Every Wedding Needs a Miracle

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 62: 1-5 and John 2: 1-11 Sermon Title: Every Wedding Needs a Miracle Preached on January 16, 2022 The wedding. The wedding is always a big day, but this wedding, the wedding at Cana of Galilee, is an especially big day, because according to the Gospel of John, this was “the first of his signs” revealing his glory. This is a major step, then, in his journey. Since Christmas Eve we’ve been watching, following Jesus as he grows, learning about his life. We were there when his birth was announced, when he was just a baby in a manger with the shepherds, and the magi brought him gifts. Then, he was a child who nearly got left behind in Jerusalem for wanting to be with the teachers in the Temple, and just last week he was baptized in the Jordan by John. These major events in the Savior’s life don’t come to us from any single account. As you well know, instead of one comprehensive biography, the ancients passed down to us four different Gospels. Each one is different, but that doesn’t mean they’re not true. I remember so well this illustration from one of Dr. Jim Speed’s books, “The Apostles’ Creed: Fresh Water from an Ancient Spring.” If you’d like a copy, I can get you one. This church gave me one when I graduated high school. It’s signed by the author and everything. I read it the following summer, and I’ve always remembered how Dr. Speed talked about the differences between the Gospels. They don’t tell the exact same story. The details are different. There are shepherds in Luke but wise men in Matthew. How do we tell who got the story right? They all did. But they’re different, and that just means they’re telling the truth, for if four boys sneak out of their beds in the middle of the night to throw all the pool furniture into the neighborhood pool (just to give hypothetical example) they’ll get together to come up with an alibi. And because they’re young they’ll think, “now all our stories must be exactly the same,” not realizing that it’s when four boys tell the exact same story it reveals their guilt and not their innocence. So, John doesn’t have a Christmas story like Luke does. There’s no account of the wise men like there is in the Gospel of Matthew. Look it up. It’s not there. The way John tells it, first there’s John the Baptist who meets Jesus when he’s baptized. After that Jesus calls a few disciples and invites them to come with him to a wedding in Cana. This is where we get to today’s Second Scripture lesson. Have you ever wondered why the family didn’t have enough wine at their daughter’s wedding? They probably had plenty. They just hadn’t expected their neighbor Jesus to bring his new friends with him. I can imagine the mother of the bride whispering to somebody when they all came in, “The invitation said bring a plus one, not plus 12.” There they all were. A group of young men doing the things that young men do. Likely, Jesus was doing something more holy than the rest of his disciples. That’s how Jesus always was, but then the wine gave out. That’s what happened. It was sure to happen. It was sure to happen, not only because someone brought a bunch of extra people with him, but because something always happens. Every wedding needs a miracle because something at every wedding goes wrong. Do you remember? The first wedding I officiated was in Florence, South Carolina. I was so excited to officiate at my friends’ wedding. I was so excited that I forgot to pack my robe. Or my suit. They were both laying out on the bed. I took them out of my closet but never packed them in the car. I remember it like it was yesterday. Do you remember? Do you remember what happened at your wedding? Every wedding needs a miracle, because every wedding is planned by a group of imperfect human beings. Every wedding is the joining together of two imperfect human beings. They make promises to each other. They make big promises, but if you were to summarize all the vows you make, the preacher might just have them say, “he’s not perfect. Neither are you. Will you stick together anyway?” Every wedding needs a miracle. Every marriage needs a miracle. Every person needs a miracle. But not every person is willing to admit that out loud. It’s true. We’ve been watching Women of the Movement on ABC. The episode that’s airing now is about Mamie Till-Mobley, Emmitt Till’s mother. It’s not an easy show to watch. It’s easier to believe it wasn’t as bad as it was. Last Monday we were watching it all unfold. Emmitt was raised up north, so when he spends a couple weeks in Jim Crow Era Mississippi, he suffers from culture shock. His mind can’t wrap around the evil reality of the place. When his cousins tell him to keep his eyes down and to say, “yes sir” and “no mam,” to step off the sidewalk and let the white folks pass, he does it, but he doesn’t understand it. He can’t comprehend it, so when all the local boys call him Chicago and dare him to go ask a white store clerk on a date, he does it. And when she goes to her car to get a gun, they all run and won’t tell anyone about it. This is the moment when my wife Sara said to our children, “I wish they would have told someone. Why didn’t they tell someone? They could have gotten him out of there.” It’s because they’re like all boys. They’re scared to get into trouble, so they don’t ask for help. They make up a story or they keep silent. They’re like every person I know. The hardest part is saying it out loud. I made a mistake. I need some help. I have a problem. We’re out of wine. The question is not whether you need a miracle. The question is: have you told Jesus about it? Have you done that nearly impossible thing? Have you admitted to yourself that’s something’s wrong? And have you mustered up the courage to ask for help? In the end, the story of Mamie Till-Mobley is so inspiring. Because this one woman who’s willing to stand up and talk about the brokenness of a nation did something about it. “I want everyone to see what they did to my son,” she said, again and again, while the whole guest list of a wedding feast was scared to say anything. Don’t you know that if no one says anything, nothing gets better? Every wedding needs a miracle. Every person needs a miracle. But have you told Jesus about it? Back during the Great Recession, I was the pastor at a church in Lilburn. The church was hit so hard financially that we feared it would close. Instead, we ended that year with a 25% surplus. People have asked me, “how’d you do that Joe?” I’ve tried to come up with a good answer. I told one group, “Well, I’m a financial genius.” Unfortunately, that’s not true. What is true is that I stood up in the pulpit and I said to the whole church, “Something is wrong. We’re in trouble. We need a miracle. Will you help me?” Don’t you know that every wedding needs a miracle, and the miracle worker is never so far away that he can’t hear? The wood around our stained-glass window has rotted out. Did you know that? Maybe you heard about it, but just in whispers, because only few people knew. Not too many. Those who knew, we were wringing our hands about it. “Where will the money come from? What are we going to do?” My friends, two couples heard our whisper and the whole project is paid for. Can you believe that? You need to. Because every wedding needs a miracle. Every person needs a miracle. But has anyone told Jesus? Have you told Jesus? Mary went to her son and said to him, “They have no more wine.” And what the author of the Gospel of John left out is how she also said, “It’s because of those drunk fishermen you brought that they ran out.” Did you know she also said that? Well, she did. Then Jesus said, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” This is where it really gets good, because, Jesus, thinking about how it’s not the right time for this miracle which will reveal his divinity, just gets ignored completely by his mother who says to the servants standing there, “Do whatever he tells you,” as she knows that even Jesus sometimes needs a little nudge. He told the servants to fill up the purification jars and they filled them to the brim. “Now, draw some out,” he said. The opposite of this is what happened in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve need a miracle, they need forgiveness. Instead, they hide. Do you know anyone who hides? Anyone who got COVID-19 will tell you, the worst part is calling your friends. No one wants to do that. No one wants to come out and say it, so instead we hide. What are you hiding now? Every wedding needs a miracle, so don’t let shame confine you to the shadow. Every one of us needs a miracle, so don’t let fear hold you back. We read from our Old Testament Lesson: “For Zion’s sake, do not keep silent.” Call on the Lord for help “until vindication shines out like the dawn and salvation like a burning torch.” Yesterday I heard about a lady walking through Kroger with her shoe untied. Only then a lady who works there named Miss Philomena came over to tie it. Remember that. Don’t hide the emptiness. Everyone gets so tiered of pretending their full when they’re running on empty. Instead, let him know, for the Lord delights in you. He’s at the wedding with you. It might be his friend’s fault that all the wine is gone. So, don’t hide what’s broken from the miracle worker. Every wedding needs a miracle. Every marriage needs a miracle. Every person needs a miracle. And when we let the savior know, the wine that has run out will be replaced but the wine that’s even better. Alleluia. Amen.

Baptized in Water, Sealed in the Spirit

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 43: 1-7 and Luke 3: 15-22 Sermon Title: Baptized in Water, Sealed in the Spirit Preached on 1/9/22 When meeting someone new, for generations, the advice has been to steer away from politics or religion. Instead, ask about your new friend’s health or just talk about the weather. That used to work. In our world today, a conversation about health can lead right into a debate over COVID-19 and talking about the weather might turn towards carbon emissions, and why it’s 70 one day and 32 the next. Making conversation these days may feel something like navigating a minefield, yet there have always been those touchy subjects that set off something unexpected in our conversation partners. For example, a session of premarital counseling once turned into a debate over the validity of infant baptism, because the young groom I was meeting with was raised in the Church of Christ, while the bride, raised in the Presbyterian Church, was baptized as an infant. From time to time I’ll find myself in such a conversation: why baptize infants? By a Baptist I’ve been asked: “why would you do that? Babies can’t talk, they can’t walk, they haven’t yet even had the chance to sin, so why wash their sins away in the water of baptism?” That’s a fair question, but it’s also a reflection of a little bit of biblical illiteracy, for you could ask the same question of Jesus. Why was Jesus baptized? We often associate these two things: baptism and having your sins washed away. That’s part of it, yet why was Jesus baptized? If he was perfect, what was washed away? In 1561, Swiss and German protestants met to write the First and Second Helvetic Confessions. There they defined it, saying: Now to be baptized in the name of Christ is to be enrolled, entered, and received into the covenant and family, and so into the inheritance of the children of God. In other words, baptism has so much to do with initiation. It’s not just about washing sins away. It’s our adoption papers. Because we’ve been baptized, according to the Lord’s will and testament, we are heirs to inherit our place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Infants, children, teenagers, adults who are baptized here become a part of this family of faith. They are welcomed into that great cloud of witnesses. Those who are baptized gather beside the foremothers and forefathers of the faith in this age and every age, who forever sing of the Glory of God’s name. They are heirs to the promise. Therefore, we are members of this church and the church universal. But have you heard about the Church? I’ve told you once before that those experts in the field expect that one in four churches have either closed during the pandemic or will close because of it. I can think of a few. Only, not only that. So many say that the age of the great institutions of our society is ending; not only are bowling leagues a thing of the past, but civic clubs, PTAs, churches, all kinds of voluntary organizations that made up such a big part of our parent’s and grandparent’s social lives are declining in membership. The Church is declining in membership. Now then, why was Jesus baptized? Why would Jesus want to be initiated into this? I’ve heard all kinds of great baptism stories, and I’ve lived a couple of them. I’ve heard about infants who’d held it and held it until the moment the pastor took her and then the floodgates opened, and the diaper almost held all of it… almost. I’ve heard about pastors who never checked the baptismal font for water, and so one just pretended that there was water in there and baptized a baby with air. Even still: When all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Did you hear that? Jesus was baptized in the Jordan by John. Were there sins within him that needed to be washed away? No. Were there imperfections that he needed to be cleansed from? No. Why then was Jesus baptized? Looking down from heaven on all of us, we who can’t even have civil conversations with each other about the weather anymore: why was Jesus baptized? I’ll tell you. It’s because when you see a problem in the world, there’s only one thing to do about it, and it’s not write about it on Facebook. Back when “the customer is always right” was a slogan that more businesses lived by, there was a Rich’s department store manager who refused a return on a dented up old lawn mower. “Must have been sold to this man 20 years ago, and he came in asking about a warrantee,” the manager said. Well, when this man was denied a return of his antique lawn mower, it wasn’t but a day or two that Dick Rich’s driver parked his car in that store’s parking lot, so that the leader of the whole network of department stores was having a one-on-one conversation with this renegade store manager who wouldn’t live by “the customer is always right” slogan. Why was Jesus baptized? Because when God sees a problem in the world, God shows up in person. We heard it first in our Old Testament reading from the Prophet Isaiah: For thus says the Lord, He who created you, He who formed you, Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. And through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you. Do not fear, for I am with you. That’s how the Prophet Isaiah said it because that’s how it is with God. That’s how it is with Jesus. How is it with us? I’ll tell you. There’s a story about a shipwrecked man on an island. Eventually he was found, and even though he was all alone, he had made three huts. His rescuers asked him about them, and he said, “That one’s my house where I live. And that second one is my church. The third one is the church I used to go to. I don’t go there anymore.” There are plenty of good reasons to leave churches. I can think of several. While the only way to save the church is to join one. I’ve heard it said a hundred times: “If you want to make the public schools stronger, enroll your kids in one.” If you don’t like the politicians in power, run for office or at least vote. If you’re worried about those who are locked up, volunteer at the jail. If you’re concerned about kid’s these days, become a youth group advisor. Join up. Don’t quit. Nothing gets betting if you stay home, and everything could get better. I heard the most inspirational story the other day. It came at the end of an article I was reading. A family went to their synagogue and met the old rabbi. “What’s your son’s name” the rabbi asked, and his father told him it was Elijah.” “Ah, the prophet of unlikely redemption,” the rabbi said, smiling. “With them, the good news is almost as hard as the bad.” That’s an interesting thing to say, isn’t it? So, it took the author a while to sort out what the rabbi meant, and this is what she decided, “Sometimes the task of rebuilding – of accepting what has been broken and making things anew – is so daunting that it can almost feel easier to believe it can’t be done. But it can.” It can. Only how do we do it? What do we do? Where do we start? Start where Jesus does, for our entire hope lies in our connections. The hope for the world still lies in relationships. The way to rebuild our society is the way Johnny Isakson did it. He was famous for saying that there are only two kinds of people: friends, and future friends. That’s how it must be, because before people will even think about changing, they must feel scene and heard, valued, and appreciated. All this separating of the wheat and the chaff business that John the Baptist is talking about: before anyone will let go of their chaff, they must know that there’s wheat inside them. It’s just so easy to read this passage and be terrified, isn’t it? I don’t think I’d like to be there to hear John preach, and it scares me how he describes Jesus. “His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” That sounds scary, yet I believe that’s true. There’s so much in this world that must be refined. There’s so much chaff that must be swept away with the wind or else burned in the fire, but don’t ever forget what is precious and good. I think about the Church all the time. I don’t just mean this church. I mean, the Church. The Church full of slick televangelists and power drunk megachurch pastors. I think about how, growing up and going to some youth groups, it wasn’t a matter of whether I was going to hell, it was just a matter of when. The Church is a mess. It’s just like every other human institution. It’s just like every college football program and every bowling league. It’s full of imperfect people, yet Jesus joins up and was baptized by John. Why? To remind us again that there is something so sacred here. And I don’t just mean a little sacred. I mean, sacred sacred. Did you know that we’ve distributed a million meals out of the parking lot? Did you know that I cut myself shaving on Christmas Eve and had toilet paper stuck to my face? But now I have not just one but two styptic pencils, so that next time it happens I’ll be ready. Who gave them to me? Two members of this church who were so thoughtful to find them, buy them, and bring them up here. My friends, Christ came down from heaven to join a group of believers at the river. It was a congregation, just like this one. Just like us. That’s why he was baptized. To remind us that along with all the mess, there is so much precious here. Don’t ever forget that. Amen.

Don't Return to Herod

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 60: 1-6 and Matthew 2: 1-12 Sermon Title: Don’t Return to Herod Preached on January 2, 2022 Pulling into the driveway on either Christmas Eve or the day before, my neighbor Jamie Tuck, who’s kids are grown, parents are gone, and who just retired, told me to enjoy it because it goes so fast. I stood there with him, and I felt the truth of those words. I took a deep breath thinking about how while his kids are grown, ours are still little. While his parents are gone, mine are full of life. I stood there in the driveway with my neighbor Jamie, and it was something like having an epiphany. “Jamie’s exactly right,” I said to myself, and then I pledged that I would be full of Christmas cheer. Can you guess how long that lasted? Well, I walked into a kitchen full of family asking me to do things. We went to the zoo to see the Chinese Lanterns and I lost my wedding ring. I later found it, but my Christmas cheer got lost somewhere in the process and I never fully got it back. On this 2nd day of the new year, our church celebrates Epiphany. That word, epiphany, has multiple meanings. It’s defined by Miriam-Webster, first as: a Christian festival held in January in honor of the coming of the three kings to the infant Jesus Christ, and second as, a moment in which you suddenly see or understand something in a new or very clear way. Thinking of an epiphany that second way, as a moment in which you suddenly see or understand something in a new or very clear way, I say we also must take a lesson from the three kings or wise men, because while my epiphany may have only lasted as long as some new year’s resolutions, the wise men do two things in our Second Scripture Lesson that enables them to take that most profound epiphany of the Christ child, and be permanently changed by it. Now, what did they do? For one thing, they go home by another road. Did you notice that? I read through the New Year’s resolutions of so many community leaders published in the Marietta Daily Journal yesterday. Chief Judge Rob Leonard of the Cobb Superior Court is going to take his wife on a date once a week. City Councilmen Joseph Goldstein is going to listen more to his constituents. Michelle Cooper Kelly is going to read more books. All aspire to do great things and be better people. Yet, how many will go from making a resolution while standing on their bathroom scale to abandoning that resolution once they walk into the kitchen? How many receive an epiphany that then promptly fades into memory? Plenty of us. So, notice that the wise men travel to Jerusalem, then Bethlehem, and on seeing the Christ child take a different road back home. They change something about how they’re traveling. That’s such an important thing to do, for those who hang out in barbershops will get a haircut sooner or later and those who resolve to drink less can’t stand so closely to the beer fridge. If we want to change, we must find new roads to travel down. If we receive an epiphany, we can’t just go back to what we were doing. If we just go back to what we were doing, that’s a wasted epiphany, isn’t it? Epiphanies are meant to take root and change us. Why don’t they work like that always? For one thing, we don’t realize that if we travel down the same road, we should expect to wind up exactly where we were before. For another thing, there’s King Herod. We just read: 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 this child who has been born king of the Jews?” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened… then Herod secretly called for the wise men… sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word.” Now why was King Herod frightened? In this passage from the Gospel of Matthew, King Herod reminds me of the main character in that new show on HBO called Succession. Have you seen it? You probably shouldn’t. It’s a show about this miserable and extremely wealthy family. The patriarch is based on Rupert Murdoch. He owns a media empire that he’s obsessively afraid of losing, and his four kids kneel before him, attempting to gain his favor by stabbing each other in the back. It doesn’t always make sense why people serve King Herod like figures. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s habit, but we all must examine the true character of those we pay homage to. Should Herod be trusted? No. Afraid of losing his throne, Herod will order that every child in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under be killed so that no king but him would live in Israel. This is the way that people like Herod operate. So, don’t return to Herod. That sounds obvious, but the hard part is that all of us have some version of King Herod in our lives and we’re so used to trying to gain his approval, we haven’t yet accepted that we’re never going to get it, nor have we realized that we can get along just without it. In fact, seeking out Herod’s approval can even hold us back from being fully who we were created to be. I once heard a joke about the first woman elected president. She invited her father to the inauguration. When he didn’t RSVP, she called him, and he told her that he couldn’t be there. He said he didn’t have suit. “Dad, I’ll buy you suit,” she said, but then he said he didn’t have a ride, so she arranged for a helicopter to pick him up in the backyard. The helicopter took him directly to the National Mall, where he was escorted to his seat on the ceremonial porch, and while his daughter took the oath of office as the first female president of the United States of America, he elbowed the guy next to him and said, “you see that woman down there? She’s my daughter. Her brother played for Georgia.” Now, how many of us are still working to gain the approval of a father who will never give it? How many of us will never achieve our New Year’s resolution because there’s a person in our lives who we’re scared we’ll disappoint if we really change? Who among us relentlessly pursues perfection while a voice in their head never stops letting them know when they don’t achieve it? We’d be so much better if we could just “Enjoy it because it goes so fast.” Why can’t I? It’s because it takes more than an epiphany. It also takes making a change: a commitment to travel by another road, while recognizing that we really can live without the approval of people like King Herod. The wise men did it. How did they do it? I imagine they were able to walk down that new road without the approval of Herod because they already had the approval of the King of Kings. A daily devotional book that I’ve used and appreciate begins with this introduction from the author: Steve had a particularly intriguing job. He was in charge of all Secret Service agents working in the White House. He approached my wife and I after Sunday evening service and offered an invitation. He said he would like the two of us to come to the White House the next morning to meet the president of the United States. Of course, we were blown away. We couldn’t believe it. Standing in the back of the church we worked through the logistics of the next morning. Steve made it very clear we needed to meet him at the west gate of the White House promptly at 7:30 AM – we’d have to leave the home where we were staying by 6:30 AM. That meant rise and shine no later than 5:30! That Sunday night we went to bed with our heads spinning. We couldn’t believe we were going to be standing in the Oval Office in eight short hours. It took us a while to settle down to sleep, but finally we drifted off. In what seemed like the middle of the night, we were awakened by a ringing phone. We couldn’t figure out who would be calling at such an hour, so we ignored it and went back to sleep. A moment later there was a knock at the door. It was Steve saying, “It’s 7:45. I was calling just to make sure you were on your way. At this point there’s no way you’ll make it. We’re going to have to cancel the whole thing. I’m sorry.” I went back to our bedroom, and while I couldn’t see the expression on my wife’s face, I knew exactly what she was thinking because we had just slept through a meeting with the president of the United States. That’s a story the author made up because he’d never been invited to meet the President, nor would he have missed it. No one would! However, “people just like us, on days just like this one, miss the opportunity to enter the throne room of almighty God and talk to the Creator of the universe. Every new day offers each of us a chance to get out of bed and spend some quality time with God almighty, but most of us blow it off for a few extra minutes of sleep.” Why? Because we are stuck in set routines and too often, we bow to people like Herod rather than the King of Kings. Even after encountering the Christ child, we turn back towards the palace in Jerusalem to serve the power of sin and death when we are invited to travel by another road, towards a new life of liberation and hope. Yet I saw my epiphany again, this time walking down the sidewalk from here. Words of that great preacher Frederick Buechner: One life on this earth is all that we get, whether it is enough or not enough, and the only conclusion would seem to be that at the very least we are fools if we do not live it as fully and bravely and beautifully as we can. Isn’t that the truth? So, travel by new roads that lead you to new places. Don’t seek the approval of those who will never give it. Don’t serve your fear but live with courage. Do what you know is right. Serve the Lord. And it enjoy it because it goes so fast. Amen.

Wrapped in Bands of Cloth

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 9: 2-7 and Luke 2: 1-14 Sermon Title: Wrapped in Bands of Cloth Preached on December 24, 2021 I’ve been captivated lately, by an article I read in The Atlantic magazine by a self-described, “grumpy old man.” It’s titled: the Most Beloved Christmas Specials Are (Almost) All Terrible. Do you agree with that statement? The author is especially critical of those Rankin/Bass stop-motion Claymation stories. He describes the most well-known, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, like this: “It has pleasant songs and touching moments, if you like that sort of thing. It’s also terrible.” Now, you might ask, “If not Rudolf or Frosty the Snowman, what should we be watching?” According to the author of this article, Tom Nichols, “Once you clear away all [the] detritus, there are two greats that should be the mainstay of your Christmas watching, and you already know what they are: How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and A Charlie Brown Christmas.” I was especially impressed with his explanation for why A Charlie Brown Christmas. Our author says, for one thing, A Charlie Brown Christmas is only 26 minutes long, but most of all, in this classic, when Charlie Brown gives up on understanding the meaning of Christmas, Linus takes center stage, asks for a spotlight, and humbly recites the announcement of the birth of Jesus from the Gospel of Luke as if it’s a perfectly normal thing for a small child to know by heart. “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown,” he says, and he’s right. So tonight, we focus on the baby. The one who is wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger, for while there is much to think about: Presents to wrap, food to cook, pandemics to worry over, conversations with your uncle to avoid, this baby, like all babies, demands our attention. That’s what babies do to people. Think about that trick play GEICO commercial where the football players pretend that the football is a baby and the defensive lineman start playing peekaboo. This is true of most all of us. We will do anything for a baby. I’ll be headed out to lunch when our preschool kids are getting picked up by their parents. These kids are two and three-and four-year-olds. If one calls me by name, especially this little girl named Kate Callahan, it doesn’t matter how late I’m running, I just stop in my tracks to listen to her. Likewise, a baby named Anna Leigh lives across the street from our house. If her parents are pushing her down the driveway in her stroller, she’ll literally stop traffic. Why? Because she’s precious, that’s why. And everyone wants to make her smile. Therefore, in this divided time, fraught with anxiety and fear, tonight, this worship service calls us to what Christmas is all about. And what is Christmas all about? A baby wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger. In this passage from the Gospel of Luke, everybody surrounds him. You can imagine the shepherds trying to make him laugh. The angels, those celestial beings, hovering over him to touch his cheeks. This is the effect babies have. If wearing a mask in the grocery store made all the babies smile, no one would mind wearing them. If showing a proof of vaccination made them laugh, you’d have to pay people not to get their shots, rather than the other way around. Which points to the problem. That when the government makes us, no one wants to. And that’s where the Christmas story begins. With an Emperor who ordered his subjects around. All had to go to their own towns to be registered, for the emperor wanted to know how many people he had. Joseph went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Bethlehem of Judea. Surely his wife said, “but I’m pregnant,” then Joseph feeling helpless and frustrated, grumbled something at her, and wandered outside to check on the donkey, for this feeling of being helpless in the face of government bureaucracy is one of the worst feelings that a person can feel. What Joseph felt as he was forced to uproot his family and travel like that surely felt something like living during a global pandemic, when the virus dictates what to wear and how to be. Last Christmas we were even kept from going where we wanted to go. People have had enough of it. Of course, we have. For we all have a very low tolerance for our lives being disrupted unless our lives are being disrupted by a baby. Have you ever thought about how much babies and emperors have in common? Babies drop things off their highchairs. Why? To display their power, for no matter how often they drop it, we just keep picking it up. \ Now think about Joseph. Joseph went from being told where to go by an emperor to picking up, again and again, the pacifier of an infant. He’s lost all sense of agency. However, no matter how much babies require, babies make their parents into better people than they were, because they save us from being so self-centered. They upend our plans left and right, but they also reprioritize our lives in the best way. Babies refine us and remind us again that what we were on the way to, whatever it was, isn’t nearly so important as loving them, which makes us better people and brings us joy. So, both make us do things we wouldn’t choose to do. Babies and emperors have that in common, yet they’re different, and I learned about that difference again just a few days ago. County Commissioner, Keli Gambrell, who sits in our balcony every Sunday with her family at the 8:30 service called. She told me that SafePath Children’s Advocates had received dozens of donated bikes for the foster kids in their care. They had more bikes than kids. She wanted to know if I knew of any kids who needed one of their extra bikes. Now this was the week before Christmas that Keli called me. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but most pastors are busy the week before Christmas, so there was a part of me that didn’t want another thing to do, yet, nudged by an angel I called Tim Hammond, who has a pick-up truck, and we made two trips and lined up 16 bikes right outside our church doors. Now there are 16 kids with a bike to ride on, but to make it happen, to be a part of this wonderful Christmas miracle, Tim and I had to put aside whatever else we thought was the most important thing. I had to walk away from what I thought I was supposed to do, to do what I needed to do. And now I’m here to tell you that there is an important difference between going to Bethlehem because the emperor ordered you and going to Bethlehem because you get to see the Christ child. Do you know that difference? My friends, Jesus is born unto us, and he demands our attention. He calls us to stop what we’re doing. His law of love is a call to change our ways, for just as the shepherds had to come out of the fields and the angels had to come down from heaven, we must stop in our tracks to come and see. Now this is a change. We don’t like change, so remember that his call to us is so different from the demand of an emperor. Do you know the difference? I know some people only made it here tonight because the emperor made them. I don’t know what her name is in her house, but I can imagine that she said: “No one touches the scotch until after the service.” Still, tonight is not an obligation kind of night. Why? Because Jesus didn’t come out of obligation but out of love. That’s the point. If you leave the love out of Christmas, what have you got? I hope you have plenty of egg nogg if you have a Christmas full of obligation. That’s the lesson of the other Christmas special that the old grouch, Tom Nichols of The Atlantic magazine approves of, for the Grinch can try to steal Christmas, only once he’s bagged up the trees, the presents, the decorations, and the food, he reveals what no one can ever take away. He removes the distraction to get to the heart of the matter: the baby wrapped in bands of cloth. The gift of love from God on high. The King of Kings and Lord of Lords, who comes to us bringing faith, hope, and love that all our tears would turn to laughter and our despair to joy. That’s what tonight is about my friends. A child who was: Born at the instant The church bells chime And the whole world whispering Born at the right time. That’s what Paul Simon sang, and this child comes to us, unafraid of our brokenness. To love us despite it. So, love him. Kneel at the manger. See him smile. Hear him laugh. And enjoy your family. Be kind to your mother. Hug your children tight. Love your neighbor as yourself. Go out of your way to do what is right. Forgive. Be kind. Care. Not because you must, but because when we love one another, we honor the one who first loved us, and came to us as a child wrapped in bands of cloth. May his light shine bright in you. Amen.

Love

Scripture Lessons: Micah 5: 2-5a and Luke 1: 39-45 Sermon Title: Love Preached on December 19, 2021 The Bible is full of unlikely friendships. This time of year, we often remember the way the Prophet Isaiah described the coming Kingdom, and he described it this way: The wolf shall live with the lamb, The leopard shall lie down with the kid, The calf and the lion and the fatling together… One prominent theologian once said, “now, the lamb probably won’t get much sleep that first night with the wolf by her side,” but just as in this prophecy, the Bible is full of unlikely friendship and the power of God is often on display through relationships that bridge the divisions in our natural world or human society. Thinking of another unlikely friendship, many a daughter in-law struggling with a house full of her husband’s family might be shocked to hear that when Ruth had the chance to get away from Naomi, she didn’t take it, but the Bible is full of relationships that defy our habits and expectations. Consider the disciples. Several were fishermen. Were they happy fishermen? I’ve never met a happy fisherman. Were they like the crabby old renegade fisherman who hunted down Jaws? He didn’t seem very easy to get along with. Then one was a tax collector. Everyone hated tax collectors. Another was a zealot and zealots hated most everyone, so how did this group made up of fishermen, tax collectors, a zealot, and the son of God get along? I don’t know, but the Bible is full of unlikely friendships. So is life. I’ve been reading about Aunt Fanny’s Cabin with considerable interest. What will happen to that old building in Smyrna? Some look at it and remember a restaurant with really good food, and we might say that the combination of good southern food they served and the bric-a-brac they nailed to the wall made it the precursor to Po’ Folks and Cracker Barrell. You could see it that way. You could also see it as a restaurant who preserved antebellum racism for out of towners to come and see. What I’ve just learned from reading about Aunt Fanny’s Cabin in the Marietta Daily Journal as well as the Atlanta Journal Constitution is that the name points to an unlikely friendship between two women: Isoline Campbell, who named the place after Fanny Williams, longtime servant of the Campbell family. I feel sure that Campbell intended the name of this restaurant to be an honor for Williams, but here’s the rub: in her spare time when she wasn’t feeding the Campbell family, Fanny Williams was a civil rights activist who spoke out passionately against the KKK and helped raise money to build the state’s first all-Black hospital in Marietta, and the restaurant reduced her to just another mamy in a head wrap. Have you ever had a “friendship” that reduced you like that? Have you ever been in a relationship where you ended up feeling less than? That happens in the world. Sometimes relationships in the world wind up with one person getting rich and the other getting used. And like the world, the Bible is full of unlikely friendships, only when God is at work, the individual is lifted by the power of love. The Bible is full of unlikely friendships in which two people from different worlds are transformed for they see each other. That’s what’s happening in today’s Gospel Lesson from Luke. Two women from different worlds offer to each other something sacred in what was surely the most unusual time of their lives. On the one hand is Mary. She’s too young, she’s pregnant, she’s unmarried, she’s powerless, and she’s all alone in the world. We’ve been watching a TV series called MAID on Netflix. It’s a series about a young mother who’s trying to make it all on her own. She seems to have no idea what she’s going to do, and yet she possesses this relentless determination to provide for her daughter no matter the obstacles. A lot of people want to help her, but no one seems to understand her. If only she’d had an Elizabeth. Mary and Elizabeth are not alike. While Mary is too young, Elizabeth is too old. She’s been married for years but after getting her hopes up for a baby year after year has given up and sold the bassinette and the stroller in a yard sale or something. She’s the wife of a priest, so she has means, as well as respect and power. Unlike Mary, there’s a community around Elizabeth, but who really can understand the woman who will surely get mistaken for the grandmother every time she drops her son off at preschool? So, she is unlike Mary in a sense, while she is just like Mary in the since that she is also all alone. Who can understand what it’s like to be them? Who really gets it? Their husbands? I don’t think so. That’s why this passage from the Gospel of Luke is so beautiful. The power of God brings them together and they see each other. They form a friendship. When they see each other, the baby didn’t just kick but leapt in the womb, and Elizabeth, nudged by the Holy Spirit, exclaims with a loud cry, “Blessed are you, Mary, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Do you know how good that must have felt to Mary? I imagine it was something like how it feels for a bride to tell her sister she’s engaged. Or how it feels for a young mother to be hugged by her mother. Men give each other high-fives sometimes, but women touch each other’s souls, don’t they? Of course, I’ve had friendships that made a difference. I remember graduating seminary and searching for a church who wanted me to be their pastor. I started to feel like none of them did. Now, plenty of people told me that everything would work out. Have faith. But it was when my professor, Dr. Erskine Clarke told me the same thing everyone else had been telling me that I really felt the words. When he encouraged me I cried, because I knew he really meant it. I knew his words weren’t just words. This is the beauty of friendship. A friendship that makes you feel understood and valued. A relationship that builds you up. Do you have a friend like that? Mary did. And when she felt Elizabeth’s love, she sang: My soul magnifies the Lord, And my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, For he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed. For the Mighty One has done great things for me, And holy is his name. We call that song the Magnificat. It’s even more well-known than Mary did you know. But have you ever before noticed that Mary doesn’t sing after the angel tells her that she’ll bear a child or when she feels a stirring in her womb? No, Mary only sings when she’s safe in Elizabeth’s arms. Why? Because there is good news that we won’t let sink in until we tell someone who will understand. There is brokenness we can’t release from our hearts until we know it’s safe to let it out. That’s the power of friendship. That’s the power of love. And today, we must give thanks to God for Elizabeth, because she is the friend who helped Mary, not just make it through, but rejoice, to see for herself that she was not who those judgmental old bitties back in the village said she was. No! She was “blessed among women” for she was making possible the most unlikely friendship of all. More unlikely than an older woman befriending a young woman in the Gospel of Luke is the Son of God coming down to earth from heaven to us mortals. A book I’ve been reading that Carol Thomas gave me was written by a theologian named Robert Farrar Capon. In it he writes that God coming down to earth in Jesus Christ to us is as unlikely a pairing as a ballerina being friends with an oyster… and we’re not the ballerina in this metaphor. No, but what this relationship does: Is lifts us up from the seafloor of sin and death to the heights of heaven. It frees us to live beyond our shells or wounds or circumstance. It makes us, not snot on the half-shell or whatever else disgusting you’ve called an oyster, but heirs to the Kingdom of God. Therefore, the Apostle Paul says, “we are more than conquerors.” How? “Through him who loved us.” For God’s love, like real love, like true friendship, transforms us and transforms the world. Therefore, Mary sang of how God’s powerful love of us is enough to Scatter the proud Bring down the powerful Lift up the lowly Fill the hungry with good things And send the rich away empty Because those who know they are loved by God are unstoppable. Those who know they are worthy of something more cannot be conquered. A people who walks in the light can stand up against any power, even the power of death. Remembering Christ who came to earth, dwelling among us, let us do for each other what God has done for each of us, that they may know we are Christians by our love. Amen.

Joy

Scripture Lessons: Zephaniah 3: 14-20 and Luke 3: 7-18 Sermon Title: Joy Preached on December 12, 2021 There he was at the river Jordan, and first he calls the whole crowd a “brood of vipers.” Not many pastors would think it wise to begin the sermon that way, but that’s what John the Baptist does. Then, the crowds asked him, “if that’s who we are, what should we do?” John the Baptist cuts right to the chase and speaking again in this 21st Century from the ancient Scriptures, this morning to us he says, “Be careful about wanting more. It’s dangerous! It can lead you to do questionable things and wanting more can keep you from being satisfied with what you have already.” That’s timely advice, right? Most every child I know has a list that keeps getting longer. I can understand that. They got a catalogue from Target back in October. They circled what they wanted. That’s a fun thing to do, but this habit gets dangerous when our children grow up into adults who still think that things will make them happy. Or, who grow up into adults who feel that enormous pressure to provide more for their family than they had, then work to fulfill their every want and desire, and are tempted to cut corners or even ignore their moral compass to get them what they think they want. This is the Christmas trap: relentless want. We see something in each other’s faces this time of year as we all fall into it. Behind every Christmas card smile is this looming anxiety. Mixed in with every Christmas cookie is a wonder if it’s good enough. We shop and order and wrap, while worrying: “did we get the right thing? Will this make him happy?” My friends, today, to us and to our children, John the Baptist says: “Enough already.” Is this how Jesus would want us to celebrate his birthday? Did the Prince of Peace come to fill us with anxiety? Of course not, so stop it. Consider what you have. Be careful about wanting more. Don’t ask Santa for another coat. Go in your closest and if you’re lucky enough to have two, then give one away. Don’t work so hard for more money. If you have $1,000 in your bank account than you’re better off than most people in this country. And stop thinking about what else you want, especially if how you’re going to get it is questionable. This is a good message from John the Baptist, because it’s a message we all need to hear. Like everyone else in the 21st century, we live and breathe in a consumer culture. People are encouraged to covet what their neighbors have. We’re pushed to want more and more. More is supposed to be better, but where does wanting more get us? Well, if we can’t get it under control, it robs us of our joy. Then, as Christians who are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, we must ask, where does our “more” come from? Last Sunday the newspaper covered a story of modern-day slavery. Did you see it? Migrant workers were encouraged to move to Georgia to harvest onions, only their work visas were held by the management, so they couldn’t leave. They were living behind a barbed wire fence and were being paid pennies a day. Two died on the job. There was little to no access to food or safe drinking water, and it was happening in our state, not 150 years ago, but just last week. Then, maybe you’ve heard about our boycott of the winter Olympics in Beijing. Have you? If you google “slavery in China,” you’ll read headlines, asking, “did an enslaved person make your smart phone?” for according to authorities on the subject, right now 3.8 million people are living in conditions of modern slavery in China. “Enough already,” John the Baptist said. Then the people asked him what they should do. To the crowds he said, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” To the tax collectors he said, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed to you.” To the soldiers he said, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation and be satisfied with you wages.” To the consumers he said, “Don’t make getting a good deal on something matter more to you than the welfare of the people who made it.” Don’t allow your desire to have trump your commitment to decency. Especially, if you have enough already. It’s like a story I heard once that Dr. Fred Craddock told. Dr. Craddock is one of the truly great preachers. He taught at Candler School of Theology on the campus of Emory University, then went to live up in Ellijay, but he used to like to eat at the Waffle House. He said, “The Waffle House is a good place to go get a BLT. You have to take a shower after, but it’s a good place to get a BLT.” Well, once he was at the Waffle House. Waitress came up and he ordered a cup of coffee. Dr. Craddock asked for cream, and she patted down her apron and said, “I can never find anything in this capricious apron.” “Capricious?” Dr. Craddock repeated. Then she threw out six creamers on the table. He took two and pushed the four back toward the waitress, but she pushed them back towards him, saying, “Better to have and not need than need and not have.” Thinking to himself, “first capricious and now this,” he asked, “Well, are you a waitress or a philosopher?” Then he said, “But best is to take what you need and give the rest away.” Enough already. Do we not have more than we need? And what is our thirst for more cheap plastic stuff and bright shiny technology pushing us towards? Is our desire making us indifferent to the welfare of our neighbor? Is our desire making us blind to what God has given? And what has God given? A Son. So, slow down for a minute, and listen to God’s promise from Zephaniah one more time: I will save the lame. I will gather the outcast. I will bring you home. And will change your shame into praise, for joy is within your reach if you would just let go with all your desiring of stuff and enjoy the people around you. For even if you forget the almond paste in your Christmas cookies, Or notice that your husband has something in his teeth for your Christmas card picture, Even if you, like my Uncle Al did years ago, forget to take out the bag of giblets before you bake your turkey, and even if a dog named Snot is hacking on a bone under the table during your Christmas dinner, what makes Christmas Christmas isn’t the perfect table or even the perfect meal, but the people sitting at the table with you. However, what John the Baptist is pointing out is that sometimes we push those people away with our desire. No one was inviting the tax collectors over for dinner. Do you know why? Because they were shaking down their neighbors, calling it taxes but lining their pockets. And no one was happy to see the soldiers coming because they abused their power. Likewise, how hard is it to give mom a hug when she seems to care more about what the people who will be receiving the Christmas card will think of her than how the people in the picture feel? And how hard it is to rejoice with dad when he can’t stop stressing about getting the lights to twinkle on the tree? My friends, the perfect Christmas will always remain out of our reach because we’re not capable of perfect. That’s how we know it’s not required: because it’s not possible. However, joy is right within our reach if we would just give up all our reaching. We must let go of our desire for the perfect Christmas to embrace the people we’re celebrating Christmas with. Don’t reach t for more, for if you have enough, more won’t make you happy, gratitude will. Don’t compare yourself to your neighbor, for comparison is the thief of joy. Stop worrying over how everything looks. Relax into the joy of this season and focus on the gift that’s being given to you. For born unto us, the High King of Heaven who gathers the outcast shepherds to the manger and spends his whole life welcoming strangers into the family of faith. So, sing aloud, O daughter Zion, shout, O Israel! Rejoice with all your heart, for the Lord, your God is in your midst. And he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love. The King is coming. The Lord of all is in our midst. Gather some people to celebrate his birth with you, and if you let that be enough, joy will live in your heart always. Amen.

Hope

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 25: 1-10 and Jeremiah 33: 14-16 Sermon Title: Hope Preached on November 28, 2021 I’ve titled this sermon “hope,” which is a simple title. Just one word, but what is hope? How would you define it? What does it look like? What does it mean? It’s one of those words we often use, yet how do you put your finger on hope? Around this time of year, we use the word “hope” a lot. Out of the four Sundays of the season of Advent where we prepare ourselves for Christ’s coming, the theme of this Sunday, the first of four, is hope and so you heard the word in the Advent Candle Lighting, among other parts of the worship service. In addition to worship today, we often speak of hope in the context of Christmas morning: ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. That’s a happy and hopeful poem that we read this time of year, and we all know that the children hung their stockings by the chimney, because, while they didn’t know for sure, they hoped that St. Nicholas soon would be there to fill those stockings with something special. They hoped their Christmas wishes would be filled. They hoped for toys and candy. And their sense of hope is so strong it borders on certainty, for no child hangs her stocking by the chimney thinking that there’s just as much a chance that a family of mice will move in as Santa Clause filling their stocking with presents. Santa Clause saves kids from the dreadful outcome. He fulfills the hope of many, and it breaks all our hearts to think of any child to wake up without anything to open on Christmas morning. Why does that thought break our heart? Do we think toys are just that important? No. The thought breaks our hearts because hope is precious. Hope is the belief that tomorrow will be better than today. Hope is the thought that our wishes will come true. Hope is the idea of a dream fulfilled, a wish materialized, and what’s more tragic than a child whose hopes have been dashed? That’s what Santa is all about. Santa Clause brings presents, yes, but in so doing he preserves the hope of children. On this first Sunday of the Season of Advent, this Sunday when we light the candle of hope, I ask you: if Santa is there to preserve the hope of children, who is there to preserve the hope of grownups? Who’s there to save us from disappointment, cynicism, and despair? Like hope, despair is another word that we use but is hard to define. Author Brene Brown has a new book coming out this week, where she defines so many human emotions. She claims that most people are only able to label about three of their emotions: happiness, sadness, and anger, while, we humans can feel about 100 different emotions, including despair, which she defines as, the “feeling that life is too difficult.” Despair is not a fleeting feeling that work is just too hard or that a phone call too uncomfortable. You might label the emotions we feel in such circumstance as frustration or heartache. We get frustrated that we can’t put a new bike together or when we must sign up our kids for lacrosse and end up signing up ourselves (to share a real-life example of a time I felt frustrated). More than frustration, despair is the feeling that we just can’t make it and it stays and stays. Think about despair as the feeling that you feel when you have to wait for 45 minutes for your COVID booster, and as you’re waiting you get a phone call from your daughter, the ICU nurse, who tells you that she can’t come home for Thanksgiving, because while she hasn’t had a vacation in 18 months, has watched all her friends quit, is trying to care for 5 beds instead of 1, and is sick and tired of watching people who refused to be vaccinated die under her care needs to keep working through the holiday. That’s despair, that life is demanding too much of someone you love. Despair is the feeling that you feel when watch the news and a story about politicians squabbling over how to gerrymander is followed by a report of a local murder, then rising gas prices, and finally, turkey shortages. That’s despair, that life is getting worse and not better. Despair is something like how someone described raising twins. “It’s not twice as hard as having one child. It’s like treading water in a pool and someone hands you a couple of babies.” Not every parent raises twins, but every parent has felt like their life is just too much, and has wondered: how will I make it? That’s despair. Despair is the feeling that you feel when your country has been invaded, your king has been executed, your temple has been destroyed, you’ve been carted off to live in a foreign land, you used to be a doctor but now you peel potatoes, and you keep trying to get ahead but you’re tired of pushing so hard and you’re thinking of giving up because life is just too much. That’s who Jeremiah was writing to, for reality for the group of people the prophet Jeremiah addresses had been and continued to be absolutely heart breaking. It was so heart breaking that even a visit from Santa Clause wasn’t going to cut it, so, the prophet reminds the people about another who is on the way: The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise, I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David. Jeremiah tells us about this righteous branch right after Jerusalem was destroyed, right after the Holy City was cut down like a tree by the Babylonian army who invaded in the year 587 BCE. The invasion was so massive, so complete, that the Temple was demolished, the king deposed, and so many of the survivors shipped off to live in exile. According to the prophet, Israel was a tree, a great tree rooted in a place, among a people, nurtured by God, only to be floored by the ax of Babylon. And like that tree, all around him people who survived were still falling by the ax of despair. How could they look to the future with hope? After such devastation, all they could imagine was that life would get worse. That having experienced such trauma, more would be on the way. The bad things happened and would surely keep happening. As Babylon invaded Jerusalem, the siege is said to have lasted for 30 months, and when the armies finally left, what remained of the great tree that was the Holy City? Only a stump. Only a stump was left, but as the smoke lifted and the dust settled this great prophet saw a shoot spring forth. Now that’s hope. For a fresh shoot is enough to convince us that tomorrow may yet be better than today, that old dreams may yet be fulfilled, that ancient promises might be kept. Can you see it? And think about it for just a moment. Think about how inevitable it is, really. We’ve all killed our fair share of houseplants, but have you ever had a plant that just wouldn’t die? For some reason, in high school, I explored the resiliency of plants for a couple science fair projects. Once I managed to get grass to grow upside down. The next year I attempted to study the negative effects of an oil spill using a couple pansies. I watered them with motor oil, only they wouldn’t die. I took pictures of them day after day for my presentation, yet they wouldn’t die, so I pulled their leaves off to prove my hypothesis, only I left the green leaves within the frame of the picture. You could still see the leaves in the picture I took and glued to my three paneled poster, and that’s how I earned a D on my project. Likewise, think about English Ivy. Or Kudzu. Think about shoots from a Bradford Pear stump. Hope is not fragile but inevitable. Hope is as inevitable as crabgrass in your lawn. It springs forth all around us. Can’t you see it? In our Second Scripture Lesson the Prophet reminds the Jewish people in exile, telling them that hope springs forth, yet this is hardly the only reminder or the only time the people needed to be reminded of hope. For thousands of years the Jewish people have faced such violence. They’ve been the targets of prejudice. They’ve been victimized again and again. The Temple which was destroyed by the Babylonians in the time of Jeremiah was rebuilt and dedicated again more than 2,000 years ago. The celebration of the Temple’s rededication is called Hanukkah, which begins tonight. So now I ask you: if God can rebuild a Temple, won’t he rebuild your life? What’s rebuilding a relationship compared to returning a people from exile? When candles are lit, do they not break the darkness? Does a shoot from a stump not defy the power of death? For death gives way to life. Despair flees at the sight of hope springing forth. Therefore I say, our tomorrows will be better than our yesterday’s. How do I know it? Look to the stump. New life springs forth! That’s hope and that’s Jesus. A new branch growing out from an old stump. A new baby growing inside an unmarried virgin. A hope that grows from nothing at all but rises to rule the world. This is Christmas. Not the dried-out tree that’s already losing needles in your living room. Not the trash can filled with crumpled paper after the presents have been opened. No, the righteous branch that springs up for David. And he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” So, as Christmas approaches, be ready to give up on giving up. Consider that feeling we all feel not just frustration but despair and look at how death will not have the final word for the light shines in the darkness, new shoots rise from old stumps, a baby will be born to the virgin. That’s our Lord, hope embodied. Persistent life even amid what appears to be death. Gather around his light and rejoice.