“Desperate for Maternity Leave”
Matthew 2:13-23
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 30 December, 2007
First Sunday after Christmas

The gifts have been opened. The Christmas dinner has been eaten. ....And, yes, the birth of the baby Jesus has even been celebrated! Here we are, five days after Christmas, feeling satisfied, or tired, or hopeful... or just anxiously heading to the mall, so we can return those gifts we didn’t want and take advantage of the “post-Christmas” sales.
Overall, it has been a joyful season. Even if we did not, ourselves, feel particularly joyful during this holiday season, the signs of celebration were all around us. Cheerful carols, the jolly laugh of Santa Claus, the frenzied shops where loved ones carefully chose gifts. And yes, the hopeful (if not very jolly), Advent season, with its candles, special music, beloved scriptures, and Nativity scenes: the remembrance of Christ’s miraculous coming into the world, as a tiny human child. What joy!
We know this Christmas celebration so well. Year after year, we welcome the baby Jesus into our midst, so that we feel like family (indeed, we are God’s family), and we just want to admire the baby for a few more weeks. We want to spend time with the infant who, no matter how many times he is born into our world, never ceases to amaze us.
... But... we are caught up short. Just five days past the birth of the Christ-child, just six days after we gathered in this place on the magical night that is Christmas Eve, ... now, suddenly, we are flung back into violence, we are flung back into strife. We are flung back into the world from which we had hoped that baby Jesus would save us.
The infant Jesus, his mother Mary, and father Joseph, who were so venerated on Christmas Eve, are forced to flee from Judea to Egypt, in order to escape a wrathful, violent Herod. Herod, jealous of a tiny infant who had already been named “king” lashes out in a tremendously violent act, set out to kill all the children in and around Bethlehem, ages two and under.
We know this story so well that the words no longer sink into us as deeply as if we were hearing it for the first time. But imagine this! Every child under the age of two was to be killed. Bethlehem was not a large town, so the actual number of infants murdered was not that many. But the horror of having a small child torn from your arms, in the interests of a jealous king, is unimaginable. The terror of wondering, “Will my child be next?” is unthinkable.
We know the story of Mary and Joseph’s flight to Egypt so well that its impact may not sink in as it once did. But imagine what it must have been like for them! Already, they had faced difficulty. Joseph’s young fiancée had gotten pregnant before they were married -- a disgrace. Then, while traveling, they were unable to find a place for Mary to give birth, and their child was born in the discomfort of a barn. Those Christmas scenes, which we picture with such sentimentality, were nothing compared to the postpartum horror they faced.
As you now know, I collect Christmas cards, and a while ago I bought a box of cards that depicted the flight to Egypt. The painting on the cards was rather dark, in blues and greens and blacks, and it was not particularly cheerful. But it was a peaceful scene nonetheless, and the message inside the card was a traditional message of Christmas joy.
Although I liked the card, the flight to Egypt was anything but peaceful, and joy would have been the last feeling on Mary and Joseph’s hearts. Their newborn child’s life was in danger, at the hands of a ruthless king. Imagine knowing that your infant child is about to be slaughtered! I can barely imagine their breathless flight to Egypt, their tearful, fearful ride out of Judah.
Like so many of our Biblical stories, this story seems out of place. After all, we are just recovering from the joy of Christmas! Then... smack! This horror appears.
Scholar Frederick Niedner wonders, “Must we listen to this? Have we no season to block out the sounds of grief?”1 Yes, even the Christmas season (and in the church year, the season of Christmas is not yet over), is beset by grief, beset by pain. How can we deal?
On Christmas Eve, we celebrated the light that pushes forth from the darkness. ... But now the darkness seems to be pushing back down, trying to block out the light. What happened to the hope?
Those of us who know the story well know that the desperate escape of Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus will be successful. We know that Jesus will grow up, will become a rabbi, a healer, and a miracle worker. But we know also, that he will not escape death forever. We know, too well, the violence of the cross that the grown Jesus will face. And we know, in Niedner’s words, that “Mary will [finally] suffer the cruel robbing of her womb,” in Jesus’ death on the cross.2
That satisfaction, that exhaustion, that hope, that joy, that we were feeling this week after Christmas now feels more like a tumble of emotions churning in our gut. We don’t know what to think! Are we supposed to celebrate the baby Jesus, to coo at his sweet newborn face, his amazing presence in our midst? Or are we to remember the horrifying flight to Egypt... and the cross?
The point is, we are faced with both. On Christmas Eve, I spoke of God entering the world in human form, to experience all that we are as people. On Christmas Eve, those were words of hope! We know the presence of God so well, because God dared to take human form, because God dared to become like us, with all our foibles, weaknesses, ... and the possibility of death. For this reason, the baby Jesus was forced to flee the wrath of Herod... and for this reason, Jesus was able to die on the cross. In the hopeful words of Christmas Eve, he became like us.
The sadness, the fear of the flight to Egypt seem incongruous to us. They jolt us to bitter awareness after the happy haze of Christmas Day. But are they really so strange? It would be wonderful if such violence did not exist in our world, yes. We pray every day for peace in Iraq, in Israel and Palestine (the place of Jesus’ birth). Now we pray for peace and an end to violence in tumultuous Pakistan. As someone who rides the bus, I shudder at the recent violence on Baltimore buses. Violence -- whether it is a wrathful first century king, the assassination of a world leader, or the violent acts of teenagers in our own communities, is all around us. I believe fervently that God does not create the violence in our world; God has given us free will, and unfortunately we do not always use it well.
But God is willing to meet us where we are, and that means that God is present not only in the hopefulness of Christmas Eve, but also in the violence of Herod’s wrath. Not only in the miracles of Jesus’ healing and the wonder of his resurrection, but also in the tragedy of the cross. We are able to know God, because God knows us so well that God is able to meet us where we are, in all our joy, all our pain, all our hope, and all our sorrow.
The story of the incarnate Christ is not without violence, it is not without sorrow. But it is never without hope.
Now let us pray.
1 Frederick Niedner, “Rachel Weeping,” The Christian Century Dec. 14, 2004: 17.
2 Ibid.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
A Meditation on the Light - Xmas Eve 2007 (Isaiah 9:2-6; Luke 2:1-20)
A Meditation on the Light
Isaiah 9:2-6; Luke 2:1-20
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Monday, 24 December, 2007
Christmas Eve

This has been a dark season. Advent began with a warning about the end times. “...They knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man.” The second week of Advent, John referred to his followers as a “brood of vipers” and warned about the “unquenchable fire.” Last week, it appeared John was beginning to doubt whether Jesus was the Messiah. We learned that the one to come was not going to be a royal king with all the trimmings.
The season of Advent has taken on a dark shade outside of the scriptures too. At the beginning of December a troubled young man entered a busy shopping mall in Omaha, Nebraska and shot several people before committing suicide. An cyclone tore through Bangladesh several weeks ago, and we hardly heard about it. The war in Iraq drags on. The homeless in Baltimore are hungry, out in the cold.
In our own homes, we face illness. We face grief. We face struggles of mind, body and spirit. We ache.
The darkness of the Advent scriptures seems to seep into our bones, yet without the hope that those scriptures contain. Our hearts are heavier than our hastily filled Christmas shopping bags.
Finally, yesterday we heard the story of Christ’s birth, a story which we are repeating tonight. The light has come, once more, into the world, in the form of the child in the manger. Our Advent wreath now glows in its full glory as we celebrate the miracle that took place in the little town of Bethlehem. The star that lit the way to the manger shines brightly in the candlelight that glows throughout our sanctuary this night.
Let us allow the light of this night -- the warm light in this place, the light of the star above the manger -- seep into our bones. Whether we are truly in the midst of a merry Christmas, or whether our hearts are breaking, let us allow the hope of tonight to lighten our load a little.
When the baby Jesus was born so many years ago, God entered the world in human form. By so doing, our glorious, awesome God came to know the everyday life of humankind -- our joys, our trials, the mundane and the spectacular moments that make up human life. Can we not find hope in that? Can we not find hope in knowing that God experienced our life to such a degree that God’s own Son died on a cross?
Too often, we let go of hope, and there are times when God surely understands why we do so. But this night, wherever we are in the journey of our life, let us grasp on to the hope that is Emmanuel, God-with-us. Let us allow our hearts to mend, if only a little; let go of grudges and hatred; allow the babe in the manger to lighten our load.
Perhaps the hope of Christmas Eve will only last this one night for you, but by allowing the infant hand of the Christ-child to wrap you around his little finger, you might -- you just might -- begin to heal your soul.
Set aside your pain tonight, and let the light of Christ illumine you.
Now let us pray.
Isaiah 9:2-6; Luke 2:1-20
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Monday, 24 December, 2007
Christmas Eve

This has been a dark season. Advent began with a warning about the end times. “...They knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man.” The second week of Advent, John referred to his followers as a “brood of vipers” and warned about the “unquenchable fire.” Last week, it appeared John was beginning to doubt whether Jesus was the Messiah. We learned that the one to come was not going to be a royal king with all the trimmings.
The season of Advent has taken on a dark shade outside of the scriptures too. At the beginning of December a troubled young man entered a busy shopping mall in Omaha, Nebraska and shot several people before committing suicide. An cyclone tore through Bangladesh several weeks ago, and we hardly heard about it. The war in Iraq drags on. The homeless in Baltimore are hungry, out in the cold.
In our own homes, we face illness. We face grief. We face struggles of mind, body and spirit. We ache.
The darkness of the Advent scriptures seems to seep into our bones, yet without the hope that those scriptures contain. Our hearts are heavier than our hastily filled Christmas shopping bags.
Finally, yesterday we heard the story of Christ’s birth, a story which we are repeating tonight. The light has come, once more, into the world, in the form of the child in the manger. Our Advent wreath now glows in its full glory as we celebrate the miracle that took place in the little town of Bethlehem. The star that lit the way to the manger shines brightly in the candlelight that glows throughout our sanctuary this night.
Let us allow the light of this night -- the warm light in this place, the light of the star above the manger -- seep into our bones. Whether we are truly in the midst of a merry Christmas, or whether our hearts are breaking, let us allow the hope of tonight to lighten our load a little.
When the baby Jesus was born so many years ago, God entered the world in human form. By so doing, our glorious, awesome God came to know the everyday life of humankind -- our joys, our trials, the mundane and the spectacular moments that make up human life. Can we not find hope in that? Can we not find hope in knowing that God experienced our life to such a degree that God’s own Son died on a cross?
Too often, we let go of hope, and there are times when God surely understands why we do so. But this night, wherever we are in the journey of our life, let us grasp on to the hope that is Emmanuel, God-with-us. Let us allow our hearts to mend, if only a little; let go of grudges and hatred; allow the babe in the manger to lighten our load.
Perhaps the hope of Christmas Eve will only last this one night for you, but by allowing the infant hand of the Christ-child to wrap you around his little finger, you might -- you just might -- begin to heal your soul.
Set aside your pain tonight, and let the light of Christ illumine you.
Now let us pray.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Sermon 12/16/07 (Matthew 11:2-11)
“Almost Perfect...But Not Quite!”
Matthew 11:2-11
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 16 December, 2007
Third Sunday of Advent
I collect Christmas cards. I like to buy them around New Year’s, when they’re at deep discount, and I have several large boxes full of cards. I then send them out to friends and loved ones the following year, or even several years after that, so that I can choose from my stash and send a different one to each person every year.
I try to find unusual cards too. I have some secular cards, for nonreligious loved ones, a few Hanukkah cards for Jewish friends and relatives, and a batch of Christian cards, with images of the baby Jesus or other religious themes on them. I choose my Christmas card themes very carefully, and I make sure that the religious cards I buy are as “accurate” as I can find. No blonde, blue-eyed, 25-year-old Mary holding a roly-poly blond, blue-eyed baby Jesus. If I get a card that shows a Nativity scene, I try to find one that has a slightly more accurate depiction: an olive-skinned Middle Eastern family, a young, teen-aged Mary, and an infant Jesus, with not a sign of blond hair or blue eyes. I do not always succeed in such accuracy, as the makers of Christmas cards seem to have it directly from God (I missed that part in the scriptures!) that Jesus was a blond, blue-eyed, chubby little boy, but I try my best.
There is one point of accuracy, however, at which I have never been successful. Modern Christmas cards almost always show a happy Holy Family. Often, the Three Kings are pictured in the background, in all their glory. Even if they’re not present (remember, they actually did not arrive until the time of Epiphany, when Jesus would have been a toddler), the shepherds and angels are pictured happily looking over the baby, no sign of poverty in their clothing or healthy-looking sheep. The inn from which Mary and Joseph were turned away is pictured as a homey, if somewhat shabby, domicile, and the manger nearly always looks welcoming. That is, the tremendous poverty of first-century Judea is nowhere to be seen.
Then there are the royal images. Jesus is often pictured with a crown or halo, and sometimes the members of the Holy Family have them also. Purple, the color of royalty, abounds. We attempt to picture “the humble birth of Christ,” but instead it ends up looking quite homey and comfortable. (Oh, and by the way, Mary’s face looks calm and fresh, with no sign of her recent labor.)
As much as I love Christmas cards, the images printed on most are not only inaccurate; they probably would have upset Jesus deeply! As this morning’s lesson from Matthew draws us, once more, out of “the Christmas season” and back into Advent, we learn why.
We modern Christians await the coming of the baby in a manger, a sweet baby (blond, quite often!), who will be crowned with the kind of royal fanfare about which we sing in Christmas carols, and which we send around the country on our Christmas cards. But the Messiah for whom John the Baptist waited fit a somewhat different description.
When we first hear from John today, he is already in prison, after annoying King Herod with his disturbing prophecy. Mind you, John himself, who we know as Jesus’ predecessor, and as the great prophet, was no looker himself. Long before he was sent to prison, he dressed himself in animal skins, lived in the wilderness, and ate locusts and wild honey. Not exactly the picture of loveliness, the picture of the predecessor to a great king. But there he was.
We know that John had great faith in Jesus. He could barely bring himself to baptize Jesus, for he felt already that Jesus was greater than him, something truly special. He was Jesus’ cousin and greatest follower.
So, what do we have here? When we meet John in prison, he seems suddenly to doubt whether Jesus is truly the one for whom he -- and the world -- had been waiting. He asks, through his disciples, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” It is as though he is trying to compare the images of the royal king he had perhaps expected -- as though he had looked at some of our modern Christmas cards -- with the harsh, persecuted, seemingly powerless Jesus about whom he had heard from prison. “How is this the one who is to come? I don’t see him crushing our oppressors, or asserting power over the authorities. How can it be he for whom I have been preparing -- for whom we have all been preparing?!”
Jesus seems to take John’s words of doubt in stride, even matter-of-factly. He tells his disciples, “Just tell John what you hear and see! People are being healed, and the poor have good news brought to them. I may not be what he expected, but here I am, and I am bringing hope to the people in some other ways.”
In similar fashion, John the Baptist does not seem to be what the people expected. A wild man, a fire-and-brimstone sort of preacher, whose life in the wilderness probably gave him a bit of body odor, John hardly looked like the predecessor to any sort of Messiah, even a humble one. But Jesus responds to the people’s questioning in similar matter-of-factness: “What did you go out to the wilderness to look at? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.”
Neither Jesus nor John were what the people expected... nor are they often what we expect. As we send off our pretty Christmas cards every year, with the pretty (blond) baby Jesus, the homey setting, and the clean surroundings, we imagine Jesus as such a baby, and we proclaim, as in Handel’s Messiah (quoted from the prophet Isaiah), that “he will reign forever and ever.” But is that really what the season of Advent, or what the incarnation of Christ, is about? Even as we cry out, “King of Kings,” Jesus finds himself not in royal palaces but in the darkest parts of our communities. Even as we put on happy Christmas pageants, Jesus finds himself crying for peace in a war-torn world. Even as we write cheery messages on our Christmas cards Jesus reminds us, through the words of the gospel of Matthew, that he is not quite what we expect. He will bring hope to the world, but not necessarily through pretty pictures or happy images. He will bring love to the world, but not necessarily through calm words and smiling faces. He will bring peace to the world, but not necessarily through acts of force or power.
Jesus is the one for whom we wait -- for whom the John of Matthew’s gospel is preparing us -- but he may not be the Messiah we expect. Let’s rethink the images. Let’s rethink the stories, even as we cry out, “Joy to the world!” He will bring joy, yes. But not in the way that we thought he would.
Now let us pray.
Matthew 11:2-11
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 16 December, 2007
Third Sunday of Advent
I collect Christmas cards. I like to buy them around New Year’s, when they’re at deep discount, and I have several large boxes full of cards. I then send them out to friends and loved ones the following year, or even several years after that, so that I can choose from my stash and send a different one to each person every year.
I try to find unusual cards too. I have some secular cards, for nonreligious loved ones, a few Hanukkah cards for Jewish friends and relatives, and a batch of Christian cards, with images of the baby Jesus or other religious themes on them. I choose my Christmas card themes very carefully, and I make sure that the religious cards I buy are as “accurate” as I can find. No blonde, blue-eyed, 25-year-old Mary holding a roly-poly blond, blue-eyed baby Jesus. If I get a card that shows a Nativity scene, I try to find one that has a slightly more accurate depiction: an olive-skinned Middle Eastern family, a young, teen-aged Mary, and an infant Jesus, with not a sign of blond hair or blue eyes. I do not always succeed in such accuracy, as the makers of Christmas cards seem to have it directly from God (I missed that part in the scriptures!) that Jesus was a blond, blue-eyed, chubby little boy, but I try my best.
There is one point of accuracy, however, at which I have never been successful. Modern Christmas cards almost always show a happy Holy Family. Often, the Three Kings are pictured in the background, in all their glory. Even if they’re not present (remember, they actually did not arrive until the time of Epiphany, when Jesus would have been a toddler), the shepherds and angels are pictured happily looking over the baby, no sign of poverty in their clothing or healthy-looking sheep. The inn from which Mary and Joseph were turned away is pictured as a homey, if somewhat shabby, domicile, and the manger nearly always looks welcoming. That is, the tremendous poverty of first-century Judea is nowhere to be seen.
Then there are the royal images. Jesus is often pictured with a crown or halo, and sometimes the members of the Holy Family have them also. Purple, the color of royalty, abounds. We attempt to picture “the humble birth of Christ,” but instead it ends up looking quite homey and comfortable. (Oh, and by the way, Mary’s face looks calm and fresh, with no sign of her recent labor.)
As much as I love Christmas cards, the images printed on most are not only inaccurate; they probably would have upset Jesus deeply! As this morning’s lesson from Matthew draws us, once more, out of “the Christmas season” and back into Advent, we learn why.
We modern Christians await the coming of the baby in a manger, a sweet baby (blond, quite often!), who will be crowned with the kind of royal fanfare about which we sing in Christmas carols, and which we send around the country on our Christmas cards. But the Messiah for whom John the Baptist waited fit a somewhat different description.
When we first hear from John today, he is already in prison, after annoying King Herod with his disturbing prophecy. Mind you, John himself, who we know as Jesus’ predecessor, and as the great prophet, was no looker himself. Long before he was sent to prison, he dressed himself in animal skins, lived in the wilderness, and ate locusts and wild honey. Not exactly the picture of loveliness, the picture of the predecessor to a great king. But there he was.
We know that John had great faith in Jesus. He could barely bring himself to baptize Jesus, for he felt already that Jesus was greater than him, something truly special. He was Jesus’ cousin and greatest follower.
So, what do we have here? When we meet John in prison, he seems suddenly to doubt whether Jesus is truly the one for whom he -- and the world -- had been waiting. He asks, through his disciples, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” It is as though he is trying to compare the images of the royal king he had perhaps expected -- as though he had looked at some of our modern Christmas cards -- with the harsh, persecuted, seemingly powerless Jesus about whom he had heard from prison. “How is this the one who is to come? I don’t see him crushing our oppressors, or asserting power over the authorities. How can it be he for whom I have been preparing -- for whom we have all been preparing?!”
Jesus seems to take John’s words of doubt in stride, even matter-of-factly. He tells his disciples, “Just tell John what you hear and see! People are being healed, and the poor have good news brought to them. I may not be what he expected, but here I am, and I am bringing hope to the people in some other ways.”
In similar fashion, John the Baptist does not seem to be what the people expected. A wild man, a fire-and-brimstone sort of preacher, whose life in the wilderness probably gave him a bit of body odor, John hardly looked like the predecessor to any sort of Messiah, even a humble one. But Jesus responds to the people’s questioning in similar matter-of-factness: “What did you go out to the wilderness to look at? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.”
Neither Jesus nor John were what the people expected... nor are they often what we expect. As we send off our pretty Christmas cards every year, with the pretty (blond) baby Jesus, the homey setting, and the clean surroundings, we imagine Jesus as such a baby, and we proclaim, as in Handel’s Messiah (quoted from the prophet Isaiah), that “he will reign forever and ever.” But is that really what the season of Advent, or what the incarnation of Christ, is about? Even as we cry out, “King of Kings,” Jesus finds himself not in royal palaces but in the darkest parts of our communities. Even as we put on happy Christmas pageants, Jesus finds himself crying for peace in a war-torn world. Even as we write cheery messages on our Christmas cards Jesus reminds us, through the words of the gospel of Matthew, that he is not quite what we expect. He will bring hope to the world, but not necessarily through pretty pictures or happy images. He will bring love to the world, but not necessarily through calm words and smiling faces. He will bring peace to the world, but not necessarily through acts of force or power.
Jesus is the one for whom we wait -- for whom the John of Matthew’s gospel is preparing us -- but he may not be the Messiah we expect. Let’s rethink the images. Let’s rethink the stories, even as we cry out, “Joy to the world!” He will bring joy, yes. But not in the way that we thought he would.
Now let us pray.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Sermon 12/09/07 (Matthew 3:1-12)
“At the Edge of Life”
Matthew 3:1-12
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 9 December, 2007
Second Sunday of Advent
I’ve been talking a lot about AIDS lately. First there was the story in the Baltimore Sun about the sex for drugs trade. Then there was our Candle of Hope for World AIDS Day. Last week I spoke of a wife and mother from rural North Dakota who lost nearly everything when she was diagnosed with HIV. I hope I’m not becoming a broken record, but it’s an important topic and I’ve been thinking about it.
In 1999 I had the privilege of working as a chaplain at Doorways, an interfaith residence for people living with HIV and AIDS. During my time there, I got to know a number of the residents. There was the friendly older deaf man, with whom I communicated by writing notes back and forth. There was the young woman with cerebral palsy who loved boy bands, especially the Back Street Boys. There was the young man who flirted with me and told me once, “If it wasn’t for this HIV thing, I would whisk you off to Hawaii!” There was the 18-year-old blind mother of two who was unable to care for her children due to her disease. There was the young man who told me upon one of our first meetings about his recent brush with death. There was the former psychologist who had had to quit his profession when he began wasting away from AIDS.
The residents of Doorways came from a variety of backgrounds, had a myriad of personalities, and had varying levels of health. I know that some of the people with whom I worked have since died. Others have improved in health and been able to return to living on their own. All were different, having contracted HIV in different ways (I was trained not to ask, but some residents were forthcoming). For some residents, AIDS was just one aspect of their lives with which they needed to deal. They were able to face life one day at a time. Others approached their condition sullenly, resisted treatment, and treated their doctors and nurses as enemies. In one small house, a wide variety of people lived. Yet the residents of Doorways had one thing in common: They were all “at the edge of life,” faced with an incurable disease that could kill them with little warning. Many of the residents were otherwise healthy, and some had few symptoms of AIDS. Nonetheless -- even if they never experienced symptoms -- their lives had been indelibly changed by the diagnoses of HIV. Even those who were physically strong, even those who were in denial, were at the edge.
Living “at the edge of life” like that does something to a person. If any of you have experienced chronic illness, or if you have been close to someone who has, you know that the possibility of death can cause one to feel the need to tie up any “loose ends” left over from one’s past. Several residents yearned to reconcile with loved ones from whom they had been long estranged. Some yearned to try things they had never tried before -- “I hope I get a chance to try this before I die!” And other residents asked me if I would hear their “confession.” Knowing that they were facing death, and knowing that they had not lived their lives perfectly, they longed to repent. It was as though they could hear John the Baptist speaking to them directly, crying to them, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” They wanted to prepare for the death they knew may come, that seemed sometimes to be just around the corner.
People living with HIV/AIDS are no more in need of repentance than the rest of us... and not all the residents of Doorways felt the need to “tie up loose ends” just because they had been diagnosed with HIV. But their constant state of “living at the edge of life” makes people living with HIV/AIDS a sort of example for the rest of us. The residents of Doorways -- most of them under the age of 50 -- knew that they were staring an incurable virus in the face, and even those who didn’t care to admit it knew that this would require certain changes to their lives.
This can be true of any potentially terminal illness, but I see it as especially true with AIDS, due to the stigma that surrounds the disease. Although the situation has improved in recent years, many people living with HIV or AIDS remain the kinds of outcasts for whom Jesus cared so much, thus causing them to be “at the edge of life” more than sufferers of other, less stigmatized conditions. This was true with many of the residents with whom I ministered. They were in a constant state of “Advent,” of preparing for what was to come by repenting of what had already passed.
Isn’t that what the season of Advent is all about? Those of you who were here last week know that during this Advent season, we won’t be seeing much of the pregnant Virgin Mary or the baby Jesus. Instead, we will be talking about preparation: how we prepare for the coming of God into our world. This morning’s lesson from the gospel of Matthew reminds us that such preparation is not just about Christmas carols and waiting for the baby. Like the residents of Doorways, the season of Advent puts us “at the edge of life,” somewhere in between the hope of the coming Christ and the reminder of the darkness of life and our own need for repentance. Biblical scholar Douglas Hare writes that it is important to remember this
"twofold accent of Advent, lest our concentration on the Christmas baby become empty sentimentality void of awe. We must not speak of God’s love coming down at Christmas without remembering that the divine love is fierce in its judgment of those who resist love’s demands.1
John the Baptist’s words in Matthew speak sharply in that regard. He names the hope of the coming Christ: “One who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals.” He names the fierceness of that coming Christ also, with language about the “brood of vipers” to whom he speaks, and “unquenchable fire”; frightening images that don’t quite go along with the “Madonna and child” to which we are accustomed. But these, too, are images of the coming Christ.
It is my strong belief that people living with HIV and AIDS are no more sinful than the rest of us, regardless of the way in which they contracted their disease. However, that is not necessarily saying much. Each of us, when we are honest with ourselves, know that we have done things of which God would not be proud, and which are not befitting of the incarnation of God into our world. People living with chronic illness, or near death, are perhaps more aware of this than the rest of us, because they are at a point at which life takes on a certain sharpness. But during the season of Advent we can all walk to that edge of life, take a look at the life that we have lived, and prepare to repent of those things we have done that we know were not of God. We can prepare for baptism by the coming Christ. We can become aware, amidst the unending grace of God, that we, too, are occasionally worthy of being called a brood of vipers.
You may choose not to confess your sins before me or before any human being. You may decide that it is most meaningful for you to do so silently, alone with God. But do, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of “the holiday season” remember John the Baptist’s message of repentance. As you feel overwhelmed with the craziness of “this season,” as we have come to know it, remember to “walk to the edge of life.” Remember, as you place that baby Jesus in your Nativity scene once more, that this is not only a season of light; it is a season of darkness too. Remember that the baby in the manger is also the One who died on the cross. And remember, you brood of vipers that is loved by God, to pray.
Now let us pray.
1 Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew (Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993) 20.
Matthew 3:1-12
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 9 December, 2007
Second Sunday of Advent
I’ve been talking a lot about AIDS lately. First there was the story in the Baltimore Sun about the sex for drugs trade. Then there was our Candle of Hope for World AIDS Day. Last week I spoke of a wife and mother from rural North Dakota who lost nearly everything when she was diagnosed with HIV. I hope I’m not becoming a broken record, but it’s an important topic and I’ve been thinking about it.
In 1999 I had the privilege of working as a chaplain at Doorways, an interfaith residence for people living with HIV and AIDS. During my time there, I got to know a number of the residents. There was the friendly older deaf man, with whom I communicated by writing notes back and forth. There was the young woman with cerebral palsy who loved boy bands, especially the Back Street Boys. There was the young man who flirted with me and told me once, “If it wasn’t for this HIV thing, I would whisk you off to Hawaii!” There was the 18-year-old blind mother of two who was unable to care for her children due to her disease. There was the young man who told me upon one of our first meetings about his recent brush with death. There was the former psychologist who had had to quit his profession when he began wasting away from AIDS.
The residents of Doorways came from a variety of backgrounds, had a myriad of personalities, and had varying levels of health. I know that some of the people with whom I worked have since died. Others have improved in health and been able to return to living on their own. All were different, having contracted HIV in different ways (I was trained not to ask, but some residents were forthcoming). For some residents, AIDS was just one aspect of their lives with which they needed to deal. They were able to face life one day at a time. Others approached their condition sullenly, resisted treatment, and treated their doctors and nurses as enemies. In one small house, a wide variety of people lived. Yet the residents of Doorways had one thing in common: They were all “at the edge of life,” faced with an incurable disease that could kill them with little warning. Many of the residents were otherwise healthy, and some had few symptoms of AIDS. Nonetheless -- even if they never experienced symptoms -- their lives had been indelibly changed by the diagnoses of HIV. Even those who were physically strong, even those who were in denial, were at the edge.
Living “at the edge of life” like that does something to a person. If any of you have experienced chronic illness, or if you have been close to someone who has, you know that the possibility of death can cause one to feel the need to tie up any “loose ends” left over from one’s past. Several residents yearned to reconcile with loved ones from whom they had been long estranged. Some yearned to try things they had never tried before -- “I hope I get a chance to try this before I die!” And other residents asked me if I would hear their “confession.” Knowing that they were facing death, and knowing that they had not lived their lives perfectly, they longed to repent. It was as though they could hear John the Baptist speaking to them directly, crying to them, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” They wanted to prepare for the death they knew may come, that seemed sometimes to be just around the corner.
People living with HIV/AIDS are no more in need of repentance than the rest of us... and not all the residents of Doorways felt the need to “tie up loose ends” just because they had been diagnosed with HIV. But their constant state of “living at the edge of life” makes people living with HIV/AIDS a sort of example for the rest of us. The residents of Doorways -- most of them under the age of 50 -- knew that they were staring an incurable virus in the face, and even those who didn’t care to admit it knew that this would require certain changes to their lives.
This can be true of any potentially terminal illness, but I see it as especially true with AIDS, due to the stigma that surrounds the disease. Although the situation has improved in recent years, many people living with HIV or AIDS remain the kinds of outcasts for whom Jesus cared so much, thus causing them to be “at the edge of life” more than sufferers of other, less stigmatized conditions. This was true with many of the residents with whom I ministered. They were in a constant state of “Advent,” of preparing for what was to come by repenting of what had already passed.
Isn’t that what the season of Advent is all about? Those of you who were here last week know that during this Advent season, we won’t be seeing much of the pregnant Virgin Mary or the baby Jesus. Instead, we will be talking about preparation: how we prepare for the coming of God into our world. This morning’s lesson from the gospel of Matthew reminds us that such preparation is not just about Christmas carols and waiting for the baby. Like the residents of Doorways, the season of Advent puts us “at the edge of life,” somewhere in between the hope of the coming Christ and the reminder of the darkness of life and our own need for repentance. Biblical scholar Douglas Hare writes that it is important to remember this
"twofold accent of Advent, lest our concentration on the Christmas baby become empty sentimentality void of awe. We must not speak of God’s love coming down at Christmas without remembering that the divine love is fierce in its judgment of those who resist love’s demands.1
John the Baptist’s words in Matthew speak sharply in that regard. He names the hope of the coming Christ: “One who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals.” He names the fierceness of that coming Christ also, with language about the “brood of vipers” to whom he speaks, and “unquenchable fire”; frightening images that don’t quite go along with the “Madonna and child” to which we are accustomed. But these, too, are images of the coming Christ.
It is my strong belief that people living with HIV and AIDS are no more sinful than the rest of us, regardless of the way in which they contracted their disease. However, that is not necessarily saying much. Each of us, when we are honest with ourselves, know that we have done things of which God would not be proud, and which are not befitting of the incarnation of God into our world. People living with chronic illness, or near death, are perhaps more aware of this than the rest of us, because they are at a point at which life takes on a certain sharpness. But during the season of Advent we can all walk to that edge of life, take a look at the life that we have lived, and prepare to repent of those things we have done that we know were not of God. We can prepare for baptism by the coming Christ. We can become aware, amidst the unending grace of God, that we, too, are occasionally worthy of being called a brood of vipers.
You may choose not to confess your sins before me or before any human being. You may decide that it is most meaningful for you to do so silently, alone with God. But do, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of “the holiday season” remember John the Baptist’s message of repentance. As you feel overwhelmed with the craziness of “this season,” as we have come to know it, remember to “walk to the edge of life.” Remember, as you place that baby Jesus in your Nativity scene once more, that this is not only a season of light; it is a season of darkness too. Remember that the baby in the manger is also the One who died on the cross. And remember, you brood of vipers that is loved by God, to pray.
Now let us pray.
1 Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew (Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993) 20.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Sermon 12/02/07 (Matthew 24:36-44)
“A Merry Christmas?!”
Matthew 24:36-44
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 2 December, 2007
First Sunday of Advent
I have finally come to terms with the fact that December is here (for most of November I refused to believe that Advent was on its way). I avoided “Black Friday” like the plague, but I do that every year. I haven’t put up my Christmas decorations or begun sending my Christmas cards, but I always wait until the first Sunday in Advent.
Of course, for much of the country the “holiday season” has been in full swing since the day after Thanksgiving, or maybe even before that. (I saw Christmas decorations pop up on a few houses right after Halloween.) Thanksgiving week marked the advent of Santa Claus into shopping malls, and those of us who have not yet begun our holiday decorating or finished our Christmas shopping are considered “a little slow” by many. The baby Jesus is born the minute after the Thanksgiving turkey is carved... if “the baby Jesus” even comes to mind amidst the Santa Clauses, toy stores, and Christmas parties of “the holiday season.”
It seems we church people are rather behind on the Christmas rush. It is a whole ten days after Thanksgiving, and we’re only just now getting started with the season of Advent! ...And where on earth is the baby Jesus?!
As individual church members, and even as a congregation, we may be well-immersed in the holiday spirit already. I’m sure Alta isn’t the only one of you who went out on Black Friday, and I’m guessing many of you have already put up your decorations. But in terms of the liturgical year, the season of Advent (the four weeks leading up to Christmas) begins today. And as we can see from this morning’s scripture lesson, this Advent season may not be particularly merry.
The “Christmas season,” as we have come to call it, is the one season in which we Protestants feel fairly comfortable with the person of Mary, the mother of Jesus. We sing songs about the faithful Mary, and I still remember my excitement at getting to play Mary in the Christmas play at my church many years ago. But where’s Mary in this morning’s scripture? Nonexistent. No baby Jesus, and no Mary. Instead, we have an eery telling about “the coming of the Son of Man”: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ...Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” This gospel lesson is hardly dangling with glittering Christmas lights, and I can’t see children rehearsing lines for a Christmas play based on this text.
...Um, wait a second. Did I read the wrong scripture lesson for this morning? This is the scripture lesson for the first Sunday of Advent, isn’t it? It doesn’t really sound right. ...No, okay, I checked my lectionary, and this is, indeed, the correct scripture for today.
So, what gives? Where’s the baby? Where’s Mother Mary? Where are the shepherds and the Christmas star and the three wise men and the camels and the Christmas presents and the Christmas tree... and...and all that Christmas stuff?! Why these creepy words that tell us, “if the owner of the house had known in what part of the house the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready.” Aaack! What?! Thieves may be more prevalent during the holiday season, when we go on vacation, etc., but the cute baby Jesus is not a thief, and we want him to come, don’t we?! What is this weird stuff doing in Advent?!
This morning’s scripture does, indeed, sound more like the end of the world (like the “Left Behind” series of books, perhaps) than like the incarnation of Christ into our world. ...But, wait just one more minute. What is it that we celebrate at Christmas time? Please don’t tell me it’s bargains the day after Thanksgiving, or Christmas hams or twinkling lights. Christmas is when we remember God’s marvelous coming into the world, in the human, yet divine, person of Jesus. And Advent is the season when we prepare for God’s coming into the world.
This morning’s scripture does sound more like it’s about the Second Coming than about the baby in the manger, but I believe the point of the passage has less to do with “first coming” or “second coming” or any particular coming of God into our world. Instead, as famed preacher Fred Craddock puts it,
"This morning’s gospel reading proclaims, once again, that our God is the one who comes to the world. The question is, How shall the day of the Lord be? Will it be darkness or light, joy or dread, judgment or redemption? It is this thought that stirs the people of God and reminds us that not only joy and anticipation but also repentance mark the observance of Advent."1
We know that Advent is a time of preparation ...and not just the preparation of our holiday decorations or Christmas lists. This morning’s gospel from Matthew reminds us that we are not just preparing for a sweet baby, born of a young girl in the city of Bethlehem. We are preparing for the incarnation of God into our world, which happens continually and powerfully. We know, from the tradition of our scriptures, that Jesus was not “a cute baby in the manger” for long. He soon became a dynamic preacher and prophet, who taught a new kind of justice, a new kind of peace, and who faced persecution as one who proclaimed an end to oppression.
We are called, then, to prepare not for the baby in the manger, but for the message that Jesus brought and brings. The season of Advent is not about taking a little trip out to Babies R’ Us for a few presents for the newborn. It is about preparing ourselves (over and over again) to live lives as close to Christ’s message as we are humanly able.
We “church folks” are not exempt from this preparation. We may like to think of ourselves as outside the secular world of consumerism and overindulgence, but we, too, are a part of this world in which we live. While we are never lost from the grace of God, let’s make good use of this Advent season.
What are some ways in which you can prepare yourselves for the coming of God -- in the form of the baby Jesus or otherwise -- into the world? Who is Christ to you, and how can you get ready for Christ? What are the actions you need to take this Advent season in order to become more faithful to the message of Christ, whose incarnation we prepare to celebrate?
During this season of Advent, I invite you to try a few things: reach out to those who are less fortunate than you, whether they are members of your own earthly family or people on the street. Reach for reconciliation with those people in your own circle of acquaintances and loved ones, as well as those from whom you feel divided in the wider world (Democrats vs. Republicans, anyone?) Find as many ways as you can to prepare yourself for the God who enters our world over and over again. And pray. Now let us pray.
1 Craddock, Fred B., John H. Hayes, Carl R. Holladay, and Gene M. Tucker, Preaching Through the Christian Year : Year A (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1992), pg. 9.
Matthew 24:36-44
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 2 December, 2007
First Sunday of Advent
I have finally come to terms with the fact that December is here (for most of November I refused to believe that Advent was on its way). I avoided “Black Friday” like the plague, but I do that every year. I haven’t put up my Christmas decorations or begun sending my Christmas cards, but I always wait until the first Sunday in Advent.
Of course, for much of the country the “holiday season” has been in full swing since the day after Thanksgiving, or maybe even before that. (I saw Christmas decorations pop up on a few houses right after Halloween.) Thanksgiving week marked the advent of Santa Claus into shopping malls, and those of us who have not yet begun our holiday decorating or finished our Christmas shopping are considered “a little slow” by many. The baby Jesus is born the minute after the Thanksgiving turkey is carved... if “the baby Jesus” even comes to mind amidst the Santa Clauses, toy stores, and Christmas parties of “the holiday season.”
It seems we church people are rather behind on the Christmas rush. It is a whole ten days after Thanksgiving, and we’re only just now getting started with the season of Advent! ...And where on earth is the baby Jesus?!
As individual church members, and even as a congregation, we may be well-immersed in the holiday spirit already. I’m sure Alta isn’t the only one of you who went out on Black Friday, and I’m guessing many of you have already put up your decorations. But in terms of the liturgical year, the season of Advent (the four weeks leading up to Christmas) begins today. And as we can see from this morning’s scripture lesson, this Advent season may not be particularly merry.
The “Christmas season,” as we have come to call it, is the one season in which we Protestants feel fairly comfortable with the person of Mary, the mother of Jesus. We sing songs about the faithful Mary, and I still remember my excitement at getting to play Mary in the Christmas play at my church many years ago. But where’s Mary in this morning’s scripture? Nonexistent. No baby Jesus, and no Mary. Instead, we have an eery telling about “the coming of the Son of Man”: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ...Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” This gospel lesson is hardly dangling with glittering Christmas lights, and I can’t see children rehearsing lines for a Christmas play based on this text.
...Um, wait a second. Did I read the wrong scripture lesson for this morning? This is the scripture lesson for the first Sunday of Advent, isn’t it? It doesn’t really sound right. ...No, okay, I checked my lectionary, and this is, indeed, the correct scripture for today.
So, what gives? Where’s the baby? Where’s Mother Mary? Where are the shepherds and the Christmas star and the three wise men and the camels and the Christmas presents and the Christmas tree... and...and all that Christmas stuff?! Why these creepy words that tell us, “if the owner of the house had known in what part of the house the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready.” Aaack! What?! Thieves may be more prevalent during the holiday season, when we go on vacation, etc., but the cute baby Jesus is not a thief, and we want him to come, don’t we?! What is this weird stuff doing in Advent?!
This morning’s scripture does, indeed, sound more like the end of the world (like the “Left Behind” series of books, perhaps) than like the incarnation of Christ into our world. ...But, wait just one more minute. What is it that we celebrate at Christmas time? Please don’t tell me it’s bargains the day after Thanksgiving, or Christmas hams or twinkling lights. Christmas is when we remember God’s marvelous coming into the world, in the human, yet divine, person of Jesus. And Advent is the season when we prepare for God’s coming into the world.
This morning’s scripture does sound more like it’s about the Second Coming than about the baby in the manger, but I believe the point of the passage has less to do with “first coming” or “second coming” or any particular coming of God into our world. Instead, as famed preacher Fred Craddock puts it,
"This morning’s gospel reading proclaims, once again, that our God is the one who comes to the world. The question is, How shall the day of the Lord be? Will it be darkness or light, joy or dread, judgment or redemption? It is this thought that stirs the people of God and reminds us that not only joy and anticipation but also repentance mark the observance of Advent."1
We know that Advent is a time of preparation ...and not just the preparation of our holiday decorations or Christmas lists. This morning’s gospel from Matthew reminds us that we are not just preparing for a sweet baby, born of a young girl in the city of Bethlehem. We are preparing for the incarnation of God into our world, which happens continually and powerfully. We know, from the tradition of our scriptures, that Jesus was not “a cute baby in the manger” for long. He soon became a dynamic preacher and prophet, who taught a new kind of justice, a new kind of peace, and who faced persecution as one who proclaimed an end to oppression.
We are called, then, to prepare not for the baby in the manger, but for the message that Jesus brought and brings. The season of Advent is not about taking a little trip out to Babies R’ Us for a few presents for the newborn. It is about preparing ourselves (over and over again) to live lives as close to Christ’s message as we are humanly able.
We “church folks” are not exempt from this preparation. We may like to think of ourselves as outside the secular world of consumerism and overindulgence, but we, too, are a part of this world in which we live. While we are never lost from the grace of God, let’s make good use of this Advent season.
What are some ways in which you can prepare yourselves for the coming of God -- in the form of the baby Jesus or otherwise -- into the world? Who is Christ to you, and how can you get ready for Christ? What are the actions you need to take this Advent season in order to become more faithful to the message of Christ, whose incarnation we prepare to celebrate?
During this season of Advent, I invite you to try a few things: reach out to those who are less fortunate than you, whether they are members of your own earthly family or people on the street. Reach for reconciliation with those people in your own circle of acquaintances and loved ones, as well as those from whom you feel divided in the wider world (Democrats vs. Republicans, anyone?) Find as many ways as you can to prepare yourself for the God who enters our world over and over again. And pray. Now let us pray.
1 Craddock, Fred B., John H. Hayes, Carl R. Holladay, and Gene M. Tucker, Preaching Through the Christian Year : Year A (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1992), pg. 9.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Sermon 11/25/07 (Luke 23:33-43)
“Reigning When it Rains”
Luke 23:33-43
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 25 November, 2007
Reign of Christ Sunday
Have you ever taken a close look at the United Church of Christ logo, pictured on the cover of this morning’s bulletin? We are familiar with the logo by now, the symbol of our denomination which we see emblazoned on various posters, mailings, the back of our bulletins, my business cards, and the pendant I’m wearing around my neck this morning. We see it and say, “Oh! That’s the symbol of the UCC!” ...But have you ever really looked at it?
There is a little UCC symbol on the back of the small print bulletins, but this morning you’ll notice a larger copy of the symbol inside your bulletin. Take a look at it. What do you see in that hodgepodge of symbols? There’s a cross there, right? That’s pretty obvious. The cross is the common symbol of our Christian faith. But what’s the rest of it?
At the bottom of the cross, there is some kind of circle, or orb. According to our denomination’s web site, “The orb, divided into three parts, reminds us of Jesus' command to be his ‘witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth’ (Acts 1:8). The verse from Scripture reflects our historic commitment to the restoration of unity among the separated churches of Jesus Christ.” In other words, the circle at the bottom of the cross symbolizes the globe, and is a reminder that we are to be witnesses to the gospel throughout the earth. Okay, that makes sense.
...What about that thing at the top of the UCC symbol? A crown?! At first glance, this symbol may not seem so strange to us. We Christians have become so familiar with the idea that Jesus is a king or Lord, that we almost take the image of a crown of glory for granted. “Christ the King?! Well, of course!”
Indeed, we refer to today, this last Sunday of the Christian year as “Christ the King” or “Reign of Christ” Sunday. We celebrate our “Lord” Jesus Christ, who will “reign forever.”
But think about it for a moment! Herein lies the paradox of our faith. Think: ...What is a crown doing at the top of a cross? Crucifixion was one of the most gruesome and horrifying execution methods used by the Romans. It was humiliating and extraordinarily painful -- one of the worst ways to die. In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus and his neighbors on the cross are seen talking normally to one another, but I wonder if such conversation would really be possible for three men nailed to trees and facing their very imminent death. Crucifixion was an abominable way to die. And yet, the cross, used for that execution method, has become a positive symbol of our faith. We wear jeweled crosses around our necks, we hang decorative crosses on our walls, we fill our churches with crosses simple or ornate. ...And, of course, we place a cross cheerily in the middle of our UCC logo.
So, how did the crown come to be placed atop the cross... and how did the cross come to be associated with the crown? This morning’s gospel lesson does not necessarily clear things up. Notice, for example, that in this scripture we read on “Reign of Christ” Sunday, it is Jesus’ executioners and one of his fellow “criminals” who call him “king” and “Messiah.” Jesus himself does not proclaim his kingship or role as Messiah in this scene, nor do Jesus’ followers. While later followers -- including those who wrote our New Testament -- ascribed the role of king, Lord, and Messiah to Jesus, it is his enemies who must name him thus first... albeit mockingly.
What kind of sense does this make? A cross and a crown?! Jesus never wore an earthly crown, despite the image of the nicely stylized crown we see atop our UCC logo and in many other Christian images. Why do we venerate him so? ... And why, just as we are preparing to begin the season of Advent, the season leading up to Jesus’ birth are we suddenly drawn back into Good Friday? Why the tragedy mixed with celebration?
This we should know. It is in the mixture of Good Friday and Easter, the contrast between the great highs and the enormous lows of Jesus’ incarnation, life, and death, that we see our own lives mirrored and that we are able to know God. We may not have been able to see God in a Christ whose life was entirely without suffering, because our own lives are not without suffering. In the same way, we would not have been able to see God in a Christ whose life was only suffering -- the death without the resurrection. Instead, we are able to see our own lives, and thus see God, in a Christ for whom the darkness of Good Friday is followed by the glory of Easter. We are able to find hope, and to proclaim that God really will reign forever, because we know that the execution that took place at “that place called the Skull,” in which a popular rabbi named Jesus was crucified, was not the end of it. The crown comes, and our own fear of death disintegrates, because we know that Jesus’ crucifixion was not without meaning, and it was not the end of the story.
The executioners, and that man on the cross beside Jesus, called Jesus “king” in order to mock him -- because they thought that an influential man such as he should be able to use the “powers” people had ascribed to him in order to save himself from the cross. But Jesus knew better. Saving himself from the cross would have only given him a few more years on this earth -- years that could have been used well to heal the sick and reach out to the poor, but which would only have been a few years. Instead, he chose to die. Not only was this an act of humility in response to God, his Parent; it also allowed his legacy to live on in the hearts of his followers... for more than two thousand years after his death. We say that he “reigns forever and ever,” because we know that he continues to live on within us.
Why the Good Friday glum when we’re just getting ready for Christmas? This, too, is a reminder of who Christ was and is to us. Take that crown, again, for example. Does the shape of the crown remind you of anything? Next week, as we begin the season of Advent, we will light an Advent wreath. If you look at the wreath closely, with its four candles and Christ candle, you may notice that the circle of the wreath looks a little like a crown. This is no accident. The Advent wreath was created to look like the crown of thorns Jesus wore at his crucifixion... and like the crown we place on him now, in our belief that the message he brought, that the Spirit of God, will take over our lives and thus will reign forever.
Remembering the crucifixion before we begin the joyous march to Christmas Day is symbolic of how mixed up life and death are, of how joy always has mixed with it a little sorrow, and vice versa. The Advent wreath that leads us to the manger with its gentle light, yet is also a crown of thorns and a royal headpiece, is a reminder that God is life and death for us. As we lift up Jesus’ reign in the remembrance of his death, let us remember the steps that we need to take. Remember the humility of the prisoner beside Jesus’, remember Jesus’ own hope in time of death... and remember, as they both did, to pray.
Now let us pray.
Luke 23:33-43
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 25 November, 2007
Reign of Christ Sunday
Have you ever taken a close look at the United Church of Christ logo, pictured on the cover of this morning’s bulletin? We are familiar with the logo by now, the symbol of our denomination which we see emblazoned on various posters, mailings, the back of our bulletins, my business cards, and the pendant I’m wearing around my neck this morning. We see it and say, “Oh! That’s the symbol of the UCC!” ...But have you ever really looked at it?
There is a little UCC symbol on the back of the small print bulletins, but this morning you’ll notice a larger copy of the symbol inside your bulletin. Take a look at it. What do you see in that hodgepodge of symbols? There’s a cross there, right? That’s pretty obvious. The cross is the common symbol of our Christian faith. But what’s the rest of it?
At the bottom of the cross, there is some kind of circle, or orb. According to our denomination’s web site, “The orb, divided into three parts, reminds us of Jesus' command to be his ‘witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth’ (Acts 1:8). The verse from Scripture reflects our historic commitment to the restoration of unity among the separated churches of Jesus Christ.” In other words, the circle at the bottom of the cross symbolizes the globe, and is a reminder that we are to be witnesses to the gospel throughout the earth. Okay, that makes sense.
...What about that thing at the top of the UCC symbol? A crown?! At first glance, this symbol may not seem so strange to us. We Christians have become so familiar with the idea that Jesus is a king or Lord, that we almost take the image of a crown of glory for granted. “Christ the King?! Well, of course!”
Indeed, we refer to today, this last Sunday of the Christian year as “Christ the King” or “Reign of Christ” Sunday. We celebrate our “Lord” Jesus Christ, who will “reign forever.”
But think about it for a moment! Herein lies the paradox of our faith. Think: ...What is a crown doing at the top of a cross? Crucifixion was one of the most gruesome and horrifying execution methods used by the Romans. It was humiliating and extraordinarily painful -- one of the worst ways to die. In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus and his neighbors on the cross are seen talking normally to one another, but I wonder if such conversation would really be possible for three men nailed to trees and facing their very imminent death. Crucifixion was an abominable way to die. And yet, the cross, used for that execution method, has become a positive symbol of our faith. We wear jeweled crosses around our necks, we hang decorative crosses on our walls, we fill our churches with crosses simple or ornate. ...And, of course, we place a cross cheerily in the middle of our UCC logo.
So, how did the crown come to be placed atop the cross... and how did the cross come to be associated with the crown? This morning’s gospel lesson does not necessarily clear things up. Notice, for example, that in this scripture we read on “Reign of Christ” Sunday, it is Jesus’ executioners and one of his fellow “criminals” who call him “king” and “Messiah.” Jesus himself does not proclaim his kingship or role as Messiah in this scene, nor do Jesus’ followers. While later followers -- including those who wrote our New Testament -- ascribed the role of king, Lord, and Messiah to Jesus, it is his enemies who must name him thus first... albeit mockingly.
What kind of sense does this make? A cross and a crown?! Jesus never wore an earthly crown, despite the image of the nicely stylized crown we see atop our UCC logo and in many other Christian images. Why do we venerate him so? ... And why, just as we are preparing to begin the season of Advent, the season leading up to Jesus’ birth are we suddenly drawn back into Good Friday? Why the tragedy mixed with celebration?
This we should know. It is in the mixture of Good Friday and Easter, the contrast between the great highs and the enormous lows of Jesus’ incarnation, life, and death, that we see our own lives mirrored and that we are able to know God. We may not have been able to see God in a Christ whose life was entirely without suffering, because our own lives are not without suffering. In the same way, we would not have been able to see God in a Christ whose life was only suffering -- the death without the resurrection. Instead, we are able to see our own lives, and thus see God, in a Christ for whom the darkness of Good Friday is followed by the glory of Easter. We are able to find hope, and to proclaim that God really will reign forever, because we know that the execution that took place at “that place called the Skull,” in which a popular rabbi named Jesus was crucified, was not the end of it. The crown comes, and our own fear of death disintegrates, because we know that Jesus’ crucifixion was not without meaning, and it was not the end of the story.
The executioners, and that man on the cross beside Jesus, called Jesus “king” in order to mock him -- because they thought that an influential man such as he should be able to use the “powers” people had ascribed to him in order to save himself from the cross. But Jesus knew better. Saving himself from the cross would have only given him a few more years on this earth -- years that could have been used well to heal the sick and reach out to the poor, but which would only have been a few years. Instead, he chose to die. Not only was this an act of humility in response to God, his Parent; it also allowed his legacy to live on in the hearts of his followers... for more than two thousand years after his death. We say that he “reigns forever and ever,” because we know that he continues to live on within us.
Why the Good Friday glum when we’re just getting ready for Christmas? This, too, is a reminder of who Christ was and is to us. Take that crown, again, for example. Does the shape of the crown remind you of anything? Next week, as we begin the season of Advent, we will light an Advent wreath. If you look at the wreath closely, with its four candles and Christ candle, you may notice that the circle of the wreath looks a little like a crown. This is no accident. The Advent wreath was created to look like the crown of thorns Jesus wore at his crucifixion... and like the crown we place on him now, in our belief that the message he brought, that the Spirit of God, will take over our lives and thus will reign forever.
Remembering the crucifixion before we begin the joyous march to Christmas Day is symbolic of how mixed up life and death are, of how joy always has mixed with it a little sorrow, and vice versa. The Advent wreath that leads us to the manger with its gentle light, yet is also a crown of thorns and a royal headpiece, is a reminder that God is life and death for us. As we lift up Jesus’ reign in the remembrance of his death, let us remember the steps that we need to take. Remember the humility of the prisoner beside Jesus’, remember Jesus’ own hope in time of death... and remember, as they both did, to pray.
Now let us pray.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Sermon 11/18/07 (Matthew 25:31-45)
“Gathered ‘Round the Table?”
Matthew 25:31-45
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 18 November, 2007
Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time
Homelessness Awareness Sunday
 Every year for Thanksgiving my family would drive an hour to my cousins’ farm near Enderlin, North Dakota. When we arrived there would be lots of hugging, plenty of appetizers, and the authoritative voice of Aunt Emmy barking orders. Finally, an hour or two after dinner had been scheduled (this happened every year), we would gather around the table for the sumptuous feast. There was turkey with all the fixings, acorn squash, cranberries, potatoes, stuffing, vegetables, several different kinds of pie. We ate and talked and laughed and ate and talked and laughed some more. Rather than settle down in front of the TV to watch football after the big meal, we would sit around and talk. The children (myself included, when I was young) would play all sorts of imaginative games. We would revel in the warmth of extended family.
In North Dakota snow is a distinct possibility by Thanksgiving, so when we were finally ready to go home we would bundle up in our warm coats, hats, mittens, and boots, and shiver as we waited for the car to warm up.
During college, I was unable to go home to North Dakota for Thanksgiving, and I haven’t spent Thanksgiving there since Ben and I married, but I have always had a place to be and food to eat. There was the year a college roommate and I invited everyone on our college campus who was unable to go home for Thanksgiving. We cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner in our little dormitory kitchen and shared it with two Sri Lankans. There was the year I visited cousins in Connecticut. I spent Thanksgiving at a friend’s house in Philadelphia one year. After Ben and I married, we spent Thanksgiving with my cousins in Northern California. The past two years we have spent Thanksgiving with my cousins in Columbia, Maryland. This year we will visit Ben’s aunt and uncle in New Jersey. The point is, I have always had somewhere to be and food to eat. Even on the rare occasions that I didn’t have many options for Thanksgiving, I did not go hungry, nor was I left out in the cold.
Most of us here today will stuff ourselves this Thanksgiving. We are all looking forward to the meal we will share after worship today, but many of us have plans for Thursday too. We will fill our stomachs, sleep off the turkey, watch the game, talk with relatives, maybe fight with relatives. We may feel lonely. We may feel sad. We may not eat turkey. But we will have shelter and at least something to eat.
We are the lucky ones. There are many people in our community and beyond who struggle to find one meal a day, much less a Thanksgiving feast. There are many who do not have warm coats to ward off the cold, much less a car in which to drive home. Then there are those who are simply without a home.
This week we have the odd but apt juxtaposition of the Thanksgiving holiday and Homelessness Awareness Week. As we prepare to gorge ourselves and subsequently complain about having to loosen our belts, we are called to remember those who are less fortunate.
At Thanksgiving time it is appropriate to lift up songs of praise and gratitude to God, and we are doing that this morning with the words of our first three scripture readings. In my family, we would always go around the table and share at least one thing for which we were thankful, and I like to continue that tradition today. God calls us to such gratitude, as it is God who blesses us with everything we have.
Even as we sing our thanksgiving, however, God calls us to an even greater task. Through the words of Jesus, God calls us to care for those who are in need. “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the realm prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” The people asked, “When was it that we did all these things for you?” and Christ answered, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”1
Even as we are called to give thanks for the blessings God has given us, God calls us to be a blessing to those less fortunate. As we moan about our annoying family members, God calls us to remember our greater human family. Some of these family members may look nothing like us. They may act nothing like us. They may have nothing of what we have. But they, like we, are created in the image of God.
In 2006 more than 35.5 million of God’s children went hungry in this country. Those disproportionately reporting hunger were single mothers (30.4 percent); African American households (21.8 percent); Hispanic households (19.5 percent); and households with incomes below the official poverty line (36.3 percent). Of the 35.5 million people who went hungry last year, 12.6 were children.2 Some of these hungry people were homeless. Some had homes. Many had to choose between shelter and food. Whatever the circumstances, they went to bed too many nights with empty stomachs.
In the richest, most powerful country in the world, 35.5 million people went hungry. In an average year, 3.5 million Americans will experience a period of homelessness.3 “For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”4
The purpose of this sermon is not to make you feel guilty. Jesus himself shared a feast with family and friends, and our ancestors in faith have been gathering around the table to share meals and give thanks ever since. The purpose of this sermon is not to make you think, “Too bad those poor people can’t enjoy a piece of this wonderful pumpkin pie!” The purpose of this sermon is not to make you think, “I wonder what they did to deserve being hungry or homeless!” My purpose is not to make you say, along with many of your fellow Americans, “They’re just hungry and/or homeless because they’re lazy.” “All he needs to do to get off the streets is stop drinking. How hard is that?!” The purpose of this sermon is not to cause you to judge your neighbor -- or even to remind you that any one of us could become homeless or hungry at any moment, and that a huge percentage of the poor in this country work full time.
The purpose of this sermon is mainly to make you think. What can you do to help this situation? How can you reach out to those who are starving, those who are without a place to go, much less a family with whom to spend Thanksgiving? What can you do to care for “the least of these”?
God is not simply going to swoop down and pour material blessings upon those living in poverty. God doesn’t work that way. Rather, it is up to us, as God’s children, to be a blessing to our brothers and sisters. It is up to us to feed the hungry, provide drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, heal the sick, visit the imprisoned. As you gather around the table this Thanksgiving, I invite you to ask yourselves, and one another, how you can carry out Jesus’ greatest commandment: to love your neighbor as yourself.
Now let us pray.
1 Matthew 25:35-40, NRSV translation.
2 “Hunger figures for 2006 no better,” Fargo Forum newspaper, Fargo, North Dakota, 11/15/07. Accessed via http://www.in-forum.com/News/articles/183616 on 11/15/07.
3 Los Angeles Homeless Services Coalition, http://lahsc.org/wordpress/educate/statistics/united-states-homeless-statistics/, accessed on 11/17/07.
4 Matthew 25:42-45, NRSV translation.
Matthew 25:31-45
Rev. Désirée H. Gold
St. Mark’s United Church of Christ, Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 18 November, 2007
Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time
Homelessness Awareness Sunday
 Every year for Thanksgiving my family would drive an hour to my cousins’ farm near Enderlin, North Dakota. When we arrived there would be lots of hugging, plenty of appetizers, and the authoritative voice of Aunt Emmy barking orders. Finally, an hour or two after dinner had been scheduled (this happened every year), we would gather around the table for the sumptuous feast. There was turkey with all the fixings, acorn squash, cranberries, potatoes, stuffing, vegetables, several different kinds of pie. We ate and talked and laughed and ate and talked and laughed some more. Rather than settle down in front of the TV to watch football after the big meal, we would sit around and talk. The children (myself included, when I was young) would play all sorts of imaginative games. We would revel in the warmth of extended family.
In North Dakota snow is a distinct possibility by Thanksgiving, so when we were finally ready to go home we would bundle up in our warm coats, hats, mittens, and boots, and shiver as we waited for the car to warm up.
During college, I was unable to go home to North Dakota for Thanksgiving, and I haven’t spent Thanksgiving there since Ben and I married, but I have always had a place to be and food to eat. There was the year a college roommate and I invited everyone on our college campus who was unable to go home for Thanksgiving. We cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner in our little dormitory kitchen and shared it with two Sri Lankans. There was the year I visited cousins in Connecticut. I spent Thanksgiving at a friend’s house in Philadelphia one year. After Ben and I married, we spent Thanksgiving with my cousins in Northern California. The past two years we have spent Thanksgiving with my cousins in Columbia, Maryland. This year we will visit Ben’s aunt and uncle in New Jersey. The point is, I have always had somewhere to be and food to eat. Even on the rare occasions that I didn’t have many options for Thanksgiving, I did not go hungry, nor was I left out in the cold.
Most of us here today will stuff ourselves this Thanksgiving. We are all looking forward to the meal we will share after worship today, but many of us have plans for Thursday too. We will fill our stomachs, sleep off the turkey, watch the game, talk with relatives, maybe fight with relatives. We may feel lonely. We may feel sad. We may not eat turkey. But we will have shelter and at least something to eat.
We are the lucky ones. There are many people in our community and beyond who struggle to find one meal a day, much less a Thanksgiving feast. There are many who do not have warm coats to ward off the cold, much less a car in which to drive home. Then there are those who are simply without a home.
This week we have the odd but apt juxtaposition of the Thanksgiving holiday and Homelessness Awareness Week. As we prepare to gorge ourselves and subsequently complain about having to loosen our belts, we are called to remember those who are less fortunate.
At Thanksgiving time it is appropriate to lift up songs of praise and gratitude to God, and we are doing that this morning with the words of our first three scripture readings. In my family, we would always go around the table and share at least one thing for which we were thankful, and I like to continue that tradition today. God calls us to such gratitude, as it is God who blesses us with everything we have.
Even as we sing our thanksgiving, however, God calls us to an even greater task. Through the words of Jesus, God calls us to care for those who are in need. “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the realm prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” The people asked, “When was it that we did all these things for you?” and Christ answered, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”1
Even as we are called to give thanks for the blessings God has given us, God calls us to be a blessing to those less fortunate. As we moan about our annoying family members, God calls us to remember our greater human family. Some of these family members may look nothing like us. They may act nothing like us. They may have nothing of what we have. But they, like we, are created in the image of God.
In 2006 more than 35.5 million of God’s children went hungry in this country. Those disproportionately reporting hunger were single mothers (30.4 percent); African American households (21.8 percent); Hispanic households (19.5 percent); and households with incomes below the official poverty line (36.3 percent). Of the 35.5 million people who went hungry last year, 12.6 were children.2 Some of these hungry people were homeless. Some had homes. Many had to choose between shelter and food. Whatever the circumstances, they went to bed too many nights with empty stomachs.
In the richest, most powerful country in the world, 35.5 million people went hungry. In an average year, 3.5 million Americans will experience a period of homelessness.3 “For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”4
The purpose of this sermon is not to make you feel guilty. Jesus himself shared a feast with family and friends, and our ancestors in faith have been gathering around the table to share meals and give thanks ever since. The purpose of this sermon is not to make you think, “Too bad those poor people can’t enjoy a piece of this wonderful pumpkin pie!” The purpose of this sermon is not to make you think, “I wonder what they did to deserve being hungry or homeless!” My purpose is not to make you say, along with many of your fellow Americans, “They’re just hungry and/or homeless because they’re lazy.” “All he needs to do to get off the streets is stop drinking. How hard is that?!” The purpose of this sermon is not to cause you to judge your neighbor -- or even to remind you that any one of us could become homeless or hungry at any moment, and that a huge percentage of the poor in this country work full time.
The purpose of this sermon is mainly to make you think. What can you do to help this situation? How can you reach out to those who are starving, those who are without a place to go, much less a family with whom to spend Thanksgiving? What can you do to care for “the least of these”?
God is not simply going to swoop down and pour material blessings upon those living in poverty. God doesn’t work that way. Rather, it is up to us, as God’s children, to be a blessing to our brothers and sisters. It is up to us to feed the hungry, provide drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, heal the sick, visit the imprisoned. As you gather around the table this Thanksgiving, I invite you to ask yourselves, and one another, how you can carry out Jesus’ greatest commandment: to love your neighbor as yourself.
Now let us pray.
1 Matthew 25:35-40, NRSV translation.
2 “Hunger figures for 2006 no better,” Fargo Forum newspaper, Fargo, North Dakota, 11/15/07. Accessed via http://www.in-forum.com/News/articles/183616 on 11/15/07.
3 Los Angeles Homeless Services Coalition, http://lahsc.org/wordpress/educate/statistics/united-states-homeless-statistics/, accessed on 11/17/07.
4 Matthew 25:42-45, NRSV translation.
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