God, Suffering and Christmas

The question is as old as time: Why suffering? Why, God? Put another way, it's the theodicy question: how do you reconcile a good God in light of suffering?

Many versions of this question have been asked and answered in light of the tragic elementary school shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, a few weeks ago. There are other forms of suffering we've heard about this year, from Syria to Hurricane Sandy, that cause us to ask the questions anew, for this day, for this time.

The answers are diverse, and frankly, most of them are entirely unsatisfying. Pundits and pastors comment on the nature of God, as if any of them could speak for the unknowable. There's an old saying, "Anytime you are absolutely, positively certain that God is on your side, it's time to get a second opinion."

In the end, there is precious little that can be said when we claim to speak for God or God's intention. In the wake of Newtown, I read a helpful commentary on triumph and tragedy as compared to the Virgin Mary's song, The Magnificat, by Luther Seminary Professor of New Testament Matt Skinner. Read it here.

When we speak of God and suffering, the only real and true and comforting words I find or offer is this: God came down. That's the message of Christmas: God came down to dwell with us, not to fix things but to be a loving, hopeful, saving presence. As Lutheran Christians, we believe that in the end, love wins, hope wins, light wins, even if it can't be seen now or in our lifetime.

On Christmas Day at Central, here's the image we used on the front of the bulletin, courtesy of Central member Sandy Mjolsnes:

The caption was a quote I found recently by someone named RW Griffin:

"We did not break into his light. He crashed into our darkness."

That is the message of Christmas and the response to suffering that gives me hope.

A Shepherd's Story (Sermon 12.24.12)

(This sermon was originally preached on Christmas Eve, 2012, at Central Lutheran Church, Anchorage, AK. It was presented orally, as a dramatic monologue, in some variation of the text below. I was wearing a shepherd's costume. You'll have to use your imagination. The text for the day is Luke 2:1-20.)

Do know you what it feels like to give up? I don't just mean give up on a project or give up on someone you thought was dependable. I mean, do you know what it feels like totally give up on yourself? Do you know what it feels like to give up hope, hope that people will care about you, or that you can make a difference or hope that the world really is a safe and wonderful place to live? Do you know what it feels like when everyone has given up on you?

That's how I felt when I became a shepherd. As you know, it's not a desirable job, it's not a respectable job. It's the job you do when there's no other option besides begging or stealing. And I admit, I've done a bit of that as well. Shepherds are known for being thieves, degenerates and liars. Some towns won't let us into city limits. Our testimony doesn't count in court. We're considered unclean by temple authorities and priests. I haven't given a proper sacrifice in years; there's no way to do it. Everyone else has given up on me, except the sheep. I gave up on God a long time ago, too, because I figured he'd probably long since given up on me.

That's why my story is so amazing. I'd long since given up, until one chilly winter night a few years back. My buddies and I were out a long ways from city limits. It was a clear night and we were watching the stars as much as we were watching the sheep. We hadn't seen any wolves in ages, so we just let them wander. One of the guys had a few small loaves of bread, which barely tamed our appetite. I admit, we were probably having a conversation not fit for mixed company. Suddenly, there was a bright light. I heard some of the other guys gasp for breath; one shouted. I was paralyzed; I couldn't say a word. Out of the light, I saw a figure, some kind of person, or something. It didn't seem real. I was so scared I couldn't even think straight. Was I having a dream or a nightmare? The person, whatever it was, spoke. It said, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people. To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and laying in a manger.”

I don't know if you can even believe this, because the story is so crazy, but I swear it's true. This person, this messenger, this angel, was actually sent to us. From God. I know, it's totally crazy. I was raised as a good Jewish boy who went to temple regularly, before my job made me unfit. I know that God spoke to lots of people, like Abraham, Moses and Elijah. But there was no way God would speak to me and my buddies. But when the messenger finished talking, I knew it was true. The messenger was from God. I wanted to interrupt and tell the messengers that they had gotten the wrong people. If it was true, if the Messiah had been born, the news should come first to the priests, or the scribes or at least some faithful Jews. Not us. We're nothing. I wanted to tell the messengers they had the wrong address. But I was too scared. I kept my mouth shut.

And then, something even more crazy happened: dozens more of these messengers, these shining beings, appeared. Just out of nowhere. They started signing. They sang, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth, peace among those whom he favors.” It was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. The sound was so big and the music so rich. I almost forgot to be afraid. Almost!

Just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone. The light went out. There was only the dark of the night, some confused sheep and some even more confused shepherds.

We just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other. Then one of my buddies decided we might as well go to Bethlehem (that's the city of David) and see if there was actually anything going on. Was there a child born who would become the Messiah, the chosen one the Scriptures fore-tell? We left the sheep (I know, I know) and ran toward the city. I know it seems like we should have gone to the temple   or at least to the homes of some very important Jewish people. That's where the Messiah would have been. But they wouldn't have let us in anyway. We didn't even talk about where we were going; it was like we just knew. We stopped in front of a modest home, we barely even knocked, ran inside and there they were, a woman, a man and a baby, lying in an animal's feeding trough. We knew the child was the Messiah, and we kept interrupting each other, stammering and stuttering out what we had seen and heard. The couple, Mary and Joseph, didn't seem as surprised as you would think people would be if shepherds burst into their guest quarters and called their baby the Messiah. They listened and we talked and then we just stared at the baby.

 And then we went home and found our sheep, but that's not exactly the end of the story. Even though this story is amazing and even outrageous, it's not even the most dramatic part. The most dramatic part happened after we left Mary, Joseph and the baby Messiah.

 Remember when I said that I had pretty much given up on myself, other people and God? Well, it's true. There was no reason to hope for anything better than a few more years out there with the sheep, feeling unwanted and shunned every time I came into town.

 As we left the home where Mary and Joseph and the baby were, I noticed something. There were no angels hovering over the stable that night. In fact, Mary and Joseph didn't even know about the angels. No one else on the streets seemed to know either; no one else was rushing to see the child. The angels didn't come to the temple, they didn't come to the very important Jewish people, and on that night, they didn't even come to Mary and Joseph or their families. The angels came to us. Everyone else had given up on us, except God. The angels came to us. God sent them to us.

 I don't know if you know what it feels like to give up. So I don't know if you know what it feels like to realize that someone hasn't given up on you. God didn't give up on me! God doesn't give up on you! God doesn't give up on any of us. And God comes right into the places where God is needed most. I felt  unwanted and unloved. God came. I felt disconnected and despairing. God came. I felt like the world wasn't fair. God came. I felt like nobody understood me. God came. God comes right into the places where God is needed most. God comes to you, right where you need him most. God comes in the very places it seems as if He has no business being. God comes to you. He might not send a bright and shiny messenger, so you might have to look a little more carefully. But He comes. God will never, ever give up on you.

 I said that the most important part of the story happened as we left Mary and Joseph and the baby. What happened was this: I realized that God cares, God came and God loves. And suddenly, without warning, I began to share the good news with everyone I met. Because God comes. God is here. God never gives  up on any of us. Amen.

The word of the Lord came (Sermon 12.09.12)

This sermon was originally preached on Sunday, December 9, 2012, Advent 2, at Central Lutheran Church. The text for the day is Luke 3:1-6. Some details of the opening story are changed for privacy.

I ran into an old friend recently, just after Thanksgiving, who asked if I had my Christmas tree up yet. No, I said, I like to celebrate Advent for a week or two and then put up the tree. She asked, “What's Advent?” I took some time to explain the four weeks of waiting, the time of preparation and quiet reflection. I talked about my family and personal traditions of the Advent wreath, candles, prayer and devotions. I talked about how Advent is a time to focus on what matters instead of getting caught up in the busy-ness and consumerism. When I finished, she said, “Wow! That sounds great! Maybe I should start celebrating Advent, too.” I asked if she had her tree up yet. “Of course,” she replied. “I have five.”  Then she told me about her Thanksgiving eve-Black Friday shopping marathon.” Sigh.

There are so many competing voices this time of year. The quiet song of Advent gets drowned out, unless some retailer decides there's money to be made on Advent wreaths, devotional booklets and blue candles. Advent doesn't speak very loudly; it's hard to hear and to perhaps harder to heed. Who speaks the loudest in our world? Who or what distracts us and fights for our attention? Who has the power to speak and command a captive audience?

In Luke's gospel, in the beginning of chapter 3, Luke tells us about power. He lists an emperor, governor, other political leaders and two high priests for good measure. These are powerful men. When they speak, people listen. People respond. People obey. It seems like the word of the Lord should come to one of those seven powerful men. The word of the Lord should come to the Emperor, it seems, or at least one of the high priests. But it doesn't. Read through the entire list of leaders and see where the word of the Lord comes. It comes to John, a wild-eyed prophet who eats locusts and lives in the desert. The word of the Lord comes to John.

What would Luke write today? In 2012, Barack Obama was president of the United States, David Cameron was the prime minister of the United Kingdom. Sean Parnell was the governor of Alaska and Dan Sullivan was the mayor of Anchorage; during the papacy of Benedict the 16^th and the leadership of ELCA Bishop Mark Hanson and Alaska Bishop Shelley Wickstrom, the word of the Lord came to... Where? Where does the word of the Lord come today? Is it coming? How? Would we notice it?

Let's think about this together. What happens when the word of the Lord comes to John the Baptist in the wilderness? When the word comes to him, he shares it broadly, all over the region around the Jordan. So when the word comes, we are to pass it on. What is the content of this word of the Lord? What kind of message does it bring? It calls for two things: repentance and preparation. Repent and be forgiven. Prepare the way of the Lord. How does one prepare the way of the Lord? Fill in the valleys, bring down the mountains, make the crooked places straight and the rough places smooth. This is not  a description for a civil engineering project. Do not hire a bulldozer. This is about justice. This is about righteousness. This is about taking care of those who do not have enough. This is about the wealthy sharing more than a few easy tax write-offs that they'll never miss. This is about broken relationships being restored. This is about letting go of whatever is keeping us from right relationship with God.

I think Luke starts out his gospel with powerful people to show that while they might seem loud and powerful, in the end, they don't rule the world. In fact, all those leaders were long dead by the time Luke wrote his gospel, 90 AD. But the followers of Jesus remained, and their numbers were growing. Perhaps Luke also starts with all those leaders to remind us that the word of the Lord comes to us not in some ethereal sphere or make-believe place, but comes right into our real world, into our political, social and economic world, just as it is.

Where has the word of God come for you? Has it come from political leaders or those with great power and influence? It's possible, but let me tell you, that is not where the word of the Lord has come to me. The word of the Lord came to me from my Polish grandmother, who kept her faith and trust in God even after she spent many years in a Siberian work camp during World War II, where she watched her beloved sister die of starvation. The word of the Lord came to me from a member of this congregation who recently lost a loved one and said, “I feel God's presence through the support I've received.” The word of the Lord came to me from a member of this congregation who is undergoing chemotherapy and said, “We need to appreciate every day. Those people out there walking around on the sidewalk have no idea how lucky they are.” The word of the Lord.

The good news for us this Advent season is that despite the powers and principalities of the world, and despite the noise and busy-ness, the word of the Lord comes. It's comes. God comes. That is the promise for you and for me. That is the promise for all. The word of the Lord comes.

And when the word of the Lord comes, it comes through people and places we might not expect. The word of God often comes through grandparents, parents and friends. The word may come from a child, a stranger, or someone you don't particularly like. Stay awake! The word of the Lord may come during coffee with a friend, at the dinner table, at work, at school, even at the shopping mall. Don't expect the word of God to come from people in power or noisy news-makers. Don't expect in on CNN, MSNBC or FOX. It might not even always come to you at church. God has this bothersome trend of speaking through those on the margins. Are we only listening to the voices of the powerful? Are we seeking relationships with those with no socio-economic standing or privilege? The word of the Lord comes.

When the word of the Lord comes, it doesn't just leave us as we are. The word of the Lord changes us. Otherwise it wouldn't be good news. It cannot come to us and leave us unchanged. If it did, we'd already be perfect and we wouldn't need a savior. So when the word comes, it changes us. That's not always easy. It calls us to repent, to turn and go in a different direction, toward God. The word of the Lord calls us to prepare the way of the Lord, which means making the world a more fair and just place. The word of the Lord calls us to fill in our valleys, knock down our mountains, smooth out our rough places and straighten our crooked ways. I don't just mean we ought to do this in our community and nation. We are to do it in our own hearts as well.

The word of the Lord comes and we are not left unchanged. The word of the Lord comes, and even God is not left unchanged, coming in flesh, coming into our world. Amen.