I was alone in a bar on Christmas Eve. Freshly graduated from college, returned to my hometown, and in a state of spiritual free-fall as I came to realize that I was no longer a fundamentalist, but did not yet know whether there was another way to practice my faith (as it turns out, there is… thank God). In that season of darkness and doubt, I could not honestly celebrate Christmas as one of the “faithful, joyful, and triumphant.” I decided that I needed a Christmas carol for people like me… grubby shepherds, unsanitary stable-dwellers, and all who make their way home “by another way.”
I procured a piece of paper and a pen, then rewrote the old hymn in a more applicable light. This would be a hymn I could sing with honesty.
I played it for friends over the years, who circulated the lyrics. Eventually, I found out that a Methodist congregation in Johannesburg, South Africa had made it part of their regular Christmas Eve liturgy. I offer it now to anyone who does not/cannot feel “faithful, joyful, and triumphant” on this Christmas day: sinners, doubters, drunks, junkies, queers, screw-ups, freaks, geeks, weirdos, skeptics, loonies, rejects, and failures… It is for those like us that Christ is born.
O Come, all ye faithless, beat-up, and defeated, come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem. Come and behold him, born the friend of sinners: O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!
Sing, choirs of vagrants, sing in desperation; sing, all ye denizens of streets below: Glory to God! Glory in the highest! O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!
Yea, Lord, we greet thee: born this dreary evening. Jesus, to thee be all glory given. Hope for the hopeless, now in flesh appearing. O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!
When the song of angels is stilled, When the star in the sky is gone, When the kings and princes are home, When the shepherds are back with their flock, The work of Christmas begins: to find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among the brothers, to make music in the heart.
We had to cancel Sunday service at North Church this past Sunday, so I’m posting this sermon from Rev. Tamara Lebak of All Souls Unitarian Church in Tulsa, OK.
‘Gravity’ was already my favorite new movie of the year and Rev. Tamara’s sermon exponentially deepens my appreciation of its artistry and meaning. This sermon will appeal to lovers of science, spirit, and art, no matter what their ‘theological orientation’ may be.
I’ve said before on multiple occasions that Rev. Tamara and her colleague at All Souls, Rev. Marlin Lavanhar, are (to put it bluntly) the finest preachers I have ever heard. This message is worth every minute of your time that it takes. So pour another cup of whatever makes you feel spiritual and sit back for “one hell of a ride,” as they say in the film…
One of the most memorable nights of my life came when I received a phone call from my sister, telling me she was pregnant. She was young, unmarried, and not yet finished with school, so the news came with not a little trepidation. Another relative called me later that night to talk about this news. To say he was upset would be an understatement.
“She has ruined our perfect family!” Is what he said.
I was taken aback. Perfect? What family was he living in? Our family was about as far from perfect as one could be. Poverty, unemployment, mental illness, domestic violence, drug addiction, and divorce were part of our lives. While most of us had made it through the hard times and managed to do okay, any claim to perfection was just a boldfaced lie.
We weren’t perfect and she didn’t “ruin” us. Sure, things had certainly not…
Great defense of Pope Francis’ statements about poverty, plus a bonus introduction to one of my all-time favorite theologians: Walter Rauschenbusch… and it’s written by his great grandson, Paul Brandeis Rauschenbusch
It is commonly agreed that for the first time in human history we can put an end to extreme poverty if we have the economic, political, moral and spiritual will to do it. Let’s do it.
In the meantime, if you are Christian and someone calls you a Marxist just because you are questioning why extreme poverty persists in era of such extravagant wealth, know that you are in good company — because Jesus did it first.
“Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist.”
That’s what Jesus said about John and it’s significant that Jesus would say that at the particular point in time when he did because John was going through a rough patch in life.
As we know from last week’s reading, John was a fiery preacher who lived in the wilderness outside Jerusalem. In keeping with the tradition of the old-timey prophets, John ranted and raved against corruption and hypocrisy in the culture around him. He had harsh words for the people in power at the time; they didn’t much like what he had to say. He called them “You brood of vipers!” And he said vaguely threatening things like, “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut…
The shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., one year ago sparked a national conversation about the country’s troubled system. Politicians convened task forces and promised additional funding and new laws. But today, despite those promises, patients and advocates say treatment for mental health is still in shambles…
Do you like to be right? Of course you do. Who doesn’t? I don’t think there’s a person on this planet who, at least once in a while, doesn’t like to be the one with the right answer to a question or the solution to a problem. It makes us feel important. It makes us feel useful. It makes us feel like our lives have a purpose, like maybe we can make a positive difference in this world. It’s a good feeling.
But have you ever noticed that there are times when being right can go oh-so-wrong? Being right might feel good but, like anything that causes good feelings, it can also be addictive. Have you ever met someone who is chronically addicted to being right? Have you ever been in an argument with someone who was right, who had a valid argument, but you didn’t want to concede the point because he or she was just being so mean about the whole thing? I won’t ask for names, although I’m sure we all could list at least a few. And if we’re really, really honest, I think we can all admit that there have been times (moments, in the very least) when each and every one of us has “chased that feeling” of being right a little too hard and run the risk of sacrificing something or someone that, in the long run, is far, far more important than our need to look good and be right.
Now, I should mention here that there are indeed times in life when conscience calls upon us to make certain sacrifices for the sake of what’s right in the face of great injustice. Where would we be without those men and women who pledged “[their] lives, [their] fortunes, and [their] sacred honor” to the causes of justice and the common good? It’s important to acknowledge that call. But that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about that unhealthy, selfish, and compulsive need to be right (or at least appear to be right) at all times that only serves the cause of one’s own ego. This is what I’m talking about. This is the kind of addiction, like any addiction, that can cost people jobs, relationships, family, trust, goodwill, and (perhaps most ironic of all) credibility.
It may require a great deal of self-awareness to be able to do this, but I think we need to ask ourselves in those moments of heated debate, “Am I standing up for what’s right or for my need to be right?” We need to ask ourselves this question because there is so much more to winning an argument than just being right. How we argue and why we’re doing it is just as important as what we’re arguing about.
I’d like to turn your attention toward our Epistle lesson this morning, taken from St. Paul’s letter to the church in Rome. Paul was writing to these Roman Christians to give them some pastoral advice about an issue that was very near and dear to his heart. There was a conflict going on in that church and one party in that conflict was clearly in the right, as far as Paul was concerned. The issue at hand was the inclusion of Gentiles (i.e. non-Jewish people) in the life and ministry of the Christian church.
This issue was the single greatest hot-button issue for first century Christians, just as the abolition of slavery, racial integration, the ordination of women, and marriage equality would also become hot-button issues for future generations. There were those in the church who argued, citing the Bible and theological tradition as precedent, that Christianity itself was Jewish and therefore church membership should be limited to Jews alone. “Jesus was Jewish,” they said, “all of his apostles were Jewish, therefore anyone seeking to follow Jesus should also agree to follow the commandments of the Jewish Torah (e.g. be circumcised, follow certain dietary restrictions, and celebrate certain rituals and holidays).”
Paul, on the other hand, was of a different opinion. He believed that the Christian church was meant to be an international, multi-cultural community made up of people from “every tribe, language, people, and nation.” He believed that the whole human race was meant to live as one family where the walls of division, distinction, and discrimination would be torn down and there would be “neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female.”
This was Paul’s opinion and, as history would have it, he was right. Most scholars agree that it was this cosmopolitan character of the early church that allowed it to survive, spread so far and wide in the Roman Empire, and ultimately become one of the most important religious movements in the history of the human race. So yes, Paul was right and he argued for his position in churches across southern Europe, Asia Minor, and the Middle East. Most of the time, he had to speak up for the full-inclusion of Gentiles, disparaging any notion of second-class citizenship for non-Jews in the church, but not in Rome. In Rome, he had the opposite problem.
You see, the Roman church agreed with Paul. They took his multi-cultural message of inclusion to heart. Jews and Gentiles worshiped together in the Roman church until the year 49 CE, when the emperor Claudius expelled all Jews from the city of Rome. When they were allowed to return five years later, the Jewish Christians discovered that certain prejudicial, anti-Semitic attitudes had begun to spring up among their Gentile brothers and sisters.
In those years of Jewish absence, the Gentile Roman Christians got to thinking that maybe this was a sign that the Jews had been rejected as the chosen people, only to be replaced by Gentiles. “After all,” they thought, “It was the Jewish religious establishment in Jerusalem that conspired to have Jesus the Messiah wrongly executed; it was Jewish synagogues that instigated so much rivalry, tension, and conflict in those cities where synagogues and churches co-existed; and it was Jewish Christians who were opposing Paul’s teaching and trying to force their culture on Gentile Christians.” Maybe their number was up and their day was done? Who needs those weird old traditions and stories anyway? The Romans no doubt saw themselves as very enlightened and progressive for taking this stance.
This is where Paul comes in. He wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of problem. It was usually the Jewish people who were excluding the non-Jewish people, but in this case it was the other way around. These Roman Christians were basically right in their theology; they agreed with Paul, but they took it too far by excluding their Jewish brothers and sisters instead. Paul’s dream was for a church where everyone, Jews and Gentiles alike, would be welcome as part of the family. This kind of reverse-discrimination simply wouldn’t do.
So Paul tries to put the brakes on the situation. He reminds the Romans that it’s not their place to judge others, just as Jewish Christians had no right to force their culture on Gentiles. Moreover, Paul contended that the conflict between Jews and Christians was not a sign that Jews had been rejected as chosen people. Paul highlighted the debt that Christianity owed to Judaism for its very existence. He urged the Romans not to throw out the baby with the bathwater, especially when it came to the Jewish scriptures. “Whatever was written in former days,” he said, “was written for our instruction.” In other words, he’s saying that the writings of the Torah aren’t just a bunch of kooky old superstitions that don’t apply to people today. Those writings are a chronicle of Israel’s ongoing spiritual development and the Christian church, according to Paul, stands in continuity with that movement. In fact, Paul goes on to quote a verse of the Torah for them from the book of Deuteronomy, chapter 32, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with God’s people.” Paul is saying that there is place for them in this tradition and there is a place for this tradition in them. He’s not backpedaling on his stance of inclusion, but he’s sticking to his conviction that the church should be “a house of prayer for all nations,” Jews as well as Gentiles.
Paul goes on to tell them, “Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” And again, in this gloriously climactic verse that sums up his whole argument so beautifully, he says, “May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
I love how, in those two verses, Paul connects the bridging of gap between Jews and Gentiles with the life and ministry of Jesus. By crossing the divide between you, Paul says, you are living in a way that is consistent with what we believe about Jesus.
As you know, we are now in the season of Advent, when we prepare to celebrate what Christians have called the mystery of the Incarnation of Christ. What this means to Christians is that, in the birth of Jesus, a gulf was crossed, a gap was bridged between time and eternity, between heaven and earth, between divinity and humanity. And if Christ has crossed so great a divide to be near us, then who are we to refuse to cross those comparatively little divides that run between us and our fellow human beings? That’s why Paul tells the Romans, “Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you.”
The Roman Christians were in the wrong, even though they were on the right side of the issue. Christianity isn’t about being right, it’s about being in right relationship with God, with your neighbors, with yourself, and with the earth. It’s those relationships that matter most.
So, in this coming Christmas season, I want to invite you to work on those relationships. As you gather together with friends, neighbors, and family whose opinions about politics or religion might irk you for one reason or another; as you sit down to dinner next to someone with whom you have been feuding for years; as you listen to those political pundits and op-ed columnists who make you want to throw the newspaper in the trash or chuck your remote at the TV screen, remember that it’s not about being right; it’s about being in right relationship with one another. That’s the only thing that really matters and it’s the only present that Jesus wants from us this Christmas.