God pitched his tent
From Wellington Cathedral of St Paul
God pitched his tent in our back yard: 25 December 2011: The Revd Jenny Wilkens
- Isaiah 9:2-7
- Luke 2:1-14
Apparently there are 2 types of families in New Zealand - those who go camping, and those who are very thankful that they don’t go camping, especially between Christmas and New Year when the rain inevitably seems to pour down somewhere! I'll let you decide what sort of family you are - camping or non-camping!
There was an interesting article the other day in the DomPost that claimed that 37% of NZ families are into camping, but that the days of roughing it under canvas through all weathers with shared 'facilities' are long gone for many Kiwis. Now many just about recreate their home, arriving with all the accoutrements of 21st century living that they cannot possibly do without for a fortnight: the TV, the computers, the frig, the microwave, the shower and portaloo, quite apart from the boat, the jetski and the windsurfer!
We were not a camping family so I think my first encounter with camping was on a school field trip in Year 10, when we camped at one of my favourite places in all the world: Lake Rotoiti near Nelson. But my abiding memory of that camping expedition is not trying to put up the tents, but rather waking to the tent ceiling being absolutely covered with the most ginormous sandflies, who promptly went in for the attack! One of my happiest summers was spent living under canvas in vineyards in the south of France, with the company of red squirrels, and a snake that curled itself around our water tank - unforgettable in more ways than one! I can recall an early morning expedition to find someone to put olive oil in my ear to float out the 2 large ants that had ventured in overnight and were having a pitched battle in my head, it sounded like!
As I've been reading Christmas letters from friends in Christchurch telling about their year, I've been reminded forcibly again, as we have by the quakes of the last few days, of how so many of them have been living under camping conditions for days at a time, and for some for weeks and months. Our hearts and prayers are very much with them today. I was touched by news of friends of mine in Shirley who had to camp themselves without power, water or sewerage for some time, yet who have since the quakes been using their bach to offer 'quake breaks' to young people and families from their part of east Christchurch. My own previous parish of St Barnabas' Fendalton are worshipping today in a marquee on the church lawn alongside their damaged church.
Perhaps this is a poignant reminder to us that the people of God have always been a tent dwelling people, people on the move, on a journey with God, who have had to learn to sit lightly to their dwellings, their homes and to follow in faith where God leads them. The whole story of the people of God in the Bible traces the journeys of people like Abraham & Sarah, Moses leading the people of God in exodus out of Egypt, the 40 years wandering in the wilderness, the settling of the land but then the abrupt transition into exile in Babylon, and then their return. John the Baptist calls people out into the wilderness to meet with God, Jesus calls disciples to follow him as he walks his way round Galilee and on to Jerusalem; Paul, a tent-maker himself, no doubt used his own tents as he travelled founding churches throughout the known world.
And always whenever God's people tried to pin God down to dwelling in an ark, a tabernacle, a temple, God jumps out of the box, if you like, God is Spirit, wind, fire and cloud, God on the move, God travelling with and ahead of his people. When we might want to keep God in a temple or a cathedral, God is out there, out and about in our world, out and about in the messiness of our world. And that is deeply challenging, but also deeply comforting.
It doesn't take much to admit that our world is in a bit of a mess at the moment - as Raymond prayed recently, 'for our world with interlocking crises of finance, climate change, natural disasters and food shortages, [and] in desperate need of hope' .
I love the Litany of Light which we use in our Christingle service, it says this: Light looked down and saw darkness. 'I will go there', said Light. Peace looked down and saw war. 'I will go there', said Peace. Love looked down and saw hatred. 'I will go there', said Love. So Jesus, the Lord of Light, the Prince of Peace, the King of Love, came down and crept in beside us. You crept in beside us - God not coming this time in awesome displays of power and glory, but in a way that we could identify with, in a powerless vulnerable baby, in someone like us, taking on our flesh and blood. John's Gospel puts it this way: 'The Word became flesh and lived among us' (John 1:14). The word in the Greek means 'tabernacled' among us, pitched his tent among us. God pitched his tent in our own back yard.
This has been a year of tents popping up in strange places in our world, Occupy Wall St, Occupy London before the façade of St Paul's Cathedral, Occupy Auckland, and even Occupy Wellington in Civic Square. And those who've pitched tents in our cities discomfit us, that strange community of idealists, activists, street people, mental health consumers…we look on, and look knowingly as the groups fragment and realise how difficult it is to build community, even with the best of intentions and ideals.
And yet do we hear the challenge that internationally they are asking the questions that need to be asked of our world: about fairness, inequalities, what is the link between economics and markets and morals, what about the well being of not just the individual but also the health of society as a whole, and all its members, including those on the margins, those whom society finds embarrassing or challenging.
I am challenged by the fact that the shepherds of Luke's gospel story were in fact the marginalised, the outcasts, the homeless in the society of their time, considered disreputable and unreliable witnesses. And yet they, perhaps with the least to lose, are open and receptive to the new thing that bursts in upon them. The host of angels - well, first they're terrified by them, but when they hear those wonderful words, Do not be afraid - words that appear 366 times in the Bible, one for every day in 2012 - then they can receive that news of great joy that is for all the people, them included, noone left out. And they run to see this long-awaited Saviour, this Messiah, this Lord, found in the form of a tiny child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger, in a stable.
What about us? Are we ready for God to pitch his tent in our own back yard? Or do we feel the need to rush around and tidy things up a bit first? God doesn't wait for us to have our lives all sorted out, prettied up for Christmas, God is willing to come into the messiness of our lives, our family lives, our relationships, our jobs, our health, our uncertainties about what next year holds for us all in our country and our world… I think the name I treasure most that is given to the infant Jesus is the name Emmanuel, which means "God is with us" (Matthew 1:23). God is with us through whatever the year ahead holds. Yes, God may ask us to up stakes and follow him into new places, perhaps literally, or perhaps into new departures in our lives, new challenges, new callings, new friendships. But our God is an expert camper, expert at pitching tent in all sorts of places, lives and communities. Our God is also the great rebuilder of lives, and as we receive God's love and care and healing in our own lives, so we may learn to incarnate the love of God in our communities and in our world.
7.45am: We shall shortly be singing one of my favourite Christmas carols, O little town of Bethlehem, and I want to end with its final verse: 'O holy child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today. We hear the Christmas angels, the great glad tidings tell, O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel.'
10am: In the words of our final carol this morning: 'Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King; Let every heart prepare him room, And heaven and nature sing.'
