Between the Highlights

Luke 2:41-52

Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.

When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” But they did not understand what he said to them. Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.

---

How many of you all still send Christmas cards … in the mail … with a letter, maybe, and pictures of your family, grandkids, vacations, and stuff? Old fashioned Christmas cards seem to be a fading tradition these days, thanks to Facebook and e-mail. You can save a lot of time and money and paper by sending your holiday greetings electronically these days.

We still get plenty of good-old-fashioned cards, though, which I admit I like, especially if they include pictures I haven’t already seen on someone’s Instagram or Facebook feed. Every year, opening card after card, reading letter after letter, looking at picture after picture as they arrive in the mail, I’m amazed by how much changes for people in the days and months between Christmases.

Kids come and go and change. Careers come and go and change. Marriages come and go and change. People take exotic trips, relocate, get sick and get well again. Or sometimes they don’t.

Depending on when you were here for Christmas Eve worship, if you were, it’s been about 36 hours since we gathered around the manger, holding our candles, and singing our hearts out about the baby Jesus – the holy infant, so tender and mild – as it were. And all of a sudden he’s 12. A pre-pubescent know-it-all, worrying his parents by missing his ride home from the big family vacation.

Of course, there’s all kinds of high-minded theological stuff we could muse about: how wise Jesus was or became; how Jesus, the “Boy Wonder,” amazed the crowds with his teachings; or about what it meant that he was found “in his fathers’ house.” But that’s being done in lots of other places this morning, I’m sure.

I always appreciate that this is one of the few inklings we have about Jesus’ life between the Christmas story and his adult ministry; between the baby in the manger and his life of teaching and preaching and performing miracles. The Gospel writers never give us anything about the many years during the childhood of Jesus where he grew and changed before becoming the man we meet, suddenly, at his baptism in the Jordan River.

This morning’s story from Luke is as close as we get to any of that. Like the pictures and cards and holiday updates we receive year after year, this story about Jesus reminds us that for Mary, Joseph and Jesus, life was going on behind the scenes and before and between the highlights that have become the stories of our faith.

Even though we sometimes forget it, Jesus learned and got lost and got into trouble and argued with his parents and had to grow up just like the rest of us. When I look at all of the pictures that come with my Christmas cards so carefully posed before Christmas trees and finely decorated fireplaces, I know there have been haircuts to fight about and clothes that don’t fit anymore and times when not everyone was smiling perfectly, or when the dog wouldn’t look at the camera.

And when I read the letters people write, I know there have been long, hard days at work that are part of every promotion. There have been tough days at school that are part of every academic accolade. I know there have been bills to pay and finances to manage before any extravagant vacation is possible. And, I know there have been disagreements and family fights and embarrassing moments that don’t usually make it into every holiday, year-end review.

Even though the good stuff is what we capture on camera or write down to send in our Christmas letters – or post on our social media where most people are concerned – we know there is an awful lot that goes on between the good stuff.

I thought about this Friday night, after our Christmas Eve worship extravaganza. So much time and energy goes into preparing for and planning those services, and I’m always amazed by all it takes to make it happen.

Friday, after midnight, when it was all said and done, and I was last in the building after Jeannie and Stephen Jordan and the Kuffners had turned out the lights, blown out the candles, and locked the doors, I felt that strange, holy feeling I get often after such an occasion: to have been so busied and filled up by all the people and all of that music; all those candles and lights and then to be so suddenly surrounded by so much stillness and silence is an experience. I don’t hate it, I have to say. It’s kind of a beautiful time to be in the church.

But, the highlight was over – captured in all of those hearts and minds I hope – but turned off and moved out and gone as far as anyone would ever be able to tell.

It took a lot to get there – so much planning and practice and preparation – and it was awesome. But how quickly we get back to the business of living and learning and growing until the next highlight worth remembering comes along.

And again, that’s what we find in this morning’s Gospel story – this moment between Mary, Joseph, and Jesus – this everyday, nothing-special, living, breathing, eating and sleeping busy-ness of life in the world. It’s as plain and powerful as a quiet church after Christmas Eve, because that’s where I feel like we find ourselves now: just back to life again – just back to normal – just back to business as usual.

And it happens in the same ways for you and me, doesn’t it? I talked to the Mike Long and the girls at the 11 o’clock service Christmas Eve about how Stephanie got called into work in the ER that night, after she had worshiped with us earlier. Merry Christmas! I know Elaine Thorsteinson’s Christmas Eve plans got de-railed altogether by a stay in the hospital of her own. I got my COVID-19 test results via text just after Christmas Eve worship, too. The results were negative, thank goodness, but a rude reminder, nonetheless, about the persistence of the pandemic that still plagues us. Bah humbug.

One thing these days after Christmas remind me of more and more every year is that the highlights are great and that we need them for inspiration and for the celebration they offer. But, in these days after Christmas – as things get back to normal, as the carols grow quiet, as the family and friends leave town, as we wait again for the next big thing – these are the days when we need Jesus as much as ever.

It’s in these days between the highlights when life happens. It’s in these days following the festivals when we risk losing one another – like you might lose a child at the mall if you’re not paying attention. And, it’s in the days between the highlights when we can get lost ourselves.

But it’s also in these days between the highlights when we find Jesus where we don’t always remember he’ll be, too – not just in the temple when it’s packed with people and poinsettias – but in our homes and in our hearts, in our classrooms and offices, too. We find Jesus between the highlights, not just in the picture perfect holiday poses, but in the day-to-day living that it takes to get there, too. And we find Jesus between the highlights, not just in the grand healings or the mighty miracles, but in the struggles and the stresses and the small victories of life and death, just the same.

What I hope and pray for on top of all of our well-deserved holiday hoopla, is that what we offer here – and what we know for ourselves – is the presence of Christ that lives not just on Christmas Eve or during the holidays or even just on Sunday mornings in worship – but that the story we share and the Savior we proclaim is the one who finds people every day, between the highlights that are sure to come, when we rest assured in the hope and grace that are ours, always, as children of God.

Amen

The Ones We're Waiting For

Luke 3:7-18

John said to the crowds who came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say about yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.’ For I tell you that from these stones God could raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the tree. And every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

The crowds asked him, “Then what shall we do?” In reply, John said to them, “If anyone among you has two coats, you should give one away to someone who has none. If any among you has food, you should do likewise.” Even some tax collectors came to be baptized and they said to him, “What should we do?” John said to them, “Do not collect more than has been prescribed for you.” Some soldiers also came and asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats for false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

While the crowds were filled with expectation and wondering in their hearts if John was the Messiah, he answered them all saying, “I baptized you with water. There is one who is more powerful than I coming after me. I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal. He will baptize with the holy spirit and with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

With these and many other exhortations, John proclaimed the good news to all the people.

---

I heard from a few of you, after last week’s sermon, that I seemed angry while I was preaching. I was a little surprised and self-conscious about that … concerned about how it might come off to people who don’t know me well. So I was glad to see that we got some more from John the Baptist this week – and that he was calling people names, yelling about the wrath to come, railing about threshing floors and unquenchable fire. I feel like that makes whatever I was up to seem justified, and tame, by comparison.

And, on top of that, after calling the crowd coming to be baptized a “brood of vipers,” after threats of being cut down and burned up like trees, after talk of being baptized by the holy spirit and with fire, and after announcing that Jesus, wielding his winnowing fork, was about to “clear his threshing floor” and “separate the wheat from the chaff,” we’re supposed to believe people heard all of it as good news?!

It doesn’t sound like good news to me. John, the Baptist, seems angry. And, on the Third Sunday of Advent it certainly doesn’t feel like Christmas.

But the truth is, John didn’t have Christmas on the brain and wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit in those days by the river, when he was baptizing people and waiting for Jesus to meet him out there in the wilderness. It’s important to remember, what we just heard takes place years after Jesus was born in Bethlehem. These were days just before the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, when he was already grown, about to show the world that the kingdom of God had come near and that he was the Way and the Truth and the Life of it all.

And John the Baptist was tired of waiting. Again, not waiting for Christmas to come, like so many of us may feel right about now. And not just waiting for Jesus, really, either.

No, John seems to be tired of waiting on the people – all those people, coming to be baptized – all those men and women and children, presumably. All those tax collectors, soldiers and strangers, too, who made their way into the wilderness hungry for a different kind of teaching, longing for a deeper spirituality, searching for a new way of being in the world that John’s baptism and this Messiah they were hoping for promised them. And John seems tired of waiting for them to get it, to grasp it, and to be changed by this promise he was offering … and that Jesus came to deliver.

Have you ever waited for someone to change something in their own life, for their own good? Like an alcoholic who can’t get sober… Like a drug addict who can’t kick the habit… Like a loved-one with an eating disorder, maybe… Like a friend who won’t leave a bad or even abusive relationship… Or, like a kid who just won’t do what they could or should do to get their grades up or try something new or make better choices…

I imagine that’s how John felt, down by the river. Not as furious as he was frustrated; Not so much mad as he was discouraged; Not as angry as he was exasperated; Not so much pissed-off as he was pleading with God’s people to do something new, and better, and different for a change.

Because that’s what “repentance” means, remember: to turn, to change, to be changed. John wanted people to stop making excuses. To stop denying responsibilities. To grab hold of what a journey of faith could mean – not just for those who engaged it – but for the world they were meant to engage because of it. Which is why I think John still has something to say to you and me.

Because, what gets my attention about this passage every time is when John tells the people, “from these stones God could raise up children to Abraham.” What John knows is that some of the Jews in his day were resting on their laurels as descendants of all those Old Testament Jews we know about. They seemed to have been under the impression that, since they had Abraham in their family tree, that this faith-walking, repentance and life-changing stuff, didn’t really apply to them. That maybe they had an “in” with God because of who they were as a people.

So, when John says, “from these stones, God could raise up children to Abraham,” he’s basically saying, “get over yourselves and get busy.” “If God just wanted descendants of Abraham; if God just wanted religious people by name or ethnicity or heritage, God could bring them back from the dead or just mix up a batch of new ones from the stones at your feet.”

“From these stones God could raise up children to Abraham.”

But, just like those crowds of tax collectors and soldiers and curious souls of every stripe, being baptized by John way back when, we are descendants of Abraham, you and I. And we have work to do, you and I, not because we HAVE TO, but because WE GET TO. And like the saying goes, I think John is saying to us – just as he was saying to the crowds way back when – “we are the ones we are waiting for.”

We forget it sometimes – when we rest on our laurels or when our despair gets the best of us or when the world convinces us we can’t, or shouldn’t, or that it’s not our place – but we are the ones we are waiting for to make a change in and for the sake of this world, precisely because we are descendants of Abraham and children of God; blessed in so many ways to be a blessing in so many ways.

We are the ones we are waiting for, to do something about gun violence in this country.

We are the ones we are waiting for to do something about this pandemic, whenever and wherever and however we are able.

We are the ones we are waiting for to do something about everything I mentioned last week – racism, sexism, homophobia, and poverty, too.

We are the ones we are waiting for, you and I, to give thanks for the grace that belongs to us because we belong to God – and we’re the ones called to share that same grace with the world however we’re able.

And I think sometimes it takes a child to remind us of that – a child, in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes and headed for Calvary. A child who looks like the crowds gathered at the riverside with John… a child who looks like us, still waiting for so much to change… a child who looks like the “we” we’ve been waiting for.

So, let’s be changed, you and I, by the kind of repentance John calls us to and the kind of repentance God desires; the kind of repentance that matters; the kind of repentance that would make God smile.

Let’s ask different questions and seek better answers and let’s keep longing for a better way. And let’s let this child who comes, in Jesus, turn us around in real, meaningful, evident ways that haven’t happened yet – but that can and will happen, when we let the grace of God, at Christmas, have its way with us every moment of every day that we’re blessed to live and move and breathe in and for the sake of this world.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.