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Precious fruitSunday, December 11, 2016
Matthew 11:4-6 How long, O Lord, how long? Jesus' brother James wrote, "Be patient, brothers and sisters ... see how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth; you too must be patient. Make your hearts firm, do not complain." On this cold Sunday morning smack in the middle of Advent, we wait for Jesus. Jesus, God with us, Emmanuel. Marcus Borg calls him "the decisive disclosure of God, to whom we make a confession of commitment, allegiance, and loyalty." Sweet Jesus, set us free. I long to be beside the road, knowing Jesus will soon pass by. "Lord Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner!" Just let me touch the hem of your garment. Cover my eyes with mud, and I will be clean. Speak to my inmost parts, and purify my heart. Let me be as gold, pure gold. You are honey, Jesus, honey from the honeycomb. Pour on down and set me free. In this dark time of such short days, light is precious to me. I don't want to close my eyes. Dusk turns dark so soon, and the clouds roll in. The sun goes ... away. Jesus is waiting to be born. And we wait, without much knowing that we're waiting, for a rebirth of wonder. Our baby grandson Miles gurgles when he's happy, and he has dimples you could drown in. His skin smells new. So soft. He too waits for Jesus. Soon enough he too will cry out, "How long, O Lord, how long?" "Blessed is the one who takes no offense in me." We did not and do not do Jesus justice. Tar and feathers, nails in hands, a crown of thorns, death on a cross. Humiliate him! We have no idea. Jesus only knows compassion. "They do not know what they do." His mercy rains down and down and suddenly we're drowned in mercy, with him in paradise. Knowing that we've always been loved. You keep faith forever, Father. You sustain the weakest among us and thwart our wicked ways, so that we can come home to you. You shall reign always, through all generations, O Lord. We praise you. |