Sermon on Luke 1:39-55

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Our Advent theme this year is A Weary World Rejoices, a line from the beloved Christmas carol “O Holy Night,” because there’s a lot of weariness in the world, even after almost a full year of focusing on Sabbath in this congregation.

Each week, we’ve been pondering one of God’s promises.This final week of Advent is the promise of justice.

It might be surprising that Mary was singing for joy, since the unexpected pregnancy upended her life, threatened her betrothal, and opened her to scorn and shame and potentially even violence.

But it’s not surprising that she sang of her deepest wish: God’s justice.

She was living on land occupied by the Roman Empire. They were known for pax Romana, or Roman peace, but it wasn’t true peace. It was enforced by violence.

Taxes were heavy, not to mention the tax collectors who took their unfair share on top of the going rate, and most of the population was living at subsistence level or below.

Life was really hard for almost everyone.

And this was the time that God chose to become human, to enter into our human messiness and struggle.

In the divine messenger’s visit, Mary understood what God was promising. This was not just an unexpected child; this was the child, the Messiah. This child would sit on “the throne of his ancestor David.He [would] reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there [would] be no end.”[1]

This was no ordinary child. This child was “the Son of the Most High.” This child would fulfill God’s promise to David—the promise that seemed to have been broken when God’s people were taken into exile, but which Jeremiah had prophesied would be fulfilled one day.

Mary, along with all her people, had been waiting for that prophecy to come true—for the Messiahto come and usher in the Day of the Lord, when God’s justice and mercy would be complete.

God didn’t wait for a time of peace, prosperity, comfort, and ease to become one of us. And when God chose to be born,it was not to an earthly king or warlord amid riches and power, but to a poor girlin an inconsequential town in occupied land in a time of violence and fear. God showed Godself in the margins of society.

God entered fully into the human experience when things were not as they should be.

And things are never as they should be, are they?

Many of our problems are different than in the first century. I wouldn’t want to trade modern medicine or indoor plumbing for first century living.

But today there’s still poverty. There’s still injustice.

For all our modern conveniences, there are still

1.    children who go to bed hungry,

2.    elders who are lonely and isolated,

3.    innocent people on death row,

4.    families torn apart by war and violence,

5.    dozens upon dozens of people who are in need of our pantry and hot meal each week,

6.    and around 400 unhoused people who died in Orange County just this year.

Our world is not as it should be. God’s justice and mercy still seem far away all too often.

That’s why we still observe Advent. We’re still waiting.

It’s why we need Mary’s song, which has become known as the Magnificat, because it magnifies God’s glory. So many people have been inspired by it and have put it to their own music—we’re singing some versions today.

We need the song of a brave, hopeful girl living in poverty who trusted in God’s promises and experienced God’s faithfulness.

She sang of the justice that was coming, the world God was creating despite the violence and evil that surrounded her.

She knew that God fulfills God’s promises.

God was entering into the human experience when things were not as they should be.

God wasn’t raining fire or smiting wicked people with lightning.

God was entering our world peacefully—so unlike our world where we try to dominate each other.

Mary sang of the truth that God was restoring the world and compassionately bringing justice.

This Advent, we too are remembering God’s promises of truth, compassion, restoration, and justice.

Advent ushers in a gentle revolution of justice through God’s love and mercy.

We sing Mary’s words today, remembering the way God turns the world upside down to bring justice and mercy into our world.

We don’t see the fullness of God’s Reign yet, but we will.

We look to Mary’s Child to see God in the flesh.

And while we wait for his return, we live in his example—a life lived in the pattern of Mary’s song—perhaps a lullaby she sang him at night.

God’s gentle revolution of justice doesn’t mean that we sit idly by, waiting passively for Jesus’ return and ignoring the need of our neighbors today—by no means!

Even as we try to love God and our neighbors every day, God is teaching us to live in ways that surprise and confuse the world around us.

1.    We live in service, not vying for power.

2.    We love people instead of using them.

3.    We feed people body and soul

4.    We care for creation instead of carelessly using up its resources.

5.    We pay attention to whose voices aren’t being listened to.

6.    We remember that in Sabbath God invites us to rest instead of hustling every minute.

God brings about a gentle revolution of justice in us as we strive for human dignity, the preservation of creation, and for every person to feel loved and connected as the image of God that they are.

God is bringing about that gentle revolution of justice, and it will be complete someday, and in the meantime, God empowers us to work for that justice in the here and now, inspired by Mary’s song and Jesus’ example.

Receive this “Blessing for the Coming of Justice” from Kate Bowler:

Blessed are we,

starting to see the height and depth and breadth

of God’s love that includes all of us,

even the not-so-perfect.

Blessed are you, Mary, for saying yes to the big risk

of being God’s dwelling place.

Blessed are we, like Mary,

starting to sing our own songs of joy

at the thought that maybe this

Advent we too can start to trust it,

to risk it, to live it out,

the love that decides to love first,

before it is earned or deserved,

the love that your incarnation

embodies to the full.

Blessed are we,

breathing in the truth that we belong,

and so does everybody else.

[1] Luke 1:32-33

Sermon on Luke 3:7-18

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Our Advent theme this year is A Weary World Rejoices, a line from the beloved Christmas carol “O Holy Night,” because there’s a lot of weariness in the world, even after almost a full year of focusing on Sabbath in this congregation.

Each week, we’ll ponder one of God’s promises.This week is the promise of restoration.

And restoration was certainly what God’s people needed in the time of Zephaniah.

He was prophesying in the time between the books of Isaiah and Jeremiah. King Josiah was on the throne.

When you read through the Hebrew Bible, there’s a good stretch where there’s one king who behaves wickedly, dies, and is replaced by another wicked king.

When you get to King Josiah, it’s a relief. He sought to bring about reform and draw people back to God.

But destruction was still coming.

The first several chapters of Zephaniah predict the “Day of the Lord,” when God’s judgment will come upon both God’s people and their enemies.

He called out the idolatry of God’s people and the injustice and violence of their rulers.

There had been generation after generation of poor leadership, which had led the people to lose their trust in God.

But in chapter 3, Zephaniah’s words suddenly turn hopeful, as he exhorts God’s people to rejoice. The Day of the Lord isn’t about terrifying vengeance against God’s people for their wicked ways. Our reading even says, “The Lord has taken away the judgments against you;he has turned away your enemies.”

The Day of the Lord is about restoration. In our reading, God promised to free God’s people from their enemies, “save the lame and gather the outcast,” and bring God’s people home.

God will restore the wholeness God intended in Creation.

But the time wasn’t yet, and still isn’t.

Yes, God sent the promised Messiah, Jesus, so we could see God face-to-face. Jesus broke the power of sin and death through the cross and resurrection.

But the fullness of the Reign of God isn’t here yet.

Sure, we get glimpses in the beauty of nature, the kindness of an old friend, or the hospitality of a stranger.

But the world still isn’t as it should be, and it’s easy to overlook the glimpses of heaven in the weariness of the here and now.

There’s so much in the world that is cruel, unjust, tragic, and senseless.

How do we go on when it seems like the world is going to Hell in the proverbial handbasket?

John had some ideas in our Gospel reading.

The first part could be summed up by the now cliché saying, “be the change you want to see in the world.”

People came to see him in the wilderness and asked how they should live in anticipation of the Day of the Lord.

John told them to share what they have.

And when people with specific professions asked him, he told the tax collectors not to cheat people, and he told the soldiers not to threaten people or steal from them.

Just as Zephaniah called out idolatry and injustice in his time, John was calling people to release their idols of greed and work for justice and peace in their own small ways: give someone a coat, take only what is owed, care for your fellow humans.

These small acts were ways they were dedicating their lives to God as they waited for the Messiah to come.

And after telling them how to wait, John told them about that coming Messiah. He pointed them to Jesus and told them Good News.

John’s proclamation wasn’t just a laundry list of good works to make us right with God (because works don’t save us—God’s grace does). John’s proclamation pointed them to Jesus, where their true restoration lay.

The Messiah would save the world, and while they waited for that, they could live in the way Jesus would soon teach them: love God and love your neighbor. Make the world a little more as it is in heaven.

There’s a Christmas song from the musical Mame called “We Need a Little Christmas.”The eccentric Auntie Mamehas hit some financial trouble shortly before Thanksgiving while raising her nephew during the Depression. The coming holidays, not to mention their future together, suddenly seem bleak. But the irrepressible Auntie Mame declares that they should start celebrating Christmas now, launching into the song “We Need a Little Christmas.”

A few bittersweet lyrics hint that Auntie Mame is not as cheerful as she pretends:

“It's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.
For I've grown a little leaner,
Grown a little colder,
Grown a little sadder,
Grown a little older,
And I need a little angel
Sitting on my shoulder,
Need a little Christmas now.”

I think many of us love this season not just for its spiritual significance, but for the simple joys it promises:coziness, comfort, connection with family, playfulness, peace, and nostalgia for a time past that perhaps never existed to begin with.

I think we all have a picture in our heads of what a perfect Christmas should be like. It’s probably a little different for each of us, but one thing is the same: we’ve never experienced it.

Even the happiest of holidays probably had a crying toddler, a disappointed wish, a petty argument, a burnt turkey, or an absent family member.

And as much as we sing of peace on earth this time of year, none of us have ever experienced that in our lifetimes.

Maybe that’s exactly why we need a little Christmas—not because our experience of it is perfect, but because it, like Zephaniah and John the Baptist, points us to the fulfillment of God’s promises.

In other words, maybe we all do need a little Christmas right this very moment, because it and Advent anticipates God turning the world upside-down (or perhaps right-side up), restoring everything and everyone to God’s self.

Advent and Christmas point to God’s bigger story that we’re a part of. Every longing for a perfect Christmas is actually a longing for the world to be made right in the way God intended from the beginning.

As Auntie Mame sings,

“And we need a little snappy
‘Happy ever after,’
Need a little Christmas now.”

If this Advent season feels a little lacking, if the thought of another disappointing Christmas makes you want to crawl back in bed, or if on the other hand you love this season so much that you feel depressed when it’s over, your feelings are valid.

Those feelings, too, point to the fullness of the Reign of Godwhen we only get glimpses on this side of life. Let these feelings remind you that we are part of a bigger story that hasn’t ended yet.God promises restoration—that our “snappy happy ever after” will come one day.

Receive this “Blessing for Our Part in the Bigger Story” from Kate Bowler:

Blessed are we,

gathered already into the plot,

part of the epic story you have been writing

from long before we were ever born.

Thank you that we are not separated

into lives of loneliness

but joined together as those

who were loved into being.

We are made for meaning and a purpose

that only our days can breathe into action.

Pull us closer to the bigger story that

reminds us

that our ordinary lives

are the stuff of eternity.

You fitted each of our days

for small efforts and endless attempts

to pick ourselves up again.

In our triumphs and embarrassments.

we need to be told again (sigh)

that we are not just everyday problems.

We are a story of extraordinary love.

Sermon on Luke 1:57-80

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Our Advent theme this year is A Weary World Rejoices, a line from the beloved Christmas carol “O Holy Night,” because there is a lot of weariness in the world, even after almost a full year of focusing on Sabbath in this congregation.

Each week, we’ll ponder one of God’s promises.This week is the promise of compassion.

During this season, we understandably focus on Jesus’ birth and the journeys of Mary and Joseph as they prepare to welcome their new heavenly family member.

But Elizabeth and Zechariah’s journeys are remarkable as well. And for them, probably equally as overwhelming.

Mary’s cousin Elizabeth hadn’t been able to have children until her husband, Zechariah, who was a priest, was visited by a divine messenger. He apparently doubted the angel, who told him that because of his lack of trust he wouldn’t be able to speak until the child was born.

No one’s life was going as expected. Elizabeth and Zechariah hadn’t had a baby when they expected, and now when they were at the point where Zechariah was wondering how this was physically possible—an angel comes with a baby announcement!

And Mary and Joseph certainly weren’t expecting to raise the Child of God before they were even married.

Their lives were not going the way they expected.

But, despite the challenges these new futures held, God’s vision for them was greater and more wonderful than they had expected.

Mary visited Elizabeth, whose baby jumped for joy inside her. And Mary was inspired to sing what has become known as the Magnificat—a song magnifying God. We’ll take a closer look at that two weeks from now.

But there’s a song for today, too. Our reading picks up when baby John was born. Suddenly, Zechariah was able to speak again, and not only did he speak: he sang! He joined the ranks of Hannah, Miriam, Mary, and later Simeon to sing God’s praise in a moment of joy, wonder, and trust in God’s promises.

Though the lives of the people in these stories were not going as planned, God was creating a future more wonderful than they dreamed. God became human in Jesus to bring compassion to the world.

Of course, we know that Jesus’ life and death included pain and humiliation. The fulfillment of God’s promises still involved suffering.

Our lives often go in directions we don’t expect, like the people in our stories, andit’s not always in ways that make us want to sing God’s praises.

We experience loss, pain, grief, confusion, and any number of other forms of suffering. Sometimes our lives change in an instant. Sometimes it’s a slow fade until we hardly recognize ourselves. Sometimes it feels like suffering is all around us.

But that’s what God’s promises are about. God promises compassion.

The word “compassion” means “suffering with.” When we talk of Christ’s Passion, we’re remembering that God loves us so much that God became human in Jesus to live alongside us in the world’s suffering. He endured the cross, suffering with all humanity and experiencing all the pain this world contains.

When God promises compassion, God promises to suffer with us. God is with us whatever our circumstances, holding us, weeping with us, and never abandoning us.

Advent is the anticipation of God’s compassion revealing itself through Emmanuel, God with us.

We can hold onto God’s promise of compassion, because God was willing to become one of us to experience all of life’s joys and suffering alongside us. God knows the full breadth of human experience and loves us in it and through it. And in the fullness of the Reign of God, there will be no more suffering—only complete union with God forever.

In the meantime, we can let that compassion fill us and overflow into the world around us as we do our best to love our neighbors as God loves us, opening our arms to the world.

Receive this “Blessing for Open Arms” from Kate Bowler:

Blessed are you with open arms

to welcome God this Advent,

willing to invite its promises

into the center of your longing.

Blessed are you,

even now in the waiting.

Open to receiving what is beautiful

though clothed in such precarity.

Blessed are you,

agreeing to stand still long enough

to let your eyes adjust to the darkness

until the starlight begins to appear,

the dawning of God’s promises.

In that gentle light,

find a corner of your heart

where hope can stay protected.

A place from which we can

nurture a little gratitude,

a little compassion,

enough to go around.

Some for God and some for yourself.

And some for the next unsuspecting

soul that wanders into your light.