Giving and Receiving

Luke2:22-40

This Sunday we are in the Christmas season, which means that, for the world we live in, Christmas is over.  All around we see the debris of Christmas, while here in the church we’re saying, “At last – we have arrived and we are just getting started!” 

Because there is much more to Christmas than the shopping and the gift exchanging.  It’s after the rush is over that we have the chance to really see that.  This first Sunday of Christmas is a day to get some perspective on it.  This is a good day to get some perspective on giving and receiving. 

I read an article once that said, from an economist’s point of view, Christmas gift giving is irrational.  It said, “ill-chosen gifts caused between $4 billion and $13 billion a year in economic waste.”  I didn’t want to know that.  But I know it’s true, for I have personally been in the position of desperately searching for something – anything – to give to that one person I have absolutely no idea what to give.  Most of us have experienced that.  It’s the reason there are all those end aisle displays of ridiculous stuff, like football helmet chip & dip bowls … grumpy octopus stuffed animals … or the 2020 scented candle – it smells like garbage. No one needs this stuff.

Surely some of the waste comes from the practice of purchasing some gift items to hold in reserve in case you receive an unexpected gift and feel the need to equalize.  So you pull some generic item out of your closet – like a cellophane package of potpourri – and pretend you chose it especially for this person.

But the root of the problem is this sense we have that we must be givers.  It is uncomfortable to be on the receiving end with nothing to give in exchange.  We feel we’re not holding up our end of the bargain. 

I don’t know if Mary and Joseph felt that way, but I wonder.  After the baby was born, they made their way up to the temple in Jerusalem to carry out their religious obligations – to make an offering.  The law required that Mary be ritually purified after the birth, and at that time she make an offering to God. For the people of Israel, it was one of many occasions in life that required an offering to be made.  There were atonement offerings, purification offerings, and thank offerings to name a few. 

This one was most likely a purification offering, also called a sin offering. The Law of Moses says that the offering shall be a year-old lamb – but if the mother cannot afford a lamb she may bring two turtledoves or pigeons.  This is what Mary brought. 

I would imagine that her purification offering was, in a sense, also a thank offering – for who wouldn’t be thankful to safely deliver a healthy baby?  And I also imagine that Mary wished she had more to give.  Wouldn’t she have loved to bring a perfect lamb to offer that day?  She had been given a perfect child – how good it would have made her feel to make such a fine offering in return. 

But she didn’t have a lamb, so she gave what she had to give.

I admire Mary for her dignity and grace.  I know it is the nature of human beings to want to have the upper hand, to be the one who gives more than she gets.  We never want to feel that we owe something to someone.

So we stock extra stuff in our closets – just in case.  And we go to the store and buy what we need and then a little extra – just in case.  And we roam up and down the aisles of the department stores, or scroll through websites, determined to find whatever it takes to even things out, to make sure we won’t be indebted to anyone. 

We have this peculiar way of looking at the world, where everything is a transaction: giving and receiving.  There is power in giving and there is weakness in receiving.  There is power in giving – especially if it is not reciprocated.  And there is weakness in receiving – especially if we are unable to reciprocate.

Of course, we would much rather see ourselves as givers than as receivers.  But the spiritual challenge for people of faith is to let go of that desire for the upper hand, that need for the power, and do just the opposite: to see ourselves as the ones who have received so much more than we could possibly ever repay.

You see, life is not really a transaction.  Life is a gift.

At the temple that day, Mary and Joseph and the baby encountered a man named Simeon.  Simeon had reached an age where he was looking forward to his death.  He was ready – but he knew that there was one more thing that would happen for him before he died, one more gift he would receive.  He would see the salvation of Israel with his own eyes.  And when he saw this little family he knew: He had seen the light of the world in this baby boy.

And Mary and Joseph were amazed by what he said.  I think they knew already that there was something very special about this child, but I wonder what they could understand about it all.  What did Simeon’s words mean to them?  What did the words of the prophet Anna mean to them?

There are times when the gospel tells us that Mary “treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”  There were so many things, so many times, when Mary could do nothing but ponder the gift she had been given.

I think that Mary probably didn’t let it bother her that she had only a meager pair of turtledoves to offer at the temple, because she was growing accustomed to being a receiver of inscrutable gifts.  She had born in her body the Son of God, and this had brought her sorrow and discord – but also deep joy, the knowledge that she had been blessed beyond all reason. And that is quite a gift – in a year that had, in some ways, been kind of lousy.

I wonder if we can look at the year 2020 and see any particular gifts we have received in it. It has been a year that was different than usual in so many ways, gifting included. How has your perspective been changed by this year?

I listened to a podcast last week that focused on good stories of 2020. They invited people to call in and leave a message about something good that happened to them this year. I heard everything from, “I got really good at poaching eggs,” to “I discovered my grandmother can play ping pong.” And then there was Nancy’s story.

Nancy has a daughter, Kat, but she and Kat rarely ever spoke to each other. Because once Nancy said something terrible, possibly unforgiveable, to Kat and it broke their relationship. But this year, early one evening, out of the blue, Nancy received a Facetime call from Kat. For no reason. She just wanted to talk. Kat was cooking dinner, and they chatted while she cooked. When she got off the phone, Nancy told her husband, “This is the best day of my life.” In 2020.

The next day at the same time, Kat called again. And the next day and the next day. They have done this every day at 5:00 pm. They cook together and they talk. Nothing deep. Sometimes they are silent for minutes at a time. Nancy said, “The silences are the sweetest…I feel so grateful.” This mother and daughter can finally just be together.

In 2020 Nancy received the most unexpected and priceless gift of her life. It wasn’t a transaction. It was a gift.

So now, as we are in this season of Christmas, at the end of this terrible year, and we take the time to reflect on it, there are a few things you should know.  Know that you are, first and foremost, someone who receives.  Know that there is nothing you can give that equals what you have been given.  But even more, know that that is perfectly all right. 

This is the way God gives to us – gifts we might not even know we need, gifts we cannot anticipate, can never reciprocate, but there’s no need to reciprocate a gift.  Receive it and be grateful. Because a life lived in gratitude is the best response you can give.

Love Came Down

John 1:1-14

Annie Dillard wrote a lovely little essay about a childhood remembrance, called God in the Doorway. One Christmas Eve, in her fancy dress, having returned home from a festive dinner with her family she sat near the fire for the warmth, and she became aware of a sudden commotion; the front door opened and there stood Santa Claus in the doorway, big as life, ringing a loud bell and shouting “Merry Christmas!” And Annie was terrified. She ran upstairs and refused to come down, no matter how much her mother coaxed and cajoled her; she wanted this so much for Annie. But Annie wanted none of it. For Annie, seeing Santa there in the doorway was like meeting God, and at this stage in her young life, she was in no hurry to meet God.

It is easy for children to confuse God and Santa Claus. I remember my oldest child, on her fifth Christmas, opening her gifts with excitement and looking up to heaven, saying, “Thanks, Santa! I mean, thank you, God! I mean…” Her grandmother laughed and said, “They often seem like one and the same, don’t they?” The one who comes down at Christmas, enters our homes and our hearts, bringing us gifts.

Love comes down at Christmas. This is the text of a beautiful hymn by Christina Rossetti:

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love divine;
Love was born at Christmas;
Star and angels gave the sign.

Love came down at Christmas in a very special way, when God sent God’s own Son, the true light, Word made flesh. God took on the form of humankind, flesh and bone and blood, became one of us, to be with us; we who are made in God’s own image now brothers and sisters to God’s own Son.

Love came down at Christmas – but people were afraid, just as Annie was afraid of Santa standing in the doorway of her house. When love came down that first Christmas, angels appeared out of nowhere, the glory of the Lord shone all around and the heavenly host sang praises to God. All of this signaling that something well out of the ordinary was up. And the shepherds watching their flocks that night were terrified. Terrified.

And having never been exposed to such a thing, the skies opening up to reveal the heavenly host in all their glory, who am I to judge them for being afraid?

On this night, a night of darkness into which we bring the light of our candles, we remember the night that love came into the world as God stood in the doorway.

Out of love for this world and all who live in it, God came to us as one of us. In the words of Annie Dillard, God stood in the doorway between two worlds.

God brought all that is good of God’s holy realm, stood in the doorway, and offered it all to us: joy, peace, hope, and love. All this was offered to us, freely, a gift. Would we take it?

Would we accept, embrace, this gift from God?

Into this world where, even now, wars continue, sickness and death continue. On this night, as on every night, there are places where love and hope, peace and joy are scarce. There are places where these gifts of God have been rejected, or simply can’t be found amidst the misery that lives there.

Even on this night we might ask: is there light and love enough for all of us?

Of course, we can turn our eyes away from the scarcity and the misery, those things we don’t care to see, those things that might make us uncomfortable. But the light that came into the world on Christmas will make it harder for us to do that.

Because the light that we know came into the world that night showed us God’s unwavering love for the least, the last, and the lost. The light that came into the world that night taught us that God’s power is made perfect in weakness, and that the first will be last and the last will be made first. The light that came into the world that night showed that those who lead in God’s way lead by serving others.

When the light came in, when the door between the worlds blew open and God stood on the threshold, it showed us the topsy-turvy way God works. And the angels said, “Do not be afraid.”

Do not be afraid.

This love that is the power of God will save us after all. When we let this love in, it will fill us and move us and change us. It is, truly, a miracle. I have seen this miracle many times.

Because there is something about Christmas which inspires people to generosity. At this time of the year when we celebrate the gifts God came bearing into the world for us, we are more likely to remember those who need the most, and this is, I think, one of the greatest gifts God brings. When we open our hearts to receive the gifts God brings for us we will be filled with love. We will be filled to the brim and overflowing with God’s love. And the power of that love cannot be overstated.

In the final stanza of Christina Rossetti’s hymn, we sing:

Love shall be our token,
love be yours and love be mine;
love to God and others,
love for plea and gift and sign.

May your hearts and minds be opened tonight to the gifts of our God – hope and joy and peace and love. May love be your token, love be your sign; may love be your gift to the world.

Journey to the Light, Part 4: The Impossible

Luke 1:26-38     

There is a legend that says Mary was not the first young woman to whom the angel came. That, in fact, the angel Gabriel had made numerous attempts to identify a young woman who would carry the Christ child. Madeleine L’Engle imagines how these conversations might have gone. Responses to the angel might have sounded something like this:

“Are you sure you mean – but I’m unworthy – I couldn’t, anyhow – I’d be afraid. No, no, it’s inconceivable, you can’t be asking me – I know it’s a great honor but wouldn’t it upset them all, both our families? They’re very proper, you see. Do I have to answer now? I don’t want to say no – it’s what every girl hopes for, even if she won’t admit it. But I can’t commit myself to anything this important without turning it over in my mind for a while and I should ask my parents and I should ask my – let me have a few days to think it over.”

Sorrowfully, although he was not surprised to have it happen again, the angel returned to heaven.”

The legend has it that Mary was not the first one visited by the angel. But Mary was the first to say, “Yes.”

It’s worth taking a moment to consider how things might have gone. What if Mary had refused the angel? What if Joseph had refused Mary? What if God had to go out in search of someone else?

Who knows how many Mary’s there were who had to have a few days to think it over?

That’s something we will never know. What we do know is the story that is given to us in the gospels, a story we piece together from Matthew and Luke, and a little bit of John. A story that draws on the Old Testament as well, particularly the prophets of Israel. A story that has never grown old, one that has inspired generation after generation to believe in love and grace. A story that has inspired hope.

What we know from this passage of Luke are these three things:

Nothing is impossible with God. This is what the angel Gabriel said to Mary. It might have been a warning, it might have been a reassurance, or it might have been only an observation. Between Mary and Elizabeth, it certainly seemed to be true that nothing was impossible for God.

And, while we often interpret this kind of statement in the context of stories like virgin births, Noah’s flood, and other things that defy the laws of nature, it isn’t necessarily the best way to interpret it. Tales of virgin birth may or may not be factual, but there is no question in my mind that God made the impossible possible when Joseph and Mary both said yes. And that was only the beginning of impossible possibilities that we find throughout the story of Jesus of Nazareth.

God chose Mary, as well as Joseph. I imagine God looked at them and saw some good raw material there. God saw potential in these two young people, the ability to bear what would undoubtedly be a very difficult journey. There would be nothing conventional about this marriage. This family would not conform to normal, respectable expectations, and I have no doubt that they were judged for it. Unmarried and pregnant. We have names for the woman who finds herself in that situation, and we have names for the child as well. And we have names, I would add, for a man who takes this woman to be his bride.

I don’t imagine that Mary and Joseph had an easy time of it. The world can be cruel. People would have been all too glad to heap shame on them. I don’t know how they would have made it without the grace of God. And that is the second thing we know.

The grace of God was with them. The angel greeted Mary, calling her “favored one.” “You have found favor with God,” the angel said. “You will bear a son … he will be great, and will be called Son of the Most High … he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” God is with you, Mary.

No matter how unfavorably the world saw this young woman, she had found favor with God. No matter how difficult the world made her life from here on out, she had found favor with God. No matter how much shame or heartache she had to bear, Mary had found favor with God.

There is nothing the world can dish out that cannot be carried with God’s grace, and the grace of God was with Mary.

And by the grace of God, Mary said yes. And that is the third thing we know.

Mary said yes. More accurately, she said, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

And in this way, the young Mary showed her own uncommon grace – but Mary is not alone in this. There are more girls and boys in this world than we know who have faced their own trials and suffering with uncommon grace. There have always been and there always will be children who live in unbearable circumstances who somehow find the resources to get up every day and take a step in the right direction. There are people who face what seem like insurmountable odds, get knocked down, and manage, again and again, to right themselves.

In these pandemic days, we know, there are children who do their best to keep up with their schoolwork while they care for younger siblings. There are children who sit in front of their computer screens attending virtual school bundled up in blankets trying to keep warm in a cold house. There are parents who take precious time out of their long days to learn some computer skills so they can be there for their kids.

And then there are the angels. There are teachers and neighbors, nurses and coaches and counselors and principals, who, by the grace of God, see these young people, and don’t turn away. They see the beautiful potential in these children; they see the glimmer of light in them and help kindle that flame.

Somehow, in a world of brokenness, in a world where shame and hate and greed rule so much of the day, God’s grace shines through. Light finds light. Someone says yes.

Because nothing will be impossible with God. Amen.

Photo: Medical Benevolence Foundation - Bringing hope and healing to the poor around the globe. 

Journey to the Light, Part 3: As We Wait

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Today on this third Sunday of Advent, we await the coming of the light. 

It is a dark season.  We are a week away from the darkest day of the year – the day when the sun is farthest from this northern hemisphere, making our day short and our night long. It is a dark season, yet we await the coming of the light.

It is a dark season for us in many ways. Day after day, the weight of this novel coronavirus darkens our land with sickness, want, loneliness, and death.

It is a dark season around the world where the numbers of the sick and the dead continue to rise, where leaders try, or do not try, to alleviate the suffering around them. In a world where powerful people behave as though they own the power, rather than that they are stewards of it. Where they might serve the lowly and the meek, some would rather use them for their own gain.

It is a dark season in which we are, strangely, quietly, waiting for the light. 

Advent is a season of waiting. Yet as we read the news, look around us, and struggle through our own personal darkness we might wonder if waiting is quite enough. 

Waiting for something, anything, means turning our attention toward it. It means focusing, staying awake, staying alert. As we wait for the light our attention must be heightened – heightened by hope.

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light.” He himself was not the light, but he came to testify, to witness to the light that was to come. They came to John asking who he was, demanding that he identify himself and all he would tell them was that he was a witness, he was a voice, he was the forerunner of the one who was to come, making a way in the wilderness of this land for the light to blaze through.

And this one, John told them, is among you but you do not know him. The light of the world is in your midst, but you do not know him. I suspect this is as true today as it was at that time long ago when the camel-hair-wearing, locust-eating John confronted the messengers of the Pharisees: Among you stands one whom you do not know he told them. 

The light of God is in our midst yet we fail to see.

This is a dark season. And here we are, on this third Sunday of Advent, waiting for the light.

Because the darkness feels so oppressive. We find ourselves pulled down into it, buried in it sometimes. We are dealing with “the devastations of many generations,” to use Isaiah’s words. Perhaps it is because we have lived in this darkness for so long. 

Have our eyes become unable to see light?

We await the coming of the light, the light that is with us even while we do not know it.

I believe that the people who ran out to the wilderness to see John were starved for light. They were desperate to have some light in their lives. They may not have fully understood John’s message They might have thought that he was, himself, the light they were seeking. They might not even have known what they were doing, but they helped to make a way for the light to come. In responding to John’s message, they became instrumental in making a way for the light to come.

With their help, John stirred things up. He attracted a lot of attention, like a neon sign on a deserted highway. He drew the people out to the river, then literally drew them out of the river of their baptism; a sign of repentance and renewal – a readiness for new life. He drew the attention of the religious authorities, letting them know that things were stirring, new light was coming. John made a way in the wilderness.

The people were living in a dark season, not unlike ours; a season very much in need of light.

You know, the problem sometimes for a people who have been living in darkness is being able to recognize the light. It is a problem sometimes for us. When people have been seduced by commercial versions of light and love, they might not recognize true light and love when they see it. When people have had their best instincts beaten out of them by powerful forces that push their own version of truth – a version which might hold very little love – the people might not recognize true light and love when they see it.

These are dark days – yet we have an advantage, my friends. We come to this virtual place every week to light the light. We come together each week to listen to the Word and be filled with the Spirit of light and life and love. We come here every week to be equipped to testify to the light.

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.” John’s witness lit the way for others to come, to carry the light, to carry the message of love and life. And as descendants of those witnesses, we too bear witness to the light that is to come.

Let us not lose our ability to see the true light. Let us walk close to this light so we will have the power to discern lies from truth, evil from goodness. Let us carry the light of truth into the world, without fear, without bitterness. As we wait for the light in this season of darkness let us remember that, of this light that is to come, we hold the embers in our hands.  

Journey to the Light, Part 2: Voices from the Edge

Isaiah 40:1-11 
Mark 1:1-8

I remember one day back in kindergarten when the teacher gave us a coloring sheet and told us, “Color it all in, nice and neat.” I was a little rule follower, so I made it my job to color in and cover over every speck of white within the lines of the picture. I wanted teacher to know she could count on me. I colored just as hard as I could – but I ran into a problem. The pressure of the crayon in my hand was making flakes of colored wax flick right off the paper. Naturally, I panicked. I colored harder, but that only made it worse. Finally, exhausted and out of time, I had to surrender. I just wanted to do it right but, in my mind, I had failed.

I’m older now and no longer so obsessive as I was. But a few years ago, I got some Advent coloring books and began a coloring group at church. The coloring pictures were mandalas, and the books had a mandala for each of the days of advent. The idea is to color in the mandalas prayerfully; there is a suggested process for doing it. You start in the center and work your way out to the perimeter of the circle – the edge. In the center, you focus your attention on God, because God is the center of everything. 

Someone in our group told me she started coloring her mandalas at the edges and worked her way in. She began with all the thoughts and concerns that were at the periphery of life, and slowly moved toward the center. This is the way that seemed right to her. Even if it was uncomfortable for me – someone who has always followed the directions – it was the way that seemed right to her.

And the scriptures for this week seem to agree. The scriptures for this day, the second Sunday of Advent, are sending us out into the wilderness, the rough places at the edge of the world. Even though we just want to get to the baby in the manger, the place we feel we ought to be, Mark and Isaiah are sending us out into the wilderness.

The voice of the prophet Isaiah calls out: “In the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord.” So out in the wilderness we must go to make these preparations, into the wild and untamed, the forgotten and neglected places. 

And the evangelist Mark echoes these words, saying, there is a voice crying out in the wilderness – this is John the Baptist. And he is crying out for us to prepare the way of the Lord. 

The people of Judea who hear John’s voice come out to see him, far away from the power centers of religion and society. Out here in the wilderness, where John wears camel’s hair and eats locusts, the people are brought face to face with all the things they might rather not see.

Yet something draws them out here to this stark and honest place; perhaps it is the promise of a fresh start, the hope of forgiveness. Something they need. So they step away from the conventional things – the laws of the Pharisees, the temple sacrifices, to take a walk on the wild side. 

This, according to Mark, is the beginning of the good news.

We don’t get angels bearing tidings of great joy. From Mark, we get a journey into the wilderness. And this might not be the place you want to go right now, but we are here: on the edge.

And it’s actually a good place for us to spend some time, spiritually. All year we have been finding ourselves in places we don’t want to be, haven’t we? It is as though last March we were plucked up out of our lives and set down in a strange and unfamiliar place on the edges of our lives.

This year has caused us to examine our priorities and our values. We have discovered that some things we thought were high priorities are actually not. We have learned to do without things we took for granted. But on the other hand, some things we have lost, or are at risk of losing, we now know are critically important. For example, what happens to children when they cannot go to school? So many of them fall behind. 

More than anything, perhaps, this year has shined a powerful light on the great inequality in our nation. The wealthy have enjoyed surprising gains, even in the middle of a pandemic. And at the same time, the poor have suffered even more. They are less able to socially distance, have less access to health care, are more likely to have jobs that put them at risk or to lose the jobs they had. Their 401Ks are not growing, because they do not have them.

Now, it’s not a new thing that there are so many poor in our land who are suffering. It’s only that we might be noticing it more. In this strange year, our attention has been drawn a little bit more out to the edges, where the have-nots reside. And perhaps we see the injustices more clearly when we look in from the margins.

It is a good thing when the ones with power begin to hear the cries of the ones who are powerless. When those who are at the center of things can move out to the margins and see what life is like there. Like John did. Like Jesus did.

So I am trying something different this year, as I color my mandalas, a bold and reckless thing. I will try starting from the edges. Because, just as much as God is at the center of everything, God resides at the margins – with the least, the lost, the left behind. And I need to be there too – watching, praying, listening.