Holiday Hangover

John 1:10-18

 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. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”)

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.

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We did something two days ago, on Friday, January 1st, that doesn’t usually happen at the Havel house. We started packing up and putting away Christmas. The nativity sets and the stockings, the Christmas candles, the Santa Claus tchotchkes, and the other holiday trinkets are all packed up, put away, stored again, in the garage, for another year. Bah humbug. I know.

We usually wait at least until Epiphany, January 6th, for all of that. But the next couple of weeks are going to be rough and busy at our place with my wife, Christa’s, surgery scheduled for Tuesday morning. So if we didn’t do it sooner, it wasn’t going to happen until much, much later.

And I’m always amazed – and a little bit judgmental I admit – about the speed with which so many in the world clean up Christmas and pack it away, so I felt a little guilty about getting in on that game this time around. It seems to be gone in a fraction of the time it took us to get ready for it – almost like we can’t wait to get it over with, or that we can’t wait to move on from it, or like we weren’t all that invested in it in the first place, or something.

And, when it’s all said and done; when the parties are over; when the Christmas trees are packed away or kicked to the curb; when the classes begin again and when whatever it is that makes the Holiday Season the Holiday Season has ended, it’s very easy for us to slip into a post-season funk – a sort of Holiday Hangover, if you will. Maybe you know that feeling.

And, unless you ascribe to the “hair of the dog theory,” the shape of things out there in the world so far in 2021 isn’t exactly a cure for this hangover. No matter how much we were ready to kick 2020 to the curb, it’s easy to see that not much has changed just because that New Year’s Eve ball dropped and we can say we’ve completed another trip around the sun. No, most of our struggles followed us inot January and the same dangers lurk and the same fears loom, as ever.

There is another new, but far too familiar worry about trouble in the Middle East again.

There is ever more political anxiety and animosity and uncertainty afoot, right here at home.

The Coronavirus pandemic didn’t disappear at midnight on Thursday – and could very well be getting worse.

In 30 minutes of watching the local news you will learn that Indianapolis set records for criminal homicides in 2020, that a 10-year-old girl is missing in Muncie, that another white woman has gone viral for publicly, falsely, shamefully accusing another young black man of stealing her phone. So the hits keep coming. Not much in the world seems to point to the fact that there is anything any more “merry” or “happy” or “new” about 2021, so far.

And, as usual, it’s not just about what’s going on “in the news” or “over there” or even on the other side of town somewhere. There is plenty going on in our own homes and in our own lives and in our own families that has already threatened to suck the “happy” right out of this three-day-old new year.

So, maybe we show up or log on for worship searching for some kind of answer, possibly expecting to hear a promise of hope in the face of it all – and we get this Pastor who seems bent on reminding us of the doom and gloom that surrounds us. And we get this passage from John’s Gospel that is anything but the silent night, holy night, feel-good storybook stuff of last week’s shepherds, stars, wise men, and miracles. Like, even John has packed up Christmas and is pushing us to move on from it all.

Because the first Chapter of John’s Gospel is a version of the Christmas story that’s very different from the one we’ve been hearing over the last couple of weeks. John tells a story about Jesus’ coming into the world and having always been a part of the world. (Okay...) John talks about Jesus showing up, but being rejected by those he came to love and redeem in the first place. (Talk about “bah humbug.”) John talks about the Word becoming flesh and living among us and about God’s only son being close to the father’s heart and making God known because of it. (Again, okay…) It can sound like a puzzle, if you’re hearing it for the first time.

It’s a mind boggling sort of thing, this version of Christmas. It’s the stuff of philosophy and theology I wonder and stew about even though, a lot of the time, it all seems beyond my grasp. And, with the angels and the shepherds and the baby in a manger all packed up and put away, John’s version of Christmas is nowhere near as warm and fuzzy and romantic as it felt a week and a half ago.

And I wonder if that’s John’s point. Maybe John told his version of Christmas without the romance and without the warm fuzzies because he knew that’s where people were living too much of the time. As we’ve already been reminded, our world is anything but warm and fuzzy.

Again, maybe that’s why John has cleaned up and packed away the stuff of Christmas – the angels, the shepherds, the magi, and more. Even as he leaves a light on for us, you might say, just the same – something more for us to chew on above and beyond the characters in the creche.

See, at our house, we didn’t pack away everything from our Christmas celebration, just yet. The tree is still up and decorated. The Advent wreath still sits on the table. And the lights still shine on the outside of the house. 

Because I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna need some more time and some more reminders in the coming days and weeks, in particular, about why and for whom God showed up in Jesus. And John’s version of the story gives me something different to chew on – like a cure for my holiday hangover and encouragement for whatever’s on the way:

Like the good news and reminder that Word and Spirit of God (“logos” is the word John uses, that means the building blocks of creation, the nature of God was born in the flesh, so that we could see what that looked like. The stuff of mercy and love and forgiveness and hope were embodied in Jesus so that we might embody them, too.

The good news that in God’s ultimate act of humility and sacrifice – being burdened by a body, by suffering, by death, even – you and I are made brothers and sisters with Jesus and children, loved by the most high God.

And the good news that the fullness of that same God’s grace has been poured out for your sake – and for mine – even when it’s hard to buy it or believe it or put it into words.

I guess what I’m saying and feeling right about now is that my faith on this side of Christmas isn’t fueled so much by the shepherds and stars and silent nights of a week or so ago. My faith is in the Word that remains above and beyond all of that, in the promise of the deep, abiding, unending love to which all of that points. Maybe not a lot/enough changed with the turning of the New Year, but neither has the persistent, powerful, ever-present love of our God, about which John’s gospel speaks:

…the fullness of grace and truth that has lived and moved and breathed in the world, since the dawn of creation.

…the fullness of grace and truth that lived and moved and breathed in Jesus, too;

…and the fullness of grace and truth that lives and moves and breathes, still – even when the darkness threatens, precisely because the darkness still threatens, so that we will trust in and receive grace upon grace, when we need it most – no matter what the calendar says – and so we can be that kind of grace upon grace for each other, and for a world that needs it, still.

Amen. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

Merry Christmas, For Real

I’m tired of virtually everything virtual, these days.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been so impressed by the generosity and tech-savvy ways our musicians who have created fantastic pieces of music and video for our worship week after week this year – a lot like what you’ve seen already tonight. But, boy, would I like to just sit and listen – and see the faces of others sitting and listening – without worrying that the computer is about to glitch or that the sound might be just a little bit better if we were together in the sanctuary.

And it’s been convenient, in some ways, to log in to our Bible Study classes or small group discussions – via Zoom – from our home offices or kitchen tables or under the covers in bed with a glass of wine (you know who you are). But it’s also hard to be sure everyone is engaged and for some Pastors to figure out how in the heck to get his PowerPoint presentations to work.

I appreciate that we can livestream a funeral service both to keep people safe and to allow those who can’t make the trip to be part of it from wherever they live. But I’d much rather have family and friends together in the same sacred space for those occasions.

And I really enjoyed our outdoor worship services this summer, I have to say, “socially distanced” as we were out there on the lawn or sitting around in the parking lot. But I can’t wait until we are safe again to break real bread and pour actual wine together instead of taking communion from those self-contained, individual coffee-creamer contraptions!

And I know this is about more than just our life in the church. I loved watching the Indigo Girls on Facebook Live every Thursday night for a few weeks in a row this Spring, but there’s nothing like seeing them in person, among a gathering of other fans who sing every song together like hymns on Easter Sunday.

I’m grateful for the way teachers and schools have been able to keep on keeping on, but online, distance learning can’t compare to what happens in the classroom.

And there have been board meetings and team meetings online. And virtual family reunions, birthday parties and Happy Hours. Online therapy appointments and doctor visits are all of a sudden a thing like they never were before. And it can be hard to wrap our heads and our hearts around those virtual nursing home visits, from the other side of a window, let alone the many – too many – final farewells that have been made from death beds, by way of an iPad, or text message, or social media somehow. It’s all too much – too sad and too exhausting.

(I’m using my imagination, since I can’t see you at the moment, and I trust you’re nodding and smiling on the other side of your phone or computer or television screens right now, because you know where I’m coming from.)

And God knows this, too, people. Christmas reminds us that the creator of the universe is as sick and tired of these close approximations of the real thing as the rest of us are. Don’t get me wrong, I believe God understands why we’ve been doing what we’ve been doing – and would ask us to keep on keeping on until it’s safe to do otherwise. But I believe God is as exhausted by all of this “virtual,” “distanced” living as the rest of us.

And I believe it, because God has grown tired of it before.

There was a time when God led the people of Israel around the wilderness with a pile of clouds by day and a pillar of fire by night, remember. It wasn’t nothing, but…

There were generations when God spoke to the people through the prophets – people who preached and proclaimed some amazing things about love and mercy; equity for the poor, freedom for the captive, justice for the oppressed. Those prophets were nothing to sneeze at, but…

And there have been examples throughout time when God would show up in some strange ways to reveal grace, guidance, and inspiration for the world and its people – socially distanced, “virtual” ways you might say – close approximations of the real thing, it seems to me – in the form of Smoke… Fire…Whirlwinds… Angels… Dreams and Visions… Burning Bushes…, according to scripture, anyway.

God was going virtual long before 2020 gave us anything to complain about.

And when God got sick and tired of it – “going virtual,” I mean – God did something about it, in Jesus. Which is what calls us to worship, wherever we may be, on this Thursday evening in December: because God desires to be as real for the world as the problems and struggles of the world can be for God’s people. So God showed up in Jesus.

But, sadly, too many problems and too much struggle still surround us. This world is still hurting and so broken and this year, in particular, has reminded us, relentlessly, that there is nothing “virtual” about the needs that remain.

There is nothing virtual about the racial inequity and injustice that plague our nation.

There’s nothing virtual about the climate change that threatens our planet.

There’s nothing virtual about the virus that has killed more than 1.7 million children of God – and counting.

And there’s nothing virtual about the economic crisis that threatens to leave too many evicted, or hungry, or jobless, or worse in the days to come.

Our struggles and challenges couldn’t be more real these days. But so has God’s presence among us been.

… there has been nothing “virtual” about the work that teachers and professors have offered up on behalf of our kids – it has been innovative, creative, monotonous, at times, I know – but real and present and fruitful and hard-won.

… there has been nothing virtual about what our kids have learned in all of those strange ways, either. They have learned from and practiced how to adapt to obstacles, crisis, and change; they have benefitted from a whole lot of concern and compassion, patience and persistence extended in their direction.

… there was nothing virtual about the baskets of gifts we shared with our friends at Agape, downtown; nothing virtual about the thanksgiving meals we passed out a couple of weeks ago to local families; nothing virtual about the pile of gifts I delivered, on behalf of many of you, to a family on the eastside on Tuesday; nothing virtual about the houses our money keeps building in Fondwa, Haiti.

And there’s nothing virtual about the worship we bring – even when it happens online – because it is Word and sacrament … where God’s grace is proclaimed and God’s forgiveness is promised and God’s love is shared, and received, and multiplied, too.

And those hospital and nursing home visits from behind glass matter. They are smiling eyes and encouraging words. They are proof of life and evidence of love for those who are blessed and better because of them.

Those deathbed farewells aren’t what any would ask for or desire. But I believe, if the God of the universe can bring life from death, then that same power can speak love and comfort and compassion, even through the pixels of a computer screen or in the unfamiliar voice of a nurse, or doctor, or hospital chaplain. And, for what it’s worth, I believe that strange voice – from wherever it comes – sounds surprisingly familiar when we need to hear it most.

And from a personal perspective, let me say, there has been nothing “virtual” about the cancer that has weaseled its way into my wife’s body and into the center of our family’s life this year – and I know that’s true for so many others, too. But there hasn’t been anything more real than the love and generosity and encouragement that has showed up in more ways than we can count, because of it.

And all of that is how and why God took on flesh and bones; blood and a body; hair and hands; feet and fingers. God stepped into skin, mustered a voice, took a breath, and began to experience life from the perspective of God’s most prized possessions and most cherished creations: people, like you and me.

And God did that, in Jesus, so that the love of God would be as real as the rest of us. In Jesus, the love of God was … IS … no longer “virtual” in the way it had seemed before he choked on his first breath, stumbled through his first steps, offered up his first miracle, forgave his first sinner, or loved his first enemy.

And God did all of that so that we would too – embody the divine, I mean; love one another, I mean; forgive sins, turn the other cheek, befriend the friendless, love our enemies, find neighbors in strange, scary, unfamiliar people and places, do justice, love kindness, walk humbly, and all the rest.

So, starting now, with Christmas, let’s stop using the word “virtual” when it comes to anything connected with the God we know in Jesus. Our worship is real. Our ministry to others in his name is real. The grace we promise, the love we share, the forgiveness we receive, the hope we proclaim – every bit of it is as real as the nose on your face; as your face in the mirror; as the sound of my voice – and of your voice, too.

So let’s be the voice and the presence and the power of God’s love – you and I – because Jesus is born to show us just exactly what all of that looks like, for real… in the flesh… so that the world would be changed and blessed and better because of it.

Amen. Merry Christmas.