THIS OUR VALLEY There’s peace behind the curtain

 

"The Lord has taken away the judgments against you, and turned away your enemies” Zephaniah 3

One of the easiest mistakes we make during the Christmas season (which, as I’ve mentioned countless times before is actually “Advent”), is to think it is all about, or mostly about making merry, wishing people season’s greetings, shopping for loved ones, or (if you’re really into that silly gift-card-channel) finding romance in and amongst broken lives found in small towns all across America.

No wonder we miss the “reason for the season.” 

Of course, we can’t forget all the magic involving flying reindeer, jolly elves, dreams of fresh-fallen snow on holiday inns, rascally waifs left home alone, Griswold house decorating, playing hide and seek throughout the Nakatomi Plaza office building (and let’s not forget Scrooge in all his iterations, or George Bailey, either), and so on.

No wonder we continue to miss the “reason for the season.”

The season is so cluttered with signs and symbols, we struggle to make sense of it (if we even bother trying to make sense). Perhaps we need to look behind this curtain of chaos.

Commingled signs and symbols ignore the story in the Gospel of Luke that is lying at the base of the tree: a pregnant couple making their way from home in Nazareth to Papa’s ancestral home in Bethlehem, only to be turned away from the original Holiday Inn and forced to have their baby in the local barnyard, laying him in a food-trough, and being visited by shepherds who do little more than oo and ah at the cuddly little tyke.

Spoiler alert: The Magi and special Star are found in a different book (Gospel of Matthew) and don’t show up until January 6 (Feast of the Epiphany), but they still get thrown into our Christmas cards, carols, and sundry impressions made upon us of what happened over twenty centuries ago in the levant, where Africa, Europe, and Asia meet.

This is not the time and space where one can lay out the Christmas story in full (stories, really), or the practical and theological implications those stories entail. Rather, as I did in my previous column, I invite you to pause in the midst of this seasonal chaos and listen.

Do you hear what I hear? Listen to the voice of God, whispering in the darkness: “I see you huddled in the cold: alone, sick, hungry, naked, afraid. I will come. 

“I see you ranting, raving, raging against intolerable events, situations, and the abusive powers that be. I am coming.

“I see you struggling against the storms of life, looking into the abyss, seeing only darkness, hearing the thundering hoofbeats of the approaching horsemen of the apocalypse, finding only despair and deep dread for what the future may hold for you, your children, and your children’s children. I have come!”

What voice is this? A poor child of a small insignificant family, from a small insignificant town, in a small insignificant corner of a great magnificent empire? 

Who?  A child whose birth scared a tyrant so badly that he massacred numerous infants in an effort to destroy the threat; the child of a refugee family forced to flee their home country for the sake of their survival; a child who would always have far more in common with the lowliest beggar than the loftiest ruler, emperor, or oligarch.

What’s the meaning of this? The trees, lights, noise, smells and bells of the season are little more than a smoke screen that serve us much like the bushes in the Garden served to hide Adam and Eve from their shame when God dropped in for a visit. God did not desire their death, but reconciliation, restoration, and spiritual reunion. 

That’s God's desire for us, too. As the prophet said in this column’s opening line: The Lord has taken away the judgments against (us) ... That’s good news!

Our call is to shift from simply mouthing platitudes of Peace and Good Will, and to actually making peace, being of good will, finding healing, feeding one another, refreshing one another, honoring one another, and behaving honorably – to be the wind that sings to the earth: Do you hear what I hear?

Let us take time this season to incarnate the love and peace of God that lies behind the curtain here in this, our valley (and beyond). Merry Christmas!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

ADVENT 2 (Year C) – PEACE

Collect:  Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

Lessons: Baruch 5:1-9 God will lead Israel with joy

or Malachi 3:1-4 I am sending my messenger to prepare the way

Cant. 16 (Song of Zechariah) You (John) shall be called the prophet of the Most High

Philippians 1:3-11 I pray that your love may overflow more and more

Luke 3:1-6 (T)he voice of one crying out in the wilderness

Give ear O heavens, and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth, for I will proclaim the Name of the Lord, and ascribe greatness to our God.

“Merciful God, (You) sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation. Give us GRACE to heed their warnings and forsake our sins …”

That’s our prayer for today. The First Sunday of Advent our focus was on HOPE. If you remember the Gospel from last week, Jesus shared a little about what we often call “The End Times,” and for 2,000 years we have tried to figure out when that might be. 

It’s really a silly little exercise in futility, when you think about it. We’ve seen empires come and go, kingdoms rise and fall; wars and rumors of war swirl all around us all the time; pestilence and famine; the economy booms and busts time and time again.

Jesus doesn’t so much point us to the future, looking through some magic telescope. He’s really compressing time and space and says, “This is the world we live in, but in the midst of all the clouds and smoke, see the Son of Man coming in power and great glory, so fear not; hold fast to hope; hold your head high and look, for your redemption is at hand, in sight, and drawing near.”

What he’s saying is that while the world is filled with anxiety and dread, we don’t need to be, for we can see God coming to the rescue. That gives us hope.

It’s not the future; it is the reality we live in. God brings comfort to every generation; Don’t hang your heads in shame; don’t curl up into a fetal position and close your eyes in fear. Look! See! Behold! 

Salvation is right at our doorstep!

These are all action words. We have HOPE because the author of hope is right here, at hand – not far far away.

* * * * * * * *

Today we shift our focus from hope to PEACE. 

It is the Peace of God that Passes all understanding, isn’t it? Peace isn’t the lack of war or conflict, it’s being able to breathe – physically, spiritually.

Can you say, “Shalom” without exhaling? When we breathe, we receive peace. 

Did you ever play hide and seek with little children, and you give them to a count of 10 or 30 to hide, and when you say, “GO!” they stand there stomping their feet trying to go in 50 directions at one time. Their brains have short-circuited and they don’t know where to go, where to hide, so they run in circles for a few seconds until they can get some traction and find that special hiding place.

This is the fight/flight reflex at work. We panic, so we can’t think. 

Anxiety is like that, which is why we worry about the future. 

And then we worry that our faith isn’t very good, because we’re worried and somewhere we got this idea that if we’re worried, we’re not trusting God, and if we’re not trusting God, God will get all hot and bothered by our lack of faith and maybe blow some heavenly raspberries at us when we pray and ask for help.

Well, I’m here to tell you today, that image of God has got it all backwards. 

We worry, of course. We worry because we’re human; we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. 

We know what it’s like when the money runs out before the month does, or the car dies and you can’t hardly afford a jump, let alone a new battery. We’ve gotten the note from school about a special school trip that will cost $20, plus another $20 for food and incidentals, and you haven’t got $2 to give your child, let alone $40 – the shame. Most of us have been there at one point or another. 

Worry is natural. It can also be inspirational – a gift from God. 

It isn’t the opposite of faith. In fact, it can often serve as a back road to faithfulness and godly living. It invites us to think, plan, and be creative. 

Do you remember that Aesop fable with the industrious ant who builds her nest and gathers food and water, and all that good stuff while the grasshopper fiddles around all summer? Summer ends, the grasshopper is hungry, and the ant slams the door. “There’s not enough for me and you,” she says.

That story always bothered me as a Christian. Where’s the empathy? Where’s the sympathy? Where’s the love? We’re taught to look down upon the lazy grasshopper, aren’t we? 

We probably recall the American fable where the first English settlers at James Town were struggling with survival, and Captain John Smith declared that those who would not work would not eat. We understand those stories. We’re inspired by those stories. But as Christians? We want the ant to share. We want the ant to care. We want the ant to work with the grasshopper to find a solution that honors and respects the dignity of each.

Perhaps the music of the grasshopper served the community all summer in a way the ants didn’t even think about; maybe it helped the ants to whistle while they worked. Not “lazy” – but different gifts that each contributes to the welfare of the whole.

Jesus tells us God cares for the lilies of the field, notices when a sparrow drops from the sky. How much more does God love each of us? 

Worry is natural, but it invites us to reach out to God and to one another and trust that working together, we’ll get through the heat of summer, as well as the cold and dark of winter. 

In the Gospel today, we are introduced to John the Baptizer. Luke tells us he went into all the region around the Jordan, “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

Again, I don’t know about you, but sometimes I find those words “repentance” and “sin” quite burdensome.  I grew up in a church that had a very clear central message: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so; Little ones to him belong, we are weak but he is strong.” 

As much as we emphasize the love of God in church, though, there’s always that niggling little voice bouncing around that echo chamber between my ears, whispering a little more loudly than it should that the fires of perdition burn hot, and all it takes is one mis-step, one accident, one forgotten Hail Mary or Our Father and you can forget about all that “love” stuff, because God needs kindling and this time “you’re it!”

When John the Baptizer yells out “You brood of Vipers,” you know that includes we good church-folk, right? We bring John the Baptist out every year during Advent and he turns us into the Church of the Quivering Brethren! 

Brood of vipers. Forest of worthless scrub brush in need of clearing, cleaning, and burning.

He reminds me of my Fourth Grade school teacher, Ms. Legaz. She doled out homework by the ton. She was a harsh taskmaster. There was fire in her eyes, and with just a look kids would evaporate.

One day, Ms. Legaz was called away; she had to go to the office. She gave us an assignment to keep us busy while she was out for a few minutes. Of course, as soon as she was out the door, the class erupted with the kinetic energy of a Cat. 4 hurricane. 

My good friend Gary Sly stood watch at the classroom door and when he saw Ms. Legaz coming down the hallway, her stiletto heels clicking on the tiles, he alerted the class of her return. But they were being so noisy and inattentive, they didn’t hear him (but I did. I always paid attention, and I was trying to do the assignment. I really was). 

So Gary was waving his arms, yelling, trying to get the class to settle down when Ms. Legaz came up behind him, and suddenly, I knew there would be thunder and lightning and you could almost see the smoke of  brimstone pumping out her ears. But then …

What’s amazing is: she didn’t yell and scream. She didn't rain down death and destruction. Everyone returned to their seats. She didn’t punish us. She didn’t chastise us. And she didn’t call us a brood of vipers. She simply said, “You know better than that,” and then went on with whatever it was we were doing before she had been called away.

That word “Repent” is metanoia (Greek) and teshuva (Hebrew) doesn’t exactly mean to stop doing wrong, or stop doing bad things. It means to turn, to change one’s mind, one’s direction, one’s attitude. It means to return to a better place, a better state. 

The heart of teshuva is to return – to go home. The Hebrews didn’t just escape from Egypt. They were returning home – the land of promise. Teshuva.

Life is sometimes chaotic, like the classroom when the teacher is away. John is standing in the doorway, like my friend Gary, calling us to pay attention, to settle down, to focus.

Now John was a crusty old salt. He says there is one coming mightier than him, the thong of whose sandal he’s not worthy to stoop and untie.

John looks at the rowdy crowd and he tells them clearly, “If it were up to me, I’d take a flamethrower to this place! I’d take an axe and clear this worthless scrub-forest.”

But here’s the surprise.

God comes and lifts up the torch, not to burn us down, but to help us see better. God sets aside the axe and, instead, pulls out pruning shears to trim and shape our lives. 

God hands us a shovel, not to dig our own graves, but to help fill in potholes and smooth out those irritating speed-bumps we try to dodge in life.

Why? 

So that we will see the God who heals and restores the world, and who invites us to come in and be a part of that work because, in the end, God really does love us, and creation. That’s what gives us peace. That’s what allows us to breathe. And that’s what we have to share with the world in these anxious times. You are loved. We are loved. 

In some ways, I think God shrugs her shoulders, like Ms. Legaz and says, “You can do better. We can do better. Let’s get back to work.”

Advent is a season of hope, peace, joy, and love. Each week more light is brought into this sacred space. May God grant us the courage to receive that light and carry it forth in the Name of the One who is to come.

In the Name of God, the source of our Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. Amen

Delivered by the Rev. Keith Axberg (Retired) to Christ Episcopal Church, Anacortes, WA, December 8, 2024

 

THIS OUR VALLEY: Don’t buy into Black Friday madness!

"Develop an interest in life … The world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls, and interesting people. Forgive yourself.” Henry Miller

Angel ornament handcrafted by friend Gladys Fee ca. 1979

I woke up this morning to a thousand ads in my email in-box. Black Friday is upon us, although I wonder if there is any such thing as Black Friday. There was a time that was the day after Thanksgiving, and noted for shoppers storming the stores and malls for “the best deals of the season” (although that claim was always dubious in the best of times.). 

The irony has never been lost, that a day devoted to thanking God for family, friends, football, and feasting is followed by a day of mob violence and commercial madness.

Black Friday, for me, is a day of keeping the shades down, the lights off, and allowing the tsunami of local spendthrifts to crash headlong onto the rocks of financial ruin in their vain efforts to save a buck here or there. Madness. Sheer madness!

I’m not immune to these local customs, of course. I will do my holiday duty in supporting the economy; I just won’t do it today. I will spread it out, and I will do what I can with what I have in hand. I have never subscribed to the idea of going into debt for the holiday.

I am old enough to remember when some of the local stores in Ballard (where I grew up) had Christmas Clubs. People would open (and fund) special accounts specifically for the holidays. Instead of paying interest on money borrowed, they earned interest on these savings accounts – paying themselves for their annual expenses. The stores benefited by having a dependable supply of customers, come December.

We didn’t have a lot of rules in the house in which I grew up, but one I have tried to live by was my father’s maxim: Pay yourself first. Savings accounts earned about four percent interest, home loans cost about six to eight percent, and consumer debt (credit cards) were capped at twelve percent (by law!). Anything over twelve percent was illegal; it was called Usury (excessive interest that violated any sense of decency). 

Sadly, those laws went the way of the dinosaur, blown away by the great Asteroid of Greed that accompanied the oil embargoes of the 1970s. Today we’re lucky to make two percent interest on savings and our credit card rates run 21-25 percent (according to recent consumer credit reports). 

My father’s other bit of financial wisdom was this: Live according to your means. That’s hard to do. Not because the world is so expensive (which it is), but because we have been trained to want more and more, told we deserve everything the next person has, conditioned to believe that greed is normal, that greed is good, and that we’ll lose out if we let someone else have what we want first. No one wants to be a loser.

It’s tough ignoring all the seasonal “specials” we get blasted with on the telly, emails, or streaming media. It’s hard, but not impossible. 

I want to suggest there are other ways to approach the holidays and assure my readers that as fun and “right” as it may feel to spend money buying gifts and fretting over what to get one another and doing everything the holidays seem to demand of us. And what is that “other way” you ask?

Pause. 

It cuts against the grain, but find your limits; take time out and know it is OK to decline invitations when you’re not up to it. Jesus took time out from his busy schedule to get away, to meditate and pray, to reconnect with earth, soul, and God. Remember, if you look at the upcoming holidays and find yourself saying, “Jesus, not again!” that is as much a prayer as the Our Father or the Hail Mary. If Jesus needed to pause, how much more the rest of us?

The world goes cold, dark, and silent this time of year. It’s not dead; it’s resting. We don’t need to chase away the darkness. Joy may be found in the peace and quiet of new-fallen snow. The light of God’s presence may be seen in the hearts and souls of those we meet, if only we’d look. Forget Santa Claus. Embrace the Santa Pause here in this, our valley – and be thankful.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

 

Chicken Terry-bull Yucky

"Fear is a question: What are you afraid of, and why? Your fears are a treasure-house of self-knowledge if you explore them.” Marilyn Ferguson

The other day I needed to reheat some barbecued chicken for dinner. We have a new microwave, replacing one that was ruined by rainwater when our roof developed a leak a few months back. So we have a new-fangled microwave oven with all the bells and whistles one could possibly want for reheating coffee or, as in this case, chicken.

I put in the bird, set it to reheat, pushed the Start button, and busied myself with my other dinner-time tasks. The machine has built-in sensors that adjust the time and power levels automatically, so I was interested to see how that would work out. Electronic gizmos and gadgets fascinate me, so I couldn’t hardly wait. It was almost like Christmas morning!

At the appointed time, the microwave signaled it was done (with a delightful little tune – none of this old-fashioned ping or ding – the oven called for the chef, like the Piper for the rats (or was it children?)). I pulled the casserole dish out, but what greeted me was not the hot, fresh, delectable meal I had anticipated, but the petrified cremains of a fossilized pterodactyl! From barbecued chicken to chicken terry-bull yucky, in one fell swoop!

Fortunately there were enough other side dishes and options to gnaw on, so we did not go hungry, but I did discern there’s a learning curve that comes with using new equipment. I was not discouraged. I learned a long time ago, when life throws you lemons (or in this case, when life throws you petrified birds), sometimes you’re going to swing and miss, and that’s OK.

Things don’t always work out the way we think they can or should. That’s life. We know all the cliches about getting back on the horse that “throw’d yuh,” or We have to crawl before we walk, or Every journey begins with a single step. 

I suspect those have become cliches because the acts of trying and failing are so common amongst us mere mortals, we need reminding so that we don’t become discouraged. How many filaments did Edison have to try before he found the one that would keep that bulb floating over his head in the comics lit, eh?

I have heated and reheated a number of dishes since my misadventure with the barbecued poultry-geist. None is a culinary masterpiece, of course, but each has been as edible as is possible for a dish that has been zapped. 

Fresh meals are always prepared the old fashioned way – by my wife. Reheats are my specialty; fresh eats are hers.

One of the things I appreciate about new things isn’t just their novelty or newness (although nothing beats the smell of a brand new car). What I like are the challenges they pose in getting to know what they do and how they work. 

The other day I was watching a video by a dude who identifies things he “didn’t know until I was in my thirties.” He showed how the automobile sun visor can extend when turned toward the side window. For decades I have cursed how sun visors would never go where I needed them most. Then he showed me. Duh! He learned that trick forty years sooner than me!

I wonder if that feature is included in the truck’s manual (which I’ve never read).

Live and learn. 

There was a time I would have rather died than admit I didn’t know something. I was terrified that people would think I was as dumb as I often felt. But admitting to myself and others the things I do not know or know how to do has simultaneously given others the relief of knowing they are not the only luddites in this world of ours. 

We are humans, we are finite, and we have more wisdom and experience collectively than we do alone. 

As FDR told us many moons ago, we have nothing to fear but fear, itself. That’s a lesson I need to learn repeatedly, for while a microwave cooks quickly, my brain is a slow cooker. But that’s OK, for I’m no chicken (spring or otherwise) here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Reflections on a Lost Race

I have taken a week or so to collect my thoughts on the presidential election recently completed. My initial reaction, like the reaction of so many was fear, anxiety, disgust, discouragement, anger, depression, and all the major upheavals that attend a shock to the system. I'm not over it, but enough time has elapsed that I can now reflect on the results with less profanity than I would have otherwise.

John Bradshaw, noted psychologist, has said that emotions are e-motions -- energy in motion, if you will. As giddy as the winning side has been, their euphoria will wear off and they will see the chaos of the next few months and simply assume it is because the "left" is making trouble. They will be partially right. The left will not roll over and play dead. We still love our country and the rule of law, and as bad as the double standard is under which we have increasingly slid, we do have legal options available to us for mounting whatever resistance we can, so let's keep our minds open about that.

Secondly, we can allow our grief to paralyze us, or we can use it to motivate us to do better. That's the direction in which I intend to go.

Thirdly, the one thing I find counter-productive is name calling and blame-fixing. It is cathartic to hurl insults and epithets at those who let us down. I'd even venture to say "they" have earned those insults, slings, and arrows. Never-the-less, as good as that might feel, it won't get us where we want to go, it won't accomplish those things we want to accomplish, and it really won't bring glory to the Name of our God, or bring God's reign to fruition. So let's not waste any more energy there than we need to. Let's move on.

What does it mean to move on? Shall we forget what happened? Live and let live? Run away and hope to fight another day?

No, of course not. Moving on requires a period of self-reflection. It also requires a modicum of bravery on our part. Bravery? Yes, we need to lower our fists and righteous indignation and be prepared to listen. We need to abandon assumptions about the "other" and hear what they have to say, for they, like us, do not believe they have been heard, respected, honored, or understood.

What do we have in common, we and they? Fear. That is our common denominator. Fear. We are afraid (and rightly so) that progress made over the past century will be undone. We fear democracy, as tenuous as it is in the best of times, is even more at risk now. We fear the bloodshed that will take place as bullies and tyrants and the unchecked masses will be (or have been) unleashed on women, the LGBTQI+ community, and more. But how about our neighbors? How about our neighbor? What do they fear?

In speaking with friends and relatives on the right, their fear is that they will not survive another bout of inflation. They are afraid that their hard-earned income is being taxed and handed over to some undeserving poor (or aliens). They are afraid their jobs are in jeopardy and at risk. Fear is an emotion (energy in motion) and will easily override facts and figures. So what can we do? This is not to say they are right, but it is to say this is some of what they fear. They fear for their survival every bit as much as we do for ours, and that is a place in which we may be able to stand together.

I hear them, so it is not enough to tell them to calm down, or assure them they have nothing to fear, or patronize them as if they are silly little twits. In my faith community, we are called (and promise to) "respect the dignity of every person." Their behavior may not be dignified; their words may not be dignified; their attitudes may not be dignified. That's irrelevant. We invite our friends to "come up higher," which is to say we invite them to join us in a place of dignity and grace. We're not interested in winning or losing, but in restoring our relationship(s).

Secondly, we hear their concern and ask them how we can work together to resolve each matter as it is identified. They may well not hear us or answer. They are so entrenched in believing that their "guy" will fix everything like he promised (and they will not believe his previous term gave him enough time to do it, and that 1/6 was justified, and that the election was stolen, etc.). Those "alternative facts" are so engrained in them now, no amount of argument or evidence will sway them, so to try is wasted energy.

That does not absolve us from inviting folks to stand with us as we face the storm together. It doesn't matter who caused the storm. What matters is that we stand together, building and rebuilding faith and trust in one another. As Abraham Lincoln once said, "If we make the enemy our friend, have we not destroyed the enemy in the process?"

As angry as I may be at what has happened, I cannot undo it, nor will I acquiesce or give my assent through the complicity of silence. No, I'll combat evil when I see it; I will point out crimes as they arise (and they are already piling up); I will continue to speak as closely as humanly possible to what I believe Jesus would say as situations arise, and I will leave godly judgment to the One in whose hands such judgment is better suited.

The Rev. Keith Axberg, Ret.

Stuff Happens

 COLLECT for Proper 27

O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

1 Kings 17:8-16 The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail

Psalm 146 Put not your trust in rulers … for there is no help in them

Hebrews 9:24-28 Christ entered into heaven … to appear in the presence of God on our behalf

Mark 12:38-44 … they have contributed from their abundance, but she, her life itself

* * * * * * *

It has been quite a roller coaster ride this week, hasn’t it?

We should have known. There were signs and portents, as they say (whoever “they” is).

Monday night I went to warm up some barbecued chicken for dinner. We have a new microwave oven that was just installed. 

Anyway, I put the chicken into the microwave, and I set it to reheat our chicken. The microwave hummed along as the internal computer gave the chicken little pokes with whatever invisible fingers it uses to test the food for doneness, and after a bit we got the little musical tune that told us our meal was done and ready to eat.

We served up and, lo, that delicious, barbecued chicken had been transformed into some inedible, unbreakable stick of petrified pterodactyl – tougher than beef jerky! 

That was my first indication that there might be a bit of a learning curve involved with this newfangled instrument of the devil.

Stuff happens. There was more to our meal than just fossilized chicken, so we made do.

But “stuff” happens. That’s part of life. As Colonel Slade says in Scent of a Woman, “You get tangled up, you tango on.” You figure out “What’s the next indicated thing,” and you do that. 

Tuesday night was like that. Waking up Wednesday morning was like that. The news was devastating and disappointing for so many of us. 

For me, it wasn’t the idea that, “Oh, our side lost.” 

In our lifetimes, we’ve seen elections come and go. Sometimes team Red wins. Sometimes team Blue wins. When the dust settles, folks are sworn in, and although each team might have a different idea of the best way forward, we’ve never really doubted that each side was interested in finding the best way forward for our country. We might quibble over details, but we never doubted each side was interested in “US” as a whole, but it feels like and it looks like we’ve lost that sense of us-ness, the US part of USA, and that’s scary.

That worries me. That bothers me.

The contests have become toxic. It’s like the values we once held most dear have been thrown out the window. Values, like honesty, integrity, faithful adherence to the laws and rules that bind us together. Have they been vaporized or fossilized by some newfangled electoral microwave?

Stuff happens. So what do we do?

This week, I’ve been discouraged, discombobulated, and disoriented. I don’t know about you, but that’s where I’ve been.

To be discouraged is to have the courage sucked out of you. It is the temptation to give up, toss in the towel, and run away. 

Does the Bible have anything to say to us about that? It just so happens, I think we’ve got some helpful pointers in the scriptures we heard this morning – some light shining in the darkness.

In our first lesson, Elijah is sent to the widow of Zarephath, to live there. Elijah will be a stranger in the land – a vagabond, really. 

He will be a foreigner, with an accent that says “I’m not from these here parts.” 

Elijah, the MAN of GOD, will be putting his life into the hands of a total stranger: a poor widow who is down to her last cup of Bisquick and a little vial of cooking oil.

She is as dried up as the sticks she was gathering. “When this is gone, my son and I are dead. Stick a fork in us; we’re done for.”

“Stuff happens,” she says, “and I’m out of stuff.”

Now, Elijah doesn’t know the future, but Elijah knows God. “Stuff happens,” he says, “but as long as I’m here, so is God. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

There’s a lesson here: When we’re discouraged, we are called to come together, and we remember what Jesus says, “Where two or three are gathered, I’m right there in the midst of you. If you’re going to stick a fork anywhere, make it a pitchfork, and you just stick it in the devil, for it’s the devil who’s done for!” 

Now understand, I’m paraphrasing. But the point is, COURAGE is a matter of the heart. Remember Titanic: La Coeur de Mare – The Heart of the Ocean, the Heart of the Sea.

Courage isn’t bravery as much as it’s having that kindred spirit that says, “You matter to me.” It isn’t about my strength or resources; it’s about our relationship. Sure, we’re scared, but as long as we can ride together, walk together, head out into the darkness together, Jesus says, “Hold hands, don’t let go (like Jack and Rose); take heart, keep moving; I’m there; I’ll be lighting the way.”

Stuff happens. Sometimes we get discombobulated. That’s a fancy way of saying we’ve lost our composure. 

Elijah asks the impossible of the woman of Zarepheth. She gets all flustered, discombobulated. She loses her composure, and that makes perfect sense under the circumstances. 

She has a smidge of meal, a dollop of oil, and a couple of twigs that blew down in the windstorm last week. That’s not even enough for her and her son, let alone three of them. 

Hospitality is important, especially in those dry, desert regions of the Middle East, but the woman loses her composure. She yells at Elijah and tells him just how little she has. She’s discombobulated, and Elijah invites her to draw closer, and he says, “It will be fine. It is more than enough.”

This isn’t one of those mindless promises we use when we whistle our way through the graveyard. You know, when you trivialize a situation (which is to trivialize the person you’re talking to): 

“Now, now, now. You’re just tired. It will be OK. It’s not as bad as you think,” It’s worse when we minimize the pain, or the agony, or the weight of what is happening, and what it means.

It’s not a question of how I feel, or what I’m experiencing: 

Of course I’ll be OK. I’m an old white man. I’ve never been stopped for the color of my skin. The composition of my marriage isn’t up for review. People aren’t going to put “how I identify” under a microscope. My pronouns are safe and secure.

But my children. My neighbor. My friend. The stranger walking down the street. Are they OK? 

So if I want to recombobulate you, like Elijah, I have to listen to the Spirit, I need to be willing and able to leave my own home, my own land, my own people, my own skin, and sit beside you and ask, not “how much have you got?” or “have you got enough,” but “May I share my life with you?”

When the prodigal son comes home, his father sees him afar off, runs to him, wraps him in his arms, and tells his servants to grab his best robe, and put a ring on his finger. 

The child has brought shame to the household, and the neighbors may very well have been ready to stone him (as they might have in that culture – an “Honor” Execution), but his Father wraps him in his arms. His actions say, “This is my son, my beloved. You shall not touch him; you shall not lay a finger on him. His life is mine!”

So like Elijah, no matter how chaotic and scary life out there is, we need to be very clear when we talk to the world: these are my people; this is my family; these are my beloved. You shall not touch them, or hurt them. When stuff happens, we’ll be there.

The third major impact I experienced this past week (and there were plenty more), but the third major issue I struggled with was my equilibrium. I was at a loss, helpless. 

In a word, I was disoriented. Disoriented … My sense of direction had been removed, cut out, lost, thrown away. Orient – the East, the direction of the sunrise. When all is dark, and your view of the sky is obscured, so you don’t know when or where the sun will rise. That’s what it means to be disoriented.

But that changes when I am here. That changes when I come here, to church, into the church. The Altar is in the East. When I am here, I become Oriented once again. The church faces East (in traditional church architecture) so we face Jerusalem, the rising sun and, most importantly, the RISEN Son of God.

We call this space a sanctuary. Holy space. We are in the world, but not of the world. When I’m discouraged, or hurting, or lost, this is where I need to be. I don’t come here to escape the world, but to embrace God and to be embraced by God in the arms of God’s people. 

We are prodigals to one another. We are prodigals to our neighbors. That is our orientation!

We sing our songs, and you know, it doesn’t matter if you can carry a tune or keep a beat, the music lifts up our hearts.  Heartfelt hugs are free for the giving and taking. 

We make our prayers, hear God’s word, receive Bread and Wine that become the Body and Blood of Christ in each and every one of us.

We become re-oriented in our life and mission. We come here and are reminded that we are not Democrats or Republicans here; we are not white, black, brown, or pink; we are not Anglo, Latino, or Ethniticos [sic]; we’re not even Americans here. Here, we are Christians. 

We have been baptized into the Body of Christ, and when we’re done, we are sent forth to minister to world in all its ugliness, chaos, confusion, discouragement,  discombobulation, and disorientation – to be light in the darkness, healing against the hurt, and a comfort against the pain.

We are called to be like the little old lady in the gospel today who waddled up to the big bronze alms basins at the mouth of the Temple. And while the rich and powerful came up and tossed in their bags of gold and silver with great thuds, and thunks, and plinks, and plonks, this little old lady came up and without fanfare, tossed in two coins that were so small they probably didn’t even go “tink.”.

This wasn’t a tithe; it wasn’t a sin offering, or part of her annual pledge. No, Jesus says, “This was her life.” 

“The rich eat the weak for breakfast, the poor for lunch, and widows for supper,” says Jesus. “But this woman, she has given herself over completely to the care and keeping of God.”

That’s how God wants us to be oriented today, when we leave here. ENcouraged, REcombobulated, REoriented, today, and always, in Jesus’ Name. AMEN

Sermon delivered by the Rev. Keith Axberg, to Christ Episcopal Church (Anacortes, WA), 11/10/2024

FIRST BOLD PREDICTIONS for 2025

A SNARKY, SARCASTIC, & GRUMPY-HEARTED VENT

I predict that in 2025, Mr. Sweaty Jiggles (#47) will choose to NOT deport undocumented aliens. 

Instead ...

He will bring suit to the Supreme Court (SCOTUS) asking them to invalidate the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Constitution. SCOTUS will agree that they violate the US CONSTITUTION'S "3/5 Person Clause," as well as the intentions of the slave-holding Founding Fathers and Mr. "Immune-from-all-wrongs" JDT.

Undocumented aliens will become Wards of the State, rounded up under the court's doctrines of Stare Decisis and Dred Scott. They will be branded with a big letter T, and auctioned off to the highest bidder(s) by a newly formed corporation: TR*MP HOUSE AUCTIONEERS (THA, Inc). THA will receive 10% auction fee, plus 20% of all profits and residuals earned by branded persons (for the T is (or will be) a licensed trademark).

Income from T branded organizations, businesses, and families shall NOT be taxed as SCOTUS will decide that would violate the Separation of White Powers from their hard-earned properties, and if Congress wants to make money, they will need to find their own sources of graft & corruption, and leave #47 the "hell alone" (majority opinion will be co-authored by Justices Thomas and Alito).

This decision will become a Stare Decisis of the Stare Decisis to the third level, making it irrevocable, unreversible, unappealable.