The Rev. Carol S. Wedell
December 14, 2008

I would like you to find someone near you and briefly tell them something you did this weekend.  It can be anything, going to the grocery store, whatever.  Done?  OK, now I want you to share with that same person one of the last times that you have been deeply touched or moved by someone or something, something that pulled at your emotional heart strings. Which was more difficult to share?  Why?  Which one gave you more of a feeling of knowing the other person (assuming that you didn't know them before)?

Today's sermon is the last in a series on "Making Room for Jesus."  Today the call is to make room in our hearts. This is not a new or original idea.  Even a quick glance through our hymnal in the Advent and Christmas sections, and you'll find many references to our hearts: "My hope, my heart's delight,"   "Fling wide the portals of your heart; Make it a temple set apart,"  "Joy of every longing heart," "By thine own eternal Spirit rule in all our hearts alone."  Our first hymn today, "All my heart today rejoices." "Good Christian friends, rejoice with heart and soul, and voice."  Our final hymn today concludes, "Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart."  Certainly, in some other denominations, you would find even more heart language throughout.

There can be no doubt, that making room in our hearts for Jesus is central to the Christian faith all year, and particularly in this season when we remember the coming of Jesus as a vulnerable infant and anticipate his final return.   But that doesn't mean that it's easy to make room for him in our hearts.  What's on your heart this morning? Worries about relationships?  Anxiety over finances?  Excitement or dread about the upcoming days? Is your heart wide open, ready for God's appearance?  Is it barred shut, afraid to be hurt? Somewhere in between?

For a variety of reasons, some of us may find that our emotions are closer to the surface at this time of year.  Yet even with all of that, I would suggest that making room in our hearts for Jesus may be the hardest thing of all.  That is partly because this week's challenge is not about externals at all, but rather about at taking a good long look at ourselves.  And plenty of us would rather not go there. As an early theologian, Augustine said "How can you draw close to God if you are far from your own self?"

Actually, I believe that there are a host of reasons why using "heart" language to describe our faith and our relationship to God through Christ is difficult for many of us.  The first is that we're Presbyterians - often called "God's frozen chosen!"  We value the fact that we don't have to check our mind at the door, but that thoughtful questions are valued and encouraged as people seek to grow in faith. As a group, Presbyterians are generally well educated, and accustomed to approaching most everything from an analytical, intellectual point of view.  And some, though not all of us, may have a harder time accessing our emotional center since we are so accustomed to living in the other realm.

Some of us have also bought into a false split between head and heart, as if we were not whole people.  Throughout Christian history, theologians and faithful followers have sought to find a balance between the head and heart- often coming down on one side or the other. You can see this today if you visit different churches.  Some are highly emotional, clearly aimed at the heart, others are far more head oriented.  On a good day, I believe the church should make you think and warm your heart.  But it's not easy!

Claiming and using the language of the heart, which is, of course, the language of love, can be difficult because all of us have, to one degree or another "hardened our hearts."  We read about it in the Hebrew Scriptures.  Jesus also calls it one of the stumbling blocks to receiving God's reign: hardness of heart; having a heart of stone rather than a heart of flesh, a heart unwilling to make room for the mystery and love of God.  The ancients understood so well, as do some modern day saints, that there is always the need for our heart to be transformed through an ongoing process of conversion.  French writer Andre' Louf  speaks beautifully of that ongoing process as the  "relaxation of heart" -- that is, letting the heart be gentled in such a way that it can make room for God."

What wonderful imagery!  "Relaxing the heart." "Gentling a hardened heart, in order to soften it enough so it can be open to receiving God's love.

To be open to receiving Jesus involves making ourselves vulnerable.  And that is where most of us start to get nervous. Will God - or those around me-see through the carefully built façade I've erected to keep myself safe?  What if I fail?  What if, as I've always feared, at some very basic level I am inadequate?  If I've let myself down, how can I trust God to come in and see what's there?

And here is where the song of Mary, the Magnificat, touches us, and offers us different way.  Hers is an amazing model of both vulnerability and faithfulness.  Here is a young, teenage girl - probably about 13, who finds herself pregnant, but not of her own doing.  I'm not quite sure how you go about explaining that to your parents!  But she listens to what God has to say, and ponders these things in her heart - because obviously it doesn't make sense on a rational level - and remarkably she answers "yes." 

Friends, she did have a choice.  She could have answered no.  But instead, she risks it all and answers "Yes, I will do this impossible thing you ask of me."  "Yes, I will risk ridicule and questions."  "Yes, I will carry you in my heart - and body."  And then she bursts into song proclaiming her joy at God's presence and activity in her heart and soul and life, a song that shows how God is turning everything upside down.  It is a song that celebrates that her willingness to share her heart with God has brought her close to God - not sent away, as if she were somehow inadequate (which is, of course, what her culture would have thought of her.)

If a 13 year old girl over 2000 years ago could risk saying yes to God, there is hope for you and me.  Notice that hers was not a passive, obligatory response. Mary made room in her heart, in her body, in the whole of her life for the One who came to change the world.  By her example, we are shown the way. She didn't just keep going to Temple and following the law because "that's what she was supposed to do."  No, she took the fundamental stance a person of faith takes when trying to be open to God's leading.  She was open to her own life and she listened, both to it and to God.

Members of the Rule of St. Benedict call members in the early hours of the morning and encourage them to listen carefully to the day before them and all that it might contain as a gift from God.  And they are simultaneously called to be aware as they listen about those places within them that resist being open to God.  How might our days be different if we were that attentive to every aspect of our days?

It's interesting to note that Mary was able to listen to God's leading when she was in an incredibly vulnerable situation.  When her world threatened to collapse around her, when there seemed to be no way out, when quite literally nothing was going her way, she allowed her very vulnerability to help make her more receptive to God.   Her vulnerability cracked open the door of her heart and let God come in.

When difficulties arise of which we want no part, when our world is shaken - either personally or globally,  when a parent or child or spouse or even you become critically ill, we find ourselves suddenly thrown into a world of which we know little.  And in that "not knowing," our very vulnerability gives God a chance to get in, to find room in our overcrowded hearts - if we listen for God's voice and say yes.

Because candidly, when we are on the success bandwagon, we don't have time to listen, we don't have time to slow down, we don't have time to think about how God fits into the picture.  No way!  Perhaps instead, your heart is so filled with worry and anxiety that you can't make room for God. We may go on spinning our wheels in unsatisfying jobs - especially now, when one feels fortunate to have any job - and yet find our passion and creativity are cut off entirely. 

Sometimes we unknowingly neglect our children, letting our drivenness, and our own needs distance us from the ups and downs of their lives.  And then we wonder why their lives are out of control with sports and music and homework that most of us never saw, and AP classes, and all of those things that are supposed to impress college admissions folks.  If your four- year -old's schedule is keeping everyone too busy, what sense does that make? What happened to just going outside to play?

Are we unable to give unconditional love, because we ourselves never received it?  The more you think about it, the more obvious it becomes that there is plenty of room in our hearts for Jesus - and plenty of junk to clear out.

The paradox is that we don't make room for Jesus in our lives by doing more.  But most of us sure act like it is.  We love to think that we can do it all alone, and don't need any help from anyone, thank you very much.  You would be shocked how often I hear that from parishioners in one form or another, "Oh, I'm fine.  I don't need any meals."  -- when you know that simply walking to the kitchen is a painful exercise for them.  "Everything's going fine" - when a relationship is on the rocks.   "How are you today?"  "Fine." - When there is biopsy scheduled for later that week and she's scared to death.  Oh we are a fiercely independent bunch!

The problem is that we weren't created to be totally independent.  We were created to be in relationship with God and with each other.  And when we keep it all together and don't admit that we just might need a little help every so often, an interesting thing happens.  We can find ourselves isolated; unknowingly putting people off by our veneer of competence and self-assuredness.  Our heart is closed to God, to others and even to ourselves.

Let me tell you a story -- about me.  I'm choosing to be vulnerable with you, because I want us to be the kind of church where it is safe to do that. This week someone asked me if I went about preparing my sermons in a different way than when I first got here. He had perceived a change, but wasn't sure what it was.  I thought about it and said no - my basic process is about the same most weeks.  And then I said, ‘but I'm a lot more comfortable in the pulpit now.  I know who I'm speaking to, and you know who is in front of you."  And undoubtedly that's true.  Nearly four years of preaching to the same people does bring a certain ease.

Yet I realized later that wasn't the whole story.  Because what this person had picked up on was a new level of transparency or authenticity that I am able to share now.  For a host of reasons for most of my life, I thought I had to present a picture of the competent, professional woman.  (Going to seminary when I did, that's not an unfair assumption.)  That was OK to a point.  It enabled me to function in a setting that was, at that time, entirely directed by and for, strong, capable men.  Unfortunately for me, competent sometimes translated to a person with some sharp edges that could poke you if you ran into them. Several people who have known me in a host of situations acknowledged over decades that they had seen or experienced those rough edges.  Worst of all?  I had no idea.  Not a clue.

Then, as Augustine suggested, I began to spend some time learning who I was, how my history had helped to shape me - for better and worse.   How could I draw close to God - or draw close to you - if I didn't know more fully who I was?  Now fortunately sharp edges aren't all that I'm made of.  As with all of us, we aren't all bad or all good. There are some redeeming qualities as well, or you never would have called me, and I wouldn't have a friend on the earth. But as some of those sharper edges have softened up a bit, my heart is more available to be in relationship with God - and with you.

Friends, the way to a life that is joy-filled and authentic is knowing ourselves well enough that we don't have to talk over other people, but can listen intently to those around us and to God.  The even more wonderful thing is that when we ourselves can't move the barriers that keep us at a distance,  God's love has a way of finding a way in, sometimes seeping in bit by bit, sometimes blowing open the door with a large gust of wind.

The Rev. Jill Duffield shared a story she heard on NPR on World Aid's day.  One woman spoke of her brother who had died of AIDS prior to newer advances in drug therapy were available and when AIDS was accompanied by enormous shame and judgment.  She had cared for him during the last months of his life.  Because of the cultural shame attached at the time, she didn't let others know the nature of his illness.  When he died she grieved silently - and alone.

Not long after his death she was in a store and something reminded her of her brother.  Without being able to control it, she began to cry.  The clerk in the store asked what was wrong.  She said, "I whispered, my brother died of AIDS."  The clerk replied, "You don't have to whisper to me." And he came around the counter and hugged her.  She closes her story, "I loved him.  I didn't know him.  But I loved him."

Friends, that really is the gift, the good news of making room for Jesus in our hearts.  No matter what our fears, our regrets, the things of which we are most ashamed, our losses, or guilt, no matter what - we don't have to whisper them anymore.  God has made a way for us, by embracing our authentic selves - heart, mind and soul, in Jesus.  Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us.  God for us.

As we prepare once again for the coming of Christ, each one of us is invited to make room by choosing to open our hearts without fear.  Nothing is too shocking to keep us from the love of God.  God chooses to send Jesus to demonstrate the enormous love that God has for us.  As Mary sings, God levels the path and removes every obstacle and makes a way, hoping that we will listen - and step on to the path that has been made for us.  God wants us to believe the truth.  Our hearts are the place God chooses to dwell.  We can share all of ourselves with God - and hopefully, eventually with God's people without whispering.  May God give you and me the grace and trust to make room in our hearts to the one whose love is waiting for us  - even this very moment.