Sermon Tone Analysis

These illustrations are based on Matthew 2:1-12 \\ Epiphany – Year A

 

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Sermon Opener

 

Think of the disappointment these men must have experienced who through the night had traveled many miles by camel to discover that the star had come to rest over a stable.

They had followed a star and found a stable.

Surely they were expecting a palace.

Or perhaps a stately mansion.

Think how they must have felt.

Their vast disappointment as they look down from some nearby Judean hill and came to the realization that their destination was a stable.

Following stars and finding stables is a common occurrence in human experience.

Who among us has not at some time in our life fixed our gaze on some high and lofty star only to find it leads to a stable.

Hundreds of examples could be given.

A young man graduates from high school full of great dreams and expectations about the future only to wake up one day and discover himself enmeshed in the very drudgery that he had promised himself he would avoid.

A man comes to retirement age.

He thinks of all the good things he's going to be able to do.

After a few weeks, however, he begins to discover that retirement is not exactly what he thought it would be.

The day starts growing  longer.

The hours become more oppressive.

All of us at some time in our life follow a star only to discover a stable.

The problem is how to turn that stable into a moment of salvation.

What is it that enables wise men of every age to turn the stables of life into victory?

 

1.

For one thing, they look for God in the stable \\ 2. For another, they offer their best to God \\ 3.

And finally, because of what happens in the stable, they mark a new direction for their life.

PLEASE NOTE: Please understand that we are aware that the Magi did not met Jesus until he was 2 years old.

The rest of the sermon makes note of this.

The sermon uses the traditional legend.

Whether the wise men meet a new born or a 2 year old it still is not a king in the traditional sense.

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Star Over Bedlam

 

If I were to choose one word to describe 2001, I would have to choose the word bedlam.

2001 started in confusion with the presidential elections and it ended with the insanity of a religious nut in Afghanistan.

In a word: \\ \\ \\

Bedlam--total confusion and insanity.

The Bible keeps trying to tell us we are not all alright but we keep turning a deaf ear.

So I choose Bedlam.

And I do so with good reason.

You see the word bedlam has been used for insane asylums for centuries.

In fact Bedlam is the name of the world's oldest insane asylum.

It is in England--you can go there today--in the town of Kent.

It dates back to 1257, over 750 years ago.

But it has not always been called Bedlam.

You see Bedlam is a mispronunciation of its real name: Bethlem.

The Bethlem Royal Hospital it is called.

Originally it was a religious house established by the Catholic Church.

In the 1500's it became what it is today.

A home of the mentally ill.

How in the world do we move from Bethlehem to Bedlam?

God burst on the scene with angels announcing his birth, shepherds telling the story, the wise men from the east, the bright star, and the baby in the manger.

No sooner are we acquainted with this child of peace, then we are introduced to Herod the murderer.

How do we move so far so fast?

We desperately need a star over Bedlam today.

Brett Blair, www.eSermons.com,

January 2004.

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Letting Go Of Treasures

 

Giving with a glad and generous heart has a way of routing out the tough old miser within us.

Even the poor need to know that they can give.

Just the very act of letting go of money or some other treasure does something within us.

That something is it destroys the demon, greed."

Richard Foster

 

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As Long As There is Hope

 

A few years ago the psychology department of Duke University carried on an interesting experiment.

They wanted to see how long rats could swim.

In one container they placed a rat for whom there was no possibility of escape.

He swam a few moments and then ducked his head to drown.

In the other container they made the hope of escape a possibility for the rat.

The rat swam for several hours before finally giving up.

The conclusion of the experiment was just the opposite of our common conclusion.

We usually say, "As long as there is life, there is hope."

The Duke experiment proved, "As long as there is hope, there is life."

Brett Blair, www.eSermons.com

2004

 

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A Lengthy Illustration About Giving

 

My friend knew Mike and his family and were wondering how they were getting on following Mike's death just before last Christmas.

It is always a hard time for a family with three teenage boys when a dad suddenly dies, and the mother has to step into his shoes with three very demanding teenagers.

But Judith seems to be doing well.

She told of a custom their family has.

Judith wrote: "It is just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree.

No name, no identification, no inscription.

It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated the commercialism of Christmas: the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry, and the dusting powder for Grandma - the gifts given in desperation because you cannot think of anything else.

He just said, "All I want is for my boys and us to be together, and to be Christian."

Knowing he felt this way I decided one year not to buy him the usual shirt, sweater, tie and so forth.

I reached for something special just for Mike.

The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, took up the sport of wrestling at the school he attended.

Shortly before Christmas, there was a match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church.

The boys were mostly black and came from under-privileged, poor families.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and new wrestling shoes.

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, designed to protect a wrestler's ears.

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.

Well, we ended up walloping them.

We took every weight class.

And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said.

"They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."

Mike loved kids -- all kids -- and he knew them.

He had coached little league football.

When Christmas came that year the idea for his present came.

I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church for their team.

On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.

His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year.

In succeeding years I followed the tradition -- one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a football game, another year a cheque to two elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on, always helping the poor.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas.