God in the unexpected

 

The Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Christmas Eve, December 24, 2024

Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14(15-20); Psalm 96

In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen. 

One of my favorite Bible professors in seminary frequently reminded us “Don’t confuse familiarity with understanding.” I think tonight’s Scriptures might be the easiest ones with which to do that. We know this story so well. There’s a census. Joseph and Mary travel by donkey. There’s no room at the Inn, so Mary gives birth in a stable. Angels come to the shepherds who are in awe, and go to visit the new baby. Mary treasures their words in her heart. 

It is a beautiful and familiar story. And with its familiarity we can lose sight of some of its most profound truths. We can forget the significance of how God chose to show up on this night. God did not make an appearance as a full grown man who could immediately begin his preaching and teaching ministry. God did not show up as a prince born in a palace. God did not come in any form that society would have recognized as powerful or influential. God came in the form of an infant. A helpless, innocent child who was completely dependent on those around him for everything - food, shelter, care, love, safety - everything. And God came to poor parents who were ostracized from their community for the scandal of Mary’s pregnancy. And God came precisely at the time of a census which meant Jesus couldn’t even be born at home or at an Inn. He was born in a stable. 

Any of you who have spent time on a farm know that barns are not always the cleanest of places nor do they have the freshest air. The peaceful tableau of a crèche scene or a Christmas card can sanitize out the muck, the smell, the close quarters, and the noise of the animals. 

So God came into the world in a messy way to the least likely of people. And then to whom did God announce this glorious event? The emperor in Rome? The local governor? The priests in the temple in Jerusalem? Anyone in a position of power and privilege? Nope. The angels showed up to shepherds grazing their flocks in the nearby hills. Poor laborers who had no social status to speak of. Again God showed up in an unexpected place, at an unexpected time to the least likely candidates. 

So what does all this mean of us? Other than hopefully helping us to feel a little more deeply the significance and the impact of the Christmas story - to not just nod and smile or stop listening because we know just how it goes. I actually think there is a profound lesson in this story for us, here, now, on this night in 2024. 

I learned a new word recently. It’s “Refugia.” Maybe some of you know it? It’s the natural phenomenon that occurs in the wake of a disaster where there are little pockets of safety, of refuge, where life clings on and from which new life begins. I learned it in a book entitled Refugia Faith by Debra Rienstra. She opens the book by talking about the eruption of Mt. St. Helens in 1980. At the time scientists thought it would be generations and generations before any life returned to the mountainsides. But within only a few short decades, the mountainsides were covered in grasses and flowers with trees growing and a vibrant animal life. That speedy return to health and vitality for the mountain was possible because of little pockets of “Refugia” - little nooks and crannies sheltered by rocks to tree roots or under moss that were protected from the shower of hot ash that coated everything for miles around in 1980. 

New life was possible. Transformation was possible because life clung on and sprouted in tiny and unexpected ways. Hmm. Hope and new life because of something tiny and unexpected . . .sounds a bit like our Christmas story doesn’t it? 

And that is indeed the message I hope we will carry with us from this night. Hope and new life are always possible. Always. It is just that we often have to look for it in the most unexpected places or the most unexpected ways. 

I have no doubt that there are many of you who are struggling (or who know people who are) on this night and in this season. Whether it’s the challenge of navigating a first Christmas without a beloved person. Or perhaps navigating unexpected health or financial challenges. Or maybe it is just that the needs of the world and the divisiveness of our political realm are weighing on us. Maybe we are just weary and anxious. We don’t know what the future holds. We are longing for a sense of peace and stability that seems elusive. 

No matter what it is that has made our hearts heavy in recent times, I hope we can hold on to the beautiful truth of our Christmas story. I hope that we can be on the lookout for the pockets and the signs of Refugia in our own lives. There is hope. There is light. There is possibility for us all. 

It is not likely to come neatly wrapped in a bow under the tree. It will come in messy and human ways that are unexpected. A surprising bit of good news. A call from an old friend. An extra few minutes to rest and breathe deeply. A conversation with someone whose wisdom and sense of humor always help us see our way out of our current struggles. The gift of time and connection, so that we can remember daily that we are loved, and that God has a long and glorious history of making God’s presence known in the world in the most unexpected ways. If we keep our eyes, our ears, and most importantly our hearts, open then we too can join the shepherds in awe and gratitude. Amen.  

Christmas Day Homily 2023

St. James’s, West Hartford, CT

Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.

Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14(15-20); Psalm 96

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the hallway at the Holy Family Retreat Center just up the road, there is a small painting that caught my eye years ago and has stayed with me. It is an image of Joseph cradling the baby Jesus while Mary sleeps behind him. 

It is an image that seems to pick up where our Gospel story ends. It has been quite a night. Mary has given birth. There has been a multitude of the heavenly host in the countryside. The shepherds have come to visit. It is just what you want when you are two new parents trying to take care of a baby in a barn - a whole crowd of visitors you have never seen before! 

Of course, this is no ordinary baby. Mary and Joseph already knew that, so they aren’t surprised to see the shepherds, and Mary treasures all the words in her heart. She knows who this baby is and what a difference he will make in the world. 

So there she is peacefully sleeping after all the hub-bub. I imagine Joseph is rejoicing that he finally got Jesus to sleep too. Ah, he thinks, a few minutes of quiet. The painting captures this beautiful, peaceful moment. And we know it is only a moment. 

Our Gospel tells us that just a little while earlier there was joyful chaos and the stable was full of visitors. And anyone who has spent time around an infant knows that it does not stay endlessly quiet. Sleep does not come in glorious eight hour chunks in the beginning. Soon Jesus will wake up and need to be fed or changed or soothed. 

That bit about being fully human and fully God - yup, he needed milk and diapers like every other baby ever. Of course Jesus had his blissfully peaceful moments where everyone just oohed and ahhed at the beautiful baby. And he had his very loud and upset moments where no doubt Mary and Joseph wondered what they were doing wrong and when was this baby going to stop screaming. 

I think it is that both/and that is so important for us to hold on to this Christmas. That peaceful moment captured by that painting could make it seem all perfect and divine. And yet that doesn’t tell the whole story. It is much more complicated. Christmas was messy. Birth is messy. Babies are messy. They are also beautiful and inspire in us a level of love we did not know we had. 

The Christmas story is one of breathtaking beauty and life-changing truths. It is also a story of the mess of human existence, of suffering, exclusion, and oppression. 

No doubt our own Christmases have been, are, and will be complicated too. There will be those moments where we wish we could just stop time and savor all the beauty and love around us. There will be moments where it seems like chaos reigns or nothing is going as we had hoped or we are just profoundly aware of what or who is missing in our lives. 

It is okay. Christmas doesn’t have to look like the perfection on someone else’s Christmas card or Instagram feed. It can be messy and complicated and beautiful - sometimes all at once. That’s the thing. That’s life. That is the world into which Jesus was born. That’s what God chose. God chose to come be right there with us in the complicated and the messy. 

God chose to come into the mess. That is the Good News of great joy. God is with us. Emmanuel. God’s love is with us. And God’s love is more powerful than any pain or suffering we might encounter. God’s love is louder than the chaos. It is stronger than our grief. 

Maybe that’s why Mary was sleeping so soundly. She knew who Jesus was and that his presence, God’s love incarnate, would make all the difference for the whole world.

So however your Christmas is going and however it continues, I hope you will hold the mess and the beauty together. I hope you will remember that God’s love is as real in our lives as it was for Mary and Joseph that first night. I hope you will remember that Love makes all the difference. Today and always. Merry Christmas. Amen. 

Caring for our well being

 

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

September 9, 2021

Martyrs of Memphis

Psalm 116:1–8; 2 Corinthians 1:3-5; John 12:24-28

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. 

Today we remember Constance and her companions. We remember those who stayed in Memphis to care for those who were ill in the midst of a yellow fever epidemic in 1878. It is a week for remembering and honoring those who are called to places of tragedy and disaster. On Saturday we will honor the 20th Anniversary of 9/11 and all the lives lost that day. It seems particularly meaningful and important to honor all those first responders who walked into the building that day. All those who sought to help. All those who willingly put their lives at risk to help others. 

And of course there are thousands and thousands of first responders and health care workers who do this everyday. Thankfully the advent of PPE and advances in medical technology have meant that nurses and doctors can care for people with infectious disease and have a very low risk of infection. Don’t we wish we could send some PPE and an infectious disease handbook back in time to Constance and her companions. 

So in addition to the value of medical advances and PPE, what else might we learn from Constance and her companions? I think we can certainly be inspired by their sense of call and dedication. It is indeed noble and holy to see a need and respond, to give what we can to help others. There is that oft cited quote from Frederick Buechner about how our vocation is found where our passion meets the needs of the world. 

And yet, I do not believe we are called to mimic or follow in their footsteps of martyrdom, despite the Gospel’s talk of losing one’s life. While it is certainly true that there are things worth dying for, I do not believe we need to seek them out or continually put ourselves at that level of risk. Thankfully, I think most of us are not in daily situations with anywhere near the level of risk that Constance and her companions faced.

Of course, I do not think that makes us immune from the more metaphorical sort of martyrdom or the slow martyrdom that can come from pushing ourselves too hard for too long. There are real risks to our health and well being in not getting enough sleep, enough water and good food, enough exercise, in not taking care of our bodies and our souls. 

I think we all know the surge of adrenaline that gets us through a crisis. When it matters. When the need is urgent. When we are inspired, we can do more than we thought possible. That is a wonderful gift of evolution and biology. But that is not a reality or a pace that is sustainable for the long term. We need to pace ourselves. 

We have a long road ahead of us. We are not going to be able to put COVID behind us as quickly as we might have hoped. And the realities of systemic injustice in our society and our world are not going to go away overnight either. The world needs us. It needs our gifts and skills. It needs our passion. It needs our faith. It needs the truth of the Incarnation and the truth of the Resurrection. It needs to know that God is with us. It needs to know that Love always has the last word. 

But we are not going to serve anyone if we work to the point of exhaustion. Or if we become so overwhelmed by the headlines or the magnitude of what lies ahead of us. Side note, that if you feel overwhelmed, Nadia Bolz-Weber had a great blog post recently about why we feel overwhelmed: https://thecorners.substack.com/p/if-you-cant-take-in-anymore-theres

So my friends, let us take inspiration from our faith, from the reminder that our consolation is in Christ, it is not contingent on anything in this world. The truths of our faith stand no matter what the headlines say. We can carry those truths with us as we go about the work to which we are called. And as we go about our work in the days ahead may we honor Constance and her companions by seeking to care for our well being. May we strive to find time each day to do something that strengthens our faith, that reconnects us to God and to each other. And may doing so keep us grounded and filled with hope. AMEN.