IncarnATE 1.0

Empty wishlist for Santa Claus laid on a wooden table
Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, 2017

Mary, did you know?

No, really, Mary: did you know?

Maybe a better question would be, “Mary, what did you know, and when did you know it?”

I mean, really: dare we think that Mary could have possibly imagined thinking about Jesus the way we think about Jesus?

When you think about thinking about Jesus this time of year,  you likely think of donkeys and camels and angels blowing horns.  

Have you spent much time thinking about how you think about Jesus?

Please notice: I’m not asking if you think about Jesus. I’m asking if you ever think about how you think about Jesus. Because this 4th Sunday of Advent,which also happens to be Christmas Eve, is a really good time to think about how you think about Jesus.

But asking you to think about how you think about Jesus might get you defensive, so, instead, I’ll tell you a couple of stories. The first one I got from sunday school or confirmation literature at least 20 years ago. The second story is still going on today.

The first story starts with the challenge of explaining the incarnation to a child (or youth – I can’t remember which).  In case you’re not very churched, or just not in the mood, I’ll also give you a heads up on incarnation.

Incarnation is a big word that describes someone who lives in the United States. We love our automobiles. The average American spends 101 minutes per day driving. This means we are an “in car nation.”

Dad Joke for the morning.

Incarnation is actually a word to describe or explain what happened in Jesus/birth. Jesus was, according to Christian understanding, God in human flesh. “Incarnation” is another way to say “in human flesh.”

Sounds way more theological, too, doesn’t it?

So, the first story is this. A person was sitting  at her front window, looking out at the falling snow. In her driveway, she saw a bird. A tiny dove, that she imagined must be feeling awfully cold.

“I wonder if birds enjoy watching the snow fall the way I do,” she thought.

Realizing that snow falling is beautiful – perhaps especially from the warmth of one’s bay window, she suddenly began to wonder if, maybe, the bird was cold. Too cold?

What could she do to help?  If she went outside, no matter how slowly and carefully, the bird would fly off. Maybe if she went around through the kitchen and opened the garage door from inside, then the bird might not get scared away.

But how could she be sure the bird would recognize the safety and relative warmth of the garage?

Then it struck her. If she could become a bird, she could fly out there, and land alongside that little bird, and share the good news of the warmth of the garage.

If she could become a bird, the bird could better understand her efforts to communicate.

We aren’t birds, and God isn’t a person sitting by a window watching snow fall, but I think you get the picture.

Jesus came to us – emmanuel, God with us, God as one of us, to better communicate with us and live among us and show us with more depth than we could have grasped before, the good news of God’s love for us.

Most of us get that aspect of incarnation, I think.

Which brings me to the second story. This one is about a guy named Mark. Well, it’s about me and a guy named Mark.

God’s been on me lately about the incarnation. Trying to help me understand it in a deeper way.

And when I say “God’s been on me,” I don’t mean in a nagging or mean or bullying way. One consequence of trying to follow Jesus a bit better today than yesterday is that God gives you opportunities to put your life where your mouth is.

I can talk a good game about incarnation. But can I live it?

I met Mark a couple months ago. Like many other people, he found our church office looking for help.

Unlike when those other people find our church office, I was really the only one there to help.

I kinda went Peter and John on him. You know, from Acts 3:

Peter and John went to pray, and the met a lame man on the way. He sheld out his palm and asked for some alms, and this is what Peter did say: “Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I you: In the name of Jesus Christ of nazareth rise up and walk.”

That’s how I learned the song in youth group, anyway.

So, I told Mark, after listening to a little of his story, that I didn’t have any money, which was kinda true (I rarely have cash on me).

I was a bit thankful he wasn’t lame, because I’m not sure I would have had the courage to dare to tell him to rise up and walk.

But then this is where God and incarnation kick in.

As I said, I’ve never been in such a situation where I was finding church offices in bank buildings because I needed help. So I don’t know how I would present the story. My story.

I’m pretty sure I would tell it in a way that would elicit help. If I need money, or food, or clothing, or shelter, and I think you have these, or the resources to help me get these, then I’m going to tell the story in a way that will, hopefully, get you to want to help me.

But, I don’t know about you, I’m usually a little leery of people telling that kind of story.

I’m one of these, “can we cut to the chase – where you tell me what you want, I tell you ‘no,’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ depending on your presentation, and we move on?”

I get to remain here. Holding all these resources – a pocket full of credit cards,  a house on which I am up-to-date, and even a little ahead, on the payments. I’ve got family who could, if I needed, who have, when I needed, come to the rescue when I had made poor decisions or just wasn’t quite able to make things work on my own. I’ve got a church family – dozens, maybe hundreds of people I could approach, if I needed, to help out in a bind.

Not to toot my own horn, but in this comparison, I’m like a king with a crown and he is subject to my benevolence

Or, to put it differently, I might as well be telling Mark that I’m the girl sitting in the bay window and he’s the bird out in the snow.

Wouldn’t it be kind of me to find a way to help him?!

Wouldn’t I be such an awesome person?! I could really make Mark think I’m an awesome person, too.

But it’s going to cost me. I have to open my Hearts.

Here’s the tricky part of the incarnation: I don’t really want Mark to think I’m an awesome person. I want Mark to believe the things I tell him about Jesus are true.

And I’m going to have a hard time convincing him of that as long as I stay up here, in the place where I’m the one who helps him. If I help him now, he can come back to me again. As long as he knows that how he gets help. He comes to me, and I am the help dispenser.

When I think about how I think about Jesus, I have to admit: sometimes I think about Jesus as the help dispenser.

But that’s not how Jesus came to us. If I want to be part of Mark meeting and knowing Jesus, I have to give up being the help dispenser or the Jesus dispenser and be a friend.

I am going to have to give up my place, my privilege,  my easy access to resources, my presumption that I can or should help him, and be a friend.

God didn’t send the angel Gabriel to a young woman to say, “God would like you to be the help dispenser dispenser.” Mary was more than just the baby mama!

God, through Gabriel, invited Mary into an awesome partnership that would offer us the presence of God in human form.

And this isn’t just God the almighty poured into a human shell; no; this God incarnate came just as he would live – humbly, powerless, at the mercy of others.

This is how God comes to us. It’s God saying “I can’t get close enough.”

This is how Christmas Eve invites us to think about thinking about Jesus.

This is what Mary knew!

 

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