Sermon: 1 Christmas (27 December 2009)
(1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26/Psalm 148/Colossians 3:12-17/Luke 2:41-52)
Silent Years
Christ is born; give him the glory!
Christ has come down from heaven; receive him!
Christ is now on earth; exalt him!
The Gospel lesson seems to me a strange choice for the first Sunday of Christmas. I expect “wise men and shepherds and angels and all,[1]” and instead we’ve skipped twelve years into the future – so much for the twelve days of Christmas – we’ve skipped twelve years into the future to join the adolescent Jesus at the temple for the Passover celebration. It’s a good story and a good introduction to the story that follows, even if it’s not very “Christmassy.” It’s full of “incidents and accidents, hints and allegations;[2]” there are poignant moments and moments filled with irony. There is human interest and deep theology.
We learn that Mary and Joseph are observant Jews – no surprise, that – who fulfill their obligations to celebrate the Passover at the temple each year. That’s no small thing. It is some 60 miles from Nazareth to Jerusalem as the crow flies, maybe an 8-day roundtrip plus time spent in Jerusalem – significant in terms of time and effort and cost. But this surely impresses on young Jesus the centrality of the Passover in Jewish faith and life; God delivers through sacrifice. Does Luke intend us to look ahead to Jesus’ last meal with his disciples – a Passover meal in which Jesus truly becomes the Passover lamb who takes away the sin of the world? “Alleluia. Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us,” we say in the liturgy. “Therefore, let us keep the feast. Alleluia.”
We see Jesus in the temple surrounded by teachers – rabbis, scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees? – holding his own in the theological give-and-take, astonishing his elders with the depth of his knowledge and with the perceptive nature of his questions. “If only this boy weren’t from Nazareth – Can anything good come from Nazareth? – if only he could get some real training, he might be a great rabbi one day,” they may have thought. Does Luke want us to see Jesus in some of these rabbis’ synagogues some twenty years hence confounding them still with his wisdom while he infuriates them with his generous and compassionate interpretation of the Law: healing on the Sabbath, feasting with tax collectors and sinners?
We hear Jesus acknowledge his true paternity when he speaks of his Father’s house or his Father’s business. Does Luke want us to remember this moment as we later hear Jesus’ last words from the cross? “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
And, finally, we see Jesus return home to Nazareth, where he remains subject to his parents, where he grows in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. It is a good story and a good introduction to the story that follows, even if it’s not very “Christmassy.”
This good story reminds us that most of Jesus’ life is shrouded in silence. We know a good deal about his nativity, but the next 30 years or so are blank except for two incidents: the flight to Egypt and this episode in the temple. Obviously, we don’t need to know about these years, but I certainly would like to. By the time we see Jesus again, he’s turning water into wine, casting out demons, healing the sick and raising the dead, calming storms and walking on water, cleansing the temple and forgiving sins – all “God stuff.” I would like to see the “human stuff” of those silent years: Jesus at home, Jesus at school, Jesus at synagogue, Jesus at work – Jesus where I live my life.
We know Joseph and Mary made some dumb mistakes as parents. I wonder if Jesus rolled his eyes in exasperation. We know there must have been bullies in Nazareth – they’re everywhere – and that, with some scandal surrounding his birth anyway, Jesus was a likely target for their taunts. Did he always turn the cheek – even as a child – or did he once or twice bloody a nose? And girls – surely there were young village girls whose fathers were looking for prospective husbands. Did Jesus ever have his eye on anyone special? Jesus learned a trade – work with wood and stone. He must have rammed a splinter deep in his hand or pounded his thumb with a hammer a few times. I know how I react to such things, but how did he? And as a craftsman, he dealt with the public, with customers. Surely some of them complained about his work: quality or cost or schedule. I imagine that, from time to time, a customer refused to pay. Did Jesus re-do work or forgive debt, even when it meant loss of income for his family? His family was probably poor. Did Jesus ever worry about finances, about dowries for his sisters or about what would happen to the family when he left to begin his public ministry? We don’t need to know any of this, but I would like to know precisely because this is where I live. I don’t turn water into wine or raise the dead, but I do turn time and effort into money and I do raise a daughter. These silent years are precisely the years of my life. We do know, of course, that during these years Jesus was tempted in all points like we are, yet was without sin. What we don’t know is exactly what that looked like.
But I am convinced of this: Jesus’ silent years were not different in character or substance from his years of public ministry. Signs – what we call “miracles” – may have begun with his baptism. Crowds may have grown, popularity may have increased – along with opposition – but Jesus himself and the essence of his life among us remained constant throughout. What he was during his public ministry is exactly what he was in his private life – in all his life, which was a seamless whole and not divided into secular and religious. All of life is ministry and all of ministry is life.
So, while we may not know the detailed events of the silent years, we do know their character – Jesus’ character – a character summarized in this day’s epistle lesson.
12 Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; 13 bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. 14 But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection. 15 And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful. 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. 17 And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him (Col 3:12-17, NKJV).
Hear this text first as a description of the character of Jesus – the Elect (the anointed) of God, the Holy One, the Beloved One – the character of the Jesus of the silent years. This Jesus lived in a family with struggling parents, with sibling rivalry, with all the good and bad of all families. How often he must have shown tender mercies, how often kindness. This Jesus was mocked and taunted by his brothers – James and Jude included? – before his resurrection (cf John 7:1-5). How often he must have borne with them and forgiven them. “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Peter once asked Jesus. Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven” (cf Matt 18:21-22, NKJV). How often he must have done this during the silent years. This Jesus was a member of a community[3]. This Jesus worked for a living. This Jesus had a life, which means he had ample opportunity to practice love, the bond of perfection. This Jesus knew what lay ahead – not least through singing the Psalms and reading the Prophets.
From the Psalms:
1 My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? Why are You so far from helping Me, And from the words of My groaning? 2 O My God, I cry in the daytime, but You do not hear; And in the night season, and am not silent.
14 I am poured out like water, And all My bones are out of joint; My heart is like wax; It has melted within Me. 15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd, And My tongue clings to My jaws; You have brought Me to the dust of death. 16 For dogs have surrounded Me; The congregation of the wicked has enclosed Me. They pierced My hands and My feet; 17 I can count all My bones. They look and stare at Me. 18 They divide My garments among them, And for My clothing they cast lots (Ps 22, NKJV).
And from the Prophets:
3 He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4 Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. 5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. 6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all (Is 53, NKJV).
How often Jesus must have sought and practiced the peace of God in his heart when confronted with these hard truths. And this Jesus, throughout the silent years, gave thanks to God his Father in all things. This is the character of the Jesus of the silent years.
But this Epistle text really was not written to describe Jesus – though it does so beautifully. It was written to instruct and encourage the disciples of Jesus, those of us who live each day like Jesus lived in his silent years: in a family, in a community, in school and work, in the church and in the world, in joy and sorrow, in victory and defeat – in all the details of a life.
So, now hear the text as written to us. It starts by calling us the elect of God, holy and beloved. And this is essential; only if we are convinced of this – convinced that we are chosen, holy, and loved by God – can we dare live as Jesus lived: because we are called to put on tender mercies, to show kindness, to practice meekness and patience, to bear with one another, to forgive one another – and we know that when Jesus did this he wound up on a cross. We fear we will, too. This is an intrusive word from God, made palatable and possible only when we are convinced that God has chosen us to make us holy, only when we are convinced beyond all doubt that God loves us beyond all measure.
All that’s the Sunday news. One of the reasons we meet together as the church is to hear that news: read and sung and prayed and eaten. We need that because Monday comes all too soon. The alarm rings too early. There’s too much to do. We hit the ground running and we’re already behind. We get to work and our boss is…well, our boss is our boss, right or wrong, reasonable or unreasonable. Or maybe it’s school and a teacher is frustrated and prickly and is short with the class. You can imagine your own scenario because you experience it day after day.
You have to stop by the store on the way home from work and a surly teenager with hands on hips and obvious eye roll grudgingly mans the register. And after that, on the way home, you get cut off in traffic with blaring horns. When you finally make it home – that warm, safe haven in the storm of life – no one seems to notice that you’re there; they’ve each had their own Monday and they’re nursing their own wounds: parents, children, spouses, in-laws – blessing and non-blessing one another. And then God says to us: “12 Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; 13 bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. 14 But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection.” Not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear, because this was the character of Jesus of the silent years and of the ministry years and of all years unto the ages of ages. And this is the character that God wants to birth and grow in us.
And Monday is not the only problem we face; even Sunday has its share of challenges. As the body of Christ, we so often fail to be the body of Christ to one another. We disappoint and hurt our brothers and sisters; we questions motives and we nurse grudges. We turn inward when we should be expansive in our self-giving. We speak the truth in love, when really it’s our agenda we speak with self-interest. Is there a Christian around who hasn’t been both deeply healed and deeply wounded by the church? And then God says to us: “15 And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful. 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. 17 And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” Let peace rule. Be thankful for one another. Worship the Lord together. If you can’t do it in the name of the Lord, don’t do it. And if it needs to be done in the name of the Lord, do it. Not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear, because this was the character of Jesus of the silent years and of the ministry years and of all years unto the ages of ages. And this is the character that God wants to birth and grow in us.
These are the lessons of the silent years – maybe not very “Christmassy,” but good lessons.
Amen.
[1] I Wonder As I Wander, traditional.
[2] You Can Call Me Al, Paul Simon.
[3] Recent archaeological discoveries indicate that Nazareth consisted of about 50 family dwellings on 4 acres of land.
(1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26/Psalm 148/Colossians 3:12-17/Luke 2:41-52)
Silent Years
Christ is born; give him the glory!
Christ has come down from heaven; receive him!
Christ is now on earth; exalt him!
The Gospel lesson seems to me a strange choice for the first Sunday of Christmas. I expect “wise men and shepherds and angels and all,[1]” and instead we’ve skipped twelve years into the future – so much for the twelve days of Christmas – we’ve skipped twelve years into the future to join the adolescent Jesus at the temple for the Passover celebration. It’s a good story and a good introduction to the story that follows, even if it’s not very “Christmassy.” It’s full of “incidents and accidents, hints and allegations;[2]” there are poignant moments and moments filled with irony. There is human interest and deep theology.
We learn that Mary and Joseph are observant Jews – no surprise, that – who fulfill their obligations to celebrate the Passover at the temple each year. That’s no small thing. It is some 60 miles from Nazareth to Jerusalem as the crow flies, maybe an 8-day roundtrip plus time spent in Jerusalem – significant in terms of time and effort and cost. But this surely impresses on young Jesus the centrality of the Passover in Jewish faith and life; God delivers through sacrifice. Does Luke intend us to look ahead to Jesus’ last meal with his disciples – a Passover meal in which Jesus truly becomes the Passover lamb who takes away the sin of the world? “Alleluia. Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us,” we say in the liturgy. “Therefore, let us keep the feast. Alleluia.”
We see Jesus in the temple surrounded by teachers – rabbis, scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees? – holding his own in the theological give-and-take, astonishing his elders with the depth of his knowledge and with the perceptive nature of his questions. “If only this boy weren’t from Nazareth – Can anything good come from Nazareth? – if only he could get some real training, he might be a great rabbi one day,” they may have thought. Does Luke want us to see Jesus in some of these rabbis’ synagogues some twenty years hence confounding them still with his wisdom while he infuriates them with his generous and compassionate interpretation of the Law: healing on the Sabbath, feasting with tax collectors and sinners?
We hear Jesus acknowledge his true paternity when he speaks of his Father’s house or his Father’s business. Does Luke want us to remember this moment as we later hear Jesus’ last words from the cross? “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
And, finally, we see Jesus return home to Nazareth, where he remains subject to his parents, where he grows in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. It is a good story and a good introduction to the story that follows, even if it’s not very “Christmassy.”
This good story reminds us that most of Jesus’ life is shrouded in silence. We know a good deal about his nativity, but the next 30 years or so are blank except for two incidents: the flight to Egypt and this episode in the temple. Obviously, we don’t need to know about these years, but I certainly would like to. By the time we see Jesus again, he’s turning water into wine, casting out demons, healing the sick and raising the dead, calming storms and walking on water, cleansing the temple and forgiving sins – all “God stuff.” I would like to see the “human stuff” of those silent years: Jesus at home, Jesus at school, Jesus at synagogue, Jesus at work – Jesus where I live my life.
We know Joseph and Mary made some dumb mistakes as parents. I wonder if Jesus rolled his eyes in exasperation. We know there must have been bullies in Nazareth – they’re everywhere – and that, with some scandal surrounding his birth anyway, Jesus was a likely target for their taunts. Did he always turn the cheek – even as a child – or did he once or twice bloody a nose? And girls – surely there were young village girls whose fathers were looking for prospective husbands. Did Jesus ever have his eye on anyone special? Jesus learned a trade – work with wood and stone. He must have rammed a splinter deep in his hand or pounded his thumb with a hammer a few times. I know how I react to such things, but how did he? And as a craftsman, he dealt with the public, with customers. Surely some of them complained about his work: quality or cost or schedule. I imagine that, from time to time, a customer refused to pay. Did Jesus re-do work or forgive debt, even when it meant loss of income for his family? His family was probably poor. Did Jesus ever worry about finances, about dowries for his sisters or about what would happen to the family when he left to begin his public ministry? We don’t need to know any of this, but I would like to know precisely because this is where I live. I don’t turn water into wine or raise the dead, but I do turn time and effort into money and I do raise a daughter. These silent years are precisely the years of my life. We do know, of course, that during these years Jesus was tempted in all points like we are, yet was without sin. What we don’t know is exactly what that looked like.
But I am convinced of this: Jesus’ silent years were not different in character or substance from his years of public ministry. Signs – what we call “miracles” – may have begun with his baptism. Crowds may have grown, popularity may have increased – along with opposition – but Jesus himself and the essence of his life among us remained constant throughout. What he was during his public ministry is exactly what he was in his private life – in all his life, which was a seamless whole and not divided into secular and religious. All of life is ministry and all of ministry is life.
So, while we may not know the detailed events of the silent years, we do know their character – Jesus’ character – a character summarized in this day’s epistle lesson.
12 Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; 13 bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. 14 But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection. 15 And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful. 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. 17 And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him (Col 3:12-17, NKJV).
Hear this text first as a description of the character of Jesus – the Elect (the anointed) of God, the Holy One, the Beloved One – the character of the Jesus of the silent years. This Jesus lived in a family with struggling parents, with sibling rivalry, with all the good and bad of all families. How often he must have shown tender mercies, how often kindness. This Jesus was mocked and taunted by his brothers – James and Jude included? – before his resurrection (cf John 7:1-5). How often he must have borne with them and forgiven them. “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Peter once asked Jesus. Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven” (cf Matt 18:21-22, NKJV). How often he must have done this during the silent years. This Jesus was a member of a community[3]. This Jesus worked for a living. This Jesus had a life, which means he had ample opportunity to practice love, the bond of perfection. This Jesus knew what lay ahead – not least through singing the Psalms and reading the Prophets.
From the Psalms:
1 My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? Why are You so far from helping Me, And from the words of My groaning? 2 O My God, I cry in the daytime, but You do not hear; And in the night season, and am not silent.
14 I am poured out like water, And all My bones are out of joint; My heart is like wax; It has melted within Me. 15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd, And My tongue clings to My jaws; You have brought Me to the dust of death. 16 For dogs have surrounded Me; The congregation of the wicked has enclosed Me. They pierced My hands and My feet; 17 I can count all My bones. They look and stare at Me. 18 They divide My garments among them, And for My clothing they cast lots (Ps 22, NKJV).
And from the Prophets:
3 He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4 Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. 5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. 6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all (Is 53, NKJV).
How often Jesus must have sought and practiced the peace of God in his heart when confronted with these hard truths. And this Jesus, throughout the silent years, gave thanks to God his Father in all things. This is the character of the Jesus of the silent years.
But this Epistle text really was not written to describe Jesus – though it does so beautifully. It was written to instruct and encourage the disciples of Jesus, those of us who live each day like Jesus lived in his silent years: in a family, in a community, in school and work, in the church and in the world, in joy and sorrow, in victory and defeat – in all the details of a life.
So, now hear the text as written to us. It starts by calling us the elect of God, holy and beloved. And this is essential; only if we are convinced of this – convinced that we are chosen, holy, and loved by God – can we dare live as Jesus lived: because we are called to put on tender mercies, to show kindness, to practice meekness and patience, to bear with one another, to forgive one another – and we know that when Jesus did this he wound up on a cross. We fear we will, too. This is an intrusive word from God, made palatable and possible only when we are convinced that God has chosen us to make us holy, only when we are convinced beyond all doubt that God loves us beyond all measure.
All that’s the Sunday news. One of the reasons we meet together as the church is to hear that news: read and sung and prayed and eaten. We need that because Monday comes all too soon. The alarm rings too early. There’s too much to do. We hit the ground running and we’re already behind. We get to work and our boss is…well, our boss is our boss, right or wrong, reasonable or unreasonable. Or maybe it’s school and a teacher is frustrated and prickly and is short with the class. You can imagine your own scenario because you experience it day after day.
You have to stop by the store on the way home from work and a surly teenager with hands on hips and obvious eye roll grudgingly mans the register. And after that, on the way home, you get cut off in traffic with blaring horns. When you finally make it home – that warm, safe haven in the storm of life – no one seems to notice that you’re there; they’ve each had their own Monday and they’re nursing their own wounds: parents, children, spouses, in-laws – blessing and non-blessing one another. And then God says to us: “12 Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; 13 bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. 14 But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection.” Not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear, because this was the character of Jesus of the silent years and of the ministry years and of all years unto the ages of ages. And this is the character that God wants to birth and grow in us.
And Monday is not the only problem we face; even Sunday has its share of challenges. As the body of Christ, we so often fail to be the body of Christ to one another. We disappoint and hurt our brothers and sisters; we questions motives and we nurse grudges. We turn inward when we should be expansive in our self-giving. We speak the truth in love, when really it’s our agenda we speak with self-interest. Is there a Christian around who hasn’t been both deeply healed and deeply wounded by the church? And then God says to us: “15 And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful. 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. 17 And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” Let peace rule. Be thankful for one another. Worship the Lord together. If you can’t do it in the name of the Lord, don’t do it. And if it needs to be done in the name of the Lord, do it. Not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear, because this was the character of Jesus of the silent years and of the ministry years and of all years unto the ages of ages. And this is the character that God wants to birth and grow in us.
These are the lessons of the silent years – maybe not very “Christmassy,” but good lessons.
Amen.
[1] I Wonder As I Wander, traditional.
[2] You Can Call Me Al, Paul Simon.
[3] Recent archaeological discoveries indicate that Nazareth consisted of about 50 family dwellings on 4 acres of land.
No comments:
Post a Comment