Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to fetch her poor dog a bone.
But when she got there, the cupboard was bare. And so her poor doggie had none.


Pastor Tom went to his Pantry to write another blog for his followers
But as 2009 went away, he found there was nothing more to say
and so the people had none. (except for his sermons on www.messiahnh.org)

Well the pantry is bare no more.

I have a new focus for Pastor's Pantry that will interest you, I hope. It's faith based, but will include a bunch of topics from everyday life. It won't always be earth shattering or particularly profound, but I hope you will see yourself in the posts, and glean something from most of them.

I'll introduce the new focus tomorrow, Feb. 9th

starting 2.8.2011, the Pantry returns

starting 2.8.2011, the Pantry returns

Walking With God

Epiphany 4 A  1/30/11

Micah 6:1-8, 1Cor 1:26-31, Matt 5:1-12

Grace and peace to you from God, our father, and from God’s son and our brother, Jesus.

It’s always good to start a sermon with a quote, or so I’m told. I don’t do that routinely, but once in a while a pearl of wisdom drops into my week, and I can’t help but think it was meant to be in there. This was such a week. In fact it was a veritable  confluence of ideas and occurrences, all trickling together to form a watery wellspring of  worthwhile, yet whimsical, wisdom.

This past week, Lisa and I attended Camp Calumet’s Annual Rostered Leaders (and their spouses) Retreat. In case you don’t know what a rostered leader is, first off—don’t be embarrassed—my computer’s spellcheck doesn’t recognize it either—wanted to change it to “Roistered Leaders”—which, considering the definition of roister (to behave in a rowdy manner), is quite ironic. A rostered leader is someone on the Synod’s roster of leaders—either a pastor, AiM, deaconess, or someone called to special ministry.

Anyway…

Lisa and I were there at Calumet this past week, and most of the educational sessions took place in a space in the Conference Center known as the Micah Room. And the reason for its name is that there is a passage from that biblical book painted on the wall. “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” Micah 6:8. So I had that verse staring me in the face all retreat-long.

The verse which was, coincidentally, part of the lectionary for this Sunday, along with verses 1-7. So, sitting there in the Micah Room at Calumet, I was thinking about today’s sermon and what that particular passage means for us. And the other readings for the week too. All while learning about the use of Social Media in the church, and Pluralism in America and its effect on mainline denominations. Quite a diverse stream of information and opinion feeding the old sermon mill this week!

What I zeroed in on almost right away was the notion of “walking humbly with our God.” It had continuity with last week’s sermon about Jesus calling the first disciples. It revealed something about God, which is in good keeping with the Epiphany season. And it begins to point the way to a right understanding of the Lenten disciplines of works of love, fasting, repentance and prayer.

Then, serendipitously, I came upon the quote. It was from an e-book. That’s an electronic book—one that can be downloaded from the store to your computer or in my case, my e-reader, usually for a price below that of the printed copy. Some books are even offered free—just to get you in the mood for buying books this way. Of course those are the ones I go for. The book I got for free was One Hundred Quotes to Make You Think. Which sounded particularly intellectual and therefore useful both for my own edification and for public consumption in newsletters, bulletins and sermons.

It turned out to be a “self esteem building” type of book, with quotes like “Success comes in a can, failure in a can’t.” And “volunteers built the ark, professionals built the Titanic.” In that vein. Some were syrupy, some cliché, and not just a few somewhat humorous. I was keyed in on “walking with God,” remember, so this little gem about halfway through the list caught my attention. I would like to open the sermon with it. (Yes, all that’s been said before this was just warm-up. The sermon starts now.)

“Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes.

Then when you do criticize them, you’re a mile away from them…

and you’ve got their shoes!”

This is a bad example of “walking humbly with your God.” Although it starts out well enough. With that old adage that proscribes walking in another shoes before judging them—meaning to take into consideration their life situation and background both of which might be reason enough for the judged behavior. That part’s good, but part two reveals our true human nature—when the coast is clear, backs are turned, and we can’t be touched in return—then we judge anyway. Rather that a humbling of oneself, this is a building up of ourselves at another’s expense.

But, sometimes, we are taught positive things through their negation. For example you can either teach your child proper poolside locomotion by saying, “Please walk.” Or, you can scream, “Don’t run!” Same lesson presented positively and by negation.

Our little quote relates to today’s lessons by negation. It tells us, with humor, how not to walk humbly. So, if we examine the opposites, then we might just get more than a chuckle from this pearl in the rough.

But first, what does “walking humbly with your God” mean in the context of this biblical passage, and the bible as a whole? The imagined scene is a courtroom drama,  God vs the People of Israel, and the prosecutor is introducing his one and only witness—God. God takes the stand and lays it out for his chosen nation:

“What’s up with you people? I rescued you from slavery in Egypt. That was me! I provided good and faithful leaders for you. Not to mention all the other times I saved your butts and sent you advocates to get you back on track. Why? Just so you’d know I was your God.”

The defense, smelling a conviction, tries to plea bargain:

“What can we do to make this go away, huh? Burnt offerings, huh? What would do it for you, God? A hundred  rams—a thousand—ten thousand? You got it! And I’ll throw in ten thousand barrels of  oil—how bout it? And not the cheap store brand—only the best. Whaat, no? What do I have to do—give you my firstborn? Forgetaboutit.”

The prosecutor answers. God has told them over and over how they could make things right. He gives them an offer they shouldn’t refuse:

“He told you, you little pipsqueak. Here’s what’s good. Here’s the favor you can do for him. Do what is right. Be compassionate. And let God lead you on your journey together.”

And truth be told, God has always been on the side of justice (though his sense of justice and ours often clash). God has always encouraged his people to act justly according to his guidance. All the prophets spoke of that.

God has always been all about the kindness. In a dog eat dog world, being kind is almost counter-cultural. But God calls us not only to do it grudgingly, but to love doing it. The psalms are big on that.

And as for walking with him, the bible consistently tells of God’s radical inclusivity. God includes us, despite our not walking with him, our trying to take the lead or cut our own path. God includes us despite our not walking humbly. Instead we boast of our status, hold in contempt those who do not walk with our God, and congratulate ourselves the fine and gracious God we have created to absolve us of all our sins AND all our repentance.

Walking humbly with our God is the opposite of stealing someone’s Ug’s and dissing them from afar. It’s the opposite of being critical. It’s the opposite even of  walking in their shoes. Walking humbly with our God is totally opposite for us, even more opposite than it was for those in Micah’s time. Because of one big difference.

Because God has walked humbly with us…in Jesus. God humbled himself and revealed his love for us through kindness to lepers and tax collectors and harlots and the sick and lame and blind and deaf and those possessed by evil and those shunned by society. God humbly walked among us to do justice by upsetting the money changers tables in the temple, by treating women as equals in a patriarchal society, by filling the hungry and warning the full that their behavior risks their entrance into the kingdom of God. God walked humbly with us in Jesus.

And now God wants you to do justice his way and love kindness his way—both of which Jesus illustrates in the Beatitudes. Radical inclusion! God doesn’t want stuff. Not half baked burnt offerings, not promises that can be broken, and certainly not our progeny first last or in between. What God wants is foolishness to those who don’t believe. Because God wants the opposite of what we crave. What God wants is for us to walk for a mile in Jesus’ shoes—to pull them on and feel how big they are to fill, to see how they’re worn out from trudging all about after those who need him, to walk among the downtrodden and dispossessed, to be humble not arrogant, humble not holier than thou, humble not judgmental or uncaring. To walk humbly with God.

Humble. Nothing is more humble than an infant. Like Gardiner who will be baptized this morning. Totally dependant. Loving unconditionally. And yet, an infant is not aware of others’ needs. He is instinctually selfish. And yet  he starts on a journey today, a journey with God. No wonder Jesus said if we were to enter the kingdom of heaven it would be as a child. And we who will affirm our baptisms this morning would do well to use Gardiner as a role model for humble walking with God.

It’s a journey of new birth, acting radically inclusive, learning and growing, remembering the cross on your head and the body and blood in your belly. It’s a lifelong journey—but it begins and is refreshed every day by baptism. DO justice, LOVE kindness. Walk humbly, like Jesus Amen

Cross my heart

Baptism of Our Lord A 2011

Matthew 3

Grace and peace to you from God the Father, God the son, and God the Holy Spirit.

Water is good for lots of things. A cool sip of it hits the spot on a warm day, and a hot cup of it makes a nice spot of tea on a cool day. We wash our hands, our clothes, our cars, with water. We swim in it, surf on it, soak and shower in it. Water is known as the universal solvent. Given enough time, it will dissolve just about anything. The earth’s surface is over 70% water—most of it locked away in the polar icecaps. The average male human being is over 60% water, the average female, a little less—55% (which sheds no light on why women take more potty breaks on long car trips!)

Water is indeed good for lots of things. It’s good for cooking things in. It’s good for ice cubes to go in a drink…of water. It’s excellent for making mud pies. You know I think it would be safe to say that water is our most important natural resource. Can’t make a water balloon without water!

But I’m not here to talk about water this morning. I’m here to talk about baptism. Oh. Water’s good for baptism too. In fact, it would be hard to baptize someone without water. Not impossible. But water’s right up there in needed-for-baptism-ness. Doesn’t have to be special water. Not from a special place, like the Jordan River or Lake Winnipesaukee. Water from any old place will do. Doesn’t have to be Perrier—no bubbles necessary. A sprinkle of water is plenty for a baptism. But the more the merrier (same as with water balloons!). Yeah, I guess you can’t talk about baptism without talking about water.

However, if you focus too much on the water, let me tell you—you’re going to miss the obvious thing about baptism. And to miss that—well, it would be sad. Very sad. And I must admit, missing the obvious is a common thing that’s easy to do. Lots of folks do it. Even biblical scholars. At least they appear to—I don’t want to get any of those people mad at me!

But I look at the gospel for today, and I think back on all that I read and discussed with colleagues about that gospel, and that’s what hits me—these folks are good at asking questions of the text—so good that they miss the obvious one. Again, that’s an easy thing to do—we do it in lots of situations.

Like at a wedding. We ask each other, “How much do you think that dress cost?” “Is that the bride’s sister who just passed out?” And of course we focus right in on this question—“Is there anyone here who objects to these two being wed?” When, truly the heart of the matter is: what God has joined together, let no one put asunder. We tend to look at the pickayune details, and thereby miss the big picture.

Today’s gospel is problematic for scholars. Because it recounts a story about Jesus’ baptism by John. Which, when you think about it, is kinda subservient to John, not to mention a symbol of repentance from sin. Why does Jesus submit to baptism? He had no sin. John is an underling, a sidekick, a third wheel—very popular, however. And that begs the question—more popular than Jesus? Tough questions, difficult observations. And so the hairsplitting begins. And before you know it, there’s so much written and preached and taught and doctrine-ized, that the big picture can’t be seen through the trees (to mix a metaphor). Instead we focus on how Jesus came to John, and the interpretation of “fulfill all righteousness,” and what it means that the heavens opened up, and why the Spirit was like a dove, and how Jesus had no sin, and how his baptism was a sign of his solidarity with us.

All those questions all those theories. It’s easy to be too “immersed” in them. So  much that we miss the point. Which is?

Baptism is more than water, and it doesn’t depend upon who’s doing it, or who’s receiving it. Baptism is something that God does. God does it all. God awakens the faith through the power of the holy spirit and the Word. God offers kinship and forgiveness freely. God even gives us the ability to take those gifts and say thank you. Without God baptism would be nothing more than bobbin for apples—without the apples. God is the sole agent in baptism. God does it.

Why? Because we too are his beloved children. We too, please almighty god, ruler of the universe. We too are brought into the body of Christ, the church, dying to sin and rising again to a new life. It’s like being born for a second time.

How come? Because God loves you. BAM! That’s it. That’s what’s behind this little baptism story. Baptism is how God shows love and belonging. That’s all you need to know about baptism.

Well maybe one more thing. The water—it’s just water without the word of God. God’s word is a promise—a solemn promise that can’t be broken. Kind a like when you were a kid and you said “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” Kinda—except that God’s promise is sure. Cross God’s heart. AMEN

Word

Christmas 2 A  01/02/11

John prolog

Written or spoken, language is a powerful thing. And language in essence is words. Individual words used to name and describe. Words strung together to express ideas and convey thoughts. Words can be used for the good, and they can used in service to evil. They can comfort, compliment, or cajole, and they can criticize, convict, or curse.

Words are slippery things though. Often times, a word has more than one meaning. Take for example this written word: BEAR. It could mean “a large furry carnivorous animal,” and it could also mean : to head in a particular direction.” Using the wrong definition could bring unexpected results. Like the redneck who went hunting, saw a sign on the side of the road that said “BEAR LEFT” and so he went home. Often times words can have multiple meanings.

But every time, words—alone or in sentences—are open to multiple interpretations. Once a word is out there, it is no longer your own. It belongs to anyone who hears or reads it. If I were to say, “Jesus is just alright with me,” some of you would probably hear it as “Jesus is, eh, pretty good—but not stellar in my estimation.” But others might take it to mean, “Jesus is alllriiight, cool, number one with me!” And the rest of you are probably singing to yourselves Jesus is just alright with me. The same words, different translation. Which could cause all kinds of problems.

That set aside, the spoken and written word is perhaps the greatest human achievement ever. Superior to fire, more useful than the wheel or fulcrum, better than even sliced bread, the word made progress feasible by enabling people to live and work together. It also made spirituality possible, by creating the link between humanity and God. Without language we’d be lost, we’d be lonely, we’d be incapable of expressing our emotions coherently. Without words—we’d all be mimes. And you gotta know that would be annoying

Words are powerful things. Not only for us, but for God as well. When God decided to create some kind of other-than-God things, it was through the spoken word that God did that. And God said, “Let there be…light, the heavens and earth and all in, on and under earth—including humans.” God spoke, and it was so, and it was good.

But not all was good. Eve encounters a snake-like creature who speaks to her, using words to entice her to eat of the fruit of the tree which God had forbidden them to eat. The serpent’s spoken lie soon infects the creation. Eve talks Adam into listening to the snake instead of God. And soon Adam is crafting words for a “pass the buck” excuse to God that places the blame entirely upon Eve.

And on it went—through Cain’s denying his brother’s death, to Abraham, who—not once but twice—lied to a queen-hungry King telling him that Sarah was his sister, not wife; to Jacob who talked his father into blessing him rather than his brother, to King David’s command that killed Uriah, husband of the coveted Bathsheba, all the way to today.

So, sin enters the world through words, too. Not necessarily the words themselves—but through the reception of the words. Words. Words are powerful, and potentially dangerous. At least they are so in our hands, and mouths for that matter. They can lift up, they can tear down.

An article in US News and Report described a study by sociologists on the causes of marital break-ups. Couples’ interactions in various normally occurring situations were cataloged over a period of several years. At the end of that period, couples that split up were compared to those that stayed together. What researchers found was that it wasn’t the actual events that contributed most to the break-ups—many of the grounds for splitting were issues that the couples had successfully worked through earlier in the relationship. What was the over-riding factor. The study showed that the couples that eventually split exhibited an increasing amount of hurtful language in their disagreements. Put downs, criticisms, and even personal affronts grew to point where they outweighed the use of edifying language, causing irreparable damage.

Words can be dangerous. They have caused wars. Words have ended relationships. They’ve oppressed and they’ve destroyed the good. Fortunately for us, God’s word does not return to him empty, but achieves what it was sent forth to do. In the beginning when God said, “Let there be light,” there was light. The book of genesis attests to that. The book of John does as well, introducing us to the Word, who was and is God, who did and does create, who did and will again take on flesh and enter the creation to once again bring light to a world in darkness, to reverse the downward spiral of sin, and to remove the word death from our vocabulary.

The Word, of course, is Jesus. And he brings the good word that those who turn to him will be reconciled to God—the split between them is mended forever! And the beautiful thing is—and I know it’s a beautiful thing because Martin Luther wrote some words down that showed the beauty of it—the beautiful thing is that you don’t come to Jesus and accept him as Lord by any words you speak or write down. The Word comes to you—first in the Spirit’s call (through the words of the gospel), then in baptism, in which you receive the word of God in the water and the promise. And then you receive the Word each and every Sunday in the readings, in the sermon, and physically in the bread and wine—the Word of God made visible.

And that Word changes our words. We say “me” less often. We say “love” more often. We say “I forgive you,” seventy-seven times if need be. We say “peace,” and then we back it up by saying, “share.” We say, “Thanks be to God,” for being made new again in Jesus. We say, “Here I am Lord, use me.” (Especially when you’re asked to serve on council.) We say “Our Father…,” and “In Jesus’ name we pray.” Before our words centered on what profited us. Now our words focus in on the love of God, and the freedom we gain from words like “blessed, brother and sister, made worthy, saved from meaninglessness, child of God, take eat, take drink—this is Christ’s body and blood, given and shed for you!”

Words. Beautiful words. Words that perhaps you’d like to share with each other, or with someone else. In fact, I’m going to give you a suggestion. Call it “Assignment Messiah.” You are, as one made new by the Word of God (Jesus), to use your new vocabulary in some planned way this week.

Your words don’t have to be lengthy. Ernest Hemmingway once wrote a story with only six words. “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” It is considered one of his more poignant works.

There are 800,000 words in the English language—300,000 of these are technical terms. The average person knows 10,000 words and uses 5,000 in everyday speech.  I’m going to ask you to use just three over the next week. (Well, not just three words total—the three words are to be used in addition to your everyday conversations and etc.) Here they are: CONFESS. FORGIVE. BELIEVE.

Maybe you’ll say one of them to someone you haven’t spoken with in a long time. Maybe you’ll write one in an email, or a card. Maybe you’ll whisper one in God’s ear during prayer. Whatever. Take this seriously, put thought into it, and let the Word of  God be your guide in what you say. The perhaps we’ll take time next week to hear from some of you about how using these words intentionally brought light to darkness, created new understanding, or testified to the Word of God, the word made flesh—Jesus Christ.

May God bless the words you use this week. Amen

A Random Act of Incarnation?

Christmas Eve 2010

Grace and peace be to you this blessed night, from God your father in heaven, and from the child of Bethlehem, the Prince of Peace, the savior of humankind, Jesus Christ, our Lord and our God.

Ever hear of those flash mobs? Someone emails an invitation to gather at a certain place and time for a whacky activity. Dancing Michael Jackson’s Thriller in a public park, wearing vegetable costumes in the supermarket, reciting a poem at the DMV—stuff like that. If you just happen to be there as a bystander, it’s pretty amazing how people just seem to randomly appear, sing or dance or whatever—then magically melt back into the crowd.

Flash mobs were invented by young people, but, as always, us hip and groovy baby boomers have usurped them for our own ends and means. (Like we did with the Facebook) A group of such interlopers put together what they call “Random Acts of Culture,” a take off on the random acts of kindness shtick.

Anyway, this group, a Philadelphia choral society, arranged to suddenly begin singing the Hallelujah chorus along with the one of the world’s greatest pipe organs, which just happens to be in Macy’s. It’s amazing to see shoppers stop, listen, and even join in. It makes for a stirring video. Gave me chills and got me right in the Christmas spirit.

11:00 PM    We had a pageant at the five o’clock service. Not your usual pageant with speaking parts and solos and such. This was a “walk on” pageant—the players donned costumes and went on stage immediately, forming a living nativity scene.

5:00 PM    That was certainly a random act of culture! If by random you mean completely unrehearsed, a veritable smorgasbord of possible mistakes and out and out disasters—if by random you mean taking a risk and winging it—then, yeah it was random. We didn’t know going in if every child might choose to be a sheep, leaving us with no Mary and Joseph. We couldn’t predict that angels numbers three and five might not get along and start a fistfight in the skies over Bethlehem. We had no idea even how many kids might participate! So, if by random you mean you mean “flying by the seat of your pants,” then it would appear that this was a random act of culture.

But it was less random than you think. There was more to it than met the eye. Countless emails discussing the finer points of decorating with paper angels and times for singing. The annual foray into the cold attic to retrieve the costumes. Sorting out the costumes that were stuffed back into the boxes in a hurry last Christmas. Corralling kids and guiding them from prospective sheep to potential Joseph. Adapting the gospel reading to make it more narrative. Envisioning the movement of the characters in response to the flow of the plot. Planning for crowd control so that a large group of youngsters stays put once they hit their mark. Stuffing the costumes back in the boxes for next year. That doesn’t seem random, does it? That’s because it’s not random, but it is random—at the same time.

So, too, with the birth of Jesus Christ. It seems like a random act of incarnation. God sends out a-mail (angel-mail messages) to Mary and Joseph and the shepherds—the place – O Little Town of Bethlehem, the time – O Holy Night, the event – the Godhead now in flesh appearing. Be there, or be square.

That’s random. What if? What if Mary had freaked out and run away? What if Joseph attributed his dream to a bad bowl of gruel too close to bedtime. What if opposition to Caesar Augustus’ plan resulted in a tax cut, instead? What if Joseph refused to stop for directions and they never made it to Bethlehem  What if the shepherds went to the Holiday Inn stable instead of the Motel Six’s? And – perish the thought – what if Mary named the baby Myron, or 50 sheckel, or J-diddy? What if?

If it wasn’t just a random act of incarnation then, “Why?” Why pick a backward backwater town, in an era of low population and limited mass communication. Why take on the flesh of a baby—wouldn’t it have been better to be someone strong like Lou Ferrigno, or smart like Stephen Hawking, or handsome like Johnny Depp—or all three like Pastor Tom? Why risk having Mary drop God on his head, or the child catching any one of several diseases that plagued the world then. Why?

The incarnation’s randomness seems to indicate that God was playing fast and loose with our salvation. That the whole plan was a house of cards waiting for a stiff breeze or shaky hand to force it to totally collapse it in on itself. That’s true—from our point of view. For us, the risk factor is too great.

But God’s way of doing things is alien to ours. What seems unacceptably risky to us, is effective for God. And what looks like a hastily thrown together, mish-mash of wild and crazy ideas is, in actuality, part of a destiny that we can only see in a mirror darkly as St. Paul so aptly put it. It may not fully make sense this side of the end of the ages, and it may appear like there is no plan, or that randomness prevails. But, remember—God creates ex nihlo, out of nothing, and God brings order out of chaos. What we experience as a mess, for God is nothing but raw materials!

Wow. You know what that means? It means the random character of our lives are not offensive or off-putting to God. Jesus birth shouts that loudly – Stuff happens, but that’s just another day for God. God became incarnate in human form, with all its accompanying trials and tribulations that strike unexpectedly. But God doesn’t shy away from his creation—God embraces us and sanctifies our creature-liness. God came to us in Jesus.  And in Jesus God comes to us in the randomness of our lives and says, “Peace, be still. My ways are not your ways. But behold—I am making all things new!”

So, on this random night, we celebrate the exactness, and steadfastness, and boldness of a God who comes to us then and now in all the uncertainty of life. Making it whole, making it sure. Making us new. And that’s why we say, “Merry Christmas.” AMEN

Oh, by the way—flash mob here at Messiah Sunday morning at 10:30. We’re all going to stand up during the sermon and do the Hokey Pokey. Should be fun—don’t miss it!

Hope

Advent is hope. (I know, because it says so on that big sign down in front of Messiah House.) Advent is hope—at least for the first week, anyway.

But what do we mean by that? What do we mean when we say “Advent is hope”? Is hope a noun? Or a verb? For that matter what is hope? Anyone care to give a one word definition?

Is hope expectation? Hmm? Well, when I flip a light switch, I have an expectation that the lights will come on. And for the most part, they do. Unless there’s an ice storm, or three daughters using hairdryers all on the same circuit. But even so—we don’t think to ourselves, “I hope the lights come on when I flip this switch. So hope and expectation are two separate things.

Okay then, is hope desire? I hope that Lisa makes a cheesecake for my final dessert of the month. That’s closer to the idea. But a passionate desire for something is not hope—it’s want. Longing.

What about faith, then? Are faith and hope equivalent? We get a little clue from this bible passage—“Faith is being sure of what we hope for.” (It’s in there – 1st Corinthalonians or something!) Faith is ardent belief, hope is somewhat different. Hope is somehow unsure. There seems to be an element of “maybe yes and maybe no’ to hope. You don’t hope for the stars to shine at night—they will. However you may hope that the skies be clear so you can see them. Maybe yes, maybe no.

Perhaps if we thought about hope as it relates specifically to Advent. Most of us think of Advent as a prelude to Christmas. So the hope we feel might be compared to the anticipation of a soon-to-be-born child. We hope the baby is born healthy. Which is almost like a prayer. And we have high hopes for the newborn. Her whole life streams out from this point, all is potential.

There’s also that Second Coming thing during Advent too. When the early church translated the scriptures into Latin from the Greek, the word they used to translate parousia, or end times, was indeed adventus. So Advent is not mainly about the coming of a child. It’s about the coming of the Son of Man on the clouds, to judge the quick and the dead, and to transform and recreate both heaven and earth. Hope in this situation includes some shaking in your boots as you hope that you won’t be cast off into a lake of fire, pit of doom, or some equally gruesome existence. We hope that the one we have placed our trust in, Jesus, will indeed come through for us.

That’s really hoping against hope. Like Noah, like Abraham and Sarah, like Ruth and Job, like Peter and Paul, like Dorcus and Lydia, like all those psalmists! If, in spite of every fiber of your being screaming, “Impossible. Ill-conceived! Incomprehensible,” in direct contradiction with your reason and logic, and going against everything you know to the contrary—you still can imagine that hoped-for outcome, and still hold fast to its possibility—then you are hoping against hope.
And we hope against hope at Advent. We make ourselves ready for Christ’s coming. Though there’s a little part of us that’s unsure if that’s possible. We celebrate the gift of the savior, Jesus, child of Bethlehem. Though somewhere deep inside we doubt that the gift is truly for us. That tension, the tension between belief and doubt, worthiness and unworthiness, possibility and dead end, is hope.

Hope is a tug of war. Except the object is not to pull the opposing team into the mud. It’s to keep each side dry and clean. We need the yes and the no the faith and the doubt in order to hope. Take away either team and you don’t have hope—you just got fear or vanity. A bunch of people holding a rope for no good reason.

Advent is hope. We hope in God’s grace. But rightly speaking, we are given hope at Advent. We are shown the vision of a new world, streaming out from the wrinkly little arms of the incarnate God—Jesus—who is the origin of that re-creation. We are made new ourselves—a down payment on the resurrected life we have been promised that we will share with Jesus. Someday.

Until then, we hope in the hope. The hope that is advent.

What do you hope for this advent season?

Hope

Advent is hope. (I know, because it says so on that big sign down in front of Messiah House.) Advent is hope—at least for the first week, anyway.

But what do we mean by that? What do we mean when we say “Advent is hope”? Is hope a noun? Or a verb? For that matter what is hope? Anyone care to give a one word definition?

Is hope expectation? Hmm? Well, when I flip a light switch, I have an expectation that the lights will come on. And for the most part, they do. Unless there’s an ice storm, or three daughters using hairdryers all on the same circuit. But even so—we don’t think to ourselves, “I hope the lights come on when I flip this switch. So hope and expectation are two separate things.

Okay then, is hope desire? I hope that Lisa makes a cheesecake for my final dessert of the month. That’s closer to the idea. But a passionate desire for something is not hope—it’s want. Longing.

What about faith, then? Are faith and hope equivalent? We get a little clue from this bible passage—“Faith is being sure of what we hope for.” (It’s in there – 1st Corinthalonians or something!) Faith is ardent belief, hope is somewhat different. Hope is somehow unsure. There seems to be an element of “maybe yes and maybe no’ to hope. You don’t hope for the stars to shine at night—they will. However you may hope that the skies be clear so you can see them. Maybe yes, maybe no.

Perhaps if we thought about hope as it relates specifically to Advent. Most of us think of Advent as a prelude to Christmas. So the hope we feel might be compared to the anticipation of a soon-to-be-born child. We hope the baby is born healthy. Which is almost like a prayer. And we have high hopes for the newborn. Her whole life streams out from this point, all is potential.

There’s also that Second Coming thing during Advent too. When the early church translated the scriptures into Latin from the Greek, the word they used to translate parousia, or end times, was indeed adventus. So Advent is not mainly about the coming of a child. It’s about the coming of the Son of Man on the clouds, to judge the quick and the dead, and to transform and recreate both heaven and earth. Hope in this situation includes some shaking in your boots as you hope that you won’t be cast off into a lake of fire, pit of doom, or some equally gruesome existence. We hope that the one we have placed our trust in, Jesus, will indeed come through for us.

That’s really hoping against hope. Like Noah, like Abraham and Sarah, like Ruth and Job, like Peter and Paul, like Dorcus and Lydia, like all those psalmists! If, in spite of every fiber of your being screaming, “Impossible. Ill-conceived! Incomprehensible,” in direct contradiction with your reason and logic, and going against everything you know to the contrary—you still can imagine that hoped-for outcome, and still hold fast to its possibility—then you are hoping against hope.
And we hope against hope at Advent. We make ourselves ready for Christ’s coming. Though there’s a little part of us that’s unsure if that’s possible. We celebrate the gift of the savior, Jesus, child of Bethlehem. Though somewhere deep inside we doubt that the gift is truly for us. That tension, the tension between belief and doubt, worthiness and unworthiness, possibility and dead end, is hope.

Hope is a tug of war. Except the object is not to pull the opposing team into the mud. It’s to keep each side dry and clean. We need the yes and the no the faith and the doubt in order to hope. Take away either team and you don’t have hope—you just got fear or vanity. A bunch of people holding a rope for no good reason.

Advent is hope. We hope in God’s grace. But rightly speaking, we are given hope at Advent. We are shown the vision of a new world, streaming out from the wrinkly little arms of the incarnate God—Jesus—who is the origin of that re-creation. We are made new ourselves—a down payment on the resurrected life we have been promised that we will share with Jesus. Someday.

Until then, we hope in the hope. The hope that is advent.

What do you hope for this advent season?

The Rally Day program comes from the ELCA website and it's called "My word." My word is God's word--the bible.

One thing I added was a word search (heh heh) in which participants had to locate thirteen signs that have WORD printed on one side and a bible verse on the back. The kids flip it up to read the scripture and copy down the highlighted word in the verse. When they have all the words , they unscramble them to find a motto for the day. (Can' t tell you what it is!)

There's also a relay race, making the "shema" and binding it on the hands, and making a bible story chain. And there's even more than that.

But another time for that.