Author: Austin
The Disappeared
The Light of Glory
John 1:1-16
December 24
David A. Davis
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I have told you before, and some may remember my description of the manger scene outside the Methodist Church a few miles from where we lived in south jersey. I drove past the Chews United Methodist Church almost every day for 14 years. Every Advent and Christmas the creche was staged right next to the church sign just off an intersection that had a stoplight. It was simple manger scene. A sort of barn-like back drop, some hay strewn around, with a manger that looked a bit like a fireplace grate. The only characters were Mary and Joseph and the Babe lying in the manger. No animals. No shepherds. No Magi. Stopped at the red light in December year after year, I sort of watched Mary and Joseph age before my eyes. Their bright clothes started to fade. Their faces started to chip. Their pious gaze started to look tired. They looked weathered in more ways than one. To be honest, they looked more like big lawn ornaments. I assumed since they were about waist-high, they were meant to be kneeling. But then during one red light, I realized they had no legs. Interestingly, over the years the Baby Jesus never got older or any bigger; never seemed to fade for that matter. He was always tucked in that manger.
One morning after a stormy, windy, snowy, night, I sat at the light and saw Mary and Joseph knocked over. It was a sorry sight. Mary and Joseph like turtles turned on their backs who couldn’t get up. The hay was all blown away. Part of the barn top was flapping just a bit, waving at the morning commuters. But Jesus, Jesus was there in the manger oblivious to the chaos of the night or the absence of his adoring, watchful parents. It was when my inspecting eyes turned to the Infant Holy, Infant lowly asleep but not on the hay. I made an unfortunate discovery. I found out why Jesus had not been disturbed from sleep by the storm. The baby was secured to that fireplace grate with a chain wrapped around his ankle. Chained and padlocked the baby was. That baby wasn’t going anywhere. That Jesus was never going to leave the manger.
You know, and as you heard, there is no Baby Jesus in the manger here in the Gospel of John. No “Do not be Afraid; for behold, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.” No “let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place.” Here in John, all the pageant stuff is nowhere to be found. No angels. No shepherds. No Star. Not even a Mary, or a Joseph. No babe wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Instead of “Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger” in John “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” Instead of “So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying the manger” in John it is “He was in the world”. John’s version of the babe swaddled in the manger is this: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. The Word became flesh. The Word that was with God and was God sheltered among us. God took sanctuary in the flesh. The Word became flesh. Flesh as in flesh and blood. Flesh as in what it means to be human. Flesh as in humankind. “We have seen God’s glory…God’s only son, full of grace and full of truth”. God’s glory is not in the heavenly host. Not a glory shone all around. No, the light of God’s glory is revealed in the grace and truth of Christ Jesus.
If you have not read David Brooks’s recent essay in the New York Times, you should find it and read it this Christmas. The title is “The Shock of Faith: It is Nothing Like I Thought it Would Be”. Brooks tells his own story of coming to faith as an adult and only in the last 10 or 15 years. He writes in a refreshingly personal and honest way. As he tries to find the words to describe both his faith and his journey to faith, he drops in quotes from scholars and theologians. But it was his own words at the very end of the piece I found most compelling. Brooks comes to the conclusion that for him, “faith” just isn’t the right word. He writes, “The word “faith” implies possession of something, whereas I experience faith as a yearning for something beautiful that I can sense but not fully grasp. For me faith is more about longing and thirsting than knowing and possessing.” Brooks continues “Sometimes I feel pulled by a goodness that seems grand and far-off, a divine luminosity that hovers over the far horizon. Sometimes I feel pulled by concrete moments of holy delight that I witness right in front of my face — the sight of a rabbi laughing uproariously as his children pile over him during a Shabbat meal, the sight of a Catholic priest at a poor church looking radiantly to heaven as he holds the bread of Christ above his head. I’ve found that the most compelling proofs of God’s love come in moments of radical delight or radical goodness — in the example of those who serve the marginalized with postures of self-emptying love. Some days this longing for God feels like loneliness, separation from the thing desired. But mostly it feels like a venture toward something unbelievably worth wanting, some ultimate concern.”
Yearning for something beautiful that can’t be fully grasped. Longing for a goodness that is not just on some far horizon but a goodness revealed in concrete moments of holy delight right in front of our face. Compelling proof of God’s love in the example of those who serve the marginalized with postures of self-emptying love. Postures of self-emptying love. Use the word faith or not but it sounds a whole lot like a life of following the gospel that comes from the lips of the Christ Child lying in the manger tonight.
Another preacher once suggested that many seem to prefer the Jesus of the manger because he hasn’t said anything yet. Cute and cuddly is always safer than touching a leper or serving the poor or taking on the religious or forgiving a sinner or turning the other cheek or announcing a kingdom or dying and rising. Cute and cuddly is always safer than allowing your flesh to be transformed by his and knowing deep within his love for you is forever and seeing the world through his eyes and not yours. Cute and cuddly is always safer than holding the light of his glory up to the world’s darkness and then bearing witness in how you live to the wonders of his love. His love yearns to make of this old world, a new own in and through those who are his hands and feet.
Many seem to prefer a Jesus bound to the manger. When the earth aches for peace and people in far too many places in the world can’t remember a silent night, you can’t keep Jesus in the manger. When a heart somewhere near you is broken or forgiveness has become a lost art in a family or a lost soul is longing for home, you can’t just leave Jesus in the manger. When grief among those you love is real and raw, when the frailty of our humanity hits you like a truck, when death’s shout threatens to drown out resurrection hope and promise, you can’t leave Jesus in the manger. When people you love are afraid, when strangers around you live in fear, when so many aren’t sure who or what to trust, you can’t leave Jesus in the manger. When the shadows of hatred lengthen and blinding fear is stoked and the darkness of bitterness once again threatens the light, you can’t settle for a Jesus bound to the manger. When the empires of this world have run amok on power, serving the richest and most privileged while trampling on the weak and most vulnerable, those in power would of course prefer that Jesus and his gospel teaching be left shackled and drawn there in the manger. The powers and principalities of this world prefer a Baby Jesus in the manger who hasn’t said anything……yet.
But Jesus can’t be kept in the manger. Yes, the call of the light of God’s glory at Christmas is to stand and look into the manger and be overwhelmed, forever changed, by the Child’s fullness. Full of grace. Full of truth. And to be forever moved and transformed by his enduring love that will not let you go. Full of his grace. Full of his truth. Full of his love. Kneeling at the manger tonight, earning for something beautiful that can’t be fully grasped. Longing for a goodness that is not just on some far horizon but a goodness revealed in concrete moments of holy delight right in front of our face, crazing postures of self-emptying love. As you kneel at the manger tonight, never forget that God’s call on our lives is the call to unbind Jesus from the manger and turn to change the world with the shine of his love, the glory of his love.
The Light of Mystery and Wonder
Luke 2:8-20
December 22
David A. Davis
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Last week as I watched the Christmas Pageant on livestream, I was struck by how our young people sort of matriculate through the pageant to different roles as they grow older. Mary and Joseph (Adeline and Pierre) were both high school seniors. They were likely angels and shepherds years ago. I had a similar thought after we finished our Wee Christmas flash mob pop up pageant a few weeks ago. The last few years of Wee Christmas, members of the youth group help out with the littlest ones as they transform into Josephs and Marys and angels and shepherds and animals and wise ones. Wee Christmas has been around long enough that many of those youth group members would have been participants back in the day. I wish I remembered the kids who were shepherds several years ago. Actually, it was 2018. Some of you were there. Some of you have heard about what happened to the shepherds that day.
In 2018, I thought it would be a good idea to shake things up for Wee Christmas; to try something different. Of course, the script can’t really change. I thought we could introduce a bright shining star. I asked Edie Estrada if he could dig out one of his work lights that he uses for various projects around here and help me with Wee Christmas. As I led the shepherds around sanctuary with their stuffed sheep under their arms, we stopped here at the top of the aisle and I pointed to Ed who was standing on a small step ladder over near the piano. As I said “a angel of the Lord stood before them and the glory of the Lord shone around them”, Ed flipped the switch on the small work light that he was holding up high. Well, I should have checked how bright the small work light was going to be. I think we temporary blinded the shepherds. I didn’t get to the part in the pageant describing the shepherds in fear covering their eyes because the poor shepherds had already hit the ground and covered their eyes. I guess I gave the angel line, “for see, I am bringing you good news of a great joy for all people.” That was unfortunate because the angels couldn’t see anything. It was likely the best year for the shepherds being terrified.
“The glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for behold, I am bringing you good news of a great joy for all people”. As the choir will sing in just a few minutes:
Glory to God in the highest,
and peace on earth
to those of good will.
Rejoice in God, all the earth;
serve the Lord with gladness.
Glory to God in the highest…
Come into God’s presence with joy.
Daniel Pinkham is the composer of this morning’s Christmas Cantata. “Glory to God in the highest. Come into God’s presence with joy. Glory and joy
This is a bit of an awkward thing to say on the fourth Sunday of Advent, but there is not as much “great joy” in the gospels as we would tend to think. I mean the phrase “great joy”. It only occurs three times in all four gospels. Here with the angel and the shepherds. In Matthew, it’s Easter morning when the women run from the empty tomb with “fear and great joy”. And then the only other occurrence of the words “great joy” comes again in Luke. It’s all the way at the end. After the empty tomb, after the Emmaus Road, just after the Risen Christ ascends into heaven, Luke records that the disciples “worshipped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy.” That’s sort of it when it comes to “great joy”. The birth of Jesus, the resurrection of Jesus, the ascension of Jesus…..and a whole lot of gospel in between.
As for “Glory of the Lord”, well, that’s pretty much an expression in the Hebrew bible Exodus, Moses, Mt Sinai, and the pillar of fire, the cloud. Exodus is full of “the glory of the Lord”. The “glory of the Lord” is pretty much the prophet Isaiah’s go to. “Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed”. (Is 40) “The glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard” (Is 58). “The glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Is. 60). The glory of the Lord and the Old Testament, like hand and glove. “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea”. (Habakkuk 2:14)
When it comes to the New Testament and the “glory of the Lord”, not so much. To be sure there are plenty of examples of praise and adoration being offered to the glory of the Lord. An act of praise, a doxology offered to the glory of God, the glory of the Lord. But that’s a bit different than “the glory of the Lord shone all around”. The Apostle Paul asserts that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” But that’s not the same as blinding eyeful of the God’s glory.
Luke front loads the glory of the Lord and the great joy. The glory of the Lord and great joy bundled together. It comes here with some lowly, vulnerable shepherds in the middle of the night. Glory and great joy hovering in the sky over a birthing room that had to have been a life and death moment for both mother and child. On night when sheep, shepherds, mother, child were all at risk. Glory and great joy there at his first breath, the first cry. Glory and great joy paired not at the end but at the beginning. And the accent on glory forever shifted. The definition of glory shone forever changed. The gaze of on glory forever turned. “You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” It is as if Luke is standing there with baby in hand, rocking the child, pointing with his head because his hands are full, cradling glory. As the choir will sing,
What a great mystery
and wondrous sacrament,
that the animals should behold
the new-born Lord
lying in a manger.
Glory. Joy. Mystery. And Wonder.
The glory of God come all the way down. The mystery and wonder of the Incarnation is the fancy way to say it. From the hosts of angels that served as a tent to those shepherds living in the field, a tent of God’s glory, to the child Jesus nursing at his mother’s breast. The glory of the Lord came down. Not just in the Child there in the manger, but God’s love made known in the flesh, in his life….in this life…..in this blasted life of ours. In his life, his teaching, his tears, his suffering, his death, his resurrection. Witnessing glory in his touch of sinners, welcoming strangers, caring for the sick, raising the dead, challenging power. Forgiveness unrestrained. Boundary lines crossed. The hungry fed. The oppressed lifted. The rich challenged. Widows and orphans tended to. Lepers touched. In the mystery and wonder, glory shines.
I checked in with New Testament Professor Eric Barreto about glory and great joy in Luke. Dr. Baretto pointed out to me that glory and great joy might not flow all through Luke but one theme that does is fear. Those terrified shepherds aren’t the only ones in fear in Luke. Fear is not only to angel appearances but to healings and miracles all through the gospel. For the shepherds here in chapter two, the angel of the Lord speaks of great joy smack in the midst of their fear. As the shepherds witness the glory of God made known not just in the heavenly host but in the Child Jesus there when they get to the manger, the light of God’s mystery and wonder leads them from fear to glorifying and praising God for ALL they had heard and seen. The shepherds own experience of joy in the mystery and wonder never that far from their fear. Terrified there in the field and still joy comes.
Think of the disciples at the end of the gospel when great joy comes back. They dropped their nets to follow Jesus and by any earthly measure, it didn’t go so well. Hollywood and Hallmark and call it the greatest story ever told. That’s not how to describe the storied lives of those 12 disciples. That’s not how to describe all that they witnessed along the way with Jesus. There was very real-world stuff along the way where the darkness was pulling ahead. They stood by as the crowds gathered for his torture and his murder. What Luke describes as a “spectacle”. You remember the two walking along the Emmaus Road trying to process it all before the Risen Christ comes alongside. They were walking along full of a grief most of us can understand. Amid all the fear of Luke’s gospel, still joy comes. Amid all that the darkness had to bring, still joy comes. Basking in the light of the mystery and wonder of his resurrection and ascension, great joy makes a comeback in Luke. A joy that is resistant to the word’s darkness.
I don’t need to remind you that we don’t live in a Hollywood/Hallmark world either. Amid all the real-world stuff of our lives, when darkness seems to be pulling ahead again and again, when the world shakes, when all that we witness and experience seems so very distant from the world God intends and the gospel we have learned from the lips of Jesus, still great joy comes in the resurrection hope and promise of God. God’s gift to us at Christmas, is that like the shepherds, we get to go to the manger and bask in the mystery and wonder of God’s love come all the way down. But as we stand here, by God’s grace and in the power of the Holy Spirit, we can see all the way to the great joy that comes on the gospel’s far side as well. Amid all the real life stuff that comes in between, the mystery and wonder of the Christ Child, the one who is Risen indeed, is that great joy still comes in the here and now. Or as the choir will sing
Glory to God in the highest….
Know that the Lord is God:
it is God who made us and not we ourselves.
Glory to God in the highest…
Alleluia!
Cathy and I have a Christmas tradition of attending a performance of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto’s each year. Every year the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center offers a performance through McCarter Theater behind me at Richardson Auditorium. We attended the performance last Monday night. We have been to the Brandenburg’s a lot, more than I can count including one year at Lincoln Center. I also listen to classical music when I write my sermons. What comes first on my play list is the Brandenburg Concerto’s. I sat there on listening on Monday night realizing the beauty of the music has been the soundtrack of my sermon writing for twenty years. I think Monday was the most beautiful performance. The rather long performance of all the concertos seemed to pass so quickly. The exuberance of the musicians touched me in a fresh way. The connection of the incredible work of art to the weekly grind of sermon writing. It warmed my heart. What I am describing is that Monday night was an experience of joy.
I am guessing that technically, musically, aesthetically, these particular musicians didn’t play Bach any better or any different than all those other performances we have heard. But when darkness seems to be pulling ahead again and again, when the world shakes, when all that we witness and experience seems so very distant from the world God intends and the gospel we have learned from the lips of Jesus, finding just a bit of the mystery and wonder, the beauty and goodness in life, well, it brings such great joy. God’s gift of joy to a weathered pastor on just a Monday night. Looking for the light of joy in the world’s darkness. A bit of joy and a taste of resistance amid the real-stuff of life.
The Light of Fearlessness
Luke 1:26-38
December 15
David A. Davis
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Perplexed and pondered. Mary was perplexed by and she pondered the angelic greeting. “Greetings, favored one!” is how the angel started. “Mary was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” She was perplexed by and pondered the angel’s words. Perplexed by what the angel said. No mention by Luke of Mary’s reaction to the angel’s presence or the angel’s appearance. Just Mary’s response to what the angel said. “Greetings, favored one!” Perplexed and pondered.
Like a well-rehearsed pageant cast member, the angel Gabriel stuck to the script. “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.” The angel went with what angels are supposed to say. What angels always say. “Do not be afraid.” Perhaps an angelic version of “mansplaining”. “Mary, when an angel shows up you are supposed to be afraid.” When Gabriel appeared to Zechariah, he was “terrified and fear overwhelmed him.” When the angel of the Lord stood before the shepherds and the glory of the Lord shone all around them, they were so afraid it hurt. You remember in the King James, they were “sore afraid.” On the first Easter morning when the women go to the tomb in Luke and see the two figures in dazzling clothes, “they were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground.” In Matthew, at the empty tomb the angel appeared and the guards shook with fear and became like “dead men.” In each of these cases, the response to the understandable and expected fear is the same. “Do not be afraid.”
So maybe Gabriel gets a pass in misreading Mary’s reaction, for assuming, for projecting, for injecting Mary’s fear. When such strong language is used throughout the gospels to describe the fear of angels, one ought to be struck by no mention of fear here in Luke. Pondered. Perplexed. No fear. It is interesting to note that many versions of the bible translate Mary’s reaction to the angel’s words as “greatly troubled”. “She was greatly troubled and kept pondering what kind of salutation this might be”. (New American Standard) But the dictionary definition of the Greek adjective is “confused, perplexed, or greatly perplexed”. “Greatly troubled” seems to lean toward distress and fear. It is as if the tradition, like the angel Gabriel, presumes Mary’s fear; even great fear.
With fear not mentioned in the most notable of annunciations, it might be better to portray Mary as “inquisitive”. She wants to know more from this angel who appears before her and calls her “favored one.” Mary listens as Gabriel explains her favored status a bit more. “You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High and the Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Perplexed and pondering probably doesn’t do Mary’s reaction justice after all of that the angel has to say. But it is not the “Son of the Most High” talk, not the “throne of his ancestor David” or “kingdom with no end” talk that still perplexes Mary and leads to her only question. What still confuses her is the biology. “How can this be?”
Mary listens some more as the angel continues and offers more explanation, “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. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the six month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then, here in Luke, without missing a beat, without taking a breath, Mary says “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” It is way too easy to miss Mary’s fearlessness. The lack of any fear is mentioned here in Luke. Mary’s fearlessness is remarkable. Mary’s fearless courage is breathtaking. Mary’s fearless lack of hesitation reveals her now divinely inspired grasp of the very promise of God. Mary’s fearless faithfulness regarding the reign of God. Mary and her incomparable “Here am I”.
On Wednesday morning in the weekly bible study that I share with some Presbyterian colleagues, my friend Lisa Day the pastor of the Presbyterian Church of Hightstown, shared her screen so the rest of us could see one of her favorite artistic renderings of the Annunciation. It is from a children’s book by an Australian illustrator named Julia Vivas. The book is called “The Nativity”. The website describes the children’s book as a down-to-earth portrayal of the human side of the story. The page that depicts the Annunciation to Mary includes the verse from Luke: Take a look at this rendering of the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary. Notice the very ordinary and a bit disheveled angel Gabriel wearing a robe-like thing with some holes in it. The only angelic characteristic is that huge pair wings that rise off his back. There is no radiant glow. Young Mary looks to be wearing something like a housecoat with an apron tied on. Her slippers are my favorite part. Sitting there at the kitchen table each holding a large mug. The work lacks two aspects associated with the art of the Annunciation through the centuries: there is no heavenly glow and there is absolutely no fear. Gabriel and Mary look like two friends sharing a leisurely Saturday morning conversation over a cup of tea.
Mary and her fearless “Hear am I”. Mary wrapping her head, heart, and soul around God’s favor. For in favoring Mary, God reveals God’s favor of the poor and the oppressed and the outcast, and the shunned. For God called one of the least of these to bear God’s only Son, the Savior of the world. Mary wrapped her head, heart, and soul around the promise and the reign of God. When Mary starts to sing “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of God’s servant”, her spirit-filled ability to see the world God intends is revealed as well. Mary sings of God scattering the proud in the thoughts of their hearts and bringing the powerful down from their thrones and lifting the lowly, filling the hungry with good things, and sending the rich away empty. Singing about a future full of emptying, lowering, lifting, filling, and sending without fear. A fearless Mary now peering into the vast span of the heart and the heartbreak of God. A divinely inspired vision of God’s future. So one wonders if even now Mary can see all the way to Golgotha. God can. Maybe Mary can. We certainly can. And still, Mary is fearless.
History has a way of softening Mary. Yes, she was a young, vulnerable woman. But her response to the Angel Gabriel comes from a place of strength. Strong faith. Strong courage. Strong vision. Strong answer. In a season where so many are living with fear, long-standing fear or fears now fresh, at a time where fear of violence and war fill so many parts of the world, this Advent season of 2024, it is the strong faith Mary that inspires me. It is the strong courage Mary that lifts me. It is the strong vision Mary that leads me. It is the light of Mary’s fearlessness that encourages me. For it takes faith to believe that in Jesus Christ, God is still at work to do a new thing. That in the power of the Holy Spirit, God on high still comes afresh to bring light to the world’s darkness and peace to the world’s turmoil. It takes courage to believe that God still favors the poor and the oppressed and the outcast, and the shunned. It takes even more courage to embrace, share, and act on that favor of God in the world today. It takes strength to help broken hearts find joy again, to insure that love wins, and to stand in solidarity with those whose fears are real and breathtaking. It takes vision to claim that the promise of Jesus Christ still breaks forth like a radiant light as the followers of Jesus witness to, live by, act on, respond to, and deliver the endless mercy and abundant grace of God in the ordinariness of life. Advent 2024. Being the church of Jesus Christ and drawing faith, courage, strength, and vision from Mary and her unhesitant, faith-filled, fearless “Here Am I”.
I read this week about Grace Thomas in a book entitled Testimony written by Tom Long, one of my seminary professors. Grace Thomas was an African American woman who ran for governor of Georgia in 1954. 1954 was also the year of the Supreme Court’s Brown vs the Board of Education. After years of part-time education, Grace Thomas graduated from law school and told her family she was entering the election. There were nine candidates. 8 men who vehemently and angrily denounced the court decision…and Grace Thomas. Her campaign slogan was “Say Grace at the Polls”. Few people did. According to Long, she finished dead last.
In 1962, Grace Thomas ran again. She campaigned on racial tolerance, unity, and goodwill. Along the way, Grace Thomas endured hateful hecklers and death threats. Dr. Long tells of a campaign stop in the little town of Louisville, Georgia. The center of town in Louisville was an old slave market where human beings were treated like animals and worse. As she stood there in front of a hostile crowd, Grace Thomas said “The old has passed away and the new has come. This place represents all about our past over which we must repent. A new day is here, a day when Georgians white and black can join hands to work together.” Grace Thomas’ speech didn’t go over well. Someone shouted at her and accused her of being a communist. She said no she wasn’t a communist. “Well then, where did you get those blankety-blank ideas.” Grace Thomas thought for a moment and looked over a church building on a nearby corner. She pointed to church and Grace Thomas said, “Well, I got them over there in Sunday School.”
“Say Grace at the Polls”. Tom Long’s writing about Grace Thomas has a startling relevance. Both her fearless witness to the gospel and the anger and threat from the crowd. You know the populations of people who are scared today. I don’t need to list them for you. The fear is real. But so is God’s call to the church of Jesus Christ to be a light of fearlessness. Congregation by congregation, disciple by disciple, inspired by Mary’s unhesitant, faith-filled, fearless “Here Am I”, walking in her steps and his with faith, courage, strength, and vision. As Nassau Church’s own vision statement concludes,
By God’s grace in our lives, we engage with the world,
yearn to do what is just and fair
encourage what is kind and helpful
and seek to walk humbly before God and alongside our neighbors.
Mary had her “Here Am I”.
And so do we.
The Light of Obedience
Matthew 1:18-25
December 8
David A. Davis
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This morning we continue in our Advent sermon series on “the annunciations”. The angel Gabriel announced to Zechariah that his wife Elizabeth would give birth to John. Gabriel announced to Mary that she would be with the child by the Holy Spirit. The angel and the heavenly host announce to the shepherds in all their splendor and glory. This morning, it is angel of the Lord appearing to Joseph in a dream. For Joseph, it is something other than “an annunciation” because, of course, Joseph already knew that Mary was pregnant and he was trying desperately to discern what was the right thing to do.
Zechariah had the benefit of a conversation with the angel Gabriel. Joseph had to settle for a dream. Joseph was a righteous man and unwilling to humiliate his betrothed. According to Matthew, Joseph had decided to “dismiss Mary quietly” to avoid the “public disgrace.” One can easily imagine the whispers, the shaming, the finger-pointing, the shunning. A biblical version of a social media firestorm. What is more difficult to picture is what Mary’s life would have been like as a young, vulnerable, pregnant woman becoming a nobody or less in the blink of an eye. What it would have been like for Mary to be “dismissed quietly”.
Through the angel of the Lord appearing to Joseph in a dream, God has other plans for Joseph, for Mary his fiancé, and for the child she is carrying in her womb. Mary is not to be “dismissed quietly”. Compared to the other angel appearances, the “do not be afraid” line in Joseph’s dream has a different take. When the angel Gabriel tells Zechariah and then Mary to not be afraid, the takeaway is to not be afraid of the ethereal angelic presence. But here the angel tells Joseph to not be afraid to get married. Go ahead marry Mary, the angel says. The pregnancy is a God thing. Mary is going to give birth to a son and you Joseph are to name him Jesus. “When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.” For Joseph, the angel dream is not an annunciation, it is a command. God’s command to Joseph.
Joseph has no lines in the Christmas pageant when it comes to the gospel page. He doesn’t get into a conversation with the angel like Zechariah or Mary. He doesn’t get to sing like Mary’s Magnificat. Joseph doesn’t speak anywhere in Luke or in Matthew. But notice Matthew’s literary move here as the nativity story comes to an end. Matthew gives Joseph the last word. It doesn’t come as a dialogue with quotation marks. “He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took Mary as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.” “Joseph’s first and last word comes in the naming of Jesus.
Joseph named him Jesus. “You are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Call him Jesus. He will save. Mary bore a son. Joseph named him Jesus. It’s more than Joseph getting to say something.. It is Joseph’s obedience. His obedience. His faith statement. It is Joseph’s move from participant observer to preacher, proclaimer, and evangelist. Joseph named him Savior. In his silence, Joseph became the proclaimer. As Joseph portrayed by Philip in the video showed obedience by getting up and immediately packing a bag, here in Matthew Joseph’s obedience comes in the naming. Joseph did more than speak. He named him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.
You and I are participants in a pageant that unfolds all around us year after year. We are participant observers in a pageant of everyday life that mushes the secular and the sacred all together. As we here on life’s stage, try to discern the faithful and right way to live in a complex, swirling world. Our roles have us moving, often unaware, from the mundane to the holy. We seek to respond to the call of the Christ Child with the obedience and discipleship of our lives, and most of us I imagine, like Joseph, prefer the silence of a non-speaking part.
As the congregation gathered around the fount this morning for Kai’s baptism, a few lines were spoken. “What is the Christian name of your child?” Another naming. The sacrament of baptism drips with our obedience to Christ. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them….” Time and time again, the entire congregation surrounds a child, surrounding the one baptized, where a few splashes of the mundane become holy. It’s not just a naming. It’s a faith statement: all of us promising to “tell this child the good news of the gospel, to help them to know all that Christ commands, and by your fellowship, to strengthen their family ties with the household of God” That is a sacred task. A promise fulfilled less with words and a whole lot more with the obedience of our lives in the everyday pageant. Joseph’s response to God’s command and ours.
“You are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins. All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and they shall name him Emmanuel’ which means ‘God is with us’”. Name the child Jesus, Joseph. He is God with us and he will save.
Frederick Buechner offers a reflection on Emmanuel and the promise of God with us. He offers an invitation to ponder the power of the here and now of God with us. “To look at the last great self-portraits of Rembrandt or to read Pascal or hear Bach’s B Minor Mass is to know beyond the need for further evidence that if God is anywhere, God is with them,” Buechner writes. “God is also with the man behind the meat counter, the woman who scrubs floors at [the hospital], the high school math teacher who explains fractions to the bewildered [student]. And the step from ‘God with them’ to Emmanuel, ‘God with us’, may not be as great as it seems. What keeps the wild hope of Christmas alive year after year in a world notorious for dashing all hopes” Buechner concludes, “is the haunting dream that the child who was born that day may yet be born even in us.”
The wild hope of Christmas. Joseph’s dream and ours. That by God’s grace and in the power of the Holy Spirit, we might bear the light of the Christ Child in the world’s shadows with the obedience of our discipleship. For the light of the Christ Child forever shines like a bright morning star. A light that the darkness shall never overcome. A light that pierces through the night with the promise of God’s steadfast faithfulness offering peace and goodwill when both are noticeably absent. A light that flickers with the everlasting hope of God’s wisdom breaking into a world that prefers foolishness and folly. A light that shines ever brighter with the assurance that God would dare to become somehow like us, come all the way down to us, to make holy the sinfulness of our flesh. The light of the Christ Child for us and for our salvation. Emmanuel. God is with us. He named him Jesus.
Our wild hope for the world at Christmas meets God’s wild promise.
“When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel commanded him….he named him Jesus.”
The Preparation of Light
Luke 1:5-25
December 1
David A. Davis
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The day before Thanksgiving as I pulled out of our driveway, a van was parked at the curb in front of our next-door neighbor’s house. The logo on the side of the van said “bright nights”. The neighbors moved in this summer and have been having quite a bit of work so I didn’t think much about it. When I came back to our house a few hours later, I realized that the “Bright Nights” contractor was putting up our neighbor’s holiday lights. It wasn’t like the tree company putting lights on the tree in Palmer Square. The company wasn’t stringing lights along high eaves of the house like families in the neighborhood celebrating Diwali. These were tiny sparkling lights in the bushes. I don’t think they even needed a ladder.
With the lights on our neighbors’ bushes now lit, Cathy and I had a conversation remembering how our families did or did not decorate the outside of childhood homes. When I was young, the Christmas tree wasn’t even in the house before I went to bed on Christmas Eve. I have distinct memories of my father’s routines the weeks before. I can see him placing spotlights to shine up into the evergreen trees that lined the driveway. I can remember him hanging out an open window to put the string of lights around every front window. The kind of string with what seems like big bulbs now that broke very easily and then you had trouble getting the remains out of the socket. I remember very well when the mantle of preparation passed to me. My brother was off to college and it was now my turn to help. My father would hold my legs as I stretched out the second-floor window with a hammer nailing brad after brad into the caulk of the window to hold that string of lights. While I can remember the house all decorated on the outside, the memories of the preparation are much more vivid. I am guessing that for many of us, the preparations for the Thanksgiving meal likely hold more memories than the meal itself this week. Sometimes the preparation is the best part. When we were preparing the nursery for Hannah, our firstborn, I put the crib together in the upstairs hallway in the manse we lived in at the time. I had to put that crib together twice after we discovered it would not fit through the doorway to the bedroom. A little bit more focus on the preparation would have been helpful.
The story of the angel Gabriel, Zechariah, Elizabeth, and baby John shines a light on preparing the way of the Lord. Yes, John the Baptist is pretty much the definition of “preparing the way of the Lord.” But even here in Gabriel’s annunciation to Zechariah, the focus is on preparation. As the angel describes the gift and purpose of Zechariah’s son to him, Gabriel puts it this way: “to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”
The group of priests Zechariah was assigned to were on duty that day. That is like his communion server team, his usher team. Zechariah’s name was picked out of a hat and he was the one to go into the sanctuary and light the incense at the appointed time. It was in there at the altar of incense where none but the priests could go that the angel appeared. While the angel and Zechariah chatted a bit at the altar, the people outside were wondering what was taking so long. Apparently, the lighting of the incense was a rather ordinary everyday religious chore that shouldn’t take all that long. People “wondered at his delay in the sanctuary”. When Zechariah came out, they figured out from his gestures, his excitement, and the look of wonder on his face, that he had seen a vision there in the sanctuary. But Zechariah was unable to tell what had happened, what he was told, who he was with.
While it must have been notable to the people gathered outside of the sanctuary that Zechariah came out unable to speak, it also seemed like a rather ordinary day around the sanctuary. As one member of the staff observed in our discussion of the passage on Tuesday morning, the bible records that Zechariah didn’t go home until the “time of service was ended.” The angel announced that Elizabeth was going to have a baby and Zechariah stayed to finish his shift! He didn’t rush home to share the news, he finished the work day. According to Luke, Zechariah went from terrified and overwhelmed with fear to learning Elizabeth was going to have a child to losing his ability to speak to just hanging around to clock out.
Readers of the gospel are drawn to all the religiosity and piety described in the story: Zechariah and Elizabeth were “righteous before God” and “living blamelessly.” That theme of barrenness and fertility that never seems to leave the scriptures page points to a familiar theological theme. There is, of course, the angel talk. And Gabriel says that John “will be great in the sight of the Lord….even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Before his birth. That must be how he knew in utero that Mary was carrying the Messiah. That time when John leapt into Elizabeth’s womb. He was filled with the Holy Spirit. Yes, the passage has all the trappings of religion and the miraculous that one would expect when one of the angels shows up.
Yet, it also seems like making ready “a people prepared for the Lord” started on an ordinary day at the office for Zechariah and the people of God. For Matthew, the preparation begins with the long list of genealogies. Mark begins with John the Baptist proclaiming in the wilderness. You remember that John’s gospel starts “In the beginning”. Here in Luke, the preparation begins with a local priest going about his day in the neighborhood parish down the street. As to the nature of the preparation, Gabriel foretells? “With the spirit and power of Elijah, John will go before the Lord, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous” Or in the words of Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase “John will herald God’s arrival in the style and strength of Elijah, soften the hearts of parents to children, and kindle devout understanding among hardened skeptics—he’ll get the people ready for God.”
Getting ready for God by proclaiming the Word, tending to the most important relationships, and nurturing within God’s people a craving for the wisdom of God in their lives. Announcing the coming reign of God, filling tender hearts with love, and sparking a yearning for the righteousness of God. Pointing to the coming of the Christ Child with energy and enthusiasm and excitement, fueling a contagious spirit of kindness and mercy, and looking to the presence of God to shed the light of meaning in our lives, a meaning that looks to God’s wisdom, God’s justice, and God’s way. Getting people ready for God in the everyday routine of life.
This may not be a surprise to you, but people often have an inflated view of church work. They overestimated the daily piety of members of the clergy or thought that working at a church was like one long extension of a youth retreat. I don’t want to shatter any of your illusions, but for those of us who work here at Nassau Presbyterian Church, our lives are just like yours. Our work lives are like your work lives. Some days are just long and boring. Some weeks are more of a grind than others. As Frank, who works at McCaffrey’s said to me in the parking lot Friday after I greeted him and asked how he was doing, “Well, you know how it is, same job, different day.” It can be pretty everyday and ordinary around here. And here we all are amid that daily, weekly, mundane routine of life. Here we are preparing for the coming of Christ in our lives. Together trumpeting the gospel of Jesus with a Spirit-fed, Spirit-let joy. Together, sharing love in our relationships at home, here, out there. And together, discerning God’s call to discipleship. God’s call to us to live these ordinary days guided by God’s wisdom, God’s justice, God’s righteousness. And yes, amid our collective effort to get ourselves and others ready for God, sometimes an angel shows up and takes your breath away.
Once or twice a year, in the Cook Davis kitchen, we pull out Nana Lease’s hand grinder. We attach it to the counter. Take the cranberries, the orange slices, and some other fruit out of the fridge. We spread newspaper on the floor because grinding up the cranberry dressing always makes a mess. As their mother did before them, our young granddaughters stood on a stool at the kitchen counter, turned the crank, and giggled at the mess being made. Four generations or more with that grinder and cranberry sauce. Here’s another secret, nobody at the Cook-Davis table actually likes the cranberry dressing. But it never was about the sauce, was it?
As you come to the Table today, look around the room, and ponder all the ordinary, everyday ways that we prepare ourselves and the world for the coming of Jesus. Getting ready for God by proclaiming the Word, tending to the most important relationships, and nurturing within God’s people a craving for the wisdom of God in their lives. From one generation to the next generation and the generation after that. It’s what it means to be the church of Jesus Christ bearing witness to his light amid our preparation.
Even so, come Lord Jesus.
The Is-Ness of Christ
Revelation 1:4b-8
November 24
David A. Davis
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In the gospel of John, Jesus said “I am the bread of life”. And Jesus also said, “I am the light of the world”. “I am the door”. “I am the good shepherd.” “I am the resurrection and the life” “I am the way, and the truth, and the life”. “I am the vine”. In the Book of Exodus, at the burning bush, God said to Moses “I AM WHO I AM… You shall say to the Israelites, “I AM has sent me to you”. So, when one gets to the end of the New Testament and the Revelation to John, this verse ought to catch the ear. “I am the Alpha and the Omega” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” The Risen and Triumphant Christ, the Lamb upon the throne, at the end of Revelation says to John, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”
“I am,” says the Lord, who is, who was, and who is to come. It is not the Alpha and Omega that struck me this week. It is not the Lord as beginning and end that spoke to my sacred imagination. It is John the Revelator’s description that comes with the Lord God saying “I am”. “The Lord God who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” A chronology method, a logical word choice, and ordering of tense would simply affirm the Lord who was, who is, who is to come. But no, the phrase begins with “who is”. It is more than a matter of grammar or word choice. If not a coincidence, then it is a theological conviction. The description of the Almighty begins with the Lord who is. The God of the present. The God of the moment. The God of the here and now. There before the Victorious Christ who reigns in the Kingdom of heaven, there among the great cloud of witnesses, a crowd which no one can number, with a vision of the new heaven and earth about to be proclaimed, John affirms the God of the present. John the Revelator proclaims the is-ness of Jesus Christ.
I’m betting that you can imagine a Thanksgiving dinner table somewhere in the kingdom of God later this week. It is a small gathering because not all Thanksgiving meals are overflowing with attendees; multi-generations from the same family, worn-out travelers from out of state, and a kids’ table that’s just this side of being on the back porch. No, the table I’m picturing in my mind is much smaller there in the MacGregor’s home. There are only three MacGregors; George is the Dad. Cindy the Mom. Justin is all of 7 years old and in second grade. They were of the generation that usually traveled to see out-of-state family. But for a variety of reasons that every one of us could list, including the challenges these days of being with extended family, they are staying home for Thanksgiving this year.
Cindy had thought about inviting another family or two from the neighborhood, but she kind of didn’t want to ask and kind of assumed everybody else would be with family. She and George decided they would invite Mr. Wasley from church. They shared a pew with the Wasleys on Sunday morning about a third of the way back in the sanctuary on the left side. After Mr. Wasley’s wife had died a bit more than a year ago after 47 years of marriage, the pew friendship seemed to deepen. He loved to sing the hymns. He had mentioned that he had served as an elder and that he had been on the property committee when they redid the sanctuary. He always had some tidbits of history to share about the church. He was listed when the congregation celebrated 50-year members. Mr. Wasley was always patient with Justin (a bit more patient than Justin’s parents). He usually gave Justin a quarter after church. He never said why. But Justin was saving them now in his treasure box. Though Cindy remembered that the Wasleys had no children, she sort of thought he would have a better offer for Thanksgiving. She asked him one Sunday in early November. Much to Cindy and George’s surprise, Mr Wasley said “Well yes, thank you. That would be lovely.” Justin was probably the most excited that Mr Wasley said yes.
So just in a few days, the four of them are sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner (five if you count the is-ness of Christ at the table). The time comes for the prayer before the meal. Justin’s Dad, George had decided that instead of a formal prayer, he would simply invite each person at the table to share something for which they were thankful. Not wanting to leave God out of it completely, George goes first and makes sure his words of thanks are appropriately religious. He tells his four listeners that he is grateful to God for bountiful blessings in the last year and the privilege of sharing those blessings with family and friends for years to come. He also expresses gratitude that they can share the meal with Mr, Wasley. Cindy, in an attempt to acknowledge Mr. Wasley’s loss, shares that she is thankful for the special Thanksgiving memories that she has for meals and family gatherings past. She also mentions her memories of Mrs. Wasley when they used to serve coffee hour together at the church. She concludes by telling Mr. Wasley that she hopes this Thanksgiving might be the first new tradition that could include him at their table and in their family for years to come.
Now it’s Justin, the second grader’s turn. His dad had given him a heads-up earlier in the day so as not to spring this prayer plan on him. So, theoretically, Justin had time to prepare. He lets go of his mother’s hand on one side and Mr. Wasley’s on the other just to wipe the sweatiness off on his pants. And then looking around the table filled with all the food, Justin sort of blurts out, “I’m thankful for mashed potatoes, aren’t you Mr. Wasley?” Needless to say, Justin’s parents are a bit underwhelmed by their son’s prayer effort. So Justin’s dad suggests maybe it could have a little more to do with God. His mom takes his hand again with a bit of a tighter hold and says “Aren’t we also thankful for Mr. Wasley being here?” with that tone of voice that ends in a question but was more of a strong suggestion.
“No, no, no,” says Mr. Wasley, interrupting both parents who were trying to perfect Justin’s prayer by some parental form of Roberts Rules. Right then, during that prayer, just in those few moments, time sort of stands still for Mr. Wasley. He finds himself thinking about what his afternoon could have looked like all by himself, and how much he missed eating a meal with someone other than the news anchor or the host of Sportscenter on ESPN. He thinks of how food never would taste as good as food used to when his wife cooked it. This time standing still moment is almost an out-of-body experience now for Mr. Wasley as he tells himself and the Risen Christ at the table how thankful he is for this Lord’s day friendship that has come from the pew. He tells Jesus that some weeks his conversation with the MacGregors is the longest he has had with anyone all week. Mr. Wasley finds himself wishing this moment with Justin and Cindy and George, this moment with he and them and Jesus would last for hours. With the wisdom of age, he understood Justin’s word of thanks better than the parents, and perhaps exactly how Justin intended it. Being thankful to God for the very moment, yes for the past and yes for the future, but for the very moment, for the very moment the way a child understands the moment, something that is, something right now, like hot mashed potatoes with melting butter just waiting to be served. And right then and there in the timelessness of it all, Mr. Wasley silently admits to God and to Jesus and to the Holy Spirit that it has been more than a little while since he has offered such a prayer of thanks for what is. For his life in the here and now.
“No, no, no…it’s my turn.” Mr. Wasley starts to speak. He looks around the table, looks at Justin’s parents, takes Justin’s hand, and with a grin and a sparkle and a squeeze and a sense of gratitude he had not felt in a long time, Mr. Wasley says, “Yes, Justin I am very thankful for mashed potatoes” and he pauses a beat or two, “actually, Justin, I am quite thankful for hot, fresh biscuits as well, with just a touch of gravy.” He stops with that and together Justin and Mr. Wasley offer a robust “amen” and pick up their forks. Justin’s parents glance at each other with a bit of confusion on their faces. The unseen Christ at the table heaves a sigh, nods his head yes, and offers a bit of a smile.
Before the church affirms the God of the past, we ought to sing praise to the God who is. Before we stand and proclaim the God of the future, we ought to be standing and pointing to the God who is. Before we find ourselves drawn to the stories of Jesus recorded in scripture and before we fall on our knees before Jesus, the Lamb of God who sits upon the throne, the One who shall reign forever and ever, the One who is surely coming again, you and I, we ought to give witness to Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, the Savior of the world, who is. On this Christ the King Sunday on the threshold of Thanksgiving Day, giving thanks to God and to Jesus and to the Holy Spirit, God the three in One, giving thanks for the God of the here and now, not unlike the way a child lives and celebrates the moment. Giving thanks for the presence of Christ at the table of our lives.
Theologian Karl Barth argues that the message of Jesus’ past is proclaimed, heard, and believed in order that it should no longer be past, but present. For him, a community interested only in the historical Jesus would be a community without a guiding spirit. Likewise, a community that endures a certain emptiness now, a passive, futile waiting, a kind of church-based gestation period that only counts the days waiting for Christ to come again, well, according to Barth, it’s just unspiritual. Meaning it is a community lacking in the evidence of the work and the presence of God, the gifts of the Spirit, a spirit of thankfulness for the moment. In Barth’s own language, “It must never be forgotten that He who comes again in glory, this future Jesus, is identical with the One proclaimed by the history of yesterday and the One really present to His own today.” (Church Dogmatics III.2. p.468). That presence, that “isness” of Christ is made known as the community gathers around Jesus himself in worship, a community that lives by and with Christ the King, through faith. “I am the Alpha and Omega, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”
If I had to try to tell Justin and his second-grade church school class about the “is-ness of Jesus Christ”, I wouldn’t describe a feeling inside or point to spiritual high upon a mountain top or faith hero or today. I would invite them to stand here with me and look out at you, right now. A community that with the passion of its worship believes that Christ is present, that in this weekly gathering, Christ is at the center. A community with all of its brokenness and frailty believes that Christ’s love binds us together. That Christ’s love is our only comfort in life and in death. A community that knows itself to be sent out in service, not fill out our resumes, not to facilitate team building at the office, not to achieve honorable mention in faith-based initiatives, but solely because Christ calls us now, Christ sends us now. We know ourselves to be the hands and feet of Christ for this moment, for this time, for this place.
Even here and even now, even today, celebrating the Is-ness of Jesus Christ. “I am the Alpha and Omega, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”
Such a Time As This
God Hears, God Sees
Genesis 21:1-21
November 10
David A. Davis
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As you can imagine, many of my Presbyterian pastor colleagues have been asking each other the same question this week: “What are you going to preach on?” That is not a version of “What are you going to say?” It is a question about what biblical text you are going to use. We are nearing the end of our fall Linked-In series on “Women in the Old Testament”. Some will remember that I and the other preachers did not choose the texts. Neither did we choose the order. That was determined by the availability of adult education leaders. This morning our text tells the story of Sarah and Hagar in the Book of Genesis. That question among preachers this week also implies another question. “Are you going to change your biblical text this week?” I, for one, certainly thought about it. I also thought about asking Noel to lead a hymn sing. But when teaching preaching at Princeton Seminary, I told students what I have often shared from this pulpit over the years. “Never underestimate the work of the Holy Spirit and the power of the Living Word when you bring the world to bear on an unsuspecting biblical text.” So we’re sticking with Genesis 21 and Hagar and Ishmael.
One other note from my experience in the classroom down the street. You have heard it before but it bears repeating. Over the years, I have often been invited to the Introduction to the Old Testament class to participate on a panel discussing “Preaching from the Old Testament”. Students were invited to submit questions ahead of time that were shared with the members of the panel. Every year there was a block of questions about preaching difficult passages with the students referencing God’s judgment, war, violence, and sexual violence. In my attempt to answer, I would add another group of texts to the list: stories like the text for today that tell of barrenness and fertility. It is a significant theological motif that stirs questions, emotions, pain, grief, and now fear, for those who have lived the realities of infertility. A reality all too often ignored by the church or by preachers like me and worse, invoked by the church or preachers and people of power as a justification to threaten and do harm. Bringing the world to bear on unsuspecting biblical texts, it seems, just gets harder and harder and harder.
Feeling a deep need for a whole lot more of the Holy Spirit this morning, please pray with me as I offer two traditional prayers from our liturgical tradition:
Genesis 21:1-21
This scene in the wilderness is not Hagar’s first trip to the wilderness. When Abraham and Sarah were still Abram and Sarai, back when God had promised to make Abram a great nation and Sarai had no children, Sarai suggested that Abram have a child with Hagar, Sarai’s slave woman. After Hagar became pregnant Sarai regretted the plan, Abram told Sarai that Hagar was still under her power and could do what she pleased with Hagar. The text says, “Then Sarai dealt harshly with Hagar and Hagar ran away from her.” Scholars point out the reference to Hagar being treated harshly was the same description of how the enslaved people of Israel were treated in Egypt. That treatment included hard labor and physical abuse.
As Hagar fled from the abuse to the wilderness, an angel of the Lord found Hagar and told her to return, that God would greatly multiply her offspring: “Now you have conceived and shall bear a son; you shall call him Ishmael, for the Lord has given heed to your affliction.” The name Ishmael in Hebrew means “God hears”. As often happens in the pages of the Hebrew Bible when God speaks to someone, the well where the angel speaks to Hagar is given a name. Here in the Book of Genesis, Hagar is only the second person to whom God speaks. She doesn’t just name the location. She names God as well. “She names the Lord who spoke to her, ‘you are El-roi” which means “God sees”.
As we get to chapter 21, according to the recording of Abraham and Sarah’s age, Ismael is a young teenager. Baby Isaac has grown a bit and according to the story as told here in the NRSV, Sarah saw Hagar’s son “playing with her son, Isaac”. The Hebrew text stops with “playing” and makes no mention of Isaac. The Hebrew does not include “with her son Isaac.” Instead of “playing”, other translations use “mocking” or “scoffing”. It’s a fascinating example of how tradition, interpretation, and translation can so easily be influenced by the assumptions, the biases, and the humanity we all bring to the text. All the text says is that Sarah saw him playing
A few scholars working with the text argue that the word for “playing” can also be translated as “laughing”. Sarah sees Ishmael laughing and given Isaac’s name, and Sarah’s laughing, well, the deeper literary insult becomes clear. In Sarah’s eyes, only Isaac should have the privilege of laughing. Culturally speaking, Ismael was still the firstborn son of Abraham so would still be entitled to the privileges that entails. We should not be surprised that at the end of the day, Hagar’s second journey to the wilderness with her child is about power, privilege, and money. Despite Abraham’s distress, Hagar is still an enslaved foreign woman whose son is perceived as a threat.
Notice, too, that after Isaac is born, Ishmael’s name falls off the page. He is no longer Ishmael, he becomes only “her son”, or “that boy”. This account of Hagar and Ishmael being sent away never refers to Ishmael by name. Even the narrator doesn’t use his name. Here in the story of Hagar and Ishmael’s wilderness deportation, the only reference to the boy’s name comes in God’s action. As in “God heard”. In the Hebrew text, to the ear of someone listening to the Hebrew, Ishmael is named even as God heard. His name comes in the verb. Hagar lifted up her voice. Hagar wept. But God heard the voice of the boy himself. God “Ishmaeled” the boy who by now, according to Sarah and Abraham and the writer of the story, is pretty much nameless. God heard. As God promised, God made a great nation of Ishmael. Through Abraham, God’s covenant with two nations.
One cannot bring the world to bear on this biblical text this week and understate who Hagar and Ismael were and what was done to them by a system, a culture, and those closest to them. Hagar was an enslaved foreign woman who, though it was a cultural practice, was raped, sexually assaulted, physically abused, and eventually sent off into the desert with her teenage son with little to no chance of surviving. Ishmael was stereotyped by the biblical writers themselves; described as a child who “shall be a wild ass of a man.” He was maligned by the wife of his father, and accused by translators and scripture interpreters of misbehaving around baby Isaac or doing worse to Isaac with absolutely nothing in the ancient text to support the allegation. All because they were powerless, vulnerable foreigners, helpless in the system, the culture, and the “family” that owned them. And then, even then, even for them, God sees and God hears. The most powerless, the most vulnerable, the most abused, the most marginalized, God sees and God hears.
Allow me to use the words of Dr. Kathi Sakenfeld. Kathi concludes her chapter on Sarah and Hagar in her book Just Wives. “Next time you hear about Abraham, remember Sarah, and when you remember Sarah, remember Hagar. Remember that in Hagar God has affirmed the marginalized in their desire to be included in history. Remember so that you will be more open to those not like yourself, Remember so that your heart will be opened to the outcast and downtrodden. Remember so that you will believe that God sees and hears, that the cry of one lonely and fearful person in the wilderness does not go unheard.”
To build upon Dr. Sakenfeld’s charge to her reader in her book written now twenty years ago, for the disciple of Jesus Christ today, for someone striving to live the gospel Christ teaches in scripture, remembering in and of itself, is not enough. Because all the Hagar’s and Ishmael’s around us these days are scared to death. When threats of vengeance and violence, bigotry and hate, vulgarity, and misogyny win, the number of people who find themselves more like Hagar and Ishmael grows exponentially. When systems and cultures plant fear, violence, and hate, the people of God are called to cling to hope and promise that God sees and God hears. When systems and cultures seed fear, violence, and hate, the followers of Jesus are called to witness to the teaching of Jesus in the gospel, to live out that gospel in word and deed, to feed the hungry, and to give drink to the thirsty, and welcome the stranger, and clothe the naked, and care for the sick, and visit those in prison. When systems and cultures stoke fear, violence, and hate, the servants of Jesus Christ are called to embrace the unclean, to speak for the long silenced, to love the neighbor, to protect the marginalized, to work for peace, to rise for justice, to spread seeds of mercy, and pray for the very righteousness of God to fill the land.
As the Apostle Paul proclaims, “For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength…God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is low and despised in the word, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are.” God hears and God sees. It is a profound promise to cling to because as the writer of I John reminds us, “God is greater than our hearts.”
A retired pastor in our midst gave me a gift this week. We were having a cup of tea at my office to the north and west at the Dunkin at Princeton Shopping Center. We were meeting to talk about some of the work I have been doing at the national levels of the Presbyterian Church (USA). Yes, we talked about other things of the week. As we were wrapping up our time together, the pastor casually mentioned an article they had just earlier that morning in the Christian Century. They even told me the page number in the issue. “You may want to take a look at it,” they said.
It is a short essay written by the Lutheran pastor and writer Heidi Neumark entitled “Conspiracies of Goodness”. She begins by quoting the new Episcopal bishop of New York who says that “The Holy Spirit moves at ground level.” Then she goes on to tell of a French priest named Andre Trocme who was sent to serve a small French village in 1934. Under Father Trocme’s leadership, the village became known as the safest place in Europe for refugees. More than 5,000 Jewish lives, mostly children, were saved by families in the village who took them in. Neumark reports that the priest preached almost always on the Beatitudes and the Good Samaritan never mentioning the war. His pastoral visitation was considered key in the encouragement of families to be bold and courageous in their faithfulness. His ministry came to be described as “the kitchen table struggle” by some. Heidi Neumark writes that “[the village] became a center of organized resistance to hate through a series of daily-on-the-ground, compassionate acts, ordinary acts that saved lives and required extraordinary courage.”
She concludes that in those Beatitudes Father Trocme preached, “Jesus declares blessings upon those who are disregarded, dehumanized or slated for extermination. Jesus promises that in the end, God’s way of seeing will prevail.”
God’s way of seeing. God’s way of hearing.
God sees. God hears. And so shall we.