Sermons
“Joy Fulfilled"
Luke 2: 7-14 New Revised Standard Version
REJECTED AT HOME
There were likely no “inns” in Bethlehem, which was a small, suburban village whose main industry was sheep, and also perhaps bakeries, since Bethlehem means “house of bread.” Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem, but the village is already crowded. They stay with family, but all the guest rooms are occupied, so they have to sleep in the ancient equivalent of an attached garage.
Why the garage? Why wouldn’t their extended family members send someone else to the garage and give the guest room to a pregnant woman on the verge of giving birth? There may have been more prominent visitors, or paying visitors, but equally likely it is because Mary and Joseph were pregnant but not married. In the eyes of the world, they deserved no better; they had brought shame to the tribe and family name.
Even family members would not have found the “miraculous conception” story easy to swallow. Can you imagine what the cousins might have said? “Miraculous conception? Now that’s a new one! My sister-in-aw Sophie should have thought of that one when she was great with child.”
There was no room, which means none were willing to make room. The Messiah would be born in the garage and wrapped in shop rags mere feet away from the goats, sheep, or donkeys that would have been there.
SHOCK AND AWE
The shepherds doing night watch were generally the low rungs on the social ladder, even for shepherds. At night, the sheep were corralled for safety. Watching the flocks by night is like being a security guard in a perfectly empty building. Your main job is to stay awake in case someone or something tries to break in.
They were likely boys—younger brothers of the older shepherds—like paperboys. It is to these that the glory of the Lord is revealed.
You’ve heard me say before that the Hebrew word for glory—often pronounced as Shuh-KAI-nuh—is actually pronounced more like Shock and Awe. The glory of the Lord creates Shock and Awe indeed. The shepherd boys were seized with terror. They were terrified not because they were simple shepherd boys, but because the glory of the Lord is terrifying.
Question: Were we to see it happen today, what would our reaction be?
Answer: Absolute terror.
“The Glory of the Lord” is not merely light and sound, but an invasion of the supernatural, infused with the power and presence of God. The angels’ first words of any message from God begin with “Fear not.” “Easy there, don’t panic.” Why would we ever think that the appearance of God’s glory would be pleasant or easy for us? We are mere people. To see an angel—let alone greater than an angel—would not be a comfort, but a distress. Goodness—real goodness—is as much of a terrifier as powerful evil, perhaps more so.
The Glory of God immediately reveals to us that we have been living in darkness. The light that shines brings a knowledge of our sinfulness. When holiness is revealed, we see ourselves in its light. And only by remaining in darkness, embracing it, surrounded by darkness, can we imagine ourselves in any way “good.” Only in comparison to meaner or more selfish people can we think ourselves better than average, but when the glory of God is revealed—even a smidgeon—our souls are lit up in comparison to true holiness and we can only see ourselves as standing far below, like people looking up from the bottom of a dark well. God’s glory reveals our true state, our actual distance from God, and the effect of it can only be described as terrifying.
Imagine being a mouse—a church mouse, if you like—living among other mice. Imagine that you are the most intelligent mouse of the bunch, but then walks in a human being. You immediately can tell—because you are a smart mouse—that this human is not only far taller, but of vastly superior intelligence. Imagine trying to comprehend human consciousness from the point of view of a mouse brain.
The shepherds—whether they had even a day’s worth of religious instruction or not—might have felt they deserved no better than to be struck dead on the spot by God’s holy angels. You and I would feel the same. This is why angels always begin with “fear not.” Our nature is to run away, flee, and not be met by God’s consuming holiness.
Even so, I suspect that angelic terror has another flavor as well—goodness and a longing for something within that glory that is more wondrous, more valuable, than anything in this world. For all the terror, there remains a heartfelt “yes!” to the angels and the glory they carry.
From here, the rest is all good news. The Messiah has come. The sign? A baby dressed in rags.
TRANSFORMATION
The response of humanity—and even angels—to an appearance of God’s glory is always one and the same: worship. Worship is the sign of transformed lives. Shepherd boys, once speaking like Beavis and Butthead, now speak Shakespearean English with an Oxford accent:
“Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us."
It reminds me of this passage from Steinbeck’s Tortilla Flat, where one wino is after another wino’s brandy. Danny sees Pilon, and wants to get what the other has:
[read]
“Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us."
The shepherds are ennobled by the event. These lowly of lowly shepherd boys are changed—elevated and transformed—by the experience. They are no longer lowly because they now have a mission.
They have changed lives. They think differently, talk differently, and act differently. Their souls have been switched on. They feel themselves becoming the men they always hoped and dreamed they might become. Though outwardly poor, within they are royal. And though grown from the manure heap of history, they are now blossoming—like a time-lapse film of exploding flower blossoms—the light and glory of God’s presence coaxing new growth out of their souls.
And this is Christmas. Into a sin-sick and darkened world, God enters in. God self-reveals not as an earthly power—we think far too highly of political powers, military powers, and the powers of economics— but as the other-worldly power—a greater power from a greater world. One touch can change us forever.
Plato argues in the Republic that this world is a world of shadows. He conjures up the image of a man in a cave seeing shadows from the fire cast up on the wall, and he thinks this is his real life. C.S. Lewis plays on the idea of the Shadowlands in knowing that this life and this world are only partial expression, and that true life and being exist in a much more real world yet to come.
It is the light of God’s glory—terrifying glory—that shines into the darkened cave of humanity and reveal to us the true nature of our world as one of mere shadows. We can—because we are called to do so—step away from the wall of shadows, out of the cave and into the clear light of day, where we are revealed.
REVEALED
We are revealed not as lowly shepherds, not as an oppressed and herded people, but as sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father: princes and princesses, ennobled people who now know the difference between light and darkness, the real world and the cave of shadows, the Manor House of God and the manure pile of humanity.
Glory changes us, transforms us, and imbues our otherwise pointless pursuits with mission, purpose, and meaning.
It is good news, indeed, and we don’t have to wait around for angels to appear to us. That appearance has already taken place and we are here because of it. Therefore we are no longer herded, but rather we are on a mission. Like the shepherds, it is our purpose to go and see, go and tell, go and love, go and worship.
From Bethlehem, the “house of bread,” we get the bread of Heaven which feeds the world. This table is the ongoing version of the manger. A manger is where animals eat; the table is where we eat. This little loaf of bread in a basket reminds us of infant Moses among the bullrushes, and it reminds us of the baby Jesus, wrapped in rags and set in a feed trough. Here is the bread of life. Here is the body of Christ, given for us. God revealed to humankind. The Son of God sent to redeem humanity—to forgive our many sins and to give us new life to be lived beyond the mere shadows on the cave wall The promise is to us and our children: we can overcome this world and live forever.
Repent and believe. Turn, and receive. Like the shepherds, we are to go and see, go and tell, go and love, go and worship.
All you and I have to do is to trust Him. Receive Him. For God’s sake, say yes. †
“THROUGH THE SHAME"
Luke 2: 1-6 New Revised Standard Version
SHAME UNLIMITED
Shame is a universal, primal emotion that debases and degrades whatever it touches. Shame is social pain—pain including family, friends, neighborhood, and even nation.
Mary is found to be with child. Though Mary has been visited by Gabriel to explain her unique calling, we have no indication that he notified any of the neighbors. Joseph received a dream, which called him into the plan as
well, and he was faithful, but consider the road they walked.
Shame would have been in heavy evidence.
Mary’s family would have felt shame. This was the most egregious violation of womanhood imaginable. She was not yet married—only engaged—and already having a baby. We all know that babies come after parents marry.
Joseph would have been shamed. His brothers, his friends, his neighbors—all would have encouraged him to divorce Mary and make her an outcast. But he refused in faithfulness to God as the angel had foretold him.
So Mary and Joseph, by God’s help, are above shame. But no one else was. The little town of Nazareth would have been scandalized. In a small, rural town, everyone knows everyone else’s business, and this story would have been front page news to them all.
On top of that, they have to travel to Bethlehem—Joseph’s ancestral hometown—which would be like walking into a huge family reunion.
The Gospel of Luke does not say they were married; it says they were betrothed, engaged only (Matthew says married, but not Luke). It was a recipe for shame.
Bethlehem would have been shamed by the situation—this is most likely why there was no room found for them. And not just room to be found, but room made for them, because who wouldn’t open up a room or send other guests away in order to accommodate a young woman who was about to give birth to one of King David’s progeny?
No, the family name—the House of David—suffered shame for the situation.
Mary and Joseph were innocent, but the world around them expected them to be ashamed and tried to put that badge of shame onto them.
I see Mary and Joseph in the midst of it all: gentle, patient, reverent, hopeful, and joy-filled. The world around them expected them to be shamed, and tried to pile it on, but these two were under Grace instead.
Shame can be an ugly thing——a devilish voice—that speaks a kind of mean judgment to others. When you and I feel it, shame holds us captive to the fear of having our inadequacies exposed, and there is no good in it.
You know that the very name Satan means “the Accuser.” What is shame but that constantly nagging, inward voice of accusation? Shame is a joy-killer, bringing joy only to the devils who can inflict it.
I tell you in Jesus’ name that there is no need for any Christian to live with shame. The cross represents the work of Christ who bore all shame on our behalf. He carries the shame—carried it all once and for all—buried it, sent it down to Hell where it belongs, and rose out of it in order that you and I would live our lives with joy. Joy—not shame—is one mark of authentic Christianity.
In Romans 1, Paul says, “I am not ashamed of the gospel.” The Greek word for gospel is literally evangelism. This word—gospel, good news-er, or evangelist—is secular in origin. He was a kind of traveling town crier who visited Roman villages to deliver “good news,” usually of a military victory. “Your Lord and Savior Caesar has successfully defeated the armies of Gaul!” etc.
That this term was picked up and Christianized is not inappropriate, for the message or our evangelism is similar: “Your Lord and Savior Jesus has successfully triumphed over sin, Satan, and all the shame of the world—once and for all!”
This is the Covid year—2020 wants us to feel that shame.
2020 wants us to be down, irritable, angry.
2020 has encouraged the violent and vandalistic.
2020 wants Christians to feel immoral, stupid, sexist, racist, and homophobic—we know we are none of these—but the world wants us to wear that badge of shame.
Instead, we will sing and praise God.
We, like Mary and Joseph, can have patience, for we know that this too shall pass. We, too, can be gentle, knowing that God is in control and we are not needed for a revolution
We, too, can be reverent, giving thanks to God amid the onslaught of false accusations.
We. too, can be hopeful when all around are hopeless, because we know beyond the shadow of a doubt that God loves us and values us—we are more valuable to Heaven than we can possibly imagine.
And we can be joy-filled, because the shame does not stick to us. We have been permanently relieved of it all. We know this because we remember how Jesus bore our shame so that we may live free of it.
A shaming world could not keep Him down—not even keep Him in a grave through death—and it can’t keep us down.
pe, too, will rise from it by the power Christ gives to us—that is resurrection power, and we can access it here and now—today, in this hour. And we would be foolish not to!
We are Mary and Joseph, making our way toward home—which is Heaven, not merely Bethlehem—and it doesn’t matter what people say about us. All we care about is what God thinks of us, and God has made it clear that we are His beloved. He loves us. Therefore, what can the world do to us?
We travel through shame to Joy.
Mary and Joseph found all the houses in Bethlehem full. No one had room. As we go into this Christmas, let us—you and I—be sure to make room for them. They are the good news we need to hear. They are the bearers of the good news that saves the world. †
"ZECHARIAH’S SONG"
“ZECHARIAH’S SONG”
A sermon preached by Noel K. Anderson at First Presbyterian Church of Upland on 12.13.20
DUMBSTRUCK
I’ll remind you that Zechariah had been struck dumb by the angel Gabriel during his high service in the Holy of Holies, as Matt shared with us two weeks ago. Zechariah disses the angel and pays the price for it. He can’t speak, probably had no idea how to sign, and he definitely could not sing, not that he had anything to sing about at this point.
We use the word “dumbstruck” figuratively when we want to describe that strange state of befuddlement and bewilderment—even awe—when we experience something so indescribable that all we can do is stand there with our mouth hanging open, totally lost for words.
Sometimes—like now in 2020—I wonder where Gabriel might be, and couldn’t he maybe come down and do his good work of muting several thousands of people? Come on, Gabriel, just as you did to Zechariah, couldn’t you put a few more people on mute in America? There are many politicians who would be much more likable if they never spoke. And about 90% of the newsreaders, commentators, and podcasters—how much better would America be if they were dumbstruck and forced to communicate only through writing? It’s too bad we can’t just mute them like on a Zoom meeting.
Anyway, Zechariah had plenty of time to think about what he had done—a good nine months, anyway—and I’m sure he knew his mistake. Remember, Zechariah was high priest that year—he knew all the stories of his ancestors inappropriately disrespecting God. I have to believe he knew he well-deserved his punishment.
I imagine his inner monologue, going over it all again and again: “I can’t believe how I spoke to Gabriel—GABRIEL, the ANGEL! I was so wrapped up in the honor and privilege of serving in the Holy of Holies that I never expected anything to happen, and when it did I reacted badly.”
Well his son is born to his most elderly wife Elizabeth, and all the family and neighbors think they should name him Zecharaiah, after his father, but Zechariah had orders from the Lord to name him John. So as soon as they implore Zechariah to name his son, they shove a tablet in his hand and he writes: His name is John. With this simple act of obedience, prophecy is fulfilled and Zechariah’s voice returns.
Instead of saying something normal, like—“Oh wow—what a relief! I’m glad that’s over with!”—we hear the swell of the orchestra, the lights go dim on the other players and Zechariah steps front-and-center stage to sing.
Luke 1: 67-80 my own translation
67 Then John’s father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke this prophecy:
68 Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, who has visited and redeemed His people!
69 In the house of David, He has raised the cup of Salvation for us
70 (just as He said He would through the mouths of the prophets)—
71 Salvation from our enemies—from the controls of all who hate us.
72 He remembers His covenant with our forefathers and shows us mercy;
73 The oath He made to Abraham counts toward us as well.
74 We are delivered from evil to serve Him
75 Through faithful obedience all our days.
76 And you, my son John, will be called a Prophet of God
for you will go before Him to prepare His way:
77 to proclaim salvation through the forgiveness of sins,
78 to announce God’s compassionate mercies by which the rising sun
will come to us from Heaven,
79 to shine light to those in darkness and seated in the shadow of death,
and to guide our steps in the way of peace.
80 And the child grew and became strong in the spirit,
and lived in the desert until his public appearance to Israel.
ZECHARIAH REDUX
The upshot of the song is praise, thanks, and remembrance of all God’s goodness. God accomplishes salvation for His people, just as He promised through the prophets of old. This is followed by a prophecy about his son, John, who will be another prophet of God, preparing the way for God’s messiah, who will forgive the people’s sin and come to earth like the “rising sun”—a beautiful pun for us in English—and lead us in the way of peace.
Zechariah’s song, like those of Elizabeth and Mary, is inspired by the Holy Spirit. It, too, is like Pentecost, where the “mute” Disciples of Jesus find their voice to proclaim the good news of Jesus. And yes, Zechariah is proclaiming the good news of Jesus’ coming. I want us to look again at his song:
—68 Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, who has visited and redeemed His people!
• This is a poetic device known as prolepsis, which speaks of something to come as though it has already happened. Because God has promised it, it is as good as done already.
69 In the house of David, He has raised the cup of Salvation for us
• Again, as in the first verse, it is clear that God is the agent of salvation, not us in any way. Also, we hear in this verse the foreshadowing of communion—the cup of salvation in the promised new covenant.
70 (just as He said He would through the mouths of the prophets)—
• God is motivated by love and mercy, yes, but also by keeping His word. God acts with absolutely perfect integrity, which means we can always trust His promises. Our faith consists of trusting His promises—to have faith is to trust God to do what He has promised to do and live our lives accordingly.
—71 Salvation from our enemies—from the controls of all who hate us.
• Isn’t this always the prayer of the oppressed? This also needs to be read spiritually, understanding that the forces of evil want only to destroy those who follow the Lord. This is as much about powers and principalities as earthly politics.
72 He remembers His covenant with our forefathers and shows us mercy;
• Again, God keeps His promises. Always.
73 The oath He made to Abraham counts toward us as well.
• God’s covenant with Abraham was unilateral—to bless Abraham and through him the whole world. That blessing will become abundantly clear in the life, person, and work of Jesus—Christ/Messiah.
—74 We are delivered from evil to serve Him 75 through faithful obedience all our days.
• We saved from evil in order to live for God. In God alone do we find joy, pleasure, fulfillment, peace, and wholeness.
76 And you, my son John, will be called a Prophet of God, for you will go before Him to prepare His way:
• John is to be a messenger, a forerunner, an announcer. Zechariah knows the Messiah is on the way.
—77 to proclaim salvation through the forgiveness of sins,
• This is also the message of Jesus and the preaching of the gospel through history. Repent, the kingdom of God is at hand. Forgiveness has come, therefore it only makes sense that we would change our lives and align ourselves toward Him.
78 to announce God’s compassionate mercies by which the Rising Sun will come to us from Heaven,
- The pun works beautifully in English, but it is the proclamation of a new day and a new age. The Son of God from Heaven comes down to us to save us, to forgive our sins, and to restore us to right relationship with God, with one another, and with the universe. Jesus establishes this, and we turn our lives toward Him in grateful response. That’s what we mean to do every Sunday when we come to worship. It’s what we do every morning when we open our Bible or say our prayers. Our faith life is a matter of constantly reforming ourselves so that we would be in tune with God’s will.
DECEMBER ZECHARIAH
Zechariah went from his well-worn, ordinary experience into the realm of the extraordinary. From high priest and orderly service, he was dumbstruck into silence. From silence, he practiced obedience and found himself filled with the Holy Spirit. Priest and prophet, he announces the Messianic era and everything changes for the better.
December 2020 reminds me a bit of Zechariah. December is the old age—the final month—of any year, and 2020 is guaranteed to be remembered as year where the unexpected took over from the ordinary. Rather than a normal year, 2020 was dumbstruck early on. I’m still not sure what year it is, really—it still feels like we’re in the Twilight Zone.
What year is it, really? What year is this year that is coming to a close, because I’m confused.
In January, we had an impeachment, so I thought it might be 1998. Then came the Chinese Flu (Covid-19 if you prefer)—a worldwide pandemic like the Spanish Flu, so I thought it must be 1918. Then we had a stock market crash, so I was sure it must be 1929. Then we had an African-American civilian killed by a white policeman setting off a series of peaceful protests and violent riots—I was sure it was 1965, or 1967, or 1968. Next, radicals take over six city blocks of a major city, with barricades in the streets and declarations of independence—an autonomous zone—just like the Paris Commune of 1871. Then we had a presidential election with results that remain highly contested. Is it 1800? Maybe 2000? Remember hanging chads? So please, someone tell me where this weird year came from and from what parallel universe it slopped over into ours?
Funny: 2020 is, coincidentally, our moniker for perfect vision, when in fact we are surrounded by many forms of blindness—selfish nearsightedness, fuzzy farsightedness, and a pandemic of crosseyed confusion. 2020, as it turns out, was far less eagle-eyed than Mr. Magoo-ish.
2020, like old Zechariah, was discombobulated, befuddled, confused, and furthermore unable to explain itself. And as Zechariah’s closed mouth gave him time to think about his situation, our covid lockdowns have given us all time to think. So what have we learned?
WHAT WE HAVE LEARNED
I think we, like Zechariah, have learned at least three things:
1. We are all children.
Zechariah fumbled in the end zone—at the peak of his high priestly duties, he disrespected the messenger of God. It was a childish thing to do. Similarly, in 2020, we’ve looked around and wondered Where are all the adults? There seem to be no adults in the room. The world looks like the Peanuts comic strip—all children but no parents—and the voice of wisdom seems to be absent from our culture—all we get is a WaaWaaWaa sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher.
The media have become childishly quarrelsome. News channels push opponents into the worst versions of their enemies and abuse, berate, scold, and denounce them. Dialogues guarantee raised voices and mutual hectoring. Again, don’t we expect more of grown adults?
2. We are not in control.
Covid has proven—so far—to be bigger than all of our best science. We’re just not that clever. If we were, we’d have worked it out in a week, but no, we are like children standing bewildered before a dark, open, night sky. What we can’t fix, we blame others for. It’s the opposing party’s fault! It’s China’s fault! It’s big pharma’s fault! This is all childish. The fact is, 2020 is good for our humility, just as Zechariah was humbled. We don’t know everything and we don’t get it all. We are not in control of the cosmos, but we can put our trust in the one who is, and live without fear or anxiety as we do so.
3. We need a better relationship with God.
Trouble can affect us in one of two ways: we either turn to God for help or turn away from God imagining He has let us down. Troubles can result in greater distance between us and God, or troubles can draw us to Him in greater need and dependence. Zechariah’s song makes it clear: from his troubles he grew into greater faith and trust in God. So should we.
Look again at verses 74 and 75:
74 We are delivered from evil to serve Him 75 through faithful obedience all our days.
We are saved for a purpose—something much more than just our own well-being—we are saved to serve God and to practice faithful obedience, ever aligning and re-aligning our spirits with His.
The result of doing so is a fulfilled soul, a complete spirit, a satisfied mind, and a loving heart. A new year is coming, but we already live in the new age of Christ’s triumph over sin and death. We, like Zechariah, like his son John the Baptizer, can announce and proclaim that the Lord God of Israel has visited and redeemed His people.
May our faith, this Advent and beyond, take its cue from Zechariah, such that we serve the will and Word of God,
and share in His work by simple obedience. Despite all temptations and worldly pressures—including whatever 2021 may bring—may we all be aware enough to see God’s glorious work in our midst. Let us not miss that angel.
And may our Gratitude run as deep, and our praises to God be elaborate, sweet, deep, but most certainly from the Heart.
Christmas is coming. Jesus is coming.
Hallelujah and Amen.
“MAGNIFICENT"
TEXT: LUKE 1: 46-55 Translation by NKA
My soul praises the greatness of God,
My spirit rejoices in my Savior!
He has regarded the lowliness of his bondmaid;
Now history will regard me as most blessed,
For the Almighty has worked a miracle in me,
Holy is His name!
His mercy covers all generations that revere Him.
He works miracles—His hand has befuddled and silenced the arrogant.
He has humbled the great and exalted the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good food
And sent the greedy away empty.
His mercies remember Israel with helps,
Just as He promised our forefathers—
Abraham, and his children’s children.
REGARDING MUSICALS
I want to start out by saying that I agree with Matt: there is something just plain wrong about playing Christmas music before thanksgiving—I couldn’t agree more. But my family is not like Matt’s. I always wanted a family like Matt’s, where people sang together and played music together, but no—my family was more like that odd character from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (show clip).
I enjoy few musicals, and I consider this a fault in my own programming. Wizard of Oz, Music Man, Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar, and Fiddler on the Roof—that’s it for me, sorry. The musicals of the last two decades or so have only sealed it for me, but I’d gladly watch the older ones. In High School, I performed in Music Man and South Pacific, but I’ve never rented either musical.
Luke 1 and 2—the pre-Christmas and Christmas narrative should be a musical. There’s plenty of singing, and we have these moments when the lead characters step downstage into the spotlight as the lights behind them on the other players go dim, and you can almost hear the orchestra swelling as they begin their songs.
When Mary walks into Zechariah’s house, John the Baptist—still in utero—gives his mother Elizabeth a good kick, after which she stands up and steps front-and-center to deliver her “Blessed are thou among women” song, “and blessed in the fruit of thy womb.” It’s elegant and clearly inspired utterance.
In response, Mary steps forward and the spotlight swells, illuminating her glowing face as she launches into her song, The Magnificat, which is every bit as worthy of the book of Psalms as any of David’s songs.
How like a musical this is, yes, but more, how like the great day Pentecost from Acts 2. The Pentecost story is also a musical, for when the Holy Spirit comes, the Disciples are transformed from rather reserved mumblers into lead singers. Then men, formerly portrayed as rather clueless mouth-breathers now sing with boldness and great confidence of the mysteries and goodness of God. You could say the Holy Spirit put a song into their hearts—a new song—by which the gospel could go forth into the world.
Even Peter, something of a ham-fisted knuckle-dragger, once touched by the Holy Spirit burst forth in an elegant, eloquent sermon—one that clearly articulates the good news of Christ. The Disciples are now, you might say, in tune with God, as they are inspired by the Spirit.
What is more, they all proclaim the gospel in such a way that others—especially foreigners—are able to hear the message. Anybody can speak or preach, but not everyone can be heard. We need to make clear here that just as the Holy Spirit moved the Disciples to preach the gospel, that same Holy Spirit led others to hear it, to perceive the truth that Jesus is Lord. Bottom line: no credit to the preachers, but all credit to the Spirit who speaks through them and opens the ears of the hearers.
So with Elizabeth, and Mary, and later on in the chapter, Zechariah will sing, as do the angels, the shepherds, and perhaps even the sheep. By the spirit’s touch, normal utterance is transformed into something like song.
MUSIC MATTERS
I’m a music lover. Music is very important to me. My growing sense of self, creativity, and freedom all find expression in the music I’ve come to love. To me, music really matters.
I was the youngest child of four, and behind by 6-10 years, so by the time I came along, there was no fuss—my parents were old hands at parenting—I didn’t have lots of pictures, no fussy scrapbooks, and I certainly never had children’s music. No little records or infantile songs or even a music box. I had siblings who listened to the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Motown, and my parents’ occasional required course in music appreciation, which meant we had to listen to their old swing albums while they reminded us how much better their music was than ours. As to the music, I loved it all.
Over the years, my brother and sisters added to their great album collections. When Elton John released Madman Across the Water, I remember sitting with my brother in the dining room poring over the lyrics to that album by Bernie Taupin, who was Elton John’s lyricist, and he wrote some amazing songs. “Tiny Dancer” is on that album. But the song that hit me was “Levon.” The chorus says, “And he shall be Levon.” I said that it sounds like “believe on” and my brother explained that it could be symbolic—that Levon really represents the institutional church. I was amazed! There was an entirely other dimension there in the music. I was amazed and launched on a lifelong interest in finding the deeper meanings behind the words.
The song “American Pie” hit the airwaves ripe for analysis and dissection. In Riverside, stations KFXM and KMEN regularly rotated in a version with a DJ providing commentary on every phrase. These were cryptic lyrics about Elvis, Bob Dylan and the Beatles—the entire Rock and Roll era described in song and forever changed with the assassination of President Kennedy. All that meaning packed into a popular song. I was in a new world, and deeply fascinated with popular songs, but also with books, especially the Bible. I’ve never quite recovered.
In junior and senior high school in Omaha, I played guitar daily, and worked in a music store. I played in a couple bands, but I was always searching for music that would feed what was now my deep hunger for significant meaning.
In college, by my second semester, I had become the entertainment editor of the school newspaper. I got to do album and concert reviews. My goal was to be as critical and snarky as possible. I remember referring to one, new, popular album as a “tremendous waste of good plastic.” This analyzing of music translated easily to the analysis of literature. I majored in English literature, but my first and deepest interest was always coming to terms with the mysteries of Scripture.
One summer I served on the staff up at Forest Home, where I was introduced to the new world of Christian pop music. It was all they played, and it blasted from the speakers all over campus like propaganda in Red Square. I didn’t like it. I liked that it was Christian, but the style was too derivative—always copying something from the world but sanctifying it up with Christian lyrics. “Oh, you’d like this band,” other counselors would say. “They sound just like the Doobie Brothers, but they’re Christian!” My question was if Christians are linked to the Holy Spirit—the one who helped create Heaven and Earth—then why don’t Christians sound better than any of the worldly bands? If we are plugged into the very source of Creation, then why aren’t we inventing the music that the world wants to imitate?
I led a well-attended, break-out seminar: It’s only rock n Roll. Many counselors and parents attended hoping that I would go on the warpath against hard rock. They wanted me to expose Led Zeppelin for putting backwards Satanic messages in their music. I disagreed. I told them Satan has better things to do than whisper into Ozzy Osborne’s ear when he’s writing lyrics. The real Satan, I proposed, is a fat, balding, middle-aged man high in an office tower raking hard-earned teen dollars over his desk, saying, “Oh yeah—we love Black Sabbath here at Capitol Records!” In my view, there was no truly Satanic music because Satan hates music of any kind. He only likes noise and chaos. I won’t deny: there are plenty of bands trying very hard to please him.
As I continued on to seminary and youth ministry, MTV entered its golden era. I led programs designed to train Christian young people to watch videos with a critical eye, rather than just taking it all in thoughtlessly.
I had the privilege of working on staff with a man who won the grand prize at the national Christian composers conference in Estes Park, CO. He was a great musician and a good friend. We argued about music constantly. It came down to this: He, the musician, wanted all music to preach the gospel. I, the preacher, wanted the gospel to sing great music. Again I asked, “Aren’t we, the people of Christ, uniquely connected to the Lord of Creation? Why aren’t we inventing the new music that makes even the hardened atheist swoon?”
I still ask. In the meantime, the churches’ worship wars have waged on for 35 years. It’s always about the music. Praise music or hymns? Popular feel or classic? Traditional standards or fresh, new compositions? I’ve learned there is no accounting for taste, and as we try to untie five generations in one worship service, we are stretching everyone out of their comfort zones and catering to no one in particular.
But music matters. It has always been part of worship, even when Christians cowered in the catacombs beneath Rome in fear of execution—even there, when they gathered, they sang.
The world around us has always been filled with noise. American culture has never been noisier and more chaotic than now in 2020. TV news is noise and chaos. The internet is noise and chaos. Social Media is noisy chaos and chaotic noise. The devil is loving it, for sure.
It is time we Christians refuse to contribute to the noise and chaos. This Christmas and New Year’s provides us with an excellent doorway to escape the fray. The truth is that we have a song to sing. We are supporting a chorus that began long ago—Pentecost or earlier—and from the din of turmoil, we should gather, stand, and raise our voices—not in protest, not in anger—but in song.
This Advent and Christmas, our voices join that of Mary in saying, “Magnificent!” Lord, you are wonderful. You work miracles. You keep your every promise. You are our sure and certain hope.
The music begins, and you and I are called to step into the spotlight, front-and-center, to sing. We are called to sing an old song—to sing it with joy despite whatever is going on around us in the world.
FEELING THE BERN
I want to close with story about Bernie Taupin, Elton John’s lyricist who wrote that Levon song that got me going all those years ago. A friend of mine—a Presbyterian pastor up in Santa Ynez—told me that Bernie’s wife and children attend his church. Occasionally, Bernie would attend with them, but tended to leave early. Bernie’s wife and kids always came up for the Lord’s Supper, but Bernie never did.
One Sunday, on the way out, Bernie asked my friend about communion: “How is one to know whether or not they ought to participate?” he said.
My friend answered, “To take communion means that you have put your trust in Jesus, and you believe he is who Scripture says he is—the Lord, the Son of God, your Savior. When that’s true for a person, they come forward and take communion.”
Some months passed, but Bernie attended regularly with his family. Then, one Sunday, as my friend was holding the bread as congregants came forward for the sacrament, there was Bernie in line. By the time he made up to the front, both of them were in tears.
Bernie Taupin, the man whose profession was meaning and the deeper meaning of words, by an act of God was enabled to hear the song and participate in the music as if for the first time.
This is the hope for all of us—that as we stand amid the noise and chaos to raise our voices in the ancient song of faith, that others’ ears may be opened and join with us in our never-ending chorus.
What we celebrate at this table is nothing short of a miracle. May the song live loudly within each of as we are fed for the journey!
QUESTIONS
- 1. How musical was your family? Did your family sing together freely or were you more music-avoidant?
- 2. It is one thing to be inspired by the Holy Spirit to speak, preach, or sing; but another to be inspired to hear. Why is it just as important that we acknowledge the Spirit’s role in the hearing of the Word as its speaking?
- 3. Discuss: Satan hates all music—Satan only want chaos and noise. Why is this better than saying he “inspires” certain evil music?
- 4. Share with your group about music that has touched you deeply or been most powerful to you in your life.
- 5. The “song” of the gospel lives in all of Jesus’ followers. Why is it sometimes hard for us to sing songs in a style we don’t particularly like? What should we do about it?