Bon Accord Service 2015

Reflection – Bon Accord Service

One fish two fish red fish blue fish

Black fish blue fish old fish new fish

This one has a little star

This one has a little car

Say! What a lot of fish there!

Yes! Some are red and some are blue

Some are old and some are new.

Some are sad and some are glad

And some are very very bad.

Why are they sad and glad and bad?

I do not know. Go ask your dad!

We had the Grinch last Sunday evening at Christingle, and Dr Seuss is putting in another appearance this morning because a particular memory popped into mind as I was preparing for today.

And it’s a memory of reading bedtime stories to our kids when they were just a couple of years old.  And one of the things you discover when you read to kids of that age is that they like the same stories over and over again. And if you miss so much as a word out, they know it! And they’ll tell you about it.

I loved reading One Fish Two Fish to Ross, but after the hundredth time  it was becoming a little old, so I started doing that thing where you turn over a couple of pages at a time instead of just the one. Didn’t stand a chance! He was on to me right away. Merciless, kids of that age!

These stories that we’ve heard this morning are so familiar to us it’s hard to hear anything new in them. We think we know every word, and if we’ve been listening hard over the years we’ve been to church, we’ve probably heard just about every possible slant on the stories.

And I don’t kid myself I have anything new to tell you today. But as I read through the texts again I found myself coming back again and again to two related thoughts. How strange that Jesus turns up in the way that he does. And how strange that these people, and not others, should be the ones who respond to his coming.

How strange that he turns up in the way that he does.

Let’s have the next picture.(IMAGE)

This popped up on Facebook a few months ago. Those of you who like your comedy might recognise the guy in the photo – comedian called Bill Bailey – middle of a sell out UK tour, on television all the time. Really famous! Where was this taken? Beachside Coffee Shop in Balmedie. Came out to have a walk on the beach before his gig in Aberdeen and stopped in for a coffee on his way back to town.

Bill Bailey. In Balmedie. You just don’t expect it!

And if God’s going to be born into the world, you don’t expect him to be born to a couple of nobodies in a wee backwater town in the rump end of the Roman Empire. It’s no wonder the Wise Men head for the palace in Jerusalem when they’re looking for a new baby King. That’s where Kings are supposed to live – palaces -  not manky stables!

And even the good Kings throughout history, the wise and generous ones, can’t help but put us on edge even when they try to come down to our level.

Some of you might remember this little clip from the movie The King’s Speech. If you don’t know the story, King George VI has been getting help with his stammer from a therapist called Lionel Logue, but Logue’s been sworn to secrecy – even his wife doesn’t know about it. And then one day, when the King and Queen are at Logue’s house, Mrs Logue comes back home unexpectedly early… (CLIP)

Their Royal Highnesses trying their very best to put the commoners at ease, but you can imagine the conversation in the Logue household after they’ve gone. Why didn’t you tell me there were coming! I’d have cleaned the place from top to bottom! I’d have bought that new suite we’ve been talking about for ages!

We just don’t expect important folk to land in on our ordinary lives like that.

And that’s why I love that when God is born into the world it’s into an ordinary family, in circumstances that were far from perfect. No silver spoon, no airs and graces, no extra privileges, no insulation from reality.

He knows what it is to be one of us. And that means I don’t need to be embarrassed about the messiness of my ordinary life. He can make his home with me and in me as surely as he can make his home in that byre in Bethlehem. That – I believe - is part of the reason he came here in the way that he did.

But what about the folk who responded to him? That’s the other strange thing about these stories. How he comes, and who responds to him.

You’d expect it would be the religious folk who’d be first at the door; the pious Jews. Now there is a place for them, and we’ll hear more about it after Christmas, but that first night – if it all happened on the one night – it wasn’t those folk God led to the stable door.

It was shepherds. Men who lived on the periphery of village life. When the shepherds came to town, you kept a close eye on your things. The stall holders were extra vigilant. You made sure your own animals were all clearly marked.  Didn’t have a great reputation, shepherds. And yet, God led them to the stable.

And it was the Wise Men – these pagan astrologers – who get pride of place in the early chapters of Matthew’s otherwise very Jewish account of the story of Jesus. What right had they to be there? They were outsiders. They didn’t even belong to the faith.

And who were Mary and Joseph anyway? An innocent girl, now marked with the slur of premarital relations with another man, and her seemingly cuckolded husband Joseph who – if he were following the letter of the law – could have had her stoned for infidelity.

Why those folk, Lord? Couldn’t you have done better?

Or was this already the best, and we’re just too blind to see it?

Is this your way of saying ‘I don’t care who you are, and what you’ve done, and what people say about you. All that matters is whether you are willing to respond to my call. Like the shepherds, once the angel’s glory faded from the night sky. Like the Magi, when they tied their hopes to that shimmering star. Like Mary, when she gave God her ‘yes’, and Joseph when he said ‘no’ to leaving her in disgrace.

Is a willingness to journey, to respond to God’s perplexing, all-encompassing call the only criteria by which he judges us? I think it may well be. How we’re responding to him might well be the most important thing we can say about our lives.

So there you have it – the two big surprises of the Christmas story –

The way God turns up on the scene, and who actually responds to him when he arrives.

And maybe that can help us as we make our way through advent.

Christ turns up in strange places. In a stable; on a cross; beside a garden tomb, with nailprints in his hands. In locked rooms. In people’s hearts.

In the guise of the poor or the stranger, the widow, the orphan. In the shining glory of a winter’s morning, in the laughter and company of people we love; in moments of truthfulness, forgiveness, grace and joy. He can even show up in pain, sorrow, sickness and bereavement.

The more I get to know this story, and the one it tells us about, the more convinced I become that God can and does turn up almost anywhere in our lives.

But the question is always will we recognise him when he comes? And if so, will we respond to him with all that we are?

Yes and yes, say the strange folk gathered round the manger on that first Christmas night; and it’s their example we must follow.