Readings: Luke 1:46b-55; I Samuel 1:19-28; Hebrews 8:1-13

God finds fault with them when he says, 

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will establish a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah; not like the covenant that I made with their ancestors, on the day when I took them by the hand to lead them out of the land of Egypt; for they did not continue in my covenant, and so I had no concern for them, says the Lord.

This is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my laws in their minds, and write them on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.

And they shall not teach one another or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest.

For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more.’

In speaking of “a new covenant,” he has made the first one obsolete. And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.

Imagine, looking up and seeing in the stars a divine and predictable pattern so immense that one lifetime cannot see its end. (Cecil J. Schneer, UNH, 1983)

In a science lecture on the history of astronomy, a geology professor revealed to my nineteen year old self the wonder of the stars in their courses, and how it had inspired people from all over the world for thousands of years.  His words opened a door into a deep but until then unseen reality. But when I looked around at the other learners in the class, the holiness of the moment had gone largely unnoticed. The person next to me had dutifully copied the sentence in his notebook, unaware of the wondrous revelation taking place before him.

The same happened in a music theory class on the circle of keys and in an oceanography lecture on the ocean’s deep, unseen currents. These extraordinary revelations were duly noted by everyone in attendance, but rarely noticed.

I could decide that these instances came to me because I’m more perceptive than others. But self-deception of that magnitude is exhausting, and I just don’t have the energy to maintain it. I’m certain that in other classes where I memorized material and kept good notes, there were moments of revelation – I just never lifted my eyes from the paper to behold them. I learned the lesson and passed the class, but I missed the miracle of it all. What was written on paper was never written on my heart.

If I’m not careful, I can read Hebrews, or any scripture, take good notes, and miss the whole point. I can even twist the words to discount the very tradition that fostered God With Us. But the fault isn’t with the law of love, it’s with my heart that doesn’t want its inscription.

Maybe Advent is God waiting for me to stop taking notes and look up as much as it is me waiting for God With Us to arrive in Bethlehem.

Readings: Luke 1:46b-55; I Samuel 1:1-18; Hebrews 9:1-14

Now even the first covenant had regulations for worship and an earthly sanctuary…But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and perfect tent (not made with human hands, that is, not of this creation), he entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have  been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God! [Hebrews 9:11-14, NRSV]

It’s very hard for most of us to let go of anger, guilt, resentment, and a whole host of other emotions that threaten to crush us with their sheer weight. It’s why we have particular acts to help us let go of such things – confession, both individual and general; absolution, both individual and corporate; penance as a way to act out regret and remorse. It’s all designed to lift the burden that we don’t seem capable of casting off of ourselves: a way to pass the awful potato of soul death.

Sometimes, the mechanics of it all take a dark turn. Instead of handing it over to the loving hands of God, we throw the existential spud at someone else, or a whole group of someone elses. All our bad stuff now becomes theirs. We turn some other group into sin personified, then feel perfectly justified and holy in punishing them, even unto death. And this pass-the-potato game goes both ways: sometimes we hand it on, sometimes it’s handed to us.

Jesus came to end this game, not by improving our potato passing skills, but by stepping in the middle of it. Instead of handing it on, he took it out of play. Our failings don’t burden others, and theirs no longer become our burdens.

It’s revolutionary – this truth that we don’t have to live in an endless cycle of pass-the-potato-of-existential-angst. Clearly, God doesn’t want us to play the game any longer. When we decide we don’t want to play it, when we refuse to play it, when we walk away from it, it’s more than revolutionary: it’s holy.

Readings: Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26; Judges 13:2-24; John 7:40-52

I have found my servant David; with my holy oil I have anointed him;

my hand shall always remain with him… [Psalm 89:20, NRSV]

I love a good mystery. While most real life crimes are committed by the usual suspects (spouse, sibling, business partner, etc.), it’s almost never true in a well written mystery. On the rare occasion that the butler/husband/heir did do it, the reasons are never as simple as they often are in real life. A good mystery is exactly that: a mystery.

Life outside criminal investigations is rarely simple or obvious. There isn’t a living being that can be fully understood. It’s difficult to predict what any particular person might do when faced with a challenge or put in a dangerous situation. Who can work under pressure? Who will find an unexpected solution to a vexing problem? Who will find the strength and courage to risk life and limb to save others? It’s almost impossible to know in advance.

The same was true when today’s passages were written. Who would have thought that the poetry writing, dancing-before-God-and-people, youngest son and shepherd would be chosen by God to rule? Who would have thought a poor teenager and a carpenter would be the ones to raise God-With-Us? Why a locust eating backwoods preacher as the forerunner? Why a Nazarene born in a stable?

In this holy world where mystery abounds, God only knows who will be chosen next. Why not you? Why not me?

Readings: Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26; 2 Samuel 6:12-19; Hebrews 1:5-14

It was told to King David, “The Lord has blessed the household of Obed-edom, and all that belongs to him, because of the ark of God.” So David went and brought up the ark of God from the house of Obed-edom to the city of David with rejoicing; and when those who bore the ark of the Lord had gone six paces, he sacrificed an ox and a fatling. David danced before the Lord with all his might; David was girded with a linen ephod. So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting, and with the sound of the trumpet.

As the ark of the Lord came into the city of David, Michal daughter of Saul looked out of the window, and saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord; and she despised him in her heart.

They brought in the ark of the Lord, and set it in its place, inside the tent that David had pitched for it; and David offered burnt offerings and offerings of well-being before the Lord. When David had finished offering the burnt offerings and the offerings of well-being, he blessed the people in the name of the Lord of hosts, and distributed food among all the peoples, the whole multitude of Israel, both men and women, to each a cake of bread, a portion of meat, and a cake of raisins. Then all the people went back to their homes. [2 Samuel 6:12-19, NRSV]

Unseemly. Dancing in the street in a less than regal outfit was not what a king was supposed to do. Of that, Michal was certain. Her new husband was embarrassing himself and her with his unorthodox leaping and shouting. She despised him for it. Kings weren’t supposed to act that way; a certain decorum was expected when appearing before the people. But David wasn’t dancing for the audience gathered in the street. He was dancing because he was in the presence of God.

When you experience the sheer joy of being alive and in God’s presence, measured words and slow steps just won’t do. It doesn’t matter where you are. It doesn’t matter whose eyes are on you.

It’s time to dance!

Readings: Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26; 2 Samuel 6:1-11; Hebrews 1:1-14

[Psalm 89, Colin Fredrickson, Artist, 2014]

I will sing of your steadfast love, O Lord, forever;

with my mouth I will proclaim your faithfulness to all generations.

I declare that your steadfast love is established forever;

your faithfulness is as firm as the heavens.

You said, “I have made a covenant with my chosen one, I have sworn to my servant, David:

I will establish your descendants forever; and build your throne for all generations.”

Then you spoke in a vision to your faithful one, and said:

“I have set the crown on one who is mighty,

I have exalted one chosen from the people.

I have found my servant David; with my holy oil I have anointed him;

my arm also shall strengthen him.

The enemy shall not outwit him, the wicked shall not humble him.

I will crush his foes before him and strike down those who hate him.

My faithfulness and steadfast love shall be with him;

and in my name his horn shall be exalted.

I will set his and on the sea and his right hand on the rivers.

He shall cry to me, ‘You are my Father, my God, and the Rock of my salvation!'” [Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26, NRSV]

Readings: Psalm 125; Malachi 3:16-4:6; Mark 9:9-13

As they were coming down from the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead. So they kept the matter to themselves, questioning what this rising from the dead could mean. Then they asked him, “Why do the scribes say that Elijah must come first?” He said to them, “Elijah is indeed coming first to restore all things. How then is it written about the Son of Man, that he is to go through many sufferings and be treated with contempt? But I tell you that Elijah has come, and they did to him whatever they pleased, as it is written about him.” [Mark 9:9-13]

Prophets in general don’t have pleasant or long lives. They tend to annoy everyone with truths that are difficult to accept, and a world that isn’t ready for such things tends to kill them. John was no exception. Some recognized the lifeline he offered – they heard in his words and saw in his eyes the love of God. Those who had nothing to lose, who lived in darkness and despair, found themselves transformed – and saw how the whole world could be changed. Perhaps they didn’t understand why some didn’t welcome John.

Those whose darkness could not be penetrated by prophetic words, whose lives were acceptably comfortable and successful, didn’t see a lifeline: they saw in John the end of their place in the world. Perhaps they had too much to lose and not enough courage to understand.

The disciples didn’t understand what it all meant, or who John was, even after a mountaintop vision. They couldn’t understand why suffering and death walked with Jesus, or that there might be something holy beyond it all. Soon enough, they would understand all too well.

I’d like to think that I’d have believed John, that I’d have known he was a prophet. I’d like to believe that I would have understood and accepted what Jesus said must come. But I doubt it.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me: I misunderstand everything.

Readings: Psalm 125; 2 Kings 2:9-22; Acts 3:17-44

Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abides forever.

As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people, from this time on and forevermore.

For the scepter of wickedness shall not rest on the land allotted to the righteous, so that the righteous might not stretch out their hands to do wrong.

Do good, O Lord, to those who are good, and to those who are upright in their hearts.

But to those who turn aside to their own crooked ways the Lord will lead away with evildoers. 

Peace be upon Israel! [Psalm 125, NRSV]

 Fig bars, coffee crunch bars, pumpkin whoopie pies with cream cheese filling, and stuffing: I’ve eaten each one in such quantities that I’ve made my gluten free self sick. I’m always sorry I indulged after the fact, but even the intestinal consequences haven’t made them less tempting for me. Rather than face a temptation that I may not be able to pass up, I just don’t keep them around the house (or I make them with gluten free flour – not as tasty as the originals, but a lot easier on my body). Lord, lead me not into this baked good temptation: I am well aware of my willingness to be led astray by these bakery sirens.

It’s a lot easier to be righteous, to do the right thing for God, self, and neighbor, when temptation isn’t beckoning me down the crooked path of self-destruction and self-centeredness. When scepters of wickedness are within view and reach, it’s a lot harder to keep my hands to myself and off of them. Lord, save me from the time of trial; I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to pass such a test.

In a psalm touting the goodness of God’s people, the psalmist was honest enough to note how hard it is to pass up temptation, and wise enough to finish with an exclamatory request that peace remain among the people. Being at peace with what life already offers, perhaps, will keep us from being tempted by what life has not.  If flour and sugar concoctions can lead me away from a perfectly good life, who knows what else will take me down a crooked path? Who knows what might take you down that path?

Lord, Help us. Peace be upon us. Please and Amen.