​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
First Sunday of Christmas, Year B
December 27, 2020
 
Christmas Day has happened.  Even if different that most years, we did what we could to be merry and bright.  Our soggy Christmas Eve came off beautifully!  Thank goodness for the technology that helps connect us, and the warmth of homes that surround us.
 
As a kid, I remember the days after Christmas to be a letdown.  I was not alone in that.  Even though the Church tells us that the Christmas season begins on Christmas Day and extends for 12 days until Epiphany, I was pretty much burned out on all the carols and decorations.  The Sunday after Christmas was sounded like a retread of the Christmas service presided over by the least senior clergy person who struggled to keep our enthusiasm going.  As I am the only one priest at Emmanuel here, you get me.
 
I have been reading about Christmases past, Christmases in history when times were difficult.  In tough times, the depression, war, plagues and pandemics dampened much of the season’s joy and left folks with little feeling of celebration.  Nevertheless, the message of the season prevailed.   As John’s gospel proclaims: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”  Notice the words did not overcome it … it does not say might not or may not … its says did not.  In becoming one of us, God announces that God lives and moves among us and in us.
 
In my reflections of past struggles, I was intrigued by stories of British frontline soldiers in World War I.  The battle lines and trenches were desolate, muddy, and freezing on Christmas Day in 1914.  The way they waged that war involved agonizing waiting and static vigilance, punctuated by brutal and deadly episodes of shooting and shelling.  Not much ground was traded.  Not much was accomplished for the cost thousands of lives.  The troops saw futility, but their leaders persisted in holding the line.
 
As relief organizations attempted to boost morale and send support, boxes of chocolates and cigarettes flowed toward the front lines.  The troops begged their superiors to negotiate a temporary ceasefire, to give them a break, to give them rest, and give them something to celebrate in the darkness and drear of what was known as no man’s land.  Their requests were met with orders to stay the course.  Any let down could result in giving the enemy an advantage. 
 
When Christmas Day came, the soldiers were packed into their positions.  With no announcement or organization, some of them began to sing.  “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.”  Soon the whole regiment joined in and sang with heart and soul.  And to their surprise, a few hundred yards away, they began to hear singing on the other side:  Stille nacht, heilige nacht.”  In what sounded to them a beautiful harmony, the singing swelled, orders to shoot and kill were set aside.
 
Slowly, faces rose above the trench lines on both sides.  Rifles were set aside in favor of song.  This was how the peaceful Word of God overcomes the destructive orders of men.  They rose out of their cramped and muddy holes, standing tall and looked into the faces of their enemies.  They moved closer to one another, exchanged greetings, shook hands, and shared cigarettes and chocolate (the German chocolates being highly prized).  Someone produced a soccer ball and a game broke out, and for a time, they were just boys playing their game and seeing each other as fellow humans: children of God.
 
As evening fell, they returned to their assignments.  Fearing reprisals from their commanding officers, they took up their positions once again.  The games were over and the war was on again.  If it had been left up to those soldiers, they would have all gone home, but tragically, the principalities and powers this world had other plans. 
 
This moment of grace lives on in the remembering and telling of this story.  It stands in stark contrast of the way of God’s love over against the sort lived mercy of men.  The Prince of Peace broke through the lines that divided them, and granted them a vision of Christmas: the insistent promise that light overcomes darkness.
 
If we are feeling a little blue, that is part of the longing for hope, and hope is never lost so long as the Word of God is heard, embodied, and welcomed in our daily intentions.  We have a ways to go in navigating our current struggles.  The meaning of the Light is that we will rise out of the cramped spaces of our isolation.  The Word of God is a living thing: sharp and clarifying.  Christmas happens as we welcome that Word, the Christ Child, the person and work of Jesus.  He shows that resurrection happens again and again.
 
My friends, Christmas is happening too.  It is happening not for a day or a season, it is happening as we know and love God as a living presence in and among us.  Christmas is not a tale or legend of long ago.  It is an ongoing and continuing action.  Love is a verb not a feeling. 
 
Today, as much as ever, we need our Savior.  In Christ, we have a fighting chance to overcome the selfish urge to win at all cost, to serve beyond ourselves, and to scatter hope and peace generously and liberally. 
 
Christmas Day has happened, but Christmas must keep happening as the Word becomes flesh and dwells among us, full of grace and truth.  Hang in there.  Hope is alive, healing happens, and love always wins.  Amen.

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent IV, Year B
December 20, 2020
 
“No.”  It is a word we hated to hear when we were kids.  “No” is one of the first words we learned as toddler terrorists as in no, “I will not eat beans. No, I will not take a nap. No, I will do it myself!”  Fast forward to teen years. We are, then, encouraged to “Just say no to all kinds of peer pressure and vices.”  As we age, “no” becomes harder for us to say because we want whatever pleasure “yes” brings, and we want to go along, get along, make peace, avoid conflict, and please others.
 
“Yes” is easier to say in many situations, but it is a problematic word.  Our “yes” can bring extra responsibility on us, demand serious time commitment, and unexpected challenges.  If we are too easy or quick to say “yes,” we risk being overwhelmed, overburdened, and harboring feelings of regret and resentment.
 
“No” and “yes” are simple words, but they have great power.  They are gatekeeper words that impact our circumstances, our actions, and our choices.
 
Mary, the soon to be mother of Jesus, was born into a world that, externally, gave her a bunch of “no’s.”  No, she was not very old.  No, she did not have property or status.  No, she was not a citizen, rather she and her people were under the thumb of Roman occupation and oppression.  No, she was not able to be educated beyond whatever the women in her religious community were allowed… which was not much.  No, she could not make basic choices about where she lived, what she did, and with whom she lived.  The males in her family we the only ones empowered with any choice… which in that place and time, was not much either.  No, she was not courted, and she did not date her intended, the carpenter Joseph, in any way we might understand.  According to custom, her betrothal and subsequent marriage was arranged, typically as a family merger, as a business deal, or as a way to give her a provider, relieving her family’s need to feed, clothe, and house her, and to be sure she remained in the family of Judaism.  The only “yes” she had going for her was that she was of the house of David, meaning that she was distantly descendant of the legendary king and leader.  That counted for something, but David lived a thousand years before her, there were thousands of descendants, and things had not been so grand for her people in a long, long time.
 
With little or no money, property, or assets, it is assured that Mary came to Joseph with no measurable dowry.  What she had to offer was the strength of her youth: her ability to work and her capacity to procreate.  Children were perceived a burden at first, as surviving infancy was precarious at best.  Children counted even less than women, until their survival and usefulness as herders, crafters, or other kinds of workers was realized.  With no social security, no retirement plans, and no health care of any kind, able bodied children represented security as they were obliged to care for their elders, honor the family name, and embody their religious and cultural traditions.  This is why they wanted and needed many children, and why having a large family was seen as a blessing, a future, and the potential to thrive.
 
In the sixth month, an angel, Gabriel, comes to Mary, greeting her with honor, honor for of all people?  He tells Mary that she will conceive and bear a son, and that son would be called “son of the Most High,” and that son will reign on the throne of David, and have a limitless and unending kingdom.  That is more than heavy for a young woman from nowhere Nazareth, of no means, and no choices and a precarious future.  He goes on to say that will not alone in her expectancy.  He cousin Elizabeth who was, up to that point barren and thus, seen as relatively useless, would also bear a child.  Good thing.  Mary would not go it all completely alone.
 
Even so, Mary may not have been educated but she was not ignorant of biology.  In an agrarian society, where flocks and herds were a primary food source, the facts of the birds and the bees were known, understood, and enabled as a matter of survival.  As she inquires how this conception could happen, the angel proclaims the power of the Holy Spirit and a miracle that will happen within her own body.  For those of us with any experience or knowledge, every birth is miraculous, so the Holy Spirit is not just engaged with Mary in that sense.
 
But now, Mary has another set of “no’s” working against her.  No, she has no credible story as to how this came about to tell Joseph.  No, she might not have the security of marrying Joseph or anyone else, as it is his right to expose her to scandal, and choose to dismiss her outright.  No, Joseph was not obliged to honor the betrothal by law and custom.   No, her family does not have to accept her back if she has brought shame upon them.  No, she will not have guaranteed support, assistance, or any security at all in giving birth, caring for herself and her infant, let alone raising a child alone.  No, people in her circumstance rarely survived.
 
However, and this is crucial, the Angel tells her that “nothing will be impossible with God.”  In this, the angel is dropping a spiritual breadcrumb leading Mary to see a bigger picture.  While she may not have been able to read, Mary knew God’s story with God’s people from the very beginning.  Through regular and repeated storytelling, she knew the epic stories of her people’s journey with God from generation to generation despite the odds of being extinguished.  She knew of Abraham and Sarah and the birth of Isaac to them in old age.  They were told “nothing was impossible with God.”   She knew of the precarious birth story of Moses, the deliverer and law giver, who was told and shown that “nothing is impossible with God.”   She knew of the unlikely youngest and scrawniest son of Jesse, David, being chosen as the greatest king and leader they had even known, told time and again that “nothing is impossible with God.”  Her people’s stories of God and God’s people are shot through with unlikely birth stories.  In them, God empowers powerless and unlikely people in far out of the way places.  In them, faithful followers overcome long odds, working with God and playing a role God’s wish and will for the world.  When she hears about her cousin Elizabeth’s unlikely conception, that smacks of God’s handywork.  But it is the clarion and clear statement: “nothing is impossible with God,” that seals the deal.  God is on the move in yet another unlikely person and place.  In this, Mary hears a divine yes:  yes, you Mary, you have a part to play in God’s love affair with the world.
 
With that, Mary utters the holy words of her ancestors.  Hers are the words of the patriarchs and matriarchs stepping out in faith.  Hers of the words of prophets called to tell of God’s purposes and plans.  Hers are the words of those who hears and affirm the divine “yes.”  She says: “Here am I.  Let it be with me according to your word.”  Out of all the no’s, all the barriers, and all of the circumstantial impossibilities, Mary says “yes.”
 
As we approach the celebration of God coming to be with us in Jesus -- of Emmanuel – we are prodded, encouraged, and invited from wherever we are: out of the way, unremarkable, and unlikely, to listen for the divine “yes” and our call to follow.  In a world full of no’s, our God is a God of yes.  Yes, you are beloved.  Yes, you are just one person.  Yes, the world is large and its problems are vast.  Even so, yes, we are have a role in the divine mystery, the way of love, and being the hands and feel of Christ.  So, what’ll it be.  For God’s sake, let it be yes.  Here we are.  Let it be with us according to God’s Word.  Amen.   

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent I, Year B
November 29, 2020
 
When our kids were young, we lived in the Washington DC metro area.  Janice and I commuted in different directions, and even though we lived inside the Beltway, we participated in daily gridlock.  Getting us to work, getting the kids to two different schools, shuttling them to theater and sports practices, and choir practice on Wednesday night.  Saturdays were busy with games and birthday parties.  While I was a school chaplain, teacher, and coach during the week, Sunday were big days too.  Janice was the parish pastoral care coordinator in our very large parish, and I helped out with some of the five Sunday services.  Needless to say, we had to coordinate regularly.  Janice was our master of planning and logistics, keeping up with our supply chain, transportation, and laundry.  I did groceries and dinner.  And God help us if someone got sick.
 
I do not wish for those days again, but I would not trade them either.  We made great, diverse, and lasting friendships through church and school as we shared being in the crucible of child rearing.  About the best thing that could ever happen during those times was a snow day.  As John Kennedy once said Washington is a great blend of “Northern charm and Southern efficiency.”  While some from points north would grumble about how nobody knew how to drive in the snow and lamented the uncoordinated snow removal abilities of the surrounding jurisdictions, we found a snow day to be pure grace: an opportunity to stay put and play outside, and snuggle under blankets.  The tragedy of distance learning may be that snow days will be a things of the past.
 
While I do not miss the traffic and the crowds, we did have an astounding array of restaurants that would deliver great food right to our door.  Our name, address, and order were well known to our favorite establishments.  The credit card was on file.  After some of our craziest days, when we had schlepped miles, made it to all of our activities -- with the right uniforms, costumes, birthday presents, and sports equipment, there was no better joy than making a quick phone call and saying to the harried and hungry family five salvific words: pizzas are on the way.  I am reminded of a truism that still speaks, even to this day: “you cannot make everyone happy, because in the end, you are not pizza.”
 
After one of the strangest Thanksgivings I can remember, with one child getting tested to come home, and the other in quarantine at a Holiday Inn Express, with my parents and extended family all hunkered down elsewhere, and finding ourselves with about seven pounds of turkey for each of us to eat, I can say in solidarity with what I have heard from the many of you, we are so over this pandemic.  We are so over troubling news and political shenanigans.  We are so over masks and distancing and not being able to gather, hug, or even, sing in the season.  We cannot even plan for what we cannot even anticipate.
 
Today, Advent begins, and perhaps this in between season is more fitting, more resonant, and more reflective of where we are than ever.  Advent starts in the dark.  It starts with Mark’s account of Jesus speaking into a gathering gloom.  Mark’s listeners are well acquainted with hardship.  Their pitiful rebellion against mighty Rome has been squashed.  As retribution, Rome destroyed the enormous Temple in Jerusalem.  They were under the thumb of heavy taxation, hand to mouth poverty, and a precarious future.  In what is called Mark’s “Little Apocalypse,” Jesus gets real with his followers.  He makes no promises of a soft berth or an easy way.  He acknowledges and accepts hardship as part of the journey.  But right there in the middle of this text, he lights a candle of hope.  He points to the fig tree and says that when we see its budding, we know that summer will come.  In his classic poem, Ode to the West Wind, Percy Shelley draws on this passage writing: 
 
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
 
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
 
These texts set us in motion and invite us to see things anew.  Advent is all about preparing for Jesus to be born into this world: in our hearts and in our lives.  To get there, we have to take life on life’s terms.  Even so, God’s deep message continues to be that there is nothing, no time, no situation, no difficulty, that God will not redeem it.  Even where we do our worst, God does the best in becoming one of us.  In some crazy way, this season falls at a particular moment in our history, as Jesus words met his people in theirs.
 
It has been a week of hard news and of good news.  While we face the ravages of disease and its ensuing poverty and despair, we have word of brilliant work from scientists and researchers too.  Vaccines have been shown to be effective and safe.  Millions of doses are being produced.  It is likely that people will begin to be inoculated in the coming month.  Word of hope and help is beginning to spread.  There is light coming to this darkness.  If that is not a holy serendipity, I do not know what is.
 
For our part, we will be heralding the light.  We will be making space for renewed life even in the midst of grief.  We will be doing whatever we can to be creative and welcoming as we celebrate good news of great joy that has come and will come to all the world.
 
Like the pizza proclamation, Advent reminds us that help is on the way.  Hope on the horizon.  And God is bringing all us home.  Amen.