Sermons

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Karl Barth, perhaps the most important protestant theologian of the Twentieth Century had a peculiar Easter practice, which a couple of my more Barthian friends have taken on for themselves. Every year he would have a cake made with just the word “Yes” in icing on top. An implicit “No” is, as I read one person say punnily, baked into this “Yes”, following Barth’s dialectical approach. God indeed says “No” to Sin and Death, but His final word is one of affirmation–the eternal “Yes” God pronounces to a redeemed humanity in light of Christ’s atoning death and Resurrection.

While this is a new Easter tradition among a certain theologically inclined set, it might even more appropriately be used on either Annunciation Daywhich occurs precisely nine months before Christmas (while Christmas is often referred to as the Feast of the Incarnation, it is more properly termed the “Feast of the Nativity” since the Incarnation proper can be reckoned to begin with the Blessed Virgin’s coming to conceive our Lord); or else it could be just as appropriate on the Fourth Sunday of Advent on which, this year, we liturgically compress nine months into a single day. That is because God’s final, perfect “Yes” to our fallen race begins with Mary’s “Yes” to Gabriel, her willingness to become the Mother of God.

Of course, the Blessed Virgin puts it in a more poetic way than the simple on word affirmation. “Here am I. Let it be unto me according to thy word.” But we might understand in this ornate phrasing the simple word “Yes.” It is this one “Yes” that changed the world.

“Yes” is the word by which God’s will is accomplished in this old world. It is by this word of apparent passivity that men and women are brought into the active work of God’s plan of salvation. It is a word that to utter implies that its speaker must realize his own fallibility and imperfection and God’s own infallibity and perfection. It is a word by which the Christian places her trust in God’s overwhelming providence rather than human ingenuity. It is, in short, the word by which the world is saved.

And it is one particular utterance of the word “Yes” by which a seminal and singular event in human history came to take place. St. Luke tells us that an angel appeared to Mary and said “behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name ‘Jesus’. He shall be great , and be called the Son of the Highest, and the Lord God, shall give unto him the throne of his father David: and he shall reign over the house of Jacob forever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.” Thanks be to Gos, Our Lady responded by saying “Yes.”

It was through her free choice that Our Lord was given the chance to live a life of submission himself, a life and death given wholly not to his own will, but that of the Father. This the writer of Hebrews knew well when he wrote that Jesus had said “See, I have come to do your will,” And then explains “[Christ] abolishes the first [covenant] in order to establish the second. And it is by God’s will that we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.” Jesus, too, said “Yes.”

So must we all respond to the call of God. Just so must we—like Mary and like her Son—say “Yes”to God. So must we pray “thy will be done” and mean it. So must we put aside our pride and pettiness that we, like Mary, may say “he that is mighty hath magnified me; and holy is his name.” It is only through humble submission, by saying “let it be, O God”, that we come to greatness and to glory. We cannot magnify ourselves, we can only fool ourselves into thinking we have done. God, however, has promised to “exalt the humble and meek.”

And so, as we prepare once again to celebrate the birth of the Christ child this evening, let us go even unto Bethlehem with a spirit of humility and contrition. Let us like Mary sing the wonders that were done, knowing that salvation is not of our own making, is not wrought by the strength of our own will, but by the will of Him to whom we bow and obey. For we know that God’s power is made most perfect in weakness, and his glory revealed through the humility.

And let us pray.

O Divine redeemer Jesus Christ, prostrate before thy crib, we believe that thou art the God of infinite majesty, even though we see thee there as a helpless babe. Humbly we adore and thank thee for having so humbled thyself for our salvation as to will to be born in a stable. Would that we could show thee that tenderness which thy Virgin Mother had toward thee, and love thee as she loved thee. Would that we could praise thee with the joy of the angels,; that we could kneel before thee with the faith of Saint Joseph; the simplicity of the shepherds. Uniting ourselves with these first worshippers at the crib, we offer thee the homage of our hearts, and we beg that thou wouldest be born spiritually in our souls. And, O Holy Mary, as we here adore thy Divine Son, pray for all little children and for those not yet born, that they may be protected from all harm and danger, and that they may grow in grace and in favour with God and man. All these things we pray in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Garrison Keillor once said something like “in my family of stern, Midwestern Lutherans one was always warned not to act too happy. To do so would be to show off.” I wonder if it’s because of the Puritan history of our culture, but it’s always struck me how embarrassed we can sometimes be about having honest-to-God fun. I doubt we’re just too polite to show off how happy we are. Perhaps it really is that Puritan background which has embedded in our collective subconscious the fool idea that pure, unadulterated happiness has no utility.

Or perhaps it’s because we are an increasingly cynical people. We can’t just enjoy ourselves. Sure, we engage in leisure, but I think there’s a distinct difference between “leisure” and “fun”. For most of us, leisure is always either at the boundary of some form of hedonism or some puritanical, utilitarian ideal. We might sit in front of the television for hours not because we’re having fun, but through some joyless, twisted obligation, like the addict reaching for his next fix. We might, on the other hand, engage in some program of self-improvement (exercising or reading obscure old-Icelandic literature or something), but do it just as joylessly as the couch potato. Self-improvement has its place and even occasional self-indulgence has its place, but where do we really find happiness?

On this Gaudete Sunday, this respite in the midst of the penitential season of Advent, we are reminded that joy is neither the consequence of leisure to be pursued nor a useless extravagance to be avoided. We are reminded that true happiness is a state of being not dependent on circumstance but on a realization- namely the realization of God’s Grace.

Remember this morning’s reading from the prophet Isaiah. The oppressed are given Good News, those who mourn are comforted, prisoners are promised release. But recognize the nature of God’s action, here. It is promised, not yet delivered. The words of Isaiah suggest that God’s bestowal of Grace is a fait accompli, but it’s not yet fully manifest. These words are not merely descriptive. They are properly prophetic. It is not the present reality which anoints us with the “oil of gladness”, which places upon us the “mantle of praise” to use Isaiah’s evocative symbolism; it is the hope of God’s final victory over the powers of sin and death. It is the promise of freedom, the promise of health, the promise of justice which make us glad.

But we ought not be too concrete in our understanding of God’s timeline. While freedom and health and justice are (in their most tangible forms) future realities, they are, in another sense, present realities for the Christian. While there are still prisoners in the literal sense, there is before them an opportunity to taste a much greater freedom- namely, the freedom of the soul from sin. While illness still strikes us and our loved ones in very real and painful ways, there is a greater health—a hale and hearty soul—which we are given when we let Christ in. While injustice and oppression and war tear our world apart, the peace of God can yet be found in something as simple as the love between two people.

There is a great deal to be happy about, and the joy we have in Christ’s promises and in God’s very real presence with us can be our greatest asset with regard to mission. What might it look like to this cynical world in which we live if we were really, genuinely happy because we are Christians? Well, I think we’d have a lot more Christians. Conversely, what does it look like when a Christian is a rigid, cynical sad-sack? I think that sends the message that there isn’t a whole lot to commend our faith. “Lord save us,” prayed St. Teresa of Avilla, “from sour-faced saints.”

Now, I’m fully aware that simply saying “be happy” doesn’t cut it. Even worse would be saying “act happy”. Our joy has to be genuine if it’s to be any good in terms of evangelization. I guess, the best thing to remember is that we have very good reason to rejoice. If we dwell not on the changes and chances of this life but on the promises of Christ, we can’t be lugubrious stink-in-the-muds for long. When we shift our focus away from our selves to Him, when we stop being self-centered and start being Christ-centered, when we recognize the child in the manger in the midst of the filthy barn and the Savior in our hearts in the midst of this sin-sick old world we can finally, truly be happy; and that sort of happiness is contagious.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

I’ve been talking a lot in sermons recently about our expectations regarding Christ’s second coming, and that since the biblical witness gives us not an apocalyptic horror story but a message of hope, that Christ’s return will be a good thing. When we pray “thy Kingdom come,” it’s because we have reasons to want that to happen. No doubt the first generations of Christians recognized this, which is why Christ’s return wasn’t coming soon enough for their liking. This is the context of this morning’s Epiustle.

It is a shame that we so rarely hear from the Second Epistle General of St. Peter. Indeed, after consulting the lectionary I discovered it only appears on two Sundays in our entire three year cycle of readings. So I wanted to focus on our that this morning. Don’t worry; we’ll get more John the Baptist next week.

Like Paul’s First Epistle to the Thessalonians, Peter’s Second Epistle was written in a period of delayed gratification with regard to the Second Coming of Christ. In fact this letter was written at least a decade after Paul’s; Peter actually references Paul’s epistles explicitly in the verses which follow this morning’s lesson, calling them “Scripture,” so not a little time has passed. That being the case, we can imagine the anxiety of Peter’s audience to be even more acute. Why hasn’t Christ returned? Has he forgotten us? Was the second-coming merely a fond idea, vainly invented?

In the Year of our Lord 2023, I admit I feel a bit more kinship with Peter’s audience than I would have done years ago. Perhaps I am not alone. With all the sad and violent things happening in our world today, I’ve found myself saying, without any sense of irony, “why won’t Jesus just come back and fix it already!?” I went to two ordinations this weekend, and at one of them the bishop, in her sermon, highlighted this theme of Advent expectation, and amusingly said more or less the same thing “won’t Jesus come back” but said it would be nice if he delayed just a few minutes so we could ordain a colleague first.

Peter, such a great pastor, gives us a compelling answer to this seemingly unfulfilled hope. God’s time is not ours, and any delay is surely so that the Good News can spread farther abroad and more can be saved. Our part is to persevere in godliness and “holy conversation,” to be patient and to persevere in living that simple call to prayer and study and works of charity.

“Every year,” the great Fleming Rutledge has said “Advent begins in the dark.”The world indeed seems dark, but we are called to watch and pray until the glory of the Lord is to be revealed, until all flesh shall see it together.

My prayer is that at the last we will be found to have been a people who did just that, who kept hope alive in the darkness, knowing that the great and terrible day of the Lord would come when we least expect it, like a thief in the night, and then we should find that, our consciences being made pure, the Lord has made in us a mansion made ready even for himself.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.