In an age of isolation and individuality this Gospel is easy to sentimentalize and then dismiss. There are profound, deep, and powerful images and implications in these verses that revealing something of God’s will for what we are to become.
The question of what makes this family “holy” is the issue. The shallow response is: “the child, Jesus.” Of course, that’s it, they think, and with that thought, they are off the hook when it comes to “holiness”. In this thinking, for holiness all you need is a few angels, some sheep, shepherds some visitors with unique gifts, a couple of dreams thrown in, and of course, an Immaculate Conception and presto, it’s a holy family. Anyone here qualify?
Of course there is something else going on, and when we dig for it, pray for it, and desire it enough, holiness becomes available to every family. You don’t need a divine child whose birth was announced by an angel to achieve it.
There are a few clues here that lay out the path to holiness for those who would seek that holiness and its blessings.
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus belonged to a people. They were not isolated, nomadic unit. They were not simply a nuclear family, but they were part of a larger religious community.
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus kept the law of Moses, and they centered their life on the Temple of Jerusalem which encouraged and assisted them in keeping alive and practicing long-held religious customs.
This is what made them holy: belonging to God’s people and living that way made a difference. Living by the laws and the values of that people and fulfilling the obligations of that people makes for holiness. And finally, practicing the customs of that people leads to the holiness desired: but the desire is the important part. Just doing the customs and keeping the rules to look good will not do — desire “completes the circuit,” so to speak.
So, you want a “Holy” family? Chapter two of Luke gives you the plan. It does not guarantee the “perfect family” nor does it promise a life without struggle pain, disappointment or tragedy. It does not necessarily imply a father and a mother all along the way. What it does promise is that the relationships of that family will reveal the presence of God and be the source of God’s work of forgiveness, love and mercy.
My wish for you all as a New Year approaches is that you will all be holy.
I can remember it as clearly as if it were this morning: April 19, 1995. More than anything else on that terrible day, more than the site of debris blowing on the downtown streets, more than the image of that ragged, torn, and twisted building, more than the faces of confused and frantic workers, I remember the silence. I remember running into Presbyterian Hospital and the strange silence that had settled into those hallways. A voice from somewhere was saying: “Code Black, Code Black, Code Black.” I remember the odd silence as I stood where a policeman had taken me to the corner of 5th and Harvey; and the next day, I remember again the silence as I stood inside that mess on a lower level. The only sound was a strange groaning as the building shifted and settled a bit on unsteady beams. I could see buckets of hand moved debris moving around as men literally dug through walls of broken concrete; but all I remember is the silence in that place.
I remember another silence that settled into a hospital emergency room when beeping monitors were switched off because the life signs they recorded from my parents were no longer there. It was silent in those rooms, and it was a silence I did not want to break.
And there was another time not so long ago when I was standing outside a hospital room with my sister listening through a partially opened door to sounds from inside. We could hear a doctor giving instructions as my niece gave birth to her first child. “Push once more.” a voice said, and then there was silence. It seemed to last an hour. Long enough for my sister and I to look at each other in surprise wonder, and alarm, but then the silence was broken by a baby’s cry followed by the most wonderful Joy.
I want you to think of times in your lives when silence has been memorable because we’re not too comfortable in silence.
I live alone in a big house, and I’ve gotten quite accustomed silence, but every now and then I realize that without thinking I have turned on something: the TV, the stereo, the radio, or I find myself humming. Late last night I was in the elevator at Norman Regional Hospital, and there were several people in with me, but no one said a word. When one of the passengers broke the silence, the others looked for just a brief moment with caution at each other, and then the silence resumed. I thought later that the person who spoke out did so because the silence was simply too much for them. Either that, or the sound of piped in “Joy to the World” was just wrong in a place of such lonely suffering.
Silence is hard for us, at least for very long. Car radios are on all the time. If yours isn’t chances are on any given day someone will pull up beside you with a thumb/thumb, thumb/thumb pulsating loudly enough to hear on the moon. People walk through the streets and ride airplanes with their ears stuffed with tiny speakers. Cell phones beep, jingle and screech rock music adding to the noise of our lives. Only the most rural of settings is free of the whine and whoosh of traffic sounds in the middle of the night.
Even in here, it seems impossible to keep quiet. If I sit for more than ten seconds after communion in silent prayer, half of you wonder what’s wrong, and you get restless because you think we should “get on with it” or that we’re wasting valuable time.
I have come to suspect that the reason we can not get comfortable with prolonged silence is that we are afraid to be alone. It must have some roots in our childhood – and something to do with an innate fear of being alone, and so we cry out to see if anyone is there, turn on the radio or the TV to make sure that someone somewhere is out there.
All of which of course, is why we are here and will soon share a song of this night called Silent. Into the frantic noise of this world, a single, simple Word has been spoken, but this world so deafened by its own noise must struggle to hear. It is the Word Made Flesh, the Word of God, the Word of love, of peace, of healing forgiveness. It is Word for which we must listen, a Word spoken in the silence of the night, at a time when the “world was at peace”, says Luke. Probably until we restore that kind of silence we shall not be able to hear that Word again, and find joy in its promise.
New parents must understand this best of all. In the night or in the day, the silence of your sleep is broken by the sound of a baby in your home, and suddenly you know and you remember that you are not alone. This is the wonder, the mystery, and the message of this night. When we become silent, when we are anxious about being alone, there is a baby that cries out to us. If we feel alone because our job is in danger, our savings are shrinking, our future is troubled, there is news in this long anxious night. We are not alone. “Immanuel is the Word: God is with us it means.”
But my friends, the Incarnation is not something we celebrate, it is something must become. Christmas is not a feast. It is a way of life: a way of life to which we have been called and empowered to follow. At Bethlehem everything we are has been claimed by God, and no matter how much noise there is from Washington, Wall Street, and Baghdad, there must still silence in the Bethlehem of our hearts so that we may hear that soft spoken word, and let our fears be calmed, for we are not now, never have been, and never will be alone. So the message of an angel is real: “Fear Not.” The message of the God who sent the angel is: “I love you.” And in the stillness of this night, the message we must share with each other is: “Peace be with you.”
December 21, 2008 at Saint Mark Church in Norman, OK
2 Samuel 7″ 1-5 8-12, 14-16 + Psalm 89 + Romans 16: 25-27 + Luke 1:26-38
I am not sure if it is totally the fault of our “television world” or if there are other factors at play, but there are few facts to contradict a claim that we have become a spectator people. Too many of our children watch sports and so too many are overweight, and that continues into adulthood. It is not just about sports, however. We have become a people who watch at the cost of action. Half of the people in this church watch what is going on and think that watching is what they came for. The hymnals stay in the pews, arms are folded, while they watch others at worship or withdraw into silent reflections as others lift their hearts and voices in the action of worship. We have watched the rich and powerful loot the retirement funds of people whose honest and hard work have made them rich and powerful. We have watched women and children become homeless while we rummage around for weapons of mass destruction, and we shake our heads helplessly in the face of genocide in foreign places whose names we cannot pronounce. The enormous complexity of a shrinking world that is always in our face not only leaves us sitting still but often sitting on our hands fearful and confused about what to do, so we just watch.
The consequence of this has a spiritual dimension which today’s Gospel subtly and quietly addresses. The spectator will know the story but not know what to do with it. The spectator will likely turn the story into a Christmas pageant, a move, or a wonderful painting to look at. It makes for an easy life, uncluttered by questions, demands, and expectations. The Gospel is not entertainment. It is not news like “Five Live” or “20-20” that we watch from an easy chair before supper. The Gospel is a call to action, a plan for life in the Kingdom of God.
Spectators will hear this Gospel and wonder what angels look like, how a woman might conceive by the power of the Holy Spirit. It is all very fine to build from this story a huge tradition and spirituality surrounding the Blessed Mother. But to stop there in wonder and admiration is to be like the disciples who stood on a hill and heard a voice say, “Why are you standing here looking up into the sky?” There is no point other than entertainment and pious admiration in standing in awe before the details of this story. At some point, at some time, every one of us must ask the question, “What does this mean?” “How am I different because of it?”
This is not just a story about the beginning of our salvation. It is our story. A virgin in Nazareth is not the only person who has been visited by an angel. A woman betrothed to a man named, Joseph is not the only person graced and favored by God. A woman named Mary is not the only person who has been afraid and faced with difficult, life-plan changing decisions. What is ultimately revealed to us in this Gospel is the mystery of how the Word takes Flesh every day. What is revealed here is the path of Spiritual conception: hearing a transcendent Word, struggling to understand it, and finally uniting our will to that Word. That Word awakens us to our identity – it speaks of who we are as God’s beloved and chosen. We began this liturgy with the words of the angel speaking to us and about us: The Lord is with you.
An eastern Bishop reflects upon our awakening to this wonder and suggests that we all have a “virgin point” within us. The secret center of our hearts, a deep sub conscious point that is walled up and unformed until God visits. It is the place where God meets each of us, a place to which only God has access, and when God enters that place, we are totally God’s own and alive only with the Spirit of God. We are not accustomed to thinking of ourselves this way, and we need to ponder a greeting that names us in this way. When willing to do so, a profound transformation takes place, a profound personal truth is realized. We are no longer physical and social beings struggling to promote and protect ourselves and provide for our children. We will know what it means to be sons and daughters of God. We will then be struggling to change physical and social reality to reflect our common innate dignity. Our little plans and self-centered ambitions will have to be integrated into a more comprehensive vision. It does not happen fast, and it does not happen without questions and more pondering. It does not happen without some fear. Playing it safe is a strong habit to break. Risking all is dangerous territory.
This is what this story is about my friends: you and me with a God who seeks access to that hidden place within us still to be formed into an image of God. This is what the annunciation is ultimately about: an annunciation that speaks of our identity and what God wishes us to become. What unfolds in this story is the suggestion that finally, after pondering we come to understand, and then with a courage that can come only from the Spirit, we consent to the Will of God and say “Yes” to a Spirit that will bring to life what is hidden deep within us from the beginning.
There are annunciations of one sort or another in each of our lives. Some of these result in great destinies undertaken unwillingly. Some of them result in a refusal or denial or perhaps in a teeth gritting reluctance. Some of them lead us embrace the radical agenda of a Gospel that insists that the meek will inherit everything and the powerful will come tumbling down. Either way, once we consent, we are no longer spectators.
There is a difficult truth here. Many would point to the privilege of Mary and in doing so, take themselves off the hook. Angelic visits are for special people after all, they think. I think otherwise because of Luke. Every life is visited by revelations and calls to commitment. We either agree reluctantly becoming joyless people cursed by our own call, or we turn away in weakness and say, “Not me.” Some would think that when this happens, God closes the gates and rescinds the offer. I think Luke tells us this story because God sends another angel and still waits for our understanding and our consent.
The Gospel for today tells us three things about Mary that she was “Full of Grace”; that she had “found favor with the Lord” and was the “handmaid of the Lord.” The model of believers, a woman of faith, and the first one to bear the light of Christ into this world is described by Luke in terms of what we shall become if we are attentive to her example. When the church suggests that we think of Mary as a new Eve, we are invited to think of this woman in terms of what God originally had planned for us, a plan rejected by the first Eve and her companion in their pride and sin. In the divine plan to restore creation to its Original design, there comes a new Eve who is what each of us was intended to be: full of grace, favored by God, and a humble servant of this loving Creator/God.
The day after reflecting upon beginnings the recreation that Mark’s Gospel announced yesterday, we have before us a model of what we should have been but yet can still become. While the doctrine of this feast speaks to Mary’s Immaculate Conception, the truth of this feast speaks of what our Creator/God has intended and willed for us all from the beginning. In Christ creation begins again, and the new Eve graced, favored, and humble is this time without the sin of the first Eve.
All so that we too might be born into this creation full grace, favored by the Lord, and humble in his service. This is what we too become when the power of the Spirit comes upon us, when the power of the Spirit leads us to say, “Yes” rather than “No” to the will of God. This is what we become when we awaken to the power and grace of our Baptism and how the Lord has favored us with a faith that leads into the mystery of his presence leaving us humbled by a love that so heals and strengthens us that we can be nothing more than be God’s humble servant.
Full of Grace is what God would have be.
We are a people who have found favor with God or we would never be in this place.
We are called to be God’s servants – to fulfill God’s will – and to humbly and faithfully bear the presence of God’s Son into this world.
Mary stands before us today as the model of what we shall be, of what God has willed from the beginning, and as a reminder that in Christ, all creation is new for those who say “Yes” to the Will of the Father. Redeemed by the Blood of Christ and washed in the water of salvation, we are full of grace, and live in the favor of God. Coming to understand this can have only one consequence that we shall serve the Lord all the days of our lives.
Isaiah 40: 1-5, 9-11 + Psalm 85 + 2 Peter 3: 8-14 + Mark 1:1-8
Beginnings and endings are sometimes difficult to tell apart. Which one is which often depends on which way you are looking: backwards or forwards. Graduation is a perfect example. I’ve received several announcements this week from young people who are graduating. It may be the end of formal education or the beginning of a career. It seems as though we have fairly well caught that idea when we call the ceremony involved: “Commencement.” While something is ending, something is also beginning. For us who believe, death is no more an ending than birth. A pregnancy may end, but it means something begins.
The opening of the Gospel of Mark is unique and significant. In the first verse, he announces a beginning; and to those rooted in the First Testament, there is a sudden parallel, a kind of connection that makes sense in terms of what follows. The first book of the Bible is called the Book of Beginnings, and the first word of Mark’s Gospel is beginning. The connection between the two is no accident – this message of Mark is about creation beginning again, but there is no ending: no ending to the Hebrew Scriptures, and Mark’s Gospel is notorious for having no ending. It simply seems to stop, or perhaps to “pause.” All of which makes some sense in this season when endings and beginnings seem to blur a bit because with Creator God it’s always going to be about beginnings.
There is a saying among those who work with groups and process that it “begins before it begins.” Practically speaking, it means that if a group is getting together at 9:00, at 8:45 when they arrive, things are already happening. It’s like that with Mass. It does not really begin when I invoke the Trinity in blessing. Today’s Mass began when you focused on getting here, and what happened along the way has a great deal to do with how this liturgy is going to go for all of us. On another level, we bring our history to this assembly, and what we remember, and what we experienced in the past has everything to do with what happens today. It’s true: “things begin before they begin.” All this speaks to something important for this season and something deeply involved in the message of John: readiness.
Years after I left the seminary, I went back for a reunion or some meeting, I can’t remember which; and I sat down at dinner with one of my professors. As we sat and talked, I was stunned at the man’s wisdom, his humor, the breadth of his knowledge, and I found myself clinging to every word and idea. Later that evening, I was wondering: “When did he get so smart and so charming?” The more I wondered about it, I began to realize that he had not changed a bit. It was me. When I was twenty, I thought he was boring, aloof, and out of it; and here I was fifteen years later completely enchanted by the same man. I began to wish I could do some of that time I had spent there over again; but of course we rarely get that chance. The issue was simply a matter of readiness. I wasn’t ready at age twenty.
The question of readiness is part of the reason why some of the people at the time of Jesus did not listen. It is because they were not exposed to Christ, not that they failed to see the miracles or hear is voice; it was simply a matter of not being ready. It is a matter of what we can and will let in, hear, and integrate. There are a lot of factors that make for readiness, but the chief among them is desire, and desire is what I ask you to reflect upon in this second week of advent.
Desire in Mark’s Gospel is a big issue. He tells again and again of huge crowds frantic with a desire to see Jesus, to hear Jesus, to meet Jesus. This image ought to give us reason to wonder about what it is we desire in this life. The people who flocked to hear John the Baptist heard him say something about beginnings, and they thought it was about endings, so in a desire to be ready for the end of time which they thought the Messiah would bring, they rushed to his baptism playing the odds that it would protect them from eternal destruction. Their desire to shed their sins was a last ditch effort to save themselves.
But instead of an end, what they got was a beginning; a chance for a future which they could enjoy if they had the desire and were ready. John’s work and John’s message are still with us because it begins before it begins. Before Jesus begins, John has already started, and if there is no end to Mark’s Gospel, it is because the beginning has already begun and endings are always beginnings. Before Jesus begins, His Spirit is already at work, and the evidence of readiness is desire. Our readiness for the coming of Christ is measured by our desire. Our readiness for a life in Christ is measured by our openness the desire for conversion and repentance that shows itself in our willingness to change and be changed. The weariness and dullness of life lived for puny pleasures has little hope for a beginning. A past that is intolerable because of its desperate shallowness, loneliness, and emptiness drives people to the desert where a voice still cries out: “Be Ready”! Not for Christmas on December 25, but for a beginning that will satisfy our deepest desires and longings, and find us ready to begin again new and whole, and clean and pure, holy, and faithful. This kind of readiness needs an uncommon openness, a freedom, a willingness to be surprised to discover that just when we thought everything was over it was just beginning, just when we thought we might be finished, we had really just begun. That would be really good news.
December 7, 2008 at Saint Mark Church in Norman, OK
Isaiah 40: 1-5, 9-11 + Psalm 85 + 2 Peter 3: 8-14 + Mark 1:1-8
Beginnings and endings are sometimes difficult to tell apart. Which one is which often depends on which way you are looking: backwards or forwards. Graduation is a perfect example. I’ve received several announcements this week from young people who are graduating. It may be the end of formal education or the beginning of a career. It seems as though we have fairly well caught that idea when we call the ceremony involved: “Commencement.” While something is ending, something is also beginning. For us who believe, death is no more an ending than birth. A pregnancy may end, but it means something begins.
The opening of the Gospel of Mark is unique and significant. In the first verse, he announces a beginning; and to those rooted in the First Testament, there is a sudden parallel, a kind of connection that makes sense in terms of what follows. The first book of the Bible is called the Book of Beginnings, and the first word of Mark’s Gospel is beginning. The connection between the two is no accident – this message of Mark is about creation beginning again, but there is no ending: no ending to the Hebrew Scriptures, and Mark’s Gospel is notorious for having no ending. It simply seems to stop, or perhaps to “pause.” All of which makes some sense in this season when endings and beginnings seem to blur a bit because with Creator God it’s always going to be about beginnings.
There is a saying among those who work with groups and process that it “begins before it begins.” Practically speaking, it means that if a group is getting together at 9:00, at 8:45 when they arrive, things are already happening. It’s like that with Mass. It does not really begin when I invoke the Trinity in blessing. Today’s Mass began when you focused on getting here, and what happened along the way has a great deal to do with how this liturgy is going to go for all of us. On another level, we bring our history to this assembly, and what we remember, and what we experienced in the past has everything to do with what happens today. It’s true: “things begin before they begin.” All this speaks to something important for this season and something deeply involved in the message of John: readiness.
Years after I left the seminary, I went back for a reunion or some meeting, I can’t remember which; and I sat down at dinner with one of my professors. As we sat and talked, I was stunned at the man’s wisdom, his humor, the breadth of his knowledge, and I found myself clinging to every word and idea. Later that evening, I was wondering: “When did he get so smart and so charming?” The more I wondered about it, I began to realize that he had not changed a bit. It was me. When I was twenty, I thought he was boring, aloof, and out of it; and here I was fifteen years later completely enchanted by the same man. I began to wish I could do some of that time I had spent there over again; but of course we rarely get that chance. The issue was simply a matter of readiness. I wasn’t ready at age twenty.
The question of readiness is part of the reason why some of the people at the time of Jesus did not listen. It is because they were not exposed to Christ, not that they failed to see the miracles or hear is voice; it was simply a matter of not being ready. It is a matter of what we can and will let in, hear, and integrate. There are a lot of factors that make for readiness, but the chief among them is desire, and desire is what I ask you to reflect upon in this second week of advent.
Desire in Mark’s Gospel is a big issue. He tells again and again of huge crowds frantic with a desire to see Jesus, to hear Jesus, to meet Jesus. This image ought to give us reason to wonder about what it is we desire in this life. The people who flocked to hear John the Baptist heard him say something about beginnings, and they thought it was about endings, so in a desire to be ready for the end of time which they thought the Messiah would bring, they rushed to his baptism playing the odds that it would protect them from eternal destruction. Their desire to shed their sins was a last ditch effort to save themselves.
But instead of an end, what they got was a beginning; a chance for a future which they could enjoy if they had the desire and were ready. John’s work and John’s message are still with us because it begins before it begins. Before Jesus begins, John has already started, and if there is no end to Mark’s Gospel, it is because the beginning has already begun and endings are always beginnings. Before Jesus begins, His Spirit is already at work, and the evidence of readiness is desire. Our readiness for the coming of Christ is measured by our desire. Our readiness for a life in Christ is measured by our openness the desire for conversion and repentance that shows itself in our willingness to change and be changed. The weariness and dullness of life lived for puny pleasures has little hope for a beginning. A past that is intolerable because of its desperate shallowness, loneliness, and emptiness drives people to the desert where a voice still cries out: “Be Ready”! Not for Christmas on December 25, but for a beginning that will satisfy our deepest desires and longings, and find us ready to begin again new and whole, and clean and pure, holy, and faithful. This kind of readiness needs an uncommon openness, a freedom, a willingness to be surprised to discover that just when we thought everything was over it was just beginning, just when we thought we might be finished, we had really just begun. That would be really good news.