God can’t do this without you because there is no “this” without you.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eve of the Nativity of Our Lord
Texts: Luke 2:1-20; Isaiah 9:2-7

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

If you look carefully tonight, you’ll see signs of what God is really doing.

You’ll see ordinary people, living in the fields where they work. You’ll see ordinary villagers, engaged to be married like millions of others, anticipating their coming life together.

You’ll see another family of villagers inviting this pregnant couple into their home, but, with no room in their guest room on the roof, having them settle in on the main floor amongst the rest of the family and the family’s animals.

You’ll see a perfectly normal human birth, with the cries of the mother in pain, and blood and mess, and with an experienced aunt as midwife, the tension and release back and forth, leading up to the final arrival.

When the Magi looked for this child, they went straight to the seat of power, Herod’s court. As well as they could read the sky and stars, they missed these other details. They missed that, for God, the plan from the beginning was always about ordinary people.

There’s no secret to what the Triune God is hoping for with this birth.

Peace on earth to all of God’s people, those working shepherds were told. A Prince of Peace, Isaiah says, who will establish endless peace, a reign of justice and righteousness. A light to shine in the darkest shadows of this world, Isaiah says.

From the beginning, our Scriptures say, this was always God’s dream: a creation living in peace and harmony, with humans in charge of caring for the garden and each other and all God’s creatures. Everything God tries to do with all humanity, and eventually the chosen people, throughout the Hebrew Bible, is to get people back to this original dream and hope of God’s.

Coming as an ordinary human being, a poor one in an oppressed country, was just the next step of this plan. To live among us and show us the path that had been laid out since the beginning. Love God and love neighbor. Share the abundance of this creation so all are filled and safe and the creation blooms.

And God’s plan only works if everyone, all God’s children, are a part of it. Including you.

We sometimes think the whole point of God’s coming in Christ was to forgive us.

Certainly, the Son of God made it clear that you are forever loved and forgiven by God. Clearly, in Jesus’ death and resurrection you have the promise of that forgiveness and restoration. A love is revealed that will not stop until all are found and brought home in grace.

But forgiveness happens throughout the Scriptures long before Jesus’ death and resurrection. God repeatedly forgives God’s people, again and again, individually and collectively. God didn’t need to be born as a human being to forgive you, or me. The Scriptures are clear about that.

That’s what you need to understand tonight: God’s plan all hinges on what God can do and what God can’t do. God can and does forgive. All the time.

What God can’t do is make you love.

Force you be a peacemaker. Make you care for others and this creation. God’s greatest hope and dream depends on you, and me, and everyone, choosing to obey, to love, to walk the path of God.

Start in Genesis and keep going, and you’ll see. God always reaches out to ordinary people and calls them to follow, to care for strangers, to end oppression and poverty, to love God and neighbor. But God’s whole dream is that people do this willingly. So God has to wait and see who will.

Now you see why ordinary people are key to tonight’s story.

The shepherds likely weren’t expecting God to do much to fix the world. They just lived and worked their lives. But it was to them, not the royal court, that God sent heavenly messengers. And after seeing, they returned to their fields “glorifying and praising God” for all they’d heard and seen. Telling others. The message got to the people God needed, ordinary people who’d come to find the path of peace and love and walk it. And tell others.

The same for Mary and Joseph, their family in Bethlehem and their family in Nazareth. Coming amongst common folks meant that the plan from the beginning remained: God would not use power over anyone to force love. So it’s no surprise God avoids Herod’s power and starts a love insurgency from the ground up, with an ordinary but holy child. It’s the only way God will do it.

Ultimately, it’s the only way true peace on earth will ever happen.

Isaiah promises tonight that in this coming peace of God, “all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire.”

But if God’s not planning a bigger army to destroy the warring armies of this world, which Scripture clearly says God will not do, how will army boots and bloody uniforms become fuel for furnaces to keep people warm?

Only when the soldiers themselves take off their own boots and uniforms and toss them onto the burn pile. This peace God dreams of, this world of justice and mercy, will only happen, can only happen with the consent and participation of all God’s people. When we all put down our weapons and throw our violence onto the burn pile and start loving God and neighbor as God always dreamed we would.

God can’t do this without you because there is no “this” without you.

That’s the joy of God’s coming for you tonight. The shepherds were critical because they, too, were God’s children, and needed to be invited and called. But the only answer God needs here tonight is ours. Yours. Mine. Peace on earth to all God’s beloved, that’s the plan. You are critical to it.

So, should we go to Bethlehem and see this thing God has done for us and for the world? It might change you. In fact, God’s counting on that.

But let’s go.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

You are the light, the anointed one, sent in the Spirit to drive away the shadows and darkness of this world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Third Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: John 1:6-8, 19-28; Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; with references to Matthew 5:14-16

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

John the Evangelist spends a lot of time telling us what John the Baptizer is not.

John is not the Light no darkness can overcome, the evangelist says, he came to testify to the Light. When asked who he was, the evangelist says John made it clear. Are you the Messiah? No. Are you Elijah? No. Are you the prophet promised in Deuteronomy to come as a new Moses? No.

No, John said. I’m the one crying in the wilderness, prepare the way of God. I’m not worthy to tie Messiah’s shoes. The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world is coming, and I’m nothing like that One.

We can relate. Today Isaiah proclaims the job description of the One who is coming, the One the Spirit of God fills: this One will bring good news to the oppressed, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty and release to the captives, and comfort all who mourn. This is the Light of the World the evangelist declares that can overcome all darkness and shadows, the Light who reveals the heart of God.

That doesn’t sound like us. If asked, we’d probably join John and say “you’re thinking of someone else, Jesus, the Christ, God-with-us. We can tell you about him, testify to him. But we’re not anything like that.”

And yet, we are. You are.

You are the light of the world, Jesus says. (Matthew 5:14) Do you think he doesn’t know you?

You’re anointed, too. In Hebrew, that’s “Messiah,” in Greek, “Christ.” Maybe you’re not “The Messiah,” capital The, capital M, but you are messiah, anointed, Christ, in your baptism. You were given light at your baptism and told to carry it into the world to shine Christ’s light into all corners.

Which means along with Isaiah, and with Jesus, who first claimed these words in his sermon in his hometown, you, also, can say, “The Spirit of God is upon me, because God-Who-Is has anointed me to bring good news to the oppressed, anointed me to bind up the brokenhearted, anointed me to proclaim liberty and release to the captives, anointed me to comfort all who mourn.”

That’s your job, too. Because you . . . are the light of the world.

And what might happen if you shone your light on the pain of this world?

What good news could you bring to those who are oppressed? You could find your own place in the task to make this a society of justice for all, of equality and fairness for all, especially those who are crushed by our society because of who they are, whether their gender or color or class or education or ethnicity or whatever.

How could you bind up those who are brokenhearted? Your kindness could knit mourning and broken hearts together in healing. And you can be grace to those brokenhearted who have caused or received so much pain they feel trapped in it, and perpetuate it, and help end that cycle of revenge with your grace.

What freedom can you proclaim to those who are captive to systems beyond their control, and what liberty to those imprisoned and thrown away? You could support leaders who seek to dismantle unjust systems, and bring freedom to those trapped in them, and leaders who seek to heal society rather than build bigger walls and stronger prisons.

You are the light of the world, Jesus says. In your baptism into Christ you’re not just carrying God’s light into the world, you are God’s light. You can do all these things with the Spirit’s grace.

Because you don’t want to hide your light under a basket, Jesus also says.

It’s easy to assume you’re not the one God needs. That you can’t do much with your life and abilities. That the problems of the world are too much. But the Spirit of God has anointed you, Isaiah says, your baptism says, made you Christ. The light of God is in you, and already has been shining out on your world through you and making a difference, if you just look back and see.

So don’t worry so much about what you can’t do. Christ is far more interested in what you can, with the Spirit’s grace.

There’s a marvel about light that we sing at every Easter Vigil.

In the great Exsultet which begins the liturgy, we sing of the wonder of the light of the Paschal Candle which – unlike most things we know – isn’t diminished when it’s divided, it’s expanded. The light of a single candle will break the darkness of a huge room. But if someone places their candle next to that wick and ignites it, the light is greater, not less. The more candles that are lighted, the brighter the room is. So you can carry your light and light others with it, and let that stream again and again into the world. Until the dawn breaks over this world for all God’s children, and creatures, and creations.

You’ve known this since you were a child, by the way. You learned to sing, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. All around the neighborhood. All over the world.”

It turns out it’s not a children’s song. It’s the song of the Triune God’s dreams for you. Go ahead and sing it, and see where God’s Light will shine through you next.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

The Triune God is patiently waiting for you, because you are a critical part of God’s restoration of all things.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Isaiah 40:1-11; Mark 1:1-8

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

What are you waiting for from God?

Are you hoping for what Isaiah promises, that God will restore a broken world? These exiles lost everything, including their homes, suffered invasion and destruction, and now receive God’s comfort. A road will be made to bring them home. So they’re told to hope for God to come and shepherd God’s people, gather them up, feed them, and lead them home.

Are you waiting for that kind of restoration from God? It might feel like an empty promise. To hear that God is coming to make things new, and live in a world that’s spiraling into madness, with threats of fascist dictators here, and devastating war and violence in the Middle East and Africa and Ukraine.

How long can we reasonably wait for this restoration? Isn’t urging patience just pushing off legitimate concerns and anxiety about our world into a “never will happen” future?

But maybe you’re waiting for God to do what 2nd Peter expects: wipe the slate clean.

There’s clearly some hope in the early Church for God to make a new heavens and a new earth, in their own lifetimes. Jesus spoke of it last week, Peter does again today. Some hoped God would start over to make all things new.

So there are apocalyptic promises of stars falling, moon and sun darkening, or, as we heard today, the heavens set ablaze and destroyed and the elements melted with fire. Surely if the world is as buried in problems and suffering as it seems, this is worth hoping for. Just start over, God.

But this is a beautiful creation, too. There’s still so much love happening in our homes, our city, our nation, our world, so much grace and hope. There’s still beauty and wonder in the trees and stars and flowers and lakes and whales. Why should God destroy all this just because we’ve made a mess of things?

And if this is our hope, urging patience means ignoring all the problems, avoiding trying to make a difference. If we’re getting a whole new thing, why does it matter?

And into the middle of these two visions steps our old friend John the Baptizer.

Right on cue, Second Sunday of Advent, here he is on the banks of the Jordan. And his call is to you. To me. To all. Repent – that’s John’s invitation. John is the great U-turn sign of Advent. He stands in our road, waving his arms, saying “you need to turn around, you’re on a path that leads to death.”

He’s tied to Isaiah’s promise of a straight, flat road prepared for God’s coming. But his view of the road is that it’s your path needs straightening, my path. John says that God’s Anointed is nearly here. But if we’re going in the wrong direction, we might miss it.

So John has no patience whatsoever. His urgency is unmistakeable: come to the water and wash your old life away, and turn around. Forgiveness of the past path is a part of it. But as John makes clear in Matthew and Luke, the new path you’re invited to walk involves changed behavior, changed lives. Fruit of repentance, like giving away your second coat, helping your neighbor, carrying their burden.

But John talking of repentance next to Isaiah and 2nd Peter opens up a wonder and awe we rarely consider.

Listen carefully. The One truly waiting in Advent, the Patient One, is the Triune God.

God is patiently waiting, our second reading says, for exactly what John called for: for all to come to repentance, to turn around their lives, find God’s path of wholeness and healing for them and the world. God isn’t slow to keep the promise of restoration. It’s God’s patience that somehow all might turn around that explains why we’re still here.

This clears up a lot. If God is going to destroy all and start over, then, as Jesus said last week, we have no idea of the time. We certainly have no say whether God chooses this or not. So we can safely ignore this whole apocalyptic possibility. If it happens, it happens. All we can do, Jesus said, is be about our work.

Which leads us back to Isaiah, and God’s restoration of a broken, suffering world. Because – and we know this well from Jesus – if God is going to care for all the sheep, gather them up, feed them, bring them home, it will be through you and me and all who follow the way of Christ. And God patiently waits for you and me to repent, turn around, find God’s path that leads to all God’s sheep safe and secure.

And if this is so, consider, Peter says, how you will live. Consider, John says, if you need to turn.

Neither gives a lot of helpful detail. You’ll have to sort out that in your own life. Peter asks what kind of lives of holiness and godliness you might live, finding a way to be at peace. How might your life be more tuned to God’s way, God’s love, God’s healing? Peter asks.

John’s call to turn around is its own answer. What in your life harms you, hurts someone else, harms the world? What habits, ways, plans, finances, opinions, keep you from freely being a part of God’s restoration? If Jesus needs you to feed God’s sheep, what turn-arounds will you need today, tomorrow, next week, to do that?

John also promises you’ll have help. His water baptism was symbolic washing, reminding people of their repentance. But the Anointed One of God baptizes with the Holy Spirit, he says. God’s Spirit lives in you, gives you insight into what turns to make on the path, sometimes even calls out in John’s voice that you’re going the wrong way. Listen for that voice, that Wisdom. But also trust this: you have the strength of God’s Spirit to help you in this turning, too. You’re not doing this alone.

The Triune God’s playing a long game here.

A thousand years is like a day to God, and a day like a thousand years. We’re not remotely capable of such patience, to lovingly wait and watch as each child of God chooses whether to turn around, to turn into God’s way or not. So it can seem as if nothing is ever getting better.

But if you’re waiting for God to act, you have your answer. God’s waiting on you. So, dear ones, consider what kind of person you want to be in leading a life of holiness and godliness. God loves you so deeply, so permanently, so inviolably, that God will patiently wait for you to decide what you will do about this world, about your life. But God also knows how amazing it will be when you and I and every child of God turn and join in the way of restoration and healing God is making.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen