By now you know, I don’t have a theological brain.
During Advent, Christmas, this holy season, I think about Luke Chapter 2 verses 8-10:
“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.”
Ok, I’m a shepherd.
It’s dark, cold. I’m in the middle of nowhere.
I pray that a coyote, fox, or wolf will not disrupt the stillness and try to steal one of my flock.
In my years of being a shepherd, I’ve been lucky. I’ve always been able to scare off those prowlers.
But tonight, a light appeared on the horizon.
That light kept moving toward us.
The light traveled quickly across the sky becoming brighter and brighter, until finally the light was right on top of us.
I cowered. I tried to make myself smaller, but the light was too bright. Fear shivered down my weakening spine.
And then the fear shook me more. The light spoke.
The light said, “do not be afraid.”
“Do not be afraid”— are you kidding me? How ridiculous.
Listen you wing flapping angel, I’m tempted to take my sling shot and hurl a stone at you.
If I’m lucky enough to make it up to heaven some day, I’m liable to track you down.
And when you least expect it, I’m going to get even, and scare the feathers off your wings.
Let’s be honest here.
Even though the angel did convey the good news of Jesus’ birth, the delivery carried a fearful tone.
Let’s continue the honesty, Joseph and Mary, the bewildered parents of Jesus, experienced fear too.
Start with this puzzling intrusion of their engagement by God.
When it is time for Mary to give birth, fear hovered around the young couple. With this census taking place, rooms were difficult to secure. So a stable, with all the amenities—a manager, hay, gentle animals, and swaddling cloths came together quickly from a generous innkeeper.
Today, fear is rarely absent in our lives.
From the beginning of time, I suspect has been one of our most reliable pests.
Truthfully, I think fear is always rambling in the background of Advent with questions like this:
What happens if I can’t find the perfect gift?
What will I do if I overcook this batch of cookies?
When will I loose patience in the beauty of this season and snap at a loved one?
Why should I fear offering assistance to the apparent homeless person in the median of a busy intersection?
What drives me in my work to try and make every person happy? Why do I fear saying no, I can’t make that happen?
Earlier in December, at Trinity, the church where I work, I had an especially trying stretch of busy days.
On a Friday afternoon, the internal workings of a toilet sent a profanity alert to heaven.
No matter what I tried a valve and a flapper did not want to align properly. The good Lord must have tired of my poor choice of words.
He nudged me one more time. My eyes found my two installation errors. I exclaimed, “God still lives.”
While riding my exercise bike on the morning of Tuesday, December 22, I listened to an interview on the NPR show, Fresh Air. Host Terry Gross, interviewed Vanity Fair writer, Chris Whipple.
Mr. Whipple had conducted eleven interviews with Susie Wiles to write an article for the magazine. Miss Wiles is the White House Chief of Staff for President Trump.
During the course of the interview with Terry Gross, Mr. Whipple reported that Miss Wiles believes in what she calls “disruptors.”
I’m certain that Miss Wiles and I would clash over the “disruptors” that surround her.
But I wonder if we could agree that Jesus was a “disruptor?”
For lots of different reasons, I have an affection for the movie, Steel Magnolias.
I’m particularly drawn to the character, Ouiser, portrayed by the actor, Shirley MacLaine.
In a scene where Ouiser is hustling to a pedicure appointment, she is gently confronted by Shelby, the daughter of a friend.
Shelby has met a former flame of Ouiser’s. Shelby presses Ouiser to see if she might have any interest in seeing this gentleman again.
Ouiser, with no hesitation, asks Shelby, “does this story have a point?”
Every Christmas, I ask myself the same confounding internal question about the birth of Jesus—“does this story have a point?”
And despite whatever doubts I might wrestle, I think the birth of Jesus does have a point.
Jesus is a disruptor.
He disrupts darkness, John 1 verse 5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Maybe where you live, tacky Christmas lights are popular. In our neighborhood, there are a couple of homes that have made the tacky light tour.
During the holiday season tour buses, vans, and special limousines drive by these homes. At each home, the drivers of the vehicles pause so their passengers can gawk and stare at the tacky displays.
I’m happy for the people who enjoy the tacky light tours.
But during Christmas, I search out less obvious seasonal lights.
Two streets over from our home, I’m drawn to a singular light of a pretty star dangling beneath the limbs of pine trees in a backyard.
On some late winter afternoons, from the intersection of Stuart Hall and Sweetbriar Roads, I look west into the spectacular colors of a sunset.
In my daily ramblings around Trinity, I come across the intrusion of sunlight in our sanctuary.
I love how the golden light of a rising sun cast upon a window pane.
Over in the Preschool, I see the star of light atop a Christmas tree in artwork created by children who are eager for Christmas to arrive.
On December 17, the Trinity staff took a lunch break at the studio of our music director, Ben Miller. In close proximity to the VCU campus, this section of Cary Street has seen a rebirth.
As we were leaving, I read these words artfully displayed on a fence: “find your light and grow towards it.”
That disruptor, the Bethlehem Bundle, needs us to find his light.
He needs us to disrupt the lurking darkness found in every corner of this old world.
He needs us to disrupt with hope and love.
When we become disruptors with hope and love, our story will have a point.
might be baloney 