revnancyduncan

Like most babies, Jesus came into the world on his own terms and in his own time.  He didn’t wait until the house was clean, the couple married, or the family back in Nazareth.  He was born into a world that knew both kindness and brutality. Jesus wasn’t born into a perfect family. Jesus wasn’t born in the temple or the palace. Jesus was born in a stable. Jesus came when there was no room at the inn. Jesus came when the shepherds were at work—on the night shift, no less.

Jesus comes when the power is out, the house is a mess, trees are down, relationships are frayed, or the drinking out of control. Jesus comes when the path ahead is a sheet of ice with no melting in sight.

Today we celebrate the incarnation: Jesus coming to earth and living with us—in Waldoboro, Friendship, Damariscotta, Thomaston, Jefferson, Warren, Hope.

Jesus was born and ministered in unlikely places. He reached out to the outcast woman at the well, the corrupt tax collector, and the criminal on the cross. And all three went on to share Christ’s love with others.

I hope each of us meets Jesus here tonight. I hope that each of us is touched by Christ’s love and healing and hope. But if that doesn’t happen, if you don’t see Jesus here tonight, keep looking. Head out with the shepherds and magi and look up for a star or an angel or a family in trouble. For Jesus is not just in this sacred place—but in the prisons, the grocery store, the 12 step meetings, the hospitals, living rooms, highway rest stops, the CMP trucks, and homeless shelters. Jesus is struggling to be born in us—in the hard labor of our daily lives.

Emanuel—God with us.

God is with us. God’s love is with us. No exceptions. All the time. Amen.

Luke 1:46-55, Matthew 1:18-25

Mary and Joseph were not a model family. They are not the couple that would routinely be chosen to teach Sunday School. 

Mary was a pregnant unwed teen. When she discovered she was with child, she sang a song of praise and justice about how her baby was going to bring down kings from their thrones.  Joseph found himself in the midst of a scandal. His girlfriend was pregnant, presumably by another man (the holy spirit). The sensible thing was to quietly divorce her. But Joseph listened to an angel in a dream and stood by Mary and raised Jesus as his own.

Both Mary and Joseph responded to God with a resounding and joyful “yes”.  What preposterous dreams wake you up at night? How is God being born in you or through you? Jesus wasn’t born to the couple who had it together.  Jesus was born to the couple who said yes with joy and conviction.   

At the Bay Chamber Concerts, Pastor Chantel Renee Wright, Director of the Songs of Solomon Gospel Choir from Harlem, started with a question. “Do you want to be a different person? Raise your hand.”  She went on to lead a concert/worship service that was concert, performance, worship,  self-help, community building and peace making.  

In the faces of the young choir, I saw the power of God as they sang (and danced) their hearts out.  In Maine’s mainline church, we’ve earned the nickname, the frozen chosen.  How do we sing God’s song in this place?  How do we open our hearts to God’s love so that we sing and dance and live and worship in ways that fill us and those whose lives we touch with a divine love that is deep and powerful and transforming?   Is our worship and song filled with the holy spirit?  Is it worthy of God?

Two thousand years ago, Mary sang her song.  Let us sing it with her–with all that God has given us.  May our lives and our worship magnify God’s earth shaking love.

“And Mary said,

It was snowing and I was wearing my Arctic Sport Muck Boots.  They are warm and have great traction.  Most would say that they are not particularly stylish. They are waterproof–great for getting the canoe in and out of the water on chilly fall or spring days.  They are perfect for shoveling snow or walking up or down a steep driveway in the winter.  My clergy friends rolled their eyes and joked that at least the color (bright purple) was appropriate for advent.  I suppose I should have been wearing black boots with heel, black dress or suit, and clerical collar.  I should dress like a trustworthy professional minister–even if it causes me to lose my balance. 

But I wonder.  Isn’t my job to keep going when my feet are likely to get cold?  Isn’t my job to keep my balance, to have good traction, and to walk into the cold and muddy rivers of life?  

For now, I’ll purchase my clergy apparel at Renys. 

At the Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, I sat in a packed church listening as small church choirs sang praise to God and it was good.  My heart sang.

I remembered coming into a church, tired, worried, and anxious. Over time, music, scripture, and the love of a small congregation opened my heart and soul to God.

The church of Jesus Christ is in trouble. It is shrinking. It is becoming irrelevant. Yet all around us, remnant communities are gathering together and making a place for the stranger to come in and experience the love and power of God. Small churches are offering prayers, food, and companionship.

I give thanks for all the faith communities, formal and informal, that welcome the stranger and feed the hungry.

The phone rang as I worked on a sermon focused on domestic violence. As I shared my thoughts of what to say in church, my friend said to me, “church is where the silence begins.” I felt that sinking feeling in my heart. We are comfortable talking about marriages and births. We are quick to discuss diagnosis, treatments, hospice, and cancer. But abuse in the home tends to stay in the shadows even as we know it is common and devastating–causing neurological changes that can persist through life.

This month, the Broad Bay Church hung purple flags, each with the name of one whose life has been impacted by domestic violence. There are a lot of them. It is up to us to break the silence.

It is up to us to be a healing force: to listen to the stories that are hard to hear and to notice the violence that is all around us.
–To listen and to be present when folks are ready to risk sharing the pain.
–To listen and be present when folks are not ready to risk and share the pain.
–To affirm with our whole being that God does not will violence against another.

There is a story about a young girl who was late coming home from school. Her parent scolded her until she told this story. “I was walking home and noticed the new girl in the neighborhood sitting on her porch holding a doll. The doll’s head had broken off and she was crying. So I helped her.”

“Oh,” the parent said, “how did you fix the doll?”

“I didn’t fix the doll. It was broken. I helped her cry.”

May the church become a place where the silence is broken and the tears are shared.

Can a bench, an inanimate object, do ministry?

It was probably eight years ago when two church members placed a bench outside the church.  The bench has not been vandalized. It has not been taken.  

Early in the morning, a man placed his lunch box on the ground, sat on the bench and waited for his ride.  Later in the day, children sat on the bench as they waited for the yellow school bus.  A woman picked up her mail from the post office and sat down and read a rare letter.  A parent sat on the bench,  her attention focused on a smart phone, as she waited to meet her daughter at the bus. Folks from AA sat at the bench and greeted one another before the meeting began.  

One bench, an inanimate object, held a cross section of our community in the midst of their daily lives.  It is there rain and shine, summer and winter. I doubt people think much of the bench.  Even those sitting there probably take it for granted.   I wonder if God is like that bench and if that bench is a sign of God’s extravagant welcome, offered to all the people.   

Sunday’s Pentecost worship was amazing.  Laughter, tears (mine), a babel of voices (all) as Ted recounted the story of Pentecost. Julie draped the cross with red and yellow to represent flames of fire. Red and yellow candles were lit. Chris added a group of elves, brownies, and gnomes from around the world who told the Pentecost story. The sock monkeys, sheep, and lion joined the party. We waved sticks of flames. Evelyn drummed as prayers were prayed. Carroll and Kathy made music with flute and organ. Joan spoke about the power of outreach to Vietnamese boat people who changed the lives of giver, receiver and wider community. Aloisia spoke of prayer and tea, love and grief. Our joys and concerns were gathered together in prayer. Joan and Aloisia sang. Talents of Broad Bay folk found expression and affirmation in an amazing service of worship. “Surely the presence of the Lord was in that place.”

The Holy Spirit fell upon those gathered in the sanctuary of the Broad Bay Church. Thanks be to God. But can we go further? How will we partner with those who are feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and bringing peace to our troubled world? The Holy Spirit, the creative spirit, is alive at the Broad Bay Church. How can we share the hope, power, and joy of the spirit in the midst of the hopelessness, weariness, and isolation around us?