DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

To read endnotes, click on the the note number, then click on the to return to your place in the text.

Years ago, a wise teacher of preachers advised us to prepare our sermons with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. His point was that sermons had to be relevant to the day-to-day lives of our people, and the best way to insure that would be to focus on what is going on in our people's world. Good advice, don't you think?

So what has the newspaper (or the TV or radio or internet or whatever) had for us this week? Well, early on there was the story of the failed mission to Mars. After the multi-million dollar disaster a few months ago when a Mars Climate Orbiter burned up for no other reason than someone had mixed up British and metric units and forgotten to transpose the calculations, now another $165-million is lost in space. The sound of silence. The sermon could well be on the unreliability of science versus the reliability of our God. That will preach.

Then there is that sad story out of Miami of the six-year-old Cuban boy rescued from the waters after the boat carrying him, his mother and step-father went down in the family's flight to freedom. Mother and step-father perished in the attempt. Now little Elian Gonzalez is caught in the middle of a huge international political storm with his father wanting him back in Cuba and aunts and uncles wanting to keep him in affluent America. Several sermons there - the importance of family; what constitutes real wealth; our responsibility to our children; the foolishness (and danger) of holding grudges; when political means lead to unjust ends (as is apparently the case in the US embargo on trade with Cuba which impoverishes innocent people). All of those will preach.

There was that sad, sad story of the six firefighters who lost their lives battling the huge warehouse blaze in Massachusetts. They had been told that homeless people were trapped inside and they were going to the rescue. The text is obvious: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,"⁽¹⁾ and a subtext could surely deal with how a society as affluent as ours could allow people to be homeless in the first place. Preach, brother, preach.

Closer to home, there was the demonstration at Guilford College the other night prior to the speech by former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Colin Powell. Protestors objected to the presence of a military figure on a pacifist Quaker campus. There is probably a sermon on both the horror and futility of war in there somewhere.

Then there is the special session of the General Assembly which the Governor has called to start on Wednesday to allocate funds for recovery from the floods in the eastern part of the state. Sounds all right on its face, but there are two major problems. One, not enough money; the proposed funding does not meet the needs of the flood-ravaged areas. Most notable is the lack of adequate help for those who were living in rental housing, mostly people of low-income. And two, the proposed method of funding; no temporary tax increase or issuance of bonds. We all love to hear "No New Taxes," but important state programs are at risk. For example, the Department of Health and Human Services is being told to make cuts of almost $100 million from its current budget (out of a total of $500 million in budget cuts) which will cut back services to those of our citizens who are most vulnerable. There are sermons on justice and fairness as well as our responsibility to the poor there.

You can see how the process works. The Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. There are lots of sermons in the news stories, and there is great value in that.

But I want to expand the process this morning. Let it not only be the preacher with both Bible and newspaper. YOU do it too. There is even greater value there. What prompts me to say so is our encounter with the lectionary texts for the third Sunday in Advent which the church sees this morning. Both the Isaiah passage as well as the famous verses of Mary's Magnificat from Luke simply soar with words of hope. And when we are confronted with one piece of bad news after another in the papers each day - bombings in Chechnya, shootings at another school in Oklahoma, and so on and so on and so on - the temptation to despair can be overwhelming. We NEED that voice of hope. Listen for it. The words of the Christmas carol come to mind:

Something new and unexpected in the air. Think about the texts. First, Isaiah 61. It comes from a period a bit more than 500 years before the birth of Christ. It was directed to a people who had grown up in exile; their grandfathers had lost the war with Nebuchadnezzar and had been marched off to Babylon in chains. Now the exiles were being permitted to return to their ancestral lands, a home they had only heard about. But the land "flowing with milk and honey" of which the ancient stories spoke was now a waste. Picture the scenes down east after Hurricane Floyd, or the earthquakes in Turkey, or tornados in Oklahoma, or typhoons in southeast Asia, and you have a sense of what awaited God's people upon their return to Jerusalem and the surrounding towns and villages. Nearly every home, farm or business had been torn down and left in disrepair. The city wall was gone. Their famous temple had been razed to the ground. The people were devastated, distraught and depressed.

Enter the prophet, commissioned by the God of all the universe and anointed to speak the unexpected - good news to people living in terrible times. Gift after gift the creator will lavish on these beloved people. The horrific conditions of their everyday lives will be reversed: the oppressed will hear good news, the brokenhearted will be embraced, captives and prisoners will be set free, all who mourn will be comforted. As the prophet proclaims on behalf of the Almighty: "I will make an everlasting covenant with them...they [shall be known as] a people whom the Lord has blessed."

Now, fast forward the scene through five centuries. A little town in the hill country of Judea. The home of Zechariah and Elizabeth, a woman who, after years of trying, is finally pregnant with her first child. A demure, devout young cousin is visiting. Engaged to be married, she is also pregnant...WITHOUT trying. She tells her cousin the strange story of an angelic visitor and his announcement of her delicate condition. What would Elizabeth say? In Franco Zefferelli's film, "Jesus of Nazareth" the scene is played out with the two ladies. Mary is worried about Joseph not believing her story. Elizabeth says, "Tell him that God gives life where no life was thought to be possible."⁽³⁾

Mary knew what was ahead for her. The whispers and the ridicule of neighbors. The stares, the silent treatment, the distance from those who used to call themselves "friends." Even worse would be the harsh words from her family. And then, no matter what she might say, the look that could be on Joseph's face, the one that could as easily say "death" as "divorce." But what do we hear from her? Again something utterly unexpected: "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. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name." Really? Then, with eyes of faith, just as the prophet of old did, Mary sees a world to which others are blind: "He 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."

Something new and unexpected. A word of hope in a hopeless world. Do you hear it? That is the message of these Advent texts. That is the message of the coming of Jesus.

In 1994, two Americans answered an invitation from the Russian Department of Education to teach morals and ethics (based on biblical principles) in the public schools. They were invited to teach at prisons, businesses, the fire and police departments and a large orphanage. About 100 boys and girls who had been abandoned, abused, and left in the care of a government-run program were in the orphanage. They related the following story in their own words:

It was nearing the holiday season, 1994, time for our orphans to hear, for the first time, the traditional story of Christmas. We told them about Mary and Joseph arriving in Bethlehem. Finding no room in the inn, the couple went to a stable, where the baby Jesus was born and placed in a manger. Throughout the story, the children and orphanage staff sat in amazement as they listened. Some sat on the edges of their stools, trying to grasp every word. Completing the story, we gave the children three small pieces of cardboard to make a crude manger. Each child was given a small paper square, cut from yellow napkins I had brought with me. (No colored paper was available in the city.)

Following instructions, the children tore the paper and carefully laid strips in the manger for straw. Small squares of flannel, cut from a worn-out nightgown an American lady was throwing away as she left Russia, were used for the baby's blanket. A doll-like baby was cut from tan felt we had brought from the United States. The orphans were busy assembling their manger as I walked among them to see if they needed any help.

All went well until I got to one table where little Misha sat -- he looked to be about 6 years old and had finished his project. As I looked at the little boy's manger, I was startled to see not one, but two babies in the manger. Quickly, I called for the translator to ask the lad why there were two babies in the manger. Crossing his arms in front of him and looking at this completed manger scene, the child began to repeat the story very seriously.

For such a young boy, who had only heard the Christmas story once, he related the happenings accurately, until he came to the part where Mary put the baby Jesus in the manger. Then Misha started to ad-lib. He made up his own ending to the story as he said, "And when Maria laid the baby in the manger, Jesus looked at me and asked me if I had a place to stay. I told him I have no mamma and I have no papa, so I don't have any place to stay. Then Jesus told me I could stay with him. But I told him I couldn't, because I didn't have a gift to give him like everybody else did. But I wanted to stay with Jesus so much, so I thought about what I had that maybe I could use for a gift. I thought maybe if I kept him warm, that would be a good gift. So I asked Jesus, "If I keep you warm, will that be a good enough gift?" And Jesus told me, "If you keep me warm, that will be the best gift anybody ever gave me." So I got into the manger, and then Jesus looked at me and he told me I could stay with him---for always."

As little Misha finished his story, his eyes brimmed full of tears that splashed down his little cheeks. Putting his hand over his face, his head dropped to the table and his shoulders shook as he sobbed and sobbed. The little orphan had found someone who would never abandon nor abuse him, someone who would stay with him -- FOR ALWAYS.⁽⁴⁾

The wail of sirens, the whine of bullets, the cries of mothers, and the sobs of the Mishas of this world are deafening. They would overwhelm us...if those were the only sounds out there. But they are not. The newspaper is in one hand, but the Bible is in the other!

Do you hear what I hear? That is not only the question of the Christmas carol, it is the question of Isaiah, it is the question of Mary. It is the question of faith. Do you hear what I hear? Listen...and be blessed.

Amen!

1. John 15:13 KJV

2. Words and Music by Noel Regney and Gloria Shayne, 1962

3. Dan Brereton, via Ecunet, "Sermonshop 1999 12 12," #15, 12/7/99

4. Author unknown. Posted by Jeff Spencer, via Ecunet, "Bottom Drawer," #4022, 12/10/99

click and send us mail