Lent 2C

A reflection on the readings for Lent 2C: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18, Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1, Luke 13:31-35 by Janine Goodwin, M.A., M.S. Ed.

I usually begin the preparation for a sermon by doing some quiet homework.
I study commentaries and use the prayer discipline of lectio divina, working to see the present through a particular Scripture story.
Sometimes, though, an event brings me to the scripture through experience first. This is one of those times.

Last week, after working as a substitute musician in the local Episcopal parish for Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday, I planned to begin studying, let the knowledge sit quietly for a few days, and then write. A casual decision to check the local newspaper’s webpage changed all that: we learned that a white supremacist group is planning to move its headquarters to a small town near us. Suddenly, my husband and I were caught up in a set of tasks we had not expected: phone, email, and Facebook discussions; learning more about the hate group from various sources including the Southern Poverty Law Center; finding out about informational events, protests, and prayer meetings; making the decision to show up and be a small part of the community’s response.

I had less time and much more motivation to spend time with Scripture. I carried the bulletin insert for this Sunday’s readings folded in my coat pocket and read it in the car on the way to and from church and events. My instinct was to hold Scripture close to me, an instinct I identified with the small Bibles my grandfathers reads in the trenches of the First World War. On the first Sunday of Lent, we read Psalm 91, the psalm my father’s father said every day of the war as a prayer for safety, and I remembered him. My grandfather fought in the “war to end all wars,” a conflict whose unintended consequences included the group I am opposing now. In the timelessness of God, I believe we prayed together for our own safety and for the healing of the world. The familiar psalm had a new private meaning for me, a new public meaning for the local church as its members asked for strength and courage. Scholarship is good, study is good, and in times of trouble we use Scripture in simple and immediate ways that are also good:
Grandpa’s worn Bible and my crumpled bulletin insert were ways of reaching for God’s hand in troubled times.

The presence of Scripture was a comfort, and the call to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” it is always our responsibility. I went to the readings for the second Sunday of Lent asking for insight as well as strength. Scripture came alive in new ways. New perceptions and new questions began to appear. I prayed Psalm 27 first. It reminded me that God is present to us, we are not alone, and we have hope. It called me to offer multiple kinds of prayer: prayers of trust and gratitude, prayers for God’s protection and presence and for opportunities to serve, pleas to be heard, praise, and the prayer that listens for what God is calling us to do. That last kind of prayer, listening prayer, is the one that is hardest for me and the one I most need to do. Psalm 27 can remind us that prayer is the first response to any challenge, the response on which all others are built.

Next, I puzzled over the covenant with Abram, thinking of the ways this ancient sacrificial rite has been interpreted over the years. God makes covenants with us, fulfilling the fundamental desires of our hearts and accepting the gifts we bring, answering our questions, acting in the deep and terrifying darkness of our sleeping souls. The hate group calls itself a Christian church; I wondered how they would interpret that passage, how they use Scripture to promote their cause. How do we humans distort God’s words to us and God’s love and generosity? How can we be freed from those distortions? What might various people or groups assume wrongly, or miss, about the stories that come from cultures and times far removed from our own? How have people used the stories of sacrifice to justify destruction that God never intended?

From Philippians came Paul’s warning about the enemies of the cross of Christ and the promise of citizenship in heaven. Paul wept over those enemies. He was uncompromising in his description of their actions and the consequences of those actions. We are tempted to hate those who practice hatred, destruction and arrogance. If we do not hate in return, others (or we ourselves) may see us as cheerful wimps who don’t understand the magnitude of the situation, yet Paul shows a tough clarity that is free from either bitterness or compromise. How does he do that? How can we learn to be like him, strong in our faith and clear about what is wrong, yet without self-righteousness?

Finally, I came to the Gospel. It is only the second Sunday of Lent, but already in this story we see Jesus headed toward Jerusalem. He is opposing the powers of his world with an integrity that leads him into multiple kinds of danger. The obvious danger is the violence Herod may commit. The hidden danger is the deception and trickery others try to practice in the very act of pretending to warn him about that violence. Luke Timothy Johnson tells us that the Pharisees, who do not believe in prophecy, are trying to make Jesus deny his prophetic identity. If he turns away when he is warned, the Pharisees will know he is not a true prophet. If he continues toward Jerusalem, Johnson says, “they will have to confront his claims explicitly and reject them explicitly.” Jesus doesn’t take the bait, nor does he try to trick them in return. He is not intimidated and not fooled. He answers veiled hostility with strength and integrity. He says openly what he is going to do, and tells them to go tell “that fox”
Herod all about his actions and his approaching death. Then he grieves for the people of Jerusalem, the very people who will soon call for his death.
Then the incarnate God shows his manipulative questioners an image of himself that is as far as possible from the conquering leader they expect a prophet to be. He calls himself a mother hen, calling her little ones to safety. He does not present them with an image of God as an angry and powerful warrior, but with a fiercely loving, mothering God who wants to spread her wings over her children and protect them. If Herod is a clever, scheming fox and Jesus a brave and loving hen, Jesus is not placing himself in a position of power and victory, but of courage and sacrifice.
Faced with a sneaky predator, he puts himself between the fox and the ones he would still protect, even though they will not come to him.

What does Jesus offer us as we work to oppose preachers of hate? I believe that he calls us to meet their deception and violence with absolute refusal and without compromise, with clarity and honesty. I believe he still hopes to gather them in and heal them if they will choose to accept his infinite, motherly love. That love is not easy to accept. It demands growth and change that are often painful, and never settles for easy answers. It does not make us invulnerable to the evil others may choose to do, though our trust in God tells us that love always overcomes that evil.
Jesus continues on the way of truth and calls us to follow him. He does not run from danger. He does not give in to hostility. He puts the strength of creative love to work in a hostile world, and conquers death itself. Thanks be to God.

Lent 1

A reflection on the propers for Lent 1 by The Rev. Karla J. Miller

T.S. Eliot, 20th century
The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.

Henry David Thoreau, 19th century
Generally speaking, a howling wilderness does not howl: it is the imagination of the traveler that does the howling.

Mother Teresa, 20th century
I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish [God] didn't trust me so much.
(Quotes from Sermon Seeds at iucc.org)


Wilderness and Temptation…

A real wilderness sounds good to me, today…
A quiet, albeit lonely, lonely place
Where the only distraction is grumbling hunger
The parched dryness of my soul,
And the loss of control.
Stripped naked, in that kind of vulnerable starkness,
There would be luxury of time to know my pain, know my weakness,
Reflect on what is important…
Say NO to the dross
And cling to my Creator God
On which my very life is hinged.

But the wilderness I face today is full,
Not just of the business of caring for souls
And writing sermons and rushing to meetings and working to do my part to repair the world (as if…)
My wilderness is abundance…
Of whatever I want whenever I want it…
My wilderness is the ways in which I make comfortable and easy and fun
My everyday living,
My rewards for being good…
Time out for Facebooking, a (big) glass of wine at the end of a long day, the next books I order from Amazon, the delivery of pizza to my door, the phone calls I screen from my father because I am just not up to it …
My wilderness is
the time I don’t have…
Oh yes, it’s all about the time I don’t have…
To create the internal space…
Where I can discern whether my rewards
Are really succumbing to the temptation
Of anesthetizing my heart,
Of denying the out of control consumption, the illusion of my own protection, the idol of my own power
To save myself.
To not bother God with having to take care of me—I can do that so you don’t have to Holy One. Take care of others. They need it more than me.

Ah, yes. The wilderness of my life is full,
And I have sinned. I have succumbed. I am goddess of my life.

Oh Holy One, Creator of the earth and skies and even me,
Lead me not into temptation,
Deliver me from the evil of denial,
Create in me a clean heart, oh God…
Renew a right spirit within me…
I offer you my pain. I lift up my brokenness to you.
I trust you. (well, at least for now I can only say that, but I want to believe it)
I will trust in you.
Teach me.
My life is hinged on you.
Help me remember.
Show me true worship
Of You.
Amen.

Last Epiphany

A reflection on the propers for Last Epiphany: Exodus 34:29-35; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2; Luke 9:28-36 by The Rev. Margaret Rose

What about the veil?

Most years when it comes to “Epiphany Last” or the story of the Transfiguration I preach some version of the sermon I heard years ago when I had one of those “aha” experiences from a text. Jesus’ climb up the mountain with Peter and James and John, the dazzling white, the appearance of Moses and Elijah and their subsequent disappearance, the proclaiming of Jesus as Beloved Son was about history and the future coming together. It was God giving Jesus his marching orders, and even more, to the disciples and to us. The message was, “You can’t stay up on the mountain enjoying the glory of God. You can’t keep things the way they are or create a “dwelling” to hold everything statically in place. Jesus, renewed, beloved, called, named, had to come down the mountain and journey to Jerusalem. There was work to be done in the valley and it was time to get to it.

This year, I read the texts with this blog in mind, allowing myself to hear the words and the narrative of the Exodus story as well as the responding texts of 2Corinthians and Luke with the ear of a woman. What struck me was the word Veil and its curious use in both the Old Testament and the Epistle . Moses, his face shining brilliantly with the encounter with God, put the veil on his face when he was not speaking in an official capacity. And took it off when he was with God. In the letter to the Corinthians, there is the confusing explanation that the veil had to do with Moses not allowing the people of Israel to see the glory of God, implying that the people of Israel had a veil over their minds and could not understand or receive God’s glory. “A veil lies over their minds;but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed.” The Good News for the community in Corinth is that in the freedom of the Lord, unveiled faces allow the spirit of the lord to enter in. Christians see the Glory of God in their own and one another’s faces.
Many of us have experiences with veils. And the word and the wearing are both fraught.

The wedding veil comes first to mind. Many brides ask, “Shall I wear a wedding veil?” Is it a sign of chattel? Or is it’s removal a symbolic moment of revelation which allows two people to see one another as never before, shining with the spirit of God’s presence? One bride once asked whether or not they might create a way for her fiancé to wear one too!

I remember as a child having to wear “something” on my head when I went into church. Whether it was a hat, a handkerchief, or a scarf it was called a veil.
Years later, in 1978 when I was in Divinity School, my boyfriend who was a Mennonite, invited me to his home in Pennsylvania. Hoping not to surprise me with cultural differences he let me know that his mother and sisters, and most of the women I would meet there would be wearing the veil. Instead of reassuring me, I felt petrified. Would I be able to see their faces, their eyes. Would this be like the Muslim women I had seen on a recent trip to Israel? I wondered if they would assume that my unveiled face was promiscuous! I must admit to great relief when I discovered the veil to be very similar to the head covering I had worn to church as a child.

Today the question of head covering within and among the three Abrahamic traditions is complex and ambiguous as it is lived out in “secular” or “sacred” territory. In France, the controversy continues over whether Muslim girls will be allowed to wear a veil or head covering to school. Among Muslim feminists, there are deep discussions over whether the head covering is a sign of oppression or in fact allows for a kind of liberation from cultural objectivism. The underlying answer seems to be somehow connected to choice.

Jewish women as well have traditions about veils and head coverings which are undergoing examination.

The questions remain. Is the veil a sign of submission? And to whom? Or is it respect for oneself and God? Or is it about following the New Testament prohibition about women’s heads being covered? And is removing it a sign of empowerment and liberation?

What about the connection to Moses and his encounter with God? His face reflected God’s presence and glory as he was transformed into the role of leader and liberator of the people of Israel. That is, I hope, exactly what our own faces reveal in transfigured moments of our lives. To be transfigured means somehow to be free to experience and share the glory of God. Whether or not there is a symbolic or literal veil over our heads or faces.
Margaret Rose

Epiphany 5C

Reflection for the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy

I am not a strong swimmer, and the idea of going into deep water, whether swimming in a lake or a pool, or even getting on a boat is always sort of scary for me. It even made me think twice when it came to signing up for the first of the RevGals Big Events, which was, of course, a cruise. Would I, I wondered, panic when I woke up that first morning and realized that we were indeed in the deep water far from shore, and that there was no going back? Or would I be able to let down my nets of worry and anxiety and relax into trusting God that all would be well? And actually that was what happened. As I went topside that first morning, I was astonished by the beauty and serenity of the ocean, and comforted by warmth of the community that was rapidly forming among our little group.

The deep water. Such a good metaphor for the places our faith journeys take us. The places that hold such an abundant catch, but often the ones we fear to go because we can’t touch bottom, or even see if from where we are. Things way out there in the deeps may require a different approach from us, might ask that we leave the comfort zone of “the way it’s always been”. We may think we have been working really hard, doing it things our way, the usual way, whether its working or not….but then comes a nudge, an urge, or even a command. “Let down your nets.” That strikes me more like a suggestion to release something than it does to work harder, to trust that there is an abundance waiting if we can just open up and trust in our ability to receive.

Peter. God love him, Everyperson that he is. It is hard to admit, but I think that might have been me there on the shore. Faced with all that abundance, instead of joy and gratitude…. I too might have been doing guilt and “Jesus, go away.” How do we repent of that? Of the part of us that simply will not allow God to love us, that will not allow ourselves to relax into the grace of abundance and simply be present? The disciples got it that day on the shore when they left everything and followed him. They weren’t perfect. Half the time, they weren’t even very good at it. But it didn’t matter. Jesus kept right on loving them. And calling them back to the deep water, into things way beyond their depths. And they kept going on with him. Sputtering sometimes. Half drowning, having to be drug out and wrung out and loved back to dry land.

It’s almost Lent again. One more Sunday of the Epiphany season and we are into it. That time that seems to call us to go into our own deeper places, that times that urges us to fall into God again and simply allow ourselves to know….that we are loved, that we are called, that we have simply to come into the water and drop the net and we too will find all the fish we could ever need in abundance. That we, too could afford to leave everything else behind and simply….follow him.

Epiphany 3C: The Stillspeaking God

A reflection on the propers for Epiphany 3C: Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10, 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a and Luke 4:14-21 by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

Geraldine Brooks was a correspondent for the Wall Street Journal where she covered the wars in Bosnia, Somalia, and the Middle East. She is also a Pulitzer Prize winning author for the book, “March.” Her latest novel, “People of the Book” tells a story of intrigue and mystery similar to the DaVinci code. The subject of the novel is an ancient haggadah. A haggadah is a book that tells the story of the Exodus of the Hebrew people from Egypt, led by Moses, Aaron and Miriam, through the Red Sea. It is the Passover story told each year on the eve of Passover at the Jewish Seder meal. Brooks crafted this story of fiction on the few details that are known about the famous Sarajevo Haggadah, a beautifully illustrated 500 year old manuscript that somehow travelled from Spain to Vienna and eventually to Sarajevo. It survived the book burnings of the Inquisition, two world wars and the book burnings of the Nazi’s, and the war between Bosnia and Croatia. It’s a story of how three religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, all born from the same roots – from Abraham and Moses – participated in the creation and survival of this haggadah. And, while the story is fiction, it is based on some evidence about the real Sarajevo Haggadah, of three faith traditions working together, in its creation, its history, and its survival.

It appears that the real haggadah was first created during a time in history called the Conviviencia, when Jews, Christians, and Muslims coexisted in Spain in relative peace, and exchanged ideas and culture freely. The Conviviencia period lasted for about 500 years, from 1000 to 1499. The Sarajevo Haggadah is significant not only for its history but for its beautiful illustrations.

The story Brooks crafts around this Haggadah travels back and forth in time, from the 21st century ancient manuscript conservationist, a woman named Hanna from Australia, through the various significant periods in the books history, with enough suspense and intrigue to warrant the comparison to the DaVinci code.

I offer this book review this morning because I think the premise of this book points us in the same direction as our scripture readings this morning – to ponder the ways in which God expresses God’s self in the world and what it means, in the broadest of terms to be the body of Christ, which I suspect is greater than Christianity and includes our sisters and brothers in Judaism and Islam. Now I doubt that a Jewish or Muslim person would appreciate being considered a part of the Body of Christ, but if we remember that Christ is God incarnate then I think we can say that these three religions are expressions of the body of God.

Many years ago I read another book called The Good Heart. It was based on a presentation given by the Dalai Lama to a group of Christian meditators in England who invited him to come to their conference as their guest speaker. The idea was that each morning the Dalai Lama would be given a text from the Christian Gospels. He would then go off and meditate on the reading for a few hours. He would have no advance notice on what the text would be and he would not utilize any books to unpack the meaning of the text. He was just given the text and left to meditate on it. After a few hours the group would gather and the Dalai Lama would offer a reflection on what the text means. The group was consistently amazed at how Christian the Dalai Lamas’ understanding was of the Gospel readings. In other words, he got it. When asked if he thought all people should convert to Buddhism, since it seemed to this crowd to be a source of great wisdom, the Dalai Lama said no. He believes that there are a variety of religions in this world for a reason, and we should each practice the religion that speaks most deeply into our beings and helps us grow as people of faith. He said there was probably some merit in helping people who have no faith to find a religion that speaks to them so that they can be more fulfilled in life, but there was no real purpose in converting people from one faith to another. We may or may not agree with that premise, but it does point to a deep appreciation for the Body of God. It also reminds me of the Rule of Benedict, for those who practice Benedictine spirituality – the Rule of Benedict helps us understand how every activity and encounter is holy and reflective of divine inspiration – that God is all around us, in and through us, and all we meet and do. This is what some call the “Stillspeaking God.” The God who speaks to us in stillness, the God who is still speaking to us even to this day.

It also points us to ponder what Parker Palmer, that great Quaker author, educator, and activist, describes as “deep obedience” - about how we listen to God and let God speak through us, or what he calls, “sound- through.” Paul Tillich, a 20th century theologian, once described three approaches to authority and law: heteronomy, the rule of an outside force or imposed law; autonomy, individualistic self-rule; and theonomy, alignment with God’s vision for our lives and the law of our being. Theonomy is not imposed from without but reflects our deepest nature and what is truly good for us as persons. From this perspective, the law of God – or as our scripture this morning says, the law of Moses – inspires us to that deep-obedience, the ability to let God “sound through” our lives as the foundation for the well-being of person and society. (Process and Faith Blog).

Nehemiah describes this same idea with the words we heard this morning about Ezra reading the scroll and the people listening, all who could hear with meaning. In other words, not just listening to the words but really understanding the meaning of the law of God, which Jesus summarizes for us as “Love God, Love neighbor, love self.” The Dalai Lama exhibits this kind of sounding-through love of the Stillspeaking God. And I suspect that people living in Spain during the Conviviencia, Muslims, Jews, and Christians, had a deep understanding of this too. When we allow or provide room for that idea of love, God’s love, to listen through us, we begin to understand what deep obedience really means. How broad and deep God intends for us to live and love in our lives. Jesus points to this as well in our Gospel reading when he states that the scripture has been fulfilled in their hearing….that listening to the word of God, deeply in our being, meditating on it until it lives and breathes through us, is an act of fulfilling the scripture, living into the law, becoming the Body of Christ.

Body of Christ language is important to the ministry of women in particular because the historical Jesus was a man. As a priest, when I Preside at the Eucharist I think about this – image of God, body of Christ. When I hold my arms wide and pray the words of consecration and for those few minutes stand as the image of the incarnate Christ, I think about what body means. I think about the words we are using in that prayer-time, what words are speaking in and through us? Do the words we pray reflect to us the Stillspeaking God in the body of a woman standing as the body of Christ at the Eucharistic table? I know that the historic Jesus was a man but in the moment of that Eucharistic prayer the incarnate God is not limited to the physical body of Jesus. Rather the Holy Spirit breathes into us, opens that prayer, and us, and invites us to re-member the body in the image of God, both male and female. The Incarnate Christ, then, like we see in Rubilev’s icon of the Pontecrator, is also male and female. In the Eucharistic prayer we re-member that body of bread and wine, of hands and feet, and heart, of male and female, of God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit, of you and of me. And in so doing the scripture is fulfilled.

Living the Baptism of Christ, a prayer

Holy God, before time you named us
Through time you redeem us
You call us, precious in your sight
May we love as you love.

Holy One, through the turbulent waters
Make us steady, your hands
Holding strong the fragile and weak
May we love as you love.

Gracious God, may the fruits of our lives
be food for the hungry, bread
clothing, shelter, fire, water, Word
May we love as you love.

God of justice, remove the chaff
Of our lives that keep us from
Hearing, following, Your call
May we love as you love.

Loving God, take this day our fears our
Worries, distractions, and all
Turn them into wheat, heart food
May we love as you love.

Amen.


By The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

Crossposted on RevGalBlogPal blog, RevGalPrayerPal blog, and SeekingAuthenticVoice blog

Photo from the collection of Terri Pilarski: Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori and The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski holding her God-daughter Zoe Repp

Christmas II

A reflection on the propers for Christmas II: Jeremiah 31.7-14, Psalm 147.12-20, Ephesians 1.3-14, John 1:1-18 by The Rev. Sarah Rogers.

‘The word became flesh and dwelt among us’

I love the opening of John’s Gospel, it is probably one of the greatest pieces of religious literature ever written. But, I think we may have over-egged it a little bit in the last week or so, we had it on Christmas Day, then we had it on Thursday and now again today. Well, I suppose the reason it is used so often is because it is an important passage. In those few verses John introduces some key themes and particular words that will recur throughout his Gospel.

Those first few verses set the coming of Jesus in beautiful poetic verse. ‘In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.’
For John, Jesus cannot be introduced in terms of time, place and human ancestry, he was there from the beginning, the very beginning, before creation when only God existed and so Jesus is the same as God, he is divine. Jesus is not named until the very end of the prologue, instead, he is simply ‘the Word’.

God used words to create the heavens and earth, plants and animals, ‘God said, let there be light’, and light came into being. The Jews thought that God’s word was alive and active, he only had to say ‘Let there be..’ for things to come into being, his word creates. Then God’s word comes through the prophets, again his word is alive and active. And then, ‘the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.’ God’s word alive and active and physically present here on earth.

The word was not only pre-existent with God, it was also personal. John emphasises that the ‘Word was God’, he chooses his words very carefully. The Word wasn’t a god which would reduce Jesus to a lesser divinity. Neither was it the God, which would suggest that there was nothing more to God than Jesus. Jesus is divine and yet personal, existing within the unity of the godhead and yet distinct from it, because ‘the Word became flesh’.

God became very present here on earth, sharing in our earthly experience, to bring light into the darkness. And so, we honour the Christ-child cradled in Mary’s arms, his mother comforts and protects him as he comforts and protects us. As the shepherds and Wise-men brought gifts to Jesus, we too bring gifts we bring love, time, talents, commitment; we bring to him our joy and sadness, we seek forgiveness for what we have done wrong, full of intention to lead a more Christ-centred life in the future.

We bring the very best we have to offer, and Christ will honour our gifts because they are brought with love. And, what do we receive in return, we are children of God receive full and free salvation, the fruits of the Spirit, love, joy, peace…and LIFE, everlasting life. Generosity on a divine scale, the more we put God’s gifts to work, the more we receive.

The Hebrew prophets looked forward to God’s light coming in Glory. The light came in the form of a baby, a baby who came to give. He came and walked among us healing the sick, sharing meals with outcasts. He is the light that shows us the way and casts out the darkness.

Ultimately he gave himself, in death on the cross, that we might be saved. Jesus was born into a violent world, where children were murdered because Herod the King was scared of what he had heard of a new king, he was born into a world that 30yrs later would reject him. The Christ child, God with us, that baby born in a stable, the one who walked among us. will one day be rejected and abandoned, crucified on the cross. As the story unfolds, Jesus knows all things, is aware of his pre-existence with the father, and goes to his death serenely in control.

The world tried to extinguish the light, but could not, the darkness could not and has not overcome it. On the third day, the tomb was empty Jesus rose again, the light of God overcame the darkness of humanity though the cross.

Even today, Jesus is still giving, and as Paul points out in his letter to the Ephesians, everything we have in Christ is a gift of God’s grace. One of the most precious gifts we receive is power, the power to become children of God, the power to inherit eternal life. The only condition is that we have to believe in Jesus. It doesn’t matter who we are, young or old, male or female, all we have to do is believe.

The story has its beginnings in a humble stable, but that is just a small part of God’s plan for the cosmos. We are given the power, not for our own sake, but for the sake of all that God wants to accomplish through us. We bring our gifts and worship the Christ-child, but we must continue to use those gifts to the best of our ability as we each play our own small part in bringing to fruition the Kingdom of God.