We’ve been blessed the last few weeks to have a couple of pieces of art on display in our parish hall. Both are by our member Paul O’Neill. One is a working model of the mural he painted on our Thrift Shop’s eastern wall. The other is an arresting image of Mary holding baby Jesus. If you have not seen these paintings in the parish hall and the Thrift Shop mural, you should.

I described the Mary and Jesus painting as arresting because every time I walk into or through the parish hall, it arrests me. Often that’s as I walk in from our office wing. It’s just on the edge of my peripheral vision and makes me think someone is there. When I’m coming straight at it, it pops out and dominates the view. And I find that its beauty and depth change with the light. It’s quite different in very low light, but you have to be here pretty early or pretty late to see that.

Its iconic style captures the intimacy of Mary’s love for Jesus and reflects the intimacy of his love for her. That is at the heart of the Christmas story. It is at the heart of our pageant. It is at the heart of our Christmas hymns. It is at the heart of God’s desire to draw us into the most intimate of relationships with him through Jesus.

You made it! It’s Christmas Eve. Everything that will be done is done. If it isn’t done, it won’t be done - unless you still have gifts to wrap or items like bikes or toys that require assembly. Either way, there is joy and peace to be had now. Breathe. Relax.

We all have a lot going on this time of year, of course. There are decorations, lights, and trees. Some plan ahead and buy Christmas presents all year. Others are more like me. I began shopping on Friday. There are decorations and lights to set up, food to buy and other preparations for family and friends. Baking cookies.

There are gifts to give to churches and other charities before year end, and service to those in need.

It’s 3AM.  The phone rings.  It’s the red phone, the crisis phone.  No, wait, it’s the Bat phone.  You pick up the phone, but it’s not a phone at all.  They are bells – church bells – and you’re late. And your shirt is twisted or something. You cannot get your arm through the sleeve and everyone is waiting.

Only you’re not late, you’re asleep.  You’re dreaming, just dreaming. You wake up with a mix of your chest pounding and relief. Then you laugh inside. The anxiety of your dream was just your brain sorting out a mix of experiences and emotions. Maybe you check to make sure your alarm is set, but you don’t get up to make sure your shirts aren’t twisted.

I hope you identified with my nightmare because you have had a similar experience. Let’s keep that in mind as we remember Joseph’s vital role with Jesus coming into the world.

A friend texted me this week to ask about hell. It seemed a bit dark given the holiday season, but he had been looking at different Jewish, Christian and Muslim perspectives on it. I told him that while the history of interpretation is endlessly interesting and can be useful, I always start from the Bible, the scriptures themselves. We say, “The Word of the Lord,” because we hold them as coming from the highest authority.

Like heaven, the scriptural picture of hell is a mix of ideas and images. It’s not clear what is to be taken literally, symbolically and metaphorically. But it’s clearly the opposite of heaven and impassably distant from it. It’s clearly the opposite of Jesus, of God, of good.

Times were hard for the prophet Elijah. For much of his ministry, he had to deal with King Ahab, who scripture describes this way, “And Ahab the son of Omri did evil in the sight of the Lord, more than all who were before him.” (1 Kings 16:30) “He did more to provoke the Lord, the God of Israel, than all the kings before him.” He married Jezebel, a Phoenician princess from Sidon who was really bad too, and built altars to the false god Baal.

It’s a fascinating story which you can read in 1 Kings, but to summarize, Elijah bravely and resolutely confronted Ahab and Jezebel and their awful blasphemy of encouraging false prophets and false gods in Israel. That’s a big no-no, by the way. Those confrontations are alongside demonstrations of God’s extraordinary provision and mercy, sending rain and feeding, even raising the dead.

When I was in seminary, a good chunk of the curriculum seemed designed to scare us. They were constantly warning us about how hard parish ministry is on clergy and their families. They pointed out different ways conflict could arise in churches. They’d bring in priests to talk to us who had been in some manner of trouble. Some had crumbled under stress and gotten into addictions or affairs and were disciplined. Others had taken the wrong call and been crushed by the experience. Some had burned out.

Meanwhile, we had a lot of conflict in the seminary itself. Our dean had been accused of sexual harassment, exonerated then disciplined anyway and eventually forced out. The students were divided in several ways. But worse, the faculty who were all ordained were as well.

Then one day during my third year, at the start of my last semester, a guy who had graduated at the end of my first year came back for a visit. I’ll call him Ken, because that’s his name. Ken Weldon, or as I like to call him, Ken “Good Servant” Weldon.

When Meg and I went to England three years ago, it just happened to be after Queen Elizabeth II died. In fact, we went to Evensong that first evening in Westminster Abbey, where her funeral had been exactly one week earlier. It felt a little odd knowing King Charles III had succeeded his mother, which changed all the signs and stationery. That’s not just because my mum is British. Although we fought our war of independence 250 years ago to throw off King George III of England, we do share a great deal of history.

I hope and pray Charles does well. Many English monarchs did. Queen Elizabeth II reigned for over 70 years, the longest of any British monarch and second longest of any in history. Queen Victoria ruled about 25 to 30% of the world’s population, the largest empire the world has ever seen. There is only one English monarch who is called “great.”  Who, you might ask?  Maybe I should ask you!  It’s not Arthur, not Henry VIII, Elizabeth I or II or Victoria. His name was Alfred. Why was Alfred great?

Our gospel today unfolds in front of the Temple at Jerusalem, just before Jesus will be arrested and crucified. Let’s quickly review that the first Temple was built at God’s instruction to Solomon to be his house among humanity. It wasn’t actually any bigger than this building, a bit taller, but it was extremely ornate, the interior was covered in gold, but was destroyed by the Babylonians around 586 BC.

The second Temple was built 70 years later in 516 on the same spot and to the same specifications, except it was much more modest. Israel was a vassal state of Persia at the time and didn’t have the resources to cover everything in gold.

To begin this sermon, I would like to call your attention to a short phrase that we hear every Sunday. Most of you have probably heard it so often that it just washes over you, without you thinking about it. Please find a Prayer Book in your pew and turn to page 360. After the “Confession” you see what is called the “Absolution.” The priest says, “Almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, keep you in eternal life. Amen.” The part I want you to notice is the very last part, the little phrase where the priest prays that you will be “kept in eternal life.” The point here is that eternal life comes to us in the present moment. You are in eternal life right now!

This morning’s gospel raises the issue of how we pray.

When I served at St. Mary’s in Belleview, by God’s grace he led us to build a new sanctuary. There was a section for the organ and choir off to the left, facing the nave at about a 45-degree angle. However, the pews were too close together for kneelers. There, as here, the congregation knelt for the Prayers of the People, Confession, and part of the Eucharist. So, I suggested they lean forward, sitting toward the front edge of their seats. It would look like they were kneeling and also reverential.

They agreed. Well, almost all of them agreed. One woman said, “No.” She explained that she felt very strongly that she should stand to pray. This woman was very active in ministry, a true parish leader, and she was very serious. She was the only one of about twenty who felt that way, not even her husband.