Luke 1:67-80 · Zechariah’s Song
Making Holiness
Luke 1:67-80
Sermon
by Leonard Sweet
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Some people are born with natural gifts talents or tendencies that are woven directly into their genetic code. Mozart was born with music already playing in his soul. And no matter how many swings or jumpers we buy that play Mozart as our infants swing and jump, the number of budding Mozarts out there is very small. Michelangelo was graced with a third-eye one that could detect the presence of a winged angel or a weeping mother hidden inside an amorphous chunk of cold marble.

But even the most gifted and most talented become better, more gifted and talented, with practice. It was as Mozart and Michelangelo lived their skills that they moved from technical genius to spiritual triumph.

Not all great talents are manifested in such enduring examples as marble statues or soaring sonatas.

For the stand-up comic, success is only as long as the last burst of laughter.

For gifted athletes, there is only that split-second of perfect timing that results in a great catch or an amazing shot.

For my grandmother the perfect expression of her greatest talent lasted only as long as a crumb remained of her latest cake. Baking a cake for Gramma was an act of art, an expression of a lifetime of finely-honed skills.

All of her cakes came from a creative combination of head work, hand work and hard work. Her head and her hands beat to the rhythm of her sense of taste, smell, and touch, sight and sound. I never saw any recipe cards or cookbooks in her kitchen. Gramma Boggs let the cake be what it wanted to be, and made it up as she went along.

A cake required more flour when the batter didn't feel right. Ingredient amounts had to be adjusted, added or subtracted, based on the humidity, the cold, the size of the eggs, the creaminess of the milk, the richness of the butter. Spices and flavorings simply suggested themselves along the way as the cake was assembled from scratch. From the length of cooking time to how long the cake should sit before frosting or filling, my grandmother juggled and balanced a huge number of variables.

At the end of the cooking process, each cake was a unique, individual, unrepeatable creation. A raisin-applesauce cake baked on Tuesday would be different from a raisin-applesauce cake baked on Saturday. For my grandmother each cake, like each day, like each moment of her life, required its own careful attention, its own precisely detailed creation.

The Advent season is welcomed and worshiped even by those who would profess no religious interests whatsoever because it's so saturated with special moments and rituals that we perk up and pay attention to each and every day. Retailers may have their strictly monetary reasons for constantly reminding us there is only 15 days left until Christmas. But as December passes all of us find each day somehow counting more.

The blur of cold November days that we slogged through in a gray haze is now replaced by an Advent-calendar anticipation of each new morning. We're more attentive to and mindful of the days of our weeks, the hours of our days, the minutes of our hours.

Being mindful of each moment of our life, giving meaning to the minutes we inhabit, should be a lifelong practice for Christians. Meister Eckhardt advised that discipleship isn't doing something to make you holy, it is your making holy what you do.

Making Holiness is a part of everything Christians do. When making holiness is a part of every action, every thought, every plan, time is transformed into something magical and mysterious. Days cannot slide by as a sludgy sea of fast-food dinners, commuter traffic jams, endless loads of laundry, boring social studies papers, looming deadlines, and tedious meetings. When we make holiness an ingredient in every minute we live, our days take on the brilliance and color of the Christmas tree lights adorning our holiday trees.

In today's gospel text John the Baptist's father, Zechariah, sings a hymn of praise to God, a song that recalls the past promises of God to the people and then describes the beginning of the fulfillment of those promises. The messianic salvation so long awaited by God's people was at last about to come into their midst. Yet Zechariah's hymn reminds his listeners that the anticipated messianic age would be marked by more than God's redemptive actions, more than the messiah's saving presence. In response to God's divine deliverance of the people from their enemies, those who accepted the salvation of the messiah were expected to "serve him without fear in holiness and righteousness before him all our days" (1:74-75).

As Christians this is our calling: to bring a mindfulness of holiness and righteousness to each and every day.

Holiness isn't something that happens in a church sanctuary on Sunday morning.

Holiness isn't a far-off goal that might be ours in some pearly-gated future.

Holiness is the presence and manifestation of Christ. His holy presence is what Zechariah praises and proclaims is present as the "light to those who sit in darkness" (verse 79). Without the holy presence of Christ, all our days are darkened by the lurking shadow of death. Holiness, bringing the presence of the living Christ into every moment, transforms every gloom into glory.

Would anyone voluntarily keep all the lights off in their home except for one hour on Sunday morning? Do you want to stumble around in the dark, unable to see the faces of your family, the colors of your world, because you refuse to let the light be turned on? Righteousness is the other calling of a holiness-making Christian. When we bring the holiness of Christ's presence into every nook and cranny of our lives, into every decision of every day, we commit ourselves to righteousness. Righteousness is what produces the fruits of holiness.

If Christ sits with you at a morning staff meeting, can you treat colleagues with anything less than justice and love?

When dinner time becomes a holy moment can tirades and tantrums pass back and forth across the table?

When my grandmother baked her miraculously formed cakes, she knew that her attentiveness to the baking process included the mandate that all the ingredients be the best she could offer. Christians cannot bring the holiness of Christ's presence into each day just so they can complain to their Savior about their surroundings. Christ's presence demands that we make our surroundings holy, that we fill each holy moment with righteous action.

Every year at Christmas time we sing carols that recount angels proclaiming "peace on earth, good will towards men, from Heaven's all gracious King." Peace is a messianic promise, a Christmas promise. Yet peace appears to be a promise unfulfilled.

In Zechariah's hymn he too concludes that the Messiah his son John comes to proclaim will guide our feet into the way of peace. This path of peace is the ultimate glory for those who serve God in holiness and righteousness. Peace is the final result of a life lived in Christ's presence and worked out in righteousness.

But this peace isn't a destination. Zechariah does not sing of a place of peace. Instead his hymn promises that for those who live in light of the Savior, their feet will travel along the way of peace.

Just as holiness is incarnated moment by moment, peace is a path traveled step by step. Peace isn't a final resting place. Peace is the journey taken.

As we follow Christ's path each day we progress in peace.

As we make holy every day we progress in peace.

As we enact righteousness each 24 hours, we give peace feet to move throughout the world.

ChristianGlobe Networks, Collected Sermons, by Leonard Sweet