YEAR A 2022 christmas eve

Christmas Eve, 2022
Isaiah 9:2-7
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-20
Psalm 96

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Now that the sun has set, I can safely say, Merry Christmas to you all.  To those foolhardy enough to come out tonight, as well as those joining us online at home.  It has been a bitterly cold couple of days across the country, which has led us to check in on our family and neighbors, even more than usual.  To make sure they’re okay, and that they have everything they need.  And in many ways, this fits perfectly with the entire concept of Christmas:  That God was born a human being and became one of us, fully human, in every sense of the word.  Needing help from those around him.  Our savior was born as a helpless baby; God has taken on human flesh.

And there are important changes in our world because of that.  God becoming human is a reminder that life is sanctified, a stamp of approval on creation.  As we are told in the creation story in Genesis, we are made in the image of God.  And Jesus taking on human form completes that cycle.  You could say,  we are made in the image of God, and now God is made in the image of humans, in the person of Jesus.  And, what’s more, every single person is made in the image of God.  Whether we like it or not, God’s image is standing right in front of us, sitting right next to us.  Gay, straight, or trans, Democrat or Republican, Ohio State or Michigan fan.  No matter what we think of that person, we are looking at the image of God.

And thinking back on the story we heard, just imagine what the glorious angels thought of those lowly shepherds.  What the shepherds thought of the selfish innkeeper.  What humble Mary thought about the angel Gabriel.  What Joseph thought about his mysteriously pregnant fiancee’.  And later on, what the wise kings  thought of the disgusting manger setting.  Each and every one of them made in the image of God.  None of these people belong together.  And yet, here they are, altogether, in one of the most well-known stories ever told.

And why are all these people gathered together tonight?  Well, the shepherds told us:  because this thing has taken place.  This event brings them all together.  The shepherds say to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place.”  This thing.  They don’t even know what to call it; they certainly don’t understand it; they don’t even know what has happened.  But they leave their flocks behind, because this thing has taken place.

Which leads me to ask, what brings you here tonight?  Why did you bundle up and drive on over to this lovely old building with the red doors?  I’m sure some are home visiting family, and it’s a tradition.  Some came because you come every year.  Some because your grandparents came every year.  Some came because your mom made you.  Some because you like to sing the Christmas carols, or look at the pretty lights.  Some because it wouldn’t be Christmas without coming to this place, on this night.

But why?  Why do we go through all this, despite the weather and the hassle and whatever else?  Why are any of us here tonight?  Well, the answer is THIS THING.  We are here because this thing has taken place.  And we keep coming back.  We come out of hope.  We come out of duty.  We come to see the spectacle.  We come wondering if it all just might be true.  We are all in the same boat here.  Whatever you think about God and Jesus and humanity the rest of the year, you’re here tonight.  Because of this thing that has taken place.

The story is the same every year.  And it will never change, no matter why it is that we show up.  Because THIS thing has taken place:  God, the creator of all that is, has come to dwell among us.  The One in whom we live and move and have our being has shown up, and keeps showing up.

In the midst of despair and sadness and tragedy and grief, there is also hope and joy and laughter and babies.  Because God has come to dwell among us, and is still here.  Don’t ever lose sight of that point: because Jesus was born this night, God dwells among us.  No matter what or why or how, this thing HAS taken place, and it changes everything.
Merry Christmas!

Amen

MACCA Advent Service

Thoughts on The Innkeeper
St. Jacob’s Lutheran Church, Massillon OH
Luke 2:1-7

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

First off, I used to play in a band.  And we actually played two concerts in this church.  The most-recent of those was in 1987.  So . . . it's good to be back

So the assignment for the preachers these four Wednesdays in Advent is to put ourselves in the place of one or more of the characters in the Christmas story.  I decided it would be fun to go with the Innkeeper, since I had some thoughts about that already in my head.  Except here’s the thing:  There really isn’t an Innkeeper in the story.  At least not in the way that there are shepherds, or Joseph, or angels.  The only mention of an inn is in Luke, the verse we just heard, and that mention is simply “because there was no place for them in the inn.”

An Innkeeper might be implied in our 21st century hearing, but there certainly isn’t one in the text.  The inn itself is just sort of mentioned as an afterthought.  An explanation for why they’re out back in the stable.  We aren’t given a whole lot to go on here, but we can imagine.  

First of all, I’m intrigued that it says, “There was no room for them at the inn.”  Is that because nobody wants all that noise in the room next to them?  Is it because the last place a pregnant mother wants to give birth is at a crowded inn?  And it raises the question, did the innkeeper reject them, turn them away, or is it that there just isn’t any room?  Both of those questions can sort of turn back on us.  Jesus is coming.  Do we reject him?  Or do we turn him away because there’s just no room for him in our lives?

Of course, that idea could be used to make you feel bad for focusing too much on buying presents and stuff.  Like I could shake my fist at you and ask, “ARE YOU MAKING ROOM FOR JESUS THIS CHRISTMAS?”  But that’s not really my style, and it’s not very grace oriented, is it?  I’d be chased out of a Lutheran church for suggesting that you could be guilted into welcoming Jesus.  Martin Luther would put me on his naughty list.

But how about this idea.  Maybe the Innkeeper is actually being a gracious host.  Like, imagine that the Innkeeper sees Mary is about to give birth.  The inn is crowded with noisy strangers.  And in an act of compassion, the Innkeeper takes her around back and finds a quiet stable for her to bring this baby into the world.  Maybe the Innkeeper is compassionate and caring, rather than someone who slams the door in the face of stressed-out parents.

My thinking is that the Innkeeper is all of these.  A perfect metaphor for whatever you need to see.  Some of us don’t have room for Jesus, and need to be reminded to make room for Jesus in our lives.  And some of us need to look outside ourselves, and to be reminded to watch out for those who need our help.  The Innkeeper is sort of the perfect blank slate for all of us at Christmas time:  Some of us are ready.  Some of us turn him away.  Some are making extra steps to make others comfortable.  

And in a way, it doesn’t matter how the Innkeeper treated Mary and Joseph when they knocked on the door.  Because Jesus came into the world either way.  Whether welcomed or rejected, this baby is coming.  Salvation is coming, ready or not.

The song we’ll be singing in just a few minutes captures this idea perfectly, in my opinion.  The fourth verse says, “O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray, cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today.”  Our hearts, our lives are like that manger.  And you notice that it’s not up to us to get that manger ready for Jesus?  The song asks for God to cast out our sin and enter in.  The Innkeeper might have rejected Jesus; the Innkeeper might have had compassion and set Mary up as comfortably as possible.  But it is God who sends the baby, whether we are ready or not.  Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.  Indeed.  Come, Lord Jesus.

Amen.

Ordination of the Rev. Maureen Major

Ordination of the Rev. Maureen Major
Isaiah 6:1-8
Psalm 132:8-19
Philippians 4:4-9
Matthew 9:35-38

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

As we heard, Paul wrote to the Philippians, Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

We’ll come back to this in a few minutes.  But first . . .

This is the first Ordination I’ve ever preached at.  I’ve been to a few, and been ordained twice myself.  So let’s start with that famous opening line from Admiral Stockdale at the 1992 Vice-presidential debate:  Who am I, and why am I here?

I’m Fr. George Baum, Rector of St. Timothy’s Church in Massillon, where the football comes from.  I was Mother Mo’s fieldwork supervisor, and I’m here to support her, and also to preach this sermon.  Now, if I ask you who you are you and why you are here, your answer will be different from mine.     Mother Mo’s answer will certainly be different from all of ours. As will Stephen her husband’s answers. And the Bishop’s answers, and so on. Each one of us will have a different answer to those two questions.  Who am I and why am here? 

Now, the Philosophy major Mo Major knows there are deeper existential questions at play here.  Because it gets to the heart of our existence to really probe these questions.  Who we are, and why are we here, and who God created us to be, and who we will one day be. They’re not the same for any of us, because we are constantly changing. 

I am going to risk alienating some of my clergy colleagues by saying that I am a big fan of Process Theology.  (We burn our bridges where we dare.)  But one aspect of Process Theology is that part of us remains the same, and yet we are constantly changing, being shaped by our experiences.  Always being lured into what we were meant to be.  And at the same time, never what we will one day be.

I have had the unique privilege of watching Mother Mo growing into the person God is calling her to be. And she has had a unique vantage point of watching me continue to grow into the priest God is calling me to be.  Point being, we are who we are, and yet we are always changing.

There’s a scene in Oscar Wilde’s, “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” where Lord Henry says, "You don't really object to being reminded that you are extremely young.”  Dorian responds, ”I should have objected very strongly this morning.”  And Lord Henry says, “Ah! this morning! You have lived since then.”  We are who we are, and we are always changing.

Today is a landmark day.  But it is also really at heart just all of us watching Mo continuing to respond to God’s call on her life.  And it is also a landmark day for the Universal Church. Because as Mo becomes a priest, the Church itself will be changed as well.  Ordination to the Priesthood feels like the end of the road. Crossing some finish line. But it’s not. It’s more like opening a gate, into an endless field of possibilities.

It all led up to this . . . so that this can lead to something else.  You will be made a priest so that you can do priesty stuff.  A long and twisty process to get you here, and the process has transformed you to do the next thing.  And here’s a secret that I’m probably not supposed to tell you:  The next thing will never be what you expect it to be!  Many people will say, this is the most important day of Mo’s life.  But I will paraphrase the great homer Simpson and say, It is the most important day of Mo’s life . . .  so far. 

Who am I and why am I here?  Mo will have even different answers to those questions when she leaves this room today.  She entered as a deacon, and she will leave as a priest, but will still be a deacon.  I don’t want to go too far down this inside-church-baseball track, but this is because of what we call “ontological change.”  These Ordination mysteries mark a change in who we are, and they cannot be lightly undone.  Mother Mo will always be a Deacon, and starting tonight, she will always be a Priest.  

But everything is also about to change for Stephen Major.  Last September he underwent his own ontological change when he became a husband.  And now, he’s going to be married to a priest.  The ones closest to us see the changes most dramatically, because they know us the most intimately. This morning, Stephen woke up married to a Deacon.  Ah, this morning. But you have lived since then. 

And of course, everything is also about to change for the people of St. James Church.  The good people of this parish are willing to take a chance on someone new, knowing that who you are and why you are here are always changing as well. You are not who you were, you are not who you’ll be, but you know why you are here.  And now, this Sunday, you will once more have a priest standing at this Altar, bringing the priesthood into your midst.

Back to where we started . . . Philippians.  I feel like Paul gives us the answers to our two questions tonight.  Do you want to know who you are, and why you are here?  Think about whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

Sounds almost desperate, doesn’t it?  Like Paul has stripped things down to their essentials.  Think about those things.  It’s like, when Sam says, “there’s still some good in this world Mr. Frodo.”  It’s a ray of hope, in case you run into the absolute depths of despair.  Like Paul is saying, if you live in NE Ohio as we approach the winter solstice, look for this light.  Think about these things.

Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

And if we think about these things, with God’s help, we will know who we are, and why we are here, and where we are going.

God bless Mother Mo and Stephen Major.  God bless the people of St. James Church.  May you all be reminded every day who you are, and whose you are, and why you are here.

Amen.

Installation of Fr. Alex Barton

Installation of the Rev. Alex Barton
Church of the Redeemer, Lorain OH
Joshua 1:7-9
Psalm 146
Ephesians 4:7, 11-16
John 15:9-16

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

For those I haven’t met, my name is Fr. George Baum, I am the rector at St. Timothy’s Church in Massillon, where the football comes from, and I’m honored to be here with you on this festive night.  I grew up in Niagara Falls, where the carbon plants used to be, which is very close to Buffalo, where the steel mills used to be.  And now we live in Massillon, where the steel mills used to be, and we’re gathered tonight in Lorain, where the steel mills used to be.

The common thread there, of course, is the phrase, “used to be.”  So many cities in this part of the country hit their peak of success in manufacturing a particular thing that was once in high demand.  The people who owned those plants and mills got rich, and the workers got by.  When factories close down, the rich folks move on to the next thing, and the workers tend to be stranded, needing to find new ways to support their families, in a town that has lots of empty buildings.  And that cheerful opening obviously brings me to the sewers of London in the 19th century. 

Henry Scott Holland was an Anglican priest in the slums of London in the 1890s.  He campaigned for better sanitation in the city’s poor districts, and was told to stop interfering in secular affairs, because priests’ opinions don’t belong in such earthly matters.  You know, stay in your lane, as they say.  His response was, "I speak out and fight about the drains because I believe in the Incarnation.”

When I first read this, I thought it was the most profound thing I’d ever heard.  As he later wrote, “The more you believe in the Incarnation, the more you care about drains.”  I find it’s such an important and moving idea.  And when I quote that line to people . . . well, I tend to get a blank stare in response.  You know, like I say to someone, “It’s like, the more you believe in the Incarnation, the more you care about drains, right?”  Nothing.

Okay.  The “Incarnation.” This is the fancy word for God becoming a human being.  To incarnate something is to bring it into the flesh, right?  So the Incarnation of God is just church speak for Jesus’ being born in Bethlehem—same name as the steel plant outside Buffalo.  Now we already make the connection between people’s physical wellbeing and the Incarnation, even if we don’t know it.

When you put your loose change in the Salvation Army kettle.  When you cook a bunch of turkeys for people on Thanksgiving.  When you offer community meals with produce from the church gardens.  When you gather up toiletries and fill an entire room with them to give away to your neighbors in need.  Whether we know it or not, we are proclaiming the link between the physical person of Jesus and caring for people’s physical needs.  We could say, the more you believe in the Incarnation, the more you care about children having enough food to eat.

Church of the Redeemer and Fr. Alex have already done so much together, and it looks as though you are just getting started!  You’re making the rest of us look bad.  And that’s why I’ve often thought, if I could serve at any church in the Diocese, I would choose to work alongside Fr. Alex and the people of this parish.  And if you tell anyone in Massillon I said that, I will deny it till my dying breath!  But together, you all seem to be doing the exact work that Jesus would have us do, rather than what Jesus himself would do.

And speaking of that, I’ve never found it helpful to ask ourselves the question, “What would Jesus do?”  Asking ourselves what Jesus would do sets up a whole list of things we cannot possibly do, including ushering in the Kingdom of God and redeeming all creation.  I feel like a more helpful question we might ask is, say, “What would Karl Marx do . . . if Karl Marx believed in the Incarnation of Jesus?”  Not what would Jesus do, but rather what would a Christian version of Karl Marx do?  That gives us a completely different list than what Jesus does.  A list that is directly connected to the Incarnation of God and caring about the drains.

Because that question leads us to fight against systemic injustice, to defend those who are oppressed, to help those who are out of work, to give food to the hungry, to make sure everyone has enough.  That question would lead us to buy up abandoned property to plant organic gardens, and use the produce to cook food to feed our neighbors delicious healthy meals.  Doing all the kinds of things that the church should be doing everywhere all the time.  In a very real sense, the Church of the Redeemer is redeeming the Church . . . from the inside out.  “The more you believe in the Incarnation, the more you care about drains.”  You folks believe in the Incarnation, and it shows.

But enough of me talking about you.  Let’s talk about marriage.  That gospel reading we just heard, from John, is often used at weddings and is also used at a celebration of new ministry, like this one.  As we heard, Jesus says, “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love.”  And I think our immediate takeaway is, “Oh no!  I have to keep a bunch of commandments in order to abide in the love of Jesus?”  I can hardly keep my calendar straight, how am I going to keep all these commandments?  If it’s up to me, I stand little chance of abiding in God’s love.  And that’s true.  However . . .

Jesus goes on to say, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”  It turns out, it’s just one commandment.  It’s not a long list of behavior modification requirements that we can never fully achieve.  It’s just one thing:  Love one another.  But there’s a catch!  Love one another as I have loved you.

As I have loved you.  And that’s exactly why I love using this reading at weddings.  Because we can then ask ourselves, okay, so how does Jesus love us?  And the answer is, unconditionally.  Jesus loves us for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, and even beyond that veil when we pass into the arms of angels.  Jesus loves us unconditionally, and that is how we are to love one another.  Without regard to any of the things society tells us are important.  Without regard to status, or wealth, or social position, or anything else.

And when it comes down to it, this celebration of a new ministry is very much like a celebration of marriage.  The people of the Church of the Redeemer and Fr. Alex Barton are finally getting hitched tonight!  For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.  You are all taking your relationship to the next level, where you will abide together in the love of Jesus, keeping his commandment to love one another as Jesus loves us.

And the love you have for one another is what will carry you into the future together.  A future of feeding those who are hungry.  Of reclaiming blighted plots of land and turning them into a source of food.  Of welcoming every person who walks through those doors and loving them unconditionally.  In short, of caring about the drains.

Fr. Alex, people of Redeemer, you are an inspiration to so many across our Diocese and beyond.  May you continue to walk in love, as God loves us.  May you abide in the love of Jesus, following his commandment to love one another unconditionally.  And may your ministry among the people of Lorain continue to be a beacon of hope, and a reminder to all who meet you that God has not given up on this world, and God still cares very much about the drains.

Amen.