CHRISTMAS III

December 25, 2022, 10 am

Christ Church, Woodbury, N.J.

 

(Note: This is the sermon I would have given had I been well enough to be present on Christmas morning. Thanks are due to Bishop Stokes, who graciously stepped in on short notice to celebrate and preach instead.)

Hebrews 1:1-12

John 1:1-14

 

Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, we heard the familiar account of the Lord’s Nativity, complete with the angels and shepherds, as told in the Gospel according to Saint Luke. This morning, however, the appointed readings for Christmas Day take us deeper into the great mystery of the Lord’s Incarnation.

 

Down through the centuries, the Christian tradition has spoken of not just one but three births of Christ. The first birth takes place in eternity, before the beginning of time. Today’s Gospel is taken from what’s known as the Prologue to Saint John. The Fourth Gospel, the Gospel of John, gives us no Nativity story as such. Rather, echoing the first verse of the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, John begins in the beginning:  

 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.”

 

Here “the Word” denotes the Son of God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. In John’s Greek, “Word” or Logos means something like thought, reason, purpose, plan, or self-communication. And it’s through this Word that God creates the world. Our reading this morning from the Letter to the Hebrews similarly describes the Son as the one “whom [God] appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He reflects the glory of God and bears the very stamp of his nature, upholding the universe by his word of power.”

 

So, even before the universe’s creation, God the Son already exists. The Nicene Creed, which we recite every Sunday and major holy day, affirms that the Son was “begotten of his Father before all worlds, God of God, light of light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father.” In other words, from even before the beginning of time, God the Father begets the God the Son, who shares co-equally and co-eternally in the Father’s life and being.

 

So, when we speak of the first of the three births of Christ, we mean this eternal begetting or generation of the Son of God from his Father before all ages. 

 

The second birth of Christ is the more familiar one we encounter at Christmas time: the birth of the infant Jesus in Bethlehem. John’s Gospel sums that whole story up in one sentence: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son of the Father.” 

 

In other words, the eternal Son came down from heaven and took flesh in the womb of the Virgin Mary to assume our human nature and share fully in our human existence. The doctrine of the Incarnation teaches that Jesus Christ is one Person, fully divine and fully human, true God and true man. He's divine on account of his heavenly birth from the Father in eternity; and he’s human on account of his earthly birth from the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem.

 

The Incarnation of the Son of God is not so much an intellectual proposition to be understood as a mystery to be worshipped and adored. The fourth century church father Gregory of Nazianzus describes the mystery in one of his sermons by a series of wonderful paradoxes: “He who has no mother in heaven is now born without father on earth. . . He who is without flesh becomes incarnate; the Word puts on a body; the Invisible is seen; he whom no hand can touch is handled; the Timeless has a beginning; the Son of God becomes Son of Man—Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever.” 

 

This second birth of Christ took place at a specific time and place, Bethlehem in Judea two thousand years ago, so that a third birth of Christ may take place today: namely, in our hearts. In this respect, the Blessed Virgin Mary stands as a model for us all. Just as she literally conceived and brought the Christ child into the world, so we’re all called to let Christ be conceived in our hearts so that we may bear him into the world in our own day

 

This birth of Christ in our hearts begins the process by which we are made like him. As he’s the Son of God by nature, so in him we become sons and daughters of God by adoption and grace. As John also says in today’s Gospel: “But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God ...”

 

The early Church fathers expressed this idea by the image of a wonderful divine exchange. Christ came down to earth that he might raise us up to heaven. He became what we are that we might become what he is. He shared in our human life that we might share in his divine life. Or again, as St. Gregory Nazianzus puts it in the sermon from which I’ve already quoted: “He shares in the poverty of my flesh, that I may share in the riches of his Godhead.”

 

So, in our celebration of Christmas we contemplate three births of Christ. First, the eternal begetting of the Son from the Father before the beginning of time. Second, his coming down from heaven to be born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem during the reign of Caesar Augustus. And third, his birth in our hearts, here and now, which in turn marks the beginning of our rebirth in his image and likeness.

 

There’s a sense in which the birth of Christ in Bethlehem remains incomplete until he’s born in each of us. The Christmas Season affords us a wonderful opportunity to invite him in. As the great nineteenth century bishop and preacher Phillips Brooks put it in his great Christmas hymn: 

O holy child of Bethlehem, 

Descend to us we pray; 

Cast out our sin and enter in, 

Be born in us today.

CHRISTMAS II

December 24, 2022, 11 pm

Christ Church, Woodbury, N. J.

 

St. Luke 2:15-20

 

“And they went with haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:12)

 

Earlier this evening, if all went according to schedule, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem celebrated Christmas Midnight Mass at Saint Catherine’s Church in Bethlehem. In addition to the congregation present within the church, vast crowds were gathered outside to watch the liturgy broadcast live on large screens set up in Manger Square. Some of the local families who were present in the church claim descent from the earliest Christians in the vicinity, who from the first and second centuries kept alive and handed down the memory of the exact location of Christ’s birth—a cave among trees at the end of a ridge, so it was said.

 

Saint Justin Martyr wrote of this cave in the mid-second century, as did Origen of Alexandria in the third—even though the Emperor Hadrian had turned the site into a pagan shrine of Adonis in a vain effort to wipe out all vestiges of Judaism and Christianity in the region. Then, in the fourth century, the Emperor Constantine constructed on the site a Christian church, the Basilica of the Nativity, rebuilt by the Emperor Justinian in the sixth century, and still standing, restored and renovated many times, to this day.

 

Throughout the year, pilgrims wait in the basilica, sometimes for hours, to descend a stone staircase to visit the Grotto of the Nativity, located directly underneath the high altar. Set in the stone floor, a fourteen-pointed silver star marks the spot with the inscription in Latin: “Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.” Close by, a small side chapel marks the location of the manger.

 

Saint Luke’s Gospel tells us that Mary wrapped her newborn in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger “because there was no place for them in the inn.” Recent studies suggest, however, that “inn” is a misleading translation. Bethlehem at that time was a small village, far from any main roads where commercial inns for travelers were located. In this case, then, the word translated as “inn” is more accurately rendered “guest room.” 

 

When Mary and Joseph arrived in Joseph’s ancestral home of Bethlehem to be counted in the census, one of the villagers—perhaps a relative of Joseph’s—would have given them lodgings. The customs of hospitality demanded no less. But since many others had come to Bethlehem, all the available guest rooms were taken. Family dwellings in that area were often built against hillsides and included natural or man-made caves, used to shelter animals during the night. So, Mary and Joseph were probably given lodgings in just such a cave.

In Luke’s Gospel, the Greek word translated “manger” is derived from the verb “to eat,” and denotes a stone feeding trough for animals. The English word “manger” has a similar derivation, coming from the French verb manger, to eat. The cave in which Mary and Joseph stayed would have been furnished with such a feeding trough, ready to serve as a makeshift cradle for the newborn Jesus. 

 

Early Christian writers such as Saint Ambrose and Saint Augustine point out that this image of Jesus at his birth, wrapped in swaddling cloths and placed in a stone manger in a cave foreshadows Jesus at his death, taken down from the cross, wrapped in a linen shroud, and placed on a stone slab in another cave. The parallel symbolism suggests that the Lord’s death fulfills the purpose for which he was born into the world in the first place. Other writers note that the name Bethlehem means “house of bread,” so that in the manger we see the one who has come down to be for us the true Bread from Heaven. When we go to the Altar Rail for Holy Communion, we make a cradle of our hands to receive Him.

 

We don’t know exactly at what time of year Jesus was born, but Mary’s bundling him in swaddling cloths does suggest that it was cold. In any case, the sight of a newborn swaddled and lying in a manger was sufficiently unusual that the shepherds would have recognized instantly that they’d found exactly what they were looking for.

 

For in the fields outside the village, the angel had told them: “This will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” For the shepherds, then, the sign’s purpose was to confirm the truth of the angelic announcement: “Behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” 

 

Without the angelic announcement, the sight of a swaddled newborn lying in a manger wouldn’t have been that much out of the ordinary. And without the sign, the angelic proclamation of the Savior’s birth would have gone without verification. The shepherds’ unique calling is to put the two together, the announcement and the sign, and then bear witness to what they’ve heard and seen.

 

The shepherds fulfill this calling admirably. Their immediate response to the angel’s message is to go as quickly as they can into Bethlehem to see this thing that the Lord has made known to them. And when they find Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in the manger, they relate what the angel has told them concerning this child. All who hear their testimony are filled with awe. The shepherds thus become the first human preachers of the Gospel. Finally, they return to the fields, glorifying and praising God. For the true preaching of the Gospel always leads to worship and adoration.

 

But Mary’s reaction is unique. Luke tells us that she kept all these things in her heart, pondering them. As we celebrate Christmas, a temptation for us may be to join in the seasonal festivities, sing the carols, exchange greetings, and give gifts—and then forget all about it until the same time next year, and then again the year after that. Perhaps that’s what the shepherds did—carry on with the rest of their lives just as before, save for occasionally remembering the strange proceedings of a winter’s night and wondering whatever became of that couple and their newborn son in the manger …

 

But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. Here she holds up an example for us. If some aspect of our celebration of Christmas touches you this evening, even if you don’t understand all at once what it all means—nonetheless, don’t let it go. Hold on to it. Ponder it in your heart. Who knows how it may grow, and where it might lead? 

CHRISTMAS I

December 24, 2022, 7 pm

Christ Church, Woodbury, N. J.

 

St. Luke 2:1-14

 

A striking feature of the Nativity story in Saint Luke’s Gospel is its focus on the shepherds. More than one commentator has remarked that Luke disposes of Our Lord’s actual birth in one sentence: “And [Mary] gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

 

Then the narrative switches immediately to the shepherds in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. Totally unexpectedly, an angel appears to the shepherds, and the glory of the Lord—the supernatural light that characteristically accompanies God’s presence—shines round about them. As in almost all such biblical accounts of appearances of heavenly messengers, the shepherds’ initial reaction is one of sheer terror. Angels are frightening to behold! For this reason, their first words are almost invariably, “Fear not,” or “Be not afraid.”

 

The angel then proceeds to deliver the announcement: “I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people …” Here, the verb translated as “to bring good news” is the same verb that Luke will later use for “preach the Gospel” when writing of Jesus and the apostles. The angel’s message to the shepherds thus sets in motion the proclamation of the good news of God’s salvation.

 

The angel continues: “For to you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Here the angelic proclamation takes a form resembling that of a court herald announcing the birth of an heir to the throne in an earthly kingdom. But the three titles—Savior, Christ, and Lord—signify unmistakably that this birth is no ordinary royal birth, but none other than that of Israel’s long-awaited Messiah, God’s anointed one.

 

Then the angel gives a sign. In the Bible, signs accompanying messages from God have the purpose of providing a means of verification, so that the recipient may know that the message is true, and not a hallucination or deception. So, for the shepherds, the sign confirming the angel’s message is “a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”

 

Without having heard the angels’ message, onlookers and passersby in Bethlehem might not find anything much remarkable in the event itself: an infant born to a traveling couple in makeshift lodgings lying in a feeding trough converted into a makeshift cradle. The gift of new life is almost always a joyful and awesome event. At the same time, however, it’s a common enough occurrence.

 

Still, babies aren’t usually born in grottoes used to shelter animals. The sign is thus sufficiently distinctive that as soon as they see it the shepherds will recognize exactly what the angel told them to look for. So, the announcement interprets the birth as that of "a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” And, reciprocally, the birth’s distinctive circumstances—“a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger”—confirm that the announcement is true.

 

Having heard the angelic messenger's words, the shepherds are then granted a glimpse into heaven itself, of the angelic host worshiping God and singing: “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth among men with whom he is pleased.” The shepherds’ experience that night thus combines into one the heavenly and the earthly: on one hand, a miraculous supernatural vision; on the other hand, a plainly natural scene—for what could be more natural than a newborn infant in his parents’ company? But such is the deepest meaning of the Incarnation: God comes down to earth from heaven; the Word is made flesh and dwells among us.

 

The angels proclaim that Christ’s birth not only glorifies God in heaven, but also brings peace on earth. But what does “peace on earth” mean in this context? Clearly, the world’s history in the two millennia since Christ’s birth has not been marked by what we normally think of as peace. On the contrary, it’s been a sad chronicle of conflict, war, revolution, massacre, and genocide. If God’s reign of justice, love, and peace is a historical reality, its realization is clearly not yet.

 

The New Testament nonetheless uses the word “peace” 92 times: most often to describe a gift of God available to us here and now. In Bible translations, the English word “peace,” the Latin pax, and the Greek eirēnē all hark back to the Hebrew shalom. And shalom signifies far more than what usually passes for peace in our world—namely, the absence of active hostilities or a state of armed truce. Instead, shalom implies a state of communal wholeness, well-being, flourishing, reconciliation, forgiveness, unity, and harmony.

 

It seems to me that the peace, the shalom, that Christ brings has three dimensions: namely peace with God; peace with one another; and peace within ourselves.

 

Peace with God comes first. In the biblical understanding, our basic human predicament is that we’re not at peace with God. Our first and greatest need is for God’s forgiveness. And at Bethlehem Christ comes into the world precisely to reconcile us with God by means of his death and resurrection.

 

Then comes peace with one another. Christians are called to be peacemakers. Because Christ has reconciled us with God, we’re under a positive obligation to be reconciled with one another. Let me be clear. I’m not saying that those who do wrong shouldn’t be held accountable, or that those who commit crimes shouldn’t face justice. Nor am I saying that we shouldn’t take appropriate steps to protect ourselves from those who threaten our safety and wellbeing. What I am saying is that nothing is more destructive to our souls than harboring resentments and bearing grudges. So, if we have anything against anyone, we need to pray for the grace, which only Christ can give us, to forgive and be at peace.

 

Last but not least is peace within ourselves: “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding.” In what seems a curious contradiction of the angels’ proclamation, Jesus later says “Do you think that I have come to bring peace on earth? No I tell you, but rather division …” He then goes on to foretell the persecution and sufferings that his disciples must undergo on his account. Still, it’s the peace within, the peace that Christ gives in our hearts, that enables his disciples to withstand all turmoil, conflict, and persecution without.

 

“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased.’” Even while peace remains conspicuously lacking in the world around us, Christ’s birth in Bethlehem brings us peace with God, peace with one another, and peace within ourselves. One of my favorite hymns, “They cast their nets in Galilee,” concludes with this verse: 

 

The peace of God, it is no peace, 

But strife closed in the sod; 

Yet let us pray for but one thing: 

The marvelous peace of God.

VIGIL OF CHRISTMAS

December 24, 2022, 5 pm

Christ Church, Woodbury, N. J.

 

Matthew 1:18-25

 

In recent years, I’ve noticed an odd phenomenon at this time of year: people who feel compelled to make a present of their opinions concerning the Virgin Birth. (Which, I suppose, is what I’m about to do now. But I hope that what I have to have to offer is not just my opinion but an accurate presentation of the Church’s teaching.) 

 

At a holiday gathering several years ago, a certain gentleman, knowing that I was the rector of a local Episcopal Church, started telling me all about his church, of another denomination. He emphatically pointed out how welcome they’d made him even though he didn’t believe in the Virgin Birth. I got the distinct impression that he thought that my church wouldn’t make him nearly so welcome.

 

Shortly after that, a fellow alumnus of my seminary started a discussion on Facebook about how we don’t need to take the Gospel Nativity stories literally. A number of people chimed in, some of them clergy, opining that the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke were making a theological point metaphorically and should not be read as actual history. One participant, an Episcopal priest, confidently asserted that the Church cannot and should not require its members to believe in the Virgin Birth.

 

In both cases, the comments struck me as ironic. The people involved clearly saw their denials as expressing independence of mind and freedom of thought, whereas in reality they were pathetically unoriginal, narrow, conventional, and conformist. For in the context of today’s culture, it is belief rather than unbelief—faith rather than skepticism—that is truly the open-minded, creative, daring, and exciting option.

 

So, what does the Church really teach about the Virgin Birth? Well, to address the point in that Facebook discussion, the admittedly literary and theological character of Matthew’s and Luke’s birth narratives in no way precludes their accurately preserving reliable historical memories as well. Biblical scholars who conclude that they cannot be true generally reach that conclusion by starting from the premise that virginal conceptions are ipso facto impossible. But, if our God really is the kind of God that we believe him to be, then that’s no argument against the Virgin Birth!

 

The universal Church’s official teaching is expressed in both the Apostles Creed and the Nicene Creed. So, what do they say? Well, the Apostles Creed states unequivocally that Jesus Christ was “conceived by the Holy Ghost” and “born of the Virgin Mary.” The Nicene Creed similarly states that Jesus Christ was “incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, and was made man.” These two Creeds articulate the Church’s authoritative reading of Holy Scripture; and their use of the word “Virgin” to describe Mary leaves virtually no wiggle room for interpretation!

 

But does the Church require this belief of its members? So far as I’m concerned, that’s really the wrong question to ask. Neither the Church nor any other external authority can require or compel us to believe anything that we don’t want to believe or that we find ourselves unable to believe. Instead, the Church proclaims her faith and invites us to give it our assent. It’s an invitation, not a demand. And it’s up to us in our human freedom whether to accept that invitation. Regardless of our response, the Church’s proclamation will continue, with or without our assent, until the end of time.

 

This evening’s Gospel focuses on Saint Joseph’s role in the birth of Jesus. Notice that Joseph is the very first human being in history to be asked to believe in the Virgin Birth of Jesus. (We may safely assume that Mary knows that she’s conceived while remaining a virgin, so Joseph is the first person who needs to take it on faith.) 

 

The stakes are enormously high for Joseph personally. On learning that Mary is with child, his first instinct, being a just and merciful man, is to divorce her quietly—perhaps so that she can have the baby in secret without damage to her reputation, or perhaps so that the real father can step forward and do the right thing by marrying her. Either way, Joseph will be free of the situation, and not responsible for the child.

 

Even after an angel appears to Joseph in a dream and tells him not to be afraid to take Mary his wife, Joseph is still under no compulsion to do so. He can still dismiss it all as a dream that doesn’t mean anything; he can still say no. In other words, Joseph’s assent to the angel’s revelation cannot be other than a response of faith—and one that requires enormous courage. 

 

And so, Matthew tells us: “When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel commanded him …” In this way, Joseph places his faith in the Virgin Birth, as countless millions of Christians have done after him down through the centuries since. 

 

For Joseph, this decision has momentous consequences. He enters a whole new set of relationships with a whole new set of responsibilities—as the husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the adoptive father of the infant Lord. But Christian faith is like that for us as well: it’s not simply assent to an intellectual proposition but the entry point into a whole new world—of kinship and community, of dangers and adventures, of sacrifices and joys.

 

A favorite poem associated with the season is entitled “Christmas,” by Sir John Betjeman, sometime Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom. One of its stanzas reads as follows: 

 

And is it true?  And is it true,

This most tremendous tale of all,

Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,

A Baby in an ox's stall?

The Maker of the stars and sea

Become a Child on earth for me? 

 

Although Betjeman ends with a ringing affirmation of faith—“that God was man in Palestine, and lives today in bread and wine”—some of the poem’s critics have suggested that this repetition of the question, “And is it true?” bespeaks Betjeman’s own inner doubts. But authentic Christian faith is usually accompanied by some doubts, here and there, now and then.

 

My friend Fr. Andrew Mead—now retired and living in Rhode Island after having been successively Rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Rosemont, Pennsylvania; the Church of the Advent in Boston; and Saint Thomas’ Fifth Avenue in New York—tells this story at the end of a book of sermons. (I’ve also heard him tell it privately and in social gatherings.)

 

“A few years ago an old friend, a distinguished priest educator, came to town to take me out to lunch. … I was waiting for him at our front desk ... In he came, saying ‘Hello Andy, I have good news for you’. He had recently retired, having completed an extraordinary career. ‘What’s the good news?’ I asked eagerly. ‘The good news,’ he said, ‘is that it is all true.’” 

 

God grant us the grace to assent to and proclaim the same good news: It’s all true! 

FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR A

December 18, 2022

Christ Church, Woodbury, N.J.

 

Isaiah 7:10-17

Psalm 24:1-7

Romans 1:1-7

Matthew 1:18-25

 

Over the years I’ve noticed that Episcopal parishes, cathedrals, chapels, seminaries, and other institutions often have their own favorite hymns, which sometimes become almost their theme songs. And I’m told that one of the favorite hymns here at Christ Church, which we sang Friday evening at Lessons and Carols, is “God himself is with us.” It’s an excellent hymn, written by the early eighteenth-century German preacher Gerhard Tersteegen, and set to the Swedish melody Tysk. 

 

The phrase “God himself is with us” evokes the Hebrew prophecy of Emmanuel, “God with us,” which we encounter in both our Old Testament and Gospel readings for this Fourth Sunday of Advent.

 

But we need to be careful. The claim that “God is with us” is all too easily subject to abuse. Down through the centuries, armies have set out on wars of conquest proclaiming that “God is on our side.” To this day, so many sincere believers of various religions deceive themselves into thinking that they’re doing God’s work when they persecute, enslave, and put to death those who believe differently.

 

So, before we claim that “God is with us,” we need to examine carefully whether we’re using those words to justify self-serving actions or attitudes. But when we examine the biblical texts, we discover that the sign Emmanuel, “God with us,” is given for a very different purpose indeed.

 

Our Old Testament reading from Isaiah is set in the year 734 BC. The young king Ahaz has just inherited the throne of the southern kingdom of Judah in the midst of a grave crisis. The kings of both Syria and the northern kingdom of Israel have invaded Judah with the goal of overthrowing Ahaz and replacing him with a puppet king. Ahaz is in a desperate predicament, as the invading forces vastly outnumber his own.

 

Going out to inspect Jerusalem’s water supply—which is critical to the city’s ability to withstand a siege—Ahaz encounters the prophet Isaiah, who tells him not to worry about the city’s defenses but to place his trust in God. And so, our reading begins with the prophet telling the king: “Ask a sign of the Lord your God.” In other words, “If you don’t believe me, then God will confirm what I’m saying by any sign you choose.”

 

Ahaz protests that he will not put the Lord to the test. “Very well, then,” Isaiah replies, “if you won’t ask for a sign, the Lord himself will give you a sign: Behold, a young woman shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” And, before the child grows old enough to understand the difference between right and wrong, “the land before whose two kings you are in dread will lie deserted.” In other words, the invasion will simply melt away.

 

The saying as we have it in Isaiah raises more questions than it answers. Contrary to what we might expect, the young woman in the prophecy is most likely someone alive at that time, known to both Ahaz and Isaiah. So, when this young woman conceives and bears a son, Ahaz will have God’s sign confirming Isaiah’s word that he has nothing to fear from the forces threatening his kingdom.

 

The prophecy does in fact come true. Within a few years, the two kings threatening Judah are themselves conquered and absorbed by the Assyrian Empire. And it’s just possible that the sign of Emmanuel foretells the birth of Ahaz’s son Hezekiah, assuring the continuation of the dynasty of King David’s descendants on the throne of Judah. And unlike Ahaz, a wicked king known for his disobedience to God’s laws, Hezekiah will grow up to be a good and righteous king.

 

We see, then, the difference between self-serving misuse of the claim that “God is with us,” and its true biblical use. For here the prophecy is given to a king at his wits’ end, facing almost certain defeat and death at the hands of his enemies. More broadly, the sign of Emmanuel comes not to the powerful but to the weak and vulnerable: those who must place their trust in God because they dare not trust in their own strength.

 

But, as we know, the prophecy doesn’t end there. More than seven centuries later, when the Evangelist Matthew sits down to write the story of our Lord’s birth, he discerns the true fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy. After all, whatever prophecies might have signified in their own time and in their own setting, sometimes God gives them deeper meanings that become clear only centuries later.

 

Just as Isaiah told Ahaz not to fear the forces invading his realm, so the angel tells Joseph not to fear to take Mary as his wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit: a son, to be named Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins. In this way, Joseph receives the grace and strength to continue in what Saint Paul calls, in today’s Epistle, “the obedience of faith.” So, when Joseph arises from his sleep he does as the angel has commanded him.

 

But there’s another twist to the prophecy’s history. When the Jewish scholars of Alexandria in Egypt produced a Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures, they used the Greek word for “virgin” to translate the Hebrew word for “young woman” in Isaiah’s prophecy. And, providentially, it’s this Greek version of the Old Testament that Matthew quotes when he inserts his editorial comment affirming Christ’s virginal conception and birth: “All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: ‘Behold a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel’ (which means, God with us).” 

 

Here again, we see the prophecy’s supreme fulfillment not in strength but in weakness: for what’s more helpless, dependent, and defenseless than a newborn baby? The sign of Emmanuel reassures us that at those moments in our lives when we feel most vulnerable and powerless—when we lose our job, when we receive news of a loved one’s death, when the doctor diagnoses a life-threatening illness—then, more than ever, God himself is with us. 

 

In the Incarnation, out of his great love for us, the most high God empties himself of his power and glory to share the frailty of our human condition so that we might know him as Emmanuel, God with us. Again, at precisely those times when we feel overwhelmed by circumstances beyond our control, he gives us the grace and strength to continue like Joseph in “the obedience of faith” knowing that he’ll see us through whatever challenges we may have to face in this life.

 

This is the God for whose coming we’ve been waiting and preparing this Advent, and whose birth we shall celebrate in a week’s time at Christmas. If we’re only ready and willing to receive him, he will come abide within us, so that we may know his deep indwelling presence in our lives.

 

SECOND SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR A

December 4, 2022

Christ Church, Woodbury, N. J.

 

Isaiah 11:1-10

Psalm 72:1-8

Romans 1:4-13

Matthew 3: 1-12

 

Over the past few decades, a debate has taken place in the wider Church about the true nature and meaning of Advent. Those of more traditional leanings emphasize the season’s penitential character, treating it as a kind of “little Lent.”

 

A good degree of this emphasis is evident here at Christ Church. We use violent vestments, signifying penitence. (By the way, the color I’m wearing is violet, not purple. I looked it up online, and, on the color wheel, purple is halfway between blue and red, whereas violet is halfway between purple and blue.) Also, I was delighted to discover that we accompany the violet vestments with unbleached wax candles as well: liturgically very correct indeed!

 

In many places, however, the trend nowadays is to downplay Advent’s penitential character and emphasize instead themes of joyful hope and expectation. Instead of violet or purple, many churches use something called “Advent blue,” which is erroneously claimed to come from the Sarum Use of the medieval English Church. While such blue vestments are often very attractive—and I’ve worn them elsewhere in the past—I’m just as glad we stick to the traditional Advent violet here.

 

So, which is it? Is Advent a penitential season, a mini-Lent, or a joyful season of expectation and preparation? Well, in this as in so many other such questions, the best answer takes the form not of “either / or” but of “both / and.”

 

We can begin by looking again at today’s Collect. Its opening form of address, “Merciful God,” reminds us that, before all else, our God is a God of mercy. Then, after recalling that God sent the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation, the Collect asks God for the grace to “heed their warnings and forsake our sins”—there’s the penitential note—so that we may “greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer”—there’s the note of joyful hope. 

 

We encounter these two dimensions of Advent—the prophetic call to repentance and the equally prophetic proclamation of joyful hope—running throughout today’s appointed readings. A bit surprisingly, perhaps, the prophetic call to repentance sounds out most loudly and clearly not in the Old Testament readings but in the wonderful Gospel account of John the Baptist preaching at the River Jordan: “Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” Seeing Pharisees and Sadducees among those coming for baptism, John exclaims: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit that befits repentance … Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees; every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!” 

 

And the next time someone repeats to you the cliché that the God of the Old Testament is a God of wrath while the God of the New Testament is a God of love, you can quote to them this text from Matthew 3: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” Some wags have even suggested that the image of John the Baptist declaiming these words would make a good holiday greeting card at this time of year.

 

But when we turn from John the Baptist to the Prophet Isaiah, we encounter God’s promises displayed in the wonderful imagery of a kingdom of love and peace. The reading begins: “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” The Jesse referred to here is the father of King David. The prophet is proclaiming that even though the tree of David’s royal lineage has been cut down, and the Davidic monarchy destroyed, nonetheless at some unspecified point in the future a descendant of King David will arise to usher in the fullness of God’s reign on earth. As Christians, of course, we believe that this prophecy finds its fulfillment in none other than Jesus Christ.

 

The prophet continues: “The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.” Again, as Christians, we discern this prophecy’s fulfillment in the Spirit’s descent upon Jesus at his baptism by John in the River Jordan.

 

Isaiah proceeds to describe the Lord’s future reign as miraculously transforming and making new the natural creation itself: “The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.” Obviously, this vision of natural predators and their prey reconciled and coexisting in peace hasn’t been fulfilled yet. But again, this imagery beautifully symbolizes the Christian hope in a new heaven and a new earth following Christ’s Second Coming as King and Judge. “In that day,” Isaiah concludes, “the root of Jesse shall stand as an ensign to the peoples; him shall the nations seek, and his dwelling shall be glorious.”

 

In today’s reading from the Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul alludes to this same passage, writing: “and further Isaiah says, ‘The root of Jesse shall come, he who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him shall the Gentiles hope.” In Paul’s Greek the word “hope” has the sense of “joyful expectation.” And in this reading Paul uses this word no fewer than four times, beginning with the reminder that the scriptures were written for our instruction so that we might have hope.

Taken together, then, today’s readings present us with a summons to repentance and a call to hope, as two sides of the same coin. On one hand, bear fruit that befits repentance; on the other hand, place your hope in him whose coming we await. One of my seminary professors used to describe the difference between faith and hope by saying that faith is the belief that God’s promises are true, while hope is the belief that God’s promises are true for me. 

 

The key point, however, is that we cannot manufacture either this repentance or this hope by our own unaided human effort. They’re both gifts of God’s grace, gifts of the Holy Spirit, which is what we need to pray for above all else. Thus, John the Baptist concludes his discourse in today’s Gospel with the promise: “I baptize you with water for repentance … he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.” And here it seems fitting to give the last word to Saint Paul, who concludes today’s reading from Romans with this wonderful blessing: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and hope in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” 

FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT -- YEAR A

November 27, 2022

Christ Church, Woodbury, N. J.

 

Matthew 24:37-44

 

Back in the 1990s, when I was serving in a parish in Staten Island, New York, the Episcopal Diocese would hold a clergy tax seminar, at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine, every year on the Monday before Thanksgiving. All the canonically resident clergy were strongly encouraged to attend. The idea, as I recall, was that the end of November was an opportune time to be reminded of what needed to be done before year-end to get ourselves into the best possible position for preparing the coming year’s tax returns. 

 

The speaker in those days was always Canon William Geisler, a priest who’s also a Certified Public Accountant, former Controller of the Diocese of California, and who until recently continued to serve as a clergy tax consultant for the Church Pension Fund. He’s not a bad theologian either. One year that I attended, Canon Geisler began the seminar by enunciating three basic principles that he said should guide all our tax planning and preparation.

 

The first was accountability. In Canon Geisler’s memorable words, “sunlight kills germs.” In other words, we need to conduct our financial affairs with honesty and integrity, keeping our records as thoroughly and accurately as if we positively expect to be audited.

 

The second principle was preparation. Don’t put off doing what needs to be done now. Set up tax-saving arrangements before the tax year begins. It’s too late to start asking what we can do to lower this year’s taxes once the year is over. Again, be prepared for an audit before getting notice of an audit. It’s better to have all our financial affairs in order ahead of time than to scramble to get all our ducks in a row once that letter from the IRS arrives in the mail.

 

And the third basic principle was repentance. As Canon Geisler put it, no matter what portions of the tax code we may inadvertently have been violating, no matter how much of a mess we may have made of our record-keeping, we need not despair: “There’s still time to repent.” We can always start putting things right, here and now. For repentance means not only being sorry for our past mistakes but also taking action to correct them in the present for the future.

 

Perhaps it was just a coincidence that Canon Geisler’s tax seminar always came about a week before the beginning of Advent, but his message certainly fit well with the season. For Advent asks us to prepare for the Lord’s coming with even more care and attentiveness that we ideally should give to our taxes! In fact, Canon Geisler’s three principles—accountability, preparation, and repentance—offer a good roadmap not only to our taxes but also to the Advent season as indeed to our entire Christian lives.

 

First: accountability – Advent reminds us that one day we shall face judgment. On the basis of its reading of Scripture, the Church believes and teaches that at the end of time as we know it, the Lord will return to judge the living and the dead. That’s what’s known as the General Judgment. But even before that, immediately after death we shall each face what’s known as the “particular judgment,” when our individual lives will be examined, and our eternal destiny decided. 

 

Second: preparation – The Advent Mass readings remind us that we can’t predict the day or hour when we’ll be called upon to face this judgment and render our account. Jesus says in today’s Gospel that his coming will be unexpected, like a thief in the night. Therefore, we need always to be ready, watchful, and vigilant. Otherwise, we get lulled into a false sense of security, with the attendant risk that Judgment Day will catch us by surprise, off guard, and unprepared. 

 

Third: repentance – In this life, it’s never too late to repent. Some people feel that they’ve made such a mess of their lives, and are guilty of such terrible sins, that God couldn’t possibly ever forgive them or love them. But nothing could be farther from the truth. The good news here is that no matter no matter how far we’ve strayed from God, right now, here, today, there’s always the opportunity to repent, return to the Lord, and begin putting things right. 

 

Just as living in the expectation of an IRS audit incentivizes us to put our financial affairs in order, so living in the expectation of divine judgment incentivizes us to put our moral and spiritual affairs in order. The Season of Advent confronts us with the most basic question of all: If we really expected to meet the Lord and face his judgment in the near future—whether next year, next month, next week, or tomorrow—then what last-minute changes would we want to make in our lives before it was too late?

 

As with most analogies, of course, the differences between the two things under comparison are even more instructive than the similarities. For most of us, financial record-keeping and tax preparation are necessary evils, to be endured for the sake of getting them over with. By contrast, the spiritual practices by which we prepare to meet the Lord—worship, prayer, Bible-study, spiritual reading, and service to others—are sources of ever-increasing reward and fulfillment—precisely because they bring us more and more into a loving relationship with the One whose coming we await. 

But the biggest difference of all is that so long as we turn to God in faith and repentance, he’s always willing to forgive us our debts—completely, freely, without interest or penalties! Several years back, I stopped using a software application to prepare my tax returns, and hired a Certified Public Accountant instead—partly because of the assurance that said CPA would represent me and serve as my advocate if I ever did get audited. (And I understand that some tax software packages also include such representation as an optional extra for an additional fee.) But on Judgment Day, we can have available free of charge Jesus as our Advocate and the Holy Spirit as our Counselor: an unbeatable team!

 

So, to make a good beginning of Advent, we remember Canon Geisler’s three principles. Be accountable. Be prepared. Repent while there’s still time. As we thus put our spiritual houses in order, our anticipation of the Lord’s Second Advent becomes no longer an occasion of fear but a source of unspeakable joy.