Montclair Presbyterian Church

On Sunday, Talitha preached a sermon on baptism in honor of “Baptism of our Lord Sunday,” a little known church festival that follows epiphany each year. Each January, when I hear the story of Jesus’ baptism, I know that Christmas is finally over. It’s a bittersweet annual moment made somewhat easier at Montclair Presbyterian Church by the presence of the Pacific Boychoir, who generally give us a final Yuletide serenade on the second Sunday in January.

But I hope the mystery, joy, hope, and peace of Christmas will abide all the year round that that each day, Jesus will be born anew in the Bethlehem of each heart. To that end, I’ll leave you with a poem that may be familiar to you: “When the Song of the Angels is Stilled,” by the pastor, theologian and civil rights hero, Howard Thurman.

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.

Peace, Ben

By now you’ve probably heard that over the weekend a group of well-armed, self-described “patriots” decided to occupy a wildlife interpretive center near Burns, Oregon as a way of protesting federal land management policies in general and, in particular, the prosecution of two ranchers who–taking wildfire mitigation practices into their own hands–set fire to several dozen acres of protected wilderness area. The protestors–all of whom (as far as anyone knows) are White men–have vowed to occupy the building for “as long as it takes” (whatever “it” is), and to use their considerable arsenal of firearms, if necessary (the definition of “necessary” being extremely subjective and open to interpretation in this case). So far, there has been no confrontation between law enforcement and the folks who have occupied the wildlife refuge’s interpretive center.

I have been following this story with an interest that probably borders on obsession, not because I have strong opinions about land use policies on Federal land, but because the case has cast racial inequality in the United States in stark contrast, especially coming (as it does) just a few days after prosecutors in Ohio refused to press charges against police officers involved in the shooting death of Tamir Rice, a 12 year old African American kid with a pellet gun, who was shot mere seconds after a White police officer showed up at the park where Tamir was playing.

Naturally, there are big differences between the two cases, but still, it’s hard not to avoid the fact that American law-enforcement officers showed no restraint in the case of a child with a non-lethal weapon, but are exercising extreme caution in a situation when the perpetrators are White, armed, and have threatened to use violence. Which is crazy-making–not that law enforcement are taking their time and acting with prudence in Oregon, but that similar caution was thrown to the wind in the case of Tamir Rice (and Eric Garner, and Michael Brown, and Freddie Gray, and hundreds of other Black people who die every year while interacting with American Law Enforcement personnel).

As I watch the story unfold, my sanity is sustained by the humor with which so many Americans are responding to the situation in Oregon. So far I’ve only seen one professional comedian (Larry Wilmore) address the topic, but social media are awash with satire. It is as if Twitter and Facebook have given a platform for the collective American Jester, who uses humor as a means of speaking truth to power, and it has been entirely therapeutic to laugh while considering issues of such serious consequence.

For example, users of Twitter have invented the (admittedly borderline offensive) hashtags #YallQaeda, #VanillaISIS and #YeeHawed to use in reference to the gun-toting, wildlife-sanctuary-occupying, self-described members of a well-regulated militia. For more examples of the humor that is preserving my sanity, follow this link.

So my New Year’s resolution is to keep laughing, and in the laughter to discover new ways to seek peace, to work for justice, and to live in the Kingdom of God.

Peace, Ben

Friends,
As Christmas draws nigh, I thought I’d use my Contact space to share one of my favorite Christmas songs with you. The song is called “Cry of a Tiny Babe” and it was written by the Canadian singer-songwriter Bruce Cockburn (who you may remember from earlier in Advent when I shared his song “Last Night of the World” with you). The lyrics for the song are copied below, and if you want to listen to the song online you can surf over to YouTube.

Anyway, don’t forget that Christmas Eve service will be at 5:30 and 9pm; the earlier service is intentionally child-friendly and the later one is more traditional (though, of course, everyone is welcome at both services).

Merry Christmas!
Ben

“Cry of a Tiny Babe”
By Bruce Cockburn.

Mary grows a child without the help of a man
Joseph get upset because he doesn’t understand
Angel comes to Joseph in a powerful dream
Says “God did this and you’re part of his scheme”
Joseph comes to Mary with his hat in his hand
Says “forgive me I thought you’d been with some other man”
She says “what if I had been – but I wasn’t anyway and guess what
I felt the baby kick today”

Refrain:
Like a stone on the surface of a still river
Driving the ripples on forever
Redemption rips through the surface of time
In the cry of a tiny babe

The child is born in the fullness of time
Three wise astrologers take note of the signs
Come to pay their respects to the fragile little king
Get pretty close to wrecking everything
‘Cause the governing body of the whole [Holy] land
Is that of Herod, a paranoid man
Who when he hears there’s a baby born King of the Jews
Sends death squads to kill all male children under two
But that same bright angel warns the parents in a dream
And they head out for the border and get away clean

(Refrain)

There are others who know about this miracle birth
The humblest of people catch a glimpse of their worth
For it isn’t to the palace that the Christ child comes
But to shepherds and street people, hookers and bums
And the message is clear if you’ve got [you have] ears to hear
That forgiveness is given for your guilt and your fear
It’s a Christmas gift [that] you don’t have to buy
There’s a future shining in a baby’s eyes