First Sunday after Christmas Day

 

This Sunday takes precedence over the three Holy Days which follow Christmas Day. As necessary, the observance of one, two, or all three of them, is postponed one day.

Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 213]

Christmas is over. At least the family gathering, gift opening, festive banquet part of Christmas; the “magical” “holly jolly” “jingle bell” secular, commercialized time of year. Now we can get to work examining the holiday for what it is. It is not a day; it is a season.

Light is an important image in our seasonal collects. This past month I put up our holiday decorations as usual. Sadly, a number of our lighted displays weren’t working properly. I have a gizmo that helps identify and correct lighting issues, and it worked for a couple of the strings, but not for all of them. We have a small set of four trees that line our walkway, but one tree wouldn’t light. I didn’t mind as three trees-a-working seemed more biblically sound anyway.

Through the course of the Advent season, a section of lights on our Christmas tree blinked out and it, too, could not be resurrected, so I simply added a string of healthy, functional lights to keep things normal. The day after Christmas another section gave up the ghost, so this is apparently the end of the road for this particular tree. The fuses are fine, so I have no idea what went wrong. The tree has served us well for a decade or so, anyway, so that’s OK. 

Things break. Things die. Things go dark. Our light is limited. Our collect for the day recognizes that reality. I am generally pretty easy-going. I try not to fret over too many things. I am no Martha in that regard. But I do blow a fuse on occasion. Things do get my goat. There are times my countenance falls, and there are those who will confirm that it’s not good to be around me when that happens. I’m not given to violence – at least not with my fists, feet, or elbows. I turn my pain and anger inward, and a lump of coal is a better companion than I when that happens.

My light is limited, but the Light of all lights has no limits. Just as the sun finished its southward journey at the winter solstice, and the hours of daylight have gotten as short as they will get. From here on out, daylight will begin to increase. Likewise, the Light of the Son has come forth, giving us hope. That light will also grow day by day. We need only pay attention. It happens without effort on our part. Did you know that? The sun rises and sets on its own. Our job is to do our part day by day.

The Collect also makes reference to this Light as “the” new light of (God’s) incarnate Word. What was the old light? Torah? Human conscience? Religious rites and practices? Ancient memories of Eden, when God and humans spent time together in that heavenly oasis?

Perhaps God has not just come down to us in human form. Perhaps God has pulled away the angels with their flaming swords – the ones guarding the Garden Gates – and the gates have once again been opened, and the way to Eden has been revealed. Doesn’t Jesus, later, identify himself as the “Way, the Truth, and the Life” in the Gospel of John (from which we read this day)?

Our collect brings to mind that today is not just a new day, but a new era. “Enkindled” refers to fire. Most lighting these days (including Christmas lighting) is artificial. It is powered by electricity. But in ancient days, if you didn’t have sunlight, you needed to have fire – candles or lamps, or torchlight by which to see. I love watching living flames dance atop candles. I love watching smoke rise and curl, giving shape to the invisible air currents in a room. The flames are alive; they seek (and need) both fuel and air to survive; don’t we all?

The point here is that we are asking God to make our light real, to make our light warm and inviting. Yes, moths are drawn to the flames, but so are those living in darkness. I think Christians ought to be known for the illuminating warmth of living fire, and less for dark threats of fire and eternal damnation – don’t you? I believe that is what we are praying for this First Sunday after Christmas.

Come Jesus, light our fire! Amen.

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO SAID YES

 

The Little Girl Who Said Yes?

A Christmas Sermon (St. Paul’s, Mount Vernon, WA)

12/25/2023

The Rev. Keith Axberg, Ret.

(Based on John 1:1-14)

Feliz Navidad. Joyeux Noel. Buon Natale. God Jul! Merry Christmas.

It’s Christmas morning, but did you notice John’s Gospel is missing all the cinematic effects of the Christmas story? What is the Good News this morning? 

If you were here last night, you heard the emperor make a demand for a census, requiring folks to do some traveling for the holidays; you heard how Mary & Joseph had to travel to the City of David; you saw them look for a place to have a baby, and how that baby was born in a little out-of-the-way place so they could have some privacy; you heard the angels sing; you saw the shepherds come in from the hills to see the little baby wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger; perhaps someone pointed out a special star traveling overhead, stopping over the little town of Bethlehem; they aren’t here yet, and they’re not due for another twelve days, but even now you’re probably anticipating the arrival of some Magi on the road from afar.

That’s the Christmas story, right?

************

Jesus was born last night, of course. We celebrated his birth. You heard the story. You and I have heard the story told and retold every year for as long as we’ve been around. Even if you are new to the Christian Faith, you know the story. You may wonder where it fits in amongst the trees and tinsel, the bells and whistles, the Ho Ho Hos and the Yippee Ki-yays. 

But somewhere in that mix, you’ve heard the story of the Emperor who called for a census; the couple who had to make the trip from their little hole-in-the-wall home in Galilee to O Little Town of Bethlehem to be counted – which is ironic, because the only time poor people count is when you want to raise taxes – 

You heard the story, and the house here was abuzz with kids and parents; we were finally able to break away from all those Advent hymns written in minor keys (O come, o come, Ema- -nu-el, and ransom captive I- - -sra-el), sort of ponderous and solemn – and we were finally able to sing all those wonderful Christmas hymns, which are even more magical because we actually know the tunes and the words!

For four weeks, the church has been relatively drab and gray; “spruced” up with a little bit of greenery; a wreath here and there; cold days, long, dark nights; a real contrast with the crowded stores with their bright lights, bell-ringers, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer – I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas music in one store, drowned out by Jingle Bell Rock in the next store, and greeting cards with tinny voices wishing you (goofy voice) Happy Holidays (yup, yup).

Today, the Church is alive with the sound of Music; the walls have been decked with wreaths and ribbons; the tree is green, representing growth and new life; it’s the shape of a cone, pointing heavenward, from whence cometh our help (Psalm 121), say the scriptures.

Christmas morning is a little different, though, isn’t it?

Many of us have watched some of the thousands of Christmas movies trying to help us understand what the day and season are all about. Ebeneezer Scrooge finding the Christmas Spirit with the help of the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. 

There’s George Bailey discovering  the impact his Wonderful Life has made on the community all around him – with a little help from Clarence – an angel who has yet to earn his wings.

There’s also a solid dose of nostalgia for we Boomers with Ralphie in The Christmas Story;  or the defense of the Castle Doctrine in Home Alone; or the girl who is looking for love, and discovers it in the grumpy inn-keeper (who she discovers “truly is the ONE FOR HER” in every Hallmark movie ever.

They miss the point: Christmas isn’t about finding love (Love Actually), or getting a Christmas Bonus like in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

These movies are all egocentric. They’re all about fixing us, or changing us, or making us better. But John skips over the stories of Christmas we have in Luke and in Matthew, and tells us that Christmas IS about change, but not about us.

It’s not about US; it’s about God. Christmas is about God changing – not us.

************

“In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God …” 

From time immemorial, God has dwelt in the highest heavens. God has come down periodically to check in us. But those have been flashes. The theological word for that is THEOPHANY. A momentary glance at God, or a momentary glimpse of God.

When God met Moses on the Mountain, Moses couldn’t see God. Moses could only hear what God had to say. “In the beginning was the word …” John, writing the Gospel, knows that.

Moses heard the voice of God. Moses saw the hand of God at work, carving out the rules and regulations – the Torah – by which God’s people were to live. But there was something missing. Moses cried out: “I want to see YOU, God!”

So God hid Moses in a deep, dark crevasse, and for just a moment, God tippy-toed past quickly, so Moses caught just the barest glimpse of God’s back side. 

But that was enough. Moses came down off the mountain, and his whole face was illuminated so bright, it scared the dickens out of the children of Israel.

“The light shone in darkness, and the darkness did not understand it.”

Just a flash. That’s all it took. That was enough. 

I had a friend who passed away a few years ago. Larry Sparr and his family were driving across the North Cascades Highway, heading home from some time in Winthrop. They pulled over at a small parking lot where you can hike a little ways to a beautiful overlook. It was getting late, but not too bad. So Larry, his wife Dawn, and their two girls hiked up the trail for a couple hundred yards to the overlook and thoroughly enjoyed this magnificent valley through which Highway 20 cuts. 

They were there for just a few minutes when the sun set sooner than they had expected. It’s not that the sun really set early, but it dipped below the mountains, and suddenly, they were thrust into darkness, just as if a light had been switched off. They’d gone from day to dusk, to night in just a matter of seconds, it seemed.

Larry knew how to get to the car. There was only one path, but he couldn’t see the path. Between the darkness and the trees lining the path, it was just pitch black. They hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, and this was in the days before cell-phones and their built-in flashlights. But Larry did have his 35-mm (film) camera. He loved his photography. So he turned the camera toward the path – FLASH – he could see where it was. So he and the family held hands, and about every 15-20 feet he would flash down the path, memorize direction, curves, and tree roots or hazards, and they worked their way back to the car.

The flash of the camera illuminated the path; the darkness could not overcome the brightness of that light.

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light,” says the prophet.

But flashes are not enough. For fifteen hundred years, God flashed here and there, and the children of Israel took steps. Baby steps. Big steps. Small steps. Stumbling steps. Sometimes they fell flat on their faces. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they were faithful; oftentimes they weren’t. 

And God says (and I’m paraphrasing the prophets here), “This is insane. I keep doing the same thing over and over and hoping for different results. At some point someone’s going to say ‘That’s the definition of insanity.’” 

So God did something new. Instead of sporadic flashes of insight every now and then, how about providing a light that will never be extinguished? A lamp that will never run out of oil? A candle that will never burn down, or be hidden under a bushel basket? How about if, instead of beaming up and out, I stick around and live, not in heaven above, or behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies, but here? With these people? In these people? With as many people as desire the light I have for them?

“For as many as received him, he made them the children of God – children of the Light.”

And that’s what God did. God found a little girl willing to say yes. God became microscopic. That’s why Mary said, “My soul doth MAGNIFY the Lord.” She had to magnify him; he was microscopic. 

So God became one WITH her, and became one IN her.

In much the same way, God becomes one with us – because we dare to say yes. God becomes one IN us, because we dare to say yes – because God finally figured out the only way to change the human race is to start from the inside, and change us one at a time. 

The reason for the season isn’t a plotline from some Hallmark movie. The reason for the season is to allow God to plant in us exactly what Mary was allowing God to plant in her, and we’re here to remember that.

We’re not to just be like Jesus; we’re to be Jesus. That was God’s bright idea in this dark and chilly world. 

Merry Christmas – or as my ancestors said, God Jul! AMEN.

Collect for Christmas Eve

O God, you make us glad by the yearly festival of the birth of your only Son Jesus Christ: Grant that we, who joyfully receive him as our Redeemer, may with sure confidence behold him when he comes to be our Judge; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.[BCP 212]

Does Christmas catch anyone off-guard? Does it really sneak up on anyone? Today, our Collects shift focus from the promise of a savior, to the deliverance on God’s promise! So much of our focus, as a community, is on the joyfulness of the season, but I wonder just how real that is. Many folks will be spending time in hospital; many will be facing eviction or homelessness; many will be facing the first Christmas without one of thirty thousand people who died through gun violence this year – about half by suicide. Many will be experiencing the holidays following marital break-ups or empty nests.

“O God, you MAKE us glad …” Make us? Well, yes, but let me explain. First of all, the word “glad” doesn’t just mean happy. It comes from a P.I.E. word meaning “to shine.” Our cultural tendency is to, first of all, follow our ego. I don’t intend to minimize loss, death, or tragic circumstances in which one may find themselves. But the Christian faith focuses outwardly. The Commands are to love God thoroughly, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. So while one’s personal circumstances may be hurting, our prayer brings to mind something else. “God, you make us SHINE by the yearly festival of the birth …” In other words, yes, times may be tough, and yes, you may be experiencing terrible, horrible, debilitating loss(es), but the sight of God’s salvation dropping into our midst is cause for joy and great happiness. Our happiness isn’t based upon our circumstances, but upon God’s very actions, which we remember this day or night.

We know dark days. This season is known for the long dark nights, and days which are short and cold. People in our families and in our communities suffer from the seasonal blues, grave depression, and far too much sugar, alcohol, or other mind-numbing substances. It has been throughout this season of growing darkness that we in the Church have begun to fight that darkness, symbolically at the very least. Candle by candle, we’ve grown the light. One candle, two candles, three, and four. It’s not much in a world of darkness, but it’s something.

Have you slipped into a cold dark church at night? We have our electric lights now, of course. But as a parish priest, often first on site for our various liturgies, I stand in awe of the power of darkness. Standing in a dark church, listening to the floorboards creak and groan as they adjust to changes in temperature or humidity, I do not flip the lights on. I enjoy the darkness, the quiet, the lack of turmoil. Here there are no cash registers beeping and buzzing. No Santas ringing bells while standing by their collection drums. No so-called Christmas music blaring incessantly on tinny overhead speakers. No, just the sounds of the church breathing. Off in the distance, behind the altar, a faint light – red – flickers. It is the Sanctuary Lamp, and signals the Real Presence of Christ in the Reserved Sacrament behind the Altar (either in a Tabernacle or an Aumbry). 

The Sanctuary Lamp does not provide enough illumination to really do much of anything except … it points the way. I know the geographical layout of the church. I don’t need a map. I don’t need a flashlight. I know I need only walk forward to the center aisle (avoiding a baptismal font I know stands there at the first crossing). I turn ninety degrees and walk the center aisle twenty paces, then up onto the chancel steps, then three more steps to the Sanctuary rail – and up one step toward the Altar. Now I am in the Holy of Holies, and the Sanctuary Lamp is much closer, much brighter.

Yes, I could have flipped on the lights, but I enjoy the darkness. It isn’t cold. It isn’t scary. It isn’t foreboding. I have no desire or intention of doing anything “bad” in the darkness. I am allowing God to embrace me in the darkness, and after that hug, I find I am ready to turn on the lights. When the church is ablaze with modern day lighting, I find my breath taken away by the sight of poinsettias and flowers and candles and the miracle that I made my way through the church without running into any of them (because I was so caught up in the reverie of the magic of Christmas Eve, I’d forgotten the Altar Guild had set things up for the wonderful Christmas Eve service that will soon be starting – oops). 

As a youngster, my view of God was much different than it is now. As a child, when I heard tell of God as “judge,” I thought of the Sistine Chapel God – the scowling God, the angry God, the ready to toss your hide into the fires God. Today, knowing Jesus is my Redeemer, my view of God as judge has changed. He’s still old; I can’t get that image out of my head. But scowling? Not on your life. Jesus is our Redeemer. That means when we get to heaven and get to the gate, Jesus is standing there and shouts out to Saint Peter, “Hey, that’s Keith; I’ve got a coupon for him!” Jesus redeems my coupon, and that’s how I get in. It isn’t based on good works or deeds, or having the right theology or right answers. Those don’t hurt, obviously, but you and I get in because Jesus is holding the coupons, and God is so glad to see us. God is the Judge who scores us a ten, no matter what.

Christmas, it turns out, isn’t about how happy we are to see a baby lying in a manger; it’s about how happy God is to see us! That makes us glad. Tonight, we light the Christ Candle!

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 212]

I am in my seventies, as I write this. Much of my life is lived on autopilot. I would love to think (or say) that my life is dedicated to the honor and glory of God 24/7, but I’d be lying. I am a creature of habit. I get up at the same time every morning (give or take a minute or so); I take care of my morning ablutions, grab my coffee, and fire up the computer to see what horrors have been inflicted on the planet while I was asleep. If the coffee hasn’t quite kicked in adequately, I hold off on the news of the world and simply check my family and friend reports and posts on social media. I pay my bills and put the receipts in a great pile next to a filing folder I never get around to using. My desk is cluttered with books I am at various stages of reading, or going to read, or hope to someday read. I’d put them away, but my bookshelves are sagging beneath the already too many other books I’ve either read or haven’t gotten to yet.

I’m not a scatter-brain. I’m not a hoarder. I’m just not disciplined in the ways of orderliness. I can find exactly what I want with minimal fuss. The only time I can’t find things is when I’ve either put them away, or my wife has put them away. She doesn’t do that much anymore. She’s learned better than to do that. She is a neat-freak, and so she has ordered the house in a way that helps her stay calm, cool, and collected. But she leaves my office alone, for which I am most thankful.

However, when I know I’m going to have company, I fly into action and destroy my orderly chaos, for it is far more important to make the place presentable for my guests than it is to be able to find anything for the moment. This Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent reminds me of the chaotic life I lead, and impells me to put aside my usual slovenly demeanor, so that I can receive my guest “daily.” 

To “purify” is more than to clear up our conscience, as if we’ve been doing bad things. It is more like that house-cleaning one does, clearing away cobwebs, wiping up spills, washing, drying, and putting away dishes, and setting things right so one’s guest may feel at home. No one enters a house asking what junk we have or what we’ve done with it. They come in to be with us. They enter to spend time talking about things that matter to them and, if they are polite (at the least) talking about things that matter to us.

This fourth Sunday of Advent we find ourselves shifting focus from the Almighty God, Law-giver, and Sin-buster. We begin to turn our eyes upon Jesus, the One who came into the world to “save sinners.” We haven’t gotten to Bethlehem, yet, but we know it is just around the corner, and we’re called to remember how there was no room in the inn (or guest-quarters) in which for Jesus to be born. How about you? How about me? Have we made room? Are we making room?

This Collect also brings to mind one of Jesus’ promises: that he goes to his Father to prepare a place for us, a mansion – for US! Will we do likewise? We light the fourth candle and look around. Are you ready? Are we?

A tree-mendous dilemma

 

“Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks ...” First Thessalonians

First of all, let me confess: My wife and I have not had a real, live Christmas tree in over thirty years. Our last “live tree” (which is a weird way to describe something that was hacked to death on some tree farm) was a “fresh” tree we bought on a lot near the house for Christmas 1990. We set it up in the living room, and as the tree thawed out, it began to drop needles. By morning, most needles had fallen off the tree, and it made the anorexic Charlie Brown Christmas tree (before decorating) look magnificent by comparison.

I’ll confess, too, that the “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” character I usually display in life can disappear in a flash when I am upset. That morning I saw the floor, now blackened by an infestation of fallen needles, and the likewise now naked tree standing in our living room, and I lost my cool (as had the sad little defrosted tree before me).

I should note that we were of a tradition that “the tree goes up the weekend before Christmas,” (which was a Tuesday in 1990). We were at the tail end of Advent (Christmas begins after sundown on December 24), and I was at my wit’s end. Many people enjoy the smell of spruce in the house, the tacky feel of tree-sap on their hands, and the joy of stringing lights on their yuletide evergreens. I am NOT one of those people.

Since the tree looked like a catastrophic fire hazard more than the festive holiday centerpiece it was intended to be, I ripped it up, tossed it to the curb, and we made a quick trip to the nearby mall where we bought the last artificial Christmas tree in the county. It was a display model, but I didn’t care. They didn’t even have a box for it, so the clerks dismantled the tree, tossing the pieces into black garbage sacks that we hauled out to the car.

We set it up, threw on the lights and ornaments, and have had artificial trees ever since; I’ve never looked back. No regrets. I do feel like it’s cheating, somehow, but be that as it may, I’ll live. I’ve got the tiniest tinge of guilt, of course, about putting something fake up for the holiday, but I trussed up that sense of sinfulness with some tinsel and stuck it into a far-away crawl-space in the undercroft of my soul. It’s both out of sight and out of mind.

Over the years we have had a variety of artificial trees. Each model has been an improvement over the last. The last few trees we’ve had go together in a matter of minutes, and are sized to fit the spaces we’ve had for them as we’ve moved. There are just two of us now and the kids and grandkids live far away, so we’ve tried to cut back a bit on our decorating. I’ve never been one to go all Clark Griswold, anyway. We no longer wait until the weekend before Christmas to put up the tree. Like the rest of the world, the outdoor lights go up on the least rainy day just before Thanksgiving, (we simply wait to plug them in for when the holiday season arrives) and the  tree goes up the weekend after Turkeyday.

The other morning I was sitting by our current tree and enjoying it when suddenly a section of lights went all supernova, shining about twice as bright as normal. As I pondered what that meant (was I about to be visited by an angel?), the lights went dark. Here we were, a week before Christmas, and a section of fake stars on our fake tree had gone out. What was I to do?

Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I say, rejoice! Life’s too short to grieve or grump. Even fake trees die. Will we undecorate and replace it, or will we enjoy that which is imperfect, awaiting that which is perfect to arrive? 

Here in this, our valley, and in all circumstances, I will simply give thanks, do what I must, and wish you all a very (genuine, heart-felt) 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)

The Third Sunday of Advent

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 212]

Sins. Last week and this we are reminded of our sins. What a distasteful little word. Many preachers have abandoned it, preferring to speak of shortcomings, weaknesses, foibles, errors, or other such nonsense. I can’t blame them. I often do the same. I prefer God as Therapist – One who seeks to fix my stinkin’ thinkin’. No one wants to come to church and be told they are a miserable little lot of good-for-nothing worms.

We do love to sanitize life, though, don’t we. Rather than admit that my first goal is now and ever has been to meet my own filthy lusts and have all things “my way” (with a nod to Frank Sinatra), I’d rather talk about my shortcomings. It makes it sound like I’m at least trying. I like talking about errors or mistakes, for we all make them, don’t we? There’s nothing wrong with that; we’re only human. For most of this stuff, it’s a matter of No harm; no foul.

Euphemisms have their place, certainly. The Church has done such a fine job of making people feel guilty for being human that any talk of sin falls on deaf ears, because we simply don’t want to hear it. Puritanism arose partly out of the idea that anything and everything we do has sin at its root, so we try to root out everything we think or do lest it rip us away from God’s very presence. The greatest fear of the puritan heart is that somewhere, somehow, someone may be having a good time – those wicked sinners! 

So it’s important that we find other words to help convey the truth that, yes, we sometimes say, think, or do bad things. The standard word for that is sin, but sometimes those things are better described as slips, faults, or character defects. The point is, we have them, and this Collect invites us to acknowledge that, and to realize we are often blind to the harm such does to ourselves and to others, and perhaps to God as well.

We think God is omnipotent (all powerful), and yet it seems to me that God seeing us enslaved by sin is terrified, for God has seen what sin has done to people in all times and places: sloth, lust, anger, pride, envy, gluttony, and greed. I prefer to call those vices sin (with a lower case S), and the state of being that draws us toward those sins as Sin (upper case, Sin personified). Sin blinds us to the harm those vices do, and I think it scares the perdition out of God. We are hindered, not just by being entangled in sin, but because in our blindness we don’t know where we’re going, or what we’re doing. 

So we pray on this third Sunday of Advent for God to jump up the way a parent jumps up when they see their toddler wander toward the street. Parents don’t jump up to chastise their child; they jump up to save their child! We’re begging God to help us as we stumble about like drunken sailors on a short pier, or children who’ve lost their ball, unbeknownst to them, in the middle of a mine field in an active war zone. We light the third candle; God, jump up (stir up your power) and help us, we pray! We praise you for your grace!

God always stirs up something good

The Second Sunday of Advent

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 for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 211]

Mercy. The image of a merciful God is supposed to conjure up feelings of warmth and grace, but for some reason, it has the opposite effect on me. The idea of God having mercy implies I’ve done something I shouldn’t have, or left undone something I should have done. To think of God as being merciful irritates me. Isn’t that weird?

I’m reminded of the Prayer of Humble Access that is seldom said in church these days. It was a regular part of the 1928 prayer book liturgy I grew up with, but now it’s only found in the Rite I Eucharistic service, and only now as an option (that most priests opt out of):

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

We do not presume … we are not worthy … but since we’re here (which is how I interpret the phrase: but thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy … The word "but" wipes away everything that comes before it. It negates everything up to that point). I love this prayer, but confess it sometimes strikes me as being a bit thick with false humility. Do we “really” not presume? Do we “really” think we’re not worthy? Do we “really” compare our lives with God’s own holiness and come to the table, trembling with a sense of inadequacy? Perhaps some do, but I confess I don’t, not as much, anyway. I once did, but coming to Holy Communion has become so commonplace for me that I don’t think about it. I DO presume to come, unthinkingly. I DO come with a sense of overblown worthiness.

So today’s Collect invites us to pause a moment and consider that we really do come before a God who is truly merciful, not because we deserve mercy, but because God chooses to love us despite ourselves.

I had trouble telling the truth as a child. I was always afraid I would get into trouble, so I would lie, even when asked if I did something for which there was no cause for alarm. It was a habit. “Kids lie; they always lie,” says a character in the movie The Client. My mother knew when I was lying. The fact is, I was never good at it and, over the decades, have become much more honest. I discovered that it was far easier to tell the truth. If I did something for which I needed to make amends, I’d make amends and make efforts not to repeat that bad behavior. Guilt became a thing of the past, for the most part. My mother constantly had mercy on me. She never banished me from the family table. She never sought to prove me wrong or a liar. It was more important for her to be someone I could depend on (as my bio-mother had abandoned the family), and that grace inspired me to amend my life, even though I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.

Prophets preach repentance (change of heart and mind). They tell us to prepare for our salvation. The point isn’t that we can or will do things that will bring us salvation, that will pull us from the fires of hell. No, the point is we are being called to dinner. Our bodies and souls will be nourished by One who knows how to prepare and deliver balanced meals, that we may have strength to carry out the work God has for us. God does not abandon us because we lie, cheat, steal, or harm others (although God COULD). No, it is God’s nature to bring us to the table to share stories of our day’s challenges, our day’s victories, or the things we need yet to work on.

Knowing that God’s not going to whomp us over the head, we come to the table, rejoicing. For the meal is set before us, and we get to hear from one another what great things God has done. A second candle is lit for Advent. We have a little more light and surprisingly discover that God’s mercy is, indeed, a real delight!

Seeing things differently is a superpower

“If there’s anything that I would like to pass on to the younger generation: it’s the idea that seeing things differently is powerful …” Kyle Creek, aka The Captain

I attended a gathering for local writers a couple of weeks back. It was an opportunity for local authors to meet one another. I introduced myself by name and vocation to our coordinator, when a writer sitting across from me looked up from her computer screen and declared, “I’m an atheist.”

I hadn’t planned on distributing leaflets or trying to convert anyone, so I thought her greeting was a bit uncalled for. I don’t think fast on my feet and have learned not to let all the thoughts and responses that ricochet off the boulders that occupy the space between my ears come out of my mouth, so I smiled and simply said, “Good to know,” and sat down.

I presume her greeting was intended to avoid interacting with this stranger; I understand. Many writers are introverts and socially awkward. I count myself among them. I need time to size up a room and the people in it before opening my mouth, time to collect my thoughts, organize them, and edit them for both clarity and positivity. You would not believe just how rude and sarcastic my brain can be, so I’ve found it best to keep it caged and muzzled!

Holidays are hard enough without straining to inflict pain or misery on one another. The days are short and cold, so I find it necessary for my own mental health to be long on patience and warmth in the presence of others. Even when I don’t feel like it (and I often don’t “feel” like it), I think it is important to acknowledge where we’re at, at any given moment, but simultaneously strive to overcome the instinct to lash out, and exude as much forbearance as is required for any given situation.

I spoke with a woman the other day who exemplified what I’m talking about. She needed to return an item at a big box store and to pick up a small lightbulb. It was Black Friday, so she girded up her loins, expecting to do battle. When she got to the store, though, it was crowded, but people appeared to be ... happy? Happy! 

A father and his young daughter were standing in line having a delightful conversation. The cashier was cheerful and helpful. People were gathered around the Black Friday Specials bins, but without jostling one another for position or advantage, or fighting over limited supply items. She was able to make her return without a hassle. En route to find her bulb she came across a store employee walking past her in a silly, orange costume. “Are you a pumpkin?” she asked. 

The woman laughed and said, “No, I’m a turkey.” She turned and showed her tail feathers and continued on her way. 

My friend then found the light bulb aisle with its dizzying array of every bulb imaginable, and secured one of the folks from the paint division who helped her find the correct bulb, with the correct base – service with a smile.

“The store actually looked and felt festive,” she said, “and took me so by surprise. It put ME in a festive mood, too!”

If I have any advice here at this early stage of our holiday season, it would be to recognize that joy and cheer are superpowers that lie within the heart of most of us. This is not to dismiss grief, sadness, the deep gloom of depression, or high anxiety that afflicts so many. This isn’t a call to put on a brave face and deny what’s going on in heart and soul. 

We don’t know the burdens others carry, the wounds others have endured, the struggles others have faced, so if we can restrain ourselves even just a little bit, we may be of some little service to our friends and neighbors, our families and even strangers. Exercising just a little more grace in word and deed could well be the superpower our world needs right now.

Be kind and patient this season; it’s your superpower, and doesn’t even require a cape, costume, or turkey-tail-feathers. That’s good to know 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)

First Sunday of Advent

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 211]

Advent is as good a place to start as any. Here in the northern hemisphere, our days have grown shorter and colder. The weather is shifting from the blustery chills of autumn to the stormy wetness of winter. The snows haven’t started falling yet, for the most part, but they’re coming. Growing up in Seattle, we didn’t normally worry about snow until January or February, what with the warmer waters of the Pacific keeping us moderately warm, albeit wet with constantly gray skies, fog, drizzle, and a variety of other forms of moisture that knew how to find its way through clothing, skin, muscle – to the marrow of our very bones.

Darkness always creeps in slowly – just like sin. It’s normally late in October, like around Halloween that I first notice the darkness outdoors. I like a well-lit house, and when I look outside and see the dark, I have an instinctive need to drop the shades and draw the curtains closed. I don’t want the world outside to know what I’m doing inside. To be honest, most of what I do would doubtlessly bore my neighbors to tears, but I don’t even want them to know that about me. Some people are open books and don’t worry about what others think, say, or do about them. Not me. I’m an old, retired parish priest who has happily traded in the fishbowl in which clergy often live for a castle made of big, hard, dark stones into which a few slits have been cut, but only for defensive purposes. I don’t like being that way, but, frankly, that’s how God has put me together, so I make do as best I can with the gifts and curses the good Lord has lay at my feet or in my heart.

“Almighty God, give us grace to cast away darkness …” We enter the Season of Advent with a prayer that unites us in two things. One, that we are in darkness, and two, we are in need of light. Notice, however, that casting off darkness isn’t something we can do willingly or easily. In fact, the prayer implies we can only begin to cast it off with a dollop of God’s grace. We begin our journey into the new year acknowledging that we need help, and, boy, isn’t that the truth?

As I have gotten older, I have found a need for more and better lighting when I am working on projects around the house. Things I could once see clearly and easily have become dim. I often find I need to take off my glasses for working close up to something, and I need a bright flashlight to help me see what I’m looking for in drawers or cabinets. Our Collect for the First Sunday of Advent lets us know right off the bat that our eyes are not as sharp as we would like them to be, so we look to the source of all light for the light we need. That’s the first step.

The second step is acknowledging, too, that we are mortal. That may seem pretty obvious to most people, but the fact is, I don’t spend much time pondering my mortality (let alone my morality which, personally, I think is fairly decent, as long as we use a sliding scale). This prayer reminds us that, not only are we mortal, but God decided to jump in and join us in our mortality! As one wag put it, God didn’t just come to us “in great humility,” but in great humiliation – born a baby who would be completely dependent on the limited abilities of a complete novice (the Virgin Mary) to bring him into this world and raise him up to be for us what we can never be on our own – a Deliverer like Moses, a prophet like Elijah, and MORE. 

If this is true, what are we hoping for? What is our aspiration? Our desire of God?

“That in the last day … we may rise to the life immortal …” To spend eternity with God! Our prayer is to become centered on the One in whom we live and move and have our being. We addressed our prayer to “Almighty God,” which seems a bit off-putting, as we are anything but holy, anything but clean, anything but righteous or faithful, and yet we ask the One to whom we pray to pull us up and to lift us out of our darkness, and lostness, and weakness, and pull us in toward God’s very own bosom, in Christ’s “glorious majesty,” so that, in the words of St. Augustine of Hippo, we may find rest for our restless hearts in God.

That’s a nice way to start the year off, not focused on the worminess of our sordid lives (or wherever we find ourselves on Perdition’s slippery path), but on the glory and majesty of God who is not content for us to be tossed into fiery pits, but desires, instead, for us to come up higher and sit with the heavenly hosts and regale one another with tales of all that God has done.

Candle one is lit; the year begins with fire.

Sometimes it's hard to be thankful

“Gratitude should go forward, rather than backwards.” Bill W.

Thanksgiving is upon us. For what are we thankful?

I’m struggling to come up with an answer to that question this year. It seems events overseas and around the country have gotten so chaotic and violent, I just don’t know what to think, what to do, or how to respond.

I feel guilty anticipating holiday feasting, football, and family gatherings when all around us, wars rage across the pond, the homeless are dying in our neighborhoods, and the plagues of gun violence, drug addiction, and drug-resistant diseases are banging on our doors.

Jesus said these things will always afflict us. Nations will rise up against other nations. Pestilence will ravage the lands. Families will be torn apart – fathers against sons and sons against fathers; mothers against daughters and daughters against mothers. The earth will shake, the skies will darken, stars will fall.

Egotistical souls will insist we are living in the end times, but egotists have been saying that for thousands of years. We always feel we are in the worst times, simply because when times are bad, we assume no one has ever had it as hard as us.

“What fools these mortals be,” says Puck in a Shakespearean play. Jesus cautions us against calling anyone a fool, lest we subject ourselves to judgment. But I think Puck is right. I don’t mind calling people fools as long as I remember that I am describing the “we” and not the “thee.”

We are silly creatures, so I don’t mind starting off by acknowledging that I am sometimes a fool, yet I’m alive to tell about it. Life is serious, to be sure, but we need to be careful not to take ourselves too seriously. I’m thankful for that.

When I finished raking leaves in the front yard a few weeks ago, I did more. I drained the hoses, coiled them, and put them away (along with the sprinklers and nozzles). I covered the outdoor faucets with their foam insulating caps. Consequently, when I found hard frost upon the ground today, I could drink my morning coffee – with a smile – for I was ahead of the game (for once). My procrastinatory nature was overcome by a bout of industriousness; I’m thankful for that.

I usually wait until after Thanksgiving to put up my holiday decorations. OK, yes, my Christmas decorations; let’s be honest. While it has been chilly, the sun is shining and the rains are holding off (if one can believe the weather person on the television), so I may get them up a little early. I don’t do rooftop or eavestrough lights any more as I prefer to avoid such heights, but I can put out ground-level decorations at my leisure. I’ve got the health and energy to do what I can do. What’s more, I can do it with good cheer; I’m thankful for that.

I do like to keep up on news of what’s happening around the world and around this country, but I don’t obsess over it. I can’t control wars in far-off places, but I have neighbors with whom I get along reasonably well. We don’t fight. We don’t argue. We don’t endanger one another with our driving. The neighborhood dogs are either well-behaved or kept on their own properties. The deer don’t come through too often, but when they do, they leave their calling cards with the neighbors and not with us. The raccoons amble through on occasion, but they leave our trash bins alone (so far). I’m thankful for all that.

The fact is, I find complaining embarrassingly easy to do, but I’ve learned to take life one day at a time; I’ve learned to give thanks for what I have, and not to worry about what I may not have. I have far more than I need, so gratitude really ought to be on the tip of my tongue, rising up from the bottom of my heart – daily. It doesn’t always happen, but it does often enough, for which I am thankful.

What’s more, I am grateful for having an opportunity to regularly share a little bit of myself with you, my readers and publishers here in this, our valley. I am thankful for you, one and all!

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)

The Scourge of Retribution

I don't normally speak on matters of politics or current events as there is little on the world or national stage I can do or affect. No one in DC is checking in with me, seeking permission to do something, or finding sound reasons not to do something else. In a world of seven billion people, I have no doubt I am somewhere in the lower half of the six billions on anyone's Speed-Dial.

Events in the Middle East are complex, and as I have never been to Israel or any other place East of the Atlantic coast of the USA, I cannot speak with any authority on what's happening there. I have my opinions and thoughts, of course, but they are bound up in second or third hand information, gleaned from a variety of media sources, and seen or heard through a thousand filters.

I am reminded of a parish that offered to send their priest to the Holy Land one time (as he'd never been, and they thought it would a nice gesture on their part). The gift came with one string, however. He could only refer to his experience no more than once a month in his preaching. Apparently, the parish has done that once before and the previous priest came back from his ten day trip as an expert on geography, history, theology, the cultures of Jews, Muslims, Christians (Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican, Evangelicals, etc.), and the parishioners really didn't want to have to suffer through that a second time.

I have not been to the Middle East and could never afford to visit the Holy Land, so such a trip will simply have to wait until the Second coming, at which time (in theory) I'll get to see if from a couple thousand feet (and rising). So I'm no expert in what's going on over there. I have never been a part of a minority or oppressed class of peoples. I often joke that when it comes to racism, all I know is how Norwegians and Swedes treat one another. If that's as bad as I've had it, then I've lived a fairly sheltered life.

The experience from which I CAN speak, however, is the human experience of violence and retaliation. Everyone says they want Justice, but for many, that devolves into retribution and vengeance. Jesus saw danger in that kind of attitude. Every act of retribution, no matter how "measured" or how "careful" will be experienced by the "other" as excessive. Punch me with one pound PSI, I should be able to punch you with equal force, but darned if it won't feel to you as 1.1 pound of PSI. That requires an escalation on each victim's part, and it will never end.

So Jesus says clearly, "Turn the other cheek; walk the extra mile; give your coat AND your shirt." It's not because the bullies or instigators deserve it, but because the response is your own choice. "Yes, you may assault and abuse me, you may take advantage of my friendship and good nature, but I choose to respond THIS way." Of course you may lose everything. Bullies will ask a foot, take your mile, and respond by making you carry their pack mule. That's a possibility, and maybe even a probability, and at some point a third party may even have to intervene (police, courts), and they (your rescuers) may secretly hate you for putting up with being a "victim." As Jesus says, "Yes, folks may well hate you and revile you." The point is, the cycle of violence and retribution will never end if we refuse to try a different way.

There is an old, staid cliche that defines insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. It may be old, it may be staid, and it may be a cliche, but nonetheless it is true. The cycle of violence continues because those who dare try something different often fail, resulting in those who might follow to quit trying, too. We have no trouble getting into fights, but it seems we have no patience to make peace.

I suspect part of the problem is the dehumanizing of the "other." During times of war, soldiers always find ways to remove the humanity of the enemy from their minds. They must do that for self-preservation. The enemy is the "target" (or some racial, ethnic, or dehumanizing epithet). Acts of barbarism are always "justified" by what the other did (first). This eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-tooth approach devolves into a world that is blind to the escalating destruction that takes place on an ever-escalating ramp to hell.

Jesus says, "Stop! For Christ's sake, STOP!"

Each side expects God to come down and wreak vengeance on the other for their atrocities, vileness, cruelty, etc. Well, I can't speak for those of other faiths (and can barely speak for those of my own faith tradition), but those who walk the Jesus Way would suggest God did come down, and rather than descend with an army of angels to visit death and destruction on the human race, chose to risk birth and living amongst us, and even when we visited torture upon him, did not send out a bugle-call for help, but allowed the cold embrace of death to lay ahold of him, instead. 

One can always find loopholes in the Bible (Hebrew and Christian scriptures) and Quran to justify violence. Jesus no doubt sighed with disgust when he said, "The kingdom suffers violence, and the violent take it by force" (Matthew 11:12). Still, he gave himself up for arrest; he gave his back to the smiters; he endured torture; they took his clothes from him, divided them by lot, and nailed him naked to the hard wood of the cross, upon which he died -- an object of laughter and scorn by passers-by.

There isn't room here to present a comprehensive guide to peace in the Middle East, but I would offer a few ideas for consideration of all involved. (1) Cease Fire. Unilateral, if need be. But stop the insanity where it stands now. (2) Unimpeded Humanitarian Aid (Food, water, shelter, medical care, evacuation of anyone and everyone at risk). (3) Find, identify, and charge a small team (3 people representing Israel, and 3 from Palestine Authority) to sit down with a mutually agreed upon neutral third party (non-major power) and develop a process for transforming the ceasefire to a genuine peace accord. (4) An independent investigation by a neutral third party to identify and secure arrest warrants for all parties (of whatever stripe) who are responsible for engaging in specific war crimes (thinking Nuremburg type of trials).

Anyone who says such an approach is unworkable, ignores the complexity of the history and list of grievances, etc. is not interested in peace. Of course it is complex. Of course it will require risk. Of course these will be stops, and lurches, and set-backs. So what? Of course it may take years to undo the damage of decades of mistrust and bad acts. So what? Of course there will still be people doing everything in their power to make sure nothing works. So what? 

The cancer of violence is shrunk by the application of medicines that may bring unpleasant results at first, but if the tumor shrinks, and the circle of violent antagonists shrinks, isn't it worth the effort?

Jesus thought it was. Ghandi thought it was. Martin Luther King, Jr. thought it was. Standing in the midst of those giants, who am I to disagree? Let's beat our swords into plough shares and spears into pruning hooks; let's give peace a real try, and stick to it.

The Kingdom of God is a Tool Box

“Many things get done in the world because someone had a vision of something better.” Herbert O’Driscoll

I love learning. I never tire of reading. When something breaks at home, I delight in trying to figure out what’s wrong so that I can fix it or, if I’m lucky, it’s broken beyond repair and I get to replace it with something new and improved. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy pinching pennies until Lincoln cries, “Uncle,” but it doesn’t bother me to get something that, most generally, works better than what broke.

I’ll confess I am sometimes embarrassed by how little I know about something, or about how long it took me to discover what someone else (or everyone else) has presumably known from the git-go. For instance, I was always flummoxed by how terribly my drill functioned as a screwdriver. I mean, I have various bits for it, and it seems to do fine for the most part, but then it barumphs [sic] and ruins the head of a screw. I never knew why until Earl, my carpenter friend in Ennis explained something I’d not realized: a drill is designed for drilling; what I need to use is an impact driver. The two tools may look similar, but each serves a different function; each is designed to handle different situations.

In the past I would have been too embarrassed to admit this intellectual short-coming. I would have counted it as a character defect. I’m a guy. Guys are supposed to know things about cars and tools, carpentry, sports, and stuff like that. I’d lived much of my life by Mark Twain’s maxim: Better to keep one’s mouth closed and thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.

I am beginning to think that shame is the leading cause of all the world’s woes. When children grow up and are ridiculed for not knowing stuff, they often learn to shut down and stop asking questions. Children have a reputation for being innocents, but often they are cruel, intolerant bullies. Many of the people I have known and counseled continue to live under a cloud of childhood events and traumas. It’s no wonder many grow up to be intolerant, fearful, and shame-filled souls in need of healing, safety, and security.

Jesus spent most of his time teaching and healing. He called his vision “the kingdom of God.” He didn’t define it as much as he described it with stories and images almost anyone can relate to. I may not be a farmer, but I understand the concept of things starting off small (like seeds) and growing into something big (like a shade-tree or a jar of French’s Mustard). I may not be a fisherman, but I understand the importance of repairing a net so that it will catch fish. 

Having had a child run away from home, I understand the relief and joy of having that child come home. Having lost a cherished gift and finding it again in a puddle of melted snow, I understand the joy and relief of finding that which was lost. Having had a terrible argument with someone I love, and the fear of losing them forever, and having that relationship restored by forgiving them (and being forgiven), and amending uncharitable attitudes or deeds, I have seen how forgiveness can lead to peace and reconciliation.

None of us is perfect, of course; only God is perfect. I still lose things. I’m still hurt by unkind remarks or the neglect of those who ought to know better. But this talk of the kingdom of God – this vision – allows me to see the world differently. It allows me to plead ignorance so that others can help me understand what I’m missing or neglecting. It opens my eyes to the possibility that God may have other ways of dealing with matters. 

The kingdom of God is a tool box into which we add tools as God provides them. We need only know not every tool fits every circumstance; we need only be humble enough to ask others what might help here in this, our valley. To mend a life, you see, is to amend life.

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)

North to Alaska

… there go the ships, and Leviathan that you formed to sport with. Psalm 104

My better half and I just returned from the sea. We set sail earlier this month to check out Alaska’s Inside Passage. It’s a trip we’d wanted to take for (literally) decades, but could never put enough scratch or time together simultaneously to make it happen. It seemed like every “milestone” (like 10th, 25th, or 40th anniversary) was accompanied by some ship-wrecking family or parish emergency that took precedence. Life happens.

We’d reached the end of summer and I decided it was time to give mother nature and the fates the slip, so I booked the Alaskan adventure when they weren’t looking, and it worked!

I won’t bore you by detailing the trip. If there’s anything worse than sitting through someone else’s home movies, it’s sitting through those home movies without the pictures, slides, or super-8s (and accompanying narration). I will say that we had shockingly good weather considering the Alaskan coast sees rain 300 days of the year (we had only two wet days), and relatively calm seas (only two days of the nine where we pushed through eighteen foot swells and felt a bit like we’d signed onto a nautical version of rodeo bull-riding). 

Before we left, a friend asked what part of the trip I was most looking forward to, and I confessed, “Getting home.” I am a home-body. I know that, and my answer was true. But it was true only for the reason I wasn’t sure what to expect on our voyage. As a card-carrying pessimist, I prefer to let an adventure unfold and surprise me with something good happening, than to anticipate something wonderful and then be disappointed with a lesser reality.

We took in a few of the standard tourist excursions, like the White Pass train ride out of Skagway, a hike to the Mendenhall Glacier, followed by a whale watching expedition out of Juneau. We caught crabs in Ketchikan and could almost reach out and touch the Johns Hopkins Glacier as it calved a small berg into Glacier Bay. Each excursion was delightful in its own way, but none was what I would term memorable. I’m sure I will remember them, of course, the way one remembers bits and pieces of life’s experiences. But “memorable” as in life-altering? No.

I realize that Tourism is an important industry; I don’t intend to besmirch it. What I enjoyed most was being immersed in nature whilst disconnected from the world. We could pay for internet and cellular service if we wanted it, but my goal was to forego all of that. What good is it to get away if one doesn’t actually get away? I did check text messages and send location updates to friends and family when I had cell service in several ports of call, but beyond that, I let the world spin on (or off) without me.

It was being out in the natural world I enjoyed most. It was handling a live Dungeness crab on a small boat (not the Deadliest Catch variety - just a coastal runabout). It was spending time in the bays and inlets watching whales clear their spouts upon surfacing, dolphins porpoising past the boat, harbor seals and sea lions sunning themselves on harbor buoys or floating lazily about just off-shore, each ignoring their hominid cousins bobbing about for their own look-sees and amusement. 

Sadly, I did not see any bears on this journey. I was in a tour group that did see a momma Brown bear and her cub on the road on Chichagof Island, but folks crowded the bus’s windshield and blocked the view from everyone else. I did see the bear via several cell-phone view screens, but alas, not directly. That’s OK, though. I can bear the disappointment.

Our final stop before returning to Seattle was shortened due to weather, so that was a bit of a let-down. Still, I don’t think Gilligan and pals could have hosted a couple thousand additional guests to house and feed, so our captain made the right decision to steer clear of the autumnal storms that threatened us. I can live with that, too, here in this, our valley. It’s good to be home.

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)

Snails, toys, and profiteers

“Jesus said, ‘You give them something to eat.’ They answered him, ‘How?’” Luke 9:13ff

The rains fell overnight. I was up early, as is my custom, and began rolling the trash bins out to the curb for morning pickup. As I steered them down the driveway, I made every effort to avoid rolling over the fleet of snails that were making tracks across the pavement from one side to the other. Most were headed north, and I couldn’t blame them. The grass is definitely greener there, especially as there isn’t any grass along the south side. There are weeds (which I presume snails would find most delightful), but it seemed they had tired of their diet of quack-grass and horsetails.

I found myself wondering how the critters knew to cross the great divide. Did they point their weird little eye-stalks in the direction of our maple tree and assume life would be better across the great beyond? Or did they smell the rot of falling leaves beneath that grand old tree and decide the time for action was now. No doubt snails and slugs have their own version of “the one who hesitates is lost,” and when one moves with the speed and alacrity of a gastropod, getting an early start makes sense. I presume they suffer less road rash when the pavement is wet, too.

I don’t know what motivates a slug, snail, or worm. No doubt food is involved in that equation, by which I confess a certain sense of brotherhood. I can get around pretty good, but there’s nothing like the smell of fresh-baked cookies to stop me dead in my tracks. Like a snail, my gut and feet are of one mind, one soul. I can try claiming to be “above” such things (as the sight of a salad does not appeal to me the way it does my slimy brethren), but that would not be exactly true. The grass is always greener across the road, but for me, that lawn will always come in the form of a steak or burger. Cows eat salads so I don’t have to!

Ground level, snails-eye view of our maple tree

Food. I miss the fun of food. You know what I mean; kids’ meals. 

I still buy the same cereals I ate as a child, but they were much more fun back then. We used to get little treats in specially marked boxes, as if sugar itself wasn’t “treat” enough. Today’s cartons may have a five word crossword puzzle printed on the back, or a few dad jokes to read while munching away on the captain’s crunch or fruit-flavored rice. But seldom are consumers treated to some bit of plastic chintz that says, “We love you.”

My all-time favorite toy was a spectacular submarine, complete with working torpedoes and a ship that actually blew up if struck! No digital game on earth today packs the same punch. It was fun putting the torpedoes into their spring-loaded ports and rigging up the ship with its pressure-plate (which would blow the superstructure off the ship when it was struck by the projectile or a carelessly misplaced thumb). I was a crack shot, I’ll tell you. 

They don’t make or include toys like that any more. 

A toy was a manufacturer’s way of saying, “here’s a little something for you, for no better reason than this: you’re here. You exist. You matter. Yes, your parents bought the product, but this is for you and for your enjoyment.”

Profiteers are too interested in feathering their corporate bank accounts these days. It’s hard for them to appreciate the smile of a child digging into a box of oats, seeking their treasure, their fortune. For some, that bit of plastic could be the only “win” they’d have that day. But some CEO making seven figures will never see or care about that smile, that moment of ecstacy. They see a cheap toy and say, “Let’s save a penny.” They never see the smile. It’s their loss.

I suspect snails and slugs smile when they reach their destination and start munching on their foliage du jour. It’s God’s treat. God sees their smiles, even if we can’t. God can. Smile: You’re on candid fescue here in this, our valley. God’s treat, meant especially for you.

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)

When a Red Light Isn't

“Search for the Lord, and his strength; continually seek his face.” Psalm 105:4

We live in a world of explorers. I like to think I’ve got a pretty good handle on spelling and grammar, yet I find those skills put more and more to the test. Who among us hasn’t found text messages changed by the cell phone’s auto-correct or spell-check features? There are a lot of words in church-life that just aren’t recognized by the Great Brain in the Clouds, so I find myself miffed at times when the computer doesn’t like what I have to say, or the way I’m saying it.

“Hey,” I yell at the infernal clump of electronic detritus, “you’re not the boss of me!”

The computer just hums and chortles electronically; it doesn’t care how long it takes for me to settle down. The computer’s main component is called the mother board for a reason; she IS the boss of me!

For the most part, we get along just fine. I browse the net for news and sports; I check out a few social media sites to see what my friends and family are having for breakfast, where they’re going, what they’re doing, or who they’re doing it with. When I’m curious about something, I go to a search engine and find information that may or may not be correct. I remember Abraham Lincoln’s sage warning: “Just because you see a quote on the internet with my photo doesn’t mean I actually said it.” 

That’s good to know. I know a college professor who once started each class-year with a quote from the Buddha written across the top of her blackboard until one day at the start of a fresh semester one of her students pointed out that the Buddha had never said that. She looked it up online and found it among many quotes falsely attributed to the Buddha on a website dedicated to identifying fake Buddha quotes. I recalled something another friend of mine said: “Who fact-checks the fact-checkers?”

Some things we just have to take on faith, yet it’s good to keep an open mind. I think it was comedian Dennis Miller who used to close his commentaries with, “That’s just my opinion; I could be wrong.” Modesty requires us all to adopt that perspective (but I could be wrong). 

I have found it helpful to keep an open mind. How else will new information get in to be processed? I’ll admit I don’t understand people who are so cock-sure of themselves that they can’t admit to the possibility of being wrong.

I was a cop, brand new on the force. I was sitting at a light in Spokane when my light turned green. Just before I could start up, a fellow crossed in front of me. It was a clear-as-day red light violation, so I pulled him over and wrote him a citation. He was convinced the light was yellow, but I knew better. He took his ticket to court and I testified to the facts, plain and simple. 

But then the judge asked me a question for clarification. “Did you see his light? Did you see if it was red?” Now, I could have lied and said, “Yes.” But I told him the truth. “My light was green, so I knew his light had to be red.” Well, I didn’t actually see him run a red light; I’d drawn a conclusion based on what I’d seen, added to common sense, but I didn’t see him “run” a red light, as a matter of “fact.” 

“Not guilty,” declared the judge.

I learned. I became more careful in my observations. Traffic signals were designed so one could (back in those days) see (and confirm) the shade of cross-traffic lights. I hated losing my very first court case, but became a better traffic officer for it. 

That incident (and many since) have helped shape my approach to the world. I’ve learned to separate fact from assumptions. I’ve learned to step outside my bubble, to be more observant before drawing conclusions. I’ve learned to listen carefully, to engage in critical thinking so as not to be fooled or taken advantage of. I can have my well-formed opinion about things, but I could also be wrong. That’s OK 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)

The Great Value of the "Sinner"

 Proper 18 – VALUE

Sermon for St. Paul’s (Mount Vernon, WA) 09/10/2023

Fr. Keith Axberg, Ret.

Ezekiel 33:7-11 – Our sins weigh against us; how can we live?

Psalm 119:33-40 – Incline my heart to your decrees

Romans 13:8-14 – Love is the fulfilling of Torah

Matthew 18:15-20 – Where 2 or 3 are gathered, I’m there

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.

A story is told of a man washed overboard from a ship at sea. He was stranded on a desert isle. A few weeks later he saw another ship sailing past the island, lit a signal fire and the passing ship stopped. The captain sent a rescue party ashore and the castaway, as you might imagine, was overjoyed to be seen and rescued. The first officer noticed the man had built several huts there on the beach and asked about them.

“Oh, that’s my home. When I landed, I had no idea how long I’d be here, and so I took vines and branches and built myself some shelter. Then I built another hut to store whatever food I could find. This hut over there is my church. That’s where I went to read the Bible and pray.”

The first officer noticed one other hut and said, “And what’s that?”

The castaway said, “That was my first church, but I didn’t care for the leadership, so I left.”

Since the early days of Adam and Eve disobeying God, playing the blame game, and getting kicked out of paradise, we human beings have had a rough time of it getting our act together. 

The rules are pretty simple: Love God; love your neighbor; heck, love yourself, too!

But it’s always a fight. It’s always a struggle. Like Cain, we’re scared to death God loves “them” more than us, so rather than work on improving what we can, we simply get rid of the competition. We let the EGO get the better of us.

In Twelve Step programs, they say that EGO means to Edge God Out (E. G. O.)

That’s really what sin is. It’s edging God out. It’s like the fellow who shoves his way to the front of the line without so much as an , “Excuse me,” or “By your leave.” Somehow they think their time or their needs are more important than yours, so they throw elbows or shoulders.

Most of the time I let grace prevail, even though I know that when you give someone an inch they’ll take a mile and at some point you’ll have to draw a line. What we do, though, is we keep moving that line because we’re too tired to deal with it. We may show grace on the outside, while on the inside we’re still Caining Abel, if you catch my drift.

It’s not good to let this stuff eat at you. Ezekiel says, “If your neighbor is engaged in wickedness, you need to call them out on it. If you do and they change, all well and good. And if they don’t? That’s on them. But if you see bad stuff happening and ignore it, that’s on you!”

The problem, of course, is that we can become hypersensitive to right and wrong, or good and evil. We can become hypervigilant so that everything is under scrutiny. 

Torah says, “You shall do no labor on the Sabbath – it’s a day of rest, set aside for you and God to spend time together.”

That makes sense. But then you get the rules about the rules. A woman shall not keep a needle in her apron because she might forget it’s the Sabbath and try mending her husband’s shirt.” or something like that. 

The goal, of course, is to focus on our relationship with God; to be “holy” because God is holy; to be gracious, because God is gracious; to be loving, because God is loving.

The goal is to cultivate our relationship with God and with one another, and that’s a good thing. But we’re also human, and while being human means to be a reflection of the Divine, it also means we’re angels with dirty faces, like Adam and Eve. 

We’re “sinners,” which means we fall short of where God wants us to be. That doesn’t mean we’re wicked, or evil, or dirty rotten scoundrels (although some of you may be – who am I to judge?). But we fall short. 

We find ourselves at the checkout counter and, if you’re like me, when I have my 2 or 3 items to buy and go to the “15 or fewer items” lane, I COUNT every item the people in front of me have. I can’t help it. I like numbers. I like rules. I love that superior feeling you get when you see someone with 16 items. I don’t say anything, of course, because I’m a nice guy. BUT I KNOW WHO THEY ARE, AND I KNOW WHAT THEY’VE DONE! Eats away

One of the things our faith calls us to is self-reflection. Jesus never says it’s OK to sin. As humans, we’re going to sin. That’s a plain fact of life. We’re going to fall short. We’re going to let God down; we’re going to let our neighbor down; we’re going to let ourselves down, as well. 

In the Gospel today, Jesus tells us what to do when our neighbor lets us down, when they sin against us, when they do us injury.

He says, “When that happens, go to them. Tell them. Work things out if you can.”

That’s all well and good, especially if you’re on the receiving end of that grievance. Basically, Jesus says, “Don’t go whining about it to your friends and neighbors. Talk to your friend about the problem.” 

You can’t solve the problem if you go gossiping about people who offend you, or let you down. Too often people don’t really want to solve the problem. They want allies to stand with them as they bully their neighbors into submission.

So Jesus says, rather than take a little problem and blow it all out of proportion, deal with it directly. But be careful. You’re not God. I’m not God. Your neighbor’s not God. So we need to tread gently. We could be wrong. The issue could be a misunderstanding. 

Since we are all sinners, since each of us falls short, it’s important to look at today’s lesson and realize that there are times I will be the offender (not just the offended); that I will be the one who falls short; that I will be the one who lets someone else down. So I need to be humble enough to listen when someone speaks. 

A woman finds herself fighting with her boss, and her co-workers, and her family members, and her neighbors, and her fellow church-goers, she may have to pause a moment and ask, “Is the world really that full of jerks, or is there some other common denominator at work here creating such a ruckus?”

St. Paul reminds us in his letter to the Romans that we “owe one another nothing except to love one another, for those who love have fulfilled Torah.”

Note: Torah doesn’t just mean the Law of Moses. Torah is the story of God calling us out of slavery (whether to Egypt or Sin), and bringing us home (what we call “salvation”). So by loving, we’re living into who we are as the people of God – people who have been and are being delivered from our transgressions.

That’s our mission. That’s at the heart of the Gospel lesson today: God calling us to come closer, to come up higher, to climb into God’s lap. Even if we’re pitching a screaming fit, God invites us to come where God can hold us, and hug us, and quiet us down so that, if we listen closely, we can even hear God’s own heartbeat in that silence. “Where you crawl together, I am there.”

That is the mission of the Church. If you turn into your prayer book to page 855, you’ll see in the Catechism: 

Q. What is the mission of the Church?

A. The mission of the Church is to restore all people to

unity with God and each other in Christ.

   

Q. How does the Church pursue its mission?

A. The Church pursues its mission as it prays and

worships, proclaims the Gospel, and promotes justice,

peace, and love.

   

Q. Through whom does the Church carry out its mission?

A. The church carries out its mission through the ministry

of all its members.

Jesus reminds us in the Gospel that in the life of the church, there will always be problems. There will always be issues where we struggle to know the right thing to do. Not everything is a Gospel issue to me, but it could be to you. So Jesus says, “Go; sit; listen; become one again.”

Some years ago Barb and I were living in Spokane; we got a call from my brother in law; my sister (Tina) worked at a butcher shop in Wilbur (a small town about an hour west of Spokane out on highway 2) and while cleaning the deli-meat slicer, she’d cut her finger off. She was rushed to Holy Family Hospital in Spokane, and after several hours, surgeons were able to reattach her finger - reconnecting blood vessels and nerve fibers, and muscles. Whatever they did, it worked. In time, her finger healed. It was a little shorter. It wasn’t quite as flexible as it had been. But the finger lived, because it was once again made part of the body.

It was literally: RE-MEMBERED. 

That, to me, has always been an iconic image of what Jesus is talking about in the Gospel today. It’s not so much about Church Order or Problem Solving.

It’s about valuing one another so much that our desire is NOT to lose one another, NOT to cut one another off, but to recover one another in the Name of Christ Jesus, our Lord. When we break Bread and elevate the Cup, we remember what Jesus told us to do: Do THIS in RE-MEMBRANCE of me. He’s not talking about memorizing the service or the prayer book or the bible, or recalling the institution of the Eucharist. 

He’s talking about placing your life and the life of your neighbor in the hands of the Great Surgeon, who skillfully puts us back together, even when we’ve fallen apart. Each of us is a valued member of the Body of Christ. AMEN

Before I Croak

“Sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things.” Psalm 98:1

I was out watering my plants the other day. Although the Pacific Northwest has a reputation for being damp and rainy, the fact is we don’t receive nearly as much rain around here as folks think, and this summer, in particular, has been one of the drier summers on record. Consequently, we head out every couple of days to see to it that the greenery stays that way.

I keep telling my better half that we ought to put in drought-resistant plants, but she has no desire to see silk or plastic flowers in the yard, so I guess we’ll have to settle for live botanical specimens – the real deal, as she calls them. 

I don’t mind watering, to be honest. It is one of those tasks that doesn’t require a lot of brain-power, and there is something meditative about dragging a hose around the yard from the spigot to our botanical family and seeing to it that each plant or bush receives what it needs. Someday we may invest in an automatic sprinkling system, but where’s the fun in that? It’s nice moving about the grounds, talking to the plants and critters. On top of that, they never talk back. Now THAT’s a real blessing!

Despite our relatively urban setting, we do have some wildlife popping in from time to time. A week ago I was getting my morning coffee. It was still relatively dark; I looked out the kitchen window and observed a couple of raccoons wandering around the backyard looking for incredible edibles. I’m no Dr. Dolittle, so I made no effort to converse with them. I didn’t want to frighten them away. I just sipped my coffee and watched them wander from plant to bush to stump doing their particular form of grocery shopping. 

It’s funny how we think. I find myself writing about the wildlife popping into “our” space, as if it’s they that don’t belong. This house and neighborhood have only been here the past three or four decades. The “wildlife” have been here for hundreds of thousands of years. Which of us is the one that “doesn’t belong,” eh?

How else are we to think, though? I suspect raccoons see the world through their own lenses, as do the deer, blue jays, squirrels, and every creature great and small. I have one bush out back that is home to at least one smallish frog. It does NOT like it when I water his or her home. It leaps out from under the leaves, into the open (where I’m sure it does not want to be), and does a frantic little froggy pirouette to see where it can go to either get out of the artificial rain or back under cover. It’s not my intention to disturb its abode, but it doesn’t care what my intentions are. I’m sure, in fact, it wishes I would just croak.

I find nature fascinating. Aside from the odd class here and there in school (back when the earth was still cooling), I wasn’t too much into biology or the other earth sciences, but I am now. I guess that means I am reaching a point in life where some may say, “he’s older than dirt,” and I hear it not as a put-down, but as a scientific fact. The earth and I are related – my own theory of relativity (Move over, Einstein!).

I don’t know if anyone else thinks about such things, but I do. I’ll admit I don’t want mice, ants, or spiders invading my indoor spaces, but I am striving to be more of a friend than a pest when spending time outdoors. My hope is that, when I wander about the great out-of-doors, all of God’s creatures will sing to the Lord a new song, “for he has done marvelous things.” I hope they’ll acknowledge the effort I am making to be kind and gentle. 

When I stand before my Redeemer, it would be sweet to hear even the frogs sing, “He had a good heart. We toad [sic] him to keep the hose on a gentle setting, and he did.” At least that’s my hope 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)

My fascination with fasteners

“The LORD will make good his purpose for me; O LORD, your love endures forever.” Psalm 138:9

I don’t know why I try to be a DIY guy at home. My skill, my charism, if I’ve got one, is putting words together, not wood. I should know better than to try, and yet what is one to do in retirement but try to develop skills that God, in God’s infinite wisdom, gave to others but (apparently) not to me? I work for a Jewish carpenter, but even the Great Healer knows better than to put power tools into my hands.

That’s OK. I’ve got time to kill and decent medical insurance, so why farm out work that doesn’t require the strength of Samson (or his hair)? I don’t mind hiring folks to do big jobs that really are beyond my capacity to do them, but for little things, I like the challenge. I know I haven’t got the hands-on experience of real carpenters or people in the trades, but I’ve got YouTube. What could go wrong?

Case in point this week was my goal to build a box step for the front of our shed. Its entry is about a foot above ground level; several years ago I’d set up a temporary platform out of landscaping timbers and concrete pavers. They worked just fine, but looked like something Laurel and Hardy (or the original MacGuyver) would have installed. I wanted to build something more Taj Mahal than Slip ‘n Slide. What could be simpler than framing a box and topping it with cedar deck-boards?

I zipped down to the local big box store, acquired the lumber I would need, and “fasteners.” I guess they don’t call them screws any more as people got tired of screwing up their projects (and Lord knows I’ve got a screw loose – or two). So now they’re called fasteners, which I find fascinating.

I decided against using nails as I have seen what happens when I use a hammer, and it ain’t a pretty sight. I have good medical insurance, but my agent tells me the policy doesn’t cover self-inflicted blunt force trauma. Besides, I haven’t got enough years left in me for the time it would take me to actually nail a box together. So, “Screw it,” I said to myself, and for once I listened.

By the end of a week, I had cut all my lumber to length, then assembled, disassembled, and reassembled my box base and set it in place. Sadly, I haven’t figured how to attach it to the shed yet, but I’m working on it. It’s a work in progress and I’m agile enough to step over the box and into the shed in the interim.

Life is a work in progress. I know my strengths and limitations and don’t mind acknowledging what I’m good at and what I’m not. I think people are sometimes too ashamed to admit they’re not good at something, as if their worth is based upon their skills (or lack thereof). It has taken me a long time to actually believe what I have been preaching about all my life – that God is love, and that God embraces each and every person.

I have wasted a lot of time suspecting that there are some people far too bad to deserve God’s love, but then one day it dawned on me that if there are exceptions, then why wouldn’t that apply to me, as well? If there are exceptions, then none of us is safe from God’s wrath. All of us have failed to live up to our billing as God’s children, yet God has set a place for each of us at God’s table, in God’s house. Jesus was a carpenter, the son of a carpenter. He knows a thing or two about building tables because he no doubt actually built a table or two.

I know what needs to be done to finish the step to my shed. I really do. It’s no mystery. It’s a project. Just like life is a project. My hope is that, at the end, God will look to see what I’ve become and say, “You nailed it!” That’s my hope for each of you, too, 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)