Christmas Day

Jesus' Grandparents

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandmother’s house we go;
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Did you know that that song was originally written as a Thanksgiving poem? (The wonders of Wikipedia!) It’s an easy transition to Christmas. For some reason, Grandfather’s house in the original becomes Grandmother’s house at Christmas. And a few specific references to Thanksgiving Day are changed to Christmas. But in either case, it captures the joy and excitement of a shared holiday, especially shared between grandparents and grandchildren. It captures some of the special goodness in that very special relationship.

Over the river, and through the wood—
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river, and through the wood—
Now Grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Last night was all about the herald angels and a wondrous star, as we remembered Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. This morning, the day after, the grandparents showed up to see the new baby. We have absolutely no evidence that Jesus’ grandparent actually did show up. In fact, most likely they did not. But it’s fun to imagine that, like grandparents today, they did show up right after the birth to welcome their new grandchild. Over the last few days I’ve had fun imagining what they might have been like. Sort of an amalgamation of Leave It to Beaver America and the stereotypical Jewish grandmother, clucking and fussing, with a little bit of my own thrown in as well.

We know virtually nothing of course. Tradition gives names to Mary’s parents. Out of deference to her, stories were created in the second century to supply a fuller account of her birth and family. The stories are woven from Old Testament cloth, not historical reality. But we might borrow their names, Anne and Joachim, as we imagine Jesus’ grandparents.

I know that not all human families embody the ideal relationship between grandparents and grandchildren. But what is that ideal in our minds? Grandparents are those who bestow extravagant love. Not encumbered by the need or guidance or discipline that parents rightly feel, grandparents are free to pour out unlimited and extravagant love.

And to cherish the gift of this grandchild as a wondrous and miraculous gift. From a practical perspective, grandparents can only see themselves as indirectly responsible (at best) for the birth of their grandchildren. So the child is a gift. A gift to be cherished. In fact, if grandparents could directly cause the birth of a grandchild, I know quite a few—grandmothers especially—who would do so. But they can’t. The child is a gift. To be wondered at and treasured.

We do well to remember what this child does for us. How he was born to redeem us from sin and transform the darkness into light. But maybe this morning we might also remember what we can do for him. Perhaps we might imagine ourselves in the role of Jesus’ grandparents. We are like Jesus’ grandparents. A new baby has been born, a wonderful gift for us. Let us shower upon him extravagant and unfettered love. Cherish him. Treasure him. Hold him close.

Christmas Eve

Merry Christmas

Do you have some particular activity you turn to to cheer yourself up? Or maybe even in times when you don’t feel like you need cheering up, still it’s an activity that always makes you feel good, lightens your heart.

The cliché used to be that a woman would go out and buy a hat when she needed to cheer herself up. Women don’t wear hats as much as they used to, but shopping still works for many. Or maybe you eat a hot fudge sundae. Or call and talk to a special friend. Go to a favorite place. Watch a heart-warming movie? (Or depending upon your temperament maybe an action movie serves better to raise your spirits.)

Most of us have some sort of activity that our experience has taught us has the power to cheer our hearts.

Maybe for you going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve always raises your spirits. Hearing the Christmas story. Hearing the story from Luke’s Gospel has wondrous power to bring hope and cheer. Whether it’s me or, even better, Linus reading it…

And there are all of the traditions that have accreted onto the Christmas story. In theory, at least, we do them because they, too, have the power to make us happy. That’s why we do Christmas traditions. To cheer ourselves. Visiting the storefront Christmas windows. Watching reruns of It’s a Wonderful Life and the Christmas Story. Decorating the tree. Sharing good food. All of these accessories for the Christmas story… We do these things knowing—or hoping—that they will instill the “Christmas spirit” in us.

We look to the Christmas story to make us happy. Think of all the adjectives that go with Christmas. Merry Christmas. Happy Christmas. Have a holly, jolly Christmas. Even if the Christmas story and all of its accessories doesn’t always, in our experience, make us merry, we think it should. And we feel even betrayed by the story, betrayed even somehow by life is Christmas doesn’t cheer us. It’s as though we’ve been robbed of a tonic that we think of as guaranteed to work.

The power that this story has to make us happy is a wonderful gift. But Christmas is more than a story. And when we think of it as only a story—a story whose specific purpose is to make us feel better—we’ve robbed God’s action of its true power. We have reduced it to entertainment. Sacred entertainment, but still entertainment.

If Luke’s story is just a story we hear or watch, no different from Dicken’s A Christmas Carol or a holiday movie, then we are casting God as just an author. A damn good author, but just an author. And we have missed the real purpose of God’s action.

I’m reminded of a scene in the first Harry Potter book and movie. I remember it particularly from the movie. Harry is living with his Aunt and Uncle, the Dursley’s. They are all at the zoo looking at a large, exotic snake through the glass. Harry’s very obnoxious cousin, Dudley Dursley, is banging on the glass, trying to get the snake to entertain him. Harry doesn’t yet know he has magical powers, so everyone is astonished when Dudley magically passes right through the glass. To his immense distress he finds himself all-of-a sudden-actually in the snakes’ world.

So often we look at the Christmas story through the glass. Watching, observing, expecting to be entertained. What if we were to magically pass through the glass and find ourselves literally in the stable, next to the manger? I’m not sure that experience would be a merry one.

It would be dark, cold, smelling like animal dung. In the broader would we would find ourselves in a world where people struggling just to survive. A time of political instability and economic uncertainty. Kind of like the world we live in.

Dudley Dursley found himself wet, unhappy and face to face with a terrifying snake. We would find ourselves in the dark and cold, frightened and confused and face to face with Jesus. We would find ourselves in an unsettling situation, in an often unpleasant world. And face to face with Jesus.

Christmas is not a “story” designed to help us emotionally escape the trials of this world. Christmas isn’t about “creating” happiness.

Christmas is about coming face to face with Jesus. Here in the middle of the trials of this world. In good and bad times. Maybe especially when you we feel dark and unhappy, God’s actions at Christmas ensure that we are never alone. Our lives are shared with God. The whole point of Christmas is that we do not look at God through a glass or read about him in a story, or watch him at the movies. We meet God face to face and know God in the reality of our own lives.

Whether we are happy or sad, God is with us. Whether we are struggling or rejoicing, we are never alone. We are face to face with Jesus in times of wonder and in times of despair. Whether our hearts are filled with confusion or peace, still God shares our human lives with us. No matter what your mood, that’s immeasurably better than the alternative. And a life shared with God, no matter what the circumstances, no matter what your mood… a life shared with God is immeasurably better than one without God in it.

God chose to share our human lives with us. That’s what happens at Christmas. There’s one more way to think about what that means. In the proper preface for the Christmas season we say that Jesus, “by the mighty power of the Holy Spirit, was made perfect Man… so that we might receive power to become [God’s] children.” God’s action in becoming fully human gave us human beings the power to become full children of God. The African-American folk singer Odetta made a recording of Christmas spirituals. Not the songs you’re hearing at the malls these days. They come out of the African-American experience, not always a “merry” or “happy” life. One of them is called “If anybody asks you who you are.” If anybody asks you who you are, tell them you’re a child of God. It’s not always clear as Odetta sings whether her voice is Mary’s talking to Jesus… If anybody asks you who you are, tell them you’re a child of God. Or if she’s singing to us… or if speaking for herself… And that’s the miracle of Christmas. It’s all the same… Jesus, you, me, Odetta. If anybody asks you who you are… tell them you’re a child of God. This wondrous night, or any night. Any time, any place. If anybody asks you who you are, tell them you’re a child of God.

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

A Perfect Christmas
Matthew 1:18-25

Later this week on Christmas Eve we will hear the more familiar account of the nativity as it is presented in Luke’s Gospel. This morning we hear the story from Matthew. And in this particular portion of the nativity story, the focus is on Joseph. Joseph doesn’t get a whole lot of attention, even this time of year. He’s in all the Holy Family pictures, but other than that we hardly notice his presence.

And yet, as I consider the story of Jesus’ birth, I wonder if the character whom we are most like is not Joseph. None of us is Mary, individually chosen to physically bear God’s own Son. We are not the angels; our feet are firmly rooted on earth. Hopefully, we do not play Herod’s part. Nor are we the exotic Magi. We may, perhaps, have some things in common with the shepherds who came to see. And, much later, Jesus himself will suggest that we are like sheep.

But, overall, it seems to me that we have a lot in common with Joseph. Which certainly makes him worthy of our attention on this last Sunday of Advent as we look forward, soon, to our celebration of Jesus’ birth. Joseph did not have the unique and mysterious role of God-bearer that Mary did, but he was asked to welcome the Son of God into his home, into his life, into his family.

It could not have been easy. In Lesser Feasts and Fasts, the book that outlines our celebration of saints’ days, Joseph is described in nuanced and strangely modern sounding language as “the guardian of [God’s] incarnate son and spouse of his virgin mother.” The relationships were complicated. Yet Joseph evidenced gentleness, humility and obedience to God.

It is pure speculation, but what might Joseph’s reaction have been to Mary’s pregnancy? It must have been a monumental disruption to his life and his plans and expectations. He might have felt he had lost all control over his own life. Could he get it back? Could he take charge of the situation again? This unplanned pregnancy was also significant, negatively significant, in the eyes of society. How could Joseph salvage this situation? Matthew tells us that Joseph had resolved to “dismiss Mary quietly,” in contrast to disgracing her publicly, which he might have done. But then the angel came and Joseph chose obedience to God over trying to reclaim personal control over the situation.

The angel also said that this child was God’s own, conceived of the Holy Spirit. Again, it is an exercise of imagination, but what might Joseph’s reaction have been to that part of the story? Maybe an overwhelming sense of responsibility and anxiety. How could he prepare adequately, appropriately for the birth of God’s son? This makes choosing the wall color and décor for the nursery seem trivial indeed. Never mind trying to ensure that the crib model is safe. How could he make sure that this wondrous birth happened as it should? He might have even come to feel that the success of this momentous event depended upon him. Surely the birth of God’s Son demanded ultimate preparation. And that was his responsibility.

It’s easy to imagine that Joseph might have felt responsible for the success of the first Christmas. We seem to feel that way today, every year. That a “successful” Christmas depends upon our preparations. Even if we think we’re defining “success” in the right way. Even if we define a successful Christmas as one which retains a focus on the “reason for the season.” Even if we define a successful Christmas as one filled with peace and holy hope. Even if we define what constitutes a successful Christmas with our eyes on Jesus, still, we seem to feel that achieving that success depends upon us, upon our perfect preparation. We feel that we are responsible for creating a successful Christmas.

Thinking about this reminded me of weddings. Not Mary and Joseph’s wedding, about which we hear nothing, but weddings at which I have presided. I will confess, along with many of my clergy colleagues, that weddings are not always my favorite thing. This isn’t true, of course, of any of the weddings at which I have preside here, but weddings can make normal, rational, faithful, faith-filled (!) people go crazy. Especially as the wedding day approaches people seem to imagine that the success of the marriage depends upon perfect preparations and arrangements for the wedding. The hope, the goal, is a good one: a good marriage, rich in love and hope. The problem begins when people begin to think that a good or successful marriage depends upon a perfect wedding. Many would deny they feel that way, but their actions tell the true story.

We don’t know Joseph’s true thoughts of feelings. But his actions show obedience to God. We might also imagine that as a faithful Jew of his day he knew and believed in a God who acted momentously in the lives of God’s people. And God’s actions weren’t dependent upon the people’s preparation. God acted. Momentously. In ways that significantly impacted the lives of God’s people. Joseph appears to have accepted, with humility and grace, the momentous actions of God in his life. He knew that God, not he--Joseph, was the primary actor in this story.

As best we know, Joseph did not try to spin the situation back into his control or force it to conform to his, or the neighbor’s expectations. He accepted the huge change this birth would mean to his life and plans. And he was obedient to God’s expectations of him.

Looking at Joseph, maybe we can remind ourselves of the absurdity of the assumption that we are responsible for creating the perfect Christmas. That first Christmas didn’t depend upon Joseph. It wasn’t up to him to get everything just right before Jesus could be born. In these last frantic days before Christmas, maybe Joseph can remind us of how absurd it is to imagine that a successful Christmas depends upon us and our preparation.

Another preacher has written: “While we rush around ‘creating Christmas’ and getting it all wrong, Joseph walked in faith and expected God to get it right.”

We only have to do one thing at Christmas. Receive God’s gift. God will get it right. God will send his Son, Immanuel, to be with us. All we have to do is receive him, welcome him into our homes. Into our lives.

(Much of the inspiration and a good bit of the content of this sermon are drawn from a sermon by the Very Rev. Anthony F. M. Clavier, posted here on the Episcopal Church's web page, Sermons That Work.)

The Third Sunday of Advent

A Season for Gathering Hopes
Isaiah 35:1-10

In the discussion in our EFM class this week, Dante’s Divine Comedy came up just in passing. At the very beginning of the first volume, l’Inferno, as Dante’s journey is just beginning, he finds himself at the gates of hell.

There is a notice posted there, as there often is at border crossings. It’s the last line of that notice that many people know and remember. “Abandon hope, you who enter here.”

I think I’ve always heard those words as descriptive of the land that lies beyond the border. It is a grim and hopeless place on the other side of the gates of hell. And there is a momentous finality for any who make that border crossing.

I took one year of Italian in college. Just for fun mostly and to increase my enjoyment of Italian opera. I’ve forgotten much of it except for a very interesting assortment of operatic phrases. But that notice over the gates of hell is something else that I know in Italian, as Dante originally wrote it.

And it might be more accurately translated: Leave behind every hope, you who enter. Leave behind. Give up and put aside. Every hope. Ogni speranza. Every single hope.

Maybe the notice is not so much generally descriptive of the land of hell. Maybe it’s more about the people making the crossing and the actions and experiences that characterize that journey. To enter hell is to discard every hope you are carrying.

In my imagination I envision a metal detector at the gates of hell—the kind you walk through, like they have at federal buildings and airports. And then there’s the guy who doesn’t seem to have a clue how much metal he is carrying. He walks through and it beeps. He takes a handful of coins out of his pocket, leaves them behind, and goes through again. It beeps. He takes his keys out of the other pocket and tosses them aside. It beeps. Leave behind every hope, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant. So he takes off his belt buckle. Even he thinks that surely that’s everything. It beeps. He takes off his signet ring. There can’t be anything else. It beeps. Leave behind every hope, even those you’ve forgotten you’re carrying. He takes off a necklace under his shirt; maybe it’s a cross. Having stripped himself of absolutely every little bit of metal, he passes through.

Leave behind every hope. Empty your pockets. Strip your heart and soul of absolutely every single hope… even those you didn’t know or didn’t remember you were carrying.

And again in my imagination I see a great mountain of literally discarded hopes looming like a landfill there in Dante’s dark wood outside the gates of hell.

But if we think of hopes as things that can be left behind or cast aside, then maybe hopes are also things that can be picked up or gathered in.

Advent is a time to gather hopes. To pick up hopes and gather them in.

We often associate hope with hopefulness, with feeling hopeful. To have hope is to have an optimistic or cheerful or sanguine disposition. But Christian hope really isn’t a feeling or a disposition. Christian hope really is more of a thing that can be held on to. A thing, or things. Statements or experiences of assurance. Assurances that, in various forms and settings, convey the reality that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. The Christian hope is a collection of statements or experiences that assure us that nothing can separate us from God’s presence and love. Those statements and experiences are things that we can hang on to, regardless of feeling or disposition.

The assurance that God comes to us intimately, as Immanuel, God with us, to share and bless human life.

The assurance that new life born, miraculously in darkness. New life is born to enlighten the darkness of our own lives and the darkness of the world around us.

The assurance that we, as human beings, are created in the image of God and are destined for good and reconciliation.

The assurance of God’s inspiring breath within us granting us the mystery of love and the capacity to create.

These assurances, in whatever form they come to us, are Christian hopes. Think of them as things that God has scattered about the world in which we live. Left there for us to discover and pick up.

Advent is a time to gather hopes. Pick up hopes and fill your pockets. All your pockets. Like gathering seashells on the beach. Or like children gathering Easter eggs. Pick up the assurances of presence and love that God has abundantly strewn throughout the world. Gather them to yourself. Collect them, cherish them. When I think of all the stuff we lug around…. Think, instead of all that stuff, think of carrying hopes with you. In addition to your pockets, fill your tote bags, your book bags and backpacks, all of your eco-friendly grocery bags. And your heart. Fill these with hopes.

And where to look if you want to find and gather God’s hopes? Where to look for those statements and experiences that assure us that nothing can separate us from the love of God?

Probably not the malls.

But do look in the Scriptures. They are full of God’s promises and assurances. Just this morning’s reading from Isaiah contains a bushel basket full of hopes. The lame shall leap. The mute shall sing. The desert shall bloom.

Experience the Sacraments. Cherish and cling to the assurance of God’s living presence that the Sacraments convey. I wouldn’t recommend that you literally put the host in your pocket. But metaphorically, yes, carry with you wherever you go the assurance of God’s grace that the sacraments impart.

Look to the quiet of your own heart. Especially this time of year where that God shaped hole within you throbs with yearning and will know fulfillment.

And look in your own life to the places where creativity and love are to be found.

In all of these places, you will find hopes to collect. Advent is a time to gather them in. Gather hopes.

And as you do, as you tune your eye and ear to notice and collect hopes in the world around you, you may come to notice other people who are losing or discarding their hopes. Tossing out hopes to make room for other junk in their brief cases or tote bags. Or just losing their hopes like lost winter gloves in the rush and anxiety of the season. Run after them. Pick up their lost hopes and run after them. Return their hopes to them.

You’ll also realize, once you start collecting hopes, gathering them to yourself, that you have lots. So share. Another place God stashes hopes for us to find is in one another. Perhaps you are meant to be the source for someone else’s gathering of hope this Advent.

Advent: A season for gathering hopes.

The Second Sunday of Advent

Thy Kingdom Come
Isaiah 11:1-10

One of my absolute favorite prayers in the Book of Common Prayer is found in the baptismal service. It is a prayer we say over the newly baptized right after the baptism. We pray that the Holy Spirit will “give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love [God], and the gift of joy and wonder in all [God’s] works.”

It is the so-called prayer for the seven-fold gifts of the spirit. In addition to being a personal favorite of mine, it is one of the most ancient of all the prayers contained in the Book of Common Prayer. It is found in liturgies dating from the late 5th century. And it has always been associated with rites of Christian initiation. Generally baptism, but sometimes confirmation, but always acts of Christian initiation when new souls are brought into the fellowship of Christ.

Despite its long-standing association with Christian initiation, the prayer is drawn, not from the New Testament, but from the passage we heard this morning from Isaiah. We hear this passage in the lectionary during Advent, of course, because we hear in it a foretelling of the coming of Jesus. Isaiah writes: “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” We identify that shoot, that new branch, with Jesus.

But when the prophet Isaiah wrote these words he was not thinking of a far off Messiah in some “dim and distant” future. He was thinking of a living king, a real human king, coming soon to rule the people of Israel. Isaiah is not describing a divine ideal; but rather a real human character. (Interpreter’s Bible). Isaiah describes the qualities that the spirit of God will bestow upon such a king to enable him to rule God’s people according to God’s will. God will grant the king:

A spirit of wisdom and understanding.
A spirit of counsel and might.
A spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord.

These are gifts to be used in this world to bring about a kingdom characterized by peace, justice and reconciliation. Isaiah envisioned a Davidic king, fully human, but anointed by God, bringing such a kingdom to God’s people here on earth.

Somewhat ironically, I think we have pushed Isaiah’s vision off into the abstract. Such a kingdom and such a ruler are for us ideals or abstractions, unattainable here in our “real” world. It is ironic that Isaiah envisioned this outcome as realistic and concrete and we have transformed it into an abstraction.
It is ironic because we, unlike Isaiah, have heard John the Baptist reminds us that God’s kingdom is near. The kingdom of heaven is near. Near to us. We attest to the incarnation of God’s own self, God’s son into this world. We know the manifestation of God made very real in our midst. In Jesus the kingdom of God is breaking into our world.

Isaiah’s prophecy referred to a single person, one individual who was anointed to rule. A king who needed the spirit’s gifts to form and govern a kingdom. We say Isaiah’s prophecy, however, not at the anointing of kings, but at the anointing of every single person who is baptized. Each and every person who is baptized into the fellowship of Christ is given the gifts needed to create and maintain God’s kingdom in the world.

These days in the church, often when we speak of gifts of the spirit, we speak of how the spirit gives different people different abilities. Our task as individuals is to discern our particular gift. Some are good teachers. Some are good pray-ers. Some have the gift of prophecy.

The seven fold gifts of the spirit are different. We pray and affirm that they are bestowed on everyone at baptism. When you are sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever, you are given these gifts. All of us are given all of the gifts in full measure.

But, as the Rev. Dr. A. J. Mason wrote in 1891 (modified slightly from a quotation in Massey Shepherd’s American Prayer Book Commentary):

The seven-fold gifts of the spirit are given to all, but none of the gifts are directly gifts of moral virtue. They are gifts which set us in a position to acquire moral virtues, and incline us to practice them; but they do not in any way supply us with virtues ready-made, or relive their possessor from the necessity of carefully forming right habits of action and feeling. It seems that the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit is done by an inward teaching, which commends to us the true principles of moral choice or right action, and an inward strengthening, by which the forces of Christ are imparted to us, that we may act, and act perseveringly, upon the convictions which the Holy Spirit has wrought in us.

The seven-fold gifts of the spirit give us the capacity, the inclination and the strength to act with the forces of Christ. To act as builders and maintainers of God’s kingdom on earth. But we must choose to act. To actually affect the world in which we live, we have to utilize the gifts of the Spirit. They are tools. Give to us all, but we have to utilize them. To bounce off of last week’s sermon… just because somebody gives you a great oven, doesn’t mean the aroma of cooking will fill your house. To create a glorious meal, you have to cook. You have to use the oven. We have to use the gifts of the Spirit.

They are tools given to us so that we can participate in Christ’s own work of making God’s kingdom real in the world. Isaiah describes that kingdom, or society, in powerful and poetic terms. It is a human society where the meek know justice. Where the young do not know fear. Where exploitation and abuse are unknown. And where the earth will be as full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters that cover the sea.

The First Sunday of Advent

The Aroma of Advent

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of a new church year. The Advent wreath is out with the first candle lit; we sand the great Advent hymn, “O come, o come, Immanuel” and prayed the Advent collect, “Let us cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” The green vestments have finally given way to blue.

Advent is a wonderful season. A new metaphor for Advent has recently come to me. Advent is like the aroma of something glorious baking in the oven. It is in the oven. The process has begun. Fulfillment has not yet come, but it is immanent and inevitable. The enjoyment of a favorite food, perhaps the rich communion of a meal with beloved friends or family… these will come soon. Advent is like the aroma of something glorious baking in the oven.

Sometimes Advent is called a time of waiting. And we do wait. But it us much more than just waiting. Waiting is not always a pleasant experience. Waiting in traffic, for instance. Waiting is often just killing time. Waiting lacks the expectancy of Advent.

Advent is also called a time of hope. And, indeed, it is. Hope is a part of our Christian makeup, but it can be abstract. Hope, as a general posture based on trust in God, is an important Christian discipline. But it lacks the tangible immanence of Advent.

The roast is in the oven. The aroma is mouth watering. The promise of Advent is specific and its fulfillment is near.

This metaphor for Advent came to me yesterday somewhere in the midst of baking batches six and seven of liver flavored dog treats for the cookie walk. For at least a week before the cookie walk, my house smells of baking liver. I like liver, although I’m not sure baking liver is an Advent aroma. But it reminded me of others that are.

It’s not a perfect metaphor. Even the best of human cooks sometimes messes up. The roast burns; the pecan pie doesn’t set; the bread doesn’t rise. God never messes up. The Advent promise is always fulfilled.

I often mention how much I value the seasons of the church year. They teach us about God and different aspects of our relationship with God. We experience the seasons sequentially, one after another. Christmas follows Advent and, in turn, is followed by Epiphany, Lent and Easter. But even though we experience the seasons sequentially in our worship life, in fact, they are cumulative. All of them are true all of the time. Which is to say we are always people of promise eagerly anticipating fulfillment. We are always Advent people. Even in the midst of Christmas’s peace. Even in the midst of Easter’s joy. We know that still greater blessing is coming soon. The TV ad that said “it doesn’t get any better than this ” got it wrong. It does get better. Always. A deeper fulfillment of God’s promise always lies ahead.

The fulfillment that we anticipate in Advent is two fold. One part, of course, is the incarnation, the full union of God with us, with humankind. And all of the guidance, peace, and love that Jesus’ presence with us brings.

The other part of God’s promise is described in today’s reading from Isaiah. It is of a world where the kingdoms of this world become one with the kingdom of God. And enmity, war and violence disappear.

The promises of Advent are specific and tangible and their fulfillment is near. A richer and deeper experience of God’s presence and purpose always lies ahead—just ahead. I pray that you may be blessed this year by the glorious aroma of Advent.

Thanksgiving Day

The Beauty of Holiness

It may surprise you to hear that preaching on Thanksgiving poses great risks for the preacher. Theological disaster lurks at every point. It is like sailing along the most hazardous and rocky of coastlines.

A big part of the challenge arises when we try to bring what is really a civic holiday into the church. Theologically speaking, our thanksgivings go awry. A recent blog linked on the Christian Century website listed many of the horrendous theologies that underlie much of our Thanksgiving preaching and piety.

But I will spare you the rant. I know that is not why you are here—to hear me rave against inappropriate Thanksgiving theology.

I do try, in my own prayers on this day, to focus less on counting my blessings, like a child counting presents under the Christmas tree to make sure there are “enough” or more than his brother has… (oops, I wasn’t going to rant.) I try to focus more on praying that God will transform me. I pray that God will transform me into a more grateful person. That God will give me a grateful heart for the benefits and blessings I do enjoy.

This year, in particular, I pray that I will remember to be grateful for the opportunity to worship. Not for the political freedom to gather for worship. That is a civic benefit we enjoy in this country, and one I think we should cherish and work to ensure that all people may enjoy that benefit.

But regardless of political time or place, human beings are created in such a way that we have the desire and capacity for worship. That’s really pretty remarkable and wonderful. Like remembering. Or creating. Worship is a part of our human potential. And I am grateful to have been created by God with the potential for worship, to be wired with the desire and capacity for worship.

The psalmist says, “I thank you that I am wondrously made.” Part of being wondrously made is being wired for worship.

Evelyn Underhill defines worship as: “The adoring acknowledgment of all that lies beyond us—the glory that fills heaven and earth. It is the response that conscious beings make to their Creator.” We have the capacity and the desire to adore the glory of God. Thank God that God has given us hearts to know and love him.

The psalmist also says, “Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.” The beauty of holiness surrounds us all. Regardless of the circumstances of our lives. Regardless. The beauty of holiness surrounds us all. And we have been given the ability to see it and a way to respond. It is a great blessing to be able to worship, to have a means of responding to the beauty of holiness in our lives.

Worship in this sense is more than coming together in corporate worship, although that is a powerful blessing. Worship is losing ourselves in the presence of God. Joining that “mystic sweet communion” that the hymn describes. It is to live praise. To celebrate the beauty of holiness.

It is a wonderful thing to be created with the desire and capacity for worship. For that, I thank God.

The Last Sunday after Pentecost

Clint Eastwood and Sally Bingham

Diocesan Convention reminded me of a Clint Eastwood movie. Or it might be more accurate to say that during diocesan convention I was reminded of a particular Clint Eastwood movie.

The annual convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago was this past Friday and Saturday. The theme this year was Relate, Renew, Restore; Caring for God’s Creation. The focus was on sustainability. The keynote speaker was Canon Sally Bingham, an Episcopal priest and activist on behalf of the environment. Her message was both dire and hopeful. She spoke about the irreparable loss that has already occurred to God’s creation. Irreparable. We are currently standing right on the brink between the world that God created and another world of human of human making which is literally unsustainable.  (You may listen to the audio of her presentation here.)

It is unfortunate that climate change and other environmental issues have become ammunition in partisan political wars. The science is real and irrefutable. Species loss, environmental degradation of air and water, climate change profoundly threaten God’s creation.

Yet people of faith are a source of hope. We are a source of hope in this crisis not only because we see the earth as God’s own creation, and therefore of immeasurable value, but also because we are called by our baptismal vows to care for other people. To be motivated by more than self interest. It is part of our vocation to be the voice for people who have no voice. There are two populations in particular who have no voice: One is the poor and/or less educated. And the second is the unborn. The poor and less educated throughout the world are suffering disproportionately because of climate change and other environment problems and yet do not have the voice or power to speak out. And the unborn, the not yet born only a few generations from now, are being robbed of beauty, health, even their lives by our selfish abuse and exploitation of God’s creation. It’s not just about us. As people of faith we are compelled to speak up and act on behalf of the powerless and to be stewards of creation for generations yet unborn.

It was listening to Sally Bingham that reminded me of a Clint Eastwood movie or actually just one particular scene from a Clint Eastwood movie. I had to do a little internet searching to confirm which movie it was. Pale Rider, I think. I can’t imagine why I saw it several decades ago. It is set, as so many early Clint Eastwood movies are, in the violent and rough world of the wild west. A mining town is troubled by violence between the powerful and the powerless. A mysterious preacher rides into town. In that violent setting—very significantly—he is unarmed. Yet he stands up for the downtrodden. Without the power of a gun, he acts on behalf of the powerless. In a sense he symbolizes God’s peace and God’s power.

Conflict continues, however, and at one point the preacher makes a solitary journey to a bank safe deposit box. As he opens the drawer we see a pistol and gun belt. He takes out the gun and in the climax of the scene he drops his clerical collar into the box.

It’s a troubling scene. The preacher is meant to be a positive character, one we are rooting for. Yet this scene implies that he has some higher calling that he can only pursue by abandoning his role as a Christian. It plays upon the romantic appeal of the lone avenger, justifying violent revenge.

It’s that image of him taking off his collar that has stuck with me all these years. Exchanging his preacher’s collar for a gun. Choosing to put aside his Christian identity so that he could perform an unchristian task.

I wear a collar, of course. I’m not sure what a clerical collar means to you. Basically it is a symbol of someone who takes the Christian life seriously. Nothing more, nothing less. For us as Episcopalians it signifies a specific role within the church. But out in the world it simply signifies someone trying to live the gospel in daily life. And that is everyone’s vocation.

I don’t know if you’re aware… you don’t have to show any credentials to buy one. You don’t have to prove your ordination or show testimonials of sanctity. It could be a powerful exercise for everyone to wear one for a few days, even if only in your imagination. It would challenge us to face those times when we—you and I—choose to take it off. When we choose to put aside our Christian identity to perform unchristian tasks.

I’m not talking about the casual sins of inattention that are a part of all human life. I’m thinking of the big choices, the deliberate acts we choose to undertake in direct violation of our Christian identity.

Those times, for example, when we choose our personal convenience or our selfish interests at a cost to the flourishing and blessing of other people.

These seem to be appropriate reflections, not just on the heels of diocesan convention, but for this last Sunday of the church year. A time for taking stock.

What do you do in your life that you have to take your collar off to do? When do you deliberately choose to put aside your Christian identity?

Two biggies came up in convention. One was environmental exploitation. I personally felt “convicted” on environmental issues, even though I consider myself as someone who cares about the environment. Until it comes time to buy a new vehicle. Then I take off my collar and pick whatever suits my own convenience. And I have spoken quite openly about how I choose the convenience of single-use plastic bags over more responsible options. Never mind the consequences. Millions and millions of baggies. At what cost? I choose to put aside my Christian vocation just for selfish convenience.

The second issue that arose at convention was bullying. Convention passed a resolution condemning bullying. The anti-bullying resolution arose out of recent events in which young people perceived to be gay have been driven to suicide. But discussion was clear that bullying is a much broader issue. It happens on the schoolyard, in society, in corporate life and even between nations. It is any abuse of the powerless by the powerful. For any reason. Or for no reason.

You must take your collar off if you choose not to intervene. A failure to act in the face of bullying or any abuse of power is unchristian. To favor personal convenience or comfort or to affect indifference are choices contrary to our Christianity.

Clint Eastwood’s solution was also unchristian. He took off his collar so that he could beat up the bad guys, escalate the violence, abuse the powerful with even greater power.

It occurs to me that rather than taking his collar off and shooting up all the bad guys Clint Eastwood should have left his collar on and then gone out to stand between the bad guys and those they were exploiting.

But he didn’t. In his role as the preacher, he chose to put aside the ways of Jesus for the ways of the world.

When do you do the same?

When do you choose to put aside your Christian identity to perform an unchristian task? When to you deliberately choose selfish comfort or convenience over the blessing or lives of others?

This last Sunday of the church year reminds us of the profound importance of the choices we make in life. Reflect. Reflect on those times when you deliberately take off your Christian vesture, your Christian identity, to act in a selfish or worldly way. Next Sunday is a new beginning, the first Sunday of Advent. And in the collect for that day we will pray that by God’s grace we may reverse the preacher’s action. In the great Advent collect we will pray that we may cast away the works of darkness… that we may take off the works and vesture of darkness… and put upon us the armor of light.

The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost

God's Orchestra

There’s a lot going on in Chicago, especially in the arts and other cultural opportunities. I love it and partake of quite a few offerings. And I know many of you do, too. Downtown, here in the south suburbs, the theater in Munster. Even if you’re not someone who has a strong interest in concerts or plays, stay with me if you can in your imagination. With so many offerings, how do you decide when to go, which events to attend? How do you pick a date? How do you choose between organizations? And, if you have a choice, how do you pick location and price for your seats?

As many of you know, I love opera. So that decision’s easy. I go to them all. And I sit in pretty good seats. But I also really enjoy the symphony. And there I need to pick and choose. I consider the program and soloists, looking for things I particularly like. I look at other things that may be on my calendar. I weigh the cost of the tickets, balancing what it feels like it’s worth, how much I can spare for at least a halfway decent seat.

Going to the symphony isn’t life or death. I didn’t have it in Maine. But I missed it. It profoundly enriches my life. So I’m very glad to have the world-class CSO right here and to be able to go when I can, or when the program particularly interests me. For the CSO, I don’t contribute beyond whatever ticket price I’ve settled upon. I do contribute to the opera. Although not to Lyric, per se. I leaf through the glossy program and see all those big time donors, philanthropic foundations, moguls of industry, mavens of society, and I figure with all those heavy hitters they don’t need me. My modest contribution wouldn’t mean much. So I support the Ryan Center, Lyric’s young artist training program for up and coming singers.

Does all of this sound at all familiar? Maybe you approach your cultural experiences the same way. Or maybe this is how you approach the Christian life.

I always get a bit depressed this time of year, the time of the annual pledge campaign. It feels like such a struggle. People become defensive, dismissive and small. It’s depressing to see people at their worst.

It certainly appears that a lot of people approach the Christian life much same way I approach the CSO. I know I do sometimes, which is why I think I can recognize it in others.

In this perspective the Christian life is an experience offered by an organization, the church. Partaking of the Christian life isn’t a matter of life or death. It is a commodity, offered by the church. It definitely enriches life, and is worthwhile and beneficial. Even more so than the CSO. But we approach the Christian life as a “consumer,” or an “outsider” who takes advantage of what the church offers when we choose, when we have the time or motivation, when we particularly like the program and our schedule permits.

It is wonderful that the church offers us the opportunity to experience the Christian life and we are very grateful to be able to take advantage of it and participate in its offerings. And we definitely get something out of the experience. Unlike the CSO, however, it’s totally free. Always. So we are left to decide how much money or time we’re willing to give to ensure the house stays open, the organization remains afloat. Like someone who attends the symphony, those decisions are based upon balancing other obligations, presumably some assessment of how much personal benefit we derive from experiencing what is offered, and our own judgment of how worthwhile the organization is. And, perhaps like me and Lyric, we consider whether our contribution will make a difference, be significant.

This is a perspective on the Christian life. It doesn’t have anything to do with how often you pray of how much you give. It’s a perspective. The perspective from the audience. Even if I go to the symphony every night and sit in the most expensive seats, my perspective is still from the audience. I am an individual choosing to take part in an experience offered by some organization.

You think I’m criticizing this perspective as an approach to the Christian life. I’m not. As an approach to the Christian life, sitting in the audience is much, much, much better than abstaining or total indifference. Thank God, and I mean this very sincerely, we have an organization like the church to expose us to a taste of the Christian experience. To get us started.

And most of our typical stewardship material is geared towards this perspective. We assure you that this organization, the church, is a worthwhile one and that it will use your contribution responsibly. We assure you that your contribution is needed and we urge you to really consider how much you value what the church offers you. Those are good things to think about.

But…

God offers us something so much more wondrous. God invites each of us, all of us out of the audience into the orchestra. Out of the audience into the chorus. To be participants in God’s own music making. To have a part in creating and bringing great beauty and hope into the world.

It’s a totally different perspective from the orchestra. No longer is music something you are given by some organization. It’s a part of you. This is who I am; this is what I do. All of me is involved in music making.

This time of year, you hear a lot about giving and offering, and the vestry is sharing some wonderful reflections on giving with you. But from the perspective of the orchestra, the words giving and offering don’t really have much meaning. Participation is the only word that makes sense. No one in an orchestra would ask, “How much of my music making ability shall I give to this performance? Shall I offer every tenth note?” In an orchestra, you can’t not make music. You play your part, with God’s help, as best you can.

God help us all to step out of the audience and join the orchestra.
This is all just a metaphor, of course. The Christian life is not dependent upon musical talent.

What does it feel like to be a part of God’s orchestra? Fulfilling. A powerful sense of being in the right place, free from fear and anxiety.

How do we actually get up from the audience into the orchestra? You’ll be glad Episcopalians typically don’t do altar calls. It’s too bad. It would hurt you to actually get up. But it is a conscious decision. Not so much to give your life to Jesus, as our more evangelical brothers and sisters might say. For me, it’s not so much a question of giving, as joining. Joining in a shared endeavor with God. Choosing to view every aspect of your life as coupled with God, joined with God’s purpose. Try it. It brings a deep joy and celebration to those endeavors that are, in fact, shared with God. And it makes it much easier to let go of those that are not shared with God. And if you are really, intentionally, consciously trying to join your whole life with God’s own being, you can usually tell the difference between what is shared with God’s desire and what is not.

For most people this is a very different perspective on spending money, but it’s gloriously freeing. Think of every act of spending money as coupled with God’s presence. Spending money is like playing in God’s orchestra. It doesn’t mean you have to give up everything you enjoy. In fact, it brings heavenly joy to those expenditures that are life-giving. And it makes it much easier to let go of those that are not.

A change of perspective. From the audience into the orchestra.
As important as this transition can be in our lives as Christians, in some ways the church itself does not help. Look at how this space is set up. It’s like a concert hall. You are the audience looking to the altar where the church presents God’s work to you.

And then there’s Communion. We can’t help but experience it as the church, as an organization, giving us a little bit of Jesus when and if we decide to come on any given Sunday. We do, by God’s grace, receive the living Christ when we come to Communion. Thank God. But no wonder we tend to think of the Christian life as being given an “experience of Christ” by the Church.

When Jesus shares himself with us in Holy Communion, we are receiving the fruits of his passion. The fruits of his passionate life and death. New life. Grace. Forgiveness. Hope. The fruits of Jesus’ passion.

To show compassion is to spread those fruits throughout the world. That is the music of God’s orchestra. To act with com-passion. To participate in bringing the fruits of Jesus’ passion to the world. Compassion. Any act that brings new life, grace, hope… and, I might add, wonder and beauty into the world.

It might be a word of concern or support. Or some shared new creation. Or a prayer of intercession on behalf of someone in need. Or sharing resources that you have with someone who needs them. Or walking hand-in-hand. Compassion. Any act that is a part of bringing the fruits of Jesus’ passion into the world.

Try a little exercise as we participate in Holy Communion this morning. Whatever your typical practice may be during the time when everyone else is receiving Communion, this morning say a prayer for each person as they are given the Body and Blood of Christ. “I pray that you may know the fruits of Jesus’ passion in your life… I pray for you.” And imagine yourself, not sitting in your pew or kneeling at the rail, but standing up there side-by-side with the risen Christ. Side by side with Christ looking out this way at the world. Seeing what he sees. Sharing his hopes and desires for the world. As we all participate in Communion, imagine sharing the experience from Jesus’ point of view. It’s a different perspective.

And remember, too, as we all together pray with Jesus’ for new life and hope for one another in the world… all those prayers together will make glorious music, God’s music of hope and new life for the world.

The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost

Drawing by Kate Parrent, 1988

Church Buildings

There was a short segment on the NBC national news Friday night about a “new” movement in American religious practice. It must have been a slow news day. The reporter described people choosing to meet in relatively small groups in “house churches.” Groups of twelve or fifteen people meet in someone’s home for Sunday worship. There’s nothing new about this practice, of course. It was the norm in the earliest days of Christianity. In the first centuries of the Christian movement, all Christians met for worship and fellowship in “house churches.

The practice has a lot to commend it. For one thing, it encourages, even demands, full and active participation from everyone present.

Meeting as a house church also eliminates the “overhead costs” of maintaining a physical “house of worship.” The pastor shepherding the group that was highlighted in the news segment said one woman had told him “she was tired of paying someone else’s light bill in addition to her own.” It is expensive to maintain a church building, or any building for that matter. Energy costs, maintenance, insurance.

Then there is the other issue of congregations that have lost their way by worshiping the Tiffany windows or the marble carved reredos or the Flentrop organ instead of worshiping Jesus. A church building is not always an asset to a faith community.

The church is the people, not the building. Do we even really need a building? The news report cited a recent Pew research study indicating that 9 % of American Protestants now worship solely in house churches. They have no church building.

As it turns out for me personally there was a deep poignancy of the timing of that news report, although I did not know it at the time.

Only a few hours before that news report was broadcast, late Friday afternoon, a church building that had been a very important part of my life was lost. The chapel at Virginia Seminary was destroyed by a devastating fire.

I worshiped in the seminary chapel with fellow members of the seminary community five days a week throughout my three years of seminary training. In addition, I did my field work (part time parish internship) at Immanuel Church on the Hill, a parish in Alexandria that has a special relationship with the seminary and holds one of its Sunday services in the seminar chapel. So for two years I also shared worship every Sunday in the seminary chapel with the people of Immanuel.

The pictures of the fire and its aftermath are heartbreaking. No one was hurt. No other buildings were damaged. They don’t know how it started. That’s one of those questions that we think is important, but really isn’t. It was an old building, consecrated in 1881; the interior was made almost entirely of wood.

The church is the people. The church is the life of the people. The church is the people, active. Our lives, our ministries, are the church. The church is not a building.

But church buildings have their value. Throughout the day yesterday I reflected on what church buildings can mean and be for us.

First, the buildings themselves can teach us, form us in faith. We do need to guard against dependence upon a building for our life of faith. We also need to guard against misdirecting our worship or reverence towards the building rather than God. But awe inspiring architecture can inspire awe towards the divine and lift our hearts Godwards. For centuries stained-glass windows have taught stories of faith to those who gathered beneath them. Here at St. John’s our windows inspire and teach about the exemplary lives of the saints.

The chapel at VTS had a large stained glass window that filled the wall behind and above the holy table. It portrayed Jesus speaking to his disciples who were assembled around him. The setting is Jesus’ final meeting with his disciples after his resurrection and before his ascension. Above the window in bold letters were Jesus’ Great Commission in words from Mark’s Gospel. “Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel.” And thousands have. The window was destroyed, but those of us who worshiped there were formed and inspired by its message.

Here in this church building we look upon the risen Christ every time we gather for worship. The risen Christ, resurrected in joy and triumph. His arms are outstretched in a gesture that I have always interpreted as invitation and welcome. I hope that here in this church building we are being formed into resurrection people, people of new life and hope, reaching out our hands in welcome to others.
Church buildings themselves can teach and form us.

Second, church buildings are symbols of our connection to one another within community. It is Christ who connects us, but the building can be a symbol, a reminder. This is broadly true of many objects or settings; things can be symbols of unity or commonality for various groups of people. But it’s worth remembering that the church building can fill that function for us as a parish community. The building, after all, is where we gather to do the things we do together, as a community. It is the setting for our common life. So the building reminds and teaches us of the reality of our connection to one another in community.

That connection reaches beyond the times and occasions of our own individual experiences. This building symbolizes our connection to generations past and future.

Over the course of the last day, I have felt united to a company of people whom I have never met, whose names I do not know. I know only that they prayed and preached and cried and sang within the chapel at Virginia Seminary. It is, of course, the living Christ in whom we share true communion. But the building is a symbol of that communion. A reminder that, as Christians, we are never alone.

Finally, a church building is a container for the “fullness” of Christian life. For me I think this is a church building’s greatest gift, although perhaps the hardest to articulate. A building consecrated for worship is a sacred vessel into which we pour all of who we are. We leave nothing outside. No part of life is not holy. We bring all that we are, good and bad, warts and wonders, hopes and fears, into this holy place. And all of it is touched and blessed by God.

The rector of a parish is charged with keeping the parish records. Technically, they are the records of the parish community, but they are also the records of worship services within a church building. And those records recount the fullness of human life. Services of baptism and confirmation, of soul sickness and reconciliation, of matrimony and death. But this building holds even more than that. This holy vessel holds all of the prayers offered, the human struggles played out, the relationships lived.

When I think of all that happened in the chapel at Virginia—during worship and at other times… The walls contained times tension and whimsy, of private conversation and public celebration, anger, fear, hope, peace. When we bring our whole lives to worship, the sacred space of the building reminds us that our whole lives are lived in God’s presence.

So I grieve the loss of a church building. Many of us do, scattered throughout the church throughout the world.

Maybe my loss today has reminded you of losses of your own. I’m sorry. Give them to God, your loss and your grief. As he met with the seminary community after the fire, the Dean of the Seminary, Dean Markham, prayed that we might give our memories to God to hold in trust for our eternal life. I think that’s a wonderful perspective. Remember: good memories are what generate grief. Give your memories to God, entrust them to God. God will hold them in trust so that we may cherish them eternally.

Maybe you’ve been reminded of fires that have affected you directly or indirectly. Forgive me, but I don’t want to hear about them.

I do bid your prayers for everyone who has been affected by this fire. The seminary community and the people of Immanuel Church-on-the-Hill will be OK. They are strong in will and faith. But this is a difficult time, especially I imagine for those who are there now. The window in the seminary chapel was inscribed with the Great Commission from Mark’s Gospel. In Matthew’s gospel, the Great Commission concludes with these words from Jesus to his followers. “And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age.” I cannot imagine a community more confident in that assurance than the staff and students of Virginia Seminary.

The church is not a building.

And I still say, as I have before, “going to church” is a bizarre and meaningless phrase. Church is not a building. It is not a destination we visit from time to time. “Living as church” is the better perspective for us as Christians. But church buildings can help us live as church.

This morning, I hope you will pause and thank God for all the church buildings that have enriched your faith throughout your life, the buildings that have taught you and helped form you as a Christian. Thank God for those church buildings that have helped you build and remember your connection to the broader Christian community that is the Body of Christ. And thank God for those holy spaces, sacred vessels, into which you have poured all the trials and joys of living and known yourself to be blessed as a beloved child of God.

The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Freedom

2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9:51-62

“The Gospel of the Lord. Praise to you, Lord Christ.” It’s a little hard, maybe, to offer praise after hearing this Gospel. There are a number of passages in the Gospels often known as the Difficult Sayings of Jesus. The words themselves are not difficult to understand, but we find their meaning difficult to accept. This is definitely one of those difficult sayings, especially Jesus’ apparently harsh and callous words “let the dead bury their dead.”

I can think of four possible approaches to difficult passages like these.

One is to put them aside. Consciously or subconsciously to discount the passages we find difficult. My God wouldn’t say something like that, we think. The God I know, the God I presume to know all about isn’t like that. If Jesus actually said this, I know he didn’t mean it. This is an extremely arrogant approach, but we all do it all the time. We choose to ignore or discount the importance of passages we don’t like.

The second approach is to go beyond the literally meaning of the words to a deeper interpretation… to interpret the passage, especially within the context of the faithful community of the church. This is certainly a valid and faithful approach to the Scriptures. It affirms that God’s revelation to the faithful community has continued since the time the Scriptures were written and that God’s people assembled in prayer and study can interpret new meanings from the Scriptures that reflect God’s ongoing will for his people. The church, today and over the centuries, can interpret and reinterpret these passages and teach us broader or deeper meanings beyond the literal. Many in the church interpret the meaning of Jesus’ words to be: Let the spiritually dead bury their physical dead. Let those who do not know the living Christ tend to those whose bodies no longer live.

It’s important to remember that if we adopt this approach of interpreting new meanings from Scripture, discerned within the faithful community… if we adopt this approach for passages we find difficult, we must be open to it for all of Scripture. We must acknowledge that passages whose literal meaning we cherish may also be open to reinterpretation.

A third approach to Scripture—any passage, difficult or not—is to use the gift of intellect God have us and turn to the tools of Biblical scholarship, especially historical criticism. This approach yields some particularly interesting results for this Gospel passage. Biblical scholars point out that the underlying agenda in this passage, whether it is Luke’s or Jesus’, is to make the point that Jesus is not Elijah. Remember that for the Jews of Jesus’ day and for the Gospel writers, this would have been an extremely important question to resolve. They were awaiting the return of the great prophet Elijah. Jews still await his return. This context is completely lost on us, but in Jesus’ day, people would have been very eager to know if Jesus was Elijah. This passage very pointedly addresses that question.

In this morning’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures, we heard a bit of Elijah’s story, when he passes his prophetic mantle to Elisha. Keeping in mind today’s reading from Luke, listen to a few other passages from the story of Elijah as it is told in the Books of Kings. Elijah was often at odds with the Kings of Israel who were not faithful to Yahweh. One of the kings sought to eliminate the bothersome prophet and sent a messenger and fifty soldiers to take care of Elijah. When they arrived, Elijah said to them, “If I am a man of God, let fire come down from heaven and consume you and your fifty.” And, the Second Book of Kings tells, us “then fire came down from heaven and consumed him and his fifty” [2 Kings 1:10, 12]. Elijah called down fire upon those who were faithless to Yahweh. When Jesus came upon some Samaritans who were not open to the presence of the Son of God, Jesus did not rain down fire upon them. Jesus is not Elijah.

Listen to the call of Elisha from First Kings. “So he [Elijah] set out from there, and found Elisha son of Shaphat, who was plowing. There were twelve yoke of oxen ahead of him, and he was with the twelfth. Elijah passed by him and threw his mantle over him. He left the oxen, ran after Elijah, and said, ‘Let me kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow you.’ And Elijah said to him, yes, go say good bye to your family and then return to fulfill the task I have for you [1 Kings 19:19-21]. Jesus says, no, my mission is more urgent than family farewells. Jesus is not Elijah.

What a relief. Aren’t you feeling a bit relieved? Biblical scholarship indicates that this passage isn’t really about me. Luke, or maybe Jesus, is just using this language and these stories to make a theological point about the distinction between Elijah and Jesus. And, of course, I already know that Jesus is not Elijah. So I can put this difficult passage is a box labeled historical artifact. Very interesting and informative, but not directly relevant to me today. Thank heavens.

Personally, I always feel uneasy when I feel relieved about explaining away difficult passages in Scripture. The second and third approaches to this passage are legitimate ways to understand it—to look to the faithful community of the church for interpretation or to Biblical scholars for explanation. But what we’ve done is remove any relevance the passage may have for us.

There is, I think, a fourth possible approach: to listen. To really try to hear God speaking to us today. Luke’s Gospel is more than a historical document. It is more than words on a page. It is the living Word of God, speaking to us in the situations and events of our lives right now. It’s risky to approach the Bible this way. It is not always easy to hear God clearly; we risk hearing wrongly. We also risk God actually telling us something that may change our lives right here today. But I want to tell you one thing I hear as I listen to these words in my life today.

This passage is all about the journey towards Jerusalem. The first line we actually heard this morning was about Jesus setting his face towards Jerusalem. Jerusalem. I hear Jesus telling me to keep my eyes on Jerusalem. He’s not talking just to the disciples back then choosing a road that led literally to Jerusalem, he’s talking to me. And Jerusalem means something more to me than it meant to the disciples. We don’t really know what it meant to them, but I’ve often imagined that they looked towards Jerusalem with dread and impending doom. That they had to summon almost superhuman resolve and self-sacrifice to tread those steps towards Jerusalem. Maybe they did, although that idea is purely a product of my imagination. And, actually, at this point in Luke’s Gospel, we’re only half way through. The disciples probably didn’t think much about Jerusalem at all. What if Jesus is telling me to keep my eyes on Jerusalem?
What does Jerusalem mean to me? What does Jesus’ action on the cross in Jerusalem offer to me?

Freedom. Paul says it. As we experience these Scripture readings in our lives, we heard that, too, this morning. For freedom, Christ has set us free, Paul says. Jerusalem means freedom. Freedom from the bondage of sin and death. Freedom from enslavement to the desires of the flesh. Paul lists a lot of what binds up our lives, those things that enslave us and rob of us of fullness of life. Things we cannot conquer on our own. Most of them have to do with inordinate desires within us and petty divisions and envy between us. On the other hand, Jesus’ act in Jerusalem bestows upon us freedom. Freedom manifest in the gifts of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

This passage isn’t primarily about how hard it is to get to Jerusalem; it is about how much it is worth to get there. Some days the journey is hard; some days it may not be. But it is worth it. The goal is God’s gift of freedom. The goal is worth whatever challenges or sacrifices may arise along the journey.

This week we are remembering the 60th anniversary of the beginning of the Korean War, the “forgotten” war. The phrase written on the Korean War Memorial is one we hear these days from time to time: Freedom is not free. We understand that sacrifice is often necessary to achieve personal and political freedom. But it’s worth it.

As a child, I was captivated by the stories of the underground railroad. I cannot imagine what those stories mean to people whose ancestors actually made that journey. Slaves who fled the south and journeyed north, seeking that blessed goal of freedom. The individuals who traveled the underground railroad traveled light. They took great risk and endured extreme personal hardship. They would not have tarried along the way. The vision of freedom propelled them onward.

Do you know the spiritual “Follow the drinkin’ gourd”? It’s a song of the underground railroad. The drinkin’ gourd is the big dipper, seen in the night sky. The big dipper that points to the north star… north to freedom.

Follow the drinkin’ gourd.
For the old man is a waitin’ for to carry you to freedom.
Follow the drinkin’ gourd.

Do you want to be free? Really free? The freedom that God offers us is even more important and profound than personal or political freedom. Do you want to be free? Free from the bondage of sin and death?

Then set your face towards Jerusalem. Freedom is what lies ahead. Travel light. Do not tarry. Abandon, sacrifice, anything that comes between you and the blessed goal of freedom. Do you want to be free? Jerusalem is the place where God gives us freedom. For freedom, Christ has set us free.

The Third Sunday after Pentecost

The Stanley Cup and the Oil Spill

One of the guidelines they teach you in preaching school is not to use an illustration that is more powerful than the theological point you are hoping to make. Bearing that guideline in mind, it is with some trepidation that I mention hockey.

Hockey. Or more specifically, Chicago’s celebration of hockey. The city’s overwhelming celebration of the Blackhawks and the urge to be a part of that celebration. If you have not felt at least some little urging within to join the celebration… if you have not wanted at least a little to share in the joy or felt a smile on your face or a lightness in your heart, then you must be either the tin man with no heart or a truly self-conscious insufferable snob. And I know none of you will publicly admit to being either of those. Over the last few days everyone I have run into, young or old, from Orchestra Hall to the streets of Flossmoor has wanted to talk about the Blackhawks. I have felt the urge to claim a share in the celebration. I’ve been tempted to buy a T-shirt! I’m really not much of a hockey fan, but I’ve wanted to share the news with friends all over the country. The yearning to share in the celebration seems almost universal. And it is for all of us to share. You do not have to qualify or earn the right to celebrate. The celebration is ours.

The early Hebrew people had a sense of shared life that is almost impossible for us to comprehend or experience in the highly individualized world in which we live. They experienced life in common. Not as a group of individuals with similar experiences or beliefs, but as a group that literally shared life. The joy of one was actually felt, experienced, shared by all.

I think we come close to that experience this week. It is more than appreciating or understanding or valuing what this event means for others. It is the urge to actually be a part of the celebration. It is the feeling of joy rising up even in people who have never had any interest in hockey or followed the Blackhawks before. The Tribune said, “Even if you don’t know what icing is, it is your celebration.” Incidentally, I do know what icing is. You can’t live in Maine without absorbing at least some hockey. For heaven’s sake, Lyric Opera of Chicago is posting pictures of the parade and calling themselves “ground zero for the Hawks celebration.” Lyric Opera! The opera house is located at Washington and Wacker, the official starting point for the ticker tape parade. The celebration is all of ours.

It is odd, perhaps, that hockey enables us to experience one of God’s greatest gifts: communion. It is God who connects us to one another. It is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that enables us to share the joy and exuberance of one another. Communion. Life lived in common, shared, even with people we may not know or may not imagine we are similar to. Communion. Shared life.

You don’t have to earn the “right” to share in Chicago’s celebration. In communion, the joy of one really is the joy of all. I hope that long-time Hawks fans don’t feel any resentment towards the rest of us as we join in the celebration. They shouldn’t. In communion no one has a proprietary claim on any experience. No one can exclude any one else from the life that is shared. The joy is ours.

But here’s the thing. A life shared in common, lived in communion goes both ways. The joy of one truly is the joy of all. The responsibility of one is also the responsibility of all. Just as surely as we all have a part in the Stanley cup celebration in Chicago, we all bear the guilt for the oil belching out onto the beaches of the Gulf. The early Hebrew people understood this, too, that guilt was shared. It is very hard for us to accept. We might be able to wrap our heads around an experience of shared joy, but not shared guilt. We are much better at assigning blame than accepting guilt. The root cause of the disaster in the Gulf is our society’s addictive demand for petroleum. We are that society. We are in communion as that society. We share life in common as a community addictively demanding ever more petroleum. We share guilt for the consequences of that demand.

Among the individuals gathered here today, some are undoubtedly more intentional than others at being stewards of God’s creation. Some work harder than others, as individuals, at conserving or preserving our natural resources. That’s important, but it is only one piece of the picture and (odd as this may sound) is not relevant to my point today. Even the most dedicated individual environmentalist shares in our common responsibility and guilt. Just as no one can tell me that I don’t have a share in the Blackhawks celebration, I cannot tell someone else that they bear the exclusive blame for the Gulf oil spill. In communion, one person’s joy is the joy of all. In communion, one person’s guilt is the guilt of all.

A recent post on the blog of the Christian Century is titled “Lamenting our oil addiction.” It’s by Steve Thorngate, a Lutheran on the staff of the Century. He writes:

While BP and the federal government plug away at trying to plug the oil leak, the rest of us feel pretty helpless. What’s a citizen’s response to this sort of disaster? What’s a Christian response?

There’s a lot of talk about organizing against BP, and I agree with Rose Berger that some strong punitive measure is in order. It’s also tempting to blame conservative ideology in some way, but as Dave Allen points out, that dog won’t necessarily hunt: “The relevant question is not whether you own a copy of Atlas Shrugged; it's whether you own an automobile.” Or fly in airplanes, buy things made of plastic and/or transported from far away, eat factory-farmed food or burn paraffin candles. While business and government must be held accountable for their reckless behavior, we’re all complicit in our culture’s addiction to oil.

He reminds us that the root cause of the spill is our culture’s addiction to oil. And, individually, we are all complicit in that addition. Not only as an aggregate of individuals who demand and squander petroleum, but as part of a community, a communion of human beings that demands exploitation of petroleum. Even if you as an individual have never bought a single baggie, you share life with an American culture that uses12 million barrels of oil a year to produce 100 billion single-use bags (Worldwatch Institute, reported by NCC Eco-Justice Program).

I have to quote John Donne. Donne was an Anglican priest and poet. You’ve probably heard these words. “No man is an island, entire of itself.” There is no such thing as isolated individuality. We cannot isolate joy or guilt within a single human being. There are no impermeable barriers separating the children of God. “Everyman’s death diminishes me,” he says. He doesn’t say, “I grieve each person’s death,” or even, “I feel the loss of each person’s death.” He says he is actually diminished by another’s death. In communion, death is shared. When one person dies, our common life is diminished. A part of each of us dies. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”

So what is the Christian response to the oil disaster? We do need to do the best as can as individuals to lessen our demand for oil. All of us could do much better. That seems a moral imperative, regardless of our Christian faith.

As Christians I think we are called also to witness to the reality of the communion we share. We must claim and proclaim the shared life that we have with one another. Our experience and our faith teach us that God’s Spirit connects us in a common life.

How do we express our witness? On a lighthearted note, go out and buy those Blackhawk Stanley cup T-shirts. Especially if you don’t have a clue what icing is. We are indeed bound together in shared celebration.

And with respect to the oil disaster: Repent. Publicly and repeatedly repent. For two reasons. One, to proclaim to the world that this more than a horrendous accident or a moral mistake; it is a violation of God’s creation. Our inordinate demand for oil is an abuse of God’s goodness and abundance. Second, repent as a sign of our communion, as a manifestation of our common life. Whether you drive a hybrid or an SUV, repent. Whether you reuse and recycle or really never thought about it, repent. The fact that we are in this together is a powerful and positive sign to the world. God’s gift of communion is full of life and hope. And our shared repentance proclaims that communion. And work for social transformation. Part of repentance is amendment of life. Work to amend and transform not just your individual practice, but our common life, too.

We are all guilty. Repent.

The Second Sunday after Pentecost

All Good

Galatians 1:11-24

A myriad of miracles are described in today’s readings. All four lessons recount miraculous acts of God. There are several healings, Paul’s conversion, a miraculous feeding. And a host of what I call “supporting miracles:” the fact that people heard God’s word and chose to obey, the fact that there was grain at all to be ground into meal; the fact that a community gathered to help a widow bury her son.

But in the midst of all these miracles there is one line from the epistle that I hope you will remember for a long time. At the close of the portion of Galatians appointed for today Paul says, “They glorified God because of me.” They—all those many people—they glorified God because of me.

Two weeks ago on Pentecost I talked about the process of becoming a Christian. How do we become Christian? Today’s readings prompt a follow up question. What is the result of being a Christian? What does it really mean to be a Christian?

I’m going to paraphrase a commentary on today’s portion of Galatians (Interpretation: Galatians, by Charles B. Cousar). The author of the commentary quotes Karl Barth, certainly one of the most significant of recent Protestant theologians. What does it mean concretely and practically to be a Christian? The classic answer, Barth suggests, the answer usually given, is to point to the benefits of Christ. The Christian is one “who is distinguished from others by the reception, possession, use and enjoyment of the salvation of God.” The Christian is a recipient of grace and thus experiences the reconciliation, forgiveness, joy, peace and hope to be found in Christ. To be a Christian then is to be someone who receives wonderful gifts and blessings from Christ. Many hymns sung in our churches enumerate the benefits for us; the benefits have certainly been popular themes for sermons… and are the carrot offered by many evangelists seeking converts. The trouble with this classic answer is that it is fraught with the temptation to assume that the enjoyment of God’s gifts constitutes the only relevant and important reality to which God calls people. The assumption that the sum total of what God calls us to is the enjoyment of his gifts. Being a Christian is all about my salvation, my peace of mind, my assurance of God’s blessing. Christ the Lord becomes a genie to supply at a beck and call personal blessings.

A more biblical answer to the question, What does it mean to be a Christian? is, Barth argues, in terms of the task of being a Christian witness, that is, of being one who in word and deed points to God and to what he has been doing, is doing, and will be doing in relation to the world. Rather than a preoccupation with the good gifts God bestows on the individual Christian, the primary center around which life is oriented is the spoken word and the service of love rendered the world. Being a Christian is not about what we receive it is about what we do… speaking the Word and serving the world in love. Barth finds conclusive support for his answer in the various calls of biblical characters. Certainly Paul’s experience is a confirmation. We just heard Paul’s own account of his conversion in this morning’s reading from Galatians. We are more familiar with the account in Acts, but this is Paul’s own description of what happened to him on the Damascus road. And neither this account, nor any other, mentions his newly found joy, peace, or security immediately resulting from Christ’s revelation to him; instead the account points to the mission to which he was being directed. Christ revealed himself to Paul, Paul says, “in order that I might preach him among the Gentiles.” At the core of the Christian experience a centrifugal force pushes believers beyond the temptation to tarry forever with their own problems or with the preoccupation with Christ’s benefits so that they may join God’s work in convincing the world of his holy love.

To convince other people of God’s holy love for them is what identifies a Christian. To be able to say, with Paul, other people glorify God because of me.

How do we become that sort of Christian? Certainly most Episcopalians could be better evangelists, better at actually giving voice to the Good News in the world. But I also want to suggest another track by which we might live into our Christian mission.

Today’s collect reminds us that all good comes from God. “Almighty God from whom all good doth proceed.” All good. There is absolutely no good that does not come from God. We tend to see God in the spectacular miracles, the amazing feedings or unexpected healings. But beyond that we either take the good in life for granted or take credit for it ourselves. Regardless of circumstances; regardless even of intent; all good in the world is miraculous. All good comes from God.

Paul, even with his ego, knew that. We have to work harder to remind ourselves. But I think if we work at noticing the good in the world and give God the praise for that good, then the rest will follow. If we can hang onto the idea that all good comes from God, we will inevitably become conduits and witnesses to that good.

So look for the good in the world. Look for what is truly good. I don’t mean what we usually mean when we tell a child to be good. I’m not talking about being polite or following rules or getting good grades. Those are worthwhile endeavors, of course, but I’m talking about anything that is beautiful or creative. Every single act of kindness or compassion. The fact that anyone is ever generous. The fact that we enjoy food and don’t eat just for sustenance. That we can experience fun, wonder, love. These are good. And all good comes from God. Watch for the good. Each of our lives, no matter how trying or difficult they may be at times, are nonetheless filled with abundant good. Watch for the good. Give God the glory. And people will glorify God because of you.

Instructed Eucharist

Trinity Sunday, 2010

Before the Procession

This morning we will be participating in an Instructed Eucharist. Throughout the service, I will be breaking in with comments providing explanation or reflection on various parts of the service. I expect you will find these interruptions distracting today, but I hope that one Sunday’s distractions will enrich your participation in the liturgy in the many days and years ahead.

The Episcopal Church is a liturgical church. This means that our community worship follows a prescribed, ordered liturgy. This is probably the most fundamental distinction in style of worship among different Christian denominations. Roman Catholic and Lutheran worship are also liturgical. Most other Protestant churches are not; their worship is highly variable. When we pray together as a community we follow a prescribed, ordered liturgy as presented in the Book of Common Prayer.

Two aspects of liturgical worship are important to consider. First, liturgical worship is shared worship. The way we pray is what we all have in common. We are united by common prayer. Diversity and individuality enrich our fellowship in many other ways, but in worship individuality is repressed in favor of commonality. For Episcopalians, we find unity and identity in the words of worship we hold in common.

Second, liturgical worship emphasizes the active role and participation of the laity. You have the words and directions for worship in your hands. You are not here to be edified by something a clergyperson, or even a committee, has whipped up today for your spiritual pleasure. Liturgy means work of the people. You are here to work. In liturgical worship, the assembly has a very active role. Your role is all there in the Book of Common Prayer.

Every service begins with a procession, whether simple or elaborate. Your part in that procession began when you left home to come here. We all come from somewhere to gather here as a community in worship. The act of gathering is essential. And we bring our individual joys and anxieties with us. This is not a place or a time of isolation or escape from the world. Bring your good news and your baggage with you. To be shared and transformed by corporate worship.

Procession

The opening words of the liturgy are a greeting. Now that we are all gathered, we greet one another. “Good to see you; how are you?” “Good, good to see you, too.” Our is a Christian greeting. But it is a greeting, shared with everyone here. To not say that greeting due to inattention or tardiness is rude to everyone else who is here. Part of the active work of liturgy is courtesy to one another.

The Opening Acclamation

The next prayer is known as the Collect for Purity. It has been used by faithful Christians since the 11th century as an expression of our desire to come before God in worship with pure thoughts and open hearts.

The Collect for Purity

Say amen. Say amen after the prayer. Any prayer said by a single worship leader on behalf of the assembly becomes yours when you say amen. Amen means, “so be it.” So be it for me. You claim the prayer, become an active participant in that prayer, when you say “amen.”

The Summary of the Law
The Gloria

Part of being a liturgical church is following a defined calendar of seasons and holy days. The calendar forces us to be mindful of the breadth of Christian faith and life. Every year we must approach the glorious redemption of Easter through the penitence of Lent. Every year we reflect in awe as God takes on flesh in the manger at Christmas time and we experience the departure of God in flesh incarnate at the Ascension. And we have to struggle with Trinity Sunday every year.

Liturgically, we experience the calendar through what are called the “Propers.” “Propers” refers to the particular collect and Scripture readings that are appointed for any given day in the calendar. We always follow the appointed propers. The following Collect is always prayed on Trinity Sunday.

Collect of the Day

The lectionary indicates which Scripture readings are “proper” for any given day in the calendar. Interestingly, although liturgical churches are sometimes criticized for underemphasizing the Bible, the lectionary prescribes a much, much broader reading of Scripture throughout the year than is usually heard in non-liturgical churches.

Your job is to hear the Scriptures, to hear the Word of God. One of your fellow Christians will read it to you, for you. Give the reader your attention. After hearing the Scriptures, without looking back at your leaflets, you should be able to summarize the readings. At coffee hour you should be able to discuss interesting points from the lessons (whether or not they were the topic of the sermon.) If you can’t do these things, you’re not listening well; you’re not doing the work of hearing God’s Word spoken to you. Personally, I hear better if I do NOT “follow along” reading the printed inserts. Whatever it takes for you, do the work to really hear and absorb the Scriptures into your consciousness, so that they may speak to you in your life.

First Lesson
Psalm
Second Lesson
Sequence Hymn (10:00 o'clock)
Gospel

Typically, of course, the Sermon follows the Gospel. I want to talk briefly this morning about sacraments. Once we get into the prayer of consecration, the Great Thanksgiving, there will be only minimal interruptions, so I want to take this opportunity to explain sacraments, specifically the sacrament of Holy Communion.

The Episcopal Church is a sacramental church. We teach and experience the sacraments as a part of our common life. A sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace.” God’s transforming grace… given without any conditions or qualifications through the ministry of the church. The sacraments are “sure and certain means” by which we receive God’s grace. Sure and certain. It doesn’t depend upon you. It doesn’t depend upon me. It only depends upon the power of God functioning through the activity of the church.

In the sacrament of Holy Communion, the outward and visible signs are the bread and wine. They convey to us the Body and Blood of Christ. The bread and wine are sure and certain means by which we receive the Body and Blood of Christ. In the sacramental act, the bread and wine are changed, infused with God’s grace to become for us the real Body and Blood of Christ.

How exactly? The sacraments are all mysteries. Mysteries fueled by the power of God. But by God’s grace and power, the bread and wine are transformed into the Real Presence of Christ and when we participate in Communion, we are literally in Communion with the living Christ, and with one another through Christ.

The Nicene Creed was written by the church, gathered in council in the city of Nicea in 325. The Nicene Creed is not an individual affirmation of faith; it is the church’s creed. And no matter what other profound debates or uncertainty have swirled around through the centuries, the Nicene Creed has stood steadfast as the church’s expression of the Christian faith for over 1600 years. We say it as a response to the reading and proclamation of the Word of God. Whether you accept or understand every bit of it, say it. At the very least, as a member of the church, it is your job to share it and pass it on.

The Nicene Creed

Part of our work as Christians is to pray. To pray for others. I recently read that our Christian vocation is to become in “real life” the people we are in worship. When we process out of here at the end of worship, take these prayers, your prayers, the prayers of the people, with you. Take them in your heart, or literally take the printed prayer sheets, and be people who pray for others throughout your life.

The Prayers of the People
Confession and Absolution

Say amen after the absolution. For some reason, this amen is typically one of the most feeble. Your sins have just been absolved. By God’s grace, through the action of a priest of the church, you are reconciled to God. Now. Any sins for which you offered repentance this morning have been forgiven. So be it? If you wish for it to be so, if you wish to claim God’s absolution of your sins, say amen after the absolution.

The Comfortable Words (Rite 1; 8:00 o'clock)

The sharing of the peace is a wonderful celebration of Christian fellowship. But it is more than that. Your action, your work in the liturgy at this point is to give the Peace of Christ to others. I convey the Peace of Christ to you and you and you. Try saying the whole phrase to one another… “The peace of the Lord be with you.”

The Peace

Announcements

The next portion of the service may seem like filler, but it is very important, and it is one where you, the assembly, do all the work. The Offertory. One of my seminary professors wrote, “It is not too much to say that one understands the meaning of the Holy Communion to the extent that he or she understands the significance of the Offertory.” (Edward Kryder). We can’t, any of us, really participate in Holy Communion without first acting ourselves to offer the ingredients of which Holy Communion is created. Most importantly, we must offer ourselves.

As part of the offertory, we e offer our creativity, our talent and our skill to the Glory of God and for the purpose of God. This offering of creativity is often represented by a musical offering, but it stands for all of the creative potential of all of us.

We also offer the fruits of our labor in the offertory, the substance of our lives. These days that’s money. Historically, those offerings of substance might often have been in kind… crops we had grown, clothing we had woven or sewed. We offer them in thanksgiving that all we have comes from God. We offer them for use to further God’s kingdom. We offer our money, not primarily because the church needs it (although of course it does), but because we cannot come into Communion with God unless we offer ourselves, all that we are, all that we value, our souls and bodies to God.

Make some active offering every time you approach participation in Holy Communion. Many liturgical scholars suggest each worshipper put something of some value in the collection plate every time we celebrate the Eucharist to ensure that we do the real work of offering, and remember that it is ourselves we offer.

And, of course, the assembly offers the bread and wine. They are your corporate offerings.

The offertory is not a time to be planning your afternoon or chatting to your neighbor in the pew or digging through your purse for God doesn’t care what. Your focus should be on God and on actively offering yourself to God. Offer your voice, your creativity, your substance, your body, your soul, all that your are. Participate in the offertory.

Offertory Sentences
Offertory Music (10:00 o'clock)

The next phrases are often called by their Latin name, the Sursum Corda. They are a dialogue, a conversation. Lift up your hearts means, among other things, literally, stand up. The next part is really a question from the presider to the assembly. Shall we, together, now, give thanks to the Lord? If you would like to proceed with Communion, you need to speak your assent. “Yes, we think it is right to give thanks to God.” Without your response the presider cannot proceed. The Prayer that follows is the Great Thanksgiving. The greatest of all thanksgivings for all of God’s saving acts on our behalf. Especially the gift of his living presence in Holy Communion.

Sursum Corda

…proper prefaces are seasonal. Listen for brief summary of the teaching of the various seasons of the calendar.

The Proper Preface for Trinity
Sanctus

The Council of Nicea forbade kneeling for prayer on all Sundays throughout the church year and every day of the Great Fifty Days of Easter. Kneeling thus was permitted only on weekdays outside of Easter season. Kneeling for the Great Thanksgiving, or prayer of consecration, did not become common until the late Middle Ages. At that time in the Roman Catholic Church, the peoples’ role in Holy Communion was a passive one of adoration only… passive to the point that they did not even receive the bread or wine. The Book of Common Prayer provides you the option to either stand or kneel. If you have never stood, try it for a few weeks sometime. It takes more than one Sunday to get over the awkwardness of change. If you give it a fair trial, you may find it a more open and active posture and find yourself powerfully drawn into Communion.

All versions of the Great Thanksgiving are Trinitarian. All include an institution narrative, recounting Jesus’ institution of Holy Communion, and all invoke the Holy Spirit’s transforming power upon the offered gifts, the offered gifts of bread and wine and the offered gifts of ourselves.

The Great Thanksgiving, continued

The Great Amen. Capitals and Italics. The greatest of Amens. Say this amen especially with joy and fervor.

And then we pray boldly by Jesus’ warrant and teaching. It is only at Jesus’ instruction that we boldly call God our Father and make these bold intercessions to him.

The Lord’s Prayer

The Fraction (Breaking of the Bread)
The Fraction Anthem

These next words are an invitation to come to the table. “The gifts of God for the people of God…” They are not a prayer or culmination. Resist the temptation to say “amen” at the end of the invitation. Just come. Jesus, your host, invites you to his holy table.

Come to the table promptly. Symbolically at least, we all dine together. Those of us here in the sanctuary do not dine first. Do say “amen” after you are offered the bread and wine. This is important, and most of you don’t. The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven. “Amen.” The Blood of Christ, the cup of salvation. “Amen.” Amen, indeed. May these be for me the Body and Blood of Jesus. And do not leave the communion rail until the person after you has received. We dine together, always with at least one Christian neighbor beside us.

The Invitation

Distribution of Communion

The post-Communion prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving, thanksgiving that everything we have done the work of offering to God has been transformed. All of ourselves that we have truly offered has been transformed, thanks be to God. This prayer also reminds us that our primary work as Christians lies ahead. Our participation in the liturgy and in Holy Communion are not ends in and of themselves. They give us strength and courage to do the work God has given us to do throughout our daily lives.

Post-communion Prayer
Blessing

Having been fed and transformed by the Body of Christ, we process again. We process onward and outward through the doors of the church to be the Body of Christ in the world.

Hymn
Dismissal

Postlude