How Can This Be?

Sermon from December 18, 2011
(Advent 4 – Year B)
Luke 1: 26-38
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

How can this be?
How can this be - that an NFL quarterback with average statistics can end up winning football games?
How can this be - that a quarterback can generate conversations on ESPN about the Christian faith?
How can this be - that Tim Tebow squeaks out last minute wins for the Denver Broncos?

These are the questions that are being asked whenever I hear Heisman Trophy winner Tim Tebow being discussed.
The conversation makes me want to tune in to see if Tebow will accomplish another Sunday afternoon miracle and to see if he will bow his knee to his Savior in the endzone.
When I hear the buzz about Tim Tebow, the question soon follows:
How can this be?

And when I hear the buzz about the Virgin Mary, the same question soon follows:
How can this be?

In Luke’s Gospel, the very first words out of Mary’s mouth are the question:
“How can this be, since I am a virgin?”
And the angel Gabriel responds to her:
“The Holy Spirit will come upon you,
And the power of the Most High will overshadow you;
Therefore the child to be born will be holy;
He will be called Son of God.”

This is the story of the Annunciation.
This is the story where the angel Gabriel is sent by God to a town called Nazareth to a virgin whose name was Mary.
We are not told if Mary is any different than any other Jewish teenaged girl.
All we are told is that an angel was sent by God with an incredible announcement.
The announcement is that she would become pregnant, pregnant without any intimate relations with a man.
And the very first words out of Mary’s mouth are:
“How can this be?”

This incredible story of the Annunciation is the opening story in our Christmas narrative.
This incredible story can be a stumbling block to some who recite the Nicene Creed on Sundays, to those who have difficulty believing the virgin birth of Jesus.
For others, the incredible story has become so commonplace that we don’t pay attention to the scandal of the gospel, the scandal that makes us ask:
How can this be?

In Auckland, New Zealand, an Anglican church has generated quite a scandal with their new billboard.
St. Matthew-in-the-City Anglican Church has put up a billboard that has the style and look of a very classical painting of the Virgin Mary, as if it was painted a hundred years ago.
In the painting, Mary is gently swathed in blue and green and red robes.
In the painting, Mary’s left hand is over her mouth, as if she is in shock.
And in Mary’s right hand is a stick, the stick of a home pregnancy test, indicating a positive result.

I am glad that an Anglican church, just like St. Alban’s, is focusing our attention on the incredible response of Mary to the good news of God.
Yet there has been some negative reaction to the billboard in New Zealand.
Some critics are saying that Mary shouldn’t look shocked because she assented to the will of God.
Some are saying that the depiction of Mary with a home pregnancy test stick is distasteful.

Yet the billboard of Mary with a look of shock on her face and the pregnancy test in her hand highlights that Mary’s very first response to God’s miracle was to ask:
“How can this be?”

Yet God’s miracles are not just for Christians.
Our Jewish sisters and brothers will be celebrating one of the many miracles of God beginning this Tuesday, celebrating the incredible story of Hanukkah.

About 165 years before the birth of Jesus, the Jews had recaptured their beloved Temple from Greek and Syrian forces.
In the process of cleaning up the Temple so they could worship the one true God again, the Jews re-lit the lights in the Temple.
However, the Jews only had enough oil to keep the candles lit for one day.
Yet night after night, for 8 nights, the candles stayed lit, until new oil arrived.
Night after night, the Jews witnessed a miracle of God.
Night after night, for 8 nights, the Jews responded:
How can this be?

The more I travel through this life, the more I see that there are two very different ways that we can approach life.
First, we can see our life as rational, ordered, predictable events, events that we can manage and control.
Yet the other way we can see our life is to be open to the irrational, the mysterious, the incredible, events that we can never manage or control.
We can approach life from a human point of view - only taking into consideration the possible.
Or we can approach life from God’s point of view - taking into consideration the impossible.
For we worship a God of mystery, a God of the incredible, a God of the impossible.

Last Wednesday, I received an email that Bishop Claude Payne had just had hip replacement surgery at Scott & White in Temple.
Now Claude Payne was the seventh Bishop of Texas, who retired in 2003.
At St. Alban’s, we were blessed to have Bishop Payne with us for confirmation last May.

Bishop Payne became the Bishop of Texas in 1995.
At that time, I was a busy CPA in Houston, with no reason to ever know a bishop.

Then, in 2000, my first face-to-face encounter with Bishop Payne was when Susan and I appeared in his office, seeking his approval to send me to seminary.
While waiting in the bishop’s office, I can remember feeling like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, with my knees shaking and my palms sweating.
Yet over the years, Claude Payne has become my friend.

And last Wednesday, I drove down to Temple to visit Bishop Payne in the hospital.
He was doing well after his surgery and I had a nice conversation with him and with Barbara.
Then I asked if I could pray for him.
I held his hand and he grabbed onto mine.
And I was humbled to say prayers of healing for the retired Bishop of Texas.

As I walked out of the bishop’s hospital room and reflected on my life, I asked myself the question:
How can this be?

How can this be that God has twisted and turned my life in such a way that I could have never asked for or imagined?
For when we view life as an impossible mystery, then the first words out of our mouth are:
How can this be?

No matter what religion people follow, life is incredible and mysterious.
Yet what is particular about Christianity is that we believe that God is with us in the flesh.
We believe that God is born in us.
We believe that the question “how can this be?” is fleshed out in the Son of God, born of a woman, a woman with one hand over her mouth in shock and with the other hand holding a home pregnancy test.
We believe in an impossible mystery.

How can this be - that Tim Tebow wins football games?
How can this be - that Hanukkah lights burn without any oil?
How can this be - that a virgin has a positive pregnancy test?
I don’t know.

Yet I do know that God is with us.
I do know that Jesus has been born in me.
I do know that the power of the Most High has overshadowed me.

And in response to God’s incredible mystery, the first words out of my mouth are:
How can this be?

AMEN.

John the Pointer

Sermon from December 11, 2011
(Advent 3 – Year B)
John 1: 6-8, 19-28
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

Learning how to be a preacher can be a scary thing.
In learning how to be a preacher at the Virginia Theological Seminary, the introductory course in preaching is a scary class called Homiletics 101.
At one end of the classroom is a pulpit, the pulpit in which students preach their very first sermon.
At the other end of the classroom is a video camera, where seminary student’s first sermons are taped, to be critiqued and graded by the professor.
And fellow students sit in rows of chairs, facing the pulpit, becoming the very first highly critical congregation for baby preachers.

Of course, there are many techniques to learn in preaching.
But one of the tips that I was given by my homiletics professors is not to point with one finger.
For when a preacher gets out his or her index finger and points, the congregation can feel as if they are being scolded or judged.
Instead of pointing with one finger, my preaching professors suggested that if we wanted to make such a gesture, to use the whole hand, which is less judgmental and less accusatory.

Most people do not like to have a bony finger pointing into their chest, accusing them.
Most people do not like to have their preacher pointing in their direction, convicting them.
Yet preachers - and all Christians - are sent by God to point, to point to Jesus Christ.

In the Gospel of John, we hear about a man named John, a man sent by God to point to Jesus.
This John and the writer of the Gospel of John are two different people.
Yet the writer of the Gospel of John says this about the other John:

“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.
He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.”

In the Gospel of John, this man sent from God, whose name was John, is not referred to in this Gospel as John the Baptist.
Yet this man named John is same man as John the Baptist.
This man named John is not only John the Baptist.
This man is also “John the Pointer.”

For there was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
This John came as a pointer, to point to the light.
He himself was not the light, but he came to point to the light.
For the true light who has come into the world is Jesus Christ.
And John the Pointer, also known as John the Baptist, wants us to make sure that we are truly pointing our index finger to Jesus.

In this season of Advent, in this season of preparation for the feast of Christmas, it seems that everyone is pointing at someone or something.
Some people are pointing to the struggling economy, asking us to buy more things to boost up a shaky economy that depends heavily on the success of retailers in December.
Others are pointing to “put Christ back in Christmas” – yet they don’t give us a compelling vision of who this Christ really is.
Others are pointing to the Republican primaries and the 2012 election, looking for the next presidential Messiah.
Others are pointing to the Tea Party movement or the Occupy movement - telling us how these populist movements are either compatible or incompatible with Christianity.

My facebook newsfeed, especially in December, seems to be filled with people who are all pointing with their index finger at someone or something that will save us from a whole host of ills and complaints.
During December, we are quick to point our finger at the economy, at politics, at families - and even point our finger at what is wrong with the way we celebrate Christmas itself - looking for something to save us from our current world.

But there was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
This John came as a pointer, to point to the light.
He himself was not the light, but he came to point to the light.
For the true light who has come into the world is Jesus.
And we are to point to Jesus Christ.

Preaching professors might advise against pointing the index finger at a congregation - because pointing can make people in the pews feel uncomfortable.
Yet in all four of the Gospels, John the Baptist, John the Pointer, makes people uncomfortable.
And it is my belief that when we are truly pointing to Jesus, then we will make people uncomfortable.

Last Thursday night, Susan and I decided to stop by Wal-Mart on Hewitt Drive to pick up a few strands of Christmas lights that we needed to complete the lighting of our Christmas tree.
Of course, we also made a few impulse purchases, picking up a 12-pack of Diet Coke and finding a new kind of coffee cake that we wanted to try and choosing a new plush toy for our dog, because our precious dog truly does deserve an early Christmas present.

In the checkout line at Wal-Mart, we were assisted by a cashier who felt it was necessary to point out and comment on each of the items in our shopping cart.
The cashier was slow and seemed to have a slight mental disability.
His pointed comments about each of our purchases made me uncomfortable.
He made a point to complain about having to work the late shift all this week, which also made me uncomfortable.
I was secretly hoping that he would just hurry up - so that we could get the heck out of there.

Yet as we were pushing our shopping cart out of Wal-Mart, Susan said to me:
“I am glad we had that nice conversation with that cashier.
So many people are looking for a job these days and I am glad that he has a job and was so personal and friendly, taking the time to make conversation with us.”

I felt like crawling under a rock – because I realized that my wife had just pointed to Jesus, while I was so busy pointing to my own selfish concerns.
Like John the Baptist, like John the Pointer, when we are truly pointing to Jesus, we are uncomfortable.
We are uncomfortable because Jesus comes to us, each and every day, in the people who are the last and the least.

In my experience, we are pointing to Jesus when we are truly concerned about the poor, by making a difference - not just by giving lip service to the poor.
We are pointing to Jesus when we point out injustice, when we point out inequality, when we point out that the true light that comes into the world shines a beam on love and justice and a fair living wage and adequate health care and other subjects that make us uncomfortable.

You see, I don’t care if people say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” at Dillard’s.
Yet I do care if we are using our index finger to point to Jesus, by pointing to the people that Jesus cares about the most.
For Jesus cares the most about the poor and the lonely and the unemployed and the uninsured.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
This John was not the light, but he came to point to the light.
For the true light has come into the world.
And we are to point to Jesus Christ.

For I don’t care what my preaching professors said.

{pointing to a person in the congregation}
It’s okay - to point.

AMEN.

Comfort Food

Sermon from December 4, 2011
(Advent 2 – Year B)
Isaiah 40: 1-11
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

Comfort, O comfort my people.
And speak tenderly to Jerusalem.

Comfort.
Comfort is the message that the Prophet Isaiah cries out to the Hebrew people.
Many years before, the Hebrew people had watched their beloved temple be destroyed in their homeland in Jerusalem.
The Hebrew people were then exiled into Babylon, into a country far away across the desert.

Years later, in 539 BC, Cyrus the Great of Persia defeated the Babylonians.
And Cyrus issued an “emancipation proclamation” for the Hebrew people who had been exiled in Babylon.
The Hebrew people were now free, free to be transported back home to Jerusalem.

Then onto the stage comes the Prophet Isaiah, proclaiming:
“Comfort, O comfort my people.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem
And cry out to her that her long exile is now over!”

The very first words of Isaiah to his exiled people are words of comfort.
The very first action to homesick people is to speak tenderly, with morsels of words that transport us home.
The very first action to homesick people is to offer comfort food.

When I was a very young child, my mother began to make apple cakes.
At first, my mom made an occasional apple cake in a large Bundt pan.
However, as she began to receive more requests for an apple cake, she divided the recipe and baked up smaller apple cakes that would fit into foil loaf pans.

Every December when I was in elementary school, my mom would begin to bake up batch after batch of these apple cakes.
The holiday kitchen in our home in December was like a fragrant factory, slicing up tart apples and stirring up batter and baking up goodness with cinnamon and spice.
Each of my teachers received an apple cake for Christmas, loving wrapped in tin foil and tied with a plaid ribbon.
Each of our neighbors received an apple cake that my brother and I would hand deliver.
Yet at least one apple cake was always reserved and not gifted to someone else.
We ate this reserved apple cake on Christmas Eve, late at night after the late Christmas Eve worship service.

As I got older, the list of recipients for my mother’s apple cake changed.
When I was a student at UT, several cakes were mailed to my dorm, to be eaten in huge bites by me and my friends as we took study breaks from preparing for finals.

Eventually, my mom grew weary of all the December baking.
Yet still, even to this day, she does bake at least one apple cake each year.
And I reserve one of these cakes for Christmas Eve, for when I come home from church at around one o’clock in the morning.
In the post-worship glow of that wonderful, late Christmas Eve service, I tear open the foil that is wrapped around that cake.
I get a knife out of the drawer and I cut a big hunk off to savor.
Sitting next to the Christmas tree, I eat this comfort food, the comfort of this morsel of spices and apples.
And this comfort food takes my mind back to the kitchen of my childhood.
This comfort food transports me back to my homeland.

For comfort food speaks tenderly to our souls, taking us back to a time and a place where we are warm and safe and loved.
Comfort food transports us to a place of love.

The very first words of Isaiah to his exiled people are words of comfort.
The very first action to homesick people is to speak tenderly, with morsels of words that transport us home.
The very first action to homesick people is to offer comfort food.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus speaks tenderly to us, saying:
“I am the Bread of Life.”
Jesus speaks tenderly, with words of comfort, that he is the bread of life, the bread gives life to the world.
Jesus speaks tenderly, reminding us that he is the comfort food that transports us home.

My wife, Susan, was raised in the Cumberland Presbyterian Church.
Whenever our family would travel back to Kentucky to visit my in-laws, we always went to church at Margaret Hank Memorial Cumberland Presbyterian Church.
Our sons, even as little boys, would go to church with us.

On one Sunday when we were visiting, our oldest son, Scott, must have been about 4 or 5 years old.
And at church that Sunday, we packed toys and games to keep our little son busy during the worship service.
We all participated in the Presbyterian call to worship.
We sang the hymns.
We listened to the sermon.
At the very end of the worship service, the minister pronounced a word of dismissal and folks began to file out of their pews.
Realizing that worship was over, Scott looked up and shouted out at the top of his lungs:
“That’s it?!
We didn’t even get to eat!”

In the worship of the Episcopal Church, we do get to eat the bread of heaven every Sunday, comfort food that reminds us of home.
We are given a morsel of the bread of life and a sip of the cup of salvation - as we hear Jesus calling us home from the exile of our sins and shortcomings.
We hear these words of comfort:
“Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you.
And feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.”

And through the comfort food of the bread and wine of the Eucharist, we are transported home.
We might not be transported to our childhood home with a kitchen filled with the aroma of Christmas baking.
Yet in the communion of bread and wine, we are transported home to Jerusalem.
In the Eucharistic feast, we are transported to a place of joy and comfort and love.

For as one of our beautiful hymns sings:
“And oh, what transport of delight,
From thy pure chalice floweth!”

My brothers and sisters, we will receive our comfort food today around God’s table.
Yet the food we receive is to strengthen us to leave this place and to give comfort food to others.
Like Isaiah, we are to offer morsels of words to speak tenderly to others, transporting all of us to a place of love.

In this hectic season, comfort others, inviting them to return home.
Bake up a batch of comfort food - by speaking tenderly and by saying things such as:

“I am listening to you.”
or
“I think you were in line ahead of me.”
or
“It has been a while since I said this, but I love you.”

Comfort, O comfort God’s people.
Speak tenderly to God’s homesick people, with words that transport us to love.
Eat the comfort food of the bread of life, the transport of delight to our joyful home.

Comfort, O comfort my people.
O tidings of comfort – and joy.

AMEN.

Just When He Had Resolved

Sermon from December 19, 2010
(Advent 4 – Year A)
Matthew 1: 18-25
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

Joseph could not fall asleep that night.
He had spent the last few hours of the night staring at the ceiling, fighting back tears, then getting up out of bed to think.
Joseph was not used to these feeling of uncertainty.
Joseph was used to everything being black and white, according to the letter of the Law.

You see, Joseph was a righteous man.
Joseph was a good Jew, a man who had been raised to be a good boy, following all the religious rules.

In those days, details about the birds and the bees were not discussed readily.
Yet Joseph knew enough to know what happens between a man and a woman when, months after the engagement ritual, the wife is taken into the home of the husband.
And Joseph, being good man of the law, had never even gotten up the nerve to put the moves on Mary, because the Jewish law clearly stated that marital relations were not to occur before she had been properly brought into his home.
Yet now his beautiful Mary was pregnant, obviously by another man.
Every time he thought of each of the young men in Nazareth, and speculated about which one of them had gotten Mary pregnant, tears began to roll down his cheeks.
Yet Joseph was a religious man, a man of the Law, who knew that the Jewish penalty for adultery was death by stoning.

So Joseph concocted a plan.
Joseph made plans to dismiss her quietly, plans to send her away for a quickie Caribbean divorce.
And just when he had resolved to do this, Joseph fell fast asleep.

The next morning, before Joseph rolled out of bed, he woke up with this strange sense of calm and peace.
Was this sense of peace coming from the dream that he had the night before?
He couldn’t tell.
However, he did remember a voice.
A voice had spoken to him in his dream, instructing him by saying:

“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary [into your house] as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.
She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

For just when he had resolved to judge Mary based upon the Law,
Then Grace appeared, telling Joseph to lay aside the rules of religion and to not be afraid to be the father of the Son of God.

Sixty years after the birth of Jesus, the Apostle Paul wrote a very short letter to his friend, Titus.
The book of Titus now appears in the New Testament, yet we very rarely read from this small letter.
Yet in writing about the Christmas event, Paul writes this to Titus:
“For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all.”[1]

For just when we had resolved to base everything on the Law, on the rules of religion,
Then Grace appears, bringing love and salvation to all.

Last Friday afternoon, I had resolved to preach a sermon about Joseph.
In the mind of Jeff Fisher, I had concocted an outline of a sermon, a sermon about Joseph and his best-laid plans.
But just when I had resolved to do this, I went to Gold’s Gym for a workout and some prayer time.

At the gym, a man about my same age, whom I have met there before, saw me walk into the area where the free weights are.
This man signaled to me and then walked right over in my direction.
A little out breath, he shook my hand and inquired:
“Hey, man.
You are the guy who comes in here who is a pastor, right?”
Obviously, even in gym shorts and tennis shoes, I was not fully incognito.

This man proceeded to say:
“I need your advice, man.
You see, my wife and I – we are getting a divorce.
Now I will fully admit that both of us were in the wrong.
I fully admit that I have been seeing someone else.
But what really has me bothered right now is this church we had been going to.
The senior pastor has kicked both of us out of the church.
He sends me text messages all the time telling me that I am going to hell.
The guys in the men’s group at my church tell me that I have been impure and can’t come back to their bible study breakfast.
My wife – my ex-wife that is – is being hounded by the senior pastor, as well.
I have confessed that what I have done is wrong.
But pastor, tell me this:
Am I going to hell for what I have done?”

I assured this man that if he has confessed his sins, and is truly sorry for what he and his wife have done, then God forgives.
I assured him that he needed to get away from his current church and to come to a church like St. Alban’s, where grace and love are preached.

At that moment, this guy’s cell phone rings.
He looks at the screen and says to me:
“It’s my ex-wife calling.
She lives in Dallas now.”

He then answers his phone and speaks to his ex-wife, saying:
“Hey, guess what?
I just ran into this guy at the gym who is a senior pastor of a different church in town.”
He then turns to me and asks.
“You are a Senior Pastor, right?”
Since I am rarely given an opportunity to pull rank on this guy {pointing to Jimmy}, I assured him that I am, in fact, a senior pastor.
The guy then goes back to his phone conversation with his ex-wife, and tells her:
“This guy here at the gym is the senior pastor of an Episcopal church, you know they are kinda like Catholics, except this dude is married.
Anyway, what this guy here says is that we need to just get away from the hateful stuff at our old church.
And that we need to find different churches.
This guy says that you and I need to find places where there is love and grace.
Because this pastor here at the gym tells me
That we have been forgiven.”

For just when we had resolved to base everything on the Law,
Grace appears.
For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all.

I have discovered in my own life, that the older I get, the more attracted to grace I have become.
When I was a much younger man, I took great comfort in basing everything on the law, a set of religious rules and dogmas that made it very black and white on who was in and who was out.
Yet as I have grown older, and I hope a bit more spiritually mature, the more attracted I am to hearing and speaking words of grace and forgiveness and love.

Because just when we have resolved to point out the faults and shortcomings of the family members who will gather around our holiday tables,
Then grace appears, in the form of keeping our mouth shut.

Just when we had resolved to kick people out of our churches because they might be divorced or alcoholic or an unwed mother,
Then grace appears, in the form of a senior pastor at the gym who simply says:
“You are forgiven.”

And just when Joseph had resolved to base everything on the letter of the Jewish law and to send the seemingly adulterous Mary off to an undisclosed location,
Then grace appears, in the form of an infant, a baby whose name is Jesus, a name which literally means “God saves.”

For just when we had resolved to base everything on the rules,
Then the grace and forgiveness and love of God appears.

Just when we had resolved to base everything on the Law,
Then Grace is born.

AMEN.

[1] Titus 2:11

Joseph

I have always had a special place in my heart for Joseph. Joseph was the husband of Mary and the earthly father of Jesus. As we focus on the birth of Jesus, so much of our attention is usually on Mary, the mother of Jesus. Yet the Gospel of Matthew turns our eyes to the faith and obedience of Joseph, the man who must have thought that he had been “two-timed” by Mary, his fiancée.

In the calendar of the Episcopal Church, Joseph’s feast day is March 19. Yet in that “post-Spring Break” time of year, we don’t give Joseph much thought. This week, however, I do want to give thanks for Joseph. Therefore, I offer to all of us the Collect/Prayer appointed for March 19, St. Joseph’s Day:

O God, who from the family of your servant David raised up Joseph to be the guardian of your incarnate Son and the spouse of his virgin mother: Give us grace to imitate his uprightness of life and his obedience to your commands; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Thank you, Joseph, for your obedience; thank you for being the father of our Lord.

Stir Up Sunday

The Collect/Prayer for this coming Sunday begins: “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.” In England, the Sunday that uses this Collect/Prayer is referred to as: “Stir Up Sunday,” from the first words of the prayer. It is on this Sunday that that the English women would begin “stirring up” their Christmas puddings. (I am always amazed by how church and culture influence each other!)

On this “Stir Up Sunday,” we might not be stirring up cookie or cake batter, but we should probably look more closely at what we are praying for. We pray that God will “stir up Holy Spirit power and with great might come among us.” We pray that God will stir up the waters and cause a mess of trouble when he comes.

John the Baptist sure did stir up the waters and cause a mess of trouble. Jesus sure did stir up a mess of trouble. And most everyone I know who really make a difference in this world make that difference because they are not afraid to stir up the status quo.

On this Stir Up Sunday, what kind of trouble are you stirring up for God?

Get Out of the Car and Join the Story

When our sons were little, we used to pick one night in December each year to go look at Christmas lights. We packed up blankets and pillows and maybe a thermos of hot chocolate. We made sure that we had plenty of Christmas CDs to play on the car stereo. Then we would take off on our holiday pilgrimage.

Our pilgrimage always began with the Drive-Through Live Nativity, hosted by Kingsland Baptist Church, near our house in Katy, Texas. Kingsland Baptist went all out for their annual drive-through nativity. There was always a traffic jam to get in, as cars and SUVs waited their turn to drive through dramatic renderings of Bethlehem and then of Jerusalem, where a suburban dad, dressed as Jesus, was crucified and resurrected. We watched the scenes of our Lord’s birth and death and resurrection with our windows rolled up, listening to our Lord’s life on simulcast radio, with the heater on, keeping the chill of the night outside of our car.

I wonder how many of us today treat the Lord Jesus Christ’s birth and death and resurrection as if it is just a drive-through experience? As if Jesus’ life was something to just look at for 10 minutes before driving on to the next thing? As if the Incarnation, the event of God living in a human body, is just for actors to play on a dramatic stage?

My goal this Advent and Christmas is to get out of the warm car and get into the Story, to roll down the window, open the door and become a part of the Story of a very unique God who chooses to open up his windows and doors and enter into my story. And I plan to enter the Story through scripture, worship and prayer.

My goal this Advent is to listen, really listen, to the words of scripture. I plan to hear the words, not just as words of a historical event, but as words that describe a God who really does act and move in my life.

My goal this Advent is to worship, to give worth to God who gives me everything. There are plenty of opportunities for worship this December; I plan to not just watch worship from afar, with my window rolled up, but to really get into the singing and the prayers and the communion that I receive.

My goal this Advent is to pray, but not as a habit or a duty. I plan to pray because it is a natural response to a God who comes so close to us that we can feel his tiny fingers clutching ours in his cradle.

This Christmas, don’t just stay in the car, wrapped in blankets, gazing out the window, just driving through. Through scripture, worship and prayer, join the Story of a God who loves us so much that he chooses to live with us.

My Master Will Come Again

Sermon from November 28, 2010
(Advent 1 – Year A)
Matthew 24: 36-44
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

I must tell you:
I don’t like to leave my little dog behind at home.
You see, I have a miniature dachshund that has a little bit of beagle in him, which makes him the cutest dog in the world.
Our dog is named Grady, and I hate to leave him behind at home.

Sometimes we have to leave Grady behind for short periods of time, like when we leave to go out to dinner or when we leave to run to HEB.
And whenever we leave for short periods of time, Grady runs to his little bed, which is up on a window seat.
His bed looks out of the window onto our driveway.
And when we drive away, we see Grady in his bed, peering out of the window, looking at us with sad and longing eyes, waiting for our return.
And when we come back from a short trip, Grady is still sitting in his bed, peering out of the window onto the driveway, anxiously awaiting our return.

Yet sometimes we have to leave Grady behind for long periods of time, like when we leave to go for a week at summer camp or when we leave to go on vacation in Florida.
When we leave for long periods of time, we have a sitter who comes in to feed and walk Grady every day.
Yet whenever we leave for long periods of time, Grady runs to his little bed up on the window seat.
He looks out of the window onto our driveway, with sad and longing eyes, waiting for our return.
And when we come back from a long, long trip, Grady is still sitting in his bed, peering out of the window onto the driveway, anxiously awaiting our return.

I don’t like to leave my little dog behind at home.
For Grady has no idea when we leave, if we are going to be gone for 5 minutes or 5 hours or 5 days.
Yet it doesn’t matter to our dog how long we will be gone.
Our dog waits.
He waits, peering out at the driveway, perched on the window seat.
He does not know the day or the hour that we will come home.
Our dog simply knows that we will return.

Jesus says to us, his followers:
“About that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son…
For you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.
Therefore you…must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

I find it interesting in today’s Gospel passage that the writer of Matthew uses two different Greek words for the verb: ‘to know.’
One of these verbs is ginosko, which means to know, to understand because we have learned this knowledge through books or through school.
We know that 8 times 8 equals 64 because we learned that fact in school.

Yet the other Greek verb that means ‘to know’ is oida.
Oida means to know, but not because you have learned in it in school.
Rather, we know something, in our gut, because we have experienced it.

For example, I know that after all of the autumn leaves fall off of the trees and into my swimming pool, I know that fresh, new green leaves will return in the spring.
I know that green leaves return because I have experienced it.
I know that when Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade nears its ending, I know that Santa Claus will be on that last float and the holiday season will be in full swing.
I know that Santa Claus will return to Macy’s, not because I was taught it in school, but because I have experienced it.
My dog knows that when our car disappears out the driveway, my dog knows that we will return, because he has experienced it.

And I know, deep in my gut, that Jesus, will return at an unexpected hour.
I know that Jesus is coming, not because of book knowledge.
I know that Jesus will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, because I have experienced it.

We have entered into a new season of the church year.
We have entered into Advent.
The word Advent means ‘to come.’
And during Advent, we remember three ways in which the Lord Jesus comes.
First: The coming of Jesus as a baby in a manger at Bethlehem.
Second: The coming of Jesus again, at an unexpected hour.
Third: The coming of Jesus into our heart, every single day.

Therefore, I believe that if we can recognize that Jesus comes again to us, each and every day in the short-term,
Then we can know, in our gut, that Jesus will come again, in the long-term, at an unexpected hour.

And Jesus tells us that he comes to you and to me each and every day, through the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, the lonely, the unloved and the under-loved.

Last Monday, I had finished my workout.
As I was leaving the gym, I purchased a protein drink at the counter.
The man behind the counter asked me.
“So, are you ready for the holidays?”
I just mumbled some reply to his question.
Then the man behind the counter continued,
“You know, it seems that the Christmas stuff starts earlier and earlier each year.
Yet I don’t think it all has to do with commercialism.
I think that people are hungry.
I think that people are hungry for something spiritual.
I don’t know about you, but I see a spiritual awakening happening in people.
What do you think?”

I could tell that this man behind the counter was hungry.
This man was Jesus, talking about a spiritual awakening that he was waiting for, at an unexpected hour.
And this encounter gave me an opportunity, without telling him that I am a priest, to talk about the season of Advent and about how at St. Alban’s we wait for four weeks for Christmas.
It gave me an opportunity to talk about how we worship fully for four weeks, focusing on the spiritual awakening of this holiday season.
This short conversation I had with this spiritually hungry and curious man at the gym gave me an opportunity to meet Jesus, in the short-term.

Therefore, I know, I have experienced, that if Jesus can come to me through a man who works at Gold’s Gym,
Then, I know, in my gut, that in the long-term, Jesus Christ will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.

However, I must tell you:
I don’t like to leave my little dog behind at home.
Yet when I am gone for a very, very long time, my dog knows that I will return.
My dog knows that I will come again because he has experienced, he knows, deep in his gut, that I return to him, day by day by day.

And so we see Jesus coming to us in the short-term,
In the face of the barber who cuts your hair whose wife just left him,
In the face of the grandmother who works the cash register at Wal-Mart,
In the face of the man who just took your parking place at the mall.
We peer out onto the driveway from our window seat, looking longingly through scripture and through prayer to see his face.
We wait and we wait…
And then, we see the headlights coming up the driveway, arriving home.

For I know, deep in my gut, that at an unexpected hour, my Master will come again.

AMEN.