Psalm
10:1-12; Luke 2:1-7
The Second
Sunday of Advent 2014
Last week in worship, on
the first Sunday in Advent, we considered together how any hope of keeping
Christ in Christmas depends on our pausing long enough to acknowledge why He
was born to us. Fully preparing for the
arrival of His holy light is something done while seeing the darkness of sin in
all the ways it envelops us each day.
Don’t you find Christmas lights are clearer and more profoundly
beautiful at night?
When we prepare for
Christmas by confessing darkness and constantly trusting in God’s promise of
salvation, we are able to better see the bright star leading us to Bethlehem. We know this city in both a biblical and
symbolic way.
Biblically, we know Bethlehem
as a countryside Israelite city located just few miles southwest of Jerusalem. It’s where Jacob buried his wife Rachel
(Genesis 35). After the death of her
husband and two sons, it’s where Naomi and her daughter-in-law Ruth relocated –
a relocation that led to Ruth becoming the mother of Obed, who grew-up to
become the father of Jesse, who became the father of King David. Many generations of this family line later,
along came Joseph, who would become the earthly father of Jesus. It seems God used the Roman census as a way
to arrange for the birth of the Messiah on the storied and sacred soil of
Bethlehem.
Symbolically, Bethlehem
reminds us that there is room and nourishment for all of us in God’s
kingdom. Jesus was not born in the
ancient power centers of Rome, Jerusalem, Athens or Alexandria. He was born in the place with the Hebrew
name meaning “House of Bread.” The spiritual hunger of a world starved by sin
would be fed blessed daily bread starting in Bethlehem.
Every Advent I come
across people quoting a poem titled, “In Search of our Kneeling Places.” It was written by Ann Weems and published in
1987. It’s worth quoting most of this
poignant poem –
“In each heart lies a Bethlehem, an inn where
we must ultimately answer whether there is room or not. When we are Bethlehem-bound we experience our
own advent in his. When we are Bethlehem-bound
we can no longer look the other way conveniently not seeing stars, not hearing
angel voices. We can no longer excuse
ourselves by busily tending our sheep or our kingdoms. This Advent let's go to Bethlehem and see
this thing that the Lord has made known to us.”
I hope you find this as
beautiful and profound as I do. A
quick reminder – “advent” means arrival.
So as you travel this season to the spiritual Bethlehem within your
heart, will there be room there to really recognize the arrival of your Savior?
In this sin-succumbing
world, there is so much that happens that threatens to slam the door in the
face of the sacred space within us all.
All kinds of tragedies that put detours up for Bethlehem bound
pilgrims. We know this from personal
experience and by paying attention to what’s happening in our nation and across
the world. And the awareness of it is
something rooted deeply within Ann Weems poetry.
This is because she is the spouse of a
Presbyterian minister, and even more so because she is the mother of a murder
victim. Their son Todd was beaten to
death with a pipe on August 14, 1982, about an hour after he turned 21. This
happened under some sad and sordid circumstances involving drug use and
possible racial tensions.[i] No
explanations, however, can bring back this child. I don’t even want to imagine what that
first Christmas without Todd was like for this family. Was there room for Jesus in Ann’s heart, in
her Bethlehem, while suffering such utterly devastating sorrow and rage? Or would there be no room left to welcome the
Good News?
In the immediate
aftermath of Todd’s death, she wrote these words -- “Come into this valley and
find me! Bring me out of this land of
weeping,”[ii] Begging God to find her was part of her
finding her way to Bethlehem. And later
in this poem, just when it seems there is indeed little room left for Jesus, she
finds herself anchored in Advent. She
finds herself reaffirming that she belongs to God, and that God has never
failed to find her. It’s a powerful little
modern day psalm of lament that makes for very good daily bread on our own
Advent journeys.
Returning to Bethlehem is deeply
restorative. We all know of another
writer who understood this well. We
may not know his name off the top of our heads, but we know his words. Phillips Brooks is his name. He wrote the words to “O Little Town of
Bethlehem” in 1868. But do you know why?
This six-foot four Harvard
graduate had started out as a school teacher.
But a very frustrated one in that his students never met his high
expectations. He eventually gave
up. Out of this, however, came a call to
ministry as an Episcopal clergyman. He
quickly gained a reputation for being a preacher who delivered powerful and
dramatic sermons. His first church,
Holy Trinity in Philadelphia, grew considerably after his arrival. So too his fame. Especially his opposition to slavery and
overall support of the North.
But by 1863, he had
quickly worn down both physically and spiritually. The civil war had taken a toll. Nearly everyone knew somebody who’d been
killed or gravely injured in the conflict.
The national spirit was low. And
though he tried to fight it, a darkness fell over Phillip Brooks at every
worship service. It was difficult to
deliver messages of hope and peace with so many mothers and widows wearing
black.
The end of the war on
April 9, 1865 brought a little bit of relief. That little bit disappeared the moment
Lincoln was assassinated on April 15th. And though not Lincoln’s pastor, whatever
was left in the tank of this celebrated orator went to fueling the sermon he
was asked to give at Lincoln’s funeral.
There’s a little trivia for you.
Needing restoration
after all this, Phillips Brooks took a sabbatical. Any guesses as to where he went to do
this? Bethlehem. It was a trip that dramatically restored his
joy and energy. He returned home with a
vigor that fit his reputation. Yet he
struggled to more simply convey just how much his Bethlehem experience meant to
him. So, in 1868, he sat down and
decided to just jot down what came to mind as he relived it in his heart and
mind. He took these words to his
church musician, Lewis Redner. Before long, “O Little Town of Bethlehem” was
born and on its way to becoming one of the most beloved Christmas carols of all
time.[iii]
I’ll finish today by sharing yet another
Bethlehem-bound voice. Hear these words
of Billy Graham –
“One response was given
by the innkeeper when Mary and Joseph wanted to find a room where the Child
could be born. The innkeeper was not hostile; he was not opposed to them, but
his inn was crowded; his hands were full; his mind was preoccupied. This is the
answer that millions are giving today. Like a Bethlehem innkeeper, they cannot
find room for Christ. All the accommodations in their hearts are already taken
up by other crowding interests. Their response is not atheism. It is not
defiance. It is preoccupation and the feeling of being able to get on
reasonably well without Christianity.”
How
are you letting people know that you are truly Bethlehem bound? That there is room inside your heart to once
again welcome our Emmanuel, God with us?
Amen.
[i] http://www.riverfronttimes.com/2012-12-13/news/eric-clemmons-clemency-todd-weems-1982-beating-death-st-louis-central-west-end/2/
[ii] http://www.beliefnet.com/Love-Family/2000/05/A-Modern-Psalm-Of-Loss.aspx
[iii]
Collins, Ace (2010-05-04). Stories Behind the Best-Loved Songs of Christmas:
Unabridged (Kindle Location 1540). Zondervan. Kindle Edition.
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