Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is “Hope” from Night Visions: Searching the Shadows of Advent and Christmas by Jan L. Richardson

A seed in the ground. A flame in the darkness. A hand outstretched. A child in the womb. Hope starts small and overtakes us, stretching the borders of what we have known.

One "yes" to an angel, and Mary becomes a revolutionary. Mary knows in her soul, in her womb, that radical hope is found at the boundary where the outrageous gives way to the possible. God might as well have turned the world into one where all things are possible! Even justice. Even freedom.

Mary knows that some things are so outrageous that sometimes we have to talk about them as if they have already happened in order to believe they could ever come about. And so if we believe that God has brought justice to the world, we live that justice, and we share in making the world more just. If we believe that God has brought healing to the world, we live that healing, and we share in making the world more whole.

Hope starts small, even as a seed in the womb, but it feeds on outrageous possibilities. It beckons us to step out with the belief that the action we take will not only bear fruit but that in taking it, we have already made a difference in the world. God invites us, like Mary, to open to God's radical leading, to step out with sometimes inexplicable faith, trusting that we will find sustenance. "Hope," write W. Paul Jones, "is the simple trust that God has not forgotten the recipe for manna." The hope of God contains the promise that we will be fed, even if we never see the fruit of our hope-filled actions.

SECOND LESSON

The second lesson is from the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 1, verses 18 through 24

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of God appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by God through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a child, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of God commanded; he took Mary as his wife.

This Week's Sermon

Date: SUNDAY, December 21, 2008

Title: What Kind of Fool Am I?

Message Delivered By: Rev. Joe Mc Murray

When the season of gift-giving comes around, I am compelled—compelled, mind you—to tell a good story. This story is about my mother’s dear friend, Emma Brackett. Emma had been a smoker for a good part of her life, and as a result, she possessed a rather raspy, husky voice; yet her frame was very thin, so her voice didn’t seem to quite fit her body.

Even though Emma was thin, she was always full of energy. She and her husband were clean freaks, which was refreshing, really. I didn’t know anyone else who cleaned their car under the hood as feverishly as Matt, Emma’s husband.

And, of course, Emma’s house was spotless. As my mother says, “You could eat off the floor!” it was so clean. And Emma always had plenty of time left over in the day to bake up a storm. She used to make deep dish pizza before the good pizza joints came into vogue – she always made her version of Sicilian pizza, as she called it.

Anyway, one Christmas, Emma had a dilemma. I’m a poet and I don’t even know it!

Emma had a dilemma. She had not yet done any of her Christmas baking, and her mixer was on the fritz. Emma baked all of those wonderful types of cookies you see on the cover of magazines, with all of the colors and swirls and sprinkles.

She had been bugging Matt to buy her a new mix-master for Christmas (I think that’s what they called them back in the old days – mix-masters – this was way before Cuisinart hit the American market) because her old one was worn out – I think she probably burned out the motor.

All of this took place about a week before Christmas, Matt brought home a nicely wrapped package, and sneaked it into the house. Emma pretended not to notice. And after awhile, he must have hidden it somewhere. When he went to work the next morning, Emma searched the house high and low, but she couldn’t find the package anywhere. Well, it’s always in the last place you look, of course. The only place she hadn’t looked was the attic!

Emma went up to the attic and sure enough, there was the package, all neat and nicely wrapped with a big bow, just as she’d seen it the night before. She brought the package down to the kitchen and carefully unwrapped it. Bingo! It was the mix-master she needed so desperately.

Well, what should Emma do? What would any other self-respecting desperate housewife from the 60s do under the circumstances? Emma carefully unpacked the mixer, unwrapped the electrical cord, took the bowl out of the box, plugged it into the outlet and began to bake her heart out for the next eight hours.

By the time her husband got home from work that day, the mixer was not only washed and looking brand new, but it was put back in its package, all wrapped up, complete with paper and ribbon, exactly the way she’d found it. She even took it back up to the attic.

Every day for a week, Emma went through the same routine, bringing the package down, unwrapping it, using the mixer, washing it carefully, and putting it back in the attic.

On Christmas morning, Emma acted just as surprised as she could when she unwrapped that package. And she was never more thankful to Matt that he bought her the mixer she wanted.

Of course, Matt was none the wiser, and you know, I don’t think he ever asked Emma how in the world she was able to make all those wonderful Christmas cookies that year.

Will you please pray with me:
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Loving God, in this season of giving, let us leave room to give of ourselves, as Jesus did in his life and ministry. Help us to focus on the intangibles this Christmas—on goodness and kindness and love and peace—and keep our attention not only on the material, but on the spiritual gifts we receive. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. In your many names we pray. Amen.
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In this, the final Sunday of Advent, and the final installment of our sermon series, kindness and compassion are the last two elements—the final two principles to live by which I have outlined since the series began several weeks ago. I hope you have taken to heart the invitation to join me in making ready for the peace of Christ by making room in our hearts for the changes these principles will demand of us.

When we expand our heart spirit, when we create a greater capacity for love and tenderness, then all of the principles I have offered up for your reflection will come into play. They will lead us, as a community, to a collective sense of wholeness and completeness. And then we move forward together as one Body of Christ with the potential to accomplish greater things than we ever thought possible.

In my lived and shared experience, most of the time when kindness and compassion were off the table, were not even considered as part of the tenor of the conversation, it was because another mindset or demeanor had taken their place. Usually, this mindset that had taken hold included fear, doubt, suspicion, cynicism or a lack of trust. This meant that there was no room for kindness or compassion.

Another sign of the absence of kindness and compassion is the presence of something else: disappointment, hurt or anger in one’s relationships. So many of us are hurt, or at least think we’ve been hurt, that we tend to disavow the positive characteristics that were present at the beginning when the relationship began.

We try to make ourselves feel better by saying, “Well, I never really loved her anyway,” or “I never should have trusted him,” or “I was a fool for taking in that story—none of it was even real.”

Again, this is a symptom of the need for self-protection, and is nothing more than black or white thinking. We have become so hurt or angry, and we’re so embarrassed, that we may try to cover up our feelings by pointing blame away from ourselves. We feel the fool when in actuality, we weren’t foolish at all.

We may have been trusting. We may have been kind. We may have been compassionate. But we weren’t foolish. Love is never foolish. Some of the things we do when we’re in love are foolish, but love is never foolish.
From Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem, In Memoriam, written in 1850:

I hold true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

They tell us never to make important decisions when we’re upset or distraught or depressed. I would expand that a bit: never draw conclusions or make judgments about people when you’re upset, distraught or depressed. The outcome just can never be a good or an accurate one.

Now if we didn’t know the outcome of the story, we might look at the gospel lesson for today and say, “What kind of fool was Joseph?” I mean, the man was betrothed to Mary, she’s pregnant, and Joseph, bless his heart, was going to be kind to Mary while at the same time taking the easy way out of the situation. After all, he figured if it was handled quietly, few people would know, and Mary would not be shamed.

But the angel came to Joseph in a dream and reassured him and told him there was no reason to fear. The angel described the importance of the coming event—that this was more than about Joseph and Mary as individuals. The angel conveyed that the circumstances at hand involved things greater and more wondrous than Joseph thought possible. And so Joseph chose to open his heart; he allowed the Holy Spirit to guide him; and he offered compassion for Mary and took her as his wife.

So Joseph was a fool after all—a fool for love. Joseph knew that what he was about to do would bring tremendous struggle and heartache. He knew that the road would not be an easy one. Yet he took it anyway.

And so we might ask ourselves, when we are faced with a road filled with challenges: what kind of fool am I?

It’s Christmas time. What kind of fool am I?

Am I foolish enough to see beyond what I think I need and offer myself to others in some way?

Am I foolish enough to put aside what I think I already know and open myself up to some new things to learn?

Am I foolish enough to drop my preconceived notions that all those people over there are all the same, and all these people over here are the same, and I’m the only one that can tell the difference and be reasonable?

Am I foolish enough to make sure somebody else’s need is met before my own?

Am I foolish enough to understand the difference between what people say or feel about homelessness and what the truths are about homelessness?

Am I foolish enough to realize that all those who suffer from having a predisposition to addiction may not want to be in the situation they find themselves in?

Am I foolish enough to think that just perhaps, the food cards I purchase or the money I give to homeless families might actually be used to buy food and clothing, rather than what my suspicion and others tell me?

Will I be foolish enough to give people the benefit of the doubt just one more time?

Will I be foolish enough to know that the compassionate heart of Jesus also has room for me?

Will I be foolish enough to trust somebody just enough so that they know they have my trust and can hold their head high once more?

Will I be foolish enough to open up to someone about my truths, instead of keeping them all bottled up inside me?

There was a song in the 1966 musical, Stop the World, I Want to Get Off by Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse called, “What Kind of Fool Am I?” I’m sure some of you heard it (or heard about it, if it makes you feel better saying it that way):

What kind of fool am I
Who never falls in love?
It seems that I'm the only one
That I have been thinking of.

What kind of mind is this,
An empty Shell,
A lonely cell,
In which, an empty heart must dwell?

Why can't I fall in love
Like any other man,
And maybe then I'll know
What kind of fool I am.

Anyway, the whole premise of the song is that the person in question has never allowed himself to really fall in love. Love was always treated as a game. And the reward was an empty heart.

So I’m asking us, as a community, will we allow ourselves to be fools for love? Will we let ourselves open up to what lies beyond our fears and suspicions? Can we let go of stigmatization of our sisters and brothers and let kindness and compassion be our guide in all things?

It may take us awhile to get there, but if we do this and support each other along the way, this community will be a beacon for others—we will be known for our kindness and compassion, not only to those less fortunate, but to us – ourselves.

May it be so. Amen.