January 4, 2026 – Second Sunday of Christmastide
Leviticus 26.3-13
Matthew 9.14-17
Vintage 2026
Second Sunday of Christmastide
Some of you probably remember Allan Sherman, a folk singer from the fifties and sixties who specialized in parodies of popular songs. Earlier this week – New Year’s Eve, to be exact – brought to mind the following ditty: “I knew a man named Mr. Lang, and he had a neon sign. Now Mr. Lang was very old, so he called it… old Lang’s sign.”
After a season of celebrating – Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Christmas, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day – it may be the last thing people want to think about, but this morning we’re going to talk about wine – specifically, about new wine. The new year is a time for celebrating, for honoring the year gone by and for greeting the year to come. And as Jesus made abundantly clear in both the way he lived and the lessons he taught, wine is a useful commodity at times like these. In his very first miracle, his coming-out party you might say, Jesus turned water into wine at the wedding at Cana. He likened his ministry, which was refreshingly unlike anything his followers experienced, to new wine. And when he looked for a symbol of his own life, which was about to be poured out for many, Jesus turned again to the fruit of the vine. For Jesus and the community around him, wine was not only a staple, but it was something rich in character and representation. It was not so much wine for its own sake, but rather for the way it brought to mind the celebrations, and celebration, of life. We find an echo of Jesus’ attitude in Shakespeare’s Othello, when Iago assured Cassio, “Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.”
“No one puts new wine into old wineskins,” Pat read for us this morning. “Otherwise, the skins burst, and the wine is spilled, and the skins are destroyed; rather, new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved.” To put it another way, before we turn to the new, we need to finish the old. The book of Leviticus reminds us as much, “You shall eat old grain long stored, and you shall have to clear out the old to make way for the new.” Or, as some of you may have sung Wednesday evening, “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne?” On this first Sunday of the new year – on this first communion Sunday of the new year, where we lift the cup of Jesus as a way of celebrating the new manner of life he brings, I thought it might be useful to look back on the year just past, in particular the year in religion, as a way of preparing for vintage 2026. It may be useful to “clear out the old to make way for the new,” to remember what vintage 2025 was like.
It was a newsworthy year in religious life, the top story, to my mind, being the election of Pope Leo XIV, the first American Pope. Cardinal Robert Prevost of Chicago, Illinois, and rabid White Sox fan, was selected following the death of Pope Francis I. It was a surprise to almost everyone, because the conventional wisdom was that an American could never be elected Pope – the expectation was that the post would go to a prelate from the southern hemisphere, South America or southern Africa. And this new pope, like his predecessor, brought a warmth and jocularity to the position; he is an approachable person, and one whom Catholics of many stripes will receive with ease, I think. It is worth noting that early in his papacy he made a point to speak up for the humane and respectful treatment of immigrants, calling for humane policies in accordance with the gospel of Christ. In the intertwined worlds of politics and faith, he made his mark early and clearly.
Another major news story brought some surprise of its own in multiple respects: Charlie Kirk, the vocal leader of the organization Turning Point, was struck down by an assassin’s bullet. It was a horrible and hateful event that coalesced a large portion of the American church’s right wing, and he was mourned by the pious and political alike. I must confess, what surprised me was the outpouring of grief by people of faith. I had heard of Kirk, and I knew he was an advocate for a kind of religio-political expression that few people I know are comfortable with. What I neither knew nor suspected though was the near-messianic status his followers accorded him. The tributes at his funeral made him out to be a disciple and proselyte of style a religion I can neither endorse nor abide. His barely veiled misogyny, racism and xenophobia were and remain abhorrent. To my mind anyway, the reverential adulation he received in both life and death were both unexpected and undeserved. But it is worth noting the sympathetic chord it struck in a wide swath of Americans; it is a sympathy I cannot share.
Which brings a related news story for the year, the rise of what is called Christian Nationalism. While difficult to boil down to a clear set of beliefs and values, what it attracts and represents is alarming, and you and I have spoken of this before. Essentially it is a conflation of Christianity with American identity that confuses faithfulness for patriotism and patriotism for faith.. While it is true that America was founded on principles common to Christianity – equality, liberty and justice for all, the movement insists that America was founded as a Christian nation, which leaves little room for people of other faiths, or those of no faith at all. The leaders and followers of Turning Point plant their flags in the soil of Christian Nationalism and exhibit a shared intolerance for non-Christian America. It provides both a home and a smoke-screen for antisemitism, Islamophobia and a brand of white-skinned male-dominated culture that defines the other as the enemy. I have said it before and I will say it again, Christian Nationalism, at its core, is neither.
On the other side of the 2025 ledger though are some encouraging signs. In October, the Right Reverend Sarah Mullally was selected as the 106th Archbishop of Canterbury, the first woman to lead the 85 million souls of the Anglican Communion, which is the international expression of what you and I know as the Episcopal church. And while we’re speaking of female Episcopal clergy, it was American Bishop Mariann Budde who spoke at the National Prayer Service following January’s Presidential inauguration, and championed compassion toward the alien and the immigrant to the congregation of the incoming administration. “In the name of our God,” she said, looking directly at the President and Vice-President, “I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now.” She also spoke up on behalf of the LGBTQ community, and asked for kindness and respect for all persons across the board.
Closer to home, many UCC folks around New England were stunned and saddened to learn of the closing of the Silver Lake Conference Center in Sharon, Connecticut at the end of this year’s camping season. I cannot begin to estimate how many people of all ages found faith, nurture, support, inspiration and Jesus at Silver Lake. I attended several retreats there when I was in high school, both my daughters were SLCC summer campers, I brought youth groups and confirmation classes to Silver Lake, and it would be difficult to find a UCC congregation in our region that did not send a young person or an adult to the center. In fact a fellow-fiddler of mine teaches ropes courses there and and volunteers at the annual Spring cleanups. While I understand the financial factors involved – Silver Lake carried a deficit of more than $300,000 in 2024 – I have extreme reservations about the decision and the choices over the past five to ten years that led to its closing. And I speak from some experience: I was on the Board of Directors when the former Massachusetts Conference made the decision to divest itself of the Craigville Conference Center on Cape Cod. And it is precisely because I know what needs to be included in the decision-making process for such a step that I harbor those reservations about the Southern New England Conference’s move to sell Silver Lake. I grieve the loss of a place where so many young people found faith and support and love and hope and, without exaggeration, found direction and purpose for their lives.
But it is a new year and at the table of communion we turn to new wine that will not be contained by old wineskins. Who knows what will rise to take the place of Silver Lake? How many more women will rise to religious leadership and call out the parochial white-male dominated leadership of both government and religion with the gospel of Jesus whose welcome was both intentional and intentionally inclusive? What will it mean to have an American-born Pope speak to a nationalistic Christianity that has lost its compass? I don’t think it would be too far off the mark to come to the table this morning and lift a cup of kindness – and compassion – to the old year gone, the auld lang syne, as we point our faces to the future with faith and determination to work together and find new ways of being true to the God who invites every beloved child to the same table.