"How Still We See Thee Lie?" A Christmas Eve Communion Meditation

I was in a state of sheer panic as I scrambled down the cobblestone streets in the marketplace in Bethlehem, petrified of getting left behind. My only recourse was to keep my eye on the bright yellow pants that our group leader was wearing, holding on to my personal effects for dear life. How I ever made it to the Church of the Nativity amidst the chaos, I'll never know!

But then something else caught my attention: the sight of the wall which separates Israel from Palestine marking the conflict between the two countries. The wall is covered with graffiti; very colorful graffiti, that is, in every sense of the word. As we entered Palestine, armed guards came onto the bus to check our passports before we could cross the border. "Americans," they said, and waved us through. One of our tour leaders, however, ran the risk of being left at the border because he didn't have the right papers. I didn't quite get it; I was on a pilgrimage to the place where Jesus was born. But where was that "how still we see thee lie?" place?

What about Mary and Joseph? They were under the rule of Emperor Augustus who had decreed that all the world should be registered, each in his or her own home town. Now there was major conflict between the Romans and the Jews. Mary and Joseph didn't have much choice but to comply, so they made the three-day pilgrimage from Nazareth to Bethlehem. They probably weren't the only ones on the road; something tells me that they could have been caught up in the sheer chaos of the throngs of people who were returning home for the census, being pushed and shoved along the way. It's not exactly the image that I have of a serene Mary perched on a donkey with Joseph walking at her side on that midnight clear.

I don't know about you, but I tend to think of the birth of Jesus in terms of the familiar Christmas carols that we love to sing and in the scriptures that we read. But it's easy to take those words at face value, especially as we hear the story year after year. I often get so caught up in the heavenly moment that I forget to pay attention to the earthly message that they bring to each one of us.

When I look at the figures in the manger scenes so beautifully displayed in our church and in our home, I forget that Mary and Joseph were real people, traveling to Bethlehem. I forget that the Virgin Mary ran the risk of being stoned to death just because she was the Virgin Mary, pregnant with an illegitimate child. But she gave birth to a real baby, wrapped in bands of cloth, not a silk blanket. He was laid in a feeding trough, not a warm cradle. But he was the one who would be called Wonderful Counselor. Mighty God. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace. Even the shepherds went with haste to this place to see the things that had been made known to them, for the angel of the Lord had appeared to them and the glory of the Lord had shown upon them.


We all made it to Bethlehem, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds and even me, by the grace of God, that is. As we leave behind the chaos of our lives and go to the Bethlehem of our hearts, traveling mercies will abound, for the baby Jesus, tiny as he may be, awaits our presence at this holy table. In partaking of this sacred meal, we can be assured of the promise that God has made known to us in the birth of the Christ Child. Therefore, let us eat this bread and drink this cup, knowing that this meal will sustain us for the journey of discipleship. Let us join the shepherds and go with haste to greet the baby who is Christ the Lord. Oh and by the way, as we drove out of Bethlehem, I figured out what the "how still we see thee lie," part was all about, for I saw large letters painted on the wall that spelled out the words, "Peace on Earth." Indeed. Now I know what it's all about: the promise of hope. All glory be to God this Christmas night. Amen.
(Text: Luke 2:1-14)

Happy Holy Days!

As I approached the entrance to a store several days ago, I was reminded that the holiday season is here. When I noticed the ubiquitous red kettle and heard the tinkling bell, I realized that I only had a $20 bill in my wallet. "Way too much to put in the kettle," I thought. "I'll put a dollar in on my way out of the store when I get some change." And so I walked right past the bell ringer, my hands in my pockets, and wished him a Merry Christmas.

But thinking about that episode took me back to the time when I was on the other side of the red kettle. As part of a church mission project, I spent an afternoon ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. I stood out in the cold and watched people walk by without even looking at me as I called out "Merry Christmas." I watched them come out of the stores, bags filled with gift wrap and presents. But they walked right by me once again without stopping to put even so much as a coin in the kettle. "Where's Christ in this Christmas?" I asked myself. "Where's the holy in these holidays?

Ironically, it seems as though I had forgotten about that experience as I shopped a few days ago, because I paid for my purchases with a credit card and walked right out the other door to the store. I headed for my car without giving another thought to the bell ringer. Indeed. Guilty as charged. Where is Christ in Christmas? Where is the holy in these holidays?

A couple of days later, I found myself once again in the proximity of the ubiquitous red kettle, the bell ringer ringing away. But as I listened this time, I heard God calling me to the manger to bring a gift to the Christ child. So I not only opened my wallet, but also my heart as I pushed the wadded bill through the small hole. "Merry Christmas," the bell ringer called out. And happy holy days to you!

An Advent Reflection

I've been an exercise nut for many years. When I lived in Florida, I ran, biked, walked and swam practically nonstop. When I moved to Iowa, I enjoyed my constitutional with my dog Sadie every morning after breakfast, rain or shine, snow or ice. But since my foot surgery last winter, I will admit to babying myself more than I needed. I went for months without going to the Y, my swimsuit and sneakers stuffed away out of sight.

However, things have changed in the past few weeks. I was shamed back into the pool when I saw the lifeguard at a church event. All she had to say was, "We miss you," and I took the plunge the very next day. I got back onto the treadmill last week after returning from my vacation. It hadn't been easy trying to keep up with my cousin as we walked what seemed like miles at a very brisk pace every day. I'll admit that it left me somewhat breathless. Now I'm back, enjoying every step and every stroke that I take. But I had a revelation the other day as I embarked on the treadmill for my 45 minute walk, and it was this: maybe it was time to be more diligent about exercising my faith, too.

I used to have a great system for prayer in motion. It was easy to keep track of my prayer requests by counting them on my fingers or by the cadence in my step. Walking Sadie around town was sacred time spent on holy ground. I wrote a lot of sermons in my head while swimming laps in the pool. My system worked well for me in those quiet moments. However, walking on the treadmill at the Y is a whole different story, with the cacophony of televisions and radios blaring. I have to take my MP3 player and headphones so that I can drown it all out with my own music. It's not exactly an environment for prayer!

We have the perfect opportunity for a time of reflection now as we begin the season of Advent, awaiting the coming of the baby of Bethlehem. It's a great time to exercise our faith as we plunge into the waters of baptism, certain that God will fill us with the breath of life as we try to keep up with the hustle and bustle of the season. Let's not forget to put on our holy headphones to drown out the cacophony of the world, It is only them that we will hear the still, small voice of our divine lifeguard saying, "I miss you," as we make room for the Christ Child to dwell within us.

Teresa: a charge on the occasion of her ordination as Minister of Word and Sacrament

Teresa,

God has been stitching you together from the day you were born, threading his divine needle with different colors of thread as you have grown in many ways in your love for God. I invite you now to open your spiritual sewing basket as you begin this new stage in your journey.

You'll need a spiritual pattern with which to shape your ministry, being faithful to God and to your congregation.

You'll need a cutting board with divine guidelines as God equips you to make disciples and grow leaders within your congregation.

You'll need a pair of scissors to cut with conviction as you preach the gospel of Jesus Christ.

There are times when you may want a seam ripper to fix your mistakes, and that you may need a length of elastic to stretch your confidence.

God may alter a neckline or change a sleeve from time to time, pointing you in a direction where you don't think that you want to go. You may feel like you want to start all over, but be assured that the holy garment that God has crafted will be a perfect fit, a very personal reflection of who you are as a child of God.

And so may you be clothed in Christ, loved by God, and immersed in the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.