December 06, 2015
Written by Kathryn Matthews (Huey)
Sunday, December 6Second Sunday in Advent
Focus ThemeProphets of Peace
Weekly PrayerOut of the embrace of mercy and
righteousness, you have brought forth joy and dignity for your people, O
Holy One of Israel. Remember now your ancient promise: make straight
the paths that lead to you, and smooth the rough ways, that in our day
we might bring forth your compassion for all humanity. Amen.
Focus Scripture Luke 1:68-79
[Zechariah said:]
"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favorably
on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty savior for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouth
of his holy prophets from of old,
that we would be saved from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us.
Thus he has shown the mercy
promised to our ancestors,
and has remembered his holy covenant,
the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham,
to grant us that we, being rescued
from the hands of our enemies,
might serve him without fear,
in holiness and righteousness
before him all our days.
And you, child, will be called
the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord
to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation
to his people by the forgiveness
of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace."
All readings for this SundayMalachi 3:1-4 or Baruch 5:1-9
Luke 1:68-79
Philippians 1:3-11
Luke 3:1-6
Focus Questions
1. Do you ever think a blessing is "too good to be true," even if you prayed for it?
2. What gifts does your "generation" bring to the life of faith today?
3. Where do you feel closest to God?
4. How do we find that our lives "matter totally" within God's larger story?
5. How do you and your church embody God's tender mercies for others?
Reflection by Kate Matthews (Huey)
The Gospel of Luke begins, of course, with the story of the angel
Gabriel foretelling the amazing birth of a baby boy who is destined for
great things in the story of salvation. This birth is remarkable not
because the boy's mother is a virgin but because she's old: Elizabeth,
wife of Zechariah the priest, who is also old. These two have lived
righteous and holy lives, but it appears that they are denied the
blessing of children. The story sounds familiar, especially after
hearing about Hannah just two weeks ago, but this time Zechariah the
would-be father appears to be the one who's praying, in the depths of
his heart, for what seems impossible: the gift of a child. Gabriel
brings Zechariah the good news that his prayer has been heard and he is
indeed going to have a son, whom he will name John. Ironically,
Zechariah appears to be unable to comprehend that the answer to his
prayer might actually be yes, and he questions the angel, who doesn't
seem too pleased about being challenged, even by a priest. (But, then,
perhaps a priest ought to know even better not to question a messenger
from God.)
After Gabriel strikes him speechless, Zechariah spends the next nine
months in silence; presumably Elizabeth enjoys many opportunities during
that time to speak her own mind. When the baby is born, she insists,
against popular opinion (and no one seems to know why the neighbors are
trying to name this baby in the first place), that he will be named
John, rather than Zechariah, after his father. (How does Elizabeth know,
we might ask, that the child's name should be John?) The old priest
agrees, his speech is restored, and as he holds his son in his arms,
he's so full of the Holy Spirit that he can't help bursting out in
praise for all that God has done, and he looks forward to what God is
yet to do (the text calls it "this prophecy" in verse 67). His prayer is
called the Benedictus, which means "blessing" in Latin. In this first
chapter of Luke, we've already heard Mary sing the Magnificat; J.
Clinton McCann, Jr., compares these hymns to the songs in a Broadway
musical: the words tell a story and help us to understand what's going
on.
Singing our speeches
Like Mary, Zechariah uses language so lovely that we understand why
this is really a song rather than a speech (even though Luke says in
verse 67 that he "spoke" it), and why the church has loved it, and sung
it, for centuries: this hymn connects the early Christians' story to the
story of Israel, remembered, redeemed, restored. Israel, pressed down
and even flattened by one empire after another (Egypt, Assyria, Babylon,
Rome), is never obliterated or without hope of a future, because they
know that God's promises are true. Zechariah reviews those promises,
recalling the voice of God through the prophets, the gift of the great
king, David, and of course mercy and salvation even in the face of sin
and in the wake of suffering, destruction, and death. In his book, Luke
for Everyone, N.T. Wright reminds us that our elders are the ones "who
cherish old memories and imaginations, who keep alive the rumour of
hope," and he notes that Zechariah "has pondered the agony and the hope
for many years." In Zechariah's song, then, we hear the "larger hope"
that "[t]hings will be put right" in the end.
One of the most haunting lines from this first chapter of Luke's
Gospel is back in the angel Gabriel's promise to Zechariah that this
child, who would of course gladden the hearts of his mother and father,
would also "turn the hearts of parents to their children" (v. 17). In
his sermon, "An Intrusive Absence," Walter Brueggemann recalls the long
wait and deep hope of the people of Israel, who looked for Elijah the
prophet to return because they remembered him as one who "upset
everything, healed things, made a difference." They trusted that God
would act to make things right, through one who would come into their
midst to "reconcile the generations….[and] heal our families of old and
young, poor and rich, of have-nots and haves...." Perhaps we could begin
to reach across the divide between "the old and young" if we learn to
appreciate the distinctive gifts that the different generations bring to
the table. For example, the Rev. Otis Moss III, pastor of Trinity
United Church of Christ in Chicago, calls Elizabeth and Zechariah's
generation meeting with the generation of young Mary (vv. 39-56) a
"Pentecostal moment" (see "Where is God's Spirit at work today?"
http://www.ucc.org/vitality/ready-set-grow/video/otis-moss.html).
Our story is part of a longer story
Scholars stress the continuity of the Christian story with the
ancient story of Israel, and several see Zechariah's "witness," if you
will, as a link between those stories, an affirmation that they are part
of the same, larger story of God at work in the world, offering
salvation to all the people (even the Gentiles!). For example, Sharon
Ringe hears the prophet Isaiah echoed in this song, and the theme of the
forgiveness of sins recalling the Year of the Jubilee, which we will
encounter again in Jesus' inaugural address, in chapter four of this
Gospel. And Ronald J. Allen and Clark M. Williamson see Zechariah the
priest "as authorizing the ministry of John, and, hence, the ministry of
Jesus and the church."
Zechariah doesn't just sing about God's ancient faithfulness; he also
sings of the new thing God is about to do, raising up "a mighty savior"
from the house of David. In fact, he sings as if God has already done
this great thing. Luke is telling us these stories together, but we
understand why John is important only if we understand the central
importance of Jesus, the mighty Savior, whose "way" John prepares.
Zechariah looks at his newborn son John, whose name means "God is
gracious," and feels God's grace through the sweep of history and the
promise of what is yet to be. How many parents have looked at their
newborn child and felt a mysterious but powerful hope for the future of
the world in the small miracle they're holding!
Theology at unexpected moments
My own experience of parenthood affected my theology just as much as
it affected everything else in my life. When I held my baby boy, also
named John, for the first time, I became something of a theologian, long
before I went to seminary and studied theology. As I gazed at that
baby, I knew why God looked at the beautiful work of creation and saw
that "it was good": I recognized that God's creation of this little
baby, in the same way, was good. While I understood that John was
created in freedom and could and would make wrong choices now and then, I
knew in my heart that we are created in beauty and innocence and grace,
and that each new baby is a moment of hope, not just for one family,
but for the whole world. It occurs to me that Zechariah, the priest who
knew what it felt like to stand in the most sacred place of all, "the
sanctuary of the Lord" (1:9), what Richard Swanson calls "the center of
the world," seemed to be having the most profound spiritual experience
of his life at home, holding a newborn baby.
Many scholars note that the story of Zechariah the priest long ago
was the early church's way of teaching about the importance and the role
of John the Baptist. Marvin A. McMickle ties this Sunday's Old
Testament reading to Zechariah's song in this way: "If Malachi 3:1-4
tells us that God will send a messenger who will prepare the way and
cleanse the temple, then Luke 1:68-79 tells us that messenger is John
the Baptist." Yes, John was important, but he wasn't the most important,
and the early church wanted to make sure everyone understood the
difference between John and Jesus. Of course, no one I know thinks John
the Baptist was really the Messiah, but there's more than one lesson in
this story, as so often happens in the Bible. That beautiful moment, and
that realization, and that hope in Zechariah when he looks at his
newborn son…I think that is a teaching moment for us today, in the
church.
The personal and the public, stories large and small
There are several more themes in this text that bear deeper
reflection in this season of Advent, when we are perhaps a little more
in touch with the deeply personal and yet also yearn to connect with the
wider world, in generosity and peace. There's that continuity between
our "small" lives and the "larger" events of history: N.T. Wright says
that "Luke's story vibrates equally with the personal hopes and fears of
ordinary people" even as he tells the story of God at work in the sweep
of history; "both the big picture and the smaller human stories,"
Wright says, "matter totally." Zechariah and Elizabeth are experiencing
the most remarkable things happening to them personally, but they look
at their little baby, and they see God's promises kept for their whole
people, past and present, and even more wonders to unfold in the story
of God at work in the world. We need to find the meaning of our lives,
our stories, then, in God's larger story.
There's also the tension that we often encounter between salvation as
something that we experience here and now, the healing for our selves,
our families and the world, even for creation itself, and the salvation
that will come after we die, when we will live joyfully in God's
presence. Mostly, people of faith seem to focus on the latter, on
"getting to heaven." And yet, those who live under someone else's heel,
like Zechariah and Elizabeth, and like Luke's own little early Christian
community, who knew Rome's harsh oppression, have to wonder when God is
going to deliver them and punish "those who hate us" (v. 71). This is
where that tension lies, if we want to live an authentic faith: "walking
in the way of peace" may appear easier for someone not living under the
heel of an oppressor (and that oppressor may be a "force," like debt or
illness or poverty). Christians have to discern where the "way of
peace" leads them on behalf of others who suffer, especially if we
benefit, even indirectly, from that suffering. Marvin McMickle subtly
ties these two threads together when he claims that "God is surely a God
of wrath where injustice is concerned, but Zechariah points to 'the
tender mercy of our God' (v. 78)."
Righteousness is justice, not self-righteousness
There is, then, something very real and embodied about this
salvation, not just a heavenly, spiritual one but also a healing of the
damage caused by sin and brokenness, violence and greed: a restoration
of things to what they ought to be. Zechariah sings of forgiveness, of
light, of holiness and righteousness. (Scholars note that
"righteousness" could be understood as "justice," which makes a lot of
sense if we're talking about the damage done to one another and to the
earth by our sin and selfishness.) All of these promises of God, all
this hope, engage us in the story of salvation and draw us in rather
than relegating us to watching from the sidelines. We're called to
embody God's own tender mercies, right here, right now, toward the poor,
the orphan and the widow, and the stranger in our midst.
In the Bible and in most of human history, men have claimed center
stage and most of the power, but Richard Swanson's reflection draws our
attention to the women who seem to be bystanders in this story
(actually, how the mothers of these two important babies are bystanders
is hard to comprehend; presumably they were central to the births).
Swanson suggests that Zechariah's long silence is underneath the voices
of the women, Mary and Elizabeth, who express the "powerful hopes" of
their people: "Only after women have sung the hopes of the Jewish people
into the story is that silence punctured. Zechariah reveals that he,
too, shares the hopes that give life to the Jewish people. The story
holds open the possibility that these hopes were breathed into life by
the singing of Mary and Elizabeth, which he could have overheard in his
silence." Silence, then, gives others a chance to speak, and a chance to
teach us something, a chance to voice shared hopes and longings. The
baby, John, is seen by his father Zechariah as the one who will prepare
the way for Jesus, the "mighty savior" God has graciously sent, so the
role of this tiny child in salvation history is obviously crucial. Do
you see your own role in salvation history as crucial, or do you feel
like a bystander in this unfolding and yet ancient drama?
A recurring theme in the Gospel of Luke is that of reversal of
fortune: already, we hear it in songs sung by both Mary and Zechariah,
in this very first chapter. According to Rosetta Ross, the priest
Zechariah and Elizabeth are not among the poor, singing of their
liberation from poverty; instead, they're from the "Jewish upper class."
When this member of the upper class sings about God at work, making
things right, he illustrates how there may be some surprises, and not
just a few ironic twists, in store for us: "New sight, resulting from
the dawn breaking in and giving light, insinuates possible paradigm
shifts and the reversals identified with Luke's Gospel. Perhaps those
identified as enemies earlier in the song may become friends."
How do you describe peace?
Is there a better way to describe peace than former enemies becoming
friends? Well, there is certainly a fuller, more comprehensive one, and
the end of Zechariah's song inspires writers like Marvin McMickle to
draw a picture of "a time of wholeness, well-being, security, happiness,
and contentment that will extend to all people"--which is what it means
to walk "in the way of peace." When Zechariah becomes a father and
sings of his joy as he gazes at his newborn son, it's as if he yearns
even more deeply for peace; doesn't the need for peace in the world, and
the healing of creation, become more pressing when we have children
whose futures stretch out beyond our own? Zechariah sings of a salvation
that is healing for the damage the world does because of sin and
brokenness, because of greed and hatred and violence; he sings of a
restoration of things to what they ought to be. When Zechariah sings of
God's forgiveness, he isn't describing a legalistic transaction, a
reward we earn by our deeds, but a movement of the heart, God's heart,
toward us, even in our weakness and humanity. But he also sees in his
son the beauty of hope and the promise of God's tender mercy, and, most
of all, the promise of peace.
Such a seemingly impossible dream for us this Advent: that enemies
might become friends, that emptiness might become fruitfulness, that the
earth might be healed and the world might know peace. Perhaps not so
impossible, for every light that breaks through, every blessing that
heals our heart and gives us hope, every newborn baby that reminds us of
the newness of God's tender mercies each morning, is an Advent kind of
experience, a taste of what is yet to come, a sign of what God is about.
Where can we find "the way of peace"?
When we consider those beautiful words at the end of Zechariah's song
about dawn breaking over us, we long for such light, especially in a
world, a nation, so divided today. While our painfully long election
season divides us more bitterly with each passing day, we're shaken by
terrorist attacks and the threat of more danger hovering over us. Many
of us, especially during the holidays, struggle to make peace in our own
families before grappling with the challenges that face us in the
larger community. The world around us once again (and again) worries
about terrorism and war in dozens of places around our now-tiny and
well-connected globe, and we argue in demoralizing ways about how to
protect ourselves while we respond to the needs and suffering caused by
those threats and that ugly violence. Our defensiveness and fear do not
speak well of us as human beings, let alone as people of faith.
And yet, individually, so many of us live with illness, poverty, and
addiction--as well as threats and violence in our neighborhoods and even
our own homes. We may have relationships that are painfully difficult
for us. We may struggle with depression, anxiety, and worries over
financial problems. Our children cause us concern and our parents need
our care; forces much more powerful than we are, and yet forces in which
we participate, pollute the air, the water, and the earth that our
grandchildren will need. The world seems like a mess much of the time.
And yet, and yet. We gather in church, together in a time of fear,
and like Zechariah living under the heel of the Roman Empire, we know
that we, too, are children of promise, and God has not forgotten us. We
hear the story of God's love, and, here and there, we experience that
light breaking over us. In our time and in the midst of this people, we
listen for the story again, we wait in the darkness together, we gather
our strength, renew our courage, and feast upon the mercy of God so that
we can go back out into the world and be light and love for those who,
like us, long to find the way to the path of peace. What can it mean to
be the Body of Christ unless we give ourselves to the coming of God's
grace and mercy, and participate in bringing it to reality for one
another, and for each of God's children? "And you, child…": these are
the words that God sings over each one of us, not just at our birth, but
each new morning, God's tender love rejoicing at our beauty, God's
tender mercies leading us onto the path of peace.
A longer, preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) can be found at
www.ucc.org/worship/samuel.
The Rev. Kathryn Matthews (Huey) serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at
the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (
https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).
You're invited to share your reflections on this text on our Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.
For Further Reflection
Fred Rogers, 20th century"When I say it's you I like,
I'm talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than
anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that
allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot
survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war,
and justice that proves more powerful than greed."
Black Elk, 20th century"The
first peace, which is the most important, is that which comes within
the souls of people when they realize their relationship, their oneness
with the universe and all its powers, and when they realize at the
center of the universe dwells the Great Spirit, and that its center is
really everywhere, it is within each of us."
Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams, 20th century "The
very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And
the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a
distance but live right in it, under its roof."
Thích Nhất Hạnh, 21st century"The present moment is filled with joy and happiness. If you are attentive, you will see it."
Marilynne Robinson, Gilead"Now that I look back, it
seems to me that in all that deep darkness a miracle was preparing. So I
am right to remember it as a blessed time, and myself as waiting in
confidence, even if I had no idea what I was waiting for."
and
"There is a reality in blessing....It doesn't enhance sacredness, but it acknowledges it, and there is a power in that."
Aristotle, 4th century B.C.E. "Hope is a waking dream."
Bill Watterson, 20th century"'How come we play war and not peace?'
'Too few role models.'"
Carl Sandburg, 20th century "A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on."
