St. Thomas and the truths we know in our bones

 

Rev. Molly F. James,  PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer

December 21, 2021

Psalm 126; Habakkuk 2:1-4; John 20:24-29

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Ah, St. Thomas. He feels like an old friend. I would guess the same true  is for many clergy across the Church. Somehow in its wisdom, the Lectionary Committee decided that it would be appropriate for this story of “Doubting Thomas” to be the Gospel for the Sunday after Easter, every year. So those of us who spent years as an assistant or an associate or serving a small parish where there are no other clergy have a personal library of sermons on this text. They pair nicely with our sermons on the prologue of the Gospel of John which is the Gospel for every year for the Sunday after Christmas. 

While I have certainly had my moments of feeling frustrated by the repetition in our lectionary, those moments where I want to say, “Thomas? Again? Really? How am I supposed to come up with something new to say about him?” But of course if I pause and breathe and sit with it, and I feel differently. I think about my time in Exeter in the UK when I got to sit in the Cathedral for evensong day after day. And you know what is true about that service, the Magnifcat is sung. Pretty much daily. We only get Thomas twice a year: 1 Easter and his feast day. We get the Magnificat everyday. Why? Because the Magnificat is always a good idea. It is, indeed, a text, a message we need to have be central to our lives, to the daily practice of our faith. It is a message that speaks powerfully into whatever kind of day we are having. 

And I believe that the same is true of Thomas. His story speaks powerfully to us again and again. I think it especially speaks to us in this present time. How often, in recent days especially, have we felt like Thomas? Which story, which news headline, which study, which infographic or chart are we supposed to believe? How do we trust information when it seems to be changing on a daily or hourly basis? Do we need to change our plans for the holidays? What is the best way forward for us in our particular circumstances?

The uncertainty and anxiety are swirling all around us. Again. And we are exhausted. We are disheartened and frustrated. If we wanted to find reasons to doubt, reasons to fear, reasons to give into that same sense of foreboding and disillusionment that tempted Thomas. It would be easy to join him, “See, everything is terrible. They have killed my Lord. And to make matters worse someone stole his body, The world is out to get us. Nothing we hoped for is going to come true. All our dreams have been dashed.” Thomas requires actual proof, an actual incarnational experience to believe that his fears are not true. To believe that the tomb is empty because resurrection is real. Because God’s love is stronger than everything, even death. 

And we cannot blame him. The fundamental truths of our lives are not ones that we know just because we hear them or read them. Think about how we talk about them. We talk about knowing them “in our bones.” The most important truths of our lives are not merely intellectual. They are not just information. They are experiential. They are incarnational. 

That’s why we can still feel disquieted after we read the news headlines or the latest CDC briefing or the latest study on any of the myriad challenges our society is currently facing. Even if it is good news, it is just information. We need to be reminded of the fundamental truths of our lives and our faith, and that doesn’t happen through information. It happens through experience. 

So my friends, in these days, when you find yourselves joining Thomas in fear and doubt, reconnect to the experience of faith. Light a candle. Pray with an icon. Walk in the splendor of creation. Call that friend whose voice is a balm to your weary spirit. Hug your loved ones more often. Listen to the music that restores your soul. Attune your senses to all the signs of light and hope in our world. In gathered community. In more hours of daylight. In smiles and small acts of kindness. In the gift of quiet moments. In laughter. In meals shared, even on Zoom. The affirmations of God’s love. Of hope and possibility are all around us. We just need to be listening with our hearts  as well as our ears. AMEN.

Advent: Waiting and Preparation

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer

Monday, November 29, 2021

Psalm 122; Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 8:5-13

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Well, my friends it is Advent. It is that season of waiting. Waiting for the light. Waiting for Jesus. Waiting for that quietness described in our psalm. Waiting for healing like the centurion’s servant in our Gospel reading. Waiting for the realization of Isaiah’s prophecy that swords will be beaten into plowshares and no one will learn war any more. 

Our world is waiting. Waiting for a day when we can be less afraid of the headlines. Waiting for case numbers and death tolls to go down. Waiting for justice to be realized. Waiting for the day when we won’t all feel so exhausted and worn out. And that’s just the global waiting. No doubt we have our own versions of Advent. We are waiting in our personal lives for a change to be realized or a milestone achieved. The waiting is pervasive. And it can certainly be anxiety provoking. Waiting on its own can seem passive. As though we have lost our agency or our influence. As though whether or not anything changes or is realized is all up to external forces and the winds of chance. Blessedly, it is not. 

It is indeed true that there is much that is beyond our control. We cannot simply snap our fingers and make a sick friend well or bring the prophecy of Isaiah to fruition. And yet it would be a grave mistake to think that we are powerless in the face of all the challenges we face, individually or collectively. 

We must also remember that Advent is a season of preparation. There is indeed much we can do. We can be a light in the midst of darkness. Our presence, our work, our relationships matter. We do and can have an impact far larger than we often give ourselves credit for in day to day life. 

I have been listening to a book by British Organisational Psychologist John Amaeci called The Promises of Giants. It is a book about leadership, but it is markedly different from so many other books about leadership. It starts with the premise that we can “win” and “lead” wherever we are in life or in an organization. It also starts with the idea that our impact is enormous. We all are and have the capacity to be “giants” to others. I have found the book to be funny, engaging, and full of valuable insights. At first, John’s belief about the enormity of our impact was hard to hear. Did that mean we have to be over vigilant and second-guessing everything? By no means. Rather John reminds us that our impact, our ability to enact real change in ourselves, our communities, and the world is not about splashy moments that make headlines (although those certainly can have a profound impact). Most change happens through discipline and hard work. It happens because we set audacious goals and strive to achieve them. It happens when we are willing to do the day to day work that is often behind the scenes and unglamorous. It happens when we hold ourselves and each other accountable to inspiring standards. We have a profound impact because of who we are and the habits we have. Because of how we move through the world. We are indeed powerful, and it is up to us to decide how we use that power.

In the midst of this season of waiting, in the midst of all the challenges, it could be easy to give into fear or to buy into that critical voice that says that what we do doesn’t really matter. I hope that this Advent we will do neither. I hope we will pay careful attention to all the ways that light and love are alive in the world. All the ways in which the kingdom is breaking in. And I hope we will feel energized and inspired to be reminded that God is Emmanuel, God is with us. The Christ light is within each of us. We can indeed bring the light into the world. Together, with God, with each other, transformation is possible. Amen. 

Holding Fast To Joy

Grand Central Terminal

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Matthew's, Wilton

Advent 3, December 13, 2020

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8,19-28

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Paul writes to the Thessalonians, “hold fast to what is good.” He even tells us to “rejoice always.” Really? I want to say. Really, God? Is this the message you have for us today? Don’t you know how many things we are missing right now? Don’t you know how many reasons there are for us to be frustrated and sad right now? It is about to be Christmas, and we are deprived of holding people we love. For most of us it has been weeks or months since we held onto a handle in a subway car or the top of a Metro North seat. We have not held an elevator door for a colleague hurrying to their office or the door of a restaurant for the next patron. Medical professionals and first responders have held the hands of far too many who have died. We feel surrounded by loss and grief, and our Scriptures are telling us to rejoice? 

If you want to rail and argue and rage back against this text you are not alone. There is much to grieve in this time. We need to acknowledge the truth and the reality of the loss. It hurts. This is hard. Really hard. Especially for those of us who are used to having the power, the privilege, the resources to make things happen as we want them to, when we want them to happen. 

But here is the thing. Grief is not all there is. Yes, the challenges are great. The losses are probably more than most of us have ever experienced or ever thought we would experience. We need to be gentle with our hearts in this time. We need to be gentle with each other. The grief is real, but we cannot allow it to blind us to the beauty and the grace. Even in the midst of grief, there is cause to rejoice. 

That is what Paul means. The statement to “rejoice always” does not gloss over the reality of suffering. It is not meant for us to pretend that everything is okay even when it is not. It means that even in the midst of suffering there is cause for rejoicing. Always. It is Advent. It is the season where we are reminded that no matter how short the days are, no matter how dark it gets - literally or metaphorically - the darkness does not win. John the Baptist came to testify to the light. To announce to the world that the light shines in the darkness. 

It may be hard to see. On some days it may seem nearly impossible, but I promise that the light is there. Paul tells us to hold fast to what is good. Indeed we can hold fast to much, even in the midst of challenges. 

We may be struggling with all the people, all the things that we cannot literally “hold” in this season. But even if we cannot literally touch them, the love we have for them does not depend on being in the same room. In fact not being in the same room with them might be the most loving thing we can do for them right now.

There is the light. In acts of kindness and generosity. In a smile, even if it is on a screen. In the gifts of technology and modern life that allow us to work from home, to gather for worship in a way that keeps everyone safe, and to order delicious food to our doorsteps. Celebrating with family and friends in cyberspace even across great distances and time zones - possibly even a gathering of people who have not been in the same room for years, if ever. 

What we can “hold fast” to in this time may not always be tangible. It is the truths of our faith. The beauty of this world. The sunlight on the trees. The sky filled with stars. The myriad of ways we have to show each other how much we care - acts of grace and compassion, large and small. 

Even in the midst of stress and struggle, there is cause to rejoice. There is hope. Always. Things will not always be this way. We will again be able to gather in person. We will be able to travel, to ride airplanes and trains. To linger over a long meal with a dear friend in the corner of our favorite restaurant. It will all be possible again. And in the meantime, we can keep our spirits strong - to seek out all that feeds our souls and connects us to God and each other. To take more time for prayer. More time to care for our bodies. Time for sleep. Time for play. We can make more calls, send more letters. We can give generously. We can be more willing to accept help when it is offered. Indeed love and beauty will sustain us in this time. 

God is always present, always inviting us into deeper relationship. We need only keep our hearts open to receive that invitation. May we have the courage and the grace to do so this Advent and always. AMEN. 

Seek God, Beloved

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Ambrose, December 7, 2020

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Our saint for today only became a bishop because everyone was fighting. Our Scriptures are full of stories of people being beaten and cut into pieces. Blood. Abominations. Gah. Enough already God. Don’t you know we are in the middle of a pandemic? Don’t you know that we have plenty of terrifying news headlines, without needing to read about gruesome horrors in our sacred texts. We are not currently in need of reminding that humanity is capable of terrible things or how fragile and uncertain life is. We are surrounded by that truth. 

We need solace. We need comfort. We need hope. There is a long road ahead of us out of our current crisis. It may even get worse before it gets better. We need the joy, the sense of possibility, the light that will sustain us through the present darkness. And that seems hard to find today. Until I go back to our Psalm. 

Our portion for today closes with the line, “You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." *

Your face, Lord, will I seek.” Ah there it is. The reminder to connect with God. To connect with our heart. To see God. 

I am reminded of the closing song of Les Miserables, when Jean Valjean is dying. The line that has stayed with me, perhaps more than any other line from that musical: “And remember the truth that once was spoken, To love another person is to see the face of God!” Yes. Indeed. That is where we meet God. In each other. To seek the face of God is to seek out Love. It is to seek out connection. It is to be present with one another. 

The griefs are many in this time. They are personal. They are communal. They are global. But we do not bear them alone. It is Advent. It is the time we are reminded that God is with us. Emmanuel. God with us. And we know this truth because we can see God in the faces of those we love. We can bear these challenges, because burdens become so much lighter when they are shared. 

Take heart my friends. Even in the midst of all the challenges. Even in the midst of the grief that weighs heavily on our hearts these days. Even when we cannot be physically present with one another. The connection remains. The truth remains. The Love is there. We can see each other. We can see God. We can know, in a smile. In a laugh. In a kind word. In a gaze. That we are beloved. We are beloved of God. No trial or tribulation can change that fact. 

Be present to your own heart in these days. Listen for God’s voice. Seek God out. Reach out. Connect with those you love, so that you may show them God’s face. And be present to them, so that you too may see God. And God’s presence will carry us today and always. Amen.

Ease and security in the midst of chaos

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Commemoration of Nicholas Ferrar

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Our text from Proverbs today closes with these lines . . . “but those who listen to me will be secure and will live at ease, without dread of disaster.’” Those lines got me thinking. Will be secure and will live at ease. Ooh. That sounds wonderful. Especially today. There is much that is weighing on our hearts and souls these days. It might be challenges in our own lives, our own families, or our communities. Or perhaps it is just the sheer volume of heart wrenching news headlines that come at us. A global pandemic. Oh, and it is the holiday season, which can come with its own set of complicated family dynamics and challenging memories to navigate. 

At first, those lines make me want to know where I find that magical elixir. Where is the way forward that does not have so many challenges? That life, that one that looks like a permanent vacation on a tropical island. Where do I find that? 

But then I catch myself. I catch my magical thinking. I catch my wishing for something that I know is impossible. A life free from suffering. Proverbs is not giving us the recipe for a life free from suffering, it is offering us an invitation to find peace and security, to find ease and comfort in the midst of challenges. 

While I think it is right and meet to be wishing and working for the outside circumstances to be different. I am inordinately grateful for all of the ways and all of the people who are doing that. All the hard work that is happening - particularly by medical and scientific professionals to bring healing and relief. We can and should do much to alleviate unnecessary suffering - from illness, from injustice. 

And we cannot and will not eliminate everything. So, we have the invitation to find peace and comfort in the midst of it all. I think this means having practices that help us stay grounded and connected to God. It can be tempting to think this means we have to be like Nicholas Ferrar whom we remember today. That we have to found a new religious community and try to pray without ceasing. I am sure most of us are too exhausted to even begin to contemplate that, let alone attempt it. 

This is when I find it helpful to remember that with the right mindset, much of our daily life can be prayer. Prayer is not limited to being on our knees in the right place with the right words. We can live prayerfully wherever we are, whatever we are doing.

A number of years ago, I read a book that I continue to go back to when I am struggling with prayer or feeling like I am “failing” at spiritual practices. The book is called Sabbath in the Suburbs. It is written by Mary Ann McKibben Dana, a Presbyterian Pastor who lives in suburban DC. She and her engineer husband have three kids in elementary and middle school. They undertake the goal of practicing a sabbath every week for a year. They choose Saturdays because that is the only common day off. The book chronicles their efforts. There is a moment from the chapter on Advent that has stayed with me. Mary Ann looks at her combined to do list of church and family tasks and realizes that a full on sabbath where you stay home and really rest is just not possible that day. So, she decides she is going to go through her task list “sabbathly.” Mary Ann reminds us that it is our attitude, our disposition that matters. Real life happens. We are not always able to live up to the lofty goals we set for our own spiritual journeys. But the realities of life do not mean we have to beat ourselves up for failure. We can simply adjust our mindset and seek to carry the spirit of sabbath with us. If our mindset is in the right place, even our tasks can be prayer.

We can honor the legacy of Nicholas, a legacy of prayer and devotion. We can discover what it means to find security and ease. Not because the world has somehow dramatically changed around us, but because we have changed. The transformation has happened in our hearts and minds. Even in the midst of whatever crises and challenges we may face, we will know that peace of God, because we have kept ourselves grounded and connected to God and to the practices that restore our souls. AMEN. 

Waiting for Transformation

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban’s, Simsbury, CT 

Morning Prayer, Advent 1, November 29, 2020

Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18;Isaiah 64:1-9; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

“And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.” Keep awake. Really? That’s the last word of our Gospel for today? Keep awake? Well, I don’t know about you all, but that is not really what I was hoping for today. An admonition? About staying awake? Dear God, can’t you see how exhausted we all are. We are weary. And the days are short. We need more sleep. There are even days when we would like to just say, “Could someone please wake me up when this is over?” We want a break. We want things to be different and all we are told is to stay awake? Where is the comfort in that? 

Actually, when I pause, when I take a moment to breathe and reflect, I find myself wondering if our text is offering us an invitation rather than an admonition? What if it is not a harsh command to keep going past our breaking point? What if it is an invitation, a gentle reminder to pay attention because God is at work in the world? An invitation to remember that there is light in the darkness. Always. 

It would be easy to see this text as an admonition. It is Advent after all. A season that is not just about waiting for Christmas. It is also a time when we are invited to take the long view, the cosmic view. A time when we are invited to see that there is more to life than the here and now. A time when we are invited to remember that our actions, our choices matter. They matter to God and the matter to the world. How we live our lives matters, because we have the power to make a difference in the world. We have the power, the opportunity to be a part of building up God’s kingdom. We have the opportunity to be a part of transforming the world. 

But we cannot do that if we are asleep. We cannot do that if we fail to pay attention. We cannot do that if we choose to turn away from God. 

And the fact that we can choose to turn away from God, that we have that power, brings me to a description of Hell that I find very compelling. In his book, Tokens of Trust, which is an exposition of the Apostle’s Creed, Rowan Williams describes “Hell” as God eternally knocking on a door we are struggling to hold shut. Oh. That is a bit different than brimstone and lakes of fire. Hell, judgment, separation from God are not some threat looming over our heads. Hell is a choice we make. A place we find, because we have chosen to turn away from God’s ever present love. 

Now, you may be thinking, phew! That’s easy. I mean, why would we turn away from God? But here’s the thing, and why I think we need the invitation from today’s Gospel. We need to be alert. It is not always easy to see the path that leads us toward God. 

Sometimes we get stuck because we are exhausted and we cannot think straight. Sometimes we are full of fear and anxiety and we want to do something quickly, really just do anything to lessen our fear or anxiety. Sometimes we are stuck in a pattern that no longer serves us. Sometimes we are angry, and we just want someone else to feel our pain. For any number of reasons, it is certainly possible, sometimes even seems easier, for us to choose the wrong path. To choose a path that takes us away from God.

So what might it look like for us to stay alert? What might it look like for us to pay attention? I realize this sounds like one more thing to add to an already long to do list in this Advent season. This complicated, confusing, exhausting Advent season that does not look like any we have known before. But here’s the thing. I actually think that figuring out how we “keep awake,” and how we “stay alert” might actually make everything else better. 

We do all know how to do this. We know the practices that help us. We just need reminding. I know I do. I can myself far down a road of anxious what ifs or so wound up in my to do list. I need help. I need those beloved people in my life, who say, “Molly, slow down.” Those voices who remind me to take care of my physical and spiritual well-being. Those people who say, “Wait. How can I help?” Whose wisdom helps me to see the bigger picture or a way forward I had not considered. 

It’s Advent. And we are waiting. We are waiting for Christmas. We are waiting for the transformation of the world. And here’s the thing. This is not, should not, be sitting around twiddling our thumbs kind of waiting. We are not powerless. We have the opportunity each and every day in the choices we make, in how we live our lives - from simple smiles and acts of kindness, to where we spend our money, to how we use our power and influence in decision making, in the connections we make - we have the opportunity to be a part of building up the kingdom. We have the opportunity to make a difference, even on a small scale - it matters. 

There is our hope. Change is possible. Darkness does not last. It will not last because we can bring more light. Together. Each day, by choosing to draw closer to God. Amen. 

 

A little bit of light, a little bit of hope

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Grace Episcopal Church, Hartford, CT 

Advent 1A, December 1, 2019

Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44; Psalm 122

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Beginning when I was in third grade, my mom and I started a tradition we called “People Trips.” I loved to read biographies. We would spend the winter reading biographies about someone and then plan a trip to where they lived and worked. We did trips on John F. Kennedy, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lucy Maud Montgomery (author of Anne of Green Gables), Helen Keller, Winston Churchill, and Eleanor Roosevelt. That last one being  was probably my favorite and the most memorable. In addition to visiting Hyde Park and Valkill, we spent one afternoon riding in a cab around New York City. My mom had dutifully made a list of all the places Franklin and Eleanor had lived in the city. And then we ended with a stop to her memorial on Riverside Drive at the United Nations. Emblazoned on that memorial is a quote from Adalai Stevenson about Eleanor. He said, “She would rather light a candle than curse the darkness.” Indeed. 

As I read our readings for today, I could not help but think of this quote. Paul, in our letter from Romans, and our Collect invite us to “put on the armor of light.” I don’t know about you all, but I really appreciate that our readings this time of year focus on increasing the light. Of course, for those of us in the Northern Hempisphere, this fits exactly with what we are experiencing. We are only a few short weeks away from the longest night of the year. We are quite literally aware of the increasing darkness, and I would guess that most of us are craving more light. 

There can be a certain coziness to this time of year. More time spent inside, reading, cooking, playing board games. More sleep! But I would imagine that for most of us, it isn’t just the literal daylight that we crave. We crave a world that more deeply reflects the light of the Gospel. There are acrimonious divisions among our politicians, we are country deeply affected by the sin of racism, there is so much violence in our headlines, natural disasters seem to be an almost weekly occurrence. If we want to point to things that make the world feel dark and scary, there is no shortage. And it would be easy to just keep up the litany of complaints, to keep pointing out what is wrong with the world. It is the pastime of humanity from the dawn of time, complaining about the state of the world (see Genesis 3 and Adam and Eve’s first conversation with God, see the Israelites grumbling in the wilderness, etc.) You get the idea. Complaining is easy. 

Signing up to be a part of the solution? Take the initiative to choose a different path? Those are more challenging. Sin and evil are real. The devil likes nothing more than to paralyze with fear or to  get us to think that we are powerless to change something. We are not powerless. Not by any means. And we are going to be held accountable for our actions. That is what our Gospel reminds us of today. What we say and do matters. How we live our lives matters. We have power. We have a choice. We can give in to complaining or we can choose to live lives that light up the world. We can choose to live lives that share the light of Christ, share the Good News of God’s love with the world. We don’t have to do everything or fix everything. We do not bear this light alone. We just need to do our part. 

Think about the image of a candle. Think of how one small flame pushes back the darkness. Think about what happens when you use that single flame to light other candles. Pretty soon the whole room is full of light. All it takes is a little bit of light, a little bit of hope. 

So, my invitation to you today is to reflect on how you can put on your armor of light, of how you can stay focused on light and hope, even when we feel profoundly aware of the darkness that surrounds us. I invite you to think about, and keep at the forefront of your mind, whatever it is that fills you with hope. Maybe it is time spent with children? Maybe it is witnessing or doing small, simple acts of  kindness? Maybe it is knowing what a difference the feeding ministry and Christmas giving programs make here at Grace? Maybe it is a conversation with a good friend whose presence and voice just lift your spirits? Maybe it is the beauty of creation? Maybe it is time spent in prayer or reading Scripture? Whatever it is in your life that brings you joy and fills you with hope, I invite you to do more of it. To help you have a tangible reminder to have more light in your life and to be God’s light to the world, I have baskets of candles in the Narthex and here on the front pew. It is just a small battery operated tealight (so you can use it anywhere), and I hope that it will be easy to place on a windowsill or bedside table. Somewhere you see it often. May it be a reminder of the power of a single flame to push back the darkness. May it be a reminder that there is always a reason to hope. AMEN.

Life isn’t always orderly

Embed from Getty Images

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD
Christ Church Cathedral, Hartford, CT
Advent IV, December 24, 2017
2 Samuel 7:1-11,16; Canticle 15; Romans 16:25-27; Luke 1:26-38

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

When I was a kid I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s farm house. One of our favorite evening activities was to watch old films, and yes I do mean films-  the kind that required a projector. Of course, she had family ones from when she or my dad were young, but our favorites were the Charlie Chaplin ones. We thought they were so funny, especially when we got to watch them go backwards. When the ice cream magically went up out of the women’s dress and back up on to Charlie’s cone on the balcony above. We also thought it was really funny when the projector was set too fast and everything happened in double or triple time. Today might feel a little bit as though someone set the projector on high speed and is running it backwards and forwards on us.

Here we are on the fourth Sunday in Advent, at least for a few more hours. In our Gospel reading today we hear of the Angel Gabriel telling Mary that she will be Jesus’ mother. But before we even heard that Gospel, in the place of the psalm, we said the Magnificat, that wonderful passage from Luke that is Mary’s song when she goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth during the sixth month of her pregnancy. For those of who return in about 12 or 14 hours, we will be celebrating the birth of Jesus. Feel like you have liturgical whiplash yet? Exhausted yet?

I don’t know about you, but I find myself wanting to know where the pause button is. Wait, I cry. How is it already the fourth Sunday of Advent. It feels like we have barely started. How can we possibly go from a not yet pregnant Mary to the birth of Jesus in a 24 hour period. Isn’t Advent supposed to be about contemplation and preparation? I find myself wanting to protest and argue with the lectionary committee and with our calendar. Why did we have to have two Sundays of John the Baptist preparing the way for Jesus’ ministry and then only get to hear about Mary and the Angel Gabriel the morning before we celebrate the birth of Jesus? But then I stop and take a breath, and I laugh. I laugh because it is like real life. How often have we had days or weeks or even months in our lives where things felt backwards and upside down or like they were moving too fast? Turns out it is far more like real life to have things a bit mixed up and out of order as they are today.

Ultimately, I find it comforting. If we are feeling as though life is mixed up or out of order or things are not at all going the way we planned, we are not alone. In fact we are in remarkable company. Do you think Mary was planning on having a baby that year? Considering she and Joseph weren’t even married yet, it is not likely. She had not expected an Angel to appear to her and inform that she was going to have a baby, and not just any baby, God’s Son. And she certainly wasn’t planning on giving birth in a stable miles and miles from her family.

We are in good company when things are not going as we had hoped. And there is an invitation here, today, in our story of Mary and the Angel Gabriel. It is an invitation of acceptance. Invitation to be alert to the ways God shows up unexpectedly in our lives, and to pay attention when that happens. An invitation to go with the flow and trust that there is more at work than we can know. An invitation to believe the Angels who show up in our lives and invite us to follow God on paths that seem far different from what we had planned. Today we are invited to be like Mary, and to say “Yes” to God. It is an invitation to take a deep breath and to be present in the moment. An invitation to pay attention.

There is another invitation in our texts today. It is an invitation to action. It is an invitation to be about living out lives that reflect the desires of God. It is the invitation to bring the world and our own lives more in line with the Magnificat. A world where the proud are scattered, where the mighty are cast down, and the rich sent away empty. A world where the lowly are lifted up, the hungry are filled and the mercy of God is known everywhere.

I don’t know how many of you regularly pray the Daily Office or have the privilege of regularly attending Evening Prayer or Evensong services, but if you do, you will notice that the Magnificat shows up with great regularity. I don’t think that is an accident. Hearing, praying, saying, singing the Magnificat is always a good idea. We need it to be a centerpiece in our lives and in our faith. We need to always be reminded of God’s desires for the world and for those of us who follow Jesus. We need to be reminded that filling the hungry, lifting up our neighbors in need and promoting the mercy of God are what we are to be about each and every day.

As this day reminds us, things will not always happen the way we would like or in the particular order we would like. Sometimes it will feel as though things are moving far too fast or far too slow. Sometimes it will seem as though things are all mixed up. But that is okay. We are not alone. Some of the best stories started out in confusing and unexpected ways. Today’s readings are a prime example of that. And so we are invited to be like Mary, and to trust in the workings of the Holy Spirit. Even when we feel scared or uncertain. God is present. God is at work. The question for us is, will we be able to live more fully in the present moment, so that we might join with God in that holy work? I sure hope so.

AMEN.