A Sermon Preached at St. Stephen’s on Dec. 14, 2008, by the Rev. Cork Tarplee

            People came from all over Central Europe to hear Rabbi Zusia teach.  You’d think all that adulation would go to the great scholar’s head, but Zusia had more wisdom than most of us.  Before he died, Zusia said, “When I face the celestial tribunal I shall not be asked why I was not Abram, Jacob or Moses, but why I was not Rabbi Zusia.”

            The great rabbi’s call to lead lives of authenticity is one we may all need to listen to.  “Do what you can,” he seems to tell us, “but know your limits, too.”  This morning the great role model for doing what we can, but knowing our limits is John the Baptist.  Asked “Who are you?” John claims his role as “witness to the light” as one who prepares the way for someone greater.  But John is also very clear.  “I am not the Messiah,” he says.  We should all be so clear about our roles.

            First of all, we are all called to identify with Jesus’ compassion.  Our faith asserts that we are in Christ and Christ lives in us.  We are Christ’s agents, Christ’s hands in the world.  We are to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners.  As Luther said, we are to be “little Christs.”  The role of witness is important.  By our actions we make real all the power and great glory of God’s love.  That our actions are important is made clear over and over again.  A few Christmases ago, a woman stumbled in barefoot and bleeding to an overnight shelter in an Episcopal church.  She had been assaulted and beaten on a cold and rainy night and had seen the lights on in the parish hall.  Volunteers found her dry clothes, fed her and administered first aid.  When the woman finally stopped crying and looked around her she said, to everyone’s surprise, “This is such a peaceful place.  God must be here with us tonight.”  That is the goal of all we do for God in the world: that we might in some small way make God’s love real in the brokenness of the world.

            And we do so much to make God’s love real.  Our work with the homeless, our work with the food cupboard, our generosity to our Angel tree clients and our sacrificial giving to the church as we make our pledges at this time of year….all these witness to our belief that the love of God is at work in the world.  The acts of kindness that we do for those close at hand also witness to God’s love.  We work hard to see that the sick and lonely around us are remembered at Christmas.  We work hard to see that our children and loved ones know that they are loved.  We create feasts and a magical world of decorations to make real the abundance of God’s love.  And it is important that we do all of this.  But it is also important that we remember the other side of the coin.  John the Baptist was very clear, “I am not the Messiah.”

            We need to be equally clear.  We will not single-handedly bring in the kingdom with all of our efforts.  All of us need to remember that we can’t produce the perfect holiday, feed all the hungry and care for all God’s broken people.  We can’t even wrestle happiness out of those we care for, and we need to allow ourselves to stop trying.  Years ago, my friend was tormented by trying to please his un-pleasable mother.  She returned every gift he ever gave her and nothing ever seemed to make her happy. My friend was worn out trying to please her—and had begun to stay away from her and to avoid talking with her on the telephone to avoid the guilt he felt.  I saw my friend the other day and he told me about the results of some work he’d done in therapy.  “I’m doing better,” he said, “now that I’ve learned to set some limits on pleasing my mother.  Now I ask myself what the responsibilities of a dutiful son might be.  I do what I think is appropriate.  Then I don’t worry about whether it is enough.”  We might all learn what is appropriate to do, and then stop when we’ve done it.  A visitor to New York from Armenia once wrote about his first encounter with a revolving door.  Each time an opening came around, he was anxious to slip quickly through it, but his nervousness made him push the door harder and harder, and of course the openings came around too fast for him to get through. In a panic, he called out to his American wife.  She called back, “All you have to do is stop.”  He stopped.  The door stopped.  And he was free.

            Sometimes the demands of this holy season are like that revolving door.  We think that if we just work harder and faster, somehow we’ll make everyone happy.  The truth is sometimes just the reverse.  We have to know when to stop.  We have to do what we can, and stop worrying about whether it is enough.  Let God be God.  We also witness to our belief in the power of God’s love when we stop trying to do it all and trust that what we do in God’s name will be enough.  After all, at the end of our lives, nobody is going to wonder why we were not the Messiah.  All we can be is authentically ourselves: as kind, as loving and as generous as we are able…and humble enough to let ourselves rest. May we do what we can, but know our limits as well.

                                                                                                AMEN