Inviting Christ to our lives, along with his friends, is the only way to begin to see the glory of God’s healing life for us and for the whole world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Second Sunday after Epiphany, year C
   text:  John 2:1-11

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Apparently it matters whom we invite to our parties.

At least if we want enough food and drink to satisfy our guests for a three day village wedding. Having one who can make fine wine out of water is handy.

This must be a family friend or relative of Jesus getting married, since Jesus’ mother is also on the guest list. Jesus’ disciples were also invited. We’ve only met five so far in John, but you’d have to like Jesus a lot to answer yes to: “is it OK if I bring along five guys who are following me around?”

This may be a grace point in this story, though, a place we can enter and see our lives and God differently.

Maybe it really does matter whom we invite into our story, whom they bring with them, what we expect of them, and what they ask of us.

First, we want to put Jesus on our life’s guest list.

This miracle wasn’t really world-changing. No disease was cured, no demon sent away. Jesus just made sure the hosts of the party weren’t embarrassed. Maybe their guests were heavy drinkers; maybe the family was poor. But it would be humiliating.

But God’s Christ was there, a guest. And even the little details of our lives matter to him. He blessed them with the abundance of God, changed what was ordinary into extraordinary. That’s what happens when Jesus is at the party.

We’re in the afterglow of our celebration of the birth of Christ, and this story reminds us what it means that God has become one of us. In Christ, God lives in our lives, cares about our needs, even ones that seem unimportant to others. Christ Jesus is someone we want actively involved in our lives, with us.

As annoying as they can be, we also want to be sure to invite Jesus’ friends.

Wherever Jesus goes, he brings his friends along. Even to a wedding. They’re not the brightest, they often miss his point, act in ways Christ would prefer they didn’t. They need correction, guidance, help.

But Christ’s friends are vital for us. At Cana, they’re the witnesses of God’s glory in Jesus. So they are for us. Jesus’ friends are the ones who sit next to us in the pew, who talk to us at the coffee time, who know when we need them. They’re the ones who help us see what God is doing in our lives and in the world. Christ’s friends are the ones who stand with us in our faith and doubt, who witness so we might also believe.

Many of those who bear the name Christ can be annoying or problematic. Sometimes we’d rather focus on our faith by ourselves. But we need the friends of this Christ in our lives. We couldn’t see or believe without them.

There’s another on the Cana guest list who needs to be on ours, too.

“The mother of Jesus was there,” John says. And she’s crucial. She’s the one who notices the problem of the wine. She’s the one who comes to the only one who could do something, her son. She’s the one who ignores his resistance and tells the servants they should do whatever he says. Without her at this wedding, would Jesus have acted?

We need people like her in our life. We need to invite people into our life who know the truth about us, who can see what needs we have. But who also know God well enough to bring God our needs and ask for help. Even wrestle a little, argue for our cause, not take no for an answer.

These are the people of faith who are so important to us, who trust God when we struggle to, who pray in confidence when we doubt, and who will speak on our behalf to God, even if we could have spoken ourselves. (Remember, the bridegroom could have come to Jesus. That’s not the question. Sometimes we need someone to speak up for us.)

We want people like Jesus’ mother in our life.

But isn’t this miracle kind of insignificant?

In the huge problems of the world, Jesus’ action was small potatoes. Much of what we hope for from God feels the same to us. We struggle to know what we can bring to God for healing, for hope, for change. We don’t want to be selfish, we know there are bigger, worse problems that lots of other people have. We might only be running out of wine, not dying of hunger or unjustly locked up in a jail. Who are we to ask the Incarnate Son of God to come to our lives and help us?

But Jesus did this small little thing. He learned of a need and met it. He didn’t say, “What about those people over there that have nothing? Your problems aren’t important.” He made the wine.

Oh, but also: “this was the first of his signs, and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him,” John says. This was only the beginning. After Cana, Jesus would do much more – heal the sick, raise the dead, die on the cross, rise to new life – but this little miracle in an out-of-the-way village was the first sign of what was to come.

That’s the hope. Christ in our lives means we will see signs of God’s glory in our own small needs, our own small lives. And they will be signs that God is even now working in the world for healing. Signs of the much greater things God is going to do. And like the disciples, we believe.

There’s one more thing: whatever he tells you, do it, his mother said.

We need to hear what she said to the servants. Filling a jar with 30 gallons of water by carrying buckets from a well surely didn’t look miraculous. Nor did repeating it five more times. But out of their obedience came rich, abundant grace.

Pay attention to this. When Christ is in our lives, he’ll have things he needs us to do. Inviting him to our life isn’t a passive thing. So when Jesus tells us to do something, however small or unimportant, we would do well to do it. Love your neighbor as yourself, he said. Maybe that’s not going to change our society or world, or stop war, or end hunger. Maybe it’s going to be annoying and inconvenient, as tedious as endlessly carrying buckets to stone jars. But if Christ has asked us to do this, to love as we are loved, there is bound to be a grace, a miracle, a transformation in his plans. Our part is needed, even if we don’t see how.

Whatever he tells you, do it. That Mary sure knew her son.

It’s time to make the guest list of those whom we’re inviting to our lives. 

We’ll invite Jesus, the Son of God, the Anointed. We’ll invite his friends, too, all of them, and especially one or two who know him well and will speak for us when we can’t.

And we’ll be ready for our jobs when we get them.

Because you never know what God can do with just a little thing like water. Or like us.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Because Christ the Son has made the Father’s heart known to us, we can’t pretend we don’t know, or see, or don’t need to act with God’s heart in the world anymore.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Second Sunday of Christmas
   texts:  John 1:10-18; Ephesians 1:3-14; Jeremiah 31:7-14

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

It’s a convenient lie we tell ourselves, that it’s hard to discern God’s will.

When people do great evil in God’s name, we know that’s not what God wants. When the Church acts in ways of cruelty or rigidity, when Christians spout racism and hatred as if it is of Christ, we’re outraged, and we know, this is not God’s will.

But when it comes to our lives, we sometimes act as if what God wants, what God dreams for this world, what God hopes for from us is a mystery. How can we know God’s will? It’s complicated, hard to discern. Life is complicated, too. So, sometimes, we say, that’s just the way it always will be. This is convenient, because we don’t have to understand anything we don’t want to, or see in any way we aren’t used to seeing, or do anything we’re uncomfortable doing.

Today John exposes our lie. John proclaims the unknowable, unfathomable Triune God who made all things is now known to us. Of course it’s impossible for us to grasp the fullness of the God. But John says everything we need to know, everything that is in God’s heart for us and for this world is now evident to us, known.

“No one has ever seen God,” he says. “It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.”

So we have no more excuses. We can’t justify our ignorance, our narrow vision, or our inactivity on the grounds that we aren’t sure what God wants. Because the Son of God has become one of us and taken on our body and has shown us God’s heart. Told us everything. Lived for us everything we need to know. If we want to know the truth of God’s heart, we look to Jesus.

And now we know the heart of God, we can’t pretend otherwise.

The Son of God said peacemakers are blessed, and God’s heart is that we pray for our enemies, love them. We can no longer play with the idea of justified war or condone violent response of any kind and say it’s what God wants. When someone strikes us, we are to turn our cheek. Non-violent resistance isn’t passive and isn’t cowardly, it’s Christ’s way, and therefore God’s way. Now that we know this, we can’t pretend we don’t.

The Son of God said God’s full law is done when we love God with our everything and love our neighbor as ourselves. We can no longer pretend we don’t have to love certain people, or that we aren’t sure how God wants us to act towards some. We can’t say some aren’t our neighbors, because the One who knows God’s heart opened “neighbor” to mean all people, even those we disagree with, even those who aren’t like us. Now that we know love is the center of what God wants from us, we can’t pretend we don’t.

Knowing God’s heart for the world means we are called to see the world through God’s heart. We can’t pretend otherwise.

 We can’t see things the way we’ve always seen them, and now knowing that they are destructive and broken, pretend that we don’t see that. Seeing through the heart of God means seeing the evils of systems that oppress while making others like us rich, not lying and saying, “it’s more complicated than that”. Seeing with God’s heart means seeing things that are going to make us uncomfortable.

The Son of God also said that if we look at those who are hungry, or thirsty, or sick, and those who are imprisoned, or naked, or strangers, we are seeing God. Seeing with God’s heart means seeing that those whom the world calls the least are where God is, and if we want to be with God, where we’ll be.

Now that we know the heart of God, we can’t pretend not to see the world with the same heart.

And knowing and seeing don’t matter if we won’t act with the heart of God. We can’t pretend otherwise.

If we won’t be peacemakers in our personal lives and in our public discourse and in how we encourage our leaders. If we won’t pray for those who hate us and are our enemies. If we won’t change systems that make life impossible for so many, even if that means loss for us. If we won’t care for Jesus’ least and lost, those who are God for us.

As long as we claim ignorance of God’s will for us and the world, we don’t have to see differently. As long as we don’t have to see as God sees, we can sit idly by while the world falls apart. But now that we know, now that we see, we can’t pretend we can do nothing.

But there is deep Good News in John’s claim, too: the Son of God has not only made God known to us. Through the Son we receive power to become children of God ourselves.

Hear that again: John says the Son makes the heart of God known to us, and gives us the power to become children of God.

Paul says this in Ephesians, too: we’ve been adopted into God’s life as children and heirs, born in the Spirit of God. So we’re close to the Father’s heart, too. Listen to Paul: “With all wisdom and insight, God has made known to us the mystery of God’s will, . . . a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him.” Because we are children and heirs, we know what was once mystery, we know God’s heart is to draw all things into the life of God.

Better yet, in the power of the Spirit we receive all the grace of being God’s children and heirs, we receive all God’s strength and courage, the ability and will we need to know, and see, and do what God’s heart wants for this world.

Jeremiah today reveals the fullness of God’s plan, when God’s heart’s desire comes to full fruit in this world.

The world will be a watered garden, young women will rejoice in the dance, young and old will be merry. God will turn the world’s mourning into joy, give gladness instead of sorrow, and all people will be satisfied with the bounty of the Lord.

That’s what will happen when God gathers all things together in Christ. That’s the heart of God for the people of this world.

Now we know. Now we can see. Now we can act. It’s no mystery anymore, thanks be to God. And as children of God, we now also get to be a part of unfolding the heart of God to the rest of world. What greater joy could there be?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen 

In the names given to this Child – Jesus, Emmanuel – we find all we need for new life and refreshed spirits as we begin a new year in God’s care and love.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The feast of the Name of Jesus
   texts:  Luke 2:15-21; Psalm 8; Galatians 4:4-7

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

There’s some confusion (maybe only in my mind) about why we’re celebrating Eucharist today.

For much of the world, today is New Year’s Day. It’s likely the tradition of worshipping at Mount Olive on January 1st was originally a New Year’s celebration. Many German Lutheran congregations in America have long standing New Year’s worship traditions, either Eve or Day.

Today is also the feast of the Name of Jesus. Our liturgy is focused on that, not necessarily New Year’s. This is eight days after Jesus’ birth, the day of his circumcision and naming under Jewish law, as Luke said. For centuries Lutherans and Anglicans called today the feast of the Circumcision and the Name of Jesus. For some reason, in the late 1970s in both traditions the title was shortened (no pun intended) to simply “the Name of Jesus.”

It’s no coincidence there’s a Church feast on the first of January, either. From at least the 7th century today has been a Church holiday. Probably because from the second century BC onward the Romans had a major pagan New Year’s festival on this day, and the Church is always fond of transforming such things rather than banning them. We did it for Christmas, after all.

So are you here because it’s New Year’s Day and you want to begin the new year at worship, asking God’s blessing on the year to come? Or are you deeply inspired and moved by the story of Jesus’ circumcision and naming and must be at worship to celebrate that? Or do you desperately need another festival of Christ even though it’s only been eight days since Christmas?

Maybe we can eat our cake and have it, too. We can take the sanitized title for this day and consider why we might want to celebrate the name given this child, and in so doing might also find grace to carry with us into a new year on this planet.

But we have to deal with one other little confusion. This child was actually given two names.

The feast is called “the name of Jesus,” and Jesus is the name we know best.

Both Mary and Joseph are told to call him this, and Joseph is given the explanation: because he will “save his people from their sins.” The name means, “God saves.”

It’s a good name, but we might have missed the depth of what it means. We talk about Jesus “saving us from our sins” often simply as a transaction, a forgiveness. We won’t be punished for what we’ve done wrong before God. This is good, and it’s our gift.

But this child called “God saves,” the one who will save us from our sins, had a deeper hope for that role. In his teaching and death and resurrection he tried to do more than forgive us. He tried to truly save us from our sins, that is, get us out of the path that was leading us away from God.

The word “save” in Greek also means “heal,” and it is this that gives us life as we begin a new year.

Yes we begin with this grace: all we have done in the past year, anything ill-done, anything sinful, we can lay before God and seek forgiveness. On this New Year’s Day, that’s abiding good news, that any regrets and confession we have, we leave the Lord’s Table clean and ready for a new year of life.

But it is that new year of life that our Lord named Jesus is truly interested in. He would save us from our sins to come as well. By entering our hearts and lives, leading us down his path of self-giving love, healing us our sinful nature, our broken habits. Jesus, “God saves,” wants to walk with us in this new year and truly bring us life, free us, heal us. That has a lot more potential to transform us in the next twelve months than any list of resolutions we might make.

But remember, this child was given another name, too.

Maybe “given” is saying too much. The Gospels don’t record anyone ever actually calling him this name.

It’s only in Matthew’s comment to the birth story that we find it. The angel tells Joseph to call the child Jesus, and Matthew says all this fulfills Isaiah’s prophecy of a child born who is called “Emmanuel.” Which, Matthew kindly translates, means “God is with us.”

Even if no one called Jesus that in his lifetime, at the end of Matthew’s Gospel Jesus promises that it is a true name: “I will be with you always, to the end of the age,” he says. This child brings God to live with us, in person, in the flesh, and in his resurrection and ascension, he is now able to do that.

This name is as important to us as the other.

God is with us.

There is nothing more we need or want to know as we begin a new year than God is with us. In our world of fear and hatred, where seemingly unsolvable problems arise every day, where we grow old and die, where our loved ones suffer and we can’t help, where there’s uncertainty everywhere, the only thing that gives us hope and life is knowing God is with us, knowing we walk our days and sleep our nights in the certain embrace of God’s arms.

We can’t expect this new year won’t involve pain for us or for the world or for those we love. But we know we will never be alone, whatever happens next. Because our God is with us in this child who became a man, who was God embodied in our own flesh.

This might be the point when we echo our psalmist: “what are we, that you should care for us this much, honor us this much?”

And Paul gives us our answer: we are adopted children of God, heirs to this child who is Jesus – God saves – and Emmanuel – God is with us – and who is our Savior. We have the Spirit of God given us as children of our heavenly Father, and we can turn to God in prayer always, because of this child who has brought us into the life of the Triune God forever.

So celebrate the Name – both of them – that this child and Lord bears. In them we have all the life and grace we need. And celebrate the beginning of a new year, hoping for peaceful and quiet times, resolving to live better lives, more faithful lives. In Jesus, our Emmanuel, we will have all the strength and healing grace we need to live such new lives, and be better than we were last year.

It might be a little confusing to articulate exactly why we’re here today. But it’s good that we are. Because so is our God, who saves us, who is with us. And as always, our lives won’t ever be the same.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

We all want to be model disciples, but we are broken people. Our clothing of discipleship is broken, too. It’s ripped. Torn. Frayed. Sometimes there are big holes. But relationships are the only way we can live, and as we practice community, we grow.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   First Sunday of Christmas, year C
   texts: Colossians 3:12-17; Luke 2:41-52

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you and peace, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

We all have stories of getting lost or searching for someone who is lost. A child roams off at Disney World to find Minnie Mouse. A confused man with Alzheimer’s wanders out of his home at night. A teenager makes a wrong turn and ends up in a neighborhood he’s never seen before. We know what it’s like to be lost. Or to worry about someone who is lost.

In my family, we tell a story about a time when I got lost, or, I should say, when I got lost according to my mother. My mom was talking on the phone with a friend while I played by her. I was content and happy, but after awhile I wandered off. My mom didn’t follow me because those were the days when phones were on cords and you were stuck to phone. She could still hear me playing, but wasn’t sure where I was. Well, after a few minutes, she got off the phone and then went to find me to put me down for my nap. But I was nowhere to be found! Panic took over. She searched high and low in all my favorite hiding places–under the beds, in my closet, in the pantry, but she still couldn’t find me. It was as if I’d been snatched into thin air. After a frantic phone call to the police, she found me: curled up in a ball, nestled beneath a huge collection of stuffed animals at the end of my bed, taking my nap. Just where she wanted me to be.  I, of course, was totally oblivious to her search, her phone call to the police, and her feelings. After finding me, her fear and panic subsided. Everything went back to how it should be.

Mary went through something similar when she couldn’t find Jesus after they left the Passover Festival. She searched for three days for her son. Three days! Imagine the agony, the panic, and the terror of not being able to find your child for that amount of time. It’s awful to think about, and yet we can understand what it would feel like because it’s an experience we know.

I wonder how Mary spoke when she scolded Jesus and what sort of response she was looking for. “Child, why have you treated us like this?” 

Did she shout?
Did she whisper?
Did she beg for an answer?

We’ll never know how these words left her mouth, and that’s okay, because this story invites multiple interpretations. And all of them speak truth. Mary acts out of love, but her love is wrapped in anger, fear, and desperation. When Jesus finally responds, it’s clear that he is oblivious to the situation and his mother’s feelings. I’d love for him to be more sensitive, but he didn’t think he was lost!  I like to think of him here as a young boy who got caught up with something that interested him, like a bookworm getting lost in a book for hours without realizing how much time has passed. It makes sense that Jesus would end up in the temple, among teachers, talking their talk. He’s a natural! And they are his people. And yet for Mary, this was quite a different situation. Most parents learn to distance themselves as their children grow into their own and find their identity. Jesus challenges the status quo so things are bound to get complicated! Family dynamics are real even for the Son of God!

And they’re real for us, too. This story speaks to our human experience in the world and the range of emotions that accompany our life together as we live in relationship.  To be in relationship with another person is messy, especially when it involves families–those people whom we are supposed to love, those people to whom we are forever linked.

I find myself reflecting on family relationships after the holidays. I often go into these times of year hoping that everything will go fine, that there won’t be any major disruptions. And then something happens and I find out I’m wrong. I have high expectations, and forget about all the baggage that we each bring with us to holiday celebrations. People disagree. Feelings get hurt. We say things we regret. We forget that there are consequences for our actions. Healed wounds are exposed again, and new ones form. Being with family is stressful! Sometimes I want to use Mary’s line, “Why have you treated me like this?!” And others, no doubt, have wanted to use it on me.

Our relationships with others extend beyond our families though and into our work life, our school life, the places we live, and the places we spend time. These relationships also need tending. Relationships with colleagues, coworkers, and managers. With friends and neighbors. With teachers and social workers. With grocery store check-out clerks, mail carriers,  baristas, and those people we encounter on a regular basis. It’s not an easy job, tending relationships. We get into conflicts over differing opinions, we’re rude when we don’t mean to be, we make mistakes that affect others. We set unreasonable expectations. To live in community, as God intends for us to live, takes time and patience and presence.

Paul paints a beautiful picture of what it looks like to live in community with others. He makes it sound so simple: “Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience…Bear with one another…Forgive each other…Clothe yourselves with love. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts. Be thankful.” The image of clothing is helpful, but more often than not, I find that I forget to put on my compassion sweater. Or when I do put it on, I discover it is tattered. My pants of patience are ill-fitting. And my meekness turtleneck is lost somewhere at the bottom of the laundry basket. We all want to be model disciples, we strive for it, but we are broken people. Our clothing of discipleship is broken, too. It’s ripped. Torn. Frayed. Sometimes there are big holes.

The reality is that relationships are the only way we can live, and as we live with one another in relationship, as we practice community, we grow. We grow in compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. We learn more about one another, about ourselves, about the quirks and idiosyncrasies of those we interact with daily, and thus we learn better ways to live in relationship with others. Like Mary, we treasure these experiences and realizations about ourselves and those whom we love, because they help us in our journey together. They teach us how to not just live in community, but how to thrive. How to give up ourselves for others. How to find ourselves when others do the same for us.

Most of all, we grow in our capacity for grace. Jesus grows in divine and human favor, and we too grow in our understanding of God’s grace. We learn to trust the rough edges of relationships. We know when to rip out the seams and to start again. We find ways to patch the holes and practice forgiveness. And over time, we come to better embody God’s grace in our lives. We learn to wear it as clothing.

As the holiday parties come to a close and as the decorations get packed up, let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts. Trust that God works through you and those around you. And next time you put on your compassion sweater and your pants of patience, don’t worry so much about the wrinkles.

Amen.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town! The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   The Nativity of Our Lord
   text: John 1:1-14

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you and peace, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
He lives on Chicago Avenue–right here in our neighborhood! He loves the Midtown Global Market and hangs out there. He owns a condo in St. Paul, too, down by the river. He likes to watch the people walk and bike on the trails over there. He says it brings him joy.

He travels a lot. All over the world. To Kenya, Brazil, and Cambodia…Syria and India…to Panama, Ethiopia, Australia, Thailand, and Germany…to Scotland, Tanzania, and Norway…and to every place under the sun. He’ll stay wherever there is a place for him: in apartments and cars, mobile homes, shacks, and villages. He likes to stay with friends and people he meets along the way, but he’ll take up a dwelling anywhere because he loves all places around the globe. He loves to sleep outside in a hammock, looking up at the stars. When he falls asleep admiring the constellations, he dreams about all the places of the world that he loves so much.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
She’s quite the cook. She’s mastered the art of all types of cuisine! Probably from all the traveling she does. Samosas, kung pao chicken, falafel and hummus, even lutefisk! She makes the best bread, too. Crusty, hot from the oven, sourdough…the kind of bread you want to dunk in a bowl of hearty tomato soup. She prepares each meal just for you, how you like it, with the right amount of salt and pepper, spice, and flavor. But sometimes, when she feels like it, she pushes you to try something new, to take a risk, to be more adventurous. I’m grateful to her for that. Sometimes I can get stuck in my ways.

She has the best dinner parties. She invites everyone, those she knows and those she’s just met, even strangers. All are welcome at her table–the powerful, the ordinary, and those down on their luck.  If you haven’t been to one of her dinner parties, you need to go. Her meals are not to be missed! She has the longest dining room table I’ve ever seen, with these long wooden benches. There’s never a need to fuss about fitting extra chairs around the table! She’ll just say, “Scootch over! We need to make more room!” And there is always room for more.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
Everyone has a story about him. My friend told me that he shoveled her sidewalk a few times, after she’d sprained her ankle and was having trouble getting around. He’s very generous, willing to lend a hand when you need it. I saw him help a blind man across a busy intersection one time. Then the two of them got to chatting and ended up sitting in the park for hours, like old friends. He knew all about this man, even before he told him. He’s just like that…it’s easy for him to connect with others. He’s become close friends with his Muslim neighbors who live next door and he’s learned spanish so he can talk with the Latino family while they all wait for their kids to get on the bus. He’ll smile and wave to you when he sees you taking the garbage out. He’s so friendly! And his love for people is contagious!

I’ve seen the neighborhood change since he moved in. People are nicer. They look out for each other. They treat one another with respect and care. He’s a good example for all of us. I’m glad he moved here.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
She shows up when you need it most. At your doctor’s office. On the bus. During an intense work meeting. As you sit with your dying mother. While you wait for your friend to call. When you’re being bullied. When your money has run out and your paycheck doesn’t come for another week.

She’s there when hope is lost, when despair engulfs you, when your experience leaves you feeling like nothing will ever be the same. There she is, with tissues, a frozen casserole, and her arms open, ready to embrace you, to hold you, to comfort you, to listen. She’s not afraid of the dark. She’ll stay there with you as long as you need–and then she will return again before you know you need her.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
He always has his porch light on and is ready to welcome you. His house smells like my grandparents’ house — it’s hard to describe, yet recognizable, like home. I sometimes go to see him after a long day. He doesn’t say that much, but he listens, and it’s nice to know he’s there and will let me unload. Before I leave, he’ll pat me on the back, and say, “I’m here for you, Anna.” It helps.

Lots of my friends and family go to visit him, too. They share their joys and frustrations about work and life, missed opportunities for forgiveness, moments of despair. The real life stuff that we sometimes wish we could do without. He understands. He’s been hurt by the world, too. He knows what it feels like to experience loss and pain, more than any of us. So he invites the tears and the anger. He welcomes the confused, the broken, and the questioning.

Somehow he is able to carry it all–the anxiety, the shame, the grief, the loss. You never have to worry about what you say to him, or like you have to pretend to be stronger than you are, because he can take it. All of it. The darkness isn’t dark to him. Whenever you leave it’s like a weight has been lifted. There is hope again. The light shines, even if it’s only a glimmer.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
She challenges the powerful and the privileged. She stands up for people on the fringes–the ones who linger in hopelessness, who are abandoned by others. She protests when people are discounted by the powerful.  She works to change a culture that allows human beings to be bought and sold. She pushes to see that others are fed, clothed, housed. Her voice can’t be silenced–but lots of people try. She often gets in trouble. She’s ended up in jail a few times, but she always finds her way out.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
Today is the housewarming party. Someone made a sign: “Welcome to the world!” it says. You’re all invited to the party and there is no need to RSVP. I’ve heard there will be singing and dancing. Probably another delicious meal, too. Bring a friend if you want, but don’t worry if you come alone. You’ll fit right in: we’re all family here.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
His mother gave birth to him under some amazing circumstances–no fetal monitors or doctor or midwife. Sheep, cows, a donkey, and a bed in a feeding trough. Starlight.  He was quite the baby. As she held him in her arms, his mother looked at him, smiled, and treasured this moment in time. “Nothing will ever be the same,” she said.

Have you heard the news? There’s a new neighbor in town!
The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

Welcome, Lord Jesus.

Amen.