12/24/2010 ~ The Eve of the Nativity of the Messiah, the Christ, the Feast of the Incarnation ~ God with Us

12/24/2010 ~ The Eve of the Nativity of the Messiah, the Christ, the Feast of the Incarnation ~ Proper 1 ~ Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2:11-14 ; Luke 2:1-14, (15-20)

God with Us

“For a child is born to us, / an heir given to us; / authority, dominion rests upon the shoulders / of this One, who is named: / Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, / Everlasting Sovereign, Source of Peace.” — Isaiah 9:6.


He had been awake for some time now. The noise those hooligan shepherds made as they ran, stumbled helter-skelter down the main street of the town, shouting, singing, making odd, loud noises— this commotion had roused him from slumber.

Were they drunk? It seemed likely. After all, they were shepherds.

He did not want to count sheep in an effort to become reacquainted with the bed. It only reminded him of that despicable crew who tended sheep. Incantations to Morpheus, the Roman god of sleep, did not seem to help find the rest he craved, either. Finally, he gave up, stood, dressed, built a fire, heated some water. (Slight pause.)

His name was Yoseph Ben Mattithyahu— Joseph, son of Matthias. But he had taken the name Titus Flavius Josephus. [1] It sounded more... Roman. In this society, dominated as it was by Rome, it helped to fit in.

To say Titus was an ambitious young fellow would have been an understatement. He constantly made efforts to place himself among the powerful in hope of being noticed. He had already visited big, important towns in this quest for power. He had been to Jerusalem and had seen the court, the Sanhedrin, had spoken with the High Priests.

He had been to Damascus, where Quirinius, governor of Syria, ruled with an iron fist. He had been to Caesarea, the city Herod, the Jewish King appointed by the Romans, had built. Herod, Caesar’s local puppet, to prove loyalty, had named that seaport in honor of Augustus.

And, yes, Titus wanted to see Rome, wanted see the Emperor. It was said, after all, that Augustus was... a God. Indeed, the Romans, insisting Caesar was divine, had given Augustus a title— “Prince of Peace.” (Slight pause.)

Despite being ambitious, despite seeking power, here he was, stuck in this backwater town called... Bethlehem. Two minutes after he arrived as the local representative of the King Herod’s government, he regretted it.

Those who lived here insisted this was the City of David. While he knew a prophet had called it that, he often wondered how the greatest ruler Israel ever saw could possibly have come from this place. Bethlehem— there was poverty. There were peasants. There was little else.

And yet... and yet... this town which claimed in its heritage the great monarch had been mentioned by a prophet, had it not? What did that prophet say? (Slight pause.)

He could not remember. He was more concerned with being a good Roman citizen than with being a Jew. (Slight pause.)

Titus heard a noise. He opened the door and looked down the road. Here they were again— those shepherds— and they seemed to be no less quiet then they were the first time through town. He decided to confront them.

These shepherds might be hooligans, but they dare not cross him or there would be consequences. He was, after all, Herod’s representative.

There were four of them. He was alone. Displaying more belligerence than reason, he stood in the middle of the street and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Stop!” (Slight pause.)

Much to his surprise, they did. That left him dumbfounded. He did not quite know what to do.

One of the shepherds, short and rotund, approached him. “Have you heard?”

“Heard?” asked Titus.

The four were suddenly standing all around him. He began to think confrontation was a bad idea. But they made no aggressive moves. Instead they all started to speak at once.

“A child has been born.”

“Angels were singing.”

“God visited us, invited us.”

“An heir to David.”

“Messiah.”

“Covenant”

“Sovereign.

“Peace.”

“Inn.”

“Stable.”

“Manger.”

“God.”

“Baby.”

Suddenly the four of them ran off, headed toward the end of town where they would find their sheep still grazing in hill country beyond. (Slight pause.) Titus was left standing alone, confused, dazed, not quite able to understand what was going on.

“David... Messiah... covenant... sovereign... peace... inn... stable... manger... God... baby;” what did it all mean? He wandered in the direction from which the shepherds had come. He did not know what to look for or what he was looking for. He did know he needed to look.

Titus turned the corner around a building and there before him there was a stable and a man and a woman sitting by a fire. He approached. As he did so, he saw the woman held a child, clearly a newborn.

He walked right up to her. The child was asleep. She nodded and smiled with her eyes. He nodded and smiled back. She held the baby up to him. His reaction was natural. He took the child in his arms. (Slight pause.)

He suddenly felt a warmth he had never experienced before. He wondered what was going on. It was as if a comforting cloak of rich cloth had descended on his shoulders.

Titus looked down at the tiny head, the little dark curls. The child opened its eyes. He looked into those eyes and the child looked back.

One phrase was running through his head. “God with us.” No matter how he tried, he could not think of anything else. “God with us.”

What did this mean? Once again, he was confused, dazed, not quite able to understand what was going on. He sensed this had something to do with power, not the temporal power he craved, but the power of God. (Slight pause.)

“God with us.” (Slight pause.) Was it God who had real authority? If so, what did that have to do with this helpless baby? (Slight pause.)

Titus handed the child back to the woman and walked away. He could not figure out what all this meant. Perhaps he would go to the synagogue tomorrow and speak with the Rabbi. He sensed he needed to know more about God and wondered why this was so.

But, having held the child, he somehow knew God had been present in that moment. He somehow knew it was the dominion of God which matters most, knew God is the only sovereign, knew God is the real source of... peace... knew that God is with us. (Slight pause.)

It would be years before Titus recognized the moment he knew all this was exactly when he looked into the eyes of the child. Amen.

12/24/2010
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York

ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “I have often said Christmas is the most important Christian feast on the secular calendar. At the very least for Easter, Pentecost, the Epiphany and Trinity Sunday should be counted as more important than Christmas. In an effort to reclaim real Christmas, let me make a suggestion, one I make each year. Please do not wish people a ‘Merry Christmas.’ When you greet someone say ‘Happy Christmas.’ People can be merry about the new year, but let’s be happy about what we celebrate tonight: the birth of the Messiah, present in our midst.”

[1] Students of history will notice I’ve appropriated the name Yoseph Ben Mattithyahu (Joseph son of Matthias) who used the Roman name Titus Flavius Josephus. Known by Josephus, he was the 1st century Romano-Jewish historian who recorded Jewish history, such as the First Jewish–Roman War, a war which resulted in the Destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD. He has been credited by many as recording some of the earliest history of Jesus, the Christ, outside of the gospels. My unwritten, unspoken conceit is that this Josephus could have been the grandfather of the historian.

LETTER TO THE CHURCH - DECEMBER NEWSLETTER

Dear Friends in Christ,

“If you build it, they will come.” Is that true? A friend who heads up a non-profit agency recently insisted to me this is no longer true. “Today,” he said, “you might build it, but they will not come simply because it’s there or because you or your ancestors put it up. If you want them to come, you’ve got to go out there, go into the streets and drag them in. Just building it is no longer enough.”

Throughout American history Christian churches have been afforded an extraordinary level acceptance. It felt like, if we built it, people came. But this was not only or simply acceptance. Despite the “melting pot” label our nation has, it is clear that Christianity had a central place in society. It can be safely said the secular culture in which we lived gave people messages about the traditions, the symbols and even the rituals of the Christian faith.

Hence, it is also argued, historically churches had to do very little when it came to delivering their message. People understood church before they entered our doors because society was largely a place where Christian traditions, Christian symbols and Christian rituals were “normal.” After all, Christmas is a Federal holiday. Why isn’t Hanukkah, a Jewish winter feast, a Federal holiday, just like Christmas? Because many Christian practices were simply adopted by secular society.

It can also be argued that another reality is with us today. The importance and influence of Christianity in our society has been in decline for at least four decades. Indeed, we live in what many now call a “post-Christian” world, a world in which the Christian church cannot expect favorable treatment or high visibility simply by dint of its existence. To be clear: Christian traditions, symbols and rituals still hold sway much of the time. But that influence is diminishing by measurable amounts.

How measurable is it? I have written in this space before about one of those measurements: the group in society sociologists currently call “nones.” Loosely, these are people who insist they have no religions affiliation. But it also needs to be noted that many of the people who fall into this group also insist they are “spiritual.” Therefore, this group is made up of people who simply refuse to be connected with either a church or even any religious tradition.

In a little more than a decade “nones” have gone from... and this figure varies from survey to survey and depends on who and how you count, but it is a fairly accurate estimate... in a little more than a decade “nones” have gone from about 3% of the population to as much as 19% of the population. This growth is largely being fueled by what many call “young people,” those who had their 18th birthday starting in 1988. So, the oldest member of this group is now about 40.

Since “nones” consider themselves “spiritual” but have, up until now, not associated themselves with a church or a tradition, I cannot classify them with what I view as the very old fashioned term “unchurched.” These are folks are simply not affiliated with a church. I look at that as a big difference, since I think the implication of “unchurched” is “unknowing about religion.” “Nones” know a lot about religion.

Here is another observation many people think of as accurate: people look back at the 1950s, when Christianity did have a more central place in society and as a time when the culture did, indeed, carry the traditions, the symbols and even the rituals of the Christian faith. And many take that era as a kind of “golden age” for the church. Certainly many churches had larger congregations.

But what got those people into the church? A Gallup Poll done in the mid-50s asked this question of church goers: ‘were you invited to church by a relative or a friend or a neighbor?’ 62% of those who responded (62% in the 1950s!) said they were invited by a relative or a friend or a neighbor.

All of which brings me back to what my friend said: “Today you might build it, but they will not come simply because it’s there or because you or your ancestors put it up. If you want them to come, you’ve got to go out there, go into the streets and drag them in. Just building it is no longer enough.”

Based on the statistic that 62% of the people attending church in the 1950s were invited by a relative or a friend or a neighbor, it is clear the same thing was true in the 1950s! People did not just show up at church. They were invited!

If you look at our church calender for November and December, you will see there are many special things going on in this church over the course of the Advent and Christmas Seasons. (In fact, we are always doing special things.) But these Advent and Christmas things done in churches still do speak to the secular society precisely because secular society has adopted them. So, these are also things to which it might be appropriate for you to invite a relative or a friend or a neighbor. Is someone “from away” visiting? Bring them to church.

It worked in the 1950s. Who knows? It might work now, in the early part of the 21st Century, especially since there seems to be such a large potential constituency among those people who are 40 and under and who call themselves “spiritual” and are, therefore, interested.

What can I say? See you in church?

In Faith,
Joe Connolly

P.S. Bonnie and I wish everyone a joyous, peaceful Christmas filled with love and hope as we remember the birth of the Messiah.

Sermon ~ 12/05/2010 ~ Joy and Peace and Believing in the Wilderness

12/05/2010 ~ Second Sunday of Advent ~ The Sunday in Advent on Which We Commemorate Peace ~ Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12 ~ Note: Used Isaiah 40 to reflect the Anthem ~ Sing Out and Celebrate Sunday.

Joy and Peace and Believing in the Wilderness

“May the God of hope fill you with such joy and peace in believing, in your faith, that you may abound with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” — Romans 15:13


My late cousin was a fine Irish Catholic woman. Her name was Roseanna Genevieve McCool.

She was, technically, of my grandfather’s generation, despite being closer to my father in age. As a consequence, in terms of my family structure and how it operated, she was much more a matriarch or a grandmother figure than a cousin.

Rose— she was commonly called Rose— was the daughter of Irish immigrants and was born in 1911. She grew up on South Third Street in Brooklyn, just two blocks from the waterfront on the East River. This is the Williamsburg section of the borough but on the northern end, close to Greenpoint, a German neighborhood in that era.

By the time I was a young boy, Rose and the rest of the clan had moved a further inland, to Bushwick— still in Brooklyn— then later again to Queens. The parish to which Rose belonged in those early years, also on South Third Street, was the Church of Saints Peter and Paul. The parish still exists.

I have distinct, I might even label them as fond memories, of Rose telling me about her childhood, telling me how her father owned a couple of horses and a wagon and moved freight for local stores. She told me about a time she was frightened silly by a run-away horse. From that point on, despite her father’s work and much to his embarrassment, she was afraid of horses.

Among those memories that she offered were ones of life at that parish church. Her mother, to make extra money, took in laundry and also did the laundry for the priests at the church. So Rose probably was privy to a lot of scuttlebutt.

Now, of course, by the time I came on the scene and Rose was telling me these recollections of her childhood, things at the church in Williamsburg were not in good shape as far as she was concerned. And, believe me, she had been back to the church and had seen it. She knew all about the changes.

They had changed the inside of the church building around. How dare they? They had taken out some of the stained glass windows. How dare they? And they were using unfamiliar music. How dare they?

Indeed, they were using the whole facility, including the church hall and grammar school, in ways which were different than when she was a child. How dare they?

Besides, both the church and the neighborhood had been overrun by immigrants— twice! The first wave was simply terrible. [Soto voce.]: (They were Italians.) Then— and this refers to that depressing period known as the 1970s— Hispanics moved in. (Slight pause.)

All this change upset her deeply. What was her angst about? In many ways her key and only question was: ‘why could it not be like it was when I was a child?’ (Slight pause.)

And these words are from the work known as Romans: “May the God of hope fill you with such joy and peace in believing, in your faith, that you may abound with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Slight pause.)

Perhaps what got me thinking about Rose and her feeling devastated by changes at her childhood church was a statistic I came across last week. Now, please remember, Rose was born of English speaking immigrant parents in 1911. And the late 19th and early 20th Century was an intense period of immigration in this country.

Also, while in that era the prayers of Mass in the Roman Church were recited in Latin, aside from those prayers, whole sections of the service were conducted in the vernacular of those who attended. The statistic I found was this: according to the United States Census Bureau in 1906 there were 4,711 Catholic Parishes in America with 6.3 million people where the parts of the Mass not in Latin were spoken in the vernacular.

The vernacular was— take your choice depending on the parish— Polish or Lithuanian or German or Italian, etc., etc., etc. By 1916 the number had grown to 6,076 parishes. In short, in 57% of churches, or way more than half of all the Catholic parishes in America, a language other than English was the dominant tongue. [1]

These immigrants had left their native land, left their roots. It’s likely they felt as if they were in a desert, in the wilderness. So they sought to find some assurance in familiar things— in this case a church where their native language was spoken. (Slight pause.)

I tend to pay attention to news out of New York City. The Williamsburg section of Brooklyn is now becoming gentrified, upscale. Indeed, if you log on to the web site of the Parish of Saints Peter and Paul, they no longer have masses just in Spanish, as it was back in the 1970s. Serving the mix in a changing neighborhood, they have gone from having masses only in Spanish to having masses in both English and Spanish. (Slight pause.)

There are many reasons to feel disconnected. Certainly one is being disconnected from a heritage. Most often that disconnect is imposed on us by change or by migration or by captivity.

It is easy to see how disconnected the Jews might have felt when the Prophet Isaiah writes, since the Jews are held captive in Babylon. They feel as if they are in a desert, in the wilderness.

It is, perhaps, not as easy for us to understand that there is a disconnect for Paul. But that’s because we tend to view the era in which Paul lived as a time when somehow, magically the entire Mediterranean Basin converted to Christianity.

In fact, most historians believe by the year 100 of the Common Era, some thirty-five years after Paul died, there are still less than 10,000 Christians in the world. Historians also say that in the year 315, when Christianity becomes the official religion of the Roman Empire, less than 10% of the population of the Roman Empire is Christian.

Paul, in fact, faces a reality: this is a small group and it will not get much bigger in the near term. Still, despite a small size and slow growth, the Apostle writes about... hope and joy and peace and believing and the Holy Spirit. You see, neither Second Isaiah nor Paul is self delusional. They both know a thing or two about the wilderness, the desert. (Slight pause.)

So, what about us? What do we, who live in a culture which gives an appearance of being a Christian culture, know about the wilderness, the desert?

Indeed, we are in the Season of Advent, presumably a season of waiting to celebrate the birth of the Messiah. But what does our culture known about waiting? The day after Halloween, I saw a Christmas Tree set up in a retail outlet. (Slight pause.)

I think the Season of Advent, this season of waiting, captures the so called ‘Spirit of Christmas’ better than the celebrations of the dominant culture. How so? (Slight pause.) After all, we know the Messiah has come, don’t we? ‘Joy to the world’ and all that stuff— right?

But what message did the Messiah bring? (Slight pause.) The message the Messiah brings is that the Dominion of God is at hand, the Dominion of God is near.

So, if we are not self delusional, we should readily understand that we are in the wilderness, in the desert, right now. How? Why?

We are in the wilderness not because of changes to church buildings or the taking out of stained glass windows or the use unfamiliar music. These may be things about which we are nostalgic but these are all quite temporary.

You see, the promise of the Dominion says we will live in a world where the hungry are fed always, the homeless find shelter always, the sick have access to healthcare always. And the Dominion of God being near is a real world promise toward which we are invited, by God, to work.

The Dominion of God, you see, is a promise. It is forwarding looking, filled with anticipation. Put differently, the Dominion of God is not about nostalgia.

And nostalgia is a hard nut to crack. After all, I hear the new Yankee Stadium is better than the old one and I know Shea Stadium was a pit. But Babe Ruth will never swing a bat in the new park and The Beatles will never rock Citi Field.

As a congregation, I know we strive to head in the direction of the Dominion, toward the Dominion. After all, we did coordinate the Thanksgiving Turkey Basket Drive which distributed 483 baskets with 205 going out our door.

So, I think we do know about joy and peace and believing in the wilderness— and joy and peace and believing in the wilderness does have to do with this Season of Advent. But it has to do with nothing temporary, nothing about which we might become nostalgic. It has to do with the Dominion of God— the Dominion of God, where joy and peace and hope and love are both eternal and fulfilled. And that’s the place toward which we are working. Amen.

United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York

ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Benediction. This, then, is an précis of what the pastor said before the blessing: “Composer Ned Rorem said, ‘Music is the sole art which evokes nostalgia for the future.’ I agree but I might add that Scripture also evokes nostalgia for the future.”

BLESSING: Let us be present to one another as we go from this place. Let us share our gifts, our hopes, our memories, our pain and our joy. Go in peace for God is with us. Go in joy for God knows every fiber of our being. Go in hope for God reveals to us, daily, that we are a part of God’s new creation. Go in love, for we rest assured, by Christ, Jesus, that God is steadfast. And may the peace of God which surpasses understanding be with us this day and forevermore. Amen.

[1] Page 297, American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us; by Robert D. Putnam and David E. Campbell; Simon and Schuster; New York 2010.