Love in Action

We have reached the fourth Sunday of Advent and we wait with anticipation for love to be born among us. Mary speaks the Magnificat after she realizes she is pregnant before she is married. You can imagine the response she might get from her future husband, her family, and her community. Once Mary begins to take in her situation, she responds to God and God’s action in her life.

As the hymn, “My Soul Cries Out” reminds us, Mary “remembers who holds her fast.” She is not alone but is in relationship with a God who will not abandon her. Love cannot exist outside of relationship, but it is more than just an emotion. Love has to do with trust and is lived out in how we respond to the ones we are in relationship with.

Mary’s prophesy that we heard this morning, begins with a personal affirmation of her relationship with God as she places her trust in the one “who holds her fast.” Neither Mary nor God exist in isolation. Mary goes on to affirm that God isn’t just in relationship with her. God has been faithful to God’s people through many generations. As we hear Mary’s words, there is a sense that these things have happened before and that they will happen again. Mary declares “You have scattered the proud in the imagination of their heart. You have put down princes from their thrones. And have exalted the lowly. You have filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.” And we trust and hope that these actions continue into the future. We see these actions lived out in the person of Jesus.

Theologian Thomas Jay Oord defines love this way. He says that “To love is to act intentionally, in response to God and others, to promote overall well-being.” Love is a response to God. Love is a response to other people—whether we know them or not. This isn’t just warm fuzzy feelings but intentional actions that encourage others to thrive. Love involves our relationships with all living beings and the creation itself. Mary can identify the ways in which God has already loved the world. God sees suffering in the world and acts to disrupt those with power. Our response to the one who holds us fast, is to love and act likewise—to see suffering and disrupt the powerful. Love goes beyond just doing something nice for someone. Love turns the world upside down.

Turning the world upside down creates chaos. I’m not talking about anarchy or stirring things up just because. Loving the world means reordering social structures. When someone is hungry, we can feed them. While that is helpful in the moment it doesn’t change the ongoing reality. Love requires us to ask “why are they hungry?” If we ask that question, we might find ourselves drawn into bigger questions of racism, addictions, inequality in education, language barriers, ways in which people with disabilities have less access to supports. We can’t address any of these questions without fundamentally changing the systems which give some people power and privilege and keep others poor.

It’s risky to start asking these questions because it means we have to respond with love. Love is transformative action but the process of asking the questions and responding to them can be traumatic for many of us. It has the potential to change our world view and change how we live and that can be daunting. In the midst of the upheaval brought about by love, we remember, like Mary that we are not alone. We proclaim God’s goodness and presence in our lives and in the world. And then we remember who holds us fast. Turning the world upside down might be a rough ride but God holds us and loves us as we love the world.

This Advent and Christmas season, may we absorb Mary’s song of praise to God. May we also absorb her commitment to a God and love that changes the world.

Preparing for Joy

At first glance, the passage from Luke 3:7-17 is filled with judgment and condemnation. Imagine if you had gone to hear John preach and he called you a viper—a snake. Then he goes on to insinuate that you deserve to be cut down and thrown into the fire. I would be feeling pretty awful at this point. As a member of the establishment, this would not be a sermon I’d want to stick around for.

As an ordinary person struggling from day to day, I can see John’s point. I’m cold and I’m hungry. I’ve been ripped off by tax collectors. I’ve been bullied and falsely accused by soldiers. This might not be such a bad sermon after all.

Whether you hear John’s words as judgment or good news depends on where you find yourself within society. That’s true of much of our scripture. Often, if you are wealthy or powerful scripture feels like it brings a word of judgment. If you are poor or otherwise on the fringes of society, scripture brings joy.

But even for those of us who live with privilege and power, if we can get beyond the judgment, can find a word of joy in this scripture. There is an invitation to self-reflection, repentance, and a call to follow God’s ways more faithfully. As our carol puts it, “God and sinners reconciled”—in other words, a call to joy and fullness of life.

We sometimes hear the words sin, or sinner and immediately feel shame. But sin simply means missing the mark—like when you are shooting something and don’t hit the target. We all sin. We all miss the mark sometimes. We do our best and don’t always get it right. But there is often a yearning to do better.

Before transformation can happen, we need to see the reality for what it is and that’s what John is calling attention to. He’s naming the inequality between people who have more than they need and people who have less than they need. He’s naming business as usual, as it was a common practice for tax collectors to collect more than required and skim the difference for themselves. John is naming the violence and abuse of power that was normal for soldiers.

Even for those of us with power and privilege, there is a yearning to figure out how to be faithful. John is asked repeatedly throughout the scripture by people who know they are missing the mark, “what must we do?” He isn’t just going around randomly telling people how to be faithful. He is tapping into a deep yearning that most of us carry. How do we live well? How do we live as faithfully as possible?

John’s response seems really simple—things that we learn as children. Share with everyone, no bullying, no stealing, no lying. I’m thinking of this as a basic sense of fairness. This would be joy for everyone. Joy for those of us with power and privilege as we learn how to live faithfully. Joy for the poor and oppressed who see the world turned upside down so they have value and worth.

But John is clear, he is not the reason for joy. He just points the way to Jesus who will come next.
And Jesus will point the way to joy in much more dramatic and unbelievable ways. He will restore people to their communities, push the boundaries of who is included and excluded, challenge authority, heal, and generally turn the world upside down. For those of us who hold power and privilege, this can be a bit scary. We like how things are because it gives us privilege—sometimes privilege and power that we aren’t even aware of. Being unable to acknowledge our power and privilege can prevent us from experiencing the joy of Christ among us.

We heard the judgment that came with John’s message this morning. The discomfort of the judgment is important because it shakes us up. It gives us a reality check so we can see the world, and our place in it, a bit more clearly. When we look into those places that cause us discomfort, we might discover sin—the ways in which we have missed the mark. Looking at these things might make us feel bad about ourselves, or bring a sense of shame, or disappointment. Often, it is easier and more comfortable to just carry on with life as usual but looking at the sin in our lives is not intended to make us feel bad. It helps us prepare for the Christ-child among us. It creates the space for God and sinners to be reconciled. It deepens our relationship with all that is Holy—and that brings joy.

This advent season, may we see ourselves, our power and privilege, and all the ways we miss the mark. May we use this time of preparation to create space to be filled with the joy of God among us.

A Weary World Rejoices

Zechariah and Elizabeth were unable to have children. Zechariah was a priest and was chosen to go into the sanctuary and offer incense. While he is there, the angel Gabriel appears and tells him that he and Elizabeth will have a child and they will name him John. Zechariah questions the prophesy and Gabriel makes him mute until it is time to name the child. Sure enough, Elizabeth gets pregnant and she names the child John. As soon as the child is named, Zechariah can speak again and offers praise to God. You can find his words in Luke 1:68-79.

I imagine Elizabeth and Zachariah hoping for a child and their despair when no child appears on the horizon. I imagine Elizabeth bearing the taunts in a world where a woman’s worth was measured by children. It must have been tiring after so many years. I imagine Zechariah waiting through his inability to speak—so much he might want to express.

How many of us become weary of waiting? Maybe we are tired of the way things are in our life or in the world.

With the death of my mom recently, I’ve been thinking about the many shapes and experiences of grief. My mom had Alzheimer’s for many years and had been in long-term care for five years. It has been at least seven years since I have really been able to have a conversation with her. Over the last several years whenever I would visit my family, I would cry as I was leaving, and found myself very emotional for several weeks after my return. I was tired and weary of watching her exist without being able to express what she was feeling, experiencing, needing. I was weary of watching her disappear a bit more every time I saw her. When I cried and Roland held me, I wondered who heId my dad when he was missing mom. The last several years were incredibly painful in that sense. I’m not sure I realized or understood how much grief I was carrying.

The hymn, O Holy Night, offers the line, “A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices; For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!”

When Mom actually died, I expected that I would be devastated. But that’s not what happened. After the initial shock wore off, I felt at peace—more peace than I had felt years. Her actual dying process lasted only a few hours. My dad could be with her in this time. She didn’t linger in long-term care as my grandmother had. Mom no longer needed to struggle. I have moments of feeling sad and missing her but in a larger sense, I’m comfortable with her death.

I recognize that this was my experience of grief, and that grief is different for all of us. We move through it in different ways. It depends on the situation surrounding the death, our relationships, what else is happening in our lives and the world at the time. However, we experience death and grief is real for each of us. “A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices; For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!” invites us to wonder about where we experience God in the midst of grief and loss. How do we allow the holy to carry the weariness and burden that comes with our grief?

Many of us are weary of covid, the disruption to our lives, and the constant change. There is a level of stress that most of us carry, whether we realize it or not. We want things to return to “normal” and yet “normal” doesn’t exist anymore. Where does that leave us? How do we find peace in a time and in a world that feels very unsettled?

The passage begins by reminding us that God has visited and redeemed the people. Redeem, in the largest sense, is about liberation. Liberation may involve physical freedom from prison or oppressive government, but liberation could also be an inward transformation. We can be liberated from those things that hold us captive—like weariness, grief, uncertainty. The passage reminds us of the covenant God makes with God’s people. God shows mercy and compassion, and we serve as faithfully as we can. In the midst of whatever holds us captive, it is God who gives strength and peace to bear and transform our situation. Without God’s presence, it becomes much more difficult to carry the heaviness of life or to make changes.

The passage offers these closing words, “the dawn from on high will visit us, to shine on those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” This is what we wait for and prepare for this Advent season: the presence of God that can break through everything that is happening in our lives and offer us peace in the midst of weariness, chaos, uncertainty.

May you find the peace of Christ in your life and in the world this Advent season.