Speaking what I feel - A sermon on Peter's Vision

Acts of the Apostles 11:1-18

Have you ever told a story in such a way that it seemed clearer, more straight forward, than it actually was? 

I have. 

I once tried to summarise the plot of Hamlet for teenagers. 

I did it. I was concise. And I was quite proud of myself.

 The teenagers weren’t impressed.

 But the thing was, even though the plot I’d related was accurate, I’d missed out a whole lot of the conflict that drove it. I’d explained what Hamlet did but not why. I’d made it neat and straight forward and easy but in doing so I’d missed out “To be or not to be”, I’d missed out Yorrick’s skull and I’d missed out the thoughts and feelings of the characters that make my favourite play what it is.

I’d given the bones but not enough of the meat.

When I read the book The Acts of the Apostles, I feel the same way sometimes. The story we get is of a group of people who, having been filled with the Holy Spirit, go out, get organised, start a religion and, for the most part, are all in agreement and understanding with one another. When disagreements do crop up they are smoothed away by the wisdom and articulate preaching of either Peter or Paul, and we don’t often get a lot of information about the background of the problems and the people, the reasons why they’re important. Plenty of bones but not enough meat.

And it’s a little too neat. It’s just begging to be delved into and dissected. Just like Hamlet really.

The little conflict we are given today is the issue of circumcised men eating with uncircumcised men (not as much of an issue today as it was back then) but it is hardly even put forth as a problem at all. Some of the other leaders are narky at Peter and so Peter gives a short speech, 14 verses, in which he explains that he had a vision in which God told him it was ok not to stick to the old Jewish dietary regulations anymore, followed by the appearance of three strangers who escorted him to a Gentile’s house to whom he preached the word of God. Upon seeing that they too were now filled by the Holy Spirit, Peter realised that salvation through Jesus is open to everyone, not just the Jews, therefore eating with uncircumcised men is no longer an issue. And the other church leaders say, “Ok. Good, glad we got that sorted out. Right, onwards and upwards.”

Now I’m pretty sure it wasn’t as simple as all that. I’m pretty sure that Peter’s words, his short though enticing explanation, would not have won over everyone. We only have to look at Paul’s letters to see that the issue of clean and unclean foods and who you were allowed to eat with and interact with - who was in and who was out - was a topic of great concern and contention. Paul writes about it time and again, often in frustrated tones, because the communities he’s writing to just don’t seem to get it.

So what was the problem?

Well, for the Jewish people being circumcised was a way of defining themselves and their community as different. The food laws served the same purpose. There were set apart, God’s chosen people, waiting for God’s salvation. And it came, in the form of Jesus Christ, and for those who realised this it was amazing and exciting and life altering, but it didn’t stop them being Jewish. They didn’t want it to. Jesus was their Messiah, their anointed one, and the good news was for them. Wasn’t it?

They had spent, as a people, hundreds and hundreds of years identifying themselves against others, by how they were different and now one of their leaders was doing the unthinkable and telling them it was now time to define themselves by what they had in common with other people. 

Ok, Jesus might have shared meals with some rather unsavory characters but surely they weren’t expected to do the same?

Eat with Gentiles? Eat the same food as Gentiles? 

But that would make them almost the same as Gentiles!

And Peter explains that once, he was the same. Once the thought of sharing a ham sandwich with a bloke from another ethnic and cultural background would have turned his stomach. Until God showed him that: it’s not about what we eat or where we’re from or the particular quirks of our society against theirs.  It’s about God, being God’s children. It’s about knowing that through the life and love of Jesus Christ we can live better, fuller lives. And part of our duty as followers of Christ is to spread the good news that God loves us with all people, regardless of where they come from, or who we think they are.

When Peter says that he remembered Jesus saying that John baptised with water but that he would baptise with the Holy Spirit, he’s remembering more than a quote. Baptism was an old Jewish tradition. It was an act of repentance, a symbolic washing off of sin to make one clean and ready in the sight of God. And so, in the lead up to Jesus’ ministry, John had baptised the people, making them ready for what was to come. And when he did that he did it for the Jewish people, as a Jewish person. And that was important. But Jesus baptised people with the Holy Spirit - wind and fire and courage and faith - and he did it for all people, and he did it as the resurrected son of God.

And I’m sure that there were plenty of Peter’s followers, colleagues and companions who heard his words and said, “Ok, when you put it like that, I am convinced. Eating with the uncircumcised, I’m sure I can get used to that.”

But I’m also sure that there were plenty of people who walked out of that meeting with Peter and immediately forgot what he said, or didn’t see it’s relevance, or just plain didn’t want to accept this new world view. I’m sure of it because, as I mentioned earlier, Paul’s letters are full of his own struggles to help people understand that God’s salvation is not reserved for just a few or locked away behind rules or regulations. In the letter to the Galatians, a particularly fiery letter by Paul and one of my favourites, he stresses this point by telling us that there is no Jew or Greek, no male or female, no slave or free, because in Christ we are one.

There is another reason why I’m sure that not everyone walked away from that meeting convinced by Peter’s words. And that’s because we still do the same thing today. We still define ourselves by our differences against other people. The story is not as clean or simple as Luke, the author of Acts would have us believe. We didn’t all get the message back then and hold to it. 

How many times have we heard the story of Peter’s vision?

How many times have we heard that story and not realised that it’s about more than all animals being clean and good to eat? 

It’s about people too. God is telling Peter, and us, that there are not greaters or lessers among people. We are all God’s children, created in the same image, saved by the same act, worth the same.

How many times have you heard the words of our Gospel today? How many times have you heard the commandment: “Love your neighbour as yourself”?

How many times have you conveniently forgotten that command when to follow it seemed too difficult, frightening or unpalatable?

I have. 

And I’m not proud to admit that. 

I, for example, disagree with this country’s policies regarding the treatment and processing of refugees and those who come to this country by boat. But too often I have turned away from the situation because it seemed hard and scary to try and do anything. When people tried to tell me that “boat people” are not worthy of this country’s mercy and compassion I should have recited to them Peter’s vision. Instead I’ve said nothing. 

And I wonder what would have happened if, instead of explaining his actions and getting through to at least some of his companions, Peter had said nothing. Would people have gone on believing that segregation and superiority were necessary for salvation? Would people have interpreted Jesus’ command as an instruction just to love our immediate neighbours and those like us? Would the gospel have ever reached our ancestors? Or us?

I’ve been warned about getting political in sermons but Peter’s message is political. We can’t treat people as if they don’t matter, like they are unclean food, just because they are different to us and different is scary. Especially not when they’ve come to us for help and need saving.

I know the situation is far from simple or clear. 

When is it ever?

Well, when God tells us there’s no clean or unclean, that the Holy Spirit comes to all who believe, that we are all one in Christ, and that we should love our neighbours as we love ourselves, that’s pretty clear.

When people are suffering, suffering to the point of taking their own lives, and we as a nation and a people can change that by treating them as our equals and our neighbours, that’s starting to look simple and clear too. 

Not easy, mind. And this issue is just one of so many that the words of our reading and our gospel could be applied to today. It’s not easy.

It wasn’t easy for Peter, or Paul, or Jesus. But that shouldn’t deter us.

We might think that by doing nothing our lives will be better and neater but really, it’s all the other stuff, the messy stuff, that makes our lives what they are. That’s how we glorify God, and learn, and teach, and love. 

Like a good play. 

It’s the meat of the story. 

God’s story, and ours.

Amen. 

A Response to the rather nasty homophobic pamphlets being dropped in people's letter boxes at the moment.

This is what I'd drop in your letter box:

Dear Friend,

My name is Bonnie and I am a Christian. And I believe that gay people (and bisexual people) should be allowed to get married. I have a number of reasons why I believe this, some of which are quite boring, some of which are based on my faith and some which come from my personal experience and I’m going to share them with you. 

So here goes.

I’m Bonnie and I’m a wife and truly, being someone’s spouse, having a spouse, is wonderful. Sometimes having to compromise with another person all the time drives me a little mad but I think that if I didn’t have someone around to force me to compromise I’d be much madder. I love my husband and I love being married and think that it’s wrong to deny people the same happiness simply because of their orientation. Being able to get married to a consenting adult who is not my close relation or already married, that’s a privilege to me yes, but it’s also a civic right. It’s legal and official and to deny my fellow citizens the same right just makes us all seem rather fascist and undemocratic. Denying the rights of others also, to me, seems childish and I can’t be having with that.On top of all that lovey-dovey happiness I know that if anything happens to me my husband will be there. He’ll be allowed to be there and, as my legal spouse and the person who knows me best he’ll be able to make the necessary decisions on my behalf, should it come to that (and lets hope it never does). And I’ll be able to do the same for him. I would be beyond heartbroken if I were denied that because I wasn’t considered family. It breaks my heart to know that same-sex couples who love each other are denied that, are sometimes even denied a seat by their lover’s bed in hospital all because we have denied them the right to marry. I think we should be ashamed.

 But there’s more.

I’m Bonnie and I’m a mum. I love being a mum and it makes me really sad that other people can’t become parents when they are good and intelligent people. Too many people get pregnant by accident, don’t care for their kids, don’t show their kids the love they deserve but we don’t stop them from having them. Same-sex couples on the other hand, make a conscious decision to become parents and I think we could do with more parents like that in this country. Also, as a mum, I’m proud to say that my kids’ sexual orientation will not change how much I love them, or how proud I am of them. I want them to know that they are free to marry the person they fall into mutual love with and I want them to know that I was part of the fight to win them that right. I want my grandchildren to grow up in a world where homophobia is not tolerated under any circumstance and I want their kids to look back and wonder why we were ever arguing about this in the first place, when the answer is so clear. 

But there’s more.

I’m Bonnie and I’m a carer. My daughter is disabled and there are so many things in this life that are denied her because of that. But I want her to grow up knowing that she can marry the woman of her dreams if that’s what she wants to do. Genetics may have denied her her legs but I’m not about to let this country deny her the right to love and marry the person of her choosing. 

But there is more.

I’m Bonnie and I’m a Christian and I have a rule of thumb. If Jesus didn’t mention it then it isn’t necessary for salvation. I also have a golden rule. To love others as Jesus loves me, to love my neighbour  as I love myself. Whatever you believe, Jesus loved people with a huge amount of compassion and tenderness. He healed people physically and emotionally. He washed his friends’ feet, taking on the part of the servant to demonstrate that in order to help others we must serve others and put their needs before our pride. He died. He died slowly and painfully even though he was innocent and when he did he died as a scapegoat for a society obsessed with control and maintaining the status quo. When he died he showed us how wrong we are to scape goat those who are different. When he died he did so to save us from ourselves. That’s how much Jesus loves us and he wants us to live our lives with the same love. He wants us to love our neighbours and one of the ways I can do that is stand up and refuse to let people of different sexual orientations be scapegoated and belittled and hurt. I stand up for the rights of others because to do so is to realise the love Jesus wants me to express to the world. I personally think that it’s part of the Church’s mission to be champion to the oppressed and to fight to give all people a fair chance in this world. We should be the ones showing the world that God’s grace belongs to all and that we are all made in God’s image, sexuality and all. That GLBTQ community that some churches are so ready to deride and condemn, they are beloved of God. 

But, believe it or not, there’s more.

Because loving homosexual people, bisexual people, transexual, pansexual, transgender people is easy. Because they are people. And I don’t think that sexual orientation is a simple matter. For me it’s more of a spectrum and I’m somewhere in the middle, but really, that shouldn’t matter. Because what I am is a person. I’m a mum and a wife and a Christian and a daughter and a sister and a granddaughter and a niece and a cousin and a friend and a colleague and a neighbour and that woman you’ve seen at the shops. 

And I’m no different from any other person, not really, and if I can get married and declare my love for a spouse in front of God and the state and my family and friends in a legally binding way, then why can’t everyone else?

I think it’s time we grew up, learned to love, and decided to make our great-grandchildren proud.

Yours sincerely,

Bonnie.

"I was a stranger and you welcomed me." A World Day of Prayer sermon

Today I was invited to give the sermon at a World Day of Prayer service, which gave me the opportunity to talk about one of the topics I'm quite passionate about, asylum seekers. Being invited to preach was rather exciting for a couple of reasons. One, because it was at the church where I did my ordination formation over the last two years, and second, because I've only been ordained for three months and being asked to preach somewhere is incredibly flattering. That congregation have made me feel welcome and helped me develop and gain confidence in my ministry journey, so today was pretty special.
The service today was a special one too. The theme country for the World Day of Prayer was France and the readings focused on the experiences of immigrants and refugees living within France and the gospel reading was Matthew 25:31-40:

³¹ “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. ³² All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. ³³ He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

³⁴ “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdomprepared for you since the creation of the world. ³⁵ For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶ I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

So, here it is, today's sermon entitled "I was a stranger and you welcomed me."

“Now, O Lord, take my lips and speak through them;
Take our minds and think through them;
Take our hearts and set them on fire with love for Yourself. Amen.”

It is wonderful to be here today. I was so excited when I was first asked to come and speak and share with you today, and it got me thinking about how wonderful it is to receive an invitation, to be invited somewhere, welcomed somewhere. When we receive an invitation for something it’s always a bit exciting, isn’t it? I remember as a child feeling honoured to see my name on a wedding invitation along with my parents’ names. Being asked to come, invited in, encouraged and welcomed, it creates a wonderful feeling within us. Those gestures make us feel worthy, connected, wanted, even loved. An invitation is, to me, a special thing.

When I was nine years old I found myself, in the middle of the year, at a new school. My family had just moved from the town of Port Pirie, up north on the Spencer Gulf, down to the city of Adelaide and I found it quite an overwhelming experience. I was used to having my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins around. I was used to riding my bike to school. I was used to a little town and suddenly felt out of my depth. Added to this, I was distressingly shy around new people (you wouldn’t know it now) and had no idea how to go about making new friends. My friends in Port Pirie had been the people I’d known since I was too young to remember and so on my first day at my new school I felt lost and alone and so very scared. And in my nine-year-old way, I thought that this was how it was going to be from now on. I was just going to be alone. And I felt sorry for myself. So sorry for myself that I nearly missed the invitation offered to me. 

“You can sit next to me if you like.”

It was so simple. But I was a little wary. 

Why would this other girl, this fellow student, want me to sit with her when she so obviously had plenty of other friends? I remember that she smiled at me encouragingly and so I did sit. She chatted to me about the other kids in the class and our teacher and the project we would all be working on later in the day. And when recess came she invited me to sit with her and her friends. And over the next few years she came to become one of my closest friends.

And that first invitation, it was so simple, given so freely, so cheerfully, and yet it changed my life. 

A number of years later I came to see that that friend had been Christ for me, at that time of fear and anxiety. 

It wasn’t until over a decade later, as I began to reread my Bible as an adult searching for meaning in my life, that I realised that in a way, I had been Christ for her too. I was a stranger and she welcomed me. And she did it because it was kind. 

As we get older, and life gets more complicated, it is all too easy to forget to be kind. And as we lose our natural inclination to kindness we also lose our ability to recognise it in others, because we see it and receive it less and less. Age, sadly, brings with it cynicism, caution and mistrust, as we realise that it is actually very difficult at times to tell the sheep from the goats. We harden. And we learn not to see the things that might distress us, or are too difficult to deal with. We learn not to see those people who are the least, the lowliest. Kindness, being generous with our time, our belongings and ourselves, is seen by so many people in our world as weak, because it does not serve our own purposes. It does not give an immediate return. 

Yet Jesus tells us that it is when we are kind - without thought or desire of reward - that we become worthy to enter the kingdom of God. So why do we forget?

This morning we have heard words from women living as immigrants, refugees, and citizens of France; both good and bad experiences. We have heard snippets of lives still being lived and we have felt a whisper of the emotions written through those words and those lives. 

And those same voices could so easily have come from within our own community. 

Australia is the country that it is because of immigration and the refugees who have come to our shores and have enriched our culture, our society, our lives, whether we want to admit it or not. We are a young nation and very much a composite one and it is very easy to look at a nation like France and envy their strong sense of national identity, their history, a culture that has developed and evolved over so many centuries. 

And yet it is not necessarily how long one has been in France that determines how French one is. 

I have a friend who really epitomizes this understanding of being French. When I first met her and asked her, as politely as I could, where she was from, I was surprised when she told me she was French. She had a French accent, for sure, but she also had the most beautiful dark caramel skin. And it wasn’t a colour that I necessarily associated with French people at that time. And later I found out that she hadn’t been born in France but had arrived, as a refugee, at the age of five and had embraced and been embraced by the unique nationalism of that country. 

I was really impressed. I was also impressed by the fact that she wasn’t one of a few lucky asylum seekers who made it through the system. France is faced with just over 50,000 refugees each year, compared to Australia’s 13,000. (A drop in the ocean considering there are over 1.7 million refugees worldwide.) She found acceptance there, her parents found the better life they were looking for there. They became French, gladly and with pride, because they had been welcomed. She said what helped the most was the welcome they received from the families in their neighbourhood. Things like an invitation to dinner made all the difference to their lives. Once again it was a very simple invitation to turn a stranger into a friend that had the greatest impact. An act of kindness.

And it has made me think. 

When did I last do something like that?

When did I go out and give welcome to a stranger? To a person who felt alone and anxious and strange in their new surroundings? I realised that I don’t even know if there are any refugee families living in my suburb, let alone whether they feel welcomed, whether they need help. So I’ve tried to find out and I found, through the Refugee Council of Australia that there are communities and councils within our country that have signed up to be Refugee Welcome Zones, places committed to embracing new members of our communities and offering a hand of friendship. It’s not widely known about, but I think it’s brilliant. It’s doing the work of Christ, and seeing Christ in others, whether it does so knowingly or not and it is very much in the spirit of the World Day of Prayer that brings us together here today. 

On the World Day of Prayer Australia website this day is described as part of a movement of women from over 170  countries and regions throughout the world. It is a day when together we affirm our faith in Christ, when we share our hopes and fears, joys and sorrows. It is a time when we are encouraged (and I really like this bit) to become aware of the whole world and no longer live in isolation; to take up the burdens of other people and pray with them and for them; and to become aware of their talents and use them in the service of society. 

We are encouraged to come together as one people and invite into  relationship with us the lost, the broken, the hungry, the naked, the sick, the unwanted, the strange. Because that is where Christ is.

It is a task that seems immense. Even when we know that we are joined in our undertaking  with women and men throughout the whole world, it seems like a really huge and hard thing to do. But it doesn’t have to be.

We can start, if we dare, by remembering how it felt when we were young and small and vulnerable, and when we still had faith that the world and the people within it were kind. We can try and remember back to that time when kindness came easily. When it flowed from us.

And once we remember that way of being, once we tap into that thinking, we might be able to get our heads around the fact that changing our world for the better can begin with the simplest acts of kindness, friendship and warmth. 

I find this a rather exciting thought. Whether the aim is welcoming refugees, new immigrants, the homeless, the poor or those who feel like strangers in the community they’ve lived in for twenty or thirty years, I know you can do it. I know that Christian outreach, invitation, and welcoming is something that this community excels at. Because I’ve seen it. Because you welcomed me. When I was a stranger.

December Sermon - Taking back Christmas

Sermon on Luke 3:7-18

“Be gone you brood of vipers...”

“You call yourselves children of Abraham? Ha! God could use Rocks to make children of Abraham!”

That’s a nice message for Christmas isn’t it?

Nice and hopeful and not too confronting?

I must admit that when I first read today’s Gospel reading that was my initial reaction.

My second thought was, “Isn’t it good that we don’t have a baptism this week?”

Because, on the face of it, when we read and hear these words, it might be hard to hear past the venom, passion and anger that is there.

This week we light our third advent candle which is a sign of love, and yet, finding the love, finding the peace, hope, joy and love in these words is a little bit tricky really.

But it is there.

It just takes a bit of work, is all. This reading is all about Christmas, in an unexpected way.

If we look a little further on we see a Christmas message clear and simple.

When people ask John the Baptist what they should do to be truly repentant his reply is beautifully simple: Share.

If you have a wardrobe full of shirts and you know there are people around you who have none, give them a shirt.

There are people in this world who go hungry each day, too many people, so if you have extra food, food you don’t really need (and lets face it, we do), give some to someone who’s hungry.

This is what John tells us.

Last week I took my kids Callum and Rhiannon shopping with me to buy some food and presents to give to Anglicare. Before we went into the supermarket I explained to Callum what we were doing and why.

The look on his face was priceless.

The idea that there were children in the world, in his city, who didn’t have toys, who wouldn’t have a delicious dinner cooked for them on Christmas day, who wouldn’t wake up to a stocking filled with treats... that idea had never occurred to him.

I think it nearly broke his heart, and his brain. It was a hard thing for him to process.

And then he proceeded to try and buy every item in the supermarket so that no one would ever have to go without again.

John’s message to share with others, to care for others, to not lie, cheat or bully others out of the little they do have, that’s a very Christmassy message and it’s important to be reminded of that at Christmas each year.

It’s good to be reminded that giving is actually really important.

And then John announces something even more important. He tells us that someone is coming who is so wonderful, so great, so extraordinary, that we don’t really deserve to even catch sight of him let alone do the most menial tasks for him.

That’s very exciting. Very Christmas.

Because Christmas isn’t just about a baby’s birth, even if that baby is Jesus. Christmas is, as Paul talked about last week, a journey. It is looking forward and preparing and then walking with Jesus. Christmas, Christ-mass, the celebration of Christ, encompasses the whole Church year: birth, life death, mourning, resurrection, beyond.

That’s Christmas.

That’s what John the Baptist is alluding to.

And so we can begin to see that this passage from Luke’s Gospel is a lot more about love, joy, peace and hope and Christmas than we first thought.

But what about that first bit?

Where’s the Christmas message in that?

Isn’t it a bit confronting for this time of year?

Maybe. But then again, maybe not.

Maybe confronting is what we need.

My son was confronted by the revelation that some people miss out on toys and chocolate and treats and food at Christmas. But it wasn’t a bad thing. It made him sad, yes, but it also fired his passion to change that state of affairs.

To bring Christ into people’s lives.

So. Where’s the love, or the joy, in being called a viper?

What’s Christmassy about having your ancestry shunned?

Well, it gives some perspective I suppose.

We have a tendancy to lament the state of our secular society, don’t we? I read recently that Australia may well be the most secular country on the planet, and I can well believe it.

And at Christmas time we bemoan the state of Christmas: how commercial it is, how no one understands what Christmas is about. Except us. 

For we are Christians. 

I get the feeling that John the Baptist might say to us, “So what? God could raise up Christians from the pavers on the porch.”

Because it isn’t about the label you hide behind. 

It’s about the fruit you bear.

The words you speak, the way you live, the way you love.

It’s hard work.

We have to be like John and ‘prepare the way.’ But we also get to say: “I’m not Christ. I’m not the Messiah and I won’t pretend to be. I’m not perfect. I’m just an ordinary person, pointing the way, sweeping the path, welcoming the guests.

Yes, it’s hard being told that we aren’t more special, more worthy, than other people.

But it’s freeing too.

John the Baptist had found that freedom and he jolts us out of our complacency and apathy. He tells us: don’t just go through the motions, don’t hide behind your label, because someone awesome is coming. Someone magnificent. Someone who is light and love and life. Someone who is truly God, truly human, who will do anything and everything for you, go to death and back for you.

So get excited, spread the word, because someone is coming and he doesn’t have a white beard and a red suit.

When we do this, when we get excited, we see the reason to light those candles - hope, peace, joy, and this week: love.

I’d like to finish with a Christmas poem that my kids have requested I recite at least once a day, every day, since Monday.

I mentioned earlier that Australia is considered one of the most secular nations in the world. One of the ways this is made manifest at Christmas time is in our society’s near worship of Father Christmas/Santa Claus. This poem that I found floating around on Facebook (while it is a bit kitsch) shows that Father Christmas is also a figure pointing the way to Christ.

Santa Claus, Saint Nic, is following John the Baptist’s lead. He’s giving and encouraging us to give. He’s rejoicing and encouraging us to rejoice. We just have to remember is that he points to Christ but definitely is not himself the Messiah.

So, here we go:

On Christmas Eve the other night

I saw the most amazing sight,

for there beneath the Christmas tree

was Santa kneeling on his knee.

His countenance was different than

that all-familiar, jolly grin;

his head was bowed, with hand to breast,

and slightly tucked into his vest.

For there in a nativity

was Jesus and His family,

and as I heard him start to pray

I listened close to what he'd say.

"Lord, You know that You're the reason

I take pleasure in this season.

I don't want to take Your place,

but just reflect Your wondrous grace.

I hope you'll help them understand

I'm just an ordinary man,

who found a way to do Your will

by finding kids with needs to fill.

But all those centuries ago,

there was no way for me to know

that they would make so much of me,

and all the gifts beneath the tree.

They think I have some hidden power

granted at the midnight hour,

but it is my love for You

inspiring the things I do.

And so when they begin to open

gifts for which they have been hoping,

may they give You all the glory,

for You're the One True Christmas story."

So, this Christmas I feel like it might be time to find our passion again, to be just a little bit confronting and a bit like John the Baptist. This year I think it might be time to reclaim Santa Claus, take back the 25th, start a Christmas revolution, and to remind the people around us that someone is coming and that that someone is the greatest gift we have ever and will ever receive.

And, this week, as we light our advent candle for love, to really let our love for Christ inspire what we do and the way we live. To live for Christ on the journey of Christmas.

Amen.