A time to be king for a day? A reflection for New Year's Eve

I Samuel 2 18-20, 26 Colossians 3 12-17 Luke 2 41-52 So, here we are, on the last Sunday of the year.  Those of us who have made it to church seek solace from the over-indulgences of our Saturnalia, our semi-Christian celebration of the Solstice, yet knowing that we face further celebrations tonight!  If I had been to preaching school, the advice for this Sunday would have been- keep it simple, and keep it under six minutes!  But as some of my friends know, I have not been to preaching school.  So, my best advice to the congregation is to take a slice of turkey and some mince pies from your purse, in case I get carried away with the theme of the Saturnalia. The early church usurped the winter solstice celebration, previously associated with the Persian Sacaea, the Greek God Kronos, and the Roman deity Saturn.   Celebrations were originally held in the week before Christmas, but the Emperor Aurelian moved the feast to December 25th, as he tried to straighten out vagaries of the Roman calendar.  There were conventional sacrifices, a rededication of Saturn's temple, and a ritual untying of ropes that bound Saturn's statue.  There were also features that have persisted into our Squamish festivities: school holidays, the making and giving of presents or saturnalia, the baking of special cakes, and the sigillaria, a spend-spend-spend bonanza that was the delight of small merchants down at the local market-place. Togas were thrown off, and just like so many office parties, there was a lot of tomfoolery and debauchery.  Bosses and servants traded places, and one of the highlights of the feast was becoming king for a day, or at least getting so drunk you thought you were a king. In a sense, Matthew perpetuates this tradition, with his story of the foreign dignitaries coming to worship the infant Jesus.  But this year, we begin Cycle C of the Revised Common Lectionary, and our Gospel readings are taken from Luke.  He puts a very different spin on events.  His world had moved beyond the simple old testament class-system of agriculturalists and nomads, smooth-skinned, smooth-talking Jacobs and hairy nomadic and naive Esaus.  You could still find such peasants; indeed, they made up at least 95 percent of the population.  But in large urban centres, there was now a small elite of rulers and philosophers.  Luke writes primarily for this well-educated and well-heeled Greek and Roman audience.  But despite this, he points away from wealth and privilege.  The action is not to be found among the rulers of large households, with their libraries, their servants, and their slaves.  Nor is the new life of the Solstice centred in an orgy to some fertility God such as Saturn.  As the wonder of God's spirit takes human flesh (sarka, sarka) or sarcoplasm, the good news becomes manifest through the poor rather than the mighty.  Look to simple, unsophisticated Bedouins, wandering the dusty hills, rather than to the power-houses of merchant brokers, the wisdom of scribes and scholars, or the sacred temples of established religion.   Have you ever stepped inside a Bedouin tent?  An Israeli-sponsored bus tour once took me to an extended family of tame Bedouins living in the hills near Bethlehem.  Their home was extremely modest- a large tent, made I think of goat skins, with a few ragged rugs covering the floor.  I don't remember any furniture, although they had an assortment of cups, and served us tea made from water of a doubtful provenance.  There was no school for miles, and I suppose the family lacked both education and title to their land.  But, Luke insists, this was the stratum of society where the sacred took human flesh. Our views of the manger scene are strongly shaped by nativity pageants.  The most striking young man in our congregation becomes a strapping, muscular Joseph.  Mary, his bride, is the most beautiful teenager in our youth group.  And the shepherds are tastefully clad in brightly coloured cloaks.  But the reality was far different. Let us leave aside the question of the season; if shepherds were indeed tending their flocks on the open hillside, it was probably summer rather than winter.  Joseph was undoubtedly a gentle, kind and just man.  But he was probably rather small, balding a bit on top, and with a pronounced stoop.  He ran a not too successful business as a small-time carpenter at the wrong end of Nazareth, a village of perhaps 300 people.  And he faced  all the problems of his trade- under-estimated costs, impatient customers, and unpaid bills: Rent for his shop!  Taxes to support the Roman legions!  Taxes to rebuild Herod's luxury Whistler North resort of Sepphoris, just 6 km down the road!  Taxes for the synagogue and the temple.  For 30 years, he had struggled to scrape together enough money to set up a modest home where he could attract a bride and raise a family. Finally, he became engaged to a youngster that most of his peers had spurned.  And when the time came for Mary to give birth, he lacked the personality and the purse to persuade the local innkeeper to find better accommodation than a drafty barn. Mary was likely a pimply teenager rather than the local beauty.  Some scholars suggest that the word virgin is a mistranslation of the word for young girl. Certainly, middle-eastern religions had previously featured seven or eight virgin births.  Possibly, Mary had been violated by some drunken centurion. And the baby lying in the stable was likely poorly clad, cold, hungry, and unhappy. His resting place was far from the sanitized manger of our chancel scenes, a place of muck and strong animal odours.   In the final scene, the family flees the country as penniless refugees.  When it is prudent to return to Nazareth, Mary and Joseph have on their hands a rebellious adolescent, growing up in a poor neighbourhood.  There are no royal tutors, and probably no formal schooling.  We can't even be sure that Jesus could read or write- education came by watching and asking questions.  Hey, Mom, why are you mixing that stinky yeast in that great big bowl of flour (Luke 13 21).  Why are you throwing out those old wine skins? (Luke 5 37).  Say, Dad, what are two cubits of wood? (Luke 12 25). And why did that house on Sixth Avenue collapse when it rained last week ?(Matt 7 26).  When he gets a bit older, Jesus slips among groups of rabbis, listening to their arguments and asking questions.  And when he skips out on his parents to do this, there is no contingent of the royal cavalry to scour the countryside for him- the anxious parents must plod back to Jerusalem on foot.  This was the environment where the spirit of God grew in human flesh and blood. If we were planning to demonstrate the transforming power of God, we would organize things a bit differently.  We would form a publicity committee, and contact the media.  There would be a big bank of television cameras, and a huge array of microphones.  And the focus would not be on a small stable at the back of a village tavern.  There would be a mega-rally in some vast arena.  We would try to show a dramatic change of heart in a President or a Premier.  But Luke insists that the spirit of God can grow in the poorest of society.  He has put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted those of low degree.  He has filled the hungry with good things, and has sent the rich empty away. (Luke 1, 52-53).   The sacred can become manifest in a despised foreigner, a chiseling quisling of a tax-collector, a woman of doubtful virtue, a lost sheep, or a prodigal son.  The spirit can enter people as unpromising as ourselves!  But for most of us, there will be no sudden, dramatic turning point.  Growth into the living body of God's kingdom will come through a gradual process, as we listen and ask questions.    Let us take just a quick glance at the epistle for today- Colossians.  We rarely study this book.  It is a letter that wobbled on the edge of Scriptural canon for almost 300 years.  Paul, if indeed he is the author, is writing to the church at Colossae- a Phyrgian city some 20 km up-river from Laodicia.  Once, it was an important mercantile hub, a commanding garrison point on the highway that led from Ephesus through the Cadmus Range to the Euphrates.  The emperors Xerxes and Cyrus had both halted there with their invading armies.  Five centuries earlier, Herodotus had described Colossae as "a great city of Phrygia." But its ancient glory had waned. You know how it goes. Cloth-making, the economic dynamo of the city, was out-sourced.  Business activity had shifted to Laodicia and Ephesus. The local hotel looked a bit seedy and had likely lost its "Best Western" accreditation. And a lot of the local shops were standing empty.  But leaders in the local congregation wanted to cling to a supposed international sophistication.  They argued that some strange amalgam of Christianity with Oriental mysticism would enhance their spiritual lives, giving them a deep insight into the world of spirits.  To the pompous proponents of this "new age" philosophy, Paul has the same message as Luke: focus on the virtues of compassion, kindness, humility, and meekness.  This advice applied also to those who battled the apostasy: the answer was patience. "Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive, just as the Lord has forgiven you." Clothe yourselves with love, let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, teach and admonish one another in all wisdom, and let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts. What lessons do today's readings suggest for our spiritual growth?   Luke's gospel seems to call us back to our Methodist roots. Throughout his life, John Wesley rebelled against the exclusivity that tainted the eighteenth century Anglican church.  He held outdoor rallies for impoverished Cornish mine workers, and identified his new movement firmly with the outcasts of society.  In 1757, he wrote: "I love the poor; in many of them I find pure, genuine grace, unmixed with paint, folly and affectation."  Sadly, within a couple of generations, his followers had become the nouveau riche, self-satisfied Victorian entrepreneurs. They were now busy building pseudo-Gothic temples as proud and exclusive as those of their Anglican counterparts. But Luke insists that we identify with the underdogs of society.  His gospel urges us to develop a sense of humility, and to learn from those of low estate.  In my youth, I used to belong to a small Disciples church where the preaching ministry rotated amongst the members on a weekly basis.  A few of the congregation had taught themselves Greek and had gone to great lengths in honing their didactic skills.   But I learned more from the humble faith of people like my grandfather, who was sent to work at the pit when he was eleven.  In the same way, Luke insists that the poor and the humble, those with no special skills or knowledge, are the raw material that will build the promised kingdom. Blessed are you who are poor: for yours is the kingdom of God (Luke 6 20).  The rich have difficulty in parting with either their time or their possessions, but the poor gladly give the little that they have.  In our stories today, two poor women are willing to offer up even their sons- their entire old-age security in a society that had no safety net.     We also accept growth in our understanding of God's Kingdom.  As James Sanders puts it, our scriptures show a monotheising trajectory.  Israel progressed from Jahweh, HEWHAJa tribal God with characteristics borrowed from surrounding deities, to a mysterious, unique Divinity.  The Greek word ((Theou (Theou) is used to describe the New Testament Kingdom of God.  It  recalls the Semitic EL (EL) which means  the "Divine" or the "Holy."  It is a universal term, applying to far more than the Israeli concept of God.  The trajectory of faith urges us onward to a "universal" deity, an openness to a diversity in experience of the "sacred."  This, surely, is a vital area of personal growth here in Squamish, as we become a part of the global village.   So may this Solstice bring to us a new spirit of humility and a  new understanding of the sacred that can become flesh and grow in our lives.  And whatever we do, in word or in deed, let us do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God.   AMEN. Roy Shephard.

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