"My Soul Magnifies the Lord" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
December 24, 2024 – Christmas Eve
Scripture:  Luke 2:1-20

This is the final installment of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Different people who are part of the nativity scene tell the story of how they ended up at the manger.

 

You asked me how I came to be at the manger.  I’m here, because I trust in God-whose-name-is-Holy.

 

Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that God-whose-name-is-Holy is with me.  I used to wander the hills, where the wind blowing against my face would remind me of the ruach, God’s spirit.  I would gather flowers for my mother’s table, and be reminded that God-whose-name-is-Holy is the Creator of all Things.  I would sing the psalms, the songs of praise of our ancestors, and sometimes I would sing my own songs of praise to God-whose-name-is-Holy.

 

I loved to go to the synagogue with my parents to hear how God-whose-name-is-Holy had been with our people in the past, but I was most aware of the divine presence when I was out on the hillside.

 

It was when I was out on the hillside that I met the angel, the messenger from God-whose-name-is-Holy.  I knew that my opportunities to wander the hills were few in number, as my parents had recently arranged a marriage for me.  I was to be married to Joseph, a carpenter in town, and once I had a home of my own and a family to raise, I wouldn’t have time to roam.  I didn’t know Joseph well, but he had kind eyes, and a reputation for being a dreamer, just like our ancestor, the other Joseph.  His family was known to be particularly devout in their worship of God-whose-name-is-Holy, and I thought that we had a good chance for a happy marriage that would grow into genuine love with time.

 

Anyways, I was telling you about the angel, wasn’t I?  I had never seen an angel before – not many people have – but I knew right away that it must be an angel, even though I can’t describe it very well for you.  Trying to look at it was trying to look into the sun, with dazzling brightness.  And yet there was movement within it, almost like wheels turning, or a bird’s wings flapping.  And even though I couldn’t see it clearly, I felt like the angel was watching me with the gaze of a thousand eyes, looking right into my soul.

 

And it’s voice.  When it spoke, it sounded something like the rumbling of thunder, combined with the ringing of the biggest bell you’ve ever heard; and yet I could understand every word.  The angel told me that God-whose-name-is-Holy had chosen me to carry their child.  These words filled my heart with fear, even as the angel had told me not to be afraid.  I was afraid of what would happen to my body.  I was afraid of the risks of carrying and birthing a child.  I was afraid of how my parents would react.  I was afraid of how Joseph would react.  And, underneath it all, I was afraid that God-whose-name-is-Holy had chosen me.  The Creator of All had seen me, Mary, and had somehow believed that I could do this.  What within me could make me worthy of this honour?  Why was I the one who had been chosen?

 

But in that moment, the stories of all of my ancestors came flooding back to me, the stories of people in the past who had trusted in God-whose-name-is-Holy.  I remembered Sarah, and how she had trusted that she would be able to have a child, even long after her years for birthing children were past.  I remembered Moses, and how he accepted the mantle of leadership even though he felt unqualified.  I remembered Ruth, a foreign woman who had worshipped foreign gods, and how she put her trust in God-whose-name-is-Holy and followed Naomi to a new country and to a new life.

 

As I remembered my ancestors, a feeling came over me, as though I had the strength of all of my ancestors behind me.  A warmth filled me from my toes to the tips of my hairs, and I felt the love of God-whose-name-is-Holy embracing me, and the stillness of peace quieted all of my fears.  And in the very next moment, I was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God-whose-name-is-Holy had a plan for me and for my life.

 

And with my next breath, I said to the angel, “Let it be with me, according to your word.”

 

And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I had a vision of the world, somehow it was like I was floating far above the earth and could see the whole world at once, yet, I could also see the details a clearly as if I was standing right beside them.  And I knew that I was seeing the world as God-whose-name-is-Holy sees it.  And in this vision, I could see that everything had been made perfect.  There were no more hungry people.  Wealth was equally shared between all people.  There were no more kings, no more empires, but every life was valued.

 

And somehow I knew that with my simple “yes,” I was going to play a part in this world becoming a reality.  I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, yet I trust that God-whose-name-is-Holy is bringing this world into being.

 

And I began to sing a new song.  I sang of the vision that I saw of the world, and I continued to sing this song, singing for myself, singing for God-whose-name-is-Holy, singing for anyone who would listen.

 

And, well, the details took care of themselves after that.  My parents and Joseph were upset, as you can imagine, but somehow Joseph still agreed to the marriage even though he knew that I was carrying a child that wasn’t his.  You will have to ask him to tell his story some time.

 

When the time came for me to birth the child, we had traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem for the census.  We were staying with family members there, but the house was so crowded that we had to stay on the lower level, where the animals are kept safely at night.  My mother had told me what to expect, and yet the pain still caught me off guard.  The midwife was kind, and she talked me through the process, and showed me how to breathe when the pain felt too strong to bear.  And with one last pain, and a rush of blood and water, my baby was born.  The midwife cleaned him off, wrapped him in a blanket, and handed him to me.

 

And as I cradled him, I sang for him the song that I had been singing all those months that I had carried him in my body.

 

My soul magnifies the Lord,

and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.

For God has looked with favour on his servant,

and from now on, all generations will call me blessed.

for The Mighty One has done great things for me,

and Holy is God’s name.

God’s mercy is for all of revere God, from generation to generation.

God has sown strength and power.

God has scattered the proud.

God has brought down the powerful from their thrones.

God has lifted up the lowly.

God has filled the hungry with good things.

God has sent the rich away empty.

God has come to the aid of God’s people,

         according to the promises made to all of our ancestors.

 

I don’t know how, but somehow, God-whose-name-is-Holy is going to work within you and me, to make this world a reality.

 

And that is how I came to the manger – I’m here because I trust in God-whose-name-is-Holy, and because I trust in their plans for me and for the world.  What about you?  Why have you come to the manger this year?

 

 

“Nativity with Women Attending”

Frank Wesley

Used with Permission 

Christmas 2005 - Ndolage, Tanzania

For our last gathering of 2025, members of the Grand Bay Writers Group prepared a Christmas Memory to share with the rest of the group.

 

 

It is a strange thing to listen to Christmas music at the equator.  “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” while walking the dirt road to the nearest village, seeking shade under the eucalyptus and banana trees that line the way.  “In the Bleak Midwinter” while taking a rest after lunch, waiting for the heat of the day to pass.  “See Amid the Winter Snow” while hanging laundry on the clothesline, knowing that with the heat of the sun, it will be dry almost before you finish hanging it up.

 

My third December in Tanzania, all of the VSO volunteers from all across the country gathered in Bagamoyo for the Christmas Conference. Apparently this had been a thing in the past, but it hadn’t happened in my previous years in-country.  For several days, we reveled in the luxury of rooms at a resort, a view of the Indian Ocean with a beach to match, and the opportunity to share experiences, stories, and learnings with one another.

 

The conference was timed to end on December 22, and most volunteers chose to take advantage of the fact that their travel to and from the coast had been paid for, and they stayed several days longer for a Christmas vacation.

 

But not those of us from Ndolage.  We knew that we wanted to spend Christmas in the place that we loved, and so despite the unreliability of travel in Tanzania, we decided that we were going to try to get home in time.  So the morning of December 23, the five of us got on an airplane in Dar es Salaam that would take us to Mwanza.  This was one of the times that the “fast ferry” was running across Lake Victoria, so instead of a connecting flight, the VSO office had booked us on the significantly cheaper ferry which would take us 6 hours to get across the lake to Bukoba.  6 hours of a very loud and somewhat confusing Bollywood movie playing on the TV in the sitting area of the boat.

 

By the late afternoon, we had landed in Bukoba, and made our way to the bus stand where we and our luggage piled ourselves into a daladala – one of those ubiquitous and overcrowded mini buses that go by different names in different corners of the continent. It was slightly past twilight when our journey ended, but we were home in time to celebrate Christmas.

 

On Christmas Eve, Nicola invited us to her house for supper – carrot and coriander soup with homemade ravioli.  Later that evening, Nicola, Annette, Russ, and I went to the hospital chapel for the midnight service that began at 11; while Valerie used the excuse of preparing our Christmas feast to stay home.

 

After a late night, I was back in church at 9am on Christmas day, and after that went back with one of the nurses to her house as she had asked for help in baking a cake. This was considered to be a mzungu treat, and my expertise was requested.  While I can certainly mix a cake batter, as it was being baked on a charcoal stove with more charcoal piled on the lid of the baking pan, I let Krista’s expertise take the lead on that part of the process.

 

Once her cake was well on its way to being baked, I headed home to open the parcels from Canada that had been collecting in my living room over the past several weeks.  A couple of new books.  A red fleece jacket for the cool evenings.  A chocolate bar that had melted in transit and re-hardened. That was a real treat, despite its misshapen appearance, as most chocolate sold in hot climates is specially formulated not to melt in the heat, and while it might taste like chocolate, it feels more like eating wax than eating chocolate.

 

Gifts opened, it was time to head over to Valerie’s house, and in the late afternoon we went for a long walk over the open fields, along the edge of the cliff, to work up an appetite.  The short rainy season had ended a few weeks earlier, and we were coming in to the heat of the short dry season that would extend from mid-December until late February.

 

When we got back to Valerie’s, the feast was prepared.  One of her chickens and one of her ducks had been sacrificed for our meal, and they had been roasted in pieces in the oven.  There were roasted potatoes too, with crunchy outsides and soft fluffy interiors.  There were carrots too, and even a few small brussels sprouts, a cold-weather crop carefully cultivated and harvested early before the plant had a chance to bolt.  Valerie had tried for years to grow parsnips for our Christmas dinner without success – apparently parsnips need cold weather to develop any sort of root, and while she would get beautiful feathery parsnip greens, the edible roots were never any larger than your pinky finger.  There was also a salad, picked from her garden, and a Christmas Pudding from Harrods for dessert.  The tradition was that whoever was passing through Heathrow airport at any point between Christmases was to pick up one of their Christmas Puddings.  The Harrods in the International Departures part of Heathrow keeps them in stock year-round, specifically for situations like ours!

 

As we were finishing up dinner, my phone rang and I went outside to answer it.  8pm in Tanzania was noon back in Canada, and my family was gathered around a speaker phone on the dining room table at Dad’s house on Christmas Day.  The connection wasn’t great, and our call was short as each minute of an international phone call pushed your monthly phone bill higher, but I could hear all of their voices and we could tell each other, “I love you.”

 

Back inside Valerie’s house, a movie had been decided on – something James Bond – and had started playing on her TV.  Valerie was one of the only people at Ndolage with a TV, and while we watched in her living room, I suspect that there were some people outside in the night watching the movie through her window – she would have invited them in if she knew that they were there, but they kept their presence undetected that night.

 

My heart full of joy and love and laughter – and a feast of good food – I couldn’t stay awake through the movie and I dozed off, waking up when the end credits were rolling.  And then it was a three-minute walk home through the dark night before rolling into my bed – with the mosquito net down, of course – and drifting off to sleep.

 

And that morning and the night before, we had gathered in the church and sang, “Umati wa Yesu, njooni kwa furaha” (O Come All Ye Faithful).  We gathered and we sang, “Usiku, mtakatifu.” (Silent Night).  And in every corner of the globe, people paused and celebrated in countless different ways the birth of the Prince of Peace, and recommitted ourselves to a world where love and where joy reign.

 

 

One of the views over the hills from Ndolage

 

"Star of Wonder" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday December 21, 2025 – 4^th Sunday of Advent
Scripture:  Matthew 2:1-12

This is the fourth week of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Different people who are part of the nativity scene tell the story of how they ended up at the manger.

 

You asked me how I came to be at the manger.  I’m here because I followed a star.

 

My name is Maryam, and I can still remember the first time that I saw the night sky.  We were walking home from somewhere, and I was small enough that my father was carrying me.  I was wrapped in blankets to keep the cold out, but when we were part-way home, my father stopped walking, and pulled the blanket away from my face, and told me to look up.  I can still remember the feeling that I got, looking at the night sky with little pinpricks of light from one horizon to another, and a great wash of light through the centre, almost as if someone had spilled a jug of milk across the sky.  I felt so tiny and insignificant next to that sky, and yet something within me was pulling me upward, as if I could join the great dance of the heavens.

 

And that initial fascination never left me.  Even though it was an unusual path for a girl to be apprenticed to the stargazers, it wasn’t unheard of, and when I was old enough, my parents took me to their tower in the desert and left me there to begin my studies.  Night after night, we studied the stars, learning each star by name, and learning the patterns that they danced in across the sky.  By day, we pored over our star charts, marking the celestial dance on paper.

 

There were deeper secrets we studied too – what you might name as magic.  Secrets of how the movement of the stars both reflected what was happening on earth, and could also shape what would unfold.

 

It was a beautiful life, with our hearts and our minds in the heavens, alongside others who shared our passion.

 

The night that the new star appeared in the sky began like any other night.  It was Kurosh who spotted it first, sometime after midnight, hanging above the western horizon.  It wasn’t the biggest or the brightest star, but that night there was a star in the sky where there had been no star before.

 

After the initial excitement passed, we were left with many questions and no answers.  Did this new star have a name?  What was the protocol for naming stars?  There had never been any new stars in the sky for as long as anyone could remember – the stars just had names; they didn’t need to be named.  And more importantly, why had this star appeared?  Had a change happened here on earth that had brought this star into being; or was this new star going to shape what would unfold on earth?

 

We debated these questions for days, until we finally decided that we had to follow the star in order to find the answers we desired.  We gathered together the things that we would need for the journey.  We didn’t know how long we would be traveling for, but we brought provisions for a couple of weeks, and gold coins, along with smaller coins made of silver and copper so that we could buy food along the way.

 

We also brought some precious medicines made from the sap of far-off trees – some were in solid form that could be burned to cleanse the air of evil spirits, and some in ointment form that could be used to anoint a king or to anoint a body for burial.  We didn’t know what we would encounter along the way, and wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

 

We set off, across the desert.  Camels carried our provisions, and sometimes in the coolness of the morning or evening we would walk, but when the sand became too hot for our feet, we would ride the camels.  In the evenings, we would curl up under layers of blankets, and gaze at the stars overhead.

 

It was slow-going, as we followed the star on the western horizon.  We were such a large group – so many people and camels – that we couldn’t travel quickly.  But with each passing night, the star seemed to shift in the sky; it seemed to travel upward until it was almost overhead, and so we knew that we were getting closer to our destination.

 

By this time, we were entering the land of Judah, and so we assumed that the star must be leading us to the palace of the King of Judah, King Herod.  And even though the star was slightly to the south of Jerusalem, that is where we went first.

 

At Herod’s palace, we were met with confusion.  We explained our story – we explained how a new star had appeared in the sky, and we explained how a new star in the sky must be connected with what was happening here on earth.  We asked if a king had been born in the palace, and with that, the king said that he would have to consult with his advisors.

 

When he came back, he told us that the tradition of their people was that a true king of the people would have to be born in Bethlehem, the city of the great king of history, King David.  He asked us to go and find that king, and once we had found the king, to come back and tell him, so that he too might go to pay his respects.

 

Being in the presence of King Herod didn’t give me a good feeling.  When we left, I felt as though I wanted to wash my hands and my feet over and over again, as if I could never get fully clean again.  And when we asked for directions to Bethlehem, we weren’t surprised to be told that it was south of Jerusalem, and that night, the star was there in the sky, waiting for us to finish our detour.

 

And so we followed the star, and when it was fully overhead, we knocked on the door and waited.  When the door was opened to us, we told our story again to the woman who opened it to us, and asked if a king had been born in this place.  She laughed, and through her laughter she told us that no, a king hadn’t been born, but her cousin’s wife had had a baby, and ever since then, people had been knocking on the door to meet the baby – from the neighbours, to other family members in Bethlehem, to a rag-tag group of shepherd boys.  And now here was a gaggle of foreigners wearing strange clothes, speaking with a strange accent.  Everyone else had seen the baby, so why not us too?!

 

It wasn’t what we had expected.  There was no palace, no jewel-studded cradle, no servants to wait on the young prince.  Instead there was a small and now very crowded house, with a young couple cradling their firstborn child.  But the stars are never wrong, and we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was who we were here to see.  And so we fell to our knees in awe and reverence.

 

We felt such peace in that place, and such gratitude.  I can’t explain it, and it doesn’t make any logical sense, but then again, the stars don’t have to make sense.  In gratitude, we opened our bags and offered gifts to this baby and his parents – any gold that we wouldn’t need for our return journey we gave to them, along with the precious medicines that we had brought.  Gifts for the newborn king of the heavens.

 

That night, as we camped out under the stars, all of us had the same dream, and in that dream, the stars told us not to return to Herod, the pretender king, but to return home by a different route.  But that is a story for another time.

 

I came here to the manger because I followed a star, because I trusted in a heavenly sign.  What about you?  Why are you journeying to the manger this year?

 

 

Image:  “Milky Way Over Ranch Garage”

by Jeff Sullivan on flickr

Used with Permission 

"Shepherds and Angels and a Lamb" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday December 14 – 3^rd Sunday in Advent
Scripture:  Luke 2:8-20

This is the third week of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Different people who are part of the nativity scene tell the story of how they ended up at the manger.

 

You asked me how I came to be at the manger.  I came to the manger because the messengers of God-whose-name-is-Holy told me come.

I am Saul, the youngest son of Isaac, and our family are smallhold farmers here in Bethlehem.  As well as working the land, growing wheat and barley, we also had a small flock of sheep, and every year someone would have to accompany the sheep to the pastures outside of town.

My journey to the manger happened when I was in my third year of tending the sheep.  My older brothers had done this job before me, but as soon as I was old enough to go, 12 years old, it was my turn to take over.  I felt like I was a fully grown man, given a responsibility like this!

It is hard, even impossible, for one person to watch a flock of sheep, so the different families in Bethlehem would tend their sheep together, one person from each family, and we would bring the sheep together into one larger flock.  We would all take turns watching for predators, keeping the sheep from wandering away, and then from time to time moving them to better grazing ground.

It can be a lonely life as a shepherd.  The only people I saw for 6 months at a time were the other shepherds.  Our food was simple, and while there was water to drink, there wasn’t any extra water for bathing and so we always smelled like sheep.  When we had to travel into town, people would cross to the other side of the road and make a display of holding their noses so that they wouldn’t have to smell us.

But there was a beauty in the life as well.  You have to imagine the night sky, far away from the lamps of town, stars filling the expanse from one horizon to the other.  There was time around the campfire most evenings with the other shepherds, and together we would sing the songs that our mothers had sung to us when we were children.  Sheep can be stubborn creatures, and if one of them starts to run, the others will follow even though they don’t know why they are running.  But that gave a challenge to the job – we had to figure out how to think like a sheep to stay one step ahead of them.

Our journey in to town and to the manger began one night as the singing ended.  We would keep the fire burning all night to discourage any predators, but all of us who weren’t on the first watch were starting to set up our bedding, not going too far away from the fire as it was going to be a cold clear night.

All of a sudden, just as we were getting comfortable wrapped in our blankets, one of the stars overhead started getting brighter and brighter and brighter.  As we watched, the light became almost painful to my eyes, and I couldn’t look directly at it any more.

And then there came a voice – I don’t know how to describe the voice, and I don’t even know if they were speaking any human language.  It sounded something like the rumbling of thunder combined with the ringing of the biggest bell you’ve ever heard.  I was terrified.  I wanted to curl up and pull the blankets over my head – not that I could ever really be hidden from this being, but at least I wouldn’t have to watch whatever was going to happen next.

But then I realized that I could understand what this being was saying, and the first thing that it said was “Don’t be afraid.”  And, even though my legs were still trembling and my stomach was going flippity-flop, the terror went away, and I sat up and uncovered my face.

And then the being said:  “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people.  To you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.  This will be a sign for you:  you will find a newborn baby wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

And with these words, even the nervousness vanished, and my heart was filled with only joy.  Good news of great joy – I wanted to sing and dance and shout it from the rooftops!  And right here in Bethlehem, the city of King David!  And the good news brought to us shepherds – people who tend the sheep, just as our ancestor David did!

We all wanted to race into town as quickly as we could, to find this sign that the angel had told us about.  For surely it must have been an angel, a messenger of God, bringing us this news.

But then this being was joined by a whole host of other beings, all too bright to look at directly, and all of that singing with that thunderous ringing voice.  “Glory to God in the highest,” they sang, “and on earth, peace and goodwill among all people!”

Despite their words of peace, I was a bit worried that a fistfight was going to break out once the angels had left us.  All of us wanted to go and see, and no one wanted to stay behind to watch the sheep.  I was ready to start running – I didn’t want to wait for the matter to be settled – but someone had grabbed my arm and was holding on so tightly that I wasn’t able to go anywhere.

Eventually, we decided that the shepherds who were going to be on the first watch that night would stay behind with the sheep, while the rest of us would go into town to look for this newborn baby who was lying in a manger, lying in the trough that our sheep would feed from if we were in town.  We promised to make our way back as quickly as we could, to be back before the sunrise.

We started off walking, but the pace picked up, and before long we were jogging, and then flat-out running, leaping over stones and tufts of grass in our excitement to get there as quickly as possible.

We hadn’t really considered how we were going to find the baby once we got there.  When we got to the edge of town, we slowed down and stopped.  No one wanted to be the person to knock on the first door, waking a family up in the middle of the night to ask if the saviour was there.

But then I saw Rebekah, the midwife, walking towards her home.  She had visited my family not too many years ago when my youngest sister was born. I went over to her, and introduced myself to her, and she said, “Oh, yes, Saul, I remember your birth.”  I asked her if she had delivered a baby that evening, and if so, where would we find it?  She told me where the baby was, and we started making our way through the streets, a bit more quietly than we had been while we were still on the hillside.

Slivers of lamplight were peeking through the shutters when we got there, and the others pushed me to the front of the group to knock on the door.  I didn’t know what to say when Abigail opened the door to me, but I greeted her politely, the way I had been taught, and then stammered out my question – “Is there a baby here in this house?”  She pointed me towards the lower level and held the door open to us.  I’m sure that she was full of questions for us, but she opened her door to us anyways.

When we got down below, there was a young couple reclining on a pile of hay.  They looked exhausted, but they welcomed us into the room anyways.  Again, the group pushed me to the front as their spokesperson, and I had to find the words to tell them what had happened.  When I started to describe the angel, the two of them smiled at each other, and nodded gently, almost as if they too had seen an angel.  When I finished my story, the father got up and lifted the baby out of the manger and placed it in my arms.  I didn’t know what to do with it – what do I have to do with holding babies?  But then I realized that this little one wasn’t that different from a newborn lamb, and I held him carefully, looking down at his little face and soft skin, eyes closed.

I don’t know how long we stayed there, but the sun was starting to rise when we finally left that home, and people were starting to be out and about in the streets of Bethlehem as we made our way towards the fields.  They still crossed over to the other side and made a show of holding their noses, but this time, instead of trying to make ourselves smaller, instead of scurrying out of town as quickly as we could, we echoed the words of the angel for anyone who would listen.  “Good news of great joy!  A saviour has been born for you – yes, you!  Good news of great joy!”

I came to the manger because of this good news that the angel brought – good news of joy and of peace and of goodwill for all.  Good news of the birth of a saviour for the world.

What about you?  Why are you coming to the manger this year?

 

 

Newborn Lambs, being warmed up.

Image Credit:  Tim Difford on flickr

Used with Permission 

"The Innkeeper's Tale" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday December 7, 2024 – Advent 2
Scripture:  Luke 2:1-7

This is the second week of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Different people who are part of the nativity scene tell the story of how they ended up at the manger.

 

You asked me how I came to be at the manger.  I didn’t have to journey to get here, because I was already here!  I am here because of family.

 

I am not named in your holy book.  I went looking for my name earlier, and I saw that many of the details of the story of the birth were missing, and some of the details have even been changed!  Most copies of your books say that there was no room at the inn for the young mother and father; but some of them are starting to correct that mistake and they say that there was no space in the guestroom for them.

 

My name is Abigail bat Yakob, of the tribe of Judah.  My family lives in Bethlehem, the city of David, and I am one of the many descendants of that king.

 

When the emperor, off in Rome, announced that a census would be taken, and that people would have to return to their family’s homeland to be counted, well, there was an uproar in Bethlehem.  So many descendants of David, who had been scattered all over the country for generation upon generation, would now be traveling here to be counted.  All because some absentee king wanted to keep his tax books up-to-date.

 

The census was to take place over the course of two weeks, but people started arriving in our town weeks before that!  Every couple of days, we would hear a knock at our door, and standing there would be a family of cousins, wondering if they could stay for a couple of nights until they could be counted, then they would leave to begin their return journey.

 

Our house isn’t very big, but family is family so we would always make space for one more sleeping mat to be rolled out, until there just wasn’t any more space to be had.

 

Joseph was a distant cousin – I’m told that I met him a couple of times when we were children, but I don’t remember meeting him.  He and his bride, Mary, arrived late in the day, a couple of days after the census had started.  The streets were so crowded those days that it was difficult to move, and the lineups stretched around the square and down the street from where the census was being taken.  Even people who had arrived in time for the first day were still waiting to be counted.

 

Which meant that our house was already beyond capacity when they showed up.  I tried telling them that there was no space, but Joseph said that they had already checked with all of their other family members in Bethlehem, and there was no space anywhere to be found.  I heard the desperation in his voice, and then I noticed that Mary was carrying a child in her womb, and even more than that, she was so close to her time to deliver that I couldn’t turn them back out on the streets.

 

I explained to Joseph that there wasn’t any space left in the living area for them, sleeping mats were covering every surface, and even overlapping one another, but, I said, we can probably make some space on the lower level, down where the animals stay safely at night.  It would be dark as there were no windows on that level, and it might be a bit smelly, but it would be safe and it would be warm, and we could bring in some extra hay to make Mary’s bed a bit more comfortable.

 

I could see Joseph’s agitation settling down as I spoke, and when I looked over at Mary, she smiled at me, and then gently thanked me for my hospitality.  It wasn’t much that I could do for them, but I had 4 children of my own, and I could imagine myself into her shoes.

 

Well, wouldn’t you know, it was just that night that Mary’s birth pains began.  They had been traveling for several weeks from Nazareth to Bethlehem, on foot the whole way.  God-whose-name-is-holy must have been with them along the way, because, well, can you imagine what might have happened if the birth pains began while they were still traveling?

 

Like I said, I have 4 little ones of my own, so I told Mary that I would go and fetch the midwife.  Rebekah is a good woman and knows her business.  Mary would be in good hands.

 

Joseph looked even more pale than Mary though!  He had never experienced the birth of a child before, and I was worried that he was going to faint before the midwife arrived!

 

What can I say about that night?  A birth is a birth is a birth.   There was nothing that marked it as particularly special, at least not at first.  I was in and out of our makeshift birthing room, fetching water and clean scraps of cloth as Rebekah required them.  Joseph was pacing outside, like any devoted first-time father.  Mary lay in the hay, occasionally moaning as the pain washed over her.

 

But then at the end of the night, she had delivered her baby, a healthy boy.  Rebekah delivered the afterbirth, and cleaned off the baby, and wrapped him tightly in a cloth, and handed him back to Mary.  Joseph was finally admitted back into the room to meet his son, and I stepped back.  I put some fresh straw in the manger, the stone trough where the animals feed, so that the baby would have a soft and safe place to sleep.  And then I slipped out of the room and left the new family alone with the love for a new baby filling the air.

 

I am here, standing by the manger that is also a cradle, because of love for my family.  Love is more than just the feeling that you have when you are around people – love is how we act on it.  I love my family, and I couldn’t see them turned out into the street in this time of need.  And now witnessing the love that they have for one another makes me glad that I was able to help in this way.

 

What about you?  Why are you journeying to the manger this year?

 

 

There was no space in the “kataluma” for Mary and Joseph –

yet Jesus was still born surrounded by family, and love,

and hospitality.

Image Credit:  "Lego Nativity Scene" by On Being on flickr

Used with permission.

 

"Joseph's Journey" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday November 30, 2025 (Advent 1)
Scripture:  Matthew 1:18-25

This is the first week of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Different people who are part of the nativity scene tell the story of how they ended up at the manger.


You asked me how I came to be at the manger.  Well, my journey here started a year before I arrived.

My parents named me Joseph, after our ancestor, one of the sons of Jacob.  That Joseph became one of the most powerful people in Egypt after he interpreted some dreams for the Pharoah, and I think that maybe my parents hoped that my name would lead me into a position of power.  But I think that it was Joseph’s dreams that I inherited instead, and a sense of the Divine Presence with me.

Like my father, and his father before him, I am a carpenter.  We work with our hands, building things for other families in our village.  One day it might be a new door for a house, another day it might be a set of shelves for a groom’s family to give to a new bride.  We aren’t wealthy by any means, but we have never gone hungry.  Occasionally one of us will get a contract for a couple of months to labour on one of the Roman building projects.  When that happens, we have a little to set aside for either a party or to save for a rainy day.

Our family is well-respected in the village synagogue.  We don’t come from the priestly class – we are from the tribe of Judah rather than the tribe of Levi – but we are often called upon to read the scriptures in the synagogue, and our family is sometimes held up as an example of a God-fearing family.

I trust that the God of my ancestors – the God of Abraham and Sarah, the God of Rebekkah and Isaac, the God of Jacob and his many wives – this same God isn’t done with us, even though the prophets have seemed to be silent for many generations now.  God-whose-name-is-holy was with our ancestors when they were in exile in Babylon, and surely God-whose-name-is-holy is with our people now.  God (whose name is too holy to speak aloud) is with us, even when we can’t hear the Divine Voice.

I think that this is maybe what Isaiah and the other prophets meant when they talked about hope.  When we went into exile, surely it must have seemed as though the world had ended and that God-whose-name-is-holy had abandoned us.  Yet the prophets always remind us that the end is never really the end, and God-whose-name-is-holy is always promising return and restoration and renewal.

I apologize – I’m getting away from my story of how I came to the manger!

A year ago, my parents told me that they had arranged a marriage for me – I was to marry Mary – it sounds funny when I say it that way!  But they had made arrangements with Mary’s parents, and the two of us were to get married within the next year.  I was pleased with this news.  I didn’t know Mary well – only to recognize her when I saw her in the village streets – but I knew that eventually my parents would choose a bride for me, and they could have chosen much worse for sure!  Mary also had a reputation as a dreamer – she was always wandering the hillside, and singing little songs to herself. It would be good to have someone to share my dreams with.  And her parents’ home, like my parents’ home, was known to be a harmonious one.  The neighbours never heard the sound of shouting coming from it, and I had good hopes for a harmonious marriage that would grow into genuine affection with time.

We weren’t allowed to spend any time alone together before the marriage though.  We had a couple of meetings, but our parents did all of the speaking for us.

But then one day, a couple of months into our engagement, her parents came to our house without Mary.  They spoke with my parents for a while, and then they called me into the room.  My parents told me the most unbelievable news – Mary was now carrying a child within her womb.  I had no words.  I knew that there was no way that this child could be mine.

My parents were insisting that our engagement be ended, and that Mary be called before the leaders in the synagogue.  The punishment, according to the law, for a woman caught in adultery was stoning.  And Mary, by her actions, had brought disgrace not only to her family but to ours too.  With our broken engagement, Mary’s disgrace was going to make it very difficult to find another bride for me.  Even though I knew that her child wasn’t mine, it would be difficult to quell the rumours, and parents would be reluctant to entrust their daughters to me.

But I didn’t want to bring this punishment on Mary. I thought that it would be better to end our engagement quietly.  Our village knew that we were engaged, but they didn’t need to know why the engagement had ended.  Surely Mary’s parents had family in a far-off village where they could send her to stay until well after the child was born.  Even better if those far-off family members were childless, and might be willing to raise her child as their own.  My parents said that they would consider my request.

But I told you that I’m a dreamer, didn’t I, just like my ancestor, the other Joseph.  And the night after Mary’s parents visited us, I had one of my dreams.  These dreams aren’t like the muddled, confusing dreams of ordinary nights.  When I have my special dreams, they are more real than when I am awake.  And in these dreams, I often hear the voice of God-whose-name-is-holy.

That night, the Holy Voice told me that I was to take Mary as my wife.  The Holy Voice told me that her child was the child of the Holy Spirit.  The Holy Voice told me that she would bear a son.  The Holy Voice told me that I was to raise this child as my own, giving him the name of Jesus.  The Holy Voice told me that this son would be the saviour of the world.

I wanted to ask God-whose-name-is-holy how I was to share this news with my parents, but who is able to argue with the Creator of the Universe?

When I woke up, I told my parents what my dream had said, and surprisingly they agreed to allow the marriage to proceed.  Sometimes I wonder if they are dreamers too; I wonder if they too received a message that night from the Holy Voice of God-whose-name-is-holy.

It was unusual but not unheard of for a couple to begin their family before formally marrying – many circumstances can delay a wedding ceremony.  But when the village saw that we were getting married, the assumption seems to have been that this was my child that Mary was carrying.

And many months later, here I am, standing by the manger of my son.  I am here, because I trusted in the voice of God-whose-name-is-holy.  I am here because hope tells us that the future is always in those Divine Hands.

What about you?  Why are you journeying to the manger this year?

 

The Holy Family

Image Used With Permission

"Christ the 'No-Kings' Sunday" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday November 23, 2025 – Christ the King / Reign of Christ Sunday
Scripture Readings:  Colossians 1:15-20 and Luke 23:33-43



Has anyone been following the protest movements that have been happening down in the US this year?  The biggest and most organized of these protest movements is called “No Kings” and uses the logo of a large gold crown with a bold red X over it.  I commented to a colleague earlier this fall that this year’s sermon for Christ the King Sunday was essentially writing itself – all you had to do was follow the news!

It's an interesting – and relevant – fact that celebrating the last Sunday before Advent as Christ the King Sunday is a relatively new addition to the church calendar.  This minor holy-day was added by the Roman Catholic Church 100 years ago in 1925, under a global political situation that has some resonances with what is going on in the world in 2025.  The 1920s saw a distinct rise in fascism in Europe, with the rise of both Mussolini and Hitler’s authoritarian regimes.  And the church saw this happening and said, “No. Our ultimate authority isn’t any political leader, even when that leader tries to claim ultimate authority.  For us, our ultimate allegiance is due to Christ, and to Christ alone.  Christ is the only king that we are loyal to.”  Christ the King Sunday, Reign of Christ Sunday, is, at its heart, a lower-case-p political statement by the church.

And I think that the lectionary readings assigned to today force us to ask ourselves, what sort of a king is this, that we follow.  We heard two very different pictures of a king in the two different readings today.

First was the picture painted by Colossians, a letter written to the very early church.  This is a hymn to the Cosmic Christ who rules over all of creation and over all of our hearts.  To the author of this letter, the Reign of Christ wasn’t only located in the future.  Because Jesus died, was resurrected, and ascended into heaven, the reign of Christ has already begun, and is in the process of unfolding over the whole world.

This is maybe the more traditional picture of a king – ultimate power, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords (to borrow a phrase from either the book of Revelation or the Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah!).  A king in whom all things were created, and who has dominion over all of creation.

But can we hold this picture of a king up next to the picture painted by the gospel of Luke?  This is maybe an… unexpected… reading to hear at this time of year, as it is one that we would normally hear on Good Friday.  It is also an unexpected type of king that it pictures.  Here we see a king enthroned on a cross rather than a golden throne, and crowned with thorns instead of jewels.  A king who rode a lowly donkey into Jerusalem rather than a war horse.  A king who has been stripped of all of his robes, regal or otherwise.  A king who refuses to call on weapons and armies to defeat the ones crucifying him, but instead extends forgiveness for what they are doing.

Back in the summer, I read a book called Jesus and John Wayne, written by Kristin Kobes Du Mez.  In this book, she points out how the world – especially the American evangelical world, and the various spheres that it influences – the world has created a Christ in the image of John Wayne, the cowboy hero who depended on might making right, who had an arrogant confidence that his way was the right way, who imposed his will on everyone around him, whether they wanted to or not.  This Christ-in-the-image-of-John-Wayne would sit on a golden throne, would be robed in ermine and velvet, would mete out judgement and punishment without mercy, would hold all power and glory and dominion.

A John Wayne Jesus would not have suffered on the cross.  He might have appeared to suffer at first, but then would have zapped the wooden cross into splinters, leapt down, and launched an attack against Rome.  He would not have extended forgiveness to the ones crucifying them, but would have rounded them up, arrested them, and ensured that they were suitably punished.

But when we worship a crucified Christ, the image of a John Wayne Jesus feels a bit ridiculous.

But then, in some ways, the idea of a church holy-day dedicated to kings also feels a bit ridiculous.  Because in the stories of the bible, kings never come across in a very positive light.  God definitely seems to be part of the “No Kings” movement!

If you go back in the Old Testament to when the people first entered the Promised Land, they said to God, “All of our neighbours have a king – we want a king too!”  God said to the people, “You don’t want a king. Under a king, you will be at constant war, you will be taxed into poverty, your women won’t be safe, and your children will be slaves.”  The people said, “We don’t care, we want a king anyways,” and eventually God relented and gave them a king.

If you move through the Old Testament from that point onward, the people had kings, but just as God had predicted, most of the kings of Ancient Israel and Ancient Judah did not do good, but instead drew the people away from God.  If you do the math, it’s probably something along the lines of 85% of the kings did evil, while only 15% of them did good.  (And bible study folks – last year when we were reading about these kings, we saw that even the so-called “good” kings tended to be flawed.)

And then in the New Testament, in the time of Jesus and the very early church, the king was the Roman Emperor – again, not a person or a concept that is usually celebrated in the bible.  This is someone ruling from afar, and usually most concerned about acquiring power and conquering new lands, to the suffering of the people he ruled over.

Like I said, a king is a funny thing for the church to be celebrating.

But what today’s celebration does, is that it flips the image of a king upside down.  Jesus is a king, with the absolute authority that a king has, and demanding our ultimate allegiance the way a king does, but he is unlike any earthly king, past present or future.  This is a topsy-turvy king who reigns over a topsy-turvy kingdom where the lowest and the least are the first at the feast, where outsiders are insiders, and where abundance means that there is more than enough for everyone.

Today asks us to consider what sort of king do we want?  Do we want a king who can command an army where tomorrow we or our children or our grandchildren may be conscripted to serve in a war we didn’t choose?  Do we want a king who decides who is in and who is out of the kingdom, and with a wave of his hand makes it so?  Do we want a king who tariffs us into poverty and then uses that money to build new ballrooms and buy gold toilets?

Or do we want a king who chooses service and humility up to the point of death, and then through his death and resurrection, overturns all earthly kings?  In some ways, today is Christ the No-King Sunday, because when Christ reigns over our hearts and lives, no earthly person or thing can do so.

But if the Crucified Christ is the sort of king that we want, if this is the kingdom that we want to be a part of, then we too have to choose to embrace the way of service and humility.  We too have to choose forgiveness over retaliation.  We too have to choose relationship and community over a need to win.  We too have to choose the way of love and peace and joy.

And once the whole world has chosen this path, then the kingdom of God will be here, and the reign of Christ will be complete.  And may it be so.  And may it be so soon.  Amen.