Saturday. (You know that just-below-the-surface, keep-it-under-wraps, road-rage kind of RED?) And I see that kind of RED on my Facebook and Twitter feeds, too. The RED of anger and hostility that can be tapped out on a keyboard and posted for all to see with very little regard for consequences and no real danger of repercussions.

So if any of us were to take one of those online personality inventories that assigned us a “color for our faith,” based on the state of our souls, I think we all might come out RED, in some way, on some days, thanks to the sins – large and small – which we can’t escape or seem to change for ourselves, or forgive in each other, for that matter, either.

So all of that makes me think about the RED of the cross and the blood that was spilled there for the sake of the world and as a means to end and to forgive and to transform all of the above ugliness. I think God took on the RED of the world’s ugly, angry, hatred, violence and evil, and let it be drained by and covered over with and drowned in the blood of God’s very own self, in Jesus.

And, again, this feels like bad news and bah humbug, I know. But there’s hope in here, of course. To me, the RED of that blood seems like a cosmic mix of what else the RED of Christmas might represent: which is the undying, passionate love of God for the world, come down in Jesus Christ.

God’s love, so passionate, so complete, so devoted, that it could be spilled and poured out, blood-RED for the sake of the world. The blood-RED love of God, spilled by violence and hatred and sin on the cross, but transformed by love and compassion and grace and forgiveness, all at the same time.

And so we wait on and we pray for and we hope to God that the latter will be born anew, again, in these days before Christmas. The blood-RED transforming love and compassion, grace and forgiveness, I mean.

Which reminds me that it wasn’t first spilled at Calvary’s cross, this blood. The blood-RED love of God first showed up in that lonely, messy, stable’s manger in Bethlehem. The first RED of Christmas came from the spent womb of a mother’s love. Mixed with tears, no doubt, and sweat, I’m sure, and who knows what else. It likely wasn’t pretty and we don’t need to pretend that it was or is or will be, this Christmas good news.

But, let’s let the RED of this Christmas be one that serves as nothing less than our own life-blood, like that coming from the womb of a mother, full of grace and mercy and tenderness and hope. Let’s let the RED of this Christmas be one that has been poured out, like so much wine, for the forgiveness of sins – ours and the sins of our enemies. Let’s let the RED of Christmas be a life-giving, life-changing RED for us – one that’s about passion and sacrifice, one that bears the love of God and one that brings with it new life for each of us, and for the sake of the world.

Amen

"Climbing Mountains with One Leg" – Luke 3:1-6

Luke 3:1-6

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, 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;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”


I suspect some of you have seen something like this before, but I thought it would be fun – and maybe a little more impactful – to “see” it in a different way, played out with some familiar faces that we know.

Someone took the time to take facts about the world’s population and ration them proportionately down to a hypothetical population of 100 people. With those facts and figures, it was suggested that a room full of 100 people, representative of the world’s population, might look like this:

We’d be pretty equally split by gender – 50 would be men and 50 would be women.

Of the 100, 26 would be kids, aged 0 - 14; 66 would be 15 - 64 years old; only 8 would be 65 years old, or older.

When it comes to where we would live: 60 would be from Asia; 15 would be from Africa; 11 would be from Europe; 9 would be from Latin America and the Caribbean; and only 5 would be from North America.

And, since we’re in church, the religious statistics are worth wondering about. There would be 33 Christians; 22 Muslims; 14 Hindus; 7 Buddhists; 12 people who believe in "other religions;" and 12 people who wouldn't claim connection to any faith, in particular.

In terms of the languages we’d speak – our native tongues, anyway:

12 would speak Chinese
5 would speak Spanish
5 would speak English
3 would speak Arabic
3 would speak Hindi
3 would speak Bengali
3 would speak Portuguese
2 would speak Russian
2 would speak Japanese
62 would speak "other languages" that don’t even make the list, or our radar, probably.

But this is where it gets good and relevant to our Gospel for today and for what God means to be up to in Jesus:

In a village of 100 people, 83 would be able to read and write, 17 would not. Only 7 would have a college degree.

78 of us would have electricity, 22 of us would not.

65 would have “improved sanitation;" 16 would have no toilets; 19 would have "unimproved toilets."

87 of us would have access to clean drinking water. 13 of us would not.

15 of us would be undernourished.

48 of us (half!) would be expected to live on less than $2.00 US, per day

1 of 2 children would live in poverty

I was part of an exercise once where Alan Storey, a Methodist Pastor from South Africa, had a room full of pastors illustrate some of what this looks like in an even more dramatic way. Without bothering with all of the statistics, he had a handful of people in a crowded conference center gathering room come forward and asked them to stand on one foot while he talked. He made a couple of men from the group act as gate-keepers and their job was to bust anyone who put their other foot down, or who used a hand or a chair or another person to catch their balance. If you got caught or couldn’t keep up, you were banished to the back of the room, which served as “the outer darkness.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the group was invited to make themselves comfortable with all the extra space and chairs they now had, thanks to the unlucky, one-legged losers who had to stand up front. The rest of the group could stay seated and stretch out, put their feet up on the extra chairs they now had access to. They could get up and help themselves to food and drinks … donuts and coffee … the bathroom … whatever. 

It was fun and funny. There was laughter and then some awkwardness, once people started to figure out what was going on. There were some who played along as best they could and others who opted out, not bothering to be part of it from the get go.

But the point was made – and it’s the same, whether you’re looking at numbers, counting statistics, standing on one leg, or sitting comfortably with your coffee and a donut:

It’s embarrassing and convicting and shameful to admit that there are so many people – more people than not, really – too many people – standing on one leg in this world. And it’s embarrassing and convicting and shameful to admit that you and I are happy as clams – most of us – seated comfortably in our abundance of chairs, drinking clean water, leaving the lights on, flushing our toilets, eating our fill, and pretending that that’s okay; that it’s not our problem; that God has blessed us in some way that justifies – or at least allows for – our abundance in the presence of others’ scarcity and struggle.

But today, we get this unsettling, unsettled, loud-mouthed, John the Baptist, crying out in the wilderness and calling B.S. on our way of living and moving and being in the world. And it’s no accident the way Luke’s Gospel introduces John the Baptist. He is introduced after a long line-up of very impressive leaders by the world’s standards: the Emperor Tiberias, the Governor Pontius Pilate, King Herod and his brother Philip, rulers like Lysanius and High Priests like Annas and Caiaphas.

And then there’s John. Just John. The son of Zechariah. And he’s not from Abilene or Galilee or Judea or anywhere worth naming, either. He’s just out there, somewhere, crying in the wilderness, like a street-preaching, carnival barking, nut-job.

All of which points to the notion that John is out there, standing on one leg. Not one of the powerful. Not one of the popular. Not one of the 1%, either. At least that’s not who he’s preaching on behalf of and that’s not who he’s preparing the way for, in Jesus Christ, the coming messiah of God.

With all of his talk about the valleys being filled, the mountains being leveled, and the rough ways being made smooth, John is pointing to God’s plan for the kingdom and he’s inviting whoever will hear him to prepare the way for Jesus. And one way to prepare the way for Jesus, you might say, is to consider what in the world Jesus himself would say to those of us who are comfortable in our places and in our palaces; and what in the world Jesus would do for those of God’s children who are suffering and struggling and still standing on one leg, after all this time.

I think Jesus would remind us, in these Advent days, that the means by which we have come to be so comfortable in our chairs…the abundance we take for granted…the excess that we exploit…is not ours to do with as we please. I think he would remind us how arbitrary it is that some rest easy while others never seem to get a break; how fine a line there really is between having the upper hand and going through life with one arm tied behind your back; between standing, safely on two feet and standing on one leg.

I think Jesus would teach us to take and use only what we need and to share the rest. I think Jesus would show us that there are mountains of discrimination and bigotry people can’t climb above on their own; there are valleys of poverty people can’t get out of by themselves; there are rough ways of racism that trip people up; there are crooked ways of injustice in the world that trick and trap God’s children. The world is not a level playing field like the Kingdom of God is intended to be. And it’s not going to fix itself.

So, I think Jesus showed up as a baby in a manger, hoping with a deep and wide, cosmic kind of everlasting hope, that we would see in his eyes the eyes of anyone and everyone who is standing one leg – or crying out in the wilderness – or dying on a cross – and longing desperately to experience resurrection and new life in this world as much as in the next.

And I think Jesus showed up to keep on forgiving the sins of the seated – you and me – and loving us until we finally, fully receive it…until we are grateful enough and faithful enough to get out of our chairs… until we are courageous and bold enough to hand over our seats – or at least to make room and level the playing field – for someone who’s dying to rest, like we do, in the blessing of God’s amazing, everlasting, earth-shaking, life-changing, grace.

Amen