Emerging Love (Isaiah 7: 10-16)

 In this scripture, Isaiah speaks of a sign given by the Lord God: and that sign is a young woman with child, who will bear a son that she will name “Immanuel.” A name that means “God with us.”

God. With. Us.

What a wonderful sign! What a blessing, to know that God is not distant, not absent, but with us!

Later generations took what Isaiah said, and applied it to Jesus, the child born to Mary and Joseph. 

Jesus is the sign that God is with us. In Jesus, God chose to dwell among humanity, to dwell among us. Because of Jesus, we know that God is with us.

It is a great sign of love, to hear someone say: “I’m with you. I’m with you, through the good and the bad. I’m with you, and I won’t abandon you. The journey is long and hard, but here: take my hand. I’ll go with you.”

God chose to do this, by coming to earth as a human, a human who began life the way all humans do:

*****

As an infant. A baby child.

That wasn’t what the people expected. They hadn’t yet applied these words of Isaiah to the coming, expected messiah. The people expected a messianic warrior, mighty in strength. 

But what they got was a weak, helpless infant. An infant who couldn’t even feed himself. An infant who was vulnerable.

Not only was this infant vulnerable in the way that all infants are vulnerable; this infant was vulnerable also because he was hailed as a king; and a new, potential king is a threat to those kings and rulers already in power.

Before he could even speak, a death sentence had been pronounced upon him. To protect him, Mary and Joseph fled with him as refugees to Egypt. And there they lived, until the immediate threat was over… though a long-term threat still remained.

Coming to earth as a vulnerable infant child was a risky thing to do.

You might wonder:

Why did God choose an infant? Especially when the people were expecting a warrior…someone with might and strength, able to lead up an army and overthrow Roman oppression and occupation… 

Why did they instead get a baby? Meek and mild.

A baby is something you can hold. You can’t really hold a warrior, especially not a first century warrior, decked out in metal armor!

Not very cuddly.

But a baby…

A baby, you can hold.

A baby needs to be held.

A baby needs love, care, and nurture.

And a baby, somehow, loves and nurtures us. Seeing a baby, holding a baby, brings us joy. It makes us smile. They are irresistible!

But they are also vulnerable. 

*****

Love makes us vulnerable.

I didn’t expect to say that as part of my sermon, when I first started thinking about it. But then God put that thought in my heart.

And it’s true. You know it’s true.

Love makes us vulnerable.

Sometimes, when we are feeling particularly vulnerable, we resist love. We don’t want to take the risk that love requires.

We want to be like a warrior, who does everything he or she can to not be vulnerable. 

I think one way to read the parable of the Good Samaritan is to read it as a story of who’s willing to risk becoming vulnerable for the sake of love.

In that parable, the first two to see the injured, beaten man laying on the side of the road pass him by. They do not stop to help.

Because they do not want to take the risk. They do not want to be in a position of vulnerability… and stopping to render aid would make them vulnerable.

They would become vulnerable to attack, perhaps by the very same bandits who had attacked this poor man on the side of the road and had left him there.

They would become vulnerable to becoming ritually unclean. Given that these two travelers were religious leaders, becoming ritually unclean would impair their ability to carry out their duties at the temple. (They didn’t want to risk that.)

They feared the vulnerability that comes with love—the vulnerability that comes with loving one’s neighbor—and so, even though they felt pity for the man—they couldn’t risk moving from pity to love. 

Pity would allow them to feel sorry for the man, and continue on their way; but love would compel them to stop and help.

And they couldn’t do that. It was too risky. It would make them too vulnerable.

Coming into the world as a human—and especially as a human infant—was a risky and vulnerable thing for God to do.

But that’s how great God’s love is. 

Throughout its 2000 year history, the Christian church has tried to follow the way of Jesus. And the church has done a lot of good. I love the church. 

But the church has also given in to the temptations of power and control.

And the more power and control you have, the harder it is to allow yourself to become vulnerable.

And the harder it is to allow yourself to become vulnerable, the harder it is to love.

The church has worked so hard over the past 2,000 years to hold on to power, and control, and influence. And this has led the church to withhold love, often from those who need love the most. 

It has led the church to seek to manipulate and control others, instead of loving them with all the vulnerability that love demands.

And the older a church is, the bigger a church is, the more influential a church is… the harder it is to risk loving with all the vulnerability love demands.

There are so many who have grown up in the church, who have so desperately needed the love of Christ that the church is called to share, but who have instead received judgment and condemnation as the church attempted to manipulate them and wield its control.

I know that this is not the experience of many of you, and I am thankful for that. You have felt God’s love for the world and God’s love for you, and you have experienced that love through the church, and you share that love with the world. Praise God for that!

But not everyone has experienced love that way. Not everyone has experienced love through the church. Not everyone has experienced God’s love for them, not everyone has received that affirmation of God’s love, the limitless love that accepts and affirms them for who they are.

Maybe we can be the ones to change that. Perhaps we already are.

In fact, I know we are. So many in our community—so many of our neighbors—have come to know God’s love through the ministry of this church; this congregation.

And we have risked vulnerability, to show God’s love.

But God’s love is so amazing, so limitless, so unfathomable, that there is always, always, space for us to grow. That’s why I like that song that the youth taught us on Youth Sunday, the one that goes: 

Your love is deep, 

your love is high, 

your love is long, 

your love is wide… 

God’s love is deeper, higher, longer, and wider than we can imagine.

One could meditate on God’s love every day for the rest of one’s life, and still not come close to understanding the full breadth and length and height and depth of Christ’s love, … as it says in Ephesians 3:18.

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. And when it comes to meditating on God’s love, a good place to start is to meditate on how God came to earth, to live among us and be with us, as a vulnerable child.

*****

In addition to being vulnerable, the birth of a baby born in a stable because there was no room in the inn, is less than perfect. 

We glamorize the nativity, but really: who wants a birth like that? Among the animals? The ground covered with straw and animal poop, the whole place reeking?

I’m sure that was not Mary’s idea of a perfect Christmas!

Yet, in addition to protecting ourselves against vulnerability, many of us try to make things perfect. The pressure is on, to make Christmas perfect. Maybe our attempts to make things perfect is a defense against the vulnerability of love. 

I have seen too many Christmases, too many holidays, too many special occasions, ruined because someone tried to make them perfect. In trying to make it perfect they took all the joy out of it. 

Nothing takes the joy out of Christmas faster than trying to make it “perfect.” 

One of the most important things I’ve learned from studying the Bible is that God calls us to goodness, not perfection. 

Perfection is a Greek idea that worked its way into early Christianity, but Jesus, and the prophets, and the ancient law, all emphasize goodness. Not perfection.

That first Christmas, in Bethlehem, was far from perfect.

But it was so very good. 

If you are looking for perfection this Christmas: stop. Look for and strive for goodness, not perfection.

If you are sad because you know Christmas isn’t going to be perfect this year: remember that that first Christmas wasn’t perfect, either.

But it was good.

It was good, because it showed the world the full extent of God’s love. It showed how God loved the world so much, that God became vulnerable, by coming to earth as an infant child. A child called Immanuel. The sign that God is with us.

Emerging Joy (Isaiah 35: 1-10)

 Sermon: "Emerging Joy"

The birth of Jesus took place during a time of lost hope. A time when the empire ruled with domination and intimidation. Roman soldiers roamed the streets, enforcing the authoritarian regime’s ruthless power and control over the people. 

Roman economic policy kept the vast majority of people stuck in poverty. The wealth they worked for was taken from them, and redistributed to the wealthy through burdensome, unfair taxes and an economic system that made upward mobility impossible.

Unable to bear the burden, small landowners had to take out loans... The loans could not be repaid, and their land was eventually taken from them.

The future was bleak.

***** The state of things was like when Scar ruled over the Pridelands: lush grasslands and forests turned into barren wastelands. Or when Te Kā’s anger and wrath threatened to devour Moana’s island of Motunui, causing the crops to die and the lush, green vegetation to disappear.

The land becomes a dry, lifeless desert.

That’s what it felt like in people’s souls. There was no life. No hope. No joy. 

There are many today living in that same desert; the desert of despair; the desert of diminishing hope.

As economic opportunities decrease; as health care costs rise; as the tax burden shifts to those who can least afford it; as employment and housing get harder to find…

As division pulls us further apart; as family and friends find it harder to engage in meaningful conversation, due to the different opinions they hold; when people are so quick to insult and ridicule and blame, instead of working together to find solutions…

As innocent people are abducted, beaten, and imprisoned by masked, armed men working for the government; as rights and dignity are denied to queer folk; as political boundaries are redrawn in a clear attempt to exclude people from having a voice…

Hope is diminishing. The wilderness is growing. Joy is harder to hold on to.

Personal experiences and situations also make joy hard to come by. Losing your job. Dealing with mental illness. Getting your name in the paper because of a mistake you made. Struggling with addiction. Going through a divorce. Raising a child with a chronic health condition for which there is no cure and little understanding. Not having anyone with whom you can share deeply, honestly. 

The weight of so many things is bearing down on us, and pushing us out into the desert.

Ancient people, in the time of the prophets, and in the years leading up to the birth of Jesus, experienced all this. 

• How they longed for the year of the Lord; 

• the jubilee year talked about by the ancient prophets; 

• the year when debts would be forgiven, when land would be returned to its original owners, and hope would be restored; 

• the year when the poor would receive good news; 

• the year when those who were held captive would be released, and all could live in freedom and wholeness. 

• The year that Mary sang about when she realized she would soon give birth to the messiah, the one who (she said) would bring down the powerful from their thrones and lift up the lowly; who would fill the hungry with good food, and send the rich away empty-handed. 

How the people longed for this promised Messiah, who would usher in this new age, and restore all things to their rightful state; the one who would bring joy back to the people.

How we long for this new age, the day when Christ’s kingdom of shalom comes on earth as it is in heaven; the day when God’s beloved community comes alive in the hearts and minds of all the people of our nation and our world.

It’s so easy to think that this story of Jesus’ birth, and the significance of it all, is just a story. After all, our world is still a mess. Sometimes it seems that things get a little bit better, start moving in the right direction, but then things turn back around, and start heading back in the wrong direction.

And we’re no closer to the hope, peace, joy and love of Christ.

That’s what it feels like, to me, sometimes, when the weight of everything presses down. 

***** But then I am reminded that Christ’s love is real and present in our world today, that God’s mercy and grace are real and present in our world today, and real and present in my life.

And all around me, I see (if I look for it) joy emerging. It may not be fully present and out in the open, but the seed is there. Maybe a small seed, like a mustard seed. But it is there.

Even the desert blooms when the rains fall. I’ve seen the deserts of southern California come alive with color after a good rain. The flower seeds lie dormant in the dusty ground until the rain falls, then they all bloom at once. 

In some places, it’s hills that stretch out for miles with a golden carpet of poppies. 

In other places, flowers of many colors rise up from the sandy soil.

The seeds were always there, yet their true beauty could not be seen until the rains came, opened them up, and allowed the growth that brought forth such beauty.

Sometimes, the wait for enough rain takes years, but the seeds are there, lying dormant, and then when the rain comes, a “superblooom” appears, and the beauty is overwhelming.

In the same way, the seeds of joy are all around us. It could be that they just need some lifegiving water to open them up.

And maybe we can be the ones who water those seeds of joy. 

We can water the seeds of joy with the attention we give to all that is good and hopeful in our world.

We can water the seeds of joy by hearing and sharing the stories of Christmas with those we love.

We can water the seeds of joy by acting with kindness and compassion to those around us.

We can water the seeds of joy by showing solidarity with those who are struggling, those who are vulnerable, those whose rights and dignity are threatened; letting them know that they are not alone.

We can water the seeds of joy by connecting with others, reaching out with a phone call, a visit, a smile….

I often say that your presence here is a blessing to me and to those around you. In fact, there could be someone here for whom your smile, your greeting, your presence, is a great blessing, something that gives them hope. 

I have learned over the years that simply showing up is often the greatest gift you can give someone, and the greatest sign of hope and love. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything. You simply have to show up. Be present. Be kind.

Doing that can water the seeds of joy, and allow beauty to burst forth…

**** As my family settles into our new home, we’ve found that there are a few things we need to buy, and one day I was in Ross, and as I walked in, the person at the cash register called out, “Good morning! Welcome to Ross!” And it was the strangest thing, but she sounded so sincere, that that simple greeting was enough to lift my spirits. She had seen me, she noticed me, she affirmed my presence, and made me feel welcome.

After I found what I came for, I went to pay for it, and I told her how pleasant it was that she offered such a nice greeting—and not just me, but everyone who came in. She said, “Yeah, I just like to try and make everyone feel a little better.”

That is a sign of emerging joy. A flower blossoming in the desert. 

Joy doesn’t mean being magically transported out of the desolate wilderness. Joy is knowing that, even in the desert, there is beauty. 

Joy doesn’t mean everything in your life is perfect. Joy is having people journey with you, through the good and the bad and everything in between.

Joy doesn’t mean that all the wrongs of the world are made right. Joy is knowing that God’s vision of a world that is good and just is always a possibility, always something we can move closer to, always something that we ourselves can, through the way we live, bring a little closer. 

Joy doesn’t mean that there are no struggles, no challenges, no sorrowful tragedies or circumstances in your life. But joy is having a church that stands with you through it all, surrounding you with the love of Christ; a church that is willing to both rejoice with you and grieve with you

And joy is knowing that, as imperfect as this world is, it still seemed right to God to come into this world, to become one of us, and to share with us all that we experience, through Jesus Christ… Emmanuel… a name that means “God with us.” 

And because of this, we know that we are not alone, and we know that we are loved.