Christmas is Back*

This has been a wonderful Christmas. This Christmas Eve was the most blessed Christmas of my priesthood to date. I was surrounded by joy, the light of Christ was visible within and among us, the shared joy was palpable. Of the hundreds of hands I shook, every one came with a heartfelt glance and (for once) an astonishing chorus of “merry Christmas.” The music was magnificent, the kids were filled with life and light and joy and all of the promise that children bring to the whole of creation—how wonderful to watch their pageant of the birth of Christ (not to mention getting on the channel 6 news because of them!). The Lessons and Carols service was also beautiful, and pithy spiritually. As I said, it was the most blessed Christmas of my priesthood.

If you read my Christmas Eve post, then you might remember that I was eager to find the light that might shine in the darkness. Well, I sure found it. Repeatedly during the two liturgies, I nearly “lost it” (that means I was on the verge of tears). It is really difficult to explain this, except to say that when the sacred is most fully active in me, sometimes it seems almost overwhelming. As I write this I remember, of course, the first time that ever happened—at my ordination to the priesthood—when, as the bishop pressed down on my head, and the buzz of babble grew louder above me, and my fellow presbyters pressed down on me from behind, the only thought I had was “I’m going to fall down, I can’t bear the weight”—but I did bear the weight, and I did not fall down. And a moment later I was raised up (interesting phrase there) and turned around, a bit in shock, and introduced as the new priest. Whoa!

Of course, my path to spiritual enlightenment has been long and circuitous and often littered with detours. And there is no stilling the power of the Spirit within me when I hear “O Come all ye faithful.” It is as though I were still standing beside my grandmother in the Methodist church in Pekin, Illinois in 1956, holding her hand and singing as loud as I could to join the joyful noise. It was such a wonder to hear the Babel sound of the children in the background and to think of all of the wonderful Christmas memories of the future that were being made in that moment. Isaiah says he will greatly exult, the psalmist says how great it is to sing God’s praises and I couldn’t agree more.

The pith of the readings for this Sunday is found in the letter to the Galatians, where Paul explains how the “disciplinarian” of “the law” (he means Levitical law), was a kind of imprisonment. I picked up my paper yesterday and read about how now that “don’t ask don’t tell” has been repealed, marriage equality is inevitable (except, they still call it, pointedly, “gay marriage”). They interviewed a particularly hateful right-winger, who said something along the lines of ‘gay people want to be respected but we all know they’re disgusting.” How nice to read on Christmas morning. Well, my friends, it reminded me that for many lgbt people, Christmas means being at home with family members who still work with “the law.” The time has come to take them to church, and point them at this reading. Before faith came we were imprisoned, but now we are children of God, heirs of the kingdom. All of us, especially we who are created lgbt in God’s own image.

The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only child, full of grace and truth.

A blessed Christmastide.

*1st Sunday after Christmas (Isaiah 61:10-62:3, Psalm 147, Galatians 3:23-25;4:4-7, John 1:1-18)

©2010 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Sometimes the Light Really Does Shine*

I don’t know about you but I’ve been having something of a – hmmm, let’s say trying – time. It isn’t the recession, but it probably is related to the general malaise around it. And it isn’t anything else in particular I can point to. But I must say, that the first line of the first reading appeals to me this Christmas: [Isaiah 9:2] The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined. It is comforting to remember that forever in the history of creation, people have walked in darkness, and that forever and eternally, on us, the light of Christ shines. It helps to know we are connected to creation through God who created us in God’s own image, and through God’s only Son, given so we might get it — about living in unity.

I heard a report on the nightly news that most Americans — 73% I think they said – celebrate “Christmas” but only a few — maybe about 20% of them — celebrate the birth of Christ. That’s sad of course. It explains why we’ve been listening to “Silent Night” at SuperFresh since Halloween. But it is too sad to think that all of those people out there rushing around buying presents and hanging decorations and worrying about their dinner menus don’t get it. Hmmm. Well if my job is to give us an uplifting message I’m not doing too well here, am I?

What about “don’t ask, don’t tell?” Well, if ever there were a case of people walking in darkness having the light shined on them this is it. And it is a terrific example of God fulfilling the purpose of God’s creation. God made us gay for a reason.  Whether you ground it theologically by saying God made us gay in God’s own image, or whether you appeal to sociobiology, which says there must be a part of the population whose job is not reproduction in order to lift up the spirits of the rest, either way, God made us gay and now God has made light to shine on our lives, here as indeed it already does in many other parts of the world. It is a little bit like new birth, isn’t it? And there is the Christmas metaphor. If all Christmas means is gifts and groaning boards that’s pretty empty. But if we can imagine that what Christmas means for us – both this Saturday and always – is that there is always the possibility of rebirth, then we truly know what it means to be people of faith.

Isaiah goes on to say the yoke of their burden is broken. And they shout “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Hallelujah! For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all — even you and even me. God loves us, the sign God has sent to us is the birth of a child, a reminder that everything can always be made new.

So let’s be like the shepherds who wanted to go have a look. Let’s go with haste to that place in our souls where God’s fire is burning brightly, where a child’s birth can shake the world, where everything can always be made new. When we get there, let’s sing “Joy to the World.”

Merry Christmas my friends.

*Christmas Eve 2010 (Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96:1-4,11-12; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-20)

©2010 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Dreams

“In your dreams honey.”

It’s a common enough phrase, a hallmark of a cynical interaction. It means, “whatever it is you think is coming your way has no basis in reality.”

Curious isn’t it; because this Christmastide is the season of dreams. I know, I’m all grown up, and I’ve been through a lot in life. But still, at this time of year, I bop along thinking there is good reason to expect the best. And that expectation in the back of my mind turns to hope in my heart, and that turns to “Merry Christmas” on my lips. And I think that’s how this season is supposed to work.

So what about dreams? Dreams are real enough, even though what we dream often is not. The science of dreams is uncertain about many things, including where they come from and why they take the forms they do. But we do know that they are vital to our survival as humans. Dreams come during the deepest part of sleep, the part that heals the body and fortifies it for the next day. Likely, dreams come during the time when the body is completely in “reboot” mode—so the psyche takes a little reboot time too.

But what about this business of expectations? If we are really grown up people—especially if we are grown-up gay and lesbian people—we have a mixed bag of expectations at this time of year. We look forward to sweet moments with our loved ones. We dread those interactions with family where our sexuality might (will) be challenged. But still we hope, still we dream, that there might be acceptance, that there might be more than acceptance, that there might be actual affirming love, in those interactions.

If you want to have a look at the scripture appointed for today, go ahead and do that; you can find it at the Lectionary Page. You will see a reading from Isaiah, in which God cannot get Ahaz to believe. And finally God says “okay, I’m sending you a sign anyway.” And the sign? A young woman will bear a son and name him Immanuel, which means “God is with us.”  In the letter to the Romans, Paul asserts boldly the facts as he knows them in his soul—Jesus was promised, delivered, and exists in flesh and Spirit as the Son of God and the Lord Christ. If ever a dream was fulfilled, that was it. And in the Gospel, Matthew recounts the story of how the angel came to Joseph in a dream, and told him Mary was with child from the Holy Spirit.

Well, we don’t know what Joseph was thinking. We don’t know what this dream looked like or felt like. But we do know that this was the sign God had promised, that a young woman would bear the Son of God, who was, and is, Jesus—Immanuel—God with us.

And by all of this we know that God is with us, now and always. And that is the promise, the expectation, of this season. Presents? Good cheer? Light in the darkness? Yes, of course—that’s the promise God’s creation brings to us in this season. But the real promise is the promise of a lifetime of love—being loved, being created in love, being created to love. That is why God has put us here. That is what God expects of us. That is what we can expect of God.

Okay so have a look at today’s prayer (the “collect”—that’s an old word from English worship meaning literally a prayer that “collects” the spirit of the congregation together). It says we should clean house, so when Jesus comes he will find a mansion within each of our souls. I’d say it means be true to whom God has made you to be, clean out the cobwebs, let Christmastide open your heart and your soul to the promise of being made constantly new. Get ready my friends to let Jesus in.

© 2010 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Fourth Sunday in Advent Year A 2010 (Isaiah 7:10-16, Psalm 80: 1-7, 16-18, Romans 1:1-7, Matthew 1:18-25)

God’s highway

When I was a boy there was no Interstate highway. About the best thing we had were US routes, like route 66, and of course local roads–two-lane roads with lots of curves and intersections. I remember when I was about nine we had to move from Missouri to California. Off we went in that old station wagon. We saw  people everywhere,  and sights—everything from road signs to the Grand Canyon—all of it out the window of the car–all that way on one ribbon of highway.

Jesus deals with the hopes and expectations of poor and downtrodden people who have been flocking to John the Baptist. John has told them it was a beginning, like setting out on a trip, but also that it was a long way to the kingdom. Jesus is angry, irritated that though the people see with their own eyes yet they do not believe. He asks them “What did you expect to see?” Did you expect a prophet? Then you have found him—John is the one who was sent to prepare the highway for the coming of salvation.

What about the highway? Well, that is Jesus’ point. Too often in life we choose to remain with the things that oppress us, because they are familiar. Too often we are afraid to set out on a road, a long road, to something new and better. Jesus says we have a choice. We can be stuck, or we can set out for God’s kingdom. To choose the kingdom is risky, the first step on a long journey. But once we set out we will see that God has prepared for us a highway for our journey. A beautiful road, straight and swift, raised up above the nonsense of selfish lives, flowing swiftly through all of God’s creation, taking us to a new place.

Isaiah said: “The land will bloom and a highway will appear and it will be called The Holy Way; it is for God’s people and not even fools can go astray.” He means that God’s way, God’s highway (if you will) is life, new life. The highway is in our hearts, the highway is our hearts … open and alive and loving and moving swiftly toward God’s kingdom of love. And not even fools can go astray.

I love that line. GLBT folks live with lots of fools. What would it mean if suddenly God’s highway appeared and not even those who oppress us could go astray? It would mean that all people would live in love, and move swiftly together toward the kingdom. It would mean all of the baggage of oppression would be behind us. Isaiah also says the ransomed of the Lord will return—that means us—we will return and love in peace in God’s kingdom. And all it takes is for each one of us to take that first step, to set out on the highway toward the kingdom, one step at a time, with love as fuel. James, tells us to be patient too … all things happen in God’s time. Amen.

© 2010 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

*Third Sunday of Advent Year A (Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:4-9; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11)

World AIDS Day 2010

We have several large sections of the AIDS Quilt hanging in our worship space. When I arrived to celebrate two Sundays ago I was pleasantly surprised to see them (I knew they’d arrived, and was looking forward to seeing them). But I was not prepared for the emotional reaction I had that day as I went through the entire Mass, and especially as we processed out at the end. I was overwhelmed several times with the immensity of the emotions that I have experienced over three decades of this tragic pandemic.

I preached about it, a bit, in my sermon for the First Sunday in Advent. You can find that here: http://www.htrit.org/worship/sermons.html (look for “Expectations” 11-28-2010″).

But I also was taken back to the time on the National Mall in Washington, the last time the quilt was small enough to be opened at one time, when I was one of several chaplains supplied by the National Episcopal AIDS Coalition. The quilt was unfurled at sunrise, the sun barely creeping above the horizon on the mall. Everywhere I looked were the officials unrolling the panels, and the chaplains. They (we) looked like ghosts in the dim light and suddenly it came to me that all of us, all of us there, and all of those memorialized, we are the “white-robed army of martyrs” from the Te Deum. I preached about it at the time. I can’t find the sermon now, but I’ll keep looking for it.

Meantime, the army of martyrs from AIDS has grown dramatically since then.

Prayers please, for those who are ill, those who have died, and all of us who mourn them, and for relief from this scourge.