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)