A failure of creativity

Luke 2:1-20

Human beings tend to have a failure of creativity. It is not remotely the same thing as being too conservative or too liberal, or too young or too old; in fact, part of the issue itself is our tendency to create simple categories for things and for people. No, a failure of creativity is much more significant than that. It’s maybe best illustrated with a few examples.

            The priests and the lawyers who one day met the grown Jesus had a failure of creativity. Hamstrung to their narrow interpretations of the law they were not open to the possibilities that emerged when God came down to earth. Herod also lacked creativity. It was he who ordered the execution of the children of Bethlehem, imagining only one way to be a king, which was to overthrow the kingdoms already established. For the first time with Herod we see what the opposite of creativity is, and that is fear. Fear that manifests itself in prejudice, anger, and hate.

            Creativity is always pitted against fear. This is why, in that most creative of nights when the Son of God entered the world, the angels appear to the shepherds with a word, “Fear not!” Do not be afraid because it is the natural tendency in such times, but rather be open to the presence of God, which will seem scary—very scary, indeed—until you come to understand the depths to which you need this. For Jesus, anything was possible—he was creativity-incarnate; the only time when creator and creation became utterly and indistinguishably one—which is why grace is so utterly astounding. Jesus could have done anything, become anything, achieved anything, and the life he chose above all others was a life directed toward the cross. God chose creativity through death, not apart from it.

Keeping Christ in Christmas

            It’s almost that time of year again when we descend into the madness of shopping centers and malls and Walmart and Amazon to find the next big present that will satisfy us for the next year (or at least a few weeks). And, in so doing, we’ll encounter folks who wish us all sorts of things, “Happy Holidays” and “Happy Kwanzaa” and “Happy Chanukah” and, of course, even “Merry Christmas.”

Of course there is endless frustration among Christians regarding all of those greetings that don’t contain the Christmas tag. Some will even go out of their way to frequent those businesses that are explicit in their Christmas-celebrating, because that is the reason for the season (after all). We all make choices about where we shop for various reasons, so I suppose there are worse reasons for choosing one business over another than their holiday greetings. I’m just skeptical that the best way of keeping Christ in Christmas is words said at a cash register by an underpaid, overworked person who represents the customer service side of some large, faceless corporation.

So, rather than focus on things that probably don’t matter much (i.e., your religion is not being oppressed if somebody wishes you happy holidays or, for that matter, a blessed Kwanzaa), I’m going to offer five ways that we can keep Christ in Christmas in a meaningful way. Now, whether you gift these ways forward or throw them away with the wrappings is completely up to you.

Herod's death meet Jesus' new life

Matthew 2:12-23

This is really not appropriate Christmas scripture. I’m sorry. I don’t know what Matthew was thinking. I don’t know why he didn’t understand that Christmas is a time for happiness, a time to talk about the good things, to share memories, and, above all, to relax and be comfortable. Matthew shows that he is out of touch with the Christmas season by sharing this unsavory story of Herod killing the children of Judea, the children of his own kingdom. No. Matthew doesn’t get it. That’s not what Christmas is about.

It’s just unfortunate that Matthew needs to be so… so… real.

…

Then again, I suppose it is only a real world that needs to be saved. Matthew picks up the words of Jeremiah, referring even further back to Rachel in the book of Genesis, saying, “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” If Rachel is this model figure for the grief of incomprehensible loss, then it’s interesting to note that Rachel is not told to pick herself up by her bootstraps, to get over her loss, and to start living her best life now. She isn’t told it’s going to be alright, or is somebody does tell her that she certainly doesn’t believe it. She refused to be consoled. And Matthew seems to be suggesting, along with Jeremiah before him, that this is the appropriate reaction to senseless loss.

What kind of Christmas story is this?

Not a little more. All.

Matthew 2:1-12

One of the big emotions of this holiday season, and one of the ones we associate most with the season of Christmas, is joy. The wise men had it right there in chapter 2 of Matthew: "When they saw the star had stopped they were overwhelmed with joy." Not just kind of happy but overwhelmed with joy.

Joy isn't necessarily the emotion we associate with wise people, or with kings, or with people who have a lot of education. We tend to think that they're the pensive ones who are just kind of always level. So to have wise people be joyous sticks out. Joy is something we tend to associate much more freely with children. Now, if we think about what it is that wise men we might say that they study, and in those days what they were studying was, among other things, the stars. That happens to be why they noticed this new thing in the first place. It's guys who are looking at the stars who found Jesus, because you can't notice a new star in the sky unless you're looking in the first place. If a new star showed up in the sky tonight I wouldn't have a clue because I wouldn't be looking, and even if I did happen to look up I wouldn't notice that there was anything different about it because I don't know the sky that well in the first place. It's just not something I know intimately. So it was the wise men who studied, who had that background to observe this, who experience this overwhelming joy. It's worth starting there.

Stories, not numbers, on this Christmas Eve

Scripture: Luke 2:1-20

After our Christmas concert at Grace last Sunday afternoon one of the high-schoolers said something to me that has been on my mind this week, and since I have a pulpit and a congregation I’m going to think through it with all of you. She said, “There must be a lot of pressure on you to say something on Christmas Eve that will make all those people come back to church during the rest of the year.”

You can tell a young person said that because she still believes that I have actual power and influence and stuff. It’s cute.

The reason I’m beginning tonight’s sermon with that quote is not to make some of you uncomfortable—well, maybe it’s partially to make some of you uncomfortable—but primarily I want to address it because this attitude that our success or failure as a church is determined by butts in the seats just doesn’t work. Numbers tell a story, just not a very deep one. It’s not data but people that matter, and I worry about some of you not because of the percentage of Sundays you show up in church but because, if I don’t see you very often, I don’t know your story. And I don’t know who does. Do your families? Do you? And I don’t know how the Christmas story matters within the story that is your life. Does it?

"What is truth?" Questions and answers in John's Gospel

Scripture: John 1:19-34

            The only thing more annoying than a person always asking “why?”—and, yes, some parents with young kids during the Christmas season can probably argue there’s nothing more annoying than that—is a person who always has an answer. That’s really an unfair statement (some people who give answers are compelling and many people who ask questions are doing us a favor), but I want to start there because we have this natural reaction both to questioners and know-it-alls that I find fascinating. Firstly, we have all had that person, hopefully a child, who is a perpetual “Why?” machine. “Why can’t I do this? Why not? Why? Why? Why?” Eventually, no matter how hard you resist, you will get down to the heart of the matter and the answer to “Why?” will always be “Because!” If you’re like me you hate that moment because the truth is I just don’t know, or I just don’t have a good reason, or I’m not willing to enter into a philosophical debate with a four-year-old. I want to suggest that there is more going on here than petty annoyance. When we dig deep enough underneath all of the questions, our only answer is ever really “because,” because all of our answers hinge only on guesses that lie under the assumptions on which we base our lives.

The Savior we need, not the Savior we want right now

Scripture: Luke 2:1-20

            A survey from the British Medical Journal made news this week, claiming that 1 in 200 American women say they have experienced a virgin birth. Frankly, I don’t know what to do with that, but it just seemed like this might be the time to bring it up. I guess my thoughts on any survey or eyewitness account of the miraculous is that, as much as we are advanced, rational people, our lives remain a mystery even to us. I’m not saying that I believe that anybody has a virgin birth these days—in fact, it would kind of change Christmas a little bit, no?—but what I am saying is that the closer we get to understanding the world around us the more mysterious it seems to become. And that’s part of what Christmas is about. As C.S. Lewis once pointed out, the reason Joseph was worried about Mary’s pregnancy was not because he didn’t understand where babies come from, but because he did!

When we try to describe the miraculous it ends up as a he-said, she-said kind of affair; like a courtroom that will, by the very definition of its rules, find any miracle implausible. I remember watching a Mythbusters episode a while back where they were testing whether plants react to human thoughts. Basically, they were staring at potted shrubs and thinking, “I really hate you, plant. I’m going to light you on fire!”—things of that nature. The astounding part was that the first time the Mythbusters did this test the plant, which they had hooked up to a polygraph, actually reacted. So, they tried it again; this time with a pane of glass between them and the plant; and then nothing happened. Cut to a seemingly relieved Grant Imahara telling the camera, “Since the results cannot be replicated, we cannot confirm this one. That’s science!” This stuck with me because Grant lays out science’s strength and weakness in one sentence—one-time events are out of bounds because the scientific method says they do not exist. I repeat C.S. Lewis: Joseph is not concerned because he doesn’t know where babies come from, but because he does.

Light it up: The light of the world and how we are unified by darkness

Scripture: John 1:1-18

            Yesterday was the shortest day—or, if you prefer, longest night—of the year, so it works out well that today we get to talk about light, because we’re all in need of a little more of it. All this darkness alters our moods, heightens our anxiety, and forces us indoors, making us at once more lethargic and, yet, on higher alert. Without the light, our nights get colder and we become gloomier. Our Confirmation kids’ art for today expresses more about light than anything else. It’s hard not to focus on that aspect of John 1 when Confirmation class ends this time of year in the dark.

            Our traditional scenes of Jesus’ birth are set at night. Our Christmas Eve services are candle-lit. We sing Silent Night. All is dark, and yet, in the words of that hymn, all is also bright. It’s almost as if that first Christmas was pointing toward the first chapter in Genesis. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep…” Then, out of the darkness God said, “‘Let there be light’; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.” The story of Jesus is, in a way, a retelling of that Genesis story set in a manger in Bethlehem. Just as light emerged from the darkness on that first day of creation, Jesus Christ was born as the light of the world in the midst of thick darkness, making it especially appropriate that we celebrate this day during the darkest days of our year. Light shines brightest in the darkest night. Christ was born into pure darkness; a light the likes of which the world had never seen.

On Shepherds (and our ignorance of simplicity)

Text: Luke 2:1-20

            You don’t hear much about shepherds anymore. I mean, I don’t know anybody who went to shepherding school or wrote that grade-school essay on what they wanted to be when they grew up and chose to be a shepherd. Nobody’s parents—that I know of—are pushing their kids into the shepherding vocation, and anyway, shepherds aren’t exactly high in terms of earning potential. Even if you really wanted to be a shepherd it is hard work to find, and even if you did somehow become a shepherd it’s not exactly the kind of profession that stirs up Christmas-time conversation around the dinner table. 
            “What do you do?”
            “I’m a shepherd.”
            “Oh yeah? What does that entail?”
            “Watching sheep.”
            “I see… can you pass me the chicken?”

Shatter Our Expectations

There are 364 days in the year that are not Christmas--unless you count the 12 days of the Christmas season and let's be real: nobody counts the 12 days of Christmas. The 25th of December is the one day we're interested in, the one that captures our imaginations. In part it's the presents--gifts and cards--boxes wrapped and tucked under a tree. In part it's family--meals and traditions, shared experience and relaxation. In part it's a beginning--new opportunities, a new year, new memories and stories. In part, it's Jesus.

Well, in theory it's all Jesus. "Jesus is the reason for the season," ya know? And still it sounds cheesy--a tad too ambitious and unrealistic. As much as we might even understand and enjoy the Christmas story, there seems to be so little on the line. At Easter, there's death and resurrection. Now that is something! There are trumpets. There's reason to be excited. Easter is the festival of festivals; it's the thing worth talking about. Christmas is cute; it's like Easter's little cousin that is all dressed up with frills. It's nice. It's fun. You'll take pictures of it and talk about all the sweet things it did, but you aren't taking seriously anything that it says. Someone will tell you that when Christmas grows up it's going to be Easter and you'll nod and agree, but you won't quite buy it. You'll want to enjoy Christmas while it lasts. You'll hang on those frills for all their worth.

Jesus is the reason for the season like the 4th of July is the cause of summer. It's incidental. Early Christians co-opted pagan holidays celebrating the winter solstice and here we are. Christmas Day could be any day. That is no reason not to celebrate but it's important to realize this nonetheless. While God came into the world in the Christ-child, God also comes every day in new and unexpected ways. But that's just it, isn't it? Our expectations--they're too low.

We know the story.
We've read the Gospel.
We sing the songs.

Is that what we expect? Is that all we expect? What will it take to make this day more than quaint? What will it take to make Christ real, as the child was in Mary's arms?

It's time to shatter our expectations. It's time to be blown away by the incarnation. It's time to listen to that frilly little Christmas day speak it's message and come to the slow and earth-bending realization that everything you have seen, everything you have experienced is no longer as it seemed. For when that frilly Christmas child was playing you took it for childishness when it was really joy, you took it for ignorance when instead it was wisdom, you took it for being meaningless when instead it was the crux of the story of our lives.

Christmas is here. May your expectations be shattered.

My Christmas Giving Philosophy

I love to give.  I don't so much love to give for Christmas.  I think it has something to do with being a natural contrarian.  I like to keep the majority in check.  So, each year comes this annual festival of giving and it's the time of year when I feel least like presenting somebody close with something of worth.  Part of the appeal of a gift is in its surprise.  I love surprising people.

After some consideration I came up with the following procedure for Christmas giving:  Don't give much, but mean what you give.  That's part one.  I don't go out and buy expensive stuff at Christmas.  A) I don't have money (but that's somewhat a lie... I have make-believe loan money that will actually pay for things), but more importantly B) I don't feel it's warranted.  My natural counter-cultural-ness says that I should be giving a real gift this season--not just something expected by people close to me.  What I should really be giving is myself.


This involves a very simple philosophy for me:  Total the money I give in buying presents and give half of that amount away completely to organizations and people I do not know.  The funny thing is that I feel better about that gift than I do about the gifts I give to friends/family every time.  Never fails.

I don't give much.  I'm not ashamed about that.  Giving is a sea-change in how we live, not a once-a-year happening.  So, if you don't get me anything don't worry; I'd rather you give it away anyway.