Nicholas of Myra

Luke 1:39-45 

December 25, 2016 

Mark S. Bollwinkel 

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Carmel,

All the creatures were stirring, running around pell-mell.

The stockings were hung by the monitor with care, in hopes that

The Super Nintendo Classic soon would be there.  The children

Were sleeping, all sound and cozy, with dreams of flying drones,

Barbie dolls and Obi Ben Kenobi.  And Momma in her flannel

Nightgown, and I in my shorts, had just settled down for a night

Of snores and snorts. 

When out near the hot tub, arose such a noise, I sloshed out of the

Waterbed, fearing the naughty neighborhood boys.  Away to the

Window, I flew back the blinds, tore open the curtains…what I saw

Blew my mind. 

The moon reflecting off the smog of our meadow, gave the shine of

High noon to everything be-low. 

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but gigantic Ford Expedition, filled with 8 tiny reindeer.

That little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment, it must be

St. Nick…

            Such a rendition of the famous Christmas Story by Clement Moore might be appropriate for our suburban culture these days.  It does illustrate how easy it is to change traditional stories around.

            History has always been secondary to the importance of bringing the Christmas Story to new generations.  This is especially true of the gospels of the New Testament.   There is no consensus among Matthew, Mark, Luke and John regarding the birth of Jesus, other than it happened.  Matthew doesn’t have any Shepards, manger or angels.  Luke doesn’t report anything about a star in the East or wise men.  Mark and John don’t say anything at all about Christmas.

            Only Luke records the encounter between Mary and her cousin Elizabeth in our gospel lesson this morning.  Yet regardless of the enigma in New Testament diversity, we are amazed at the wonder and promise in Luke’s scene as the baby in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy simply being in proximity to the Mother of Jesus.  Elizabeth’s child would grow up to be none other than John the Baptist, the herald of the Messiah.  Even before birth, God’s plan to save humanity brings praise and surprise and hope.

            Jesus’ birth was an event unequalled in human history.  God becomes fully human to leave the world forever changed.

No wonder it is not easy to get the Christmas Story straight.

            Clement Moore’s original story entitled, “A visit from St. Nicholas”, itself was a major adaptation of various traditions and myths.  His immortal poem has etched in our minds the description of St. Nicholas as the one whom we call Santa Claus.  Yet, St. Nicholas was anything but Santa from the North Pole.

            The real St. Nicholas was born about 300 years after the birth of Jesus.  He was orphaned very early in life, his parents dying of the plague.  As a small child his relatives neglected him.  He received no affection and was left alone most often to play by himself.  During festival days we would watch from a corner while the other children of the household received surprises and toys.  He was the child no one remembered.  The child who never had a present.

            At the age of 7, his uncle John, who had seen searching for him for years, rescued Nicholas.  Nick returned to his uncles’ home in Patara, in the land now called Turkey.  His uncle and aunt, Anya, were older and had no children.  The nurtured Nicholas with unlimited love.

            Nicholas’ uncle John was the pastor of the Christian community in Patara.  He was a scribe and scholar as well.  Nick grew up hearing the scriptures read daily.  Nick especially loved the story of the wise men.  He was deeply touched by their gifts to the baby Jesus.  He was inspired by how the Magi did not identify themselves nor did they wait around the stable for any measure of gratitude after giving their homage to the new born king.

            When Nicholas became of age he traveled to Myra to study in the Christian school there.  As well as learning how to read and write, Nick had many opportunities to learn the art of giving.

            If a small child in the school was upset or lonely, Nick would carve a small toy animal for the child out of wood and place it secretly in the child’s shoe during the night.  At an early age Nicholas was assigned to assist the Bishop of Myra’s work with the poor, distributing food and clothing to the countless families who struggled for survival.             As Nick grew into maturity, he became a priest, dedicating his life to the work of the church in Myra.  Nick became well known for his care and sensitivity for the children of the families he was assigned to serve.  After visiting a family during the day, he would return silently at night, leaving toys and clothing for the children in a conspicuous place.

            At the death of the old Bishop, the elders of the Myra church elected Nicholas as their new leader.  In his humility, he insisted on being called “Father Nicholas” instead of “Bishop”.  He was commonly known as “Good Father Nicholas” or just “Good Nicholas”.

            Being elected Bishop allowed Nick the privilege of fulfilling a childhood dream.  He was given a horse to travel his district, visiting families and churches.  He named his white horse, “North Star”, for the North Star, which guided travelers home.

            In spite his many church duties, the good Bishop of Myra, continued his habit of giving secret gifts to the children of poor families late at night.  He commissioned local weavers, bakers and carvers to supply him sacks full of toys, clothing and cakes, which he would distribute to the poor he had visited during the day.  He dressed in a heavy coat and fur hat, and let his beard grow long, to protect himself from the cold night air.  He would approach the doorsteps or windowsills on which he would leave his unexpected gifts in total, almost magical, silence.

            Everything was done in secret.  Never-the-less, it came to pass that any gift given in the region by an unknown benefactor was attributed to the Bishop of Myra.  Legends grew about the amazing generosity of this good man.

            Such fame and love could not protect him from the persecutions of the Roman Empire.  Nicholas was arrested and imprisoned far away from Myra for his failure to renounce his faith or disclose the location of the church’s hidden copies of scripture.  At the death of the emperor Diocletian, Nicholas was released and freed to return home.

            Following his many years of imprisonment, Nicholas was old and weak.  Unable to give presents to poor children as he had in his youth, he organized and financed a secret workshop of young people, where they could make toys and clothing for distribution to the poor.  Those who worked in this shop became known as “Nicholas’ Helpers”.

            Nicholas of Myra died on the 6^th of December (345/352 CE).  That day is still the Feast of St. Nicholas.  Gift giving to small children on that day has been practiced by Christians in Asia and Europe for centuries.

            Hearing about the history of the real St. Nicholas we can understand how Clement Moore wove such traditions into the poem, which begins, “Twas the night before Christmas…”

            But there are some significant differences between Santa Claus and St. Nick.

            St. Nick did not come just one day a year; he worked with the poor daily.

            St. Nick did not give charity just at the holidays but for him giving was a lifestyle.

            Nicholas didn’t just sit in the market place, he also lived with and served his people, who knew him by name and could come to him for help at any time.

            It’s not easy to get the Christmas story straight.

            The point of Moore’s poem, the story of St. Nicholas, the stories of Jesus’ birth in the New Testament, are inspired by a common truth.

            A baby born in an obscure village in Palestine 2,000 years ago left the world forever changed.  Because of Jesus’ teachings, example, death and resurrection, nothing has ever been the same since.

            Now is the time to call out, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night…”, not in celebration of a sentimental holiday of family nostalgia but in celebration of the advent of salvation into the human condition.

            Into our condition, yours and mine.

            We can read the Christmas story and hear it repeated in the church year after year.  And we can live the Christmas story, like good Nicholas of Myra.

            Giving without thought of recognition.

            Giving to children and those who suffer poverty.

            Giving all of ourselves, as God gave all of God’s Self in the life, death and resurrection of that Jesus, born to us so many years ago, in the manger of a stable.

            Amen.

Christmas Morning

Luke 2:1-20 December 24, 2016

Christmas Eve Candlelight Services

Mark S. Bollwinkel

Remember what it is like as a kid to be so excited about Christmas morning that you couldn’t sleep; you’d wake up at 4:00 a.m., counting the minutes until you could wake up your parents?

Remember how there was always one present under the tree that would take your breath away?

For many of us such memories are dim now.   We might dig up a moment of nostalgia watching an old movie rerun on TV or going over old photos.   Maybe we have the privilege of watching a child or grandchild intoxicated with the season.  Sure, we appreciate the story and the traditions.   But for many of us the disappointments of life have dimmed the possibilities.  

The ideals of the Christmas promise and the realities of our world are in open conflict.   Our hopes and fears seem more apart than ever.   The headlines don’t help.

I must confess, and it may seem odd coming from a preacher, but I struggle to get into the Christmas spirit. 

And then comes the music.  For me it’s the music that inspires the Christmas spirit; “Joy to the World”, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”, “Silent Night”, these songs move me.

I am sure a composer could tell us a lot about the key and tempo in which this music is sung, how singers blend their voices, the technicalities of the harmonies, but that won’t explain the impact music has on us.

I am sure a poet could explain the philosophy of the lyric and its history in the Christian tradition.  But the words on the page won’t begin to explain what happens when we listen to these songs.

The impact of music has a lot to do with the heart that receives it.  There is “something more than” at work in the power of music to evoke the deepest meaning.

Something more than.

One of the profound places where I re-connect with that "under-the-Christmas-tree-joy" is in my life as a potter.  Surprisingly it helps me connect with unexpected joy in the other places of my life as well.

I have been an active potter longer than I have been an ordained clergy.  I took "Pottery 101" in my fall semester of my freshman year at the University of the Pacific 46 years ago.  Along with all the football players, I was looking for 4 easy units.  Much to my surprise I found one of the loves of my life.  During my four years at UOP I ended up as one of the teaching assistants in the department.  

Dick Mackey was also one of the assistants.  Our on-going friendship has evolved into an artistic collaboration at the studio he has built on his family's cattle ranch in Northern California, where I go when my "day-job" allows me.  Along with a fully equipped ceramic studio we have a variety of kilns which we fire.

Cracking the door of a ceramic kiln is a moment of high expectation, anxiety and joy. 

A potter works for days, if not months, to form and glaze the works that will fill a kiln.  Learning how to do such a process can take a life time or the rookie frenzy of a "Pottery 101" class.  Novice or master, for the potter opening a kiln...gas, electric or wood, big or small...is a moment of transcendent surprise. 

Now one would expect such romantic projections from a 46 year pastor-potter.  I tend to find the "spiritual" in just about anything and unapologetically confess that I am looking for it.  With that kind of presupposition any conclusion of mine is biased.  Yet upon opening "The Flying Z" wood burning Tamba kiln at the Canyon Creek Pottery in Northern California I always sense "something more than..." 

A chemical engineer could deconstruct the chemical interaction of the clay and glaze properties as they interacted with heat and time that results in 'such-and-such' effect on a piece...or not.  But none of that information... knowledge..."truth".... really begins to express what one sees as they open the door of a kiln. 

There is "something more than" at work.  There is a transformation in the fire that goes beyond mere logic, although its science has directly contributed to the process from the start.  All of the varying inputs made to that moment, or to one single piece of pottery, can't explain the transcendent creativity of the fire.  Numbers and formulas don't describe beauty. 

The modern mind has reduced truth to what we can measure and weigh.   What we can reproduce in controlled conditions.  As important as the scientific method there is "something more than" at work in life.   That's true of an art process, a relationship, one's sense of self, music and even pottery.   Reducing life to the evolution of the chemical/biological interactions of self-conscious beings may be completely accurate but it doesn't begin to define the moments of our living.  There is "something more than" at work. 

One can dismiss such a conclusion as the self-justification of a theologian.  But the next time you stand in awe of a sunset, the helping hand of a friend or the Bethlehem manger scene take a breath and suspend that logic that seeks to limit such moments to what you and I can understand. 

And. Be. With. The moment.  

Our firing crew uses the affectionate term for the moment of cracking a kiln door as "Christmas Morning"; as like the joy and excitement as a child rushing to open Christmas presents under the tree in the warmth and affection of a family. 

Whether you understand the Christmas story of the Bible as history or metaphor or a combination of both, the Bethlehem manger describes the possibility of finding redemption in the most surprising of places.  It talks about a divine spirit that pursues us no matter what.  It talks about light born in the darkness.  Cultivating an appreciation for that makes life richer indeed. 

Whatever ideal you may hold for the surprise of transformation, for the unexpected discovery of "something more than" at work in your life, may your moments of "under-the-Christmas-tree-joy" be many and full.   For like the Magi and the Shepherds in our Christmas story, there is love and light to be found there. 

Amen.

Love: A Home for God 

Matthew 1:18-25 

December 18, 2016 

Mark S. Bollwinkel

In his book The Sacred and The Profane: The Nature of Religion (English edition, Harcourt, 1959) Professor Mircea Eliade talks about doors; specifically how human beings from the beginning of history have decorated and designed doors as that which separates the sacred from the profane.  

We enter our home with a welcome mat greeting, or at this time of year with a festive wreath of greens.  In a number of households as we enter our house we take off our shoes, not merely to limit the dirt we track in.  Our door customs honor traditions that define the inside world of our homes as distinctive from the outside world.

A home is supposed to be a place of warmth and welcome.  Home is a safe place where we can be ourselves regardless of what the outside world thinks of us or has done to us in the course of the day.  The poet Robert Frost once said, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."

If, God forbid, you have ever been the victim of a residential burglary you know all-too-well that the value of money or items taken by the thief pales in comparison to the value of one's security.  The sense of personal violation with property crime touches something deep in our soul. 

As the English idiom goes, "Home is where the heart is."  Home is supposed to be a place of peace, love and comfort.  We lock our doors, take our shoes off as we enter or at times decorate our doors to erect a barrier between that sacred space of home from the challenges and difficulties of the outside world. 

The people of the Hebrew tradition place a copy of the "mezuzah" in a decorative door ornament and touch it as the leave home and as they enter upon return.  They remember the words of the Shema, or essential confession of faith, inscribed on the parchment "Hear, O Israel, The Lord our God, The Lord is One" (Deut. 6:4-9).  Hebrew Scriptures call to post those sacred words on the doorposts (Deut. 11:13-21). 

The entrances of the great Gothic cathedrals of Europe were decorated with extraordinary stone sculpture depicting the central tenants of the Christian faith.  In Paris at the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, the entrance portals are marked by three amazing arches, the central being a detailed expression of the Last Judgment at the End of Time with the good being welcomed into Heaven and the bad being sent to eternal punishment in Hell.  Anyone, literate or illiterate, immediately got the point about what was at stake as you entered this sacred space...heaven or hell!    This door motif was repeated throughout the Gothic period on scores of Cathedrals.  

The Meenakshi Temple is one of the largest, active Hindu temples in the world.  It is located in Madurai, Tamil Nadu, South India.  Dedicated to the worship of Shiva, there are scores of altars and idols for the millions that pilgrimage there each year.  The complex has 14 major gateways or "Gopurams" through which the worshipper enters.  These towers can reach 170' high and have layer after layer of statues, all painted in bright colors, of the pantheon of deities reaching into the heavens.  As you enter you can't help up look up.  Some of the towers allow the worshipper to climb up inside to see the view, all a part of their worship experience. 

At the Red Fort Mosque in New Delhi, India, as in all Islamic mosques around the world, worshippers remove their shoes and wash their feet and hands before entering the main doors.  This tradition is not only about community hygiene.   Washing one's hands and feet is an act of preparation and purification for worship.  The sacred space of worship and what one does inside is sanctuary for the worshipper from the pressures and illusions of the outside world.  Removing the dust of that outside world helps the worshipper seek the divine in the moment and in themselves.  

Whether it is the family home, our place of worship or sometimes even the place we earn our living, we humans differentiate our sacred spaces from the outside world with sign, symbol and ritual around our doors. 

The art, architecture and rituals of our doors offer a way to make a home for God.    Rev. Jan Richardson in her book Through the Advent Door: A Contemplative Christmas (Richardson, 2011) writes,”  ...each form offered an invitation to the sacred, beckoning it to come close and be perceived, touched, kissed, met."  Welcomed home! 

Isn't that what Christmas is all about?   God finding a home among us.  Incarnate love finding a home in the most unlikely of places. 

"The story of the Annunciation to Mary tells us how, with her own body, Mary makes a home for God.  The medium of her own flesh becomes a habitation for the baby." (Richardson)

When the angel Gabriel visits Mary in our gospel lesson this morning from Luke, she asks:

‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ The angel said 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.

 Of the word "overshadow" Pastor Richardson writes: 

"...inhabit, dwell: this is how the Spirit works, seeking to make a home among us and within us.  A home that is not an exclusive residence or walled shelter."

The manger scene of the birth of the baby Jesus is the story of the doorway God crosses to meet the human condition (Matthew 2).  In a lowly stable, born to unwed parents, about to become political refugees fleeing the violence of a mad king, God finds home with us.  

It may seem ironic that over the years the faithful have erected layers of liturgical walls around the place of Jesus' birth.  But that is what people have always done with the doors which separate the sacred from the profane. 

The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, Palestine was first built by Emperor Constantine and his mother Helena in 327 CE on what was considered the actual location of the cave in which Jesus was born.  After centuries of conflict, fires, building and re-building, today one can go into the Grotto of the basilica, stoop below a very low door and see a 14 point silver star, claimed by a number of traditions to be the actual spot on earth of Jesus’ birth. 

As fascinating as our comparative religions study of doors has been this morning...at least it has been fascinating for me...let's get to the real heart of the matter this fourth Sunday of Advent.  Jan Richardson writes: 

"Here in the House of Advent, in these weeks leading up to Christmas, we keep an eye turned toward the window: watching, hoping, keeping vigil for the One who is to come…This is a season of deep memory, a time to hear again the story of the God who has journeyed with us from the beginning and who, in the fullness of time, took on flesh and entered this world to walk with us."

"How is God seeking to make a home in you this season...  How does making a home for the sacred help you find a place for yourself in the world?"

 Among the many things my mother taught me, one of the most important has been prayer.  As a small child we prayed together each night at bed time.  As a family we prayed a table grace before each meal.  My fondest memory of Christmas Eve was going to the chapel of Simpson United Methodist church in Ft. Wayne, Indiana.  My brother and sisters would pile into the car on Christmas Eve.   Dad would drive us around to see the Christmas light displays.  Then we'd come to the back of the church.  My Mom would have arranged for the pastor to leave the back door unlocked so my family alone could go to the small chapel.  We'd turn on the stain glass window and light a candle.  It was dark and quiet.  My Dad would read the second chapter of Luke, the Christmas story, and we would sit quietly and pray for a few minutes.  I don't know how my younger brother or sisters remember these moments but for me they were precious and sacred.  Closing my eyes I can still remember them today...and the stained glass window of that chapel...and the painting that was the center of the altar.

There are many versions of Warner Sallman’s famous painting of Jesus knocking at a door, based on the scripture verse "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and open the door, I will come in..." (Revelations 3:20).  [First painted by English artist William Holman Hunt in 1853, inspired Warner Sallman’s version during World War II which became the standard in Protestant churches in North America.]   And there have been many sermons reminding viewers of this art that the door handle is inside.  This door can only been opened from the inside.  

Opening the door of my heart and mind to the reality of God as revealed in the life of Jesus has made all of the difference in my life.    Whatever you make of the Christmas story...history or metaphor......and all of the expressions we have layered it with…it all comes down to this; again and again love shows up in the most surprising of places, in the most human of ways. 

If you don't know that yet, it is worth exploring.   If you do know it, then you know quite well why we celebrate Christmas. 

It is time to walk through the Advent door and find our way home. 

"How is God seeking to make a home in you this season...  How does making a home for the sacred help you find a place for yourself in the world?"  (Richardson)

Amen.

Joy: Out of the Darkness 

Luke 1:39-45 

December 12, 2016 

Mark S. Bollwinkel 

            Grandmother, a teacher, was sifting through all of the Christmas presents given to her by students and their parents at the kitchen table when three year old granddaughter asked, “Grandma why do you have so many presents?” to which she replied, “Because I know so many kind and generous people who want to give me presents.”   Granddaughter said, “I know why so many people give you presents, Grandma.  It’s because you are the best person on the whole planet!”

            Grandmother explained to me that this was one of those “I could have died and gone to heaven” moments in life.  There are few things better in life that when you are adored by a grandchild.  It is a moment of pure joy.

            Although in short supply, joy comes in a variety of forms. 

The European Union, formed after the collapse of the Soviet Union and its totalitarian communism, would adopt Beethoven’s 9^th symphony as its anthem. During Christmas 1989 in Berlin, Leonard Bernstein directed an international orchestra and choir performing Beethoven’s 9^th symphony, with its fourth and concluding movement commonly referred to as the “Ode to Joy” after the fall of the Berlin Wall.    Now that’s joy!

Joy can come in every day forms as well.   Getting an “A” on a test when you though you didn’t do so well.  Your team winning a game against a heavily favored opponent.   The moment your spouse said “yes” to your proposal of marriage.  Making your last mortgage payment.  For a potter, joy comes when the door of the kiln is cracked open after a firing and the fire’s transforming magic is discovered on something you made out of clay; we call it “Christmas morning”.

            Remember that joy as a kid when you found yourself surrounded by family in front of the Christmas tree?

            In our gospel lesson this morning for the third Sunday of Advent, we hear the story of Mary’s encounter with cousin Elizabeth just after Mary has learned that she is pregnant by the Holy Spirit to give birth to the savior of the world.

Although very different in circumstance the two women have much in common.  

Both are unexpectedly ‘great with child’.  Mary is a young girl pregnant before her marriage.   Elizabeth is an old woman, long after it was expected she would ever be a mother.  

In the Abrahamic covenant of the Hebrew people (Genesis 12:1-3), a Bedouin people dependent on childbirth for social security; people equated faith with progeny.  Israel was to be a great nation with as many children as the stars.   If you disobeyed sexual laws or failed to have children it was an affront to the community’s religious expectations.  As a result both women are objects of shame in their culture.  Mary is pregnant before the wedding.   Elizabeth is barren. 

            Both women will see their sons die prematurely as political dissidents.   John the Baptist beheaded as a threat to Herod.  Jesus crucified as a threat to the Roman occupation of Palestine.

            And when both women meet in our text this morning they have in common their joy.

The apostle Paul writes, “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice” (Phil. 4:4). What the Bible describes as “joy” is a lot different than what the world means with that word.  We often equate joy to be the result of wealth, comfort and the satiation of our appetites.  Happiness comes when we are admired by others and free to do what we want.  That is not what Paul had in mind (Note: Phil 1:4, 2:18, I Thess 5:16).

Paul is in jail as he writes “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice.”  He will be imprisoned a number of times before he is finally decapitated by Roman authorities.  Paul will be beaten and stoned by mobs, flogged, tortured and starved almost to death.  Three times he will be ship wrecked, all in the “joy” of the Christian life (II Cor 11:24-29).

The apostle is talking about a happiness not dependent on circumstance but a joy discovered within, even in the darkest times life can offer.  We often think of joy as escape from the pain of this world.  Paul finds joy in the midst of its suffering.

Old time ranchers will tell you that their favorite cattle were the Herefords.  In the heavy winter storms of the prairies, with freezing rains, below zero temps, violent winds and ice, most cattle turn their back to the storm and slowly drift downwind, mile upon mile.  Finally, intercepted by a boundary fence, they pile up against the barrier and die by the scores.  But the Herefords act differently.  Cattle of this breed instinctively head into the wind.  They stand shoulder to shoulder facing the storm’s blast.  You most always find the Herefords alive and well after the storm.  A rancher is quoted as saying, “I guess that is the greatest lesson I ever learned on the prairies…just face life’s storms” (Norman Vincent Peale, Treasury of Joy and Enthusiasm, Fawcett Press, 1981).

The peace of God cannot be found by running away.  If all you are doing is hiding from the feelings of a broken heart, that is not the peace which God offers.  God is near even in the storm.  That’s worth rejoicing about again and again.

At 88 years of age, John Wesley passed away on Wednesday, March 2, 1791. His last words were spoken twice, with great fervor, "The best of all is, God is with us." He lifted his arms and said again, "The best of all is, God is with us"   (James Lawson (ed), Deeper Experiences of Famous Christians (General, 2009) John Wesley by Albert C. Outler). Of course, that’s also the name of Jesus, “Emmanuel” which means “God is with us” (Matthew 1:23).

            The joy Mary and Elizabeth share at the moment of their encounter…the joy that causes the baby to leap in Elizabeth’s womb…is the joy knowing that even while their nation is under foreign occupation, while they have had to personally face the scorn of shame, even in the mystery of being swept up in divine history, their joy is to know that God is with us.

            What an amazing story, this Christmas story!

Joseph is an aging carpenter from a back-water village in the middle of no-where.  A pious and generous man he will contemplate divorcing his pregnant betrothed quietly, discretely rather than disgracing her and her family as was Joseph’s right.

            Mary may be 13-14 years old.   She had no claim to social status or rights other than what could be gained in a marriage.  

            Elizabeth, Mary’s cousin, well in her 60’s will give birth to John the Baptist who will herald the Messiah.   Zechariah, the old priest of the Jerusalem Temple and Elizabeth’s husband, will be stuck dumb by the same angel because he found the events incredulous.   He is simply the first of many of the pious who will completely miss the point about God even when divinity is born right in their midst.

            Mary and Joseph find no room at the inn.  The man who will die labeled “The King of the Jews” is born in the poverty of a stable.   This holy family will have to flee for their lives as political refugees to Egypt shortly after his birth.

            The first to investigate the Bethlehem manger are shepherds, considered rift-raft by their contemporaries.  The first to worship the new born king are gentile soothsayers, considered outcasts by the pious, these “wise men” that followed the promise of a star.

            That we continue to repeat this story and be inspired by it 2,000 years later describes the power of its mystery.    It transcends history and rationale.   It touches the heart of the human relationship with God and promised hope.   It is no accident we remember it at Winter Solstice when the earth turns towards the resurrection of Spring in the darkest time of year.

            One of the high points of the year at St. Paul’s UMC, Reno, Nevada is Christmas Eve.   A small but mighty congregation throughout the year, on Christmas Eve everyone comes home and fills the small sanctuary to sing Christmas carols, light candles and participate in the annual Pageant.  It is the tradition of that church that a baby born during the year is chosen to be the baby Jesus in the manger scene and their parents get to be Joseph and Mary.  In a small congregation that doesn’t get too many new babies each year, it’s a big honor! 

            In 1987, while Bonnie and I were serving St. Paul’s, Drew Gerthoffer was the baby Jesus for Christmas Eve.

Drew Gerthoffer was born at the beginning of August, the fourth child of Bill and Betsy.    It was about a week after his birth that the doctors discovered a vascular abnormality in Drew’s brain that withheld blood supply to a crucial part of the body.  He needed emergency surgery immediately if he were going to survive.   No Reno area hospital or surgeon could provide it.   Drew and his parents were flown down to UC San Francisco Medical Center on an emergency medi-vac flight.

Ironically, I was in San Francisco at the same time with my sons Dan and Matt, staying at my brother’s apartment just a few blocks away from UCSF Medical Center.  We were on vacation attending the Giants baseball series against the Houston Astros.  You’ll recall that the Giants won two of those three games, losing only to hall of fame pitcher Nolan Ryan on August 7^th.  The Giants would go on win their division that year.  They went to the playoffs that October losing the last of seven games against the St. Louis Cardinals in part because home plate umpire Eric Greg called Will Clark out on strikes in the top of the ninth inning with a pitch that was clearly out of the strike zone…please excuse me, we were talking about joy…joy!

So, anyway, Bonnie called me early one morning that August in 1987 to tell me about baby Drew Gerthoffer who was scheduled for an emergency brain surgery with medical instruments no bigger than a human hair.  Bill and Betsy had called not knowing I was already in San Francisco and asked Bonnie if it would be possible for me to go over to the hospital and pray for them and Drew before the surgery.  

The boys and I went right away.  We found the frightened parents in the waiting room as the surgeons had just told them that it didn’t look very good for Drew.  I went into the Neo-natal ICU, robed and gloved and prayed with Drew through the rubber hands of an incubator machine.

To make a long story short, Drew is now almost 30 years old, a graduate of the University of Nevada, Reno and a public school teacher like his father.  Thank God we have doctors and nurses dedicating their lives to the miracles of healing!

And when we sang Silent Night on Christmas Eve 1987 at St. Paul’s UMC, with Drew in the manger as the baby Jesus, and Bill and Betsy in old bathrobes as Joseph and Mary, every person in that church knew joy.  Pure, unadulterated joy. 

            This is no Sunday for the typical “what’s all wrong about the Christmas, anti-materialist diatribe” sermon.   Rather we can embrace the beauty and joy available in this season.  We can be inspired and challenged to make this a celebration of love that would last everyday of the year:

“Because love came down at Christmas…’love shall be our token, love be yours and love be mine, love to God and neighbor, love for plea…and gift…and sign’…; love that calls us together with friends and family; love that has inspired some of the greatest music of all time; love that has even had the power to stop wars, if only for a day.  Love that allows itself to be as vulnerable as a newborn baby.  Love that is so strong not even death can stop it.”  (Rev. Dirk Damonte)

            When Elizabeth and Mary embraced in the desperation of their shame and hope, as the babies in their wombs jumped for joy, they knew somewhere in the depth of their hearts that in spite of the madness of their…our…world, love gets the last word.  The light of such promise has and will always overcome the darkness…now that’s joy!

            Amen.  

Peace: Preparing the Way

Matthew 3:1-6

December 4, 2016

Mark S. Bollwinkel

The writer of the gospel of Luke wants us to know the exact time and place of Jesus' baptism.  He loves history:

"The fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas..."

It was then that the word of The Lord came and Jesus of Nazareth was baptized.

This turning point in John the Baptist's life and Jesus' ministry didn't happen just at any time but at a particular time in history.  In ancient days, writers could date their reports by listing the names of those in authority.  We'll hear those names again, won't we?  Pontius Pilate, Annas and Caiaphas high priests of the Jerusalem Temple?  A few years later it will be these men who will orchestrate the crucifixion of Jesus.  

The historians of the day will record those names.  They will describe the crowds that came out to hear John at the river Jordan, seeking the ritual of cleansing initiation into a new life.  The historians of the day will write about the preacher named Jesus who also drew great crowds and was killed for sedition by the Romans.

It was the year 26-27 CE by our reckoning.

Remember that John the Baptist and Jesus were cousins.  They had first met in utero when young Mary came running to her cousin Elizabeth's house asking her help in understanding all that was happening (Luke 1:39-45).  Mary was pregnant having never known a man.  An angel came to her at night explaining that the son of God was growing in her womb.  The baby in aging Elizabeth leapt for joy when Mary entered the room.  John's mother was the first to recognize that the Messiah...the Christ child...was about to be born and that the world would never be the same.

In his own life, John went to the desert to prepare himself for the coming of the Christ.  The gospels describe him as a desert ascetic, spending days in prayer and meditation, wearing animal skins for clothing, eating wild honey and locusts (Matthew 3:4).  As the messenger of the coming Christ, he quotes from the prophet Isaiah: "...prepare the way of The Lord, make his paths straight..." (Isaiah 40:3-5).

In her book Through the Advent Door: Entering a Contemplative Christmas (Richardson, 2011) Rev. Jan Richardson writes:

”It was only by making himself ready…by straightening the paths within himself and smoothing out all that was rough in his interior landscape…that John was able to do the work that God had called him to do. And so we, too, are called in this season: to attend to and prepare our inner terrain so that we may welcome Christ in our lives and in our world.”

 "Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, the rough ways made smooth..."  An “apocalyptic leveling out" (Richardson) may sound enticing for those of us who make our lives more complicated than they need to be.   But there is nothing easy about it.  It is no academic exercise. 

John will go on to preach to the crowds coming out to hear him:

‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Do not begin to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; [you can't count on your heritage, your ethnicity, or your social status to save you…]....the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ Even tax-collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’ Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages’ (Luke 7-14).

Preparing the way of The Lord in our lives isn't about reading the right book or thinking the right thoughts.   It is about sharing what we have with those who have little. It is about earning our living without exploiting others.  It is about getting our lives in balance with each other, God and the world.

The theme for the second Sunday of Advent has long been “peace”.   We read the prophecies of Isaiah foretelling the coming a new Messiah who will usher in a peace in which the “lion and the lamb shall lie down together” (11:6).  He can see the coming of a time when “…a child has been born for us, a son given to us…and his name is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace...” (9:6).   We live in a world convinced that we can bomb and shoot and kill our way to peace.  Such evils may be necessary at times but they are always an evil (Jimmy Carter).   The Biblical concept of peace is found in the Hebrew word “shalom” which more than the absence of violence means “the wholeness and balance in life and community that come with justice and rightness”.   We who follow Jesus are convinced that if we want peace in the world it begins with peace in ourselves.   And that peace is found in relationship to something greater than ourselves.

John the Baptizer suggests that such a relationship begins in the heart and travels out through our hands and feet, out in the way we live. If we want to know God, he suggests that we do something good for somebody else.

John the Baptist clearly was not a United Methodist preacher looking for a new appointment from the Bishop.  United Methodist preachers don't call their congregations "You brood of snakes!" and expect to get a job somewhere!   Maybe John the Baptist was more like the United Methodist preacher about to retire...feeling that now he can say exactly what he had always wanted to say. [Of course, John the Baptist's 'retirement' came in the form of beheading...but let's not go there just now! (Matthew 14:1-21).]

In her book, Jan Richardson writes (Door 7):

…to follow God does not often mean traveling with certainty about where God will lead us.  Rather, following God propels us to be present to the place where we are, for this is the very place where God shows up.

That's true even in times of change and transition.

We who make our lives more complicated than they need to be have something important to learn from John the Baptist's clarion call for God's future.  John calls us to wash away the dust of the past and move into a new way of living.  That's what baptism is all about.  He calls us a make room for the coming of the Christ.  If we want to know what it looks like to live a life in the spirit of God's future, all we have to do is look at Jesus' life and follow it.   

The Advent invitation to prepare the way doesn't happen just at any time but in our time, in our place, in this moment of time.  It is why John the Baptist hollers at his people, challenging them to enter a new way of living.

It is the heart and soul of Advent, not the repetition of sentimental holiday memories, but the courage and commitment to embrace the possibilities of God's future even when darkness surrounds us.

What will it take for us to walk through the door that balances our resources of time and talent with the opportunity to serve that future?   To simplify and focus our living on what and who really matters?  We talk about it all the time, don't we?  What will it take for us to prepare the way of The Lord?

Amen.

Hope: Where Advent Begins

Matthew 24:36-44

November 27, 2016

Mark S. Bollwinkel

The Thanksgiving dishes are cleaned and put away.  The relatives are on their way home.  The madness of "Black Friday" and 27 shopping days left ‘til Christmas surrounds us.  We sing "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" and it is if we can take a breath; all is right with the world.

And then we get this scary scripture verse for the first Sunday of Advent?!  

...if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. 

When do we get to hear about Mary and Joseph, mangers and Magi? 

If we jumped to the gospel of Luke’s “the heavenly chorus singing to shepherds watching their flocks by night" we'd miss the point of Advent.  It is not Christmas yet…but it is coming.  

The people of Israel waited a thousand years for the Messiah to come who would restore their nation.  They would wait during the darkness of war and slavery.  They would wait in poverty and oppression.  They would watch their leaders, priest and politicians, betray every promise God had made for them.  Each generation had to prepare themselves with wild and bewildering hope against all odds for their faith to survive. 

Remember that while Jesus was on earth those closest to him, and the entire religious institution of his day, could not recognize who he really was as the Son of God.   Most were expecting a warrior Messiah to drive the Roman occupiers out of the Holy Land.  They were expecting a royal Messiah to restore justice and righteousness and care for the widow and the orphan. 

They got a Messiah, alright, born as a baby in a barn, to unwed parents, about to become political refugees.   A Messiah whose power would be unleashed by his death on a cross.

Only a few during his time on earth had eyes to see who Jesus really was beyond the expectations of their day.   Elizabeth and her wild-eyed son John the Baptizer did (Luke 1:39-45) along with Simeon and Anna, two faithful elders in the Temple (Luke 2:33-38).   Blind beggars would call out his true name (Matthew 9:27-31), but most...even his closest friends…wouldn't recognize who Jesus was until he died for them.  

And so, on the first Sunday of Advent the tradition is to hear the scary, puzzling language of apocalyptic; that radical hope in God's promised future for a better world...for a better you and me.   It's poetic and disturbing language calls us to "wake up", to pay attention, to stay awake for the future will unfold on God's terms not ours. 

In her book Through the Advent Door: Entering a Contemplative Christmas (Richardson, 2011) United Methodist minister Jan Richardson writes of these passages: 

Advent beckons us beyond the certainties that may not serve us, those sureties we have relied on that may have no substance to them at all.  Advent is a season to look at what we have fashioned our lives around...beliefs, habits, convictions, prejudices...and to see whether these leave any room for the Christ who is fond of slipping into our lives in guises we may not readily recognize. 

Bonnie and I weren’t expecting to become pregnant while working with the Methodist Church in Kenya, East Africa back in 1977.   We had been married five years.  We were living in a challenging environment.  In spite of our precautions she became pregnant indeed.   We were living on the north side of Mt. Kenya, in a town called Meru, right on the equator about 200 miles north of the capital city Nairobi.  It took 3-4 days of pain and fear, doctors and rural hospitals to figure it all out.  In desperation we traded our long-wheel based Land Rover for a colleague’s VW bug and headed south to Nairobi to a hospital and a miscarriage.   After the crisis and a surgical procedure was over the doctor told us that if we wanted to have a child, now would be a good time to try. 

That wasn’t in the plans.  We were both in graduate school and had lots more to do.  But the experience of the loss and surprise started something in us that yearned to be fulfilled.  And so we “shook hands” and nine months later our son Daniel was born at Loma Linda Hospital in Southern California.  We were on food stamps, Medi-Cal, living in a converted garage in a Christian Commune…a crazy time to have a baby…against all expectations it was the perfect time for us to have a baby.  That baby today is 38 years old, healthy and happy, engaged to a beautiful and successful young woman.  They are building an exciting life together.   

In those scary days back in Meru, Kenya, it was hard to see where God was in the midst of the crisis.   Looking back it could be easy to see God in a successful birth, a dream come true.  Such a blessing when life gives you a happy ending. 

But the point of Advent isn’t whether we get what we want or not, as if God is the dispenser of fate.  Rather, Advent waiting calls us to open our eyes and hearts to the God present and active even when outcomes are cloudy, even when the ending isn’t happy, even when things don’t turn out the way we planned. 

Maybe we are facing health concerns for ourselves or those we love that have significant consequences.  Maybe our finances are in chaos and we are not sure how to pay the bills.   Maybe we remain in the doldrums of an election cycle that has left many of us dazed and confused.     

Sometimes in life all we have to hang on to is a wild and reckless hope. 

To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness…

 What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives.   If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something.  If we remember those times and places, and there are so many, where people behaved magnificently, this gives the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.

 And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future.   The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.

            (Howard Zinn, Chronicle of Higher Education, 10/24/94)

Waiting for a better future during the Dark Ages of chaos and violence, the monastic movement kept the faith alive as they copied the Bible by hand, built libraries of theology and devotionals and served the poor of their communities. 

During World War II, Muslims in North Africa, the Balkans and Europe rescued thousands of Jews from Hitler’s holocaust as an expression of their faith in a better future (Norman H. Gershman, BESA: Muslims Who Saved Jews in World War II, Syracuse University Press, 2008). 

It might be as simple as bringing clean socks for the homeless men in Salinas, or volunteering to package meals for those in disaster areas with Stop Hunger Now.   Maybe it’s a simple prayer for a stranger.  Maybe it’s turning off the news for a while and letting our hearts and minds calm down as we decorate the Christmas tree. 

Advent begins in the wild, bewildering journey of hope for a better world...hope for a better you and me.  And even in the smallest way, that is something we can act on.   

It isn’t Christmas yet but it is coming.  Amen.