A New Church Is Born

April 23, 2018 is the 50th Anniversary of the birth of The United Methodist Church. It's the church in which I was raised. It's the church in which my father first, and later my wife, answered God's call to ministry. Flipping through some of my dad's sermons, I found one he preached just weeks after the 1968 merger that produced the United Methodist Church. Here's some of what he had to say about that union:

"Amid pomp, drama and color, the United Methodist Church became a reality at 9:49 AM on Tuesday, April 23, 1968 as two bishops joined hands over a cluster of symbolic documents. Bishop Reuben H. Mueller of the former Evangelical United Brethren Church and Bishop Lloyd C. Wicke of the former Methodist Church joined their voices in saying, 'Lord of the Church, we are united in thee, in thy Church, and now in The United Methodist Church.' Then, 10,000 persons filling the Dallas Memorial Auditorium exclaimed in one booming benediction, 'Amen!'

And so it was done. A new church was born. In the twinkling of an eye, you and I as former Methodists and former Evangelical United Brethren became the inheritors of a church. Off and on since 1802 there had been union negotiations between Methodists, Evangelicals and United Brethren. And then in this brief ceremony, 166 years of talking find a consummation."

The United Methodist Church was a product of the "ecumenical movement," and my father was quick to note that "[t]he word 'ecumenical' means the whole inhabited world. It means that all together we are one in Christ. It leaves no one out. Hence our subject this morning of 'Union with Unity.' You may have all the union you want, but it's all an empty sham unless that union is filled and flows over with unity. Church union without unity may be compared to the hollowness of what we call a 'marriage of convenience.' In true union, in true marriage, the parties must love each other. Love. That's what we're talking about, isn't it? We're all United Methodists now; that is a fact. But do we love each other? ...

Throughout the years of negotiations for this union, leaders on both sides were careful to point out that a new church was being formed. The product of a union, they said, would be a renewed church, not Methodist, not EUB, but entirely new. This assurance was probably felt to be necessary for the little EUBs, who may have felt a loss of identity from being swallowed up by a church ten times its size. This assurance probably was resented by some Methodists, who felt a certain smug complacency with their size and success. But, you know, somehow I always felt that this promise our leaders made us of a new church was something they couldn't deliver. They knew that, I'm sure, and so they meant it to us as a kind of challenge and not a promise. You and I make a new church by realizing our unity in Christ here and now.

Unity is a hard thing to come by even in this age when we talk so much about it and run around madly tying up unions. Still we are divided. All Christians cannot sit at the Lord's Table together; local churches cannot see their way clear to enter into group ministries; individuals within a local church can bicker and fuss and criticize and divide and paralyze. Too much ego; no room for love. Too much investment in self; no room for the mutual subjection Paul said was so necessary for a true marriage union.

Now practically speaking, how do we who are now united in the United Methodist Church receive this gift of unity that Christ offers us? Our differences, born in ego, can dissolve in our devotion to a common task to which we give our strength. Not just any task, but THE task - the only task worth our life's devotion - service to the King of Kings. 

Our sole purpose for unity within the church is to perform our ministry, our mission, our work in the world. Only as we plunge into that work, that mission, do we realize our unity. The 'church' does not refer to an organization; it is an action word describing a fellowship of people who are doing things, actively demonstrating to the world the Lordship of Jesus Christ in their lives. 

We get union by sitting down and talking about consolidating committees and drafting rules of order. We get unity by rolling up our sleeves and sweating and working together in our common mission.

Amid pomp, drama and color, the United Methodist Church became reality at 9:49 AM on Tuesday, April 23, 1968. Did it? That's up to us." 

From: "Union With Unity"
Scripture: John 17:6-21
Preached May 19, 1968
at Adams Shore Community Church
Quincy, Massachusetts

Christ in Disguise

I don't remember that horrible day when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed in Memphis fifty years ago; I was only two years old when it happened. My father was 27, having graduated from seminary a year before to become the pastor of a small community church in Quincy, Massachusetts in the shadow of next-door Boston. King was murdered just three days before Palm Sunday. As other preachers no doubt did, my father sensed a contemporary version of Holy Week unfolding before him on the evening news. In his Palm Sunday sermon, my dad said this:  

"Palm Sunday is a tragic symbol of Jesus' brand of messiahship and our response to it. If there's anything that Palm Sunday points to, it is how fickle and insincere we really are. And to some extent it's a lack of understanding, too, I suppose. We don't understand what sort of messiah Jesus is, or if we do understand then we don't want him. Like the crowd at the Jerusalem gate, for a while Jesus appears to be fulfilling our fondest dreams. We want a warm, comfortable home, a good family to be proud of, a secure job, a friendly little church where we're all alike. Here comes a king who will secure it for us! 'Hosanna!'

'The king is coming! The king is coming!' Yes, the king is coming, but not as earthly kings with pomp and circumstance and every detail attended to. This king comes as the Christ, the suffering servant, riding on a borrowed donkey with a shabby crowd to greet him. The kingship of Christ is not seen in terms of a crown and a throne but rather in terms of a basin and towel as he washes his disciples' dirty feet. The kingdom of Christ is not seen in terms of a royal procession with him at the head but rather in terms of his teaching, 'whosoever would be first among you must be your servant.' 

Can't we see that he is riding a donkey? Can't we see that there is no splendor surrounding him at all? No, we can't see. Like the Jerusalem crowd we are blinded by our wishful thinking that finally a king has come to restore our Israel. It's only Palm Sunday now; we are cheering. Give Jesus the King just a week to force our hand, to make us demonstrate in a bloody way how we really feel about his brand of kingship, about his way to redemption.

You know, there is another very ironic sort of 'Palm Sunday happening' going on today and these last few days which clearly and cruelly points out what we've been saying here. Today we are shouting the praises of another king - The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.  We are piously yielding up our hosannas to this man who we say has been the champion of his people. Civil rights leaders, politicians, religious leaders, newsmen, even George Wallace -- are deploring the tragedy of his death and offering eulogies to this great man. In the mass of news that has been released so far, I have yet to hear a single negative comment about this great apostle of non-violence. We're all shouting 'Hosanna to King!'

But where were our hosannas while he was actually doing the non-violence, when he needed our support? Where were the politicians, the religious leaders, the newsmen and the George Wallaces when King was showing this nation that servant-hood meant leading a bus boycott or defending the cause of garbage men in Memphis? Where was this adoring crowd when King was saying that the way of the cross this summer would be a massive demonstration by the poor in Washington, D.C.? No. There were no hosannas then. There were only countless statements by public officials and editorials denouncing this self-styled messiah as un-American and un-Christian. All too frequently we heard someone yelling that terrible anathema, 'Communist!', and sounding curiously akin to another shout heard 2,000 years ago: 'Crucify him!' Yesterday, it was 'Crucify him!' Today he is dead, and it is 'Hosanna!'

The sequence of our emotions is reversed from that first 'Palm Sunday happening' to this one, but the dynamic is still the same. It is our sentimental cheering when the challenge of the Gospel is distant and our utter repulsion when the challenge of the Gospel is aimed point blank at our hearts. The happening has occurred. And similar happenings will, over and over again, whenever Christ in person, or Christ in the disguise of his many suffering servants, enters and challenges our way of living.

May God give us the grace to do more than shout 'Hosanna!' and waive a palm. May God give us the grace to be counted with Christ at his trial and death."

From: "The Happening"

Preached Palm Sunday, April 7, 1968

at Adams Shore Community Church 

Scripture: Luke 19:29-40  

Where's Calvary?

One thing that took me by surprise on my trip to the Holy Land was the existence of competing holy sites -- dueling locations where different groups contend that the same event from the Bible took place. My father was struck by the same thing when he visited Israel thirty years before me. He wrote: "Many of the holy places in Jerusalem rival one another in their claim to be the site where Jesus did this or that. While there, we visited the traditional and alternative sites of Calvary, also called Golgotha or the Place of the Skull, the site of the crucifixion.

Altar at Golgotha - Church of the Holy Sepulcher

The first one has a more ancient claim. It was the place designated in the 4th Century by Saint Helena, the mother of Constantine the first Christian Roman emperor, as the place where Jesus was crucified. It is nothing more than a small rocky outcrop no more than 14 meters high. Now built over this location is the magnificent but somewhat tarnished Basilica of the Holy Sepulcher, which is shared by Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and Armenian Christians. Under one of the altars in this church is a socket or hole in the floor where they will tell you the cross was erected. This is probably close to the actual place of the crucifixion, but somehow in the strange atmosphere of this ancient church I personally did not 'feel' close to the original Good Friday event -- that is, until later when I combined it with a visit to a rival site of the crucifixion.

Gordon's Calvary

North of Jerusalem's Damascus Gate is a rocky knoll which, British General Charles Gordon was one of the first to point out, resembles a skull. The hill is sometimes called Gordon's Calvary, and it is preserved in its natural state. However, as you stand on the visitors' overlook, visualizing what may have taken place on this hill outside the city 2,000 years ago, it is impossible to block out the mundane sights and diesel smells of a bus station immediately below it. There people come and go, doing the everyday business of Jerusalem, with never a glance up at the supposedly sacred hill above them. It was a dramatic moment for me as I realized that wherever the real Calvary was, there may well have been nearby, not a bus station, but a depot for the unloading and loading of camel caravans, a place of commerce and business with people scurrying about as unheeding as they were that rainy afternoon of my visit. Jesus died in the world, for the world.

That dual experience of being at two supposed places of the crucifixion of my Lord Jesus Christ left me with a question: Where is Calvary?

Now I know that Calvary is wherever the dynamics of the Calvary event take place. Calvary is wherever the Lord's people slink away and forsake him while others, whom you would never suspect, recognize him and pay homage to him. One of the saddest verses in the Bible is Mark 14:50 where Mark reports what the disciples, Jesus' friends, did immediately upon his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane: 'They all forsook him and fled.'  And so it was not one of the twelve, but a stranger from Cyrene, who carried his cross. It was not one of the inner circle, but a dying thief, who expressed belief in him. It was not a friend, but a Roman Centurion, who said 'Truly this man was the son of God.' It was not a disciple, but one from his group of enemies in the Sanhedrin, who took his body, prepared it for burial, and laid it in a tomb.

One recent Sunday afternoon, as I was busily trying to get ready for confirmation class, a battered old car rattled up to the church carrying a young couple who I judged from years of experience with these things to be looking for someone who would listen to their story and then assist them with money for food or gas. I was in the hall near my study grumbling to myself about what poor timing this was and how I couldn't deal with this interruption right now. A few minutes passed, and although I knew the couple had entered the church, I thought it strange that they hadn't yet come looking for me. I went to the narthex to see what was up, and there they were in the sanctuary praying! They finished and came out to me in the narthex and asked where they could make a donation to the church. I showed them the donation box. They put something in and left, and I was greatly taken aback and humbled. Who was faithful to the crucified Lord that day? Who stood by him? The annoyed and busy clergyman of this very proper church, or the rag-tag couple who came in to pray?

Where is Calvary? Calvary is wherever Jesus' followers forsake him while others surprisingly rise up to praise him and minister in his name. Calvary is many places:

• As Pilate discovered, Calvary is wherever you decide to do the expedient thing rather than the right thing, where you're willing to make human life secondary to political necessity. Calvary is wherever you hand the Christ over to the angry crowd for crucifixion.

• As Peter found out, Calvary is wherever you compromise what you know in your heart to be good and true in order to save your own skin. Calvary is wherever you deny that you know Jesus.

• As Judas must have finally realized, Calvary is wherever we turn against those who have disappointed us and have not lived up to our expectations. Calvary is wherever you betray your Lord.

Calvary is not in an ornate basilica or on a hill overlooking a bus station. Ultimately, Calvary is in our hearts. The old hymn asks, 'Were you there when they crucified my Lord?' Yes, all of us were there. Some have shouted the curses; some have driven the nails; some have gambled for his garments; some have just run away, but all of us were there. And the Gospel in the midst of all of this is that Jesus looks down upon us from his cross and he says, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'

It is this word from the cross, this word of forgiveness, that gives us hope. This is the word that brought eleven miserable, frightened, and guilt-ridden disciples out of hiding and turned them into the powerhouse that the early church became. It is the word that will free you and me to move on past our Calvary to the Easter we are longing for."

From:"Where's Calvary?"

Scripture: Mark 15:21-47

Preached: March 27, 1988

at Paoli United Methodist Church  

World's Greatest Valentine

Isn't it strange that Ash Wednesday falls on Valentine's Day this year? One holiday is a somber day for reflection, a day to repent for our missteps and failings, the beginning of Lent's 40 days of self-sacrifice to prepare for Easter. The other holiday is a time for romance, for extravagant celebrations of love and lovers. Ashes and fasting versus roses and fine chocolates. How odd - even jarring - to have both holidays on the same day. And yet, maybe it's fitting to have Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day happening on the same day.

"On Ash Wednesday, many of our Christian brothers and sisters receive the mark of ashes on their foreheads. As the mark of ashes is made, the priest pronounces the words, 'Remember that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.' The ashes are a symbol of humility and repentance. The ashes remind us that we have nothing to boast of, that we will not live forever, that morally we are something less than perfect. On Ash Wednesday we are told what most of us already know all too well -- that alienation from God and from each other is a fundamental fact of our existence.

The question that burns, then, deep in our hearts is: How can we be lifted out of this helpless state? The answer that, hopefully, we will learn along our Lenten journey this year is that God's reaction is not to condemn us, but to save us ... by loving us. 

What does a suitor do when his or her verbal professions of love are not heard or are rebuffed by the beloved? Quite often he or she steps up the campaign to a higher level by turning from mere words to acts of love and devotion. The old stand-bys are flowers, candy, or other gifts.

As we move into Lent, God, the 'hound of heaven,' who has been pursuing his wayward world for centuries through the words of the prophets, is about to step up his campaign. He is about to act personally, not through the spoken word, but through the incarnate Word, his Son, Jesus, to show us how much he loves us.

The Cross is God's great act of love for us. It is a graphic display of God reaching down and providing a way for us to lift our heads and become really human - in the highest, most wonderful sense of that word. The whole rationale for the cross is that I am helpless to free myself from cares and troubles and worry and idolatry and all the evils that enslave me, so God provides a man, a man just like me in all respects but one - he is free from sin. The man is Jesus Christ. So if I bind myself to him in faith, I can rely on his obedience, his righteousness, his victory. He can count for me before God.

What grabs me the most, what changes me down to the core, is the realization that God loved me and thought enough of me, valued me so highly, that he sent his Son to die for me. He did that all for me! What affirmation I feel when I realize how far God was willing to go to save me. Can I do any less than to so love and affirm you?" 

The best relationships make us better people. That's certainly true of a relationship with God. Understanding how much God loves you -- ashes and all -- is life-changing. When you are filled with gratitude for that love, and when you realize that God loves your neighbor just as much, how can you help but extend God's love to your neighbor, too? What starts out as Ash Wednesday ends as Valentine's Day -- between us and God, and between us and our neighbors. That's a February 14th to remember.

From: "Love's Last Invitation,"
"Ashes," & "Ash Wednesday Meditation - 1988"

Doing The Impossible

One of the many memorable stops on my tour of the Holy Land was the Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter.  The church is situated along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, where a small beach meets the tree line.  The most conspicuous feature of this otherwise unremarkable little church is its foundation. The church rests upon a large, exposed formation of limestone.  The outcropping of rock, sometimes called "the Place of the Coals," is held by church tradition to be the spot where the resurrected Jesus appeared to Peter and some other disciples while they were fishing and made them breakfast over a fire. You can read about it in the last chapter of John's gospel, which you can find here.

Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter
Tabgha, Israel

When I recently read a sermon my father had preached on New Year's Day of 1978, I learned that one of the churches he served - Grace United Methodist Church in Millersville, PA - also was know for a vein of limestone beneath it. Here's how Dad told the story:

"In our Grace Church in Millersville, just after the Second World War, the returning veterans got together and dug out, by hand, a much needed basement room under the red brick church - a real testimony to their faith and devotion. But when the minimum basement area had been achieved, enthusiasm waned. Some argued that the project should be completed, and the entire area under the church building should be excavated. Others said, "No," citing their increased encounters with rock as they had dug in a easterly direction. Ultimately, the naysayers carried the day, and the project was brought to a close. 

Over the years that followed, the tale about the rock grew and grew until the lore was that the church was sitting upon a veritable Rock of Gibraltar. Finally, during my time there [in the 1970's], we reached the point where additional basement space was much needed for our programs. The few naysayers who were there objected on the basis of money, on the basis of need, but most especially on the basis of the huge vein of Lancaster County limestone that everyone knew was there. But the faith that this basement project was the will of God for Grace Church prevailed. The venerable old sanctuary was shored-up for construction, and a mini-bulldozer was sent underneath it to dig out our new basement. And do you know, there was virtually no rock found under that building?

From that point on, enthusiasm for the project multiplied. Needed funds were quickly raised. These and other confirmations came, reassuring us that what we were doing was God's will. The project was finished with a great crescendo of praise to God.

Ever since, I have taken this as more than just a real-life experience. For me, it is a parable that points beyond itself to the question of whether or not we have the courage to answer God's call to do the impossible. Some of our fears are well-founded, based on real rocks; other are not. But in neither case can we afford to let our fears make our decision for us, if that decision is to avoid doing the new thing God is calling us to do.

Does God want it done? Does God want you to do it? If the answer to both of those questions is, "Yes," then you can do it, no matter how impossible it seems on the surface. The promise we are given in Scripture is that with God all things are possible. Believing this, we come to see that when we doubt our ability to accomplish something that is within God's will, we are not really doubting ourselves; we are doubting the power of God."

As Peter approached the resurrected Jesus, who had prepared breakfast for his disciples on the rocky shore on the Sea of Galilee, Peter must had felt both exhilarated and mortified. Here was Peter's Lord, who was very much alive! But here too was a dear friend, whom Peter had abandoned. On the night of Jesus's arrest, Peter had denied three times that he even knew Jesus. The next day, the Romans executed Jesus.

A sign in Jerusalem pointing to
the place where Peter denied Jesus

Peter no doubt figured God was through with him at that point. Fishing seemed like the only thing Peter still was good for. Anything more was impossible. But God wanted something done, and God wanted Peter to do it.

After their fire-side breakfast on the rocky shore of the Sea of Galilee, the resurrected Jesus asked Peter three times whether Peter loved him. Peter responded, thrice professing his love for Jesus. Then Jesus said to Peter, "Follow me!" - just as Jesus had done when he first called Peter to be his disciple. With that renewed call to action, Jesus made the impossible possible again. Peter was back in the business of partnering with God to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth.

What is God calling you to do in the New Year ahead? Do you think it's impossible? Think again.

From: "Doing The Impossible"
Scripture: Mark 9:14-29
Preached January 1, 1978
Calvary United Methodist Church
Easton, PA 

Silver Star or Stone Manger?

When I knelt in Bethlehem's Church of the Nativity for a photo at the very spot where Jesus is believed to have been born, I didn't experience a moving encounter with God. The scene seemed strange to me. After the passing of more than 2,000 years, the little cave that is venerated as the site of Christ's birth now has a marble floor. There's a 14-point silver star inscribed in Latin to mark the location of the holy birth. Fifteen silver lamps hang above the star from an altar, and the altar area is festooned with an elaborate gold tapestry. The pomp of the place borders on pomposity. It's as if the Church's caretakers tried too hard over the centuries to make pilgrims feel the importance of what they were seeing. They wanted it to be extraordinary, but in the end it didn't seem real.

Phil and Dorry at the Grotto of the Nativity  

I wonder what my father thought of this ornate and unreal place when he visited it thirty years before I did. He once wrote that folks tend to misuse the celebration of Christ's birth to escape from reality. "As we gather in the beauty of this Christmas Eve night, to sing familiar carols, to hear again the ancient story of the nativity, and then to bathe ourselves and our house of worship in the warm glow of candles, we must be careful not to let this night or this season become a mere escape.

The pagan side of Christmas - and I'm sure we all recognize there is a pagan side - is primarily an escape from the cares and tensions and frustrations of daily living. The lights, the revelry, and the frantic activity can create, for a brief time, a world apart. Christmas as a winter festival, as a celebration of the astronomical Winter Solstice, is much older than the birth of Christ. At first, Christmas was a pagan holiday, a welcome relief from the strain and boredom of ancient life in the dead of winter. Only later did the Christian Church take over this holiday, baptize it as it were, and turn it into a celebration of the birth of Christ. And so Christmas, even before it was Christmas, had this atmosphere of escapism about it.

But designating this holiday as the anniversary of the birth of Christ changed its whole direction from escapism to a new confrontation with reality. Christian believers know that in the birth of Christ - in the Incarnation of God in human form -  we see our Heavenly Father taking the world and earthly human life very seriously, seriously enough to become one of us and share our life completely. Christmas is not the story of a spectacular divine pageant in the glorious chambers of Heaven. Christmas is the story of how God's saving love got itself born into stark, cold reality - to a peasant couple, citizens of an occupied land, in a cattle stall, with only humble shepherds to witness the event.

The story of Christmas is so real and everyday in its human pathos that we can identify with it completely. It's like the crazy, stressful, frustrating situations we get stuck in so often. A young girl finds herself pregnant out of wedlock. Her fiance wrestles with the question of whether he can trust her. A forced trip to a distant town to register for taxes comes at just the wrong time for them. There are 'no vacancy' signs everywhere at the end of their long, hard journey. There is the pain of childbirth and the discomfort of a cold stable. There is the hurried flight to a safe country because of a volatile political situation."

Days after visiting Bethlehem, I unexpectedly came upon a very real reminder of the Christmas story that impacted me far more than the silver star on the floor of the Grotto of the Nativity. Dorry and I were touring the ruins of the ancient city of Megiddo (better known by its Greek name, Armageddon). As we walked through the excavated site of a stable from the Old Testament era of Israel's King Ahab, I asked the tour guide about a large, hollowed stone I saw there. He replied, "Oh, that's a just manger for feeding horses." A manger, eh? It was cool to the touch, even in the afternoon sun. It was literally rock-hard. It's edges were rough and unforgiving. It was no place to lay a newborn baby. Yet a manger like this was pressed into service as a make-shift cradle for the baby Jesus. I lingered over the ancient manger, struck by the cold, hard reality of it.

Manger at the South Stables of Megiddo

"From the very first breath he drew, Jesus experienced the brutal reality of the broken world he came to save. He felt the sharp edges of life from the very beginning. And just because this is true, when you or I speak to Him in heartfelt prayer, we can call him not only our Lord and Savior, but also our friend and our brother. Here is a Savior who knows what it is he saves us from, because he's been there. Yes, Christmas is the story of how God infiltrated the real world to save it from the inside out.

What is the reality of your personal situation this Christmas? Where are you hurting? How have you been disappointed? What are you afraid of? Be assured that the God who would stoop to an ordinary birth in an ordinary barn knows the ordinary problems and griefs of all his children. He's been there. He knows and feels it with you. This is the deepest meaning of the name we use for him this time of year: Emmanuel -- God With Us. 

In the mix of this cold, hard reality where he is with us, Jesus turns to us this Christmas and says, 'Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.'  As John puts it at the beginning of his gospel, 'The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.'"            

Thank you, Jesus, for being Emmanuel - God with us - this Christmas and every day. Amen.

From: "Christmas: Confrontation with Reality"   

Waiting

If I could use only one word to describe the first two days of my recent trip to the Holy Land, that word would be "waiting." I waited with anticipation for the evening when my flight would leave for Israel. I waited at the airport to check in, to go through security, and to board my flight. I waited in my seat more than 10 hours as the Boeing 777 crossed the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea en route to Tel Aviv over-night. And because of a 7-hour time difference between Israel and my home, my over-night flight actually arrived in the early evening - meaning that I would have to wait over-night again (this time in a hotel) before I could visit any of the sites on our itinerary. 

The first stop on our Holy Land tour was the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem - the traditional site of Jesus' birth. Our tour guide warned us that we would have to wait in line for a long time to see the spot where Jesus was born, even though we were one of the first groups to arrive at the Church that morning. The reason for this wait? Each of the three religious communities which shares responsibility for the site (the Catholic, Greek Orthodox and Armenian Churches) had its own allotted time for daily worship there before the Grotto of the Nativity would be opened to the public. So we waited some more. 

Pilgrims Wait to Enter the Grotto of the Nativity     

I wasn't very patient as I waited for the Grotto to be opened, and neither were many of the tourists around me. Two tour guides even got into a heated argument about which group should enter the Grotto first. It would have served us well to have read an Advent sermon my father wrote about waiting. He said, "Waiting is so very foreign to us today. We live in the fast lane. We want things to happen instantly. The idea of delayed gratification of our needs or desires is just not acceptable to us. We live in a world of fast food and condensed books. People go to a counselor with deep-seated problems of long-standing and want a quick solution with one session and a few pills.

By buying into this modern trend we do ourselves a disservice, because waiting is an important and potentially positive part of life. Precious insights, vital discoveries, and new resources of strength can come from the proper kind of waiting. We live by 'clock time.' The years are divided into months, the months into days, the days into minutes. But if we want to get in step with God we must realize that God is not bound by the clock or the calendar. Waiting helps us get synchronized with God. Waiting put us on God's time. God acts in the fullness of time, at the right time. Quiet but active waiting puts us in touch with what God is doing and when God is doing it.

Many years before the birth of Jesus, the Old Testament prophets wrote about waiting for a deliverer who would be like a light for a darkened world. The people to whom the prophets spoke were weary with impatience. They wanted the Messiah now. They wanted God to be on their clock. Hundreds of years went by, and all God said was, 'Wait.' So anxious were they for the Messiah that the masses tried to crown John the Baptist as Messiah when he arrived on the scene. Again, God's message was 'wait.'

In our impatience to solve our own problems or gratify our own desires, we too try to confer messiahship on persons or institutions or philosophies that ultimately turn out to be false messiahs. We can't wait for God's salvation, and so we look to the President of the United States to solve our problems, or to government in general, or to material gain, or to the latest self-improvement fad.

For centuries, the People of God waited for deliverance, chasing here or there after false messiahs, 'but when the fullness of time had come, God sent his son, born of a woman ...'  Advent is a time to remind ourselves that God is in charge, and he knows what he's doing. In order to be so reminded, we must wait for God to act and for God to call us to action. 

Our tendency at this time of the year is to rush too quickly to the manger. Just as the world rushes into Christmas shortly after Halloween, so we follow suit. Not many of us like the slow Advent hymns; let's start right in with festive Christmas carols! And yet the wisdom of the ages tells us to wait. Don't pull out all the stops just yet. But why? What's the value in waiting? The prophet Isaiah counsels us that there is great wisdom in waiting for the Lord. When we wait on the Lord, we act not in the frail efforts of our own strength, but in the mighty power of the Lord's strength. When we wait on the Lord, we receive not the imperfect results of our own hands, but the good and perfect result of God's hand.

Don't rush to the manger too quickly this season. Wait. Stop, look, and listen to the people and events around you. Where is Christ speaking to you? Pray and read the Bible in the quietness of his presence. What is he saying to you? Don't rush to the manger. There are precious experiences along the way that should be savored, experiences through which God can prepare us to meet the Christ."

After waiting so long to enter the Grotto of the Nativity, I was rushed to (and past) the spot where Jesus was said to have been born, pausing just long enough to have my picture taken there. I didn't encounter Jesus at that hectic spot. I met him in the days that followed in the faces and voices of fellow travelers who came to the Holy Land to meet him just as I had.   

From: "Waiting"

Scripture: Isaiah 40:1-11, 28-31   

Preached at Paoli U.M. Church