Archives for December 2009

Remembering Refugees on Holy Family Sunday, 1 Christmas (A,B,C) – 2009

December 27, 2009

Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147 or 147:13-21; Galatians 3:23-25, 4:4-7; John 1:1-18

[NOTE TO READER: The word Chuuk is pronounced to rhyme with “look.”]

On the island of Guam, a U.S. territory in the western Pacific, there are many people who have come seeking a better life for their children. One of them is a man we’ll call Andrew.

Andrew is from Chuuk State, a chain of islands surrounding a large lagoon in the Micronesian archipelago. The Federated States of Micronesia are part of the Compact of Free Association that allows Micronesians to travel and work anywhere in the U.S. without a visa.

Andrew came to Guam with his common-law wife and several children, seeking a better life and to escape from the grinding poverty that afflicts much of Micronesia. He has no marketable skills and a minimal education, so he is barely literate in his own language. But he is a handsome, strong man who is willing to work.

Since his arrival on Guam, his family has broken apart, and he now is responsible for two of his five children: a young girl, and boy for whom he is the sole support. As he seeks employment, he subsists with the aid of food stamps and keeps them safe, seeing that the older girl is in school. Meanwhile because of the scarcity of housing and priority given to U.S. citizens, he has moved his family at least five times in the last two years, often leaving belongings behind as they move.

Joseph and Mary spent much of Jesus’ infancy in exile, staying ahead of Herod and his henchmen, who were determined to keep any rival kingship at bay. Their life, like Andrew and his children’s, was one of displacement and fear. Joseph often had to move his family out of harm’s way as Andrew does; Joseph because of political threats, Andrew because of drugs, alcohol abuse, and violence in the places he can afford to live.

This Sunday is often called Holy Family Sunday. In the familiar lectionary the theme was always focused on the Holy Family and their flight into Egypt. The Revised Common Lectionary has shifted the focus a bit, but the theme of light shining in the darkness could well apply to those who seek a safe place to raise their children in a dark, chaotic, and violent world.

There are now more refugees throughout the world than ever before, most of them victims of war and economic displacement for which they are not responsible. All they seek is a secure place with reasonable food, safe drinking water, and a chance to educate their children.

Consider the words in today’s reading from Isaiah:

I will greatly rejoice in the LORD,
my whole being shall exult in my God;
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness.

These words were written to express the joy of a nation delivered from exile; but they could well be words of a refugee family finding a safe haven.

Regrettably our political and economic systems have failed in their ability to provide such places for people seeking refuge. Even with efforts by churches and volunteer organizations to resettle refugees, many remain in camps and compounds, some waiting for resettlement for years. Their faith and hope diminishes over time, and the failure of governments to find solutions is surely a great sorrow.

Like many problems, the solution to this dilemma seems often beyond our reach. We care, but what can we do?

Saying we can do nothing is not an option. There are numerous private reputable organizations that address these conditions, among them Episcopal Relief and Development. Choosing to join a mission that is capable of addressing the plight of refugees and homeless people is easily done online with the stroke of a few keys.

One couple that lived on Guam has partnered with the Episcopal Church in Micronesia to assure that Andrew and his children have the basic necessities. Others have adopted a child, a family, made sure a family has a goat or cow through organizations like Episcopal Relief and Development. There are opportunities for everyone and a wide range of gifts to choose from that can make a difference.

Today’s gospel reading begins with the theme of Jesus as the Word that was before anything was. For John, Jesus is the one true light coming into the world, “the true light that enlightens everyone.”

In our baptismal relationship with Jesus, we begin to see what the darkness often hides: the needs of the poor, the oppressed, and refugees. To turn away from them is to say no to the light. Then we become dwellers in the darkness as well.

As we remember the Holy Family this Sunday, remember also that they represent to us all political and economic refugees. The response to the gospel message requires more than remembering them, it calls us to action – an action of relief and support that ensures that the light shines in the darkness.

 

— The Rev. Ben Helmer lives with his wife, Jane, in Holiday Island, Ark. He is the vicar of St. James’ Episcopal Church in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

Celebrating the Word Becoming Flesh, Christmas Day (A,B,C) – 2009

December 25, 2009

Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12); John 1:1-14

“The Word became flesh and lived among us.”

Here’s a question for you this Christmas Day: Say there had been no fall from grace in the Garden, and humankind had never sinned. In that case, would God have become man? Would God have become part of our human race? And would we today be celebrating Christ’s birth?

Medieval scholars pondered these questions long and hard.

Many answered with an emphatic no, citing the clear witness of scripture and the creeds. Christ came to bring salvation to humankind, they maintained. He lived among us and taught us, and his death on the cross became the means of our redemption. That was the reason he came to earth – to save sinners. In their view, if we had not sinned, there would have been no need for redemption or salvation and so no need for the Incarnation – no need for Christmas. Humankind would have remained at peace in the Garden – in a state of bliss as some writers might call it – and the person of Jesus Christ would simply not have been. And we would never have been the wiser.

Other scholars however were deeply troubled by this train of thought, which appeared to make the Incarnation contingent – that is, dependant – upon evil itself and the sinfulness of humankind. Yet how could that be? After all, in Christ, God and creation had come together as one, and God was united with humankind forever. God’s love for us, these scholars argued, was so deep and profound that the world itself would be unthinkable – un-creatable, to coin a word – without the Incarnate Christ at its center. Christ, the God-Man, was no afterthought to sin, and Jesus Christ was far more than just a cosmic Mr. Fix-It. No, they concluded, God would have become human no matter what.

There can of course be no absolute answers to the hypothetical questions posed ages ago by these scholars. Perhaps both schools of thought have a point. Christ certainly came to save sinners. But humankind did not have to sin in order to experience God’s love. For us as Christians today, it can be reassuring to imagine God in Christ at work in our lives and in our world from the very beginning of creation regardless of our human and sinful nature.

The Gospel of John seems to reaffirm this basic truth of God’s creative love.

In terms that would have been familiar to ancient Gentile philosophers, the Evangelist tells us today, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

This “Word” of which John is speaking is the essentially creative principle of life – something much more than a one-syllable lexeme or unit of language. The “Word” explains God’s way of making things happen. It is the assurance of God’s intimate and vital involvement in the world and ultimately in human affairs as well. And this divine “Word,” or creative force, is none other than Christ our Lord, born in Bethlehem centuries ago. In Christ, “all things came into being … and without him not one thing came into being.”

In other words, God in Christ was not content to remain somewhere beyond the stars and galaxies – distant and aloof from that which had been fashioned and brought to life in creation. In Christ’s birth, “the Word became flesh and lived among us.” And that is what we celebrate this Christmas. The birth of Christ into our world is in a very real sense the birth of the universe itself: the Big Bang in the manger.

“Word” and creative principle and creation may well seem like so many philosophical and theological terms and abstractions. But there is nothing abstract about the birth of a child. It is the most real thing there is. Ask any mother. Every parent who has been up all night with a child has experienced first hand the reality of life and creation in all its godly resilience and human vulnerability.

Everything we know and even everything we cannot know has been brought into being through the small helpless Christ Child born this day into time and history. The fretful cry of this infant has become the Word proclaimed in our gospel message across the ages and throughout the world. In Christ, the world is not just redeemed and saved from sin. In Christ, the world has come to be in the first place. And in him, it continues to be made new each and every day.

Merry Christmas!

 

— The Rev. Dr. Frank Hegedus is interim minister of “The Episcopal Church in Almaden” in San Jose, California.

Light is Born, Christmas Eve (A,B,C) – 2009

December 24, 2009

Psalm 89:1-29; Isaiah 59:15b-21; Philippians 2:5-11

The stars in Africa shine brightly. Like when you were a child, and there was far less light pollution than there is now. The dark of a night without moon would ignite the stars as bright sparks. The stars in Africa are those sparks.

If you look patiently, you can see the Milky Way, as a swath of faint cloud, flowing as a stream through space. The lights of the sky, the universe itself, extend forever, as an infinity pool, where horizon and sky are as one. A magical place where the temporal kisses the spatial, and there is no longer a distinction between time and space.

It is perhaps there that you will find God; it is perhaps there that you will find eternity.

Imagine yourself as a hobo traveling through space. You speed past the star Vega, and the constellation Hercules. You spiral outward through the Orion Arm of the Milky Way into its fingers, past nebulae, and into the space of galaxies.

You race infinitely faster than light toward the edge, but now the edge is obscured, only black extending to black. Galaxies distant, planets are now unimaginably behind you. Through this darkest night, even of your own soul, this darkest night, even of the soul of humanity, an even darker space, looms unimaginably in your path, a black hole, darker than the black space that surrounds it.

You can’t actually see a black hole. You perceive it. You sense it, by the absence of matter, by the absence of light and time. And as you approach it, the black hole sucks you into itself, its gravity bearing on you as chaos; you are spiraling downward into its center.

The hole swallows you eternally, as into the abyss. The violence of the black hole is unimaginable; you are alone, and there is no hope.

But light is born.

Light is always born where there is no hope, in black holes. Light as pinprick appears, a star, bare and stark against the black. You reach to apprehend the star, but inexplicably, the light from the star apprehends you!

The light captures you, and as if by magic, and you are no longer subsumed by black hole in distant space, but by some strange Einstein phenomenon, by some wrinkle in time, you find yourself here, in this world – newly alive, freshly born. Created, or is it re-created? Oxygen fills your lungs, and you cry as a newborn. You are a person drowned, but inexplicably alive!

Do you see? The Star? The distance between the farthest star and your heart is hair’s breadth, and eternity is there, in that slightest distance, both across the universe, and within your soul – for eternity is not as you had imagined.

The star as a pinprick of light into life’s deepest darkness, the edge of your universe. Time and space are of no account, at the edge of your reality, there, at that edge, you will find the Holy.

The Divine, God as Almighty. Inaccessible. Invisible. Absolute.

Even time must account to Elohim, for with this God, a day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years is a day. Even light and dark must account to the Great “I Am,” for with this God, there is no distinction between them; for the night and the day are the same. Even distance and space must account to El Shaddai, for with this God, the edge of the universe is at the tips of your fingers.

The prophet, Isaiah, acknowledged the plight, ours and that of the human race: the people walk in darkness, and elsewhere, deep darkness enshrouds the people. A black hole without hope.

We thought we could save ourselves. They called the beginning of the twentieth century, the New Century. Optimism abounded. We found ourselves at peace, on the brink of scientific breakthroughs; there was nothing we couldn’t do. We could fly to the sky, build skyscrapers, peer into galaxies.

We awoke from that dream to the reality of two world wars, massacres in Cambodia and Rwanda, AIDS and malaria pandemics, and macabre catastrophes. It became apparent that we cannot save ourselves as we had imagined. Even now, prophets warn of a global environmental catastrophe.

Although our education and scientific knowledge can help, we are still in need of more. We are in desperate need, for the dark night is black. We are hurtling through space past galaxies and nebulae, at warp speeds, toward black holes and an uncertain end, and we are sore afraid.

We need a Savior.

The people who walked in darkness, have seen a great light.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them. … And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

You imagine the Christmas star to be about a baby, born one more time, this year, the same as last, but only a baby misses the point. This night shines as day because eternity itself, El Shaddai, the Great “I Am,” the ever gentle Elohim, transcended the barrier dividing time from space, as light and life and hope, to save us from darkness.

For unto us a Child is Born, a Son is given.

Several years ago, the earth traveled through a meteor belt of some sort, and if you cared, you could sit outside at night and watch thousands of meteors etch lines of light across the sky. Imagine sitting in your backyard, 40 degrees at four in the morning, wrapped in a blanket, huddled in absolute wonder as light after light appeared suddenly – here, there, darting to and fro. Imagine the joy of discovering light.

Do you want to know what Christmas is about?

The people who lived in darkness have discovered light.

For tonight, this night, pure love has permitted itself to be pulled into your black hole, spiraling downward, chaotically and critically until it came to rest in a manger, in a stable, among barn animals and hay, on a dark, crisp night, much like tonight, when the stars shone as in Africa.

If you looked up, that night, you could see the Milky Way, as a faint stream floating across the sky.

Christmas is about a God who still condescends to earth, and that means this: Christmas is about the human soul, for the God of pure light chose to become as us, bounded by time and space, even – now get this – to bow down to us, to save us from the death, the darkness, the fear. But more than that: God esteemed your soul as worthy.

God esteemed you as worthy. For you, a light shone in the darkness, which is why the Savior beckons you out of your Christmas stupor, and into a real faith, a true and living faith, a faith in which you touch something – someone – you have never touched before, and you see a light you have never seen before.

And suddenly there appeared the heavenly host, who began praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on earth.

Peace to his people on earth.

Amen.

 

— The Rev. Rob Gieselmann is the rector of Christ Church in Sausalito, California. Originally from the Diocese of East Tennessee (serving at St. Luke’s, Cleveland), he has also served in the Diocese of Easton (St. Paul’s Church, Chestertown). Before entering the ministry, Rob practiced law for ten years. Rob is the author of “The Episcopal Call to Love” (Apocryphile Press, 2008), and is the father of two wonderful children.