Monthly Archives: December 2019

Monday Matters (December 30, 2019)

December 30, 2019

Grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

-John 1:17

No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground; he comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found, far as the curse is found, far as, far as, the curse is found.

-Stanza 3, Joy to the World

Yet with the woes of sin and strife the world has suffered long; beneath the heavenly hymn have rolled two thousand years of wrong; and warring humankind hears not the tiding which they bring; O hush the noise and cease your strife and hear the angels sing!

-Stanza 3, It came upon a midnight clear

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone, snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain; heaven and earth shall flee away, when he comes to reign, in the bleak midwinter a stableplace sufficed the Lord God incarnate, Jesus Christ.

-Stanzas 1 and 2, In the bleak midwinter

Holy Innocents

My first year as a rector was shaped by time spent with an 8 year old. When I met him, he was in the late stages of a battle with a brain tumor. I saw him almost daily for several months until he died on Christmas Eve. His funeral was held on December 28, the Feast of the Holy Innocents, the day when we remember the cruelty of a political system that left mothers grieving over toddlers murdered by King Herod’s forces. Hardly the jolly material we’ve come to associate with Christmas. We observed this feast two days ago, on Saturday. It caused me to remember my young friend, a companion in the journey of faith, in many ways my teacher.

The fact is, I never fail to notice in the Christmas season that while there may be an abundance of desserts, our faith does not sugarcoat the truth about our lives.

On December 21, we observe the Feast of St. Thomas. In the days after Jesus was tortured and killed, we meet dispirited disciples locked behind closed doors for fear of political retribution. In that locked room, Thomas shares doubts born of grief.

On the day after Christmas, we observe the Feast of St. Stephen, the guy who triggered all that singing about good King Wenceslaus. A closer look reminds us that Stephen was the first martyr of the church, victim of brutal execution, responding in a Christ-like fashion, asking forgiveness for those who were killing him.

And then we tell a story about young boys being killed by King Herod.

All of this is to say that the story of Christmas is full not only of grace, but also full of truth. It conveys the truth of the incarnation, the power of Immanuel, which means God with us in the suffering that is part of the deal. That presence is the very definition of compassion. As I’ve mentioned before, one of my mentors repeatedly told his congregants that suffering was the promise life always keeps. A profoundly Christian tenet, but one that is key to Buddhist thinking as well. I’m imagining that Monday Matters readers each know something about that.

I remember the memorial service I did for that eight year old, fumbling for words, recalling that there was no way to make sense of it. I’ve been taught that in the face of such suffering, there may be no words. We are called to withstand when we can’t understand. We are called to proclaim when we can’t explain. And what we proclaim is the good news that in the end, love will win.

In the meantime, we may have no earthly idea how that will be true. We live in that meantime, and so we pray for the holy innocents in our midst, victims of war and terrorism and gun violence, children hiding under desks in schools, refugee children on our borders, detained in cages and separated from loved ones, those who contend each day with poverty and hunger, some in our neighborhoods, in our local schools. I have no words to explain how all this can be. Holy innocents surround us.

There are times we can explain suffering. It sometimes comes as consequence of what we do. It sometimes results from greed or envy or fear or indifference. But there is a whole stream of suffering which seems random and beyond explanation. That’s where Jesus can be our teacher, as we survey the wondrous cross on which the prince of glory died, sorrow and love flow mingled down.

And somehow we still sing “Joy to the World.” (I’ve actually had a few requests for that hymn at funerals.) I go back to the Book of Joy, the chronicle of conversations between the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu. The book records the joyful character of their relationship. Laughter looms large. Yet both knew deep suffering at the hands of cruel political systems. They were never in denial about the principalities and powers they battled. Yet in it all, they exude joy. Maybe they know the wisdom of a saying attributed to all kinds of folks: “In the end, all will be well. If all is not well, it’s not the end.”

I recognize this is not the cheeriest holiday message. But I hope that it can be one marked by grace and truth, one marked by joy, as we recognize that Jesus knows what we go through and meets us with compassion.

-Jay Sidebotham

Contact: Rev. Jay Sidebotham jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement www.renewalworks.org

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Monday Matters (December 23, 2019)

December 23, 2019

When the song of the 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 flocks,
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 people,
to make music in the heart.

– The poem “The Work of Christmas” is from Howard Thurman’s
The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations

The so-what factor

A teacher told me years ago that there are a bunch of questions to ask when we study scripture. They include: Who (wrote it)? To whom (was it addressed)? When (was it written)? Why (did anyone bother to write it)? What (does it say)?

All good questions, for sure. But this teacher said the most important question was this: So what? What difference does this text mean? How might it change us? We can ask that question about scripture. We can ask that question about our liturgies. And this week, we can ask it about Christmas. What is this season for? How does it change us? What difference does it make?

I know we’re in the last hours of Advent. I will undoubtedly be accused by the Advent police (a terrifying force) of getting to Christmas too soon. But a few texts have been kicking around in my head of late, all describing the so-what factor of Christmas.

There’s the final stanza from the beautiful hymn “In the bleak mid-winter,” text written by Christina Rossetti.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

It says that Christmas is about what we offer, in worship with our lips and with our lives. So we will gather, singing “Come let us adore him.” And we will be asked to think about where we give our heart, and how that open heart reaches out to the others. Join me in considering those questions this week.

Laurence Housman wrote a beautiful text for a hymn, though not specifically a Christmas Carol. It spoke of how the babe in the manger calls us to think about the world in which we live. Google his story. He was an illustrator who lost his eyesight so turned to writing and social activism, working for peace in a time of war. I’m haunted all year long by the challenge he poses in this last stanza of the hymn. He asks us to think about what we love, where we give our heart. Reflect on this stanza:

How shall we love Thee, holy, hidden Being,
If we love not the world which Thou hast made?
O give us [brother] love for better seeing
Thy word made flesh, and in a manger laid:
Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Thy will be done.

Then of course, there’s the reflection offered by theologian, mystic, activist and prophet, Howard Thurman who wrote about the work of Christmas (included above). It describes our call to live out the implications of Jesus’ precious arrival in our midst. It may be the best articulation of the Christmas so-what factor that I’ve ever seen.

By my accounts, we’ve got a bit more than 24 hours left in the season of Advent, a season of contemplation. As you contemplate this week, when you will sing of joy to the world, as you look for a present for Jesus on his birthday, consider the season’s so-what factor. Consider the ways you can be of service this holiday. As God so loved the world in sending us Jesus, pass that love on to family, especially those who push our buttons, to Christmas dinner partners, especially those who watch different cable channels, to neighbors, especially those who might be alone, to those nearby and far away who have been pushed to the margins, and there are simply too many of those folks.

My hunch is that a commitment to be of service will be a great offering for the Christ child. I believe it will make your Christmas merry.

-Jay Sidebotham

Contact: Rev. Jay Sidebotham jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement www.renewalworks.org

Introducing:

Monday Matters (December 16, 2019)

December 16, 2019

Lord, let not our souls be busy inns that have no room for thee or thine, but quiet homes of prayer and praise, where thou mayest find fit company, where the needful cares of life are wisely ordered and put away, and wide, sweet spaces kept for thee; where holy thoughts pass up and down and fervent longings watch and wait thy coming.

-Julian of Norwich

Thou who wast rich beyond all splendour, all for love’s sake becamest poor; Thrones for a manger didst surrender, sapphire-paved courts for stable floor; Thou who wast rich beyond all splendor, all for love’s sake becomes poor.

Thou who art God beyond all praising, all for love’s sake becamest man; Stooping so low, but sinners raising heavenward by thine eternal plan; Thou who art God beyond all praising, all for love’s sake becamest man.

Thou who art love beyond all telling, Savior and King, we worship thee. Emmanuel, within us dwelling, make us what thou wouldst have us be.

Thou who art love beyond all telling, Savior and King, we worship thee.

On purpose

It’s a privilege to work with Episcopal congregations through the ministry of RenewalWorks. I am occasionally asked for the elevator speech for RenewalWorks. What is our purpose? We actually have a number of efforts underway, but they can all be gathered under this heading. We are seeking to make spiritual growth the priority for our congregations.

That of course triggers conversation about what we mean by spiritual growth. How would you define spiritual growth? Our answer has to do with relationship, growing in love of God and love of neighbor. We believe that movement toward deeper relationship represents growth. We believe that it is the reason congregations exist. We believe that’s why RenewalWorks exists. That’s our purpose. End of elevator speech.

We are learning a lot in this work, blessed with many teachers along the way. I was recently given a book by a friend and rector of a wonderful congregation. The book is entitled Becoming a Blessed Church, by a Presbyterian pastor named N. Graham Standish. The author talks a lot about the importance of churches staying in touch with their purpose. He notes that most churches began, in one way or the other, with real clarity of purpose. That may have been a recent church plant. That may have been centuries ago. But over time, and for various reasons, the congregation may have lost touch with that originating purpose. Dreaded statements like: “We’ve never done it that way,” or “We’ve always done it that way,” take over without much thought about why we do what we do. I commend this book as it offers a guide for congregations to discern what God’s purpose looks like for them. Spiritual growth can happen in a variety of ways and this book invites people into a process of discerning God’s call and purpose for the community.

Meanwhile, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And I’ve been thinking about spiritual purpose as we approach Christmas, asking myself about my own sense of the purpose of this observance. For me, it’s about good time with family and friends. Acknowledgement of people who are important in my life. Expressions of gratitude for the gift they are to me. Obligation to have a gift for someone who might have a gift for me. Anxiety that I haven’t done enough. Tasteful decorations. Opportunity to eat favorite foods. Time off. Well coordinated liturgies so folks will think I’m good at my job. The list goes on, all of them a part of my own observance. What would you say is the purpose of your observance of next week’s holiday?

I’m wondering how this Christmas might be different if somehow I could remember it as a piece of the purpose of church, a chance to grow spiritually, a chance to grow in love of God and neighbor? Have I, even I as a member of clergy staff, lost touch with that purpose? Another way to get at the question: Do you think Joseph and Mary would be surprised if given a chance to see how we observe the birth of their child? Is all this what John the Baptist was preparing for? Does our observance correspond to the miracle, the mystery of the grace of the word made flesh, dwelling among us, born not into power but into poverty.

It’s a most wonderful time of the year. Sure there’s craziness and silliness. I served at one church where there actually was a bourbon-infused fist fight at the Christmas Eve service over someone saving too many seats. Might those folks have lost sight of some original purpose? “Joy to the world” became “Get out of my pew.” (Expletives deleted.)

My prayer for my own observance, and while I’m at it, my prayer for your observance, is that the celebration of Christmas may be a piece of a larger movement, a deeper discernment: to grow spiritually, to grow in love of God and neighbor. That would be a most merry result.

-Jay Sidebotham

Contact: Rev. Jay Sidebotham jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement www.renewalworks.org

Introducing:

Monday Matters (December 9, 2019)

December 9, 2019

Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

-Psalm 27:14

What is my strength, that I should wait? and what is my end, that I should be patient?

-Job 6.11

For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is in him.

-Psalm 62.5

Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

-Isaiah 40.31

O my strength, I will watch for you; for you, O God, are my fortress.

-Psalm 59.9

My eyes are awake before each watch of the night, that I may meditate on your promise.

-Psalm 119.148

My soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.

-Psalm 130.6

Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers.

-Romans 13.11

Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is on the point of death, for I have not found your works perfect in the sight of God.

-Revelation 3

Awake, awake, put on your strength, O Zion! Put on your beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city.

-Isaiah 52.1

Advent alliteration

Loving and friendly readers have occasionally helped me identify growth opportunities in my writing. Case in point: incomplete sentences. Extraneous, or absent commas. I have been known to repeat myself, redundantly, saying the same thing over and over. (But that’s true of lots of preachers.) I also frequently fall into the graceless grammatical gimmick of alliteration, a persistent ploy meant to make memorable Monday Matters. On this Monday morning in Advent, alliteration surfaces once more, as we are early on in a season that provides a chance to watch, to wait, to wake up.

In Advent, we’re called to watch. We hear that injunction in scripture, but what does that mean for us in the journey of faith? I suspect it’s a matter of looking for the signs of God’s life and love breaking into the world. I’m reminded of cold winter mornings when I was commuting by train, standing on the platform in the darkness, wind howling down the Hudson River valley, as I wondered and worried (alliteration alert) if the train would ever come. Murphy’s law of public transportation: The lower the temperature, the more likely trains would be delayed. I could easily surrender to despair: “This is the morning the train will not come.” I would watch intently, and would often grow more anxious as I looked down the dark track. But then, I would see the faintest glimmer of light on the rails. Just a sliver. The train was still far away, but I knew it was coming. That hint of light was transformative, watching transformed into hope. Translate that to your spiritual life. What are the signs of hope, a better future breaking into your dark present? Name them. They can be the smallest of signs, but they can change us.

In Advent, we’re called to wait. We hear that injunction in scripture, as we’re invited to wait on the Lord. But what does that mean for us in the journey of faith? This time of year, our culture gives tons of time (alliteration alert), ample opportunity to wait. Lines in traffic. Lines at the post office. Lines at stores. What will we do with that time? It can be a spiritual exercise to wait with grace and kindness. How about this for an Advent observance? Throw somebody off by letting that person in front of you in line. Thank the person behind the counter dealing with the Christmas rush. Those opportunities are small reflections of ways we are called to wait in our faith. Advent tells us all about them, whether it’s John the Baptist telling us to get ready and prepare the way, or Mary and Elizabeth getting news that new life was on the way. It’s a season of expectancy. It calls for trust, which in the darkness of the season, the darkness of our world, can be challenging.

In Advent, we’re called to wake up. We hear that injunction in scripture and in great Advent hymns (e..g. Sleepers Wake). But what does that mean for us in the journey of faith? The injunction’s implication (alliteration alert) is that we are somehow spiritually asleep. Maybe that sleepiness is simply that we are caught in routine, without any imagination that things could be different. Is it ever the case that you navigate Sunday liturgy on auto-pilot? This clergy person confesses that it happens to him. Maybe it’s fatigue that contributes to spiritual grogginess. Or maybe we’re overworked. In our research on spiritual vitality, we discover that one of the great impediments to spiritual growth for folks in our culture is simply that they are over-booked. Maybe it’s a matter of indifference to the brokenness of the world around us. We tend to gravitate to communities of like-mindedness, to shield ourselves from the pain of the world, or find ways to anesthetize. We too rarely seek what God is up to in the neighborhood, especially with neighbors who differ from us, who have been pushed to the margins. Are we awake to a world in pain? Are we contributing, in our spiritual drowsiness, to that pain?

Blessings in this Advent season, a time to wait and watch and wake up. These are things we’re meant to do all year long, but perhaps especially in this season as we prepare for the grace that will appear on Christmas, the grace we’ve been waiting for, the grace we’ve been on watching for, the grace that wakes us up to the love of God from which we can never be separated, and invites us to share that love.

-Jay Sidebotham

Contact: Rev. Jay Sidebotham jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement www.renewalworks.org

Introducing:

Monday Matters (December 2, 2019)

December 2, 2019

Jesus said to him (a father who had asked Jesus to heal his son in the grips of a life-threatening illness), “If you are able!-All things can be done for the one who believes.” Immediately the father of the child cried out “I believe; help my unbelief!”

-Mark 9:23,24

If you don’t have doubts you’re either kidding yourself or asleep. Doubts are the ants-in-the-pants of faith. They keep it alive and moving.

-Frederick Buechner

The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns. Faith also means reaching deeply within, for the sense one was born with, the sense, for example, to go for a walk.

-Anne Lamott

You can’t know – you can only believe. Or not.

-C.S.Lewis

Advent hope

One of the ways I pass the time: doing cartoons about church life. It’s fun, and kind of a no-brainer. Material surfaces in abundance. It’s just a matter of keeping one’s eyes open, as I don’t have to make anything up. One of my favorite themes portrays conversations that happen between clergy and parishioners at the door at the conclusion of services. I often gather these encounters under the title: What they say and what they mean. One might call it the “Bless your heart” syndrome.

For instance, people have said things like: “Your sermons have gotten so much better,” which I take to mean: “You used to be really bad.” People have said: “That was an interesting take on the passage,” which I take to mean: “Which half-baked seminary did you attend?” After one sermon on a difficult passage, a parishioner leaned in and said to me: “Nice try,” which I took to mean: “You probably should have let someone else try.”

Recently, I preached a memorial service. The homily focused in particular on the Prayer Book directives for the service for the Burial of the Dead. It is intended as an Easter liturgy, one that finds all its meaning in the hope of the resurrection. (Look at those beautiful instructions in the Prayer Book on page 507 if you have a few minutes.) Based on the readings chosen for that service, readings marked by hope, my homily focused on Easter.

At the door after the service, a parishioner complimented me on the homily and said: “I liked it. It sounded like you really believe it.” The way he made the comment made me think he was a bit surprised. And that triggered a few thoughts, projections of what this parishioner meant by what he had said.

My paranoid self wondered/worried whether he meant that sometimes when I preach, I don’t really sound authentic or convincing. Do listeners wonder if I mean the things I say? Am I just toeing the line, just going through the motions, saying what I know I’m supposed to say, saying what I know will please the crowd?

I wondered if this parishioner had ever had the experience I have occasionally had, sitting in church services with clergy that seemed bored by the liturgy and unclear about what they’d like to proclaim. In those moments, I’ve wondered if there was anything those clergy found amazing about grace.

I wondered if this parishioner realized that there are times for me that the whole Christian story seems just so strange and hard to believe. Don’t get me wrong. There are times when I can joyfully jump into belief with both feet, totally immersed in wonder, love and praise.

And then there are times when I have to pray: “Lord I believe, help my unbelief.” Emily Dickinson said that she believed and disbelieved a hundred times an hour. She said that it made her faith nimble. Thanks, Emily, for that helpful take on my own spiritual vacillation.

As we begin Advent, we commit ourselves to a remarkable story, leading to Bethlehem. If it weren’t so familiar, we might find it beyond fantastic. If we’re honestly grappling with the story, we might well join Mary who responded to the angel’s birth announcement by saying: “How can this be?” And as we follow the story to Easter morning, there will be more and more moments that fill us with wonder, and maybe doubt and disbelief.

I’m grateful that in the memorial service this parishioner got the idea that I believed in hope. Where would we be without it? The focus of that service represents the core of the Christian faith. And while I confess doubts about the mystery of life here and beyond, and while I admit that I have no idea what it really means that in death life is changed, not ended, I do in fact believe that there is truth there, truth worth banking on.

I hope that provides a hopeful note as we begin the season of Advent, a season of hope.

-Jay Sidebotham

Contact: Rev. Jay Sidebotham jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement www.renewalworks.org