From Generation to Generation: We Tell This Story

Nearby shepherds were living in the fields, guarding their sheep at night. The Lord’s angel stood before them, the Lord’s glory shone around them, and they were terrified.

The angel said, “Don’t be afraid! Look! I bring good news to you—wonderful, joyous news for all people. Your savior is born today in David’s city. He is Christ the Lord. This is a sign for you: you will find a newborn baby wrapped snugly and lying in a manger.” Suddenly a great assembly of the heavenly forces was with the angel praising God. They said, “Glory to God in heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” --Luke 2:8-14 (CEB)

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God, our Creator, and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

The stories we tell. What are some of the Christmas stories that are told in your family?

In mine, one of those stories goes back to a time when I was seven years old. That year, all my sister and I wanted was an Easy Bake Oven. Remember the Easy Bake Oven? For those of you too young to know, it was this plastic contraption molded to look like an oven. Inside, it had this heat-emitting light bulb that gave off just enough heat so that, using the tiny cake pan and tiny cake mix provided, you could make a cake. It came with 3 or 4 tiny cake mixes. But, you could also by a supplement with another 20 mixes for cakes and brownies. 

That Christmas morning, my sister and brother and I were up early as so many children are - unable to sleep. Anxious to see what Santa had left behind. So, about 4 am, we got up and quietly sneaked to our living room to open our presents left under the tree. Where we found a large box - the Easy Bake Oven! My sister and I were thrilled. The three of us quietly took the oven and all 20 plus mixes downstairs to our basement to try it out. 

Over the next 3 hours, we kept mixing those mixes and pushing the cake pan into and out of the oven. Cake after cake. Brownie after brownie. Feeding my brother who, except for the few my sister and I ate, wolfed down every single one. So that, by the time my parents awoke and came downstairs to find out why it was so quiet, all of the tiny mixes were gone. 

You can imagine their reaction. And that is a story for another time. But, this is one of many stories in my family that we tell each year at this time. I’d dare say that all of us have stories like this. Stories that, especially as we remember them, are those fond stories we tell year after year after year.  

It’s like this story. This story we tell every year. A story of a young couple, traveling on a donkey back to their hometown to comply with a royal decree. The young woman in the last stages of her pregnancy who, nonetheless, must obey that empirical directive, along with her partner to whom she is engaged, where, when they reach their destination, she goes into labor and gives birth to a tiny baby. Who will change the world. 

Amidst all the cultural and commercial stuff of this season, we continue to tell this story. What is it that captivates us so about this story? Why has it been preserved throughout the generations and across cultures? Why is the nativity of Christ so important to us? 

It begins, interestingly, according to Walter Brueggemann, with the song of the angels. A song that breaks into our world and completely shatters the decree of the earthly emperor, who seeks to control by means of a census. This song of the angels stands in direct conflict with that census decree. It announces the birth of a new king - one that neither Rome nor Herod can stop - who begins a new history. A new jubilee that frees all humanity from debt, that gives amnesty from old crimes, and a new beginning again, a beginning that has at its core, freedom. 

The angels break into our world and sing this song to the shepherds, who are the outcasts in their world. They sing their song not just to the shepherds, but to a barren old woman; to an innocent, yet believing young woman; to an old man struck dumb; to a lowly carpenter. All of whom in our world and in the world of their time meant nothing. Were of no importance. Who knew the depths of grief, whether through loss, marginalization, lack of money or power - all of those things that those who are edges of our world experience. It is to them to whom the angels break into with song. And they are amazed. 

Isn’t that what this story is really about? Being amazed. Amazed at how, over and over, this baby in his adult ministry will break down the physical, emotional and psychological narratives that divide people - that divide us. Those narratives we are told in our world about who is clean and who is unclean. Jesus breaks in, just as the angels broke in. And we are amazed. And changed. And restored back into community, given life where none seemed possible before. Offered hope rather than despair. And a future quite different than that offered by royal decree. 

This is why we tell this story. Again and again. It’s to remind ourselves of and to fully embody this story - a story of hope, a story of freedom, a story of love, a story of God coming to be with us. A story you and I are called to pass onto future generations, so that they, too, may experience the hope it brings. A hope given to us by God in Jesus - a God who breaks down the walls of our hearts to show us that there is a better way. A new way. A way of amazement and energy rather than grief and despair. 

And it begins with a baby. As helpless as we are. In need of others, as we are. Who cries out, as we do. And holds hands, as we do. Who experiences the pain and joy and complexity of being human, as we do. Who moves into our neighborhood and promises to accompany us in the journey now. And forever.

Glory to God in the highest. And on earth, peace. Good will toward all. May you hold this sacred story close to your heart. May it give you hope. And, like so many generations before us, may you pass it on. God grant it. Amen.

Preached December 24, 2022, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Nativity of Our Lord - Christmas Eve

Readings: Luke 2:1-20, Micah 5:2-5; John 1:1-14

Cultivating Laughter, Song, and Dance (Letting Go of Being Cool and “Always in Control”)

When the Lord changed Zion’s circumstances for the better,
    it was like we had been dreaming.
Our mouths were suddenly filled with laughter;
    our tongues were filled with joyful shouts.
It was even said, at that time, among the nations,
    “The Lord has done great things for them!”
Yes, the Lord has done great things for us,
    and we are overjoyed.

Lord, change our circumstances for the better,
    like dry streams in the desert waste!
Let those who plant with tears
    reap the harvest with joyful shouts.
Let those who go out,
    crying and carrying their seed,
    come home with joyful shouts,
    carrying bales of grain! Psalm 126 (CEB)

Grace and peace to you from the Holy and Blessed Trinity: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.

Have you ever been in a really hard place in your life that suddenly turned around? Where you were struggling and struggling and, then, all of a sudden the path was made clear for you? That’s how we find things in tonight’s psalm. It opens with a look back to a difficult time in Israel’s history. To a hard circumstance. A moment of remembering. Scholars believe this psalm was written after the Babylonian exile. After the northern kingdom had been exiled. After the temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. After the southern kingdom - Judah - was taken into exile.

But, this psalm is not actually about the exile. Instead, its focus is on the surprising turnabout of Judah’s fate. Of a people in exile. Suddenly freed from exile by the Persians - by Cyrus the Great - and restored to their homeland.  Psalm 126 is a pilgrimage song. It’s a psalm about the journey. A journey out of exile and disorientation. To a place of home and reorientation. This model of orientation - disorientation - reorientation is one created by Old Testament theologian Walter Brueggemann. It’s a model that fit Israel’s communal experience. It’s also a model that fits well for our lives. And for those times when things seeming to be humming along - a place of orientation. Then everything falls apart - that’s the disorientation. Then, just when we are at what feels like the very bottom, suddenly things turn around. They are restored. Not the same as what they were, but in a new way. In a reoriented way.

So, what’s our reaction, when everything turns around? When everything's made new again? When everything seems to work out? If we look at Scripture and, particularly, Psalm 126, we see a typical human response. “Our mouths were suddenly filled with laughter; our tongues were filled with joyful shouts.” Think of Miriam at the edge of the Red Sea when Israel had been saved from the coming Egyptian army. Or of Mary at the birth of Jesus after finding out she was an unwed mother. Our human response is to laugh. To sing. To dance.

There is something about laughter and song and dance that shouts “life,” isn’t there. Barbara Ehrenreich in her book, Dancing in the Streets, documents the importance of engaging in what she calls “collective ecstasy.” She writes that we are “innately social beings, impelled almost instinctively to share our joy.”  And Brene Brown, after analyzing her research on shame for a couple years, learned that “laughter, song, and dance create emotional and spiritual connection; they remind us of the one thing that truly matters when we are searching for comfort, celebration, inspiration or healing: We are not alone.”

What makes you laugh? Perhaps it’s hearing a funny joke. Or watching your children or grandchildren do silly things. It’s not a laughing at, but a laughing with. What Brown calls a “knowing laughter.” It’s the kind of laughter that connects us. That comes from the power of sharing our lies and our stories with others. What makes you laugh? 

What makes you sing? When you hear a particular song on the radio, does it ever feel as though you’re right back to the first time you heard it? There are many songs on the soundtrack of my life. There is a whole playlist of Taylor Dane songs that, whenever I hear one of them, I’m immediately taken back to my early 30’s and a crazy, head-over-heels infatuation. What’s the soundtrack of your life? 

And, then, there’s dance! Perhaps dancing is the hardest because there is no other form of self-expression that can make us feel more vulnerable. Dancing is about full-body vulnerability. Have you ever watched a toddler dance? Writer Mary Jo Putney writes that what we love in childhood stays in our hearts forever. If this is true, then, dance stays in our heart even when our head tells us we should worry about what other people think.

And, that’s really the problem, isn’t it? Full-throated laughter, singing at the top of our lungs, and dancing with complete abandon require absolute vulnerability. And a lack of concern for what anyone else thinks.  As we mature and are socially conditioned, we limit this vulnerability. We learn that we are to be cool and “always in control.” We do this because we want to feel good enough. Because we feel as if we don’t measure up. That we aren’t good enough. We feel shame.

Yet, all we need do, like the psalmist, is look back. To look back at God’s response to our shame and our sin. How God, in Christ, has destroyed it. And how God, in Christ, has brought about resurrection. And continues to bring about resurrection. And new life. Constantly moving us from disorientation to reorientation. To a new place. 


May God help us to let go of fear and judgment and the feeling that we are all alone. May God lead us to cultivate courage, compassion, and connection. May God transform us into wholehearted people. Into shalom people. That we might experience all the laughter, song, and dance that God desires for us. And for all people. Amen.

Preached April 10, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Midweek Lent Worship
Reading: Psalm 126