Sing with Joy

3 Advent, December 16, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Zephaniah 3: 14-20

Canticle 9

Luke 3: 7-18

Let us pray: Clothe your ministers with righteousness; let your people sing with joy.        

Some of my favorite memories revolve around the Christmas season, perhaps most especially when I was a child. I’ll never forget the year when I peeked down the stairs a little too early and saw what I thought was a man with a bag on his back. Scared, I ran back to my bed! Later, I discovered that I hadn’t inadvertently caught Santa in the middle of his visit, but rather it was my Christmas gift. It was a bird cage on a pole, and the cover over the cage looked very much like Santa’s bag filled with toys.

            In the bird cage was a sleeping canary, who I named Christopher on that Christmas morning. He was a lovely, soft colored yellow bird and sang with a beautiful clear voice. He was easy to please and easy to feed. The only problem was that after a few short months, Christopher died. And so, in the Spring of that same year, I carefully buried him in our garden, with twigs for a cross. Christopher 2 soon replaced him and unfortunately met the same fate. Christopher 3 was no different. And so that Easter, I asked for a pony and got a rabbit instead. I named her Hoppy.

            We often assume that our childhood memories are filled with good things and fun memories; and yet, you and I know that isn’t always the case. Like the infancy narratives of Jesus, we tell the truth as we recall it, and yet it’s a story told by many people. The Advent season is traditionally marked with the colors of blue, purple, and pink, which are intended to remind us visually of a time for both penitence and joy. I find that joy is an odd combination of both happy and sad: a recognition that weeping may spend the night but joy comes in the morning.

            The prophet Zephaniah has only 3 chapters in his book in the Old Testament, and the first two chapters are full of doom and gloom. Jerusalem had been captured and defeated by the Babylonian empire and many of the Jews had been exiled to Babylon. Far away from their Temple, separated from their family and friends, and longing for the good old times, they could not sing in this foreign land. They hung up their harps and by the waters of Babylon, they sat down and wept, which is why some churches during Advent offer a liturgy called “Blue Christmas.” It is a time when we remember our losses and look forward to the future with hope.

On this 3rd Sunday in Advent, many churches, families, or individuals light a pink candle in their Advent wreaths to symbolize this hope and a lightening of the Spirit in the dark days of winter. Today is known as Gaudete (gow DEH eh) Sunday, named from the Latin word “rejoice.” St. Paul, in his letter to the Philippians, encouraged them to “rejoice in the Lord always; for the Lord is near!” Isaiah invited us to “Sing the praises of the Lord, for the Lord has done great things, and this is known in all the world.” Even God exults over us today, said the prophet Zephaniah, with loud singing as on a day of festival.

If there is any one thing that I have learned while I have been your theologian in residence for these past 6 weeks is that you are a community that loves music. Whether it’s in concerts or a choir, with voices or instruments, you are eager to sing, as well as listen to others. Boston is similar; and so I read with great interest a story in the Boston Globe this past week, about an 89 year old woman who loves music. She had attended a concert at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Brookline, Massachusetts, which was called the “Walk to Paradise Garden.”

After only three pieces, the co-director saw that this elderly woman had slumped into the man who was seated next to her. Halting the concert, the music director asked if there were any medical people in the church, and like here, four doctors immediately responded. After two very tense minutes, the 89 year old woman was resuscitated, and it was determined that her pacemaker had temporarily failed.

            An ambulance was called, and yet she protested. “For two minutes she kept saying, ‘But I don’t want to go to the hospital! I just want to stay at the concert! I just want to hear the music!’ Members in the audience later told the co-director that the concert “was something they’d never forget.” There were ghoulish jokes about the music being “heart -stoppingly beautiful” like it is here! But more importantly was the idea that if she had stayed at home that night, she would have died. Today, I’m glad that you’re here in this community, and I hope to see you later this evening at O Antiphons!
            Advent messages usually include images and songs about both death and birth, of judgment and salvation, of repentance and promise. In today’s gospel, John the Baptist continued his own prophetic warnings, using the vivid imagery of vipers, trees being cut down, and thrown into fires. With many exhortations, he told his followers to bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not rely on the good deeds of others, or on what your Mommy or Daddy has done. Your faith is “on you”, John the Baptist declared; and so in a panic, his followers asked him what they should do. Share what you have, be satisfied with what you receive, and give to others. You never know when that ax will fall.

            Transitions are times of grief and loss, times of joy and sadness, times of hope and possibilities for new life. Your cathedral has been through multiple transitions over these many years and you will enter into a new kind of transition in January, when the Rev. Laura Bryant will join you as your long-term interim. Minnie Louise Haskins once offered this meditation, “I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year ‘Give me a light that I may go into the unknown. But he said ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. It shall be better than a light and safer than the known way.’”

 “Joy requires us to sidestep sentimentality and cynicism alike.” Debie Thomas wrote. “It requires that we hold onto two realities at once: the reality of the world's brokenness in one hand, and the reality of God's love in the other. Joy is what happens when we live into the belief that God can and will bridge the gap between the world we long for and the world we see before our eyes.” (Christian Century 10/13/17) Or as  theologians in residence will say, “God is now here, and God is not yet.”
            For those of us who have had the privilege of pregnancy and childbirth, we know that the transition of a baby through the birth canal is hard work and intense, a journey from darkness to light. My last story has particular meaning for me this year, and comes from the late Henri Nouwen, who lived with the L’Arche community in Canada, and comes from a book entitled, Our Greatest Gift. In the run-up to Christmas, I think it bears repeating, like some of our best Christmas hymns.

“Twins are speaking to one another in the womb. The sister said to her brother, ‘I believe there is life after birth.’ Her brother protested vehemently, ‘No, no, this is all there is. This is a dark and cozy place, and we have nothing else to do but cling to the cord that feeds us.’ The little girl insisted, ‘There must be something more than this dark place. There must be something else, a place with light where there is freedom to move.’ Still she could not convince her twin brother.”

“After some silence, the sister said hesitantly, ‘I have something else to say, and I’m afraid you won’t believe that either, but I think that there is a mother.’ Her brother became furious. ‘A mother!’, he shouted. ‘What are you talking about? I have never seen a mother, and neither have you. Who put that idea in your head? As I told you, this place is all we have. Why do you always want more? This is not such a bad place. After all, we have all we need, so let’s be content.’”

“The sister was quietly overwhelmed by her brother’s response, and for a while she didn’t dare to say anything more. But she couldn’t let go of her thoughts, and finally said, ‘Don’t you feel these squeezes once in a while? They’re quite unpleasant and sometimes even painful.’ ‘Yes, he answered. ‘What’s so special about that?’ ‘Well”, the sister said, ‘I think that these squeezes are there to get us ready for another place, much more beautiful than this, where we will see our mother face-to-face. Don’t you think that’s exciting?’”

Today, we rejoice as we prepare for the birth of Jesus, and remember his mother Mary. Some day, we too shall see them face to face, when we join that heavenly chorus, and move into the everlasting light of Christ. There is life after birth, and something new and exciting is in store for all of us next year. In preparation for Christmas, what then should we do? John the Baptist answered, “Share what you have, be satisfied with what you receive, and give to others.” And I say, even when the feathers get stuck in your throats, and tears are part of your silent nights, sing aloud; for not only is Santa Claus coming, but the Easter bunny is not far behind, and God is here with us right now.

Sing out, good people of St. Paul’s, ring out your joy to the world; for our greatest gift is coming, and the One who is more powerful than death, will come again. Amen.

Refining Fires

Advent 2, December 9, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Malachi 3: 1-4

Canticle 16, The Song of Zechariah

Luke 3: 1-6

Since 1989, Paul and I have shared parts of our stories as witnesses to new life in Christ.

Let us pray:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. So help me God. Amen.

In the fifteenth year of our marriage, when my husband Paul and I lived in Newtown, Connecticut, and the President of the United States was George Herbert Walker Bush, when William O’Neill was the governor of Connecticut, and Joseph Lieberman was United States Senator from Fairfield County, during the high priesthood of Bishop Arthur Walmsley, and the Rev. Frank Dunn was our priest and rector, the word of God came to Paul in the wilderness. The wildman of locusts and honey, whose name was John Barleycorn, went into our region, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

At that time in our lives in 1989, Paul was one of the owners of the oldest manufacturing company in Connecticut. As president and CEO, he liked to tell people that he made chicken wire. At least that’s what he did during the day; but at night time, when darkness descended into our lives, he found his courage in a bottle. No one knew these things, of course, except me, and our young elementary school-aged children, who witnessed the arguments that escalated around his drinking.

Faced with the growing awareness of his illness, and a courage found from God, with the support of family, friends, and our Church, Paul decided to seek help for his disease at the Hazelden/Betty Ford Treatment Center in Minnesota. After calling family and friends, informing our children’s teachers, and writing a letter to all his employees, Paul spent the whole month of December in Minnesota. As for me and our children, our Advent season was one of waiting, preparing, and expectation.
Our adult daughter and her husband now live in Minnesota, and so I am particularly fond of this state. Last December, Katie Hines-Shah (December 8, 2017, Xian Century) wrote, “My great-grandfather came to Minnesota to build a railroad—a railroad that was never finished. Almost certainly the trouble resulted from problems of terrain, because between those 10,000 lakes is a whole lot of swamp.”
“Any engineer would tell you what my grandfather learned: it’s no small thing to build a highway, let alone through a wilderness. High places have to be made low, the rough places a plain. In the process, some people will lose and some will gain. For some the highway will seem like salvation. Others aren’t going to like the way things turn out. And yet, we still build highways.” (end quote)

When someone is suffering from any kind of addiction, it is no small thing to ask for help. Shame runs through that wilderness, and although recovery from this disease can be 100%, rebuilding one’s life and sustaining one’s recovery is a full-time job, one day at a time. Some people win. Some people lose. The road to hell is paved with the best of intentions, and the path to salvation is a winding and uphill climb, one step at a time. I am grateful to Paul for his courage and commitment.

Malachi told the Israelites that God was about to send a messenger who would reunite and purify all of Israel. He spoke about John the Baptist, as the one who would prepare the way of the “Lord, the Lord whom we seek.”  But faced with the day of the Lord’s judgment, Malachi wondered “who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” With help, ninety-five-year-old former Sen. Bob Dole stood to salute former President George Bush, who was lying in state in the Capitol Rotunda last week. Throughout our lives and at times of death, we all need help to stand up and endure the challenges we face.

When I left St. James’ Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut, in December of 2012, I knew it was time for me to leave, and yet I didn’t know exactly what was next. Christmas Day was my last Eucharist, after which Paul and I flew to Denver to visit our daughter Megan, and to do some skiing. Megan had graduated from the University of Vermont Medical School the year before, and was in her first year of pediatric residency at Colorado Children’s Hospital. She was on a steep learning curve with time pressures, and I suddenly had none; and so it was an anxious time for both of us. I hadn’t been downhill skiing in decades, and unlike Paul and Megan, I was not particularly skilled at skiing.

Did I tell you that I am afraid of heights? One day, the three of us joined another person on the chair lift in Breckenridge, which we thought would take us halfway up the mountain. At that point, I was ready to try skiing on a little steeper learning curve; and yet as we passed the “get off point” midway, the chairlift kept going, and I began to panic. My words of fear bounced off the heights of the peaks all around us. Unfortunately, Paul had told the person next to him that I was a priest, and my daughter kept quietly reminding me that I was not using holy language. There was no Fuller’s soap to be had, and there was no way down the mountain except by going up.

The level plains below me were growing increasingly distant, and I saw only high peaks, which were jagged with rock. Who can stand up when you’re shaking in your ski boots? Not me. As soon as we arrived at the top of the mountain, and lowered our skiis onto the snow, the other three people moved easily off the chair, and down the mini-slope. On the other hand, I was just barely off my seat when I immediately fell into a heap, and Paul had to drag me away from the next arrivals.

Fear and anxiety are part of our human condition, especially at times of transition and challenge.These feelings are infectious and can be debilitating. Like many viruses, they can run through communities, family systems, churches, and individuals if left unchecked. Some people use scripture to feed our fears by threatening us with the great day of Judgment. While John the Baptist proclaimed a baptism of repentance, Malachi argued that we need a refining fire to purify ourselves.

Our refiners’ fires come in various sizes and shapes, and at different times in our lives, don’t they? Once on a pilgrimage to the Borderlands Camp in South Dakota, I experienced a Native American ceremony in a sweat lodge. In the middle of a tent, our youth and I sat on blankets in close quarters, while the fire in the center grew increasingly hot. As sweat and impurities poured out from our skins, our fears and anxieties rose to the surface. We were being baptized in a ceremony of repentance, with fire and water, being made presentable for our thank offerings to God, which we made later that night.

There is a story about a group of women who “wondered about the nature and character of God, and how God might “refine us”; and so they decided to find out about the process of refining silver, and made an appointment with a silversmith to watch him work. He held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up, explaining that one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire, where the flames were the hottest, in order to burn away all the impurities. They learned that if the silver was left too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. One woman was silent for a moment and then asked, ‘Well, how do you know when the silver is fully refined?” The silversmith smiled at her and said, ‘Oh, that’s easy - when I see my image in it.”

Perhaps our fears and anxieties come from particularly hard times like we had in 1989,  when we’re faced with a life changing event, a particular illness, or a significant change. Or perhaps they are as simple as learning a new thing, like how to downhill ski in Colorado, or how to be a theologian in residence in Burlington. Either way, being refined and purified is part of the human journey, when we hear a voice crying out in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

God does not intend to destroy any one of us, no matter who we are or what we have done. Rather the God who created us, loves us and saves us. Every single one of us. We will all stray from the straight and narrow path, and fall off our chairs on the slopes or off the wagon; and yet God promises that the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth. God promises that those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death will be guided into the way of peace.

God’s rebuilding process is never finished, even in swamps and rough terrains. “Things happen in the wilderness,” wrote the Rev. Deon Johnson. “In the wilderness, the needs are raw and real, and sweet words and hollow sentiment are not enough. We need prophets especially when we neglect to see the orphan, the refugee, the migrant, the widow, and the stranger. We need prophets to call us back to God, back to a place where hope is found not only in church, but in the world around us” and in twelve-step communities. (The Rev. Deon Johnson serves as Rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Brighton, Mich.)

We are all made in God’s image, and through these refining fires, that image can emerge. Can we build a railroad through a swamp, or get down the mountain without the need for a stretcher? You betcha! With God’s help, we can. Today, repent, and prepare yourselves for the coming of our Lord; for in the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us. Salvation is God’s Christmas gift to us every year, indeed every day, and new life is just around the corner.

Creation Cares

1 Advent, December 2, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-36
Psalm 25:1-9

Let us pray: The earth is the Lord’s for He made it; come let us adore Him.

            As I mentioned in a previous sermon, Paul and I have a family home on Cape Cod. Protected by the national seashore, our house sits on a little knoll overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Memories are everywhere. Pictures of generations of family and friends capture sacred moments. New experiences are still being created; and even as we watch places and people disappear from our lives, our hope remains.

Over the years, we’ve witnessed the landscape change. Aside from the natural beauty of the four seasons, the hurricanes and northeasters have seemed particularly harsh. Last year the tidal flooding was so bad that it destroyed Liam’s Clam Shack, a local favorite. This restaurant was known widely for its onion rings, although truth be told, Moose Tracks ice cream was my personal favorite. Today four food trucks have replaced this one icon; and it’s just not the same.

The marsh area in front of our house is often covered with beach grass, and is filled with birds of many colors. After last year’s storm, it suddenly looked like a moonscape. Accustomed to watching birds dive, and beachgoers sneaking over the dunes for various activities, we suddenly saw that there was no place to hide nor even to nest. Our view of the ocean became dangerously close, and the reality that parts of Cape Cod might someday be reclaimed by water began to sink in.

Cape Cod, like many places throughout our world, has become overpopulated. Our water has become polluted and our landfills overflow.

In California, where wildfires burn out of control, and forest management is questioned, people have growing concerns about what’s happening to creation. Jesus said, “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations, confused by the roaring of the sea and waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

What we are seeing, hearing, and experiencing in many areas of our lives echo these warnings. We are being shaken as a church, a nation, and a world. What used to be predictable is not. Uncertainties about our future distress us and confuse us. With fear and foreboding, we wonder, what will happen to this fragile earth, our island home, when inconvenient truths suggest that our appetites far exceed our good stewardship?

Apocalypse now. Such visions were common during the centuries before and after Jesus, when there was a great deal of social, religious, and political unrest. Often these apocalyptic visions began with a judgment, when inconvenient truths were spoken. Warnings were made about certain people or particular issues. If course corrections were not taken, said the prophets, then God’s kingdom would break into their current reality, and it would not be pretty. Like those billboards that say “Don’t make me come down there, says God.” Or like those early birds in red hats outside our windows this morning, you can run but you can’t hide!

Some of you have told me that you like history. Now Jeremiah was not only a bullfrog of some notoriety, he was also one of the major prophets during the time when the land was divided into two kingdoms. The northern kingdom was called Israel, and the southern kingdom was called Judah. The Jews often found themselves caught between competing powers, not only among and within themselves, but also from the east, west, north, and south. Enemies wanted their land and at this particular time, the Babylonian empire (current day Iran) was threatening their capital city of Jerusalem.

Jeremiah had a reputation for being a whiner, a coward, and an opponent of the Temple priests. He was a man who followed the lineage of Moses, emphasizing that obeying the commandments of God was far more important than the work of the Temple priests. Fearing that the Babylonians would destroy Jerusalem, if the Jews fought back, Jeremiah argued that it was better to negotiate with the enemy than to lose everything to a military power greater than themselves. Welcome to our current world of geo-politics and land grabs.

Like many other prophets, Jeremiah first offered a warning about how things had gone wrong, how the eco-balance of their spiritual lives had tilted, how people were misbehaving, and being unfaithful to God. Likewise, Jesus warned his disciples to be on guard, so that their hearts were not weighed down with “dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life.”  “Look” said Jesus. These things are happening and they will continue to happen. You will see signs of judgement, and you must pay attention to them. “Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape these things.”

 As historians, we may wonder if things will ever change. Are we doomed to repeat history over and over again, like a never-ending story of ceaseless repetition, like Groundhog days in eternity. Father Alfred Delp, a Jesuit priest, wrote“The Shaking Reality of Advent”, shortly before he was hanged in 1945, condemned as a traitor for his opposition to Hitler. He said, “There is perhaps nothing we modern people need more than to be genuinely shaken up.” ( Watch for the Light, p 82) This shaking up, however, is intended to move us to change, to speak up, to act for justice, to show mercy, and to pray, as the psalmist once did, “Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.”

Fortunately, prophets balance their messages of judgment with hope, offering images of how God will save us. For instance, Micah talks about the fidelity of God despite human betrayal. Amos speaks about a return to Paradise. Ezekiel imagines a new Temple, and Isaiah a new Jerusalem. Jeremiah declares that the restoration of land is a part of God’s promise. In what is called his ‘Book of Consolation’, from which today’s reading is taken, Jeremiah says, “For the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will restore the fortunes of my people, and I will bring them back to the land that I gave to their ancestors. I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah.”

Today, we light the first candle in our Advent wreath, a candle that symbolizes hope. According to Richard Rohr, “Advent is, above all else, a call to full consciousness and a forewarning about (its) high price. The theological virtue of hope is the patient and trustful willingness to live without closure, without resolution, and still be content and even happy, because our Satisfaction is now at another level, and our Source is beyond ourselves.” (Preparing for Christmas, p5) Despite our fears about our lives, our church, our nation, and our world, despite the shaking that’s going on all around us, there is a Source of new life that is ever present and never ending. No longer trapped in cycles of boredom or self-destruction, we are set free to dive and soar, to rest and nest, as birds of many colors in the freedom of God’s new creation. “Hope, unlike optimism, is independent of people’s circumstances. Hope is grounded in the faithfulness of God,” wrote Miroslav Wolf.  

In the beginning, when the waters flooded God’s creation, there was a single ark, built by human beings, who carried the seeds of new life. The dove eventually returned with an olive leaf, indicating that dry land lay ahead. Miroslav Wolf wrote,  “If darkness has descended upon you and your world, you need not try to persuade yourself that things are not as bad as they seem, or to search desperately for reasons to be optimistic. Remind yourself instead of a very simple fact: the light of God shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Advent is a time of waiting for that dove, knowing that there is dry land ahead, even in dark nights and stormy seas, even when the ocean rises dangerously close, and beloved people and icons disappear from our lives.

Jesus spoke of God’s promise. He pointed to the fig tree and said. “Stand up and raise your heads, with confidence. Your redemption is drawing near.” Translated in Latin, confidence means “with faith.” Yes, we have warnings and judgments, but we also have promises and hope. Trust God; for our salvation rests in the heart of God; and in God’s hands are the caverns of the earth, and the heights of the hills are His also. Written on our own hearts, sealed in His own blood, God, through the person of Jesus, has given us His Word.

This Land is God’s Land, and we are God’s people and the sheep of His pasture. The sea is His for He made it and His hands have molded the dry land. When you see these things, you will know that the kingdom of God is near; and you have nothing to fear. Today, be conscious of God’s creation and hearken to God’s voice. Enter into the world of Advent, which is a world filled with beauty, hope, and love.