The suffering children
Commentary
When a bomb destroyed the federal building in Oklahoma City earlier this year there was an outpouring of compassion for the families of those who lost loved ones. But the poignancy of the tragedy was centered in the children. Nothing causes us to cry out "My God, My God," so much as when we see children -- "the holy innocents" -- suffer undeservedly. The children of Oklahoma City call to mind other "holy innocents" at places like Sand Creek, Colorado (450 Cheyenne men, women and children in 1864); Wounded Knee, South Dakota (300 Sioux men, women and children in 1890); Dachau and Auschwitz (millions between 1930-1945); Dresden, Germany (tens of thousands on one night in 1945); Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan (tens of thousands in 1945); Bosnia and Rwanda (tens of thousands in 1994-1995).
On this Sunday, just days after the glorious celebration of the coming of Christ in Bethlehem, Christian tradition reminds us that the Christ born in the manger has been born into a life of suffering and rejection. As such, he identifies with all the suffering children of the world.
The congregation of hearers may have diminished considerably since last weekend. You feel exhausted from the heavy responsibilities of those days. You feel tempted to put a little less effort into this Sunday's message. But Jesus sets our example. In a culture that placed little value on children, he blessed them.
Today, remember the children. Remember especially those who suffer.
Grist For The Mill
Isaiah 63:7-9
We think of a prophet as one who can preach a stirring message, who can call sinners to repentance. But our text from Isaiah is a clear reminder that being a prophet is more than that. The hallmark of a great prophet is that he cares for those he is called to serve. Isaiah called the people of Israel to judgment. But his heart also ached for them. The last thing he wanted to see was that they come under the heavy hand of God's punishment for their sins. So he prayed for them.
The accent in this text is entirely on God's mercy. It is framed in the language of the family. "Gracious deeds," "praiseworthy acts," "great favor," "steadfast love." God is the tender one who "lifted them up and carried them all the days of old." Little wonder that Jesus found it right and proper to teach the disciples to pray, "Our Father ...." The Holy One, whose Name we scarcely dare utter, is also, miracle of miracles, the tender one who cares for each of us.
Do we ever outgrow our need to be a child? All of us, but especially we men, are taught from early childhood to be self-sufficient. There is some good in that. But we tend also to forget that the attitude of trust that we see so clearly in a child is the spirit God looks for in us.
And for those who find it hard to share their hurt and their pain, there is good news today of a God who breaks through our hard exterior to soothe our aches and to heal our wounds.
Hebrews 2:10-18
It is quite impossible to preach on any part of chapter 2 of Hebrews without setting it in contrast with chapter 1. The first chapter focuses on the role of Christ as "Son of God." As such, he is "the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being" (1:3). He is superior to angels (1:4-14). He is without peer.
But then comes the radical news -- Good News. In his incarnation Christ has done what no angel could do. The Lord of the universe, "through whom he also created the worlds" (1:2), is our Brother! He has become one with us in our humanity. We should never read Hebrews 2:11 without feeling a catch in our throats: "Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters." And how is it that he has become one with us? It is "through sufferings" (2:10).
When we stand beside those who suffer, or when we suffer ourselves, we often ask the question that begs for an answer: "Why? Why suffering? Why this one? Why me?" Again and again we find that our only recourse is to remember that he suffers with us. The mystery of evil, especially as it touches the innocent, confounds us. We have only this word: "He is not ashamed."
The only church did battle with those who wanted to make Christ something other than human. They knew that this would not do. Only one who is like us "in every respect" (2:17) could help us to face that which we fear most -- "the power of death" (2:14). Only the one who was "tested by what he suffered ... is able to help those who are being tested" (2:18).
Matthew 2:13-23
Some have suggested that there are so many problems with this text that "the homilist (should) avoid it, and instead preach on either the Old Testament or the epistle reading." (Reginald Fuller, Preaching the New Lectionary, Liturgical Press, 1974, p. 125.) To do so, however, would be to miss an important part of the ancient liturgical tradition.
And it would mean avoiding one of the unique treasures of the New Testament. The children suffer because Christ was born. This makes them martyrs. No, they do not die because of deliberate choice. But this makes them all the more deserving of our attention. They are, indeed, "The Holy Innocents." The slaughter of the innocents, coupled with the flight of the holy family to Egypt, connects this text with Moses and the suffering of the Israelites in bondage. The "wailing and loud lamentation" in Ramah and "Rachel weeping for her children" are the cries of women and children in every generation in every land.
I have walked through the Children's Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem. The memory haunts me. One by one, hour after hour, the names of children who died in the ovens is read. I have seen the street children in many corners of the word. There are a million in Sao Paulo alone! When will the slaughter stop? And what of the physically and sexually abused children? And the millions who are forced to work rather than go to school and who have little or no time for play? When will the slaughter stop?
This is a day to speak for the children.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By James A. Nestingen
Isaiah 63:7-9
Lovers sometimes use messengers, especially when the feeling is new, hardly distinguishable from infatuation. But when love has grown strong, when it has matured into something deeper than feeling, it won't tolerate an intermediary. It takes over, relentlessly seeking everything for the beloved.
Courtship is difficult in the best of times. In this time, it has become all the more nerve-racking. The rituals of meeting, the boundaries of conversation, the patterns of expectation, the limits of touch -- traditional signposts marking progress in a relationship -- have all been changing, both the old and the new rendered uncertain in the process.
So like early adolescents, even some of the more experienced may be forced to rely on a go-between. "Find out what she thinks of me ...." "Will he ask again?" "What does he want?" "Is she really serious?"
Green lights promote quick movement in any kind of traffic. As love gains to grow, as risks come into more tolerable ranges, the intermediaries are no longer needed. Whatever their value may have been in the past, now they are, at best, testimony to an earlier stage, now clearly surpassed.
When love matures, it doesn't know any limits. Maybe that is why it is described as being "in" love. Virtually everything about the beloved -- her development as a child, his high school achievements, her habits with her hands, his way of holding his head when tired -- becomes a matter of interest.
It is best seen in old couples who have been together through the decades. The unself-conscious rituals of togetherness -- the quiet touch, the reassuring word, the proffered chair, the lint brushed from a shoulder, the anticipated movement -- represent years of self-giving, the unrestrained attentiveness of love.
Still standing in as a Christmas preacher, the prophet Isaiah begins like a lover. Stripped of his self-awareness by the magnificence of God's steadfast love, he focuses on the declaration of God's claim, "surely they are my people ...." Then rejoicing in the disappearance of the intermediary, he sets out the manner of God's saving act of love: "it was no messenger or angel but his presence ...."
The church understands these words as reference to Christ. Intent on having his way with us, the good Lord has become present to us in him, and in the abandon of a full-blown love, has taken over every verb for us: working for us, shedding mercy, bestowing love, redeeming, lifting, carrying.
On this Sunday, just days after the glorious celebration of the coming of Christ in Bethlehem, Christian tradition reminds us that the Christ born in the manger has been born into a life of suffering and rejection. As such, he identifies with all the suffering children of the world.
The congregation of hearers may have diminished considerably since last weekend. You feel exhausted from the heavy responsibilities of those days. You feel tempted to put a little less effort into this Sunday's message. But Jesus sets our example. In a culture that placed little value on children, he blessed them.
Today, remember the children. Remember especially those who suffer.
Grist For The Mill
Isaiah 63:7-9
We think of a prophet as one who can preach a stirring message, who can call sinners to repentance. But our text from Isaiah is a clear reminder that being a prophet is more than that. The hallmark of a great prophet is that he cares for those he is called to serve. Isaiah called the people of Israel to judgment. But his heart also ached for them. The last thing he wanted to see was that they come under the heavy hand of God's punishment for their sins. So he prayed for them.
The accent in this text is entirely on God's mercy. It is framed in the language of the family. "Gracious deeds," "praiseworthy acts," "great favor," "steadfast love." God is the tender one who "lifted them up and carried them all the days of old." Little wonder that Jesus found it right and proper to teach the disciples to pray, "Our Father ...." The Holy One, whose Name we scarcely dare utter, is also, miracle of miracles, the tender one who cares for each of us.
Do we ever outgrow our need to be a child? All of us, but especially we men, are taught from early childhood to be self-sufficient. There is some good in that. But we tend also to forget that the attitude of trust that we see so clearly in a child is the spirit God looks for in us.
And for those who find it hard to share their hurt and their pain, there is good news today of a God who breaks through our hard exterior to soothe our aches and to heal our wounds.
Hebrews 2:10-18
It is quite impossible to preach on any part of chapter 2 of Hebrews without setting it in contrast with chapter 1. The first chapter focuses on the role of Christ as "Son of God." As such, he is "the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being" (1:3). He is superior to angels (1:4-14). He is without peer.
But then comes the radical news -- Good News. In his incarnation Christ has done what no angel could do. The Lord of the universe, "through whom he also created the worlds" (1:2), is our Brother! He has become one with us in our humanity. We should never read Hebrews 2:11 without feeling a catch in our throats: "Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters." And how is it that he has become one with us? It is "through sufferings" (2:10).
When we stand beside those who suffer, or when we suffer ourselves, we often ask the question that begs for an answer: "Why? Why suffering? Why this one? Why me?" Again and again we find that our only recourse is to remember that he suffers with us. The mystery of evil, especially as it touches the innocent, confounds us. We have only this word: "He is not ashamed."
The only church did battle with those who wanted to make Christ something other than human. They knew that this would not do. Only one who is like us "in every respect" (2:17) could help us to face that which we fear most -- "the power of death" (2:14). Only the one who was "tested by what he suffered ... is able to help those who are being tested" (2:18).
Matthew 2:13-23
Some have suggested that there are so many problems with this text that "the homilist (should) avoid it, and instead preach on either the Old Testament or the epistle reading." (Reginald Fuller, Preaching the New Lectionary, Liturgical Press, 1974, p. 125.) To do so, however, would be to miss an important part of the ancient liturgical tradition.
And it would mean avoiding one of the unique treasures of the New Testament. The children suffer because Christ was born. This makes them martyrs. No, they do not die because of deliberate choice. But this makes them all the more deserving of our attention. They are, indeed, "The Holy Innocents." The slaughter of the innocents, coupled with the flight of the holy family to Egypt, connects this text with Moses and the suffering of the Israelites in bondage. The "wailing and loud lamentation" in Ramah and "Rachel weeping for her children" are the cries of women and children in every generation in every land.
I have walked through the Children's Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem. The memory haunts me. One by one, hour after hour, the names of children who died in the ovens is read. I have seen the street children in many corners of the word. There are a million in Sao Paulo alone! When will the slaughter stop? And what of the physically and sexually abused children? And the millions who are forced to work rather than go to school and who have little or no time for play? When will the slaughter stop?
This is a day to speak for the children.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By James A. Nestingen
Isaiah 63:7-9
Lovers sometimes use messengers, especially when the feeling is new, hardly distinguishable from infatuation. But when love has grown strong, when it has matured into something deeper than feeling, it won't tolerate an intermediary. It takes over, relentlessly seeking everything for the beloved.
Courtship is difficult in the best of times. In this time, it has become all the more nerve-racking. The rituals of meeting, the boundaries of conversation, the patterns of expectation, the limits of touch -- traditional signposts marking progress in a relationship -- have all been changing, both the old and the new rendered uncertain in the process.
So like early adolescents, even some of the more experienced may be forced to rely on a go-between. "Find out what she thinks of me ...." "Will he ask again?" "What does he want?" "Is she really serious?"
Green lights promote quick movement in any kind of traffic. As love gains to grow, as risks come into more tolerable ranges, the intermediaries are no longer needed. Whatever their value may have been in the past, now they are, at best, testimony to an earlier stage, now clearly surpassed.
When love matures, it doesn't know any limits. Maybe that is why it is described as being "in" love. Virtually everything about the beloved -- her development as a child, his high school achievements, her habits with her hands, his way of holding his head when tired -- becomes a matter of interest.
It is best seen in old couples who have been together through the decades. The unself-conscious rituals of togetherness -- the quiet touch, the reassuring word, the proffered chair, the lint brushed from a shoulder, the anticipated movement -- represent years of self-giving, the unrestrained attentiveness of love.
Still standing in as a Christmas preacher, the prophet Isaiah begins like a lover. Stripped of his self-awareness by the magnificence of God's steadfast love, he focuses on the declaration of God's claim, "surely they are my people ...." Then rejoicing in the disappearance of the intermediary, he sets out the manner of God's saving act of love: "it was no messenger or angel but his presence ...."
The church understands these words as reference to Christ. Intent on having his way with us, the good Lord has become present to us in him, and in the abandon of a full-blown love, has taken over every verb for us: working for us, shedding mercy, bestowing love, redeeming, lifting, carrying.
