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Luke 1:67-79

December 2, 2018 • Mount Pleasant UMC

For many of us, music is, if not central, it’s close to central in our lives. We’re surrounded constantly by music, especially this time of year. Life has a soundtrack, from the radio in the car to the muzak in the store. When I got my first iPod, I was excited that I could take more music with me than ever before. I mean, whoever dreamed we could carry 10,000 songs in our pockets! Now, my iPhone constantly connects to the cloud, and every song I’ve ever purchased is available to me at any time. I won’t tell you how many songs that is, but it’s significantly more than 10,000. Let’s just say I could go for a little more than two months, listening to music 24 hours a day and not listen to the same song twice. Then there’s the music we hear in the coffee shop, the restaurant, and everywhere else; music is everywhere. Life has a soundtrack, and so does the Christian faith. Many of us grew up learning our faith through the hymns and songs more than through the Sunday School lessons or, yes, even the sermons. Long before I knew the story of Luke 19, I knew that “Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he.” And way before I could recite 1 John 4:16, I could sing, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” Some say the secret to the Wesleyan revival that spawned the Methodist movement was the fact that what John preached, his brother Charles set to music. Most of us can’t recite a John Wesley sermon (most of us don’t even know the title of a John Wesley sermon), but we can sing, “Hark! the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king!” Music is a vital part of our lives.

Luke’s gospel is also filled with music. We don’t hear it anymore because we’ve reduced the Gospel to words on a page, but especially in the early parts of his Gospel, when people want to convey something important, they break into song, like a Disney movie or a Broadway musical. I don’t know if that’s how it actually happened, but that’s certainly the way the Gospel writers chose to convey it to us. Something happens, and the people sing. The first time it happens is when Mary goes to visit Elizabeth, and the baby inside Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy as Mary enters. Mary breaks into song, giving thanks to God for what he will do through her son (1:46-55). We’ll look at that part of the story next week. [SLIDE] But this morning, we’re going to look at the second song in Luke’s story: the song of Zechariah. Zechariah is an old priest, a faithful priest who served God well. Earlier in this chapter, while he was performing his duties at the Temple, an angel had told him that he and Elizabeth, his wife, would have a son. Zechariah is a bit surprised. He’s sure that could not happen. He knows how babies are made, and he knows that since he and Elizabeth are “well along in years” (1:18), the chances of a baby arriving are pretty much zero. But when this faithful old priest expresses doubt about what God has said he will do, the angel tells him he will be mute until the boy was born. Sure enough, everything happens just as the angel said, and when the boy, John, is presented for circumcision, eight days after his birth as the Law prescribed, Zechariah’s tongue is finally set free. Now, if you had been unable to to speak for nine months, if your spouse had been able to say whatever they wanted to and you couldn’t talk back (for nine months), what would be the first words out of your mouth? Would you have made a list of all the things you wanted to say during that time, of all the times you wanted to win the argument but couldn’t? Would you complain that you were tired of being silent and now everyone’s going to sit down and listen to you because you’ve got nine months’ worth of stuff to say? That would be me, but Zechariah instead sings a song of praise: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, he has finally given me back my voice!” No, that’s not what he sings. His focus is not on himself. Nine months of silence have done what, I think, God knew it would. It has refocused Zechariah on what is most important, so he sings, “Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel, because he has come to his people and redeemed them” (1:68).

Nine months of silence has given Zechariah time to listen to God. He has had time to ponder the promises of the prophets and the patriarchs. He’s had time to think about the ways God’s people had forgotten God’s promises, and to remember how God never did (Texts for Preaching C, pg. 14). In the first century, a lot of folks had, in many respects, given up on God. They saw Roman soldiers everywhere, knew that they were, for all practical purposes, slaves to Rome, and they had begun to believe the lie that things would never change. Maybe God had forgotten them, and they would just have to get along as best as they could without him. Some folks believe that lie today, when we look around at an angry, aggressive dark world, and we think we have to take matters into our own hands. In Zechariah’s day, they continued the rituals, they showed up at worship, but true faith was hard to find. In the midst of that world, Zechariah the priest had heard a promise: “Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son…he will be great in the sight of the Lord…to make ready a people prepared for the Lord” (1:13-17). Now Zechariah looked into the face of this eight-day-old little boy and saw a hope that things could be different, that the Roman chains that bound them didn’t have to define them, that God was as good as his word. And his first response is to sing praise, not primarily for the gift of the child, but for the fulfillment of a promise.

This morning, as Advent begins, we’re starting a journey that will be a little bit different from Advents past. We’re going to be tracing the life of a fictional character as he moves “from humbug to hallelujah.” That character is the famous Ebenezer Scrooge, and his story is told in Charles Dickens’ short little book A Christmas Carol. In mid-1843, Dickens was a famous novelist, but his most recent book had not been received well and had not sold well. His wife was pregnant with their fifth child, and Dickens began to experience financial problems. At the same time, his publisher told him that if sales got worse, they would reduce his monthly income even more. Dickens was desperate for a hit. During nighttime walks around London, the idea for this story came to him, and he wrote it in just six weeks. It was finished just two days before the publication day: December 19, 1843. In the next five days, 6,000 copies were sold, which was a huge hit in that day. In fact, Dickens’ book has been published and republished ever since; it has never gone out of print. And Scrooge—well, “Scrooge” and the dismissive phrase “bah, humbug” have become such a part of the common language that we use them at all times of the year, not just at Christmas. Dickens’ story has been told and retold on stage, on television and in the movies countless times. There is something lasting in this story that appeals to every generation, and so during this season, we’re going to walk with Scrooge as he learns to, in Dickens’ words, “keep Christmas well.” To that end, the inserts in the bulletin are also going to be a bit different during this season. You’ll find an Advent insert that has some suggested ideas for “keeping Advent well,” as well as another insert with some space to take notes and the week’s suggested readings. And while Scripture will remain at the heart of our journey, I’m also encouraging you to read Dickens’ novel—maybe for the first time. I find a lot of people know the story but have never read the book. So each week, you’ll be encouraged to read the corresponding part of the book to what we’re studying, (Dickens called them “staves” rather than chapters; a “stave” is a musical term, like a verse in a Christmas carol) and then also to dive into Scripture that goes along with our story. I hope you will find this to be a different and yet meaningful Advent study.

So we begin with Scrooge, the day before Christmas. “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that…This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate” (Dickens, Stave One). That’s how the story begins, and very quickly we meet the main character, Ebenezer Scrooge. Scrooge is a businessman, and to him, Christmas is a “humbug,” an irritation, an interruption in his pursuit of wealth. When the story opens, Scrooge has been this way for so long he that most people who knew him would have said he had always been this way. But on this particular Christmas Eve, Scrooge returns home, retires to his drafty room and his bowl of gruel, and is suddenly visited by the ghost of Jacob Marley, his business partner who had died seven years earlier. Marley’s visit prepares Scrooge for the journey of his life.

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Now, let’s remember that Dickens was writing a story (a “ghost story,” as he calls it) not Christian theology. There is no indication in Scripture that human spirits wander the earth after death. The point Dickens is trying to make, however, is that our life here shapes who we are in eternity. Marley’s ghost is weighed down with a long, heavy chain. “I wear the chain I forged in life,” he tells Scrooge. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.” Link by link, yard by yard. We hear echoes of that in what Paul wrote to the Galatians: “A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life” (Galatians 6:7-8). It’s the law of the harvest: if you plant corn, you reap corn. If you plant beans, you reap beans. What’s true in the physical world is also true in the spiritual world. If you plant selfishness, you reap selfishness. If you plant bitterness, you reap bitterness. The way we live our lives affects us, and others around us, and it shapes us for eternity. “It was just business!” Scrooge protests, and Marley says, “Mankind was my business.”

Are there chains we have forged, chains we have made link by link and yard by yard? Not literal chains. I’m talking about the things we hold onto that keep us from experiencing the wonder and joy of this season, and in all of life. We might call one link materialism. As we talked about in November, we’re conditioned by our culture to always want more, to believe we always deserve more. We think someone ought to give us whatever we want. Black Friday, which was just a little over a week ago, saw record shopping this year—to the tune of $5 billion spent. Last year, the average amount each person spent on Christmas gifts in the United States was $983, and that’s expected to increase again this year, though it’s down from the high in 2001 of $1,052 per person (http://americanresearchgroup.com/holiday/). We are trained or expected to spend more than we have (in fact, retailers tell us they are counting on us to help their bottom line). We forge a link called materialism in our chain, and that often leads to another link called financial distress.

We might have another link named bitterness or anger. Sometimes this link is forged in our families and other relationships. Some of us have been hurt by family members in the past, and those hurts have grown into bitterness or anger or even hate. The approach of Christmas and the possibility of having to spend time with some people only accentuates those emotions and “tears the scab off the wound,” so to speak. Some people try to tell us to just ignore the feelings, suck it up and get through Christmas. Others spend time wishing they could skip Christmas altogether. Skip the shopping, the family gatherings and the bills that go along with it, because Christmas produces so much stress and it comes out in our relationships. And we feel the chains get heavier, because it doesn’t seem things can ever change.

And we’re right—if we only rely upon ourselves. We try to break the chains ourselves, but we can’t. Not by ourselves. It takes the power of someone beyond us to break the chains we have forged. Marley comes to Scrooge to tell him he has arranged an opportunity for Scrooge to change, but when Scrooge hears that it involves the visitations of three spirits, he says, “I’d rather not, thank you.” But to break the chains, we need something radical to happen. We need someone else to step in, or we’ll just keep on doing what we’re doing and getting what we’re getting. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing expecting different results. If we’re honest, we have to admit we do that at times. Sometimes the chains of bitterness and anger begin to entangle us when we forget our purpose, our calling, what the “main thing” of life ought to be. As I shared a couple of weeks ago, part of the outrage, anger and bitterness we find ourselves trapped in these days has to do with thinking our preferences, our ideas, our beliefs about the way things ought to be are paramount. We believe that the way we see things is the way everyone ought to see them. At the extreme, we violently insist on our own way, or we subtly threaten others who don’t see things the way we see them. We post online, we tweet, we send emails and letters insisting on change, and when we don’t get what we want, bitterness and anger build chains around us. It’s the nature of the world we live in, and it’s the way we will remain unless we allow someone from outside ourselves to step in and change things. Chains don’t have to define us. Change is possible when we open ourselves to the possibility of the power of God.

The people of Zechariah’s day were among those who believed things could never change. Rome was eternal. Rome was powerful. Rome had them in chains—not literal, but they certainly were not free—and there was no hope of escape. So when John was born, Zechariah knew something extraordinary had happened, and in that he saw the promise of a change coming when the people would be set free. “You, my child,” Zechariah sings, “will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins” (1:76-77). God was doing something new. Listen to the promises Zechariah believed were just about to be fulfilled: God was redeeming his people (1:68), raising up a mighty savior (1:69) and saving the people from their enemies (1:71). God has remembered his holy covenant and was fulfilling promises made to their ancestors (1:72). God is bringing light into a dark world and peace into a violent world (1:79). Promises made long ago were finally being fulfilled. And how is God doing it? I don’t think Zechariah knew for sure, only that the birth of John was somehow the start. We know God was going to do it through another birth, another child: Jesus of Nazareth, the Messiah. But Zechariah at least was able to see that things didn’t have to be the way they had always been. There could be change.

Now, change is scary. Many (maybe most) people would rather stay where they are than try something new. My first District Superintendent would often remind us that the only people who like change are babies with wet diapers. And that’s true even if the change is for our good. People who are abused, for instance, will often stay in an abusive situation because it’s familiar; the unknown is frightening. People will stay in jobs they hate because change is unsettling. We’ve been through a lot of change here in the past couple of years in this church. And some of us have forged chains of hurt and bitterness because of those changes. With the change in pastors came different ways of doing things, new ways of understanding things, a restructured Leadership Council, even new people that “we” don’t know. And now we’re facing a change in the Sunday morning schedule, just a month from now we’ll be having worship at 9:00 and 10:30. And there are conversations that happen in the hallway and in the parking lot and in restaurants after worship about change. Not all of those are healthy conversations. Some of them forge links in our chains. Sometimes we’ve blamed each other, and other times we’ve blamed the pastors. Some have blamed “those new people” and others have been angry with “those people who’ve been here for a long time.” But friends, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve known Jesus or how long you’ve been a part of this church. Zechariah had been a priest all of his life. Others in his community were undoubtedly new to the area. Yet Zechariah sang for all of them. God’s promises were being fulfilled for all of them. Change was coming to all of them. It was scary. But it was necessary if God’s people were going to move ahead into what God was calling them to be and do. It’s been the same throughout history, and in this church. We’re trying our best to head where God is calling us, but I am sorry if I have been the source of any hurt on your part. That’s never been my intent. My passion, my calling, and my dream for this church is to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. We are seeking to do that in new ways, yes, and that can be hard. I’m sorry for that, but I pray we can continue to find ways to move forward toward God’s future together.

Zechariah sang that the knowledge of salvation (we might say breaking the chains) comes through the experience of forgiveness (1:77). When we seek forgiveness, it takes our eyes off ourselves and puts our focus back on Christ. The Bible says we are to confess our sins to God, and that he will forgive us (I John 1:9), but it also says to “confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed” (James 5:16). It is in seeking and receiving forgiveness that we begin to break the chains that bind us. It does somehow seem easier to confess our sins to God than it is to confess to those who have hurt us or whom we have hurt. But as the Christian musician Rich Mullins, a hero of mine, once said, if God already knows our sins, we don’t need to worry about having someone else know them (Smith, An Arrow Pointing to Heaven, pg. 154). It ought to be easier to ask someone else for forgiveness, because ultimately the only one we have to deal with for eternity is God. Focusing on Christ by seeking and receiving forgiveness is where we begin to break the chains we have forged. Now, that doesn’t mean we place ourselves back in a situation that is unsafe or unhealthy. Forgiveness does not mean we allow someone to abuse us again. Forgiveness is about breaking our chains so we can be free.

Sometimes, though, especially at this time of year, forgiveness can be made more difficult by the fact that the person we’re angry with is no longer here. Sometimes in the midst of dealing with death and loss, we end up in a dark place and we wonder if we will ever come out. Forgiveness is hard because we’re not only angry at that other person for leaving us, we’re also embarrassed that we’re angry. One of the resources we want to provide for you again this year is what’s called a Longest Night Service. On December 21, my wife, Cathy, and the prayer team will be leading a time of quiet reflection, prayer and healing particularly for those who have lost loved ones (whether through death or estrangement) or who are struggling in some way to hold on to hope this time of year. It’s a service of forgiveness that happens on the darkest night of the year. I hope you’ll consider coming and bringing someone with you, because breaking the chains begins with forgiveness, in every circumstance.

Then, Zechariah says, we can “serve [God] without fear in holiness and righteousness before him all our days” (1:74-75). Jesus himself said that when we serve others, especially “the least of these” (Matt. 25:40, 45), we are serving him. Francis of Assisi was born wealthy and had everything the world had to offer, but he wasn’t happy; something was missing. One day, as one particular legend goes, Francis was out riding and met a leper. The man was ugly and repulsive, deep into the terrible disfigurement of the disease, and yet something moved Francis to dismount and wrap his arms around this wretched man. And as he did, the face of the leper changed to the face of Christ. Francis realized that fulfillment comes as we serve others. Remember the words of Jacob Marley: “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!” (Stave One).

Where are there places in our community for service? Angel Tree gifts directly benefit those in our community, as does ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. 14th & Chestnut is always in need of donations and volunteers, and this week, I am meeting with other faith leaders and the school superintendent to discuss and discover ways we can better serve the youth of our community together. These are just a few areas; the list could go on and on. Do you know someone who can’t see to read anymore but would love for you to share a good book with them? Maybe you could read A Christmas Carol together or read the daily Scriptures. With Cathy Thompson’s death, there is certainly a gaping hole in our senior and shut-in ministry that maybe you could fill. Do you know someone who is so desperately lonely that 15 minutes of your time would literally change their week? Do you know of a child whose grandparents live far away and needs someone older in their lives? Do you know of a student who is struggling and needs help? Maybe you’d like to adopt a college student, provide a home-cooked meal once in a while, be a grandparent to a student who is far from home. The opportunities are literally endless because humankind is our business. It is our calling, Zechariah says, having been rescued from the enemy of sin and death, to serve God in holiness and righteousness. We serve God by serving others. It’s our business.

Breaking the chains begins with forgiveness, and it continues as we serve others. There are some other ideas in the Advent bulletin insert for breaking the chains we forge, and maybe you’ll come up with your own, but the bottom line is we have a choice. We can hang on to our humbug chains or we can take a first step toward a hallelujah life. Which will you choose as we begin this Advent season?

We’re going to share in Holy Communion this morning, this first Sunday of Advent, and perhaps this might be a time when you want to lay down some of the chains you’ve been carrying. There’s no better place to do that than at the feet of Jesus, in the midst of this reminder of his love, mercy and grace. Let’s prepare our hearts, then, for Holy Communion.