What Child is This? A sermon based on Luke 1: 46-55 preached on December 17, 2023

There’s a lot about the season of Christmas that I love. I love Christmas cookies. I love Christmas music. I love Christmas socks and Christmas parties. Last week was the church staff Christmas party. It was hosted by Paul and Janice Phillips, and Joe Jordan, who joined the church staff a few months ago, dressed in a velure track suit, green and red, with a sequined reindeer on the back. I loved it. I love Christmas, but it’s not quite Christmas yet. December 25th is still days away, and here at First Presbyterian Church, we’re in the season of Advent. Advent is a time of preparation for what’s coming, marked by this Advent wreath. Today on that wreath, we lit the Candle of Joy, and so today we anticipate the coming of joy, for with Jesus comes joy. Think with me about joy. How would it be different if we lit the candle of contentment, cheerfulness, or happiness? To me, there’s a difference between joy and happiness. Something about joy seems more resilient, whereas happiness comes and goes. For example, I remember one night where I felt joy although I didn’t have much to be happy about. Let me tell you what I mean. I was on my way to my bachelor party in Charleston, South Carolina. Some college friends had put it together a couple weeks before our wedding. The day of the party, I had to work, so I couldn’t get on the road to Charleston from Atlanta until after my shift at the lawn maintenance company I was working for. Late at night, I was on a lonesome stretch of the interstate between Columbia and Charleston. Along the road, I noticed my car having a little trouble shifting gears, but I had a party to get to, so I pressed on without stopping. Well, at some point along that dark, solitary road I regretted that. Out in the middle of nowhere, I was stepping on the gas while the car was slowing down. Coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road, I cut the engine, then tried to get going again to no avail. The car wouldn’t go into gear. The transmission was shot. Not knowing what else to do in that age before cell phones, I started walking in the cowboy boots that I always wore. Even though I’d never been on a horse at that time, I wore cowboy boots everywhere. Walking down the interstate, a few cars zoomed passed, but it was so late there wasn’t much traffic. I walked two miles, and my feet hurt so badly that I stopped to wrap them in my undershirt. I made it seven miles before I found a pay phone, called a tow truck company, who agreed to pick up the car, only when I asked if they could pick up me, then the car, the woman on the other end said, “It’s a tow truck, not a taxi cab,” so I walked another mile or so to a cheap hotel and decided to try to find a way out of this situation after a good night’s sleep. I didn’t go to bed that night happy, and I’ve rarely worn cowboy boots since. My feet were bleeding. I didn’t really know where I was. I had missed my bachelor party, but I went to bed that night with joy in my heart because regardless of whether or not I made it to my bachelor party, I was getting married to Sara. There’s a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness comes and goes. I feel happy when everything is going my way. When it’s not, happiness evaporates. Therefore, I say, Mary didn’t sing because she was happy, for little if anything in her life was going her way. We’re a well-established, educated church, and so we use a lot of theological words to describe the situation Mary found herself in as our second Scripture lesson takes place. To describe the unique circumstance, we call it the virgin birth. Maybe some here have heard of the immaculate conception (a term which refers to Mary’s birth). This morning, let’s overlook the words the theologians use and use real words to describe her situation, for regardless of how it came to be, Mary was an unwed teenage mother. How do unwed teenage mothers feel? How do people react to unwed teenage mothers? Did Mary plan on being an unwed teenage mother? No, and so I say, while there may have been little cause for her happiness, in her song is joy. My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, she sang. For he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant. Surely, from now on, generations will call me blessed. She sings with joy, which is so much more than happiness, because joy is the gift that God often provides when all the things that we thought would make us happy have fallen away. In the greatest Christmas movies, joy is what rises from the ashes when the plans go up in flames. Think about Home Alone. In the movie Home Alone, Kevin wishes his family to disappear. That next morning, through a series of unusual events, his family flies to Paris and leaves him asleep in the attic. At first, this chain of events that leads to him being home alone leads to exactly what Kevin dreamed of. Home alone, he eats what he wants, and he watches what he wants on TV. Being home alone is an exciting adventure until the pleasure of being home alone wears off because two thieves try to break into his house. So it is with many of our plans. Happiness is fleeting. Pleasure can wear off. Joy is different. Kevin feels joy when his mother walks through the door and she holds him tight. In the same way, think about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. No one hopes to have her tree stolen by a tiny-hearted man covered in green fur, but when the Whos down in Whoville find that everything is gone on Christmas morning, what do they do? They sing. Why? Were they happy? Who would be happy to have his presents stolen? Nobody, yet joy is something that can’t be stolen. Joy endures through hardship. Joy is what the characters in all our favorite movies find in the end, after everything has gone wrong. So it is in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. The turkey is dry, one lady wraps up her cat as a present, Snot the dog gags on a bone from under the table, and Cousin Eddie empties the you-know-what in the storm drain, for despite all our hard work, it appears as though all we’re going to get some years is a subscription to Jelly-of-the-Month Club or worse because everything keeps going wrong. Some would say that everything in Mary’s life had gone wrong. Did she plan to be a single mother? No, and as you look at all your plans that don’t turn out the way you’d hoped, look to Mary. From her comes the reminder that what rises from the ashes when our plans go up in flames are the promises of God. By her song, you can tell that Mary knows. From her shattered plans, the promise of God arises. Mary knows, and so she sings, while oftentimes we forget. My friends, the last time I preached from this Scripture lesson in the Gospel of Luke, Mary’s Magnificat, we call it, it was the year 2020. That’s the way these readings go. They come back around on a three-year cycle, so the last time I preached on this passage was three years ago, December of 2020. I preached the sermon I wrote that year to an empty Great Hall not long before Christmas Eve. I remember how weird it felt. I remember how wrong it felt. We wanted so badly to do something for Christmas Eve, so knowing that we couldn’t gather a crowd in here, we planned a candlelight service for out under the portico. Do you remember that? Maybe you don’t because it never happened. The forecast that Christmas Eve was for the temperature to drop below freezing, and then the meteorologists were predicting rain. I wanted to push through with the plan. Many wanted to push through with the plan, but with a global pandemic, plus freezing temperatures, rain was the final straw. What I wanted to happen, what I planned for, was hitting roadblock after roadblock. It ended up being my only Christmas Eve off in years, only I didn’t enjoy it. I couldn’t enjoy it because my plans were going up in flames. If only I’d had the faith of Mary, who knew that as her plans were going up in flames, the promise of God was arising. I can see that now. Now we know what livestream can do. Back then, we barely knew what livestream even was. Today, this service streams to retirement communities around Marietta, the Cobb County Jail, and into homes in different states. It even goes all the way to Australia. Now, I can see that having a candlelight service out in the freezing cold is nothing compared to reaching the people we are reaching. Now I know how much bigger God’s plans were than ours. I was pushing for an outside service in the freezing rain because I was resisting that which I couldn’t understand. Anyone else ever like that? Or is it just me? It can be hard to recognize God’s plan when God’s plan demands that we abandon our plan, but Mary did it. Mary could see it. That’s what we call faith. I heard an interview with late-night TV host Steven Colbert the other day. He was being interviewed by journalist Anderson Cooper, who, you may know, has a podcast about grief. As the two men talked about loved ones they’ve lost, Colbert quoted J.R.R. Tolkien, who once wrote, “What punishments of God are not gifts?” That may be the most important question of all. Always, God is at work, but can you see His plans? Can you accept God’s plans, or are you holding too tightly to your own? To quote my favorite TV show, Ted Lasso, so much of moving on is believing that what we thought happened to us, in fact, happened for us. Unto us, a Son is given. Unto us, a Child is born. His birth changes everything. His birth turns our world upside down. That doesn’t have to make you happy, but may it bring you joy, for but His birth changes everything that we would be saved. Halleluiah. Amen.

Christ's Gift to Us: Peace of Mind, a sermon based on Mark 1: 1-8, preached on December 10, 2023

This time of year, we all must turn our attention to a bearded man with an important message. I’m not referring to the bearded man dressed in red. This morning, I’m interested in the one who, like the ancient prophets, wore camel’s hair. This morning, the Gospel of Mark turns our attention towards John the Baptist, who was surely more slender than the bearded man with a belly like a bowl full of jelly, for the one we turn our attention to this morning lived on locusts and wild honey out in the Judean wilderness. Kroger, Walgreens, and everywhere else has been displaying Santa Clause, who surely takes his place of prominence this time of year, while this morning, I tell you: Turn your attention towards John the Baptist, who welcomes, not just the good little boys and girls of the world, but anticipating the appearance of Jesus so many years ago, John welcomed all the people of Jerusalem [who] were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. That’s different from what happens with Santa, for the song goes: You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout. I’m telling you why. Santa Clause is coming to town. He’s making a list, And checking it twice. He’s going to find out who’s naughty or nice. Santa Clause is coming to town. He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good. So be good for goodness’ sake. That’s Santa. John is different, for John wasn’t interested in hearing how good anyone was. Instead of asking those who lined up to see him, “Have you been a good little boy?” to be on John’s list, you had better be ready to reveal what you’ve been crying about. What made you pout. Like Santa, John knows who has been bad or good, and let’s face it, no one has been so good that they don’t need a savior this Christmas, so come to him with some good, honest confession. Come to him ready to reveal what’s broken. Don’t send John the Baptist a Christmas card where everyone’s hair is perfect, and all the kids have on khaki bottoms and white tops. He doesn’t care how coordinated your family’s wardrobe is. He’s ready to hear that mom and dad fight too much and need some reconciliation for Christmas. He’s preparing the way for the One who binds up wounds and brings healing to the broken places. John isn’t Santa. Don’t sit on his lap and tell him you’ve been nice all year round. He wants to know what made your blood boil because he’s preparing the way for the One who can do something about it. The Gospel of Mark tells us that John the Baptist was filling a basic human need so compelling that, “All the people of Jerusalem were going out to him and were baptized by him in the river Jordan. Confessing their sins.” Meanwhile, I remember waking up early and going to Rich’s to ride the Pink Pig. I think Macy’s has it now. Back then, it was at Rich’s, so we’d go there, and we’d stand in line to ride the Pink Pig. Then, we’d stand in line to see Santa Clause. That’s what we’d do. People will stand in line to do all kinds of things that they think are important, just as the citizens of Jerusalem stood in line on the banks of the Jordan to be baptized by John. We were in Washington, D.C. a couple weeks ago, and it’s interesting to think of what we had to stand in line to do and what we didn’t. We were able to walk right up to the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. There were people there, but it was no problem seeing what we wanted to see. However, there was this long line outside a donut shop we wanted to go to. That line at the donut shop was so long we couldn’t get to them. Now, I love donuts, but what we line up for these days makes me wonder if what we are willing to stand in line for is worth the wait. The Pink Pig was cute, but it was just a metal can hanging from the ceiling. It was kind of creepy when you think about it. And donuts make me happy. Presents make me happy. However, will the things that we wait in lines for make us satisfied? My friends, I am convinced that here in 21st century America, we know what will bring momentary happiness, and we’re willing to wait in line for it. We know what will entertain. We know what will bring us temporary comfort. We know how to have fun and how to enjoy ourselves. What, though, will get to that greater need within us? Where will we find what might make us truly fulfilled? Is there not a deep desire within us all? To be understood? To have meaning? To be forgiven? Santa can’t handle that kind of stuff. It’s beyond his paygrade. Santa knows what to do with us when all we need is something new and fun, while for the real stuff, the stuff that really matters, we need Jesus. The week before last, several of us attended a funeral for John Schupp at St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church. One member of our church who attended the funeral was raised Roman Catholic, but after marrying a Presbyterian, he hadn’t had communion with a priest or been to confession for some 50 years. After the funeral was over, on his way out, he wanted to thank the priest for a beautiful service, but out of habit or by mistake, he said, “Father, it’s been 50 years since my last confession.” “Why don’t you follow me,” the priest responded. Thinking he was going on a tour of the facility, this member of our church followed the priest, only when they sat down in the Sanctuary, the priest said, “So, it’s been 50 years since your last confession.” Then, the priest encouraged him to get on with it, so this member of our church, since it had been so long, tried to cover the main themes of his sins rather than get into all the specifics as the priest heard his confession. I think this is such a funny story, but as he told me about it, I asked him: How did you feel after? “Well, I thought I was going to have to say about 5,000 Hail Mary’s and do 20 years of community service.” Instead, the priest looked him in the eye and said, “You’re forgiven.” In the words of my sister, Elizabeth, who was asking me about this sermon just yesterday, “It sounds like you’re trying to say that Santa brings presents and John the Baptist brings the gift of relief.” Exactly. Santa asks, “Have you been a good boy or girl?” John says, “I know you haven’t been, so come to the water for some peace.” Is that easier said than done? Not everyone will just admit his fault or confess his sin; however, about 100 years ago, the London Times sent out an invitation to famous authors, asking for their response to the question, “What’s wrong with the world today?” The great Christian theologian GK Chesterton wrote back simply, “I am.” What he meant is that there is a brokenness within us all, yet we often spend more time covering it up, denying it’s there, rather than confessing it before God Almighty and being forgiven. I believe that we spend more time in denial than in confession, as though we’ve been trained to believe that we’ll lose out on Christmas presents if we admit that we’ve been a little naughty and haven’t always played nice, yet the gift our Savior brings is one that surpasses our understanding, so don’t forsake the opportunity for true redemption in favor of preserving the illusion of innocence. That’s what Christmas is. It’s not perfection. It’s grace. That may be especially hard to remember this time of year, when we are all pushing ourselves towards some version of perfect. There’s a great TV show that’s now won a bunch of awards called The Bear. The Bear is a TV show about a young man who inherits his brother’s restaurant in Chicago, but his family life was a struggle, so his life is a struggle that he’s trying to make it through with hard work and dedication. On opening night of his brother’s newly renovated restaurant, something sends the main character back to a Christmas Eve years in the past when his mother was trying her best to prepare the perfect meal for her family. Because her family has Italian roots, it was the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes. Seven fish dishes she was trying to prepare in the kitchen. She wouldn’t let anyone help her. People tried, but she wanted things done just right, which meant things kept going wrong. No one can keep seven dishes going at the same time. It’s impossible, so one dish was getting dry. The other wasn’t finished. Then a son-in-law showed up with tuna casserole, which is the worst thing to bring to a Feast of the Seven Fishes. You can’t have an 8th fish dish at the Feast of the Seven Fishes. As the evening progresses, things move from bad to worse. Rather than ask for help, mom drinks a little more and works a little harder. The evening ends with her driving the car right into the dining room, which is a huge disaster, but it may help me get to my point. Sometimes, I worry that we are working so hard this season preparing for Santa Clause. We want everyone to know that we are good little boys and girls. We want him to see that we haven’t pouted or cried, that we’ve not been naughty but nice. My friends, push Santa to the side for just a moment and recognize that Christmas is not Santa’s birthday. We Christians are preparing for the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ who is coming, not because we’ve been good, but because we need some help. That’s for Whom John is looking. That’s for Whom he’s calling to prepare. As you look out the window and notice that a perfect snow isn’t covering the world, or as you look in the mirror and want to cover up all your flaws, know that He knows already where there is brokenness and heartbreak. He knows that here there is sin and death. That’s why He’s coming. He’s coming to save the world. He’s coming to save you and me. Lay down your pursuit of perfection to receive Christ’s greatest gifts: Grace. Hope. Peace. Peace of mind. Halleluiah. Amen.