Dear Advent Associates,

Author Frederick Buechner died this past August, leaving behind a wealth of stories, novels and essays which will supply preachers with sermon quotes and illustrations for generations to come. I’ve quoted his stuff throughout my preaching years; it’s rich in imagery and tends to capture the sweet balance of ironic humor and profound insight. Leaning into Buechner promises that you, the listener, may not remember my sermon’s point, but you will carry Buechner’s thought well into the coming week.

This time of year, I recall one of Buechner’s stories, embedded in a skillfully woven Advent sermon delivered by John Buchanan when I was on staff at Chicago’s Fourth Presbyterian Church. I don’t remember the larger arc of John’s sermon, but I do remember Buechner’s recollection of a Christmas pageant performed when he was a young pastor.

At a particular point in the production, the shepherds and angels were supposed to pair off for the singing of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”. This being an earlier time, all the little boys were shepherds, and all the little girls were angels. During the last rehearsal, the Sunday School Superintendent had marked off the chancel with masking tape, putting an “X” on the carpet for the location of each shepherd, and next to it an “O” for each partnered angel. Unfortunately, when the performance occurred, the flowing gowns of the angels obscured their partners’ marks (the children had not been in costume for the rehearsal). The dramatic moment descended into a scene of shepherds shoving angels to find their gaffer’s tape and angels butting shepherds away to hold their circled ground.

Unable to regain order, the director gestured helplessly, trying to move things forward for the singing of the carol. The ensuing pandemonium became permanently memorable when one of the shepherds exclaimed, “These damned angels are in the way!” An exclamation made all the more potent when the annoyed shepherd’s voice was unmistakably that of the pastor’s (Buechner's) son.

(See what I mean—you will not recall the remainder of this essay, but you will remember another Buechner story.)

Throughout Scripture, angels are constantly popping up, not to bring agitation but to dispel fear. “Fear not” seems to be part of the standard angel script (Genesis 21.17, Daniel 10.12, Luke 1.13, Luke 1.30, Luke 2.10, Matthew 28.5, Acts 27.23-24), along with the command to “Behold!” But I would suggest that in this season of angels, we are more inclined to be annoyed than frightened. We do, after all, have a pageant to perform, and we would prefer if everyone stopped shoving and quietly found their place. Bible angels appear when announcing something new, unexpected, astounding, and their consistent invitation to dispel anxiety makes sense as their listener is instructed to attend to extraordinary things. In our desire to produce scripted holiday reenactments, any improvisations are dismissed as absurdly intrusive. (Remember the trend a few years ago of the upside-down Christmas tree?)

We don’t have time for unexpected announcements, let alone the emotional bandwidth to behold much of anything. It's no wonder that we have consigned the angel to the tippy top of the living room, rendered helplessly unintrusive, as if to say, “I’ll tell you where you can stick that tree!”

Of course, here’s where I’m supposed to conclude my musing with a reminder of the reason for the season, some quaint insight shared by an angelic host pointing our hearts towards the true meaning of Christmas. It’s the Minister’s Monday Musing, and in the first week of Advent, my script tells me to say something about good news dispelling all fear. I’ve spent my career matching my spot-on clergy cue to the season’s expectations. Usually to no avail. If I remain on stage a little too long, harping on the true meaning of Christmas and how our commercialism and cynicism has warped the wondrous story, folks initially engaged eventually get annoyed.

I’ve got the rest of the year to sermonize about meaning and hope, comfort and joy. When it comes to disrupting the flow of Christmas, it’s best to get out of the way. In the end, I must confess I’m only another shepherd, not an angel. I’ll admit I’m little frightened too; I look at the top of the tree and see what we do to angels.

Enduring another Advent, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor