Do We Really Want the Light of Christ to Shine Forth in Our Lives?

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ

December 30, 2012

Year C: The First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Psalm 147

John 1:1-18

Do We Really Want the Light of Christ to Shine Forth in Our Lives?           

            I hope you all had a joyful Christmas.

            This year I was reminded once again that Christmas here at Grace Church just can’t be beat.

            The church looked – and still looks – so beautiful. The whole place is decorated with such care and good taste.

            The music was spectacular. It still impresses me so much that Dr. Anne along with Eric and our vast choirs are able to produce so much music, such great variety, and all of it performed with remarkable skill, dedication and even prayerfulness.

            And then there was this year’s Christmas pageant, led by some hardworking adults and beautifully performed by our kids. They all took it very seriously and put their talent and heart into it - maybe most especially Charlie Farrell, who played Joseph. When the Baby Jesus, played with great patience by Megan Massey, began to get a little antsy, Charlie (an experienced big brother) used his cincture as a distraction. That worked for a little while until finally Megan took the end of the cincture into her hands and then put it in her mouth – giving everyone a big laugh.

            The pageant ended as it ends every year with one of the kids – this year it was Sara Massey - reciting from memory the opening verses of  the familiar and powerful passage I just read: the Prologue from the Gospel of John.

            The Gospel of John is the last of the four gospels to be completed, probably around the end of the First Century – a couple of generations after the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

            So the Gospel of John is the product of divine inspiration working through decades of people reflecting on Jesus – reflecting on who he is and what he means for the world.

            Unlike Luke and Matthew, John doesn’t give any details about Jesus’ birth – no manger, no shepherds, no star and no wise men.

            Instead, John begins with the cosmic view – going back to the beginning of everything and identifying Christ as the Word of God – identifying Christ as God’s creative power – identifying Christ as the Word of God made flesh.

            In these opening lines of the gospel, John introduces one of his great themes: Jesus is the light of the world.

            “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.”

            And then, here’s the line that really jumps out at me this year:

            “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not over come it.”

            The darkness did not overcome the light – though not for lack of trying.

            Jesus gave away his life, teaching people to love God, to love one another, to love our enemies, to forgive and to forgive again, to defeat violence by turning the other cheek, to give away our lives in loving service to God and one another, most especially the poor.

            But, it won’t be until Easter – it won’t be until the empty tomb – that life triumphs over death. It won’t be until Easter – it won’t be until the empty tomb – that the light triumphs over the darkness.

            But, that doesn’t mean darkness has lost all of its power; far from it.

            In fact, the Church has arranged the week after Christmas in part to remind us that darkness continues to have great power.

            Though this year we don’t really need to be reminded, do we?

            The day after Christmas is the Feast of St. Stephen – an early follower of Jesus, considered the first deacon and the first martyr - who was stoned to death for boldly declaring his faith in Jesus.

            Darkness continues to have great power.

            And Friday was the Feast of the Holy Innocents – the day the Church remembers the male children under the age of two slaughtered by the ruthless King Herod, in a brutal but failed attempt to kill the newborn king Jesus. Holy Innocents is always a somber day but this year it was unspeakably sad.

            Over the past twenty centuries, the light of Christ has reached every corner of the world, yet darkness continues to have great power.

            In today’s collect we asked God to grant that the light of Christ, “enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives.”

            Pretty words, but I wonder if that’s what we really want. Do we really want the light of Christ to shine forth in our lives? Are we really willing to take the risk? Are we willing to be like Stephen? Are we willing to stand up to the Herods of our time?

            In our own country, a vast – though shrinking – majority of people claim to be Christians yet darkness continues to have great power in the United States.

            We claim to be people of the light. We claim to follow the One who taught that we defeat violence by turning our cheek. We claim to follow the One who taught us to love our neighbors – to love even our enemies. Yet, our country is extraordinarily violent.

            As we’ve been reminded so tragically in the last few weeks, we so-called people of the light are armed to the teeth. And many of our weapons are designed for the sole purpose of killing people, using ammunition meant to tear through the protection worn by the men and women who risk their lives on our behalf. We so-called people of the light delight in violent games played on fields and on video screens.

            Do we really want the light of Christ to shine forth in our lives?

            We claim to be people of the light, but so many of us have mistreated God’s good creation – the creation so good and so loved that God actually came and lived here. We’ve treated God’s good creation as an open sewer, mostly unconcerned about the dire consequences of our lifestyle so long as they only affected poor people in faraway low-lying island countries, or the poor who live downwind from our incinerators, power plants and garbage dumps.

            Do we really want the light of Christ to shine forth in our lives?

            Speaking of the poor, we claim to be people of the light. We claim to be followers of the One who told the rich man to give away all he had to the poor and follow him. We claim to be followers of the One who lived among the poor, the nobodies and the outcasts.

            Yet, during the presidential campaign, for example, how often did we hear even a word from either side about the plight of the poor? We heard plenty about the middle class – about people like most of us who live in places like Madison and Florham Park. But, what about the people who live in Newark, Camden and Trenton?

            What about the people we see every time we serve lunch at the Community Soup Kitchen in Morristown? What about the people we see there – some of whom have clearly recently fallen out of the middle class and into poverty?

            Do we really want the light of Christ to shine forth in our lives?

            Today we heard the familiar words of the Prologue of the Gospel of John.

            John begins with the cosmic view – going back to the beginning of everything and identifying Christ as the Word of God – identifying Christ as God’s creative power – identifying Christ as the Word of God made flesh.

            In these opening lines of the gospel, John introduces one of his great themes: Jesus is the light of the world.

            “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.”

            “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not over come it.”

            As followers of Jesus, you and I are faced with a choice between the still-powerful darkness that enshrouds much of the world in despair and death or the light of Christ that gives peace and life.

            Just as it did for Stephen and so many others, choosing the light will involve sacrifice – standing up to the Herods of our world will cost us.

            But, after Easter – after the empty tomb – we know that, in the end, life triumphs over death – in the end light triumphs over the darkness.

            Still, we’re faced with a choice.

            Do we choose despair and death or peace and life?

            Do we really want the light of Christ to shine forth in our lives?

            Amen.

The Beginning of the End of the World as We Know It

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ

December 25, 2012

Christmas Day

Isaiah 62:6-7, 10-12

Titus 3:4-7

Luke 2:1-20

The Beginning of the End of the World as We Know It

            The last few months there’s been a lot of talk – most of it not very serious, I guess – about… the end of the world.

            As we all heard over and over, supposedly the Mayan calendar ended on this past Friday. And at least some people interpreted that as meaning Friday was going to be the last day – the end of the world.

            The song by REM, “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” got a lot of airtime.

            But, obviously, fortunately – and unsurprisingly – it didn’t happen. The earth continued to spin on its axis and life – with all its troubles and sadness – life with all its hope and joy - went on.

            And, now, it’s Christmas!

            Even better, it’s Christmas at Grace Church!

            Yesterday we had a really wonderful Christmas pageant with our kids capturing the excitement of Mary and Elizabeth, the sleepiness and courage of Joseph, the majesty of the angel, the attentiveness of the shepherds and the nobility of the wise men.

            And then last night we had a big blow out – a crowded church, incense, and glorious music.

            Now, this morning, as expected, Christmas is here.

            And, actually, although we probably don’t think of it this way, Christmas really is the end of the world. Or, rather, Christmas is the beginning of the end of the world as we know it.  Christmas is the beginning of the end of the old world of hate and violence.

            The end of the world as we know it begins with the birth of Jesus.

            God’s restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be - begins with the birth of Jesus.

            God begins the long work of restoring the world quietly and intimately, with the birth of a child to a couple of nobodies who could barely find shelter for their newborn – who had to place him in a feeding trough meant for and used by animals.

            Last week, in a radio talk the Archbishop of Canterbury said, “Christmas is God’s small initiative – a single baby whose destiny is to change the world.”

            God’s restoration of the world begins with this small initiative – the birth of this holy child, “God with us” in a way that God had never been with us before.

            But God’s small initiative doesn’t stay small for long.

            Luke tells us that God’s small initiative almost immediately grows to include a group of nobody shepherds.

            And Matthew tells us that God’s small initiative grows to include wise men from the East.   

            And then, later, the God’s small initiative grows when Jesus begins his work of teaching and healing.

            Jesus travels around teaching people to love God, to love one another, to love our enemies, to forgive and to forgive again, to defeat violence by turning the other cheek, to give away our lives in loving service to God and one another.

            Jesus travels around healing the blind, the paralyzed, the possessed, and even the dead.

            God’s small initiative grows to include a little ragtag band of followers – a little band that will mostly abandon Jesus to die on the Cross.

            It won’t be until Easter – it won’t be until the empty tomb - when at least some people will realize that God’s little initiative that started in a Bethlehem manger was actually the beginning of the end of the old world  - the beginning of the end of the old world of hate and violence.

            It won’t be until Easter – it won’t be until the empty tomb - when at least some people will realize that God’s little initiative that started in a Bethlehem manger was actually the beginning of God’s restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            And now, God’s little initiative continues to grow through our little initiatives.

            God’s little initiative continues to grow when we try to love and forgive the people who irritate us, who are mean to us, who don’t love or forgive us at all – and who even hate us.

            God’s restoration of the world continues to grow when we share what we have with the many people who have far less – when we drop a few cans or boxes into the Food for Friends barrel – when we donate food or energy to the soup kitchen – when we help people burned or flooded out of their homes.

            God’s little initiative continues to grow when we reach out to a beachside congregation whose chapel was washed away.

            God’s restoration of the world continues to grow when we unleash God’s love for one of our own – for a fragile little boy whose family dared to hope and ask for help – and they and we all received more than we could have imagined.

            God’s little initiative – God’s restoration of the world – that began long ago so quietly and intimately with the birth of Jesus - continues to grow with and through us - right here, right now.

            So, like Mary, this Christmas let’s ponder all these things in our hearts.

            And then, let’s do our part, let’s undertake our small initiatives, helping God to restore the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            It’s Christmas!

            It’s the beginning of the end of the world as know it!

            Amen.

           

           

           

           

            

Expectation

The Rev. Thomas M. Murphy

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ

December 23, 2012

Year C: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Micah 5:2-5a

Canticle 3

(Hebrews 10:5-10)

Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)

Expectation

            Last time I preached – only two weeks ago though it feels like months after everything we’ve been through – I talked about how Advent is a short season packed with some really big themes.

            The first Advent theme is looking ahead to the last day when the old world of hate and violence will be no more – the last day when God will complete the restoration begun long ago – the restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            Tragically, that last day, that restored world, now seems a lot farther off than it did just two weeks ago.

            The second great Advent theme is preparation. Even in the midst of tragedy and suffering – or especially in the midst of tragedy and suffering - we are called to prepare for Christ and to prepare for the new world that God is at work restoring all around us.

            And for the past two Sundays we’ve been hearing about and thinking about John the Baptist: that wild, charismatic and demanding prophet of preparation.

            As Lauren pointed out in her sermon last week, John didn’t get everything right about Jesus, but he’s right on the money about the importance of preparation – of preparation through repentance.

            John calls us to prepare by repenting – by turning back to God, by changing our ways, by helping God with the great restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            And now, somehow, ready or not, it’s already the Fourth Sunday of Advent. The wreaths are standing by in Nieman Hall and the poinsettias are lined up in the library. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

            So today we turn to our final theme: expectation.

            Today we are reintroduced to Mary, the heartbreakingly young woman who is given the awesome gift and responsibility of carrying God into the world.

            We’re reintroduced to Mary: symbol and sign of expectation.

            Expectation.

            I’ve mentioned in the past how, no surprise, I enjoy a good church sign.

            Maybe you do, too.

            In my opinion, the Presbyterian church in Florham Park has some of the best signs in our area.

            And I really like their Christmas sign. Right in the center of the sign are the words, “We’re expecting.”

            We’re expecting.

            I’ve been thinking about that: we’re expecting. And, I’ve been wondering, what are we expecting?

            On one level, of course, “we’re expecting” has to with what’s going on in the story we heard today - the Visitation - the encounter that Luke tells us about between the pregnant kinswomen, Mary and Elizabeth.

            Young Mary and old Elizabeth are overjoyed with this unexpected turn of events: we’re expecting!

            I’m sure that those of you who have had children can relate, at least a bit.

            We’re expecting!

            I love the story of the Visitation. It’s one of my favorite scenes in the Christmas pageant – when the two girls playing Mary and Elizabeth mimic their long-ago yet timeless excitement and expectation.

            But, there are dark shadows over this scene. We know what’s ahead for these two yet unborn children. We know what to expect for John – a beheading ordered by a king keeping a pathetic promise. And we know what to expect for Jesus – rejection, betrayal, and a shameful death that seemed like the end of the story – the story that began with so much hope and joy on the first Christmas.

            We’re expecting.

            Expectation is powerful. Expectation is powerful because it shapes who and what we see.

            A little example. I’ve mentioned before how one of the highlights of my week is a Monday morning trip to Shop Rite. I’ve run into some of you there. And since I’ve shared my schedule with you, I don’t know, not to sound like an egomaniac, but maybe some of you even expect to run into me, say, in the dairy aisle.

            But, most parishioners only expect to see me here at Grace – and only expect to see me in my priest uniform. And so when I’m in Shop Rite, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans usually parishioners don’t seem to see me – or even, for a moment, seem confused and can’t quite place me – when we nearly run into each other, say, in the dairy aisle.

            Sometimes we don’t see what we don’t expect to see.

            What are we expecting?

            Expectation is powerful. Expectation is powerful because it shapes what we are able and willing to do.

            As both a student and teacher I’ve learned that, more often than not, low expectations produce poor results but teachers who have high expectations are able to inspire their students to achieve more than they had thought possible.

            Which brings us back to Mary.

            We know so little about her, but I imagine that Mary was expecting even before her pregnancy.

            I imagine that Mary expected that God was and would be at work in her life. And because Mary expected God she was able to hear the angel’s message and say yes to the awesome gift and responsibility of carrying God into the world.

            Mary’s expectation wasn’t only about her pregnancy.

            Listen to Mary’s song about God:

            “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the mighty from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.

            Mary sings a song about God’s great restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            After the recent tragedies, we know only too well that God’s restoration of the world is still very much a work in progress.

            The mighty are still on their thrones, and the lowly are still, well, lowly.

            But, in her song Mary is expecting.

            Mary is expecting that, with her help, God is going to restore the world. Mary is expecting that God is going to scatter the proud, lift up the lowly and fill the hungry with good things.

            Mary’s expectation wasn’t only about her pregnancy.

            And I have no doubt that Mary’s high expectation of God working in her life and Mary’s high expectation of God restoring the world shaped her Son’s life – Jesus’ life of love, healing, and sacrifice.

            So, what about us?

            Today in our world still broken by hate and violence, what are expecting?

            Somehow, ready or not, it’s already the Fourth Sunday of Advent and tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

            Today, we are reintroduced to Mary, this heartbreakingly young woman who is given the awesome gift and responsibility of carrying God into the world.

            We’re reintroduced to Mary: symbol and sign of expectation.

            Expectation is powerful. Expectation is powerful because it shapes who and what we see.

            Expectation is powerful. Expectation is powerful because it shapes what we are able and willing to do.

            Mary is expecting. She’s pregnant with her son and about to bring new life into the world.

            Mary is expecting. She’s carrying her son into the world where he will love and be loved – into the world where he will also face rejection, betrayal, and a shameful death that seemed like the end of the story.

            Mary is expecting.  She’s expecting God at work in her life.

            Mary is expecting. She’s expecting God to scatter the proud, lift up the lowly and fill the hungry with good things.

            Mary is expecting. She’s expecting God to restore the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            What are we expecting?

God's Grandeur

The Rev. Thomas M. Murphy

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ

December 22, 2012

Funeral Sermon for George Connell

Ecclesiastes 3:1-14

Psalm 23

John 14:1-6

God’s Grandeur

            Today’s second reading comes from the account of the Last Supper in the Gospel of John.

            And because it’s so important, John takes his time telling the story of the last meal shared by Jesus and his closest friends.

            The story of the Last Supper is a story of time growing short; it’s a story of saying goodbye; it’s a story of the last, most important lessons; it’s a story of betrayal; it’s a story of death not being the end. Ultimately, the story of the Last Supper is a story of all of us – the dead, the living and the yet to be born - united forever with the God who loves us more than we can imagine.

            Which, let’s face it, is impossible to understand and hard to even accept – especially in recent days when we have seen all too clearly the brokenness of the world and the reality of evil and senseless death.

            And so at the heart of today’s gospel lesson there is a question. It’s a question asked by the apostle most famous for his doubts – the apostle whose feast we just celebrated yesterday.

            Thomas - in the midst of his fear, grief, confusion, and, yes, doubt - says to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

            This is the gospel passage that we often read at funerals, but it’s especially appropriate today because right to the end of his life George Connell was a man who asked the big questions.

            Talking in the hospital on the last day of his life, Craig, Jacki and Emily all agreed that George was the very model of a lifelong learner – someone who enjoyed learning for its own sake – someone who kept the folks at the Morris County Library busy – someone who loved shows like Nova on PBS – someone who appreciated great art and music.

            George was a man of math and science - with the soul of a poet.

            I remember one time a few years ago I got the call that George was in the emergency room - and it sounded serious. When I got to the hospital I was prepared for the worst.

            I turned the corner into his room and there he was lying happily in his bed reading a book that was called something like The World’s 100 Most Challenging Math Problems.

            I was pretty sure that George was going to be OK this time.

            But that day in the hospital we talked about some things a lot more challenging than any math problem.

            We talked about some of life’s big questions.

            At one point, he looked at me very seriously and said, “I’m not afraid to die. But, I don’t want to because life is just so interesting.”

            That was George.

            At least in the time I knew him, George was on a quest for God. He yearned to know God. He hungered to know how God had been at work in his life and how God continued to be at work in his life.

            As part of his quest, he participated in as much as he could here at Grace – including a few years ago going on the Men’s Retreat.

            As it happens, George and I were roommates for those two nights. To be honest, it was the perfect arrangement because once he took out his hearing aids he slept soundly, blissfully unaware of my snoring across the room.

            Those of us who were on that retreat will never forget the thoughtfulness and depth of what he had to say in our group discussions.

            This man of math and science with the soul of a poet searched for God and found God in the web of life – searched for God and found God in the invisible molecules and forces that underpin all of creation – in the energy that keeps everything going – in the unimagined and secret world scientists are just beginning to discover.

            And as I thought about George’s long quest for God – as I thought about all of George’s questions – I was reminded of a poem by the 19^th Century Jesuit priest and poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins. I don’t know if George knew it, but I bet he’d like it.

            Maybe some of you know it or at least its first line:

            The world is charged with the grandeur of God

            And that’s what George discovered on the quest of his long life.

            The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

            And we all had the privilege of glimpsing God’s grandeur in this smart, caring, sometimes stubborn, and always questing man.

            And now that George is in the place prepared for him by Christ, George knows more deeply than we can yet imagine or understand that the world is indeed charged with the grandeur of God.

            We’re sure going to miss George around here.

            He wasn’t somebody interested in memorials – and, in fact, wasn’t so sure he wanted a service like we’re having today.

            And, the truth is, we can best honor and remember George by living like him.

            So, let’s rediscover a childlike sense of awe at the majestic universe around us.

            Let’s rekindle our love of learning – a love of learning just for the fun of it.

            Let’s dare to be curious – to wonder - and to ask the big questions.

            Let’s go on a lifelong quest for God.

            And, like George, let’s recognize and celebrate that the world is charged with the grandeur of God.

            George’s long quest has come to an end. Like all great quests, it was filled with lots of surprising twists and turns – with sadness and joy, with disappointments and hope, with death and life.

            Now George lives on in the place prepared for him by Christ while, for us, the quest continues…

            Here’s how Gerard Manley Hopkins ends his great poem – a poem that, in a sense, is about all of us – the dead, the living and the yet to be born, united forever with God.

            And for all this, nature is never spent;

            There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

            And though the last lights off the black West went

            Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –

            Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

            World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

            Amen.

           

           

Preparation

Year C: The Second Sunday of Advent

Baruch 5:1-9

Canticle 4

(Philippians 1:3-11)

Luke 3:1-6

Preparation

            The Church packs several big themes into the very short Advent season.

            

             Last Sunday we focused on the first great Advent theme: looking ahead to the last day – looking ahead to the Second Coming of Christ.

            

             Here’s what Jesus had to say about the last day in last week’s gospel lesson from Luke:

            "There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

            

             I’m glad that last Sunday was Lauren’s turn to preach!

            

             Anyway, last week we focused on our first great Advent theme. We heard Jesus’ frightening, but ultimately hopeful, vision of the last day – the last day when the old world of hate and violence will be no more – the last day when God will complete the restoration begun long ago – the restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            Now, two thousand years later, God’s great restoration of the world is still very much a work in progress.

            We live in a world where some of the worst hotspots have recently become even more dangerous:  Israel and Palestine, Syria, Congo – the list goes on.

            We live in a world where a man pushes another man onto the subway tracks as a train approached – a world in which no one in the station offered help but someone was quick enough to take pictures – and a world in which a newspaper would publish one of those pictures on its front page. 

            We live in a world in which recently 112 Bangladeshi garment workers died unnecessarily in a factory fire  - 53 of them so badly burned their bodies could not be identified. They died while they were making cheap clothing for Americans and Europeans. The fire made the news - for a day or two. I’m not sure we see the victims – really see them – as people who hoped and loved like we do. If we think of them at all, we think of them as simply part of the invisible machinery that produces our clothing, our cell phones and so much else that we take for granted.

            So, yes, God’s restoration of the world is very much a work in progress. 

            And now, today, we move on to our second great Advent theme: preparation. We are called to prepare for Christ and to prepare for the new world that God is at work restoring all around us.

            Today we are reintroduced to John the Baptist: that wild, charismatic and demanding prophet of preparation.

            All four gospels begin the story of Jesus’ public ministry by telling us something about John the Baptist. Obviously John played a significant role in Jewish life back in the First Century and was definitely someone very important to Jesus.

            But, it’s only Luke who gives us back-story on John. Only Luke tells us that John and Jesus were related – that their mothers, Elizabeth and Mary, were kinswomen.

            And it’s only Luke who tells us anything about John’s father, the Jewish priest Zechariah. In fact, Luke gives Zechariah his own song.

            Zechariah sings to his son John:

            “You my child shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.”

            In the gospels, John is a symbol and sign of preparation.

            Preparation.  We know all about the importance of preparation. We know that preparation can make all the difference between success and failure at school, in sports and at work. This time of year most of us know all about preparation because we’re busily getting ready for Christmas: choosing and buying gifts, making lists and checking them twice, putting up and decorating trees, stringing lights outside our homes.

            Preparation.

            But the kind of preparation that John calls for – the kind of preparation that God calls for – is a little different.

            Luke tells us that John “went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

            For John, and for us today as Christians, preparation for Christ and preparation for God’s restoration of the world begins with… repentance.

            For John and for us, preparation begins with repentance.

            And repentance means turning back to God.

            Repentance means doing what we do here in church during that quiet moment before we say the confession.

            Repentance means taking stock of our lives – recognizing the ways we’ve let down God and let down other people. Repentance means recognizing the ways that we’ve been violent – not like the man on the subway platform but with our harsh words, with gossip, with not giving others the benefit of the doubt, with ridicule and sarcasm.

            Repentance means recognizing that we all benefit from the backbreaking and sometimes life-threatening work of the mostly invisible poor.

            Repentance means taking stock and recognizing all of that and more. Repentance means asking – and receiving – God’s merciful forgiveness. And repentance means promising to try to do better – knowing that we’ll still stumble and fall short.

            Preparation begins with repentance.

            But our preparation for Christ and for God’s restoration of the world doesn’t end with repentance.

            Our preparation continues with action.

            God is counting on us not to just say we’re sorry and then sit and wait for Christ. God is counting on us to actually help with God’s restoration of the world.

            In Judaism there is an idea called tikkun olam. Tikkun olam means healing and restoring the world. And it’s not just a nice, dreamy abstract idea. Tikkun olam is achieved when everyone pitches in helping in concrete ways with God’s restoration of the world.

            And if we pay attention we can glimpse tikkun olam – we can glimpse people helping with God’s restoration of the world.

            We help with God’s restoration of the world in the outpouring of care and help for those who lost so much in the recent storms – in an affluent town like Madison reaching out to Union Beach, a shore community that was struggling even before it was nearly washed away by Sandy.

            We help with God’s restoration of the world when we almost furtively drop items into the Food for Friends barrel – not needing anyone to see our generosity.

            We help with God’s restoration of the world when we take a tag from the Angel Tree and buy something at least as good as what we’d buy for ourselves or those we love.

            We help with God’s restoration of the world when we pray for peace in the Middle East and Africa – when we pray for peace in our own communities and homes – when we pray for peace in our own hearts.

            We help with God’s restoration of the world when we pray for the man killed on the subway tracks and the man who pushed him – when we pray for our enemies, when we ask for forgiveness and when we offer forgiveness.

            We help with God’s restoration of the world when we at least take an interest in the nearly invisible people who make our clothes and our cell phones, the people who produce our food, the people who mow our lawns and clean our homes.

            God is counting on us not to just say we’re sorry and then sit and wait for Christ. God is counting on us to actually help with God’s restoration of the world.

            So, today, we move on to our second great Advent theme: preparation.                        

            We are called to prepare for Christ and to prepare for the new world that God is at work restoring all around us.

            Today we are reintroduced to John the Baptist: that wild, charismatic and demanding prophet of preparation.

            Our preparation begins with repentance – taking stock of our lives and turning back to God.

            And our preparation continues when we help with God’s restoration of the world. Our preparation continues when we participate in tikkun olam.

            Together - God and we - will work toward the last day when the old world of hate and violence will be no more – the last day when God will complete the restoration begun long ago – the restoration of the world into the land of love and peace that God has always meant it to be.

            Amen.