The Pattern (Christmas 1 ABC)

 

The Pattern  
John 1:1-18
Homily delivered First Sunday after Christmas Day (All Years RCL TEC)
29th December 2024: 11:00 am Sung Eucharist
Mission Church of the Holy Spirit

Sutherlin, Oregon

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
Readings: Isa 61:10-62:3; Ps 147, Gal 3:23-25; 4:4-7; John 1:1-18

 

Take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen

 

Today’s Gospel does not tell the story of Jesus’ earthly origins.  John tells us of something quite a bit deeper and much, much more hidden.  He begins also by quoting a hymn, this one to Christ as the Logos, the eternal word of God.  It begins, “In the beginning was the Word.”

This translation misses the richness of the Greek en arche en ho logos. Another way of translating might be, “At the start, at the root of all, the logos existed.”  The usual way it is translated in Chinese captures the idea much better than any I have seen in English: 太 初 有 道 “At the great beginning of all things, there is the Tao.”

The Greek word logos is where we get our words logo, logic, and analogue and dialogue. It means much more than just “word.”   Its basic meaning is whatever it is that creates or conveys meaning or sense, whether in our minds or on our lips.   Something is logical, or has logos, because it coheres and is patterned.  Geo-logy is the patterns we see in the physical world, Gaia.  Theology is a patterned and coherent way of talking about God, Theos.   Logos is a deep pattern, a coherence, that lies behind and beneath disparate and apparently random facts. 

 

Thus, a good way to translate the first verse is, “At the start and heart of all things lies a Pattern, a Meaning.”

I propose the following translation of the metrical verses of John 1:1-18, pointing to the meaning that John’s Gospel gives such words as “word,” “light,” and “darkness”:

 

At the start and in the heart of all things,

        there was a meaningful Pattern.
The Pattern was God’s;

        God was the Pattern.
At the moment of creation,

         this Pattern was already with God.

Everything came into existence through it.
        Nothing exists that didn’t come from it.
The Pattern brought forth Life, 

      the Light of meaning for humankind.
This Light shines on in the darkness,

      for the darkness could not put it out… 

Though in the universe he had made, 

       the universe did not recognize him for what he was.  

He came into his own realm,

      but his own kin did not take him in.

But all who do take him in, he empowers

      to become children of God:  

Those who trust in all that he is,

      children not born from the blood of birth,

   Or reproductive instinct, or masculine will,

       But rather, born from God alone.  

The pattern and meaning of everything

      Took on human flesh

    And lived with us a short time.

   We experienced how splendid he is:

 The splendor of an only Son coming from the Father,

    Filled with love that never ends… 

Of his completeness

   We all shared but a bit, 

    Love upon love. 

 

The hymn says that the Word/Meaning/Pattern of God took on flesh. The choice of the word “flesh” is deliberate. In Semitic culture, basar “flesh” was the physical, earthy part of a person that you could see, touch, and smell. It was a key part of you, and not wholly separable from your mind or spirit. The symbol for a man to be part of God’s covenant with Abraham was that he be circumcised in his flesh. For Greeks, sarx “flesh” was the changeable, impermanent part of a human being. For some Greek philosophers, it was the part that resisted reason and had a mind of its own, the part that I think we would identify by talking about addictive, obsessive, or compulsive behaviors. It was in this sense that Saint Paul had occasionally used the word—sarx for him sometimes is shorthand for that part of a human being that resists God’s intentions for us.

When the prologue of John says the logos became sarx, it means that Reason, Pattern, Meaning itself, took on all it means to be a human being: all the limitations, all the doubts and fears, the ignorance, all the handicaps.  The later Church councils in the creeds fleshed this out (sorry!) by insisting that Christ was 100% God and 100% human, not a 50-50 mix.  Christ was not God incognito, just pretending to be human, nor a mere human being chosen and raised up by God.  The Creed insists  that Jesus is both true God and true man, very God and very Man, eternally begotten of the Father, i.e., the parent child relationship exists and has always existed outside of time.  

 

The hymn to the Logos adds “he dwelt a short time among us.” The word used for “dwelt a short time” is eskenasen: he “set up his tent” among us. The image is of a temporary habitation, like the Tent of the Meeting or the Tabernacle of the ancient Israelites, where God Himself was made manifest to Moses.

The hymn adds, “and we saw his splendor, as of a father’s only Son, full of Grace and Truth.”

Grace—joyful and tender love, without condition.  Truth—genuineness, authenticity, steadfastness, things being as they ought to be. It is here that the conflict between divine and human, the perfect and imperfect, the boundless and the bounded is resolved: Grace and Truth. For despite all our limitations, we human beings can on occasion transcend ourselves and open ourselves to Grace and Truth. On even fewer occasions, we can even become the channels or instruments by which Grace and Truth can be given to others.  But in Jesus, says the hymn, Grace and Truth was ever present. 

“We saw the splendor of God made flesh, we saw the beauty of the pattern behind the worlds placed within this apparently random and meaningless world—and we recognized that splendor or glory as Grace, we recognized it as Truth.”  We recognized that splendor as Jesus. 

It is in Jesus’ gracious love and authenticity that the Gospel of John says we can recognize the pattern of the universe, see Jesus is the Logos from all eternity.   But John adds “the only child of the father.” Jesus is monogenes—one-of-a-kind.   Despite all he shares with us, he is different in this one way.  Despite the limitations his humanity imposed, Jesus as Eternal Pattern of Meaning is Transcendence Itself.

 

The Hymn to the Logos also says that although, or perhaps because, Jesus is monogenes, one of a kind, his divinity is contagious for us humans:   

 

“But all who do take him in, he empowers

      to become children of God:  

Those who trust in all that he is,

      children not born (or begotten) from the blood of birth,

Or reproductive instinct, or masculine will,

       But rather, born (or begotten) from God alone.”

 

Reflecting on this very text, St. Athanasius wrote, “God became man so that man might become God.” 

 

This is what the Galatians passage is about:  the Law was a "disciplinarian" that is, a pedagogue, leading us to school, in this case, leading us to Christ.  A pedagogue was a slave assigned to take the kids to school, make them do their homework, and bring them safely home again. In this context, it means a nanny who will help us get ready to be adopted as fully-acknowledged children and heirs.  

 

The very fact that the Pattern took on human life and nature, with all its limitations and messiness, means that we limited messy creatures can absorb his divinity and take on his love. 

 

The Gospel writer adds the following prose comment to the end of the hymn to the Logos, “For though the Law was a gift through Moses, this never-ending love came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God; it is God the only Son, ever at the Father’s side, who has unveiled God for us.” 

 

The Ultimate Meaning of the universe found a place in human flesh.  The undying light came to us in our darkness and shines on and on.  This only Son of God offers us Grace and Truth and the chance to be born as Children of God, to share in the pattern and meaning.  May we follow that light and conform to that Pattern.  

In the name of God, Amen.

 

 

Come Let Us Adore Him (Christmas Day Year C)

 

 

Come Let us Adore Him
Homily delivered for Christmas Day (Year C)
24th December 2024

5:00 p.m. Sung Eucharist
St. Luke Episcopal Church

Grants Pass, Oregon

Isaiah 9:2-7 ; Titus 2:11-14 ; Luke 2:1-20 ; Psalm 96

 

God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

 

O Come, All ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,

O Come ye, come ye, to Bethlehem.

Come, and behold him, born the King of angels,

O Come, let us adore him. 

 

Have you ever thought about what we are saying when we sing this?  Worship a baby, barely born and in diapers? (That’s what “swathing bands” are.) Worship a little creature with a brain that is just beginning to organize sensory input and is still years away from rational thought?  How can this be?

 

The doctrine of the incarnation, of God taking on flesh and becoming a human being, was a scandalous idea from the start. The basic problem is simply stated: “God” is what we are not. We are contingent; God is sufficient. We are changeable; God is unchanging. We are masses of conflicting urges and desire, most of them selfish and all of them formed by a self that is in no way complete or whole. God is pure being, intention, and love itself. We are incomplete and sick; God is wholeness and health. We have failings galore; God is holy perfection. We can be pretty benighted, ugly, and false; God is beauty, light and truth. How can these two polar extremes be reconciled, let alone combined?

 

The early, united Church discussed the issue at length.  It gradually recognized that the Love and Power that brought the universe into existence and still sustains it, in the person of Jesus of Nazareth embraced and took on in every way but deliberate revolt against God all  the weakness, limitation, handicaps, failures, and contingency of being human. The early Councils declared that Jesus Christ was fully God and fully Man, 100% Divinity and 100% Human Being. He was not a 50-50 mix, half God and half human being. 

To those who say that Jesus was merely a man whom God had raised up, the Creed they wrote replies, “We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father,” that is, there never was a time when he was not thus being begotten.  “…Of one Being with the Father. Through him all things were made.”   The carol quotes the Creed when it sings, “God from God, Light from Light Eternal, Lo! He abhors not the Virgin’s womb:  Very God, begotten, not created, O Come let us Adore Him.”

At the other extreme are those who believe that Christ was fully God and only seemed to be human. The letters of John in the New Testament condemn people who “do not acknowledge that it is in the flesh that Jesus Christ came” (2 John 1:7) and later Gnostics even split the human Jesus from the divine Christ, and pictured the unsuffering, unmoving Christ looking down upon Jesus on the Cross, laughing that people would mistakenly think that he, the Christ, had suffered.

 

To all of these, the Creed states, “He became incarnate (that is, took on flesh) from the Virgin Mary, and was made a human being. For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried.” 

“Truly God and truly Human”: we often miss the point, wrongly thinking that somehow God came among us without truly being one of us, only play-acting to be human.   The one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church confessed in the Creeds teaches that this belief is heretical, despite its broad popularity among believers. 

 

God incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth shared all our limitations, weaknesses, ignorance, fears, and silly quirks. He was subject to natural evil like the rest of us. The most obvious example is his unjust death by torture at the hands of the Roman Empire.

Theologians try to describe the incarnation from God’s viewpoint by saying that God took on flesh and accepted its limits, willing his deity to be overshadowed by bis humanity.  The technical theological term for it is “the occultation of the divinity.”  An early hymn in Philippians (2: 6-8) describes it as Christ “emptying himself” or kenosis.   But this image, though completely true, sounds at times a bit mechanistic and abstract to us.    

Perhaps we need another image to describe it from our human viewpoint.  One is Celtic spirituality’s idea of “thin places,” geographic spots where the veil between the ordinary world and the unseen world behind and beneath it seem particularly thin, like the island of Iona, the grotto at Lourdes, or even the view from a mountaintop.    These are places where the Distant, Shining City does not seem so far away, where it seems easier to commune with God. There are also some people in whom the image of God does not seem so distorted, whose life shows the presence of God shining through, folks we call “saints.” The man Jesus is the ultimate example of a person as a “thin place,” maybe the thinnest of places, or even a place where there is no veil at all.

 

The incarnation marks a profound continuity and solidarity between God and us and our lives in all their messy, chaotic glory.  In Jesus, all we are has been brought intimately close to God.  In Jesus, all we are can be made holy as he is.  And that is not just us individually, but in community too. 

 

William Stringfellow writes,

“Jesus Christ means that God cares extremely, decisively, inclusively, immediately, for the ordinary, transient, proud, wonderful, besetting, frivolous, hectic, lusty things of human life. The reconciliation of God and the world in Jesus Christ means that in Christ there is a radical and integral relationship of all human beings and of all things. In Christ all things are held together (Col. 1:17b).

“The church as the Body of Christ in the world has, shares, manifests, and represents the same radical integrity. All who are in Christ … live in the same integrity in their personal relationships with every other creature … [T]he reconciliation of the world with God in Jesus Christ establishes a person in unity with both God and the whole world. The singular life of the Christian is a sacrament—a recall, a representation, an enactment, a communication—of that given, actual unity, whether in the gathering of the congregation now and then or whether in the scattering of the members within the daily affairs of the world. . . . [I]t is careless and misleading to speak of the action of God in the world in Christ in terms of “making the gospel relevant” to the secular. The [Church] lives in the world in the unity of God and the world wrought in … Christ.” (William Stringfellow, A Public and Private Faith, 1962, 40-44). 

 

In Jesus, we see that our human limitation and weakness do not have to equal resistance against God.  In Jesus, we see that God made us, wanting to look upon his creation and call it “very good,” but is not yet finished creating us.  Jesus calls, “Let God finish.”

Just as Jesus accepted who he was and the tasks God gave him, we must accept who we are—gifts and strengths, disabilities and ugly deficiencies and all.  We must accept who others are as well. We must be gentle both on them and ourselves.  Seeking to let God finish his creative work in us, trying to amend our lives, both personally and communally, requires an open-ended listening, a total trust that in God’s good intentions, in Lady Julian of Norwich’s words, “all is well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

 

A pretty good sign that we are not following Jesus in this is alienation: alienation from our selves; alienation from our bodies, including our appetites and sexuality; or alienation from our conscience. Alienation between people is a sign of this on a social level.  Alienation appears when we do not accept who we and others are and surrender this to God. We try to tough it out, and bulldoze ourselves into the better us that we have in mind, finding that the harder we push, the greater the load of rubble we are trying to bulldoze away gets.  Instead, we should not push, but lean back, follow Jesus by emptying ourselves, by letting go of our worries and letting God do the rest. 

A pretty good sign that we are getting closer to God in this is that regardless of the limitations and hardships we face, we still have a sense of one-ness. Teillard de Chardin wrote, “The surest sign of God’s presence is joy.”

 

Christmastide is a time of joy.  “O Come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant.”  That’s because God is here.

 

This helpless baby was God made one of us. God taking on human nature is the signal event that invites us humans to take on God’s nature.   If we worship that helpless baby, we must treat the helpless with generosity.  If we make room for him and his refugee family in the inn, we must treat all refugees and aliens with compassion, respect, and decency.

 

This helpless baby was only beginning to enjoy all the good human life has to offer.  Yet he was also just starting to suffer all the bad life can throw at us. Yet despite it all, he remained ever trusting in his Father, and faithful. We must trust and be faithful too. 

 

Ambrose of Milan, who taught and converted Augustine of Hippo in the mid fourth century, wrote the great hymn praising the enfleshment of Christ in these words:

Come, thou Redeemer of the earth,
and manifest thy virgin-birth;
let every age adoring fall,
such birth befits the God of all.

Begotten of no human will,
but of the Spirit, thou art still
the Word of God, in flesh arrayed,
the promised fruit to man displayed.

The virgin womb that burden gained
with virgin honour all unstained;
the banners there of virtue glow,
God in his temple dwells below.

Forth from that chamber goeth he,
that royal home of purity,
a giant in twofold substance one,
rejoicing now his course to run.

From God the Father he proceeds,
to God the Father back he speeds,
runs out his course to death and hell,
returns on God’s high throne to dwell.

O equal to thy Father, thou!
Gird on thy fleshly mantle now,
the weakness of our mortal state
with deathless might invigorate. 

As God became truly human in Jesus, let us truly accept our own and our fellow beings’ humanity, with all its limitations and failings. And as Jesus accepted the Father's will in all things, let us open ourselves to listen to God and follow where Jesus leads.  

 

Joyful and triumphant despite our sufferings, let us follow the one who through human suffering became joy and triumph itself.  O Come, let us adore him. 

In the Name of God, Amen.

 

 

The O Antiphons (Dec 17-23)

 

The “O” Antiphons 

I remember the first time I heard the carol “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”  I was 8 or 9.  I remember thinking that it was a very ancient song, with old, old feelings and sounds.  It sounded very “Old Testament,” and that marked it as ancient for me.  I was surprised as a teenager to learn that the English hymn we sang was from the mid-1800s.  And though it had originally been written in Latin, it was not all that ancient—probably first published in its Latin present form in the 1500s.

 

But the fact is, the hymn itself is a poem drawn from a series of very ancient liturgical texts, from as early as the 6^th century.  

 

In monastic daily prayer, Psalm and Canticle texts were often given “headers” and “footers” to set them apart, ornament them, sum up their ideas, and make the chanting seem not so monotonous.  These lead-ins and codas are called antiphons.   In the seven days leading up to Christmas, the normal daily evening singing of the Blessed Virgin’s Canticle of Praise The Magnificat (“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord…”) was set off by a special set of antiphons, one for each day.  Each of these began with the word “O” and calling upon Christ with one of the various titles and images for him in these early Christians’ reading of their Old Testament.  Each is a meditation on Christ, and on the prophetic vision of the Hebrew prophets. 

 

The “O Antiphons” were a way for the monks to prepare for Christmas.  In an 8^th century manuscript, each of the officials of the monastery are given a separate antiphon to chant on one of the days—together with the responsibility of paying for that day’s wine or holiday snacks for the monks after service or in the upcoming holiday feast! 

 

The titles used all come from prophetic passages, mainly Isaiah:  Wisdom (Sapientia), Lord (Adonai), Stem of Jesse (Radix Jesse), Key of David (Clavis David), Rising Sun (Oriens), King of the Gentiles (Rex Gentium), and, of course, Emmanuel.  The choice of names in this order was intentional:  when read backward from Christmas Eve, the first letter of each title spelled out the message ERO CRAS. “Tomorrow, I will be there!” 

 

Beginning this morning, in our daily morning prayer we may think of singing the Magnificat and the Great O Antiphons, one for each day, in the days leading up to Christmas.  

 

Here is the Magnificat in my translation of the Bible: 

 

MAGNIFICAT

My soul proclaims the Noble One’s greatness;

          my spirit rejoices in God my savior.
For God  has noted this hand-maid’s lowliness;
          From this day forth, all ages will call me blessed.
The Mighty One has done great things for me,
          whose name is holy, 
Whose compassion is from age to age
           for those who stand in awe of God,
Who has shown might of arm,
          by scattering the arrogant in mind and heart,
Has thrown down the mighty from their thrones
          but lifted up the lowly,
Has filled the hungry with good things;
          but sent the rich away empty,
Has taken up the cause of God’s servant Isra’el,
          remembering compassion,
Just as God promised to our ancestors,
          to Abraham and his offspring forever.”

                                           (The Ashland Bible)  

 

I encourage all of us to take a little time each day December 17-23 to read aloud and reflect on the antiphons.  I have included my translation of them here, plus a few of the scriptural passages behind them.  Simply reading one a day, either once through or with a Lectio-style repeated reading with contemplation, would make a good addition to our private prayers and devotions as we approach the Holiday. 

 

Grace and Peace,  Fr. Tony+ 

 

ANTIPHONS FOR THE FINAL 7 DAYS OF ADVENT

THE “O” GREAT ANTIPHONS

  

 

Dec. 17

O Sapientia (O Lady Wisdom):

 “O Lady Wisdom, you came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and reach from one end of the earth to the other, mightily and sweetly putting all things in order: come and teach us the way of being present!”

“The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord, and his delight shall be the fear of the Lord.” (Isaiah11:2-3); “Wonderful is His counsel and great is His wisdom.” (Isa 28:29).

 

 

Dec. 18

O Adonai (O Yahweh; Lord):

“O Adonai, ruler of the House of Israel, you appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush; on Mount Sinai you gave him your law: come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free.”

“But He shall judge the poor with justice, and decide aright for the land’s afflicted. He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Justice shall be the band around his waist, and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.” (Isa 11:4-5);  “Indeed the Lord will be there with us, majestic; yes the Lord our judge, the Lord our lawgiver, the Lord our king, he it is who will save us.” (Isa 33:22).

 

 

Dec. 19

O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse):

“O Root of Jesse, you stand as an ensign for all peoples; before you kings stand silent; all nations bow in worship: come and save us, and do not delay.”

“But a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom.” (Isa 11:1),  “On that day, the root of [David’s father] Jesse, set up as a signal for the nations, the Gentiles shall seek out, for his dwelling shall be glorious” (Isa 11:10).  “But you, Bethlehem-Ephrathah, too small to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel”  (Micah 5:1).

 

 

Dec. 20

O Clavis David (O Key of David):

“O Key of David, and scepter of the House of Israel; you open and no one closes; you close and no one opens: Come and deliver us from the chains of prison, we who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.”

“I will place the Key of the House of David on His shoulder; when he opens, no one will shut, when he shuts, no one will open” (Isa 22:22);  “His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over His kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever” (Isa 9:6).

 

 

Dec. 21

O Oriens (O Eastern Dawn):

“O Rising Dawn, brightness of the light eternal, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.”

 “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shown” (Isa 9:1).

 

Dec. 22

O Rex Gentium (O King of the Nations, Gentiles):

“O King of all the nations, and their desire, you are the cornerstone that binds two into one: come and save the creature you have fashioned from clay.”

“For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace” (Isa 9:5); “He shall judge between the nations, and impose terms on many peoples. They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; one nation shall not raise the sword against another, nor shall they train for war again” (Isa 2:4).

 

 

Dec. 23

O Emmanuel (O God with Us):

“O Emmanuel, our King and Lawgiver, the Desire of all nations and their Savior: come and set us free, O Lord our God.”

 “The Lord himself will give you this sign: the Virgin shall be with child, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel” (7:14). 

 

Images by Sr. Ansgar Holmberg, CSJ  

Gaudete (advent 3C)

 

“Gaudete”

15 December 2024

Advent 3C

Homily preached at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church
Grants Pass, Oregon

by the Rev. Dr. Anthony Hutchinson 

9:00 a.m. Sung Mass 

Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle 9; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

 

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

 

A few years ago at this time, my wife Elena and I drove up to Portland to attend the annual performance of the Christmas Revels, that celebration of hope, joy, and peace for Winter Solstice, the shortest day and darkest time of the year.  As we drove, over the radio came news from Sandy Hook Connecticut about a horrific mass shooting at an elementary school. So when we got to the Revels, we were not feeling the joy and hope.  Thinking about the dead first graders, we found ourselves weeping several times while children sang such things as “follow the stars, how they run; see the moon, how it grows,” “What a goodly thing if the children of the world could dwell together in peace,” and “God bless the Master of this House, and his good mistress too, and all the little children that round the table go.”  The call “rejoice, rejoice, rejoice” seemed hollow.    

 

A few years later, three years ago on the Feast of Saint Nicholas (December 6, on Monday that year), my beloved Elena died of a Parkinson’s related stroke.  As much as I liked to think that the Saint had come that day to give her the gift of no more suffering, I was in deep grief and mourning the next Sunday, third Advent, when we are told to put on joy for the upcoming holiday.  

 

Today, once again, is Gaudete (Rejoice!) Sunday.  We light the pink candle on the Advent Wreath, and I am wearing rose vestments.   This is the Sunday when our fearful dread at the coming Day of Doom is supposed to turn into the joyful anticipation of Christ’s birth.  

 

Be happy.  Rejoice.  Smile.  It is what Paul commands us to do in today’s epistle reading.  “Rejoice always, again I say, rejoice.”  Despite all that is in the air, sing a happy song.  

 

But how can we rejoice in the face of such dreadful things and such grief? 

 

I do not think that Paul is giving us a dopey repetition of the nostrum, “Don’t worry, be happy!”  He wrote this letter to the Philippians while in prison, after having been beaten savagely several times for not denouncing his faith.  In his letters he certainly seems to have the full range of human emotion, from grief and sorrow at times to gentle warmth and affection, from blazing anger at times to falling down laughter at other times. But here he is saying “rejoice always.”   

 

Paul is not arguing here for us to become clinically emotionally impaired, whether as rapid-cycling bipolars or sufferers from profound dissociative mixed states of affect.  He is not calling for being untrue to our feelings at the moment.  Rather, he is calling for hope despite our all-too justified fears and grief.   

 

Importantly, Paul says, “Rejoice in the Lord always.”   His point is that the source, object, and driver of our joy should be Jesus, not the circumstances we find ourselves in.   He admits that our circumstances can be pretty bad when he says, “do not worry about anything that may happen.” But he says that if we pray and ask God for our deepest desires in all aspects of our lives with a thankful heart, God’s peace, which is beyond understanding, will keep us in the embrace and love of God and Jesus, will keep us in hope.

 

When the French want to tell you to be strong, find hope in the face of trouble, and deal gracefully with what life dishes out, they say “du courage!”  It’s like saying “buck up!” or “hang in there.” 

 

One of the pivotal moments in my life, and one of the greatest bits of counsel I ever received, took place in Beijing China on June 6, 1989.  I had arrived to work at the U.S. Embassy there just days before.  In the closing days of May, things in Beijing had gotten more and more chaotic as the pro-democracy demonstrations in Tian’anmen Square dragged on.  The evening of Saturday June 3, the army moved in to recapture the Square, re-exert control over the city, and terrorize the people back into compliance with the Communist Party’s leadership.   Many of you saw the picture of the single protester standing his ground before a column of tanks.  That scene was unusual.  Generally people who stood in the way were simply run over by the armored personnel carriers, crushed and chewed up by the treads.   For days the army used random shooting toward crowds as a way of cowing people to get off the streets.  More than a thousand were dead, and rumors of dissenting Army units firing on each other raised the specter of Civil War.  In all this, the U.S. Embassy granted refuge to the leading dissidents in the country.  They came in through my office.   The next day, the army opened fire at U.S. diplomatic apartments—some with children in them—in an hour-long shooting spree in which, fortunately, none were killed.   The Ambassador James R. Lilley called us all together to announce that our dependents were being evacuated from the country and that we would mount a full-scale evacuation effort to take stranded Americans in remote parts of the city to the airport.  As we were meeting, automatic weapons fire opened up just outside the Embassy compound where we were meeting.  People crouched beneath the window levels until silence returned.

 

 

Then Ambassador Lilley called us back into order.  What he said then is deeply etched in my memory.  Calmly, with emotion, he said, “We are not often called upon to show courage.  Courage is grace under fire, keeping your head and your heart focused on what you need to do, and why, and then doing it regardless of all the things you cannot control going on around you.  As you go out to help evacuate Americans, you must keep your cool and stay focused. As we send off our spouses and children, not knowing when we might see them again, we must give them confidence and hope by our own calm and love.  Stay on task, remember our values and the oath we took when we entered into Federal service.  Though all might not be well, you will have the calm of knowing you have done everything in your power.  It’s a matter of faith, both having faith, and keeping faith.  It’s called courage, and that is what we must step up to now, so we can make the best of this bad, bad situation.”  The words had particular impact on me as we drove the next two days in convoys across the barricades all over the city, facing the muzzles of AK-47s held by PLA teenage recruits from the provinces shaky with amphetamines to keep them awake.  

I have always thanked God that Jim Lilley knew exactly what to say to us and then modeled courage for us.  He taught where courage comes from.  As African American Spirituals say, “Keep your eyes on the prize! Keep your hand on the plough!  Hold on, hold on!”  This lesson has stayed with me from then until now.   

What Jim Lilley knew was this:  if we keep our minds on the goal and stay on task regardless of how bad things are, if we are true to the better angels in our hearts, grace under fire just happens.   We are no longer overwhelmed by the things over which we have no control.  And we find we can even find humor, satisfaction, and yes, even joy in pursuing our course, come hell or high water.  

It’s there in today’s Canticle: 

 

“Surely it is God who saves me, 

trusting him, I shall not fear,  

The Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, 

and he will be my Savior.

Therefore you shall draw water with rejoicing 
from the springs of salvation.”

 

Paul says the joy that we can have at all times, the peace which passes understanding, is in “joy in the Lord.”  “In the Lord.” That means Jesus is the prize that we need to keep our eyes on.  His teachings are the plough we must keep our hands on.  Focusing on him is what keeps joy and hope alive in us, no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in.   

 

Carols of this season put it well.  One says, “Good Christians all, this Christmas time, remember well, and keep in mind, what God Himself for us has done, in sending His Beloved Son.”  Another says, “So let us be happy, put sorrows away, remember Christ Jesus was born on this day.”  Another: “Good Christians all rejoice, with heart and minds and voices, give ye heed to what we say, Jesus Christ is born this day.”  And this, despite hardship:  “Ox and ass before him bow and he is in the manger now.”  And the Latin carol we often hear choirs sing this time of year, “Gaudete, gaudete, Christus est natus ex Maria Virgine, gaudete!”

The Revels performance is so moving to me each year precisely because they celebrate the Light in the darkest and drearest part of the year.  A poem written for the Revels and read at each performance sums the idea up well:

 

The Shortest Day
By Susan Cooper
And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us – listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!

 

Hope in the darkness, joy despite suffering and brokenness.  Even if inchoate, even if expressed in revelling alone, it is the joy of God.  Not a hollow, “don’t worry be happy!” but deep joy and relief at the dawning of the Light which the darkness cannot overcome, deep thanks for the coming of the Good and Love that Evil cannot destroy.  

 

Let us go forth from this Eucharist today, this Great Thanksgiving, renewed and recommitted to joy, to love, to caring for children, to supporting and healing the ill and reconciling hurt, and to forgiveness.  Of course, let us mourn the people and things we need to mourn.  But in this all, may joy in Christ inspire us to work for a better world, both in our own lives and in the common life we share together.  

 

In the name of Christ, Amen.