Sermon from Sunday, December 18, 2016

Reading:  Matthew 1:18-25
 

The Gospel of Matthew tells a story about Joseph, husband of Mary the mother of Jesus.  Joseph and Mary are engaged, meaning they are actually legally married and bound to one another by a marriage contract (the “kettubah”) signed by Joseph and Mary’s father.  Joseph is slowly paying off a dowry to Mary’s father, and when the dowry is fully paid and Mary is finally of age, Joseph and Mary will finally consummate their relationship, the families will publicly celebrate the occasion, and the happy couple will begin to live together ever after.  But as often happens in life, things fall apart, and Joseph faces a big decision.  

(Warning: if you read the previous entry, "Towards Sunday, Dec 18" you may notice that this sermon is not the one that I planned to follow that entry.  That sermon was actually written ... but then this one got written when I woke up Sunday morning.)

There is a difference between the ideal and the holy, and even sometimes between what’s good and what’s of God.

Have you ever heard yourself saying things like

·         “in an ideal world, such and such would not be …” or

·         “in a perfect world, such and such would happen…” 

What we mean, of course, that what is, what we have to deal with, what others are, what we are, what the world is, is not really what we’d like, not what we think should be, just a compromise, and something we put up with and settle for with some unhappiness.

And life and reality being what they are, that unhappiness becomes a habit, a practice, a way of life that gets expressed in phrases and judgements like

·         “if only he or she were … different in some way (you fill in the blank)”

·         “if only the world weren’t so … (what do you usually end that sentence stem with?)”

·         “if only I weren’t so …(what?)” or

·         “I’m just too … something, to be good or good enough or worthwhile (and I’m sure we all have many ways of filling that one in)”

These judgements form a deep sadness or unhappiness within us – a criticalness about ourselves and others and a lack of love for what is, that settles like a shadow on our heart and around our view of life, that keeps us from really embracing, accepting and loving what is.

Because we think that a fundamental difference and distance we have to deal with in life is between the ideal and the real, between what should be and what actually is.

But we’re wrong – like Joseph was wrong before he learned and was made to see that the real difference in life is between the ideal and the holy, between what we think should be and what is really of God.

Joseph was a good man.  That much is made clear in the story.  In a way he represents all  that was good about his people, and all that was worthy of admiration and respect in his tradition.

The story says Mary was engaged to be married to Joseph, but they were not yet living together.  This means they were, in one very big and real sense, already married and already legally bound to one another for the rest of their lives.  They were in the first of three stages – the c0ntract stage, of full and legal marriage.

There was this thing called a kettubah.  It was a marriage contract.  It was negotiated between, and signed by Mary’s father and Joseph.  It set out the terms of the marriage – things like the kind and amount of dowry Joseph would pay to Mary’s father before he could take her from his house and have her live in his, like the list of what Mary would bring with her from her father’s house to add to Joseph’s household and estate, and like what penalty either party would pay the other if they broke the contract.

And the contract was registered with the elders of the town.  It was legal and binding.  It was the first stage of the covenant of marriage.

The second stage, still to come, would be the consummation – the actual beginning of sexual marital relations.  This would come in due course.  There are records of it being as long as seven years from contract to consummation, because consummation was not allowed until the groom had finished paying the bride’s father the whole of the agreed-upon dowry – and this could take some time depending on the groom’s situation in life.  And consummation was also not allowed until the bride was of age, and the lengthy of time this was depended of course on her age at the time the contract was signed; it could be a while, too.

But when the time came for the consummation – what Joseph and Mary were still waiting for, the groom with his family and friends would come in procession to the bride’s father’s house.  They would be happily received.  The bride and groom would retire to a bridal chamber to consummate their relationship, while everyone waited happily outside.  Then after the deed, the bed sheets would be examined, the blood would be reported as proof of the bride’s virginity (one of the terms of the contract).

And then would come the third stage – the journey of everyone to the groom’s house, for a wild and public celebration of the marriage, and the beginning of life together ever after for the happy bride and groom.

So, when Joseph finds out Mary is pregnant before they have got to stage two, while they are still in the contract stage, waiting and paying and living towards consummation and celebration, this is suddenly less than ideal.  It is not as it should be.  It as – as far as Joseph can see, an unholy mess – a shadowed and imperfect situation, a problem in need of a solution – just like so much else in life that we have to put up with, that’s messy and imperfect, not as good as we would like, not ideal.

Joseph, to his credit, tries to do the right thing – a good thing, the best thing he can imagine.  He knows that if he and Mary’s father and Mary go ahead in the marriage, and live out the contract to its end, when he and Mary come together and consummate their relationship in the bridal bed and the bed-sheet is then examined for the proof of blood, there may not be the sign that people would be expecting to see.  For Mary, it seems to him, is no longer a virgin, but is pregnant. 

And she will be disgraced.  She may be run out of town.  She might even be stoned.

So to make the best of a bad situation, because he’s a good man, Joseph decides to be the one to break the contract, to walk out, to divorce Mary quietly, and stop the relationship and the marriage where it is.  

He won’t get his dowry back; that’s gone.  He’ll forfeit whatever Mary was going to bring into his household and his estate with her.  He’ll also have everyone in town thinking he was the unfaithful one, the unreliable and irresponsible one.

And he’s willing to do this because he is good and kind, and because he thinks that the basic difference we have to deal with in life is between what’s ideal and what’s good, between what we think should be and what we have to put up with.

But then the dream comes.  The angel speaks to him.  And his mind and heart and whole life are opened to a different way of seeing things, of being with things, of loving and embracing what is.  Because the message from heaven to earth is what is, is of God; that which seems to you messy and imperfect, is exactly what God wants to be and is working with; and that which seems less than ideal, less than what you think it should be, is what God is using, and causing to be, and happy to be filling with good purpose, and delighted with.

Because through it – through that very thing, which is a common thing of earth, through what is less than ideal, God is bringing to be what most needs to be, what is and what will be good, holy, and truly life-giving, even life-saving in ways we cannot begin to imagine.

And the question is: is this still true?

This is the message and point of the story – that what’s real is holy, that the way the world is is where God’s kingdom is and will always be unfolding, that the way we and others are – as imperfect as that is, is exactly what God loves, embraces, and is always in the process of turning to some good and perfect end.

I wonder … is that a dream you need to have in your life at least some time?  Is that an angel’s good news you need to hear at least some time?

I know it’s one I need more often than I ever know.

Toward Sunday, December 18, 2016

Reading:  Matthew 1:18-25

Joseph finds out Mary is pregnant.  

But not by him.  

And even though they are legally married and bound together by a contract (the "kettubah") signed by himself and Mary's father -- a legal contract of marriage that will lead to their consummating their relationship and starting to live together once Joseph finishes paying the dowry to Mary's father, and Mary is of age.  

Joseph's first thought is to get out of the mess no matter what it costs him personally.  But then a dream of an angel changes his whole way of looking at what he's facing.

Darn dreams.  Darn angels.


It looks like a full moon tonight as I write this.  Who knows what looniness will flow?

I'm frustrated and disappointed.  Who knows what darkness will be revealed?

Tonight we have my sister-in-law's dog overnight.  I would love to tell you how annoying I find him.  How unlike he is from any dog I would ever choose.  How thoroughly his presence here tests my commitment and openness to the first line of the Serenity Prayer.

And then I think of Joseph, whose story as husband to Jesus' mother is the good news for us to reflect on this week.  Joseph in almost every nativity set I've seen, standing a little removed -- but solid and loving, at a manger he would never have chosen himself.  Joseph a little in the shadow towards the back of the stable, but also really and completely there for and with people whose strange journeys he can't begin to understand.  Joseph thinking at first that the best he can do is to pay whatever price is needed just to be rid of the betrayal of his hopes, then letting angel-grace turn his living nightmare into a dream of new and true life.

And all I have to come to terms with is a dog!

So what does this say about my ability really to be open -- not just serenely accepting, but radically welcoming of others whom I find annoying or even distasteful, and who maybe are part of God's way of bringing new and true life into the world as I know it?  Others whom I would not choose to include in my community, or my church, or my heart, but whom God invites to be there?  Others who test my commitment and openness to the motley and messy kingdom of new and true life that God is patiently and persistently calling into being around me?

Don't you hate it when the good news hits you between the eyes, and invites you to look a little more deeply at yourself, a little more lovingly at your neighbour, and a whole lot more welcomingly at those who appear in your world and life-story as strangers and aliens -- very other and greatly different from you?

I do.

Darn dog.

And now...can I be honest to this reflection of the full moon, come Sunday morning?

Only one way to find out.

Sermon from Sunday, Dec 4, 2016

Reading:  Isaiah 11:1-10
(The people are at risk, scattered in exile in foreign countries, subject to -- and being victimized by, alien laws and powers.  Through the prophet, God promises a new leader who will be rooted in the ancient wisdom, and will embody the best essence of their history and tradition, who will gather them again in a kingdom that is safe for all -- safe for all life together -- for the poor, the meek, children, babies, bears, wolves, lions, lambs, asps and adders all dwelling together in peace.)


Recently, at a meeting in the Board Room at Delta United Church, I noticed a wonderful old nativity set sitting atop a cabinet in a corner of the room.  From where I was sitting and looking up at it, I could see a moss-covered stable made of thick bark and the top halves of a variety of hand-painted figures arranged inside it – shepherds, magi, animals and holy family, I imagined.  And I noticed something else a little odd, positioned at a strange angle at the very front of the set, something that didn’t seem to belong there, and kind of tipped in towards where I imagined the manger with the baby must have been placed.

Once the meeting was over I went to the cabinet, stood on a chair to be able to see the whole of the creche, and sure enough ... I was right, it was a lion with its mouth wide open – teeth bared, standing just inches from the manger and its precious baby.

I was tickled by the sense of humour someone had to add a lion to the traditional nativity set.  I wondered if it was an import from a Lion King set. 

It reminded me of a Mr. Bean Christmas episode where he starts adding a few creative touches to a nativity scene he comes across in a toy store – bringing through a Buckingham Palace Guard band to welcome the newborn king; dropping a bunch of extra sheep all over the stable followed by a border collie, and a stock truck that backs up into the scene to load the sheep into, and take them away; then Bambi and a weaponized robot of some kind wander by, before an oversized tyrannosaurus rex comes in from the wings, threatening to eat everyone there; prompting a tank to roll in to attack the dinosaur while a helicopter brings in and lowers an angel to pick up the baby and airlift the precious child away from the stable to the safety of a bedroom of a nearby Barbie dream house, where Mary and Joseph eventually find their way to continue their vigil at his bedside.

Or there’s the nativity play in the movie “Love Actually” in which the daughter of the character played by Emma Thompson is thrilled to have the role of first lobster, because of course there was more than one lobster at the nativity and being first lobster is an honour.    Or there are the long-gone senior Sunday school nativity pageants that Bob Pearl’s classes wrote themselves, that included all kinds of other wild and wonderful creatures, including astronauts, all gathered at their version of the manger.

And why not?  Didn’t the angels tell the shepherds that the birth of a Saviour in the town nearby was good news of great joy for all people?  Don’t the legends tell us that the night Jesus was born, peace came to animals all around the world and for one night they were able to speak and be heard?  Doesn’t our theology today tell us that Christ is not only Lord of all history and all humanity, but the primal, holy, healing Word of all creation, all Earth, all the cosmos?

The peace and well-being of all God has made are brought to focus in that one little manger.

But a lion?  With its mouth that wide open?

What parent would allow such a thing?  What is Delta United saying about their duty of care to little children in their church?   And the dear little Jesus – what kind of therapy will he need later in life to deal with the trauma of this lion’s invasion of his birth-night?

Except … the lion really does seem to fit in.  The scale of the lion is perfectly matched to that of the other characters.  It’s as though no matter where he started out, or came from, that lion was always meant to be just there, gathered in with other creatures to celebrate the appearing of God’s eternal Word of peace for all that is.

Isaiah says that in the kingdom of the One who truly embraces and embodies God's righteousness and justice, the lion and lamb will lie down together, and not even the poorest, most at-risk and vulnerable child will suffer hurt.

And isn’t that good news for us all?  Especially at those time when maybe we feel like we are the lion, or the lobster or dinosaur or spaceman who just doesn’t seem to fit in – doesn’t seem to belong, must belong to some other set, maybe even seems too dangerous, too hurtful, too risky, too other to have a place in this one.

You know, it’s easy and nice, to think of times and ways when we are the ones already in the scene – good shepherds, wise magi, quiet sheep all settled in and belonging, and we’re called by the good will of God in the goodness of our hearts to be open and welcoming to others – even others who seem so unlikely.

But aren’t there also times and ways when we are the other, the odd one out, the one who doesn’t belong, even the one who is dangerous and risky or burdensome to the well-being of the rest?  Haven’t we all felt that at times?  Haven’t we all been told that at times?  Haven’t we all believed that at times about ourselves?

And yet, there it is – the nativity set maybe forgotten and unnoticed by most on top of a cupboard in a corner of a Board Room, the one we need to be reminded of, in order to know that we, too, really are invited and welcomed in.  When it’s the new-born, lived-out Word of God that we gather around, there really is a place for all.

There’s a poem by Maya Angelou that’s going to be part of our 10 o’clock Christmas Eve service, called “Amazing Peace.”  In part of it, she says:

We question ourselves.
…

We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
…
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
…
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
…

Peace.
…

At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
…

We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.

And why not?  Isn’t this what we all need to hear for ourselves, and sing to one another?

At the times when we are the traditional figures in the scene, comfortably settled into our places, belonging – and we are called to be opened, inviting and welcoming to the other.

And at the times when it’s we who do not belong, who feel there’s no place for us, that we are too other or dangerous or risky or burdensome to be included – and we are called to come and take a place, a place made just for us, along with the rest.

The trickster god, like the trickster at Delta, says all have a place around the lived-out Word of God.  Around the incarnation of God in our time, all are welcome and God has a place for all – for each and every one.

                

Peace.