The God Who Sleeps Over -- FPC sermon excerpt

Ten years ago, in a suburb of Rochester, New York, a man named Peter Lovenheim was out walking his dog. He was surprised to see a TV news truck parked down the block.

What was going on?

As it turned out, a horrible tragedy. A neighbor three doors down had shot and killed his wife, and then himself. Their two young children had escaped, running screaming into the night.

Lovenheim was shocked — not only by these violent deaths, but by how little true community there was in his suburban neighborhood. He knew the family only slightly.

Soon a “For Sale” sign appeared in front of the house where the killings had occurred, but everything else remained the same. “A family had vanished, yet the impact on our neighborhood was slight,” writes Lovenheim. He asked himself, “How could that be? Did I live in a community or just in a house on a street surrounded by people [with separate lives]?”

Good question. Here in Fairfax, do we live in communities, or in collections of isolated houses?

To find an answer, Peter Lovenheim did what any normal American suburb-dweller would do: He asked his neighbors if he could sleep at their houses.

Yes, that’s right. I’m not kidding. He requested that he be able to spend the night with them, to get to know them better. Although his daughter thought he was crazy, a surprising number of neighbors said yes to his request. And the result is his book In the Neighborhood: The Search for Community on an American Street, One Sleepover at a Time.

Peter Lovenheim is an author who sleeps over.

A similar situation existed exactly 2010 years ago, when God surveyed the scene on earth and saw violence and isolation in every nation, race, and culture. The human neighborhood was fractured then — just as it is now — with people separated from God and from each other.

God decided to do what no one ever expected a divine being to do: Sleep over.

As the story in Matthew begins, God comes to a sleeping man named Joseph, and speaks to him in a dream. Joseph is engaged to a girl named Mary, who is pregnant. Since they have not yet begun to live together, this pregnancy could be scandalous. So Joseph — being a righteous man, unwilling to expose Mary to public disgrace — plans to dismiss her quietly (Matthew 1:18-19).

Into the neighborhood comes a messenger from God, an angel. He says to the sleeping man, “Joseph, Son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (vv. 20-21).

The word of God comes through an angel, letting Joseph know that Mary’s child is a gift of God, and that this baby named Jesus will save his people from their sins. Jesus will rescue us from everything that can destroy or divide us — in particular, the sins that shatter our relationships with God and neighbor.

But that’s not all. Matthew goes on to tell us that all this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet Isaiah: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us” (v. 22). Matthew realizes that God is not simply coming for one sleepover, in a visit from an angel to a sleeping man. No, God is moving in with us, permanently. Jesus is Immanuel, God with us, now and forever!

Forget about making up a bed in the guest bedroom. It’s time to build an addition!

An Iconoclastic Christmas -- FPC sermon excerpt

Christmas is all about seeing things differently.

Breaking traditional images. Getting outside the box.

You might think that the visit of Mary to Elizabeth is just a meeting between two pregnant women. But you’d be wrong. It’s the introduction of a messiah named Jesus to a prophet named John (Luke 1:39-45).

And how about the kick of an unborn child? A natural part of pregnancy? Yes, but wait — there’s more: It’s the muscle-flexing of John the Baptist, leaping for joy (v. 44).

For most people, an unplanned pregnancy is a serious problem. But for Mary, it’s a reason to rejoice in the great things that God is doing (vv. 46-49).

And the child that Mary is carrying — he’ll be a mighty king, but not a traditional one. Instead, he will be the messiah God uses to bring down the powerful, and lift up the lowly (v. 52).

Christmas shatters our expectations, and pushes us outside the box — including the beautifully-decorated holiday box. It blows away our understandings of what usually happens when two women get together. It helps us to see things differently — to see a hug between Mary and Elizabeth as a meeting between Jesus and John, a kick in the belly as a fist-bump of recognition, a song of praise as a celebration of God’s ability to turn the world upside-down.

Christmas turns us into iconoclasts. Yes, iconoclasts. “Image-breakers.”

That’s what the word means, literally. To be an iconoclast is to be a person who attacks traditional images, ideas or institutions. We celebrate an Iconoclastic Christmas when we accept that God “has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (vv. 51-53).

To celebrate an Iconoclastic Christmas is to worship an Iconoclastic God.

This sounds scary to some, because it seems so destructive. But the fact is that image-breakers are not devoted to destruction — the work they do is usually quite creative and constructive. According to Fast Company magazine (October 2008), iconoclasts do what tradition-minded people say cannot be done, and they do it by seeing things differently.

Consider Walt Disney. He was a decent illustrator who could have made a living drawing cartoons on pieces of paper. But he realized animation’s full potential when he saw his little drawings projected on the big screen. That’s seeing things differently.

Or Florence Nightingale. It was long-believed that soldiers died from injuries, not disease. Then Nurse Nightingale discovered that death rates dropped when the sewers of army barracks were flushed.

And an engineer named Burt Rutan? He advanced aerospace engineering by building aircraft that are strong but light. Before him, the focus was always on creating bigger engines.

These are all iconoclasts — image-breakers. They see things differently, shatters traditions, and make contributions that are creative and constructive.

So how does iconoclasm connect to Mary and Elizabeth? These two are people who see things not for what they are, but for what they might be. The traditional understandings of the first century trapped these women in the box of second-class citizenship, with a load of shame being placed on Mary, an unwed mother.

But Elizabeth sees things differently. When Mary greets her and John gives her a kick in the womb, Elizabeth says, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” (vv. 41-43). With the help of the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth sees that God is breaking tradition and doing things differently, by sending the Lord Jesus into the world through a young girl named Mary.

Then Mary herself makes an iconoclastic response. She says, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant” (vv. 46-48). She praises God for looking with favor on her, although she has done nothing to earn or deserve God’s attention. The gift of Jesus is a pure gift — all she has to do is accept it in faith, and trust God to continue to work for good in her life.

“His mercy is for those who fear him, from generation to generation,” she sings, going on to predict how God will turn the world upside down — scattering the proud, bringing down the powerful, lifting up the lowly, and feeding the hungry (vv. 50-53). She knows that God is not trapped by traditional ideas or institutions, and that God will show favor to those who respect him — not to those who have the most earthly power or possessions.

That’s an image-breaker, for sure. Back in the first century, it was assumed that material wealth was a sign of God’s favor, while poverty signaled divine displeasure (Proverbs 14:11, 15:6). And, in truth, we do the same today. I know I do, when I pass judgment on those who ask me for a handout. But Mary questions this, saying that God’s mercy is “for those who fear him” — not for those who have the biggest bank accounts.

The Waters of Narnia -- FPC sermon excerpt

It starts with falling into water.

On Friday, the next film in the popular Chronicles of Narnia series will be released. Called The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the story begins with two children, Lucy and Edmund, spending a holiday with their cousin Eustace, a sour and unfriendly little boy. Lucy and Edmund have been to Narnia before, but Eustace has not, and he mocks them for their belief in this magical land.

Suddenly, a painting of a ship on Lucy’s wall comes to life, and the three children are drawn into Narnia. They fall into the ocean, and are rescued by the sailing ship called the Dawn Treader.

You might say that the film begins with a splash.

Once safely on board, Lucy and Edmund are greeted by their old friend Caspian, who is now a king. He has embarked on a quest to find the Seven Lost Lords of Narnia, as he had earlier promised the lion Aslan. Traveling from island to island on the Dawn Treader, they run into dragons, dwarves, storms, slave-traders, and even mer-people. The three children are transformed by the experience — especially the nasty cousin Eustace.

If you are a fan of the Chronicles of Narnia, you know that powerful things happen in this magical land. Author C.S. Lewis created the fantasy world to teach lessons about the Christian faith, and his divine lion Aslan is one of the best fictional representations of Jesus Christ. Although gentle and loving, Lewis says again and again that Aslan is “not a tame lion.”

The three children fall into the waters of Narnia, and go on to encounter Aslan, the Christ. It’s a spiritual adventure. Similar to the Gospel according to Matthew.

As the third chapter opens, John the Baptist appears in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (3:1-2). The kingdom might sound like a fantasy to some, as out-of-this-world as the land of Narnia. But John announces that it is very close, and he prepares people to enter it by baptizing them in the River Jordan (v. 6).

An outlandish figure, John is covered in clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and he munches on locusts and wild honey (v. 4). He shouts that the “one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals” (v. 11). John is like the talking beavers in Narnia, who say that Aslan the lion is good but not tame.

That certainly describes Jesus, the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit and fire. Good, but not tame.