The Sunday Sermon: Home by Another Way

Today is the second Sunday and 12th day of the Christmas season. We won’t officially celebrate the Epiphany until tomorrow. But today we are peeking over the fence and seeing the wise ones approach. You may immediately interpret that as the three Kings, but take a closer look at the Gospel and you will notice that Matthew never says there are three of them; he never says they are kings; he never even says they are all men. Just “magi”, a term that may describe Zoroastrian priests from Iran, but is often translated “wise ones”. The wise ones who read the stars and realized that something utterly new was happening, somewhere in the world, something they didn’t yet understand. Their reaction to this new thing was not fear but curiosity. So the wise ones set out to learn more about this new king, to offer gifts and to pay homage. How ironic today that those chosen to reveal Christ to the world were likely from Iran.

King Herod, on the other hand, wasn’t a wise one. When he learned whom the wise ones were seeking he was frightened; and when Herod was frightened, his courtiers - “all of Jerusalem” as it says - quaked in their sandals, because a frightened tyrant is a dangerous and unpredictable creature. Fear drives violent and destructive actions. Fear holds back progress. Fear imprisons people within their own assumptions.

Assumptions led the wise ones to Jerusalem, assumptions that any king born in Israel would be found in the royal city of David and that the current ruling family would know all about it. But Herod was shocked by this news of a king. He was afraid, because another king must mean a threat to his power. And so, as he directed the wise ones to Bethlehem in the land of Judah, he sneakily asked them to find the child and let him know the address. Herod of course had no intention of paying homage to this new king: his plan was to send a death squad out as soon as he knew where to send it. He wasn’t about to let a rival dynasty challenge him. And his fear led him to an appalling act of mass murder, after the wise ones took a different route home: he had all the babies in Bethlehem killed, in what we call the martyrdom of the Holy Innocents.

We know that the new king in Bethlehem wasn’t interested in taking Herod’s throne. He was a different kind of king, a king whose kingdom didn’t depend on military force and oppressive taxation. But Herod was right to be alarmed, because this new king brought good news to the poor and sought to lift up the lowly. His kingship would be a threat to the status quo, would call on those with privilege to share their power with the powerless, would call on those with plenty to share their abundance with the hungry, would call on those whose influence depended on unthinking obedience to open up their structures of governance.

In our own time we are seeing a backlash to reforming change. The Herods of our day and their courtiers are frightened. Their influence is no longer unquestioned. They are being held accountable for abuses. And so, like Herod, they are reacting with violence. The media tell the story: domestic terrorism, hate crimes, murders of transgender persons, restrictive healthcare laws that target women, all of these are signs that Herod is frightened by the new thing that is coming to pass. And still, today, those who follow the star and seek the Christ strive to change the world, to find a different way, a way of peace, justice, and love.

Back in Bethlehem, the wise ones found the baby and his mother. They knelt down and worshiped him, recognizing and accepting his authority. And they offered symbolic gifts: gold, for royalty, incense, for divinity, myrrh, for mortality, conveying their astonished understanding that this child embodied the presence of God among humanity, Emanuel, God with Us.

When I lived in Virginia I used to go to a chamber music workshop every summer. On the first day of the workshop I would hurry down interstate 81 to Lexington, getting there as fast as possible, so as not to miss the opening events. But at the end of the week, after 8 or more hours a day of playing music, I would take my time, meandering north on the original coach road, Virginia route 11, that wends its way through the little towns of the Shenandoah Valley, relishing a Sunday morning when I didn’t have to be anywhere, enjoying the sleepy beauty of midsummer, stopping at farm stands for fresh corn and fruit. The week of music changed me, slowed me down, invited me to go home by a different way.

The wise ones went home by a different road. They didn’t visit Herod again: their eyes had been opened and their hearts changed. They no longer cared to spend time in royal palaces, now that they understood about this new kind of king. They were warned that Herod and his people intended harm to the holy child, and they weren’t knowingly going to be party to any violence. The Epiphany - the showing of Jesus to the world - was in their hands, and they found a different way.

The Epiphany of Jesus isn’t just a cosy story of mysterious visitors bearing gifts. The tragic fate of the Holy Innocents tells us as much. We learn that making Christ known to the world is not without risk. Once we have encountered this new king, our lives will never be the same again. We must take a different road, countering the prevalent culture of violence and exploitation. Our Presiding Bishop encourages us to take a different road, the Way of Love. It’s the way that Jesus took as he taught and healed. It’s the way the disciples took as they went out two by two to change the world. It’s a sevenfold rule of life in which we turn from our old ways to learn about God’s presence, we commit to prayer and worship, we bless the world as we go forward, and we rest in God’s love.

Each of us will practice the way of love in our own unique way, drawing on our gifts and experience. Like the wise ones, we will encounter the Christ, worship him, and make him known, as we turn from old ways of selfishness and fear and find a different way home.

Epiphany: a showing forth. In this new year, we are called to be Epiphany people, to show forth the light of Christ in the world and to find the path that God has planned for us. As the Psalmist reminds us, Happy are the people whose hearts are set on the pilgrim’s way.

Second Sunday after Christmas, January 5 2020
The Very Rev Penelope Bridges

The Christmas Sermon: The Incarnation, a gift of love

The gospel of John which we just read is the only Christmas story in the gospels that does not have a birth narrative. John instead starts way back at the beginning of creation, quickly but poetically telling us of the birth of all things from the source of light and life, the Word of God.

With this focus, John opens the door for us to think broadly about Christmas. “The Word became flesh and lived among us.” The Word is not simply the baby Jesus, cute and cuddly. The Word is the animating principle of the universe; the founding reason of all things; the Word made flesh is light that cannot be overcome by darkness. The Word made flesh is love itself.

Many times this story gets told in a way that sets up Jesus as a repairman. It goes something like this: God made the world. God said it was good. People, more specifically Adam and Eve, screwed everything up- we had a real mess on our hands. But never fear! God loves us, so he sent his handy repairman Jesus to the rescue. The only way to fix it was from the inside, and so God’s only son became human to take on all the brokenness and save us from ourselves. We celebrate the gift of God’s repairman Jesus at Christmastime because he will save us from ourselves.

There is nothing wrong with this account; it is a story that has been told by generations. There is truth to be had in it.

But in John’s prologue especially, and with other, mostly Franciscan sources, I find some different perspectives helpful.

God made the world, and imbued it with love and light. The love that God put into creation was so powerful that love itself became human. Love became human for this reason alone: because God is love. God is love and that’s what love does: loves itself into relationship.

Love is a healing force that casts out darkness, but the darkness does not compel God to act, does not have control over God, nor require that God fix us. It does not ignore our hurt and brokenness. It stands with us in the valley of the shadow of death and does not abandon us. And it loves us even when we can’t see any light at all and we believe the darkness has overcome. God’s incarnation is about presence: God with us; emmanuel, here and now in this moment. It is about love. There are a lot of critiques about God as love as being a kind of weak nostalgic idea. But love is a force; love is a verb; love isn’t just a silly sentimental thing. Love is a presence and action that makes a difference.

Christmas is about God deciding to become flesh in Jesus Christ. The incarnation is, perhaps less about us escaping from this mortal reality than it is about God here with us now in this reality. Is there anyone you love that you do not want to be close to? To spend time with? To know more fully? To celebrate with, and even to grieve with when they hurt? To love fully is to do all of those things- real decisions with real consequences. And Christmas is the celebration of a God who became flesh and lived among us as Jesus Christ in order to love us more fully; to make that love known to us more fully.

The gift of God in Jesus Christ is a gift we celebrate at Christmastime because we receive the gift of unconditional love; every single one of us no matter our condition, affliction, or disposition-- every single one of us is God’s beloved, made worthy. Not worthy because of our own goodness, but worthy because the Word made flesh comes just to love us, no matter whether sick or healthy, rich or poor, powerful or meek.

The incarnation as a gift of love opens the door to view all of creation as a gift. The God of love walks among us as a lover of creation rather than only a fixer of broken things. Christ as lover of creation means every day brings new opportunities for wonder, joy, and awe. With a God who comes among us to bless all of creation as beloved by taking on flesh, we can open our eyes to see. Can you find the beloved of God around you, right now? In a sunset over Ocean Beach? In a child cooing softly in her mother’s arms? Where in the thin places of this world do you find incarnational experiences of the lover of creation?

Even in the dark places of the world, the incarnation is good news. Walking through dark valleys of loneliness, sickness, persecution, or relationship challenges, a lover of creation who has taken on flesh at our side means that we are never alone. This Christ knows the darkness. But the darkness shall not overcome. Perhaps that is a comfort if we can allow ourselves to be beloved of God even in our darkest moments, nurtured by the one who took on our creatureliness just to be with us.

The birth of Christ that we celebrate this day brings us a God that does not beckon us to escape from this world. The incarnation is the surest sign of all that we have a God that longs for us to engage deeply with the world, proven in God’s own engagement with the world by becoming flesh. In the words of Richard Rohr, “God said yes to the material universe. God said yes to physicality… It’s good to be human, it’s good to be on this earth, it’s good to be flesh, it’s good to have emotions. We don’t need to be ashamed of any of this. God loves matter and physicality.”

So let yourself be loved, this and every day of your incarnation with Christ. Breathe and know you are beloved of God. And witness to the whole of creation, singing out to the heavens in delight for the one who walks with light among us to spread love, joy, and peace.

The Rev. Canon Jeff Martinhauk
Christmas III, December 25, 2019
St. Paul’s Cathedral, San Diego
John 1:1-14

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Sources Consulted: 
 Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 1. Ed. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, Kentucky: John Knox Press, 2010.
https://www.franciscanmedia.org/st-francis-and-the-incarnation/
https://www.patheos.com/blogs/carynriswold/2012/12/why-incarnation/
RIchard Rohr's Daily Meditation

The Christmas Sermon: the seed of joy

A very Merry Christmas to you all! What does that mean to you? Merry isn’t just a full belly, a bottomless glass, and a few ‘ho, ho, hos.’ Merry comes from Germanic roots that mean ‘short,’ and in Old English it meant pleasant or sweet. Merry is how time flies when you’re having fun – or life is especially sweet. Being merry is a taste of eternity; it’s timeless or outside of time. A Merry Christmas is about abiding joy and the true meaning of Christmas.

We rejoice again today – and every year – in the birth of God in human flesh. The depth of joy may bring us to an awareness that is beyond these minutes or the years of our lives. We know those sweet and timeless encounters – gazing into the eyes of a loved one; cradling a newborn; awe at the wonder of the stars in a midnight sky or a sunset. Those un-timed occasions are almost always about love, for love liberates us from the world’s anxiety. Merry-makers don’t count the hours; they are not anxious.

The Christmas story we hear this morning is not the familiar tale of the babe in a manger. John’s story of love in the flesh is a cosmic tale, told through different lens than Luke’s. Luke’s story of God in the flesh takes place in a very specific time and place, yet with meaning that moves far beyond the year of Caesar Augustus’ first census, when Quirinius was governor in Syria. John’s story looks back, beyond time, to before the created order emerged, telling of God’s love before time began. In the beginning was the Word – the dynamic, effective and creative breath of God – before anything could be seen or touched. That God-Word, and only that God-Word, gives life, and life becomes light.

There is another story that tells of that reality as the Big Bang, and it, too, is ALL about light and creativity. Those two stories are not in conflict, nor are Luke’s and John’s. Love has brought into being all that is, and humanity has always striven to understand and welcome that love.

John’s gospel tells of a human being, an advance man for Jesus, telling about the God-Word-light coming in human flesh – John the Baptizer wasn’t light itself, but he pointed to that incarnate light that would unfold and flare forth in Jesus. Isaiah dreamed of that light as a messenger with beautiful feet coming over the mountains with news of peace and healing and justice. At Christmas, we are once again reminded that God is among us in human flesh, bringing light into darkness, light that will never be quenched by the dark.

Where have you seen that light, where have you rejoiced in time-stopping peace, where have you found love that never ends? What Word keeps resounding in your heart, but Love?

Those encounters come to us in our time, yet they also invite us to let go of time and the anxiety that comes with measuring the length of our days. That invitation lies beneath the prayer we began with – make us joyful to receive our Redeemer, and at the end of our earthly days, help us meet that same Word with confidence as our Judge. There can be merriment in both, if we live with Love in our hearts. Love promises constancy through health and sickness, abundance and poverty, joy and sorrow, and Love will be there at our ending – and beyond. Love is meant to be the sum of our lives, an expanding sum that cosmically outshines darkness.

There’s a lovely old rabbinical story about a student who is fiercely wound up about his inability to keep the law in its fullness. He’s deeply worried that he isn’t living a righteous life. The rabbi counsels him, “when you come to judgment, there will be only one question, ‘did you enjoy everything God gave you to enjoy?’”

That counsel is about setting aside anxiety, and entering into the timelessness of true joy. We will meet our judge with confidence if our hearts have made a home for Love itself. As the Word of Love resides in a person’s heart, it shapes both actions and dreams. John the baptizer pointed to that possibility as making a U-turn, back toward life in God, drenched in a life of love. Jesus became that life in human flesh.

Where have you seen that light in human flesh? How have you abided in joy – or been merry?

I saw that light the Sunday before last, and I’m still merry. Three people came into church just before it started. One was about 6’4” and had a long, luscious, lavender wig under her hat. She arrived with two other women, an older woman with a gorgeous singing voice, and a younger woman who nervously blurted out loud words every few minutes. A parishioner went up and greeted her tall friend, Raeanna, with a hug when they arrived. As the service went on, Raeanna would bend down and tend the anxious one. Several times she went out with Cindy until she calmed down and they returned. I had coffee and cookies with them afterward. All three are homeless, and Raeanna had invited the other two to come join her at church. She said she’d been homeless since she transitioned, and talked about the difficulty of finding a job – she’s either overqualified or not called back once people meet her in the flesh. Yet there is a deep fund of joy within her. In the middle of coffee hour, two guys in their 70s came up to talk to her about their shared experience as Navy veterans, and hugged her at the end of the conversation. There was light abundant that morning – in a whole lot of hearts – and we were merry for having seen and known that light.

The Word of God is alive in human flesh – in the newest infant, incapable of doing anything except needing the love of others. The Word of Love is planted in the newest heart, to grow and shed light to all. God’s Word is in each one here, in grace and truth, from the youngest to the oldest. The light that shines in our hearts may be masked by worry or despair, yet the smallest spark can be calmed and revealed and fueled into shimmering grace by Love. Remember to rest in that seed of joy; it will grow and it will push back the dark.

God keep you merry, friends, deeply joyful in the Love of God, resting in that light and radiating it through the hours and the years. A merry Christmas to you, today and every day, your whole life long. May the Love in you light up the world!

The Right Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori
Christmas Day 2018
St. Paul’s Cathedral, San Diego, 10:30 am
Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-4; John 1:1-14

The Christmas Eve Sermon: Light, Love, Life

Alleluia. Unto us a child is born. Come let us adore him. Alleluia.

Tonight the glory of the Lord shines brightly. We gather with the angels and the shepherds to kneel before the manger, worshipping the child who is God incarnate, love personified, Emmanuel. The light blazes out from the stable, defying the darkness, warming our hearts and lifting our spirits with the conviction that love wins. This is a beautiful moment. Let’s just bask in that beauty for a moment ...

You might have seen, somewhere on social media, disturbing images of a manger scene in a cage: a number of churches across the country have created such scenes as a protest against harsh treatment of refugees and immigrants. So now imagine this. Imagine the manger scene surrounded by a fence. Inside is light, warmth, safety. Outside is fear, loneliness, struggle. So far this resembles those protest installations.

But here’s the difference: the gate is open. It is possible to feel like you’re on the outside, in the dark, but there is a way in, and there is an infinite amount of space inside: room for everyone, always. The more people who come in, the further the light extends. Jesus has opened the gate for us. We may go in and out many times in our lives, but the gate is always open and there is always room for us. And we can reach out through that open gate and invite others in. There is no reason for anyone to stay out there in the dark.

So, you have that image before you - the open gate, the light, the welcoming ... and now turn your gaze to the darkness. We who know the light and love of Christ may not, we must not ignore the darkness. We are to look directly into it, let our eyes adjust, search out the shadowy forms of the last, the least, the lost. Whom do you see out there? Who is outside? Who is in the park? Who is in a doorway, in a gutter, or sleeping on the beach tonight? How shall we extend the light to those who live in dark places of addiction, despair, and grief?

Last week I was privileged to attend a naturalization ceremony for one of our parishioners. It was a huge event, much bigger than my own naturalization six years ago: over 1300 people from 87 countries took the oath of citizenship. As we were leaving the hall, we made way for a tiny elderly woman, dressed in black, probably from a middle eastern country, using a walker, clutching her naturalization certificate as she navigated the crowd. What had she gone through, in her long life, how many loved ones had she lost, how many years and miles had it taken for her to reach this moment of safety, of being welcomed into the light? The second-largest ethnic group present consisted of Iraqis, once our enemy and now our neighbors. What had they suffered before reaching safety?

The largest group, about 60% of those present, was from Mexico of course. I wondered if any of them had walked across the desert to get here. How many were initially imprisoned when they reached this country? How many had dreamed their whole lives of pursuing opportunity in the US? As residents of San Diego we know the border well. It’s not some exotic destination, reached only after a long flight. It’s just down the road, 20 minutes drive from here, not one but two fences marking off the restricted zone that separates the two nations. Mexico is a proud country with a long and colorful history. It’s not just gangs and drug dealers. But there is a marked difference in the standard of living for most people, and the US has long been the destination for dreamers. Just a few feet, marked by a wall, separate dreams from reality. Those few feet make a huge difference, and it can take a lifetime to cross over from one to the other.

It can take some of us a lifetime, too, to cross over from the darkness to the light, to truly accept that we belong inside, to acknowledge that the barriers in our way are not of God but of human brokenness and sin, to know the embrace of divine love, bringing the hopes and fears of all our years as a gift for the one who is himself the greatest gift of all.

We know that the love of God enfleshed in Jesus can break down every wall, can bust out of any cage to reach those who are in need: the dying man in the ICU up the street; the starving child in a refugee camp in Yemen; the family trudging on bleeding feet through the Mexican desert; the transgender teen shivering in a downtown doorway, the depressed and lonely senior contemplating suicide. Tonight is a celebration of the truth that comes from above: that God loves this world and every creature in it, loves us all so much that the divine child was born, not in luxury and safety but in the midst of the need and pain of the world.

This is a night when we welcome not only Cathedral members but visitors from out of town, family members here for the holiday, and perhaps some who have been feeling like they were out in the dark but have dared to step into the light. The gate is open, all are welcome at God’s table, and there is a place for you here. And because this is a night when anything can happen - limp stockings become mysteriously bulgy, cookies and milk vanish, even, according to legend, animals might sing God’s praise - it seems to me that it might even be possible for Episcopalians to talk to each other during Midnight Mass.

So I invite you now to reach out to someone sitting near you, someone you don’t know well, and take just a minute each to exchange names and share something - the best Christmas present ever, a memorable Christmas of the past, the reason why you are here tonight, whatever is uppermost in your mind. Take just a moment to offer the gift of letting the other know that they are seen, they are encompassed by the light of Christ, that the love that made us and holds us in life is for everyone, whoever you are and wherever you find yourself in the journey of faith. A minute each.

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This is how each of us can extend the light from the manger out into the world, by taking the small step of listening to our neighbors’ stories. And when you go out from here, remember how it feels to be heard, and extend that gift to someone else. And one encounter at a time we will push back the darkness, until all people know the light, the love, and the abundance of life that are offered to us tonight.

Alleluia. Unto us a child is born. Come let us adore him. Alleluia.

Christmas Eve, Midnight 2018
The Very Rev Penelope Bridges

Photoessay: behind the scenes at Christmas

St Paul's offers a variety of Christmas services, from the 5pm family Mass, to the "Midnight" mass at 10.30pm, to the morning service on Christmas day.  This doesn't happen without our dedicated staff, clergy, and volunteers.  A lot goes on behind the scenes!  Here's a look at what you didn't see:

The Choirs practice before the 5pm service

Going over the acolyte roles in the back corridor

Sacristan Jim Witte tidies up after the first service

Bob Oslie places Baby Jesus in the creche

Between services, the church is quiet

The thurifers (Judy MacDonald and Ron White) rehearse their choreography

Acolyte Scott Bricknell replaces the stanchion candles

Canon Verger Lisa Churchill reviews assignments in the sacristy

Sacristan Kris Hatch does some last minute ironing

Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori waits in the back before the procession of the 10.30pm Eucharist

The Christmas Sermon: The Greatest Gift

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. Come let us adore him, Alleluia. Today is the day. It’s finally here. This is the morning that our children and grandchildren have been waiting for, the morning when the mystery of all those enticing packages under the tree will be revealed. Maybe you’ve already opened your gifts ... show of hands?

No sooner has Christmas arrived than the world tries to move on. We had a very short Advent this year; yesterday was our first opportunity to light the fourth candle in the Advent wreath, and already we are anxious to throw away the withered greens, wipe the spilled wax off the frame and pack it up for next year. But we don’t have to be in a hurry. While the stores are even today clearing the seasonal shelves to make way for Valentine’s cards, we have 11 more days of Christmas after today. We can enjoy the Advent wreath in its full glory until 12th night, January 5, the official end of the Christmas season. We can linger awhile by the manger and ponder the beauty, the grace, the glory of the gift we have received in Jesus.

Here at St Paul’s we use a model of Christian formation for children called Godly Play. We tell a story from Scripture using simple props, and we invite the children to wonder. I wonder why Jesus was born in a stable. I wonder what would have happened if the shepherds had ignored the angel. I wonder how the Word became flesh and lived among us. In Godly Play we don’t provide answers: the children do that, tapping into their natural, imaginative connection with the sacred story of God and God’s people. In this model, the storytelling begins with the opening of a beautiful, golden box, a box which clearly contains something precious. Inside the box are items representing parts of the story: a sheep, a manger, a star, brought out one by one, admired, wondered over, and given their place in the story. Nobody is in a hurry: it is a time to be fully present to God’s redeeming word.

If we were to tell the story of today’s Gospel, with its mystical rendering of the incarnation, I wonder what you might find in that beautiful box? The unfolding of John’s nativity story is like a gift that has been wrapped in many layers, like the old children’s game of pass the parcel. The unwrapping of each layer reveals something about the gift inside, without giving it all away.

Isaiah sets the scene for us, with his greeting of the good news. The ancient prophecies have been interpreted and reinterpreted over the centuries. As familiar as these words are, I wonder if we can hear something a little different from the words we know and love, and so gain a new understanding. We’ll have to back up a little from our reading, just one verse earlier, to get the sense of one ancient version of the prophecy, which might sound like this: “The word of the Lord regarding the promised redemption of God’s people from exile: ‘My people shall know my name on that day, for I AM is speaking, I am here among you, in a season of beauty as far as the eye can see, a bringer of the Gospel of peace, the Gospel of goodness, the announcement of salvation.”

I AM is here among us. Here is Emanuel, God with us, the bringer of the good news of peace and beauty, living among us, full of grace and truth. This is the message of the incarnation. We have good news to celebrate today, as we unwrap the layers of God’s love. The light shining in the darkness illuminates our longing to receive a gift of true value, a gift that is made to be shared.

The first layer of wrapping reveals the day itself: the gift of waking up to a new day. Some of us will rarely think about that gift while others, who have lost a loved one this year or who have survived serious illness or injury, will treasure it. The survivors of the hurricane in Puerto Rico, or the fires in our own state, or the continuing violence and famine in South Sudan will be giving thanks this morning for the gift of one more day.

Another layer reveals the gift of community. We gather here as a cathedral family to exchange greetings, to enjoy the warmth of friendships and the comfort of corporate worship. Our mission at St Paul’s is to love Christ, serve others, and welcome all, no exceptions. If this is your first visit, you can be sure that there is a place for you here. And there is ministry to do, as we seek to share the gifts of our community with those who are outside of it: the people sleeping in the tent encampments downtown, the homebound, the hospitalized, the lonely and isolated.

The next layer to be revealed is the gift of Scripture, described in one of our seasonal prayers as “the tale of the loving purposes of God from the first days of our disobedience unto the glorious redemption brought us by this holy Child.” Scripture carries the promise that we long to hear and connects us to our ancestors in faith. And Scripture places demands on us, demands that we seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.

Nestled within that layer we find the Word incarnate, the good tidings of great joy, the news that is proclaimed today across the globe: God, come to us in human form, to live among us full of grace and truth, to show us how to be fully human; God revealed to us as a newborn baby, so that we will never forget that God resides first of all in the helpless and the needy; the Word without which there is no life, no light, no grace, no truth.

And is there yet one more layer? I wonder what we find when we open the final wrapping and look inside the golden box. There is nothing to see. But it’s not empty. The gift, the treasure isn’t something you can weigh, or buy, or display. The gift we receive from God at Christmas will not fit in any box. It’s the gift of knowing with certainty that we are greatly loved. It’s the gift of God, the maker of the heavens and the earth, entrusting us with the care of a helpless child, who carries the hope of the world on his fragile shoulders.

And what are we going to do with this gift? When Christmastide is over, when we return to our ordinary routines, how will we care for the gift we have received today? Will we put it carefully in a box with the breakable decorations and keep it safe until next Christmas? Will we decide that the instructions are too complicated or the cost of operating it is too high, and let it gather dust? Or will we use it and share it, this gift of hope, of grace and truth, of God dwelling among us, in our neighbors, in our world? It’s a gift that never wears out, that can only become stronger with use, and that is needed more and more with each day that passes. The world may be done with Christmas today, but we have one more gift to exchange, and it’s a gift that will last all year.

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. Come, let us adore him. Alleluia.

The Very Rev. Penelope Bridges
Christmas Day, 2017

Alternative Gifts Expo - giving a “world of good”

St. Paul’s Alternative Gifts Expo returns on Sunday, Dec. 10, 9:00AM-2:30PM in the Great Hall, St. Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral 2728 Sixth Ave, San Diego, CA

New: a Silent Auction of the 21 piece porcelain nativity by Lenox released from 1986-2009 will be offered. Opening bids start at $400 (Fair Market Value is $1,240). Bids open at 9:30AM and close at 2PM on Dec. 10 in the Great Hall. See it on display in the Great Hall on December 10.

Coming together with common values, our St. Paul’s community demonstrates an alternative to our commercial, consumptive culture-a colorful and festive marketplace with choices of gifts that revolve around issues you care about.

Alternative gifts prioritize meaning over materials — they may include a charitable donation in honor of a family member to provide health care in Haiti, or handcrafted note cards that support a nursing college in Kenya. Donations in a friend’s honor may also provide translators to assist war-ravaged refugees seeking help with everyday government transactions.

Shoppers can also visit tables hosted by non-profit organizations that strengthen the Fair Trade practices by buying handcrafted items produced by artisans in economically disadvantaged areas of the world. When you buy Fair Trade products you are encouraging safe and ethical business practices.

Alternative gifts cost you less money, are less costly for the environment, and are less commercialized—but really, they’re all about infusing the holiday season with more: more meaning, more joy, and more fun. 

Enjoy yourself, and bring a friend and the kids! Children will find there is a selection of small priced items that make special gifts for friends or family.

Besides a wintery ambience we will be serving free-of-charge yummy Tomorrow Project soup and bread from 11:30AM-2:30PM, and we will accept Cash, Check and Credit cards for donations and products. Festive recorder music by The Granada Consort will be performed throughout the event.

Vendors Include:

• Equal Exchange/Fair Trade- Chocolate, Coffee, Tea, olive oil, nuts, and more
• Around the World Gifts- Fair Trade products that include decorative gifts, bags, accessories
• Kitchens for Good- Kitchens for Good is a social enterprise with the mission to break the cycles of food waste, hunger, and poverty through innovate solutions in workforce training....Their products feature condiments and spicy jellies that boast a unique and delicious flavor, featuring a spicy kick and local craft beers.   
• Episcopal Refugee Network- Donations to assist San Diego refugees from war-torn regions
• Mission in Maseno (Kenya)- handcrafted note cards benefitting the AIDS/HIV hospital and small nursing college 
• Haiti Health- Donate to help purchase blood pressure medications for Dr. Bart Smoot’s Blood Pressure Clinic Plant with Purpose- Donations to renew the earth with gifts of trees, chicks, family gardens, bunnies, tee shirts Golden Rule Boutique- Handmade clothing Fair Trade products for the betterment of children, women and families Nonviolent Peaceforce- Buy a Peace Bond or potholder to support this group’s training of civilians to provide unarmed civilian peacekeeping in violent areas of the world
• Tomorrow Project- Fabulous soups (enjoy a cup for lunch!), spice rubs, and rice mixes train and empower low-income women for work readiness

• Fair Trade Décor-Decorative home items and personal accessories that provide legitimate and sustainable means for people around the world to pull themselves out of poverty
• Vida Joven de Mexico- Donations to provide Mexican children 3-18 years who have been abandoned or have a parent in jail with love, protection, and education
• Malia Designs- Fair trade producer groups who offer marginalized people in Cambodia exposure to Western Markets to keep a sustainable income through sales of silk items, unusual bags, and wallets
• Lumily- Works directly with partner artisans in Guatemala, Mexico and Thailand to pay a fair wage, give hope, and provide a percentage of profit back to the artisan community through sales of jewelry, large and small bags, key chains, and clothing
• Melinda’s Homemade Jams in support of the Cathedral Memorial Organ

St. Paul’s Youth are also part of the Alternative Gifts Expo. Hand-made knitted and crocheted items will be available.


--Paula Peeling

The Christmas Eve Sermon: Do not be afraid

Christmas Eve, 2014

St. Paul’s Cathedral

San Diego, California

Isaiah 9: 2-7

Luke 2: 1-14

Come Holy Spirit: Touch our minds and think with them, touch our lips and speak with them and touch our hearts and set them on fire with love for you. AMEN.

I.
I had another sermon written for tonight. I suppose it was a good sermon. It was your run of the mill, feel good Christmas Eve sermon. You would probably tell me at the door it was a good sermon and forget about it before you got home. It was warm and fuzzy. Some of you may be saying, “wait a second; that is exactly what I came for—check please!” But you see, that sermon was fit for an ordinary Christmas Eve. Perhaps I can use it another year, but not tonight. I just don’t think this is an ordinary Christmas.

There is so much anxiety out there. Our lives feel so unsettled. And one could say we are doing it to ourselves. We are so plugged into news, much of it manufactured, and too much of it false news. Almost all of it raises emotions—and not in a good way. Throughout the election, we felt edgier and edgier—and Twitter is not helping. Truth be told: we simply live in a fearful age. And I think this has been building for a long time. Imprinted on the psyche of most of us here tonight, being born and raised in a nuclear age punctuated by the Cuban missile crisis, the arms race, whose sign was a fallout shelter, we are preconditioned to be fearful. Our nightmares included mushroom clouds. As those fears faded, they were replaced by a changing economic environment, a warming planet, Al Qaeda and ISIS. Fear has become such a constant that it almost doesn’t register even as our fears define our lives.

Travelers in first century Judah, while not knowing this age, would connect to those same feelings. Luke tells the story of Christmas by firmly placing it in time, in a specific fearful time, during the registration of Augustus, when Quirinius was governor in Syria. Today, our decennial census is something routine—but not so with that ancient census. Indeed, during the census of Quirinius, Judah suffered a rebellion led by Judas the Galilean. With these details, Luke reminds us that Jesus’ birth occurs in a time of rebellion, oppression, violence, terrorism, and suffocating poverty. Indeed, the very circumstances of Mary and Joseph’s travel underscore the brittleness of life for so many—poor travelers, giving birth to their child in a dirty grotto, using a manger for a first bed—tough living with much to fear.

We are told that, not far away, there are the shepherds—the first century equivalent of parking attendants or night watchmen. They are suffering life at the lowest level. Our common bond with those shepherds, with all common folk around Bethlehem and even with Mary and Joseph is being citizens of a fearful time.

And yet, it is into their world of darkness that a child is born. It is a moment that could pass unnoticed. But this is God’s most gracious offering placed not in the midst of beauty, but in the darkest darkness. It is not given first to the most blessed, but to the most marginalized. Nevertheless, it is so cosmically transformational that angels must tell the story. And an angel goes to those shepherds. Those shepherds, like us, are children of fear…it is their heartbeat and it is their default. And so, when the angel appears, they are afraid. And so are we… we are afraid of what we see and hear. We are afraid of what our politicians say. We are afraid of what our nation is becoming and who will be marginalized. We are afraid. And that is why no simple Christmas sermon will do.

When the angel comes to the shepherds, the angel is surely coming to us. We need this birth. We need to hear what the angel says. This is really it. The angel’s message is the proverbial spiritual ball game.

Do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

The good news that the angel brings is that we do not have to live this way. We do not have to live in fear: do not be afraid. The incarnation, God enfleshed in Jesus, changes everything. This is the unanticipated and unexpected humility of God. God’s love for the world—for us—is so profound and complete that God would come and be with us even as a helpless child. Fear is simply knocked off the stage. Our Advent hope is not in vain. And so shepherds go, in that hope. With their sheep, staff, and robes, they are both characters in the story and messengers in their own right.

On this night, we can similarly be set in motion. We can become characters of the story of a new birth that vanquishes fear and changes everything. And so, we come to this holy place and sing the carols of joy. Incense is lifted heavenward with our prayers. We hear Luke’s precious words of the first birth. Then through the Eucharist, we connect the story of this baby with the Christ he will later present, enflesh through his teachings, miracles and finally the cross and empty tomb. To go to the manger is to go the cross. It is to worship God who is all in—with us, in our joy and in our suffering, our life and in our death. And after “Silent Night” and a refrain of comfort and joy, we like those shepherds of old, will go into the night. We go with spiritual courage because our resolve is fragile and fear still reigns out there. Fear continues to be cultivated by the principalities and powers. Scapegoating and fear mongering remain political fodder. Terrorists still bid to do harm. The poor still suffer, which is where we come in as tellers of the story and participants of the story of the manger. “The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness--on them light has shined.”

And so leaving the manger, we will look for Mary and Joseph again on the road. Perhaps we will see them in the 60 million refugees around the planet who yearn for safety and home, some in our own city and county. With them, we will practice the spiritual discipline of neighborly love. We will not be afraid. We might sit down with other travelers at table when they are ridiculed because of their race, or gender or sexual orientation. We mean what the banner in front of this cathedral says. We will not be afraid. And we will see them in those who practice different faiths, whom some wish to register in a new and subversive census. Secure in what we have seen within this manger, we might even say, I too am a Muslim; register me. We will stand in love. We will not be afraid.

Dear ones, it is this simple: unto us a child is born. Hope does not come through a political campaign or a business plan. Hope comes with this child and birth—the transforming gift of God found in a most unlikely place. Do not be afraid anymore. Dismiss the power of fear with the overwhelming power of God’s love. Take your angelic role as a messenger of God. Tell the story of glad tidings. Be and live the story of good news. Do you hear the heavenly host? They are praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!" Do not be afraid.

---

Michael Gerson, “Where is God?” The Washington Post, December 23, 2016

More Photos: https://www.flickr.com/photos/stpaulscathedral/sets/72157678246019746/

The Christmas Sermon: The Light Shines in the Darkness

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. Come, let us adore him.

"In the beginning was the Word".This morning's reading from John's Gospel transports us to the realm of the transcendent, the mystical. It stands in contrast to the vivid, real-world story-telling of Luke, that we heard last night, with the manger and the shepherds. And yet the morning light brings this world into sharp relief, even as we meditate on the Word made Flesh, full of Grace and Truth. This is the rhythm of our faith, from poetry to prose, from prophecy to politics, from glorious vision to grim reality and back again.

The world is very present this morning. We know, today, that there are children who didn't waken this morning to piles of presents and adults who aren't surrounded by loved ones. We know there are people grieving for those they've lost since last Christmas and families in homeless shelters and whole communities displaced from their homes by war or famine or genocidal persecution, and many, many people anxious and afraid of what the year ahead may bring.

As someone has said, each of us is an innkeeper who decides if there is room for Jesus. I am grateful every day for this inclusive cathedral community that flings open the doors to all who come. As a congregation we have decided that there will always be room for Jesus here at St Paul's.

The pictures of Syrian children haunt me today. The darkness that John names is real for them. They are the most tragic victims of our time, slaughtered by a ruthless regime and its allies. The Holy Family image that is most vivid for me this Christmas is the news photo of a Syrian couple, refugees fleeing Aleppo, the woman completely wrapped in her cloak, the man carrying an infant carrier, covered with a blanket, in one hand and an intravenous drip, obviously connected to the unseen baby, in the other. The utter vulnerability of the little family is heartbreaking. I wonder if they found an innkeeper ready to open the door to them. I wonder if that baby is still alive. And I wonder, is that child any less valuable than the child whose birth we celebrate today? If we are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves, shouldn't we love that baby as if he were baby Jesus? The sadness is overwhelming.

And yet, in the midst of the sadness, we celebrate. We celebrate the visits of the angels. We celebrate the sharing of the good news with humble shepherds. We celebrate the offer of salvation to all people. We celebrate the coming of a particular child into this dangerous world, because his coming assures us that the light shines still, that the darkness has not and cannot overcome it.

We gather here today and every Sunday to find respite from the world's disappointment and noise, to take a few moments to listen for God's voice, to receive a scrap of bread, a sip of wine, as gentle reminders that we are promised a seat at God's banqueting table. We gather to gain strength from one another in the prayers and the fellowship, to feed our souls with the beauty of music and pageantry.

St Paul's is good at that, the sacramental nourishing, the respite, the fellowship. But we have so much more to offer. This cathedral community is dedicated to making a difference in the world. Our mission, love Christ, serve others, welcome all, is like a bow on a beautifully wrapped Christmas present. It says that there is something special here, but you have to unwrap the present to learn just how special it is. Just this year we have seen our outreach efforts grow and blossom, as we offered our Showers of Blessing to the homeless every month; as we included support for refugee families in our Advent program; as we provided clothing, shoes and furnishings for the residents of shelters and transitional housing. This year we inaugurated a community garden and an urban bee colony; and we hosted memorial services for victims of gun violence, specifically Orlando and Sandy Hook. This year we stood up with our neighbors of other faiths to call for our city leaders to treat all people with dignity and compassion in a season of hateful and divisive political rhetoric.

We woke up this morning in the light, not only the light of a new day but the light of a new creation. We know that on the other side of the globe it is night, the darkness has temporarily taken charge. But we know that the light will shine there again, because the darkness cannot overcome the light. And the darkness of the sins of humanity cannot overcome the light of God's love as we know it in Jesus Christ, the Word who has become flesh. And this light shines for all people, no exceptions, for, as Isaiah sings, all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.

Last night we heard the angel say, "Behold, I bring you good news of great joy". Today that good news is living in our hearts, planted by our experience of warmth, of community, of giving. We share the good news when we share what we have received here: we can offer a welcome, we can provide a family, we can learn to receive and to give with joyful and grateful hearts. Above all, we can share the hope that has been born in us through the incarnation of God's son on earth. For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulders. And he shall reign for ever and ever. This is our Christmas hope.

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. Come, let us adore him.

Christmas Day 2016
The Very Rev. Penelope Bridges

Christmas at St. Jude’s Homes

No season evokes remembrances like Christmas. For many of us, it is the memories of childhood and surprises under the tree or the day at our grandparent’s home. The Christmas recollections which bring us the most happiness are those from 1964 to 1969 when we had three Oregon nursing homes under the patronage of St. Jude. Altogether we served more than two hundred residents in three units. The units were about ten miles apart. The St. Jude's Home in Sandy Oregon was where the brothers lived, in the second floor monastery.

From the very beginning in 1958 our policy was, along with treats and whatever came in the boxes of incidental gifts from parish guilds who signed up earlier in the year. We opened each wrapped gift marked "for a man, for a woman," marked and rewrapped it to be sure we didn't give a baldheaded man a comb or a diabetic a box of chocolates.


We would start buying specific items for residents in early November. They ranged from dusters and music boxes to electric razors and bedroom slippers or a stuffed animal. Once there was an elderly man named Joe who had a broken leg. Joe believed he would never walk again. Poking out of his Christmas bag that Christmas Eve was a shiny black and silver cane that spoke louder to him than all the encouraging remarks from the nursing staff. By the week before Christmas there was a large grocery bag for each of our 215 residents with his or her name on it. On Christmas Eve the brothers would load up a van and take the bags to their rightful nursing home.

On Christmas Eve, after finishing our regular day of work, we piled into cars, loaded the portable field organ in to one of our vans and drove off to our most distant nursing home. We started at five o'clock. Residents waited in the living room. Trolleys laden with hot chocolate, cookies and other treats stood by. Fr David or Brother Christian played the small pump organ and we all sang the familiar Christmas carols. Someone read the nativity story and we offered the Christmas prayers.

Imagine the Christmas trees in our nursing homes, depending on the size, with 95, or 53 or 62 bags of gifts underneath with each resident's name to identify the particulars. You had to distribute the bags of gifts as quickly as possible. Many had no families and they doubted if there would be something for them. You could see the worried concern until a brother placed the right bag on the right lap. The party ended with the singing of "Silent Night." We then helped folks back to their rooms, put them to bed or made them comfortable in an easy chair and assisted unwrapping the packages before departing for the next place to repeat the program.

Those parties became so popular that residents who had the option of being with relatives often asked families to pick them up Christmas morning. Off-duty nurse's aides sometimes volunteered to help out. The last stop was St. Jude's Home in Sandy, where we had the Christmas program in the chapel.

Every year a local pharmacy donated small boxes of Russell Stover chocolates. Those were the first found, opened and eaten. You felt good to the bone seeing the looks of genuine surprise and delight on the faces of the frail elderly. Tucking them into bed surrounded by treats and new things perhaps brought a flashback to a far distant, early time in their lives when something similar happened.

The Brothers had a break and then gathered around our own tree in the large common room upstairs. If there were any priests resident in the home, we invited them to join us. One in particular was a stroke patient who weighed over 200 pounds. There was no elevator in the building at that time so the only way he could get him upstairs was if four stout monks lifted him, wheelchair and all, up the stairway! It was a time of fellowship and merriment as we opened gifts, enjoyed some Christmas cheer and had some food. Near midnight we gathered in our chapel along with members of our mission congregation from the community for a reverent midnight Mass.

On Christmas day, though still tired from the night before, we relieved as many staff members as our numbers allowed to be with their families. Christmas was always the quietest day in the year in our nursing homes. Those residents who could, visited relatives or friends. The rest enjoyed a special breakfast and dinner with as many seconds as desired.

It may not have come close to Bob Hope entertaining the troops at Christmas, but we will always remember the peace and good will which prevailed being with the residents on Christmas Eve. We were their family and they were our community. It brought home Jesus' insight "it is better to give than receive," and his words, "In as much as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me." It was as close as we will ever come to kneeling in the stable on that first Christmas.

  The Rev. Canons Andrew Rank and Barnabas Hunt

ALternative Gift Exp Returns Dec 11!

St. Paul’s Alternative Gifts Expo returns! 
Sunday, Dec. 11, 8:30AM-1:30PM 
The Great Hall, St. Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral 
 2728 Sixth Ave, San Diego, CA

Coming together with common values, our St. Paul’s community demonstrates an alternative to our commercial, consumptive culture-a colorful and festive marketplace with choices of gifts that revolve around issues you care about.

Alternative gifts prioritize meaning over materials — they may include a charitable donation in honor of a family member to provide health care in Haiti, or handcrafted note cards that support a nursing college in Kenya. Donations in a friend’s honor may also provide translators to assist war-ravaged refugees seeking help with everyday government transactions.

Shoppers can also visit tables hosted by non-profit organizations that strengthen the Fair Trade practices by buying handcrafted items produced by artisans in economically disadvantaged areas of the world. When you buy Fair Trade products you are encouraging safe and ethical business practices.

Alternative gifts cost you less money, are less costly for the environment, and are less commercialized—but really, they’re all about infusing the holiday season with more: more meaning, more joy, and more fun.

Enjoy yourself, and bring a friend and the kids! Children will find there is a selection of small priced items that make special gifts for friends or family.

Besides a wintery ambience we will be serving free-of-charge yummy Tomorrow Project soup and bread from 11:30AM-1PM, and we will accept Cash, Check and Credit cards for donations and products. Festive recorder music by The Granada Consort will be performed throughout the event.

Vendors Include:

• Equal Exchange/Fair Trade- Chocolate, Coffee, Tea, olive oil, nuts, and more
• Around the World Gifts- Fair Trade products that include decorative gifts, bags, accessories
• Episcopal Refugee Network- Donations to assist San Diego refugees from war-torn regions
• Mission in Maseno (Kenya)- handcrafted note cards benefitting the AIDS/HIV hospital and small nursing college
• Haiti Health- Donate to help purchase blood pressure medications for Dr. Bart Smoot’s Blood Pressure Clinic
• Plant with Purpose- Donations to renew the earth with gifts of trees, chicks, family gardens, bunnies, tee shirts
• Golden Rule Boutique- Handmade clothing Fair Trade products for the betterment of children, women and families
• Nonviolent Peaceforce- Buy a Peace Bond or potholder to support this group’s training of civilians to provide unarmed civilian peacekeeping in violent areas of the world
• Ten Thousand Villages- a myriad of unusual small gifts from the Fair Trade communities across the globe
• Tomorrow Project- Fabulous soups (enjoy a cup for lunch!), spice rubs, and rice mixes train and empower low-income women for work readiness Fair Trade Décor-Decorative home items and personal accessories that provide legitimate and sustainable means for people around the world to pull themselves out of poverty
• Vida Joven de Mexico- Donations to provide Mexican children 3-18 years who have been abandoned or have a parent in jail with love, protection, and education
• Malia Designs- Fair trade producer groups who offer marginalized people in Cambodia exposure to Western Markets to keep a sustainable income through sales of silk items, unusual bags, and wallets
• Lumily- Works directly with partner artisans in Guatemala, Mexico and Thailand to pay a fair wage, give hope, and provide a percentage of profit back to the artisan community through sales of jewelry, large and small bags, key chains, and clothing
• Melinda’s Homemade Jams in support of the Cathedral Memorial Organ

St. Paul’s Simpler Living, and Children, Youth and Families also are part of the Alternative Gifts Expo. Both will provide small-priced items for children to give or receive.

The Christmas Eve Sermon: Prince of Peace, Light of the World

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. O come let us adore him, Alleluia.

It is always a joy to see a full church, and tonight it is especially good to welcome you, whether you are a regular attender, a first-time visitor, or a returning wanderer. This is a night for welcome, for home-coming, for celebration of the miracle that is the Incarnation, God stooping to earth, offering us the incredible gift of the divine child who will bring salvation to all people.

It's lovely to see a full cathedral, but I want to share a secret with you: it's also lovely to be the only person in here. Sometimes, on a morning, I will come in to say Morning Prayer or simply to spend a little quiet time. The stained glass sheds its pastel beauty on the walls, and I soak up the peace of this holy space. Unlike pretty much every other space in my life, there is no hum of machinery in here: no computer, no refrigerator, and regrettably no HVAC. In those moments it's possible to take seriously the image of Jesus as Prince of Peace, a title that often seems supremely ironic in our world.

As I sit here alone, I am aware of the world outside the walls. I hear the construction machinery next door. I hear ambulances screaming up 5th Avenue to Mercy Hospital. I hear the buses and the motorbikes, and if the wind is in the right direction I hear the planes coming in to land. The world is anything but peaceful, and yet I give thanks for the peace in here, however momentary it may be. A favorite prayer often comes to mind: O God of peace, who has taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and confidence shall be our strength: by the might of your Spirit lift us, we pray, into your presence, where we may be still and know that you are God; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Tonight we gather to worship the son of God, laid in a manger, sheltered in a stable. The light shines on the icon of the Holy Family, indeed, the image itself seems to emit light. The stable icon is a compressed, concentrated burst of light in a dark world. The great Anglican poet George Herbert gives us this glowing image of the Christ child, "whose glorious yet contracted light, / Wrapped in night's mantle, stole into a manger."

The Isaiah reading we heard reminds us of the violent context within which God promises us peace.

The world is in darkness. Millions at war abroad. Gun violence, bigotry, and road rage at home. We spend more and more on Christmas presents we don't need while children go hungry or die from preventable diseases. Greek islands are sinking under the weight of refugees. National borders are under siege. Sub-Saharan Africa is turning into desert because of climate change. Isis is laying waste the cradle of civilization. There is no shortage of darkness. We need the light today more than ever. As we gaze at the manger we acknowledge the elusiveness of God's peace.

Two recent memories rise up for me tonight, each of them providing a startling contrast to this peaceful scene. First, the Living Nativity on stage at New York's Radio City Music Hall, the climax of the annual Christmas Spectacular. And it certainly was spectacular: the huge stage crowded with people and animals, loud music, lots of glitz, even live sheep and camels. A scene that's probably about as far away from the historic reality as anything could be. Not much peace there.

Second, a memory of visiting Bethlehem last spring. The ancient and magnificent Church of the Nativity, built over the supposed site of Jesus's birth, is the scene of constant noise and jostling, crowds pouring in from all over the world, vendors, tour guides, even clergy adding to the pandemonium. There is little peace to be found in the Holy Land, where violent oppression and injustice hold sway.

And we are all too familiar with the images of refugee families streaming from the Middle East to seek safety in Europe. The pictures of children hungry, dirty, soaked, even drowned, stand shockingly beside the cosy scene in the stable, to challenge us to do what we can to give those children hope and life. We cannot be at peace otherwise.

We are drawn to the light in the context of a world full of darkness. We kneel in wonder before the prince of peace, knowing all the while that war and violence lurk in the shadows, never further away than a news report or the chime of a cell phone. We come here to be still and know that God is God, fleetingly relieved of the stress and busyness of the season, the bullying of the advertising industry, the shrillness of the politicians, escaping the darkness for an hour to bask in the light, to have our souls rekindled and our hearts filled, so that we may be renewed and restored for what awaits us beyond these walls. We come here to find a place of refuge and respite, beautifully framed by John Chane's manifesto on the north west door. That refuge is available whenever we enter those doors, not only at Christmas but every Sunday, every day of the year. And it's available to everyone, no exceptions.

We have come into the light tonight, but we are not free of the darkness. We come burdened by yokes of worry, fear, anxiety, insufficiency, rejection. We come with all the memories of Christmases past hanging around our necks like Jacob Marley's chains. We come with all kinds of expectations and hopes dancing before us like mirages in the desert. This Christmas, all will be made well. This Christmas, our families will be reconciled. This Christmas, there will be peace on earth. This Christmas, humanity will get the message of unconditional love: Fear will give way to faith, hatred to trust, selfishness to generosity.

I wonder what gifts you bring to the manger tonight. Do you bring a failed relationship? Do you bring a pile of debt? Do you bring old wounds, estrangement from family, a longing that you cannot articulate? What weighs you down as you stand in the light for this brief hour? What might you let go of as you open your hands to receive Communion? We come to grieve, to celebrate, to seek comfort or companionship or healing. We come knowing that the world outside will be just as dark when we leave as it was when we entered. We come hoping to take some of the light away with us, to push the darkness back.

More than the carols, more than the traditions and the reunions and the gifts under the tree, what our aching hearts really crave at Christmas is the possibility of change. The birth of this one child, God's child, to an unmarried teenager, in poverty and squalor, long ago in an obscure corner of a vanished empire, somehow delivers the promise that change is possible. We know that the historic fact of his birth changed the history of the world. We know that his life and death have given meaning to millions of lives, have inspired believers to acts of heroism and martyrdom, have also, tragically, spawned wars and crusades and inquisitions. The birth of this one child changed everything. And when we allow Jesus to be born into our hearts, everything changes for us.

If you open your heart to this child, this gift, what will change in you? How will you be different leaving here tonight after we have shared the Communion of Christ's body and blood, after we have exchanged a gesture of peace and received a Christmas blessing?

How will we reflect the light that has shone in our hearts tonight?

Will you be a peacemaker? Will you stand up for the Muslim woman insulted because of her head covering, or the homeless man abused by passers-by? Will you work for our community to welcome refugees? Will you practice kindness to those who disagree with you, and refuse to engage in name-calling, insults, or objectification of those who seem different or awkward? Will you look for the Christ in everyone you meet, and allow them to see the Christ light shining in you?

God's gift to each of us tonight is an invitation to share the light. To allow the beauty of this moment to seep into our souls. To let God's unconditional love, personified in the holy child, prise open our hearts, and so change the world.

Alleluia. Unto us a child is born. O come, let us adore him.

Christmas Eve, 2015 
The Very Rev Penelope Bridges 

The Sunday Sermon: the First Sunday after Christmas

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. O come let us adore him, Alleluia. 

What did you get for Christmas? Did you get what you wanted? Was it what you really wanted? It's a question that evolves through our lives, from the colorful toy of early childhood, to the electronic gadgets and gift cards of young adulthood, to the intangible gifts of reconciliation or family reunions of maturity.

When I was a little girl I was always happy if I opened my stocking early on Christmas morning to find a new flashlight. For a child, there's something marvelous and almost magical about a flashlight: you can banish monstrous shadows from the corners of your room; you can read under the bedclothes; you can venture into the coat closet or point a searchlight to the stars out of your bedroom window. A flashlight doesn't make the darkness go away completely, but it makes it seem a bit safer, until the sun rises and the shadows disperse.

The prologue to John's Gospel gives us, not just an introduction to the Gospel but a summary of the whole story too. It begins at the beginning, RIGHT at the beginning, echoing Genesis with its "In the beginning" and with the theme of light as the first order of creation, the first WORD spoken. By taking us right back to the beginning, the Gospel writer helps us to understand that Jesus in some way embodies that divine Word, which was with God and in God and a part of God before anything at all came into being.

All things came into being through him. Without the Word, nothing would have been created. Without Jesus, the Word made flesh, we creatures are not truly alive. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. In the life of Jesus we see a great light - the light of all people - and this light lights the way for us to life that is true and eternal, life in the light of God, promised to everyone. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness doesn't overcome it, doesn't extinguish it, doesn't win.

It's not that the darkness isn't there: like the flashlight in my Christmas stocking, the light shines into the darkness, making it less scary and offering us hope that the darkness will ultimately be banished.

At this time of year I really notice the darkness. The days are short, even this far south. In Scotland, where my siblings live, it never really gets fully light at the end of December. Light is inevitably an important symbol for winter celebrations, whether we are celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. We put lights on our Christmas trees and lights in the windows, we wear sparkly jewelry and sweaters, we sing carols about stars guiding wise men to Bethlehem. The commercial frenzy is all part of a frantic effort to keep the darkness at bay, to pretend it isn't out there, that there are no shadows in the corners of our lives.

But for many of us, Christmas is a time when the darkness seems even thicker and more threatening than usual. Some of us are in the valley of the shadow, grieving for a loved one or the end of a relationship. Some of us are walking through the darkness of cancer, HIV/AIDS, or chronic pain. Some of us are living in fear for ourselves or for someone on active duty abroad or living in a country at war. There's the darkness of despair for those who are alone, or unemployed, or deep in debt; the darkness of mental illness, addiction or homelessness. When I was at seminary I had a neighbor who couldn't bear to celebrate Christmas because one of her children died at Christmas time. When the darkness is all around, it's hard to accept that there is anything worth celebrating at all.

Let me ask again: what did you really want for Christmas? When you think about all the darkness in the world, wouldn't you ask for light to come into those lives, or peace on earth, for a cure for cancer or a world where justice is impartial?

Yet, there is much to celebrate at Christmas. God has come to us: the Creator has offered us the incredible gift of an only son, God's own self squeezed into the unimpressive form of a human being, born into poverty as a member of an oppressed race in an occupied country; born for our sake, to redeem us from the ultimate darkness of death and sin. As St. Paul tells us, Jesus has made us free, free to receive the gift, free to choose life instead of death, love instead of fear, compassion instead of isolation.

I remember the cosy, safe feeling I had as a child when I snuggled right under the covers, head and all, in the dark nest of my bed. That was a friendly darkness, even before I switched on my precious new flashlight, because it shut out the bigger, scarier darkness on the other side of the bedclothes. I could pretend that the real darkness wasn't there. But, without the darkness, we wouldn't know how important the light is. Without the darkness, we wouldn't know how much we need the light of Christ to come into the world and light the way for us back to life and love.

When we lit up the Cathedral at the beginning of December, people passing by talked about how they had never noticed the building before, or even if they knew it well had never noticed how beautiful it was or felt inclined to come in. The lights made our church noticeable and gave people traveling through our neighborhood a sense that here is a destination worth visiting. The light show wouldn't have been impressive at all if we had done it for a daytime event: we needed the darkness of the December Nights to make the light stand out.

When God created light, the darkness wasn't eliminated. The darkness remains, but the light stands fast, pushing back the darkness and never allowing it to prevail. And we play a part in shining the light out into the darkness. When we reach out to our neighbors, the light shines. When we refuse to participate in bigotry or injustice, the light shines. When we give voice to the plight of the voiceless, the light shines. The lights of the Cathedral stand as a symbol for the light of Christ, shining out in this city, standing fast against hatred and despair.

As we prepare for the new year ahead, my prayer is that this community will be a beacon of light for San Diego, that we will shine out ever more strongly, pushing the darkness ever further back, speaking out for justice and compassion. Because that's what the world wants for Christmas, what the world needs in 2015, a light to light the way through the darkness to the bright glory of life in its fullness.

When Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the world received that light, and each Christmas we receive it again. It's our joyful task to bear the light into the world and let it shine out, sharing the good news of Christ, the light of the world, who shines still today despite the darkness and who will never be overcome.

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. O come let us adore him, Alleluia. 

The Very Rev. Penelope Bridges
December 28, 2014

The Christmas Sermon: Ordinary People

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. Come let us adore him, Alleluia.

"Yea, Lord, we greet thee, born this happy morning." The long wait is over, and Christmas Day is here at last. If you have young children in the house I am sure you have already today been through a frenzy of stocking-emptying and gift-unwrapping. Maybe you've already witnessed a meltdown or two. Maybe someone didn't get the one gift they really wanted. Maybe something has already been played with a little too enthusiastically and has broken down.

It doesn't take long for the glow of the commercial side of Christmas to wear off.

What about the other side of Christmas? What about the glow of the star, shining over Bethlehem, the manger, the loving parents? Are we still basking in that light, or does that seem pretty dim on this 2 thousand and fourteenth anniversary?

Luke tells a story of shepherds, ordinary people sitting in darkness, startled by unexpected news and a vision of glory, and stirred up, first to worship the child, then to share the good news.

We are so familiar with the image of the shepherds in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night, that I think we forget how unlikely this story is. God comes to earth, stooping from heaven to be revealed in the tiny, confining, supremely vulnerable body of a human baby. God is born to poor people, people living in an occupied country, people without resources, without even a safe place to lay their heads. God is entrusted to a teenage girl and her skeptical fiance, in the scandal of out-of-wedlock conception. God is placed for safekeeping in a box of hay for cattle to munch on, in all the dust and dirt of a working stable.

And the first people to hear about this are not the civic authorities who might be able to protect the child. The first people to hear about this are not the religious authorities who have been watching for the Messiah for centuries. The first people to hear about this are not even the humble and devout people of his own faith community. No. The first people to hear about the arrival of God on earth are a bunch of shepherds, high school dropouts, rough-hewn men and boys who don't typically get to attend regular worship, who aren't learned or influential or wealthy. People who don't matter a whole lot in the eyes of the world.

The shepherds are in the dark, keeping watch over their flocks by night. The angel bursts into their darkness with astonishing news. God doesn't wait for us to be enlightened. God shares good news with us when we are half-asleep, blinking in the light, uncomprehending and startled by the unexpected voice. Ordinary folks, unqualified, just doing our job, people whom the world passes by but whom God favors with this gift of good news.

Luke tells a story of God paying attention to the poor, the outsiders, the powerless and voiceless. Might we pay attention to them too?

The angels left the shepherds. They shared the astonishing news and then they left. The light faded. The shepherds were still in the dark. But something had changed. The shepherds were stirred up. They responded to the call. They sprang up in eagerness, encouraging each other to action. They went in haste down the hill to Bethlehem, and they found the Savior. They found God in that humble place, and they shared the good news. Ordinary people, just doing their job, transformed into evangelists They made known what the angel had told them. Shepherds became witnesses, but witnesses to whom? Whom did they tell? Not King Herod. Not the wealthy and powerful. Not the scribes and Pharisees. They told their neighbors. They told what they knew: a child, wrapped in bands of cloth, lying in a feed box, the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, here in our world, in our village, in our stable.

It's a very unlikely way of announcing that the world has been made new, that God has redeemed God's people, that salvation has come to all. But that's the way Luke tells it. Ordinary people, humble circumstances, sharing good news with neighbors.

Do you think the angel light faded quickly for the shepherds? Did they wake up the next morning and wonder if it had all been a dream? What did life look like for them on the other side of that midnight expedition to Bethlehem? The angels delivered the message and then left. This is the way of angels. Mary was visited by Gabriel and told that she would bear the Son of God, and then the angel left. Zechariah, John the Baptist's father, was visited by an angel, stricken dumb, and then the angel left. Angels don't stick around to provide affidavits for our stories. The shepherds had to find a way to live after the light had faded. They returned to the fields and to their flocks, back to their jobs, but they returned glorifying and praising God. They weren't in the dark any more. Everything had changed for them.

Christmas can change everything for us too. Last night many of us sang of angels. The light shone out of this cathedral into the darkness of the city as we proclaimed good news and worshipped at the manger. Today the light has faded, and our world is already moving on: the stores are switching out their displays to make room for Valentines cards. The Christmas trees are already hitting the sidewalks. The commercial world has already forgotten all about Christmas. But we haven't.

I wonder how they are celebrating Christmas in Cuba this year. After half a century of being shut out by their giant neighbor, Cubans saw the light shine in last week as the President relaxed restrictions on commerce and travel. Christmas in Cuba will have a new sense of freedom and possibility this year, and that light won't fade. This will be a Christmas they won't forget.

The shepherds didn't forget. Their lives changed for ever when the angel's light startled them awake. They were transformed. They returned to their lives, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen. Once we have heard the angel's message, once we have gone to Bethlehem and seen the manger, we don't forget. Each year we gather anew to wait and hope in Advent, to watch and wonder on Christmas Eve, to offer thanks on Christmas Day. Even when humanity has celebrated this festival over 2,000 times, the message of the angels is still fresh and new. Do not be afraid, for see - I am bringing you good news of great joy. The world needs good news of great joy every Christmas. We need the light, because the darkness lingers.

The darkness lingers in Syria, where people fight an unjust regime. The darkness lingers in South Sudan, where greed for power outweighs compassion and leadership. The darkness lingers in West Africa, where Ebola continues to destroy lives and communities. The darkness lingers in our own cities, where people of color and women and trans-gendered individuals still face discrimination and violence, and where police officers go in fear for their lives. The darkness lingers in our hearts, when we fail to see the Christ in each other and when we hoard resources at the expense of our neighbors. But the light of the angels shines out into the dark.

The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. They shall be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the Lord. In the light of the Incarnation, ordinary people become holy people. Lives are changed. Shepherds become evangelists.The light of Christ has shone in our world, and that light will never fade. The glow of the "Holiday season" has faded, but the light of Christmas shines brightly forth.

Alleluia, unto us a child is born. Come let us adore him, Alleluia.

The Very Rev Penelope Bridges
25 December 2014