Luke 2 v 22-40 Expect the Unexpected

Snow, something we are not really used to dealing with. When it fell recently in large quantities, we were somewhat unprepared. For a few days it seemed as if everything had ground to a halt. The roads were treacherous, people couldn’t get to work, services were grounded, and we ran out of salt-grit. Some children, were treated to that rare and wonderful thing: a snow day or two.

For so many, an unexpected heavy fall of snow – especially on a weekday – is inconvenient, dangerous and frustrating. But perhaps we can all remember (and maybe just a few of us feel this still) the joy of a few hours’ liberation from the normal course of events: that feeling that things don’t always run their normal course, that sometimes everything goes topsy-turvy and we can build snowmen, make snow angels and risk our necks on a sledge. Alas, it never lasts long, but these interruptions to the everyday course of events can become treasured memories that stay with us for the rest of our lives

We read today of a really intriguing part of the Gospel story. Intriguing, not because it is packed with angel choirs and extraordinary events as the last part of the story was, and not because it is smattered with miracles and drama like the next bit will be, but because it speaks of a time of getting back into the swing of everyday life. Apart from one other significant event when Jesus is twelve, it is the last thing we hear of Jesus as a child – in fact the last thing we hear of him for about thirty years. And in the meantime, things get back to normal. Well almost!!!!

Mary and Joseph circumcise their son after eight days, and they set off to the Temple at Jerusalem to perform the ritual that every good Jew would perform – they offer a sacrifice to the Lord for their firstborn boy. The pattern of life and worship begins to resume. But then they are approached by Simeon – someone whom we know nothing about apart from the fact he lived in Jerusalem and believed God had told him he would not die before seeing the Messiah. It’s easy to picture this devoted man being – well, slightly odd. He takes the child – a little nerve-racking for a parent – and praises God for having let him see God’s salvation, although not without offering some disturbing words too.

And as this is happening, Anna the prophet comes upon them and begins to tell all those around that that baby was the one they had been waiting for: the redemption of Israel. We’re very polite about Anna, and, of course, hindsight proved her right, but this is a woman who has lived in the Temple for what could have been about sixty years, doing nothing but fasting and praying. She’s eccentric, to put it mildly. It’s easy to imagine that Mary and Joseph might have been a little embarrassed by this interruption to their quiet ceremony. But it is in this interruption by two out-of-the-ordinary people that God speaks, and this human baby is once more named as the saviour of the world. Food for thought as Mary and Joseph return home to Nazareth and begin the business of raising their child.

Application

For most of us, it is not the drama of the angels and shepherds that best reflects our experience of Christian life, but the more mundane interruption of the presentation of Jesus at the Temple as Mary and Joseph get on with the rituals of life and worship. The Spirit of God often moves in the interruptions and disturbances that take place as we try to get on with things. The thing is, do we see it? Just like that snow, interruptions can be inconvenient, dangerous and frustrating. We do our best to avoid them most of the time. But they can be liberating, joyful and the key to opening up new ways of being God’s people. Mary and Joseph were probably attuned by their recent experiences to observe and listen to God’s intervention in their lives. But what would we have done? Hugged the child to ourselves and scuttled on our way? Laughed it off with that embarrassing laugh we do. Who knows? Let’s pray that we may be open to the interruptions that God sends and to the changes that they might bring to our way of looking at things.

SUMMARY

1. Interruptions to the flow of everyday life can be both frustrating and liberating; a heavy snowfall can be inconvenient and dangerous, but it also can result in that rare treat – a day off school.

2. There is a “getting back to normal” feel to Mary and Joseph’s actions as they take Jesus to the Temple to perform the rituals after childbirth. But that ritual is interrupted by Simeon and Anna as they prophesy about the child.

3. Our experience of Christian life is often very much like Mary and Joseph’s: it is in the interruptions to everyday life that God speaks. We need to be able to take the time to hear.

Julie Bowen

First Sunday After the Epiphany/The Baptism of Our Lord

January 10, 2010 – First Sunday After the Epiphany/The Baptism of Our Lord Year C

Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky." These lovely works by poet John Masefield talk about the sailor's almost irresistible draw to the water.

It’s been said that since our bodies may be up to 75 percent water, we are automatically drawn to water. We know certainly that the body cannot exist without water – picture the old film Ice Cold In Alex where the soldiers in lorry are overcome with heat and exhaustion in the desert, no oasis in sight, a burning sun scorching the sand. No flowing streams, no rain, no hope for those caught unprepared in the desert. It’s as if heat and drought themselves yearn for water and so pull the water of life out of living things until bones collapse and blanch on the desert floor.

“I must go down to the sea again.”

Our hearts ache for the touch of water on our dry skin when we consider the desert. But then we imagine other films, “The Perfect Storm” or “Moby Dick.” We remember the desperation and horror of those caught in real-life tsunamis. Plenty of water there. More than plenty – too much. Instead of being life-giving, the water brings death. The sea, the blue-green and tranquil sea that painters love to capture on a beautiful summer’s day, becomes an enormous force, bigger than life, dangerous, frightening. It becomes black with fury, tossing ships like toys, overwhelming miles of landscape and claiming to its black depths lives, villages, and a future’s hope.

Water – life and death – hope and despair. In a way, we have absolutely no control over water; some pray for rain, others pray for the rain to stop. Water, like the air we breathe, is completely essential, and yet it brings death as well as life. Perhaps it’s those properties of water that make it such a perfect symbol of the grace of baptism.

Water is one of the most evident features in scripture. From the graceful beginning words of Genesis where the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters, through the story of Noah and the covenant between God and God’s people, to the Red Sea, and then to today’s anointing of Jesus’ ministry through his own baptism, water has woven the story of God’s life and ours together.

Baptismal water flows over us today. In Isaiah, we’re reminded that even as we pass through raging waters, God is with us. Overflowing rivers will not drown God’s people. And why? Because the word of the Lord through Isaiah says, “Fear not: for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, and you are mine.” Of course water here is an image. Earthly water and fire – another image – can do us bodily harm, but when we dig deeper and hear what God is saying, we realize that God is reminding us that no earthly thing can keep us from the love and comfort of God. Even if natural water or fire overwhelms our bodies, God’s spirit is with us. God’s love comforts and heals.

In the gospel, water is used both figuratively and literally. John the Baptist offers the people of that time a baptism of repentance. The Jews are drawn to the waters of the Jordan to be cleansed of their unfaithfulness to God’s law. They are drawn by John’s words. Many may be drawn by the simplicity of his message. This is how you can live lives faithful to God’s law: tax collectors, don’t cheat; soldiers, don’t threaten or extort; all of you, share what you have with the poor. John offered them a chance to be renewed. And this was a very good thing. The Jordan’s water cleansed both body and soul.

It seems sensible that some would mistake John for the Messiah, but John introduces Jesus by using the two images heard in Isaiah: water and fire. “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” This is a new baptism. This new baptism will do more than forgive sins, it will create the community of God. This community would be guided by the Holy Spirit. This baptism announced that the kingdom of God was at hand. As the heavens opened at Jesus’ baptism, the voice of God anointed the mission and ministry Jesus would live out among God’s people. God has pitched a tent among the people.

This isn’t just an historical telling of the start of Jesus’ ministry. This message is for us, too. But you might say, we know this story. We know it’s important to be baptized. We even baptize babies, not only adults, as they did in the early church.

But do we really know? Do we really take our baptisms seriously today? We certainly still take water seriously, its ability to effect both life and death, but if we really took our baptism seriously, wouldn’t our world and our church look different? Think about those promises we made at our baptism and then reaffirmed at our confirmations. We promised to keep alive the apostles’ teachings and the prayers. We promised, as those people did at the Jordan, to acknowledge our sins, repent, and return to the Lord. We promised to see Christ in each other and to respect the dignity of every human being. We promised to work for justice and peace. We didn’t promise just to think all these things would be nice. We promised to DO something about them – to WORK for them. Are we? From the look of the world and the church, we must not be doing too good a job.

This is why we have a lectionary cycle. This is why the church asks us to consider the story of our salvation, and everything that entails, over three years’ of readings. It helps us to look at all God has done for us. It helps us to remember that no matter what, God cares deeply for us and promises to be our strength. Hearing again and again the story of John and Jesus at the Jordan should cement in our minds that we must keep the mission and ministry of Jesus alive. We are asked to pray. We are asked to keep Jesus’ teaching alive by sharing in the liturgy, preaching God’s word, and then taking what we have learned out to others.

"I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;"

Our call to keep alive the good news of the gospel and to spread the love and compassion of God cannot be denied.

The Pastor as Narrative Leader

My Archdeacon, The Ven. Dr. Paul Wright sent me this...

The Pastor as Narrative Leader
by N. Graham Standish

Humans are living stories of experience. Our lives can be scripted like a narrative. In fact, when we think of individual lives in this way, what we discover is that those who live what seem to be successful lives have a generally compelling life narrative of overcoming obstacles in order to achieve. Those who seem to have dysfunctional lives often have life stories that read like disconnected or stuck narratives in which the main character struggles to overcome obstacles. Instead of overcoming obstacles, these obstacles overwhelm her or his life. Understanding the role of story is crucial to understanding the role narrative plays in leadership.

Over the years I have noticed a definite difference between good leaders and great leaders, a difference that is more than just a matter of great leaders doing certain things better than good leaders. Good leaders lead people toward a goal. They are able to articulate a common aim for an organization, a department, a team, or a congregation. They are able to get people on board enough so that the goals become common goals. And these good leaders are able to motivate people to want to achieve these goals.

What seems to make great leaders great is not that they are better at envisioning and articulating goals, as well as being better at uniting and motivating people to achieve these goals. What I notice is that great leaders seem to craft a story, a story that inspires others in the organization, team, or congregation so that they willingly become a part of and live out this story in their work and lives. Great leaders, through their whole style of leadership, tell a story about the organization or congregation that becomes a blueprint for its ongoing growth.

To be a narrative leader means to be something very similar to a novel writer. It means to be able to see not only life in general, but also a congregation's life, as an unfolding story that to some extent she is the author of. Obviously the pastor is not the author, but then again, most writers of fiction will tell you that they are not truly the authors of their stories either.

Many writers also speak of writing as a process of listening to their muse.
Pastors also have a muse: Christ. The more open we pastors are to the Spirit as we lead, the more the Spirit guides us not only to craft our own story, or the congregation's story, but also to make these stories part of the larger story that God is writing about life throughout the universe. The great pastoral leaders write a story discerned through prayer.

As the author listening to his muse, the pastor recognizes when the congregation is or isn't meshing with God's story. And he finds a way to bring it back into harmony. At the same time, he still sees pain, crisis, death, birth, divorce, marriage, difficulty, and celebration as crucial elements of the story. He understands that without these elements, the story has no life. As a result, he is always looking for ways to turn the more difficult situations into times of redemption, reconciliation, and resurrection.

Adapted from Living Our Story: Narrative Leadership and Congregational Culture, edited by Larry A. Golemon, copyright C 2010 by the Alban Institute.