A quick note: this is the chapel version of the sermon that I preached last Wednesday. I edited the original and cut the family stories out a bit, because my family was coming to Bethesda to hear me this last Sunday and I didn't want to embarrass them by talking about them in front of everyone.
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Luke 2:1-20
I remember once, when I was 14, my family decided to take a trip down to Arizona to visit my Grandma and Grandpa Smith. They’d just moved down there the year before, to a retirement community called Green Valley, because of Grandma’s asthma and Grandpa’s heart issues. I remember thinking when we first decided to go that, apart from getting to see Grandma and Grandpa, this was going to be the most boring vacation ever- who wants to go visit a retirement community?
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
What's in a Name? (Sermon 12-19-10)
Matthew 1:18-25
When I was a kid, like all good children, I loved Dr. Seuss books. I loved Fox in Sox, One Fish Two Fish, Green Eggs and Ham, but most of all, if I remember correctly, I loved the story of The Sneetches. If you don’t remember the story, it starts out this way:
Now, the Star-Belly Sneetches had bellies with stars.
The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars.
Those stars weren’t so big. They were really so small.
You might think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all.
But, because they had stars, all the Star-Belly Sneetches
Would brag, “We’re the best kind of Sneetch on the beaches.”
With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they’d snort
“We’ll have nothing to do with the Plain-Belly sort!”
And, whenever they met some, when they were out walking,
They’d hike right on past them without even talking.
The story then goes on to tell of the arrival of one Sylvester McMonkey McBean, a hero of capitalism, the fix-it-up-chappie, who builds a sort of Ruth Goldberg style tattoo machine which can place a star upon the belly of any sneetch. Of course, then, chaos ensues as the Sneetches which had formerly had stars upon thars now wanted no stars upon thars due to the Sneetches which did not have stars upon thars now having stars upon thars. And Mr. McBean, ever ready to make his living, supplies a similar star removal machine. And eventually, all of the Sneetches are running in and out of both machines, paying their money, putting stars on and having them removed, until nobody knows which was which first.
Now, I have long believed that my brain works in funny ways and often draws connections between thoughts which are in no-way related, and here is the proof: every Advent and Christmas season, without fail, and some point while passing a nativity scene and observing the star which is often glued to the peak of the roof of the stable, or when passing some other Christmas decoration including the star which the Magi followed, I will inevitably here the words “the Star-Belly Sneetches had bellies with stars. The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars,” somewhere in the recesses of my brain.
When I was a kid, like all good children, I loved Dr. Seuss books. I loved Fox in Sox, One Fish Two Fish, Green Eggs and Ham, but most of all, if I remember correctly, I loved the story of The Sneetches. If you don’t remember the story, it starts out this way:
Now, the Star-Belly Sneetches had bellies with stars.
The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars.
Those stars weren’t so big. They were really so small.
You might think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all.
But, because they had stars, all the Star-Belly Sneetches
Would brag, “We’re the best kind of Sneetch on the beaches.”
With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they’d snort
“We’ll have nothing to do with the Plain-Belly sort!”
And, whenever they met some, when they were out walking,
They’d hike right on past them without even talking.
The story then goes on to tell of the arrival of one Sylvester McMonkey McBean, a hero of capitalism, the fix-it-up-chappie, who builds a sort of Ruth Goldberg style tattoo machine which can place a star upon the belly of any sneetch. Of course, then, chaos ensues as the Sneetches which had formerly had stars upon thars now wanted no stars upon thars due to the Sneetches which did not have stars upon thars now having stars upon thars. And Mr. McBean, ever ready to make his living, supplies a similar star removal machine. And eventually, all of the Sneetches are running in and out of both machines, paying their money, putting stars on and having them removed, until nobody knows which was which first.
Now, I have long believed that my brain works in funny ways and often draws connections between thoughts which are in no-way related, and here is the proof: every Advent and Christmas season, without fail, and some point while passing a nativity scene and observing the star which is often glued to the peak of the roof of the stable, or when passing some other Christmas decoration including the star which the Magi followed, I will inevitably here the words “the Star-Belly Sneetches had bellies with stars. The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars,” somewhere in the recesses of my brain.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Of Mary and Signposts (Sermon for the Third Sunday in Advent; 12-12-10)
Luke 1:39-56
Mary is a bit of an enigma for we Protestants, or more accurately we non-Roman Catholic Christian Westerners. Though our Methodist lineage is not quite the same as that of other Protestant denominations in the world, we too were influenced by the events of the Reformation, though perhaps in some unique ways. But one thing that did carry over is that, for the average person in the pew at least, there used to be a bit of an aversion to things “Popish” and smelling of veneration.
Mary is a bit of an enigma for we Protestants, or more accurately we non-Roman Catholic Christian Westerners. Though our Methodist lineage is not quite the same as that of other Protestant denominations in the world, we too were influenced by the events of the Reformation, though perhaps in some unique ways. But one thing that did carry over is that, for the average person in the pew at least, there used to be a bit of an aversion to things “Popish” and smelling of veneration.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Advent: Why Wait? (Sermon 12-5-10)
Isaiah 11:1-10
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
People love to celebrate. We love to throw parties, dress up, eat big meals followed up by great desserts and coffee or wines, and make a big to-do of things. Any chance we get, whether it’s a birthday, anniversary, or even on the occasion of moving away, we love to get everybody together and have a good time.
It’s in our nature to celebrate. Celebration helps us to remember things, how old we are, how long we’ve been with someone, or how important the people in our current situation in life have been to us. When we don’t celebrate, we have a tendency to forget, or worse, to take for granted. In fact, this is one of the chief reasons we gather together every Sunday, to celebrate the work of God in Christ, to be reminded of the good words of the Gospel, lest we forget. We celebrate to defy forgetfulness.
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
People love to celebrate. We love to throw parties, dress up, eat big meals followed up by great desserts and coffee or wines, and make a big to-do of things. Any chance we get, whether it’s a birthday, anniversary, or even on the occasion of moving away, we love to get everybody together and have a good time.
It’s in our nature to celebrate. Celebration helps us to remember things, how old we are, how long we’ve been with someone, or how important the people in our current situation in life have been to us. When we don’t celebrate, we have a tendency to forget, or worse, to take for granted. In fact, this is one of the chief reasons we gather together every Sunday, to celebrate the work of God in Christ, to be reminded of the good words of the Gospel, lest we forget. We celebrate to defy forgetfulness.
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