Exact Imprint of God's Being

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He is the reflection of God’s glory

and the exact imprint of God’s very being,

and he sustains all things by his powerful word.

[Hebrews 1:3, NRSV; appointed for Christmas Day]

This verse from the first chapter of Hebrews is appointed by the New Revised Common Lectionary for reading on Christmas day.

It’s a great Christmas announcement. It’s not as poetic as the song the angels sang to the shepherds. It might be a bit wordy to fit on a Christmas card. But it pretty much says it all. And it reminds us that all the Advent waiting was worth it.

Here, in this manger – nestled amid dust and dung, straw and struggle, animals and animosity – here in this meager manger is the very reflection of God’s glory.

This little one – not yet weaned and soon to be hunted by the murderous madness of a power-hungry king – this restless little one is the exact imprint of God’s very being.

This child – swaddled in the protection, nurture and life-giving love of others – this vulnerable little kid is the one who sustains all things by his powerful word.

That word, this child, is Emmanuel, God with us, God with the world.

As he accompanied a friend in her battle with lung cancer theologian and author Gerhard E. Frost realized at one point that all he had to give his friend was his middle name, which he had disliked as a kid: Emmanuel.

“What do I know about life?” he wrote. “What do I know about death? I affirm that God is with me. ’Emmanuel’ is the only reason I dare to grow old.”[1]

This child, this Jesus, this Emmanuel, is God’s gift to us, God’s gift to the world, blessing the mangers of our days with the shimmering light of God’s glory.

This child, Emmanuel, is God’s gift to us. He will walk through the world marking apparently God-forsaken people and places with the imprint of God’s very being.

This child is God’s gift to us. He will gather up all the woes, and wounds and weaknesses of the world – including yours and mine – take them to the cross and leave them on the floor of an empty tomb to sustain us and the world with the crucified and living Word of hope and new life, Emmanuel, God with us…ever and always.

To us, to all in sorrow and fear,

Emmanuel comes a-singing,

His humble song is quiet and near,

Yet fills the earth with its ringing. [2]

May the deep and abiding joy of Emmanuel accompany and lead you and yours these Christmas days and all throughout the new year.

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[1] Journey of the Heart: Reflections on Life’s Way, Gerhard E. Frost. Augsburg Fortress, 1995, p. 116.

[2] “Awake! Awake, and Greet the New Morn.” Marty Haugen, Evangelical Lutheran Worship #242.

Come, O Come Emmanuel

O come, O Wisdom from on high,

Embracing all things far and nigh:

In strength and beauty come and stay;

Teach us your will and guide our way.

The “O Antiphons” have been part of the church’s worship for many centuries. In some traditions, one verse is sung or read each of the last seven days of Advent (December 17 through 23). Each antiphon expresses a deep, nearly inexpressible yearning of the human spirit for release, healing, guidance, peace, joy, or new life.

The cry for Wisdom’s embrace rang ‘round the globe on Monday, December 17, the day of the first funerals for victims of the shooting in Newtown, Connecticut.

The need is so great, yearnings run so deep, after something like the Newtown shooting. Hearts are broken. Spirits ache. Whole communities wonder “Why?” and individuals wrestle with “If onlys.” Ire rises. Bewildered minds seek answers. Blame slips from trembling lips and through Facebooking fingers and into broadcast and newsprint commentary. Whole communities cry for change, demand action. And we cry out…

O come, O Wisdom, embracing all things far and nigh:

In strength and beauty come and stay. Teach us your will and guide our way.

Wisdom, not raw reactivity, will guide us in the way of peace. Strength and beauty will provide more permanent and fruitful companionship for this journey than unfettered fear or ugly accusation ever could. Humility, not arrogance or strident stubbornness, will teach and guide us well.

Perhaps this and the other O antiphons can lead us forward through the post-Newtown fog. They call us to allow space in our hearts and our gatherings (as church, as family, as friends, as civilians) for the full-throated expression of our own deepest longings and the sighs too deep for words of the people of Newtown and of all the suffering people in the world who stare at the horizon looking for a way forward.

We make this space through prayer…praying the antiphons (see Hymn #257 in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, see below)…praying the psalms (especially psalms of lament)…praying the liturgies (such as Evening Prayer).

We make such space by walking together…listening…sharing…sitting in silence…lighting candles…singing...sharing peace…holding trembling hands.

We can make such space for the hurt of the world because we trust that if the cradled Christmas child offers anything, he offers the promise of healing, reconciliation, and joy right now, right here where he is born, in the midst of the world’s deepest sorrows, hurts and mysteries. For he is Wisdom, Lord of Might, Branch of Jesse, Key of David, Dayspring, King of Nations, Emmanuel who walks with us, with the people of Newtown – with all the suffering ones of the world – in compassionate companionship every step of the groping journey toward tomorrow’s promised light.

The Advent longing is deep. The Christmas promise is sure. We pour out our hearts and we proclaim the promise, entrusting all broken hearts to the babe of Bethlehem. 

Rejoice; Emmanuel shall come.

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December 17

O come, O Wisdom from on high,

Embracing all things far and nigh:

In strength and beauty come and stay;

Teach us your will and guide our way.

December 18

O come, O come, O Lord of Might,

As to your tribes on Sinai’s height

In ancient times you gave the law

In cloud, and majesty, and awe.

December 19

O come, O Branch of Jesse, free

Your own from Satan’s tyranny;

From depths of hell your people save,

And give them victory o’er the grave.

December 20

O come, O Key of David, come,

And open wide our heav’nly home;

Make safe the way that leads on high,

And close the path to misery.

December 21

O come, O Dayspring, come and cheer;

O Sun of justice, now draw near

Disperse the gloomy coulds of night,

And death’s dark shadow put to flight.

December 22

O come, O King of Nations, come,

O Cornerstone that binds in one:

Refresh the hearts that long for you;

Restore the broken, make us new.

December 23

O come, O come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear.

“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” Evangelical Lutheran Worship #257

Let the Earth Rejoice

“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,

so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

John 3:16, NRSV

As a child I sometimes wondered why, among all the holidays and holy days in the year, Christmas seems to involve the most animals and outdoor scenes.

Easter gets a bunny, eggs, a few butterflies, and baskets full of plastic grass. Meanwhile, year after year Christmas crèches, greeting cards, churches, homes, and places of business are bedecked in snow and starry nights, braying donkeys and baby-gazing oxen, trees and pine boughs and magi on camels silhouetted against a setting sun.

What is it about Christmas that draws the attention of the whole creation? Can it be that the Word become flesh somehow hallows every created thing and the whole world – the entire cosmos – responds with praise?

That most familiar of passages says it so quietly that it’s easy to overlook: God so loved the world (Greek: “κόσμον” = kosmon = cosmos) that God gave his only son. As it turns out, Christmas is not just about us humans; it’s about God’s love for the whole cosmos.

Cataloochee National Park, North Carolina

Listen carefully to the scripture readings during the four weeks of Advent, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Listen especially to the readings from the Older Testament and the Psalms. Listen deeply for references to sun and moon, animals and plants, fields and trees. Every part of creation is called to attention, is promised redemption, and offers praise. In fact, if you listen carefully and make a list of the references to creation that you hear these holy days, I am confident that by Christmas Day your list will be longer than the most ambitious child’s list for Santa.

Then, let your listening move you to look. Take a break from the season’s busyness to look around your days, every Advent one of them. Look for the ways that God comes to you in and through every ordinary bit of creation…like family and friends, animals in the house and outside the window, swaying trees and blustery snow, wrapped gifts and tinseled trees, rising sun and glowing moon, bread and wine and water and word. In ways so ordinary it’s easy to overlook, God draws near, whispering love, working wonder, Emmanuel, God with us.

Having listened and looked, then lift your voice and with “all the world give back the song which now the angels sing.”[1]

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice;

let the sea roar, and all that fills it;

let the field exult, and everything in it.

Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy before the Lord;

for he is coming.

Psalm 96 (appointed for Christmas Eve)

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[1] “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” (v. 4) #282 Evangelical Lutheran Worship

Etch A Sketch Church, iPad World Part 3

At a recent meeting of folks from all over the country, the vast majority of which were over age 50 and a good number over 60, I noticed that many of us opened iPads as the meeting began. Great lamentation, confused whimpers and desperate cries for help arose around the room as the screens came to life:

"How do I save a document?" "I know I downloaded the files, but I can't find them!" "Why does the screen keep changing direction?" "Ach! My notes just disappeared!" "How do I zoom in on that chart?" "Where the heck do I find the wi-fi settings?" "For Pete's sake! I should have brought my old laptop."

The masses among them had a strong craving; and the church folk also wept again, and said, “If only we had our Etch A Sketch! We remember the fish we used to draw so simply, the houses, the trains, the stick people; but now our fingers are confused, and there is nothing at all but this iPad to look at.” [Numbers11:4-6, paraphrased, of course]

Change is difficult. When we know we need it, when we like things the way they are, when we thought we wanted it, when we know we don't want it, when it (whatever "it" is) just doesn't work anymore…in nearly every circumstance, change is difficult. This is as true for congregations and synods as it is for individuals and families.

Change is difficult because we can see that there is goodness in the way things are, or because life is comfortable and familiar and walking into the fog of an uncertain future is frightening, or adopting new habits can be exhausting and discouraging, or because __________________________ (fill in the blank with your own murmuring lament).

            This sort of lament can also arise from a sense of loss and grief. This is natural. It’s appropriate, even necessary, as we learn to let go of what has been good and helpful for us in the past in order to welcome what will be meaningful, faithful and good now and into the future.

We need to create spaces in our life together where we can share the struggle, the pain, the loss involved with being reborn as a 21^st Century church. Psalms, like Psalm 89, when read, discussed and prayed together can help create the desperately needed space among us where we can let loose our lament: “Lord, where is your steadfast love of old?”

The good news is that right there, in such gatherings, as with mourning Mary in the garden that first Easter morning, the risen Jesus will meet us in our murmuring to comfort us with his promising presence and lead us into new life [John 20:11-18].

O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. [Evangelical Lutheran Worship, “Morning Prayer”]

Itsy bitsy disclaimer: The Etch A Sketch metaphor, in tandem with the iPad metaphor, is intended to be a way to engage imagination around what it means to be the people of God in our current context. I am aware of the unfortunate way in which "Etch A Sketch" was used briefly in media coverage of the presidential political campaign. I intend no political reference whatsoever by the use of this image in the context of this conversation. If the image itself proves less than useful, I trust that folks will use whatever images and metaphors are more helpful for them to continue to engage the very important conversation about how God's people can most faithfully, creatively and effectively participate in God's mission in the world today. In fact, please share those images and metaphors here!