Sunday, Dec 11 2011
Speakers:
Scripture: Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 1:26-35
A contemporary anthropologist, that is to say, a modern mother who pays attention to the rhythms and rituals of her children’s play, reports on her daughter’s understanding of the descent of the Spirit of the Lord:
She writes:
Some years ago, I spent an afternoon caught up in a piece of sewing I was doing. The wastebasket near my sewing machine was filled with scraps of fabric cut away from my project. This basket of discards was a fascination to my daughter Annika, who, at the time, was not yet four years old. She rooted through the scraps searching out the bright long strips, collected them to herself, and went off. When I took a moment to check on her, I tacked her whereabouts to the back garden where I found her sitting in the grass with a long pole. She was affixing the scraps to the top of the pole with great sticky wads of tape. “I’m making a banner for a procession,” she said, “I need a procession so that God will come down and dance with us.” With that she solemnly lifted her banner to flutter in the wind and slowly she began to dance.
(Martha Stoner sings “The Lone Wild Bird”)
Today we find ourselves today caught somewhere between the childlike receptivity necessary to welcome the gift of the Spirit and the spiritual maturity required to shoulder the heavy burden of these holy gifts; ready to cry out “I am Thine, I rest in thee, Great Spirit, come and rest in me“ but hoping it’s really only a lighthearted dance and not a lifestyle challenger. Not a game changer. Not now. That might be what Isaiah and Mary were thinking when the Spirit of the Lord came upon them.
Isaiah writes, the Spirit of the Lord is upon me because the Lord has anointed me. The Lord came and made the sign of dedication, anointing with the Holy oil that says, now go out there and do something in my name, kid.
We know about that kind of anointing or consecration when we have to go out and do something. The Dillon Panthers from “Friday Night Lights” always ritually touch the corner of the locker room that says: “Clear Eyes, full heart” before they head out onto the football field. My husband and I always give each other the insurance kiss before we leave (for the insurance company that claims that committed couples have fewer accidents when they practice that little farewell ritual). The parent calls after the small backpack-toting kid on her way to school, “Remember who you are!, anointing the child with identity and the fortitude to stand up for herself. And the Lord God of Israel anointed Isaiah, not with the oil of kings and priests, but with the words of prophecy:
Bring good news to the oppressed.
Bind up the brokenhearted.
Proclaim liberty to the captives.
Proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, jubilee, a time of forgiveness.
Comfort those who mourn.
What would happen if the Spirit of the Lord came to rest upon us?
Anointing us for service. Some say that happens at baptism. Others say it happens when one feels a sense of call, or vocation. We celebrate the anointing arrival of the Spirit when we ordain people to the offices of ministry as deacon, ruling elder and teaching elder. But does it need to happen, this gift of the spirit, in the context of a worship service or a specific call?
Isn’t the experience of the spirit’s prompting supposed to be a part of our everyday lives as disciples of Jesus Christ ? And the anointing doesn’t always happen in a calm, ordered way. Consider the metaphorical anointing of Mary, God’s call to her to be the Mother of the Incarnate Word, Jesus. Now many of the Renaissance painters have recreated this scene, called the Annunciation, as a still life, complete with the lily, the open Bible and the words of the proclamation stretched across the canvas, caught in midair, in stillness as the responsive, Renaissance-garbed Mary, meek and mild, the docile young woman listens. That’s one view of the Annunciation, the traditional anointing of the Virgin Mary.
But another point of view about the gift of the Holy Spirit to Mary came in Franco Zeferelli’s movie, “Jesus of Nazareth”. Here Mary, a young teenager is in a bare room when the shutters slam open, a blinding light fills the screen and the wind shatters the silence. She backs up into a corner, wide eyed. The shutters bang against the stone wall. Mary is thrown to the floor in the wind gust. She is surprised by joy and wild-eyed with consternation. And knocked off her feet with the blustery gift of the spirit. Blown away by the gifts of the Spirit.
How will we receive the gifts of the Sprit today? We, too, are being called to preach good news to the oppressed To bind up the brokenhearted and bring good news to the captives. We have been anointed to free the prisoners, and to comfort those who mourn. And like Mary, we have been called to give birth to the word through our words and deeds, to give life to the word incarnate.
Bam! Surprise! You’re invited to a surprise party and the gifts are from the Holy Spirit. That Should blow us away! How will you respond?
Well, let’s try this out on this third Sunday of Advent, this Joy Sunday. We are going to share the gifts of the spirit, share the burden as we dance and wait for God to come. We have on the Communion table six Christmas gifts,. Each one contains one message:
to preach good news to the oppressed to bind up the brokenhearted and bring good news to the captives. We have been anointed to free the prisoners, To proclaim the year of God’s favor, and to comfort those who mourn. And like the Spirit’s gift to Mary, one of these boxes contains an invitation to give birth to the word through our words and deeds, to give life to the word incarnate.
Now, only six households will take these gifts home today. But we all need to brainstorm this morning to think about how we can bring these gifts to life. How will we be the prophet for the God of justice and the vessel for the God of Love? While my elves help me pass out the gifts, I invite you to help each other think of ways we can fulfill our roles here as the anointed priests, the oaks of righteousness, the bearers of Christ, or Christ-o-phers.
Go. Because when we go from this place, holding our colorful, ragtag banners of faith before us, we are going to make a procession so that God will come down and dance with us.