Do you Hear?

A Christmas Eve Reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

December 24, 2009

For me, what makes Christmas Christmas is what I hear.

The Salvation Army bell clanging outside Retzler’s Hardware Store in Wooster,

Ohio.

The 45-minute loop of Christmas Muzak at the IGA grocery store where I worked for three Christmases. I remember having to steel myself when I realized the next song was going to be a really cheesy version of Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane.

Hearing the snowman on “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” belt in Burl Ives’ tenor, “Have a holly, jolly Christmas.”

And hearing Linus telling the story Kenzie told us – the story that enfolds the world this night: And in that region, there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

Christmas is the middle and high school church handbell choir I was in for six years with two of my best friends. One Christmas Eve we were playing an impossible medley of Christmas carols. More than 30 years later, I hear the voice of our intrepid director, Mrs. Curry, trying to keep us together during a ridiculous set of triplets. She was so loud half the congregation heard her as she valiantly and vainly shouted out, “Wuh-hu-hun, two-who-who, three-hee-hee, four.”

What makes Christmas Christmas for you?

How is the way you celebrate Christmas now shaped by how and where you celebrated it before? And who you celebrated it with?

Holidays like Christmas come with layers of tradition, ritual, and nostalgia. These layers help give Christmas its meaning, power, and beauty. The traditions, rituals, and nostalgia that surround Christmas help fill us with hope in this season … and fill us with hopes for peace.

The tradition, ritual, and nostalgia surrounding Christmas can also be what makes this a hard and lonely season for many people. The loved ones and the places that used to help make Christmas Christmas for them are gone … ghosts of Christmas past. And when the people and places that made Christmas Christmas for us are gone, it can be hard to imagine new ways for Christmas still to be a time when we hear tidings of comfort and joy.

Tonight, as you have sung the familiar songs and heard the familiar stories, what else have you heard? As you go to the manger again tonight, what do you hear?

I hope you hear more than the cooing of the baby Jesus. As you go again to the manger tonight, I hope you also hear the living Christ. I hope you hear the living Christ saying something you need to hear this night. A word of comfort. A call or a summons. A love song. A word of encouragement, to help you step out and do what you know you need to be doing. For Christmas to be more than tradition, ritual, and nostalgia, it needs to be a time when we hear the voice of the living Christ inside the stories and songs of his birth. And know he is with us as we join with others to follow him as justice-builders, peacekeepers, healers of this good creation.

I don’t think I realized how hungry I was for Christmas to be about something more than tradition, ritual, and nostalgia until about 12 years ago. I was at a Seattle Men’s Chorus rehearsal. Pat Wright, founder of the Total Experience Gospel Choir, sang these words (and believe me, I will sing them nothing like she did …):

I went to fishing one day, and put my hook in the water.

And something got a-hold to it, and tried to get-a loose.

When I pulled it up, there was a big fish on that hook.

It was twistin’ … and a-turnin’ … but the hook had-a-him there.

And he couldn’t get-a loose.

And I said, “I wish the Lord would-a hook me one day like this hook have-a hooked this fish.”

When I heard the words, “I wish the Lord would-a hook me one day like this hook have-a hooked this fish,” it was like a thousand candles lit up inside of me all at once. I felt like I was on fire. Until I heard those words, I didn’t realize how much I wanted the living Christ to hook me. I didn’t know how hungry I was to be hooked.

I think you know that hunger to.

That hunger to live like God dreams for you to live.

That hunger to belong to and care for something larger than yourself.

That hunger to be grasped by your calling and to pursue it with passion, courage, and profound hope.

That hunger to know in your most isolated times that you have been hooked by the Risen One, so you are never, ever, ever alone.

That hunger to feel your all that light burning inside you, igniting our passion for justice, and healing, and encounters that are real and honest and daring.

It’s a hunger born out of a desire for the Lord to hook us like the Lord have-a hooked this fish. A hunger that grows out of days when we’re too cautious, too superficial, too calculated. A hunger that hungers for a life that’s more meaningful. A life that is more real, and honest, and daring.

For Christians, living that kind of life comes from being hooked by the living Christ. So we can be filled with his love, his passion, and his courage. So we can walk hand and hand with his community of followers. And create anew this world of peace and joy we sing about this night.

After Pat Wright sang out the prayer, “I wish the Lord would-a hook me one day like this hook have-a hooked this fish,” she sang,

“Then, one rainy, rainy, rainy evenin’, He came into my soul,

and He hooked me with his Spirit.

And ever since that day, there been a fire down in my bones.”

When you made the trip to the manger again tonight, maybe you heard the cooing of the baby Jesus. And maybe you also have heard that call, that assurance, that love song from the Risen Christ. That has hooked you. And started a fire down in your bones. That may not be what you expected when you came to the manger tonight. And maybe it’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. Merry Christmas. Amen.

Becoming Children of God

(John 1.1-5, 10-13)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The Third Sunday of Advent: December 13, 2009

This Advent, we’re taking a walk through the first chapter of the Gospel of John.

Two weeks ago, we heard these words:

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God.
And the Word was God.
The Word was in the beginning with God.
All things came into being through him,
and without him, not one thing came into being.

John is the only gospel-writer who takes about the Word. For John, the Word is with person of the Trinity who makes the invisible God visible. We can’t see God. But the Word is the One through whom all is created. What we can see, hear, feel, touch, and taste is how we “see” God. Through the Word, we are able to know God is. Through the Word is how we are able to know God is love.

Last week, we heard these words:

What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

The Gospel of John is filled with the words life and light. If the Word is how we see the invisible God, than what the Word reveals is that God is a God of life. God creates life. God restores life. God heals life. And even in the darkness of the tomb, God is life. For God brings life even out of death. God is so deeply the God of life that no darkness can conquer that light and life at the heart of God.

This morning, we hear these words from the first chapter of John. Listen for a word from God.

The Word 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.
But to all who received him, who believed in his name,
he gave power to become children of God,
who were born, not of blood or the will of the flesh or of the will of man,
but of God. (John 1.1-5, 10-13; NRSV)

As I prayed these words this week, the phrase that kept speaking to me was power to become children of God (John 1.12). And I wondered, What does it mean to become children of God? And What difference does it make if we’re becoming children of God?

So in this sermon, I’m inviting you to join me in my wonderings about that becoming children of God might be about.

When I think about the phrase children of God, I think of baptism. Jesus was baptized by John the Baptizer in the River Jordan. When he came up out of the water, a dove descended upon him, which symbolized the Holy Spirit. And then the voice of God from heaven, saying, You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride and delight of my life (Matthew 3.17, Mark 1.11, The Message).

So I wonder: do children of God believe that the words God said to Jesus at his baptism are also God’s first and last words to us? Do we believe that God’s first and last words to us are You are my Child, chosen and marked by my love, pride and delight of my life? What would be different if we believed that this is how God looks at us and feels about us?

And then I wondered further: Do the people who are becoming children of God believe that these are God’s first and last words to all people on this earth? Do people who are becoming children of God believe everyone on earth is part of God’s family? So we are all sisters and brothers? And even those whom we hate or fear, even those who do horrific things, are part of our family? And God’s first and last words to them are You are my Child, chosen and marked by my love, pride and delight of my life? This week we honored the lives of the four police officers killed in Lakewood. Do those who are becoming children of God also believe that Maurice Clemmons, who it seems killed those officers, is part of the family of God – and so part of our family? And that God’s words to us are also God’s words to him? Because God is the God of life, God is grief-stricken by this loss of live. Grief-stricken by all the brokenness that made Maurice Clemmons who he was. And by the human failures that might have kept him from hurting anyone. And, at the same time, do children of God somehow still see him as their sisters and brothers who are chosen and marked by God’s love?

And what about those who are the targets of NATO drones in Afghanistan and Pakistan? What about those whom President Obama said in Oslo this week we are morally justified to kill? It is so hard for those who are becoming children of God to live in that tension: if some children of God are being threatened by other children of God, what do we do? How do children of God live amidst violence and war and hatred?

Another thing I wonder about is how those who are becoming children of God deal with their stuff. Those of us who are gathering on Monday nights at Starbucks to discuss Jesus for President are being challenged mightily about our stuff. The writers of this book remind us how the early Christians dealt with stuff. And it’s not like most of us deal with stuff:

[The early] Christians didn’t need Caesar’s power to create an alternative society …

They practiced a radical economic sharing, so much that it could even be said they

ended poverty in the small pockets they lived in. One of the results of the birth of the church at Pentecost was that the church ended poverty: ‘there were no needy

persons among them’ (Acts 2.45). The community itself became good news to the poor. They lived near each other, sharing a common rule of life, daily sharing worship and friendship. They, as their hearts became softened to the love of God, enacted ‘release to the captives’ and ‘freedom for the prisoner’, slowly dissolving the structures of oppression within their households. To a world gone blind from ‘an eye for an eye’, they gave sight, living out Jesus’ teachings on enemy-love” (Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw, Jesus for President, Zondervan Press, 2008, p. 155).

I wonder if the early Christians believed that they were children of God more than many of us do. They knew they couldn’t follow Jesus alone. So they created a common pot. They put in what they had to put in. And people took out what they needed. Without apology or shame. These children of God somehow knew that what they “had” didn’t belong to them. They knew what they “had” was a blessing and a gift that belonged to God’s family.

Peter and I live in the tension of the affluent. We are blessed with parents who helped us buy our first house. We were blessed to grow up in families where there was more than enough food, warmth, clothing, love. We have been blessed talents and with good jobs. It’s not like we have deserved any of these things. That’s simply how it has been for us. Because we’ve been blessed like this, each year we live in the tension of how much to save and how much to give away. But I wonder if that’s that right question for people who are becoming children of God? If we see everything we “have” as belonging to God’s family, then may the question for children of God is, How much can we justify keeping for ourselves? When there is so much need in this world, doesn’t the vast majority of what I make and have belong to them?

I think it’s hard for us to live in that world of the first century church because our culture leads us to think in terms of individual family units. I think of my little family and my responsibilities to them. We are raised to think in terms of groups. We don’t think about living in groups, and having a common pot. So all have enough. So there was no need among them. I wonder if those who are becoming children of God in this culture somehow see beyond this individualism … and imagine a common pot for God’s family.

A final wonderment about becoming children of God. Thinking about God’s family and about our stuff, we’re thinking about what’s outside us. I wonder about what’s inside those who are becoming children of God. What’s inside us shapes what we see outside us. Good, loving feelings do not pour out of me when the driver at the front of the line at the stop light doesn’t press the accelerator when the light turns green. I do not think good thoughts about that person. Of course I have good, loving thoughts inside of me. And I know there are these other feelings as well. And the more of those kinds of feelings I have inside me, the less I am able to look in the faces of those around me and see children of God.

One day the Buddha, badly overweight, was sitting under a tree.

A young soldier, trim and handsome, came along, looked at the Buddha, and said: ‘You look like a pig!’

The Buddha replied, ‘Well you look like God!’

‘Why would you say that?’ asked the rather surprised young soldier.

‘Well,’ replied the Buddha, ‘we see what’s inside us. I think about God all day and when I

look out that is what I see. You, obviously, must think about other things . . .’ (Ron Rolheiser, Holy Longing, NY: Doubleday, 1999, p. 239).

I wonder what’s inside those who are becoming children of God, so when they look at the world around them, what they see are other children of God looking back at them?

* - The title is from Becoming Children of God by Wes Howard-Brook, Orbis Press, 1994.

Staying Alive

(John 1.1-5)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The Second Sunday of Advent: December 6, 2009

Calvin is walking through the woods with his stuffed tiger, Hobbes. Hobbes always comes alive when they’re alone. Calvin says to Hobbes, “Know what I pray for?” “What?” Hobbes asks. Calvin replies, “The strength to change what I can, the inability to accept what I can’t, and the incapacity to tell the difference.” Hobbes says, “You should lead an interesting life.” And Calvin responds, “Oh, I already do!” (Bill Watterson, The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book, Andrews & McKeel, 1995, p. 200)

One piece of advice about what you need to do to live a good life ….

Talk shows, grocery store check-out racks, and bookstore self-help shelves overflow with advice about the kind of life someone thinks we need. So we can feel alive. And stay alive.

The second-century Christian Irenaeus said the best way for Christians to show the world what God looks like is for us to be fully alive. Henry David Thoreau said most of us “lead lives of quiet desperation” and go to the grave with the song still in us (Walden, p. 10).

In this season of Advent, we open ourselves to the Word of God who became human in Jesus Christ. We open ourselves to this living, risen One. Who creates us for life. And who gives us what we need to stay alive.

The Word was first,

the Word present to God,

God present to the Word.

The Word was God,

in readiness for God from day one.

Everything was created through the Word;

nothing – not one thing! – came into being without him.

What came into existence was Life,

and the Life was Light to live by.

The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness;

the darkness couldn’t put it out (or understand it).

(adapted from The Message)

The Gospel-writer John uses poetry to tell us the person of the Trinity who is the Word is Life and Light. This Life-Light creates life and gives us what we need to stay alive.

A few chapters after the Life-Light blazes out of the darkness and into this world as Jesus, Jesus says, “I have come, that you may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10.10).

Abundant life.

Life overflowing with fullness.

Life blazing through any darkness that seeks to send us to the grave with the song still in us.

This is the Life-Light that blazed into the world that first Christmas.

In Advent, we remember the Word coming into the world as Jesus Christ. And Advent is much more than remembering. We remember this birth. At the same time, we know Jesus Christ is alive. Easter’s empty tomb promises us the risen Jesus Christ, who is the Life-Light, is alive right here, right now. This Advent, the Life-Light shines through our world – through individuals, families, churches, communities, institutions, and nations. Today, I hear the Life-Light saying,

I came into the world to give you what you need to stay alive.

When the darkness doesn’t understand you or tries to put you out, don’t be afraid.

I hold you in my love and power. I am Light and Life for you.

How are you doing showing the world how to live?

How are you doing showing the world how to stay alive?

Recently, my Dad sent me a column he’d written about health care reform for our hometown newspaper. He scribbled a note on the bottom of the article. He said the state of the economy, the environment, and the rise in religious extremism in the world today make him feel like his generation isn’t passing on to future generations a world that will be very good to live in.

Nine years ago, the bloodiest century in human history drew to a close. I grieve that, this week, our president chose a policy in Afghanistan that will only add to the bloodshed. We may be the world’s only remaining military superpower, but we are no superpower when it comes to imagination.

We have identified an “enemy”. And the only way our policy-makers can imagine responding to enemies is to kill them. The only way we can imagine staying alive, and keeping others alive, is by killing.

Our Life-Light told us the only way to stay alive is not to kill our enemies, but to find ways to love them (Matthew 5.44ff; Luke 6.27ff). Most of us Christians don’t take this teaching of Jesus seriously. Most of us believe talking about nations loving their enemies instead of killing them is dangerous, naïve, and grossly unrealistic. But remember the Waorani tribe I talked about last month (for a full description, see Beyond Revenge: The Evolution of the Forgiveness Instinct, by Michael McCullough, Jossey-Bass, 2008, pp. 213-14). The Waorani are an indigenous group in Ecuador know for their blood feuds. If you killed a member of my family, then I’d get my friends together to kill you or someone you loved. Then the cycle of killing the enemy would start all over again. These blood feuds threatened the Waorani with extinction. They were literally killing each other off. Then a group of Christian missionaries arrived. Some Waorani killed five of them. Then the people who killed these missionaries learned that they had had guns on them when they were killed. They had refused to defend themselves if that meant killing their attackers. Realizing that it’s possible for people to live with this kind of love for others, the Waorani who killed the missionaries became Christians. And they refused to continue living by an eye for an eye. Now, when a loved one was killed, they refused to kill in return.

Their numbers are increasing because they now refuse to hate their enemies. The love of the Life-Light shines through them. And gave them what they needed to stay alive. We Christians need to show our government that our nation can be better than this.

These days, the air is filled with Christmas musak. So how do we hear the song that imagines a new way to stay alive in these days? How might we live into this Advent season and beyond as his Body,

making real his song of life and new life?

I’d like to share two sources of wisdom.

First: in the second verse of our opening hymn, “Today I Awake”, we sang,

Today I arise and Christ is beside me.

He walked through the dark to scatter new light.

Yes, Christ is alive, and beckons his people

to hope and to heal, resist and invite (by John Bell © 1989 GIA Publications).

One way we as the Body of Christ show this world about living and about staying alive is by being a community who hopes, heals, resists, and invites.

Hope and resistance are active things. One writer says, Hope believes in spite of the evidence … and watches the evidence change. Hope and resistance don’t surrender to the forces that try to silence us by telling us what’s realistic or possible, what’s practical or safe. The vision of those who hope and resist moves the world where we never thought we could go.

When we are a community that heals and invites, we tell people they have another chance.

They thought the end of the story had been written … but after being offered healing and invitation, they discover there are pages in their life story they never knew were there.

So they turn a page. And they find an open door …

“You asked me what I would like to have,” the poet Alex Noble writes. More than I would like to have knowledge, more than I would like to have certainty, I would like to have a door opening into a wide field, filled with songs of small birds, filled with light, filled with dancing and with gladness. And far across the field, another door opening into Summer, into wilderness, a greening of imaginations. And finally, at a great distance, another door, opening, opening …

The second source of wisdom:

what a youth pastor is learning from the youth he has spent his career walking beside. His words are on the back page of the bulletin: “[T]he … question youth [are] asking in every interaction with adults [is], ‘Do you know how to stay alive?’ Beneath the anxiety, youth want to know how to live fully in this world. They are asking: Do you know how to become yourself despite the constant messages telling you you’re lacking? Do you know how to keep from becoming overwhelmed by the pain and suffering in the world? Do you know how to find a home, a place of welcome and relationship? Can you tell me how to stay hopeful and creative in a world obsessed with violence, death, and conformity? Do you know where I can offer my gifts meaningfully in a world consumed with trivia? How do I stay alive? How do I remain open to God and others when so many seem closed, distant, and angry? They hunger to know how to live well, how to avoid the despair and sullenness that seems to possess many adults” (Mark Yaconelli, Contemplative Youth Ministry, Practicing the Presence of Jesus, Zondervan, 2006, pp. 66-7).

Do you know how to stay alive?

My friends, we are the Body of Christ. Through us, Christ our Life-Light yearns to blaze in the world’s darkness. As hope and heal, resist and invite, we love this world into a new way of staying alive. We teach it a song this world never knew it had in it. Amen.