text :: Matthew 13: 45-46

theme verse :: “On finding a pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” (Mt 13:46)

As we enter a time when millions of people will make resolutions for the New Year, we are met with a parable that Jesus tells about a merchant who is resolved to acquire a pearl of great value. What sort of pearl could possibly be worthy of such commitment? What will it take to obtain the object of his desire? What will we uncover that may inform our own resolutions in the year ahead?

opening :: 'The First Noel' : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reader :: Keenan Barnard
preaching :: Rev Kevin Howe

closing :: 'I Wonder As I Wander' :: Kelly Ford, tenor; Billie Kay Sawyer, piano

Matthew 13: 45 – 46
⁴⁵ “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; ⁴⁶ on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

The presents have been opened, the wrapping paper is in the garbage bin, and even though we are only halfway through the Christmas season, our eyes are now fixed on the New Year ahead. At the stroke of midnight tomorrow, fireworks and confetti, will give way to the mystery that is the year 2019. Can you believe it!? I will serve as your kind reminder that if you have yet to make a New Year’s resolutions, this would be the time. It’s estimated that some 40% of Americans will make at least one resolution,¹ and many of these goals will likely follow the perennial trends of wanting to eat a little healthier, work out more frequently, save money, or spend more time with friends and family. Personally, I would love to do all those things. And I love the idea that as we approach each New Year, that we would commit to changing an undesired behavior, taking on a personal goal, or otherwise improving our lives. But like so many of our other so-called commitments, New Year’s resolutions are far easier said than done. One study suggests that only 8% of people will achieve their goal.²

There are, of course, many factors that play into our success (or lack thereof)—our planning and preparation, the right level of accountability and encouragement, an acknowledgement about the power of our habits—but all of this has me thinking about another question entirely—one that I think precedes all of these considerations when making our New year’s resolutions. It is a simple question, but quite powerful. And it often gets overlooked because we’re in the thick of our living and speeding so quickly towards January 1 that we forget to slow down and ask it. So, since we’ve committed to being present here this morning, and since you have the expectation I have about 10 more minutes of your focus to wrap this thing up, I’ll ask that question now: What is truly worthy of our resolve? What is truly worthy of our commitment; our investment of time and the life force we have to give in the days and months ahead? What is worthy of our resolution?

When it came to Jesus, he was all-in on the kingdom of God, or the kingdom of heaven as it is referred to in the Gospel of Matthew. For all the other things we uncover in the biblical narrative, the main content of Jesus’ preaching was centered on the kingdom of heaven; what it’s like when God’s in charge. And what I think it truly interesting, is that as sold as Jesus was on this kingdom—God’s reign on earth—he hardly ever spoke about it in direct ways. Instead, he choose to teach in parables, these analogous stories that compare the kingdom to all sorts of other things. Many of the parable are childhood favorites and are recalled with a certain amount of familiarity, like the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son. But that familiarity that can sometimes be a barrier to us in understanding the mysteries about kingdom of god that are contained within these stories. For example, we may be able to rattle of some of these parables without considering just how bizarre—even disturbing—they truly are. Jesus seems to find nothing odd about comparing God’s ways to a mixed bag of questionable characters: an unjust judge, a cruel king, a tipsy slave owner, unfair employer—these are just a few of the roles in these scripts.³ For speaking about matters of faith, they certainly don’t appear refined and pious on the surface. These stories are radical and mysterious. But then, again, the Kingdom of God is a radical and mysterious concept in this world. And it’s safe to say that we don’t as well with mystery as we do with facts.

Still Jesus was resolved to usher in this mysterious kingdom, and believed it was worthy of our commitments, and so it is important that we engage these parables with an open-mind and a vulnerable heart, praying that they would reveal to us some wisdom we might come to live by. The scripture we hear read this morning is one such parable and it is unceremoniously dropped into the Gospel of Matthew. With no introduction at all it simply says, “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” Now what could that mean? ⁴

Perhaps, after all the Christmas shopping, you identify first with the merchant. And if that’s the case, maybe it means that we who claim to love God and God’s reign better be ready to pay full price for this treasure. Bargain shoppers beware, this find will require making a complete sacrifice. No room for half-commitment, here. If you truly desire this kingdom it’s going to cost you. What you ask? Well…everything. But then again, you sense that this treasure is worth the expense. After all, you’ve been on the market for something that would bring you true satisfaction. And despite receiving all the gifts on your Christmas wish list, and your fresh, new winter look, you have yet to find something that brings you sustained joy. You paid for many things, some that you liked, others you bought out of fear of what others might think of you if you didn’t. But this treasured find, this is different. You know it’s the find of a lifetime. And you are resolved to acquire it. So you clear out your savings accounts and you mortgaged everything you’ve got to purchase this pearl. And you’re down to the loose change in your pocket (didn’t we say this was going to require a complete commitment?)…and would you believe it, you have exactly enough! And at long last, you have attained what you sought. And as you hold your prize, marveling at its beauty, you realize that all that time and effort it took was worth it. This treasure would have been cheap at twice the cost and it is yours, and joy is yours! Go in peace.

Is that what it means? Or maybe we hear something else about the kingdom of God in this story. Let’s consider it again. Maybe we are not the merchant in this story. Who is looking for these pearls anyway? What if God was searching? God was looking all over for pearls. Would you believe it? You know, crossing though wooded forests and scaling tall mountains. Swimming through oceans of stars; searching across space and time; inspecting the small, secret places that only God knows. The beauty of the prize was compelling. God is—did you know—a great lover of pearls.

But God now has found something—a pearl, yes, but not just any pearl. One unique in all of space and time. Extraordinary. This one is a treasure, beautifully and wonderfully made. And God should know. After all, God made you, you pearl of surpassing value. You see, God made you, then lost you for a while. But God has sought you out and found you again, and now God must have you regardless of the cost. But God is completely resolved to claim you, God already has—we gathered just this Monday evening to remember again, God’s only begotten son was born into the world that we might know we are claimed beloved by God beyond measure.

Maybe this, too, is what the kingdom of God looks like? I dare to say there are powerful truths in both scenarios. And there is more to this kingdom than we would ever have time to uncover fully, much less in Sunday morning worship services. For the kingdom of God is, after all, a mystery. But it’s a beautiful one—one worthy of our pursuit. It is worthy of our time and energy, our thoughts and actions, our talents and treasures. One worthy of praying for: that God’s kingdom come, God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

I wonder if you would consider making a resolution in this New Year to seek out the kingdom of God in some way. Maybe it’s a commitment to read the parables of Jesus. Maybe it’s to engage in service to your neighbors; to see how that opens you to glimpses of God’s reign. Or maybe it’s the resolution to connect more deeply to Christ’s church as we strive to be a paradigm of what it’s like when God’s in charge.

Today, I have a Christmas gift to you each of you: two precious minutes of quiet. A sacred space in a distracting holiday season to pray about your commitments in the year ahead. And Take these next two minutes, if would, to be with God in prayer.

“The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” Friends, however the weeks and months ahead unfold, may we strive to seek first the kingdom of God. And when we fall short of our aims and goals, I pray that you come to know deeply that our God has found you to be worthy of whatever cost and God is resolved to claim you. Thanks be to God! Amen.

¹  Dan Diamond, ^“Just 8% of People Achieve Their New Year’s Resolutions. Here’s How They Do It.” Forbes https://www.forbes.com/sites/dandiamond/2013/01/01/just-8-of-people-achieve-their-new-years-resolutions-heres-how-they-did-it/#432232b1596b. January 1, 2013.

² Ibid.

³ Capon, Robert. Kingdom, Grace, Judgement: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus. William B Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, MI. 2002. p. 1.

⁴ Matthew 13:45-46

text :: Luke 2: 1 - 20

theme verse :: “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host…” (Luke 2:13)

Sometimes standing isn’t possible. It is often pain or sadness or exhaustion that “takes your legs out from under you.” Sometimes it’s prayer that drives us to our knees – a position of humility and vulnerability. And yet, sometimes, we cannot stand for our sense of awe is too great. O Holy Night invites us all to “fall our knees,” that we might hear the angel voices and, with wide eyes, see the Divine night come to us again. Christ is born! Anything is possible!

preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

* * * * *

'God With Us' (All Sons & Daughters) :: The Rising Band
'Joy to the World (Unspeakable Joy)' :: The Rising Band & Congregation
'Some Children See Him' (Johnson) :: Avenue a capella ensemble
'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen' (Johnson) :: Avenue
'We Have A Savior' (Hillsong) :: The Rising Band
'O Holy Night (O Night Divine)' (Rend Collective) :: The Rising Band
'Silent Night' (Gruber/Mohr) :: The Rising Band & Congregation

Luke 2:1-20
2 In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. ² This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. ³ All went to their own towns to be registered. ⁴ Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. ⁵ He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷ And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

⁸ In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹ Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: ¹¹ to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” ¹³ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” ¹⁶ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
* * * * *
And. Here. We. Are.  Christmas Eve. Can you believe it?  You are literally here… like a dot on the Directory Map at the Mall. I’m so glad you’re here.  I love this night. It really paints a beautiful picture of Christmas.  It’s full of friends and family come home.  There’s a light chill in the air and soon a candlelit room that can’t help but leave you hopeful.  There are many traditions associated with this night.  It’s a bit predictable in that way but there’s always a magical surprise or two as well.  Last year, I was pictured with some of the Phillips clan right after service who decided the baby Jesus needed to be announced with a little flair.
Isn’t that fun?

Something else happened last Christmas Eve that was not necessarily extraordinary to most but created a marvelous happenstance tradition for me and my middle son, Dane. The Brileys always have two vehicles here on Christmas Eve as I come early and stay late and Carrie and the kids come on their own.  The last couple of years, however, Dane has stayed late with me so we can ride home together. We park down the road a bit so that we don’t take up a parking spot in our lot for all of you who will be joining us. This makes for a nice, still-humming-silent-night stroll from the building to find our car was everyone has departed.  This has meant we walked past the pedestrian bridge that spanned over Harvard Avenue.  And with that wrap around ramp to get to the top, what kid wouldn’t want to run up there at night on Christmas Eve.  So… Dane and I have run up the ramp, stood in the middle of the bridge looking back at the church – now dark and silent with few, if any cars, driving underneath us.  We just stand there for a while, marveling at the events we just celebrated at the church, giving thanks for the gift of Christ, the mystery and miracle of it all. After the frenzied activity of the weeks leading to that celebrated moment, a silent moment with my son on that bridge was as sweet a moment of worship as I had come to know.  But… as you know if you’ve been around here a while at all, that pedestrian bridge was torn down just a couple of weeks ago after standing for nearly five decades. I’ll admit that my first thought when I learned the news was that I’d miss standing on that bridge with my son on Christmas Eve. Which prompted my second thought: “Where are we going to stand this year, to look back at the church, to marvel again at a holy and sacred night? How am I supposed to see Christmas now? As I was pondering that very thing, it led me to the question of Christmas Eve I’d like you to consider tonight. Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?  

This was now a bigger question than physically standing on a pedestrian bridge on Christmas Eve.  For you, this may be a disorienting Christmas.  Things are different this year. You are different this year.  The story of Christ never changes but we do so it hits us differently every year. The events and shifts and relationships and experiences and questions and mysteries and all that you’ve encountered since last Christmas shapes the way you approach this Christmas.  It changes your perspective.  You can no longer stand where you used to stand when it comes to looking at Christmas. You may be here… in this space on Christmas Eve but you may feel like you’re a million miles from Christmas.  I saw this picture recently taken by the Mars Exploration Rover Spirit.  It’s the first ever picture of Earth from Mars and included the helpful Mall Directory note: “You are here.”  It is an image capturing a remarkable reality.  “You are here.”  A dot. 34 million miles away from a camera that fellow humans landed on another planet.  As marvelous as that is, it may represent in another way how you’re feeling about Christmas this year – distanced, small, unable to make out many of the details.

I wonder if Mary and Joseph felt a bit like that too.  They were on board with the game plan but who’s kidding who, there had to be some sense of pain and smallness to the whole thing too. They had no perspective other than the immediate. Christmas didn’t hold any of the tradition for them that it holds for us.  It was just the culmination of an unexpected promise with threats of exile from their family and community and death from the empire who was threatened by the word that a new King was coming.  Mary and Joe were surely both asking themselves the question, “Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?”  Everything was upended.  This was new territory. Joe wasn’t having a cigar out behind the stable.  They weren’t taking holy family selfies and snapchatting them out to their friends. They were probably just trying to survive that first Christmas.  Can you relate?  You’re sorting through the loss… the absence… the heartache.  It’s impossible to stand where you once stood in relation to Christmas.  Too much has changed and you’re just trying to get through it. Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?

The Shepherds had an entirely different set of concerns when it comes to where they stood with Christmas.  They’re on the hillside watching the flock as best they can.  As they’re downing a 5-hour Energy Drink to stay on their game, they’re blindsided by an angel choir which was not a typical occurrence on the night shift. The Shepherds were afraid.  The angel laid out for them what had occurred in Bethlehem and as much as they wanted to deny what they had experienced, they couldn’t shake the fact that it did.  They could no longer see the world the same way they did the day before. This news of a Messiah born in their neck of the woods – whether they wanted to believe it or not – was now on their radar and they would have to wrestle with such a reality.  Maybe you’re like the Shepherds.  You’re minding your own business in the world, getting’ yours, focused on the drive of the culture, the need to succeed, or just working the daily grind from 9-5 or even the night shift.  From where you stand, Christmas is of no significance. Who needs it? In fact, the only religion that interests you is religious satire that is good for a laugh.  One of my favorites of late was this artwork that says,  “As for me and my house, we will serve tacos.”  Book, chapter and verse?  Salsa 24:7. It’s easier to keep our spirit’s thirst at bay by laughing off faith as nothing more than a crutch for the weak. But then… the grind grows weary.  And money isn’t satisfying you the way you thought it would… and you’re maturing and something has shifted, maybe even a little bit, where the things you thought would fill you just don’t fill the void. There’s an emptiness… and for every hypocritical Christian you know that you can point to as reason you don’t do religion, there’s a spiritual desire in you to get closer to this Jesus – who without all the fanfare we put around religion – is really intriguing to you.  As much as you’d like to just bah humbug the whole thing, you’ve got this nudge in you that longs to confess (if even internally) … “I need something more.  I need God.”  You decide your cultural stance in life can’t be the end game to it all.  Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?

Whether we are forced by circumstances out of our control to get a different view of Christmas this year or we’re spiritually churning in a way that won’t allow us to move through another Christmas with a business as usual mentality… here. we. are. … seeking, wondering.  How will we stand with Christmas now?  Sometimes, when it comes to such a holy moment, we shouldn’t stand at all. That beautiful Christmas song that has been our focus this Advent season offers that very advice.  “Fall on your knees.  Hear the angel voices.  For on this night divine, Christ is born.”  Have you slowed your roll at all this season… to simply get on your knees and worship the Lord?  Have you celebrated the fact that you are not God and you don’t have to be?  Have you marveled at the wonders of what it means to be here, alive, seeking meaning and wholeness and purpose?  Sometimes, you have to position your life, even your very body, differently so that you can see that God is here and you are not alone. Sometimes you can’t understand where you stand until you’re not standing at all.

As I was starting college, I moved an hour from home and was looking to room with my older brother, Matt, at the Gatehouse Apartments in Columbia, Missouri.  It was not the nicest accommodations by any means and we didn’t have much stuff to make the place all that homey.  But… I was going to be out on my own for the first time, sorting out this new phase of my life.  No way things could look the same as they did before.  Life was moving on and I was going to have to decide how I would move along with it. The very first night I stayed in the apartment was before I had moved in.  It was just a scouting trip. I had come down to stay the night and look for a job that would support me while I was a student. Somebody had to pay the rent and buy the cans of tuna and generic cereal that fed us most meals. My brother was actually not going to be home that first night so I was going to be there alone.  That was okay but also left me with some of those uncertain feelings about being by myself in a strange place.  Not having my stuff there and Matt being gone, I went to lay down in his bed for the night.  When my head hit the pillow, I opened my eyes and behold, just a few inches from my face, was the windowsill that projected several inches out from the wall.  I was glad I hadn’t hit my head. It was a little tight. The bug light outside of the window brought enough light into the room through the broken blinds that I could tell there was something written on the underside of the windowsill.  In big letters, it simply read, “Matt was here.”  I shook my head a bit, and maybe even chuckled out loud.  You’ve seen that sort of thing on trees or picnic tables in the park or at a rustic camp cabin where kids stay for a week in the summer and leave their mark on the walls as proof of their experience.  But I laughed at the thought of my twenty-year old brother laying there in bed one night, grabbing a pen and scribbling the words, “Matt was here.”  As strange as it may seem… as simple as those three words were… it was the most beautiful gift to my soul in that moment.  My brother, whom I loved and admired and fought with and who had fought for me through all those years was strangely there with me.  I never would have seen that standing up.  Until I laid down, I could not sense his presence.

Sometimes, we have to put ourselves in position to receive the gift and reminder that we are not alone. Maybe falling on our knees this night is the humbling experience we need to receive Christmas as the gift it is intended to be.  When you approach the manger, you can’t really stand tall, towering over the innocence of the baby. There’s not much connection in that posture.  It’s mostly an obligatory viewing from a distance.  But when you fall on your knees next to that manger and you come close to Jesus, you can see things much clearer.  In fact, if you look close enough in that manger, you can surely read carved into the side of that wooden animal trough the words, “God is here.”

Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?  When it comes to Christmas, maybe you don’t stand at all.  You fall on your knees.

CHRISTMAS IN TUNE V
A Rising Worship Concert

‘What A Savior’ (Shelly E. Johnson)

‘Angels We Have Heard On High’ (Chris Tomlin)
‘Go Tell It On The Mountain’ (needtobreathe)

Pastoral Prayer

‘Just Another Christmas’ (Laura Story)
‘Hope is Alive’ (Ellie Holcomb)
‘Why Does God Have To Look So Human’ (Waterdeep)
‘Mvmt II, Begin and Never Cease’ (The Oh Hellos)

‘I Wonder As I Wander’

‘Join the Angels’ (Matthew West)
Sending Forth

THE RISING BAND

Mark Bleikamp
Tim Conner
Andrea Gross
D’Ann Hargrove
Katie Herbert
Sarah Herbert
Phil King
Nathan Wilson

Isaac Herbert – The Rising Band Leader

Tom Jurena – audio engineer

The Blue Christmas service is an annual evening of worship where space is created where it's okay to say 'This season is hard.' Whether carrying grief into this holiday; or dealing with loss of a job, relationship, self-confidence, or direction; or sitting in uncertain health in your own life or one you care about; or simply just 'not there' with the twinkling lights and brightly-sung carols ... this is a service for quiet, slowness, honesty ... and hope.

The sound in the recording varies a little, trying to catch voices that are singing a capella from the back of the worship space, and including readers and worship leaders using various microphones along the way. (There is also a little mic glitch somewhere along the way; thanks for listening around that.)

We have left some quiet moments and much of the music just as it was offered, so that any who listen might capture the full experience of the litany, prayer, message, and mood.

Blessings to you, wherever you are, in this season.

Acts 27: 13 – 20
¹³ When a moderate south wind began to blow, they thought they could achieve their purpose; so they weighed anchor and began to sail past Crete, close to the shore. ¹⁴ But soon a violent wind, called the northeaster, rushed down from Crete. ¹⁵ Since the ship was caught and could not be turned head-on into the wind, we gave way to it and were driven. ¹⁶ By running under the lee of a small island called Cauda we were scarcely able to get the ship’s boat under control. ¹⁷ After hoisting it up they took measures to undergird the ship; then, fearing that they would run on the Syrtis, they lowered the sea anchor and so were driven. ¹⁸ We were being pounded by the storm so violently that on the next day they began to throw the cargo overboard, ¹⁹ and on the third day with their own hands they threw the ship’s tackle overboard. ²⁰ When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small tempest raged, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.

There are moments when the ship is going down and you can’t see beyond the immediacy of the struggle at hand. How could you?  There is simply adrenaline that drives you from task to task.  It’s survival and any thought about your usual routine – your morning coffee with two creams and one Splenda, taking the dog on a walk, choosing the shoes that best match the outfit are of no consequence.  It is chaos at its full… and nothing feels more unsettled in such a time than your spirit. Perhaps you know this feeling… perhaps you know it better than you’d like.  Maybe that feeling is what brought you here tonight. I know it wasn’t easy to lace up the shoes and find your way here. This is not a service you stumble into by accident.  You come with ready awareness of the power of the storm.  I cannot, nor anyone else, name the pain as you can feel it.  You feel it in your bones… the loss, the layoff, the addiction, the brokenness, the departure, the depression, the betrayal, the anguish, the heartbreak. And Christmas is coming, and you can’t imagine having to listen to “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas” one more time.  It’s a strange feeling that keeps popping up in your soul.

Jonathan Martin wrote a memoir entitled, “How to Survive a Shipwreck,” subtitled, “Help is on the Way and Love is Already Here.”[1] It has influenced my thoughts shared tonight significantly.  At 36 years old, he saw his life crumbling… his marriage dissolved, his public career in ministry ended.  He said, “Everyone else around me seemed alive enough, and even moving on with their lives, except for me – I was in a cover band, wearing my old clothes, playing the greatest hits of a man who had long since departed. I was shipwrecked.  I could not go back to the life I had before but felt incapable of stepping into a new one.”  He said, “it’s like wherever you are right now – you don’t know how to really be here. Like you don’t know how to own being in a broken place.”  We name that here tonight… maybe not out loud… maybe only from a scream deep in our souls that never breaks the sound barrier of the surface of our lips but that knows there is pain and we’re trying to work through it.  Poet Ann Weems named this Yesterday’s Pain.

In the godforsaken, obscene quicksand of life,
there is a deafening alleluia
rising from the souls of those who weep,
and of those who weep with those who weep.
If you watch, you will see
the hand of God
putting the stars back in their skies
one by one
Yesterday’s Pain
Some of us walk in Advent
tethered to our unresolved yesterdays
the pain still stabbing
the hurt still throbbing.
It’s not that we don’t know better;
it’s just that we can’t stand up anymore by ourselves.
On the way to Bethlehem, will you give us a hand?[2]

On the way to Bethlehem, will you give us a hand?  My God, what a request?  That may be what we’re seeking this night. Just a compassionate hand stretched in our direction. Ann Weems was a Presbyterian elder and poet now among the stars as part of the resurrection. She wrote those words and titled it Yesterday’s Pain… and she knew such pain well.  Her son, Todd, was murdered on his 21^st birthday. It was a pain that was always with her in some way as you can imagine. Her friend Walt Brueggemann once ventured a question to her which he said she did not need to answer if she didn’t want to.  The question was one from our scriptures of one who knew great sorrow but directed to Ann, “Will Rachel finally be comforted?” Ann reflected silently for some time and finally responded, “Not until God wipes away every tear from our eyes” in reference to the promise found in Revelation.[3] There is a sadness that never fully leaves us.  It is, in part, what makes an Ann Weems poem an Ann Weems poem. She didn’t write as one who knew no pain. Quite the opposite. She described the practice of writing for her as “a spiritual exercise; a form of prayer in which one can imagine what might be and in the writing help it become true.” If you were to be comforted tonight… in the form of writing what peace and healing might look like for you, what would you write?  It is not a re-do of the past as we are not afforded such opportunity. We grieve yesterday’s pain but also write a preferred future on our way to Bethlehem… and wonder if there might be a hand stretched our way to imagine new life in a new season.

The Apostle Paul is a prisoner on a ship, headed to have a face-to-face with the Emperor of Rome. The storm I described earlier is shared in Acts 27 – “We were being pounded by the storm so violently…”  All that held their lives together was getting tossed and turned and crashed upon by so much that was out of their control.  The 276 on board started to throw cargo and weight overboard… longing to lighten the load, stay afloat, but verse twenty sort of says it all.  “When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small tempest raged, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.”  And that may be where we are. We’ve tried to power through.  We’ve tried all the standard maneuvers in the manual — praying and reading and looking for that magic word to hold on to… a word that makes us feel less abandoned.

At the point of yesterday’s pain, whatever that may be for you and me, was also a sense that we could not conceive of our lives without that ship.  That ship on which I ate and drank and laughed and cried, sailed and struggled was so connected to me that it felt like it was me. How can I live without that person?  How can I live without that job?  How can I live without that relationship?  How can I live without that house?  How can I live without my dignity?  How can I live without my good reputation?  How can I live without the euphoria centered around my addiction?  The storm hits and it really feels like all is lost. And not even a compassionate hand outstretched seems helpful in the moment because of the depths of the sadness or the guilt or the fear.  “No sun and stars for many days and the hope of being saved was at last abandoned.”

In 2013, Robert Redford starred in a movie called All is Lost; a story of a man lost at sea. He was not only the star but arguably the best supporting actor as well – he was the only person cast in the movie.  Redford is a seasoned actor of course but he really didn’t have more than two lines to memorize in the whole film.  One actor. Two lines. Lots of time abandoned at sea on a raft as his ship had sunk. Jonathan Martin, who I mentioned before, watched this movie when his world was imploding.  He said, “I didn’t go into a movie theater; I went into a metaphor.”  Martin didn’t know how else to describe his situation other than being lost at sea.  He was watching his life on the big screen in this lonely, one-man movie. Redford’s character, battered by his circumstance battles the elements alone… a speck of a human against the unending mystery of the sea.  Two shots of the film really sliced through Martin as he watched this play out on the big screen.  “The first was as the camera pans up slowly from the tiny raft he now occupied.  The camera shot just keeps rising until the perspective crawls over you of just how small he is against the expansiveness of the ocean.  The second shot is essentially the same shot but from the bottom of the raft as the camera descends lower and lower into the ocean, slowly, until not only do you see the tiny raft from the opposite depth but you also see a school of sharks swimming beneath him, undetected by the protagonist.”  And with no dialogue, not even with a volleyball named Wilson like Tom Hanks had in Cast Away, it is sort of a dark and lonely reality.  No sun or stars for days…  all hope of being saved abandoned.

But what Redford’s character would discover, as would the Apostle Paul and the other 276 passengers on his ship following these terrible storms was this:  They were still there. They still existed.  What do you do when you feel all is lost and yet you’re still here?  An angel visited Paul one night on that storm-tossed ship… stretched out a compassionate arm and said, “You’ll get through this storm.”  After fourteen days at sea with a battered ship on its way down, Paul takes this outstretched arm as courage enough to try something different the next morning.  He urges everyone on the ship to find some new courage too.  “We’re gonna make it,” he says. Before daybreak on the fifteenth day, Paul says, “We haven’t eaten for fourteen days… but today we’re gonna eat.”  Can you remember the first time after the funeral, or after the loss or the separation or whatever yesterday’s pain is for you, after that time when you could not bear to eat or drink, that the pangs of hunger overwhelmed you?  It’s a strange feeling as part of you feels baffled by having such feelings … betrayed by that animal part of you that still wanted food after such a thing.  And then there was a particular taste you longed for, even at some level desired.  Or there was a time when you started to dream again, despite yourself.  There is still a kind of music you hear that stirs within you an unspeakable longing.  There is still an ache, not just for all that is lost, but to see and know and be seen and known still, to explore and imagine and create. You are still alive.

Jonathan Martin says “that ache is God’s fingerprint.  The stirring to create, to love, to live, to give of yourself when there is no self-left to give – this comes from the Spirit.  You were created in the image of God. Before you knew anyone or did anything, everything was in you necessary to live at home in divine love.”  However deeply buried that image may seem to you now, it is the deepest part of you that knows how to be perfectly loved by your Creator. And such is an outstretched arm tonight.

Paul urged his fellow passengers suffering in the storm to take some food. “It will help you survive.”  And here are the words in Acts that describe that very moment: “After Paul had said this, he took bread; and giving thanks to God in the presence of all, he broke it and began to eat.”  Does that sound familiar?  When we’re hurting and feeling hopeless or abandoned, people often try to offer us an explanation or rationale about the personal hurricane we’ve been living in.  But when people offer us an explanation, God simply offers us a Eucharist.

So much of the world you have known is no more. Things have certainly changed. But if there is any truth in any of this faith stuff at all, the shipwreck that threatened to destroy you utterly may be the thing that saves you yet. It may not drown you; it may transfigure you.  And whatever we gained from the person or the ship that was lost isn’t finished either.  In our new desires for a preferred future, those memories spur us on with new strength.  Carrie and I went down that rabbit trail the other night as we were trying to find a couple of pictures from our childhood.  Along the way, we went through old scrap books, wedding photos, and shoe boxes of pictures and news clippings and the night turned into what is best described as the chest at the end of grandma’s bed – memories full of artifacts and memorabilia that tell the stories of who we are and why we have become who we are. There was nostalgia and some sadness but also a reminder of those in our lives now numbered among the stars whose greatest joy would be to see us thrive forward.  Sometimes when we begin to eat again, others will eat too just as Paul discovered on the ship. “As much as you may feel like you have lost yourself, your presence in this world is enough for somebody else to feel found.”

Ann Weems wrote a later word that says: “Into the silent night, as we make our weary way, we know not where; just when the night becomes its darkest and we cannot see our path; just then is when the angels rush in, their hands full of stars.” Paul and all of his shipmates survived.  The ship ran into the reef well out from the shoreline, but some swam in; others held a piece of the ship for a time as they floated their way to shore, others stretched out an arm to pull another through. They didn’t recognize the land… it was new territory… but there was life to be had still… and they would find new strength in this new day to step forward.

I admit that I haven’t seen the Redford movie, All is Lost. But I did search for the final scene, curious how it all turns out.  Spoiler alert… chance for you to put on your earmuffs if you don’t want to hear the ending.  After all attempt at survival has been tried and weathered and fought through, Redford’s raft is set ablaze and as he floats in the water watching the blaze in silence, he resigns himself to sinking and begins such a descent into the depths of the sea… until… until a pinprick of light above, a rescue boat’s search light.  He begins swimming to the light and as he nears the top and just mere seconds before the movie concludes with a cut to a black screen, an outstretched hand penetrates the water locking arms with Redford.  The only other character in the movie, is an outstretched hand from above.

Maybe that is your reach tonight…. toward the eucharist… toward the arm outstretched and reaching for you.  This is the God named Emmanuel that we lift up this season… not a God that exists in ideas or theories but a God that is found in dirt-floor reality; found in the vulnerability of a manger with the stench of manure, teaching us how to be human by relying on God, leaning on each other. As Martin says, “God is only found on the cross, with his insides exposed, leaking out to the world for the sake of its healing.”

We’re all on our way to Bethlehem.  “Will you give us a hand?” is the question.  Such is the promise of Christ.  Such is the gift of waiting in Advent.  Such is the returning joy of the grasp of a compassionate arm… and ultimately… the return of strength to hold another as we have been held.  That is my prayer for you tonight…

[1] How to Survive a Shipwreck: Help is on the Way and Love is Already Here.  Jonathan Martin.  Zondervan. 2016.  As noted throughout the message, Martin’s book informed this message significantly.
[2] From Weems book, “Kneeling in Bethlehem.” 1980. Westminster Press.
[3] https://www.pcusa.org/news/2016/3/22/ann-weems-presbyterian-poet-laureate-dies-age-81/

text : Jeremiah 33:14-16

theme verse : “In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.” (Jeremiah 33:15)

Do you ever feel like you’re tripping your way to the end of the year? In a season of division and strife in the nation, it seems many are just flat out exhausted. The rush to Christmas adds its own cultural expectations and pressures, choking out the hope of something new; something beautiful. But then… a mouthpiece of God, the prophet Jeremiah, says, “Surely the day is coming.” Surely? What day? A day where hopes and promises are fulfilled. Somehow with faith, even in the middle of the chaotic mess of life, a weary world must find a way to rejoice.

offertory : 'Ave Maria' (F.Schubert) :: Kathy Radd, cello & Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

anthem : 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel' (arr.Rouse) :: Chancel Choir - Kelly Ford, director; Kathy Radd, cello

reader : Scott Booren
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

special music : '42' (M.Mumford) :: The Rising Band - Isaac Herbert, leader

It’s an event for everyone. Christmas, that is.  It says so as the header of Luke, chapter two, verse eight. An event for everyone.[1]  Do you know that part of the story?  Sheepherders camping in the neighborhood were having an average night on the job when a ‘Marty-McFly-in-a-DeLorean-Back-to-the-Future’ like moment blazed around them. It was God’s Glory, the name of the heavenly angel acapella ensemble. The second soprano of the group says, ‘Pick your jaws up off the ground – a joyful event meant for everyone, worldwide, has just occurred.  Up the road in Bethlehem, a baby is born that will transform the world.’  The group proceeded to sing a couple of Pentatonix arrangements of Christmas carols and the sheepherders agreed that they had never had a better night at work. The angels took off, so the sheepherders huddled up and talked it over.  ‘We’ve got to go, right?  To see this kid? After all, she said this is an event for everyone.’  They left, running into town, past the billboard that says, “Home of King David,” turning right at the Waffle House, around the karaoke bar to the other edge of town where the star was evident overhead. Yep.  The kid was inside. Seeing was believing.  It was true.  The sheepherders chatted up the parents a bit, commented on the sheep stock of that particular stable, and bowed before that baby saying, ‘It’s better than even they said it would be. We’ll keep tabs on you, kid. You’ll do amazing things.’ They left more hopeful than they’ve been in a long time and let loose on their way home, praising God for everything they had experienced.

That’s where we’re headed my friends.  In twenty-two days, we’re going to join those sheepherders in this praise-fest. That’s our hope. That’s the event that changed the world… and it’s for everyone.  Even you. Even me. I had to start with the hope story today so we can remember where we’re headed, even as I know it might seem a bit premature.

You’re not there yet.  You may be far from that hope today. You may feel like life is collapsing around you and you can’t see beyond the collapse.  There was a story this week of a guy who had … how would you say … “just one of those days” at work. The video making the rounds this week was simply called, “Cleanup in aisle two. And three. And four. And five.”[2]  Just take a look.

Is that not just the worst? My first concern was for the driver of the forklift of course.  The warehouse is unidentified {{ed.note: The video page gives info, but it is disputed by commenters. So goes the internet.}}, but the driver apparently made it out of the rubble okay.  Have you ever had a day like that? Maybe your life kind of feels like that right now.  Just a series of collapses that have left you hopeless, angry, hurt and completely confused.  You’re just trying to get through the next thing, the next day, the next mandatory event in your life.

Marguerite Higgins was a correspondent during the Korean conflict. One bitter winter’s day, she began interviewing a muddy Marine who had just returned from a grueling battle. As he opened a tin can of C-rations and began eating, Higgins said to the young man, “If I could give you anything in the world you wanted, what would you ask for?”  The Marine thought for a moment and then said, “Give me tomorrow.”[3]  When life is so thick and brutal and difficult, sometimes that’s all we can ask for.  On this first Sunday of Advent, Hope Sunday as it were, such is the promise of the prophets.

The prophet Jeremiah is our companion today.  And he’s a good one.  That guy wrote what he lived and lived what he wrote. Some people are good writers but can’t live up to the story they can write.  Others live a good story but can’t write it all that well.  Writing or living, Jeremiah was the same guy which is totally refreshing. He also tends to be the prophet of choice when we find ourselves living through a difficult season. When you’re crawling through pain or setback or heartache or injustice, you want somebody trustworthy in the mix with you… someone authentic who’s been there… someone who can help you know what to think about, how to pray, how to take another step forward. We live in a disruptive time but it is not exactly unprecedented.  Jeremiah was living through one of the most troublesome periods in Hebrew history… the decades leading up to the fall of Jerusalem and into the Babylonian exile. Essentially, everything that could go wrong did and Jeremiah slogged his way through it.  His every thought subjected to questioning; his every feeling ridiculed… and he lived through it with an underlying pulse of hope that God was moving still. If you feel smashed by your circumstances; if you’re grasping with all you have; trying to hold on to a stubborn illusion or collapsed system of belief, hang on tight – Jeremiah is a companion you want to make room for in the front seat of your mid-sized, and aging, SUV, or whatever moves you around your life these days. He’s the first of our biblical friends who is going to help get us to that event that is for everyone on Christmas Eve. Make some room in your spirit this morning for that thrill of hope to come in… to rejoice, even if you’re weary. It will be worth it.

A THRILL OF HOPE is the theme of our new sermon series – a line you may recognize from one of the most beloved Christmas songs of all time, O Holy Night.  The story of the song itself is quite remarkable and controversial – which will come out more throughout the series.  The lyrics were written by an unchurched, hardly religious French poet and the music by a man of Jewish ancestry who never celebrated Christmas, nor the baby proclaimed as the Son of God.  But at that first Christmas Mass in 1847, O Holy Night (Minuit Chretiens) was offered in worship, it’s beauty only surpassed by the gift of Christ himself.  The French church fell in love with the song until news later broke that it was written by a Jewish man and an unchurched Charlie.  The church banned the song and it was suppressed for more than a decade but… it had already captured the souls of so many, it was bound to re-emerge.[4]  More about that next week.

Today, we hone in on the line:  a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.  How does a weary world rejoice?  What is it in your spirit that when you were rubbing your eyes in bed this morning wondering about going through the required routine of getting ready to get here today that pushed you over the edge when a large part of you would have preferred to roll over and try to sleep off the weariness… rest away the struggle, the confrontation that seems to be a leading thrust in your life?  If nothing else, I commend you for that alone – that you planted your feet on the floor and get to God’s house to worship today.  It does matter that we do this. It may not seem like it always but when you step back for some perspective, it can blow you away.  And I’ll tell you this: You can’t buy back consistent presence.  You miss practice, you don’t grow that day.  You miss a work out, you don’t get that endurance building session back.  You miss worship or a chance to serve or a small group commitment, your reservoir misses getting replenished that day.  Your hope doesn’t get refueled. Sometimes we don’t realize we missed it, or valued it that much, until the chaos hits and we’re ‘running on E.’ 

I caught a beautiful glimpse of this at our Ministry Leadership Team meeting this past week.  It is a time when twenty of our church leaders that you elected to serve in leadership get together and share how their piece of the mission is building us toward God’s goals for our church.  Any one of those stories by itself may seem simple enough, maybe even inconsequential in comparison to the greatest story ever told – the story of Jesus Christ… until… you lay them on top of one another and you start to see hope embodied – stories of a child who claimed the faith in a tangible way by choosing a partner for a school project that no one else would choose, why?  Because of something her spirit was gleaning consistently in Sunday school.  Talk of budget for donuts – what does that have to do with Jesus – but then… yes… someone new to the church signed up to pick up, cut up, and serve the donuts because “Everybody comes over for donuts and I knew I could meet new people and get connected that way.” A can donated on Souperbowl Sunday or a box of Kleenex donated for our partners in education may not seem like much until our Outreach leaders present a snapshot of our gifts to make our city better, stronger… to see people more dignified and loved as Christ calls us to love.  It amounts to $126,334 on top of weeks of hosting students during the Spring walk-out and housing neighbors without home for weeks at a time and serving meals at the Day Center and building Habitat Homes. Sunday School Classes and small groups will supply gifts to children in need this month and the list goes on and on.  At that very meeting this last week – there were tears as these stories were told… tears of transformation… tears falling as leaders realized their contribution to the whole mattered, as their spirits had been transformed in saying “Yes” to lead and serve. They were tears of hope that flowed because of one’s consistent sacrifice of self, of time, of showing up again and again because it all adds up to an amazing and transformative whole.

Never discount your contribution to this hope.  Hope is a compounding interest investment.  It is, perhaps, the cost and sacrifice of that investment that leads a weary world to rejoice.  We’re not in it alone. We’re a part of something greater than ourselves.  Working hard for something meaningful is always worth rejoicing in the end. And every bit contributes to the whole.  It is why President George H.W. Bush, even after commanding the world’s mightiest military, once said, “I got more of a kick out of being one of the founders of the YMCA in Midland, Texas back in 1952 than almost anything I’ve done.”[5]  It’s that consistent presence, never overlooking the calling and value of the moment’s contribution as part of the compounding hope of the world.

The quest for hope won’t always come easy or without injustice trying to hinder its progress. There was a school message board at a school my friend’s kid attends that shared this message:

Isn’t that the truth?  Jeremiah was living squarely in the middle of that truth.  He offers this word of prophecy that those pursuers of faith have been unable to ignore. “The days are surely coming,” he begins.  And that’s almost enough hope for me right there.  The days are surely coming.  Surely coming.  What days?  Jeremiah goes on to tell us… “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made.”  That promise, to the house of Israel and the house of Judah – coming through King David’s lineage, would be a righteous branch to be born, sprout, grow and bring about justice and right relationship to the world.  Surely that day will come… says THE LORD.  That’s enough for me to hang my faith on.  It’s not always clear or easy to do so… sometimes my windshield to the world is covered in dirt and my wiper fluid is empty.  But I believe in the long game of this life… of the long arc that bends toward justice… that ends in the eternal and beautiful, loving presence of God.  I believe surely that day will come… even when I can’t see how given the current circumstances of my life or that of the world. A branch will rise… new life will come out of the broken and burned down realities of our lives.

Maybe you’ve seen the images of new plants that finally spring up from forest floors that have been decimated by wildfires.  A case of the surelys – surely new life will rise again.  Or this image that was sent my way recently. 

“Fell years ago. Never gave up.” 

Surely the days are coming. Surely. Surely the days when the promises of God will come to pass; when justice will be executed and there will be righteousness in the land.  This does not refer to self-righteousness – that’s a problem of our perspective.  The righteousness the prophet speaks of is God’s righteousness. God’s righteousness is all about right relationship. To be in right relationship with the people around us, we search for the image of God in each and every person. That means such an image is within you right now… and uniquely so.  It also means it’s in the person sitting next to you, or a few rows back, or in the cubicle next to you at work, or your neighbor who sees the world differently than you do. In the black, brown and white, in rich, middle class and poor, in the young, on-the-verge of mid-life crisis, and old, in the immigrant and native-born.  The branch that sprouted into a Savior came for right-relationship with every one of those people which means… our hope is tied up in their hope; your hope overlays my hope and mine, yours.  And that overlay can surely, surely, bring about a day of right relationship with all people. This will not likely magically happen one day by sudden surprise but by your daily prayer, “Give me tomorrow,” and then in such a tomorrow, the sharing of your hope with somebody else and them sharing their hope with you.  In that overlap, hope takes a step in the world toward right relationship. Practice this enough and you start looking for these opportunities over mere survival.

A close friend shared vulnerably this week that she remembered a time, during what was a very difficult childhood, that she didn’t have any concept of hope. Zero. None. She didn’t go to church. There was no hope message being offered around her. The pain was always close to the surface which meant the mantra was ‘Simply survive.’  Hope had no roots in her soul.  But later, faith… later church… later someone who cared enough to hope alongside of her… now she sees the world through hope, not survival.  This can surely come for all of us, my friends.  Like a branch that springs up in the rubble, hope can be planted and spring forward.  A weary world can begin to rejoice when we’re telling hope stories.  Sharing in that meeting of church leaders this week, hope stories were being told by every member of that team and the stories were lifting the very mood of the room one by one.  They were bringing souls through tears to triumph.  I wrote a single note on the paper in front of me that night: “Tell your hope story first.”  There are plenty of stories being told every day, all around us, that are not hope stories. You want to change the environment of your home or your workplace or your relationships with your extended family and friends? … Start telling your hope story first. Game changer. I promise. And you’ve got one. I promise you that too.

Folk rock band Mumford and Sons[6] has a new album out.  One of the tracks is called 42.  Part of the lyric says, “Where do I turn to when there’s no choice to make? And how do I presume when there’s so much at stake? I was so sure of it all… but what if I need you in my darkest hour? And what if it turns out there is no other? If this is our last hope we would see a sign, oh, we would see a sign.”  If this is our last hope, we would see a sign. The prophet says that sprouting branch is hope of the surely day… the day when the promise is fulfilled… when the love of God consumes one and all… where right relationship overrides pre-occupying self-righteousness… where hope is the lead story of the world, not buried, back page news. Find it in you now and start telling it, living it, and learning the hopes of others.  That’s really the story of Advent.  And you’re here today to start the season on the right foot.  You choose how it will go moving forward.  Henri Nouwen [7] tells us that

“Advent does not lead to nervous tension stemming from expectation of something spectacular about to happen. On the contrary, it leads to a growing inner stillness and joy allowing me to realize that he for whom I am waiting has already arrived and speaks to me in the silence of my heart.  Just as a mother feels the child grow in her and is not surprised on the day of the birth, but joyfully receives the one she learned to know during her waiting, so Jesus can be born in my life slowly and steadily and be received as the one I learned to know while waiting.”

It is underway… Can you sense it? That which already was underway even if we didn’t claim it or recognize it.  But now we do. Tell your hope story first and tell if often. When we come to the big moment in a few weeks, we can, like those first sheepherders, lead the way forward so that even a weary world might begin to rejoice.  We can be part of that… and do you know what it will feel like?  The thrill of hope.

[1] This header is worded as “An Event for Everyone” in Eugene Peterson’s “The Message.”  The background to Jeremiah’s value as prophet on the following page was also utilized from this resource in Peterson’s intro to Jeremiah.
[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pni9ZDUzOIw
[3] The work of Higgins is noted in many places, including this story.  I utilized it as found in the animating resources section of the periodical resource, “Homiletics.”  Timothy Merrill, Senior Editor.
[4] https://www.beliefnet.com/entertainment/movies/the-nativity-story/the-amazing-story-of-o-holy-night.aspx.  This story is shared in many places.  This link is one that supported the background.
[5] As shared on Facebook in Barack Obama’s tribute to Bush’s passing.
[6] www.mumfordandsons.com
[7] Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Genesee Diary: Report from a Trappist Monastery (Crown, 2013).