First Sunday of Advent
November 29, 2009
 
 
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December 20, 2009
 

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December 27, 2009
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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December 6, 2009—Second Sunday of Advent

Lectionary Texts: Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 1:68-79; Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6

Sermon Text: Philippians 2:1-11

The Preposterous Exchange: Servanthood

Not too long ago our kids began begging us for a pet. We had tried fish and turtles and even an ant farm. But in our kid's minds a pet really wasn't a pet unless it was furry and cuddly. I suggested a stuffed animal . . . they suggested a dog.

After several weeks of negotiating, and bombarding them with pet-owner speeches of how if we WERE to get a pet THEY would be the ones responsible to feed and water and bathe it, and other such parental nonsense, we finally decided to make a trip to the animal shelter to see if there were any dogs that needed saving.

It is a day forever burned into my memory. My three pet-worthy children and I marched through the doggie-prison looking at all the convicts, most of which looked like they'd been pulled through a knothole backwards. I've discovered since that rich bloodlines are not a matter of concern in doggie-prison. But what they were lacking in pedigree they more than made up for in enthusiasm. Sensing their ticket to freedom, every one of them ran to the front of their cell in anticipation.

We had almost given up hope when we came to the last cell. Inside that cage was what appeared to be a very beautiful, well-groomed dog. I though it was a good sign that he appeared to be well fed. I figured (wrongly) that no stray could possibly be that overweight (I had no idea). He was the only dog I've ever heard of that had to be carried home from a walk.

But most important to me was that my kids absolutely loved the dog. And so we paid the bail money, which included a mandatory doggie-surgery and more injections than I remember getting in my entire childhood, and we brought home our little bundle of beagle love.

Taking care of the dog was great fun for our kids--for about a month. In the first week they were actually arguing over whose turn it was to feed him, walk him, and even pick up puppy-litter in the backyard: "It's my turn to feed him! You got to walk him last time! I want to pick the litter!" My wife and I were filled with pride at our children's understanding that love meant responsibility.

Well, now it's been over year. (It seems like so much longer than that!) My kids still argue over who's turn it is to feed, walk, and clean up dog-droppings. Only now the arguing has taken a slightly different twist: "It's YOUR turn to feed him! I walked him last time!"

Life with our beagle has reminded me of the truth that love is a lot more like work than it is like play. It has a lot more to do with being a servant than with being a hero. And when I set about the task of loving, whether it be a pet or another human being, I usually end up giving more than I receive. You see, love inevitably costs something, and it's usually the three commodities most precious to me: my time, my energy and my money.

Love is not nearly as glamorous as we've been told it is. Infatuation gives you goose bumps, but it seldom costs you anything. On the contrary, the more mature the love the less glamour is needed to sustain it. The more mature the love the more selfless it is, and the more selfless it is the less it demands a return. Love at its foundation is about sacrificial giving!

Love is changing a dirty diaper. Love is rocking a colicky baby. Love is getting up at 3 o’clock in the morning to get a glass of water. Love is bringing a bowl of chicken soup to a sick child. Love is driving up and down dark streets looking for a delinquent teenager. In a word, I guess you could say that love is work.

I have conducted literally dozens of wedding ceremonies in my time as a pastor. In every one of those ceremonies the bride and groom have spoken vows to each other that say: "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better--for worse, for richer--for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish."

And yet even as I hear those vows I know full well that the world's view of marriage emphasizes maximum pleasure with minimum sacrifice. It doesn't seriously take into account possibilities such as incapacitating illness, emotional disturbance, financial reversals, or even the arrival of a helpless but demanding baby. And that's why the world's view of marriage isn't working, and why the divorce rate has soared beyond comprehension. Love is never able to operate for long without sacrifice.

God's kingdom is completely different from the world's kingdom. In a kingdom marriage, each partner looks the other in the eye and says, "I love you, which by definition means I commit myself to serve you, to build you up, and to cheer you on. I know full well that commitment is going to cost me lots of time, energy, and money, but I put your interest ahead of mine. I'll stand at the back of the line, and you go first." Love, in it's highest form, is self-giving and pouring yourself out for the good of the other person. Another way to say that is, love is servanthood.

In the Incarnation, Jesus demonstrated that love to the full. Paul says: "For the very fact he was in the form of God he took on the form of a servant." He subtracted nothing, but added everything. He maintained the fullness of God, while taking on what he was not before. The preexistent Christ entered the stream of human life without advantage, claiming no rights or privileges of his own for the express purpose of placing himself completely at the service of all humankind.

Jesus said of himself: "The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Love in it's highest form is expressed in service.

We serve people because we follow the Servant. Jesus said: "No servant is greater than his master. I have given you an example that you should do for others as I have done for you. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them." And he said those words after he had finished scrubbing dirty feet.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: "The church is the church only when it exists for others." And he believed those words so strongly that he went to the Nazi gallows for his conviction!

My brother and sister, if the church can only be the church when it exists for others, then that also means that a Christian can only be truly Christian when he or she is willing to be poured out for others. Not with expectation of return, but selflessly loving them in Jesus' name, because that's what Jesus would do if he were in your place.

*Henri Nouwen, was a priest who taught theology at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard University. At the height of his magnificent academic career, Nouwen moved from Harvard to a community near Toronto, called Daybreak, in order to work with severely retarded men and women. And until his premature death, not long ago, he ministered not to intellectuals but to those considered by many to be useless people.

Philip Yancey was able to conduct an interview with Nouwen, shortly before his death, about his ministry to a young man named Adam. That interview is recorded in Yancey's book The Jesus I Never Knew. Nouwen said:

"Adam is a 25-year-old man who cannot speak, cannot dress or undress himself, cannot walk alone, cannot eat without much help. He does not cry or laugh. Only on occasionally does he make eye contact. His back is distorted. His arm and leg movements are twisted. He suffers from severe epilepsy and, despite heavy medication, sees few days without grand-mal seizures. Sometimes, as he grows suddenly rigid, he utters a howling groan. On a few occasions I've seen one big tear roll down his cheek.

It takes me an hour and a half to wake Adam up, give him his medication, carry him into his bath, wash him, shave him, clean his teeth, dress him, walk him to the kitchen, give him his breakfast, put him in his wheelchair and bring him to the place where he spends most of the day with therapeutic exercises."

Yancey said: "On a visit to Nouwen in Toronto, I watched him perform that routine with Adam, and I must admit I had a fleeting doubt as to whether this was the best use of his time. I have heard Henri Nouwen speak, and read many of his books. He has much to offer. Could not someone else take over the menial task of caring for Adam? When I cautiously broached the subject with Nouwen he informed me that I had completely misinterpreted what was going on. "I am not giving up anything," he insisted. "It is I, not Adam, who gets the main benefit from our friendship."

Then Nouwen began listing for me all the benefits he has gained. The hours spent with Adam, he said, have given him an inner peace so fulfilling that it makes most of his other, more high-minded tasks seem boring and superficial by contrast. Early on, as he sat beside that helpless child-man, he realized how marked with rivalry and competition, how obsessive, was his drive for success in academia and Christian ministry. Adam taught him that "what makes us human is not our mind but our heart, not our ability to think but our ability to love." From Adam's simple nature, he had glimpsed the "emptiness" necessary before one can be filled by God."

All during the rest of our interview, Henri Nouwen circled back to my question, as if he could not believe I could ask such a thing. He kept thinking of other ways he had benefited from his relationship with Adam. Truly, he was enjoying a new kind of spiritual peace, acquired not within the stately quadrangles of Harvard, but by the bedside of incontinent Adam. I left Daybreak convicted of my own spiritual poverty." . . . . .

Beloved, when Jesus came to earth he came for the purpose of expressing God's infinite love and he expressed it through serving. Would it be too much to say then, that since Jesus ascended to heaven, he has sought other bodies in which to continue the life he lived on earth?

The Incarnation was God's primary way of establishing his presence in the world, and the church now serves as an extension of that presence. We are the "now" Incarnation of God. Jesus is God's compassion in the flesh, and we are the extension of Jesus' compassion in the flesh. By serving each other, we serve Jesus. By serving them, we are serving Jesus!

Love is costly. Love is work. Love is commitment. Love is a decision to serve in Jesus' name.

Let me ask you: What does power mean to you? Jesus came in weakness. How important is social standing and dignity to you? Jesus went to the cross. All the prerogatives that seem so precious to us are yielded up by our Lord who comes to serve us and who says: "I have set an example for you. Now go and do the same."

I ran across a reading that I think expresses the heart of servanthood:

"Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs of little children; to stop asking how much your friends love you, and ask yourself whether you love them enough; to bear in mind the things that other people have to bear in their hearts; to trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and carry it in front so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your ugly thoughts and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open? Are you willing to do these things for a day? Then you are ready for Christmas."
I guess we had better find a towel and a basin somewhere and get on with what it means to serve.