Chalice Lighting: Robin Brent
May the spirit of life in this our chalice flame
lead each of us deeper into the spirit of giving
that enriches this season of the year and all the
seasons of our lives.
Song of Exultation
ANCIENT SCRIPTURE -- Matthew 2:1-12
Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.
And, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.
When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshiped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.
And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.
Modern Scripture: “The Envelope,” author unknown
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas-oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth.
I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together. It presented a sharp contrast to our boys, in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class.
And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. " They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came......That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.
On Christmas Eve, I placed an envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.
For each Christmas, I followed the tradition- one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost it's allure.
The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.
The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed with anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May we all remember the Christmas spirit this year and always.
Prayer & Meditation
During this holiday season,
as the cold wind chills us to the bone
and a warm fire makes us feel at home,
let us come bearing gifts of the heart.
Let us give the gift of caring to those we love and those we will never see in our lifetime, opening our hearts to children who have so little under their tree on Christmas morning, to families who are homeless, to refugees who are forced to flee their homeland, to those who are lonely or ill or in despair.
Let us give the gift of courage to those who are hopeless, to those who have given up on the possibilities of life and see nowhere to turn.
Let us give the gift of laughter to those who take life too seriously, letting them know that laughter “is the closest thing to the grace of God.” (Karl Barth)
Let us give the gift of love to those who need it – which is all of us. May our love be like the many lights shining at this time of year, illuminating the night and warming our hearts.
May each and every one of us come bearing gifts of the heart at this time of year and every day of the year.
Now let us open our minds and hearts to the place of quiet, to the silent prayer for the healing of pain, and the soft, gentle coming of love . . .
Amen.
Sermon:
I would like to wish you all a happy Hanukkah, a sunny solstice, a holy Ramadan, a cheery Kwanza, and a merry Christmas. Have I left anything out? Oh yes, happy end of the presidential election. I know some of us got the president we wanted for Christmas, while others feel that we woke up to coals in our stocking. But as with any president, let us passionately support this one when he is an advocate for justice and peace, and let us passionately challenge him when he is not.
And let us hope that we do not have a similar crisis this Christmas as this fictitious press release might indicate:
Attorneys for Texas Governor George W. Bush filed suit in federal court today, seeking to prevent Santa Claus from making his list and then checking it twice... The suit, filed in the Federal District Court of Austin, Texas, asks a federal judge to "hereby order Mr. Claus to cease and desist all repetitive and duplicative list-checking activity, and certify the original list as submitted, without amendment, alteration, deletion, or other unnecessary modification."
"There are no standards for deciding who is naughty, and who is nice.” said former Secretary James Baker. “It's totally arbitrary and capricious. How many more times does he need to check? This checking, checking, and re-checking over and over again must stop now."
Vice-president Al Gore responded that he was asking the courts to demand that Santa not only check his list twice but as many times as it takes to make sure that all wishes have been recorded fully and fairly -- and to include all pregnant dimples...
The Rev. Jesse Jackson was quick to respond to this latest development with plans to lead protesters from Florida to the North Pole via dogsled. The "Million Man Mush" is scheduled to depart Friday. "We need red suits and sleighs, not law suits and delays," Jackson said. Santa Claus could not be reached for comment, but a spokes-elf said he was "deeply distressed" by news of the pending legal action against him. "He's losing weight, and he hasn't said 'Ho Ho Ho' for days," said the spokes-elf. "He's just not feeling jolly."
There are many of us who may not be feeling too jolly after the election, but I urge you all to get into the holiday spirit by reflecting on your giving. The question we will ask this morning is, “When we come bearing gifts, what gifts shall we give?” Let us reflect on the gifts that are the most meaningful and that bring the most joy at this time of year.
Let’s face it: the gifts we usually get on Christmas aren’t nearly as meaningful as the envelopes on the tree in our reading this morning. Under most of our Christmas trees are computerized gizmos, fancy clothes, and appliances. It seems that every year we get more and more stuff that we don’t really need or even want.
It’s obvious to me that this Christmas craziness started with those three wise guys. You remember them, don't you? The baby Jesus was born in the manger, shepherds gathered about him, angels sang on high, and then, for some reason these wise men three showed up and gave some inordinately expensive gifts to the Christ-child -- gold, frankincense, and myrrh. It was a terrible precedent to set.
We know that the Bible has been edited throughout history by a vast number of people with various purposes. I haven't researched this thoroughly, but I suspect that the verses about the three wise men were pasted in by the equivalent in that time of the Macy's Department Store PR person.
The purpose of course was to increase sales of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, which I'm sure was a very successful strategy. If the story were being written today I imagine the wise men would be coming from Japan bringing with them gifts of a MP3 player, digital video camera, and a Palm Pilot.
The three wise guys -- with the help of a lot of other PR people -- succeeded in making Christmas a disgustingly materialistic holiday in which people spend much more time and energy squandering money than reflecting on the meaning of the holiday season. Most of us keep ourselves so busy buying and packaging and worrying that we have little time to sit down and think about our lives. It makes me wonder what Christmas would be like if the wise men would have given the baby Jesus some different gifts, some gifts that really meant something – like envelopes on the Christmas tree.
I truly believe that Hanukkah and Christmas would have much more meaning if we could somehow send the three wise men and all of their Macy's compatriots packing. What we need at this time of year is not more distractions, but the opportunity to relate with those we care for, to talk with those who matter most in our lives, and to touch those we love.
One of my best Christmases was when Terry and I had so little money, we had no choice but to enjoy a non-commercial holiday. I was 24 years old, and Terry and I had been married for 2 years, having spent our first year of marriage as VISTA volunteers in the Ozark mountains of Arkansas. Our second year of marriage was spent in Berkeley, California where I was attending Starr King School for the Ministry.
That first year in Berkeley had been nothing less than horrible. Terry and I suffered extreme culture shock after moving from a community of only a few hundred people in Stone County, Arkansas -- all of whom were desperately poor and undereducated -- to a metropolitan area of several million.
We also suffered from poverty. Having saved little money from our VISTA experience, and having families who were unable to help us financially, Terry was forced to work as a temporary secretary while I took odd jobs painting homes and selling beer at the Oakland Stadium. Terry also had some serious health problems and I was in turmoil trying to determine if I really wanted to be a minister.
But the following year of 1971 was a vast improvement. We had spent a glorious spring and summer in Santa Barbara where I was the intern minister of the Unitarian Church. In Santa Barbara, Terry recovered her health, I discovered my love for the ministry, and we conceived our first child together.
I can think of no experience in my life as glorious as sharing that first pregnancy together. Each day Terry and I would follow the progress of the life growing inside of her. When she felt the first movement within her, we were both ecstatic. When I could finally feel a kick against my hand I was overjoyed.
By the time the Christmas holidays arrived Terry was as large as an SUV, though we weren't expecting her to deliver until late February at the earliest. She was feeling elated and looking beautiful, infused with the bliss of creation.
We wanted that Christmas to be special, to manifest our renewed love for each other and the new life we had co-created. The problem was that we were dead broke. Each month we sweated out the rental payments for our apartment, and our meals were consisting of more brown rice and less chicken and hamburger with each day.
And so we decided to allow ourselves a maximum of $10 each to buy presents for the other, and a little more than that to buy presents for family and friends. We knew that was wholly inadequate for what we wanted to do for each other, as well as for all the others we loved, and yet we also knew that was all we could afford. And so off we went shopping for uncommon gifts at uncommon prices.
Terry and I waddled and walked down Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, through China Town and San Francisco, in out-of-the-way shops in Oakland, searching for flowers amidst the garbage. When we were tired we would stop at one of the many tea and coffee shops to relax and talk about our future together as a family. As we packaged the gifts for relatives, we were thrilled with what we had been able to give. It was as if our presents were coming from the heart rather than the wallet.
On Christmas morning the three of us -- Terry the SUV, our mystery baby doing flips in utero, and the increasingly anxious father-to-be -- gathered together around our miniature Christmas tree. We opened the gifts from relatives and friends, and then finally opened our presents from one another. What marvelous gifts we gave to each other: a coupon book for discount dinners and plays, hand-written promises of back rubs and special meals, knick-knacks with distinctive meaning for each of us, and warm hugs and kisses. Neither of us could have been any happier.
We both knew that our most treasured gift that year was the child who seemed to be increasingly disturbed by the ever diminishing space allowed for frolicking. Terry and I attended Lamaze classes that January and February, me learning to time each imaginary contraction and to coach as if it were the Superbowl, while Terry learned to pant and focus and relax.
We never finished those classes, because about two weeks before her delivery date, our child-to-be initiated a life-long behavior pattern with an untimely rebellion. It was in the early morning hours of February 26th, 1972 when we loaded up the car and drove over the Bay Bridge to Kaiser Hospital in San Francisco. That night was interminable as we waited and waited and waited for something to happen. The contractions were only intense enough to keep Terry and me from sleeping. By dawn we were both completely exhausted, and Terry had decided she didn't want to go through this birth thing after all.
Finally the kid began to cooperate. Terry was huffing and puffing more frequently and with real earnestness. I was timing each contraction and cheering on each pant. And then off to the delivery room we went. I brought a tape recorder and 35 mm camera to record the entire blessed event for posterity. In between my coaching and cheers I snapped photos while keeping a play-by-play account on the tape recorder.
Nothing could have prepared me for the magnificence of what I was to behold that morning. Ever so slowly I saw our child's head emerge until finally the doctor gently pulled the baby free of Terry's body and held him in front of us so that we could gaze upon our new son.
Frankly, he was about the ugliest thing I had ever seen, a face about as wrinkled as a rotten apple and a body covered with bodily fluids. And yet he was also the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, as he wriggled with energy and cried out his first breath of life.
When I held him in my arms, it dawned on me that this new life, this fidgeting, twisting, wiggly boy who was an incarnation of Terry and me and our parents and their parents, and of all of humanity. No star shown above his head, no angels sang, no shepherds made their way to the delivery room, but to us all the signs were there that he was a son of God, a manifestation of all that was divine in life.
Shane Michael McGee was the greatest gift we had ever received. And like all parents, we wanted to give something to him. We wanted to give Shane the gift of our dreams, a star he could follow throughout his life.
Shane is now 28 years old and he and his wife, Shelly, are both lawyers living here in Arlington, and they attend our church. He's an intelligent and handsome young man with a deep compassion for others and conscientious values. We’re very proud of the person he has become and is becoming.
Like the three wise man who came bearing precious gifts, there are three gifts I would like to give to the Christ-child within every child. These are gifts we as parents and as adults should help instill in all children.
The first and foremost gift is gratitude for this precious life we live. I want them to be aware that, in the words of Robert Granat ("A Gift of Lack", Parabola, Vol. 8, #1):
“You and I and he and she -- we've all been materialized out of the void in order to experience a human life. Think of it! Cast a quick glance over the statistical odds against our even happening, check the chances of our sperm-ovum combination ever coming up -- how many quadrillion to one? Actuarially even, to have been incarnated like this is a miracle. In purely mathematical terms, you and I and every human entity around make up the Chosen People!”I want our children to stand in awe before this life they're living and to realize what a miracle it is just to breath air, to smell rain, to hear music, to touch skin, to gaze upon a starlit sky. I want them to sense that the power that divides the cells and drives the stars and twirls the planets is the same power that fuels the life within them. And I hope that they will be thankful for what they have, even when the pain of loss may be great.
The second gift I want for all children is courage. I want them to have the courage to struggle for what is right and the courage to grow. I want them to struggle for justice, for peace, and for truth. I want them to feel that though they are complete unto themselves, whole and holy human beings, that there is always more to life than what we see, always more to living than how we live.
All of us have this innate urge to come into our own, like the seed that envisions itself as a tree. We are a uniquely-endowed life-form on this uniquely-endowed pellet of cosmic dust. And we have been invited to transcendence. Our challenge is to have the courage to accept the invitation.
We certainly can say no, making the choice to devolve rather than evolve. Since we are biodegradable it does no harm other than wasting this precious gift of life. But to accept the invitation to grow, to evolve, to transcend as a human being is to take the most invigorating, rejuvenating, creative journey a person can take. Christopher Alexander describes that journey in these words:
“There is a central quality which is the root criterion of life and spirit in a [person]... The search which we make for this quality, in our own lives, is the central search of any person, and the crux of any individual person's story. It is the search for those moments and situations when we are most alive.”“... when we are most alive." Even though it's certainly a miracle, to be born into this world is not enough. That is only the beginning. We are born with a hunger to become "most alive," to live as fully as we possibly can.
And we become most alive when we dare to link our soul with another soul in love, when we heal a hurting friend, when we embrace in peace, and when we make justice for those who are victims of injustice. So my second gift would be the gift of courage.
The third gift for our children is the gift of compassion. Our children will receive the gift of compassion only when we help them to experience the wonder of life. When they are cut off from that wonder, frustration and eventually hatred begins to build.
We can also give them the gift of compassion by being compassionate ourselves, by letting them see our concern for those who are suffering, and by reaching out to help others by writing letters to representatives, sending money to good causes, and spending time volunteering.
What we and they need to understand is that cutting ourselves off from the pain of others is also to cut ourselves off from the sustenance we must have in order to be fully human. When we feel a connection to the world around us, when we feel a relatedness to life itself, we are greatly nourished.
And yet, we are also troubled, since one cannot feel connected with other beings without feeling their pain. It's this terrible and yet sustaining sense of at-one-ness in the joy as well as the anguish that is the basis of religion itself. So my third gift would be the gift of compassion.
There are many more gifts I would give our children as well, and some of them are included in these words by the great African-American preacher, Howard Thurman:
I place these gifts on my altar this Christmas;
Gifts that are mine, as the years are mine.
The quiet hopes that flood the earnest cargo of my dreams;
The best of all good things for those I love.
A fresh new trust for all whose faith is dim.
The love of life, a most precious gift in reach of all;
Seeing in each day the seeds of the morrow,
Finding in the struggle the strength of renewal,
Seeking in each person the face of kinship.
I place these gifts on my altar this Christmas;
Gifts that are mine, as the years are mine.
May you and your children and all children be blessed with these gifts this holiday. And may each of us be the wise women and men who come bearing these gifts.
