Everyone went to register...
“Everyone went to register, each to his own town. And so Joseph went from Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to David’s city of Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to register with Mary, his espoused wife, who was with child.”
My older brother is, and for as long as I can remember has always been, a fisherman. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t spending any spare time he could find or could make with rod and tackle box in hand traveling off to stream or ocean to do what he loves most: fish. When he retired some years ago he moved to the seashore so that when he could get out of bed long before God did to join a circle of friends who shared his passion. Fishing is in his blood. I remember once that the biologist in him must have decided it was time to find out if it was in my blood, too. So when I was very young he took me with him to a favorite stream and taught me how to bait a hook with some innocent, unsuspecting worm spending a day that would not end waving off flies and sending a night crawler we had unearthed the day before to his eternal reward; for my brother it was nirvana, for me, the lower recesses of Dante’s Inferno. It didn’t take my brother long to realize that this fishing thing was not in my blood. We were brothers but with a decidedly different strand of DNA flowing through our entertainment genes. And so to this day he is off to the inlet the moment he hears the blues are running and I am off to the theatre or to my favorite chair to read about The Old Man and the Sea, or Ishmael or Jonah. But even if I choose not to join him at ocean’s edge I do like to hear my bothers fishing stories, particularly about the people he meets while casting away for endless hours.
One story is about a man who seems to be an anomaly in today’s world: an angler who does not use a cell phone, does not carry a credit card, and who waits in long lines at the toll booth while we whiz by, Easy-Pass adhered to the windshield. My brother and I have spent hours speculating on why he does not want Uncle Sam or Macy’s or Verizon to know where he is at any given moment. The speculating lead to the stuff that keeps John Grisham and John LeCarre with enough material to write yet another spy novel. But for whatever reason, my brother’s friend does not want to be counted. He comes to mind this night (day) because what we are about here is remembering that you and I have been counted. Not by Caesar who seems to know every dollar we earn; not by Big Business who tells us what we need for a happy life; not by Garmon or Tomtom who can pinpoint our exact location at any given moment of the journey; not by the Giant or Karns or Wegman’s who scan our rewards card so they know if we prefer raisin bran or fruit loops; not by Orbitz, who with the promise of cheaper airline tickets wants to know if we are longing to escape to the Caribbean or to Rome; not by the Turnpike commission who counts us each time we decide to pay the toll to travel from the Gettysburg exit to Harrisburg East exit to avoid holiday mall traffic; and not by the monitor that knows if your heart skips a beat.
No, tonight we remember that like Joseph and Mary we have been counted, not by some Roman census official and not even by the Babe wrapped in swadding clothes. No, tonight we remember that we have been counted by the Babe who grew into a man who traded the wood of his manger for the wood of his cross so that, as we will pray in the Roman Canon, this night (day), we might be “delivered from eternal damnation and counted among the flock of those you have chosen.”Tonight (today) we want to be counted; we want the Savior of the world to know where we are at every moment of everyday: when life is good and we are one with the triumphs of the sky; and when we need the everlasting light to navigate us thru the dark streets of uncertainty as we travel to our own little town of Bethlehem wherever that may be.
Tonight (today) we want to be counted when with shepherds our joyous strains prolong; and when with those same shepherds we quake before the litany of disappointments and unfulfilled dreams that punctuate our days and interrupt the rhythm of the life we have planned for ourselves and those we love.
Tonight (today) we want to be counted when with the child we rest on Mary’s lap and are lulled to sleep with angel’s anthems sweet, and when the nights are endless and we lie in the mean estate of our doctor’s latest diagnosis and our financial planner’s review of our retirement portfolio.
Tonight (today) we want to be counted when Isaiah’s words ring true and every boot that trampled in battle and every cloak rolled in blood is burned as fuel for flame and even if only for a moment our world is at peace. And tonight (today) we want to be counted when we do not heed Paul’s advice to Titus and we fail to reject godless ways and worldly desires and live temperately, justly and devoutly in this age. Tonight (today) we most need to be counted and see the saving grace and glory of our God that has appeared in the person of his Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself to deliver us from all lawlessness and to cleanse for himself a people as his own; when we need once again to be eager to do what is good.
“Gospel” means good news. And it is my joy, my pleasure to remind you this night (day) of the good news that WE HAVE BEEN COUNTED. This night (day) remember the name they have given him: Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-forever, Prince of Peace. Remember this night (day) that this God of ours lives not in some far away heaven; he is Emmanuel, God with us.
This God of ours is as close as person sitting next to you who shows you kindness when you are most undeserving; He is as close as the beggar or undocumented neighbor who needs your understanding and hosptality.
He is as close as the gentle breeze that cools your forehead in the midst of summer’s heat and as close as the driving wind that reminds you of his power when you are most weak and trembling with fear.
He is as close as the baby who hungers for the milk of human kindness and as close as the bread of the altar that feeds you for life’s journey.
He is as close as the next confession that extends to you the forgiveness you so desperately need and as close as the family member who needs from you that same forgiveness to be freed from days or months or even years of guilt because you choose to hold onto your hurts and disappointments.
He is as close as the healing you know when sleep follows fever and as close as the latest ache and pain that unites you with his suffering.
This God of ours is closer to us than we are to ourselves because he knows the frailty of our hearts and allows them to beat in tune with his own sacred, loving heart. This God has counted us to be among his chosen giving himself for our salvation without counting the cost himself.
I like to hear my brother’s fish tales. But I like even more to hear the tale of the fisherman called Peter who left his fishing nets and who with his brother Andrew allowed themselves to be counted as disciples of the carpenter of Nazareth. And I like to hear the tale of the successor of Saint Peter, Benedict, who in a midnight Mass homily reminds us: “God’s sign is simplicity; God’s sign is the baby; God’s sign is that he makes himself small for us. This is how he reigns.”
That is why I like to hear the Christmas story told over and over again; why it is in my heart and mind forever. It reminds me, reminds us, that we who rely on his patronage have with Joseph and his espoused wife who was with child been registered, have been counted by that child to stand forever in God’s presence, holy and righteous in his sight all the days of our lives.
“Everyone went to register, each to his own town. And so Joseph went from Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to David’s city of Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to register with Mary, his espoused wife, who was with child.”
You were counted twice when you passed through Macedonia.
ReplyDelete