John 1:1-5, 10-14, 16-18

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

He 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. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.

“Relentless” is the word that kept coming to mind – about these days and as I wondered about tonight. “Relentless” because the list and litany of things that I know are weighing on some of you … and on me … and that I thought might bring us here for worship, just kept piling up and piling on in recent days. Of course there’s the news – the wars and rumors of wars, the natural disasters and pending storms, the politics, the politics, and the politics. I’m going to let that all of that “news” stuff speak for itself.

Mostly it’s been the dying, though. So much dying. People losing parents and friends and family and children, even – sometimes after long, lingering sickness and disease. Sometimes quickly, though not unexpectedly. Sometimes in surprising, shocking, unsettling ways – surrounded by circumstances no one could have seen coming. Of course the grief of death shows up in particularly painful ways at this time of year, whether it happened last week or a lifetime ago.

But it’s not just that dying that’s relentless these days. There is the struggle of parenting that’s overwhelming for some, I know. There are kids struggling with what it means to be a kid – or to become an adult – in this world. There are people whose jobs have been on the line – and some who’ve lost what they were counting on in that regard. There are sick and aging parents and friends. There are failing marriages. There are broken relationships of all kinds that would, could, should be something so much more and better and different than they’ve turned out to be.

There are burdens of anxiety and mental illness too numerous and nebulous to name or itemize but that somehow have a very real weight and heft to them, nonetheless.

There are people carrying secrets too hard and too heavy to carry on their own or to say out loud from here.

And I’m sorry/not sorry for those of you with whom I’ve already shared this little video. It added something to our Bethel Bible Study class a couple of weeks ago where I used it to talk theology … and about the nature of God.

Then it came up again in our Stephen Ministry discussion last week where I used it, thinking clinically, about how we deal with each other in caring relationships.

And when something like this won’t leave my mind – or keeps popping up in relevant, meaningful, surprising ways – I feel like I’m supposed to take notice and pay more attention and maybe keep learning from whatever it might be.

So I want to share it with those of you who haven’t seen it – and again with those of you who have – and wonder about it, together, in light of whatever brings us here, for a service like this, at Christmas.

All you need to know about the video is that it’s Brene Brown’s voice you’re hearing. (If you’ve never heard of Brene Brown, she’s a professor, author, podcaster and social worker.) And someone has taken one of her lectures and turned it into a cartoon for some extra effect and added meaning.

So much of the truth about Christmas – which so often gets lost in the mix of everything we’ve done to the “most wonderful time of the year” – so much of the TRUTH about Christmas is acknowledgement of the fact that life in this world is relentless. And the story of our faith never suggests otherwise. God never suggests otherwise. In fact, a friend of mine once said that the Bible itself – the story of our faith in Scripture – reads like some kind of trauma response narrative when you think about it.

From Adam and Eve, to Cain and Abel, to the Tower of Babel, the Exodus from slavery in Egypt, the exile in Babylon, through to the life, crucifixion, death and resurrection of Jesus, our faith’s story is one tragedy after another tragedy after another, after another, after another when you think about it – some cosmic in scope and scale, some more personal and close to home.

Whatever the case, even Scripture is a reminder that life in this world is relentless – even for people of faith, maybe especially for people of faith – who have their hearts and minds and lives attuned to the music of someone and of something greater than ourselves.

But the other hard truth is, faith doesn’t and will not take away our grief in one fell swoop – nor should it. Faith can’t reverse our deepest darkest thoughts, all on its own, all of the time. Faith won’t fix your anxiety or ease your depression, if you can muster whatever “enough” of that sort of faith is supposed to look like. Faith won’t keep your problems at bay or make your life easier at every turn.

No matter what some preach, teach or post on social media – or have tried to make you believe in one way or another – loving God and having faith is not a prescription against suffering or struggle.

But the promise of Christmas – and the point of that little video about empathy, for my money – is a reminder about the kind of God we’re dealing with, in Jesus. It’s not a God like so many other false gods (drugs, alcohol, self-reliance, our own boot-straps, our own best intentions, our own busy schedules, or whatever else we use to fix ourselves);

The promise of Christmas is not about a god or gods who stand up there and out there, far and away from what hurts us most…offering us a sandwich or a simple solution or a sweet supplication to fix whatever is the matter…

The promise of Christmas is not of a God who doesn’t – who has not – lived and experienced and felt just exactly what we live and experience and feel as a people…

Ours is a God who shows up in the midst of whatever mess we find ourselves and sits with us there and shows us that it is endurable, doable, and able to be overcome…

Ours is a God who shows up in ways as tangible as one of these prayer shawls you are invited to take and wrap yourself in when you leave here tonight…

Ours is a God who comes down as surely as this bread and wine that we’ll eat, drink, taste, smell and share in a moment…

Ours is a God who is sitting next to you now, in this worship, in the presence of someone who has struggled and suffered, too; who is struggling and suffering, beside you even now…

Ours is a God who is even more relentless – more patient and persistent and vulnerable – than whatever brings us here and that we’ll carry with us even after we leave.

Our is a God who comes down, in Jesus, to remind us that there is grace and love and mercy and hope, embodied and emboldened in the world around us, by faithful, loving, kind people and pastors and parents; friends and family and strangers, even.

So, I hope some of you came here tonight selfishly looking and longing for something … even if you aren’t sure what it could be.

I hope others of you came here tonight – whether you knew it or not – looking and longing to enter into this sacred space, to simply sit with and be alongside the others …

I hope each of us sees our potential to be both of these things at any given moment in the days to come…

And I hope we see it all as a picture of the promise and great hope of Christmas – that wild, miraculous notion of the Word and ways of God, making the vulnerable, loving choice to become flesh and to live among us;

…the love of God putting on skin and bones – not just in the person of Jesus, born in a manger long, long ago – but alive and well in God’s children, people just like you and me;

…the love of God born to give and to receive the kind of grace, mercy and peace that is ours because we are God’s – for each other and for the sake of the world into which he comes...

…sharing love, hope and connection that promises the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting – on this side of heaven and the next.

Amen. Merry Christmas.

John 6:25-35

When they found [Jesus] on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.” Then they said to him, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’” Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

As many of you know, things are tougher than usual in Haiti these days. Our friends in Fondwa – up in the mountains – are safe, as far as I know, from the political unrest and from the gangs who seem to have overrun so much of life in the neighborhoods in and around the capital of Port au Prince.

But our friends in Fondwa are heavy on my mind these days – and this week, in particular – as it revolves so much around food and abundance and counting our blessings. In the last couple of months there has been a food crisis, even up in the mountains of Fondwa. Even though they’re physically safe from and don’t have to interact with the gangs and the protests and the unrest in the city, all of that has impacted their ability to transport food and supplies and other necessities up the mountain. (Ships haven’t been able to port, gas stations haven’t been able to get or sell gas, people can’t get into or out of the city to move goods and supplies from one place to the next.)

Because of that, Zanmi Fondwa has been trying to raise money – not just for houses, lately – but to help with the resulting food crisis. When Luckner, our Director of Operations in Fondwa, who is also one of the most positive, optimistic, hopeful, humble, faithful people I’ve known says that it’s as bad as he’s seen it, it gets your attention.

So, I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days about the fact that our Haitian friends have told us $40.00 is enough money to buy a household in Fondwa enough rice and oil – and maybe some beans – to feed them for a month. And, if you’ve been to Fondwa, you know that “household” is a nebulous term. It could mean anywhere from 4 to 6 or 8 to 10 or more family members, in many cases. $40.00. Rice and oil. For a month.

The fact that we also chose $40.00 as the price point for our Food Pantry Thanksgiving Meal ministry isn’t lost on me. We gave families who signed up – also regardless of their size – a turkey, a pie, cans of corn, beans, gravy, rolls, potatoes, stuffing, and more. Like my Thanksgiving meal and yours, the quality and calories of that single meal is more than my Haitian friends will consume in weeks.

I’m not poo-pooing any of it. Both are beautiful expressions of generosity and provision. It’s all relative and meaningful. It’s just a healthy, holy, faithful dose of perspective for me as I prepare to eat my fair-share of gratitude on Thursday and to count my blessings in the days to come. And tonight – and this week – and every day that we can manage it, is about taking none of that for granted.

Because the practice of giving thanks from a Christian, faithful kind of perspective isn’t so much about national pride or patriotism. The practice of giving thanks, of counting our blessings, even in the face of sadness and struggle – of acknowledging God’s abundance even in the face of what can feel like scarcity for us or for others – is an act of faith, pure and simple. Gratitude is a Christian discipline that points to God’s power – and our desire to trust that power – whether we’re feeling blessed or burdened at any given moment.

And, while having enough to eat isn’t a struggle for most of us, you and I might feel more blessed by God’s provision or more burdened by its lack, depending on the day. Just in the last couple of days, I’ve prayed to God and had conversations with some of you about successful surgeries and about sad and scary diagnoses; about new, blossoming relationships and about relationships that are struggling; about new life being born and about lives being lost too soon. There are joys and sorrows, challenges and celebrations,¬¬¬ everywhere you look.

And, in tonight’s Gospel, what Jesus seems to be inviting those people to – the ones who were chasing him down all around Galilee – is a holy kind of perspective about life and faith in the middle of it all. He reminds them about how the Israelites – lost and wandering around in the wilderness – were fed with the manna that came down from heaven. And he wants them to know that, in the same way, he has come to feed the world – lost and wandering in our own kind of wilderness, still – with a different kind of bread.

It’s bread that fills us, literally, like so much rice for our friends in Haiti. And it’s a different kind of bread that fills them – and us, too – with the promise of forgiveness and redemption and hope, in spite of whatever sins and sadness and struggle any of us faces from day to day.

It’s no small thing that Jesus, on the night when he was betrayed – to be crucified, killed and buried – “took bread, blessed it and broke it, GAVE THANKS, and gave it to his disciples.” And he did the same thing with the cup – GAVE THANKS, I mean – before sharing the new covenant in his own blood, that was about to be poured out for the sake of the world. Even as he looked ahead to the way they would betray and deny him. Even as he looked ahead to his own crucifixion, Jesus had faith enough to give thanks.

Which is how we’re called to be today, on Thursday, and every day, as God’s people on the planet – find ways to be grateful in the face of whatever comes our way, which is something I’ve learned from the people of Fondwa over the years:

- To give thanks, not just for what we have, but for the Truth that God has us, always.

- To give thanks, not just that God meets our needs, but that God is our only need, really.

- To give thanks, not just that we have been blessed in some way, but that God uses us to be a blessing in return.

- To give thanks, not because all is right with our world, but that God is bigger than whatever is wrong.

- To give thanks, not because we are better off than so many others who have it worse, but to give thanks that whatever and wherever we are in the grand scheme of things can be “enough” – by God’s grace – if we will allow it to be.

- And to give thanks because the discipline of it changes our perspective and it softens our hearts. It turns darkness to light, scarcity into abundance, sorrow into joy, despair into hope, fear into faith – and more – because of God’s deep love for us all.

Amen

Relentless - Blue Christmas

Joy, Discipline and Perspective of Gratitude