Christmas

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Sermon, by Pastor Joel

December 24, 2024

Luke 2: 1-7, 8-14, 15-20

John 1: 1-14

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Merry Christmas!

And so here we have arrived, once again, at the manger, the divine culmination of our Christmas story. Mary and Joseph are safe and warm with the animals. The Shepherds have followed the star. In the East, the Magi are about to begin their journey. And of course, in the centre of it, is a baby, representing a new beginning, a new way for God to be present, not above and around, but walking our human steps at our sides.

In her book, The Amen Effect, Rabbi Sharon Brous writes about a kind of presence called “sacred accompaniment,” and what could be more sacred than Jesus being born to live among us, to go on to be the friend and teacher and healer we know him to become.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s remain here, in this place tonight, among the animals and a set of strangers. For God has made room for all of us, wherever we come from, and whatever we believe, and even if we are not sure of what we believe. The manger is a diverse group of different backgrounds – at the end it will be filled with a stressed-out young mother and her new husband having a baby for the first time, a group of humble shepherds who were curious enough to make the trip, a trio of educated Magi bringing fancy gifts. There is a place for all of us here. That is what makes the story so magical each and every Christmas. It never gets boring – for as our lives progress, we may relate to different characters in the scene. Maybe Mary or Joseph. Maybe a shepherd. Maybe one of the Magi. And sometimes, let’s face it, we might even feel the most kinship with the donkey.

But what is offered to all of us is the sacred accompaniment of God. Not a God who tells us what we must think. Not a God who tells us what journey to take in life. Not a God who judges our doubts or the decisions we make. However we want to understand God, we can feel that presence. For me – and I hope for you – it is the presence of love and peace and hope.

This year – this very difficult year – Hanukkah begins on the same day as Christmas. And for three Sundays, I have been sharing the stories that Rabbi Brous tells in her book. We are reminded that we have much to learn from other faith traditions – that our stories have more similarities than differences, and that we all have a similar desire: to be closer to the divine, to experience deeper connections on earth, to give and receive from those we love. I hope the stories have been as inspiring to you as they have been to me.

I have one more to offer on this special night. It is about an older woman named Hanne, who was walking her dog one day in the park, when she encountered a young man sleeping on a bench. As Rabbi Brous tells it, she invited him for a meal at a restaurant, and then invited him to stay in the extra bedroom in her house. His name was Ryan, and he had been living on the street for a while.

Now Hanne’s friends were anxious about her decision; even Rabbi Brous was worried about her safety. Hanne had taken a stranger under her roof having met him only briefly. They suggested that she should rethink her decision. But Hanne refused to listen: she had offered comfort to someone in need, and she would not take it back.

How similar is this to Mary and Joseph, who arrive in Bethlehem with no place to stay? They knock on an innkeeper’s door and are told that all the rooms are taken. But the innkeeper sees their needs and offers them the best space available: a place with the animals in her barn, where they will be warm and safe. How much is Hanne’s choice similar to ours, when, a few weekends ago, we fed and hosted people who find themselves unhoused with a cold Ottawa winter coming on.

In her book, Rabbi Brous explores her own reaction, reflecting on Hanne’s decision. She asks: why would the risk that Hanne takes on be greater than the danger that Ryan faces living on the street? Hanne has weighed that risk, and found that Ryan’s was greater. The innkeeper weighed the risk of letting strangers into her stable, and found that Mary and Joseph’s need was greater. The shepherds weighed the risk of leaving their sheep and found that their desire to be present at the manger, to support this young family, was greater. The Magi would soon dodge Herod’s dangerous questions about Jesus; their desire to arrive safely at the manger and offer their treasure and wisdom, was greater than any risk they took by concealing the existence of Jesus from a threatened ruler. In the end, they chose divine accompaniment; they chose to offer their presence. And for that they received the most divine presence in return.

What happened with Hanne? Ryan moved out a year later, having found his footing. Years later, when Hanne passed away, he came to her funeral. And before the crowd gathered – in front of the people who might first have doubted her decision to take him in - he spoke words of gratitude for her presence. Hanne, he said, had saved his life. And perhaps, he had also been present for her when she needed it.

I believe this is the most profound gift we receive at Christmas: the chance to offer a joyful and comforting presence, and to receive that joyful and comforting presence in return. It will happen in different ways for all of us – we may experience it among friends and family, in acts of charity, in the way God feels present in nature, and here, among familiar songs and glowing candles.

Look for the chance to be truly present for another, especially those in need. Receive the moments when someone offers their presence as a gift. Savour the hopeful, peaceful presence of a higher power, of a God that lights up our hearts and souls. In this way, we are all connected. In this way, we create a welcoming community. In this way, as we gather together in the manger, love and acceptance waits for us all.

Merry Christmas!

Amen. And Amen!

Give the Gift of Presence

A recording of the sermon is available by

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Sermon, by Pastor Joel

Fourth Sunday in Advent

December 22nd, 2024

Micah 5:2-5a

Luke 1:46b-55

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-45 [46-55]

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This morning in our gospel, we learn of what will be the first of several journeys for Mary, the mother of Jesus. We find her at home in Nazareth, already pregnant with Jesus. So we know that she has already been visited by the angel, and is no doubt wrestling with the meaning of that news. But she learns that her cousin, Elizabeth, nearly 150 km to the south of Nazareth in the hill country of Judea, is pregnant as well. And Mary decides to go to be with her. To be present, with her.

Right away, we learn something important about Mary and her priorities. According to our gospel story, she has just been told -- by the sudden, shocking appearance of an angel -- that she is carrying the Son of God. She is betrothed to a carpenter named Joseph, who has already found out – or is soon to learn -- that his future wife is pregnant even before they are married and that he is not the father . We can’t be sure if Joseph has already had the dream where he receives his epiphany from God, but since scripture suggests he married Mary quickly afterwards, we might assume he has not.

But Mary, carrying all the stress, along with the very real risks that came from being pregnant in her time, is determined to be with Elizabeth, who is older and unexpectedly pregnant with a son who will become John the Baptist. But the road from Nazareth to Judah is long and dangerous, with bandits along the way. In that time, walking and riding on a lumbering wagon, it would have taken days. It was certainly not the place for Mary, who had her own baby to worry about.

But this Advent, the gospel further informs our conversation about presence. Two weeks ago, we heard about Andrew, a passerby who stepped up to rescue a gravely injured stranger and stayed with her until the ambulance came. Stepping up in these kinds of dramatic circumstances can make, as in this case, a life- and-death difference. It reveals our responsibility to respond to one another when the unexpected emergency happens. But in many ways, the instructions are clear: soothe the injured person until professional help comes. Andrew then slipped away into the background, his work finished.

But is our work ever finished?

In her book, The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World, Rabbi Brous shares the story of a situation similar to our gospel this morning, A parishioner named Jackie has learned that her fetus has a fatal condition and that extending the pregnancy will put her own health at risk. She and her husband decide to terminate their much-wanted pregnancy. Jackie is devastated. She calls her Rabbi and asks her to come.

But Rabbi Brous is also pregnant. And she worries, as she writes in the book, that her presence will be painful to Jackie, a reminder of what she is losing, and debates whether she should go. “I was terrified that if I showed up in this sensitive moment, they’d see my body as a kind of betrayal,” she writes. “I could hardly bear it.” She debates faking the flu or a flat tire. Finally, she calls to explain, and Jackie insists she come. At the hospital, when Jackie comes out of surgery, Rabbi Brous goes to her side and prays with her, and weeps with her. And before she leaves, Jackie and her husband say a prayer for her own baby, that she will have a healthy pregnancy – an act of blessing and hope from one family to another. A moment that Rabbi Brous would have missed had she not committed her presence to the moment.

But in her book, she explores the role of presence from Jackie’s perspective. Through her own pain, she recognized her need for support – and that a compassionate presence mattered most of all. But Jackie also transformed her pain into something deeply special: in return, she gave the gift of her healing presence. Perhaps, her own deep sense of loss made the need and the importance to give another person hope all the more powerful. In her weakness, her presence was, in fact, the strongest thing she could offer; enough that Rabbi Brous would remember it and write about it many years later. One woman showed up for another, despite her misgivings. One woman showed up for another, despite her grief. And perhaps, they both were able to show up more honestly because of those things. As Rabbi Brous concludes: “When we allow ourselves to be held, when we embrace our own vulnerability, we can be revitalized, not only with greater humility, but also with deeper compassion – for ourselves and for those with whom we share our love.”

Is this not the very example that Mary also demonstrates for us – travelling a dangerous decision to be present for her cousin? We hear that Elizabeth’s baby moves in the womb upon her arrival, as if John is greeting Jesus. But the focus remains on the two women. What do you hear in Mary’s prayer? God’s message for Jesus, yes. But I also hear a mother’s hopes for her child. A wish for things to go well. And worry. Mary’s words are faithful and eloquent, but they are also vulnerable. They remind us how small one person is against a much larger world that requires a forgiving God, one who shows strength and challenges the powerful. They remind us of the world that Mary is up against. And yet, in this intimate moment, two women with acts of love and trust are showing up for each other. And by being vulnerable together, they become stronger. That is the power of presence.

There is one last person we might think about for a moment. Mary travelled a long journey, braving bandits and other hazards, but did she go alone? No word of Joseph is mentioned, but many scholars believe that he must have accompanied Mary, to keep her safe and ensure she arrived. If that is the case, then Joseph, while still dealing with all his doubts, also offered his presence as a gift for Mary, enabling her to travel safely to Elizabeth. And so we learn that our presence is layered and connected: one person showing up leads to another showing up, and so on. We do not act as individuals when we reach out to connect; we become community.

We are fast approaching the manger now, and all those that await us there. But let us stay with Mary and Elizabeth this week, pondering our own times of vulnerability when we needed others and perhaps gave back. Let us stay with Joseph who left his business and set aside his doubts to accompany his soon-to-be-wife and ponder choices when we might shelve our own needs and complaints, to be fully present for another. For it is not just the manger that calls for our presence. We are called every step on the way. Amen.

A Christmas Where Everyone Counts

Third Sunday in Advent

December 15th, 2024

On Sunday December 15th, our youngest members retold the Christmas story from their point of view.

Christmas Counts For Everyone!

A special thanks to Jon Bondoc and our youngest members for sharing the story of our faith with us today.