Sermon: The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ

December 24, 2009

The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Luke 2:1-14

Holy Trinity Parish, Decatur, Georgia

The Very Reverend William Thomas Deneke, rector

This is the time of year when many folks find themselves stranded at airports. Too many people are going places, more than can be accommodated. So people end-up sleeping in nooks and crannies around air terminals.

Mary and Joseph found themselves in this kind of situation. No accommodations. Too many people. No bed available.

All of us have been waylaid on some journey -- a detour, a cancelled reservation, overbooking on a flight. And we find things more out of our control than we wish.

For Mary and Joseph this was just the time when the baby was due. Right there in the airport. Right there in the village with no vacancy signs on the door of the Inn.

I suppose a lot of people would blame Mary and Joseph. Could they not have postponed the trip for a while? Could they not have phoned ahead for reservations? Maybe Joseph could have secured a gold card and they would have enjoyed the relative privacy of a guest lounge.

But we all know, if we’re honest with ourselves, that things don’t always go as planned and there are plenty of things around for us to trip over.

For Mary and Joseph, the whole journey was something to trip over. This was no mid-winter break, no seasonal vacation. A ruler looking for revenue designed their journey. There were duties to be paid to occupying powers and everyone was to be taxed.

Well, maybe not everyone. There were those who lived on the margins of society. Those whose existence meant little to rulers. Such a group showed up in Bethlehem that night. Shepherds. A motley crew that lived in the fields with sheep avoided the impasse at the airport and walked right into the stable. Walked right into the Christmas story. Remarkable.

Everything about the story draws on the unexpected. Even an angel shows up to say, “Do not be afraid!” “Goodness gracious Angel, the journey has been a disaster. The only inn in town is overbooked, Mary is giving birth in a place intended for animals, home is far away, and you say, “Do not be afraid?”

And this is how the Christmas story unfolds. A story that amazingly does not rattle us but lessens our anxiety. A story in which we find comfort and hope. I’ve heard this story countless times, and it still speaks to the deepest places of my life. And we gather this evening once again to hear the familiar passage from the Gospel according to Luke.

In part, it is the very unexpected circumstances of the account that offer reassurance. In the out of control places of our lives, an angel of the Lord says, “Do not be afraid.” When the doors of hospitality are closed to us, there are those who care. When we can only see disaster, the story gives us a grander perspective and fills us with hope.

There is a lot of mystery in the Christmas story. Things do not fall out in an orderly fashion. Consider again the motley shepherds. Undeterred by official decrees and crowded airports and busy schedules, they are encountered by an angel with a heavenly entourage. These workers, relegated to the margins, are the first to hear the glad tidings. Jesus would later say, “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” That contradictory message is ironically comforting because it reveals a compassionate justice that we want to associate with a savior.

The Christmas story turns things upside down. And as much as we don’t want our lives in disarray, we are encouraged by tonight’s gospel.

In our heart of hearts we know we need a savior. A savior who is not bound by our desires or fears. A savior who does not depend upon scheduled flights and vacant rooms. A savior who affirms and upholds what sometimes is accorded little value.

Tonight we celebrate such a messiah. One who finds us even when we miss our flights, even when we’re not where we want to be, in any sense. A messiah who surprises us with new life and hope when they are least expected. And one who is more connected to life - to us – than we imagine.

Tonight, we join with the motley shepherds in glorifying and praising God. And with the angels in proclaiming, “Glory to God and peace on earth!”

Sermon: Third Sunday of Advent

December 13, 2009

The Third Sunday of Advent, Year C

Luke 3:7-18

Holy Trinity Parish, Decatur, Georgia

The Very Reverend William Thomas Deneke, rector

Once again he’s back. Just when the radio is belching out chipmunks singing about Santa and Elvis is promising to be home for Christmas, John the Baptizer arrives with a greeting no one wants to hear. Here comes that preacher from the desert throwing water on our Christmas preparations. Phrases such as “brood of vipers,” “wrath to come,” and “thrown into the fire” are not lines we write on our Christmas cards. “Merry Christmas, you bunch of snakes!” This hardly seems like something we need to hear a few days before we celebrate the nativity of Christ.

But on the other hand, maybe the weird guy from the desert has a point. He’s not thinking about holiday preparations. It is doubtful that he has decorations, gifts and turkey on his mind. John has a vision of the future stirring within him, a vision that is shaking the foundations. God is at work and business as usual won’t do. The coming of Christ calls for new behavior, for repentance and for opening ourselves to a new way of being in the world. Anything that gets in the way of this transformation has to be thrown aside, thrown into the fire.

These days we hear a lot of talk about corporate restructuring. Many times the old ways promised doom. John is proclaiming the need for restructuring our lives. And he is pretty clear that without restructuring we are headed toward doom.

Look at the restructuring John is preaching. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” If our way of operating is to think only of ourselves, our lives are headed toward the dump with its unquenchable fire. If love of our neighbor and sharing our resources is not part of our moral DNA, we are no more than waste, the chaff that is thrown away.

Of course, we don’t like to think of ourselves as throwaways, especially in an age of recycling. Neither did people in the time of John. And he got into big trouble.

But the early church took him seriously and recorded his message for us to hear today. So only a few days before we gather on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, John’s words ring out in churches around the world.

“O.k., we get the message. We’ve been warned; we’ll try to do better,” we might say. But John is talking about more than “trying to do better.” He is asking us to turn our lives around. He is presenting a twelve-step program for salvation.

A couple of weeks ago parishioner Ed Buckley and I traveled to Haiti with a group from Food for the Poor to inspect the water wells that have been provided by Holy Trinity and other donors. The first day we traveled for nine hours across unbelievably rough roads. On several occasions, I thought of John the Baptizer’s admonition to make the crooked roads straight. That message had not gotten through to the Haitian roads’ department.

One of the wonders we witnessed in Haiti was the release of a man from a horrible prison. Food for the Poor had arranged for Edner’s release. He had been imprisoned for nine months for stealing rice. He had never been sentenced or had a trail because he had no money for a lawyer. Edner maintained his innocence.

I had never been in a facility as horrible as the prison we visited. Thirty-nine prisoners were housed in a cell about 10 by 14 feet. It was so crowed that sleeping on the floor could only take place in shifts. There was not room enough for all to lie down.

Jesus talks about visiting those in prisons and he speaks of release for prisoners. When I witnessed the Ft. Liberte prison, those words took on a new and deeper meaning.

When John admonishes us to share with those in need, I don’t think he is just talking about charity. He is asking us to identify with those in those in need: those who are hungry, homeless, in prison, in refugee camps, all those who live lives of hopelessness. Beyond giving to those in need, he calls us to see ourselves in the face of the homeless child begging for food on a street corner or the prisoner who stares out of prison bars with vacant, lifeless eyes.

The pillars of society of John’s day, those most invested in the status quo, reacted strongly to his message of egalitarianism. They perceived that their well-being was tied to the privileged status they enjoyed.

John makes us uncomfortable if we really listen to what he says. And while discomfort is not pleasing, it may embed a path to salvation. Through turning our lives around, we may find ourselves welcoming Christ in ways we never knew.

That is the good news promised by the desert preacher. His message is ultimately not one of condemnation, but of hope. He knows the future belongs to God. He knows that Christ is coming. He knows we need to be ready to receive the Bearer of grace and salvation. And he knows what is in the way.

We would be foolish to write off John the Baptizer as a wacky, colorful character from the desert who seasons Advent. He is a voice from within us. A voice that disturbs yet represents the wisdom of the ages. He may yet save us from ourselves, this lonely figure who baptizes with words of fire.