Shari Breyfogle

Burial of the Dead
February 23, 2023
Sharon Breyfogle
Isaiah 61:1-3
Revelation 7:9-17
John 14:1-6

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

Jesus said, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  It’s hard for us to do that today.  We gather here for the very reason that our hearts are troubled.  We cannot help it; it is the way we are.  When we don’t know where to turn, in our grief, and in our sorrow, our hearts are troubled.  And so we come together, for strength and solace, for healing and help, because our hearts are troubled.

But Jesus also says, “In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”  And this is important.  Because as a baptized child of God, Jesus has prepared a place for Sharon.  If it were not so, Jesus would have said, “I go and prepare a place for you . . . except not for her.”  There are many rooms in God’s house, and one of them has Shari’s name on it. 

We know that Jesus has prepared a place for Shari.  And we also know the way to that place . . . though we might not know that we know it.  In the reading we just heard, Jesus says, he is going to prepare a place for his disciples, and tells them “You know the way to the place where I am going."  And the disciples look at each other—probably with a very worried look—because they do not know what Jesus is talking about.  They don’t even know where he is going; how can they possibly know the way?

But Thomas speaks up.  The one we sometimes wrongly call Doubting Thomas, in fact.  He says, "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”  It’s a good question.  And one that we all might ask today.  Jesus has prepared a place for Sharon, and Jesus tells us that we will see her again, because we know the way.  But, like the disciples, we don’t even know where Sharon is going.  How can we know the way?”

Sharon is missed because there is no one to fill her place.  Nor should there be.  We miss Shari, and we mourn with Ed and the family because she is missing from our lives.

But . . . she is not missing.  She has not gone missing, though she is missed.  We don’t know exactly where she has gone, but we do know the way to where she is.  Because Jesus answers our troubled hearts today the same way he answered Thomas that day: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”  Jesus is the Way.  The Way to where Sharon is going.  The Way to where you and I are going.  Though we grieve, and though we mourn, and though we dearly miss our beloved Shari, I remind you of the words of Jesus:  do not let your hearts be troubled.  We know the Way.  

May God give us the faith to trust in the promises of Jesus, for Sharon, and for ourselves.
Amen

YEAR A 2023 ash wednesday

Ash Wednesday, 2023
Isaiah 58:1-12
2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10
Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
Psalm 103:8-14

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

As with many of the most important days in the church year, the liturgy of Ash Wednesday does the heavy lifting.  Everything you need to know about the day is found in the pages of our prayer book.  Today is one of those times where the preacher cannot add much that matters, but can certainly derail things by saying too much.  And so I just want to give you a thought or two.  

The season of Lent is a good time to hit the reset button in our lives.  Ash Wednesday is a stark reminder that we are mortal. “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  And remembering we are mortal, that changes how we view the world, and turns our attention to what we will leave behind when we are gone.  But then, can we even hit that reset button, when we are distracted 24 hours a day by the cares and concerns of this life?  This busy life we live, while still knowing we will one day leave it all behind?

Those constant distractions of life are why some people find it is helpful to give something up for Lent.  To refocus the attention on who we are, and who God is, and why we are here, and what happens when we’re gone.  These are the heaviest questions in the world, and it is hard to think about them when we are constantly distracted, acting as though we will live forever.  But deep down, we know we won’t live forever.  And we have Ash Wednesday as an annual reminder of that fact.  Having been given the miraculous gift of life means we will also one day pass on from this world, and back into the arms of Jesus.

So, here’s something to think about as we enter into these forty days together.  Lent is not a time for behavior modification.  (That’s what New Year’s resolutions are for.)  Lent is a time for mental modification: an opportunity to change our minds.  Some people find it is helpful to change their behaviors during Lent in order to change their minds.  But the point of Lent is to help us see life as it is.  And to see death as it is.  And to see the promise of the resurrection as it is.  Life, death, and resurrection are all of a piece for Christians.  

And so, in this season of Lent, my prayer is that God will grant us the clarity of mind to acknowledge that we are mortal, and the faith to believe that we will one day be raised to immortal life with those we love, and the courage to go and tell others this good news.

Amen.

YEAR A 2023 absalom jones

Absalom Jones, Feb. 19, 2023
Isaiah 42:5–9
Psalm 126
John 15:12-15

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

Today—with the Bishop’s permission—we are honoring Absalom Jones at both our services.  As you know, February is Black History month.  The purpose of Black History month is not so that Black Americans can celebrate their own separate history.  It is, rather, so that everyone can recognize the important contributions of people whom history has tended to skip over, oftentimes quite intentionally.  And the fact that most Episcopalians don’t know the name Absalom Jones kind of proves the point.

Abasalom Jones was the first black priest in the Episcopal Church, ordained in 1802.  He died on February 13th, which is why that is his feast day.  Now, there was another man, named Wright Walker—a member of St. Timothy’s Church—who died on February 18th, 1921.  If Wright Walker had a feast day—which he should—it would have been yesterday.  So we are honoring both of these important men today.

In honor of Absalom Jones, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, Michael Curry, has asked that clergy solicit contributions to two schools this month—you’ll see a flyer in your bulletin explaining this.  But Michael Curry is not our Bishop; the Right Rev. Mark Hollingsworth is our Bishop.  Presiding Bishop Curry has no authority over me, or this parish, because of the way the Episcopal Church is structured.  Since I just finished writing an article on Apostolic Succession for our diocesan Church Life magazine, allow me to take a moment to explain how this all works.

The organizing unit of the Episcopal Church is the Diocese—not the congregation, and not the national church.  The people of each Diocese periodically choose someone to lead us as Bishop; and 20 years ago, we chose a priest from Massachusetts and ordained him our Bishop.  Technically, Mark Hollingsworth is your priest—which is why he always presides at the Eucharist when he visits us.  But since he can’t be here every week, St. Timothy’s Church calls a Rector to fill in as priest the other 155 Sundays between Bishop’s visitations.  And, right now, that’s me.

The Presiding Bishop is chosen by the national church to lead the House of Bishops when they meet.  You know, to preside at their meetings.  Bishop Curry is the face and figurehead of the Episcopal Church, but he has less actual authority than Bishop Hollingsworth.  The point is, the Presiding Bishop is no Pope, you see?  Essentially, he asked Bishop Hollingsworth to ask me to ask you for your support of these two Historically Black Colleges and Universities, in honor of Absalom Jones, and so I am asking, and I hope you will consider contributing, as Cristin and I will be.

As I did three years ago, I want to read you a couple of things about Absalom Jones and Wright Walker, and then offer just a closing thought.

From Lesser Feasts and Fasts: Absalom Jones was born on November 6, 1746, as a house slave in Delaware. He taught himself to read out of the New Testament, among other books. When sixteen, he was sold to a store owner in Philadelphia. There he attended a night school for blacks, operated by Quakers. At twenty, he married another slave, and purchased her freedom with his earnings. Jones bought his own freedom in 1784. At St. George’s Methodist Episcopal Church, he served as lay minister for its black membership. The active evangelism of Jones and that of his friend, Richard Allen, greatly increased black membership at St. George’s. The alarmed vestry decided to segregate blacks into an upstairs gallery, without notifying them. During a Sunday service when ushers attempted to remove them, the blacks indignantly walked out as a body.

In 1787, black Christians organized the Free African Society, the first organized Afro-American society, and Absalom Jones and Richard Allen were elected overseers. Members of the Society paid monthly dues for the benefit of those in need. The Society established communication with similar black groups in other cities. In 1792, the Society began to build a church, which was dedicated on July 17th, 1794. The African Church applied for membership in the Episcopal Diocese of Pennsylvania on the following conditions: 1. that they be received as an organized body; 2. that they have control over their local affairs; 3. that Absalom Jones be licensed as layreader, and, if qualified, be ordained as minister.

In October 1794 it was admitted as St. Thomas African Episcopal Church. Bishop White ordained Jones as deacon in 1795 and as priest on September 21, 1802. Jones was an earnest preacher. He denounced slavery, and warned the oppressors to “clean their hands of slaves.” To him, God was the Father, who always acted on “behalf of the oppressed and distressed.” But it was his constant visiting and mild manner that made him beloved by his own flock and by the community. St. Thomas Church, Philadelphia, grew to over 500 members during its first year. Known as “the Black Bishop of the Episcopal Church,” Jones was an example of persistent faith in God and in the church as God’s instrument. Jones died on February 13th, 1818, in Philadelphia.

Now, flash forward seventy years his death, and we find this, from St. Timothy’s Parish History:  In January, 1888, [St. Timothy’s Rector] Mr. Kemp began a ministry among the black people of Massillon. . . . He helped them to repair an  abandoned  church on Oak Street, and began holding regular Sunday afternoon services there.

After the congregation had been using the church for about a year, they learned that it belonged to the AME Zion Con­ference.  They surrendered  the building to its owners, and began meeting in the Sunday School room at St. Timothy's until new quarters could be found. 

At first, the Vestry discussed the possibility of  building a chapel on the  church grounds. Then A. J. Ricks, the Senior Warden, offered to donate a lot on Wellman Avenue, [which is a few blocks north of here]. Grace Chapel was completed in February 1890. Approximately one­ third of the cost was raised by the  blacks, an­other third  by the members of St. Timothy's, and the rest was given by citizens of Massillon and outside friends.  

On Ash Wednesday, 1890, the first service was held in the chapel, which was the first black Episcopal church in the Diocese of Ohio. On July 6 of that year Bishop W. A. Leonard dedicated the chapel and confirmed a class of six. [Our Rector] Mr. Kemp held services in the chapel regularly every Sunday afternoon after that, with Mrs. Kemp playing the organ.

From 1890 to 1893 the chapel's membership remained fairly steady. But after 1893 only a few communicants were added to the rolls, not enough to offset the inevitable losses in membership

After Grace Chapel closed, several of its members transferred their affiliation to St. Timothy's. Among them was Wright Walker, a former slave who came to Massillon with the Jarvis  family, and amassed a small fortune before his death [Feb. 18] in 1921. The bulk of his estate was left to Tuskegee Institute, but he also left a bequest to St. Timothy's. He is buried in the church lot in the Massillon cemetery.

As most of you know by now, it is my wish to be buried in the vacant plot right next to Wright Walker.  I have even lay down there on the ground to consider the view, and it is lovely.  But, not anytime soon, God willing.  Wright Walker was an exemplary man, and a pillar of this church and community.

And, you may be wondering, “What is this Tuskegee Institute to which he gave this small fortune?”  The Tuskegee Institute is another Historically Black College, located in Alabama.  Mr. Walker did not go to college, but he did once visit Tuskegee so that he could meet his hero, Booker T. Washington, one of the school’s founders.  Having been born a slave, Wright Walker did not even learn to read and write until he moved north and then to Massillon.  Although he himself did not attend Tuskegee, he saw its value.

In the March 1931 edition of the Tuskegee Journal, they devoted several pages to Wright Walker.  The main article about him in this issue is titled, “Born a Slave—Died a Prince.”  They say that his two hobbies were reading and going to church.  Going to church right here, in this very same building.  In fact, he paid for those choir pews, which we still use every Sunday.  The ones on the south side (soprano and alto) are dedicated in memory of  the  Rev. John Swan, our first rector, and those on the north side (tenor and bass) are in honor of the Rev. Edward Kemp, for his work among the black community of Massillon.  I encourage you to note the plaques on the front of them sometime.

The Tuskegee Journal also writes, The influence of the Jarvis family accounted for Mr. Walker’s becoming identified with the Episcopal Church.  This is the only way to account for his church affiliation, as the late Booker T. Washington often remarked that when you found a Negro other than Methodist or Baptist, you could be assured that some white man had tampered with his religion.

Ouch!  Be that as it may, they also write that The congregation of St. Timothy’s appreciated him not only for his contribution and attendance to its services; but as one who exerted a great influence upon its members because of his pious and devoted life.

At the time of this special edition, Wright Walker’s gift to the Tuskegee Institute was “the single biggest gift Tuskegee received from a Negro.”  They continue, “It is significant that a man who had been denied the privilege of an education could recognize the need, and deem that the best expression of his love for his race could come from leaving so large amount of his estate for the cause of education.”  Significant is an understatement.

These two remarkable men, Absalom Jones and Wright Walker, are a testament to love, in the face of . . . what is not love.  And that same struggle continues, even as advances are made.  As our closing hymn today asks, “Yet, with a steady beat, have not our weary feet come to the place for which our parents sighed?”  It is a determination to meet resistance with love.  Because God is in love.  God is always in love.

In today’s gospel reading:  Jesus said, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”  From Absalom Jones and the Episcopal Church, to Wright Walker and St. Timothy’s Church, we have seen this love, and I know that generations to come will see this same love.  It is a very specific kind of love, the love that can only come from God, who is our Strength and our Redeemer.  Again, from that same hymn: “Thou who hast by thy might led us into the light; keep us forever in the path, we pray.”
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.

Amen.

YEAR A 2023 feast of st. timothy

St. Timothy, 2023
2 Timothy 1:1–8
Psalm 112:1–9
John 10:1–10

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

The gospel of John really should have been called, “The Metaphors of Jesus, and Why We Don’t Get Them.”  It is a recurring theme in John’s gospel.  Jesus picks out a common everyday thing and uses it as an illustration for some bigger point he’s trying to make.  And pretty much every time he does this, the people he is talking to do not understand.

In the 4th chapter of John, we have the scene of Jesus and the woman at the well.  He says to her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”  The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?”  He’s talking about the gift of abundant life, and she says you don’t have a bucket.

In the sixth chapter of John, Jesus refers to himself as the bread that has come down from heaven.  And those listening complain to each other, asking, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?”

In the 3rd chapter of John, Jesus says to Nicodemus, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”  And Nicodemus asks, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”

And after that conversation with the woman at the well, the Disciples say to Jesus, “Rabbi, eat something.” But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you do not know about.” So the disciples said to one another, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?” Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work.”

“The Metaphors of Jesus, and Why We Don’t Get Them.”  Over and over in John, Jesus uses symbolic and metaphorical language to make a bigger point, and the people around him take him literally and become confused.  Happens every time.

And when Jesus is talking about himself in John, we’ve got a whole list of images to get confused about.  I am the bread, I am the gate, the door, the Good Shepherd.  I am the water.  I am the way, the truth, and the life.  I am the vine; you are the branches.  For the most part, those listening know what these things are.  They’ve seen gates and doors and shepherds and vines.  But what seems to trip them up is in making the connection to Jesus that he’s trying to get them to make.

And we have it in today’s reading, from John’s gospel, a.k.a “The Metaphors of Jesus, and Why We Don’t Get Them.”  Jesus explains that he is like the Good Shepherd, and the sheep hear his voice and follow him.  They know the Good Shepherd’s voice, and they will follow him, which they won’t do when they are called by thieves, bandits, and strangers.  And then, as we heard, “Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but”—wait for it—“they did not understand what he was saying to them.”

And so what does Jesus do, after using this figure of speech that they did not understand?  After he calls himself a shepherd and they don’t get it, Jesus instead calls himself the gate, which probably isn’t helping, to be honest.  Out of the frying pan and into the fire, to use yet another not helpful figure of speech.

And I think the reason that the shepherd and the gate images don’t work for people is because they’re too vivid, to be honest.  You’re probably picturing an actual sheep pen, with a gate, and Jesus standing there in a long robe.  Calling to a bunch of sheep to follow him, while a bandit wearing an eye mask yells, “Curses!  Foiled again!”  I mean, maybe it’s just me, but that’s definitely what I’m picturing.  Point being, I think the imagery is too realistic, and so we fixate on that rather than the actual point Jesus is making.

So, okay, what is the point that Jesus is making?  Good question.  I think we get closer to it when we start at the ending of this reading.  Forget all the metaphors and figures of speech and pastoral imagery that’s floating around in your mind.  Instead, look at how Jesus contrasts himself with the thieves and the bandits.  He says, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

Jesus came that we might have life, and have it abundantly.  What Jesus means by thieves and bandits are whatever forces stand opposed to us having life and having it abundantly.  Ask yourself, what is it that sucks abundant life out of me?  What prevents me from accepting that Jesus came to bring life to this world?  Whatever those things are, they are the thieves and bandits Jesus is talking about.

Or, look at what he says just before that:  “Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.”  What do sheep do with their lives?  What is a prime example of a sheep living up to its full potential?  Of living life as it was meant to be?  Well, the answer is going in and out of the stable and finding pasture.  It’s what sheep do.  And a shepherd who empowers sheep to do just that is giving them life, and giving it to them abundantly.  But now you’re probably right back to picturing literal sheep going in and out of a fenced-in pen.  

Maybe a better way to rebrand all this is to give different names to the ones who are not Jesus.  Something like the thieves of hope, and the bandits of joy.  They are not looking to steal the sheep.  They are just looking to take away the abundant life that Jesus offers.  It’s not a hostile corporate takeover of the sheep owning industry; it’s more like just wanting to watch the world burn.  The thieves of hope and the bandits of joy come only to steal and kill and destroy.  But Jesus came that we may have life, and have it abundantly.

So let’s get those images of sheep back into our heads for a moment.  Jesus is the gate, and the sheep go out and find pasture, and they come back in and find rest.  That’s it.  Could hardly be more simple.  The sheep are not called to do impossible amazing things.  That is not what sheep are known for.  No, sheep are called to find grass and eat it.  That is abundant life for a sheep.  You can hardly get more abundant than that.

The sheep do not go out and hunt down the bandits, or give them scary othering labels to haunt their kids.  The sheep do not try to divide some sheep from other sheep for the accumulation of political power.  The thieves of hope and the bandits of joy are of no concern to the sheep in Jesus’ figure of speech.  And do you know why?  Well, I’ll tell you: it’s the voice.

The sheep have abundant life because they listen to the voice of Jesus.  There are many other voices in this world.  Lots of harmful voices screaming at the top of their lungs on television and social media.  Those are not the voice of Jesus.  And when we follow those voices, when we let those voices tell us what to think and what to do . . . well, those voices are the thieves of hope and the bandits of joy.  They are not the voice of Jesus.  Because the voice of Jesus calls us into who we are meant to be.

May God give us the grace to ignore the voices of despair and rage, and to listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd.  The one who opens the gate for us, who leads us to where and what we are meant to be, who calls us by name, and gives us abundant life.

Amen.

YEAR A 2023 holy name of jesus

Holy Name, 2023
Numbers 6:22-27
Psalm 8
Philippians 2:5-11
Luke 2:15-21

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

And here it is:  A new year.  Every year, at midnight on January 1st, the world celebrates New Year’s Day.  And on this same day, every year, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Name, Jesus.  Why is that?  Well, as we heard on the Sundays leading up to Christmas, the name Jesus literally means, “God saves.”  And that’s why we lift up the name of Jesus on this day, not because the word itself is special, but because the name Jesus is a constant reminder of that promise: God saves.  “Jesus” means, God saves.  That’s why we call it the “holy name,” and that’s why we have this feast day to remind us.

But as I do every year on this day, I also want to talk about a different name:; and that name is Janus.  Janus was the Roman god of beginnings and endings, gates, transitions, time, doorways, and passages.  Our month of January gets its name from Janus, and you can see why.  When the odometer of the calendar rolls over, it’s a beginning, and also an ending, and it’s a doorway, and a transition, and a gate, and so on.  So that’s why Janus gives us January.

The god Janus is depicted as having two heads: one facing forward, and one facing backward.  Seeing the future, and looking at the past.  And how fitting this is for the way we view the start of the new year.  We look back at the past year, and we also give some thought to how things will be in the new year.  As a child, I remember spending time at my grandmother’s house on New Year’s Day, listening to Casey Kasem tell me what songs were supposedly important in the past year.    None of my songs were ever on that list.  And these days, you can do your year-end wraps on things like spotify and instagram.  We naturally look backwards as we begin a new year, to see where we have been, and what we have done.

And, I think, most of us end up looking backward in judgement with regret, making New Year’s resolutions about how things will be better, how we will be better.  And that’s why so many people feel dispirited at the turn of the calendar: because when we look backwards, we can feel disappointed in ourselves and others.  And thanks to the Romans, we have Janus, who is always looking backward, always judging, always disappointed.  Just the kind of god human beings would make up, when you think about it.

But, as Christians, we have Jesus—God saves—the one who is always looking forward.  When we confess our sins together, we hear in the Absolution that God forgives all our sins through our Lord, Jesus Christ.  ALL our sins.  God no longer sees our sins.  But we still see them, don’t we?  We still lie awake at night with regrets over something we said to someone in third grade, or whatever.  We can see all our mistakes and failures, and disappointments clear as day, because—just like Janus—we are always looking backward.

And that’s because—even in a positive way—we look backwards to define ourselves and others.  We explain our identities by looking at the past.  Here’s my degree; here’s where I served in the military; here’s my Eagle Scout badge; here’s how many kids I raised.  Obituaries and resume’s are by definition an accounting of the past.  They look backward.  We naturally look to the past to tell us who someone is now.  Every job interview is about what we have done in the past.  People want to know, “How did you get here?”

But God always looks forward, never backward.  And that is why the promises we make in church are always forward, and not backward.  The priest asks a couple about to be married, will you love, comfort honor and keep each other?  Before a person is Baptized, the priest asks will you seek and serve Christ in all persons?  And the candidate says, I will, with God’s help.  The Church always asks “will you,” as opposed to “have you.”  And the Church always gives you the partnership: “With God’s help.”  It doesn’t matter how you got here.  It matters that you are here.  Again, God always looks forward, never backward.

Because when God looks backward, God sees . . . nothing: all your sins have been erased.  They’re just  . . . not there.  When God looks back there is nothing but Jesus: the name that means, God saves.  Your sins, your mistakes, your regrets, those are no longer known to God.  They are only known to you.  God’s hindsight sees nothing but goodness and forgiveness and Jesus.  Because God saves.

May God give us all the grace to see our lives as God sees them, repenting of our past, turning around, and always looking forward.  There is always a new beginning, always a new start, because of the Holy Name of Jesus: God saves.

Amen.

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.