I pledge allegiance...

This week, I became an American citizen. To become a citizen - after living here for five years as a permanent resident, being fingerprinted, and paying a hefty fee - I had to prove that I could read and write English and that I know basic facts about U.S. history and government. What is the Constitution? Name one of the two longest rivers in the US. What are the rights and the responsibilities of being a citizen? Who wrote the Federalist Papers? (In case you’re wondering, the answer is Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay, writing under the pseudonym of Publius). Finally, I had to give up my allegiance to my birth country and take the Oath of Allegiance.


It’s a big deal, and something that I didn’t take lightly. But as I went through the process, I wondered, what if we treated baptism more like citizenship?


It wasn’t an original thought. In Ephesians 2, Paul writes, “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God;” in Philippians 3, he argues “ Our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” When we become followers of Christ, when we are baptized, we become citizens of the kingdom of heaven, with all the privileges, the rights, and the responsibilities entailed in that.


As citizens of the United States, we pledge allegiance. We will participate in our nation's life. We will obey the law. We will serve our country - without qualification or limitation - except if our religious belief limits us in some way. There are no excuses; we don’t need excuses, because we are proud to be part of something so much greater than ourselves, and we trust that when we are in need, our nation will in turn provide for us.


It’s the same for us as citizens of heaven. There is no residency requirement, no fingerprinting, and no application fee to become a citizen of heaven. There’s not even an exam - though it does help if you know something about this kingdom you are joining. But when we are asked, “Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior? Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love? Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?” we are, in effect, taking an oath of allegiance to Christ. We will follow him. We will obey him. We will serve him. No matter what. We become part of something so much greater than ourselves, the work of Christ in this world. And we trust that Christ will provide for us when we are in need.


That’s the theory. But the reality is often different. We try to juggle our obligations - to work, to family, to ourselves, and to God. How do you choose between worship and much needed family time? What do you do when your employer expects you to work late on the night you have committed to lead a church activity?


There are no easy answers: the only answer that scripture gives us is Jesus’ answer: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” No matter what.

Feet that ache and a heart that breaks

It was a somewhat ragged looking procession, Joseph, in his homespun robe, and Mary, struggling to keep her scarf on, hesitantly moving toward the manger and the coming of the baby. It was not the first Christmas Eve, of course, but Christmas Eve last year, when the children of our parish reenacted that story that is so familiar to us, and that we gather to remember each year.

Mary and Joseph were soon joined by the baby, a bouncing nine month old, smiling and waving. Then the shepherds straggled up the aisle, clothed in bathrobes and dishcloths, followed by the angels in their Christmas best, adorned with fairy wings and haloes of dubious provenance. Finally they all reached the front of the church

and paused in a glorious tableau of worship, angels adoring, shepherds kneeling, as we sang,

“Come to Bethlehem and see

him whose birth the angels sing:

come, adore on bended knee

the infant Christ, the new-born king.”

There was a lot less carpet and a lot more dirt, but I suspect the original Christmas

would have been just as chaotic and just as glorious when finally the baby was born and the shepherds arrived and the star shone brightly overhead.

But sometimes I wonder if, wrapped in the the beauty of the familiar story, we forget its astounding significance. Because the story of Christmas isn’t just confined to that scene in the stable. After all, the birth itself was like any other one, and the appearance of the shepherds a passing curiosity.  What makes it different is that we understand it to be the time when the Incarnation became tangible: God came among us as one of us, or, as the letter to Titus puts it, grace appeared.

In Jesus Christ, grace appeared.

What Titus means, as far as we can tell, is not that some abstract thing wafted over humanity.  Rather, in the Incarnation, the grace that the people had always known as a characteristic of God materialized. It became real.  Grace with flesh and blood.

And that grace that is embodied in Jesus Christ makes a difference.  It makes a difference because now we know that God knows exactly what it is to be human, the best and the worst of it.  God knows the joy and the pain, the ordinary and the extraordinary.  God knows about feet that ache and a heart that breaks.

Because grace was embodied, we know that the physical part of our existence, our bodies, are no less holy than our spirits, our souls.  God became incarnate in Jesus Christ, and in so doing entered the created world in a way that left no room for lingering doubt.  We, as created, embodied beings, are part of the good creation of God.

And grace that was embodied in Jesus Christ lived like us and died like us. And grace turned the cross from a thing of torture to a hallowed place of forgiveness. And then grace rose again, with the promise that we too will rise again.

And perhaps the children walking up the aisle to create that tableau have it right.

Because it’s the way of grace that we don’t always know where we are going; we’re not always sure what we are supposed to do. But we trust that we will be led to see our Savior - and the grace of it is that we will. God is waiting for us in the manger in Bethlehem, in the cross of Calvary, in the empty tomb and resurrected Christ, in the bread and wine of the Eucharist. Grace has appeared.