Sermon – St. Michael and All Angels
Luke 1:39-55
December 23, 2012

     I have traveled many moonless nights, cold and weary with a babe inside,
     And I wonder what I’ve done. 
     Holy God, you have come and chosen me now to carry your son.

One of the dangers of a familiar story is that we often take it for granted. We are so busy moving forward into this season of Advent that we don’t stop and think about how terrifying it must have been for a young girl to be chosen by God. She said yes, but there must have been so many questions. Why me? What if I can’t do this? Is there some other way? What about Joseph? How many songs did she sing before the Magnificat? I wonder if her first song was a little less confident…

     I am waiting in a silent prayer, I am frightened by the load I bear.
     In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone?
     Be with me now, be with me now.

I have just finished Terry Tempest William’s newest book When Women Were Birds. She says, “In Mormon culture, women are expected to do two things: keep a journal and bear children. Both gestures are a participatory bow to the past and to the future.” (p. 20) The book is based on a mystery. Before her mother dies, she tells Terry that she is leaving all her journals to her. After she dies, Terry goes to the journals (one for each year) and opens them. They are all blank! The book is an attempt to understand her mother’s voice. What was she thinking? Terry describes picking up journal after journal and discovering that they were all blank. To illustrate, she follows with several blank pages in her own book. I found myself racing through the blank pages looking for the next words as if they would comfort me somehow…as if that is the job of a book. I was curious at my own discomfort in the series of blank pages. 

Those stark, blank pages call to mind the times when there simply are no words. Perhaps you know what I mean…moments beautiful beyond belief when the most we can utter is a gasp; moments so devastating that all we can do is reach for the hand of another; moments of utter loss when we stand in the gap and wait for something to show us the next step. In the wake of the Newtown, Connecticut tragedy, I open my mouth to speak and find only emptiness: blank pages. There are no words to explain, to comfort, to ease our despair. What holds us together in times like these? Can we trust that there is light in the darkness even if we can’t see it? Before Mary sang, did she wait in the darkness, in the emptiness, filled with terror and loneliness? When we find ourselves lost in the darkness fearful and alone, we may find that God meets us in the gap where words fall short.

Breath of Heaven, hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of Heaven.
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness 
for you are holy, Breath of Heaven.

The word magnificat means to magnify. In this poem, Mary focuses her lens on a God who is not only great, but also good. She moves from her own fear to looking at the one who has called her. She recognizes that hope is not found in her own greatness, but in the one whose love and mercy goes beyond human imagination. She rejoices in a God who keeps promises and cares for people in such tender ways. She celebrates from her place on the margins as the one who has been chosen to carry God. This song is deeply personal and it is a song of a God who is changing the world through the birth of a child. It is a song of joy and hope sung by one who is risking her life by saying yes. She could be stoned for carrying this child.

Each year Christmas pageants portray Mary as a passive, boring character. She walks in at the end and stands there looking angelic as if her role in this magnificent story is just showing up. But Mary is a young woman of great courage. She stands at the edge of society and sings of a God who has done great things, has shown mercy and strength, scattered the proud, brought down the powerful and lifted up the lowly, filled the hungry and sent the rich away empty. 
     Breath of Heaven. 
Where did she find this song? How did she go from being a terrified teenager, to a young woman whose confidence is grounded in God?
     Breath of Heaven 
Somehow she went to the deepest place inside and found words to describe a God who is beyond words. 

     For you are holy, Breath of Heaven.

What if the Magnificat, one of the most powerful pieces of poetry in scripture grew out of a faltering prayer, a simple, “help me”? What if she somehow understood that this wasn’t about who she was or what she was capable of? What if she woke up and understood that it was about allowing God to be God in and through her?

     Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place?
     But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan.
     Help me be strong, help me be…
     Help me.

We tend to think in terms of what we have to offer; of what we can and can’t do and forget that faith means opening ourselves to the fullness of God. One of the most profound examples of faith is Mary saying yes despite all her uncertainty. She was saying yes to God and shifting her focus from her own inadequacy to the one who can heal our world.

This story asks us to believe the impossible and take our place in it. It is not a story for bystanders. Everyone is invited to peek into the manger to witness the miracle before us and proclaim it to the world. It asks us to step into the fullness of God with us and allow God to be born in us. Who knows what will happen then?

     Breath of Heaven, hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of Heaven.
     Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness 
     for you are holy, Breath of Heaven.

Elizabeth tells Mary that John “leaped for joy” in her womb at the sound of Mary’s greeting. Mary’s song is one of joy at a God who fills the world with goodness. She sings with hope trusting that God is bringing healing to a world full of hurt. There are many who are hurting this morning. As we prepare for the coming of Christ, many in Newtown have put away their Christmas decorations. It is just too painful. Yet, it is into this world of brokenness and despair that God steps and brings hope. We are invited to say yes without even fully understanding what yes means. We may find that with our yes comes a song of hope from some deep place inside. 

A song like that doesn’t deny the reality of suffering, but it acknowledges that, with God, suffering is never the last word. It recognizes God is at work even now, even in the darkness, even in the uncertainty, even in the emptiness. That is what hope looks like. It doesn’t suggest that we have reached the happy ending we dreamed about. It acknowledges that God is in all things.

     Breath of Heaven, hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of Heaven.
     Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness 
     for you are holy, Breath of Heaven.

Terry Tempest Williams says, “Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”  (When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams, p. 205) 

     Breath of Heaven 
We can trust in that and celebrate as we wait for Christ to come in our midst.
     Breath of Heaven
We can open our mouths and release the joyful song that is growing within us.
     Breath of Heaven 
We can magnify God and say yes. 



*Breath of Heaven (Mary’s Song) – Words and Music by Chris Eaton and Amy Grant

December 16, 2012
God’s presence in evil
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

The past few days have been very rough for our nation. Everyone, from our President to every parent, teacher, every person who knows the innocence and beauty of children, is sickened by the horrific massacre at the Newtown, Connecticut elementary school. We can’t imagine the suffering of those kids who were killed, their parents, and the surviving children, who will be scarred for life. And it makes us feel vulnerable to the potential of random violence. This could happen anywhere, to anyone. 

The fact that this has also happened recently in Oregon, Colorado and other places makes us sometimes wonder what has happened to our society. Many conclude that our moral fabric is unraveling. I don’t see it this way. I think there’s always been about the same amount of goodness and evil in the world. Imagine what a violent place medieval Europe must have been, or New York in the 19th century. The difference today is simply that the deranged who are full of hate have access to an unprecedented flood of guns, especially automatic weapons, making their killing that much more devastating. 

In times such as these we reach for something to prevent more tragedies. Some will, and should, focus their outrage towards “meaningful action,” as our President said. This public conversation needs to happen with an urgency we have not yet summoned, regardless of the politics or pressure of well-funded lobby groups. 

In addition to the search for meaningful action, there is, in the background, a much bigger question. It is our struggle with the reality of evil. How could someone do this? How did they become so dark? What does it say about the human condition that such things are possible? In incidents like these, what is always lurking in the background - war, torture, tyranny, robbery, abuse, rape, gang warfare - comes rushing to the foreground, and there is no escaping what we’d usually rather not think about: evil. How do we deal with it? If we need something more helpful than philosophical speculation about it, what does our faith tradition have to offer us? 

Some imagine that by faith and prayer, they can protect themselves and their loved ones from evil. Others imagine a religious revival that will root out the cause of moral decay. But neither of these have ever really worked. I’m sure many of those Newtown families prayed every day for God’s protecting hand. And religious movements attempting to reform society have come and gone. 

What remains from our faith tradition is one thing, but it is more than enough. It is God’s presence. When God entered human history in the life of Jesus, God did not offer a shield against danger for everyone or a practical social program. Bad things continued to happen. King Herod, like Adam Lanza on Friday, slaughtered the innocents after the wise men told him of the Savior’s birth. They crucified Jesus. The Romans remained as an oppressive occupying force, and shortly after Christ, destroyed Jerusalem and scattered the chosen people. 

What God offered in Jesus Christ, and what God offers all of us all the time, is presence. In Christ, God revealed the light of divine truth and love, and there it stood, pure and unguarded, before the whole world. That’s what God always does. Hear the words of our first reading again: Sing and rejoice, O daughter Zion! For lo, I will come and dwell in your midst, says the Lord. [You] shall be my people; and I will dwell in your midst. 

“What good is that?” you might ask, “to have God just standing around?” Well, I can think of at least two benefits that come from God’s presence. The first is a clear choice. The divine truth and love reveal the clear choice we have - the responsibility - as to how we shall respond to it. 

We see this truth and love unveiled in God’s Word in scripture, in scriptures of every faith tradition. We see it in Christ and every enlightened figure or saint through history. We see it in this room as we celebrate the sacrament. We see it in nature. We see it wherever holiness shines forth. As St. Paul urged the congregation in Philippi, 
Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

We think about these things, and we make choices that are in our power to make, and good prevails through us. We have the power to choose to not become an Adam Lanza, and instead, to guard our children. We have the power to affect meaningful legislative action that will make our nation more safe. We have the power to be compassionate, to understand, to forgive, to forsake addiction and hatred and everything else that destroys God’s creation. We have the power to choose to be good because God shows us what is good. 

This was one of the effects of the appearance of the Virgin of Guadalupe, whose feast we celebrate this day. She too witnessed to the presence of God, to divine goodness, mercy, and light. By her presence, some of the Spanish clergy and conquistadors chose to think about those things that are honorable, just, and commendable, and they fought against the slavery and abuse of the indigenous people. Because of the Virgin of Guadalupe’s continuing presence and witness to God in the Americas, there are gang members who choose to forsake their life of crime, drugs, and violence, and help others escape the same cycle. 

Secondly, God’s presence brings us comfort. This is more important than we may ever realize. Imagine what life would be like for a child who survived the recent massacre in Newtown if she didn’t have a loving parent to hold her on Friday night. Imagine what your life would be like if you had no comfort, no understanding, and you were all alone in the world. 

Other people can provide this presence, and God is certainly present through them. But God is also present to us as God. For when we pray or meditate, if we can settle down beneath our hopes and worries of the day, if we can settle into this pew and open our heart to God’s presence, an amazing thing happens. God comes to us, rising up from within. We experience God’s peace that passes all understanding. We know, deep in our souls, that no matter what our circumstances, all shall be well in God. 

This is not the simplistic assurance that nothing bad will happen. It is the transcendent and unshakeable understanding that we are precious and beloved to God, and it is in God that we live and move and have our being, and that nothing can threaten this. Sing and rejoice! You shall be my people; and I will be your God.

This is the message of the Incarnation - God came among us to share our life. This is the experience of Jesus on the cross, moving from “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” to the peace that passes even that circumstance and led him to finally say “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” This is what will get the people of Newtown Connecticut through the days, months, and years ahead. 

And this is what the Virgin of Guadalupe has offered to millions of Latin Americans from 1531 to the present day: the comfort of God’s loving presence. She has stood like a rock in the midst of their poverty, oppression and personal suffering, saying, like a mother, “You are precious and beloved, so I will always be with you. God is with you. You are not alone.”

Today, as the great festival of Christmas draws near, the pure and unguarded presence of a divine child stands before us to offer us the choice for goodness and the comfort of peace. In a world that is sometimes frighteningly evil, this choice and this comfort is the only thing we can hold on to. It is all that God has ever offered, and it has always been more than enough.

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December 2, 2012
The First Sunday of Advent
Spiritual Pregnancy
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

If I were Liturgical Czar of the Episcopal Church, I would decree that we would change some of the gospel readings assigned for this time of year by easing up a little on the apocalypse. Most of you probably don’t keep track, but every year, four Sundays in a row, from mid-November through mid-December, and then again in mid-January, we’ve got earthquakes and famines, crumbling kingdoms, valleys lifted up and mountains made low, foreboding and repentance, and chaff burned in the unquenchable fire! Happy Advent!

The world is ending, Jesus is coming again, and you’d better beware! I am convinced that our lectionary inspired some Episcopalian to write the popular Christmas song: 
You better watch out; he’s making a list; he’s gonna find out!
Santa Claus is coming to town.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, there’s something else going on, as we begin the season of Advent today. In case we forget, there’s a very pregnant woman off in the corner - Mary of Nazareth. By the action of the Holy Spirit, she’s been filled, literally, with divine life. So today I’d like to redirect the spotlight to the miracle of pregnancy, but more specifically, to the miracle of being pregnant with God’s life, as Mary was.  

Now we men will never understand what pregnancy is like. But many of us get to experience it second-hand. From a short distance, we know about morning sickness, backaches, and craving for pickles and ice cream. And we are there during the unimaginable pain of birth. Mary, yes, the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Our Lord, went through all of this with Joseph by her side. 

But there’s something else, a mystery at work in every pregnancy. What is going on in there? How can a person grow inside a person? Who will it be? What will happen in their lifetime? How will our lives change? 

Mary and Joseph, like every couple, probably felt all these things. It was a wondrous time of unknowing. Something was growing inside a hidden place, slowly being shaped into something that would take on a life of its own. By themselves, they couldn’t make this shaping take place, and neither could they control the outcome. 

There is a way in which this story, and more broadly, every pregnancy, can help us see how sometimes the miracle of God’s new life grows in us and gives birth: the conception, the interminable waiting, our ignorance of what is taking place inside all those months, and the surprising outcome. 

What really happens during that kind of spiritual pregnancy, and more to the point, how do we cooperate faithfully with the action of grace? 

Many models of change and new beginnings assume that we know where we’re going. We create a plan, we march step by step through that plan, and we arrive at our destination. We are asked, rhetorically, How can you get there if you don’t know where you’re going? Or as Yogi Berra put it,"You've got to be very careful if you don't know where you're going, because you might not get there."

But I’ve found that some of the times of change, perhaps the most important ones, happen differently. It often begins with the realization that for several months we’ve been in a time of instability, where things are shifting. Something needs to be different, but we don’t know exactly what or how. It’s not a comfortable feeling. 

Then, having realized this, we want the instability to resolve itself right away. But it doesn’t. Things remain uncomfortable, where all we’ve got is the sense that things need to change, but no idea how to affect it. We imagine possible solutions as if trying on different clothes in the changing room, but nothing fits, nothing looks good on us. We may even yield to the impulse to force a resolution. But that doesn’t work either. 

And so we pray for guidance. I believe that God hears and responds to our prayers. Whether we feel it or not, the Holy Spirit comes upon us and conceives something in us, deep in the womb of our souls. Then begins a time of spiritual pregnancy. At this point, the work of faith is to trust that God has responded to our prayer, that divine conception has happened, and to patiently wait. 

But it isn’t a passive waiting, as if we could just put it on the shelf, forget about it, and then come back to see if it’s grown. Think again of a pregnant woman, of Mary. She is active in her waiting. She gives herself intentionally, prayerfully, to the growth that she knows is taking place in the womb, even before she is showing. She stays healthy, and remains attentive and responsive. 

So it is with spiritual pregnancy: we remain attentive to the signs of growth, we nurse it along. We talk to friends and spiritual guides, we read, we search. We respond to signs that appear along the way. But we don’t force it along. We can’t.

And when the time of spiritual gestation is fulfilled, something good comes into being. But it’s not usually not what we thought it would be, any more than a new child is predictable. I have learned that now. For me, a long, uncomfortable time of unknowing and waiting inevitably gives way to new creativity, fresh energy, possibilities I couldn’t have seen ahead of time. God is faithful, and surprising. 

Two and a half years ago, 6 months prior to the long sabbatical I took, I was already in a quandary. The sabbatical plans I had made had evaporated, and I was left with an unplanned 7 months stretching out before me, as if I were on a ship about to enter the equatorial doldrums. On one level, I was happy, for there was a sense of call. It felt as if something important but indefinable had been conceived. On another level, I was terrified. With nothing to do, would I become nothing? 

So I made little plans of what to do with my time, and carried some of them out, but the real work of the sabbatical was learning to come to terms with daily life without a purpose. I had talked about the sacredness of the ordinary for years, but there I was, in it, and I didn’t know if God would deliver. 

What happened over that year - what is in fact still happening - is probably related to aging: a very gradual dying of the ego - the restless impulse to make a life, to produce and improve, to move on towards the next better thing. 

With the ego out of the way, the present opens itself in its own graceful way. I found out that I don’t always have to chase after life. If I let it, it rises up to meet me. It’s along the lines of what the spiritual teacher, Ram Dass, found out after his stroke. 40 years prior, he had written a book called Be Here Now. But it wasn’t until he lived with the paralyzing effects of a stroke that he really knew what “being here now” was.

I’ve seen this spiritual pregnancy and birth happen again and again in our parish community. It begins with dissatisfaction, or a sense of call, or an unexpected event. We pray, God responds, and a conception takes place. This gives way to discernment, which takes a long time. Things move slowly below the surface, spreading from person to person in the community. Something is growing among us, but we can’t see it. Eventually it births itself, surprising us all. This happened with a change in clergy leadership one year ago. It is happening with the Who is My Neighbor? process. And it will happen again and again. 

I wonder if you, too, have had - or right now are in the midst of - a spiritual pregnancy. If so, I offer you this, in closing, from Teilhard de Chardin, the Roman Catholic priest and mystic of the last century. 

Let [this something new in you] grow.  Let [it] shape [itself] without undue haste.  Do not try to force [it] as though you could be today 
what time - that is to say, grace and circumstances - acting on your own good will  will make you tomorrow.  Only God could say what this new Spirit  gradually forming in you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing  that his hand is leading you,  and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself  in suspense and incomplete.  Above all, trust in the slow work of God. 

Christmas Eve 2009
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

This evening, I am happy to report to you that the earth has once again tilted on its axis. The days are getting longer! There is more light. 

To put it mildly, we earthlings count on light: for warmth, photosynthesis, oxygen, all that stuff. Even our bones, buried way inside of us, need sunlight. Did you know that there is currently an epidemic of Vitamin D deficiency, causing brittle bones? We’re indoors all the time, not getting enough sunlight. 

We not only need physical light. We need spiritual light, too. Every religion, every culture knows this. Every one of them uses metaphors of shadows and darkness, vision and enlightenment. And every one of them celebrates a festival of light, as we do this night. 

Our scriptures say that God is light. They also say that when Jesus was born on this night, he was the light of the world. And then when he grew up, Jesus told his friends You are the light of the world…let your light shine before others. 

And so like the rays from this huge star above us, divine light emanates from God’s own being, through Christ and other enlightened souls, into us, and then out from us, so that this world can be a little brighter, kinder, and more just. We both receive and manifest God’s light. This is what religion is supposed to do. 

On this Christmas festival of light, then, it might be good to wonder: what sort of light do we seek from God, and what sort of light does the world need from us? 

We are living in an extraordinary time, on so many levels. We are going through profound changes in how we communicate, how we affect our environment, how goods are marketed, made, and delivered, how culture and knowledge spread, and even how we think. In this postmodern age, the world is flat; the choices are endless; everything and everyone is nearby. In scope, it is like the historical shifts that took place in the Renaissance and the Industrial Revolution. 

Religion is changing, too. In a recent survey by the very credible Pew Forum, it was found that whether people are religious or not, they are much more open to mystical experience than ever before. More and more people are mixing different beliefs, places of worship, and spiritual practices. Religion has become postmodern. 

And so, given this time of social transformation we are living in, I ask again: as people of faith, what sort of light shall we seek, and what sort of light shall we offer to the world? 

I believe that we have had enough of religion that tries to put God in a neat little box, denying the presence of God in other faith traditions, or in the hearts of any genuine seeker. We have had enough of religion that is moralistic, obsessing about sexuality in relationships that frighten those who never get close enough to understand them. We have had enough of religion that claims to have all the answers, that runs away from pluralism and mystery. 

This kind of religion I’m describing may still be very popular today. In fact, it may even increase as social change accelerates. After all, it offers simplicity and security in complex times. This is not the first time this has happened in history. In every age of significant cultural change, there was a corresponding religious clampdown. And so once again it is time to remember what Jesus also said about light: If the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness.

However, it is heartening to know that in our day, there is another kind of religious light that is emerging. It is not new; in fact, it is ancient. I believe that it is the same light that was manifested in the one who was born this night some 2,000 years ago. 

First of all, the religious light that Jesus manifested was not in a tight little box. It came in a very porous container, in fact. Jesus was reverent, but loose. He was influenced by scandalous friends – Gentiles, prostitutes, Roman soldiers, and lepers. He ignored Jewish law when it stood in the way of common sense. Jesus sometimes reminds me of the wife of a very venerable seminary professor who advised the spouses of priests-to-be to always “keep one foot in the church, and keep the other one just a-freewheelin’ out there.” 

God doesn’t need our protection. Like Jesus, we can critique our own traditions, even ignore parts of them, and still love them. We can welcome grace that comes from scandalous associations, like Buddhism, hip-hop culture, contemporary philosophy and science, and the Daily Show with John Stewart. If our faith is secure, our religion can be porous, like the home that we live in: familiar and deeply meaningful, but with open doors that let in interesting guests who come and stay awhile, leaving something with us when they go. 

Second, Jesus used the stories and beliefs of his religion not as propositional truths, but as mysteries that lead one into God’s presence. An example: ritual purity codes were only useful if they led to purity of heart. 

And so we needn’t be so awfully concerned about, for instance, whether it is objectively true that Jesus was sent from heaven to be sacrificed on the cross in order to pay for our sins, but rather where the cross might lead us. That’s the interesting thing. Does it take us to places where we learn self-denial and sacrifice for others; where we learn solidarity with all who suffer; and where our pain can be redeemed? Does the cross somehow lead us to Easter?  

Third, Jesus had no interest in a superficial use of religion, as if it were some kind of magic ticket to the afterlife, or a means for propping up our self-image. Religion was, for Jesus, a path of transformation in this lifetime. 

And so religious communities that teach people how to pray and meditate, how to do real self-examination, how to struggle through our defenses against God, how to apply the deep truths of scripture to our lives – these become places of authentic spirituality, where lives are transformed. 

Finally, the religious light that Jesus manifested was not just about individual salvation or personal enlightenment. God’s light is given to us so that it might move through us, into a public life that overflows with love. This love is to be extravagant and unrealistic, always erring on the side of understanding, patience, reconciliation, generosity, and compassion. It uses the divine eye of love to look not just at personal relationships, but at social conditions, political engagement, how we vote and how we spend our money. You are the light of the world. You are not just a light unto yourselves and to your friends, but to the world. 

I think we all can recognize divine light when we see it in people. They shine with goodness. They are secure enough to be porous, flexible. They don’t pretend to know anything about God; instead, they know God. They love and serve the world. This is the sort of light that Jesus manifested. 

The world today needs God’s light, you and I need it, just as much as our bones need sunlight. In these days, will the kind of light that Jesus manifested prevail? Will it overcome runaway consumerism and religious fundamentalism? Will it finally triumph in my life, illuminating all my dark corners? 

These are the wrong questions. We were never promised that God’s light would overcome the darkness. We are promised that the light shines in the darkness, and that the darkness will never overcome it. Both will continue at once. 

We don’t need victory. Because as God’s light flickers -  sometimes weakly and sometimes with great luminosity -  we learn to trust in its constancy. And this helps us to be unafraid of our own darkness, unafraid of the world’s darkness. 

In peace, we can then offer God’s light to the world, not as the solution, but as an alternative. Those who have eyes will see; those who have ears will hear. And the light of Christ will keep shining on. 

4th Sunday in Advent - St. Michael’s & All Angel’s Church, Albuquerque, New Mexico
The Rev. Charles Pedersen
12/20/09

An Advent Prayer…Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal, through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

The season of Advent is a strange time. The words in the four collects for the season are both ominous and hopeful, full of darkness and light. There was a time when it was traditional to preach on the themes of Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. There are still echoes of these themes in our Advent collects. But the Advent season, now waning, has counseled us to seek “quiet time” to reflect on our lives, asking ourselves those basic down-to-earth questions that govern our lives: Who am I? What is my life for? What are my hopes for the future? For disciples of Jesus these questions set us again on our journey, our quest for the meaning of our lives. We begin by living through that annual cycle of Jesus’ birth, his ministry and teaching, his passion, death and resurrection, his ascension with the promise that through the creative Holy Spirit of God, he would be with us to the end of time and beyond.

But Advent is also a time of darkness and shadows. Nature itself bears witness to it with daylight progressively diminishing each day in the face of increasing darkness. But in this time of darkness, there are shadows that beckon us to quietly, thoughtfully, prayerfully, ask ourselves still another question: As disciples of Jesus, his followers, what have we gotten ourselves into? There is good news and bad news! The bad news is that on this journey we have to do our own exploring of our own “inner space” in real time. We have to explore in the midst of the present Christmas frenzy, commonly called “the holidays”. It is a time in which we are both victims and perpetrators! The English poet, W.H. Auden, in his Christmas Oratorio: For the Time Being, captures our time, writing that “craving the sensation, but ignoring the cause, we look around for something, no matter what, to inhibit our self-reflection…:

So what is the good news here? The dilemma of our time now provides us all the opportunity to dig deep into our lives to discover the God-given potential gifted us at birth. The bad news”? It’s risky business! It’s like mining for diamonds. The treasure is to be found midst a lot of trash of no value. All this means that there is so much about ourselves of which we are not aware - potential for good , potential for evil, for hatred and great harm, for peace, love, joy, reconciliation.

Here is a poem that perhaps starkly uses the Advent-Christmas arena to make a point:

The useful child is born again, manipulated

By childless men.

The battered babe is tightly bound,

With festive ropes and bell-numbed sound.

His nascent joy is the parcel of all,

In neoned mangers storied tall.

What kind of people use a child

in this manner?

The same that secured him with nails and a

Hammer.

Why would anyone do this to Jesus? I believe his mother Mary, the woman who opened herself to the creative Spirit of God, will give us an answer. She bursts forth with joy: “My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!”…and as she continues her praise of God, she is given an inner vision of the very nature of God, and in this discovery describes who her son will be. He will be the human presence of God, the flesh and blood, earthly reality of God Himself. He, the beloved one, will bring within himself the gift of newness of life and transformation for all who would follow him on that new path of self- sacrificing love.

Then Mary’s exultation gives way to what the power of his self-emptying love will bring to human kind and what will be the cost. She proclaims:

“He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud and haughty in the imagination and plans of their hearts.

He has pulled down the mighty from their seats, and has exalted and dignified the humble and meek.

He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away.”

What do we have here? I believe we have a revolution with Jesus confronting all of our values. A new paradigm for living- a newness in our moral life, our social life, our economic life. Jesus comes as the new life-bringer, the life-changer powered by self-sacrificing love, a kind of love that would triumph over the powers that sought to destroy him forever.

God, then, through Mary’s life, has given us a picture of Jesus, as well as the reason for his rejection. It seems simple. Jesus became an inconvenience, a disruption to most people’s daily lives and routines, relationships. A threat to their way of life. These forces, more or less, still operate among us. They shadow our lives. And we all are restless, because God’s love keeps us restless, because he gifted each of us with a soul, that deep and mysterious presence within which resides a new heart filled with new life waiting to be discovered. And it keeps us restless. Don’t deny it. Don’t seek to avoid it. It will not go away. God’s outpouring creative love will not be taken back. It is yours forever.

Let me close with an image and a “mantra” I’d like to share with you. Perhaps it might have meaning for you. It is another way of knowing. Imagine that your soul and within in it that new heart is like a manger waiting to be filled with the presence of the Lord Jesus. Then, when you can be still, try saying these words over and over again: “Come into my heart, Lord Jesus, there is room in my heart for thee.” Now, will you say it together with me? (said) Please, say it one more time with me.

(Amen.)

4th Sunday in Advent - St. Michael’s & All Angel’s Church, Albuquerque, New Mexico

The Rev. Charles Pedersen

12/20/09

St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church 
Albuquerque, New Mexico 
Sunday Dec. 13, Advent 2/ Fiesta de Guadalupe 
Sermon: Christopher McLaren 
Text: Traditional Story of Juan Diego 1531 Mexico City
Title: Like Roses in December is God’s Surprising Love

Roses in December. I have always loved the story of La Virgen de Guadalupe, with its captivating mystery, the music of birds, the fragrance of flowers, the brown-skinned Lady, and the voice of the poor being heard in the halls of power. Our home has a nicho dedicated to Guadalupe.  Each day as drive the children to school I pass the image of Guadalupe; painted on walls, at the old church on Griegos, on the side of our parish hall. My day is surrounded by this beautiful image of the Protectress of the Americas but I realized that I have never really understood or embraced Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe for myself?  I delighted in the celebration of Guadalupe last December as mí Hermano Daniel was ordained a priest in this church. As a boy I grew up in charismatic pentecostal land a decidedly anti-marian environment. You may be saying, “Christopher you’ve come a long way babym,” but there is still more to go.  I’m sure my grandparents are turning over in their foursquare protestant graves at the mere thought of embracing La Virgen de Guadalupe.  

One cannot understand the power of this Lady without understanding the history of Mexico. It is not an easy history lesson. Cortez landed in Mexico on Good Friday 1519.  At first the Aztec people mistook Cortez and the Spaniards for gods, remembering that the great priest Quetzalcoatl had promised to return to renew their way of life centered on human dignity, simplicity, and prayer. The tradition was that Quetzalcoatl was a large man with blue eyes and blond hair who eerily fit the description of Cortez. 

While the Aztec ruler Moctezuma was convinced that Cortez was a god all that changed after the massacre at Tóxcatl (Toshcatl).  This festivity was the principle feast of the Aztecs. It was not only very similar in content to our own Paschal mystery, but also it was actually celebrated with great solemnity a few days after the Christian celebration of Holy Week. 

At the celebration, masses of people were gathered in the main temple.  Pedro de Alvarado, the captain in charge during the temporary absence of Cortez, ordered the entrances sealed by soldiers and then ordered the soldiers into the temple to kill warriors and captains of the people.  The killing was horrific. Almost no one in the Temple that day survived. The final defeat of the Mexican people came after a long and difficult battle at Tlatelolco which lasted from May until August, 13 1521.  It marked the end of a civilization. More than 240,000 warriors were dead and many others had died from starvation and disease. 

As one post-conquest canticle expresses it: 

Please let us die, let us disappear, for our gods have died!

It is difficult for us today to truly comprehend the trauma of this defeat. Only when we go through a personal experience in which every single person or thing in which we had placed our hope and security has disappeared and we feel totally alone, rejected and without possibility of any aid might we be able to begin to comprehend the Mexican experience of the conquest by Spain. 

It was a painful crucifixion. Their world had vanished. Their greatest capital city and indeed the most beautiful and well organized, had fallen. They continued to live but in effect they were dead.  Many indigenous were forced to abandon their villages often being reduced to slavery (Elizando,  p.59).

It is in this apocalyptic situation with these portents in the sky that the little brown-skinned Mary appears to Juan Diego a simple indigenous man. On December 9, 10 years after the conquest of what is now Mexico City, Juan Diego was walking across a hill called Tepeyac on his way to catechism at a local church. As he walked he heard the beautiful singing of birds and then a beautiful dark-skinned Aztec woman appeared and spoke to him in his native language of Nahuatl.

The woman told Juan to go to the bishop and tell him, “You are to build me a church on this hill.” Juan must have been surprised, because the hill she meant was a holy place for the Aztec people, not for the Spanish.  But Juan when to the bishop and said everything just as the woman had instructed him. 

The bishop listened to the humble Indian and then told him, “No there will be no church on that hill.” Perhaps he also knew that the hill was an Aztec holy place. 

Again, Juan saw the Aztec woman.  He asked, “Who are you?” She answered, “I am Mary, the Mother of God.” And she told him to return to the bishop. 

Juan went again to the bishop. He was persistent and the bishop listened again. Juan recounted all that the dark mother had said.  The bishop wondered who Juan Diego was.  He was only a humble farmer, a man of little learning and no power.  He was an Aztec.  Why should the bishop believe him? 

Juan left the bishop discouraged. He needed a sign to prove that the Aztec lady had truly appeared to him.  Several days passed since he first saw the woman.  He was worried about his uncle who was sick and went to find a priest.  On his way the woman appeared to him again.  This time she told Juan to go up on the hill and gather flowers even though it was winter and to take them to the bishop as a sign of her presence.  

Juan found roses, heavy with blossoms a sign of new life and hope for the Aztec people. Roses in December! Who could imagine such a thing?  Mary told Juan to gather the flowers in his tilma (cloak) and take them to the bishop. Juan full of wonder ran to the bishop with his fragrant surprise. 

The bishop was probably irritated to see Juan again.  How many times did this stubborn Indian have to be told no? But the bishop’s irritation turned to amazement when Juan opened his tilma to show the flowers. As soon as the Bishop and all those with him saw the flowers they were amazed but there was something even more wonderful than roses in December, there on the fabric of Juan’s cloak was the image of the dark Aztec woman, The Mother of God who had appeared to Juan on the holy mountain and sent him to the bishop. 

Shortly after a chapel was built on the site and the image placed there. Pilgrimages began immediately. Since that time several new edifices have been built to accommodate the nearly 10 million pilgrims that journey to the Shrine each year. 

The evidenced suggests that the early Church was bitterly opposed to the Guadalupe happening. Yet the devotion spread like wildfire and brought about millions of conversions within a few years.  As one writer puts it, “almost immediately the Mexican people came to life – the pilgrimages, dances and festivals began again and continue to this day. The devotion is not dying; on the contrary, it continues to spread, even in the major cities of the United States. ”

There is so much to learn about Guadalupe, so much to understand about this woman whose message of hope breathed life into a defeated and suffering people. The Mexican American theologian Virgilio Elizondo, believes that the origin of devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe involved resistance on the part of the native conquered people not only to the European invaders but also to the all-male God in whose name they conquered.  In the mist of their resistance the poor, vanquished people of Mexico, enslaved and abused by their new rulers became the gracious recipients of a major disclosure in the development of the Christian understanding of God, namely that the mystery of God embraces both male and female identities.  

This disclosure to Juan Diego through the song of the birds, the fragrance of flowers and the Queen of Heaven deigning to speak to one so lowly is of significance not just for the wounded people of Mexico but for the whole Church. Guadalupe helps to liberate everyone from a restrictive, masculinized view of God.  

Interestingly several aspects of the Aztec religion serve to illuminate this important revelation. First, the place of the original 16th century apparition was the sacred site of an ancient temple dedicated to, the Indian virgin mother of the gods. The flowers and music of the vision were part of her temple worship.  Now on the very site where the feminine aspect of the one, all powerful, creative spirit had previously been venerated a new beginning was emerging. The dark skin of La Morenita little dark-one, the language she spoke, the colors she was wearing and the celestial symbols surrounding her were all reminiscent of the goddess of the defeated people.  Yet it was not the Aztec goddess it was Mary the mother of the Christian God who was speaking to Juan Diego and through him to all people.  Guadalupe wears a black maternity band which means she is with child and offers this child as gift for a new world, a new beginning, a new people. The fertile soil of this cross-cultural encounter is not difficult to see.  The figure of Our Lady of Guadalupe combined the Indian female expression of God which western Christianity had tried to wipeout as erroneous with the Spanish male expression of God, which the Indians had found incomprehensible, since everything that is perfect in the Nahuatl world-view has both a male and female component.  

In essence Guadalupe combines in some perfect way the male-centered and patriarchal Christianity with the female Mother of God which allows the true face and heart of Christianity to shine forth: compassion, understanding, tenderness, reconciliation, forgiveness, and healing. 

So at the same time while the imperial powers of Spain full of their religious triumphalism are oppressing the indigenous peoples whom they do not understand and so consider pagans, on the other side this surprising revelatory event is giving birth to a new reality, a new humanity, a new church, a new way for those who had lost everything.  It is at once traditional and new.  Without this revelatory event it is hard to imagine what might have become of this defeated people, but God’s bird-song and flowers breakthrough, compassion, understanding and loving care are demonstrated in the dark-skinned lady that is one of them, and loves them. 

From Guadalupe we have learned much and have much to learn. As we celebrate the recent election of two, yes two women bishops, in the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles one openly lesbian, we see that we are slowly making progress in embracing the feminine in our own spiritual life, seeing and embracing the image of Christ in our female leaders like our Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori. 

Mother’s know the pain of conquest, of growth, and of change. Mothers are always ready and willing to stand by and be with their children in their days of triumph or defeat, and they are also there in their moments of development and conversion.  Our Lady of Guadalupe continues to encourage the poor, the disinherited, and the powerless, the outcast in their struggles toward the freedom of the children of God.  I’m sure that she is hovering over the expanding work of the food pantry, blessing the ministry of the Albuquerque Opportunity Center, smiling with compassion on the breakfast at St. Martin’s. She is the compassionate Mother who watches over her smallest children and brings them self-dignity, self-confidence, and self-direction.  

Our Lady of Guadalupe is there not only for the Mexican people but for us as well, as the Protectress of the Americas, of which we are a part. She is among us to remind us of God’s love for the poor, the discouraged, the marginalized, the stranger, the depressed, the lonely, the forgotten. And when that person, for one reason or anther is us, when we are depressed or lonely or forgotten, she is ready to take us to her loving heart and carry us to her beloved Son who has and will continue to love us to the end.  Like roses in December is God’s surprising love. 

I am deeply endebted to the writing of Mexican American theologian Virgilio P. Elizondo on Guadalupe for a new and deeper understanding of this remarkable Lady of Guadalupe.  His book La Morenita: Evangelizer of the Americas was my essential guide to embracing La Morenita. 

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