Monday, January 5, 2015

Sunday Offerings

This past Sunday, we celebrated Epiphany at Epiphany (how appropriate). I shared a poem and a story in my sermon, and several people asked me for a copy of them. I thought I would share them in this week's blog for you. I have also included the Angel skit from Christmas Eve that Pastor Jay and I shared this year. 

First of all, we give thanks to God for the gift of Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. Here is a poem by Madeline L'Engle.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time,
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine.  

He did not wait till hearts were pure.
In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love:  Rejoice! Rejoice!

( Madeline L'Engle, "The First Coming," A Cry Like a Bell)

God's gift to us is what we need - one who comes to us as a child, who grows to be a man. He comes to love us, forgive us and promises to be with us to the end of the age. Jesus Christ, the light of the world - a light shining in the darkness of our lives.

I concluded my sermon with this story:

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat my infant son Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. 

Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi there." He pounded his fat baby hands on the highchair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat: dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. 

We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. "Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik. My husband and I exchanged looks, "What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and answer, "Hi, hi there." 

Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo." Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. 

We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik," I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to shield Erik, but Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position. 

Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man's. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby met in a beautiful relationship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor--gently, so gently, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. 

The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, "You take care of this baby." 
Somehow I managed, "I will," from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest--unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift." I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. 

My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me." I had just witnessed complete and unconditional love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking-- "Are you willing to share your son for a moment?"--when He shared His for all eternity. 

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "To enter the Kingdom of Heaven, we must become as little children." 

( Rev. Richard E. Stetler, http://www.stmatthews-bowie.org/Worship/Sermons/2003/sermon_12_21_03.asp.)

One more item - this is my favorite Christmas/Epiphany cartoon - it was sent to us years ago as a Christmas card.
The caption inside read: 
Unbeknownst to most theologians,
there was a fourth wiseman,
who was turned away for bringing fruitcake.


From the Christmas Eve 5 pm service - enjoy!






Merry Christmas!  Happy New Year!  Happy Epiphany!

Peace,

Pastor Charlie




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