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Forbidden Bellies

Scripture:  Advent 4, 2009 C

Sermon:

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  AMEN.

This morning, brothers and sisters, we heard the tale of two forbidden bellies.

We have a pair of women, Elizabeth and Mary, who are both shamed by their culture for the state of their bodies.  In First Century Israel, a woman’s honor, her status, her very purpose in life was to bear children.  To be infertile was considered a tragedy, and Hebrews at this time lacked the Roman concept of adoption.  So Elizabeth, in her barren age, was shamed for her supposedly fruitless body.  But then, what’s this?  A child!  And so late in life!

On the opposite end of the spectrum sits her cousin Mary, barely a teenager, who has a wondrous and terrifying encounter with an angel of the Lord.  And this angel Gabriel tells her that Almighty God would have her to be His mother.  Astonishingly, her response is to affirm this will of God.  And so, for the first time in history—indeed, the first time in mythology!—the virgin is with child.

Then Mary does what any sane person in her situation would do:  she runs.  For you see, hers was not an age that tolerated unwed mothers.  Many poor young women in her situation, ripe with child but lacking a husband, would have been stoned.  And she, as kin to a priestly family, was liable not simply to rock, but to fire.  The price of priestly blood bearing children out of wedlock was to be burned alive.

And so, in those days, Mary goes “with haste” to her cousin Elizabeth, where she knows that she will be safe.  Thus do we have this remarkable meeting of two pregnant women, one too old to be with child, and the other too young.  Both have known shame and fear, even the threat of death, for the state of their bodies.  Yet when they meet—when, I image, they embrace in greeting and those two swelling bellies bump—the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps!

The unborn John and his elderly mother find themselves filled with the Holy Spirit, so that their joy wells up within them and bursts out as song!  For the presence of God has been revealed in both Spirit and Flesh as living amongst them—indeed, within them—and Elizabeth sings perhaps the most ridiculous and scandalous words Mary has yet heard:

“Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”  Blessed!  Blessed indeed!  Here she is, ashamed and in hiding, in fear for her life, and Elizabeth calls her, “the Mother of my Lord!”

Now, we have to understand—this isn’t where God is supposed to be.  Any good Jewish man or woman of this time would’ve known that God’s truest presence resides in the one true Temple at Jerusalem.  That Temple, mind you, is surrounded by concentric barriers, one after another, like a bull’s-eye, to keep out the impure.

Beyond the first wall is the Court of the Gentiles, the non-Jews, who can go so far and no further.  After that comes the Court of the Women, which is how close female Israelites can get to God.  Then the Court of Israel, reserved for male Jews, and the Court of the Priests after that.  And then, within the sanctuary itself, you find the Holy Place, limited to all but a select few.  Finally, the Holy of Holies—dwelling place of God’s Name—which only one man, the High Priest, could enter upon one single day of the year.

It’s all about purity, you see.  God is locked up behind wall after wall, to ensure that no dirty, shameful, undesirable person can defile Him.  That’s how we see God.

And yet way out in the hill country, far from the Temple, far from the priests, far from the rituals and the washings and the sacrifices of atonement, God has come to a pair of outcasts, and to their growing wombs.  To the old woman, God has given a son destined to be the greatest of all prophets, imbued with the spirit of Elijah, and forerunner of the Messiah.

And to the other, to the young girl, God has given His very self.  He has chosen her to be His mother, and Her womb shall house the entirety of God’s Being, God made flesh.  Here an unwed mother, shamed and threatened by her people, has become the true Temple of the Lord.  So much for purity!  Because let me tell you, there’s nothing pure or clean or immaculate about childbirth.  It’s amazing how much new life resembles dying.

In this Incarnation—in this act of becoming an unborn child—God has turned every human expectation on its head.  He has come not to the holy, the strong, or the rich, but to the outcast, the shamed, and the vulnerable.  He has come to the poor.

And Mary realizes all of this!  For in response to Elizabeth’s upwelling song, Mary bursts into verse of her own:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!  For He has looked with favor on the lowliness of His servant.  Surely, from now on, all generations shall call me blessed…  He has scattered the proud in their conceit!  He has brought down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly!  He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty… According to the promise He made to our forebears, to Abraham & his children forever.

Here, dear Christians, we have the heart of God laid out plainly for all to see.  Our God, the God made known in Jesus Christ, seeks not slaves or subjects, but He comes seeking a family, a community, a mother.  He comes not in glory or with glittering golden armor, but as a helpless babe in the womb, completely dependent on some young girl for warmth, for love, for food.

And in response to this overwhelming love and honor, Mary cannot help but spontaneously cry out the glories of this God Who consistently shows His compassion and care for the oppressed, the hungry, the poor, the downtrodden; for old women and unwed mothers; for the fearful and the lowly; for all those in need.

Now, some have called Mary’s song, the Magnificat, the “heart of the social gospel.”  They use this as a blueprint for government and society.  Personally, I’ve always shied away from any Scriptural interpretation that tries to pigeonhole the scandalous in-breaking of God’s Word into some political manifesto.

What the Magnificat really does is to reveal the heart of God as that of self-giving, outpouring, unfailing love and generosity.  Christ is mercy and life incarnate.  And it’s not that we have to behave in a certain way, or adhere to a certain program, or embrace certain political ideologies in order to be worthy of His mercy or His love or even of the name Christian.

But our response to that indescribable generosity, that baptismal Font of forgiveness and new life, is unavoidable.  When Christ comes to dwell within us, we are changed, As surely as any pregnant woman is changed.  We are filled with living, saving faith.

And when faith wells up inside you, you can’t contain it, you can’t hold it back.  It bursts forth and flows out of us in joyous, singing charity.  You can’t help it, because it isn’t you doing it.  It’s God pouring out love through you—through all of us!  First Christ saves you, then faith wells up, and finally you just start hemorrhaging love.  You can’t hold it back, anymore than a tree can hold back its fruit.  In time, the Word works within you, killing your sin and raising you anew in Christ.

It’s a new life, a new birth—it’s pregnancy and labor!  And that may take time, that may be painful, but sooner or later, by God, the Christchild comes.

That’s what makes Christmas Christmas.  It isn’t the books or clothes or BluRays or vacations.  You already know what Christmas is about.  It’s about giving gifts to the least among us: to our children; to our neighbors; to the needy in our community.  Not because we need to, or because we have to.  Not because we are threatened should be not.  But because we just can’t help it.  Because joy and faith and love unavoidably create generosity and charity, the same way that a flame, once kindled, cannot help but spill out light and heat for all!

Now, brothers and sisters, our community is in need.  At this time of the year, when light and heat are scarce, when demands are highest on what few aid organizations we have, there are those in our community who are hungry, struggling, and suffering.  I know that the food shelves in Perham and New York Mills are desperate for donations.  I know that Community Action, which weatherizes homes and helps the destitute find paying, honorable jobs, is out of money, and won’t find more grants until Spring or Summer.  The state has cut back funding, and the government will not help.

But I’m not talking about government.  I’m talking about neighbors in a community; and this is a very good one.  You people here are generous.  You always have been.

I have seen your constant giving, not simply with money, but with your time and your passions and your expertise.  I’ve seen the Lions and the Masons and the Rotary hard at work; I’ve seen the volunteers of this congregation; and I’ve seen wallets, even skinny ones, pulled open whenever a call has arisen amongst the needy.  And I am proud, dang proud, of St. Peter’s and of all the work that Christ is doing amongst us even now.  Through us, He will bring Christmas to many.

It is time now to give gifts to our children; time to give cheerfully, happily, joyously, wherever God shows us a need; time to cry aloud, “Come, Lord Jesus, come!”  For now is the time of Christmas.

In Jesus’ Name, AMEN.

Prayers of the Church:

Waiting and watching for our sure and certain hope, let us pray for the world redeemed, the Church reformed, and for all people restored in the coming One.

O Wisdom from Your Throne on high

            Come dwell among Your flock

Depending on Your great supply

            We build upon the Rock

O Key of David, swing the gates

            Of glory open wide

So that salvation be our fate

            And Your Word dwell inside

O Lord, Your mercy gathers all

            Creation in Your care

Now give us strength to heed Your call

            In mercy—hear our prayer

Empowered God, stir up Your might

            And come unto the lowly

Our strength of arms is put to flight

            By Your compassion holy

Inspire all who serve Your Church

            In Spirit and in Word

That those who in the darkness search

            May by Your Love be heard

O Jesse’s Branch, bring healing true

            To all in evil’s snare

And wholeness bring to what we do

            In mercy—hear our prayer

O Dayspring pour out from on high

            Your presence as a fountain

That all who in despair now cry

            Shall meet You on the mountain

Emmanuel, You are with us

            And comfort bring our souls

For all who from this life are thrust

            Like embers up from coals

Keep us one with blessed dead

            In Resurrection fair

One Body and with Christ our Head

            In mercy—hear our prayer

We pray especially Lord, for Gerald, Aaron, Jacob, Kris, Bill, Linda, and Leo; for all those undergoing dialysis, knee surgery, or cancer treatment; for organ donors and receivers; for all those wrestling with addiction; for all children undergoing medical care; for our bishops, Lawrence and Mark; for the ELCA and the USA; for Your Church and for Your world; and for all who care not pray to You.

Into Your hands, O Lord, we commend all for whom we pray

Trusting in Your mercy to light and guard their way.  AMEN.

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Dreaming Cows and Virgin Births

A bit much, yes?  And in poor taste, certainly.  (Though I'll confess, my first reaction was a smirk.)  But what was his point, exactly?  According to the vicar, the billboard's purpose was to challenge "stereotypes" about the virgin birth of Jesus, in order to dispel the idea of an exclusively male God.  Well, okay.  To take God the Father as literally male is certainly silly theology.  As I once said to a Dutch Reformed fellow, "Why would God the Father have male anatomy?  What would He do with it?"  Nevertheless, the aforementioned vicar seems to be a little dense on exactly what a virgin birth is.

I've often heard the accusation that the virgin birth of Christ is just a reiteration of pagan tales about gods fathering heroic offspring.  This is patently false.  I have a rather extensive collection of mythological texts from all over the world, and I have yet to find even one instance of a virgin conception other than that of Jesus Christ.  Indeed, when it comes to the Greco-Roman deities, such couplings were explicitly not virginal, the gods in question being widely renowned for their sexual prowess.  The Bible has many instances of barren women having "their wombs opened" by the Lord, and then going on to bear natural children by their husbands.  And as for stories of the white elephant spirit entering the mother of the Buddha, that was after she had conceived by her husband.

Miraculous births abound.  But virgin births?  Only in the Gospels and the Star Wars prequels.

The biblical narratives of Jesus' conception don't perpetuate the "stereotype" that an exclusively male God had sex with Mary.  Indeed, quite the contrary: the idea is that she's the Blessed Virgin, who did not know her husband until after giving birth (or, if you're Roman Catholic, not even after that).  The Bible does not say that God had sex with Mary; it says that God is Mary's Son.  So I suppose I'm all for dispelling the idea of God being a Dude, but undermining the Christmas story is certainly not the best way to go about it.  Would somebody please send a theology book to New Zealand?

P.S. -- I almost forgot!  Insurgents in the Middle East have been using a $26 software package to hack the unencrypted signals of our unmanned Predator drones.  This is so ludicrous as to largely defy comment.

Currently The First and Second Books of the Maccabees (Cambridge Bible Commentaries on the Apocrypha) By J. R. Bartlett see related

And the Darkness Shall Not Overcome It

Midweek Homily, Advent 3, 2009 C

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  AMEN.

What has come into being in Him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it… The true Light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

Advent, brothers and sisters, is a season of growing light!  From the steady progression of our Advent wreath to the burning tapers of our evening services, this is a time when we kindle warmth and illumination in the midst of the harshest, darkest, bitterest period of the year.  Our candles remind us that God never promised us a life free from darkness, cold, and trouble—at least not in this world.  Even God Himself, when He came down, experienced suffering and scorn, betrayal and beating, grieving and grave.

But He has always promised us that in the midst of the shadows, even the shadow of death, He is with us.  His light dispels the darkness.  His warmth repels the cold.  And we know that while our lives may be clouded for a time, the true Light has come into the world—and someday soon, the Light shall be all in all.

It seems especially appropriate, in this season of growing light, as we prepare to bask in the glow of the Christchild, that we find ourselves also within the Festival of Lights.  For this, my friends, is the sixth night of Hanukkah.

We in the Church tend not to speak of Hanukkah terribly much, and I think this a great shame.  Hanukkah, like most all the holidays celebrated by our Jewish brothers and sisters, is indeed a biblical celebration.  Its story is laid out in the Books of the Maccabees.  Now, not every Bible contains the Books of Maccabees; we Protestants often leave them out altogether.  But Luther admonished that we should study and learn from such books, as they lay out the history of God’s people in the period between the Old and New Testaments.

The short version of the story is this:  The tiny nation of Israel, situated as it is in the Fertile Crescent, rests at the crossroads of great civilizations and sprawling empires.  One great power after another has conquered the Israelite people—Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, and Persia, just to name a few.  But as the tide of history ebbs and flows, these mighty empires one and all pass away.  And tiny Israel, God’s humble Chosen People, remains.

As the Old Testament leaves off, the Israelites are living under the comparatively benevolent thumb of the Persian Empire.  Yet when the New Testament starts, the Persians are nowhere to be found, and Israel is ruled by distant Rome.  On top of that, oddly enough, everybody seems to be speaking Greek.  What happened?  The answer lies with a man who has figured in quite a few of our sermons here at St. Peter’s.  I speak, of course, of history’s most consummate conqueror:  Alexander the Great.

Now, Alexander hailed from a backwoods hick section of northern Greece called Macedonia.  But as much as the rest of Greece would like to write off Macedon as a bunch of hillbillies, Alexander’s father conquered them all.  Little Alex continued the family tradition by defeating and absorbing Persia, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Afghanistan, and even northern India—in other words, he conquered the known world.  And everywhere he went, he spread Greek culture, Greek language, and Greek religion—including in Israel.

But the candle that burns twice as bright only burns half as long, and when Alexander reached an early grave, his various generals fell into vicious infighting, with each one carving out thick slabs of his own from the corpse of Alexander’s empire.  That’s how Egypt, Persia, Syria, and the rest of the world all ended up with Greek rulers.

Israel bounced back and forth between these successor states, and was particularly abused by a slavering psychotic known as Antiochus Epiphanes.  As much a monster as a man, King Antiochus sought to exterminate the Jewish culture and people.  Either they would become completely Greek and assimilate into his empire—or he would kill them all.  Antiochus didn’t particularly seem to care which they chose.

And so the mad king butchered tens of thousands of Jews before turning his wrath against the center of Jewish religious and cultural identity: the one true Temple at Jerusalem.  Antiochus defiled the Temple, erecting a massive statue to the Greek God Zeus—a false idol to end all false idols.  And pigs—a ritually unclean animal, taboo for the Jewish people—were sacrificed upon the most holy Altar of the Lord.  Both the Prophet David and Jesus Christ referred to this defilement as “the Abomination of Desolation.”

It looked like this would be the end.  The Greek armies had not only defeated, but absorbed wholesale, all the great powers of the world!  What hope did little Israel have against such inexorable, savage, efficient might?  The Jews would die.

But here’s the funny thing about God.  He always seems to champion the lost cause.  He picks slaves over conquerors, poor over rich, humble over strong.  And from days of old, God had claimed Israel as His special possession.  He was with them in the darkness, and once again He heeded their prayers.

From out of the hill country they came: Judas Maccabeus and his sons, the brothers Maccabee:  a literal band of brothers, desert rebels, up against the might of an unstoppable empire.  And just as Moses before Egypt; just as Hezekiah before Assyria; just as Esther before Persia; Maccabeus and his boys stood before the onslaught of the Greeks.

And they won!  They prevailed!  A victory more miraculous than Washington’s ragtag army before the global might of the British redcoats!  The Maccabees fought in the face of certain doom and proved yet again that God’s promise is secure!  Not only did Israel survive, but for the first time in half a thousand years Israel was free.

Thus did the Jewish people rededicate the Temple to the One True God Who had delivered them from overwhelming darkness.  Alas, they had managed to save only a small amount of the consecrated oil necessary to light the sacred menorah, and it would take at least a week to make more.  Surely darkness would take the light within a day.

But lo and behold!  That tiny flask of oil, enough for only a few hours, somehow burned for eight full days: enough time to consecrate more oil and rededicate the Temple!  Once again, the Light of God, in the face of certain defeat, repelled the darkness, dispelled the cold, and burned as strong and true as the promises of the Lord!

In this Festival of Lights—in this Advent season of Light—we rejoice to know that even as we are surrounded by icy night, God is close at hand!  He comes even now to scatter the shadows!  Comes even now to thaw the frost!  Comes to bring Light to the world, Life to His people, and joy eternal to all the Earth!

We hold high our candles to proclaim His coming:  Jesus Christ, the Light of the world! 

Come, Lord Jesus, come!  In Your most holy Name, AMEN.

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Potpourri

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I've Come for the Vipers

Scripture:  Advent 3, 2009 C

Sermon:

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  AMEN.

You brood of vipers!  Who told you to flee from the wrath that is to come?  Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!  His winnowing fork is in His hand, and the chaff He will burn with unquenchable flame!

“And so, with many other exhortations, did he proclaim the good news…”

Kind of makes you glad that we didn’t stick around to hear the bad news, doesn’t it?

Traditionally, brothers and sisters, this Third Sunday in Advent is set aside as a Sunday of joyous celebration!  That’s why we lit a pink candle over on our Advent wreath this morning.

You see, once upon a time, Advent was considered a penitential season, a time of confession and repentance, when we would cleanse our sins in preparation for the coming Messiah.  In that way it was a lot like Lent, and just as with Lent, the color for the Advent season used to be penitential purple.  Still, four Sundays of self-flagellation can be a bit of a downer, especially when you’re ramping up for Christmas.  And so this third Sunday was set apart as a celebration—a nice little break to get off your dusty knees and quaff a little eggnog before the home stretch.

As time went by, of course, we realized that a bunch of weeping and gnashing of teeth probably wasn’t the most festive way to greet our Savior’s birth, and so Advent was officially rededicated as a season of anticipation and Christmas preparation, in a joyous royal blue!  Now, we may not repent in sackcloth and ash anymore, but the tradition remains that this Sunday is one of celebration and fun!  It’s the happy pink candle amidst the blue of loving expectation.

You can see this rather clearly in our readings this morning.  Our first reading comes from the prophet Zephaniah, who, it must be said, ain’t exactly the most upbeat guy in the Bible.  Most of his book is all about “Now you’ve done it!” this and “Ooh, you’re gonna get it” that.  But even grouchy-prophet-puss ends his book on a happy note of hope and praise, of sure promise and the unfailing mercies of God.  And that’s what we heard this morning.  I mean, hey, if even Zephaniah’s happy, then it must be a party, right?

We then turned not to our usual Psalm, but rather to a song from the prophet Isaiah, all about faith overflowing in love and exultation.  Even Paul’s letter to the Philippians—which, keep in mind, was written from prison—is all about, “Oh, don’t worry, just be thankful and peaceful and let your gentleness be known to everyone.”  Whatever they’re feeding him in that jail, I want some.

But then our Gospel reminds us that you can always count on John the Baptist to smack you right in the face whenever things start to get a little too lovey-dovey.

John the Baptist is one of those characters that for some reason you’ve just got to love—though, by all rights, he seems like the sort of person we ought to hate.  The Baptist is a cousin of Jesus on his mother’s side, and from his conception through his birth it was foretold that he would be the herald and forerunner of the Messiah. 

He lived out in the wilderness, where demons and ascetics alike were said to dwell, feeding on locusts and wild honey.  Such a diet drove him buggy.  With a scraggly mane and course camelhair shirt, the Baptist preached repentance, and he told it like it was.  “The Kingdom of God is at hand!” he cried out.  “And believe you me, you people sure as heck ain’t ready for it.  Your sins will be laid bare, by your fruits you will be judged, and as you sew so shall you reap!”  And this, says the Gospel, is what passed for “good news” back then.  Yeesh.

Now John the Baptist is preaching the Truth; he’s proclaiming the Word of God.  We really are sinners, you and I, and not simply in some theoretical sense.  We screw up.  We hurt people.  We betray God and one another and we do this on a daily basis.  And when we begin to realize this, suddenly notions of justice and of being judged by our fruits become pretty scary ideas.

We don’t want to hear about the Messiah coming with a winnowing fork, and throwing the chaff in the fire.  We don’t want a just and wrathful God.  And the reason we don’t want these things is because we know that when the Baptist denounces the crowd as a “brood of vipers,” he’s talking about us!

Kind of gets you right here, doesn’t it?  Kind of twists your stomach up in knots.  Kind of kills you.  Well, that’s the Law of God.  And that’s what it does to us.

God’s Law teaches us the truth about right and wrong, good and evil.  It is, at heart, a moral Law.  And it doesn’t just teach us how to live in civil society—not murdering, not stealing, that sort of thing—but it also reveals to us, in a very visceral way, how very short we fall.

Who doesn’t squirm when the Baptist says, “Anyone with two coats should give one away, and anyone with food must do likewise”?  Who doesn’t look uncomfortable when he commands, “Be satisfied with your wages,” and “Bear fruits worthy of repentance”?

If you want to be just and upright before the Lord, you must follow God’s Law.  But there’s just one problem; we can’t do that.  None of us can.  None of us loves God with all our heart and all our soul and all our might.  None of us loves our neighbor as ourselves.  We should do that, we ought to do that, heaven knows that justice demands we do that—but we don’t.  Maybe once upon a time, back in Paradise, we could have.  But that was an awfully long time ago, and we’ve fallen so very, very far since then.

In medieval artwork, John the Baptist is almost always portrayed with this horrible, long, bony finger, because the Law he proclaims is always pointing, ever pointing, right into our blackened hearts and laying bare the most horrid corners of our souls.

And that, my friends, is why you’d think that we would hate John the Baptist.  Because if the story ended then and there, with the truth of our wicked hearts and broken souls, we would be left with nothing but despair and damnation.  And we would deserve it.

But the Baptist is not the Messiah.  He never wanted to be, and he never pretended to be.  The Baptist is the forerunner, the herald, of the Messiah.  He’s the precursor, the opening act!  Our story does not end with a Word of condemnation—that’s only where it begins!  For there is One far more powerful Who is coming, and John the Baptist freely proclaims that he is not worthy to untie the thong of this One’s sandal.  John has baptized with water, an external sign of repentance, but the Messiah will Baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire, burning right into the very heart of us all!

Yes, John preaches the Word of God, the Law of God, but that’s only half of the message!  For you see, there are two parts to God’s Word:  first comes the Law, which reveals the truth about us, the truth of our miserable state—but then comes the Gospel!

The Law tells us that we cannot save ourselves, that we cannot earn the eternal and boundless love of God.  We are not gods who can claw our way up into heaven.  On our own, we are doomed.  And we may not want to hear that Law, we may not like that Law, we might even hate and despise that Law, but that’s only because we know that it’s true.  But then comes Jesus.  And Jesus, dear Christians—Jesus is the Gospel.

And that Good News is this: you may be broken, you may be wicked, you may be doomed—but God still loves you.  You may not be able to earn heaven, to bear fruits worthy of His love, but God gives you heaven, gives you love, as pure and selfless gift!  When you cannot produce good fruit, He produces it through you!  And you may think, “Good Lord, this can’t be true.  I’m but a poor sinner.  I’m not worthy of any of this.  I don’t deserve to be loved by God.”  And you know what?  You’re right.  You’re right about all of us.  But that’s tough!  Because God has promised us His loving salvation and God does not break promises.

This, brothers and sisters, is why we love John the Baptist.  Because through him, God preaches a Word of Law that frees us from our arrogance and pride, frees us from the hopeless fight to claw our way back up out of this pit that we’ve dug.  We can’t do it ourselves.  We can’t be our own saviors, our own gods.  But thanks be to Christ, we don’t have to be.  He is our God.  He is our Savior.  He has taken our sin, washed it away, and thus are we set free.

“You brood of vipers!” the Baptist cries.  “You’re venomous snakes, and nothing more!”

But then Jesus arrives, and says to the world: “I’ve come for the vipers, to gather them home.  Now who here happens to be a snake…?”

Thanks be to Christ, Who gathers us in.  In Jesus’ Name.  AMEN.

Prayers of the Church:

Waiting and watching for our sure and certain hope, let us pray for the world redeemed, the Church reformed, and for all people restored in the coming One.

We rejoice in Your saving presence this day

            O God of ages hence and past

Relieve, through us, the needy we pray

            And gather in all the displaced and outcast

Calamity, catastrophe

            And sufferings throughout the land

Can never shake our faith in Thee

            When all are held within Your hand

Now give to us Your saving Word

            That so to die and rise we dare

Make Your Spirit ever heard

            And in Your mercy—hear our prayer

Supplier of our ev’ry need

            You give us food and warmth and light

Now may our hearts and minds be freed

            To share these gifts with all in sight

As fields rest in winter gloom

            Our larders yet are stocked and full

You save us from an icy doom

            By garments knit of warmest wool

Now even in uncertain times

            Abundance flows from out Your care

We wait in joy for warmer climes

            Lord, in Your mercy—hear our prayer

May all who seek You in this place

            Find comfort of community

And give to ev’ry tribe and race

            Your holy hospitality

In Your Communion make us One

            Secure against the winter cold

And give the comfort of Your Son

            To all His people, young and old

So wipe each icy tear away

            That we may see Your promise fair

Let ev’ry mortal tongue then say

            Lord, in Your mercy—hear our prayer

We pray especially, Lord, for Vonnie, Aaron, Bill, Kris, and Gerald; for those recovering from pneumonia, knee surgery, and transplants; for those undergoing dialysis and cancer treatment; for the cold, the hungry, the uncertain and the fearful; for the mourning and addicted; for our country, the world, and Your Church; and for all who dare not pray to You.

Into Your hand, O Lord, we commend all for whom we pray

Trusting in Your mercy to light and guard their way.  AMEN.