Following Where Grace Leads

As the last grains of sand sift

through the hour glass 

and pile high to 

proclaim 

2020 

is past-

a feeling of 

relief descends

even as new hope arises! 

A year like no other recedes

and yet its residue 

leaves so many

buried under

a pile

of burdens

brought on by

a spikey round virus

both devastating and deadly.

Sanitized, masked and social distanced

we’ve been sad and saddened;

mad and maddened by

empty promises and full-throated lies

leaving Truth to top the endangered virtue list.

Quarantined, virtual-schooled and working from home

have provided “dangers, toils and snares,” 

tightened belts, dashed dreams, and hoarded necessities.

Some of it you know firsthand. Some of it you have heard about.

Most of it has been the subject of your prayers

while hoping no more of those you know and love

will be numbered among the mounting count

of lives forever changed or lost in a lonely sterile room.

Gratefully, as these words are written and read

we are among those who survived the worst,

and were spared the deeper struggles,

to live to greet the new year in faith with hope to love and serve. 

“Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; 

‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home.” 

[Amazing Grace, verse 3]  John Newton, 1779

                                                        In the Silence of the Night

                                            In the silence of the night a babe was born

                                                In a shabby space kept for the beasts.
                                            Rejoice! Be Glad! God’s Son is born!
                                                Let us celebrate his birth with feasts.

                                            In the silence of the night slept a shepherd boy
                                                On a hillside ‘neath the stars above.
                                           When an Angel brought good news of a great, great joy:
                                               God sent a child to show us His love.

                                            In the silence of the night raise a shout of joy,
                                                In your heart sing a prayer for peace.
                                            Give thanks for the birth of Mary’s boy,
                                                Let your prayers to God never cease.

                                            In the silence of the night raise your voice in praise
                                                For the ways Jesus taught us to live.
                                            Make his Way yours for the rest of your days;
                                                Receiving joy with each gift you give.

                                                        Have a Blessed Christmas!

 

Blue Christmas Service Meditation          Dec. 21, 2020       First Presbyterian Church, Clarks Summit

“Oh there’s no place like home for the holidays!”
Sounds great, unless you have been stuck in your home since the middle of March; Or you can’t get there without proof of a negative Covid-19 test; Or, you would go if you could but you can’t, because the place was sold years ago; Or what passes for home these days is a room in the skilled nursing wing with a few Christmas decorations from yesteryear to remind you of the real thing.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me.”
Sounds nice, and looks wonderful when played out in the coffee commercials they might not show this year. But for some, the promise is undone by a stocking no longer hung by the chimney with care, and the memory of one who now resides in the Father’s house with many mansions. For others, the “if only in my dreams” ending is a harsh reminder that someone who used to make the holidays “merry and bright” is “miles away;” or now lives under another roof and shares someone else’s bed.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”
Except it’s not for those who line up to pick up donated toys or food; and those who have no place to go to work on December twenty-sixth. It’s also not all that wonderful for the one whose mailbox is empty, whose phone doesn’t ring, whose threshold wasn’t crossed much in either direction even before the pandemic.

In an Advent devotional, author Kathleen Norris reports: “In some churches, during Advent, pillars are deco-rated with wreaths that resemble a crown of thorns.”[i] Norris says she loves that because it helps her “remember that in this life, true joy is never perfect, but comes mixed with pain and suffering.”[ii] Next, she writes about the traditional Advent Wreath, which she describes as “plump with greenery and promise," and joins another author, Gertrude Mueller Nelson, in wondering whether the Advent Wreath has its origin “in the ancient European custom of marking the winter solstice by removing the wheels from farm carts and wagons. Stripped of all utility, the wheels were brought indoors and decorated: color and candles to celebrate light in the dark of winter, and to remind the sun to return.”[iii]

Tonight, as the winter solstice brings us the longest night of the year, we take refuge in the strange to-getherness that unites this sanctuary with the place you are seated. We leave be-hind for a time, most of the bright colors, the silly songs, and the inflated figures on front lawn. We acknowledge whatever darkness has descended on our hearts, and long for the comfort that comes from hearing once more of the light that shines in the darkness…the true light which enlightens everyone…the light which the darkness has not, cannot, will not, over-come…even if it feels like it has.

Gloomy clouds and dark shadows. A close look at the Christmas story in the Gospel of Matthew reveals it wasn’t all as calm and bright as the beloved Carol pictures it. Disappointment descended and dreams were dashed by the news that Mary was “found to be with child.” Joseph and Mary’s plan A for a life shared became food for the shred-der; Joseph’s Plan B was rejected, too, even though it had elements of kindness and compassion. In the end, God’s Plan was adopted. Trust in divine promises put the holy couple in the company of Old Testament saints who listened when God said “Children, go where send thee!”

Little did they know that scandal was the least of their worries. Soon enough they would be running for their lives, fugitives fleeing from powers threatened by the love God was offering to the world. Beyond the stories we always read at Christmas are the ones we usually pull back from telling. Yes, the wise men came and brought gifts, but we often stop short of telling why they returned to their homes by another road. Herod’s infanticide, escalating the horror of a similar plot by Pharaoh long before, is a scene usually left out of our Christmas Pageants.

In their responsiveness to God’s direction, Joseph and Mary demonstrate how to cope when plan-changing events come our way. As they leave behind familiar people and places, as they bloom where they are planted, these two show us how to get beyond the loss and disappointment. They trust the promises of God. When the time is right, they get moving again. Joseph and Mary made their way from Bethlehem, down to Egypt, and back to Nazareth in stages. The Scriptures don’t tell us how long it took, but they tell us that they got there. No doubt changed, likely scarred by all they had been through, nevertheless their lives continued.

So, while “the Christmas Music station plays “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” let us acknowledge the chills that frost our hearts. Let us pray those hymn words from earlier tonight: “that the powers of hell may vanish As the darkness clears away.” While some watch out because “Santa Claus is coming to town,” let us ponder the child sleeping on Mary’s lap and remember that the “King of kings salvation brings.” While others insist on “Rockin Around the Christmas Tree, without a mask, how about re-minding each other to “Let loving hearts enthrone Him.” And while others sing of a red-nosed reindeer guiding Santa through the fog, let us turn for guidance to Emmanuel, trusting the promise that he comes to “disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death’s dark shadow’s put to flight.”

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel!

[i] Kathleen Norris, God With Us, Rediscovering the Meaning of Christmas, Greg Pennoyer & Gregory Wolfe, Editors,(Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press © 2007), p.111
[ii] ibid.
[iii] ibid.

Dislocated but not Distracted 

     This Sunday (December 20, 2020) the church where my wife and I worship reverts to all virtual Worship in the face of the rising tide of Covid-19 cases in the community and surrounding county. It will be the same for many people across the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and in many other parts of the country as well. The Fourth Sunday of Advent, the Blue Christmas Service on December 21st, and the multiple Christmas Eve Services will all be live-streamed. It is a sad but necessary disruption in what had been a gradual return to the familiar patterns of the Christian Sabbath and Church Holidays. Instead of up to fifty masked parishioners scattered throughout the sanctuary for social distanced safety, only the pastor, the liturgist, and a few musicians will be present. The rest of us will be home, seated on a couch or in a comfortable chair, watching on the church’s YouTube channel. While it is not the same, having a cup of coffee nearby and the ability to sing the Carols along with the Minister of Music, is a plus among all the minuses. 

     Being dislocated and inconvenienced provides an entry point for us into the story that is at the center of the final week of Advent and the celebrations on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. No one in the story of Jesus’ birth ends up where they were accustomed to be “on a cold winter’s night that was so deep.” Everyone was dislocated: Mary and Joseph from their home in Nazareth, Jesus from the comfort of Mary’s womb, the Angels from wherever they hang out between angelic excursions, and the shep-herds from the fields outside Bethlehem. For all the disruptions in routine and the dislocation from normal locations, the participants in the story were not distracted from the wonder of what God was doing through them and “for all the people.”

     In 2011, the normal routines and familiar location of the congregation which I served as pastor was disrupted when the Susquehanna River slipped out of its banks in September and flooded a major por-tion of our community. The First United Presbyterian Church of West Pittston, Pennsylvania was one of more than 800 homes and businesses damaged by the floodwaters. After weeks of mucking out the building, by Christmas Eve we were in our third month of “nesting” in St. Cecilia’s Roman Catholic Church in Exeter, PA. “Grateful for the kindness of an open door,” we found a place to be blessed by the old, old story rooted in God’s grace. While dehumidifiers and mold mitigation air exchangers ran in our own church building, we found shelter in which to celebrate the birth of the Savior. Dislocated, but not distracted, we retold the story, sang familiar Carols and circled the sanctuary to sing “Silent Night” while spreading the Light of Christ with lighted candles.

     In addition to being dislocated from familiar worship spaces this Christmas season, many of us will also have customary gatherings of family and friends canceled altogether or replaced by a gathering enabled by the internet. We need not be distracted from the meaning of the manger or the call of Christ to love God and love our neighbor. Like the obedient servants who welcomed their child in an unfami-liar place in a time of great uncertainty, we too can open our lives to the unexpected blessings that await those who serve the Lord with gladness even in the midst of sadness.

     On Christmas Eve in 2011, our worship included this prayer, which you may read here, or listen to it on you tube. A Christmas Prayer - https://youtu.be/hvUidCrRSUE

                                                        A Christmas Prayer for 2011

                                                            Chaos calming Creator,
                                                            gathered in a new place
                                                            we lift our prayers
                                                            as we seek to be blessed
                                                            by the old, old story
                                                            rooted in your grace.

                                                            In a borrowed space
                                                            we contemplate the wonder
                                                            of your first night
                                                            in similar circumstances
                                                            grateful for kindness shown
                                                            by an open door.

                                                            Surrounded by unfamiliarity
                                                            we count upon the peace
                                                            which passes understanding
                                                            to keep our hearts and minds
                                                            filled by knowing you
                                                            and the One you sent us.

                                                            Overwhelmed by your love
                                                            we lift our Christmas Prayer:
                                                            send angels and shepherds to teach us to sing
                                                            brighten our dark skies with heaven sent light,
                                                            enter each welcoming heart
                                                            and grow us to resemble Bethlehem’s Child.                                                                                                    (c) Copyright, 2020 James E. Thyren

        from We Need  You More Than Ever - Christmas Blessings in Story and Verse, available at                     Amazon.com.                                                           

 Flabbergasted Field Hands! 

Abraham was a shepherd.
And Isaac.
And Jacob.
And Joseph, the dreamer, who saved the brothers who stripped him of his coat of many colors and sold him into slavery.

Moses was a shepherd.
And Amos.
And Jesse.
And David, the shepherd boy, whose skills with the slingshot, learned while keeping watch over his sheep, came in handy against Goliath. When Samuel was looking to anoint one of Jesse’s sons as Israel’s king, Davey had to be called in from the fields where he was tending the sheep. It was David who wrote: “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.”

Zechariah spoke of shepherds.
And Ezekiel.
And Isaiah.
And Jeremiah, the prophet who voiced God’s promise, saying, “I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will feed you with knowledge and understanding.” The image of the Shepherd was a good one thanks to Moses and David and the Prophets. The measure of a leader caring for people, whether prophet, priest or king, was the shepherd providing and protecting, guiding and directing the sheep through shadowy valleys to green pastures and still waters. God chose those shepherd leaders. God gave those shepherd images to the poets and the prophets. It was God’s doing!

But somebody had a better idea…at least they thought it was better. As the people of faith became less and less people of the land…and more and more a settled people…the image of the shepherd faded. By the time Jesus was born, the rabbi’s had compiled a list of occupations that a law abiding, Torah studying Jew should not pursue or pass on to their sons. On three of the five such lists scholars have uncovered, shepherds were included on the list of don’t do jobs!

According to those same scholars, the religious leaders of Jesus’ day decided shepherds were unable, by virtue of their jobs, to be faithful. They couldn’t attend worship, they could not participate in the festivals on the high holy days, and they couldn’t fully repent of their sin.

What they meant by that last statement was this: Shepherds roaming the hills where there were no fences to separate one plot of land from the next, had no idea when, if or how often they trespassed on someone else’s land. Since they didn’t know how often they trespassed, they could neither make full confession of their sin, Or begin to make reparations to the landowners.

On top of that, the shepherd’s nomadic life often brought them in contact with foreigners and non-Jews; and it kept them in contact with sheep, which left them emanating offending odors. And all this led to the decline of the image and position of shepherds in society.

Until that night the angels came “to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay keeping their sheep on a cold winter’s night that was so deep.” Noel, indeed! Knowing they were considered lower than dirt and unworthy, you can understand why these field hands would be flabbergasted by the angel’s visit to THEM.

The shepherds were the first to be told of the birth of the long-awaited descendent of the shepherd king, David. In addition, they were the ones entrusted to tell Mary and Joseph their son would be Savior, Messiah and Lord. What the angel had told Mary and Joseph individually, was now confirmed through the visit of the angel to the shepherds and the trek the shepherds made into town to see the child.

Jesus reclaimed the image of the shepherd as valuable and noble. Once again it is the standard for measuring leadership. By his birth…and by his use of the image to describe himself as the Good Shepherd, who knows his own and whose own know him…who lays down his life for the sheep, the helpful picture of the Good Shepherd once again describes God’s care for us.

Abraham was a shepherd.
And Moses.
And David.
And Jesus, the Savior, who was born to lead us back to the paths of righteousness!

Like those flabbergasted field hands so long ago, we are blessed by the gift of the one we call The Good Shepherd, whose first and last moments are imagined in this poem, As it Was In the Beginning. https://youtu.be/uyPZgwtJP74

Comfort & Hard Work – Nobody Said It Would Be Easy   

    With poetic license in hand, Isaiah 40 takes us into a meeting of the heavenly council where, some-thing happened that we are very familiar with. God issued an executive order: “Comfort, O comfort my people.”[i] It was the moment when God decided to turn back toward the people of Israel, whose previous disobedience and indifference had led to their exile. It is as though God, who had stepped back to let the people experience the consequences of their actions, now decided enough was enough. The Divine Parent had determined that Israel’s “Time-Out” was over. God’s executive order was “good news of great joy for all the people.”[ii] The executive order began with divine messengers being com-missioned to bring to the exiles. In a nutshell the message is this: the worst is over now. Tripling up on a declaration of pardon the message is that the past is the past and a new future is beginning right now.         “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her
            that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid,
        that she has received from the Lord
            double for all her sins.”[iii]
    Yes, the nation and its people had been judged and found wanting. Yes, there had been a sentence imposed, but it wasn’t life without parole. Yes, there had been “hell to pay,” but it was not one strike and you’re out forever with no chance of getting back in the game. At God’s initiative, the proper relationship between God and God’s people was beginning to be rebuilt. We do well to pay attention and notice that God is in the business of second, third and three-hundred and forty-seventh chances. Knowing that God traffics in forgiveness is incentive to be forgiving. The gift of restoration of a right relationship, be it with God or another person, is cause for rejoicing. There is comfort in that!
    The poem found in Isaiah 40 paints a picture that despondent exiles would find to be nothing short of impossible:
        “Every valley shall be lifted up,
            and every mountain and hill be made low;
        the uneven ground shall become level,
            and the rough places a plain.
        Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
            and all people shall see it together...”[iv]
    As Mary will hear from another heavenly messenger one day: “nothing will be impossible with God.”[v] Isaiah’s poetry is picturing a highway for God being constructed across the wilderness, a straight run from wherever God is or has been to where the people are as captives in Babylon. To a people who had asked in Psalm 137 how they could possibly sing the songs of God in a foreign land, God sang a new song, lyrics the people did not expect to hear, a blending of melody and poetry that touched their hurting hearts and gave them hope.
    Note, however, that the impossible promise is preceded by a work order. The highway for God requires builders. It comes with the instructions above, which fill in the details.
        “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
            make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”[vi]
    You and I are today’s builders. The work is ours to do, preparing a pathway for God to cross the wil-derness to take up residence in our hearts, and inviting others to do the same. Nobody said it would be easy, and if they did they haven’t been paying attention. Click here for further reflections on the
work of following where God leads us. Easy Isn’t the Way to Go - https://youtu.be/GDc4BeJVhL4
[i] Isaiah 40. 1
[ii] Luke 2.10c
[iii] Isaiah 40. 2
[iv] Isaiah 40.3-5
[v] Luke 1. 37
[vi] Isaiah 40. 3

Advent Waiting:  Placing our Lives in the Potter’s Hands

      My kayak found its winter resting place earlier this month. The paddle and pfd were put away. The roof racks have been lowered, no longer at the ready. I wait for a day when the thermometer breaks 60 and the wind isn’t howling as winter descends. Soon I’ll be waiting for ice to melt in the lakes and ponds I frequent. I look forward to the days when the waiting changes and I am waiting to see what I’ll see on the first day on the water: migrating ducks, a raccoon washing its paws after a fish dinner, an eagle soaring above. 

     You’ve probably got your own way of tracking the seasons of waiting. The passive times when you can do nothing; the period of preparation; and then the less burdensome phase when what you’ve been waiting for arrives: vacation; the beginning or end of school; the annual gathering of special friends; the time when the trials and travails of the year 2020 have become a distant memory. Think of that wonderful kind of waiting. Notice how the joy of what you’re waiting for seeps into the time while you’re waiting. Recall the good feelings that well up when you are actively waiting for something or someone special.

     That’s the kind of waiting the prophet gets around to voicing in Isaiah 64. 1-9. Oh, it may not seem so at first, with Isaiah crying for God to “tear open the heavens and come down.” Yet, if we listen carefully to all that Isaiah is saying, we get a glimpse of what and whom we are to be waiting over the next four weeks.

     Isaiah’s cry to the Lord speaks for us in many ways, does it not? After all, there are days when we look at the world around us, and after a good long look find ourselves wanting to say to God: “Do something about this, will ya!” With each report of positive Covid cases; with every day’s addition to the election that never ends; as the list of scandals grows, and we watch the celebration of Christ’s birth morph into Happy Honda Day and Hundai Holidays; we’re ready to join Isaiah in calling on God to “Tear open the heavens and come down.”

     We may not be in exile as were the people to whom Isaiah was writing, but we may have some of the same impatience when it comes to wanting to see God’s sending some help to straighten out the multiple messes that color the world as we know it now. That is why it is important to listen closely to what the prophet is saying for us and to us. By remembering what God has done, and reminding the people of it too, Isaiah is introducing an element of hope. A favorite old hymn sums it up nicely. “Our God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come.”

Isaiah’s words hint at what we’re waiting for in Advent: a savior. Isaiah’s words proclaim why we need saving:

            “We have all become like one who is unclean,
                    and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth.
                We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.
                There is no one who calls on your name
                    or attempts to take hold of you;”
                    for you have hidden your face from us,
                    and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity.” (Isaiah 64. 6-7)

     Isaiah identifies how humanity strays from the Creator’s ways. It fits us all too well. But notice this: Isaiah doesn’t leave it at that. He takes the spotlight from us and puts it back on God, and in doing so, reminds us all what we’re really in need of; what it is we are waiting for:

            “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father;
            we are the clay, and you are our potter;
            we are all the work of your hand.” (vs. 8)

Those words draw us back to an earlier verse that sounds the note of hope we so need to hear:

            “From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived,
            no eye has seen any God besides you,
            who works for those who wait for him.” (vs, 4)

     In the reminder that God works for those who wait for him, in the image of through the image of the Father and the Potter, Isaiah is telling us something important. Professor Scott Ba-der-Saye suggests these images, which speak of “closeness and personal connection…evoke a God whose mode of action looks more like that of the artist or the parent than that of a superhero. God forms and shapes the people as a father over time shapes the character of his children, as a potter lovingly molds her clay. Isaiah calls on Israel to be malleable in the hands of God, and he reminds God to fulfill the task of forming Israel into a people of blessing.”[i]

Such is the waiting of Advent: waiting for God, allowing God to shape us into the people we were created to be. Following the example of those who have gone before us and who show us the way to go and to be, like the one featured in this poem Favored Is As Favored Does - https://youtu.be/3mpGd2GuqEE

[i]Scott Bader-Saye, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1, ©2008, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, p. 6