While watching the NFL playoffs, you may have noted the slogan “Choose Love” on the helmets.  It was placed there in remembrance of Martin Luther King, Jr. who said “Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.” 

    Good thoughts in this time when there is so much hatred emanating from our government in Washington, D.C. as well as from those opposed to the regime. As King also said, “Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that”. Now, with both sides teetering on the edge of violence, love would be a good choice.

    And love is a choice we can make. Love is not a force that overcomes us, not a condition we fall into or out of. We can “Choose Love”, because love is a decision. Choosing love means taking intentional, conscious action toward kindness, empathy, compassion and forgiveness. 

    All the world’s religions elevate love as far more than a warm feeling in the chest. Love is the force that created the universe, and that ties everything together. Love is a divine gift, expressed through prayer, care of family, forgiveness and acceptance, welcoming. There is our love for God, for the creation, for the planet, for the world around us. And then there is God’s love for us.

    The ancient Hebrews had a word for it: Hesed, which was “The consistent, ever-faithful, relentless, constantly-pursuing, lavish, extravagant, unrestrained, furious love of our Father God!” Look in the Old Testament and see that even though people constantly turn away from God, God never turns away from them. 

    As St. Paul wrote in I Corinthians, “ Right now three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 

    In these days when tribalism appears so strong and our loyalties are starkly divided, it would be good to recall that we belong only to one tribe: the tribe of Man.

A while back there was a big sign along the freeway proclaiming,

“Jesus is the answer.”  A short distance further along there was another sign asking, ”What’s the question?”  That’s fair. Questions shape their answers. Having answers is only half the solution. Questions and answers together satisfy.  So what’s the question that is answered in the person of Jesus?

The question varies from age to age, from life to life, from day to day. For Martin Luther, living under the frown of an angry God, the question was, “Where can I find a gracious God?” For many people today, I suspect,  the question has changed. “Is there a God, when so many terrible things happen?”  Or,”Is there a God when we’re such grown up, independent people?”

Or perhaps, “ Where can I find God?” And for the Church, an important question has arisen, “Who IS God?” “What does God do?”

Jesus is still the answer. The bible before Jesus is a history of people trying to figure out and understand who God is. Jesus says, “When you see me, you have seen the Father.” To the ones asking, “Where in this torn and technological world can I find God?”, Jesus’ simple lifestyle, his thirst for justice, and his steadfast, sacrificing love are an answer. In his willingness to die on the cross for the sake of humanity, Jesus shows where God may be found today, in suffering love.

For the Church today, the question of God’s nature is a cause of confusion. Who is God? Is God the great puppeteer in the sky pulling strings and causing sometimes pain and suffering, sometimes happiness, health and prosperity? Or is God a heartless giant architect who set the world spinning and sat back to observe? Able to prevent evil but not doing it? Jesus is the answer. Yes, he said,”When you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” We see him going around among us, not causing evil or condoning it, but always present with us when it occurs, feeling it and suffering it with us. Giving strength, growing in his experience and stature (Luke 2:52) but never changing in his steadfast, steady love. Understanding our pain because he was in Christ on the cross.

The cross is where we Christians keep winding up. The immensity of that love was the answer for Luther. It is the answer for us. It will be, I pray, the answer for our children. On the cross, in its shadow, at the foot of it, there we understand God and nowhere else.

Houses in my neighborhood are decorated with strings of colored lights. Yards along the streets of my town have trees and bushes festooned with lights and dangling decorations.

My interpretation of all this is that people are sharing their joy with the world.

But what is the source of that joy?

For some, the prospect of returning to traditions brings happiness. Decorating trees, listening to carols, memories of happy times and togetherness, giving and receiving gifts, stir up memories of joyful time past. Families and friends come together, overcoming isolation.

My wife and I have a joyful tradition of spending evenings together watching schmaltzy Christmas movies. We might even slip in a Christmas classic, like Miracle on 34^th Street or It’s a Wonderful Life.

But for me, Christmas joy is enhanced by deepening my relationship with God. Advent midweek services and gatherings, and the anticipation of the beauty of Christmas Eve candle light service create in me a deeper awareness of God’s presence in my life. I rejoice in gratitude for my widening church family and the promise of acceptance and shared experience it holds, living ever more fully in the love of God. I also take joy in the fact that my church, and so many others, stands firm in opposition to the exclusion and judgementalism so prevalent in society today. All are welcome.

I think these things figure in the kindling of joy in the hearts of most folks, whether they acknowledge God as the source or not.  It’s a season of hope for us all.

It’s kind of a mixed up season, Advent. For some, it’s already Christmas time, and celebrations begin right after Thanksgiving. For others, it’s a time of waiting and anticipation, expecting something wonderful just ahead. 

For me, it’s a HOSANNA season. 

Hosanna is a funny word, with two different meanings. 

On the one hand, it’s a Hebrew word הוֹשִׁיעָה־נָּא (Hoshia na) which means “save us” or “please save”. But in the New Testament, Hosanna became a cheer, like Hallelujah. That began when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, and people cried out “Hosanna” to him. That meant that they had begun to believe that salvation was no longer something to be pined for. It was riding down the street in front of them. No longer coming, but HERE!

I feel that bifurcation right now, today. I see the kind of country we live in, with our military apparently willing to murder, our leaders full of lies, Americans cheering at the kidnapping of innocent immigrants, “Christians” happy to see food snatched away from poor and disabled people, and I must cry out “Hosanna, please, save us from this travesty!” Many of us join in crying out, “If ever there was a moment when the goodness of God is urgently needed, it is now!” 

And at the same time I see gentle friends gathered for midweek soup supper and to sing and pray the Vespers service. And I see that Christ is here among us, and we are his body. And again I say “Hosanna! Praise to the King of truth!”  No matter what the world deals out, it will be ok. 

May The Lord bless this season of preparation for Christmas, filling you with hope, peace and joy, and a holy confidence that goodness will prevail.

It’s the last week of the year for Christians.  Christ the King is the final Sunday.  Soon our new year begins with Advent. Everyone else lets Christmas end the year. For us Christians, it’s the beginning of things. 

It’s like that all the time, it seems. We Christians are in the world but not of it. Like salmon swimming upstream, we face a current of opposition from the world. We stand opposite of everyone else on nearly everything. Our values are different, our priorities, our convictions. One doesn’t have to look very hard to see that. The official government policies are an example. We say feed and welcome the stranger. They say lock them up. 

I’m tired of it. As I sat down to write today, I was overwhelmed by the desire to roll over and float downstream. Just to be like everyone else. To blend in.  Have you ever felt that way? (I hope you’ll endorse me by admitting that you have.)

But then there is the King. (The true king, not the duke of Orange.) He has called us into his service, and pledged to protect us into eternity. He demonstrated how much farther upstream it is possible to go. 

Somehow having him as King makes the loneliness and frustration worth while. As long as he’s King I pledge my sword to him. 

I’ll go on being different as long as he lives and reigns.

Peace be with you,

NORM

Recently, there was a protest event where people gathered to object to the increasing trend toward authoritarianism in the United States.  I attended the event, and chose to wear my clerical collar. 

Usually, I don’t wear the collar. I see it as a sign that I am under a call. That is, I have been given a job to do for God and God’s people. As a retired clergy person, I don’t have such an assignment, but I wore it this day because I believed that people protesting against the increasingly fascist regime needed to have some sign of being on the right side, God’s side. They needed to see a sign that God is with them. 

On arrival at the protest, I found that people immediately welcomed me, warmly. As I entered the group, people began smiling and telling me about their experiences and their spiritual lives. 

As I moved along the crowd, people unfailingly turned to greet me, and were encouraged by a brief chat and show of interest in what they were doing.  

The effect on others also included some of those objecting to the demonstration. One young man walking along before the crowd insulting them looked at me and turned away. His attempts to stir up trouble were apparently thwarted by a reminder of God’s presence. 

The effect of the collar on me was also significant. Mentally, I went from just one among many who were voicing disapproval of our political leadership to someone concerned for everybody there. My commitment to God, made many years earlier, came to the fore again, and I felt a duty to encourage people and strengthen their spirits.

What is the upshot of this? It seems to me that when people are seeking justice, fairness, truth, equity, then God is welcome among them. Perhaps God is not rocognized in EVERY situation of walk of life, but this day, in this town, I found people to be very open to God.

I ran into God the other day. It happened at Costco, in the candy aisle. I was with my wife, and we weren’t shopping for candy. Just on our way to the check out line. 

Understand, I don’t often find myself at Costco. I was only there incidentally.  My wife and I had been running some errands, and she said she’d like to stop there on the way home. It was on a Wednesday, and not likely to be crowded, so in we went. 

We’d found the items we wanted and were heading to the cash register when we bumped into God. He was dressed like Joe, an old friend we hadn’t seen for quite awhile. His hair was thinning and his body was very frail and wasted. He stopped and talked with us, when we found out that he was quite ill, and likely dying soon. We chatted for a bit and parted. It was only later that I realized I had encountered God. 

Like Jacob, in Genesis 28:16, who woke up after dreaming of God and a ladder and angels and said, “Surely God was in this place and I didn’t know it.” Sometimes we only recognize God after he has passed by, after he has touched our hearts. 

How did I know it was God? Because I was changed inside. Normally I would have been self absorbed and eager to get my errands done and get back home. But I wasn’t.  Right away I was concerned for my old friend, and determined to reach out to him and be of support in whatever way I could in his final chapter. My heart grew three sizes and I’m not even the Grinch. 

I think it often happens that way. People of faith encounter God and only recognize it afterward. And it’s not in huge, miraculous occurrences, but in the events of everyday life. Like Elijah, standing on the mountain waiting for God to pass, and after the hurricane, the earthquake, and the fire, discovering God in a still, small voice asking, “Elijah, what are you doing out here?”

It’s not easy to recognize God in the everyday things. But with practice, we can get better at it.

Forget-me-nots grow in lots of places around here. Forgive-me-nots are even more common. 

Recently, I discovered a general truth. It is that apologies vary in their authenticity.  Some ways of apologizing are deep and true. Others are as empty as a skeleton in the desert. Look at two common ways of apology and see for yourself. 

“Forgive me” is a message that has become rather rare these days, or so it seems to me. 

“Forgive me” says something about me. I have erred, made a mistake, caused hurt, transgressed, blown it, sinned. The idea is that I humble myself in admitting my own fault. I bend the neck. 

“Forgive me” also says something about you. You are important to me, essential, needed, valued. I need you. I need something you can give me:  a washing, a cleansing, absolution, a nod that says,”It’s OK; we are still together.” “Forgive me” says, “I need your acceptance again, though I’m undeserving.”

A more common attempt at apologizing these days is the declaration,”I’m sorry”. Compared with the cool depth of “forgive me”, “I’m sorry” seems rather tepid and shallow. “I’m sorry” tells something about me alright. But it stands up on its hind legs to say it. It speaks of my condition, but in a different way. It says, “I regret my actions. They’re quite out of character, you know. I’m sorry, normally I’m a very good person.” Saying “I’m sorry” focuses all the attention on me, proclaims me, but asks nothing of you, except to hear what I say about me. 

I’ve got a hunch that these two were at one time a single critter: “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”  But at some time in the dim past they were vivisected. Strange, isn’t it, the half that came into more common use? Or perhaps not so strange at all.

God’s Peace,

Norm

The other night before bed I remembered to pray.  I pray because that’s the sort of person I want to be. If you want to be a spiritual person, you gotta do spiritual things.  I admit, sometimes I forget who I want to be and go to sleep without a prayer. But I’m remembering more and more often. 

I pray sometimes and then I meditate sometimes. Prayer is what happens when I talk to God.  Meditation is when I listen. It isn’t easy to meditate. My mind wants to busy itself with all sorts of things other than quiet listening. But with practice, it can be done. 

So the other night, I said a prayer. My prayers are usually petitions, asking for something.  But not like physical things. Not for a new Cadillac, or not even for a healthy body. I usually ask to know God’s will, what I’m supposed to do, or asking for God’s will for somebody else. And I say prayers of thanksgiving, for things that came during the day, for ways in which I was successful in doing right.  Finally, I pray for forgiveness for ways In which I didn’t measure up, and for strength to do better next time.  

Then, when I had finished what I had to say, I told God, “Now I’m gonna listen.”  And I did. 

That’s when it happened.  I got a message. It came to me as a “still, small voice” like in 1 Kings 19: 12-13. It came all by itself, with no other cluttering thoughts. Nothing before, nothing after. Just a simple little message. “I love you.” 

It was 9:00 p.m. and all was well.  A fall evening in the parsonage. 

The lights were low, and we were snuggled on the couch, bingeing on our favorite series. Another comfortable, cozy evening.  Then the door bell rang. I rolled my eyes and got up to answer it. 

It was an old man. At least he appeared old, with beard flecked white, and worn and weathered face. He wore one of those funny hats with flaps dangling over his ears.  His clothing was indescribable; layers of tatters. His were the eyes of the invisible man. Red rimmed and watery, evasive, they were unaccustomed to being noticed by other eyes. He was one of those creatures that real people simply do not see, stepping around or over them on the sidewalk.

Still conscious of my irritation, I asked him what he wanted. “Do you have anything to eat?” he asked.  I could see his breath, for the night air was keen. “Just a minute,” I replied.  I shut the door, leaving him standing there, and went to the kitchen. I fixed him a baloney sandwich with mustard. Then I took the sandwich, opened the door, handed it to him, and after some dutiful but brief conversation, dismissed him into the night.

Returning to the sofa and television, I suddenly felt the evening was ruined. My conscience was a hook and I wriggled on it like a fish. I had given a man a morsel of food, but denied him what he really needed most:  I hadn’t asked him if he liked mustard. 

                     O LORD, HELP US TO CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER ENOUGH TO BECOME INVOLVED, EVEN IF ONLY IN A TINY WAY.      

                                    AMEN