The Rev. Jim Nixon
St. Catherine’s Episcopal Church

A man.  A woman.  A well.  It seems simple enough.  Yet, for centuries the church has plumbed the depths of this powerful story for it complex meaning.  In the Samaritan town where Jacob's well was located, Jesus asks a woman for a drink of water.  It is a simple request on its surface, but a request that we should do well to pay attention to in our daily lives.

Going to the well was somewhat like a social occasion — how we might go to meet a friend at Starbucks.  People went for water, but also to catch up on the latest gossip, and perhaps to do a little flirting.  The well was a social place of being.

There is a sense of back and forth in the conversation between Jesus and woman.  Jesus asks a question; the woman shots back another question.  Jesus speaks of living water; she takes him to mean running water as in a creek, but the still water of the well is the only local source of water.  So what was he talking about?  Jesus tells her that "whoever drinks the water I give will never thirst" and the pragmatic woman thinks, terrific, now I don't have to be thirsty and I don't have to keep coming here to get this water and drag it home.  Their conversation just seems to about two people talking two different languages.

But something happens to the woman.  Little by little the conversation she has with Jesus becomes a conversion experience for her.

Think about it if you will.  Conversation and conversion.  They share the same Latin root meaning "to turn around."  Adding the prefix "con" means together.  Conversion means, commonly, to be turned back to God and conversation means opening ourselves to the possibility of finding ourselves turned by what we receive from the other person.

Jesus choose to go through Samaria.  "He had to go", Scripture says.  Jews normally avoided contact with their Samaritan neighbors by traveling other, longer routes.  It looks to me like Jesus intentionally sought out this woman at the well.  Historically and traditionally, Jewish men did not speak in public to women, even their own wives.  For a rabbi this would have been an even greater restriction.  But Jesus never treated women in the expected ways of his culture.  He talked with them.  He taught them.  He expected and trusted them to be able to proclaim the Good News.  He told stories using women as his characters.  Jesus acted and spoke as if women and men were equal before God and his eyes.

He strikes up a conversation with this woman at the well.  Her past and present flaws don't matter.  He knows who she is and what she is and it simply does not matter.  He's thirsty.  He asks for water.  He strikes up a conversation.  And in that conversation they both reveal more and more who they really are.  He the Messiah.  She a disciple who runs to tell the town "Come and see a man who could be the Messiah.  He didn't lecture or berate her or shame her; he simply accepted her.  His acceptance makes it possible for her to accept his truth.  His acceptance, their conversation, made her conversion possible.
There is a bold teaching in this story that we can apply directly in today's climate of increasing racism. We have some things to say to each other, the woman to the man, the African-American  to the white, the gay to the straight, the Muslim to the Christian, the worker to the manager. At first it's like the opening conversation between Jesus and the woman, but if we keep listening eventually we find we have things to offer.  There is also a profound teaching about the way that we approach issues in which we differ. Our culture tends to encourage the attitude that values and norms of the majority should always prevail.

God has some things to say to us. If we are closed to the methods he uses such as conversation with others, reading of Scripture, and, especially, listening to those who differ from us, we may very well be ignoring God's attempts to communicate. Jesus' encounter with the woman of Samaria is the kind of thing that can happen to any of us.

God is challenging our thinking and assumptions all the time. Jesus' whole ministry can be seen that way. He ate with sinners, spoke to women, healed on the Sabbath, and did all manner of things which shook up the power structure and the people he was sent to serve. He didn't do this just because he liked upsetting people. He did it because he was God, trying to break through the barriers people have erected to protect themselves from the wholly other, God who loves us, and wants us to be whole.

I find myself feeling very irritated when I hear someone say, "You know the problem with the Episcopal Church is that we don't believe in anything."  What they are usually saying is that we don't clearly state in black and white terms our positions on some of the hot button issues of the day.  Another way of saying it is that we are unwilling "to lead with our conclusions, accepting rather that we must listen to one another's experience.  I get irritated because I do affirm our belief that every man and woman has the right to approach these issues with their mind, with their reason, and in light of their relationship with God and Jesus Christ — and then, to enter into some difficult conversations which have the power to at least inform us of the other's life experience and at most to convert us.  During his opening remarks to General Convention in Denver in 2000, our Presiding Bishop put it this way:

"We tend often in difficult conversations that threaten us in someway, to lead with our conclusions. "I will tell you where I stand, now I expect you to tell me where you stand." If we do that, we often miss meeting one another at a deeper and more significant level. Am I willing to meet the Christ in you, born in experience that may be very different from my own and are you willing to meet the Christ in me? And in meeting Christ am I willing to find my perception of truth is stretched and enlarged by the truth you embody and represent in your attempt to live the Gospel faithfully and are you ready to be stretched and enlarged by the truth that is in me? It is not easy to have an undefended heart . . .

The recognition of Christ in the other in the fullness of their personhood and their attempt to live the Gospel faithfully in the fullness of their difference from us is not necessarily resolution; it is something far more profound and more significant. It's communion. Communion often involves the capacity to stand with another in the truth of who they are in such a way we can make room for difference. We can still see the Christ within them even though their perspectives, their experience, are very unfamiliar to us, and in some ways, uncomfortable."

I believe St. Catherine's has the potential to be a place like this to which people will run.  We are not there, but if we so choose we can be.  Indeed our goals and our mission statement speak to our desire to be a place where we meet one another in conversation and with undefended hearts as we acknowledge, respect, and celebrate the diversity of our parish community.  In this place we can, if we so choose, develop a safe environment for expressing, listening to, and responding to each other's hopes, concerns and opinions.  When we achieve this goal, as I believe we can, we'll truly be a place that shares the love that Jesus Christ has for us and the world by welcoming, accepting, nurturing and serving all people through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Too often, we show contempt toward others who differ from us, and we surround ourselves with friends who are like us. Is it any wonder we get bored? Is it any wonder we start asking if God is really doing anything in our lives?

Look for the places that are strange and the people who differ from you as sources for God to address your deepest longings. Listen for words that cause you to react. Be aware of times when you want to retreat from opinions and issues that make you uncomfortable. Then try to enter into conversation at these points. You may identify your hunger and thirst for the first time, and realize God is there, waiting to feed you and quench your thirst forever.

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We pray each Sunday, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Yet, as Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil, we too feel led into our own temptations.  We're tempted when we can't manage to eat "just one" potato chip or brownie.  We're tempted when we succumb to the desire to make that phone call in high speed traffic on I-75 south.  We're tempted when we imagine the size of our income tax refund if we invent just one more deduction.  Our actions are often ill-thought out, yet we are surprised when our cholesterol level and weight sours, angry when we have a driving accident and scared when we receive an audit notice from the IRS.

We pray each Sunday, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."  Yet, over and over again we yield almost impulsively to temptation.  It is our human condition.

Consider Adam and Eve: There was only one "no" in their lives: eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  However, it took only a short period of temptation by the serpent to convince both of them to eat of the fruit.

Consider David the king.  He is tempted by Bathsheba's seductive beauty.  His desire to be with her drives him to send her husband and his friend to death in battle.  And now, today in Psalm 51, we hear him repent of the temptations of adultery and murder.  "Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving kindness; in your great compassion blot out my offenses."

We pray each Sunday, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."  Yet, over and over again we yield almost impulsively to temptation.  It is our human condition.

Arnold Lobel is the author and illustrator of many classic children's books.  In his book, Frog and Toad Together he tells of two friends who battle temptation.

Toad bakes cookies and they smell very good.  He tastes one and they taste even better.  He must share them with Frog.

"Taste these cookies," cries Toad.  And Frog does.  "These are the best cookies, I've ever eaten."

Frog and Toad eat many, many cookies.  And they soon realize they'll be sick if they don't stop.  But, of course, they can't stop.  One by one they eat "one very last cookie."

They decide they need will power which Frog describes as "trying hard not to do something that you really want to do."

They proceed to develop an elaborate plan to be sure they "will not eat any more cookies."

They put the cookies in a box.  But "we can open the box," they decide.

They tie string around the box.  But "we can cut the string and open the box," they decide.

They climb a ladder and put the box on a high shelf.  But "we can climb the ladder and take the box down from the shelf and cut the string and open the box," they decide.

Finally they take the box outside, open it, and feed every last cookie to the birds.

When Toad says sadly, "we have no more cookies to eat," Frog observes triumphantly, "Yes, but we have lots and lots of will power."

"You may keep it all, Frog" said Toad."  "I am going home to bake a cake."

We pray each Sunday, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."  Yet, over and over again we yield almost impulsively to temptation.  It is our human condition.  Even when we realize how harmful it is to yield to our temptations, sometimes that is not enough to make temptation disappear.

Jesus faced temptation.  As fully human just like you and me, there is no reason to believe he didn't face many more temptations in the course of his life and ministry than the three of which we hear this morning.  But as he faces these three, he offers us a model for making wiser choices in our lives.

Jesus strength lies in his willingness to partner with a higher power — to partner with God.  Each time he is tempted Jesus turns to God: to spiritual nurture as equally nourishing as bread; to quiet confidence in his identity as a person rather than his "ego needs" to be divine; to worship of God rather than worship of worldly power and authority.

Without help from God we can easily be tempted to trade our integrity; our honor; even our bodies for short term satisfaction found in the goods of the world.  Twelve step programs starting with Bill W. and AA know this truth and, more effectively than the church, teach it to countless men and women who find their personal recovery and salvation in a higher power.  Like Jesus, it is partnership with God that strengthens us against the temptations of the world.

We pray each Sunday, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."  Yet, over and over again we yield almost impulsively to temptation.  It is our human condition.  Even when we realize how harmful it is to yield to our temptations, sometimes that is not enough to make temptation disappear.  The good news in the temptations of Jesus is that they tell of Jesus' triumph in choosing to trust God rather than worldly power or authority. And because we believe in Jesus and we believe that Jesus was fully human (as well as fully divine), the very same choice is given to you and to me.

We pray each Sunday, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."   The good news today and forever is that when we are led into temptation — and we will be — we have a choice.  Praise God for the gift of choice and the strength to make it.

Where are you going?  That's what I would ask.  When told, "Follow me,"  I more than likely would ask, "Where are you going?"  I bet more than a few of you would ask the same.  "Where are you going?"

Without a word, the fishermen leave their nets and follow Jesus.  These men have never seen Jesus before.  They have seen no miracles.  They have heard no teachings.  No explanation has been given them.  They are not told why they should follow Jesus. They are not told what following him will mean.  They are not told where the path will lead them.  Yet they follow him.  And I'm left asking, "Where are you going?"

We who read this story today are tempted to fashion this call to discipleship into a story that fits more comfortably into our own idealism of discipleship.  To become a disciple means to accept Jesus' principles for living.  To become a disciple means to admire Jesus.  To become a disciple means to accept Jesus as our personal Savior.  To become a disciple means to adhere to a certain creed or particular teachings.  To become a disciple is to display an ability to adjust to a certain way of life.  To become a disciple is to convince Jesus we are worthy of being entrusted with apostleship.  But if we try to fashion such idealistic responses to discipleship we miss the point of this story.
These fishermen do not know the destination.  They must learn along the way.  Jesus appears among them and calls them not to admire him or accept his principles, not even to accept him as their personal Savior, but to follow him.  "There is no evidence that Jesus chose them because they were brighter or nicer than other people.  In fact other stories suggest that they were continually missing the point, jockeying for position and, when the chips were down, interested in nothing so much as saving their own skins.  Their sole qualification seems to have been their initial willingness to rise to their feet when Jesus said, 'Follow me.'"

If we were to call a panel discussion on discipleship this morning rather than an annual meeting, and ask the question, "How did you become a believer" there would no doubt be a variety of interesting stories.  Some would be stories of dramatic suddenness, others of slow and painful groping and struggle; others would hardly relate to the question at all, but would never remember a time when they were unbelievers."  I encountered this when I went to seminary.  After hearing the spiritual biographies of 23 other students I wondered how so many very different people had arrived at the very same place at the very same time.  Our sole qualification in common was our willingness to rise to our feet when Jesus said, "Follow me."

Jesus encounters Simon and Andrew casting a net into the sea.  And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people."  And they immediately followed him.  They are asked, and they follow.  That is trust.

It seems to me that regardless of what we've made discipleship out to me in the modern church, it is trust that is at the heart of the issue.  Trust, or rather the lack of trust, is the major obstacle to authentic discipleship.  Simon and Andrew show trust through their willingness to take seemingly reckless action by leaving everything that provides them security to follow this itinerant preacher.  They obviously see in him something in which they can put their ultimate trust.  Jesus also places this same kind of trust in these people.  He perceives in them the strength to over come the obstacles that they will encounter.  Each commits themselves.  They make a decision around which all the other decisions in their lives will revolve.  Today they hear Jesus word and they trust and follow.  In so doing Jesus' journey becomes their journey; his direction becomes their direction.

Where are you going is an unimportant question.  Discipleship is found in the going and not in the destination.  Jesus continues to call us.  In and through the words and deeds of lay and ordained ministers, missionaries, teachers, family, friends, and the nameless doers of Christian service, the voice of Jesus continues to speak, to call, and to generate trust.  Jesus' call to discipleship was spoken not only to a few disciples in first century Galilee but to the church throughout history.  How about you?  Are you following the call?  Or are you still asking questions?

Today is the feast of the baptism of Jesus.  Many theologians greater than you and me have debated for centuries just why Jesus was baptized.  After all he was sinless.  Why, then, did he need to be baptized?

Baptism, as a sacrament, has many theological components to be sure.  But two of those components are paramount in my mind this morning.  There is what I might call, the sin component — the sacrament of baptism washes away our sins and brings forgiveness.  And then there is the image component.  Baptism is in one sense an inauguration, a mandate, a putting on a new image — the image of being a Christian in our world.

Baptism is a public event like getting married. It is for all to see!  In marriage, the participants are, so to speak, put on the spot before the public assembly.  They declare their love and commitment to a special person so that all the world knows the two are now one.  In Baptism the parents, godparents, and the congregation declare their commitment to raise the child in the Christian faith and life by their prayers and witness — both in word and deed.

Baptism is like declaring one's candidacy, not for political office, but for the public office of Christian — a follower of Jesus.  So for Jesus himself, his baptism was not a cleansing from sin, but something like this second component.  In its deepest sense, Jesus' baptism was a public declaration of his mission.  From that point on he would be defined as God's son, God's envoy, God's prophet, God's lover.  "I come to do the will of him who sent me" was the motto of his baptism.

Being defined is something we know about in our modern world.  Having he right image, we are told, is incredibly important.  We even have a name for it — we call it image-making — and it is big business.  Corporations are defined by their logos which must change every so often to define the corporation as contemporary and with-it — so to speak.  Michael Jordan is defined by his extraordinary basketball playing.  Brittany Spears is defined by her concerts, videos and clothes.  George Bush is defined by his handling of the crisis in America.  Bevis and Butthead are defined by their anti-establishment behavior.  Others get their definitions from history as we look back and realize their tremendous contributions — Alexander the Great, Richard the Lion-hearted, John the Baptizer, even Hagar the Horrible.  And you have Jesus who is called the Christ, the anointed — a title he receives at the public ceremony of his image-making, his office taking, his baptism.  "This is my beloved Son."  "My favor rests on him."

And so seeing Jesus' baptism that way sheds a lot of light on our own baptism and on the
baptism of                         later this morning.  Our baptism defines us publicly as a child of God, as being related to God and God's work.  Our baptism enrolls us in the public office of Christian.  Our baptism defines us as — makes us in the image of — a Christian.  We have a mission to make this world holy by our holy lives.  We are God's beloved daughter, God's beloved son in a most profound way.

The trouble is our world has a way of distorting our image -- as it does with most images.  Who we are and what we are as God's favored one's is challenged by our world to the point where we have forgotten what it means to be loved by God.  We all know there's a million other images that frankly seem more attractive than the image of Christian.  Why don't you be like this?  You should be like that.  We will make you over — if you wear our make-up, smoke our cigarettes, drink our beer, wear our clothes, drive our car, wear our fragrance, live in our neighborhood, and shop at our store.  You are inadequate.  You have a poor image.  But if you use our product, believe our lies, we will make you over.  Our main mission, these voices tell us, is not to be holy and make the world holy; our main mission is to be beautiful and to feel good about ourselves.  We are nothing — these competing images tell us — without them.

Retired Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu visited Sewanee to receive an honorary degree during my time at the University.  A thousand people crowded inside the University Chapel and at least that many stood outside to hear this great man from South Africa tell us — as he did and still does his people of South Africa — over and over again in his sermon, "God loves you."  Imagine that, he had to come all the way from Africa to remind me of something that was written on my heart the day of my baptism.  Yet in our image conscious American society, we need people like Desmond Tutu to tell us that God loves us because our culture tells us we are unlovable.  In a culture determined to define you and me on their terms we have to hear this message of who we really are — because God defines us in terms of his love for us.

Baptism give us freedom to not be defined by these voices or by any others.  As human beings we are not defined by auto manufacturers and clothing designers.  Women should not be defined by men, and vice versa.  Blacks should not be defined by whites, and vice versa.  Muslims should not be defined by Christians, and vice versa.  The world should not be defined by American culture, and vice versa. Jesus was baptized as a sign of public commitment and public definition of who he was.  "Your are my beloved son."  Our baptisms are the same.  Our baptisms define us forever as God's children, and no one — no one at all — should be allowed to take that identity from us, or to deface it, or somehow make us ashamed of being God's children.  We have been given a mission at baptism: to do the works of Christ; to continue his mission.  We can be no more than that and we are never any less.

Baptism makes us "beloved children" forever.  Now let's in concert with God, share this most wonderful gift of Baptism
with                        .
 
 

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us."  In these words there lie both the mystery and the meaning of the Christian faith.  They are John's birth narrative.  They deal with the same claim that Matthew attributes to an angel of the Lord who told Mary of the child to be born.  And with Luke's story about shepherds' who heard a voice say, "Be not afraid, ... for today is born to you a Savior who is Christ the Lord.

Yet these words of John are very different.  While Matthew and Luke tell stories, John deals with an interpretation of what the stories mean.  John uses philosophical concepts.  Much of the first three Gospels consists of happenings; John consists of ideas or interpretations of those happenings.  Also the first three Gospels are rather more concrete while John is relatively abstract.  While the other Gospel writers tell vivid tales that stir the blood and warm the heart, John uses the thought patterns of a Christian theologian.

When John proclaims that "the Word became flesh," he is not simply referring to a sound of silence, but to the Word that is spoken from beyond that gives new meaning to the here and now of our lives.  It is a word that is more than a construction of our minds.  This Word -- to which John refers -- has now become very concrete.  The passion of God -- the capacity to create and sustain the world has broken into our lives in flesh and the Word is given a human name, Jesus.  "And he became flesh and pitched his tent among us", in John's words.

The film "Good Will Hunting" appeared about 4 years ago.  Starring Matt Damon and Robin Williams, it is a powerful story of salvation.  Will is a 20 year old orphan who has raised himself and educated himself.  The story begins as he proves a theorem at MIT that no student is capable of proving.  Will works as a janitor at the school.  He is brilliant and, from an early scene, he has little use for formal education at MIT, Harvard, or any other school.   In one scene early in their relationship a psychologist, Shawn, and his new patient, Will sit in a park.   At their first meeting Will nearly devastates Shawn as he interprets one of Shawn's paintings using all kinds of psychologically challenging concepts to suggest that it is done by a man who feels he has married the wrong women.  As the movie continues, you discover that nothing could be further from the truth.  Indeed, Shawn's wife of 19 years just recently died of cancer.

On the bench in the park, Shawn "lectures" Will about knowledge.  He tells him there is knowledge and there is knowledge.  "If I ask you what you know about love, you'd quote me a sonnet or a speech from Shakespeare", Shawn tells Will.  "But you do not know the love that wakes up beside the woman you love for 19 years or cradles her head in your lap as she dies.  You speak with great knowledge, but you do not know" Shawn chastises Will.

Christmas is about knowing God.  Not the kind of knowledge we can read in books or hear preached from the pulpit.  Christmas is about the kind of knowledge we can only know through our encounter with the living God who has come to dwell among us.  "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us."  "And he became flesh and pitched his tent among us."

We hear the words about Christmas every year, words that tell of the birth of a child, of no room at the inn, of shepherds who came rushing off the hillsides, of wise men who journeyed from afar following a star.  These are all talesout of life, most of them out of the kind of live we know, lifes aily happenings like birth and mother -- love and human carelessness.  Even the life we sometimes know when songs in the night sound like angels whispering in the wind.  Such tales may touch and may move us, but leave us a bit puzzled.  They leave us with warm feelings and a knowledge that may prove our Biblical competence or leave us saying, "I see" but not really seeing at all.  Perhaps the stories leave us wondering about the God who does these things.  But then comes ohn to tell us what the stories mean, and Christmas becomes far more than what it appears to be.

Now we do see, that is, we see Jesus in the flesh.  What was simply knowledge becomes knowing.  Try to define love.  It is not easy to do with mere words and thoughts.  We know love best when we see Jesus touching a leper and making him clean.  And we are encouraged to touch in order to love.

Try to define obedience.  It is not easy to do with mere words and thoughts.  We know obedience best when we see Jesus setting his face toward Jerusalem to do the will of the one he calls "Abba", daddy.  And we are encouraged to live in obedience.
Try to define forgiveness.   It is not easy to do with mere words and thoughts.  We know what forgiveness is when we see Jesus say to the woman taken in adultery, "Go, and from now on sin no more.  And we are encouraged to forgive those who have wronged us.

Try to define goodness.   It is not easy to do with mere words and thoughts.  In the Word we know the good, as when we see Jesus eat with the outcasts of his day.  And we are encouraged to embrace those who are different from us.

In the act of Christmas, God in Christ brings to focus all that God has been saying from the beginning concerning God's involvement in the human situation.  At Christmas God comes to dwell among us.  True knowledge of God is gained when we dare to become the Word that lives among those to whom God calls us.  When we become love, obedience, forgiveness, and goodness in other's lives we truly come to know God.
 
 

There is much to be savored about Christmas Eve.  For most of us, this night is a time of parties and family events.  It is a night of twinkling lights and joy filled carols.  It is a night of worship and last minute preparations, a night filled with eager anticipation and children's laughter.

Yet, as midnight approaches, if we pay attention, we are aware of a deep quiet that settles over our world — our towns, villages and cities and over our own homes.  It is a quiet that flows like a silent river embracing each of us in a stillness unlike any other we experience throughout the year.  And unlike any other time of the year we have a tendency to embrace the stillness because, I suspect, it stirs within us a longing for the quiet and the peace we hope for in our lives.  In the darkness of the night we rest with a certainty that what is about to emerge in the darkness is powerfully good.  And, indeed Christmas Day dawns with great "tidings of comfort and joy" and the celebration begins again.

But have we savored the stillness and darkness long enough?  The comfort and joy of Christmas morning comes only after we have darkness — as though the darkness and stillness are prerequisites for the coming of the goodness of Christmas Day.  "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom, a light has shone."  The prophet Isaiah places two competing visions side by side.  There is a vision of a just and righteous world standing beside a stark and sober portrait of a world under siege.  He suggests that the paradox and the wonder of our faith is that before we encounter this great light we must first encounter, indeed, be thrust into thick darkness.

If we remain always amid the twinkling lights and joy filled carols, we will not be prepared to welcome "the appearing of the glory of the great God and of our Savior Christ Jesus."  And that is what makes this Christmas Eve such a special night.  There is no doubt that as a people we have walked in the darkness of September 11.  We have dwelt in the land of gloom.  We have seen a stark and sober portrait of a world under siege.  Many, even, would not use the past tense, but to use it tonight is to make a faith statement.

For it is into this darkness that a child is born this night.  God does something new. God does something unheard of, never expected, something considered scandalous...God communicates to us by taking every ounce of love God has, every word of hope and courage, and God sends it to us in the most fragile and vulnerable of packages: in the flesh of a newborn baby.

The innocence of this child should not fool us, however.  This God; this Emmanuel understands our darkness.  God in Jesus Christ understands this dark, still place through which we walk.  Even tonight, in the sweet story of the child in the manger, there is a hint of the dark, still journey he will make; for the infant who is wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a feeding trough will one day be wrapped in burial linens and broken as bread for the world.  This is our God.  A God who loves us and awaits this night to enter our hearts. God waits patiently, with great humility, to be invited to come and live within us. And when we do invite God in, it is as though we have seen a great light and love itself begins to grow within us.

This is exactly the sign given by the angel, who names it "good news."  In the Christmas child we discover that God has been given to us completely, as nurture and comfort and joy and peace.  All that appears to be a countersign to this gift; all that appears as gloom and darkness surrounding us is only passing.  While the events of the past 104 days have deeply disturbed us, the story we hear tonight tells us that these events and events surely to come can become fuel for the flames of the amazing light that dawns tonight.  For this to happen, however, we must open ourselves even more to that still place where God's healing Word waits to be born in us.

Into our insane world this Christmas Eve, 2001 comes the gift of Love.  Love brings sanity as Jesus breaks the power of sin and death that rules our lives.  Yet, as Madeline L'engle writes:

Our God come to be with us this Christmas Eve, 2001.  Our God comes to give each of us the fullness of the gift of Christmas.  Perhaps the best Christmas gift we can give to God is a resolution to open deeply, again and again, to the dark and quiet place were we can receive the gift.

The Christmas stories don't have much to say about Joseph.  Much attention is paid to Mary -- but not much to Joseph.  We get a chance to take a closer look at Joseph this morning.

Scripture tells us Joseph was a righteous man.  The word implies not just being religious but being obedient as well -- obedient to the word of God.

Receiving the news of Mary's pregnancy, Joseph had every reason to dismiss her quietly.  Engagements were taken seriously.  The unexpected pregnancy for a young woman like Mary had dire consequences.  Joseph, in his day, was a humane man to consider ending their engagement quietly versus the other options open to him.

We might imagine Joseph's shock when he heard the news that Mary, his soon to be wife, was pregnant.  Joseph, a just man, a righteous man, suddenly sees his plans and dreams for a happy marriage dashed against the rocks of betrayal.

Many of us may feel a certain kinship to Joseph.  Christmas is a time when many of our wounds of shame and betrayal are in the forefront of our lives.  It's something about the idealism of Christmas.  The "chestnuts roasting on an open fire", "jackfrost nipping at our nose", "dreaming of a white Christmas", "I'll be home for Christmas", "perfect families gathered around the perfectly decorated tree with perfectly wrapped presents with perfect smiles and no cares" kind of Christmas?  Because to some extent each of these images is a distortion of real life, this Christmas idealism has a way of magnifying our own shame, our pain, our failures, our brokenness, it has a way of magnifying our humanness.  Many of us in the face of the world's festive celebration of this season, will feel like Joseph might have felt: alone and disillusioned.

Despite Mary's news, Joseph remains a just man.  Though he faced a tragedy in his life, he was going to sacrifice his dream of marrying the woman he loved.  Unwilling to expose Mary to the wrath of the community he plans to quietly walk away from their planned marriage quietly.

But God will have nothing to do with such quiet resignation.  As is often the case, when we retreat to ourselves, God sends an angel.  "Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife," the angel tells Joseph.  The angel calls Joseph to participate in life -- with its broken dreams, with its embarrassments, with all its pain and unanswered questions God calls Joseph to obedience -- to be faithful to Mary and to his calling as her husband.

 God calls us to participate in life with faithfulness and perseverance in the midst of what, to be honest, can only be characterized as imperfect lives.  It won't always be easy, God seems to say.  Just because God calls us to participate doesn't means God will provide all the cures and answers for the imperfections.  Sometimes there are no easy answers and that is the best answer we'll ever get.
Anger, frustration, confusion, and embarrassment are natural reactions to God's call to faithfulness.  Yet, God supports us as we struggle with our feelings.  God supports us as we struggle to be God's people precisely in those times and in those events that, through the world's eyes, appear to be those times and events when we should turn our backs and quietly walk away with Joseph.

Do I believe in obedience?  Absolutely!  Does it make for a perfect life in God?  Absolutely not!  That is what faith is all about.  Faith is a journey without maps or easy answers, but taking the journey nonetheless.  A friend is fond of saying that faith is sometimes nothing more than getting out of bed in the morning and getting back on the journey.

Joseph and Mary are our models for such a journey; literally we travel with them to our little towns of Bethlehem where new birth and light bring moments of peace and joy.  Both Joseph and Mary are called to live faithfully in a situation that seemed -- to onlookers and to us -- less than ideal.  Yet, through angels sent to each of them God promises to be with them through Mary's pregnancy and birth.

God promises to be with us too; often in surprising ways.  Be aware of the angels in your life.  They beckon us to see and experience the presence of the Christ-child in our Wednesdays and Mondays, in our feelings of joy and feelings of anger, in our times of embarrassment and betrayal, in our loneliness and despair.  God is with us in all our days.

We affirm the goodness of human nature.  We must never, however, be delusional about our basic need for radical transformation

For those of you who saw the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou.  You'll remember the scene where Everett, Delmar and Pete are sharing a possum together in the woods when they find themselves in the midst of a haunting, musical procession to the river for baptism.  Do you remember the scene and the music:
O sisters, let's go down. Let's go down. Come on down. O sisters, let's go down, down in the river to pray.
  O sinners, let's go down. Let's go down. Come on down. O sinners, let's go down, down in the river to pray. Delmar and Pete are overcome by the scene and the next thing you know their fighting their way to the preacher chest deep in the water.

"Well that's it boys," Delmar proclaims.  "I been redeemed the preacher washed away all my sins and transgressions.  It's the straight and narrow from here on out and heaven everlasting's my reward."

"Delmar what are you talking about," Everett asks.  "We got bigger fish to fry."

"Preacher said all my sins are washed away including that Piggly Wiggly I knocked over in Beaufort."

"I thought you said you were innocent of those charges," Everett challenges.

"Well, I was lying and I'm proud to say that sin's warshed away as well!  Neither God nor man's got nothin on me now.  Come on in boys, the water's fine."

Now for those who saw the movie, you know that it wasn't the straight and narrow from there on out for Delmar.  But lets face it this type of film is more real life than we would like to admit, as a matter of fact it reminds me of a living parable really, because just like the Bible it shows the ugly side of humans while also showing them trying to figure out their relationship with God and trying to figure out their place in the world!!!

Later, as they ride in the car Delmar keeps insisting that he has been forgiven and Everett points out that even if God has forgiven you the state of Mississippi has not.  We are all Everett's and Delmar's and Pete's  Our nature as human beings is to fall victim to sin --- to make wrong choices when alternatives are presented to us.  Our challenge is to hold on to that divine power given us at our baptism. And this is what John the Baptist reminds us of this morning.
When it comes to human nature, John the Baptist has no delusions.  The preaching we encounter from John today is not the kind of preaching that goes over well in a culture that encourages us to think positively about ourselves and to celebrate our gifts and strengths.  Calling people a brood of vipers is not necessarily designed to make people feel good about themselves.

It's important to deal with the basic goodness of human nature, but to focus only on the goodness of human beings is to negate the necessity of the actions John calls fore: repentance, preparing the way for God, bearing good fruit, being purified by holy fire.  John the Baptist makes us confront the basic truth that we need to face the need for radical transformation.

John is as fierce in his preaching as a charging, hungry lion, but his prey is different.  His prey is our basic presumption that although his message applies to others it does not apply to us.  Everett is a skeptic. When his two companions are baptized, washing away their guilt and transgressions (and in their mind the robberies they've committed), Everett ridicules them. Later, when they've been caught and are about to be hung, Everett breaks out in a fervent prayer for forgiveness and deliverance. When the deliverance comes, he immediately returns to his skepticism. And yet, there are things he just can't explain. Not unlike (I think) most of us.

John's other prey is the illusion that because we are good, religious people we are not in need to the radical transformation he calls us to in our lives.  John returns from the desert this morning with a warning.  "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.  And, the residents of Jerusalem "and all Judea" go out to him and all the region along the Jordan, and they are baptized by him in the River Jordan, confessing their sins."  More importantly, Jesus himself is baptized by John and anointed by the Holy Spirit.  So it is with all of us who repent and are baptized into the death and resurrection of Jesus.  Our former fallen life comes to an end, and God's Spirit empowers us to make the choice to live a new life.

Our nature as human beings, thought, is to fall victim to sin --- to make wrong choices when alternatives are presented to us.  The challenge is to hold on to the divine power given us at our baptism.  Not an easy thing to do.  The good news of this season, however, is that the one who is coming comes to enable us to overcome our basic nature and even when we can't he promises to be there to welcome us back into his baptism.

Each Sunday we gather here so that once again we can go "down in the river to pray."  It may not be the river Jordan, it may not feel all that wet, but through Word and Sacrament that river flows deeply throughout our life together.  So as we make our way to share the body and blood of Christ and on through Advent to the coming of the One for which we are not worthy to tie his sandals:

O sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers and children alike  let's go down.

I have always been fascinated by the word “ineffable” that we use this morning in our collect for the Feast of All Saints’.  It may be as much about my struggle to pronounce it right - “ineffable” - as it is about its strangeness.  Maybe it’s just me, but I don't hear this word being used in conversations on a daily basis, or for that matter, any basis.

Yet, in the church's wisdom, this is the word they give us today – this day when we remember all the saints in our lives both present and past who make up the Body of Christ.  “Ineffable” means “incapable of being expressed; or described; in expressible; unspeakable.”  It is a late Middle English word which fits because this collect was composed for our 1549 Book of Common Prayer.

What is there, then, about this joy we pray for this morning that makes it ineffable.  What makes this joy incapable of being expressed; incapable of being described; what makes this joy inexpressible and unspeakable.  This joy, I suspect, is not a foreign concept to the Eastern contemplative mind, but to the western scientific mind of the 21st century there is little we will concede is either inexpressible or unspeakable.

On Thursday in Phoenix, I attended the early morning All Saints’ Day Mass at the Franciscan Center.  Now when the Franciscans celebrate the eucharist they are very animated and joy-filled people.  Our worship was filled with music and joy and, yes, very animated.  We were many gathered around the altar.  The brothers had spent the entire day Wednesday moving every icon from the entire center into the sanctuary for this celebration.  Our opening music was a litany of the saints.  Our hands in the air, we recalled the long line of saints who have shown us as a people of faith the way.  You could feel the joy welling up within those gathered.  My mind wandered from the church's saints to the faces of the very ordinary people of my life who have taught me and are teaching me by their lives; my mom and dad, Joan's mom, my grandparents, my kids, the people of St. Elisabeth's, St. Thomas, Grace, and St. Catherine’s who have touched and are now touching my life -- making it a very different life; a life filled with joy; an ineffable joy.

Today's celebration is not limited to the saint's who are officially recognized by the church and placed on a calendar.  They have their own day; Francis, Peter, Paul, Martin, Augustine, etc.  Today we speak, rather, of those who were not famous, those who are not remembered by everyone, but those whose lives and deeds have endured beyond their death.  Today we celebrate those ineffable lives who taught us that when all else is stripped away, a life lived with love is enough.

These lives are a source of the ineffable joys.

The writer of Ecclesiasticus knew this source of joy.   “You who fear the Lord, trust in him, and your reward will not be lost.”  Has anyone trusted in the Lord and been disappointed?  It is a call to faithful living and it lives far beyond our earthly existence in the lives touched by our trust in God.

A source of ineffable joys.

Paul asks the believers in Ephesus to be prepared for the “riches of the glorious inheritance among the saints.”  In his majestic pictures of God we hear the power God in Jesus Christ has to make all things right.  What a joy it is to know at this time in the world, there is a power above all that conquers our fears and restores us to wholeness and strength.

A source of ineffable joys.

Finally we come to Luke's telling of the sermon on the plain.   It tells of the great reversals in life: the poor inherit the Kingdom; the hungry are fed; the excluded are included; the rich have all they'll get; the full go hungry; the laughing mourn; and, the well thought of are reviled against.   Love your enemies, Jesus commands, and do good to those who hate you.  Who are the saints who have taught us this lesson by living their lives not letting hatred and evil gain control?

A source of ineffable joys.

We celebrate those people who are teaching us and have taught us to fear and trust in God; to find strength and wholeness by confidently placing our fears in God's loving arms; to not let hatred and evil gain control over our lives.  We celebrate the lives of those who have taught us or are teaching us that when all else is stripped away a life lived with love is enough.

Barbara Brown Taylor offers this image of All Saints’ Day as a family reunion made up of both “heroes and scoundrels.”

On All Saints’ Day we worship amidst a great fluttering of wings crowding the air above our heads.  Matthew is there, and Thomas, Barnabas, and the Virgin Mary.  Teresa is there, along with Ignatius, Pius, and Columba, plus all those whom we have loved and lost during the year; [brother] Hank, [mother] Dorothy, [cousin] Margaret, [friend] Al.  Call their names and hear them answer, “Present.”  On All Saints’ Day they belong to us and we to them, and as their ranks swell, so do the possibilities that open up in our own lives.  Because of them and because of one another and because of the God who binds us all together, we can do more than any of us had dreamed to do alone.

All Saints’ Day is a celebration of the ordinary.  It is a celebration that affirms that something inexpressible and unspeakable lives beyond the ordinary affairs of the day, and that without this mystery our lives would not be worth living.  It is a celebration of the ordinary, a reminder that when all is stripped away, a life lived with love is enough.  When we struggle (and it is a struggle) to know this ordinariness, then we have touched the inexpressible and unspeakable joys; then we have touched the ineffable joys for which we pray this Feast of All Saints’ Day.
 
 

Joan and I painted our bedroom on Friday.  We spent the morning getting ready for the job by gathering our supplies, moving the furniture into the middle of the room, covering the furniture and floor with drop clothes, dusting the walls and the ceiling fan, and taking pictures off the wall.

One of the pictures I removed is a collection of 25 - 1971 silver dollars mounted in the shape of two circles entwined and framed.  They were given to us on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in 1996 by my mom and dad.  They had received them on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary on September 7, 1971.  At the bottom of the picture is a rectangle that cites the two wedding anniversaries;
  Jim and Connie Nixon  September 7, 1971
  Jim and Joan Nixon   May 22, 1996

The rectangle is sized to allow for additional names in the future because the silver dollars came with two instructions.  First, you may not spend them or sell them.  Second, they are to be passed on to either Katie or Matt, whoever achieves 25 years of marriage first; and they in turn to their children, and so on.

As I dusted the frame and rehung it Friday evening, I was aware of how valuable those 25 silver dollars are to Joan and I, how valuable they were to my mom and dad and how valuable they will be someday to Matt or Katie.  Yet, apart from their intrinsic value as 1971 silver dollars, they are only 25 dollars hanging on the wall -- a sum of money not very impressive in today's terms.

Would I ever think about spending those silver dollars?

The answer is a resounding "NO WAY."

You see, those silver dollars are rendered worthless to the world market and economy because they are attached to a relationship -- our relationship with one another and with my parents. In fact, they are no longer seen as twenty-five dollars, as a means of exchange for anything. They are what they are, a gift, a special gift that comes packed with special memories. While they have been rendered worthless to the economy, they have become priceless to Joan and I.

Now that is interesting, if the silver dollars had no relational attachment to them, they would be a possession. I would own them. They could be spent easily. And with the relational attachment they are still a possession. I still own them. But they are not spent near as easily and they are possessed in a new way, a way which makes one care for them -- frame them and hang them on a wall in our bedroom. Because it seems they are not just ours but they are also a part of someone else -- in this case, my mom and dad, and someday Katie or Matt and their spouse; and so on. The giver is part of them. For us to part with the silver dollars - those molded pieces of metal - would be to part with our memory of the ones who gifted us with it. That is stewardship. They are no longer just a possession but something you care for.  Those silver dollars have become much more than money.

About 30% of Jesus' parables and stories have to do with money.  Money, as a subject, is talked about by Jesus more than any other single subject in the Gospels. The Rector always gets the opportunity to talk about money as part of his Stewardship sermon.  So I guess you could say I am in good company.  The power it has over us -- not the money itself -- is what Jesus talks about so often.  Four Sunday ago Jesus tried to tell us about this struggle in a passage often misunderstood.  Really, it is quite simple at its core. It is summed up in the last line, "You cannot serve God and wealth." Like so many others, this passage is often used to beat the rich or wealthy over the head as if to say, "It is speaking of you. You cannot be wealthy and be in God's favor."

I think this is wrong. I must. I may not seem rich to you. And many of you (including my creditors) might say I am even worse off than I think I am. But we are all richer than 95% of the rest of the world just by virtue of being here in this country. So, in the kingdom of God, we are the wealthy. We are just whom Jesus is addressing, although he is addressing everyone. The number of 0's behind your net worth makes little difference in our world.

There is power in money. Take it away from any of us and we lose something. For some of us it is freedom that is lost. For some, power is lost. For some, relationships are lost. For some, security is lost. The list goes on and on. But whatever loss of our money takes away, it takes something away, and that is what gives money its power.

There is a story about a man who collects pearls.

One day, while walking through the downtown, he sees in a store window the most beautiful, the largest, most magnificent pearl he has ever seen. Instantly he knows he must have it. So he enters the store and an old guy enters from the door to the rear of the showroom. The man addresses the storekeeper, "I want that pearl. How much is it?"

The storekeeper says, "How much you got?"

"Well, I have $300 in my pocket."

"Good, I'll take that. What else you got?"

"Well, I have a Chevy Suburban outside, low mileage, about 2 years old, paid off."

"Good, I'll take that too. What else you got?"

"Well, I have two CD's worth about $18,000."

"Good," says the storekeeper, "I'll take those too. What else you got?"

This goes on and on. The man gives away his house, his property, even his family. Until finally the storekeeper says, "Okay, here. The pearl is yours."  The man turns to leave the store. But as he is walking out the storekeeper stops him and says, "Hey, you know what ? that family of yours? I don't need a family. So I'm going to give them back to you. But remember, they are mine now, not yours. You must take good care of them. And that house in Connecticut, well, I don't need a house so you can have that back too. Although it does belong to me, I just want you to care for it. And as for the CD's and the stocks and the Suburban and even this $300, you can have it all back too. But remember, it is all mine. Take it. Use it wisely. Care for it for me."

So the man left with everything he had when he walked into the store ? plus the great pearl. But there was a big difference. He walked into the store owning everything he had. He walked out owning nothing. Instead, everything he had before was now a gift.

This is Christian Stewardship, caring for everything we have knowing it does not belong to us. All is a gift, given for us to care for, to leave better than we found it. When we see life that way, regardless of what our bank account's bottom line may read, we have stopped serving wealth and we have begun serving God. When we look at our possessions that way it is much easier to give them away, to not be so tied to them, to appreciate them more.

I've learned much about Christian stewardship over the years.  But there is one truth that I'm  reminded of often.  That is this:

Jesus never asks for 10% or any other percentage. Instead, Jesus always asks for 100% -- for everything. He asks us to let go of those things, in the sense that they no longer have power over us, so the power over us can come from the kingdom of God.
 So we can know that, unlike the world's bottom line as measured by our debt or our bank account, in the kingdom of God, no matter what material wealth we have or do not have, we are cared for, loved, gifted, rich beyond all measure. Like the silver dollars on our bedroom wall, we have rendered all of our things worthless in the world. But the memories of our lives, the relationships which surround what we do and who we are, are priceless in the eyes of God.

When that is the most important thing to us, then we have crossed over from the wealth we are immersed in to the promise of God's love and gifts which make us unconditionally rich today and for all of eternity.
 
 
 

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