A Living Hope

2 Christmas, January 5, 2020

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Church of the Good Shepherd

Reading, Massachusetts

Ephesians: I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe.

Blessed Savior, in love you came to us as a child.

Enlighten our hearts, that we may more deeply understand the richness of this gift and practice more faithfully your call to give of ourselves in love. (Daily Prayer for All Seasons)

I’m delighted to be with you again at Good Shepherd, filling in for Brian after these busy Advent and Christmas holiday seasons. As St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Ephesians, “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and I give thanks to God for all of you.” Now, here we are, on the 11th day of Christmas, with eleven pipers piping, and wise men carrying five golden rings to Bethlehem. We have turned the corner of our calendars from 2019 to 2020, and tomorrow we will begin the season of Epiphany, a time for revelation. I don’t know about you but I’m already eager to move from the dark, cold nights of winter into the longer, warmer days of spring.

Not so fast, I say to myself. Such is my abiding sin of impatience; how I can turn the page too quickly, not yet finished reading the one that I’m on. Truth be told, I was impatient for 2019 to be over. Perhaps some of you were as well? There were people with heart troubles, relationship issues, cancer diagnoses, mental illness, brain bleeds and brain tumors. Some people died far too soon; and then there is the impeachment, violence in synagogues, wildfires in Australia, and threats to our embassy in Iraq. “Where is God in all of this darkness?” we might wonder. “Where is Jesus, who is the reason for this season, and what is the good news?”

During Advent, I doubted my faith in our religious, political, and socio-economic systems, and I was sliding on that slippery slope into despair. Spiritually, I found myself struggling; and in my darkness, I was blind to God’s grace. Preparing for today, I thought about those three wise men bearing gifts, and I recalled a Christmas present given to me by a friend: a wall hanging that said, “if the three wise men had been women, they would have asked for directions, helped deliver the baby, brought practical gifts, cleaned the stable, and made a casserole.”

 I don’t want practical gifts and dirty stables, I told God. I don’t want church casseroles, messy lives, and blue Christmas services. I want clear directions on a straight, and well-lighted path, and not to wander through a dry desert wondering where my God is. Give me gold and sweet-smelling frankincense, not the gifts of myrrh and embalming oils. Give me spiritual food and merry feasts so I can be overwhelmed with joy. Give me a newborn king and a living hope, I cried to God.

Now I am not usually someone who enjoys shopping, except for groceries, but Christmas is the season for gift-giving and receiving, right? And so I decided to engage in some shopping therapy, hoping that God would bring me some good cheer. I bought a few new sweaters for myself, two Celtics outfits for my twin grandsons, and make-believe clothing for my granddaughter. I put Christmas greens in our common hallway and decorated our tree with bright colored lights. I soon realized, however, that practical gifts will satisfy me for only so long. I needed something more, something deeper, something more substantial.

Indeed those three wise men had been shopping at home before they headed east to a foreign country. Maybe they were like me, in search of a different king, looking for a new year, and not knowing exactly where to go. Guided by a single star in the dark Arabian nights, traveling into the bright lights of Jerusalem, and finally arriving in the little town of Bethlehem, they brought impractical gifts for a newborn child. Opening their treasure chests, they offered Jesus not church casseroles and baby wipes, not a new sweater or a make-believe crown; rather they gave Him frankincense, gold, and myrrh.

Like the wise men, I left the comfort of my familiar home, crossed my own little desert, and started searching diligently for the Christ child. I went on a retreat called “Waiting in the Dark” at the Society of St. John the Evangelist, where with empty hands and a hurting heart, I received three practical gifts from Brother Luke. First, he gave me some clay and invited me to pray without words. “When it is hard to pray, it is a way to quiet the mind, a way to let go and be surprised, a way to listen to God with our bodies,” Brother Luke said.

Alone in my room, I put down my monkey mind and picked up the clay. At first, I felt the strong resistance of my will. The clay was cold and hard to manipulate; pieces broke and crumbled in my palm. I began to slowly restore the clay, patching it back together again into one piece. Then angrily I pounded the clay to flatten it, realizing how the weight of sin and sickness, sorrow and suffering, death and dark times can take the fire out of our souls, the sparkle out of our eyes, and the bounce out of our steps.

Next, rolling my pancake of clay into various sizes and shapes, I felt my spirit soften in the hands of God. I laughed at the images I had created. There were french horns and basketballs. There were candy canes and Christmas wreaths. Joy and light began to seep back into the cracks in my heart. This is creation and re-creation, I thought to myself, remembering that I am a clay vessel in the hands of God. Eventually filled with a peace that passed all understanding, I put the clay back into the baggie and wiped my hands clean. That clay was pure gold.

Feeling proud and successful with this new way of praying, I was ready to receive Brother Luke’s second practical gift; and so I walked to the 3rd floor of the guesthouse where art supplies sat like elves on the shelves. “When words are few, when it is hard to pray, when we feel inadequate, a way to quiet our minds, a way to let go and be surprised, is to open ourselves to a different interplay with the Spirit,” said Brother Luke.

With empty paper, an old magazine, and a pair of scissors in my hand, I created my contemplative collage. I cut and pasted pictures and words from this magazine until my prayer meditation was finished. Looking at it, and hoping to find another gold ring, at first I was deeply disappointed.The dark pieces of my world were pasted together into one unsettling picture, a gift of myrrh and embalming oils, and not a gift for someone who was looking for new life.

            I asked God to help me see in the darkness; and then I smiled. With the eyes of my heart enlightened by faith, I began to see God’s amazing grace even on that page. Words and images suddenly appeared like photos emerging in a dark room. Below the surface of this practical picture was a spiritual message just for me. My heart began beating again like a little drummer girl. My flickering spirit began to brighten. Hope blossomed once again within me like a Christmas desert flower.

As I waited for the light bulb to go on in my brain, and the spirit of Christmas to fill my lungs, Brother Luke, a wise man indeed, offered us a third practical gift. It is called a body prayer, and I will show it to you now. If you like, you can join me in the body movements in your seats. Turning my arms and palms up like this, I pray, “You are the God of all creation.” Bringing my palms together in front of my heart, I pray, “Be still and know that I am God.” Giving myself a hug, I pray, “You are my beloved with whom I am well pleased.” And finally, placing my empty hands with palms up in front of me, I pray, “Into your hands.”

 “Ah,” I said, to God, “into your hands I commend my spirit.” Ah,” I said to God, “into your hands I commend everyone and everything.” “Ah,” I said to God, “Into your hands I give you my heart.”

Saint Francois de Sales reminded me, “Do not look forward in fear to the changes in life; rather look to them with hope, that as they arise, God, whose very own you are, will lead you safely through all things; and when you cannot stand it, God will carry you in His arms.” Like footsteps in the sand, even when we are crossing our own little desert in the dark, God is there, carrying us home.

No matter which road we take, whether we are coming into Jerusalem riding triumphantly on our donkeys or stumbling on our way to the cross, whether we are riding a camel across the desert to Bethlehem or returning home by another road, the Spirit of God is leading us and guiding us, like a beam of bright light in a starry night. God gives. We receive. And then repackaging and regifting, round it goes, this eternal cycle of love.

This past Advent, I walked to Bethlehem, carrying my gifts of sorrow and struggles, of death and darkness, and laid them down in front of the manger. Kneeling in homage to the Christ child, with incense rising like prayers in the darkness, I received God’s Christmas gift once again. With the eyes of my heart enlightened by faith, I saw the riches of God’s love, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and the immeasurable greatness of God’s power in this newborn king. A living hope and an epiphany revelation indeed!

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Matthew 2:1-12

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8