Sermon: “The Waiting Is Over”
A Sermon Delivered by The Rev. John D. Painter at Centenary United Methodist Church Metuchen, New Jersey December 24, 2004 (Christmas Eve)
Text: Luke 2:1-20
Tonight the waiting—the long waiting—is over.
It’s hard to wait for Christmas. Last Sunday morning, as I sat on the steps with the chil-dren holding a brightly wrapped present on my lap, I played straight man and asked them what they were waiting for. “Christmas!” they shouted in unison. Duh! When I asked them what Christmas meant, they all very responsibly answered that it was about Jesus’ birth. Wonderful answer…especially in Church. But I’m realistic enough to believe that there were some other words on the very tips of their tongues which they were doing their best to hold back from say-ing…things like “Santa Claus” or “presents.”
Hey! I was a kid once…as hard as it may be to believe…and so were most of you J…as hard as that may be to believe. As a child I can remember how difficult it was to get to sleep on this night. It was the anticipation, the expectation, the ears-wide-open listening for that “clatter” out on the lawn…and tiny reindeer hooves up on the rooftop. And since we didn’t live in a house with a fireplace till I was nine, worrying how Santa was going to come down our chimney…the one that led directly to the coal furnace.
It’s hard to wait for Christmas. This may be why we’ve been having it for the past three months or more in the malls and stores. “Hallowthankmas” reigns supreme it now seems from right after Labor Day through the opening of the New Year. But it’s even difficult to wait for Christmas in the church, with our shorter four-week Advent interval between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.
If it’s hard to wait for Christmas, it’s also hard for Christmas to arrive. Maybe part of the problem is overselling the season, some over-expectations about what will happen. We expect peace, joy, goodwill, and the fulfillment of all of our collective dreams. Instead we get a baby in a smelly cow barn in a crowded, dusty little town named Bethlehem.
You know what it’s like. We wait with excitement for nine months for a baby to be born. But then, the baby appears, and the waiting is over. There’s a huge divide between expectancy and delivery, between a baby shower and a baby diaper. Do you hear that difference between “We’re going to have a baby” and “We just had a baby”? You have moved from the hope to the reality, from yearning to fulfillment. Some of you know very well how radical that change can be from anticipation of birth to birth and responsibility.
Well, tonight the long wait is almost over, and we’re going to meet the Truth…Truth that has a face and a name. There he lies in a feed trough, wrapped in swaddling cloths. “The little lord Jesus, no crying he makes…” But as much as we love these Christmas images, we need to remember on this night of nights that this infant grew to be an adult.
Bishop William Willimon writes about it this way: “We get Christmas cards with the baby Jesus on them and words like joy and peace. Imagine a Christmas card from the adult Je-sus!
“‘Go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, then follow me. Merry Christmas.’ [Or] ‘Whoever takes up the sword dies by the sword. Happy Holidays.’”
Sort of puts a little different perspective on it, doesn’t it? Think about it this way, this month is the 100th anniversary of the “birth” of Peter Pan. You know Peter, the boy who remains forever trapped in childhood. “I won’t grow up!” this centenarian still stubbornly declares. How dangerous it would be if we were to prefer Jesus to be the boy who never grew up…to be the baby who stayed in a manger.
“We love the Christ Child in the stable, the shepherds kneeling, the angel chorus singing, the magi worshiping, camels trekking across a midnight desert under the light of a brilliant nova leading the way, the holy family [gathered around the manger]. We love this. We wish it could be this way all year.” It is difficult for us to be reminded that this child will grow up…that this child will leave the crib for the cross.
“Sixty-six years before the birth of Christ, in an aristocratic community of Rome, a very important child was born. As soon as he arrived, a messenger raced into the Roman Senate and announced, ‘The next ruler of the world is born.’ His name was Octavius, and he was destined to become the adopted son of Julius Caesar. He grew up in the palace. He was educated by the fin-est teachers of literature, philosophy and government. And at the age of 33 he was the uncontested ruler of the entire Roman Empire. He just had to give the word and armies would march and ships would sail. He just had to give the word and the world would move for him. The Senate gave him the name Emperor Augustus, meaning the exalted one, who reigned over the golden age of the empire.
“When he was about 66 years old, ‘In those days a degree went out from Emperor Au-gustus that all the world should be registered.’ It was during this census that another child was born in a very unimportant village, in a very unimportant part of the empire. No Roman messen-gers ran to announce his birth to the Senate. Instead, it was God’s own angelic messenger who announced the birth of Jesus Christ to the least of the inhabitants of the empire, a small band of shepherds watching over their sheep. ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Mes-siah, the Lord’ (Luke 2:10-11).
“This other child began his life in a humble manger, because there was no room for him in the normal places. He was raised not in a palace, but in a common Jewish home. He was not educated in literature and philosophy, but in carpentry. And at age 33, he ascended not to the reign of the Roman Empire, but to a Roman cross. ‘He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him’ (John 1:10-11). No, we never did have much room for Jesus. That is why we killed him. But in that ultimate act of sacrifice for the sins of a dark world, Jesus became the King of a whole new kingdom that has long outlived every empire.”
Considering whom Jesus was when he grew up, when he preached and acted in his adult ministry, it may take a fair amount of courage and some risk to sing on this night:
O Holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray.
Cast out our sin and enter in. Be born in us today.
But Messiah is come. God’s will for the world has been revealed…made fully manifest for us to see. Let us go to Bethlehem and take a look for ourselves. Can we risk it? The waiting is over…
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PRAYER
Dearest God, Holy Creator, Joy of the world! Hope of tomorrow! Light of heaven! Lover of humanity! You are the Creator of every thing; through your word the world and everything in it exists. You are the maker of red berried holly trees, of fragrant Christmas trees, of tinsel spar-kling with many colors of light, of carols to be sung, of gifts given and received, of children born, of blessed rest everlasting, of everything which is beautiful, which is lovely, which is good. Be with us, Holy Lord of heaven and earth, live among us, let us feel your presence, as we cele-brate the birth of your child, your gift, your love, who came to live, grow, and teach among us. May our hearts always be young in your love. Amen.
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Sermon: “Enacting Shalom”
A Sermon Delivered by The Rev. John D. Painter at Centenary United Methodist Church
Metuchen, New Jersey December 5, 2004 (The Second Sunday of Advent)
Text: Isaiah 11:1-10
Last Sunday, using an earlier passage from Isaiah (2:1-5), Pastor Bauknight shared with us her message about “The Endless Quest for Peace”. She reminded us that peace is a universal pursuit of every human being. That search for peace may take as many different forms as there are persons and situations in which they find themselves, but it is at the heart of much of who we are and what we do.
Susan Ivany, a United Church of Canada Pastor from Thunder Bay, Ontario, has ob-served: “Isaiah’s prophecy of the peaceful kingdom is front and center in our collective con-sciousness at this time of the year. Everywhere we go, decorations, ornaments, carols and cards shout the words, ‘Peace on Earth!’ At Advent, everyone, churched and un-churched alike, has been given a “free pass” to openly and boldly proclaim the dream of peace.
“The dream of peace is the single thread that connects us to every community, in every country, in every time and place throughout history. Peace is a core value of our human condi-tion. In some parts of the world, peace would mean a ceasefire. In other places, peace might be a setting aside of personal differences. The lion and the lamb [of Isaiah’s prophecy] may take on different guises, but the vision remains one of peaceful co-existence.”
A quick glance at the newspaper headlines, a fleeting look at the TV news, or a brief en-counter with the radio while on your way to work or running errands will dispel any notion that such a world is now in place, or that it is even close to materializing. The news this week that we are about to commit over 12,000 additional American military personnel to the war in Iraq bears witness to our failure to enact Isaiah’s vision of shalom. And in the “Holy Land,” the place of Jesus’ birth and living witness of shalom, the so-called “Road Map for Peace” is tangled and twisted with detours.
The reality is that armed conflict is very much a part of our legacy in these days when we await the coming of the “Prince of Peace.” Huge inequities and injustices remain. It is still a dangerous planet. Lions stalk us. The poor are still hungry and oppressed. Wolves, big and small, devour the weak. Entire nations live in poverty. Millions and millions of children remain at risk from war, sickness and hunger. There are snakes in the grass. Our solutions to these concerns just don’t seem to be big enough, or clever enough, to solve all of the underlying problems that keep us from living out Isaiah’s vision of shalom.
Isaiah saw that the earth was suffering then as it is now. The lambs, the kids, the fatlings and the little children of the world were vulnerable, always in danger, always threatened, always at risk. And no global solution seemed to be visible. But Isaiah was offered a solution. God pro-vided an answer to Isaiah’s deep yearnings for shalom through the vision of a Messiah who would come forth from “the stump of Jesse” to show us God’s vision of the future…a vision of peace—true shalom. And that brings us to the heart of today’s message: If shalom is God’s vi-sion of the future, then that is the vision which we are called upon to work for today.
What other choice do we have? We are challenged to work today to enact that vision of shalom, even if it is accomplished only in part. In a little while, as we prepare to receive the bread and cup of Holy Communion, we will pray the familiar words of The Lord’s Prayer, and in those words we will agree to struggle to see God’s purpose fulfilled “on earth as it is in heaven.”
Jesus Christ came to show us the way to shalom, however imperfectly we might imple-ment it in our world. A little child in the manger reminds us of that. Isaiah said, “…and a little child shall lead them” (Isaiah 11:6d). The babe of Bethlehem points to the power of children to simplify, to bring into focus, what’s important and what’s not in this quest for shalom.
Sadako Sasaki was such a child. She lived in Japan from 1943-1955. She was in Hi-roshima when the atom bomb was dropped.
When she was 11, she developed leukemia and died. During her months in the hospital, she remembered an ancient story which says that the crane is supposed to live for a thousand years. If a sick person folds a thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant his or her wish and make her healthy again.
Sadako’s dream was peace in our world. She held fast to this hope, making as many cranes as her energy would allow her, day after day. The paper origami cranes became her strength and her courage.
When she had made her 654th crane, Sadako died. Sadako’s classmates folded 356 more, so that 1,000 cranes were buried with her.
After her funeral, Sadako’s class collected her letters and published them in a book that was sent around Japan. Soon, everyone knew about Sadako and the thousand paper cranes.
Her friends began to dream of building a monument to her and all children who died the way she did. Young people throughout the country helped collect money for the project. In 1958, a statue of Sadako holding a golden crane was unveiled in Hiroshima Peace Park. Since that time, people from all around the world have spoken the words which are engraved there. They have kept Sadako’s dream alive: This is our cry; this is our prayer—peace in our world.
The Bethlehem manger points to a future realm of peace and justice—a vision of true shalom…“and a little child shall lead them.” It’s a vision of shalom that Jesus the Christ—Bethlehem’s Babe—has brought to our souls, and calls us to enact now for the health and well-being of all God’s children.
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PRAYER
Innovative and creative God, you amaze us with how all the parts of your world fit to-gether and how solutions can be found to vexing troubles and problems. You sent Christ, your Son, to fix our problem of sin and open the path to heaven. We thank you for that, and we’re treading that path, but we’re still struggling with the problem of peace. Lions aren’t lying down with lambs, leopards threaten the livestock, wolves are prowling, and the snakes still bite. We long for the promised time on your holy mountain when your peace, your true and holy shalom, lives in all the hearts of humankind so that this world of woe might stop its warring ways. We are your people, your children, made by the work of your hands, filled with the breath of your body. We are your vulnerable lambs who belong to Christ, the lion-hearted, whom we trust and love. We seek your heaven here. We hope for your solution now. We pray in this holy time, this holy season, that we might, even if for a moment, all join our hearts, in praise of you, that your sha-lom might touch us all. This we pray, in Christ’s holy name. Amen.
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