Putting Christ Back into the Christians, a sermon based on Luke 1: 67-80, preached on December 24, 2023

A few weeks ago, I received an email from a woman named Kay Power, who livestreams our worship service regularly. Because of livestream, she can worship with us from her home in Australia. Thanks to her friend Jane Sullivan, she was introduced to our church and has developed such a high regard for our chancel choir, that a couple weeks ago she emailed to say: “I don’t know of a place nearby where I could hear a choir like yours, maybe in the cathedrals of Sydney. Other than that, I don’t know where I could go to hear music like what you have in Marietta.” I think she’s right about that. We have cathedral-level music around here. However, I feel sure that many who hear our choir, bells, and musicians Sunday after Sunday have gotten used to them. While there have been Sundays when we’ve all been so moved that we clapped after hearing the chancel choir sing, we don’t always clap, not only because Presbyterian don’t clap, but because our expectations have adjusted. That can happen. It’s possible to grow used to excellence. When that happens, the outstanding seems typical, and the exceptional feels normal. The same thing can happen with mediocrity. After hearing myself sing for as long as I have, I’m starting to think I sound pretty good, and that’s not objectively true. I’ve just gotten used to it, and sometimes what we get used to, be it above or below, becomes average. Those who expect to succeed get used to success, and those who expect to be disappointed can get used to that as well. We all adjust our expectations in such a way. They say that it’s the hope that kills you, so some save their hearts from breaking every time their prayers aren’t answered by not expecting them to be. Yet, those who adjust to low expectations and unanswered prayers stand the risk of not believing should the miracle arrive. So it was with Zechariah. Our second Scripture lesson is the song of one who had grown so used to disappointment that when a miracle dropped in his lap, he couldn’t believe it was real, not at first. While he celebrates in our second Scripture lesson for today, his initial reaction to the miracle of his long-awaited son’s birth was not celebration but doubt. To give a little background, in the previous chapter, the Gospel of Luke tells us that Zechariah and his wife, Elizabeth, were good and righteous people. In fact, the Gospel of Luke goes so far as to say that they were, "Both of them... righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord." Not only that, but Zechariah was also a priest and Elizabeth was a descendant of Aaron, the original priest of Israel. There can be no doubt that both knew right from wrong, went to the Temple, not just when they had to but as often as possible. We should all assume that they knew how to pray, and when they had trouble conceiving, they knew from Whom to ask for a miracle, only at some point or another they must have stopped believing that the miracle would happen. That’s what happens with disappointment. People get used to it. Month by month, I imagine that they got used to the disappointment over their unanswered prayer by lowering their sights and settling into the unfortunate reality that children would not be in the cards. "Both were getting on in years," the Gospel of Luke tells us, and you can’t allow your heart to break again and again forever. You learn to adjust your expectations. That’s what people do. Their disappointment didn’t stand in the way or their religious observance, however. As the years went on and the hoped-for baby didn’t arrive, he still said his priestly prayers. He just said them with a little less hopeful expectation. Zechariah continued as a priest, though bitterness over his unanswered prayer may have worn on his heart. Perhaps he wore his priestly garments without the same reverence he once did. Maybe he admonished his congregation to faithfulness with a little less conviction. Perhaps he declared the mighty power of God with doubts in his mind. Surely, he was honored when he was chosen to go offer incense in the holiest place on earth, the sanctuary of the Temple, the Holy of Holies, the place where all good Jews knew God was truly present, yet did he really expect to meet God or one of God’s angels when he went in there? We know that he didn’t, for when Zechariah went into the Holy of Holies, an angel of the Lord appeared to tell him that a baby was on the way, and Zechariah didn’t believe it. “Because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time,” the angel Gabriel said, “you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.” That’s all there in the verses before our second Scripture lesson, and a version of the events they describe have happened to me as well. In my first year as a pastor, I was serving the Lord at a suburban Presbyterian church in Gwinnett County. I was an associate pastor, who in seminary had loved learning theology and studying Scripture, and was overjoyed to be called to serve a real church with a real congregation, only as the weeks and months went on, there was more stress than I expected. Seminary was one thing. Ministry in a church was another, for there was no class in seminary for choosing between white or red poinsettias, which is a real issue I had to navigate, and it had real consequences. Likewise, there was no class on how to respond when a member of the church is surprised to see you buying beer in the grocery store. I felt like a 17-year-old caught in the liquor store when it happened. Six or seven months in, mentally, I had grown used to life as a member of the clergy, but physically, I hadn’t. A rash broke out on the side of my stomach. At my wife’s urging, I went to my doctor who examined the rash, then diagnosed it as hives. “I could give you medicine,” my doctor said, “but I’m not going to.” Wondering why, he then said, “This rash comes from stress. You don’t need medicine. You need to relax. You’re a pastor, right?” I nodded. Then he said, “You need to find a way to relax. Have you ever heard of prayer?” Why would a pastor need to be prescribed prayer? Or in the case of Zechariah, why would a priest lose his faith or abandon hope? The great preacher Fred Craddock once described his disappointment when he looked behind the pulpit to find nothing but a Styrofoam cup of coffee growing mold and a box of Kleenex. How could it be that this sacred lectern could turn into a receptacle for moldy coffee cups? It sounds strange, but this is what happens. Human beings get used to sacred things and forget that all the ritual of organized religion points to the supernatural. The same thing happens in The Bishop’s Wife. Have you seen that movie? If not, watch it tonight. I watched it again this morning. The bishop was standing there in his office. He’s feeling pressure to raise money to build a beautiful cathedral, and in desperation, he prays to God, “Lord, won’t you help me?” God heard the bishop’s prayer and sends an angel to come and help, only guess who doesn’t really believe in angels: the bishop. This bishop doesn’t believe that this character who walked through the locked door of his office is an angel sent by God; however, he’s glad for the help he offers. The bishop asks the angel to take his wife out to lunch while he goes to meet with a wealthy widow who may be prepared to make a sizable donation to the cathedral fund, and this is where Hollywood and the Gospel of Luke diverge, for in the movie, the angel falls in love with the bishop’s wife. No such thing happens in Luke’s Gospel, although the bishop and the priest Zechariah both eventually wake up to remember what faith is about. It's there in our second Scripture lesson. When the long-awaited child is born, he proclaims: By the tender mercy of our God, The dawn from on high will break upon us, To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, To guide our feet into the way of peace. This is a wonderful passage for us to hear about this morning. There is so much ritual to our celebration of Christmas. Yet, like a priest who stopped believing that God would answer his prayer, we get so caught up in the motions that we forget the miracle at the center of it all. This Christmas, I hope to help put the Christ back in the Christians, and I don’t mean that I insist you say “Merry Christmas” rather than “Happy holidays.” I mean, I hope that you and I can remember that at the center of all of this is a miracle beyond our understanding. At the center of all the preparation is a supernatural event. A miracle. A gift from God, far greater than any gift you are likely to give or receive. Do not forget that there is something terrifyingly real beneath all the wrapping paper and amid all the decorations. The twinkling stars point to the God who created the spinning planets. No lights on any houses can compare to the true Light coming into the world. Now, I know that some were dragged here this morning against their will. Others are working on their to-do lists at any break in the service. It’s that time of year for over-functioning and pushing ourselves to the brink, but if the foundation of all that we do today is not the mighty love of God, then we have missed the point and deserve to be silenced by the angels just as Zechariah did. Back to The Bishop’s Wife (I’m going to give the plot away.): Just in the nick of time, the bishop wakes up to discover that loving his wife well says more about his faith than building a cathedral. And I haven’t had hives since. I’ve learned to pray. I try to relax and to keep my priorities in order. When I don’t, I lose sight of the true meaning of Christmas, so I hope to keep Christ in the heart of this Christian standing before you, and if you are just going through the motions this time of year, then hear me when I say, God doesn’t want a forced march towards Christmas morning. God wants to hear you sing. Let’s put the Christ back in us Christians because Jesus didn’t come to earth because He had to or was supposed to. Jesus came to earth because God loves us. If your celebration this time of year looks like obligation and feels like a heavy burden, then remember that. Remember to love one another as God loves you. At the root of all that you do this time of year, let it be not routine or obligation, but love, which is always miraculous. Amen.