You Can't Stay in Bethlehem (Mt 2: 13-16, 19-23, Mk 3: 20-31) 12/30/12

          Jesus is born. Of this we can be sure and of this we must surely be thankful. Now, all we have to do is wait. If we are living in the times of Jesus and believe him to be the Messiah, we might want to hang around Bethlehem and watch him grow up. We can just nurse this warm fuzzy feeling and hang out for a while.

          Not! Even Jesus didn’t get to do that. He may have stayed in Bethlehem for a good while, but he certainly didn’t get to stay there long in his young life.  The Gospel of Luke tells us in Chapter 2 (22) that the child Jesus was taken to the Temple to be presented to the Lord. This would have been at least forty days after his birth just to adhere to the Mosaic law of ritual purification. Earlier in the chapter, Luke refers to the baby lying in a manger (16). Here, Luke uses the word Brephos, which can be translated “newborn” or “infant.” Eleven verses later, the same writer uses a different Greek word. Translated as “child”, the Greek word is paidion, which means “infant” or “child.” The implication is that Jesus is no longer a newborn, but perhaps a toddler.

In Matthew’s gospel, the Magi visit Jesus only after his presentation at the Temple. When they go home by another way to avoid Herod, he orders the death of all male children under age two.  Even accounting for the evil calculations of Herod, we can surmise that Jesus was probably not an infant when his parents took him to Egypt. It was only ninety miles south, admittedly a long journey. But it was out of Herod’s jurisdiction.

          Regardless of the age of Jesus when he left Bethlehem, the point is that he left. Even the Son of God had to move on. Even the Son of God couldn’t stay in Bethlehem, at least not if he wanted to accomplish the purpose for which he had been sent.

           I have a friend who works at the local high school. He is the head of the Math Department there and teaches advanced placement Calculus and other college level math courses. He also teaches basic entry level algebra to ninth graders. His favorite course? You guessed it. The course with the ninth graders. This fella graduated from N.C State University with a degree in Aerospace Engineering. He went to work in that industry for a few years at a very high salary. One day he got a call from a high school in need of a math teacher. He laughed. He had always said that he would never teach. But then he decided to help them out by teaching just one course for just one semester. The rest is history. He left his lucrative job for a high school teaching position. Why do men and women all over the world do such silly things? Because they’re not silly at all. You can’t stay in Bethlehem, at least not if you want to accomplish the purpose for which you have been sent.

          In the third chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus is on a mountain when he calls the twelve who are to become his apostles. He is preaching and performing miracles, and great crowds are gathering and following him. After calling the twelve, Jesus goes home, apparently to Nazareth. Incidentally, here are twelve more shining examples of being called away from your life’s work, from your comfort zone, into God’s work. These twelve men left their homes and families and followed Jesus all around the countryside for three years. Then, they set out to change the world. Back to Jesus. He is followed everywhere. He has no privacy. Church leaders are saying that to cast out demons, he must be possessed by the devil. His family, hearing of his arrival and his plight, goes out to seize him, saying that he is out of his mind. The crowd alerts Jesus that his mother and brothers are at the edge of the crowd and are calling him. Jesus answers: “Who are my mother and my brothers?” It is a rhetorical question to which he supplies his own answer. Looking around at those who sat around him, he says: “These are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God, he is my mother and my sister and my brother.”  Jesus then goes on to perform several miracles in the surrounding area. When he returns to Nazareth, his hometown, he is rejected by his own neighbors and friends. He is just the carpenter’s son. He says that “a prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household” [6:4]. And he leaves and goes out among other villages. You can’t stay where you’ve always been, at least not if you want to accomplish the purpose for which you have been sent.  

          Last week was Christmas. We celebrated the birth of the Christ child, the gift of God himself to a world broken and selfish and without direction. That birth was celebrated by shepherds and astrologers and angels from heaven. But it was also watched by those who would extinguish the tiny king before his kingdom could even be announced.  Neither could possibly realize how small were their roles on that stage. As the shepherds went back to their fields, the Magi back to their homeland, Herod back to protecting his little fiefdom in the middle of the Roman Empire, the little baby became a child. Luke says that the child increased in wisdom and in stature and found favor with God and Man [Lk 2: 52]. When his life was threatened, his parents took him from Bethlehem. When his ministry stalled, he left Nazareth. He couldn’t stay, at least not if he was to accomplish the purpose for which he had been sent.

          It’s not about where you hang your hat at the end of the day. The home of your parents can be your home too, or you might find yourself halfway around the world. But it is about where and how you answer the call of your Heavenly Father. He calls each and every one of us. Are you listening? Age has nothing to do with it. Infirmities have nothing to do with it. Even your present station in life may have nothing to do with it. Are you listening?  Christmas is over. You can’t stay in Bethlehem, any more than Jesus could. God has work for you.  Make sure you accomplish the purpose for which you have been sent.

 

I Am Still the Light (Ps. 27:1, Jn 1: 4,5, Mt 19: 13, Jn 8: 12 (12/23/12)

      It’s the fourth Sunday of Advent. This is the Sunday when we light the
candle of Love. He will be here soon. Mary and Joseph are traveling to little Bethlehem, which has swelled well beyond its capacity to house all the travelers coming in for the census. Mary knows her time is short. It will be only two more days and He will come into the world, the world He created, presided over by this unruly mob of nations. Mary’s heart is full. She is tired, but ready to deliver this promise from God. She is ready to give Him all the love she has saved in her heart for this moment. As powerful and steadfast as her love for Him will be, it will prove to be not much more than a trifle compared to the love He will bring to the broken world into which He is about to be delivered. In time, the world will come to define love by the way He offered his own love to us.

Advent is a happy time, a time of anticipation. These are the days and hours leading to the birth of the Christ child, the child who was to change the world forever. For those of us who have experienced parenthood, we know deeply the meaning of the words of the song that Ashley Horton sang so tenderly last week: “A child changes everything.”

Yes, a child changes everything. And after a child has come into your life, or until a child does so, the absence of a child changes everything too. Perhaps it is the newness and freshness of a mind not yet soiled by the world. Perhaps it is the innocence of a soul not yet tainted by evil and selfishness. Whatever it is, children are the freshness in a world full of dirty laundry and skeletons in closets. Children bring us light.

Can you imagine standing in line at the police barrier two weeks ago? In a small community, word travels fast. We have all seen the pictures of the children coming out of Sandy Hook as their parents wait, leaning over the barriers, looking for their child. After a while, the children are out. They have united with their parents and gone home. But there are still parents on the line. They wait. They wait, hoping there is a mistake, maybe a child hiding who will emerge sooner or later, so they wait. But there are no more children walking out. The first grade parents begin to realize the unthinkable. Some sob. Some square their jaws and clench their fists. Many are praying for this cup to pass.

And yet, as bad as that image is, imagine this one. The word goes out that the Messiah has been born in Bethlehem. In response, the reigning Jewish king of the day issues an order for all the male children two years old and under in that area to be murdered. Evil was alive and well in Israel two thousand years ago, just as surely as it was two weeks ago in Newtown.

In the 27^th Psalm, King David declares: The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” The Lord is my light, says David. No fear. The beloved apostle John tells us in the beginning of his gospel that “In Him (meaning Jesus) was life, and the life was the light of the world.”

We have heard these words many times. They are always a comfort to those who believe. Are they a comfort to those whose belief is pressed to the breaking point? I hope so.  In Newtown, Connecticut, parents are burying little children this week. At a time that we celebrate the birth of the Christ child, Sandy Hook Elementary’s parents are saying goodbye to the lights of their lives. Has evil won?

I want to read you a very fresh poem. You may have already heard it. It was written this week by a person named Cameo Smith from Mt. Wolf, PA, and is traveling over the internet. Listen.

Twas' 11 days before Christmas, around 9:38,
When 20 beautiful children stormed through heaven's gate.
Their smiles were contagious, their laughter filled the air.
They could hardly believe all the beauty they saw there.
They were filled with such joy, they didn't know what to say.

They remembered nothing of what had happened earlier that day.
"Where are we?" asked a little girl, as quiet as a mouse.
"This is heaven." declared a small boy. "We're spending Christmas at God's house."
When what to their wondering eyes did appear,
But Jesus, their savior, the children gathered near.
He looked at them and smiled, and they smiled just the same.
Then He opened His arms and He called them by name,
And in that moment was joy, that only heaven can bring.
Those children all flew into the arms of their King,
And as they lingered in the warmth of His embrace,
One small girl turned and looked at Jesus' face.
And as if He could read all the questions she had,
He gently whispered to her, "I'll take care of Mom and Dad."
Then He looked down on earth, the world far below,
He saw all of the hurt, the sorrow, and woe.
Then He closed His eyes and He outstretched His hand,
"Let My power and presence re-enter this land!"
"May this country be delivered from the hands of fools."
"I'm taking back my nation. I'm taking back my schools!"

Then He and the children stood up without a sound.
"Come now my children, let me show you around."
Excitement filled the space, some skipped and some ran.
All displaying enthusiasm that only a small child can.
And I heard Him proclaim as He walked out of sight,
"In the midst of this darkness, I AM STILL THE LIGHT."

        Matthew tells us in the 19^th chapter of his gospel that Jesus has gone down

from Galilee to the region of Judea, where he engages in dialogue about divorce

with the Pharisees. While he is talking, children are brought to him to lay hands

on them. His disciples are pushing the parents back, trying to let Jesus continue

in his lecturing with the Pharisees.  Jesus stops his disciples. He stops what he is

doing and says: “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to

them belongs the kingdom of heaven.” He laid his hands on them. Then he went

away. Want to know how much God loves his children? Think about how much

you love your own. Think about how much it means for them to be in your life.

Then, think about sending your only child to certain death and death as horrible

as mankind could make it. Behind that image is more love than we can quantify.

That is the stage upon which the child Jesus stepped on that first Christmas

night.   

       For to them belongs the kingdom of heaven, says Jesus. The children have

the innocence to hear the truth, to discern that which is genuine. Oh, that we

could remain in that childlike innocence. We could find the kingdom of heaven

so much more easily. Even in this media driven world which would immunize us

from any semblance of innocence, we are called rightly by Scripture to have

faith like that of children. Carl Henry says that Jesus turns life right side-up,

and heaven outside-in.  The truth of life lies not with the six o’clock news, but

rather with the Good News.

        On December 14, 2012, evil came to a little elementary school in Newtown,

New Jersey. It came violently and left behind a horror that would challenge the

strongest Christian’s faith. But evil has always been here. It was in the Garden

of Eden and challenged Adam. It was in the Garden of Gethsemane and

tempted Jesus. Like the parents and children at Sandy Hook, his cup did not

pass either.  Evil has always been with us. The question is whether it conquers

our spirits or whether we instead hold fast to the Light.

       

     This weekend we remember the star that signaled the birth of God himself in

human form. Let us also remember the promise of our Savior. John’s gospel

tells us in Chapter 8 (12) that Jesus is in the temple courts, again confronting

the scribes and Pharisees, this time over the woman caught in adultery. As he

forgives her, he turns to the audience and says “I am the light of the world.

Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

       

     As Cameo Smith says about Jesus: “I AM STILL THE LIGHT.” Worry not

about the children who left us, for as the poem says, they’re spending Christmas

in God’s house. Concern yourself this day and every day with walking in the

light. Concern yourself that the message we send as Christians to those parents

in Newtown, and parents everywhere, is that our Savior is our Salvation. He is

our light. In time the painful images of Sandy Hook will fade, but I think we

should hold on to the lesson. Evil is never far from us, and there no real

protection from its tentacles except an abiding faith in Jesus Christ to guide us

through the darkness into his everlasting Light.

      It is Christmas. As the Conductor on the Polar Express reminds his young

passengers, sometimes the things that are the most real are the things we

cannot see. And the Word that was the light of the world came and dwelt

among us. Let’s spend this Christmas in God’s house right here on earth. It’s

Advent. He has come, and He is coming. Hallelujah!

  

Cracked Pots ( Isaiah64: 1-9, 2 Corinthians 4: 1-12) 12/9/12

It’s the second Sunday of Advent. This is the Sunday when we light the candle of Peace. Peace. Wouldn’t that be nice?  Wouldn’t it be nice for the anniversary of the birth of the Christ child to come on a day when the earth is at peace? Not this year. As usual, the Middle East tops the list for volatility, from Iraq to Egypt, from Afghanistan to Syria. But war and unrest are not confined to the Middle East. As I was writing this message, an email came in from my daughter in Africa that the Rwandan-Ugandan border is now unsafe for Americans due to the presence of Congolese rebels, who are using the border of Uganda to attack those in Rwanda thought to be unsympathetic to the rebel cause in Congo. As we approach Christmas, many nations are in turmoil.

 The prophet Jeremiah cried out to the nation of Israel saying “To whom shall I speak and give warning? [6:10], meaning that no one was listening. I am afraid that for much of the world, Jeremiah’s cry would be heard no better today than in days of old. Many in this world would respond as did those within earshot of the prophet. We are deaf. We do not listen. Jeremiah goes on to say that from prophet to priest we have dealt falsely, that we have only healed the people’s wounds lightly, saying “Peace, peace, when there is no peace.” [6: 13, 14], that we are no longer ashamed; that we no longer even know how to blush. [15]

Is it hopeless? Of course not. We live in a world fashioned by God Almighty. The great I Am. Nothing is hopeless where God is concerned, and he is concerned with his people.  In Isaiah 64, Isaiah is tired and he wants God to make his presence known. He calls out for God to part the portals of heaven itself and come down. When God comes down, nations tremble and mountains quake. Yes, Isaiah wanted for God to shake things up.  

And Isaiah says But God, you are our Father. Please look upon us again. Don’t forget us. After all, you made us. You are the potter. It is in your hands that the clay that makes us was fashioned. Don’t be too terribly angry with us, Father. Don’t remember our sins forever. Please, look on your people again.

Ever seen a potter at work? I think it’s fascinating to watch a potter fashioning the clay, wetting it, getting just the right consistency, then plopping that slab of unformed clay right in the middle of the wheel. It’s amazing to watch what can happen to a slab of clay in the hands of an expert.  Incredible works of art burst forth in front of our very eyes as the craftsman turns his wheel and gently works the clay into urns, pots, plates and jars, to name a few creations.

“Don’t be too terribly angry with us, Father. Don’t remember our sins forever.” As the potter works, he realizes his creation is not right. It is missing something. It is not what he envisioned. Ever feel like you try and try, and the more you try, the worse off you are. Ever feel like you have the right angle on what to do and where to go and how you are to live your life, only to be slapped right back to where you started. Maybe it’s just God, the master potter, working and shaping you on his wheel, getting you to just the right consistency, just the right mix.

The potter slaps his hand right into the midst of his creation, and it collapses in a heap. He starts again, this time with a slightly different vision, this time perhaps with a little more color, a little more consistency.  Sometimes, the pot cracks and he has to start all over again. Over and over, the potter works his magic until at last, the finished product lies before him.

The prophets of old labored and labored to get the people of Israel on the right track. They labored before, during and after the exile, trying to bring God’s chosen into line with God’s vision. Seven hundred years passed from the time of Isaiah while the nation of Israel floundered. Seven hundred years passed as the Master Potter turned his wheel. And Isaiah reminded his people that “no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.”

Seven hundred years after Isaiah, a light shone over a manger in a little town in Judea. God had heard Isaiah’s plea and had come down. Nations did not tremble and mountains did not quake as Isaiah had forecast, as least not right away. The Master Potter had found another way to make his creation sing the song of peace that mankind had yearned for. Don’t you know Isaiah was watching from a front seat in his heavenly perch as God acted in such a mighty way! The Potter had cast himself onto the wheel. He sent his son as a newborn baby. The next three decades would harden and cure that son Jesus into the vessel from whom all of us should find our model. He would live to be glazed in the shadow of a cruel cross, but even that was meant for good.

In the New Testament, Paul echoes Isaiah’s thought. Paul tells the Corinthians that God has shone in our hearts, giving us the light of the knowledge of his glory. How does he do that, we ask? Paul says that God brings light from the darkness in the face of Jesus Christ. And there lies the peace that Advent promises us. God does act for those who wait for him.

Is there hope for us? Certainly. Is there peace in our future? Absolutely! We too are the work of the master potter. Paul reminds us that though we are no more than jars of clay ourselves to be thrown about, cracked and splintered, nevertheless we are God’s treasures. Paul reminds us that we are afflicted, but not crushed, perplexed but not to despair, persecuted but not forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed. As our bodies and minds are worked and re-worked, we become a new creation.  Where once we were cracked pots of no use or value, now we become treasures of the Master. Our lives are fashioned in the hands of the potter, and in the end we are hardened for service and glazed for immortality in the light of the star over Bethlehem.

Peace will come. It will not come through the opening of presents or even through the purchase of them for loved ones, as nice as that is. It will not come through the lighting of the Yule log or the arrival of children home for the holidays, as warm as that promises to be.  Peace will come for those who understand the meaning of that star over Bethlehem. It will come through the Christ child sent from God.  In fact, for those who stand in that light that shines out of the darkness, the face of Jesus becomes our peace. Christ is coming, and in that coming lies the peace promised by Advent.

Claim it. Claim it for yourself this day and give it to your neighbor. The more you give it away, the more will it be finally captured in your heart, and present in your life.