Last night, a hardy group from St. John’s bundled up against the wind and cold and set up a table on Main Street as part of Visit Charlestown’s Holiday Night Out. Whether by accident or by Providence, we were stationed next to the entrance of The Cooperative Bank, where Santa Claus was available for photos, so a steady stream of neighbors young and old walked past us on their way to see the Big Guy. We blasted Christmas music, handed out cookies and candy-cane gift bags, and collected a few bids for our Red Sox ticket Silent Auction.

But by far the most heads were turned by Simon’s voice announcing, as they walked past, “Free Raffle! Free Raffle!”

It’s astounding how quickly someone’s path can change when you say those simple words. We were just raffling off a gift basket, nothing crazy. But it was free. All you had to do was risk frozen fingers to write your name on a slip of paper and put it in the box for a chance to win.

And so we witnessed dozens of bundled-up yuppies on their way home from work or out for dinner turn aside with a look of delight. Scores of seniors chatted with us as they scoped out the goods. More than one elementary schooler checked with her mom to confirm that the family email address was, in fact, correct.

And why not? It was a free raffle, a chance to win a nice little gift, no strings attached.

But as the box of entries filled with free raffle tickets, so did the “Donations Welcome” jar at the other end of the table. A young guy who never would’ve stopped to buy a church raffle ticket slipped a twenty across the table in exchange for his free cookie and chance at a prize. Kids searched their pockets for leftover dollar bills. And best yet, when someone said she had no cash but could she Venmo us, we said no, it’s free; just fill a ticket out and put it in.

As Pia observed, halfway through, this is like grace. And she was right, and in fact I can’t think of a better way to put it.

In God’s economy, everything is free of charge. You are loved, and you are forgiven, and you are (from time to time) inspired, and you do not have to do a thing. God’s grace is a free raffle for a wonderful gift, and if you show up without cash, you get a ticket anyway. God’s love is completely gratuitous, in every sense of the word.

And yet this freedom doesn’t lead to freeloading. Not a single person, when confronted with the news of a free raffle, came up with a scheme to game the system, to take advantage of our generosity. They responded with their own. As the ticket box filled up, the tip jar filled up too, and if that doesn’t sum up Christian life, I don’t know what does. When we are loved, it leads us to love. When we are forgiven, it leads us to forgive. When in the midst of darkness we see a glimpse of light, we do not hide it away for ourselves, but show it to the world.

I walked home last night wondering what else we could give away for free, and what gifts we’d receive in return. I wondered how much money the Harvest Fair would raise if the Turkey Dinner were free (suggested donation: $20). I wondered what the church’s budget would look like if instead of charging tickets for church, we opened our doors and accepted donations. (Psych! We already do this! But churches used to actually rent pews.) I wondered what it would look like in my life to remember that everything I have is a gift from somewhere else, and to give myself as a gift in return.

I wonder what it would look like in yours.

This Sunday marks the beginning of another Advent, the season of quiet reflection and eager anticipation that falls before Christmas, in which we still our souls and quiet our minds to prepare to greet the coming of Jesus with joy.

At least in theory.

This year, as every year, Advent seems to come too soon, tripping over the heels of Thanksgiving and plunging us suddenly into a new season. For many of us, the stillness of Advent will really be a frenzy of parties and concerts and holiday preparation. For others, the cold and darkness of these December days will make it hard to feel like we want to rejoice, or the grief of loved ones lost will tinges every special day with sadness. I, for one, continue to be in denial about the arrival of colder winter weather, which I’m still pretending won’t come this year.

But God shows up, in any case, whether we feel like it or not.

But that’s the most Adventy part of the whole thing. God shows up, whether we are ready or not. Whether we’re awake or asleep, lamps full of oil or empty, long before we expect it and after unimaginable delays, God shows up in our lives and in our worlds. In the darkest days of the year, in the darkest eras of our lives, in a tucked-away manger in a small town outside the holy city, God shows up, and the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

So your Advent this year might not be too quiet. Or it might be too quiet. It might be cold, and dark, or it might be warm and cozy. But whatever it is: Keep one eye open for the coming of Christ. Expect some unexpected grace. Prepare to be unprepared for joy to appear in a place you never would have imagined.

Last year, the Senate voted unanimously to make Daylight Saving Time permanent, ending the practice of changing the clock twice per year with a bipartisan bill entitled the Sunshine Protection Act. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” said Sen. Patty Murray of Washington, apparently not for the first time: “Americans want more sunshine and less depression.” Amen!

Last weekend, we all turned our clocks back an hour nevertheless.

There’s a whole essay in here about American political dysfunction. Hundreds of words could be written about the bizarre notion that an action supported by around three-quarters of the population could pass one house of the legislature unanimously and die with no action taken in the other.

There’s something else that could be said about the changing of the seasons and the Church calendar, about the darkness setting in as we prepare for Advent to begin, about the ten bridesmaids keeping watch through the night, who need to “keep their lamps trimmed and burning,” preparing for the unexpected coming of the Lord. But that’s this Sunday Gospel, and there will be time on Sunday for that.

Today, I’m struck instead by Senator Murray’s words. Because if there’s one thing we can all agree on, it’s that “Americans want more sunshine and less depression.” But it’s probably worth recognizing that this is something that none of us—not even our members of Congress!—have the power to give.

Daylight Saving Time is, after all, an illusion, a purely social convention. The Sun’s internal processes of nuclear fusion are unaffected by the filibuster. The angle at which the Earth rotates on its axis cannot be shifted by even our most dignified politicians. Daylight Saving Time, in its whole history, has not saved a single hour of daylight; nor would the Sunshine Protection Act have given us any more sunshine.

There are very good reasons to think we ought to shift our clocks one way or the other, relative to the status quo. But “more sunshine” simply can’t be one of them! The amount of sunshine during evening rush hour is within our capacity to change, in a world in which our schedules follow clocks set by human hands. The amount of sunshine is not.

Am I just being pedantic? No! (Well, maybe.) I think there’s an actual lesson here.

In many, many ways, we cannot change the circumstances of our lives. There are some things we can change, of course, and we should change them. But there are other things that are simply not within our power to control. The past. The people around us. The number of hours of sunshine in a day.

But while we can’t control these things, we do have some measure of control over the way we respond to them. We can’t change the things that have happened to us in the past; but we can try to change how we relate to our memories of them. We can’t control how the most frustrating people in our lives act, as much as we might like to change them; but we do have some control over how we respond, and we’ll be more successful in changing that. We cannot, by legislation or by prayer, add a single minute’s sunshine to the day. (We seemingly can’t even follow through on deciding not to change our clocks!) But we can do what we can do in the face of the unchangeable: Take that walk outside at lunchtime, make that soup recipe you’ve been eyeing for dinner, buy a coffee-table book on the Danish art of hygge that you’ll probably never read. There is no way to make the sun shine more; we cannot save daylight after all. But maybe we can change the way we enjoy it, instead.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Excerpted from the address by the Rt. Rev. Alan Gates, our Diocesan Bishop, to the Annual Convention of the Diocese of Massachusetts, 2023. You can find the full text and a video here.

Last Friday morning I passed by Emmanuel Church on Newbury Street, and was struck by two signs on the large old doorways of that church.  One says, “Central Reform Temple of Boston, a Progressive Jewish Congregation, meets here.  Welcome!”  And right next to it hangs a parallel sign which says, “Emmanuel Episcopal Church, a progressive Christian congregation, meets here. Welcome!”  My heart was filled with gratitude for that witness, in this moment of all moments.

A few hours later on that same day I was at our Cathedral [Church] of St. Paul, where for 23 years hospitality has been extended for Friday Jummah prayers, a gathering of typically two-to-three hundred Muslim men and women who work downtown and spend their lunch break at prayer.  Last Friday they had called for Community Prayers for Peace, inviting both civic and religious leaders. The Mayor of Boston said a word.  I was invited to offer greetings and a prayer.  We are always mindful that Christians and Muslims are killing each other around the globe.  And occasionally people have said to me: Why do you have that group meeting in your church? Don’t you know that Muslims are killing Christians around the globe? And, of course, the answer is, yes, we do know that.  Muslims and Christians are killing one another all over the world, and it is precisely that knowledge which impels us to model a different way, a peaceful respect across difference.  I am grateful at all times that our cathedral makes that witness, and never more than in such tense times as these.

Finally, on that same Friday in the afternoon, driving to an installation service, I had the car radio on and I heard an interview with Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie, who was offering pastoral care on a hillside outside Jerusalem. The rabbi was holding a roll of stickers that he had grabbed off of his desk as he left New York. The stickers said, “Fragile. Please handle with care.”  He had been handing them to grieving family members. After further discussing his pastoral role, the rabbi said this.

“I’m a peace activist and way on the left. I’ve been fighting for humanitarian solutions to this conflict throughout my life, and that will never change…”

The interviewer asked, “Do you feel like the peace activist part of you has to sort of stuff itself into a box in this moment?”  Rabbi Lau-Lavie replied:

“I am trying very hard not to lose the both/and position that, yes, I stand with Israel at this moment of hurt and will do everything I can to ensure that we defend ourselves against terror. At the same time, I stand with my Palestinian friends who want freedom. I abhor and decry Hamas as a terrorist organization that has hijacked the Palestinians … It’s a both/and, and the both/and is tricky and very unpopular these days. And yet I think that is the only way to make any headway out of this mess, the humanitarian approach, … not revenge, not blaming.”

As I drove along thinking about Christians and Jews in a church on Newbury Street, and Muslims and Christians in a cathedral on Tremont Street; and as I listened to an anguished peace-activist rabbi ministering outside of Jerusalem, I could only weep quietly in the car.  In the last two weeks I have, as you probably have too, heard from some friends that to condemn Hamas atrocities is to ignore the legacy of injustice and violence experienced by Palestinians and the plight of thousands now being killed in the death trap which is Gaza.  I’ve heard from others that in this moment voicing any support for Palestinians, including though not limited to our Christian partners throughout the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem, is failing to honor innocent Israeli victims.
 
In the Gospel passage we heard last Sunday, Jesus said, “Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.” [Matt. 22:21]  In citing that duality, Jesus simultaneously debunks it.  It was a false and deceitful dichotomy, because of course everything is God’s.  And in the Middle East, all the land is God’s, and all the children are God’s, and all the cruelty and suffering and so-called “collateral damage” is an abomination to God.

I do not know the solution to the intractable hostilities in the Middle East.  I don’t think you do either. But I am certain that we must reject the easy dualities and reductionist platitudes of blame and blamelessness; of good and bad; of the primacy of ancient history versus recent history.  Our task, I think, is to condemn indiscriminate violence and cruelty wherever we see it; to extend compassionate care wherever we can support it; to join calls for an immediate ceasefire; to demand humanitarian action on the part of our own government and others; and to pray fervently for people of all faiths who are acting as agents of justice and peace.  That, I think, is our task.

Rest for the weary being somewhat limited, I’ll be headed off this Saturday to our Diocesan Convention, the annual legislative meeting of clergy and elected lay delegates from the 160-something Episcopal parishes and congregations in Eastern Massachusetts, taking place this year in Danvers. I’ve previously waxed poetic about the wonders of democratic governance in our church, so there’s no need to repeat myself about what an amazing thing this sometimes-tedious event is. I thought instead, I’d share with you a few items on the agenda, as an index of what’s going on right now in the wider life of our church:

• Hearing and approving plans for the election of our next Bishop on May 18, 2024- Updates from the members of the diocesan Racial Justice Commission on their work to
  • provide opportunities for training in antiracist practices to congregations and individuals, including seminarians and other future clergy in formation
  • examine the role of racism in shaping our diocesan structures
  • support the lives and leadership of people of color in our diocese
  • continue to develop structures for the Diocesan Reparations Fund established at last year’s convention
• Updates on the work of the Indigenous Peoples’ Justice Network of the two dioceses of Massachusetts and Western Massachusetts, describing their work to connect with members of local Native communities and nations and the several local partnerships they’re pursuing
• An amendment to our Constitution & Canons regarding the processes of congregations transitioning in status between parish (self-supporting congregations with independent governance by a Vestry) and mission (non-self-supporting congregations in which the Bishop exercises greater control), and formaliIng the place of Intentional Episcopal Communities (non-traditional/non-parish congregations) within our governance
  • I’m not a canon lawyer but as far as I can tell the intent here is to increase flexibility both for parishes in danger of closing and for new or innovative ministries in non-traditional forms
• Establishing a Healthy Congregations Task Force to support the lives of clergy and congregations
• Proposed guidelines for the Reparations Fund created last year, and the creation of a Reparations Fund Committee to oversee it
• Reports from working groups on Collaborative Ministries, the Creation Care Justice Network, and other ministry networks of our Diocese

As you can tell, the business of the Church is both active and varied! I’ll look forward to sharing more news next week.

But to be honest: I’m most excited for the opportunity to reconnect with colleagues and friends from around the diocese, to share the more-local stories of good news, hope, and faith from our own communities.