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United Church of Paducah
4600 Buckner Lane
Paducah, KY 42001
(270) 442-3722
Worship Times
Sunday Service: 10:00a
Refreshments &
Fellowship: 11:15a
Christian Education
For All Ages:
11:20a - Noon
Nursery Services Provided Handicap Accessible
All Are Welcome!
A Congregation Of The
"Never place a period where God has placed a comma." - Gracie
Allen
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From December 16, 2007
Without Question
Isaiah 35: 1-10; Luke 1: 46- 55
John Miller was the last kid anyone wanted
to play with. He was a poor loser. No, that's not quite
right. John wasn't a poor loser; he simply refused to lose.
Whenever John thought there was even a slim possibility he
might not win, he would change the rules.
"Everyone knows you get to draw two cards, not one, if your
name starts with the letter 'J,'" he would insist. "That
toss of the dice didn't count because they touched when they
landed," John would argue. "I get to roll again." John would
do just about anything to get himself back in the lead.
Don't think we were stupid. We knew the rules. But John was
bigger than everyone else, stronger and meaner, too. If John
didn't get his way, you could be certain there would be hell
to pay.
I feel fortunate that this experience remains confined to
childhood. Some are not so lucky. A couple years ago I met a
woman whose boss had a tendency to do what John did.
Somewhere between the work assignment and the following
through, the boss would rather capriciously change her mind.
My acquaintance would discover this when she turned in the
work she had been asked to do. The boss would scowl and give
it back, insisting that it really needed to be done this
way, not that way. And the woman would slink back to her
desk to begin anew, wondering how many more times the cycle
would continue.
As my mother used to say, "Sometimes, you just can't win for
losing."
We survived John Miller's tyranny by remembering that no
matter how bad it got, the game would end and he would go
home. My acquaintance endured by maintaining perspective.
Even though she had to keep this job at all costs, she would
remind herself that her boss got only 40 hours of her week;
the rest of her life was hers.
Sometimes suffering is situational. But what about those who
live trapped in circumstances that are perpetually
oppressive? What about those who no matter what they say or
do must live with the reality that the deck is, was, and
maybe always will be stacked against them?
Even on a bad day, you and I live with more freedom,
options, and possibilities than we realize. By the world's
standards, we are enormously privileged people and yet our
privilege is such a given that we are often blind to
injustices endured by brothers and sisters both near and
far. It's not that we don't care; it's that often we have a
hard time relating.
This realization hit me hard early one December when I
joined a group of folks seeking to draw attention to child
labor abuses in Pakistan.
To remain competitive in the American market, a popular
t-shirt company had set up a factory outside Pakistan's
capital city and now employed boys and girls, some as young
as our beautiful Ella Bailey. Rather than go to school,
these children sat at sewing machines for nine, ten, even
twelve hours a day, often without respite. Their wage?
Pennies per hour.
Believing that if we presented the facts to shoppers in our
community, they would join us in calling for fair labor
practices abroad, our group set up information tables in
front of a busy department store.
The response was mixed. Some had no idea what was happening
and were rightfully appalled. Some were curious but not yet
convinced. And some, well, some responded in a way I had not
anticipated. "I can't afford to pay more," one shopper
huffed. "And besides, they need the work, now don't they?"
In many parts of the world, in many of our nation's
neighborhoods, the poor, the vulnerable, the powerless just
can't win for losing. Especially not when the rules in place
work to the advantage of the already advantaged.
For example, when the t-shirt company was challenged with
respect to its practices, executives played their trump
card. They threatened to take the factory to Sri Lanka. Like
many third-world workers, like the woman in Paducah even,
the Pakistanis understandably preferred unjust labor to no
labor at all.
Traditionally Christians have approached the season of
Advent much like the season of Lent, as a time of
reflection, repentance, and rekindling the heart's desire
for the realization of God's reign on earth.
As much as they help make our holiday, our busy social
calendars and long shopping lists don't leave us much time.
It takes time, really, to see beyond the virgin and the
manger to the holy subversion at work in the sacred story of
Christ's coming.
Scholars have a word for what lies at the heart of this
season's divine activity: God's great reversal. God has a
plan, you see. A plan to turn upside down what is currently
right side up. Not because the systems we have in place
aren't good. It's just that they aren't good enough. Not for
all God's children, anyway.
Advent calls us to quiet ourselves to listen, to notice, to
pay close attention to this turnabout God is ushering in.
Take our passage from Luke this morning as an example. Do
you hear it? Do you hear how the song on Mary's lips today
is more than just a beautiful melody? More than a string of
poetic images?
As her belly grows, so does Mary's comprehension of the
great reversal God intends to bring about. A great reversal
long promised by the prophets. One Mary's people have
awaited for centuries. A reversal that began in earnest the
day Gabriel came to her. One that has taken until now to
really sink in. One that will be fulfilled in and through
the holy child Mary carries inside.
Even now, even as Mary sings, there is no question that God
is in the process of reversing things. Already God has
turned the world upside down by choosing Mary to take center
stage in God's plan of salvation. She has nothing going for
her. Nothing. She has no power, no prestige, no esteemed
place in society. She has no palace, no royal robes, no
chariots. She has nothing. Not even a husband.
Yet here she is--someone the world's rules will never, ever
favor--this is the one God chooses. God plucks Mary out of
dirt-poor obscurity and sets her in a place of honor so that
she can participate with God in a total turnabout.
You'd sing, too, if you were Mary. And not just for yourself
but for all humanity. You'd sing too if you felt in your
bones, in your belly, the inevitability of God's reign fully
realized at last.
Let's listen again to Mary's song. Without question it
proclaims an end to a game in which life's winners always
win and life's losers only ever lose. Listen again to the
pure joy that Mary cannot contain now that she comprehends
the scope of God's intentions.
"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God
my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of
his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call
me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation. He has shown strength with
his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thought of their
hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good
things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his
servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to
the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his
descendents forever."
Mary's song is for anyone who has ever felt the odds stacked
in favor of the already powerful. It's for anyone who has
wondered if justice will ever come, if the playing field
will finally be level. Mary's song is for anyone who aches
for a world in which one empty belly is one too many.
Rejoice! Rejoice! You who are cast down, look up. You who
want this world set right again, take heart. Someone is
coming to dwell among us and he will play by very different
rules--God's rules.
Instead of using force to inaugurate change, he will rely on
gentleness. Instead of bearing weapons, he will come armed
with an open heart. Instead of appealing to those in seats
of power, he will devote himself to those who are merely
pawns in life's game.
He won't swagger onto the scene. He won't rely on an elite
team. He won't dress in finery and keep company with the
big-boys. His entry into our lives will be consistent with
his aim: he'll come as tiny and vulnerable and nearly
invisible as we are.
That's how we'll know he is ours. And that in the end he
will win. Even if, from the cross, it will look like he's
lost the game altogether. Amen.
© Rev. Karen Winkel
United Church of Paducah (UCC) |
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Promises
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