on this Sunday (Pentecost 23) the opening hymn was 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing."
Yes, we did. This morning’s
opening hymn was a Christmas Carol, as surprising as the words read from the
prophet Malachi. Malachi, a prophet not read throughout the season of Advent or
Christmas, provides the lyrics of the third verse of the hymn, Hark the
Herald Angels Sing.
Hail the heaven-born Prince
of Peace!/ Hail the Sun of Righteousness! Light and life to all he brings,/ risen
with healing in his wings
After the initial surprise,
how do you experience singing a Christmas carol outside of the Christmas
season?
…
Christmas carols are the
kind of music that is bold and powerful. It fills our spirits, our voices sing
loud, there is joy and expectation. The music and lyrics carry the prophetic
word, just as in the Book of Malachi, the text proclaims that evil is rooted
out, those who revere the Lord’s name shall be healed, and that day is joyous. The
theology of Christmas carols runs deep singing of incarnation, salvation, the
cross, the kindom, and end times.
Like the prophecies of
Malachi, carols balance the challenging reality of our lives together, coloured
by evil, suffering, war, and so on, with the loving and healing presence of God
in our midst.
On the last few Sundays of
the church year, we read alarming and fiery scriptures, apocalyptic texts that
warn of calamity upon calamity with exhortations to listeners to remain
faithful. Malachi’s audience asks question after question from their lingering
doubts of both the love God and justice of God. The peoples’ weariness shows as
they repeatedly ask, “How have you loved us?”
The people question God’s
love and justice, for their lived experience – our experience- is a world shadowed
by despair and heartache, where millions live a daily struggle for survival. Malachi
points to a lived truth that there is no such thing as getting through life
unscathed. The text’s focus draws people of faith to ponder the bare bones of
the matter: to this truth how does one respond and where does one find refuge?
We are told what we already sense and know: impermanence, inevitability, and
unpredictability are intertwined in earthly life. The Gospel reminds us that we
are unable to prepare for every eventuality. There is no amount of planning or
worry that will save us. And when it all seems bleak and we are about to stop
reading the text because it is depressing, the writer reassures the hearer of
God’s presence. Jesus’ comments about
the Temple and its destruction preface his apocalyptic talk. Jesus is warming
hearers to faith, a faith that is called away from fortifications, and whatever
the large stones are in our time and place – to place trust not in the perishable
but rather in the persistent presence of God, and the working of God’s love and
justice.
Charles Wesley wrote Hark the Herald Angels Sing within the
first year of his conversion. It was said by Albert Bailey that, “the
inspiration of [Charles] newly-made contract with God was still fresh.” The
point being that the hymn was filled with emotion and passion; it was an
expression of faith that was experienced and embodied more than an intellectual
exercise or pursuit.
Charles Wesley’s conversion
is not what you might think. Charles and his brother John were raised as
Christians. As students at Oxford University, they formed a student
organization called the ‘Holy Club,’ a group that met for prayer, Bible study,
and practiced pious discipline. They lived directed by good works not by faith.
The brothers were ordained pastors and missionaries. John described being Christian before his conversion
as living a “fair summer religion.”
On Pentecost Sunday in 1738,
Charles, influenced by Moravian friends who bore witness to salvation by grace
through faith, had an experience of Pentecost. He felt the conviction of the assurance of
being a child of God, justified by faith. Charles expressed the experience of
the Spirit as one who “chased away the darkness of my unbelief.” Three days
later John was at a meeting house and heard a reading of Luther’s preface to
the Book of Romans, describing the change which God works in the heart through
faith in Christ. John describes the conversion experience, “[I]felt my heart
strangely warmed.”
The conversions were not
what we generally expect. The brothers, Charles and John were not unbelievers
or those deemed heathen, they were Christians – preaching and teaching pastors
and missionaries. Conversion was not a change of faith, but rather a change in
conviction – much like that of Martin Luther – a sudden experiential knowing of
God’s grace.
Every pastor has a particular
kind of situation that cuts them to the bone. For me it is when members, people
I have taught, baptized, confirmed, and have relationship with – choose to be
re-baptized in a church community that requires re-baptism for membership. It
has happened a few times over my career. It happened this past Sunday. It
always hurts. I feel in some way that I have failed, failed to communicate the
gospel, the work of God through baptism, and the use of the affirmation of
baptism as a liturgy of recommitment. I get angry when a shiny new package of faith
– full of emotion and couched as salvation- tempts people into a conversion –
that isn’t really conversion, but rather an experiential recommitment to Christ
and to God who is already present and working in their lives. That which is
shiny and new, in the long run isn’t going to chase away troubles or make
living life easier. When the emotion of the experience wears off, when the
community rallies around the person less, when the pressures of life surround,
when God’s love and God’s justice seem once again overshadowed by the troubles
of the world, what then? Where is one’s trust and faith when the ashes of life
settle over emotion?
Malachi’s listeners continue
to question, “how have you loved us?” They have lost faith in the persistent
presence of God, and the working of God’s love and God’s justice. Jesus
addresses listeners to put their trust in that which although intangible is
steadfast and sure.
I get frustrated with a change
of church based on emotional experience because I hear in the prophets and from
Jesus a message of perseverance and steadfastness regardless of circumstances. I
hear the necessity of persistence in faith, persistence in placing trust, which
is aided by a persistence of practice, at all times, and especially in the
times when our hearts aren’t in it, or our minds journey in doubt. I feel sadness
and grief, that restless souls and troubled spirits are unable to wait for an
experience of God’s love and God’s justice. I spend much time and energy
crafting worship with purpose and intent. Worship designed in connecting head
and heart, exploring complicated world views side-by-side with experience and
emotions to embody theology deeply. The feeling of commitment, or renewed
commitment, a fiery passionate embrace of an experience of God or an
exhilarated emotion – won’t happen every week -but with persistence, faith and
trust are planted and nourished so that we may be rooted deeply in the mystery
of God.
I am currently playing in a Scrabble
tournament called, “Everybody Loves a Baby.” While I am not all that comfortable
around babies, I get it. Bonus words in the tournament include love and joy. Babies
bring both emotions to the forefront, along with possibilities and hope amid whatever
is going on in the world. In some ways the mention and/or presence of a baby is
a conversion experience; our hearts and emotions are activated. We feel
something. It is no wonder that God’s love and God’s justice appear in this
form, in a baby. Deep theological concepts are diffused through the presence of
a baby, the feeling – the emotion around a baby. I am reminded of this each
year as I hear you sing the carols of Christmas. I hear your emotion, your
longing and thanksgiving, joy, and power, presence – I hear a conversion of heart
and a conviction of faith.
Outside of Christmas and the
emotions of that season, this morning has been a gift. We have heard the power
of a carol and sung together. We have sung theology deep into our bones, in
facing fiery apocalyptic texts and articulating the challenging reality of our
lives together, coloured by evil, suffering, war, and so on, through a singing
with herald voices, we have experienced the Sun, with light and life to all he
brings, risen with healing in his wings. In fiery text comes the loving and healing
presence of God.


