On this Sunday after Christmas I read "The Curator" (a narrative poem by Miller Williams) because it makes a powerful statement about what happens when we are passionate about sharing the story of what matters to us, and what happens when we become complacent about sharing that story.
Click here to read the poem.
Click here to hear Pastor Roger read the poem.
a Christmas Story
by Roger Lynn
December 24, 2015
(click here for the audio for this story)
It was a crazy day. In truth, it had been a crazy month. Ever since that fool of an emperor announced his foolish edict about undertaking a census, with everyone being required to return to their ancestral home. I mean really - have you ever heard such an ill-conceived plan in your life? Oh don’t get me wrong. Financially it was certainly good for me. Running an inn meant that I had a steady stream of customers for weeks. A flood would perhaps be a more accurate description. They just kept coming. The rooms filled up and tempers grew short. People needed a place to stay and I could only accommodate so many of them. I don’t think I’ve ever turned away so many people in my life. But what was I supposed to do? I’m not a magician. I can’t simply conjure rooms out of thin air. But I’m not a heartless villain either (despite what you may have heard). I saw the suffering this whole thing caused. People’s lives turned upside down. I did what I could do, but there was so much more that was left undone.
So it was that they came through my doors. Of course I remember them. Even amid the throng of people in that harried time I could never forget those two, and the events they ushered into my life. He was a rough-around-the-edges working man - you could tell just by looking at his hands. But there was a gentleness about him as well. She was young, and so very heavy with child. I remember thinking how vulnerable they both looked. It was late in the day and they had obviously been traveling all day and more. She looked to be at the edge of exhaustion, and all he could manage to do was to hover close to her in that protective way young husbands do.
I shared this meditation at a "Longest Night" service on December 21, 2015 at First Christian Church in Helena, Montana.
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Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn. (Isaiah 60:1-3)
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“For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples.” These words from the prophet Isaiah offer a powerful description of how it felt to me five and a half years ago, on Sunday morning, March 7, 2010, when my wife died and darkness descended on my soul. But Isaiah’s gift to us is that he didn’t stop with the darkness. He acknowledges the darkness and then he recognizes that beyond the darkness there is light. In reflecting on my experience later, I wrote these words –
Five months ago a hole opened up in my world and all the color drained out. On that morning in March when Veronica died I wasn’t entirely sure I would survive. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to. There are still moments when the sadness sneaks up on me and all I can do is gasp for air. But it happens far less often than it once did, and for much briefer periods of time. The color is slowly returning - muted, but most definitely there. I still miss her more than I will ever have adequate words to convey. The empty space that she once occupied is vast. And yet, my life is filled to overflowing with abundant grace. I have three amazing daughters who love me. I have more family and friends than I ever dreamed possible and they have been more supportive than I could have dared to ask for. I have a job that promises to be challenging and fulfilling and fun. I live in a world filled with sunsets and gardens, rivers and mountains and lakes, people and animals beyond description. I am living a life that she helped me discover and develop. Even in the midst of missing her I am grateful for the gift that is my life. Five months ago I could not have imagined ever laughing or even smiling again. Which just goes to prove how much I still don’t know. That day in March seems like another lifetime and it seems like only yesterday. It reshaped my very existence in far-reaching ways, but it did not end my life. I am the man who loves Veronica with the whole of my being, and I am the man whose heart was broken open by her death, but there is also more to me than simply that. I have lived to tell this tale because of the truly amazing support that I have received. It has been sweet and nourishing nectar for my soul. “Thank you” seems so inadequate in the face of such abundant grace, but since it is all I have to offer I do so with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. One step, one breath, one moment at a time - I move ever more fully into this new life which stretches out before me.
The darkness is real. At the time it can seem all-consuming. And there is more. There is also light. Not light which denies the darkness, but light that illuminates our living. “Arise, shine; for your light has come,” Isaiah proclaims. The gift of God’s light comes to us in so many ways – family and friends, memories, beauty, the kindness of a stranger. Sometimes we see it. And sometimes we don’t. Sometimes the darkness of our grief is simply too thick for us to recognize anything beyond the pain and the emptiness. But seen or unseen, recognized or unrecognized, the light of God is shining. May it bring healing and wholeness to our lives and to our world. Amen.
Matthew 1: 1-24
Roger Lynn
December 20, 2015
4th Sunday in Advent
(click here for the audio for this sermon)
This morning I’m going to do something you may never have experienced in worship before. I’m going to read one of the most boring sections to be found anywhere in the entire Bible – the genealogy at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel. The exits have all been locked, so please don’t try to run away. Take a deep breath and it will all be over soon.
Actually, I surprised myself with this decision. Matthew’s Gospel has always been my least favorite of the four Gospels because it has seemed so stiff and rigid. But what I’m discovering is that there is an amazingly powerful message hiding just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered. For instance, why in the world would the author choose to begin such an important work – the story of the good news of Jesus – in such a dreadfully boring way? Forty two generations of genealogy! Was he trying to turn people off before they even had a chance to hear the message? Well, as it turns out, I think he had something else in mind. He’s making a subtle, yet powerful statement about the truth he sees revealed in the life of Jesus: the good news of God’s love – everyone is accepted, everyone is welcome, everyone can play a part in bringing God’s love to the world. It isn’t about being righteous (following the rules), it isn’t about being “good” enough, it isn’t about meeting some pre-determined set of criteria. It is about bringing all of who we are to the table and allowing God to work in us and through us. And yes, all of this can be seen in the genealogy. Let’s take a look.
Isaiah 35: 1-10 & Matthew 11: 2-5
Roger Lynn
December 13, 2015
Third Sunday in Advent
(click here for the audio for this sermon)
The prophet Isaiah proclaims that there is joy coming. And to those who first heard his words he must have seemed more than a little bit crazy. The Hebrew people to whom this wild proclamation is addressed had been living in exile in a foreign land, cut off from home and family and faith. Life was hard. Life was not in their own control. And all the signs they could see pointed to more of the same. The wilderness and the desert were nothing more than barriers between them and where they wanted to be. Joy was not at all what the exiles would have been expecting. It simply was not on their radar. And yet, Isaiah looks beyond present circumstances and dares to envision abundance springing forth at every turn. “The desert shall rejoice and blossom.” (Isaiah 35:1)
Luke 1: 68-79 & 3: 1-6
Roger Lynn
December 6, 2015
2nd Sunday in Advent
(click here for the audio for this sermon)
On this second Sunday in Advent, when Peace is proclaimed as the theme of the day, we hear John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness of the Jordan, “Prepare the Way of God! Make the paths straight.” Listen to the way the energy builds in John’s message as it comes to us from the musical Godspell. (click here for the YouTube video of “Prepare Ye”)
At first glance John doesn’t seem much like a peaceful sort of fellow. He is wild. He is brash. He is a firebrand. And yet, the Gospel writers all cast him in the role of the one who “prepares the way” for Jesus by preaching about leveling the playing field. And that, in a very real and very powerful sense, is exactly what peace is all about.
