jesus surprises us: 1st sunday of christmas

the other scripture for the day were:

1 samuel 2:18-10, 26

colossians 3:12-17

the holy gospel according to luke, the 2^nd chapter.  glory to you, o lord.

⁴¹Now every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. ⁴²And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. ⁴³When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. ⁴⁴Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey.

Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. ⁴⁵When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. ⁴⁶After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. ⁴⁷And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. ⁴⁸When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” ⁴⁹He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” ⁵⁰But they did not understand what he said to them. ⁵¹Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. ⁵²And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.

the gospel of the lord.  praise to you, o christ.

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this week i went to see the movie rise of the guardians with some friends.  rise of the guardians is about the guardians of childhood: santa claus, the easter bunny, the tooth fairy, the sandman, and jack frost, protecting children and childhood from the boogie man.  

at the end of the movie, a child behind me said to his adult caregiver, “but jack frost has to be real, or where does all the frost come from?”  again on the way out of the theater, the child clarified that, “there’s only one big foot.”  to which the man responded, “i don’t know…there were a lot in the movie.”  making eye-contact with the child, i replied to his statement with, “true story,” affirming what the child had said.  as we walked away i heard the child exclaim to the man, “see!  somebody over there said, ‘true story!’”

not having any of my own, for me children are, in general, full of surprises.  one of my favorite things when i talk with children is to learn how their thought process works.  even when it’s not what i would come up with, it’s usually very clearly logical—jack frost must exist, or where does frost come from?  these conversations always seem to give me something to treasure in my own heart. 

the child that is so convinced about jack frost and big foot surprised me with his logic and brought me back to the fun and wonder of being a child.

in our gospel reading today, jesus also            surprises the grown-ups with his questions and observations.  those gathered in the temple are surprised and mary and joseph are very clearly surprised—after all, it took three days of searching before they thought to look in the temple! 

where were they searching in those three days?  what made them finally decide to check the temple?  did it take all three days to get through their list of family and friends in jerusalem?  were they simply heading to the temple to pray, having exhausted all options and hope? 

although it was just a few days ago that we experienced the angels with the shepherds and jesus’ birth, i have to wonder if mary and joseph have forgotten who jesus really is.  has so much time passed since the angels came to them and the shepherds that they’ve returned to the “normalcy” of raising a child and all that that entails and forgotten that this child is also god incarnate—god-in-the-flesh?

were the expectations raised so high at the beginning with the angels and the shepherds that the normalcy of raising a child—the dirty diapers, constant hunger, and lack of sleep—overtook the wonder and joy of god incarnate?  here, we encounter the holy family when jesus is still a child, being good and faithful, following through on the rites and rituals of their faith, yet perhaps forgetting the mystery of their child.

after 12 years without an angelic appearance, it’s understandable that they’ve lowered their expectations for what it means to be jesus’ caretakers.  being parents has become normal, perhaps delightfully so, perhaps not.  so, when jesus turns 12, they make their usual pilgrimage to jerusalem for the passover festival and are jerked back to the reality of having a child who is nothing like any other, who surprises them with his logic and brings them back to the bafflement of raising the child of god.

when they finally do find him and lay the parental guilt down, saying, “child, why have you treated us like this?  look, your father and i have been searching for you in great anxiety.”  jesus clearly points out that he has a higher authority to answer to than mary and joseph.  he makes clear to them that there was only ever one thing he could be doing.

theologian john petty points out that in the greek, jesus’ explanation is far more interesting.  using language of divine imperative, jesus says that he must be about his father’s business. the word “house” is not in the text in greek, but instead it is understood that the english fill-in could be house, or it could more likely be business, things, or interests.  so, jesus explains to his parents, “of course i was here; i had to be here, being about my father’s business.”

and what is his father’s business?  for 12-year-old jesus it’s listening and questioning                         and in that it is surprising.  jesus surprises his parents and the local scholars by listening and engaging them in conversation, but even more profoundly, he surprises them by being in the temple and being about his father’s business.

jesus does what no other 12-year-old would—he leaves his parents not to run away, but to recognize the higher authority on which he is to act.  he has a mission and in the first words jesus says in the gospel of luke, he sets the tone for his whole ministry in the gospel: he is to be about his father’s business first and foremost.  this business is surprising in that it entails engaging people—listening, questioning, answering, and surprising.

but this is not the first surprise.  years and years earlier god surprised hannah by bringing her a son, whom she named samuel.  and years and years after that, yet still so many years ago god surprised mary and joseph and the world by coming in the form of a baby to be god-with-us, immanuel.

jesus surprises the teachers with his understanding and answers, while he listens and questions in the temple.

jesus surprises his parents by being in the temple, not with them on the way back from jerusalem.

jesus surprises us by following a higher authority—god’s authority—rather than our own human authorities.

jesus surprises all those around him throughout his life and ministry. 

and ultimately, jesus surprises us all by taking all the hatred and violence of the world into himself and responding with life!                          resurrection! 

and since then, he has continued to surprise people throughout the ages.  i asked some of my friends how jesus surprises them and i got responses ranging from “everything about jesus surprises me” to “nothing really surprises me about jesus anymore.”  it got me thinking, though, about the ways that jesus can surprise us all today.

jesus surprises us in the welcome feast at the table each sunday where each broken person comes to be fed by the body that is broken for all, where jesus breaks into our worship with forgiveness, life, and nourishment.

jesus surprises us with the children in our lives who ask tough questions, who are confident in their logic, who are more insightful and observant than we might give them credit for being, and who put things into new perspectives.

jesus surprises us by coming to engage with us—to come as god incarnate—god-in-the-flesh—to be flesh with us.  and each week when god comes to us in jesus we get to join with mary and “treasure all these things in our hearts,” “letting the peace of christ rule in our hearts—and letting the word of christ dwell in us (richly)” through word and sacrament.

jesus surprises some by providing a free roof over their head even as they are immersed in a culture of independence that says it can’t be so.

jesus surprises some in a prayer shawl received for the day they come out to loved ones.

jesus surprises me with moments of grace and joy that quickly follow tearful moments of complete frustration and loss.

jesus surprises some with hugs that both huggers desperately need, even if they can’t always ask for them.

jesus surprises some in the faces of patients and friends waiting for care, for comfort, for god

jesus surprises us in the lives of those with whom we are angry or frustrated

mr. rogers once said, “when i was a boy and i would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘look for the helpers. you will always find people who are helping.’”  maybe jesus surprises us when we follow mr. rogers’ mom’s advice and we see the helpers in a given situation: the teachers, the firefighters, the police officers, the parents, the friends, the children, the strangers.  maybe that is how jesus surprises us. 

  

jesus surprises some when he glows in our darkness, in victoria soto, a teacher who saved lives with hers, in first responders who run into the situation when others run out.

jesus surprises me by making me uncomfortable, by pushing me.

jesus surprises some by showing up over and over again, sometimes by coming out of hiding, sometimes when reflecting back on a situation, and sometimes in that very moment.

how does jesus surprise you?  does he challenge you?  does he push you beyond your comfort zone?  does he comfort you?  does he surprise you by loving you?  

how does jesus, this god incarnate, immanuel, surprise you?  

and how will he surprise you this week?

longest night sermon

the texts for this sermon were:

mark 13:24-37

isaiah 40:1-11

zephaniah 3:14-20

2 peter 3:8-15a (ends with "... Lord as salvation.")

the sun is darkened and it feels as though the powers in the heavens have indeed been shaken.  daylight has been passing away, electricity, too seems scarce after last night’s snow, and everyone seems to be too busy and wrapped up in friends and family to have time for anyone else.  not to mention, every ad on tv or store i pass is pushing for more and more consumption of things—stuff; anything, really, as long as you buy it.

life is passing away—loved ones are dying, children are dying, innocence is snatched away at every turn, and even heaven and earth seem to be passing away. 

and yet day after day we are here.  we keep showing up, putting one foot in front of the other and wondering, “how long?”  how long must we live in exile like the israelites isaiah addresses?  whether we are far from loved ones, struggling with depression, anxiety, or mental illness, trying desperately to make ends meet, or simply feeling a bit lonely or blue, we find ourselves as exiles trying to navigate our way through a harsh holiday season.

in the midst of this exile, we hear our god crying, “comfort!  oh, comfort my people!”  god cries enough!  enough of the pain and sorrow, sadness and hurt.  enough of the oppression and persecution.  our term is served, the penalty paid.

god calls for a highway through the wilderness, a highway back home.  preparations must be made, for god’s people are coming home.  god sends out the orders for comfort and for expediency, the way will be direct: the way in the wilderness, the highway through the desert; a fast-track home.  it is coming. 

all in god’s time.

but still, we lament the waiting and the slowness as peter reminds us “that with the lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day.”  we agonize and lament as god’s time remains mysterious to us.  we ask god why not now—not yet?  what is it that takes so long?  why has zephaniah’s word from god not yet been fulfilled? 

we still wait for disaster to be removed, for god to deal with our oppressors: saving the lame and gathering the outcast, changing all our shame to praise and renown.  we wait for god to gather us home, to bring us back from this exile.

we wait with impatience for the coming of our savior, for light to return to brighten our darkness.  and yet peter tells us that god is the one who is patient with us!  god waits so that all might come to repentance; so that all might be saved.  it’s not that we are waiting for god who has not yet shown up, but god is waiting with us and for us.  

i heard someone blame the massacre at sandy hook elementary school on the fact that we’ve taken god out of the schools.  there is no way god can be simply removed from anywhere. 

god, who comes to us incarnate, is with us always.  god waits with us.  god is here now, where we are, god is in our homes, in our work places, and yes, in our schools.  god is with us always, waiting and hoping with us.

we wait and we search and we struggle and god is there.  god is in the midst of our struggle and waiting, our tears and frustrations.  even in the face of all things breaking down, of a world not like we want it or wish it, god is with us and waits. 

we gather for this longest night, knowing that the world is not as it should be.  our struggles are not just our own, they are the struggles of humanity.  humanity waits and longs for god’s time to come, justice on earth, mercy and grace, and love. 

we await our savior this advent season and with us, god waits and god makes preparations.  even as the voice in isaiah confronts us with the reality that everything in this world is fickle, fading and withering, easily swayed by the prevailing winds, god’s way is strong and true and god prepares a way home for us. 

god waits with us and for us, calling us back and bringing us home—home to a dirty little manger where the glory of god is revealed in the most vulnerable: a baby in a feeding trough, wrapped in some old cloth.  in that meagerness, we find god who is rich in mercy, who comes to us to be with us and to be us, human, real, suffering as we suffer, living as we live, dying as we die, and struggling together. 

god waits with us for our savior, who comes with might and power, and with mercy and care, gathering the lambs in a loving embrace, safely shepherding us home.

god who comes to us in a baby in a manger also comes to us in the wheat and grapes of communion.  the bread that sustains and the wine that enlivens us, bringing us together from our places of exile to our home here at the table.  the broken bread and the outpoured cup: gifts from the god who waits with us, the god who struggles with us, and the god who comes to us. 

and so, we can sing aloud and shout with zephaniah, rejoicing and exulting with all our heart because god is in our midst.  god is with us and even as we are in exile, god sits and struggles and dwells with us.  god cares for you and for me and is patient with us and with humanity. 

we struggle,

we despair,

we lament

and god who is with us is big enough for all our despair.  god is big enough and god wraps us in loving arms, carrying us into the next day, guiding us as we journey through this longest night, with the hope and expectation that in the morning, light will come, in a few short days, we will welcome the christ child, and even as we wait, god welcomes us here, tonight, to god’s table, where jesus meets us in our darkness, to bring light and hope and salvation.

thanks be to god.

god has a place for you: 3rd sunday in advent

the first reading is zephaniah 3:14-20.

the second reading is philippians 4:4-7.

the gospel according to luke, the 3^rd chapter, glory to you, o lord.

⁷John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? ⁸Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. ⁹Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

¹⁰And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?” ¹¹In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”

¹²Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” ¹³He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”

¹⁴Soldiers 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.”

¹⁵As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, ¹⁶John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. ¹⁷His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” ¹⁸So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. 

the gospel of the lord, praise to you, o christ.

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rev. michael fick, a pastor in chicago, translates john’s question to the crowd as, “what’s the matter with you, humanity?”  and this week has been a week when i want to join john in asking, “what’s the matter with you, humanity?”

two mass shootings in one week, in addition to the hundreds of other shootings in our country and our world that don’t receive the same national and international attention.  at the beginning of the month we had our own high-profile shooting right here in kansas city, yet we’ve had many more that aren’t even a blip on the national radar—it seems that every time i go to the kansas city star website there is news of yet another death.

we each have our own reactions and responses when we hear of more violence, each of us have memories that are triggered—of friends and loved ones, of images, phone calls, and tv screens.

i was in middle school when dylan klebold and eric harris attacked the students and staff at columbine high school in littleton, colorado.  at that point it was the worst school shooting in us history and the only one i was aware of at all.  we had family friends in littleton, at columbine when it happened.  

i remember coming home and hearing the news.  i remember when the national rifle association came to denver less than two weeks after the shooting for its annual convention.  i remember the lock-down drills that we’ve had in school ever since then.  i remember the friends i worked with at camp who graduated from columbine.  the reports came out and the explanations and reasons were put forward, but the question that remained unanswered—and does so still today—is “what’s the matter with you, humanity?”

what’s the matter with you, humanity—when children are killed in the places we think are safest?  what’s the matter with you, humanity—when people are shot on the streets of our cities and it hardly even counts as news anymore?  what’s the matter with you, humanity—when access to a gun is easier than access to mental health care?  what’s the matter with you, humanity, when lives are taken in suicide, homicide, and even just in accidents? 

the problem when i cry with john, “what’s the matter with you, humanity?” is precisely that i             am            a part    of   humanity, and so i am also confronted with my implicit involvement in the death of innocent children.  and that is overwhelming, because how can anyone stop all of the violence in our city, let alone our country or our world?!

but i understand the question of the crowd: “what then should we do?”  the sins of the world are all             too overwhelming, how can we possibly do anything or bear any fruits worthy of repentance?  how could anything i do matter in the grand scheme of things?

but john is there.  recognizing the overwhelming feeling of the sins of the whole world and the crowd’s participation in them, john gives us a starting point: share.  you know that special coat you save to wear on the sabbath?  share it instead—kindness and generosity are more important than religiosity.  you made a big dinner?  invite the homeless person who sleeps on the bench or the steps or the person on food stamps to join you.

even the tax collectors, known for cheating people out of their money, and soldiers, known as bullies, violently intimidating people for what they want, come for a baptism of repentance and when they ask john “what should we do?” he has his answer: do your job with integrity.  he doesn’t tell them to break ties with the occupying roman forces—to separate completely.  instead he tells the tax collectors: don’t take more money than you ought; and tells the soldiers: no more shake downs, be satisfied with your wages.

in this world in which we live, there is no black and white.  as sirius tells harry in the movie, harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban, “the world isn't split into good people and death eaters. we've all got both light and dark inside us.”  or, to put it in lutheran terms, we are each simultaneously sinner and saint. 

so john tells us to live in this messy world with integrity. 

his advice is small and concrete. 

one of the pictures that has popped up with the most frequency in the last couple of days is a picture of fbi agents walking a group of children in a single file line to safety.  the children are lined up with their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them so that they stay together. 

that is what john is calling on us to do.  to put our hands on each other’s shoulders and move forward one step at a time.  to join together.  to take small, manageable steps forward.  those steps look different for each of us. 

for some, it’s making sure each child in your life knows that you love them and has room to ask questions about what happened.  for some, it’s addressing the laws that make it far too easy to get a gun.  for some, it’s addressing the laws and societal structures that make it far too difficult to get mental health care.  for some it is going back to school and defying the fear attempting to take over, trusting in the one, who is more powerful than any of us, the one who is coming.

share what we can, do what we can, trusting that what we have and what we do is enough and that with god it is more than enough. 

and yet, the questions that slip, unbidden from our lips, are not only “what’s the matter with you, humanity?” but also, what’s the matter with you, god?  what’s the matter with you, god—that you let this happen?  where were you?  where are you now?  what’s the matter with you, god—that we are still waiting for you to fulfill your word through zephaniah to bring us home and gather us all—in safety and peace?  what’s the matter with you, god—that we are still waiting, waiting, waiting for the peace of god, which surpasses all understanding?  what’s the matter with you, god—that lives are taken from us before we are ready?

and here we learn from zephaniah, a prophet to the israelites in exile.  they too were survivors of tragedy and of crime, trying to find a new way without their homes or their temple or their loved ones.  and we learn from paul in his letter to the philippians as he sat in jail, expecting for his life to end there.  we are reminded by them what it is about this god that gets us through.  we know a god who comes as the most vulnerable among us and dies the worst death imaginable, and yet proves that death is not the final answer. 

as christians, we trust in the god who comes to us, to be with us, god incarnate as jesus the christ.  christ, who weeps with us over death.  christ, who frees us from death; christ, who conquers death and makes the final word a word of love and freedom.  

christ comes as the least of these to make clear to us who gather in shock and sorrow: 

god loves you and god has a place and a role for you.  in baptism we are told: you belong and you are god’s beloved.  

and that belonging and love give us the hope and the confidence to: rejoice in the lord always; again i will say, rejoice.  

and the peace of god, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in christ jesus.

amen and thanks be to god.

advent, bikes, lessons, and carols

in case you missed it with the lateness of last week's post, advent has come in a big and busy way this year!  the past few weeks have involved:

a new-to-me (refurbished) bicycle for the small price of a four-part online bicycle safety course (i could've volunteered for 10 hours instead if i wanted), $10 (which i wouldn't have had to pay if that would cause undue financial strain), and a brief in-person review of the safety course (to make sure i didn't cheat)!  not only that, i received some free gear (headlight and taillight for the bike, helmet, and lock)!  here's a picture the person who runs the organization took with me and my new bike and free gear:

before coming to kansas city, i was lamenting that i couldn't bring my bike with me when a friend of mine mentioned a non-profit in denver that gave people bikes for free or cheap and suggested i check it out in kansas city to see if there was one here.  well, i did and i found revolvekc.org a non-profit doing just what my friend had mentioned, so i took the online course and got my bike!  in conversations with the woman that runs the organization, i discovered that there's a really good program for this in chicago as well (and probably in any substantially sized city near you)!  what a brilliant idea!

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in addition to the new bike, i also was in charge of the silent auction part of lessons and carols at st. mark hope and peace lutheran church, the second of the music on troost series that st. mark hope and peace is doing with st. james catholic church.  the silent auction was wonderful and big and great, but the really amazing thing was the lessons and carols program!  a local a cappella group, octarium, performed the carols and community leaders did the readings.  each carol and scripture was paired with a short reading from a variety of people: walter burghardt, madeleine l'engle, dom helder camara, peter chrysologus, and julia esquivel in addition to two anonymous works: che jesus (from argentina) and the aztec story of the nativity.  

the readings were thought-provoking and engaging, the music was wonderful, the church beautiful, the sanctuary full, the reception delightful, and the silent auction (stressfully) successful!  and so, i leave you with a picture from my seat before the service of lessons and carols began:

so, as with most people, advent has been a ridiculously busy time that i should've seen coming but still didn't expect.  busy and beautiful.

sv. mikuláš

it is officially advent.  i feel behind in just about everything and have this feeling that i'm constantly attempting to catch up on everything...including my blogging, so in honor of deň svätého mikuláša (st. nicholas day, for you non-slovak speakers), here's what's been going on in the office today (among getting all of our work done, of course):

i, of course, knew sv. mikuláš would come, so i wore 

the closest thing i have to a sv. mikuláš tie: my santa claus tie

our ministry coordinator did leave her shoes out, as is the custom...

and was pleasantly surprised to find goodies in her shoes!

in addition to all of that, i was blessed to receive 

a wonderful christmas card in the mail from lstc

this afternoon i'm doing a devotion for the metro lutheran ministry christmas store volunteers.  the christmas store serves 800-900 households in kansas city (over 2,500 people) with important and helpful things, cookies, and all sorts of wonderful things i take for granted every day (such as a blanket to sleep under).  good ministry, somehow i think sv. mikuláš would be happy about what's going on.  i am simply blessed to be able to serve!