Bob Kaylor

Peace Be With You: A Sermon for Christmas Eve, 2007

The way from Jerusalem to Bethlehem is a winding and twisty road that takes you outside the bustling city through some well-appointed suburbs. On the way you pass some interesting landmarks. One of the most interesting to me is the Hinnom Valley. Also known as Gehenna. It sits on the southern side of the Old City of Jerusalem and during the time of Jesus it was the city dump which smoldered and stank. Whenever Jesus refers to “hell” in the New Testament, the word in the original language is “Gehenna.” Funny thing is, the valley of Gehenna is now a park—with lovely green grass and beautiful trees and asphalt walking paths running everywhere. Here, hell may not freeze over, but it sure can be paved over!

The scene changes, though, as you approach Bethlehem, just 6 miles from Jerusalem. Affluent suburbs give way to the site of a long, high, concrete wall blocking the road. Bethlehem, you see, is in the West Bank—Palestinian territory. The Israeli government erected this wall in 2002 as a way of keeping suicide bombers from infiltrating into Israel. If you want to go to Bethlehem, you have to prepare for an ordeal.

As you wait to enter the busy checkpoint, you notice the guards on the ground and in the towers, scanning the area with automatic weapons. They come on the tour bus, looking each person in the face, looking for signs of nervousness or trouble. You look out the window at the stark grey of the concrete wall, the razor wire, and tire-ripping barriers. But what you really notice in the midst of all this military display of security is the brightly painted sign that spans the wall from nearly top to bottom by one of the guard towers. It’s a sign that was put there by the Israeli Ministry of Tourism and it says in English, Hebrew and Arabic, “Peace Be With You.”

Peace Be With You. Interesting sentiment to be painted on a wall covered by a machine gun in a tower.

On the other side of the wall, the Palestinian side, the wall isn’t neatly painted with slogans for the tourists, but is sprayed with graffiti in both Arabic and English. “God will tear down this wall,” says one. A giant spray-painted snake slithers down the length of the wall toward the checkpoint. There’s a picture painted by a British graffiti artist named Banksy of a young girl in pigtails and a pink dress patting down an Israeli soldier. On another section of the wall is a picture of a dove of peace—wearing a flak jacket. Turning away from the wall you notice the stark contrast that comes by moving about 50 yards from Israel into Bethlehem—it’s almost like flipping a switch from prosperity to poverty.

To live in Bethlehem, on the other side of the wall, is to deal with unemployment as high as 60%. Those few who are fortunate enough to have a job outside the city have to stand in hours-long lines every morning and evening to be searched and herded through the checkpoint on their way to and from work. Shops are boarded up, infrastructure is crumbling, and life depends on the trickle of tourists who are allowed through the wall to quickly visit the Church of the Nativity and maybe stop at one of the few gift shops selling olive wood crafts, especially nativity sets (I bought several when I was there in October). One wood carver, Tawfiq Salsaa, makes nativity sets that look like the others, except that there’s a wall separating the wise men and Jesus. "I wanted to give the world an idea of how we live in the Holy Land," says the 65-year-old Palestinian carpenter. Truth is, if the wise men tried to get to Bethlehem today they’d have to run their gifts through a metal detector. On this side of the wall, life is hard and hope is hard to come by.

When we read the Christmas story and when we sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” this isn’t what we picture. We love the Christmas card image of a sleepy little town with open streets and gentle, rustic stables. The fact is, though, that while there was no concrete wall around Bethlehem in the first century, there was no less stark a contrast between the poor of this little village and the powerful holding court in Jerusalem and, even more so, in Rome. Then, like now, Bethlehem and indeed all of Israel was occupied territory. The emperor, Augustus, ruled over most of the Mediterranean world. Augustus was the first Roman emperor to be considered divine—some of his titles may sound familiar: son of god, savior of the world, divine redeemer. The cult of the emperor was the main Roman religion—his face was everywhere from coins to road markers. Augustus was called “a man of peace,” but his definition of peace was that of every empire that has ever moved across the face of the world. For Rome, for Augustus, peace was about victory—about military and economic security. Augustus killed off the opposition and subjected foreign lands and called it peace. He taxed those conquered peoples heavily in order to fund his army, his building projects, and his personal needs and called it prosperity. Under Augustus, Rome erected a virtual wall of separation between those who were in and out, those who were rich and poor, those who lived and died. Peace was the luxury of the powerful.

What we miss when we boil down the Christmas story to a once a year celebration of mangers and mall-shopping is the stark truth Jesus was born on the wrong side of the wall. The emperor Augustus never heard about his birth, nor did the rich and powerful just up the road in Jerusalem. If Augustus had heard anything about it he probably would have simply acknowledged that another taxpayer from the working class had been born to help fill the treasury. No one of consequence was paying attention on the other side of the wall. It’s that way with people who enjoy all the benefits of the kind of peace and prosperity the empire provides.

Note that the angels didn’t appear in Rome, or in the Temple in Jerusalem. They didn’t perform a concert for the emperor or invade the dreams of wealthy merchants or military leaders. When the angels came, they came to Bethlehem—on that side of the wall. And they gave their performance for a group of shepherds—who in a place of poverty were the poorest of the poor. It was to them, the lowest of the low, the insignificant and forgotten people of the empire, that God chose to reveal his grand plan for the world.

The plan that God was announcing through the overture of the angel choir was a plan of peace, but a peace radically different from that so often trumpeted by human empires. God’s plan of “peace on earth” would not come through the power and might of conquering armies and vanquished enemies. It would not be a peace that meant prosperity for some and poverty for others. It was not peace through victory, but peace through God’s justice. That’s what shalom, the Hebrew word for “peace” really means—well-being, justice, good news for all the people. It’s the kind of peace that happens when God sits on the throne of the world and not Caesar. It’s the kind of peace described in Isaiah 9—where the yoke of oppression is shattered and where the implements of war are “destined for burning.” It’s the kind of peace that Mary sings about in Luke 1—a song that is incorporated with that of the angels. She sings, “God has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down the rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich empty away.”

This vision of peace is familiar to us on Christmas Eve. We like to sing of “peace on earth, good will toward men” along with the angels, but when the angels retreat back into heaven we put away that vision for another year, leaving world peace to be the subject of posturing politicians and beauty queens trying to look and sound their humanitarian best. It’s a nice idea but, really, there isn’t anything we can actually do about it.

But maybe we feel that way because we live on the other side of the wall from Bethlehem. We live in a place where we can spend our money on recreation instead of wondering where our next meal is coming from. We have the luxury of looking at places like the Middle East, Darfur, and other locations around the world through our television screens instead of seeing war, genocide, injustice, and poverty just outside our windows. When it gets to be too much, we can afford to change the channel. We are among the world’s wealthiest people in this room tonight. Don’t believe me? Here are the facts: if you have just $2,200 in assets, you are in the top half of the world’s wealthiest people. Just $2,200 bucks puts you there. I’m guessing many of you have that much under your tree tonight. If you have $61,000 in assets, you are in the top 10% of the world’s wealthiest people. And if you have more than $500,000, you are in the top 1%. The empire has been good for us, and because of that it is so easy for us to forget about the world on the other side of the wall. The truth is, however, that that’s precisely where Jesus is calling us.

I know that you may have come tonight expecting to hear a message about a smiling baby, gentle shepherds, adoring parents, and lowing cattle. Maybe some precious memories of childhood or a sentimental story about Christmases past. Maybe a little something to bless all the gift buying that we’ve done. We’re supposed to feel good at Christmas, right? The problem is, though, that the story of Christmas isn’t really at its core about any of those things. In very real terms, Luke and the other Gospel writers want to take us through the gates of our own security and comfort to the other side of the wall. The Christmas carols call us to “Come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem” and “come to Bethlehem and see.” We sing that so easily, but the truth is that to really know what Christmas means, we have to go to Bethlehem—to cross our hearts and minds over to that side of the wall where we can hear the songs of angel choirs proclaiming that God is doing something about the real problems in the real world.

Jesus may have left Bethlehem, but he lived his life fully on that side of the wall. The baby born in a cave, in a manger, grew up preaching and embodying a message of the coming Kingdom of God—God’s reign and rule on the earth, a Kingdom that would bring justice and well-being to the whole world. He healed the sick, touched the untouchable, called people to share their wealth, fed the hungry. He spent his time with outcasts, loved the unlovable, and washed the feet of his disciples like the lowliest servant.

His mission and message drew fire from his enemies, whose version of comfort and security was threatened by his call for justice and grace. Rather than vanquish his enemies, though, he forgave them—even as he was nailed to a Roman cross, the ultimate symbol of the empire’s ability to kill and destroy. After his death, the empire walled him in a stone tomb and sealed the door shut. That’s what empires do to those who challenge the status quo.

But what the empire fails to realize is that Jesus breaks down walls—walls of violence and injustice, walls that separate rich and poor, walls that define who’s worthy and who’s not, and walls of sin and death that separate us from knowing the love, peace, and justice of God in this world. In Jesus, God showed that empires cannot and will not have the last word in this world—that word belongs to the true king, the one for whom the angels sing—the true Son of God, the one called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father and…the true Prince of Peace.

To celebrate Christmas, then, is to celebrate hope—not the kind of hope that’s printed in a Christmas card but the kind of hope that challenges empires and changes lives. It’s not a hope that ignores the pain of the world in favor of looking forward to heavenly bliss (despite the words in “Away in a Manger”—“fit us for heaven to live with thee there”). No! It’s about following Jesus in a mission that breaks down the walls of this world and makes God’s Kingdom a reality. It’s a call for us to be living and working as if God is on Caesar’s throne. The promise of God is that it will one day be so. That’s what hope is on the other side of the wall.

“Come to Bethlehem and see”…how do we do it? We can’t all be great reformers like William Wilberforce, who 200 years ago this year pushed through a bill that abolished the slave trade in the British empire. It took him 20 years of hard work and dedication to do it, but it forever changed the nature of the world. We can’t all campaign for office or be full-time activists. What we can do, however, is come to the manger—to embrace Luke’s story of Christmas not as a once-a-year tradition but as a call upon our lives. We can offer our worship and ourselves to the Christ child, trusting that his Kingdom of peace and justice will come through us. But then we can watch for the empires of the world, even the empire that we live in. Anglican Bishop N.T. Wright, in his Christmas Eve sermon last year, puts it this way: “We must be mindful of the Augustus Caesars of our day: we can keep our eyes open for where the powers that run the world are crushing the little people who live on our street, in our town, in our local hospitals or prisons.” We can be more aware during the coming election year, not voting for candidates based on how well they play on camera but voting with a mind toward the things that matter to God.

And we can listen for the song of the angels. It will come in surprising ways, as it always does. God doesn’t call everybody in the same way. But if you are learning to love the Christ-child you will find your ears gradually becoming tuned to the particular song that God’s angels are trying to sing to you, and, more dangerously perhaps, through you. That song is sung in the Bethlehems of the world, and we go there every time we serve the poor, fight injustice, speak for those who are voiceless, spend time in a prison teaching an inmate a new way of life, and in thousands of other little ways. Every great work begins with little steps.

Tawfiq Salsaa still makes his little olive wood nativity sets with the wall between the wise men and baby Jesus. But even in occupied Bethlehem, even behind the wall, there is hope. See, every wall in every nativity set Tawfiq makes—is removable.

That’s what Christmas is about: peace on earth—a peace with no more walls. If even hell can be paved over, then nothing is impossible!

Come to Bethlehem. You’ll never be the same and neither will our world.

Sources:

Borg, Marcus and Jon Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas, New York: HarperOne, 2007.

"Got $2,200? In this world, you're rich on a global scale," MSN Money web site, December 13, 2006.

Harrison, Rebecca, "Three wise men hit a barrier in Bethlehem," Reuters byline on Yahoo News Canada, December 12, 2007.

Wright, N.T., "Emperor's and Angels," sermon at Durham Cathedral, December 24, 2006.

Time is Money--Or Is It?

One of my parishioners recently bought me a gift subscription to "Ode" magazine, which is a very intriguing publication with stories that "bridge the gap between thinking and doing, between rage and hope, and the painful gap between the rich and the poor." The focus is on building "peace and sustainability." Good stuff. You might want to check out their web site and subscribe yourself. It goes along with the Kingdom ideas I've been preaching about lately.

Here's an example of a little gem I found while reading this morning. It's by James Geary in the "Turning Words" column: "Contrary to popular belief, time bears no resemblance to money whatsoever. People say time is money but it's not. You can't earn time or save it. You can't beg, borrow, or steal it. It cannot be given or received. You can only spend time--invest it, wisely or unwisely--but it never pays you back in kind. That's why time is always in such short supply, even though demand is always so high. And that's why money is such poor compensation for all the time we lose in making it. Like wealth, time can be wasted, dissipated, frittered away. But while fortunes can be rebuilt in a day, no amount of diligence, savvy or hard work can ever restore even a moment of lost time. Nor does its value ever fluctuate; nothing is more commonplace--everyone has time--yet nothing is more precious. 'Time isn't measured by length but by depth,' German poet Isolde Kurz wrote. And time doesn't tarry long on the surface; its richest deposits are found only in the deepest pockets."

Geary is the author of The World in a Phrase: A History of Aphorisms.

Invest your time wisely today!

Book Review: Brian McClaren's "Everything Must Change"

I've been a fan of Brian McClaren for a few years now, mostly because he writes well and comes from a perspective that is neither downline conservative evangelical nor liberal mainline protestant. McClaren does a pretty good job of articulating some of the angst that many of us feel who fall  outside those traditional boxes. I have read a lot of N.T. Wright's work as well, and find him to be in much the same vein--looking at the biblical narrative about Jesus from a contextual perspective--not by worshiping the text but by getting underneath it to find the powerful truth within. When it comes to Jesus and his agenda, I think they are spot on.

McClaren puts his thesis in language that your average person can get a handle on. The basic premise is this: the "framing narrative" of evangelical Christianity--that people are steeped in original sin, God is angry about that, demands payment, sends Jesus to be the substitute, believe in him and you go to heaven, don't and you go to hell--is really neither workable nor biblical. This is the framing narrative with which many of us grew up. I was never comfortable with it (not that that's the goal, mind you), but I always wondered why the whole of Jesus' life and ministry was boiled down to essentially the cross with the resurrection as a little added bonus. The whole thing was pretty afterlife focused--all about going to heaven when you die or, if you don't pray the right prayer before you die, going to hell in a handbasket afterward.  The teachings and parables of Jesus seemed to be viewed as somewhat interesting filler material--yeah, you should be nice to people, but it's more important to get their souls saved (oh, and if you don't get your friends saved and they wind up in hell, it'll be at least partially your fault). I realize now that much of my faith growing up wasn't based on mission or good biblical exegesis, but primarily on fear. Faith was a form of fire insurance and you were good to go as long as you kept going to the altar to get your policy renewed.

When I was in seminary, though, I had the dual revelation of both reading the Bible in depth and in context and latching on to N.T. Wright's work because of the influence of Dr. Mary Fisher. Hers was one of my last classes in my last semester and it absolutely blew me away. Here was a message about Jesus that made sense--that he came to complete Israel's story, that he was not announcing God's abandonment of creation for a home "way beyond the blue" but was proclaiming the good news that God was indeed redeeming his good creation through the coming Kingdom and that Jesus was showing the way for his disciples to participate in God's program of redemption. The Gospel's are much more earth-based, concerned about getting the life of heaven into people than getting people into heaven. What we do now matters--not as a dry run for an eternity of plunking harps, but because every good act of grace we do for others and our world brings God's Kingdom that much closer. My "framing narrative" shifted big time.

McClaren's work came along about that time, taking this idea and making it accessible. His latest book focuses on the narrative of the Kingdom as being the dominant paradigm for how Christians should approach the global crises we face. He takes the reader to different places around the world to see where this is happening. It's a fascinating read that left me nodding my head in agreement quite a lot. I'm recommending it to folks in my church as another way of getting access into what I've been preaching about for the last five years.

Critics have branded McClaren a heretic, but I think he's really at the forefront of a new reformation. If what he and others like Wright say is true then, indeed, "everything must change." How we do church, how we do spiritual formation and Christian education, how we approach the environment and political issues--all of it falls under the Kingdom program and paradigm.

I've put a link to the book in the Amazon widget on the blog page if you'd like to order a copy. If you do, let's have some more conversation about it.

A Prophet in the Way (Matthew 3:1-12)--Sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent

This is the second Sunday in Advent, and every year on or about the second Sunday in Advent I start getting emails, phone calls, and casual inquiries from church folk about the relationship of Advent to Christmas—specifically, why don’t we sing a lot of Christmas carols during Advent? It’s actually a great question (and one usually asked with a great deal of passion). There’s just something about the Christmas season that touches people deeply, evoking memories from childhood and creating excitement about Christmas Day.

I can certainly understand why people feel the need to sing carols during Advent (and you’ll notice we’re doing some of that today). Our culture, after all, starts the Christmas celebration as early as possible every year, with stores putting up Christmas displays during Halloween and radio stations switching their formats to 24-hour Christmas music from Thanksgiving on. I was in an elevator in an office building this week and heard a Muzak version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” that was so cheesy that I nearly spit my latte through my nose. Still, it is kind of nice to be sitting in my office working on my sermon and hear some of our musicians practicing for the upcoming Christmas services.

But while the culture is ready to jump down the chimney or head to the manger while the leaves are still turning, the church calendar isn’t quite so eager to have Christmas just yet. The four Sundays of Advent were brought into the tradition of the church as far back as the year 480 as a kind of second, though less austere, observance of Lent in preparation for the Christmas feast. Advent has historically been a time of waiting and preparation for the coming of the Christ, a time of penitence, prayer, and reflection. Celebrating Christmas without going through Advent is kind of like buying a book and reading the last chapter first—you know how it turns out, but you don’t have any context in which to put the story. Advent provides the context for the Christmas story, helping us to celebrate it more fully because we understand what it means.

If you look at the scriptures for the four Sundays of Advent you see that they are really more anchored in the Old Testament, providing background and foundation for the celebration to come. We don’t hear the angels singing just yet, but instead we hear the voices of the prophets who call God’s people to prepare for His coming. Instead of carols and bells we hear the echoes of the biblical story Israel and its need for a Messiah, a savior who will liberate them once and for all from slavery and domination to foreign powers. Instead of singing the songs of Christmas just yet, Advent calls us to listen for God to lay out his plan for redeeming the world.

The Gospel writers understood this connection and, for the most part, were more concerned about the meaning of Christ’s coming than the details of his birth. Of the four Gospels, only Matthew and Luke offer birth narratives of Jesus and these are radically different. It’s interesting that Mark—which most scholars consider to be the earliest Gospel, likely written in the 70s or 80s AD—doesn’t mention anything about the story of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. Neither does John. The letters of Paul, which are the earliest New Testament documents, mention nothing about the first Christmas, either. In truth, the early church does not seem to have made a big deal about Jesus’ birth, but about his life, death, and resurrection and what they meant for the whole world.

What is common to all four Gospels, however, is reference to the ministry of John the Baptist, who provides a link between the prophetic tradition of the Old Testament and the coming of Jesus in the New Testament. It is voice of John crying out in the wilderness that the Gospel writers want us to hear even more than the angel choir.

Matthew, like the others, sees John the Baptist through the lens of the Old Testament prophets. He was to be “the voice crying out in the wilderness” preparing “the way of the Lord” and making his paths straight. The quote is from Isaiah 40, which describes the promised return of the people of Judah and Jerusalem to their homeland after their 70-year exile as captives in Babylon.

In a very real sense, then, the “wilderness” and “desert” references in Isaiah are meant to invoke the idea of a second Exodus. As the people of Israel had been brought out of slavery in Egypt through the desert to the promised land in the time of Moses, so would they be liberated from exile in Babylon, traveling the desert wilderness once again to their true homeland. God would be at the head of the parade, revealing the glory of God to all the nations (Isaiah 40:5). When such parades took place in the ancient world, a herald would run ahead and announce that the king was coming. Matthew thus points to John as the herald of the King—the voice crying in the wilderness calling all who would hear to prepare for the King’s arrival.

The Judean wilderness is a barren and desolate place, and at that time was widely known to be home to only wild animals, bandits, nomads, and the occasional religious hermit (though the Essenes, a Jewish sect, had established a community near the Dead Sea at Qumran—the site where the Dead Sea scrolls were later discovered). If you lived in Jerusalem, going to the Jordan was not a simple day’s journey, but one fraught with danger and discomfort. Leaving the relative safety of the hill country, one had to travel about 18 miles down to the Jordan River, going from about 2700 feet in elevation in Jerusalem to more than 1300 feet below sea level where the Jordan flowed into the Dead Sea. Still, the “people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem” were traveling out into the desert wastes to hear John and be baptized by him.

We read about John’s clothing and diet and wonder why anyone would go to all that trouble to hear him preach, but that’s modern thinking driven by our own cultural values of what constitutes adequate credentials. We like our presenters to be well-groomed and media savvy, but in first century Judaism most people would likely have recognized John’s lifestyle and location as a clear echo of the prophets of old. In Jewish thought and history, salvation always came from the wilderness. Moses, Elijah, and David—three of the most important people in the Hebrew Bible—had all had to flee into the wilderness at times, but then emerged from the desert to lead their people having been strengthened by God for the mission. Jesus would later go into the wilderness after his baptism to prepare for his ministry (Mark 1:12-13; Matthew 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13). The leaders of Israel had emerged from the desert, so when John appeared there the people took notice.

John’s wardrobe reflected that same prophetic tradition. Elijah had been “a hairy man with a leather belt around his waist” (2 Kings 1:8) and spoke as God’s forerunner. John’s clothing of camel’s hair and a leather belt would have been an unmistakable symbol to the crowds who came. As for his diet, I learned on a recent trip to the Holy Land that the carob tree was also known as a “locust” tree and the edible pods were referred to as “locusts.” The may soften the image of a wild-haired prophet munching on bugs for lunch, but he was nevertheless a man of the wilderness. His speech reflected the abrupt and pointed style of the prophetic tradition. Notice how he addresses the Pharisees—“You brood of vipers!” Not exactly what you’d put on a Christmas card. Even that phrasing, however, is loaded. Ancient people believed that baby pit vipers actually ate their way out of the mother’s body, killing her. John’s insult, then, is doubly horrific. He is accusing the religious leaders of selling out the tradition of their ancestors and subverting the message for their own gain.

But while John the Baptist is a compelling figure in his own right, his baptism may have been the bigger draw. Ritual bathing was a very common and repeatable practice throughout first century Israel. Mikvahs, or bathing pools have been excavated in many of the important Jewish sites of the period. In Qumran, for example, there are several such baths and the Dead Sea Scrolls reveal that baptism was joined to the confession of sins. Most ritual bathing, however, was done by the individual without assistance. John seems to have taken that understanding of baptism and moved it from a mere individual act to one that was a sign for the whole nation of Israel.

By baptizing in the Jordan, John seemed to be evoking that story all over again through an acted parable. John was calling the people to leave behind a spiritual Egypt, their old life of slavery to sin, and come through the purifying waters of forgiveness so that they might be free to once again live out the covenant promises of God as God’s chosen people. This was merely a prelude, however. John said that a person greater than himself, who would baptize them with God’s own Spirit and with refining fire. It was time to get in the water; to repent and be purified in preparation for the coming Kingdom of God.

When we use the word “repentance” most Christians think of it primarily as being sorry for what we have done and promising to do better. The biblical meaning is much richer than that. In the Old Testament, repentance was shaped by the return from exile to the place where God is present. “Preparing the way of the Lord” then, is the path of return from exile to God—to change direction and follow God’s way.

The New Testament meaning expands that. In the Greek, the root for the word translated “repent” means “to go beyond the mind that you have”—in other words, to enter into a new way of looking at the world. John was not only calling people to return to the way of the Lord, but to focus their lives on God’s dream, God’s future for the world and begin living that out. Jesus would pick up this theme and drive it forward in his teachings about the Kingdom of God. God was coming to transform the world and John was calling people to wake up and join the parade!

It’s absolutely vital that we not be so anxious about Christmas that we miss what it means. John the Baptist stands squarely in the way of our headlong rush toward Christmas cheer. His voice crying out in the wilderness demands to be heard over the holiday hum.

In fact, Advent calls us to prepare to sing those hymns in their proper context. It’s so easy to sing the joyous strains of “peace on earth and good will to men” at Christmas, but after the decorations are put away we too easily go back to accepting the world as a place of violence (incidentally, isn’t ironic that in a season that is supposed to be about “peace on earth” some of the hottest gift items people give to their children are video games like Halo 3 that encourage them to pick up a gun…just an observation, mind you). It’s fun to sing “Joy to the World, the Lord is come!” in a beautifully decorated sanctuary, but more challenging for us to express that joy in the midst of challenging circumstances and with people who treat us negatively. We brightly sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” while conveniently overlooking the fact that that little town now sits behind a concrete security wall and while its residents suffer from the crushing effects of poverty and unemployment. We want to “Hark” and hear the angels sing, but we forget that the messengers of God were announcing that the infant born in a manger was coming to bring God’s justice to the world and not posing for a Christmas card. Sure, it is a warm-hearted feeling to sing these familiar songs, but without first going through Advent they become nothing more than a long string of sentiments trooped out once a year.

Truth is that if we want to sing these carols with any real meaning, we have to first be willing to go out into the wilderness for awhile, to hear the ringing words of the prophet who, and get ready for his coming—an event that must evoke change in us and change in the world. Otherwise, Christmas is just another holiday.

Most of us in here have been baptized, and Advent is a good time to remember that baptism is not only a sign of repentance and forgiveness, but also a commissioning to join Jesus in bringing the Kingdom, God’s new reality, into the world. Go to the end of Matthew and you see that Jesus’ command to his disciples to “baptize” people in his name wasn’t merely about adding converts to a new religion, but rather a sign that the “hell” was being shocked out of a world awaiting its full redemption (Matthew 28:19).

When we listen to John, we remember that baptism is neither ceremonial nor sentimental—it is a sign that we are on a journey out of exile—away from sin and back to God. It is a reminder to us every day that we are to go beyond the mind that we have and seek the way of God in our thoughts, our actions, and our words. Our baptism is a call to bear fruit, to be productive and active in bringing God’s vision for the world to reality.

It sure is beautiful to look out at the snow, at the twinkling Christmas lights, the shiny decorations, and experience the fun and wonder of Christmas. But as you’re out there doing your shopping, decorating the house, or humming those carols don’t miss the prophet standing in the way. He’s there to tell you what it all means—that the coming of the Christ brings change to us and to our world. Listen to him, then sing with a renewed voice.

Source:
Borg, Marcus and John Dominic Cross, The First Christmas, New York: HarperCollins, 2007.

A Wild and Crazy Biography

Back in high school I was a huge fan of Steve Martin's "Wild and Crazy Guy" shtick. I bought the albums (yes, they were vinyl) and mimicked Martin's delivery when joking with my friends. It was all pretty goofy, but I was captivated by the sense of timing and Martin's willingness to put himself out there.

Now comes a new biography of Martin's life as a comedian. It's a biography, even though he wrote it, because he's writing about "a guy he used to know." I was leafing through it at a bookstore recently and with a gift card I got for my birthday I'm planning to give it a good read.

It occurs to me that preachers learn about crafting sermons in seminary, but if you want to learn about how to present with pace and timing there's no better model than a good stand-up comedian. Not that sermons are supposed to be funny (well, at least not all the time), it's just that there's something about a person standing in front of an audience with a microphone that adds a sense of excitement. I'm convicted that good preaching is as much about how the sermon is presented as it is what is presented. I'm looking forward to reading about Martin's mind and how he crafted some of those great bits.

I'll set up my review later, but you can check out this one on Slate for now.

God at Work (Romans 13:11-14): Sermon for the First Sunday in Advent, 2007

You ever have one of those weeks when something profound insight comes into your life and it sticks with you every day? This was one of those weeks for me. Actually, there were two such events in my life this week that are still rattling around in my soul this morning.

One was last Friday night when we rented the movie “Amazing Grace” from Blockbuster. Some of you have seen this, but if you haven’t you need to stop on your way home from church today and get it. It’s rare that I see a movie that makes an impact on my life, much less entertains me. Amazing Grace is the story of William Wilberforce and the abolishment of the slave trade in England in the early 19th century—an event that has its 200th anniversary this year. In 1785, Wilberforce became a devout Christian while a young member of the British parliament. His pastor was John Newton, the former slave ship captain who had renounced his profession, became a minister, and would write the words to the hymn, “Amazing Grace.” Inspired by his pastor, Wilberforce took up the cause of seeing slavery abolished in his life time—a task that was simply unthinkable at the time because the slave trade was the basis of much of the British economy. It would have been the rough equivalent for us of abolishing the oil industry.

The opposition to Wilberforce’s crusade was immense. Repeatedly he brought his bill before the parliament and repeatedly he was shot down by the long-established powers who benefited from the slave trade. In the movie, as I’m sure it was in real life, Wilberforce becomes discouraged by the constant defeat and contemplates quitting parliament and going into the ministry. But Newton and William Pitt, his friend and the prime minister, persuaded him that the best way to serve God was to continue his work in government.

With that thought in mind, Wilberforce strengthened his resolve and stayed at his work. It took twenty years, but in 1787 parliament ratified Wilberforce’s bill and the slave trade was abolished. The concept of slavery itself would be abolished throughout the British Empire in 1833. Wilberforce died three days later. He had changed the world—not by becoming a Sunday minister, but by applying his passion to his work which he came to see as being ordained by God.

The thought that hooked me as I watched this was the fact that for many Christians there is a real disconnect between Sunday and Monday. Being a Christian is something we do on Sundays—it’s easy to be righteous and reverent in church—but there are 168 hours in a week and most of those waking hours are spent at work. The truth is that if we want to make a bigger impact for Christ in this world then most of us will do it through our work. The truth is that we need to practice our faith on the job if we are going to do God’s will in the world. This doesn’t mean trying to convert coworkers around the coffee pot, but it does mean finding ways to integrate faith and work, and to draw on the resources of Christianity for ethical guidance. Like Wilberforce, we’re challenged to see the big picture, and work for good on both the personal and societal levels.

This is Paul’s point in this passage from Romans. Check the clock, writes Paul to the Romans — “it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep” (v. 11). Salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed in Jesus Christ, so it’s time for us to put on our Christian clothes and get to work. “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” says Paul, “and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (v. 14).

It’s time for us to living honorably in the day, paying attention to both Christian morality and social justice. For that we take our cues from models like a first century apostle and an 18th century politician. As followers of Christ, we are challenged to be a force for good in our communities, our schools and our workplaces.

David Miller is a former investment banker and current professor at Yale who has been studying the relationship between faith and work. His book God at Work says that business people now want to bring their whole selves to work — mind, body and spirit — instead of having to “leave their soul with the car in the parking lot.” Some use their faith as an ethical anchor, helping them to do the right thing and stand up to unethical practices, while others count on their faith to be a spiritual balm, providing serenity through workplace prayers and meditation. They want to “put on the armor of light” when they come to work — not a two-piece power suit woven out of the works of darkness (v. 12).

A growing number of companies have picked up this theme. Again, it’s not about proselytizing coworkers or creating an environment where people feel pressured to convert to anyone else’s faith. Rather, it’s about creating an atmosphere where people can authentically practice their faith from 9 to 5. Within the Ford Motor Company, for example, a group called the “Ford Interfaith Network” helped to calm anxieties about retaliatory violence against Ford’s large Muslim workforce in Detroit after the 9/11 attacks. The Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta has a popular and active “Christian Fellowship Group.” And there have been dozens of events for CEOs and business executives at the Yale Center for Faith & Culture. One conference was on “workplace chaplaincy,” in response to the fact that there are now at least 2,000 chaplains serving employees on the job. They meet the spiritual needs of workers by providing counseling and support in times of personal and professional crisis.

Tom Chappell, CEO of the natural-toothpaste company “Tom’s of Maine,” entered Harvard Divinity School at age 43 and then used his theological education to create a mission statement and business plan for his company based on moral and ethical principles. Andy Wescoat, an executive in the energy industry, is committed to creating an inclusive environment where people are able to contribute as whole individuals. “Their families, interests, beliefs and values should be included,” he says — otherwise, people feel the strain of trying to lead separate lives. When people are allowed to bring their faith to work, they have a resource to sustain them during difficult times, and the benefit for the company is that it gets to employ “the entire person — not just a half or a quarter.”

Miller says that faith in the work place carries with it several different themes:

One is ethics. The Bible is full of teaching about how to carry ourselves, not just in general, but in the marketplace in particular. Says Miller, “Most people don’t think about this, but if you go back to Leviticus, for example, you find a holiness code; you get the sense that it’s all about business ethics — a bit complicated with burnt offerings and doves and pigeons and so on — but if you can culturally transpose those things, it’s all about fair weights and measures, and scales, and how to treat people if they’ve treated you poorly, or you them. Fair disclosure, full disclosure.”

Another theme is experience. Miller asks, "How do you experience your work? Is it just a job to pay the rent, or is it a call, a vocation, a vocatio, a sense that God has placed you in this business, in this organization, with a particular purpose and plan; not only what you do, but how you do it. We can see the difference in the persons who are engaged in their work because they believe that God has them there for a reason, and then there are the people who are just going through the motions to get a paycheck."

Then there is enrichment. Says Miller, "Let’s face it: The business world can be pretty brutal sometimes. People steal credit for your work; you get passed over for a promotion; you had your whole income riding on closing a deal and you don’t get it, so you don’t get your bonus; companies downsize; you lose your job for no reason, it’s not your fault. So there are a lot of hurting people, angry people in the workplace. Well, faith can be a form of healing, a restorative power. So this enriching dimension in faith at work is important."

See, when we get up on Monday and get dressed for work we should not only be putting on that suit and tie (or, in Park City, jeans and a Marker fleece), we should also clothe ourselves with Christ. As Miller says, “Faith ought to be a vibrant part, not the only part, but a vibrant part of our tool kit when thinking about engaging situations, people, decisions and workplace.”

The truth is that those of us who are in full-time ministry have a limited reach. We spend most of our time with church people, doing churchy things. You are really the front lines in bringing the good news of God’s Kingdom to the rest of the world. You are the real ministers, faith-sharers, with a real opportunity to impact the world. Now, that’s a real job! Don’t get me wrong, I think ministry is an important vocation—I’ve given my life to it—but it’s no more important than the work that each of you do every day.

I’ve been convicted of the fact that churches do a pretty good job of recognizing people who do church work, but a pretty lousy job of blessing people’s daily work. We have a Sunday School teacher recognition day, for example, but we don’t have, say, a CPA recognition day just before tax time that blesses those of you who will spend every waking moment working on someone’s taxes. That’s God’s work, too. Miller also points out that pastors in churches don’t think twice about visiting people in the hospital, but don’t think at all about visiting people in their workplace, learning about what they do and how their faith integrates into their vocation.

So, let me make an offer—If you’re game, I’d like to set aside time each week to visit some of you in your workplace. Now, before you start freaking out, I’ll only do this if you invite me to come. I’d love to take a bit of time, maybe lunch or a coffee break, to simply learn about your work, encourage your faith journey there, hear about the moral and ethical issue you deal with, or maybe even just shoot the breeze for awhile. I realize that as a pastor I need to be out there more, encouraging you in your work. This is an open offer—just give me a call or drop me an email if you want get together at work. I’m excited to learn and to help!

This leads me to the second experience I had this week which ties into all this. I went to a Franklin Covey seminar on Tuesday, where the topic was about focusing on priorities and time management (this course was constructed for me). The part that really hit me was when we looked at the time management matrix. You may be familiar with this, but it goes like this:

Quadrant I: Things that are urgent and important—these are those things that pop up every day that require your immediate attention.

Quadrant II: is that which is important but not urgent—things like planning, relationship building, prevention, and “sharpening the saw” (which means self-renewal).

Quadrant III is stuff that is not important but at least seems urgent—emails, interruptions, little distractions, busywork—stuff that’s fun to do but isn’t very productive.

Quadrant IV, then, is stuff that is not urgent and not important—here’s where we go to escape—watching too much TV, surfing the net excessively, it’s the realm of the wandering mind and the wandering eye.
The basic gist of the quadrants, according to Covey, is to live your life primarily above the line—focusing on what’s most important.

Interestingly, that’s exactly what Paul is saying in Romans. The list of stuff that Paul talks about as the “works of darkness”—orgies and drunkenness, sexual immorality and debauchery, dissension, and jealousy—are all quadrant four! Now, we may not engage in those specific activities (hopefully), but our culture does seem to pull us toward that quadrant with the constant offer of escape and pleasure. The culture wants us always to be dressed for the party, while Paul urges us to be dressed for work, to be clothed with Christ. I think Paul would have agreed that living north of the line is really the goal of the Christian life and how we should spend our time.

Wilberforce clearly lived north of the line, despite coming from a wealthy background. He understood what was urgent, what was important, and dedicated his life’s work to that. In doing so, he changed the world in the face of impossible circumstances. We can do the same. The movie and the seminar were wake-up calls for me this week—that I personally need to focus on what’s most important and pour my life into work that really matters—work that I’m called by Jesus to do.

How about you? We begin Advent today, where we anticipate the Lord’s coming. He came long ago in a manger, but the promise is that he will come again. When he comes, what will he find us doing? Partying like hell or working for heaven?

I’m no prophet, but I’d guess that the day of his coming won’t be a Sunday and we won’t all be sitting in here looking pious. That begs a question, and I leave you with this to ponder.

What would it be like if Jesus came to your work, your school, your home, tomorrow?

“The hour has come,” says Paul, “for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.”

May your Advent be a time of preparing for His coming. Amen.

Sources:
"A Wilber Force," Homiletics, Nov.-Dec. 2007
David Miller Interview, homileticsonline.com.

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