Christmas at Messiah

You're invited to join us at Episcopal Church of the Messiah!

Monday, December 24

4 p.m. Children’s Christ Mass

A service especially designed to speak to children “in their own language” and to draw them into the service as partici- pants in our “living Nativity.” It’s a warm and intimate way to “get inside the story” and greet our Savior’s birth this Christmas Eve!

7 p.m. Misa de Nochebuena (en Español)

10:30 p.m. Choir Concert

A Medieval and Renaissance Carol Celebration, by the Parish Choir and a guest musician

11:00 p.m. The Festive Choral Eucharist of Christmas with Carols

Tuesday, December 25 

10:00 a.m. Festive Christmas Eucharist with Carols

The Episcopal Church of the Messiah is a diverse community where EVERYONE is welcome, and all are invited to the table.

Children’s Christ Mass

December 24, 4 p.m.


Are there children in your lives?

In your neighborhoods?

The Children’s Christ Mass is the perfect opportunity to invite them to Messiah!

Yes, we all know that some worship services are “child friendly” – that is, there is an expectation that babies will cry or children climb on the backs of pews and run up and down the aisles, and worship-as-usual will proceed inandroundsuchgoings-on.... However,ourChildren’s Christ Mass is a qualitatively different kind of children’s service. This Christ Mass is especially designed to speak to children “in their own language” and to draw them into the service as participants. Little kids (and their “big kid parents” as well!) are given costume head pieces and bells as they enter the church, and, as the Christmas story is told, everyone finds him or herself included, until we are all ringing our bells and worshiping, head pieces askew, around the manger! It’s a delightful experience for old and young alike!

Do you ever get nostalgic for the days when you were a kid, wearing that bathrobe in your church Christmas pageant? How long has it been? (You don’t have to answer!) Now’s your chance to relive those days! Be a part of our “Living Nativity” at the Children’s Christ Mass on Christmas Eve! Invite your family, friends, and neighbors! Make it a tradition! It’s a warm and intimate way to “get inside the story” and greet our Savior’s birth this Christmas Eve!

Steps in Calling a New Rector

1. Parish Profile submitted to Diocese
2. Job is posted/candidates respond to Diocese
3. Candidate list given to Messiah by Diocese
4. Discernment Committee reviews initial candidate responses
5. Interviews in progress
6. Visits by committee members to parishes of select candidates
7. Final 3 candidates presented to Vestry
8. Vestry calls the new Rector

December 16, 2012 - Deacon Jim Lee

The Third Sunday of Advent is also known as Gaudete Sunday, or the Sunday of Joy. Today this strikes me as very strange, today of all days, because today joy feels a world away. Advent is about preparation, about getting our heart and soul ready for the coming of Christ. Joy isn’t the first thing that enters our hearts and minds when we think of preparation. But especially on this Sunday, when we grieve with our sisters and brothers in Connecticut, there doesn’t seem to be much to be joyful about. Indeed, joy feels very far from us this weekend. Because today none of us were prepared to enter this Sunday of Joy with tragedy weighing on our hearts.

I think that what our gospel lessons have been telling us over the last few weeks, what John says to us this morning, is that the kind of preparation that we’re supposed to do in Advent isn’t about anticipating the unexpected, or preventing unknown dangers. It’s not about erecting scaffolding that keeps us safe from the winds and waters of the world. What today’s Gospel lesson teaches us is that Advent preparation is in some ways the exact opposite of scaffolding, of bracketing the unknown into something that becomes manageable. And I think this is the lesson that John teaches us is especially important on this Sunday of Joy. When he excoriates the crowds as a brood of vipers, he does so not because these are bad people but because he wants them to shed themselves of the fiction, the idolatry, that they can shore up their social and spiritual worth by scaffolding, hitching their spiritual safety to Abraham. John tells the crowd to share coats and give food to those who have none; to tax collectors, he admonishes them to collect just enough and no more; he instructs the soldiers not to abuse their power, not to be greedy. This is more than John telling the people to be equitable, to enact justice. Rather, he is preparing the crowd for a different way of being, a way of being in which the key to life is not about hiding yourself from danger, keeping risk at bay, but actually embracing vulnerability as a core experience to our common life. These walls, these things we erect to protect ourselves and shut us down and shut us out of the risks of life aren’t the answer, John is saying. No, give away your coats, don’t hoard, because in doing so, in opening yourself up to vulnerability, in becoming vulnerable, you open yourself up to joy.

Indeed, the deep wisdom of the Season of Advent, and particularly this Sunday reserved for Joy rests in this radical idea that joy comes when we prepare ourselves to be vulnerable. Noted author Brené Brown, a professor at the University of Houston, writes in her latest book that “Vulnerability is the core of all emotions and feelings. To feel is to be vulnerable. To foreclose on our emotional life out of a fear that the costs are too high is to walk away from the very things that gives purpose and meaning to living.” Vulnerability, then, is a precondition to joy. To be open to the uncertainty, the risk, of the world around us, to leave ourselves exposed to this world is intimately tied to our capacity to experience joy. Our capacity for joy can never be greater than our willingness to be vulnerable. Softening into, leaning into the joyful moments of life requires vulnerability; vulnerability is the precondition to joy.

I cannot begin to tell you how scary this sounds, because even as I say these things I’m so filled with dread it almost takes my breath away. I’m particularly mindful of how dreadful vulnerability can be given this week’s horrific tragedy in Connecticut. When we open ourselves to vulnerability, we open ourselves to pain, disappointment, heartbreak, grief. We are laid bare, and there’s no guarantee for joy. Our exposure puts us at the highest risk; for me, there’s nothing more terrifying that this prospect of laying open not just me but my children to the world’s risk. It brings me to my knees. I don’t want to be vulnerable, I want to hide and be secure from danger. But what our gospel lesson teaches us this morning and what this season of Advent invites us into is to live this risk, to prepare ourselves as open vulnerable souls so that joy can seep in. And this of course what the whole story that we’re preparing for is all about, isn’t it? The story of God risking God’s self by becoming a terribly vulnerable, frail, fragile human being, Emmanuel, God with us, God as us. For we worship a God who risks it all, who embraces vulnerability as a precondition to joy and who invites us to be vulnerable, to ourselves, to each other, so that we might experience joy beyond our wildest imaginations.

My friend Andy Marra knows something about this intimate connection between vulnerability and joy. An adoptee from Korea, Andy came out to her adoptive parents as transgender in 2003, but she hesitated to complete her transition before she met her unknown family in Korea. In 2010, Andy had the opportunity to visit Korea, and on the last day of her stay she found herself in a police station asking an officer to help her find her mother. The officer initially balked with a lengthy bureaucratic response, but then Andy cried, “Help me! I need to find my parents. I have waited all my life for this moment. Please help me!” In that moment, something shifted in the police station, and within two hours, she and her mother were reunited for the first time in almost three decades. But the story doesn’t end there. Two weeks later, Andy’s mother asked her, “What is worrying you? You seem worried about something.” Wondering and questioning whether to reveal her identity, Andy finally said to her mother, whom she had only been reunited with for a few days, “Mother, I am not a boy. I am a girl. I am transgender.” “Silence filled the room,” Andy recalls. “I searched my mother’s eyes for any signs of shock, disgust or sadness. But a serene expression lined her face… Then my mother spoke: ‘Mommy knew. I was waiting for you to tell me.’” Later, she proudly introduced Andy to a local waitress and her church pastor as her trans daughter. In a recent Skype conversation, Andy’s mother leaned into the computer screen and said, “My daughter, you are beautiful.” Andy and her Korean mother know something of deep joy borne out of deep vulnerability, joy made possible when you and I prepare our hearts to be transformed by the unexpected, the unknown, when we put ourselves at risk in the manner that God puts God’s self at risk.

My sisters and brothers, God invites us into a life of joy beyond our wildest imaginations by inviting us into the risky life of vulnerability. As we prepare our hearts and minds to receive the bread and wine made holy, may we be open to the risk of being broken, even today as we bear witness to the risks, just as Christ is broken for us, so that we might be open to the life-giving joy that comes from being open to all that God presents to us. And may in this season of Advent we prepare our lives by giving away our coats and everything else that stands in the way of our being deeply vulnerable, so that we come to know the joy that is God’s dream for us and for the world.

El tercer domingo de Adviento también es conocido como el domingo de la alegría. Esto me parece extraño. ¿No es el Adviento sobre la preparación? No es para hacer su corazón y su alma listos para la venida de Cristo? Cuando usted y yo conseguimos nuestros hogares listos para una gran celebración, como la fiesta de cumpleaños de un familiar, la alegría no es la primera cosa que entra en nuestros corazones y mentes. Este domingo en particular, no se siente alegre, a causa de la terrible tragedia en Connecticut, el pasado viernes.

Creo que lo que nuestro Evangelio nos dice es que el tipo de preparación que debemos hacer en esta temporada no es sobre prevenir lo inesperado. Lo que nos enseña la lección del Evangelio de hoy es que la preparación de Adviento es en cierto modo lo contrario de convertir lo desconocido en algo que es manejable. Y creo yo, que esta lección que Juan nos enseña es especialmente importante en este domingo de la alegría. Cuando se llama a la multitud una camada de víboras, no lo hace así porque son gente mala, sino porque él quiere que ellos dejen la idolatría, que su valor espiritual está ligada a su relación con Abraham.

Juan le dice a la multitud, compartir los abrigos y dar comida a quienes que no la tienen; les amonesta a los recaudadores de impuestos, recoger solamente lo que es necesario y no más; les instruye a los soldados que no abusen su poder, ni ser codiciosos. Esto es más que Juan diciendo a la gente a ser equitativo. Más bien, se está preparando la gente para una forma de ser diferente, una manera de ser en que la clave de la vida no se trata de esconderse del peligro, pero en realidad abarca la vulnerabilidad como una experiencia fundamental para nuestra vida humana común. No. Compartir sus abrigos, no acumular, porque al hacerlo, en abrirse a la vulnerabilidad, al hacerse vulnerable, te abres a la alegría.

En realidad, la profunda sabiduría de este domingo de la alegría reside en esta idea radical de que la alegría viene cuando nos preparamos a ser vulnerable. Profesor Brene Brown, de la Universidad de Houston, escribe en su último libro que "La vulnerabilidad es el núcleo de todas las emociones y sentimientos. Sentir es ser vulnerable. Impedir nuestra vida emocional por miedo que los costos son demasiado altos es alejarse de las cosas que dan sentido y significado a la vida." Vulnerabilidad, entonces, es una condición previa a la alegría. Nuestra capacidad para la alegría nunca puede ser mayor que nuestra voluntad de ser vulnerable.

Esto suena muy aterrador. Es especialmente aterrador cuando pensamos en el tiroteo que tuvo lugar en Connecticut, el pasado viernes. Cuando nos abrimos a la vulnerabilidad, nos abrimos al dolor, decepción, angustia, pena. Y las 28 personas muertas, 20 niños muertos, rompe todos nuestros corazones. Pero nuestra lección evangelica nos invita a prepararnos con almas abiertas y vulnerables para que la alegría puede penetrar. ¿Y esto, por supuesto, es lo que toda la historia que estamos preparando significa, no? La historia de Dios arriesgando el ser de Dios por hacerse humano, un humano terriblemente vulnerable, frágil y quebradizo, Emanuel, Dios con nosotros, Dios como nosotros. Adoramos a un Dios que arriesga todo, que nos invita a ser vulnerable, ante nosotros mismos, con los demás, para que podemos experimentar la alegría más allá de nuestras imaginaciones más fervientes.

Mi amigo Andy Marra sabe algo acerca de esta conexión íntima entre la vulnerabilidad y la alegría. El adoptado desde Corea, Andy anunció a sus padres adoptivos que era transgénero en 2003, pero vaciló sobre completar su transición antes de conocer a su familia desconocida en Corea. En 2010, Andy tuvo la oportunidad de visitar Corea, y en el último día de su viaje fue a una estación de policía pidiendo a un oficial para ayuda a encontrar a su madre. El funcionario se negó inicialmente con una respuesta larga y burocrática, pero Andy gritó: "¡Ayúdame! Tengo que encontrar a mis padres. He esperado toda mi vida para este momento. ¡Por favor, ayúdame!" En este momento de vulnerabilidad, algo cambió en la estación de policía, y dentro de dos horas, ella y su madre se reunieron por primera vez en casi tres décadas.

Dos semanas después, la madre de Andy, le preguntó: "¿Qué le preocupa? Usted parece preocupada por algo." Andy finalmente dijo a su madre: "Madre, yo no soy un niño. Soy una chica. Yo soy transgénero." Andy relata: "El silencio llenó la habitación. Busqué en los ojos de mi madre signos de choque, asco, o tristeza. Sin embargo, una expresión serena alineado su cara ... Entonces mi madre dijó: 'Mamá sabía. Estaba esperando que me digas.’’ Más tarde, se presentó con orgullo a Andy a su pastor de la iglesia como su hija trans. Recientamente en una conversación de Skype, la madre de Andy se inclinó hacia la pantalla de la computadora y le dijo: "Hija mía, eres hermosa." Andy y su madre coreana saben algo de la alegría que es posible cuando nos ponemos en riesgo a la manera en que Dios pone a sí mismo en riesgo.

Mis hermanos y hermanas, Dios nos invita a entrar en una vida de alegría más allá de nuestras imaginaciones más fervientes por invitarnos a la azarosa vida de la vulnerabilidad. Que podamos ser expuesto al riesgo de romperse, así como Cristo es quebrantado por nosotros. Y que podemos preparar nuestras vidas, compartiendo nuestros abrigos y todo lo que bloquea nuestro camino de ser profundamente vulnerable para que podemos llegar a saber la alegría que es el sueño de Dios para nosotros y para el mundo.

December 9, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart

“The voice of one calling in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’”

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

With Thanksgiving barely over the streets and malls are already decorated for Christmas and commercials and ads are convincing us to get into the holiday spirit (which of course involves spending money). Many of us are already preparing our homes and our schedules for the season we are convinced needs to observed with gusto. Thank God for Advent. While we shop, trim the tree, and plan parties, the Church is preparing, too, not for a holiday but for a Holy Day.

How does the Church prepare us for this Advent of the Christ? By immersing us in a different kind of beauty, a quieter, more reflective time with muted colors, shadows and light, one more candle on the wreath each week, the haunting melody of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” running beneath our reflections, and stories from the Scriptures (both Old and New Testaments) which speak passionately and eloquently of God’s salvation about to break into the world to make us a whole and holy people.

But this week there are no familiar stories that we associate with Christmas.
We will get to that soon enough and we will hear about Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth when Elizabeth’s child will leap for joy in her womb with the news of the coming Messiah. But this week we hear of Elizabeth’s child much later on, a grown man bursting onto the scene from out of the wilderness, a man on a mission from God. This time, instead of leaping for joy, he announces the time of God’s salvation by proclaiming a message of repentance and preparation of a different sort: This John the Baptist announces that the hour has come, the time is at hand for a radical change of heart, a course adjustment, a renewal of our spirits. People who introduce themselves as bearing a message from God do not commend themselves to us easily. If we do turn an ear to them out of curiosity, or perhaps out of an amused and sometimes horrified fascination, they tend to wear out their welcome quickly.

Yet one person in particular accepted John’s harsh style. One person admired his tenacity and single-mindedness, someone whose opinion we cannot dismiss. Jesus not only welcomed John’s ministry, he gave it the highest praise. Perhaps the overwhelming single attribute that commends John to us is that his whole being is directed to a focus beyond himself. He has hardly appeared on the scene when he insists that this is not about him but about preparation for another who is yet to come into public consciousness. The irony of John the Baptist’s life is that while he is passionately proclaiming his message of judgment on his own society, we come to realize what a magnificent person he is. It may be that he remains significant for us because he is the preparer (as he calls himself) for Jesus’ appearance. But John is far from being the warm-up act for the main attraction. He brings the music of his great humanity, his courage, his unaffected humility, his faithfulness in the face of suffering and death. No wonder Jesus thought the world of him.

What MapQuest had indicated was a real road was, in fact, a road under construction. He should have known, the man sighed to himself. When he had turned onto the road and left the main highway, there had been a warning: “Proceed at Your Own Risk. Construction Ahead.” But the sign gave no information about how long the stretch of construction was. Just past the turn-off the surface was paved, but there were no markings, just blacktop. After a few miles the asphalt gave way to gravel and a thin layer of tar. The smell of the tar and the sound of gravel bouncing up against the bottom of the car got the children’s attention. They had been sleeping in the back seat, dozing while the family made its way to the next stop on their vacation. They had slept while their father had driven them through this vast section of forested wilderness on their way to the lodge in a national park where they had reservations. “Are we there yet?” “How much farther?” “We have a ways to go,” said Dad as he rifled through the glove box looking to see if he still had an old-fashioned map in the car.

When the gravel ended and they hit dirt, he started to worry. It didn’t help that they seemed to be the only people on this road. Worse yet, what at first seemed to be dirt was actually mud. He decided to keep driving and hope that this was just a bad patch and that the “real” road was just ahead. It was clear, though, that the car had now begun to sink. The pinging noise of gravel against the car’s undercarriage had given way to a slurping sound as the tires kicked up mud and were then enveloped by it. “I just have to keep going,” he thought. “If I can just keep moving forward we’ll be alright, I’m sure.” But the mud deepened and the car became mired, sunk right up to the chassis. He gunned the engine but the car only sunk deeper. He turned off the engine. “What’s happening, Dad?” the children asked. “Are we there yet?” At first he thought about sarcastically answering, “Why yes we are. Look at all the fascinating scenery!” He thought about suing MapQuest or the highway department for their useless sign. But instead he told the children they would need to be patient and maybe they could teach him some songs they had learned in Sunday School while they waited for help to come by.

And help came – in the form of a tow truck with great big tires that traveled that stretch of road in case things like this happened. The car was towed back to the main road and directions were given for a much longer, but passable route to their destination. That part of the family vacation became known as the “repentance trip” because it embodied so well the definition of repentance – an active turning around, rather than continuing down the same path, going in the same direction that is leading nowhere or somewhere dangerous.

Repentance is not the same as remorse or regret. It is not listing all the ways things could have been done differently. It is not wishing you were a better person or that some things had never happened. It’s not feeling guilty or ashamed. It’s not feeling afraid. It’s not something that leaves us stuck, or standing still, or going nowhere. Repentance is about movement, allowing yourself to be grasped by God, getting your bearings, and relying on God for directions.

The new life that follows repentance, the new direction that comes with a fresh start is what John the Baptist is proclaiming in the wilderness. John’s message is a call to action. Repentance comes in many ways, when God turns us around, offers us a way to get unstuck, shows us how to move ahead with a new way of life.

It is Advent and during this darkest time of year there is a flicker of light. It beckons us. We yearn for it and are drawn toward it. It is enkindled in our hearts and can burn brightly in our lives if we but tend to it properly. It is the Advent of the Christ. The hour is coming for us to step into the Light.

Amen.

December 2, 2012 - Deacon Jim Lee

Good morning. This morning, I want to begin by talking about the things that I won’t preach about. This morning, I will not tell you that we should not put up our trees because it’s really Advent season and not Christmas. I will not talk about how awful it is that jingles and greens and holiday shopping begin earlier and earlier each year, how terrible it is that Black Friday began on Thursday evening. I won’t bedrudge you for stepping into a mall after Thanksgiving or clicking “purchase” this past Monday on some internet site. (And for honesty’s sake, I wasn’t immune from buying a thing or two.) If you catch yourself humming “Winter Wonderland” or “Deck the Halls,” I won’t shhh you. And I will certainly not admonish you that “Jesus is the reason for the season.” Most of all, I will not spend this morning exhorting you how a proper Episcopalian, a good Christian, is supposed to move into and in this season of Advent, this beginning of the Church calendar, this moment to wait for the approach of the coming of Christ.

To be frank, if your life is anything like mine, then you are exhausted. Between the frenetic buildup to Thanksgiving fare, and the relentless pace of everyday life hurtling toward December 25th, there is just so much whizzing by that it’s an effort to just stand still. Students are up all hours of the night cramming for finals; teachers are trying turn in grades before the 5 pm deadline. Doctors and nurses have clinics full of hacking patients; parents are holding stuffy children at 2 in the morning while they nurse their own colds. The last thing you and I need this morning is for the Church to tell us that we’re not doing Advent right, that there’s a right way and wrong way to prepare for Christmas, which is to not think about Christmas and not shop for our families and not sing until it’s the time to do so, as if to say that there’s a right way and a wrong way to be a follower of Christ. I think this Sunday of all Sundays, as we begin this season of waiting and watching, we need to remember these words: God loves you for who you are, God is certainly not disappointed in you, God’s child.

Because even in this season of Advent, this season of waiting and watching, of attentiveness and preparation, we can’t shut out the din and dynamism of the world. And God is not, nor should the church be, asking that we shut the world out. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars,” Jesus says in Luke, “and on the earth distress among the nations confused by the roaring of the sea and waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” These words, inscribed two millennia ago, still resonate today: people on Staten Island and Brooklyn and Queens and the Jersey Shore are still rebuilding their lives and livelihoods shattered by the roaring of the seas a month ago. Parents and children in Gaza emerge from the rubble of their homes, the result of a week’s worth of bombing; meanwhile, a bus explodes in Tel Aviv. Civilians and combatants continue to die in Syria and women are still being slaughtered in Mexico. 17 US service personnel died in Afghanistan this month. Black teenagers are still being shot in Florida. And when we put down our newspapers, breathless and overwhelmed at these terrible signs of the times, there are still our own lives to contend with. Another week without work as my meager savings dwindles, what will I do? My teenager has started to venture out too far and too late, whom I can’t seem to talk to anymore. Utter fatigue as you care for your aging and dying parent, whom you love and who drives you crazy, and please can I just have one moment’s break from the onslaught of work and worry? The mother who holds the tiny hands of her baby wriggling in the NICU’s incubator, and prays that the lungs will develop and not get infected. The widow who wonders how she will make it through her first Christmas without her husband, still reeling from how hard Thanksgiving was. The young person who worries whether he’ll still be welcome at his family’s home or whether he’ll be alone this holiday. The patient whose December will be full of chemo appointments.

“Now, when these things begin to take place,” Jesus tells us, “stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” The Gospel doesn't say “if” these things will happen, but “when” these things happen. Jesus knew, God knows, and we in the Church need to remember, that the world doesn’t stop, the travails and hardships of our lives, the big and the small, don't end for anyone or anything, not even Christmas, not even Jesus. But you know what? That’s the kind of God we’re waiting for during Advent, a God who doesn’t demand or even want us to perform some kind of perfect Christian or Episcopalian, a God who doesn’t ask you stop thinking about what ails you, to stop worrying, to pretend that you aren’t in the world. The God we are waiting for is the one who deigns to come into this world, who listens to and sits with all of our stories, especially those that break our hearts and God’s heart over and over. The God we wait and watch for tells us that in those moments when you and I are faint from fear and foreboding, that in those moments we stand up and raise our heads, for redemption, liberation is near, God is near. This God that we wait for during Advent comes to us in these moments of shadow and gently whispers in our ear, “I’ve been waiting for you too. I’m glad we found each other.”

And one of the ways, perhaps the most important way that God waits for us as we wait for God is through us. Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish contemporary of Jesus, said, “Be kind, for each person standing before you is waging a great battle.” This Advent season, be kind to the person in front of you, because even if this person is driving to the shopping mall, her heart may be breaking. Be kind to your child because he might be agonizing over being made fun of for looking and acting “different.” Be kind to your coworker because she may be reeling from the results of a biopsy. Be kind to the person standing in front of you, for you and I are waging great battles. God knows this. Jesus knows this. This is the God we are waiting for, and who waits for us.

My sisters and brothers, in a moment, we will all stand up and raise our heads and greet each other in the name of Christ. The person standing in front of you is waging a great battle, but that person is also God waiting for you as you wage yours. Be God to each other. Later, we will stand up and raise our heads as we wait for our redemption, a liberation made tangible at this table, where we meet Christ waiting for us, whoever you are and wherever you find yourself on the journey of faith, whatever battles you are waging. As we kneel to receive the bread and wine made holy, let God whisper in our ear, “I’m so glad you’ve come, I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so glad we found each other.” May we remember this Advent season to be kind to each other, whether or not we are humming carols, so that in our kindness we can wait for God waiting for us, God’s kindness breaking into the world and redeeming us all.





Buenos días. Esta mañana, quiero empezar por aclarar lo que no voy a predicar. Esta mañana, no voy a decir que no hay que poner árbol todavía porque es realmente tiempo de Adviento y la Navidad llega hasta el 24. No voy a hablar de lo horrible que es que los viancicos y ventas navideñas comienzan más temprano cada año, lo terrible es que el Viernes Negro comenzó el jueves por la noche. No te voy a criticar porque entraste a un centro comercial después de Acción de Gracias o hiciste clic en "comprar" el lunes pasado en algún sitio de internet. (Hablando honestamente, yo también me compré un par de cosas.) En caso de que te encuentres cantando "Noche de Paz", que no te callo. Tampoco te voy a decir que "Jesús es el motivo de la temporada." Sobre todo, no voy a pasar esta mañana exhortándoles cómo buen Episcopal, un buen cristiano, que te enfoques mejor en prepararte para la llegada de Cristo en este tiempo de Adviento.

Para ser franco, si tu vida es como la mía, usted está agotado. Entre las preparaciones frenéticas para el Día de Acción de Gracias, y el movimiento a alta velocidad hacia el 24 de diciembre, hay tantas cosas que requiere un gran esfuerzo mantenerse parado en un solo lugar. Los estudiantes se desvelan hasta altas horas de la noche estudiando para exámenes finales, los maestros luchan por reportar los grados antes del plazo de las 5 pm. Los médicos y enfermeras tienen clínicas llenas de pacientes de con tos, los padres calman a sus niños agripados a las 2 de la mañana, mientras que amamantan a sus propios resfriados. Lo que menos nos hace falta esta mañana es que la Iglesia nos diga que no estamos haciendo bien el Adviento, que hay una manera correcta y una manera incorrecta de prepararse para la Navidad, y lo correcto es no pensar en la Navidad y no comprar para nuestras familias y no a cantar hasta que sea el momento de hacerlo, como si nos fuera a decir que hay una manera correcta y una manera incorrecta de ser un seguidor de Cristo. Creo que este domingo entre todos los domingos, en este inicio de una temporada de esperar y ver, tenemos que recordar estas palabras: Dios te ama por lo que eres, Dios no se decepciona de ti, hijo de Dios.

Porque aun en este tiempo de Adviento, este tiempo de espera y observación, de atención y preparación, no podemos dejar fuera el ruido y el dinamismo del mundo. Y Dios no pide, ni tampoco debe pedir la iglesia, que nos cerremos al mundo. "Habrá señales en el sol, la luna y las estrellas", dice Jesús en Lucas, "y en la tierra angustia de las naciones por la confusión del bramido del mar y de las olas. La gente se desmayará de miedo y expectación de las cosas que vendrán sobre el mundo, porque las potencias de los cielos serán conmovidas "Estas palabras, inscrito hace dos mil años, aún resuenan hoy:. Gente de Staten Island y Brooklyn y Queens y Jersey Shore todavía están reconstruyendo sus vidas y medios de subsistencia destrozados por el huracán hace un mes. Los padres y niños en Gaza salen de entre los escombros de sus casas, el resultado de una semana de bombardeos, mientras tanto, un autobús explota en Tel Aviv. Los civiles y los combatientes siguen muriendo en Siria y las mujeres siguen siendo masacrados en México. 17 personal de servicio estadounidenses murieron en Afganistán este mes. Siguen baleando a los adolescentes negros en Florida. Y cuando dejamos de leer los periódicos, sin aliento y abrumados por estos terribles signos de los tiempos, aún existen nuestras propias vidas que lidiar. Otra semana sin trabajo ya que mis escasos ahorros disminuyen, ¿qué voy a hacer? Mi hijo adolescente ha comenzado a aventurarse demasiado lejos y demasiado tarde, y siento que ya no comunicación. Cuidas a tus padres mientras envejecern y mueren, y los amas y que te vuelven locos, y por favor, ¿puedo tener un momento de descanso de la avalancha de trabajo y preocupación? La madre que toca las pequeñas manos de su bebé en la incubadora UCIN, y ruega que los pulmones se desarrollan y no se infecten. La viuda se pregunta cómo va a pasar su primer Navidad sin su marido, todavía agotada por lo difícil que fue Thanksgiving. El joven que se preocupa si todavía será bienvenido en la casa de su familia o si va a estar solo este día de fiesta. El paciente cuyo diciembre estará lleno de citas de quimioterapia.

"Ahora, cuando estas cosas comiencen a suceder," Jesús nos dice, "de pie y levantad vuestra cabeza, porque vuestra redención está cerca." El Evangelio no dice "si" estas cosas lleguen a suceder, sino "cuándo" estas cosas pasen. Jesús sabía lo que Dios sabe, y nosotros, en la Iglesia debemos de recordar, que el mundo no se detiene, las tribulaciones y dificultades de la vida, los grandes y los pequeños, no terminan por nada ni nadie, ni siquiera en Navidad, ni siquiera por Jesús. Pero, ¿sabes qué? Esa es la clase de Dios que estamos esperando en el Adviento, un Dios que no exige que seas algún tipo ideal cristiano o episcopal, un Dios que no pide que dejes de pensar en lo que te pasa, o dejes de preocuparte, o vivas como si estuviera en el mundo. El Dios que estamos esperando es el que se digna venir a este mundo, que se sienta y escuche nuestras historias, especialmente los que rompen el corazón tuyo y el corazón de Dios una y otra vez. El Dios que esperamos ver nos dice que en los momentos en que usted y yo desmayamos por el temor y la expectación, que en esos momentos nos pongamos de pie y levantemos la cabeza, porque la redención, la liberación está cerca, Dios está cerca. Este Dios que esperamos que durante el Adviento viene a nosotros en estos momentos de sombra y suavemente susurra en nuestros oídos: "Te he estado esperando. Me alegro que nos hayamos encontrado.”

Y una de las maneras, quizás la forma más importante que Dios nos espera mientras esperamos a Dios es a través de nosotros. Filón de Alejandría, un judío contemporáneo de Jesús, dijo: "Sea bueno, porque cada persona parada delante de ti está enfrentando una gran batalla." Este tiempo de Adviento, sé amable con la persona que está delante de ti, porque incluso si esta persona va manejando hacia el centro comercial, puede ser que su corazón esté hecho pedazos. Sé amable con su hijo porque podría estar sufriendo por que se burlaran de él por verse o actuar "diferente". Sé amable con su compañero de trabajo porque ella puede estar sufriendo los resultados de una biopsia. Sé amable con la persona que está delante de ti, porque tú y yo estamos enfrentando grandes batallas. Dios lo sabe. Jesús lo sabe. Este es el Dios que estamos esperando, y que nos espera.

Mis hermanos y hermanas, en un momento, todos se pondrán de pie a levantar la cabeza y saludarse en el nombre de Cristo. La persona que está delante de ti está enfrentando una gran batalla, pero esa persona es también Dios que te espera para librarte. Sé Dios el uno para otro. Luego, se pondrán de pie a levantar la cabeza a la espera de nuestra redención, la liberación hecha tangible en esta mesa, donde nos encontramos con Cristo que nos espera, sea quien sea y donde sea que te encuentres en el camino de la fe, sean lo que sean tus batallas. Al arrodillarse para recibir el pan y el vino hecho santo, Dios susurra al oído: "Estoy tan contenta de que hayas venido, te he estado esperando. Estoy tan contenta de habernos encontrado aquí." Que recordemos en este tiempo de Adviento ser amables unos con otros, sea o no sea con unos villancicos tempranos, para que en nuestra bondad, podamos esperar que Dios nos espere, la bondad de Dios llegando al mundo para redimir a todos.