A Strange Herald
Children's sermon
Here Comes The King
Sermons And Children's Lessons For Advent, Christmas And Epiphany
For most of the past eight years, a little dog has lived in the house next door to ours. Her name is Macey; she is part Pomeranian and part poodle. She is something of a fixture in our neighborhood. She visits some of the neighbors and has learned how to gain entrance into a neighborhood nursing home through the electric doors. She has been known to visit the residents of the home, who know her by name and love to see her. On one occasion, her mistress couldn't find her and called the home, asking, "Is Macey over there?" A new receptionist asked, "Is that Miss Macey or Mrs. Macey?" She was rather surprised to learn that Macey is a little dog.
Macey spends most of every day in our home. We are dog-sitters, simply because the people next door work long hours and get home late from their work. This morning, for example, she met me at our mailbox when I went out to get our daily paper at 6:12 a.m. She comes over as early as 6 a.m. and as late as 8:30 a.m. She even wants to visit us on Saturdays and Sundays, when her owners are home. Oddly enough, she seems to know that her real home is next door, because she gets restless toward evening, dances around, and runs to the front door. If we open the door, she runs home and her day with us is finished.
But there is another thing about Macey. Macey is a herald of sorts. The first thing she does in the morning as soon as she gets outside is to bark. It is almost as if she is telling the whole neighborhood, "Here I am. I'm Macey. I'm ready for another day." She announces herself by barking; that's what a herald does - announces someone or something of importance. After she has told the neighborhood that she is well and alive, she runs over to our front door and barks once more - only once - and expects me to get to the door, open it and let her come into our home. She is her own herald; she announces her presence to the neighborhood and to us.
John the Baptist was a herald, an announcer, but not of himself. His God-given task was to announce the presence of Jesus to the world. He did that by preaching and baptizing. And he did it very well.
Macey spends most of every day in our home. We are dog-sitters, simply because the people next door work long hours and get home late from their work. This morning, for example, she met me at our mailbox when I went out to get our daily paper at 6:12 a.m. She comes over as early as 6 a.m. and as late as 8:30 a.m. She even wants to visit us on Saturdays and Sundays, when her owners are home. Oddly enough, she seems to know that her real home is next door, because she gets restless toward evening, dances around, and runs to the front door. If we open the door, she runs home and her day with us is finished.
But there is another thing about Macey. Macey is a herald of sorts. The first thing she does in the morning as soon as she gets outside is to bark. It is almost as if she is telling the whole neighborhood, "Here I am. I'm Macey. I'm ready for another day." She announces herself by barking; that's what a herald does - announces someone or something of importance. After she has told the neighborhood that she is well and alive, she runs over to our front door and barks once more - only once - and expects me to get to the door, open it and let her come into our home. She is her own herald; she announces her presence to the neighborhood and to us.
John the Baptist was a herald, an announcer, but not of himself. His God-given task was to announce the presence of Jesus to the world. He did that by preaching and baptizing. And he did it very well.
