When Re-Gifting Is A Blessing

 

This sermon was preached on the Third Sunday of Advent. A video of the sermon may be found by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

 

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

Canticle 9

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

A joke to begin: Did you know that "On Jordan's Banks the Baptist Cry" has another verse?

On Jordan's Banks the Baptists Cry,

If I were Baptist so would I.

They cannot dance,

They have no fun

That's why I am Episcopalian.

Okay, sorry to all Baptists and recovering Baptists, but it's too good not to tell given the readings and our Sequence Hymn. 

Happy Third Sunday of Advent! As we look at our countdown timer—also known as the Advent Wreath—we note that we have arrived at the “pink” candle. The churchy name for this color is rose. Often because of this we get confused and think that since we sing “Lo, How A Rose E’re Blooming” about Mary that today is Mary’s Sunday. It’s not. 

 

In our Advent art class, we have noted that Mary’s color is not pink, but blue. This Third Sunday of Advent with its rose candle was originally meant to be a break for those particularly austere monastics and Christians who took on particular disciplines to prepare for the coming of Christ at Christmas. Thus, when it was said in Latin the first words of the service were “Gaudete,” which means “Rejoice!” Of course, when the Gospel reading is this—we might struggle with the connection to rejoicing.

 

Plus, as we inch ever closer to kneeling before the makeshift crib to behold the Christ child, if you are anything like me, the distractions of final Christmas preparations are probably buzzing around your minds. You may have come into Holy Apostles this morning juggling thoughts of Amazon carts, grocery lists, and travel plans. But after hearing John the Baptist’s fiery words, your focus may have shifted. "Brood of vipers?" "Unquenchable fire?" This Gospel reading doesn’t exactly pair well with sugarplums and twinkle lights. How do we get from the wilderness of repentance to the wonder of Bethlehem?

 

Today’s Gospel, like a splash of cold water, shakes us awake. But let’s be honest—most of us don’t like being told we’re wrong. As a child, I hated getting in trouble. Scratch that—I hated getting caught. And the one person I really didn’t want on my case was my maternal grandfather, affectionally called “Bubba.” 

Bubba’s go-to discipline line, “Do we need to go have a chat in the locker room?”, was enough to make me snap to attention. It was his own call to repentance, and while it wasn’t fun, it was formative.

 

This mirrors what’s happening in today’s Gospel. The crowds flocked to John the Baptist, ready to hear the truth even when it stung. They weren’t deterred by being called snakes or by his ominous warnings. Instead, they leaned in and asked, “What then should we do?”

 

Advent asks us to ponder the same question. What should we do, knowing that God’s kingdom is drawing near? John’s advice is profoundly simple yet deeply challenging: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” In other words, share generously. Act justly. Live humbly. These are the fruits of repentance.

 

Let’s imagine John’s advice in a modern context. Picture a lawyer stepping forward: “What should I do?” John might reply, “Ease up on the billboards. Take on pro bono cases. And laugh at the lawyer jokes—they’re not going away.” Next comes a CEO: “What should I do?” John might say, “Skip your bonus this year. Start a fund for underpaid teachers. Live within one of your employees’ means instead of your own.” Finally, a priest—maybe one you know—asks, “What should I do?” I suspect John would answer, “Stop talking about how busy you are. Slow down. Tend to your flock and your family.”

 

What might John say to you? It’s an uncomfortable question but a necessary one. As much as we try, we won’t get everything right before we meet the Christ child. And that’s okay, because the good news is that God meets us with mercy, fairness, and love.

 

This Advent, we are called to re-gift the gifts God has freely given us. Share mercy with someone who has hurt you. Act fairly when it’s easier to cut corners. Show love to someone who might feel unlovable. These aren’t grand gestures reserved for saints; they’re small, everyday acts that make God’s love tangible in the world.

 

So, as you return to your Christmas list, remember this: Re-gifting isn’t a bad idea when the gifts are mercy, fairness, and love. Those are lovely gifts to pick up on this Rose-candled Gaudete Sunday. This day, this Christmas, and always may we bear fruit worthy of repentance, pointing ourselves and others toward the joy of Christ’s coming. Amen.

Who Are You?

 

John the Baptizer/Baptist/Son of Elizabeth and Zechariah/Witness dunking Jesus!

 

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

John 1:6-8,19-28

Psalm 126

©The Rev. Seth Olson 2023

Holy God, the Word made flesh, the light in the darkness, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

There’s a meme that has been circling around my social media feeds for the last week. Jesus is coming up out of the baptismal waters of the River Jordan. John the Baptist is holding the soaked Jesus who is clad in an all-white vestment. Above the two are Jesus’ words: “You could have just poured some water over my head without trying to drown me!” To which, John replied: “Sorry, man, but I’m John the Baptist. You must have been looking for John the Episcopalian.”

This is funny, right? And, not only because it pokes fun at our own religious sensibilities—even if we at All Saints utilized a baptismal pool at the Easter Vigil earlier this year. This joke also makes me chuckle because it points towards how John is portrayed in Holy Scripture and beyond. More on that in a moment, but first I have a question.

Who are you? It’s one of the most important questions we ever ponder throughout our lives. If I were to ask you to answer this now, how would you reply?

Often when I respond to this question about my identity, I end up talking about the roles I fulfill in life, instead of who I am. It’s easy to do, our roles are important. Yes, I am a child, a sibling, a spouse, a parent, a friend, a clergy person, a neighbor, etc., but these roles are not all I am.

John the Episcopalian… I mean Baptist knew this—even though we can’t even talk about him without saying what his role was. Still, if we look closer at John, his portrayal in the Gospel accounts, and how he responded to this important question of “who are you?”, we will discover something of crucial importance about our true identities.

Now, a few weeks ago, I mentioned my New Testament professor, the Very Rev. Dr. Cynthia Kittredge, and that she warned my seminary class about making Gospel Stew—when we mix together the four canonical accounts of Christ Jesus’ earthly ministry. Professor Kittredge was wise for instructing soon-to-be clergy to stay away from crossing the Gospel streams to form one, unified version. I believe this because when faithfully reading these different accounts, we discover they are so drastically different, which we can clearly see when examining the character of John who appears in all four Gospel accounts.

In Mark, John was the Baptizer. He dunked Jesus in the mysterious, bap-tismal waters, he was arrested, he intrigued Herod, but was later beheaded by the political leader before his disciples buried him.

In Matthew, John was the Baptist. His message was of fiery repentance. He was confrontational to the religious leaders of the day. Matthew depicted John as one who was curious about Jesus’ mission and the former gave way to the latter upon hearing about the fruits of his work. Again, Herod took John’s life.

In Luke, John was not described as baptizer or the Baptist, but instead was situated within his family—he was the Son of the Temple Priest Zechariah. He leapt in his mother Elizabeth’s womb when the pregnant Mary came to visit her relative. As an adult, John went into the wilderness to proclaim a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Like the other synoptic Gospels (Matthew and Mark), Luke employed a flashback sequence to explain how Herod, under political pressure, beheaded the prophet John.

In John’s Gospel account though, John “the Baptist” does no baptizing, at least not to Jesus. Instead, John here has a different role. He is John the witness. As you may recall, the Gospel according to John begins with a cosmic hymn about the Christ. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Christ was the Word through whom all things came into being—Christ was the light, which no darkness could extinguish.

Strangely in the middle of this beautiful hymn about Christ there’s a mention of a man name John. The cosmic song delineates that John was not God, nor the word, nor the light. We heard this as the beginning of today’s Gospel lesson: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” We can see John’s role as witness here. As one scholar put it, “The principal vocation of John in this Gospel then is to bear witness, a verb that occurs thirty-three times in the Fourth Gospel and only twice in the entirety of the Synoptic Gospels.”[1] John not the baptizer, nor the Baptist, nor the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah, but John the Witness. This was his role, but what about the deeper question of his identity? Let’s see how John answered the question, “Who are you?”

John was asked by the religious leaders of his day this question. It’s remarkable that John’s movement of baptism and repentance was raising enough of a fuss that those in power came to wonder what was going on out in the wilderness. However, when asked, “Who are you?” John avoided one of the greatest temptations all of us face. Instead of hogging undue credit or speaking more highly than was warranted, John knew exactly who he was and who he wasn’t. He was not the Messiah, he was not Elijah, nor was he a prophet. So, the religious authorities as well as the band the Who really want to know… “Who are you?” (who who, who who!)

The reply to this question about identity points back to words from Isaiah, and as Cindy pointed out last week, the prophet we describe as Second Isaiah. John utilized the prophetic words, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” When pushed to talk about if he was just this voice out in the wilderness, then why was he baptizing, John revealed that his identity was not merely attached to his role, either as witness or baptizer. At his core the most important thing to John was his relationship with the one to come.

John’s identity grew from his connection to God and to the Christ. He knew at the core of who he was that his whole life was to point to the one who was before him and was coming after him—paradoxical, right? Who John was could not simply be answered with a role like witness or Baptist, but instead his essence emanated from his relationship with God. This truth is not unique to John. Next Sunday, we will hear something very similar in the witness of Mary the Godbearer. And, this is true of our own lives.

When asked about who we are, we might start with the roles we play, the work we do, or the principles we adhere to in this life; however, what is of more importance are the relationships we form—and primarily the relationships we have with God, neighbor, and self. The Ubuntu theology, which emerges out of Africa, puts this very succinctly—I am because we are. Who I am cannot be untangled from who we are. Despite the best efforts of our society to make everything about the individual, what matters most is how God unites us all one to another.

Speaking of being united one to another, I have been gifted with the past five years of ministry here at All Saints. For this time, I will forever be grateful. And while I have served in a role as your priest, as the Associate Rector, the role is only part of the larger truth. I am because we are. Despite my ever-nearing departure from this role, what gives me hope, strength, and solace, is that no matter how far away we might be geographically (and I am only going to Hoover, friends), we are all forever united in Christ.

That’s the truth! Somehow mystically, we will be forever one. In the mystery of Holy Baptism, we are grafted into the Body of Christ, adopted as God’s children, and marked as Christ’s own forever. When we share in the Body and Blood at God’s altar table, we are again united, as we live into the saying: you are what you eat—we eat and become the Body of Christ. Thus through these sacraments, we can never be separated. And, we will always be united in our truest identity: God’s beloveds.

So, as we move through this next week towards the wonder of Christ’s Incarnation in Jesus of Nazareth, as we spend the seven days ahead holding onto the truth of Advent—that God is coming to us, as we prepare ourselves to receive the Christ child, may we remember who we truly are—God’s beloveds. As one of my mentors, the Rev. Annwn Myers, is fond of saying—Remember who you are and whose you are. You are God’s beloved and for you I say, “Thanks be to God.” Amen.

---

[1] Gary W. Charles, “John 1:6-8, 19-28 Exegetical Perspective Commentary” in Feasting On The Word, eds. David L. Barnett and Barbara Brown Taylor. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2008).

Bearing Christ

An icon of the Visitation of the Theotokos, the God-bearer

 

Micah 5:2-5a

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)

Canticle 15 (or 3)

© 2021 Seth Olson

Video of this sermon may be found here.

Emmanuel, God with us, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

I grew up going to a one-of-a-kind Episcopal Church—St. Andrew’s Parish in Southside Birmingham. Unique in its high church “smells and bells” style of worship—and its radical sense of hospitality—after going to church with a couple of my friends I realized my church was… different.

Instead of having a normal children’s Christmas pageant on Christmas Eve, St. Andrew’s had a very brief children’s play with only Mary and Joseph on the night before Christmas. “Why?” you might ask. Well, because at St. Andrew’s we waited until Epiphany when the wise men showed up to tell the full story of Jesus’ birth. Every year in the Epiphany pageant growing up I wanted to play the same part—not Joseph or a shepherd, nor a wise man or an angel, but rather the inn keeper. Odd, right?

If you are unfamiliar with this part in the Nativity story, Mary and Joseph had to go to Bethlehem because of a census that was being taken at the time. Joseph had to return to his family’s hometown. While the innkeeper appears nowhere in the story, this part is implied when Luke wrote “because there was no place for them to stay in the inn.” Why did I want to play this negative character? Maybe this is something to take to a therapist. As I have reflected on my penchant for this particular part, a few reasons emerge as to why I liked playing the innkeeper so much.

First, the innkeeper only had the one line, “Sorry, there’s no room in the inn.” Even after almost 30 years I nailed it! Second, I got to sit in a pew all by myself so that when Mary and Joseph walked down the aisle knocking as they looked for a place to stay, I could deny their request. Which gets to the final and most convicting reason in hindsight as to why I might have enjoyed this role. Could I have wanted to play the innkeeper because I got to deny the Christ child a place to stay?

Oomphf! This is what the innkeeper did, right? This man who owned the inn denied Jesus’ family access to a room. Except, in the Epiphany pageant at St. Andrew’s the hotel owner had a stable that he let Mary and Joseph use, so maybe there is redemption in the Inn (#dadjoke #priestjoke). Regardless, if we back up in the story as Luke tells it, before Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem, right after Mary was visited by the Angel Gabriel, we find two figures who did not deny God a place to stay, but instead bore the Holy Spirit, God, and Christ in exemplary ways.

In today’s good news, we experience something wholly different from a denial of Christ—instead we encounter a story utterly holy—dripping with the power of God’s spirit. Two pregnant women and their visceral, feeling-soaked, prophetic conversation take center stage. Mary’s visit with Elizabeth shines a spotlight on the great hope of all who follow in the Way of Christ. What is that hope? We will get there, so keep listening, but first, let us go to the Judean hill country.

Today’s gospel story opens with “In those days.” This phrase harkens back to “the days of King Herod”[1] mentioned earlier in the story, even though we might expect God to be moving amongst the powerful, that is not what we find. Case in point, the angel Gabriel had just visited not the palace, but Mary, a lowly servant of God. Gabriel had been busy.

Earlier in Luke, God’s messenger visited Zechariah while he was offering incense in the sanctuary of the Temple. Gabriel told the priest that even in their old age Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth would have a child and they were to name him John. Being the stubborn priest that he was, Zechariah questioned God’s messenger. What happened next might have been why Elizabeth and he were finally able to conceive a child—Gabriel made Zechariah unable to speak until the child was to be born—the priest had to be quiet, and maybe he finally listened to his wife. Next thing you know, Elizabeth was pregnant with John the Baptist.

Fast forward just a bit in Luke’s account, and we find Gabriel announcing to Mary that she will bear a son as well. The angel told her, this child will be the Son of the Most High God—even with two thousand years between this news and us, it still strikes me as shocking! Gabriel told Mary this unbelievable announcement and solidified the claim by informing her that her relative, the once barren Elizabeth, was now pregnant. Mary unlike Zechariah did not question this surprising report from God’s messenger. Instead, she went with haste to meet Elizabeth, which gets us to today’s story.

When Mary entered Zechariah’s home, we can imagine the priest just silently raising his hand to wave hello, while Mary and Elizabeth embraced sweetly—the two holy children leaping within their mothers’ sacred wombs. Immediately from Elizabeth a blessing broke forth upon Mary—blessed are you among women, blessed is the fruit of your womb, blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. The elder pronounced a three-fold beatitude upon Mary. The third of which might have been a veiled insult at her husband Zechariah who like many willful priests did not immediately believe what God’s messenger was saying.

Elizabeth pronouncing these blessings get me wondering—did Elizabeth’s late-in-life pregnancy give her new vision? Elizabeth greeted Mary with what many recognize as the beginning of the Hail Mary. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”[2] Did Elizabeth’s own state of blessedness open the eyes of her heart to see Mary’s true nature. This makes sense. Don’t we more easily behold blessings in others when we are open to God blessing us?

Regardless, Mary inspired by Elizabeth’s words, sang some of the loveliest and most challenging words in all of Holy Scripture. She replied with what we know as The Magnificat—named such for the first line—My soul magnifies the Lord. The first few lines are all about Mary’s state of blessedness that Elizabeth was describing:

 

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.[3]

We often might stop paying attention here. Thinking how beautiful Mary’s words are. Yes, the beginning bits of this canticle are about Mary’s blessed nature, but then the Theotokos, the God-bearer, announced a prophetic description of blessing. In it, she told us who God was, who God is, and who God will always be—and who we are called to be in response.

 

His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.[4]

Mary, the bearer of God’s Son, pronounced a truth she intimately knew. She was blessed not just because she bore God’s Son, but also because she knew God’s way:

• Mercy for those who lovingly hold God in awe.
• A strong scattering of those who take pride in themselves alone.
• Dethroning the powerful, while exalting those on the fringes of society.
• Filling the hungry, telling the rich they’ve already had their fill—inviting them to share?
• Holding the people of God in a merciful embrace forever.

This is God’s way, and it is to be our way too!

Elizabeth’s geriatric pregnancy opened her eyes to see her relative in a new way, such that she could pronounce a blessing upon Mary. Mary’s out-of-wedlock, divine pregnancy gave her the courage to see herself as blessed and to point out God’s countercultural way. Far from denying God a place to stay—these women prepared God mansions in which to dwell. We are called to do the same—this is the ultimate hope, which I hinted at earlier! All of us, no matter our gender, our skin color, our age, our sexual orientation, or our ability, all of us are called to not only make room for Christ, but also to bear Christ into this world—to live into the virtues set forth in Mary’s prophetic words.

The great theologian, philosopher, and mystic Meister Eckhart wrote it far more eloquently than I ever could:

 

We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly, but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of Man is begotten in us.[5]

In this season be it our care and delight to prepare a place for Christ to dwell—not just in a manger but in us and this world. May we be blessed like Zechariah and be quiet, so that we might hear God. May we be blessed like Elizabeth and see the blessings of others, so that we might exalt one another. May we be blessed like Mary and bear Christ in ourselves, so that God’s reign thrives in our time, place, and culture! Amen.

---

[1] Luke 1:5

[2] Hail Mary found on the Vatican News. https://www.vaticannews.va/en/prayers/the-hail-mary.html. [accessed December 19, 2021].

[3] Luke 1:47-49

[4] Luke 1:50-55

[5] Meister Eckhart, Be Mothers of God retrieved on the Catholic Storeroom. http://www.catholicstoreroom.com/category/quotes/quote-author/meister-eckhart-1260-1328/ [accessed December 19, 2021].