We are almost there.  Just over that next hill is the stable, and in the stable the manger.  And for us in the church, of course, that manger is the heart of it all.  We’re almost there, but you still have time to finish your wish list.  Are you working on it?  Feel free to write down your heart’s desires.

Make your list and check it twice or even more, as time allows.  What are you seeking at the manger this year?  Just remember, as some great sage has told us: “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find you get what you need.”

Looking for power?

         You will find only a helpless baby.

Looking for success?

         You will find poverty, a stable and a feed-trough cradle.

Looking for wisdom and knowledge?

         You will find only an uneducated young couple.

Looking for status?

         You will find lowly shepherds, fresh from their herd and smelling like it.

But come to the manger seeking harmony and sweet accord,

         And you will find one the prophet called Prince of Peace.

Come seeking hope,

         And you will find the Alpha and Omega, who was and is and is to come.

Come seeking meaning,

         And you will find the one who is the Way and the Truth and the Life.

Come seeking mercy,

         And you will find the bearer of God’s wondrous grace.

And when you find that peace, hope, meaning and mercy, you can discover also God’s true and wondrous power that can transform lives, communities and the world.

You can find a depth of success you never dreamed possible—success measured in moments, relationships, compassion.

You can find wisdom and knowledge grounded in nothing less than God’s own grace and truth.

And when you find these gifts, you will come to know yourself as you were intended to be—a child of God.  And that, my friend, is status.

It is the question Fred Craddock said we preachers should write at the top of every page of our sermon notes, but today let’s put a bow on it, because it’s an awfully good question for this season, too.  For that matter, we could apply it to our relationship with God, our worship, our profession of faith, and, shoot, pretty much every moment of the day.  For a verbless, two-word question, it packs quite a wallop and rattles more than a few assumptions, trite clichés, and easily quoted truisms.  Even the most profound and thoughtful theological reflections are not immune to its power.

So what?  That’s the question.

At our church yesterday we were inspired by a beautiful service of Lessons and Carols.  But inspired to or for what?  We are spiritually sprinting headlong toward Christmas and will be there in a matter of days now.  So—when we get there, and before we have raced past it—what?  For our lives and for the world, so what?

I am haunted by the U2 song, Peace on Earth.  “Jesus in the song you wrote, the words are sticking in my throat—peace on earth,” Bono sings.  “Hear it every Christmastime, but hope and history won’t rhyme—peace on earth.”

“Peace on earth,” we sing.  So what?  We put a lot of energy into proclaiming and celebrating Christmas, and when it is all done, is the world any different?

I cannot answer for the world or for the Kingdom of God in the world or for God’s plans or even for the church, but I can answer for myself.  This year I will stand with the shepherds once more and hear the angels’ song.  I will stand beside a feed trough and listen to the baby’s breaths.  I might even sit down for a bit by that manger and allow myself to ponder.  Is there a Word in that silence?  Can there be salvation in a baby’s presence?  Is this the climax of a story that can change the world?  For some reason, my soul says yes.  The strange claim that what the world calls powerless has the power to save has, well, a strange claim on me.

Which brings me to the “So what?”  This year, I vow not to leave the manger empty-handed.  This year I will leave with the baby in my arms, and I’m going to carry him on through January and beyond.  No doubt, carrying a baby around will change some things.  I might have to slow down a bit; I might have to lower my voice a little.  I might have to be more patient.  And what if that baby really is God’s eternal Word, God’s truth, God’s example of what life ought to be.  Then I better walk carefully, because it’s nothing less than the hope of the world I’m carrying.

And if he is the hope of the world, I should share him, right?  But how?  I mean, you don’t hit people over the head with a baby; you can only invite them to open their arms.

So, here, I’m inviting you.  Take him.  Really.  Ponder him for a while.  He has a claim on your soul, too, doesn’t he?  There is something in the story that nags at you.  There is something in the angels’ song that speaks to your hopes.  There is something powerful in this powerlessness, isn’t there?  It could even be the hope of the world, couldn’t it?  So what?

If you visit my hometown of Ellijay during the holidays this year, you will find at the center of the town square a tall, majestic and beautifully adorned Christmas tree, and all around the town greenery and lights tastefully arranged will greet you.  It is really quite lovely.

But it was not always so.  When I was a kid, the decorations were, well, simpler.  On the town square, next to the 12 x 12 aluminum and glass hut that served as the police station, stood a scraggly tree with a couple of dozen lights.  Nearby was a plastic Santa and sleigh, complete with reindeer.  The lead reindeer was Rudolph.  I know that because Rudolph had a red light bulb duct-taped to his nose.  It was a fairly large bulb as I recall and a fairly small nose.

Not far from the red glow of Rudolph’s nose stood the manger, rendered again in more or less weather-proof plastic.  The stable was there and Mary and Joseph, and in the manger lay baby Jesus, who, like Rudolph, was lighted, in this case from within.  Yes, there was a light bulb inside the plastic baby Jesus.  And it blinked.

Looking at that scene as a teenager, I was absolutely convinced there was no place on earth as tacky as my hometown.  And I can’t say even now that I was wrong.  But, in fairness, I have to remember there wasn’t a lot of money in the Ellijay of my youth.  Some low-ranking city employee was told to decorate for Christmas, and, no, you can’t have any money.  And so he did the best he could.

These days there seems to be quite a bit of money in Ellijay, some of it yours perhaps, and the town square is lovely, rather like an Atlanta mall, in fact.  So why do I find myself missing Rudolph the Duct-Taped Reindeer and the blinking Jesus of my youth?  There’s nostalgia in my wistfulness, to be sure, but I believe there is something more as well in those make-shift decorations—something of the message of the season they so awkwardly celebrated.

The heart of Christmas, you see, is not grandeur, but wonder; and the wonder of this season is Emmanuel—God with us.  The one we call Lord, Savior, the Christ—the one who is God with us—was born not amidst the grandeur of wealth and power but of a young poor woman in a lonely stable off the square of some nowhere town in a nowhere corner of the world.

A part of the wondrous good news of Christmas, then, is that there is no place so humble, no place so poor, no place so tacky even, that our Lord cannot fill it with the light of eternity.  And that is the light that never blinks, even if the nativity scene does.

A certain saintly man named Nicholas decided to throw a great celebration of Christmas, and so he sent invitations to everyone he knew—near and far.  To everyone in his address book, he sent an invitation, to everyone in his e-mail contact list and all of his Facebook friends, to everyone in the church directory, to everyone in the Rotary Club phone book—everybody!

Some of the invitations were received by Scrooges.  “Humbug!  Christmas!”  And they threw the invitations away.

Others went to nervous souls who said, “A Christmas party?  Maybe if we called it a ‘holiday party’ or, better yet, a ‘winter celebration,’ but a Christmas party?  I really can’t attend that.  Someone might get upset.”  So they stayed home and managed neither to offend nor celebrate.

Others received the invitation with rejoicing.  “It’s about time somebody threw a REAL Christmas party!  I’m sick of ‘winter celebrations’!  And so they wrote a letter back saying ‘We’re with you, Nick!  The government is never going to take away OUR Christmas!’  And they started a boycott of those stores where they say “happy holidays” instead of “merry Christmas.”  And they wrote and circulated powerful warnings about how the government was trying to squash our national faith.  They were fired up!  And when the party came … they were so busy sending out mass e-mails that they didn’t have time to attend.

Others were delighted by the invitation, added the party to their calendar, and started getting ready—shopping, trying on party clothes, searching their recipes for just the right dish to take with them.  They wrapped their last gift on Ground Hog Day.

Other folks got the invitation, and immediately their hearts were warmed and their eyes teary, and they were so excited.  And they went to the party and had a great time and sang the old songs and heard the old story, and nodded with delight, and when it was over they said, “Wow!  That was great.  We’ll see you all at the Easter party.”

And a few people came to the party, and they sang the songs and they heard the story, and they found in the old message new hope and peace and joy and love, and when they left that party … they were different.  They still looked the same.  But they were different—more joyous and hopeful and loving and peaceful.  Their words were more gracious, their actions more compassionate.  They looked at life and their neighbors differently, and everywhere they went, the celebration went with them.

Now, my friends, go and party likewise.

Standing here holding this wonderful award that is today, I wish to thank my mother for loving me as only a mother can; my father, whom I called Daddy, for remaining in my heart and mind; my sons, who call me Dad, for calling me Dad; teachers through the years, official and unofficial, who have challenged and encouraged me; my dogs for being dogs; my friends for accepting me; my wife for loving me through it all and managing so beautifully my world; and you for being the church.  Thank you.

But even as the little warning light flashes, and the orchestra strikes up, I know I haven’t said enough.  Something still remains, somewhere between my heart and throat, too great to speak, too obvious to ignore.  When I have thanked everyone there is to thank, there remains a gratitude beneath it all, embracing it all, that can only be directed toward God, from whom all blessings flow.

Try it yourself.  List all the stuff and people and moments you can.  Name all the folks who have cared for you, who have guided or forgiven you or shared with you some stupid joke just to make you smile.  Think back on accomplishments and, yes, failures, and remember that neither can fully define you.  Name names; tell stories; count heads; take stock.  Then say thanks.

And there’s still something there, isn’t there?  You haven’t covered it all.  Beneath and around all the gifts of life is the gift of life—this moment, this breath—the mystery of consciousness, the miracle of being.  There remains a gratitude we can never fully express, and that gratitude brings us to church.  Week after week, we express a little more of it, only to find, to our joy, that the mystery has grown once more, too great to speak, too obvious to ignore.  And so we give thanks.  What else can we do?

See you Sunday.  We’ll try again.

Complete the following information in full:

Line 1:  Name (Last, First, Middle) _____________________________________

Line 2:  Address  _____________________________________

Line 3:  Phone  _______________________________________

Line 4:  Age  _________________________________________

Line 5:  Next of Kin  ___________________________________

Line 6:  Religious Affiliation  ______________________________

Line 7:  Assets  ________________________________________

Line 8:  Employment  ____________________________________

Line 9:  Debts  _________________________________________

Line 10:  Debt Payment Plan  ________________________________

Line 1: Name (Last, First, Middle)

         The last name is important.  It expresses your heritage.  There’s history and identity in that name.  If you’re married or widowed, male or female, you should list both names.  You have been grafted onto another history.

         First and middle names are important.  When you were baptized, those names were spoken.

         Were you named for someone?  Is there a legacy attached to your name?

         What does your name say about you?  How do you feel about your name?

Line 2: Address

         Where do you live?  How are you shaped by the place you call home?

         Where else have you lived?  Where do you come from?

         List here also all the places you are glad you’ve lived and the places you’re glad you’ve left behind.

         Add one other thing: the “embrace of a loving God.”  It’s a good place to live.

Line 3: Phone

         Not your phone numbers, but the people you are glad you can phone.  Who are the ones you count on?  Who are the ones you NEED to call before this year ends or maybe even before this day ends?

Line 4: Age

         I’ll answer this one for you.  First, write down “present.”  You live in the present age, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now.

         But also write here the number of years you have been on the earth.  Multiply that by the moments of awe and revelation, of beauty and love, of heartbreak and its painful lessons, of quiet and surprising joys.  Multiply the years by your experiences of God’s grace upon grace.

Line 5: Next of Kin

         Your family.  That is, the people who make you who you are, the ones you live with either in your home or your heart and from whom you gain a sense of connection and wholeness and joy.

         With some you share DNA; with others you share memories, trust and love.

Line 6: Religious Affiliation

         God, Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit.

         Look into the depth of your soul and find the image of God.  Consider the lightness of forgiveness, the weight of communion, the power of the Spirit to create you anew and call you to something wondrous and greater than yourself.

         Your church, by the way, should have been listed on line 5.

Line 7: Assets

         Using no numbers or dollar signs, record those things of value to you.

         Examples: faces, your garden, a song, the sound of rain in the morning, letters in a box in the back of a closet, a photo album and its memories, a drawing on your refrigerator, a joke a friend told you last week, the touch of a small hand in yours, etc.

Line 8: Employment

         How do you employ your time?

         With what do you fill your days?

         What gives you joy or fulfillment?

         How can you allow God to employ you for God’s kingdom?

Line 9: Debts

         From whom do all blessings flow?

         Also, who in your life has given you knowledge, joy, and understanding of life, support and care, an ability you cherish?

Line 10: Debt Payment Plan

         Look at line 9.  All those debts can only be repaid by sharing yourself with someone else, by giving of yourself for the one from whom all blessings flow.

They don’t call us Methodists for nothing.  If we’re going to do something, we want to do it right.  So, if we’re going to celebrate Thanksgiving, we ought to be sure we cover all the bases.  Therefore, I would like to share with you some of the official rules for the observance of Thanksgiving.  Put this on your refrigerator; review these rules with your family.  Get it right.

Rule Number 1: Thanksgiving Day shall be a holiday.  That means you’re supposed to take the day off and put aside any task unnecessary to the celebration itself.   Really.  Spend time with family and friends; leave your work at work.

There are, of course, exceptions to this rule—people such as law enforcement officers, firefighters, emergency medical personnel, doctors and nurses, who must work for the public good—but these are the only ones!  The rest of you take a break.

Rule Number 2: You shall pause as you take the day off to give thanks for these people who must work on a holiday, as well as for those other selfless people who give of their time, resources and energy to feed the hungry and care for others.

Rule Number 3: Families shall find time to talk.  If you are a grandparent, you shall talk to your grandchildren, sharing lessons from your own life.  Be it known, however, that for every story about how bad it was or how poor you were or how far you had to walk to school, you must also tell of something that brought you joy.

Furthermore, grandchildren shall sit and listen to their grandparents without rolling their eyes even once.

Rule Number 4: On this holiday you shall find some time to think—about your life, your family, your church and your relationship to your Lord.  You will think about the miracles that fill you days, the beauty of the world around you and the people who have made you who you are.

Rule Number 5: After you think, you shall thank.  Thank God for those people and things listed above and whatever else you can come up with.

Rule Number 6: Pray—not in a sense of panic, not asking for anything, but with a listening ear, ready to hear of the needs of others and respond.

There are, of course, pages and pages of other rules for Thanksgiving (See the Discipline, paragraphs 3001-7048), but I will close with just one more:

Rule Number 190: Life is good.  Give thanks.

Thanksgiving is around the corner and Advent a step behind.  What more could a blogger want?  So, I’m hoping to wring a few drops of originality from my fairly wrung-out brain and add some entries here.  At the same time, however, I’ve decided to run several of my favorite columns from years past as well.  I prefer the word “classic” to “rerun,” but call them whatever you wish.  The bottom line is I’ve used them before.

But why should I feel apologetic?  if there is any time when reruns are not only permissible but appropriate, surely it’s the holidays, when traditions rule our lives more than any other time of year.  From the movies and television shows we watch to the food we serve to the gatherings we enjoy to the songs we sing, this is the season of predictability and routine.  And may God have mercy on anyone who dares to question a family tradition.

In fact, that is one of the topics I almost always cover when talking with a soon-to-be-married couple: What will you do for the holidays?  It is one of the first crises couples often face, as both families tell their “kids” that “surely you’re going to be with us for Thanksgiving dinner/Christmas Eve/Christmas dinner at Grandma’s/or name your own hybrid observance here.”

So, let’s add one more tradition: reading old columns by Westmoreland (“Sorry, Grandma, I can’t be there this year.  I’m behind on blog-reading”).  If nothing else, it’s a holiday habit you’ll be able to break with minimal anguish.

Some facts: (1) I am writing this a week and a half before Thanksgiving.  (2) Christmas this year is December 25, pretty much the same day as last year.  (3) That makes December 24 Christmas Eve.  I point out these facts because the calendar can be confusing.  Or maybe it’s a matter of which calendar you use.

Two weeks before Halloween, my son Matt texted me from a department store in Milledgeville where he is in school.  He included a photo of a Christmas display.  According to the official Retail Calendar (maintained and guarded somewhere in New York, I believe), Christmas Eve falls on the Tuesday after Columbus Day.  The day after that is also Christmas Eve, as is the next day and the next, and so on, until December 26 when the After Christmas sales begin.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  In fact, I have to admit I enjoy the non-stop festive atmosphere—music, lights, televisions specials.  I don’t even especially mind being greeted with “Happy Holidays” (call me a heretic).  Again, it’s all a matter of whose calendar you’re using.  The goal of the Retail Calendar is to get folks into a Christmas/Holiday (i.e., buying) mood (i.e., frenzy) and keep them there as long as possible.  If I were a retailer, I’d probably do the same.

But I’m not a retailer.  I guess I’m a reteller.  With you, I’m called to retell a holy and miraculous story year after year, and that story is the framework for OUR calendar, the Christian calendar.  According to that calendar, the “Christmas season” begins December 25, not in October, and the month leading up to Christmas is the season of Advent.

And here is where it gets confusing: Advent isn’t Christmas.

As the whole world screams “Christmas!” (or “Holidays!”), the church speaks, in a calm, even prayerful, voice, “Advent.”   As the world shouts “It’s here!” we say, “We await him” (him, not “it”).  Advent is a time to consider the world’s (that is, our) need for Christmas and the salvation that comes with the one who is “God with us.”  Advent is a time of waiting in the promises of God.  But waiting isn’t easy.  So, in our impatience, we are tempted to skip Advent and offer instead the drama of the Nativity three shows a Sunday, all month long.

This year, let’s try to trust the great story.  I know that when I’m out and about I will enjoy all that the world’s holiday season has to offer.  But when we come to church let’s put away the retail calendar and its rows of Christmas Eves and allow the great story to unfold at its own beautiful and miraculous pace.  That way, when December 25 at last arrives, you and I will be ready to celebrate the wonderful news that everyone needs to hear: “Unto us a child is born …”

It begins with God.

That is true of the great story: “In the beginning, God …”  It is true of the gospel: “For God so loved …”  It begins with God choosing to reveal God’s self through creation’s signs, in the stories of the scriptures, and most wondrously in the flesh-and-blood words and actions of Jesus, who is “God with us.” 

It begins with the Holy Spirit moving among us, calling, nudging, pushing, pulling, whispering a truth beyond words.  The Spirit is at work in us before we can name it, naming FOR us the love and grace for which we were created.

And then it begins when you and I heed the nudge of the Spirit and put our trust in the grace of God in Christ.  It begins when we come to believe that God’s love is greater than all our mess-ups, that there is truth, profound and eternal, revealed in Christ’s words and being, and that somehow, amazingly, all things are made new in his acceptance of us and in his mercy.  It begins when we step into the new beginning that is life in Christ.

It begins when we come to see that life in Christ is a shared life.  It begins when we come together in the church, fellow searchers, fellow travelers, fellow workers, fellow sinners and saints.  It begins when we move beyond self and toward others.

And then it begins with the Holy Spirit working in and through all of us together.  The love and grace of God become flesh and blood here and now through our acts of mercy and compassion, through our advocacy for justice and truth, through our words of forgiveness and love, through the care we show one another.  It begins when, by the power of that Holy Spirit, we become together the Body of Christ in the world.

And then it begins.  Together in Christ, you and I, called and set apart by God, empowered by the Holy Spirit, proclaim a message that changes everything.  We offer Christ.  We share what we have found.  We proclaim in worship and world the truth of all truths: It all begins, and ends, with God.