READING FROM THE HEBREW BIBLE (Isaiah 61: 1-4; 8-11)
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion— to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, to display his glory. They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.
For I the Lord love justice, I hate robbery and wrongdoing; I will faithfully give them their recompense, and I will make an everlasting covenant with them. Their descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed. I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.
READING FROM THE GOSPELS (Luke 1: 39-56)
39 In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, 40where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. 41When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit 42and exclaimed with a loud cry, ‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. 43And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? 44For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leapt for joy. 45And blessed is she who believed that there would be* a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.’
46 And Mary* said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord, 47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, 48 for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. 50 His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. 51 He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53 he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. 54 He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, 55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’
56 And Mary remained with her for about three months and then returned to her home.
SERMON “Good News” By Robin Bartlett
Preached on December 14, 2014 at First Church in Sterling, MA
Good News doesn’t always sound like Good News. That’s what I have to say to you this morning.
In our scripture, we meet up with Mary as she goes to visit her friend Elizabeth, She is pregnant with hope and possibility; with the son of God in her womb. Elizabeth can see that the Lord has blessed Mary; can feel her own child leaping in her womb in joy.
But before that trip to Elizabeth’s house, before all the joy of being pregnant with this hope for the world, we know from the passage in Luke right before this one that Mary was given news by the Angel Gabriel, and it came as a pretty big surprise. I always imagine the conversation going like this:
The Angel Gabriel comes to Mary and says, “Mary, greetings, o favored one, the Lord is with you. Which do you want first, the bad news or the good news?”
And Mary says….hmmm, I guess I’ll take the bad news first.
And the Angel Gabriel says: “Well, the bad news is that you’re poor, you’re a teenager, you’re not yet married to your betrothed, Joseph, whom you haven’t had intercourse with yet, and he may be really, really mad at you when he finds out the good news and not want to marry you.”
And Mary says, “Well, what’s the Good News then?”
And Angel Gabriel says: “You’re pregnant! But do not be afraid, the baby is God’s!”
And Luke goes on to say that Mary was “troubled.” Yeah, I don’t blame her. Good News doesn’t always sound like Good News.
Preaching is a conversation, and we have had many conversations this week. I gave a difficult sermon to preach and to hear last week; a sermon that maybe sounded more like bad news than good. And I had a conversation with more than one of you about racism and crucifixion and death and suffering and dehumanizing other people while we are supposed to be preparing for birth, new life, light, the hope of God and the coming of the Kingdom during the Advent season: the season in which we wait for Jesus, the hope of the world. “This is supposed to be a quiet time of hope and optimism; this season. Why so much talk about death and crucifixion when we are supposed to be thinking about birth and resurrection? Why so much talk of dark while we’re supposed to be waiting on the light? It’s not Good Friday, it’s Christmas. And, by the way, “I don’t like it when ‘politics’ gets preached from the pulpit. I want to hear the Gospel.”
One of you said to me, “Robin, you did a great job today, but can you try not to preach a controversial sermon next week? Maybe at least tell a joke, or something.”
Here’s the Truth: the Gospel, which means “good news” can be dark and controversial, and the Gospel can sound a lot like politics. Our text this week has Mary pregnant with a child who will scatter the proud in the thoughts of their hearts, bring down the powerful from their thrones, lift up the lowly; fill the hungry with good things, send the rich away empty. And I’m afraid that we are all considered rich by Biblical writers’ standards.
The Gospel contains hard truths about the world in which it was written in, and the reason why we continue to read it and I continue to preach it, is because the Gospel contains hard truths for the world now, and it isn’t always the Truth we want to hear. It’s definitely not always the Truth that I want to hear. It doesn’t fit neatly into the category of American partisan “politics” in our 21st century understandings of those words, but it surely speaks into the world. It doesn’t fit neatly into the categories of “hope” and “optimism”, “self-help” or “easy answers to all problems” in our 21st century understandings of those concepts, but it surely speaks into the world. And it doesn’t always sound like Good News to those of us who have ears to hear, but it surely speaks into the world.
And like Mary in our scripture reading, our job is to birth hope in the midst of so much death and destruction and darkness. To birth God into the world as it is. To birth God into a world plagued by racism and torture. To birth God into a world plagued by killing and rape. Our task during advent is to be truthful about the destruction, and to be both realistic and audacious about our hope. This is why so many of our advent texts tell us, like the angel Gabriel says to Mary when she finds out she is pregnant: “Do not be afraid!” This is why so many of our advent texts tell us to “Stay awake.”
It’s hard to stay awake. I admit to you that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the video of Eric Garner saying “I can’t breathe” eleven times as he was choked to death. I admit to you that I couldn’t bring myself to read the CIA’s torture report that came out this week. I just want to fall asleep to it all. I’d rather shop and bake Christmas cookies; sing carols and have parties. That’s how I’d rather prepare for the coming of the Prince of Peace.
But we are asked over and over again in our texts to stay awake to the suffering of the world, and not to fear. And God knows that the suffering in the world is REALLY SCARY, and it is easier to fall asleep to the suffering instead. It’s easier to numb ourselves or intellectualize or distance ourselves by saying “not my community, not my problem.” It’s easier to label the suffering of the world “politics”, and separate that somehow from religion. It’s easier to slap platitudes on the mourning people in our communities by saying things like, “everything happens for a reason,” or “God just needed one more angel.”
It’s easier to shine our full solar spirituality on this time of year with forced joy and sentimentalism.
My favorite Lutheran preacher Nadia Bolz Weber puts it plainly: “I wonder if we’ve lost the plot if we use religion as the place where we escape from the difficult realities of our lives instead of as the place where those difficult realities are given meaning. Of course, there are many ways of pretending (stuff) ain’t broke in ourselves and in the world, but escapist religion is a classic option since at church we have endless opportunities to pretend everything is fine.
But when we find ourselves in a world where we see up-to-the-minute images of human suffering, we simply cannot afford any more…sentimentality in Christianity. Not one more soft-focus photo of a dove flying in front of a waterfall with an inspirational verse on a coffee cup, not one more over-produced recording of earnest praise music, not one more Thomas Kincaide painting. I don’t think Jesus would abide this ignoring of reality in favor of emotional idealism and I know for sure we cannot afford it. Not when we live in a world where suffering is as real as it was when Jesus was born and people are longing for something to help make sense of their suffering. Sentimental images of Santa kneeling at a manger are not helping us make sense of the world as it actually exists.”
My people, we need to make sense of the world as it actually exists if we want our news to be good.
If we are going to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; WE HAVE TO BE REAL about the fact that there is oppression and broken hearts and captives and prisoners. We have to birth new life in the face of real suffering. We can’t go about shopping on Amazon and pretending this suffering doesn’t exist.
If we are going to be able to comfort all who mourn; to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praises instead of a faint spirit, WE NEED TO BE REAL about the fact that people are mourning deaths of people and deaths of relationships. We have to birth new life in the face of real suffering. We can’t go about baking Christmas cookies and pretending this suffering doesn’t exist.
If we are going to build up the ancient ruins, raise up the former devastations; if we are to repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations. WE NEED TO BE REAL ABOUT WHAT WE HAVE RUINED. We have to birth new life in the face of real suffering. We can’t go about tying pretty bows on every branch of our Christmas tree pretending this suffering doesn’t exist.
So back to Mary, who knows a little bit about this; about giving birth to God during the terror of the Roman empire and the reign of King Herod, a Jewish king of Judea who is famous for his support of Rome and his vengeful and raging temper. When he finds out that it is predicted that Mary will give birth to the “king of the Jews” he flies off the handle and orders all first born sons in Judea to be killed. This is what Mary has to contend with when she finds out she is pregnant. That her son was about to be born into a world of infanticide and empire, and she was a powerless unwed teenager. She was probably terrified. What kind of world am I to give birth to this son into? My son will die. And who am I to give birth to the hope of the world? And tell me again, Angel Gabriel, HOW is this Good News?
I have many friends who are childless by choice. My friend told me once that she can’t imagine how she could have a baby knowing about the environmental degradation we humans are bringing about on this aching planet earth we call home. I have another friend who thinks I’m crazy to have three children, knowing that the more I have, the better the odds that one of them could be hurt or harmed or kidnapped every time they leave the house. And they are absolutely right. There have been studies saying that parents of children are far less happy than their childless peers, and that makes sense to me. Parenting is grieving one loss after another, and the anxiety of your heart walking around outside of your body is more than we can even bare much of the time.
This is exactly the dilemma in every age: what a ridiculously hopeful and insane act it is to bring babies into this world. It has to be a combination of biology overriding our brains, and God insisting on entering into a world whether the world is ready for God or not.
There is really not so much difference between hope and insanity.
I knew this “oh god, what have I done?” feeling as soon as I gave birth to my first baby girl. I had never had such a close connection with death as I did in those first weeks after bringing her into the world: How closely birth and death are linked! Looking back on it, I would call what I experienced the clinical name: “Post Partum Depression”, which to me doesn’t actually seem like a disorder, but like a stroke of sanity—a failure of our usual coping skills of numbing and denial. The crazyness, I thought, was the choice to bring her here to begin with—not the depression that followed.
Here was this perfect baby girl that I just birthed. She will feel broken more than I can bare; she will be hurt many times over her life. And then she will die. And like all parents, I’m sure Mary knew this truth intimately.
And yet, no matter how much of a fool’s errand this parenting gig is, birthing hope into destruction is God stuff; it’s where God resides. Meister Eckhart reminds us that “we are all meant to be mothers of God, because God is always needing to be born.”
This is precisely what the Good News is. The Good News is that God is being born again and again in the form of precious, holy infants, love’s pure light, into the world as it is.
God isn’t just being born in babies. God is being born again and again in the form of new relationships after the death of divorce, in the form of getting sober after the destruction of addiction, in the form of healing from long illness after the destruction of our bodies, in the form of spring after the destruction of the long winter, in the form of political unrest after the destruction of two thousand years of wrong, in the form of art that makes sense of the destruction of our suffering.
Nadia Bolz-Weber says that “the Epiphany story of Herod and infanticide reveals a God who has entered our world as it actually exists, and not as the world we often wish it would be. Because God’s love is too pure to enter into a world that does not exist.”
The hope for the world, is a recognition of the world as it is, and the faith that God will upend the destruction and despair with God’s oil of gladness; a love too pure to enter into a world that does not exist. This is the Good News, this crazy hope for a Love that makes no earthly sense; a Love that dissolves all mourning.
READING FROM THE HEBREW BIBLE (Isaiah 40:1-11)
Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. 2 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.
3 A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 4 Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. 5 Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’
6 A voice says, ‘Cry out!’ And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’ All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. 7 The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. 8 The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand for ever. 9 Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings;* lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,* lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, ‘Here is your God!’ 10 See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. 11 He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.
READING FROM THE GOSPEL (Mark 1: 1-18)
The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,
“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
SERMON “Prepare Him Room” by Rev. Robin Bartlett
[The first time I preached on the death of Mike Brown in Ferguson I told you that conservative theologian Karl Barth said that any preacher worth his salt “preaches with his Bible in one hand, and his newspaper in the other.” According to Time magazine in 1963, this is the more accurate quote: "[Barth] recalls that 40 years ago he advised young theologians 'to take your Bible and take your newspaper, and read both. But interpret newspapers from your Bible.'"
Today, it would probably be more accurate or relevant to say to take your Bible and take your twitter account and read both. But interpret your twitter account from your Bible.
I have brave colleagues who have been interpreting their twitter account from their Bible for two weeks--preaching on racism in America, and feeling the repercussions of it. I have colleagues who have had parishioners get up from their pews during sermons and slam the doors to the church on their way out. I have colleagues who have gotten angry emails and phone calls and threats. Interpreting the twitterverse/newspaper/Facebook account with the Bible; is dangerous for preachers who want to keep their jobs, and I suppose it always has been.
So I just want to say something important about our free church tradition, for those of us who are new to us. In our Congregationalist tradition we have a great freedom. We ministers like to say “free pulpit”, “free pew”. AND, we have also covenanted to stay in relationship with each other in the spirit of Jesus—in essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty…in all things charity. Please disagree with me. Stay in conversation. Because even though I have this free pulpit, God knows I have more questions than answers. But please don’t slam the door, to your hearts or to the church. Let’s stay in conversation about the Truth as we understand it, and learn from one another. We are more apt to get closer to Truth, and to God together than we can on our own. ]
So please won’t you pray with me.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts together be acceptable unto you o God, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
Let’s start with our Gospel text this morning. This is a text typically read during Advent--a season in which we wait for the birth of Jesus; when the light of God enters the world in the form of a tiny baby lying in a manger; during the darkest time of the year. Our text comes from the opening of the book of Mark, which scholars think is the oldest of the gospels. So the first line of the first gospel is: “The beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God”, and recalls the text from Isaiah that we also read this morning:
“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”
The Good News of Jesus Christ begins in a not-so-good place. It starts in the midst of Roman occupation. It begins, even before that, in the midst of the exile of the Israelites in the wilderness, where they are told not to fear, that a shepherd will lead them; a voice crying out in the wilderness; a messenger.
Thanks be to God for the messenger, because I sure don’t know how to prepare the way of the Lord right now, to make his paths straight. I don’t know how, as the carol says, to “prepare him room.” Especially since, as Isaiah reminds us, we are called to cry out in the wilderness despite the fact that we humans are like grass who will fade and blow away. It seems futile, this crying out to people who will soon fade away.
And despite the fact that our passage from Mark reminds us that the kingdom of God is near, so we better get ready; it doesn’t seem very near to us sometimes. It is hard to imagine a time when the hills will be made low and the rough parts plain. But the kingdom of God is near, precisely when it doesn’t seem like it. The Good News breaks in--In the midst of despair and darkness and civil unrest and oppression and occupation and exile and death and rioting and righteous anger and destruction of property. The Lord has come! Let earth receive her king.
Let every heart prepare him room.
Gosh, it seems like there are so many hearts that are unprepared for Jesus right now; like there is no room for him. I know this because I spend too much time on Facebook.
I preached a sermon here this August following the death of Mike Brown, referring to him as a child of God; one whose life mattered to God. And a woman on the internet read my sermon a few weeks ago after the decision of the grand jury not to indict Darren Wilson was made, and said something to the effect of “Stop referring to that man as a child. He was a THUG, legally an adult, and able to make adult decisions. He chose his response to getting arrested. He paid the consequences.”
You all know by now the ambiguity of that case in Ferguson, Missouri. I’ll be frank: it wasn’t as clear cut, in the end, as activists wanted it to be. It wasn’t as clear-cut, in the end, as I wanted it to be. I know it would be easier if we had a world in which there were good guys and bad guys; thugs and pigs vs. nice people, but God didn’t make a world like that. And isn’t that a good thing, that there is no such thing as “right” people and “wrong” people; good people, bad people? Just a human family in which our sins and our goodness are all intertwined and wrapped up in each other’s? It makes things complicated, yes. And human.
But Mike Brown was not a child, this woman said, he was a thug. I have seen a picture that is circulating around the internet that was purportedly of Mike Brown—a picture of him with a gun in his hand and a wad of money in his mouth, a bottle of Hawaiian punch in the foreground. Mike Brown was not a child, she said, he was a thug. See? Here’s a picture.
I think our Gospel paints a different picture. I think our Gospel says that we are all children of God, gun or no gun. That all of our lives matter. That Mike Brown mattered to God. That Eric Garner and Tamir Rice and Alonzo Rice and Steven Eugene Washington and Victor Steen and Kimani Gray and Kendree McDade and Timothy Russell and Emir Jefferson and Amada Diallo and Patrick Dorismond and Timothy Stansbury and Sean Bell and Orlando Barlow and Aaron Campbell and Wendell Allen and all of the other unarmed black men and boys killed by police in the past few years alone—their lives matter to God.
I have seen sentiments, decrying ‘racist’ police officers on the internet by my liberal friends, wanting to make all of the police force in all of America the bad guy. Darren Wilson was not a victim, they say, he was a racist pig. And I have seen pictures of Darren Wilson posted on social media by angry liberal friends--pictures of him looking rather frightening and with a small pink mark on his face from the altercation with Mike Brown—staring into the camera angrily/looking like a scary modern day version of a white supremacist. He is not a child of God, this picture suggests. See? Here’s a picture.
I think our Gospel paints a different picture. I think our Gospel says that we are all children of God, gun or no gun. That our policemen, who sign up to serve and protect; who risk their lives every day and have fears and families like the rest of us—that their lives matter to God.
Just yesterday, someone posted a picture of a beautiful, chubby black baby boy in a diaper lying face down on the ground with a chalk outline surrounding his body. And the caption read “When does he stop being someone’s baby?” I choked with tears thinking about my own moon-faced little boy.
Our gospel paints this picture: Jesus on his birthday, born of lowly status, an immigrant to the town of Bethlehem, brown skin shining, so tender and mild. And I think of how quickly he went from the manger tableau of mother and child, radiant beams from his holy face—to a threat to the authorities, just 33 years later.
My colleague Bob Janis-Dillon wrote:
“He was a THUG who intentionally tried to disrupt society, who had no respect for other people’s property and caused havoc to honest businessmen, whose followers were hoodlums who attacked police with a deadly weapon, who disobeyed the authorities and got what was coming to him. Even so, I’m still celebrating Jesus Christ’s birth this Christmas.”
“When did Jesus stop being someone’s baby?”
The answer is, he never did. We never do. And maybe preparing baby Jesus room in our hearts means seeing one another as mamas and papas see their babies: precious, beloved, worthy of our care.
Maybe preparing room in our hearts for the birth of Jesus means preparing room in our hearts to see one another as the Christ child. Not as thug, but the Christ child. Not as racist, but the Christ child. Not as pig, but the Christ child. Not as looter, but the Christ child. Not as an animal or a beast, but as the Christ child. Not as oppressor, but as the Christ child.
So I'm thinking about Jesus; making room for him, and how hard that is, and weird, and scary, and impossible for we who are angry, or disbelieving, and we who are complacent and tired; and we who want to keep our jobs. And I’m thinking how futile it all is; we who are yelling in the wilderness because we are grass in the wind anyway.
And I’m thinking about how we need to proclaim this good news in the wilderness NOW, despite apathy and rage and complacency and futility. Especially now, when our unarmed black brothers are dying in violent ways and at alarming rates, and NOW, when we live so separately from one another; so separately that we are no longer people, no longer mother’s children--but beasts and pigs; thugs and oppressors.
And I'm thinking we have to proclaim this good news in the wilderness now more than ever because I’m thinking about my New Testament class in seminary taught by biblical scholar Dr. Jennifer Knust. We read this book about the historical Jesus by Paula Fredricksen called “Jesus of Nazareth.” What I remember most from that class was the meaning of crucifixion in the Roman empire--crucifixion was a warning to people. They hung you on a cross so you could be a warning to others like you--a warning to those in your class; in your station. Usually only slaves and bandits were crucified.
My professor Jenny Knust called crucifixion “a public service message” to other oppressed peoples. It was a body hanging on a cross that basically said: "Don't do this, or you'll be next." And I keep thinking about that in relationship to the modern day crucifixion of our black men on the streets of our cities. While white people like me sit in our churches meekly and mildly singing Silent Night, hoping to keep our jobs, forgetting that Tamir and Mike and Eric and Trayvon were also sons of God, love's pure light. Our black boys are getting public service messages from the empire.
And it is not our police force we are getting this message from, but the empire of systemic racism…the original sin we all inherited that keeps us separated from each other, unable to see one another as kin; as children of God. And this is the sin we must cry out about in the wilderness until it is dismantled and destroyed.
The beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ starts in reaction to empire; a cry in the wilderness: “MAKE STRAIGHT THE PATH!” on the streets of Jerusalem during Roman occupation: “PREPARE YE THE WAY OF THE LORD!”; on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri: “CRY OUT!”; on the streets of New York City where Eric Garner said his last words over and over and over again as a New York City policeman choked him to death: “I can’t breathe.” I can’t breathe: the words Jesus might have uttered as he lost his breath on the cross; as he became a public service message meant for others like him.
The truth is that Jesus just comes on his own every Advent and wherever there is oppression and injustice, whether we are prepared for him or not. Whether we’ve made room for him in our hearts or not. Whether his path is made straight, or not. Whether we have come to see each other as we see the Christ child, or not. The way of the Lord is prepared in the midst of empire and execution. This is precisely when Jesus breaks back into the world--as a warning and a threat. Come, o long, expected Jesus.
Prepare him room.
Reverend Robin Bartlett is an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister, with dual standing in the United Church of Christ. She is the Senior Pastor at The First Church in Sterling, Massachusetts.