There’s a truth known by those of us who’ve grown up in the age of the internet: “Don’t read the comments.” The many benefits provided to us by the heightened connectivity of modern living come with the same problems shared by every age humanity has ever known: what exists can be used for sinful purposes, and likely will be as quickly as we can imagine.
The gospel according to Matthew.Glory to you, O Lord.
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he."
The gospel of the Lord.Praise to you, O Christ.
"He emerged from the metro at the L’Enfant Plaza Station and positioned himself against a wall beside a trash basket. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.
It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant….
…No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made.” “Pearls Before Breakfast” Gene Weingarten, Washington Post, 8 April 2007.
So there we were in Bible study today at the local cafe, the same way we are every week. This week we were looking at the readings for our Christmas Eve service, particularly the gospel narrative of Jesus' birth from Luke 2. We were all talking about what it must have been like for the shepherds, wandering around Bethlehem in the dark, looking for that one stable where Jesus was born out of the many nooks and crannies likely available in a little hill town like Bethlehem. No streetlights. Nothing but the stars and the occasional household fire. Then one of the members of the Bible study said, "I always figured the star led the shepherds to where Jesus was."
“He emerged from the metro at the L’Enfant Plaza Station and positioned himself against a wall beside a trash basket. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.
It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant.
Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?
On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made.” [1]
Today is the first day of the new year. Happy New Year!
Okay, yeah, it's the first day of the new liturgical year. The first Sunday of Advent. Year A, for those of you keeping score. Gospel of Matthew.
Liturgical geekery aside, I'm ready for a new start. It was approximately a year ago that the Unbloggableness got started, and even now, several months after the last bit of official handling that mess required, the healing process is continuing in fits and starts - sometimes it's weeks without considering it, and sometimes something trips your memory and you're furious all over again. It's well past time to be done with this, and well past time to be doing something instead of dealing with something. So, a new year, a new start.
The U.B. isn't the only thing I'm anxious to put behind me. I've gained another fifteen pounds this year through lousy diet and sloth. I've spent far too much time messing around on message boards and not nearly enough time reading books, watching good TV and good movies. I've put off house projects and dithered on things that could have been handled much more quickly if I'd put my mind to it. In general, it feels like I've been sleep-walking for about a year now, and I'm ready to be awakened.
Right now I'm sitting next to the fire at the Lutheran Center in Ames. Six students are here with me, doing homework, the Sunday crossword, and just hanging out. These incredible people have deserved so much better from me this year: better sermons, better attention, better leadership. This Advent I want to start over with all of them. Thanks be to God, one can do just that. Maybe I can't undo the sloth of the past 12 months, but I can sure as hell spend the next 12 making up for it. So: commence.
WillSmama had the Friday Five at RevGals today - and I've never played a better one.
[Insert bitter pre-Advent Christmas kvetching and grumbling here.] Please tell us your least favorite/most annoying seasonal....
1) dessert/cookie/family food Okay, I'll admit it - I despise lutefisk and always have. I tried it several times as a kid and just never developed a taste for it. For those of you who don't know what lutefisk is, suffice it to say that it is a piece of cod that passes all human understanding.
2) beverage (seasonal beer, eggnog w/ way too much egg and not enough nog, etc...) Yeah, eggnog. Why, again, are we drinking raw eggs mixed with milk and booze?
3) tradition (church, family, other) My annual "Society for the Preservation of Advent" rant. Usually makes its appearance sometime about now, after which everyone will breathe a big sigh of relief and start looking forward to the Christmas Program. Grrrrr.
4) decoration Big floppy snowmen/candycanes/Santa Claus/reindeer on people's rooftops or front lawns. Actually, most anything outside of white lights makes my inner aesthete want to urp just a little bit.
5) gift (received or given) No particular gift here, but my least favorite thing relating to gifts is hearing how much the average person spends on Christmas gifts. Frankly, it's obscene. Beloved and I are trying to plan for future Christmas celebrations with forethought so that Ainsley understands that gifts are not the prime motivator for the celebration of Christmas. We'll see how that goes...
BONUS: SONG/CD that makes you want to tell the elves where to stick it. Oh, where should I start? Little Drummer Boy? Up On The Rooftop? ANYTHING by Kenny G or Celine Dion? Dreck, all of it, I say! DRECK! But, A Confession: I do love Mannheim Steamroller, most likely because they're an Omaha product and I grew up in Nebraska. Go figure. Even the inner aesthete can't get enough of those synthesizers. Go figure...
Since we're starting to see Christmas advertisements already, we at the Society for the Preservation of Advent figured it was a good time to post a link to this excellent sermon by Fred Gaiser of Luther Seminary about St. Nicholas and our bondage to Christmas.
