Sermon – December 19, 2010

Dance, From Beginning to End

Sermon

preached By Rev. Ginger Gaines-Cirelli -

December 19, 2010

Matthew 1:18-25

The last

several weeks, we have been reflecting together on this experience we

share of coming together in public worship of God.  The season of Advent

is a beautiful time to engage in these reflections, for the season

reminds us that we are living in the “in-between” time of Christ’s first

coming as a baby in Bethlehem and Christ’s second coming to bring to

fulfillment God’s vision of unity, peace, and loving justice.  Advent

tells both the beginning of the particular Christian story and

the end of the story that we anticipate with hope and joy.  The story

continues, in this between time and you and I are primary actors in that

unfolding drama.  Our shared worship is the place that we actively wait

and watch for Christ’s coming again; it is the context within which we

prepare for that coming; it is the community within which we are guided

and formed into Christ-shaped relationships with God and with one

another.  As we gather in worship, we recount the ongoing story through

the patterned rhythm of our worship, through the poetry of the creeds;

we claim our place in the story through participation in word and

gesture.  All of what we do in this place is offered to God, the

“participatory audience,” if you will, in the theater that is Christian

community at worship.  This story, our story, has not been edited

in order to get a “G” rating—the drama is full of all the violence,

greed, hatred, confusion, and fear that continue to plague the human

community.

We see that

obliquely in Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus we heard today.

The laws of the day would have called for Mary to be publicly humiliated

and disgraced, as she was found to be pregnant before she and Joseph

were married.  And Matthew’s account of what happened following Jesus’

birth includes the holy family fleeing for their lives, and Herod, in

his fear and hatred, killing all the male children under two years old

in the vicinity of Bethlehem. (Mt. 2:13-16)  We know, well enough, that

violence, distrust, confusion, greed, and fear are alive and well in the

world—and in our own lives.  That, in large part, is the tragic conflict

in our story and is at the heart of why it was necessary for God to risk

so much in coming to dwell with us in Jesus.  Jesus, the prince of

peace, comes to breathe peace into our lives and into the world, to heal

the world of fear and division, to break down the barriers that would

have us “dismiss” anyone—quietly or publicly.  Jesus comes to reconcile

us to God, to one another, and to our own selves.

When we gather

in worship, we gather as a people of peace, as followers of the Prince

of Peace.  This doesn’t mean that we all get along or that when we cross

the threshold of the sanctuary all of the divisions, greed, fear, and

hatred of the world are magically erased.  Rather, our gathering to

rehearse our faith is a choice we make, an impulse driven by the Holy

Spirit of love to come together in all our difference—differences of

culture, experience, theology, political leanings, race, sexual

orientation—all the things that threaten to divide us and to cause

violence.   In all our difference and just as we are, we come together

as God’s beloved children, to practice how to live in peace, to learn

how to receive the peace that Christ offers us—that peace that is beyond

human understanding—and we learn how to share that peace with others.  I

am reminded of the famous account of the “Christmas Truce of 1914” when

German and British soldiers “refused to go on fighting, met in no-man’s

land to sing songs together, to exchange presents and hugs, and [to

show] each other pictures of those whom they loved.”[i]

In the midst of some of the most brutal fighting of the last century,

the barriers of division were broken down—for all too brief a moment—by

the Holy Spirit of love in Christ and a common humanity was remembered

and cherished.  This is what we do every time we gather for worship.

I shared with

you in the last Circuit Rider newsletter that one of my passions

is for “practical theology.”  What this means is that I am interested in

the ways that what we say about God impacts who we are, how we

understand ourselves, and what we do in our lives and in our

relationships.  The primary language that Christians use for God is

Trinity—God, in three Persons:  Father, Son, Holy Spirit, the Persons

who create, redeem, and sustain.  Our understanding of God is that God

IS this community of distinct persons, God IS a unity in diversity, God

IS a community of peace, mutuality, and self-giving love.  The eastern

church describes the Triune mystery of God in the Greek, Perichoresis,

or “Divine Dance.”  Imagine for a moment the three different persons of

God dancing together in harmony, acting and reacting in an eternal

performance of perfect love.

Perhaps you

can begin to imagine how this understanding of God guides our own

understanding of whom we are and how we are created to be in

relationship.  If it is true that the human creatures are made in the

image of God, then the fulfillment of our lives, the perfection of

becoming who we really are, is found in our reflection of and

participation in the Divine Dance.  (this gives whole new

meaning to the phrase “Dancing with the Stars!”)  We are created to

share mutually respectful, peaceful relationship with others who are

different, who have different skills and arts and perceptions and

histories.  The vision is not for all of us to be the same, but rather

for us to participate in a community that recognizes our real

differences and, instead of being fearful, dismissive, prejudiced,

and hateful in the face of those differences, to be open to one another,

to receive and learn from one another, and, at our best to love one

another.  At the very least, we are called, deep in our created nature,

not to do violence upon one another.  The Divine Dance is a dance of

peace in the midst of all that would divide us and do harm.  Jesus, the

Lord of the Dance, invites us to join in, showing us what that dance

looks like when it comes into the world.  Jesus, Lord of the Dance,

Prince of Peace, speaks peace, embodies peace, breathes peace, IS our

peace.

When we offer

Christ’s peace to one another in the midst of worship, we acknowledge

and accept the gift of Christ’s peace, we are “accepting the basis on

which we are gathered together…an acceptance of the gift of Christ’s

indestructible peace.  We recognize that we are here in church not

because we are friends or because we enjoy the chummy atmosphere, or

because we have the same theological opinions, but because we are one in

Christ’s peace…What matters is not that we feel united, but

that  peace is given.”[ii]

What is ironic is that this practice of sharing Christ’s peace in

worship makes some folks feel uncomfortable—or, one could argue, less

peaceful.  However, at least part of the reason we do it is to proclaim

Christ’s peace even in the midst of our own discomfort with ourselves,

with others, and with the world as it is.  Our “passing the peace” is

not an orchestrated “say howdy to your neighbor”—which as some have

quite rightly pointed out can feel forced and fake.  Authentic greetings

and offerings of holy hospitality are best done before and after

worship.  Rather, the offering of peace within worship is a way that we

embody and participate in the Divine Dance of God, rehearsing our faith

in the One who has defeated division—betrayal, lies, fear,

incomprehension, violence, and even death.  When we say, “peace be with

you,” we claim our faith in Jesus, the embodied love of God who has

broken through every destructive barrier, who comes into the world in

vulnerability and moves into the places where we feel vulnerable and

fearful as through locked doors to breathe peace into flesh again.

“In the Middle

Ages the kiss of peace was a solemn moment of reconciliation in which

social conflicts were resolved.  The community was restored to charity

before Communion could be received.”[iii]

Other practices place the sharing of peace at the offertory, following

the command of Jesus found in Matthew 5:23:  “If you are offering your

gift on the altar, and there remember that your brother has something

against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go and be

reconciled with your brother, and then come and offer your gift.”  When

we celebrate the sacrament of Holy Communion, we share the peace

following our confession and reconciliation with God—a sign of our

affirmation of the peace and unity we receive in Christ and of our

intention to live in peace with God and with one another.  On Sundays

that we don’t share in the Lord’s Supper, we offer the peace of Christ

to one another as a response to the Word of God—again as an affirmation

and rehearsal of our intention to dance the Divine Dance of peace with

one another and with all as we are sent out into the world.

Sometimes, we

may feel like we need to be alone—even in the midst of the worshipping

congregation—to allow the Dance to swirl around us, to have the words

spoken, the songs sung, the peace passed and to just be in the

midst of it all, sometimes participating and sometimes not.  That speaks

to our difference and to our unfolding awareness of self and of our

needs and our place in God’s story.  The invitation in worship is always

to come as you are and to share as you are able and to be aware of what

comes up for you in your body, mind, and spirit as the drama plays out.

Our “eternally performing God”[iv]

is always at work and the Holy Spirit is always moving, and the Lord of

the Dance is always inviting you to follow, “wherever you may be.”

(“Lord of the Dance,” UMH #261)  Wherever you may be, whoever you

are, just as you are.  That is where the Christ wants to be born again,

in your life, and in our shared life.  For us, just as we are today, in

all our messiness and brokenness and difference, Jesus was born to

destroy the barriers that threaten to divide us and to bring peace.  And

that perfect love in flesh is our hope, our joy, our peace.  May the

dear Christ be born in us this Christmas and everyday between

Christmases that we may truly be Dancers after the likeness of God,

embodiments of Christ’s peace in a world that sorely needs it.