Don't Drink the Water

by The Rev. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on John 2:1-11. Click here to listen to an audio version.

It's good to be home! I must say I feel a little like "the flying rector" — last Sunday gone to Honduras, here today, next Sunday gone to Diocesan Council — but after that, I promise, there'll be a good long stretch of Sundays when I'll be home. And it is good to be home.

One of the first things I enjoyed about being home, when Lee and I got back to the Rectory just after midnight on Thursday, was getting ready for bed and brushing my teeth with tap water. I know it seems silly to fixate on such minor details, but being able to use the tap water after a week of doing everything in a cup felt like an enormous luxury. You see, when we are in Copan, we have to be very careful about eating and drinking local stuff. The water in Copan is pretty clean by global standards; but even clean water has some microorganisms living in it; and the microorganisms there are different from the microorganisms here; and since our bodies are not accustomed to them, the microorganisms there can make us pretty sick. Any of you who have travelled in the third world know what I am talking about. So when we are in Copan we have to make sure we do everything with bottled purified water. We lug big bottles of agua purificado up to the worksite; we only eat at restaurants that use purified water for cooking and washing up; the hotel provides a water cooler from which we get pitchers of purified water for all our needs inside our rooms. We don't even eat fruit from a streetside seller that might have been washed in local water, because the risk of getting sick is just too great. And that's why, at the end of the workday, sitting around the pool at the hotel, we would relax with a nice cold beer: because the beer comes in bottles, and we know that it is pure. (Okay, that was one of the reasons we'd end the day with a beer...)

It occurred to me one day that drinking beer because the water wasn't safe was actually something that put us in touch with a way of life in the ancient world. Archaeologists have found that the ancient Sumerians and ancient Egyptians brewed tremendous quantities of beer, because the water wasn't safe, and brewing the water into beer purified it enough to make it drinkable. In ancient Israel they preferred wine over beer; but for them the principal was the same: the alcohol in the wine would kill the germs, and that would make it safe to drink. In fact, it was common practice to mix wine and water: ancient wine was very strong, and not very pleasant tasting, not like the more delectable wines developed in modern times; so in the ancient world, you mixed wine and water because the water made wine less nasty, and the wine made the water less dangerous. Being careful with our water in Copan made me appreciate more practically a fact I knew about the history of the ancient world.

And that experience in Copan made me read our Gospel passage today with an understanding I've not had before. Having had to remind myself not to drink the water made me appreciate more what was at stake when Jesus turned the water into wine.

For years, I have taught and preached that, of all the miracles of Jesus, this is the one miracle Jesus does just for the joy of it. In the wine miracle, no one's health is at stake, no one's life is on the line, no one is possessed by demons, no one is endangered by a storm, no one's being is at risk — the wine miracle is the one miracle Jesus does for no other reason than to show forth the joyous abundance of God's love. That's what I have taught about this miracle story for years.

I was wrong.

People's health is at stake in this story, because the water Jesus told the servants to put in those six stone jars was iffy at best, dangerous at worst, in any case a risk to drink — and if the party had gone on under those circumstances, every single guest would have been endangered, every single guest stood a chance of getting sick. When Jesus changed that water into wine, he was in fact keeping everyone at that wedding in good health. This miracle is not just about abundant joy, but it is very much about health and well-being and getting saved from sickness. Being in Copan has helped me see that now.

And of course the really wonderful thing about this story is that the bodily concern for not getting sick and the spiritual revelation of joyous abundance are not two separate things. I mean, no one was forcing the people to drink that water. If the wine ran out, and the water wasn’t safe, the bride and groom could have simply declared the party over and sent everybody home. It would have been embarrassing, yes, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. When Jesus changed the water into wine, he did it so the party could continue, he did it so the fellowship and the hospitality and conviviality could go on, and could grow, and could become in the minds and hearts of the guests more than just a party, but could become a sign, an outward and visible signification of the goodness and generosity and abundant joy of the Kingdom of God. After all, using a wedding feast as a symbol of God’s Reign was an old tradition in Jewish thought — we see it in our first reading today — and by allowing the feast to go on without anyone getting sick, Jesus gave the people not just idea of the symbol in their minds, but the experience of the symbol in themselves. By allowing the feast to go on without anyone getting sick, Jesus allowed those guests to know God reigning in their midst. The miracle of health and the miracle of joy are one and the same.

And that's the part of the story my eyes were really opened to by being in Copan. Too often, I think, we fall into the trap of thinking of the work we do for the body and the work we do for the soul as two different things. We get a little caught up in Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and think that we must see to the needs of the body first, see to food and drink and shelter and clothing; and afterwards, when the primary needs have been met, then we can turn to secondary things like prayer and spirituality and beauty and music and conviviality and joy. From time to time I have met churchpeople deeply committed to social ministries, who seem to think joy is a luxury they cannot deserve, who don't seem to feel they're being faithful unless they have some injustice to be outraged about, some wrong to which they can oppose their righteous anger. From time to time our Honduras mission has been criticized, because we go to Copan to build church buildings, and there are those who feel we ought to be doing something more practical, like a medical mission or a clean-water project or building houses for people rather than houses for worship. Sometimes we feel we must work to meet people's bodily needs first, and we can get to all that spiritual stuff later... if people want it of us.

But what our Gospel today tells us is that that kind of gap between bodily and spiritual just isn't real. Creating conditions of bodily well-being opens up a spirit of abundant joy, and creating occasions of spiritual abundance helps to sustain the body's health, and God's Reign is epiphanized in both. The houses of worship we build in Copan are usually among the largest buildings in the small communities we go to, and that means they also serve as community centers, classrooms, clinics when a medical team visits, meeting places when the village needs to get together — those buildings serve social needs along with the spiritual. Medical studies show that prayer and meditation and contemplation and music, such as we have here at Trinity, have positive bodily health benefits; and I have seen how the bodily feeding ministry we do at Noon Lunch has opened into a spirit of gratitude and groundedness and renewal of hope in many of our guests. The spirit and the body are deeply intertwined; and the example of Jesus in our Gospel today shows us how we can minister to both.

Jesus changed water into wine as a proclamation of God's will for our physical well-being and our abundance of spiritual joy. Having to be careful about drinking the water in Copan helped me see more clearly the intertwining of that gracious gift. May God grant you occasion to know the gift of bodily well-being and spiritual joy as well. Amen.

Baptized for What?

by The Rev. Dr. John D. Lane

Baptized for What?

This sermon is based on Luke 3:16.


John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

Two weeks ago, I was sitting here at the 8:45 Eucharist, where the sermon time was given over to a very interesting discussion. We were focused on the Prologue to John’s Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word ...” Speaking of the Word, thirty years ago a book called The Reader’s Digest Bible was published. The effort by one of the world’s most-respected biblical scholars, Bruce Metzger, was to edit and shorten The Holy Bible, in hopes that more people would read it. All these years later, I remember the start of one book review: “In the beginning was the word, and the word was too long.” First paragraph of this sermon and I’m already off topic.

Today is the feast of the Baptism of Christ. Most of us have been baptized. I was baptized privately at Trinity Church-Princeton when I was a little baby. The baptismal party consisting of my parents, my two sisters, and several aunts and uncles, three of them godparents, gathered after the late service. The baptistry was a separate room which nobody entered at other times. One sister and I are the only living witnesses to this event. Now, we celebrate most baptisms publicly, and we renew our own vows at the same time, with a multitude of witnesses, a great improvement in my opinion. Baptism is about all of us, not just the one being baptized.

Most of us here have been baptized. Most of us don’t remember the ceremony because we were very young at the time. Yet we still know that we were baptized. Holy Baptism is the rite that makes us Christians, followers of Christ. What difference does this make to me and you, that we are baptized Christians? A question worth pondering.

“I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

Baptism is a moment. A wedding is a moment. Ordination is a moment. Confirmation is a moment. But all of these moments lead to a journey. After Baptism we grow in faith. After a wedding the journey of a lifetime together begins. After Ordination clergy embark on a journey that will carry us we know not where–maybe even Staunton. Who knew? I certainly didn’t, though it’s been a very fulfilling place for me. After Confirmation we take more personal responsibility for our faith and the Church. We know that even good marriages have their rough spots. So does the life of faith. “I believe, O Lord; help thou my unbelief.”

E-piphany is the season of another E-word, the one that terrifies E-piscopalians: E-vangelism. This is the time to concentrate on developing our faith and sharing it with others. Being an evangelist doesn’t usually mean preaching at other people, but being ready to tell the story of our faith when we have a chance. As Saint Francis put it, “Preach constantly; if necessary, use words.” He was definitely talking to every Christian, not just clergy.

Mormons are particularly committed to evangelism, and they take literally the biblical injunction to go out “two by two.” I laud their practice of spending two years as a missionary, though I don’t buy their message. Twenty years ago, I actually let a couple of Mormon missionaries into my house. I was curious not about their message–I’d read a good deal about Mormonism–but how they

They asked me if I knew anything about their faith, and I said yes. I also told them that I was an Episcopal priest and unlikely to convert. I mentioned some of their specific doctrine, but they got out flip charts having nothing to do with my questions. Like Ol’ Man River they just kept rolling along. I’m pretty convinced nothing I could have said or done would have kept them from keepin’ on keepin’ on. Life is too short. I told them it was time to go.

To Episcopalians, evangelism is different from talking at other people. Effective evangelism involves a lot of listening. It’s a little bit like the woman who found herself at two dinner parties sitting next to  two different men. After the first dinner, she thought the man beside her was very interesting. After the second dinner, she thought that she must be very interesting. The second man encouraged her to talk about herself. He was charming.

I hope you will become more comfortable with evangelism, and actually practice it from time to time. Even if you never reach that point, there are some questions each of us needs to consider: As a baptized and active Christian, how am I different from others? How am I the same? How does my faith affect my life? Many of you have seen the movie The Godfather. ‘Godfather’ is, of course, a Christian term. Don Corleone has stood in this role at numerous baptisms. The movie moves back and forth between this role, the good things that the Don does, and the evil things he does. The message is that there is a huge disconnect between his Catholicism and his position as head of a Mafia family. He’s not the only person in today’s society who fails to connect an hour on Sunday morning with the rest of the week.

In a society which used to be nominally Christian, Christians are now in the minority. We lived in New Orleans which is listed as 80-85% Roman Catholic. Many of these ‘Catholics’ haven’t been inside a church in years, but they still consider themselves Catholic. The number of Episcopalians nationwide has declined also–from 3% to 2% of the population the last time I looked. Often we are told that the reason so many people have left is because of all our in-your-face decisions about race, gender, sexual preferences, etc. If people weren’t willing to work their way through these difficult topics, I think it’s ultimately their loss.

Paul has entrusted me to preach to you, this week and two weeks from now, so I don’t want to mess things up with what I say next, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m less interested in why the disaffected left, and much more interested in why each of you stayed and, just as much, why there are so many new faces here in the 5 years since I retired. Why are you still here? Why have you been attracted to Trinity? What does your faith mean to you? The Episcopal Church is better at questions than answers. The good news is that they tend to be important questions, things that we need to wrestle with not only individually, but corporately. I’ve been an Episcopalian for 68 years–given my mother’s proclivities, probably even longer. I consider this a blessing, even though it hasn’t always been an easy road. My prayer is that each of you will find your faith influencing the rest of your life on a daily basis, while still realizing that all of life, even faith, is a journey. It’s full of ups and downs. Why are you here today? Answer that.

I want to leave you with a final story, which might be about ineffective evangelism, not about careful listening. Ponder what you can learn from it. I don’t intend to explain it.

The Bishop of Kansas tells of a former parishioner who had done well in business and then retired. His passion was exotic travel, and he found himself sitting next to a stranger on an airplane. He couldn’t wait to tell him about all the places he’d been and the adventures he’d had. “I’ve traveled to several African countries and photographed an amazing array of animals. I went to Nepal and trekked and climbed in the Himalayas. I sailed to Antarctica, saw many varieties of penguins, and came back around Cape Horn, just like Magellan!” The man went on for a good while the other man politely listened. As they were leaving the plane he introduced himself to his seat-mate, who replied, “Pleased to meet you and hear your stories. I’m Neil Armstrong.”

Arise, Shine!

by The Rev. Shelby Ochs Owen

Feast of the Epiphany

This sermon is based on Isaiah 60:1-6 and Matthew 2:1-12.


“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.”

Today is the Feast of the Epiphany, one of those rare years when this major feast day actually falls on Sunday.  For many of us, we have to be reminded year by year, just what is Epiphany and what does it represent?  Christmas is easy to remember-we celebrate the birth of Jesus.   Easter, too, is easy enough, we celebrate that Christ is risen from the dead. But for many of us Epiphany seems a bit more vague.  And yet, Epiphany, when we unpack its significance, holds all kinds of good news for us in our everyday lives.  The word Epiphany comes from the Greek word meaning revelation or manifestation, and so on the Feast of the Epiphany as well as throughout the rest of this liturgical season, we are given glimpses in Scripture of ways in which God is made known to his people.   An epiphany is often seen as a moment when an important truth becomes clear, which allows us new vision as we move forward in our lives.

In today’s reading from Isaiah, the writer is speaking to a people who have known great darkness for they have been in exile in Babylon for a long time.  Many have been forced from their homeland of Jerusalem and they have suffered greatly.  Isaiah, the prophet, not one to live in denial, declares the darkness as real and pervasive.  He says, “For darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples.”   Isaiah knows there is reason for disappointment, reason for despair.  What the Israelites have been through has truly been awful.  And yet, right alongside the speaking of darkness he is also saying “Arise, shine, for your light has come!...Lift up your eyes and look around…then you shall see and be radiant, your heart shall thrill and rejoice.”  

Isaiah names the truth: he knows the grim realities of life and yet he names the even more important reality that something else is going on.  God is at work in the world around the exiles; God has not left them and God shines his light even in the midst of darkness.  (This concept ties into last week’s gospel reading from John, “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”)  And in Isaiah’s words lie hope but hope that calls for action on the people’s part.  “Arise, shine!” These words are not an invitation and they are certainly not a suggestion; these words are a command.  No, he says, you are not to dawdle in the darkness, you are not to get comfortable with your distress, you are not to succumb to the temptation of your negative thinking.  Right alongside the difficulties, the people are to choose to live in God’s light. And with the people reflecting God’s light they shall draw others to them, that others will see with greater clarity the goodness of God, the universal love that God has for them.  “(God’s) glory will appear over you, Nations shall come to your light and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” So once again, as has been plain throughout the scripture, life does not revolve around the chosen people; they are to be a blessing that others may be blessed; they are to live in the light that others may dwell in that same light.

I have a true story that occurred just a couple of weeks ago.  A man with a drug addiction had gone to an in-patient rehabilitation facility grumbling and griping.  He did not want to be there, had no plans of recovering, and kept saying to the group, “I’m going to leave this place; I need to get out of here.”  He had nothing positive to say about rehab. So he left.  He got as far as the local gas station. The man was in line buying something when an old woman looked at him and asked him what she could do for him.  “Do you need food?  Do you need a ride? Do you need money?”  The woman didn’t ask him a lot of questions about why he looked so depressed; she simply offered what she had.  The man was so floored by her kindness, by her not judging him, by her incredible generosity, that he ended up just asking her for a ride back to rehab!  I imagine he could have used the food and money she offered, and yet he was so knocked off his feet by her simple act of love that he went back to the place that could offer him healing, drug rehab.  There is a lot of darkness for one addicted to drugs and in the midst of this man’s darkness, he encountered a shaft of light in an old woman, so powerful that it changed his path.  Her dwelling in light allowed that light to penetrate into this man’s own being, enabling a change in perspective and encouraging him toward wholeness.  By the woman’s act of love, she was the instrument of an epiphany that changed the course of this man’s life.  

Today is my last Sunday with you as your Associate Rector, and one of the great gifts of my time with you these past three and a half years is in getting to know you, hearing your stories, walking this segment of our faith journey together.   As I have gotten to know you, I realize that even in the midst of joys and celebrations, many of you have experienced times of sadness, times of darkness- the loss of a loved one, divorce, alienation from your children, financial woes, addiction, loneliness, outrage at the massacre of school children, and yet in the midst of those sorrows you keep coming to the altar rail with hands outstretched to receive the gift of God incarnate, the gift of Jesus, the gift of love.  The very act of your empty hands lifted up is a powerful act of faith, faith that there is light even in the darkness, that there is love even in a world that would at times have us believe otherwise.

I have seen the power of God’s love at work in you these past three and a half years, as you gather in worship, as you reach out to others, as you live out your faith. Again and again I have seen you act as shafts of light in dark places.  And I have experienced God’s love in how you have shared that love with me.  Thank you for this incredible gift.   Now I urge you, brothers and sisters in Christ, to live in confidence and hope that the new realm of which Isaiah speaks is coming to pass.  Live in confidence and hope that your light has come.  Arise, shine! Cling to the deepest truth that God loves you.  May the love of Christ make you radiant!

Amen.

Christmas Lessons and Carols

It is a tradition at Trinity to have a service of Lessons and Carols on the theme of the Nativity on the First Sunday after Christmas. With extended readings from scripture, this service does not usually include a sermon. 

In lieu of a sermon, we share with you today the Collect of the Day for the First Sunday after Christmas:

Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

May you have a blessed Twelve Days of Christmas!

We will return with a regular sermon next Sunday, January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.

Christmas When Everything Else is Going On

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 2:1-20. Click here to listen to an audio of this sermon. 

One day last week I was listening to a news program on the radio. I’d taken a moment to put aside all my planning and preparation and worrying for the Feast of the Nativity and just wanted to listen. I was listening for inspiration. And I heard a story about the fiscal cliff. And a story about the congressional probe into the State Department and the Benghazi embassy. There were stories about gun control and its proponents and its opponents. There was a story about Newtown, Connecticut and grief and healing. There was an opinion piece about violence in our society. There was a story about a meteorite strike in California. So many stories, so many things going on, so many things tugging this way and that for attention in our busy and sad and difficult and dangerous world. 

And then, as one story was ending and before the next began, they played a little bit of music. It was a piece played simply on classical guitar — and as soon as I heard it I thought “I know that! I know what that music is.” But I couldn’t identify it, I couldn’t quite place it, because it wasn’t a tune I was accustomed to hearing played on a solo guitar. I thought “This is supposed to have words, it’s supposed to have a choir” — and then it clicked, then it crystallized in my mind, and I knew it was “Joy to the world,” a familiar Christmas carol that sort of snuck up on me, because it was coming at me in an unfamiliar way. And because the words weren’t there in the version on the radio, I thought about them in my mind, I sort of savored them in my imagination: the Savior reigns; let every heart prepare him room; let heaven and nature sing. And there was something about that familiarity-with-difference, something about that unexpected recognition, something about hearing that classic Christmas carol in a whole new way that filled me with a sense of delight and wonder and beauty. So for a moment I sat there, listening to the news of the world, experiencing this one remarkable opening of Christmas blessing and Christmas joy.

And I thought to myself, “How odd. How ironic. How strange that the message and the meaning and the feeling of Christmas has to sneak in around the edges, has to come up on me by surprise when I’m paying attention to all this other stuff in the world. Isn’t it supposed to be that Christmas, the coming of Christ into the world, should take center stage, should be the most important thing of all?”

But then I thought, “Well maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe the coming of Christ always sneaks in around the edges, while the world is going on about its worldly business, and nobody else really seems to be paying attention.”

That’s the way it is in the Gospel story — that’s the way it is in this passage from Luke that we’ve just heard read. As Luke tells the story, everything is happening the way it always happens, and the birth of Jesus takes place out of the way, off in a corner, when no one’s paying attention, and only a handful of people recognize that the whole created world has just been changed.

As Luke tells the story, Bethlehem was bursting: the town was filled with people who’d been displaced from their homes and forced to come to Bethlehem for the Roman census. There wasn’t enough food and shelter and supplies for all those people; and the innkeepers and foodsellers and shopkeepers were not slow to recognize the economic potential of their newly scarce commodities. Mary and Joseph were on the street, with nowhere to go and no one to help them and not enough money to buy their way in this suddenly expensive and unfriendly town. The world of Bethlehem went on its worldly way, and working people had work to do, and merchants and artisans and carpenters and soldiers and sheepherders went about their business, and nobody really noticed the young couple ducking into a stable to find a quiet place away from all the noise and bustle and craziness and mess.

And that, Luke says, is how Christ came into the world: not on center stage, not in a moment of quiet and contemplation; but right in the thick of things, when everything else was going on, when no one in particular stopped to notice it. Only Mary and Joseph held their newborn boy, and looked into his eyes, and he looked back in theirs, as only a newborn can do — and they knew God’s love had been born into human life, and nothing else would ever be the same. Only the shepherds, out in the fields, the lowest of the working class, the ones everybody else ignored — only the shepherds looked up above the horizon, and saw a gleam and a glimmer and light in the sky that hadn’t been there before, and heard songs that no one else stopped to hear — and the shepherds knew they didn’t have to be afraid, and the promise of salvation was born for them, and it was good news for all people. 

In Luke’s story, the coming of Christ into the world sneaks in around the edges, it happens when people are paying attention to all this other stuff, it comes as a surprise, when only a few people notice that all creation is changed. When Christ comes, Luke says, he doesn’t wait for the world to be ready, or prepared, or paying attention; but Christ comes right in the middle of things, and right from the middle of things, the love of Christ changes everything.

And that’s how it is with us, too. The love of Christ at Christmas sneaks in around our edges, it comes to us as a surprise, in the middle of things — and the promise of love and compassion and peace and redemption, the promise of new life being born in us, transforms everything. The world goes about its worldly way, yet we know that God is with us, and in God’s love for us, everything is being made new.

And that is the kind of Christmas I invite you to celebrate this year. Right in the midst of things, look for the coming of Christ. Let Christ’s presence sneak in around the edges of your consciousness, and let the love of Christ be born in you in moments of surprise and wonder and joy. It may be when you’re listening to the news; it may be when you’re opening presents on Christmas morning; it may be when you are thinking about the grief of a friend or a community or yourself; it may be when you’re singing a Christmas carol at midnight mass; it may be when you’re sharing Christmas dinner with family and friends. However it comes to you, let the love of Christ sneak in around the edges and surprise you, when you see love in someone else’s eyes, when you ask forgiveness from a friend where there has been hurt, when you make a commitment to take an active role in reducing violence in our society, when you go over your tax records before the end of the year and decide to make another donation to another charitable work, when you feel the beginning of hope in a situation that seemed all but lost, when you sense new possibilities being born in a world where every new possibility is a gift. This Christmas, let the love of Christ sneak in around your edges, let the coming of Christ surprise you right in the midst of doing everything else, let the sudden birth of the Christ-life in you come in the middle of things and transform everything.

May God grant us all the gift of the Spirit at Christmas time, and may we live that Spirit in every time. Amen.

Blessed Are They Who Believe

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 1:39-55. An audio version of this sermon is available at this link.

“Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Those are the words with which Elizabeth brings to a climax the spontaneous outburst of praise and blessing that came to her when she greeted her young cousin Mary in our Gospel reading today. “Blessed is she who believed” is a kind of hook for the whole story to hang on. And it is a promise beyond the story for those of us who hear it.

But how does Elizabeth know just how blessed Mary is? Mary’s just arrived, Mary has not yet had a chance to tell Elizabeth the remarkable thing that has happened to her. How does Elizabeth know how to bless?

Partly it is because Elizabeth herself is in an unexpectedly blessed situation. Elizabeth is pregnant, six months along — and that’s unusual because Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah are old, “getting on in years” as Luke delicately puts it, and though they’ve tried for years they’ve never had any children. They were past hoping for that. And then the angel Gabriel appeared to Zechariah and told him that Elizabeth would bear a son, and their son would be great in the sight of the Lord, and he would turn many people to God, and make ready a people prepared for the Lord. And Zechariah had said “Oh I don’t think so — we’re too old for that.” And Gabriel had said “God’s word will be fulfilled; but since you have not believed it, you will not be able to speak any words until your son is born.” So Zechariah, mute, went home; and Elizabeth did conceive, impossible though it was; and they were overjoyed; and Elizabeth kept their good news to herself, and remained in seclusion for five months.

But in the sixth month something happens that needs Elizabeth’s attention. Her cousin Mary is on the doorstep, arrived in haste, clearly with something big, something extraordinary, something life-changing, going on with her. So Elizabeth goes out and brings Mary into the house and Mary greets her — presumably she says “Peace be with you,” because that was the common greeting of the time — and as soon as Elizabeth hears Mary’s greeting, Mary’s word of Peace, the child in her womb who will be John the Baptist gives a mighty kick, leaps, jumps for joy in utero. And Elizabeth herself is so surprised by this that the Holy Spirit uses that opening to fill her with insight, and she knows Mary’s story — without being told, she knows — and she witnesses Mary’s blessedness, that Mary’s child is her Lord, and that Mary is blessed because she believed.

And specifically, Mary is blessed because she believed “that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” When Gabriel came to Mary, as he had come to Zechariah before, and told her she would conceive and bear a son, Mary, like Zechariah, had asked “How can this happen?” She had her questions. But when Gabriel said “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God,” Mary had not said “Oh I don’t think so”; instead she said “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word”;  and so it was. Even though by all human standards it was clearly impossible, Mary trusted that “nothing will be impossible with God,” and that these impossible words would be fulfilled.

But more is at stake here than just the fulfillment of Mary’s impossible pregnancy. Mary also believes there will be a fulfillment of the angel’s words — God’s words — that her son will receive the throne of David, and reign over the house of Jacob, and bring in a kingdom without end. That’s the vision Mary gives voice to in her Magnificat. Mary speaks of God’s mercy on generations; Mary speaks of the proud scattered in the thoughts of their hearts, the powerful brought down from their thrones, the rich exposed to the emptiness of their riches; Mary speaks of the faithful gathered, the lowly lifted up, the hungry filled with good things. And so powerful is Mary’s belief in the fulfillment of these things, that she speaks of them in the past tense, as things already accomplished, even though clearly they haven’t happened yet. In Mary’s world the Romans are still in control, and in a few months she and Joseph will by forced by Roman authority to leave their home and go to Bethlehem, where they will be counted in a census to determine how much tax money the Emperor can raise to fund his interminable wars and corrupt occupation government. In Mary’s world the rich show no sign of letting go of their riches, and the powerful show no sign of relinquishing their power, and the lowly and poor, like Mary herself, see no sign any significant change on their horizon.

But God has spoken, and Mary has heard it, and Mary trusts so completely that there will be a fulfillment of this speaking that she gives herself — mind and heart and soul and body — she gives herself to living out the fulfillment of God’s word in her life, and the life of her son within her, and Elizabeth’s life, and the lives of everyone who will be touched by what God is doing through her. That is the power of blessing God has focused in Mary. And Elizabeth proclaims “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

And that is the blessing God promises to share with us today, too. Blessed are we, when we believe there will be a fulfillment of what is spoken to us by the Lord — and because we believe, we give ourselves — mind and heart and soul and body — we give ourselves to living out the fulfillment of God’s word of the reign of justice and peace in our daily, personal, public, communal, active lives.

And for us in our time and place, here and now, surely one of the most important ways we can give ourselves to the fulfillment of God's word of the reign of justice and peace is for each of us to take an active role in the work of reducing gun violence in our society. Over the last week, in the wake of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School, people of all sorts and conditions in our country have joined in calling out for reducing gun violence. Ideas about how to do that have varied. Some have said we need better security, more armed guards in schools, better gun training and gun safety. Some have said we need more gun control, a ban on semi-automatic weapons, reducing gun violence by reducing the number of guns. Some have said that this is about more than just guns, that we also need better access to mental health care, to help identify the roots of violent behavior and steer it somewhere else before it acts out violently. Some have said we need a deep and serious and critical conversation about the role of violence in our society, how the news media report it, how TV shows and movies portray it, how computer games glorify it beyond all realistic proportion. Opinions differ -- but at the core of all the opinions is a central agreement that we need to do better, that we need to work together to be a society where little children at school, and shoppers at malls, and audiences at movie theaters, and worshipers in churches, and people going about their daily business, are not at risk of senseless violent firearm murder. As people of faith, we can be part of the solution, we each can search our conscience, we can pray with the Collect today that God will purify our conscience, so that each one of us can take the part we each can best take to work for the reduction of gun violence, to work for the reign of right relationships and peace. Blessed are we, if we believe enough in the fulfillment of what God has spoken that we will act.

Mary believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord, that she would give birth to Jesus, and that Jesus would bring the kingdom of peace; and because she believed, Elizabeth was inspired to witness that Mary was blessed. May God grant us such believing. May God grant us such blessing. And may God grant us to do the work of Peace. Amen.

Rejoice. Even So, Rejoice.

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Philippians 4:4-7 and Luke 3:7-18. An audio version of the sermon may be found here. 

"Rejoice in the Lord always," Paul writes in the opening verse of our Epistle reading today; and then, because it is so important to him, he repeats it: "again I will say, Rejoice."

Rejoicing is the dominant theme on this Third Sunday of Advent. It is a thread running all through our scripture readings, from Zephaniah's call to Jerusalem to rejoice, though the canticle's command to Zion to "ring out your joy," through Paul's letter to the Philippians, even to Luke's account of John the Baptist preaching good apocalyptic news to the crowds. It is in the title of the day: this day is still known sometimes as "Gaudete Sunday," from the old Latin introit of the mass for this day, which began "Gaudete -- Rejoice!" When we still used purple for Advent, this Third Sunday, the Gaudete Sunday, was the day we lightened up the Advent Wreath with a single pink candle. Over and over again, the theme and burden of this Sunday is the call and command to rejoice.

And yet... And yet...

On this particular Third Sunday of Advent, on this December 16, 2012, rejoicing seems for many of us like a difficult and tenuous thing. "Rejoice!" may be the dominant word in our liturgy; but many of us today feel it to be a fleeting thing in our hearts.

Partly that's because of the atmosphere of forced jollity that overtakes so much of our public life in this season of the year. It's in the aggressively cheerful Christmas music that's blared on the sound systems in big box stores, while harried shoppers rush around looking for things that will make their holidays just perfect, and all the while wearing expressions on their faces that betray anxiety and annoyance and depression and everything but perfect joy. It's in vapidly happy and sentimental Christmas shows the TV networks seem compelled to broadcast -- and in the snarky and sarcastic shows others seem equally compelled to rebut them with. It's in family and social gatherings that all too often seem to be about outdoing each other, rather than really enjoying each other's company. With so much fake happiness being pushed on us in the holiday season, it can be kind of hard to find the true rejoicing in the message of Christ.

And partly the difficulty in rejoicing is because here at Trinity this Advent and Christmas we have some mixed feelings. Last week I announced that Shelby will be leaving Trinity to accept a call to Emmanuel; and in the week since then I've heard from several people who join me in having very mixed feelings about that news. I've shared with people, and people have shared with me, their happiness for Shelby, their sense of joy that she will take another step forward in her career and ministry, that this is a good thing for her and we're happy for her in it. Several people have told me that they agree with me that Shelby's going to Emmanuel may help usher in a new time of cooperation and shared ministry between Trinity and Emmanuel, and that that will be a very good thing indeed. But none of that can change the fact that Trinity will miss Shelby, that her ministry here has meant a great deal to a great many of us. Many people have told me that they want to support me through Shelby's leaving, because they know that she's been a very good colleague and I will miss her sharing in this ministry -- and I appreciate their support very much. It is one of those changes in church life that remind us that nothing ever stays the same; that just when you think you've got things comfortable, God calls you to be more than comfortable; that growing into something new always requires giving up something of what is now. There is truth in that; but there's a little bit of melancholy in that too. And even though we know this is an opportunity for Trinity to explore a new moment of growth, there is sadness in Shelby's leaving, too. And that makes it a little harder to rejoice.

And partly, of course, it's hard to rejoice because even while we proclaim our faith, we live in a world that continues to be wracked by violence and loss and grief. The mass shooting in Connecticut on Friday, in which 27 people were killed, 20 of them children, has left so many of us stunned and shocked and so overwhelmed by it that we're not sure what to feel. It is tempting to rush in with questions -- Why did this happen? Who could do such a thing? What can we do to prevent it ever happening again? -- but answers to such questions are never simple, and they're always elusive, and sometimes they are nothing more than a defense mechanism to keep us from having to face the naked horror of what we humans are capable of doing to each other. In such a moment there is nothing to do but to lament, to weep and wail and name our grief, to pray to God to make up in mercy all the many deficiencies we know too well we have, and to turn yet once more to compassion, to bearing each other up in love, as the only thing that really makes sense in this sinful and broken world. How, in the face of that, do we rejoice?

And yet, for all that, the words from Philippians still speak to us, insist on speaking to us, will not cease speaking to us even in the silence of our grief: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

The joy that Paul calls from us, the rejoicing that Paul commands of us, is something more -- something more than the forced jollity of the holidays, something more than the satisfaction of colleagues and ministers, something more even than security and safety and freedom from harm. The rejoicing that Pauls calls for does not depend on how happy we feel we are -- does not depend on us at all -- but depends on Christ. "Rejoice in the Lord," Paul says; "be in the peace of God," Paul says; "Let your hearts and minds be guarded in Christ Jesus," Paul says. The kind of rejoicing Paul points us to is not just being happy because everything around us is okay. The kind of rejoicing Paul points us to is a deep and abiding sense of rightness in God; it is a fundamental trust in the all-encompassing goodness of God; it is an ultimate consent, a rock-bottom Yes to life, even when life is difficult, because no matter what else happens, when everything is summed up and accomplished and played out to its end, God's love will bind all things up and God's love will make all things well.

That's what John the Baptist is talking about in our Gospel reading this morning, when he speaks of fire and judgment and winnowing and apocalypse, and calls it all good news. As John preaches it, the judgment is good news because the judgment will reveal the truth, when what is evil will be truly exposed as evil, and what is good will be truly lifted up as good, and the miasma of despair that so often prevents us from seeing God's good in this world because all we can focus on is the evil right in front of us -- that miasma will be cleared away and we will finally witness the creating grace of God in all the good it has truly done. That is the judgment John promises. And putting our whole trust in that judgment, orienting our lives and our actions toward that revealing of good, as John exhorted the crowds to do, frees us from fear and gives us a peace and joy in God so deep that no earthly sadness or disappointment or suffering can shake it or take it away.

"Rejoice in the Lord always," Paul writes. And we can receive that word here at Trinity today, because we know that rejoicing in the Lord is not just a matter of being happy or satisfied or secure, that rejoicing in the Lord is not primarily a feeling at all, but that rejoicing in the Lord is a choice, rejoicing in the Lord is a decision to trust that the goodness of God is at work all around us, even when -- especially when -- we cannot see it clearly by ourselves. "Rejoice in the Lord," Paul says, because "the Lord is near" -- and when the Lord comes no grief or destruction or sadness can fail to be redeemed in his all-renewing love.

That is the promise of Advent. That is our good news today. And that is why, even so, we rejoice. Amen.