When the Wine Gave Out

Scripture Lessons: Song of Solomon 8: 6-7 and John 2: 1-11 Sermon Title: When the wine gave out Preached on January 27, 2019 Weddings. You plan, and you plan, but something always seems to go wrong. At the wedding in Cana of Galilee it was the wine that gave out, but it’s always something. It’s no wonder marriage is hard, just the wedding is hard. There’s a great story I heard about a wedding back in Tennessee that took place in a Baptist church. The groom and his father walk out from the front, but during their processional they somehow trip and fall into the baptismal font. “I guess they got a two for one deal – married and baptized in the same ceremony,” someone said. As a preacher I’m proud to be a part of weddings. I’m proud to have had the honor of being a part of some of your weddings, but our own – when planning our wedding I only had one job: to secure a soloist. And when a friend offered to sing at our wedding, I thought to myself, “That was easy.” I just took him up on his offer, which took care of that, but I never thought to ask whether or not he could sing. So, the first time I heard him sing was when Sara and I were up there, just having made our vows. He was so bad we could hardly keep a straight face. My cousin asked if I had asked him to sing that way because I thought it would be funny, but I hadn’t. Weddings. Something has to go wrong. When I officiate, I get to stand right up front next to the groom as the bride walks down the aisle. I get to watch as he sees her walking toward him, which is a special thing to get to see, but there are other things that the preacher sees. Sometimes I’m the person who knows the most about what’s lurking below the surface. Sometimes I know where the bride’s father is and why he’s not there walking his daughter down the aisle. Sometimes I know why the groom’s grandmother can’t stop crying, or what it was that caused the wedding to start 5 minutes late. Sometimes I have an idea of the disfunction that’s been covered up. The pain that everyone has agreed to momentarily push aside. Sometimes I know that this day is meant to be perfect, so I keep my mouth shut, because if it can’t be perfect, at least we can pretend it is. Right? But Jesus’ mother – she said something about it. Did you notice that? Mary, the mother of Jesus goes to her son and makes a big request that masquerades as a simple observation, “They have no wine.” So, at this wedding – no groom fell in the baptismal font, the soloist sang on key, the ceremony started on time, daddy was there to walk the bride down the aisle, and grandma at least pretended to be happy, but the wine gave out – that’s what went wrong with this wedding – something always goes wrong. That’s what went wrong at this one, and if you’ve ever been at a wedding reception when the drinks ran out than you know that this would bring an embarrassing and abrupt end to the party. No one wants that to happen – but no one wants anyone to know that something is going wrong either, so I can just imagine the mother of that bride discreetly rushing up to the steward in charge of the wine and loudly whispering: “Do something about this! Do anything! Go to the store – there must be one open. I think there’s some Kool-Aid packets in my purse – just mix them up with some water and add some vodka. Maybe no one will notice.” Do you know that feeling? The wine has run out – but you don’t want anyone to notice. Something is going terribly wrong, but it’s too hard to speak of it. The appearance of perfection keeps you from asking for help. All that is extremely dangerous, because if we can’t have a perfect wedding – if we can’t do perfect even for one day, there’s no chance of a perfect life, so we must learn to be vulnerable – vulnerable enough to ask for help when the wine gives out. Some people are better at that then others. I grew up with a woman named Mandy Swartwood who’s getting good at it. Her parents are Bob and Judy Harper, and on Facebook I noticed that Mandy posted a picture of herself drinking out of a coffee mug that said on the side, “World’s OK-est Mom”. I thought that was funny, and she cited an article from the Today show website: “Moms, sometimes it’s OK to be ‘just OK.’ It was a captivating article. The journalist, Nicki Snyder, is a mother of three boys. Her oldest is 7, and she described one afternoon and evening with her children like this: Husband had to work late, so I had to pick up the boys from the babysitter. After arguing with one of the 7-year olds on the sidewalk for what felt like 27 minutes about why his “pulled hamstring” (barely there bruise on his leg) should not be causing him to walk at the pace of a slug, we made it into the car. Everyone buckled, we survived the 6-minute drive home. Walked in the door, everyone is starrrrrrrving. Made 3 separate simple dinners for each of them because heaven forbid they eat the same thing and I had about 10 minutes before someone over-dramatically “passed out” from hunger. Listened to one complain about why ketchup is too spicy and another yell at me for not signing his homework yet. Opened refrigerator door on 3-year old’s head. Soothed screaming 3-year-old. Unpacked backpacks while they were eating, found nerf bullets and one shoe in one backpack. Decided not to ask why. Packed lunches for tomorrow. Listened to all 3 whine about tablets and Nintendo not being allowed at dinner table. Cleaned up dinner and dishes. Cleaned up the disastrous mess puppy decided to leave upstairs while boys were eating dinner. Stared at myself in the mirror and silently encouraged myself to breathe and just. keep. going. Finally changed out of my heels. I can’t relate to the heels part, but I do know this feeling. Maybe you do too. It’s like how you sanitized every pacifier that fell on the floor for your first child. For your second child you washed it off in the sink. But for your third, you just stuck the thing right back in his mouth. Of course, it’s one thing to do that – it’s another thing to let someone know about it. That’s why my favorite quote to read at weddings comes from one of the great icons of Christianity, Ruth Bell Graham, who was married to Rev. Billy Graham. Someone once asked her if she had ever considered divorce. She said, “No, though I often considered murder.” How nice to know – that even for her, the wine could go out. How nice to know – that even for her, there were hard days. How nice to know – that even for her, not every day was sunshine and roses, but for even the woman married to one of the greatest preachers in history there was struggle. There were days when the best laid plans fell apart. And that’s true for everyone, but we don’t always talk about it. Sometimes we think, “Even if I’m not perfect, maybe I can appear that way.” That’s a true temptation – but I ask you this – do the sick get healed by pretending to be well? Do the broken get mended by pretending that they’re not in pain? Will the marriage get better so long as the couple suffers in silence? Will everything be OK so long as no one knows? You know the answer to these questions – and there it is in the Scripture Lesson. Why does Jesus turn this water into wine? Why does he save the wedding from disaster? Because his mother had the courage to tell him. Because someone decided to stop covering up. Because she was bold to trust that the one with grace enough to cover all our sins and power to heal the brokenness and a voice that can calm the storm who may come to our aid just as soon as we’re ready to stop pretending that we don’t need his help. It might be hard to call out to Jesus. It takes real courage to ask for help. It might take everything to put up the white flag of surrender – but if we never tell him that the wine has given out – then the one who can turn water to wine never has a chance to make a miracle happen. Too often we suffer in silence as the wine gives out. We worry about making that appointment with the counselor. We keep walking in pain – afraid of the diagnosis. We fail to lean on the everlasting arms of Christ our Savior – trying to stand up on our own two feet in the storms of this life. But we can’t do it ourselves. We can’t even pull off the perfect wedding, so how could we possibly make it through life without some help? When the wine gives out – call on him. And watch what he can do. Amen.

A Hometown Prophet

Scripture Lessons: Nehemiah 8: 1-3, 5-6, 8-10 and Luke 4: 14-30 Sermon Title: A Hometown Prophet Preached on January 20, 2019 While completely inadvisable and completely ridiculous, there are times when congregations draw faint comparisons between their preacher and Jesus. And that happened to me before I began to serve a church back in my hometown. Just weeks before we arrived in Columbia, Tennessee, where I would serve the First Presbyterian Church there, a woman named Wanda Turner found out my age. She called her friend Mrs. Cotham and asked her if she’d heard that their new pastor was only 29 years old. Mrs. Cotham paused, then thoughtfully responded to her friend: “Well, Jesus was only 30 when he began his ministry. And Wanda, let’s just hope we don’t crucify the poor boy before he turns 32.” They didn’t. Because I’m not Jesus. Jesus was absolutely remarkable. That great preacher, William Sloan Coffin, once wrote: “Deserted by his disciples, in agony on the cross, barely thirty years old, Christ said, “It is finished.” And thus ended the most complete life ever lived.” Jesus and I, we may both have been called to preach in the community we grew up in, but the comparison ends right there. For one thing – rather than try to throw me off a cliff, you have been far more kind to me than I deserve. Ya’ll are too good to me. But the point I want to make here is that Jesus is different. And you can’t compare any preacher to Jesus, especially not the one standing before you now, because He offends us preachers as much as anyone. It’s true. Jesus is too honest to be polite all the time. He can be so blunt and plain spoken as to cause offence. Not everyone talks about that, but it’s clear from Scripture that Jesus was not all the time petting sheep and holding little children in his lap. Jesus was tough. He kicked over the tables set up in the Temple. He called the religious authorities of the time a bunch of “whitewashed tombs.” And once he even said to his friend Peter, “Get behind me Satan! You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” There’s a great story from the writer Anne Lamont. She tells this story of a women’s Bible study, and they go around the circle prompted by the leader to answer the question: “Who has been like Jesus to you?” One told about her grandmother who lived next door to her growing up, and whenever she had a bad day at school she’d go over there, and it must have been that somehow her grandmother could feel her coming, because on those really bad days she’d walk in and her grandmother would be taking freshly baked chocolate cookies right out of the oven. “She was like Jesus to me,” the woman said. Then another talked about her dedicated and faithful golden retriever, who lay by her side through her divorce. But then the last woman in the group had to speak, and she had been thinking about the question deeply. As though this incident that took place when Jesus went back to his hometown were on her mind she said, “This is a hard one to answer, because I have to think about a person who has been so honest with me that I wanted to kill him.” Jesus can be, not just comforting, but offensive, because there are things that we do that he just won’t tolerate. He stands, not just beside us, but so genuinely wants what’s best for us, that he pushes us towards justice and righteousness and challenges us when we’re only paying lip service to the Gospel. If he’s the Word of God incarnate, then facing him demands that we face our sin and all the ways we fail to embody the Love of God. And that’s not just true of Jesus. That’s true of Scripture in general. The event I read about from the Old Testament Book of Nehemiah, where the Word of God was read, and it caused all the people to weep – it sounds strange, but if the Word of God is the truth, then it ought to cause us to wonder about how much truth we’re really living. So, Jesus, that Word of God Incarnate, tells us as he did his hometown that regardless of whether we’re his mother, his brother, or the guys he used to play ball with – he gets down to the heart of things and says not what’s polite, not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear. There he was back home. They had heard about him. They knew who he was and what he could do. They were probably hoping for what any of us would be hoping for – that this hometown boy would lift them up and out of their hardship. That he would heal their wounds and save them from affliction. That he would bring a little prosperity to the regions, and free them all from oppression. That he would make the changes that would benefit them and make their life easier. “Will you save us, Jesus? Surely you are here to save us.” Jesus answers: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, Because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives And recovery of sight to the blind, To let the oppressed go free, To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. This is a remarkable response, and in case what he was saying wasn’t clear enough he tells them exactly what he means: The truth is, there were many widows in Israel at the time of Elijah, but who did God send him to? An out of town widow. And there were plenty of lepers among his own people at the time of the prophet Elisha, but who did God tell him to heal? Their enemy’s general, Naaman the Syrian. They want him to help out his own, and he says he’s been sent out to serve someone else’s widows and their enemy’s general. How could that possibly go over well? Maybe, now you’re starting to understand why they wanted to throw him off that cliff. It’s as though you brought a pastor back to his hometown and he walks in one Sunday morning and says, “It sure is good to be home, but I think I’ll just go over to the Methodist church to preach today.” Wouldn’t that be something? But it’s more than that even. What Jesus is saying is far more than that, because he wasn’t saying that God was sending him to the folks on the other side of town. He was saying that, “The Lord has sent me to serve the people on the other side of the wall you’ve been trying to build.” In Jesus Christ it becomes so obvious – that where we see difference – hometown and out of town, native and foreign, legal and illegal, us and them – God just sees His Children. But there’s more – he’s calling us to see the same way. So, this Sunday morning, as we do one of the most amazing things that Presbyterians do – as we ordain and install the new leaders of our church – who are all of them called to be elders and deacons in their own hometown, we must remember that while they were elected by you – they are called to serve in a way that honors our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. We might all think that they’ve been called to do what we want them to do and to follow our orders – but no. It’s God who calls them and it’s God who they must serve. And this God of ours, incarnate in Jesus Christ, calls them, not only to serve this church, but beyond these walls. Not only to nurture the members of this church who have been here for years, but to welcome those who are walking in for the very first time, for all those who walk in these doors, whether they look like us or not, all of them are God’s children. Officers of the church – your call is to bring honor, not only to those who you know and love, but to those who God loves. You must be dedicated, not only to the survival of this church, but that the Gospel be proclaimed here, and to the ends of the earth. Set your hearts on justice, that your ears be tuned to hear the cries of the poor and the oppressed. May your lives be lived, not only for us, but for the least and the lost, that you serve the Lord who served them all. Amen.

When Emmanuel Was Baptized

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 43: 1-7 and Luke 3: 15-22 Sermon Title: When Emmanuel Was Baptized Preached on 1.13.19 There’s a church bell in our steeple. It rang just a few minutes before this service started to call all of us to worship, to signal that it’s time to get into our seats and to prepare our hearts that we might focus our attention on the God of All Creation. But it’s one thing to hear that bell ring, and it’s another thing to touch it. Howard Swinford was kind enough to invite me up there to see our bell up close last week. Howard is one of those guys who has learned many of the secrets of our church. Before the renovation he emptied the buckets that caught the Sanctuary roof leaks, he knows what to do if the pips clang under our offices or if the air conditioner stops working in the summer, and he stopped by my office last Wednesday morning and invited me to climb the ladders that lead all the way up to our church bell. By telling you this, I imagine that I’m making some of you jealous and others of you nervous. But what I want to emphasize is how different it is to see something up close and personal, just like it’s different when someone sees us up close and personal. Many of us are conditioned to think of God as a far off heavenly being. To think of a God who lives way up in heaven or in purely spiritual, nebulous terms. But it’s in this season, during and after Christmas, that we remember how God was born in a manger. How the prophet called him Emmanuel, God with us. Not God above us, God with us. Not God in theory, but God in flesh and blood. Isn’t that something? On Christmas Eve we remembered how he was born of a Mother, just as we were. How the baby Jesus cried out when he was cold or hungry, just as we did. Then last Sunday we remembered how when he was born people brought him gifts. Last Sunday we remembered the baby Jesus’ baby shower. Now the Wise Men didn’t bring him a pack and play. He was like us, but also unlike us so they brought him gold, frankincense, and myrrh – gifts for a king –gifts for a Heavenly King who came down to be with us. He didn’t just listen to our prayers the way we hear the tolling of our bell. Our prayers were not words from some far off and removed place. No, he came to earth to touch our face. To wipe the tears from our eyes. Isn’t that wonderful? And today we remember how he was baptized in the Jordan. Now, here’s something to think about: why was Jesus baptized? We often think of baptism being about the forgiveness of sins. We are washed in the waters and our sins are wiped away, but what sins did our perfect Lord need to be cleansed from? We know he was perfect, and so we have to consider what else baptism means. That baptism is also about initiation into a family of faith. That when a child is baptized in this church she becomes a part of this body. We all promise to love and support her. To be there when she cries and to pick her up when she falls. She becomes one of us and so Jesus did as well. I was baptized at Morningside Presbyterian Church in Atlanta. It’s there in the Virginia Highlands Neighborhood. My mother was raised a Baptist and didn’t think to have me baptized as an infant, so I was baptized when I was 7 there in Morningside Presbyterian Church. My father sang in the choir. My mother taught Sunday School. A woman named Perky Daniels was the preacher and a man named Jerry Black directed the choir. You might have met Jerry Black. After serving Morningside Presbyterian Church, Jerry moved out here like we did. He was the music director at Covenant Presbyterian Church and then John Knox, and about 20 years ago, when my father had a quadruple bypass heart surgery Jerry Black went to visit him. When my dad talks about it, if you watch his eyes you can tell how much that visit meant. And that’s because there’s a difference between hearing that your loved, hearing that you’re being prayed for, and having someone show up in your hospital room to do it. It’s the same as the difference between hearing a bell toll and touching it. When we consider love, it’s true that sometimes love needs up close and personal. Sometimes love needs not just words, but flesh and blood. And so, God – God takes flesh and blood, and no – he didn’t need to have any sins washed away, but He did need to be with us, to identify with us, to show us how deep is the love of God. Knowing all this changes things. I was reminded of that when I read an article Fran Summerville sent me. Fran Summerville is a Stephens Minister here at our church. She’s also my fourth cousin. Isn’t that amazing? She sent me an article about the link between spiritual and physical wellness. The article came from the Tennessean, that’s Nashville’s newspaper, and in it Dr. Dale Matthews, an associate professor of medicine at Georgetown University School of Medicine, says that “the mortality rate for people who attend religious services once a week or more is 25% lower in men and 35% lower in women” than those who go to their house of worship less frequently.” I wish I had been able to cite that statistic Christmas Eve when all our “Christmas and Easter Only’s” were here. “Doctors need to pay attention to these studies,” Matthews said, “and to what’s important to their patients. Some patients are just fed up. They’re saying ‘We’re sick of being on the assembly line. I want somebody who pays attention to my personhood and even my soul, not just my liver or gall bladder.’” Can you relate to that? Of course you can, because that’s how we’re treated most of the time. We call the office and end up talking to a machine. We want human contact, but all we get are emails. We go looking for real community, real connection, but it won’t do anything for the true state of our souls unless there’s some face to face and hand in hand as there is here. And that’s Jesus, you see? What was he born unto us for? But to make the love of God, no longer distant, but tangible. Why did the Wise Men bring him gifts? But to pay honor to the God of heaven come to earth. And why was he baptized in the Jordan by John, but to be a part of our life, to be a part of our family, to pay attention to our personhood and even our souls, not just our liver or gall bladder. You see, if God was like the tolling of some distant far off bell, in Jesus Christ we touch His face as he touches ours. That makes a difference, doesn’t it? But we don’t always get the chance, because sometimes life prevents real human contact. I have a debate with myself whenever I check out at the grocery store. You know – there are the lines where you can check yourself out with the help of a computer and the other lines that actually have a person standing behind them. I was at the Kroger years ago when those things were first introduced. That morning I was in a hurry but not too much of a hurry. I thought about the self-checkout line, the one with the computer, because it was empty. In the line with a actual cashier, there were a couple people already there, but, like I said, I wasn’t in too much of a hurry, so I went to the line with an actual Kroger employee. I remember that the man in front of me bought cigarettes, cat food, and a newspaper – I’m a nosy person you see. I was surprised that he started talking about a book he’s reading to the woman at the register. “It’s a work of science fiction – it will probably take me six weeks to read it – you have to have a physics back ground to understand it – I have to sit and think awhile after I’ve only read five pages. And could you also give me change for a ten – two fives please,” the man said. She handed him the two fives, and he explained: “I’m taking my mother to get her hair done and if I only have a $10 bill she’ll want to tip the stylist the whole $10.” “It looks like you got a hair but too,” the woman at the register said. “You look nice.” “Not too nice though,” he replied. “I lost another tooth so I’m scared to smile because when I do I look like I’m from Appalachia.” That was a mean thing to say about people from Appalachia, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I just kept eavesdropping. “I’m getting a new tooth though,” he said. The woman at the register looked pleased. “Come in here smiling once you do,” the woman said. He covered his mouth, “I’m smiling now, but don’t look – you may hear the theme song from deliverance.” Then he left. The cashier looked to me. “I love seeing that man. He makes me smile every time I see him,” the woman at the register said. Profit drives stores to have those self-checkout lanes – and we like them too, not just because they’re convenient but because if they save a little money the stores will save us a little money. But there are things more important. Self-checkout lines don’t get jokes. They can’t smile. You can’t touch them. They can’t hold your hand as they pray. They have no fingers to wipe away tears and no arms to hold you up when everything is falling apart. If God were for you, like some far-off bell that you only ever heard tolling the hour, then know that Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, God with us, is God’s love in flesh and blood that we can touch and see. But not only that – God in Jesus Christ is also the God who can touch and see us. But this truth demands something of me and you. So, this Jerry Black, who I mentioned before. The Music Director who visited my father in the hospital. He died last week. His funeral was last Friday. Choir members from all the churches he served were invited to come and sing, and several members of our choir were there with them. His wife Charlize called and asked me to preach. I had to think about that. Life gets busy. But then I called and told her I would, for how could I not show up in person to honor the man who showed up in person for my father? And who would I be, who would I really represent, if in claiming to serve the God incarnate in flesh and blood who came down to earth to be with you and me, if I was too busy to show up myself? For the Lord didn’t just say it. He did not render those words of the Prophet Isaiah empty: “That I will give people in exchange for your life.” No! He did it. He gave his own life, his own flesh and blood for you and me. So how could we not show up in flesh and blood for each other? Amen.

Following a Star

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 60: 1-6 and Matthew 2: 1-12 Sermon Title: Following A Star Preached on January 6, 2019 Today is January 6th, and in some ways, it feels to me like Christmas is a distant memory. We mostly put Christmas away a little more than a week ago. I feel like I heard somewhere that it’s bad luck if you don’t have all your Christmas decorations put away by January 1st, which pushes us to get it done. But I hope that’s not true, because while we did take down our tree and put most of our special Christmas things back in the attic to stay until we take them out again next year, there’s probably two or three things that are resisting our efforts. I wonder if it’s that way with you. You think it’s all up in the attic, but then you go to unload the dryer and there are all your Christmas napkins. Or you vacuum the carpet in the living room and come across a lost ornament. Bad smell emanates from the garage. “So that’s where I put the turkey to defrost.” I know that at our house there’s at least one Christmas ornament that refused to be put away. It’s the star that I hung way up in the tree in front of our house. Friday before last, on December 28th, I managed to get all our other Christmas lights down, but I couldn’t get that star out of the tree, so I decided I’d just keep it up there through Epiphany. Maybe that’s just an excuse, but I’m glad about it today. I’m glad it’s still up there, because really, on this Epiphany Sunday, we acknowledge that Christmas is just getting started. Even though the seasonal aisle at Kroger has completely changed its contents, Christmas is just getting started. You can tell that’s the case, because as we read in our Second Scripture Lesson, only just now are some of the most important guest arriving. Now who are these people showing up late for Christmas? Well, tradition tells us that their names are Balthasar of Arabia, Melchior of Persia, and Gaspar of India, but that’s not in the Bible. Somebody just made that up. In fact, the wise men are never even numbered in the Scripture Lesson that we just read from the Gospel of Matthew, only their gifts are. For that First Christmas, many years ago in Bethlehem, wise men sought out the baby Jesus and brought him gold, frankincense, and myrrh. These were strange and valuable gifts, fit for a king. Bible Scholars of the 21st Century debate about the meaning behind the gifts, where these wise men came from, how many of them there were, and, whether or not they were all even men, which I wonder about as well, considering how they stopped in Jerusalem to ask for directions. Our Gospel lesson reads: “In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” Now that they stopped and asked for directions is interesting enough, but what’s more is that Scripture tells us, “When King Herod heard this, he was frightened.” Isn’t that an interesting reaction? Why would King Herod be frightened? Well, to understand this king’s reaction it’s important to remember that the spirit of Christmas inspires most of us to give. Christmas so often brings out our very best. You can see it in the small and large acts of kindness, the general sense of goodwill that pervades each day of December, but there are still, in our world today, those who resist it all. In the Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” there’s George Baily on the one hand, but Mr. Potter on the other. And just as George Baily is always giving, always enabling others to do more and have more, Mr. Potter is always holding close what he has with one hand while reaching for what he doesn’t have with the other. That miserly old man. The only thing colder than the winter weather in that small town of Bedford Falls is the state of Mr. Potter’s heart. It must have been the same with King Herod. King Herod – who hears that there is a child born king of the Jews and immediately thinks to himself, “But I’m king of the Jews! Who does this Christ child think he is?” When he hears the news that the wise men bring, unlike them he doesn’t think about giving presents or showing kindness, for he only ever thinks about what he stands to lose. Isn’t that a pitiful way to be? But because that’s King Herod, what happens next is tragic. King Herod asks about the place of this child’s birth, then “killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men.” So threatened was he by the savior’s birth, knowing that it would require that he step back from power, Herod massacres the infants of Bethlehem. That’s nearly the opposite of what the wise men did. It’s good to think of them as kings as the hymn “We Three Kings” does, because some kings will hold on to power until it’s pried out of their cold dead hands, but these kings show us another way. Unlike Herod, they let go of what is precious, offering it at the feet of the Christ child in his meager manger. That kind of generosity, that kind of letting go, is what Christmas ought to inspire in us. That’s the appropriate response to what God has done, for at Christmas we remember how the God of creation gives us the greatest of all gifts, His Son Jesus Christ. Such a gift inspires most of us to give – to give of what we have – to give of ourselves – that’s the Christmas Spirit, but too many have packed up that Christmas Spirit into their attics allowing self-interest to define their behavior. Two options then. Two ways for us to be. The wise give, the Herods hord. The wise are filled with joy, the Herods are filled with fear. The wise encounter the Christ child and go home by another road – the Herods stay on the same road that they’re on and massacre anyone who’d get in their way. In this season of New Year’s Resolutions, what will we do. Who will we be? Will we live as though Christmas is just beginning, that there are still gifts that we might generously give, or will we put away our decorations and get back to life as normal, forgetting that his birth has changed everything. I heard a poem from Howard Thurman. Dr. Thurman is kind of the great theological mind of the Civil Rights Movement, and he wrote this poem about the days after Christmas: When the song of the angels is stilled, When the star in the sky is gone, When the kings and princes are home, When the shepherds are back with their flock, The work of Christmas begins: To find the lost. To heal the broken. To feed the hungry. To release the prisoner. To rebuild the nations. To bring peace among people. To make music in the heart. Imagine that – if Christmas were not put away but was only beginning. If there was no rush to find the Christ child so that power might be maintained by those who have it already, but there was only a rush to find him that his birth might be celebrated, and lives might be changed for the better. If the Mr. Potter’s of the world gave up on hording and saw that the only way for them to have what the George Bailys of the world have is to let go and be made new. If Christmas were not put away, but if it were lived. If we all made the same pledge that Ebenezer Scrooge made at the end of A Christmas Carol: “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year!” So, having seen him, will you give up the road that you’ve been walking down to take another road? Will you follow where he leads, though going where he leads means going someplace new? Will you rest in the security of his powerful love, and receive the gift of peace that the true Messiah can provide? Let us live each day as Christmas, always following His star. Amen.