January 1, 2023 – Second Sunday After Christmastide
Isaiah 25.6-10a
Revelation 21.1-7
New Church, New Year
Second Sunday of Christmastide
Three days before Christmas, I received a notification from Facebook Live, the online platform we use to broadcast our Sunday morning services. The notification read, “The United Church of Chester has reached 1.2K people in the past seven days.” Well, I’ll admit, I was still coming out of my Covid brain fog at the time, and I didn’t quite believe what I was reading; so I did the math, and sure enough, 1.2K really did translate to twelve hundred people. Our little church reached twelve hundred people in one week!? How was that even possible? So I went back to see what we had posted in those past seven days. On Friday, we published an ad for the Cantata – the visual was a copy of the cover of the music, and that did get a handful of responses. Then on Sunday of course, was the Cantata itself, which, both virtually and in-person, attracts a larger than usual Sunday morning congregation. But then – and I think this might be the key – Diane Lindsay took some wonderful pictures of Karli, our choir and musicians as they performed the cantata, and we published them on Monday morning. Now, people like pictures – and they like them even more if they’re in them! So we got a lot of hits on that post. But – or I should say, AND – the photos themselves also drove online traffic back to Sunday morning’s service, and I know this because some folks commented about the music under the Monday photo post. So this is apparently how we reached 1200 people.
Which prompts the question: who ARE all these people? They certainly aren’t all members of our congregation – not formal members anyway, though I do know there are more than a few who consider themselves part of our church regardless of whether they’re on our rolls, and that’s wonderful. But not 1200 of them. Well, I can name a few. I got a Christmas card from some friends in Woodbury, CT who said “We tune in to your church service from time to time and really enjoy it.” And Debbie and I have a dear friend from way back in Princeton days, an artist who recently moved to South Deerfield, MA and hasn’t been able to find a church she likes yet, so she and her partner are with us almost every week. But that’s like picking stars out of the sky – you can look up and name maybe a half-dozen or so, but there are thousands more for which you have no clue as to their names, and in most instances you can’t even see them – and this, to me, is not a bad metaphor for all those folks tuning in on Sunday morning (and, by extension, watching Sunday morning at another day and time during the week): we don’t know all of their names, and we probably can’t even see most of them.
Today is New Year’s Day in the non-ecclesiastical world; you’ll remember I mentioned about a month ago that the church’s new year begins on the first Sunday of Advent. But whether you’re in church or not, there’s no escaping the fact that last night was New Year’s Eve and today is New Year’s Day, the end of an old year and the beginning of a new. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” Jesus said in Revelation, “[I am] the beginning and the end.” A good reminder at the turn of the new year. Whether we are remembering the year just past, or looking ahead to the one in front of us, Jesus is there. Jesus is there in our worship, Jesus is there in our service and outreach, Jesus is there in our waking and in our sleep, Jesus is at the family table and Jesus is there in our most private moments. “I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life… I will be your God, and you will be my children.” I think it’s a helpful reminder at the turn of the year that God in Christ is in all our beginnings and all our endings and at every point in between.
But this nice pastoral affirmation is not what drove me to Revelation 21 this morning. Rather, it was the words, “Look, I am making all things new.” I am making all things new. Who ARE all these people? Well, some of them are our neighbors and friends. Has any of you ever been surprised by someone who has said to you out of the blue, “I watched your church service last week?” Let me give you two examples. A couple years ago I received a very nice note from a Chester neighbor whom I’ve never met and whose name I didn’t recognize. She basically said, “You don’t know me, and I’ve never been to your church, and I don’t even know if we will ever meet, but I catch you on line occasionally, I appreciate what your congregation is doing for the community, and by the way, here’s a small donation in appreciation for your work.” And I was really struck by this, because it opened my eyes to a whole different audience, or I should say congregation, than the one I was envisioning. And I mention this because a couple weeks ago I received another note from her, and it touched me that part of it read, “I hope you’re feeling better soon.” You never know, you just never know. “Behold, I am doing something new… [and] these words are trustworthy and true.”
Here’s my second example. When I knew that Covid had me down for the count, I realized there was no way I was going to be able to play in my orchestra’s holiday concert which, coincidentally, was the same day as our Cantata. Anyone who saw me that morning knows I was in no shape to play a two hour performance. So I sent an email along to our conductor the first week in December letting her know I was sick and knew I wouldn’t be recovered by concert time. She sent a very nice reply, saying we’ll miss you, take care of yourself and we’ll see you when you’ve recovered. And then she added, “By the way, that was a nice hymn sing last Sunday.” Wait – what? I had no idea. Now to be clear, that 1200 number doesn’t mean people tune in and stay with us for the entire worship service. A lot of folks dip in for the parts they like and then turn it off. I’m quite certain my conductor didn’t sit there and listen to the congregation sing all their favorite Christmas Carols for an hour on the second Sunday of Advent. But the point remains we just don’t know who is out there worshiping with us on any given Sunday – or Tuesday afternoon, or Friday night, or whenever. Jesus is doing a new thing – this is a new church – and we are only beginning to get our heads around it.
And this is an important thing to recognize: we are only beginning to get our heads around it. I can’t tell you what it means or the future of the church. Yes, we’re still seeing fewer people in our pews than before the pandemic. Everybody is. But before the pandemic was an older way of doing church. I am doing something new, and these words are trustworthy and true. Well that may be, Jesus, but it sure would help me to know just what it is you are doing. What does it mean that my artist friend can’t find worship that suits her within driving distance and so joins us on Sunday morning? What does it mean that some of my former parishioners, and for that matter friends and former neighbors as well as some of yours pop in occasionally? What does it mean that you and I are worshipping with Chester neighbors who could live right next door to us, but have no intention of ever walking through these doors? I’ll be honest: I don’t know.
But what I do know is that we are living in transformative times. The world is changing around us, the church is changing around us, and whether we can get our heads around it or not, we are part of that change. I chose Deb’s reading from Isaiah this morning because I think is it the closest Old Testament counterpart to our reading from Revelation today. “On this mountain… the Lord will destroy the shroud, the pall that is cast over the people… the Lord God will wipe every tear from our faces… the Lord God will [prepare] a feast of rich food [and] well-matured wines… this is our God for whom we have waited; let us rejoice and be glad in God’s salvation.” This is a moment of signal change; I often read the passage at a funeral or memorial, because it shifts our notion of God’s transformative love and care. It is a fulcrum of the Old Testament as much as Jesus’ making everything new is a fulcrum of the New. And naturally we want to know, Well, what does this new and transformed world look like, Jesus? What does this new and transformed church look like Jesus? I can’t answer that question, at least not right at the moment. But it brought to my mind the very last Calvin and Hobbes comic. Does anyone here read or remember Calvin and Hobbes? Calvin is a mischief minded little six year old whose attitude and imagination are more profound than he realizes, and Hobbes is his stuffed tiger whose wisdom is every bit as deep, only Calvin is the only one who hears him and understands him. One of these days maybe I’ll share my thoughts on how Calvin embodies the theology of Swiss Reformer John Calvin and Hobbes the metaphysic of seventeenth century English philosopher Thomas Hobbes. That will be a sermon for another day. But the comic, by Sam Watterson, ran from 1985 to 1995, and I will always remember the very last comic – it was on a Sunday, so it was a longer form comic that I think best represents a healthy outlook toward a changing and considerably unknown future church. Calvin and Hobbes are walking through some fresh-fallen snow with their toboggan as Calvin exclaims with wonder, “Wow! It really snowed last night! Isn’t it wonderful?” Hobbes replies, “Everything familiar has disappeared! The world looks brand-new!” Calvin agrees: “A new year… a fresh, clean start!” His stuffed tiger chimes in, “It’s like having a big white sheet of paper to draw on!” “A day full of possibilities,” Calvin adds. “It’s a magical world, Hobbes, old buddy!” And as they toboggan down the world of freshly fallen snow, that blank page on which anything can be written, Calvin shouts with unrestrained glee, “Let’s go exploring!”
I have no idea where this new way of doing church is going to lead us, but wherever it does, Jesus will be right there with us. So let’s hop on that toboggan, and let’s go exploring!