The First Sunday after Christmas Day - December 30

Light Shines in the Darkness
John 1:1-18

The metaphors or images of darkness and light are important in John's Gospel. In the introduction to the Gospel, which is the reading appointed for this First Sunday after Christmas, we are given a vivid introduction to the symbolism of light and darkness.

From this morning's reading, in the New Revised Standard translation:  What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

I have always found that last line powerful. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.  Even the smallest of lights can be seen in the darkness.

But maybe you remember the King James translation of this verse: And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

To spend a little more time with this verse, I looked up a few additional translations.

From the New English Bible:  The light shines on in the dark, and the darkness has never mastered it.

From the New Jerusalem Bible:  Light shines in darkness and darkness could not overpower it. 

I have one more association with the verse.  From Benjamin Britten's opera Billy Budd.  So this is an opera by Britten, based on a novella by Herman Melville, with libretto by E. M. Forster (who was pretty handy with the English language.)  In it, there is a man who is evil:  John Claggert.  Claggert sees in the young man Billy Budd pure goodness.  And, in the opera, he responds by singing:  "O beauty, o handsomeness, goodness! Would that I ne’er encountered you! Would that I lived in my own world always, in that depravity to which I was born. There I found peace of a sort, there I established an order such as reigns in Hell. But alas, alas! The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness comprehends it and suffers."  A reference to the King James translation.  The darkness does comprehend the light, but that comprehension brings suffering to the darkness.

It’s one Greek word, of course, that describes what the darkness cannot do to the light.  There are several translation challenges.  First, it is in the aorist. If I remember correctly, that's not a verb tense we really have in English. Basically, it is a past tense that implies continuing action. Hence some of the translations speaking of the light shining on and the darkness continuing to struggle.  And the meaning is difficult to translate. It can mean:

1) to grasp in the sense of comprehend
2) to welcome, receive, accept
3) to overcome, or grasp in a hostile sense
4) to master

These are what the darkness would, but cannot do, to the light that has come into the world.

Whatever meaning the word takes, it speaks of a darkness that has will, motivation. The darkness is Godlessness within ourselves, within our world.  Those places within ourselves and within our world that turn away from Christ.  And those places of darkness are not passive; they are not just an absence of light.  The darkness has will, motivation, power.  Do not underestimate it.

And the darkness interacts with the light. The darkness perceives the light.  In the presence of the light, the darkness suffers, and would quench its beam.  The darkness struggles against the light... tries to overcome, comprehend, master, overpower.

But the darkness will never prevail. However you translate it, John says it.  Even the most powerful darkness will...  not...  prevail...  over the Light of Christ.  The tiniest candle can be seen throughout a vast and empty room. A single star will guide wise travelers across continents as they come seeking God. A tiny baby embodies all of heaven's brilliance. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not, can not, will not overcome it.

Christmas Day

Wanting What We Already Have

Frazz is one of the comics I read fairly regularly. I still miss my all time favorite Calvin and Hobbs, and I don’t always understand Frazz, but I want to share with you a strip that appeared a few days ago.

Frazz takes place at Bryson Elementary School. Several precocious children are recurring characters, especially a young boy named Caulfield. There are several quirky teaches and the school custodian, Frazz, who also happens to be a songwriter and do triathlons.

So Frazz is working in the school hallway and a young girl comes up to him and says, “Know what I want for Christmas? I want to wake up next to a warm, purring kitty.”

Frazz replies, “You want a new cat?” She says, “No, the same one.”

In the final frame, Frazz says, “I like how you think,” and she replies “Why should I have to not have something to want it?”

Why should I have to not have something to want it? Can't we already have something, and still want it, too?

In addition to being an indictment of the ultra consumerism of Christmas where advertisers try to instill desire in us for things we do not have, do not need and probably really do not want… I think this strip is pretty good theology. Why should I have to not have something to want it? We can know we have something, like a kitty who is warm and purrs; and at the same time still yearn for it, too.  To affirm what we have and experience desire at the same time. To still eagerly want what we have already been given. I think that is the Christian celebration of Christmas.  To celebrate that we have been given in Jesus' birth all that our hearts and souls could desire.  But at the same time still want and yearn for the presence of Emmanuel, God with us.  Simultaneous thankful celebration and yearning. That’s the Christian Christmas. Simultaneous celebration and yearning.

So, in that spirit what do I want for Christmas this year? A bright and shining star to guide me to God in the midst of life’s dark paces.

Frazz might ask, “A new star?”

No, the same one. The same one I’ve always had. Why should I have to not have something to want it?

And I’d like a song to sing that soars with joy and peace. I suppose a new one would be OK, if it was good. But why should I have to not have something to want it? I have Adeste Fideles and Joy to the World… I have them, and I want them, too.

And what I really, really want most for Christmas is for God to come. To me.  To come be with us. In gentleness and strength. Close enough to touch but full of majesty. To comfort and guide. To teach and forgive. I want a savior and a shepherd. To be with me to bless my struggles and give breath to my hopes. To bring joy and peace.

You want a new God for Christmas, Frazz might ask.

No, the same one. Why should I have to not have something to want it.  We can still want what we already have.

This Christmas season, wishing you both joyous celebration and eager yearning for our Savior's birth.

Christmas Eve

O Holy Night 

There was an article in today’s Tribune about the Christmas song, “O holy night."  For many people, it’s a special favorite.  You probably have a version you particularly like; mine is Pavarotti's. As the Trib noted in passing, it is a song that calls for a solo voice (unlike most Christmas carols).  Many singers in different styles and with varying success have recorded it over the years.

But it’s not the song I want to focus on, but the words. Holy Night. Holy Night.

Over and over again, in hymns and poems, human beings across the centuries have called this night “holy.” That word “holy," of course, is a word we use a lot in the church.We use it so frequently I imagine for many of you it usually just slides by without much notice or particular significance. It’s a word we say a lot in church, you expect to hear it. (As an aside it’s interesting that we don’t use it much at all outside of church.) But for some reason, tonight the word "holy" is not routine, not something that just slips by relatively unnoticed. Not on this holy night. This is a holy night.  And calling this night “holy” is important.

Especially when I’m teaching children about Holy Communion or working with adults, too, I ask people to define “holy” in their own words. Usually folks struggle just a bit. Something to do with God, they say. It’s hard to put exactly into words.

But, although it may be hard to come up with a dictionary-style definition for holy or holiness, you know it when you see it. You know it when you feel holiness. You know it when you experience holiness. And now, this night, this holy night, is one of those times.  One of those times when we see and hear and know holiness.

Tonight we know what holiness looks like. It looks like a baby born in a manger. A baby just like any other, except … holy. A little baby boy who is holiness.

Holiness is what angels sound like singing.

Somehow a simple story of shepherd’s and magi’s awe and wonder expresses something holy that we can touch and share.

Holiness is the vision of angels’ wings just visible, shimmering light in the dark.

 Holiness is the feeling born in human hearts this night—the inexplicable, but inextinguishable ember of hope within, no matter what is going on outside.

This night we are surrounded by holiness and filled with holiness. Maybe it’s hard to describe or explain, but it’s there. This night. This holy night.

God’s gift this night is holiness. Given to us. Into our lives; into our world. God, with us.

Holiness came into our world that night in Bethlehem so many years ago when God was born in a manger. Holiness came into our world and it has never left.

In this annual celebration of the holy nativity our awareness is renewed. Our confidence is restored that we may seek and expect holiness throughout our lives.

As a part of the Prayer Book service of Daily Evening Prayer, we pray “that this evening may be holy, good and peaceful.” That’s a prayer to be said daily, any evening,  every night. And because this night is holy, and we know it is holy, we can expect any night, all other nights, to be holy, too.

Because we see and hear the holy angels on this night, we can look for them to guard us and sing to us on other nights.

Because an unquenchable light shines in the darkness of this holy night, we can grasp the promise that we will never be conquered by the dark.

Hang on to the holiness of this night. It is real and it does not depart with tomorrow’s sunrise.

Because God in all of his holiness was born in human flesh on this night, we human beings are invited to know and share God’s holiness throughout our lives.

O holy night. The stars are brightly shining. This is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.  O, holy night.

Fourth Sunday of Advent - December 23

The Prophet Mary
Luke 1:39-45

Some of you may remember that Diocesan Convention this fall was all about “fierce” conversations. I didn’t go to the workshop on fierce conversations, but I did hear the keynote speaker. In this context “fierce” is considered a good thing. Basically, it seems to refer to communication that is open, honest, courageous. In a different time and place, rather than encouraging fierce conversations, we might have said: “Get real.” “Don’t beat around the bush.” “Tell it like it is.”

The people who talk about fierce conversations, describe them as having these qualities:
They interrogate reality.
Provoke learning.
Tackle tough challenges.
Enrich relationships.

That sounds to me like the job description for a prophet. We hear a lot from the prophets during Advent. They definitely lay bare the reality of their day, often naming the people’s faithlessness. They vigorously provoke learning about God’s purpose. They speak in challenging times and situations. And yet, all that the prophets do is ultimately with the hope and purpose of enriching peoples’ relationships with God.

The prophetic voices of Advent often seem to be foretelling the future, and part of what Advent is about is looking forward. But really the prophets speak to their present. They say: this is what God is like. This is what God intends. This is where God’s desire meets your reality.

Jeremiah says: a righteous branch shall spring up for David. He shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. Our God is a God of righteousness and judgment.

Malachi: He is like a refiner’s fire and fuller’s soap; he will purify the descendents of Levi until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness.

Zephaniah: The Lord, your God is in your midst.

Micah: He shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord.

And finally, one more prophetic voice: “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.” Yes, Mary stand squarely in this line of Old Testament prophets.

Writing in 1891, not exactly a time of rampant feminism, B. W. Johnson wrote: Elizabeth and Mary are the first two human prophets of the New Testament. (I guess maybe they were preceded by the non-human, angelic Gabriel.)

In the Gospel today, we heard Mary’s prophetic song, the magnificat. I can’t help but ponder how differently we might perceive these words if they had been said by a male voice.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. 
From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has doe great things for me, and holy is his Name. 
He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. 
He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. 
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. 
He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. 
He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy, 
The promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever. 

We think of Mary in many ways. Young. Humble. “Mother Mary meek and mild.” Obviously many mothering images are associated with her. Although anyone who knows anything about mothering knows that being a mother means much more than being meek and mild. She must have been strong. And certainly faithful. Over the centuries in Catholic piety she has been seen as intercessor and guide. Mary, pray for us.

I think over the years I have seen the magnificat primarily as a song of praise. A wonderful unrestrained song of praise. Mary’s words of praise. And certainly the first few lines fit that perspective. But, overall, reading and hearing the magnificat as a whole, it fits right into this prophetic tradition. It’s mostly about God. A fierce, prophetic proclamation of God’s perspective. God’s promise. This is God’s vision for reality! Mary proclaims. God brings down the powerful from their thrones. God comes to the lowly and does great things for them God scatters the proud, but feeds the hungry. For those who are faithful, God’s strength is shown in mercy.

Mary not only foretells Jesus’ coming, even more importantly she proclaims who Jesus is. Who God is. In a sense she is prophetically laying out of Jesus’ mission statement.

Writing about Jeremiah’s prophecy, Melinda Quivik states: The prophet is the one who holds out a vision for us to cling to especially when we cannot grasp the meaning. Mary gives us a vision to cling to even in times when its fulfillment may be difficult for us to envision or grasp. Mary, majestically and prophetically, tells us who this child will be and how he will bring God’s purpose into our world.

Our God is one…
Who has no patience with the powerful and proud.
Whose strength is expressed in mercy for those who revere him.
Who lifts up the lowly and feeds the hungry.

This is the God of the ancient prophets.
This is the God born a baby in the manger.
This is the God of our own time.

Our God is one who comes to lift up the lowly and feed the hungry, both literally and metaphorically.

To all who are hungry for lack of food or whose souls are starved for hope and peace. To all who are lowly, trampled down or marginalized by this world or brought low by anxiety, confusion or fatigue. To all who are hungry or lowly, God comes to you. This is Mary’s prophecy.

Third Sunday of Advent - Decmeber 16

Rejoice, You Brood of Vipers
Zephaniah 3:14-20
Philippians 4:4-7
Luke 3:7-18

On this Third Sunday of Advent, as we look forward to Christmas, we are still in the wilderness with John the Baptist. John, of course, is one of the main figures of Advent. John, who helped prepare the way for Jesus’ coming.

On the whole, John the Baptist seems to have been a glass half empty sort of guy.

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” Repent!

If he had been more of a glass half full sort of guy, he might have said, “Rejoice, you brood of vipers, your salvation is drawing near.” Rejoice, you brood of vipers.

The other readings appointed for this Sunday are full of rejoicing. Rejoice in the Lord always, Paul says to the Philippians. And Zephaniah, not necessarily known for his cheerful disposition, can hardly contain himself: “Sing aloud O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem.”

Rejoice, you brood of vipers. The people John is calling vipers are people who had come to him for baptism! It’s a mixed group. Crowds of people coming out from Jerusalem to the wilderness… Matthew’s account suggests Pharisees and Sadducees were among them, the religious elite of the day. Luke mentions soldiers and tax collectors, the social scum of that day. I tend to smile at John’s hyperbole… brood of vipers. But I imagine he was pretty serious. John say all of the people gathered were, in the words of today’s collect, “sorely hindered by their sins.”

And to those sinners, he says, do not flee. John perceives the people trying to escape judgment by fleeing. The image he has is of snakes or other wildlife trying to flee from a spreading wildfire.  The fire of judgment.  And he says, you cannot escape judgment by fleeing. It’s a futile effort. Impossible. Neither can you expect a pass on judgment just because you have Abraham for an ancestor. Your only hope is repentance. Repent, because there is forgiveness. Repentance is not a solution to sin in and of itself. The reason to repent is because God forgives.

And that is something to rejoice about. Rejoice, God will forgive. Even you. You brood of vipers. Our repentance and God’s forgiveness lead to a new world. Zephaniah is talking about that world on the other side of God’s forgiveness. The Lord has taken away the judgments against you. The Lord is in your midst. He will renew you in his love.

John preached repentance, but promised forgiveness. The Greek word translated repentance is metanoia. Metanoia, which means a course correction. In addition to an acknowledgement of regret for past sins, metanoia carries with it the promise of a new and better path. Rejoice, on the other side of repentance is forgiveness. Renewal in God’s love.

The horrible shooting Friday in Newtown, Connecticut, is before us all today. Over the course of the day on Friday as I heard more about the tragedy, I was reminded of this prayer. It’s in the Rite 1 burial service in the Book of Common Prayer.

"Help us, we pray, in the midst of things we cannot understand, to believe and trust in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the resurrection to life everlasting. Amen."

Help us to believe in the forgiveness of sins. John the Baptist brings the promise of God’s forgiveness of sins. Help us to believe and trust in the proclamation that John brings of forgiveness. The communion or fellowship of saints and the resurrection to life everlasting are things we come to understand after John, from Jesus.

In this wilderness in which we still find ourselves, in the midst of things we cannot understand, stir up your power O Lord, and help us. Help us to believe and trust and even rejoice in the promise that John brings of forgiveness, the promise that God will be with us and renew us in his love. And help us, too, beyond John’s proclamation, to believe and trust and even rejoice the communion of saints and in the resurrection hope made known to us through the one whose coming John foretold, Jesus.

You brood of vipers, rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice.

Second Sunday of Advent - December 9

More Powerful than the G8 

Hope to get caught up soon. Please check back.

First Sunday of Advent - December 2

Looking Forward to the Second Coming

Hope to get caught up soon.  Please check back.

Last Sunday after Pentecost - November 25

The Kingdom Yet to Come
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37

When I was a student in seminary I was accused once of having a “realized eschatology.” There are undoubtedly worse taunts that are hurled about on the seminary playground… accusations of Pelagianism or other heresies. But it was a theology professor who commented on my “realized eschatology,” and it was said with a note of kindly criticism, suggesting that I might do well to explore a fuller or more balanced doctrine of eschatology.

To explain: Eschatology is that branch of theology that describes “last things.” The eschaton is the “final event in the divine plan. The end of the world.” The ultimately fulfillment of God’s plan. It is more than just an end; it is a completion, a fulfillment. The coming of God’s kingdom. Eschatology studies these subjects.

A realized eschatology holds that much of that divine plan is made real now… that we experience at least a significant portion of God’s plan now, here, in this world, in our daily lives. The kingdom is realized in our lives. We do not have to wait until the end of time to experience God’s fulfillment.

Today I want to try to express a more balanced view of eschatology. I want to talk about the kingdom that is yet to come. And maybe Professor Charlie Price, who now dwells in that kingdom beyond, will smile a bit.

The readings for this Last Sunday after Pentecost place the issues of eschatology and the Kingdom of God before us. The readings talk a lot about kings, earthly kings and heavenly kings. And, although it is not an official commemoration on the Episcopal calendar, today is informally known as Christ the King Sunday. We consider what it means to name Christ as King.

During his earthly ministry, Jesus does not seem to have described himself as the Messianic king. He clearly did not see himself as the political king many Jews at the time expected the Messiah to be. But Jesus does talk a lot about the kingdom, Gods kingdom. And Jesus says the kingdom is drawing near.

The kingdom drew near as Jesus drew near. As God incarnate, the kingdom dwelt within Jesus. He bore the kingdom within him. And as we, and others, draw near to Jesus we glimpse the kingdom through him. The kingdom is realized in our lives as we bring Jesus into our lives.

To go completely off script, I wonder if we see and know the Kingdom sort of like Bali Hai. This illustration will only work for those of you who know South Pacific.

Bali Ha'i may call you, Any night, any day,
In your heart, you'll hear it call you:
"Come away...Come away."

Bali Ha'i will whisper In the wind of the sea:
If you try, you'll find me
Where the sky meets the sea.

Someday you'll see me floatin' in the sunshine,
You'll hear me call you….

If you try, you'll find me
Where the sky meets the sea. 

You will hear. You will see. In your heart you will know. If you try, you will find me. In a way, we know the kingdom second hand if we know Jesus, and that is wondrous.

 But to know the kingdom first hand, to realize it, to experience it fully in our own lives, that is yet to come.

 The readings for today speak of God’s kingdom as beyond this world, beyond even time. Jesus says to Pilate, “My kingdom is not from this world.” And the Revelation readings refers to the Alpha and the Omega, the one who is and who was and who is to come… who is beyond time.

 If I asked you to describe God’s kingdom, what would you say? What do you think the Kingdom of God is like?

I read that across the ages, Christians have tended to describe the Kingdom through what they perceived as its antithesis in their own day… The kingdom is a place without slavery. The Kingdom is a place without poverty or hunger. The kingdom is a place without the dehumanizing power of multinational corporations. The kingdom is a place without war.

We have wonderful images of the kingdom from Scripture. The peaceable kingdom where, improbably and impossibly, the lion lies down with the lamb. There are Jesus’ kingdom parables. The sower, where the kingdom is a place that nurtures health and growth. The pearl of great price, where somehow the kingdom brings value into life. The mustard seed where the kingdom is a place of safety and inclusion.

Today’s collect reminds us that in the kingdom we are free from sin and all barriers that separate us are dissolved into reconciliation. So is the kingdom doable on earth? Can we as human beings achieve any of these manifestations of the kingdom? Even with God’s help, can we bring the kingdom near?

As Christians have thought about God’s kingdom there has always been a tension between the now and not yet. Between a yearning for the kingdom present now, and a vision of it yet to come.

Luther described the kingdom yet to come as the realm of divine grace. A place where everything (everything!) is suffused and governed by divine grace.

Those with a more realized eschatology have described the kingdom as a realm of ideal human relations. This world, perfected. And Christians have felt called to work to make that kingdom real, to do “kingdom work.” To work for social justice and the dignity of every person. Our baptismal covenant calls us to do this work as much as we are able.

But. But in the face of our repeated failure and despair to bring the kingdom fruition on earth; in the face of profound disagreements among Christians about what constitutes “kingdom work;” in the face of our inevitable slavery to selfishness, violence, and laziness… In the face of our inability to make God’s kingdom real, it is very good to remember Luther. To remember that the realm of divine grace is real. To remember that God’s kingdom yet to come, God’s kingdom brought to fullness and fruition by God, is absolutely real and lies ahead.

So maybe a balanced eschatology goes something like this: I am grateful for partial manifestations of God’s kingdom that are realized in this world, in my time. I am grateful for the glimpses I see that bring hope and assurance and renewed commitment to do kingdom work as best I’m able.

But, thanks and praise to God, this is not all there is. Let us joyfully and humbly remember that the fulfillment of Christ’s reign, promised to us, is better than all this. Better than this world around us. Even if we could fix everything in this world, the Kingdom of God is so much better than this. The glory of God’s hope for us, the glory of God’s plan for us, is so beyond our imagining, so beyond anything we could possibly create… The kingdom of glory not yet realized in our midst lies ahead.

Thanksgiving

Five Stages of Thankfulness 

At least in the era of modern psychology, it seems like everything is described in “stages.” There are the well-known five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. The psychologist Erik Erikson described human life as unfolding in stages of psychosocial development. They have fairly prosaic names like adolescence or middle adulthood. I was a bit interested to read that the defining conflict for middle adulthood, my current stage, is the conflict between generativity and stagnation.

If you google development stage theories, you’ll find listing of lots of other stages… stages of moral development, stages of spiritual development. There seems to be a development stage theory for everything in life.

 I am not an expert, but I think it’s accurate to say that all of these development stage theories are progressive. Human beings are perceived to progress, in order, from less mature or developed stages towards stages of greater maturity and sophistication. I imagine sometimes we get stuck or even backtrack a bit, but overall it’s a good thing to progress to higher and higher stages.

In this spirit of development stage theories, today I propose the five stages of thankfulness. It may be that some psychologist has written a dissertation on this or maybe there are a whole host of books on it, but I’m not aware of them. So these are my own, unscientifically constructed… Kristin’s five stages of thankfulness.

ONE. Stage one I call clueless. Clueless at least in the thankfulness department. Characterized by a sense of entitlement. What I have is mine. I deserve it. I have it. It’s mine.

TWO. Stage two is gratitude. I am grateful for what I have. It is conceivable that I might not have it. Perhaps I am aware of others who don’t have what I have and I am grateful. It seems to me that this stage is the primary focus of the thanksgiving holiday. To remind us to be grateful for what we have, to not take things for granted. Awakening gratitude is an important task. And, on the whole, I think most of us do pretty well. We are grateful.

THREE. Stage three takes gratitude one step further to what I call donor appreciation. Not only am I grateful for what I have, I am aware that someone gave me what I have and I am grateful to that donor. For example, not only am I grateful for the opportunities and freedoms I enjoy in this country, I am grateful to the wise and courageous founding fathers, who, in order to form a more perfect union, established this government and I grateful to soldiers and judges and citizens who preserve it. As Christians, aware of life’s blessings, we name God at this stage. We thank God for bestowing blessings upon us.

From clueless entitlement to an awareness of gratitude to thanksgiving for those who gifted us with good. Progress in the stages of thankfulness. It’s easy to stop at this point. But I have two more important stages of thankfulness. They both involve a response. A response from us.

FOUR. Stage four is giving thanks, expressing thanksgiving, returning thanks. Not just being thankful that you have a kind grandmother who gave you a really fabulous birthday present, but writing her a thank you note. Taking the time, the effort, the initiative to say thank you. Express thanksgiving. Offer prayer and praise to God in thanksgiving. Give voice to our thankfulness.

FIVE. Stage five is sharing. Sharing out of gratitude for what you have. And if you have anything to be thankful for, you have something to share. Not just giving out of a sense of obligation or responsibility or to meet a need, not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I’m thinking of sharing just for the sake of sharing. Because we can. Because we’re grateful. Because it’s a joyous way to participate in God’s own limitless generosity. Sharing seems to be the most spiritually mature, sophisticated stage of thankfulness. The stage that brings us closest to God. What are you thankful for? Warmth, love, creativity, friends, freedom, material abundance? All of these can be shared. Shared just out of joyful thankfulness that bubbles up and out into the world. Sharing as an expression of thankfulness.

Five stages of thankfulness. Stage one, a clueless absence, really, of thankfulness. Then gratitude, then an awareness of the donors and protectors of our gifts. And finally, our response. Expressing thanks, and ultimately, without reservation, in thanksgiving, sharing what we have been given with others.

May you know and share God’s blessings this Thanksgiving.

The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost - November 11

For People Like Us
Mark 12:38-44

The Gospel passage we heard this morning is relatively familiar. It’s the source of our English phrase, “a widow’s mite.” Jesus’ message seems pretty clear.

First, Jesus harshly condemns the scribes… those who use religious practice to make themselves feel good and look good. Long prayers and opulent robes are all about drawing attention to themselves, improving their status and wealth. They even devour widow’s houses for their own gain.

Moving on from his condemnation of the self-serving scribes, Jesus takes a seat in te treasury. The temple treasury. Evidently, many rich people put in lots of money. One commentary I read noted that they were probably tithing according to a complicated formula from an established tradition with significant deductions. Publicly meeting their pro forma obligation. Evidently there were a set of donations chests in the temple marked with the purpose for which the money would be used. So the donors could “control” or earmark their donations. In this passage, Jesus doesn’t actually condemn the rich donors, although he seems totally unimpressed.

In contrast, he lifts up the poor widow who puts in her two small copper coins, worth only a penny, but they are all she had to live on. Not all she could spare. Not all she had in her pocket that day. All she had to live on. And as a widow, she most likely did not have access to financial reserves or the ability to earn more.

Jesus commends her. It seems pretty clear. It’s funny, though, how we are able to ignore or rationalize our way around this passage.

As I was reading a bit about this passage this week, I discovered some interesting insights which provide an additional way to interpret what Jesus is saying. Not to disregard the familiar interpretation, but an additional message that Jesus may be conveying.

First: In Mark’s Gospel Jesus’ comments about the poor widow are the last thing he says in his public ministry before, pardon the phrase, all hell breaks loose. After this there are some apocalyptic pronouncements about the destruction of the temple and then the events of his passion. This is his last “normal” interaction with the people and his disciples. This is what the disciples are left with just as events begin to propel Jesus towards his crucifixion.

Second: Maybe this passage isn’t meant so much to answer the question: What are we supposed to do with our money? Maybe it’s meant to answer the question: Who is Jesus? Or who is the Messiah?

The Gospel passage we heard today begins a few verses earlier in Mark 12:35. Jesus begins teaching in the temple and he asks: “How can the scribes say that the Messiah is the son of David... When David himself calls him Lord?” Who is the Messiah? A literal son of David or something more? Lord of all.

So the passage we heard could be interpreted as a further exploration of the question, Who is the Messiah?

The Messiah certainly is not about fancy robes or long prayers just for show. He is not a puppet of the religious establishment, one who will fulfill the expectations or meet the needs of the Pharisees and scribes.

And then there is the poor widow. Who gives all she has to live on. And she gives it, think about it, to the temple! She gives all she has to the very people who are devouring the houses of widows. She gives her livelihood to people who are corrupt, self-serving, and hypocritical. It seems a reckless gift, sad and misguided. Yet Jesus lifts her up for all to see.

Perhaps this passage is an overture to Jesus’ passion. Like a traditional overture it introduces themes that will become even more important as the story unfolds. The widow’s gift foreshadows the one Jesus is about to make.

Can you see Jesus in this poor widow? Can you see her as a type for the Messiah? Jesus gives us this image to ponder. Can you see this poor widow on the cross? She gave up all she had to live on, her very life, on behalf of people who, at their best are indifferent to her. She gave all she had for people who, at their worst, devoured her for their own benefit. She gave up her life for selfish, corrupt, hypocritical scribes. People who surely did not deserve her gift and who would not use it well.

Apparently without any reservation she gave her life for people like us.

The Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost - October 28

Doing Religion
Mark10:46-52
Stewardship

One of the more significant insights I have gained recently from the insights and scholarly work of others is the recognition that for the early Christians faith was a verb. Faith was what you DID, not what you believed. To be a person of faith was to act in a certain way. The church has spent centuries exploring and articulating doctrines that are the corpus of belief. And these can be extremely helpful in our journey Godward. But I think we can also benefit greatly by reclaiming the ancient understanding of faith as what we do, more than what we believe.

Faith is what we do. Today’s Gospel brought this to mind again. Jesus says to formerly blind Bartimaeus, “You faith has made you well.” Our first thought is probably to assume that it was what Bartimaeus believed about Jesus that was important. But maybe, just maybe it was because Bartimaeus called out, because he asked for help, because he sprang towards Jesus… maybe it was these words and actions that moved him towards God and God’s wholeness. Maybe the faith that led him into healing was what he did, not what he believed.

I’m going to springboard from this understanding of faith to talk about religion. Faith is individual. Religion is corporate. What if we think of religion in the same way the early Christians thought about faith, except that it is corporate. What if we define religion as what WE DO together? Faith is what I DO; religion is what WE DO. It is less then about what we, as a group believe, which is probably how most of us would have defined religion. Religion is what we, plural, do together. It is the group expression of faith. You will sometimes hear people speak dismissively of “organized religion.” But, yes, religion is organized… Religion is a group activity. Group activities have to be organized to some degree.

It’s interesting to me that the words religion and ligament come from the same root. It means to connect, or bind together. And doing religion, participating in the group activities that are religion, clearly connect us to one another as sisters and brothers in Christ. But doing the group activities of religion also connect us to God, to our own individual faith (beliefs and actions), and to the needs of the world.

How are theses connections built? For example, our corporate worship connects us to God. It’s certainly possible for an individual to feel connected to God, but as we worship together we are surrounded by the words and witness of the saints…. Both the historical saints who populate our windows, and also the saints sitting next to you in the pews. Their witness, their words lift you to God beyond your individual efforts. Our awareness of God immanence is heightened by the sights and sounds of altar and music. And the sacraments, the heart of our corporate worship, bring us beyond connection into communion with the living God. Doing worship as a group connects us to God.

The activities of organized religion, our group activities also connect us to our individual faith (both its beliefs and activities). Religion nurtures faith, more than vice versa, I think. You do not have to have a deep personal faith to do religion as part of the group. And participation in the group activities of religion deepens and strengthens your individual faith. Remember that the great doctrines of belief were developed in messy group meetings. In conversation, discussion, group study we are connected to the faith within us. These help us see and know God better and live our individual faith better.

Doing religion as a group also connects us to one another. We are knit together through Christ into caring community. A community where Democrat and Republican love one another. And I’m not being flip! God, the world needs communities like these. We are connected to a community where our individual needs are met with prayer, support and compassion and our joys celebrated together. Where no one ever need be isolated or alone.

Doing religion as a group also connects us to the needs of the world. We serve others best as the Body of Christ. Yes, an individual can do a lot to help others in need, and secular agencies also do good work. But we serve the needs of the world best as the Body of Christ.

So religion is a verb. It is what we, plural, do together. Group activities like worship, fellowship, learning and conversation, outreach. When we do these activities together, they connect us to God, to our own faith, to our fellow human beings, both within the church and beyond. We need those connections. We need to do religion.

You need religion.
The world needs religion.
Your neighbor, your kids, your parents need religion.

We need to be a part of these group activities that connect us to God and to one another.

Religion is not an abstract set of beliefs; it is not some institution with an organizational chart. It’s what… WE. DO. What we do together. And we do it in the parish. The parish is the group, the community that does religion.

You are that group. But to be a part of it, you have to be a part of it. It’s not like public radio where you can get the music or the news without participation. You have to do religion, do the group activities that connect us to God, enrich our faith, bless our lives, heal the world.

The only way to do religion is to be a part of the group.

Showing up is very important. Your presence, your prayers, your voices are important. Showing up regularly is very important. For you; for all of us. Your presence makes the group.

But the group activities also need your participation, your offering of yourself. The religious activities of this parish community cannot happen without your time and your talents. For these things to happen it means you doing tasks, some interesting, some less so, you attending meetings, you giving generously of your money and your self. To do religion, it certainly helps to have a building and at least some staff. Maintaining those are up to you.

Religion is what we do to connect us to God, to our faith, to a caring community, to the needs of the world.

Are you doing all you can to help us do religion?

The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost - October 14

Punishment and Reward
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31

Do you see a connection between today’s readings from Job and from Mark? Can you believe that Job and Jesus’ words in Mark are related? The messages they convey are much the same. Both speak to how God acts in the world. Or, more accurately, how God doesn’t act. And both Job and Jesus radically challenged the presumptions of faithful people in their day. The Book of Job and at least part of what Jesus is saying in today’s Gospel passage both present a stark contradiction to peoples’ faith-view at the time these words were spoken and shared.

Job says: God does not send suffering as a punishment for sin.

Jesus, in Mark, says: God does not send wealth as a reward for righteousness.

Which is to say, you cannot look at your neighbor, assess their current state of life, and thereby judge whether they are sinful or righteous. Are they currently suffering with poverty, illness or loss? Or are they comfortable, thriving with abundance? You cannot assess your neighbor’s state of life and thereby deduce whether or not they are sinful or righteous. God does not send suffering as a punishment for sin. God does not send wealth as a reward for righteousness.

 I expect most of us would affirm those statements without hesitation. Intellectually, at least, we do not expect God to act that way in our lives, materially punishing or rewarding our individual behavior. But on a gut level, I do think we expect God to act that way. So much of life does. There are consequences for good and bad behavior… reward and punishment. We WANT life to work that way. And, while we may not want God to punish our bad behavior, there are times when we think he should punish other peoples’ bad behavior. And we’d definitely like him to reward our good behavior.

And Scripture, especially the Old Testament, contains many passages where God is understood by God’s people to act in exactly this way—punishing the sinful and rewarding the righteous. But the Book of Job and Jesus’ words directly contradict that perspective.

First, Job. We had a little bit of Job last week, a little this week, and we’ll get one more snippet next week. If you don’t already know the story, it’s hard to get a sense of the book as a whole. God does not cause Job’s suffering, but God definitely allows it. But over and over again, we are told that Job is righteous. He has done nothing wrong. In the passages that occur in the lectionary, we don’t hear from Job’s endearing friends, but they go on for chapters, persisting in their belief that Job must have done something terrible to deserve this suffering. They believe that Job’s suffering is punishment for sin. But no. Job is righteous and Job suffers. That is the heart of the entire book of Job. Job is righteous and Job suffers. Ultimately Job comes to a richer understanding of his place in God’s creation and a deeper relationship with God. But the through-going theme of Job is that Job is righteous and Job suffers. Therefore, suffering is not God’s punishment for sin. God does not send suffering as punishment for sin.

 The story we heard today from Mark appears in all three synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke. There are variations, but in all three the young man has done well. He definitely has wealth in Luke he is a ruler. He has power and money. And yet he evidently still feels some lack, some absence of grace, uncertainty about salvation. And how, he might ask, can that be? I have done what I am supposed to do, observing the laws of Moses. I have been richly rewarded by God for my righteous observance of the law… Because I have followed God’s commandments God has bestowed power and wealth on me. How can I still feel a lack? And Jesus tells him, more or less, not only is his wealth not a reward for righteousness it may be an impediment to entering the kingdom of God.

Another detail in this passage is interesting. The disciples are surprised that it will be difficult for someone who is rich to enter heaven. They are astounded, Mark says. If the rich are not to be saved, then who is? It is certainly plausible that the disciples, like others in their day, viewed riches as a sign of righteousness. Wealth is the reward of the righteous, so surely the wealthy can expect salvation.

As you may know there is a popular strand in Christianity known as the prosperity Gospel. It teaches just this: that God rewards the righteous with prosperity. Jesus says, no.

 I do think we experience consequences based upon our behavior, when we are sinful or when we follow God’s will. But I think those consequences are self-imposed, not God-imposed.

There’s one implication of all of this that I find very helpful to remember. Neither suffering nor wealth are God’s purpose for us. They are not the endgame in God’s will for us. They are not the ultimate destination of our faith journey. Thus, they are not cause for despair or celebration before God.

Of all of the Scripture readings we heard today, Hebrews was written last. It presents a reflection on Jesus’ life and ministry, their meaning and implications for us. And Hebrews says that because we have a great high priest like Jesus, because the Son of God lived as one of us, because of these things, we can boldly approach the throne of grace. Grace is God’s purpose for us. To be filled with God’s grace is God’s desire for us. And, through Christ, we have courage, strength, boldness, encouragement to enter into God’s grace. There are no impediments to receiving God’s grace.

We can boldly pray the collect for today that God’s grace may always precede, follow, surround and fill us. And that makes all the difference in the world. In times of suffering God’s grace brings us God’s own peace and hope and healing. In times of prosperity or comfort or wealth, God’s grace brings us compassion and empathy and the motivation to generous good acts. In times of suffering God’s grace brings us compassion and empathy and the motivation to generous good acts. In times of prosperity or comfort or wealth, God’s grace brings us God’s own peace and hope and healing.

God sends us grace and the ability to live gracefully, filled with grace. And, whether you are facing suffering or prosperity, that makes all the difference in the world.

The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost - October 7

What Jesus Said
Mark 10:2-16 

Among the many wonderful collects in the Prayer Book, this is one I particularly like. And given the very unattractive options in the Scripture readings today, I planned to preach on the collect. I especially the phrase where we affirm that God is “always more ready to hear than we to pray.” Simple, powerful, reassuring.

No matter who you are, or where you are, or what’s going on. God is listening. God is eager to hear your prayer. I imagine a mega-Verizon moment. Billions upon billions upon billions of people across all time and space, saying to God, “Can you hear me now?” And God says simply, yes. And even those people who don’t or can’t ask God to listen, God is ready to hear them, too.

The Scripture readings really are challenging this week. First, there’s Job. What are to do with Job? We’re in it a few more weeks, so we may still have to grapple with it.

Then there’s today’s Gospel. Jesus’ apparent categorical judgment against divorce. In one of the resources I often consult, Karoline Lewis, a homiletics professor writes: “Let’s be honest. Few, if any, preachers out there will want to write a sermon on this Gospel text. There’s just no way around its challenges, its heartache and its ramifications for and ripple effects on all of the relationships involved.” She’s got that right! But then she continues: But, “it’s one of those texts in the Bible that if read out loud, you must preach on it. Divorce has touched too many lives to leave a passage like this, especially when Jesus is talking, just hanging out there for all to hear.”

Rats. Unfortunately, I agree with her. We’ve all heard it read out loud. We can’t just leave it hanging out there.

This passage is one of those we sometimes label, “Jesus’ hard sayings.” Usually, what we mean by that is not that they are hard to understand or interpret; they are hard to accept. In this case, harder for some than others, presumably.

To do anything with this passage, we need to both the passage and its context in some detail. David Lose points out that Jesus is on route to Jerusalem, walking purposefully to meet his cross. Jesus was often on a journey, of course, but place is frequently important for Mark. And at this point in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus has just crossed the Jordan, leaving his homeland, entering into unfamiliar country. Symbolically, Jesus goes beyond the proscribed boundaries of his day to proclaim the Gospel.

Second, the Pharisees initiate this conversation. They controlled the laws. Theirs was the power to interpret, promulgate and enforce the laws. They were attempting to draw Jesus into and test him in the world in which they had power.

Finally, very importantly, divorce (and marriage) were very different then. We know that intellectually, but we still inevitably hear this passage through the context of our own culture and context. Marriage was a contract, a contract about property of which the wife was one part. Divorce was allowed. Men had the right to divorce or dismiss their wives.

There was, evidently, some debate about the conditions under which a man could divorce his wife. David Lose again: “There were two schools of thought about divorce in Jesus' day – both believed a man had a right to put away, dismiss, or divorce his wife. One school was fairly strict – a man could do this only if his wife were unfaithful; the other was more lenient – a man could do this if his wife displeased him in any number of ways, including, according to one rabbinic source, "burning her husband's toast." Either way, the consequences for the woman were devastating – familial and public disgrace, potentially severe economic hardship, and limited future prospects for her and her children.”

Women had no standing or power.

Jesus doesn’t enter into the legal debate. He completely reframes the issue within the context of creation—God’s creation. And he gives women place, standing, even parity within the context of God’s creation. God’s vision, God’s will, God’s kingdom includes people who human society marginalizes or isolates.

I’ve tried to think of a modern analogy that would cast this story in a way that is more relevant to contemporary society. This is admittedly an exaggerated analogy, but consider this as a modern retelling of Jesus’ encounter and conversation with the Pharisees. There is a sweatshop owner, all-powerful in his factory. The entire lives of the laborers whom poverty has forced into the sweatshop are in his control. The sweatshop owner comes to Jesus to ask if the Ten Commandments, the Law of Moses, require him to give his laborers one day off, rest on the Sabbath. Jesus doesn’t answer that question. He says you need to respect the dignity of every human being. You need to seek and serve the image of Christ in every beloved child of God.

Taken by itself, this passage alone does not provide grounds to talk about the rightness or legalities of divorce today. I hope you know, that although we have not always done so, the Episcopal Church affirms that divorce can be the best, most faithful choice in some situations. Always an occasion for grief, but sometimes the most creative, most faithful choice. This passage taken on its own is also not sufficient to provide a definition of marriage for our time.

This passage does tell of Jesus going beyond the margins of Galilee on his way to his death and saving resurrection. And taking the Kingdom of God to people who are beyond the margin, outside boundaries of power. Today’s Gospel reading ends with the familiar scene where Jesus gathers the children to himself. If there was one group of people in Jesus’ day who had even less power and standing than women, it was children. The disciples, like society, try to push the children away to a place of insignificance. Jesus reaches out, beyond society’s marginalization, and touches them, blesses them. “It is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs”

Divorce marginalizes people today, makes them feel powerless and isolated. Even just talk of divorce, even dwelling on this reading can generate feelings of isolation. To the isolated, the powerless, the marginalized, Jesus brings touch, blessing and inclusion in the Kingdom of God.

So this Gospel passage speaks to everyone who feels powerless or isolated.

• People who are divorced and may carry lingering guilt, a feeling that they have failed expectations. Or who have known or perceived judgment by others or the church. 
• Divorce often leads to estrangements in all sorts of relationships, most sadly between children and parents. Isolated from family. 
• There are people who feel locked in a bad marriage, powerless for whatever reason to escape. 
• Think of all the people who yearn to be married but aren’t. For them divorce is a luxury they don’t even have access to because they are isolated from the world of marriage. Maybe they’ve never found the love of their life. Maybe circumstances like illness or handicap or other family needs or a job have blocked the possibility of marriage. Maybe someone more powerful has told them they can’t get married. Quibbling over the legalities of divorce only heightens their sense of isolation. 
• Or think of people grieving the death of someone with whom they were in a wonderful relationship. Debate over the possible choice to end a relationship only shines a glaring light on the loss they did not choose. 

Many things can leave us powerless or isolated. Divorce or debate over divorce is just one. But for all of these people for whom divorce or even just discussion of divorce is the cause of their isolation, their powerlessness, their marginalization.

To all of them. To you. To me. It is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. That’s what Jesus says.

The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 30

Fall Pruning
Mark 9:38-50

The Gospel from Mark appointed for today reminded me of this passage from John’s Gospel: Jesus says, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit” (John 15:1-2). I’ll come back to that.

First, let’s work our way through today’s Gospel. It starts with the disciples acting rather adolescent, ratting on someone else who was healing in Jesus’ Name. They came to Jesus bragging about how they had tried to stop the interloper because he was not one of them.

Whether they were doing it intentionally or not, what they were doing was trying to limit the healing work of Christ in the world. And Jesus reprimands them. Anyone who is not against us is for us. Acting on behalf of Christ is commendable. No matter who is doing it.

And Jesus goes on to say that offering water (refreshment) to those acting on behalf of Christ will also bring its own reward. It is good to offer refreshment and support to anyone who is acting in Jesus’ name.

And, conversely, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me…” well, the consequences will be dire.

The “little ones” Jesus refers to here may be children, as I mentioned last week. Or they may be people new to faith.

So far, Jesus is talking to the disciples about the growth of faith in others. And he says, don’t do anything to impede that growth. He is also talking about others beyond the circle of disciples doing the work of Christ. Again he says, nurture and support everything done in the Name of Christ; don’t impede it.

Then we get to what I think of as the real Halloween part of the Gospel, full of images of people presumably bloodied, stumbling around missing all sorts of body parts. The gore of this passage is very vivid. Don’t let your children read the Bible!

“If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire…” If your eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out. If your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off.

A couple of modern commentators I read referred to Jesus’ hyperbole in this passage. He couldn’t have meant this literally; he was using hyperbole to make a point. So what was his point? What did he mean?

A well-established trend of commentary interprets this passage in Mark as a call to self-denial to avoid sin and eternal damnation. For example, Matthew Henry was a 17th century English Presbyterian minister, known particularly for his commentary on the entire Bible. First, he titles this specific portion of Mark, “Pain to be preferred to sin.” He writes: “Surely it is beyond compare better to undergo all possible pain, hardship, and self-denial here, and to be happy for ever hereafter, than to enjoy all kinds of worldly pleasure for a season, and to be miserable for ever.” It is “beyond compare” better to endure pain in this life in order to achieve happiness in eternal life.

The Greek word translated throughout this passage as “causes you to stumble” is our word scandalize. Modern translators shy away from that direct translation, I suspect, because scandal has come to have such sensational, “National Inquirer” sorts of overtones in contemporary usage. The King James translated it, “if your hand offends you…” “If you eye offends you…” And that’s the basic meaning of scandalize. But in this case the question is whether your own hand offends you.

Jesus’ challenge to the disciples and us is this: You who bear the name of Christ, you who strive to be the Body of Christ, are there parts of your life that are “offensive” to you? As a Christian, are there parts of your own life that are offensive to you?

Prune them out. And now I’m back to the passage from John. Jesus says, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit”

Jesus seems to like the pruning metaphor. He uses it in this passage from John and elsewhere in his teaching. I like pruning as a metaphor. Pruning is less about self-denial in order to achieve eternal bliss in the future, not that there is anything wrong with thinking about that. Pruning, though, is about improving health and growth now in this life. It’s about cleaning out the dead wood. Pruning out, clearing out the parts of our lives that are not alive with Christ. In order that the better parts of lives may bear greater fruit. The fruits of life in Christ are things like healing, hope, wonder, peace, renewal, reconciliation. Who would not want those more abundantly? Prune out the parts of your life that are dead to Christ so that the parts that are alive with Christ can bear greater fruit.

In my own experience it’s really pretty easy to tell which is which.

So prune your life. And pruning is not the same thing as just simplifying. Simplifying may or may not help. Pruning is selective. We are not called literally to pluck out an eye. Rather prune out those things that you watch with your eyes that are life-numbing or denigrate the holiness of life. We do not need to actually cut off a hand. But do prune out the things you do with your hand that are destructive or wasteful of God’s creation. We are not called to cut off a foot. Instead prune out all of the useless places in life your feet take you!

Jesus doesn't say anything about plucking out your heart or your mind, but I expect there are some things there that need pruning, too.  Harbored resentments, uncharitable thoughts, sins repressed and unconfessed.

And I’d like to stretch the pruning metaphor just a little further. There are several reasons that gardeners might prune a plant. Certainly the most important within my context today is to promote growth and health.

But gardeners also prune to improve the appearance of a plant. And that’s worth thinking about. If we prune our lives, our appearance may show forth the Gospel more clearly to the world. A pruned life may better display the love and light of the Gospel for others to see.

Sometimes gardeners prune or thin one plant so that other plants can grow… so that other plants can receive the light and nutrients they need to grow and flourish. Remember that in the early part of today’s Gospel, Jesus is concerned with how the disciples’ actions might limit or impede the Christian growth of life of other people. I don’t have specific examples in mind, but maybe the dead wood in your life or my life is not only limiting our own Christian flourishing but also crowding out or blocking the Christian growth of others.

So think about pruning your life. Prune out the dead wood. So that the fruit of a life in Christ may grow more and more abundantly in your life and in the world around you.

The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 23

Imagine That!
Mark 9:30-37

Jesus talks quite a bit about children. The Scripture passages about children are familiar to us and maybe we lost track of their significance. In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus is with the twelve in Capernaum. As he speaks to the disciples he lifts up a child. A child was there! Remember the passage: “Then they came to Capernaum; and when Jesus was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’” If we stopped the reading there, and I asked you to picture the scene in your mind… Jesus with the twelve… journeying on the way… gathered now in the house… Would you imagine any children in the picture? No? But a child was there.

 In the feeding of the five thousand, Scripture says that Jesus fed 5000 men and—in addition—women and children. They may not have been worth counting, but they were there! Children were there! And there is the famous Gospel passage that begins (in the King James Version), “Suffer the children to come unto me.” It’s inscribed in the stained glass window back in the Mary corner, which of course was built as a baptistery. That Scripture passage is a sentimental favorite, even if we haven’t used the word “suffer” in that sense for hundreds of years. Despite these passages, I think we tend to forget that children were undoubtedly with Jesus throughout much of his teaching and ministry.

In fact, the more I think about it, I am struck by how often Jesus refers to children, incorporates children into his teaching… how often the gospels refer to children as being present with Jesus. Children were socially insignificant in that time and would normally not have been noteworthy at all. But, not only were they evidently present, the gospels mention their presence. It really is quite remarkable. Jesus’ adult life, Jesus’ adult ministry, Jesus’ adult “Christian education” of the people seems to include an awful lot of children. And Jesus includes the children in a very interesting way. Today, in society and within the church, most of us try, as adults, to be good examples for the children. We also know that it is our responsibility as adults to offer quality Christian education for children and opportunities for them to participate in the church. We earnestly want them to grow up into faith-ful adults, for their sake and for the church’s sake. We sincerely hope that, when they grow up into adults, they will know they have a place and will take their place in the life of the church.

Jesus offers a very different model. In Jesus’ teaching as it is presented in the gospels it is not the adults who offer the gospel to children; it is children who offer the gospel to adults. It is not the adults who are Christian examples for the children. It is the children who model and bring the kingdom to adults.

That is a powerful role for children to fulfill in the life of the church. And a radical one for Jesus to present. I have not done a thorough academic study, but I don’t see evidence for this sort of perspective in the earlier writings in the Hebrew Scriptures before Jesus. Children were valued in ancient Israel, but primarily as descendents. Descendents were and are a blessing for all sorts of reasons, but the very word “descendent” indicates their secondary status with respect to adults. So Jesus’ words are startling, culturally new, meant to grab peoples’ attention, leave them with an idea they cannot forget.

Except it seems that the church very quickly did forget. In John’s gospel, written later than the others, the stories of Jesus with the children don’t appear. And in Paul’s writings, written very early, but after Jesus’ life and ministry, childhood clearly connotes a time of weakness and maturity, to be outgrown I the journey towards God. “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” That’s Paul in 1 Corinthians 13. It obviously doesn’t come easily to us adults to view children as a Christian model for us. We cherish them as children and potential Christians to be. But Jesus, radically and significantly, gives children a much ore important role.

In this morning’s gospel, and in parallel passages in Matthew and Luke, Jesus says, “whoever welcomes such a child, welcomes me and welcomes the one who sent me.” The child brings the presence of Jesus into the midst of the community. And a chapter or so later in Mark in the familiar “suffer” passage, translated in the NRSV, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop the; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” Children actually bear the presence of Christ into our midst and serve as models, examples to adults, of how to live as a citizen in the Kingdom of God.

There are several messages here for us. One is the obvious one. A reminder of the value of having children in our midst in the parish community.

But we might also ask: what are the qualities of childhood that are exemplary for Christians? Especially for those times when we are not blessed to have a child at our side, or in those times when children seem more of a distraction than an example: what characteristics of childhood did Jesus see that exemplified the kingdom of heaven?

The first answer that may come to mind when we think of “Christian” qualities of childhood might be simplicity or innocence. But are those truly dominant qualities of childhood? To see childhood as innocent or simple is an unrealistic view of childhood. And Jesus lived, and knows that we live, in the real world. Someone, I don’t remember who, said that anyone who believes in the pure innocence of childhood hasn’t raised a child! So perhaps childhood innocence or naiveté are not the qualities Jesus is highlighting.

Another quality of childhood is dependence. Children are powerless to acquire and achieve on their own. And it never hurts those of us adults who aspire to independence and self-sufficiency to be reminded of our ultimate dependence upon God and our total powerlessness to acquire God’s grace through our own efforts. So a child’s trusting dependence is a quality we would do well to imitate.

But the quality of childhood that seems to most resonate with Jesus’ message throughout the gospels as a whole is imagination. Imagination

At some point I read that the greatest impediment to the spread of the gospel, the greatest barrier to the flourishing of faith, is a lack of imagination. The kingdom fo God that Jesus brings, that Jesus continues to offer, is a world transformed. It is souls transformed; it is life transformed. Too many people cannot imagine that sort of transformation taking place. People are deaf to Jesus’ words because they cannot imagine their promise being true. People are blind to the presence of God’s kingdom because we cannot imagine that such a glorious sight could be real.

The past experiences and acquired cynicism of adulthood have stifled our ability to imagine God’s transforming power working in our lives and in our world. Children offer us imagination unstifled and unfettered. Some children, of course, have extremely vivid imaginations. And it is not so much the vivid creative fantasies that some children imagine that should form the model for our Christian faith. It is a simpler imagination. An openness. An openness to possibilities beyond our own experience, beyond our limited expectations. A willingness to imagine a better world coming into being, transformed by God’s grace.

Imagination is one of childhood’s greatest gifts. An openness to image that anything is possible. Children keep that imagination alive for all of us. They bear and see the presence of Christ everywhere and they joyfully live in the Kingdom of God. And they can help us grown ups do the same. Imagine that!

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 16

Their Sound Has Gone Out
James 3:1-12
Psalm 116:1-8

Children's Sermon

James writes:  "Who can tame the tongue--a restless evil, full of deadly poison.  With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God."

This picture by Keith Haring is a very vivid description of the evil we can do with our tongues, with the words we say.

Haring, Keith, 1958-1990.
Ten Commandments, unnumbered,
from Art in the Christian Tradition,
a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN.
http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55144
[retrieved October 4, 2012].

Words are such an important part of our Christian lives and vocations.  The things we say and the things we don't say can cause hurt and harm.  Or our words can bring hope and kindness and creativity into the world.  Our words can sing praise to God.

What would that painting look like?  A painting where our words were praising God?

From today's Psalm:

The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the firmament shows his handiwork.
One day tells its tale to another,
and one night imparts knowledge to another.

Although they have no words or language,
and their voices are not heard.
Their sound has gone out into all lands,
and their message to the ends of the world.

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 9

Seeing Beyond "the" Poor
James 2:1-17

Both the readings from Proverbs and from James speak about “the poor.”

Proverbs gives the instruction: Do not rob the poor. And stresses that the only advantage of being rich is that it provides the potential for generosity. And generosity, in turn, brings blessing.

James, writing to the Christian community says: Do not despise or dishonor the poor. The poor are rich in faith and will inherit the kingdom.

Somewhere along the way within my life in the church I was taught not to use language like “the” poor. Before you roll your eyes at one more rule from the PC language police, hear me out. I think it’s a point worth considering.

Both the Book of Common Prayers and the Bible are full of this sort of usage, but to use language like “the poor” takes individual human beings and lumps them in an anonymous group with just a single identifying characteristic, usually a negative one. It implies that the only thing that defines a particular person is that he or she is poor. Individual children of God lose their personal identity and become part of a group known only for being poor. It is better to say something like “a woman or person who is poor.” Then she is a woman first, who happens to be poor… among other things.

We do the same thing when we talk about “the elderly,” or “the disabled,” or even “the rich.”

In James, at least in our current English translation, the language usage is mixed. Sometimes he speaks of “the poor;” sometimes he speaks of people who are poor. Regardless of language usage, one point I think James is trying to make, is that poverty does not define a person. That’s good to remember.

But later on in this passage, James uses the language of brothers and sisters. When James is trying to rally the Christians to whom he is writing to provide for the bodily needs of another human being who may be naked or hungry, James says, “If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?”

Brothers and sisters. When you feel related to someone else, when you acknowledge a relationship with another human being, usually that makes a difference in how you view and treat them. Assuming you feel a positive relationship, that tends to promote compassion, caring.

We’ve had quite a few funerals at St. John’s lately. The funerals got me thinking about relationships.

Just recently we had two funerals for two very different people. And they were very different services. But both were “good”. So, from a clergy standpoint, what makes for a “good” funeral? When they manifest relationships. Not necessarily quantity, but quality. Both lives, in their own ways, were rich in relationships.

And speaking of relationships, today is our annual fall ministry fair. Food and fellowship are a celebration of relationships, the relationships we share as members of this parish community. Be mindful of relationships. Especially those beyond family and chosen friends.

Be mindful of your relationships.  Within the parish. Within the world. Whether or not you feel close, be aware of your relatedness to others.

If we can remember that we are all related in Christ, poverty will not vanish, but “the poor” will disappear and we will see “a brother in Christ" who is in need whom I can help.

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 2

To Live as We Ought
James 1:17-27

Both the reading from James, with its emphasis on being doers of the word, and today's collect, with its hope for the "fruits of good works," remind us that being a Christian is as much about praxis as it is about belief.  As Christians, we are defined and identified both by what we believe and also by what we do.

What we are called and inspired to do is found in the baptismal covenant (Book of Common Prayer, p. 304) and in this prayer by William Barclay, offered under the heading, "To Live as We Ought."

O God, tomorrow we go back to the world and to all its work and its activities.  We remember that Jesus prayed, not that his friends should be taken out of the world but that they should be kept from the evil of the world. Help us to live in this world as we ought to live.

Help us...
To do the world's work faithfully and well;
To enjoy the world's pleasures wisely and temperately;
To value the world's goods, without becoming enslaved by them and without despising them;
To resist the world's temptations bravely and resolutely;
Always to remember that the greatest importance of the world is that it is the school and the training-ground for the still greater life which some day we shall live.

Help us to live in the world, not as those whose interest never look beyond the horizons of the world, but as those who always remember that in you we live and move and have our being, and that we are pledged to follow in the footsteps of our Lord and Master Jesus Christ (A Barclay Prayer Book.)

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost - August 26

Yearning
Proper 16B
1 Kings 8:22-30, 41-43
Psalm 84
Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69

If I were to ask you what your favorite psalm is, many of you would have a ready answer. Even without trying it seems, we come to know the psalms and cherish them.

Some of you would undoubtedly name the twenty-third psalm as a favorite. Beyond that, you might be a little foggy on the numbers, but you remember the words. Psalm 121: “I lift up mine eyes until the hills, from whence cometh my help.” Or Psalm 139: “Lord you have searched me out and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up…”

I don’t know if any of you would list today’s psalm, Psalm 84, among your favorites. But I bet the words sounded a little bit familiar. Something I read this week said that this psalm is one of the most frequently set to music. I knew it first, I think from a setting on an old Sherrill Milnes record (!) I’ve had at least since high school. Today’s communion hymn is another setting. Some of you may know one of the beautiful, lyrical choruses in Brahms German requiem is a setting of part of Psalm 84 (albeit in German).

At first reading it conjures up an image of beauty and peace… conveys a general pastoral setting.

But there is a bit more to it. Scholars clump the psalms into various descriptive categories. I found several different names assigned to this one. One commentator called it a holiday psalm, assuming that it was written for use on the holy feast day of Tabernacles. Or another calls it a psalm of Zion. Others label it one of the Pilgrim psalms.

I like pilgrim best. The psalm is filled with longing. Yearning. Even desire. “My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord.” Happy are those people who actually dwell in the house of the Lord. O, how I long to be one of them. I desire just one day in the courts of the Lord. That would be better than a thousand days elsewhere. The psalmist gives voice to powerful longing, yearning, desire.

I don’t know how often you associate those sorts of feelings with faithful living… feelings of longing or yearning.

I tried to think of some of the feelings that are a part of the life of faith. There’s hope. But that’s really a bit different than longing. Hope is more of a promise, an assurance. If we are honest most of us probably know feelings of fear, apprehension, and uncertainty as we reflect on the presence or absence of faith in our lives. Today’s epistle calls us be strong, to claim fortitude in light of the threats ad temptations that assault Christians. Hopefully, you have experiences some feeling of fulfillment… known at least a bit of the peace that passes understanding… tasted the joy of God’s abiding presence.

A feeling of longing or yearning is different from all of these. Some of the Christian mystics speak of a physical desire for God’s presence with them. But here is the same feeling voiced by the psalmist thousands of years earlier.

There is a difference, though. The psalmist is not really longing for a mystical union with God. The psalmist longs for an actual place. The temple in Jerusalem. The psalmist wants to be there. The temple was special, of course, largely because of the strong sense that God was truly present there. It is a place where God surely dwells. The early Hebrew people had a strong sense of themselves as God’s own, and of God’s abiding presence with them wherever they were. But there was also, as we heard in today’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures, a powerful sense of God’s awesome presence and glory residing within the actual building that was and is the temple. Those are the courts of Lord for which the psalmist longs so deeply.

One of the more vivid lines in Psalm 84 is this one. “The sparrow has found her a house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young.”

In a new translation and commentary on the Psalter, Robert Alter writes about this line:

This image provides the most poignant focus for the speaker’s longing. Small birds such as swallows may well have nested in the little crevices of the roughly dressed stones that constituted the temple façade.. The speaker, yearning for the sacred zone of the temple, is envious of these small creatures happy in the temple precincts, whereas he, like an unrequited lover, only dreams of this place of intimacy with the divine. 

The psalmist envies even the sparrows and swallows because of their physical proximity to God in the temple.

He goes on to say, “Happy are those whose hearts are set on the pilgrim way.” The words “pilgrim” and “pilgrimage” get quite a lot of use in Christianity. “Pilgrimming” may not be a real world, but it is seen as a positive thing for Christians. We value the pilgrimage in a sort of general, ontological way. And this sense of being “on the way” is good, especially when our pilgrimages are paths of spiritual growth and discovery.

But, again, the psalmist is quite literal here. In contrast to a current automobile ad, for the psalmist, the journey is not the destination. It’s all about the destination. The only thing exciting about being a pilgrim is being on the way to the temple. But the excited and eager longing that come from being on that particular road bring joy and refreshment and energy to climb from height to height. Again, these heights are literal heights. Jerusalem is in the mountains.

God surely dwells in the temple. God’s glory fills the temple. Pilgrims come to the temple to worship. The psalmist’s destination is worship. The eager yearning and longing that the psalmist feels is for the experience of offering praise.

This is a psalm we should say as we rise from our beds on Sunday mornings. The psalmist is really saying, “Yippee! I really, really can’t wait to get to church. I can’t get there fast enough.”

The psalm is rich metaphorically, too, of course. It speaks of a yearning for the presence of the living God, as well as a desire to reach the altars and stones of the temple. But I think it’s neat to hang onto that literal meaning. And to be reminded that longing and yearning are a part of the life of faith.
There are holy places and holy times where God surely dwells for us, too. Here in the sacred space among the bricks and altar of this particular house of the Lord. And, of course, (as we continue to hear about the bread of life in John) the Sacraments are one place for us where absolutely without any exception or qualification we meet the living God.

Like the psalmist we might sing our deep longing and desire as we move closer and closer to participating in Holy Communion.

Longing, yearning, desire… these are feelings. More than once I’ve preached that faithful living is more about choices than feelings. And, of course, feelings cannot be commanded or summoned. We cannot make ourselves feel yearning for Sunday worship in the Lord’s house.

Feelings cannot be commanded, but they are often contagious. Feelings are often contagious. We can catch them from one another. Maybe we can catch a little yearning from the psalmist as we hear and say Psalm 84. Maybe we can catch a bit of the psalmist’s powerful desire, excitement and longing as he walked the pilgrim’s road. Step by step drawing closer and closer to the courts of the Lord in the sacred temple in Jerusalem.

Blessing of the Backpacks

Litany of Thanksgiving

For our minds and the ability to think and reason;
We thank you, Lord. 

For the passion and dedication of all who teach;
We thank you, Lord. 

For the gifts of wonder and creativity and the vision to see you, Lord, in things that are new;
We thank you, Lord. 

For schools and the opportunity learn;
We thank you, Lord. 

For our friends at school, who share the good times and the hard times with us;
We thank you, Lord. 

For our families, for their love and support;
We thank you, Lord. 

For computers and calculators and all the other tools that help us learn and explore;
We thank you, Lord. 

For words and stories and ideas and the chance to share them with others;
We thank you, Lord. 

For music and art and drama and joy;
We thank you, Lord. 

For games and times of recreation and renewal;
We thank you, Lord. 

For all those people who help us learn and all those whom we are able to help;
We thank you, Lord. 

For our own unique gifts and talents and the opportunity to use them in your service;
We thank you, Lord. 

God of power and hope, we pray your blessing upon these backpacks, on the students who carry them and on all students and teachers everywhere. Bless us all in our vocation as learners, in Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - August 19

Thicker Than Blood

Earlier this week I was well on my way to preaching a theological sermon about the work of Christ. The collect and the Gospel led me to reflect on how we really understand and describe what Christ actually did and what it means to us.

It’s a very important topic and one that deserves some serious reflection. Barth called the work of Christ the “center of all Christian knowledge.” Theologians also call it the doctrine of salvation. What does it really mean that Jesus offers us salvation?

But a funny thing happened on the way to writing that sermon. I am going to preach on one piece of the work of Christ, but the theological exploration of salvation get detoured when I went to Kewanee yesterday. As some of you know, Kewanee is west of here, a bit south of I-80 almost to the Quad Cities. It’s in the Diocese of Quincy.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m part of a conversation between what is often called the “continuing” Diocese of Quincy and the Diocese of Chicago. The “continuing” Diocese of Quincy are the people in the Diocese of Quincy who have remained within the Episcopal Church, despite their former Bishop’s efforts to take them out.

These meetings always affect me. This was our third one. Six or eight folks from the Diocese of Quincy and six of eight from the Diocese of Chicago. In these gatherings I see the people of the church at their best and at their worst.

At their best: These continuing Episcopalians have retained their faithfulness, their eager commitment to the Gospel and the mission of the church in very trying circumstances. And I also see in our group’s conversations care, compassion, faithfulness, and a desire for all Christians to have the chance to live into their callings.

And the people of the church at their worst: These meetings tell of past leaders in Quincy who have been deceitful, manipulative, and dominated powerfully by self-interest in their relationships and interactions with the people who were in their pastoral care. This has created, up to the present day a very stark climate of polarization and enmity between former Episcopalians and continuing Episcopalians. The clergy appear to be the worst. Talk sounds like the worst of a contentious, contested divorce. Neighbors, people who used to worship together no longer even call one another by name. The are “the other side.” “Our opponents.”

Which brought to mind a story that was in the news this week. I read it on NPR, via the Associated Press.

One of the leaders of Hungary's Jobbik Party, which the Anti-Defamation League says is one of the few political parties in Europe to overtly campaign with anti-Semitic materials, has discovered that he is himself a Jew.

As the AP says, Csanad Szegedi had in the past railed about the "Jewishness" of the political class. According to the ADL, his party's presidential candidate referred to Israeli Jews as "lice-infested, dirty murderers."

For Szegedi all of this came to a screeching halt, when in 2010 a prisoner confronted him with evidence that he had Jewish roots. According to the AP, Szegedi tried to bribe the prisoner to keep him quiet, but rumors and innuendo reached a fever pitch by late last year and in June, Szegedi conceded that his mother was a Jew. According to Jewish law, that makes Szegedi Jewish, too.

Not only that, but Szegedi's grandmother survived Auschwitz and his grandfather survived labor camps. 

It’s a story about the divisions we human beings create among ourselves.

It is also a story about the importance of blood relationships. Jewish identity is defined by blood.

I am not an anthropologist, but it seems that we human beings culturally, at least within the cultures I am aware of, look upon affiliation defined by blood as absolute and indissoluble. I don’t know why. But something inside of us leads us to ascribe great power and importance to relationships of affiliations that are defined by blood.

Mr. Szegedi cannot deny his Jewish identity. He just can’t… period. He may not care for Jews, but he has Jewish blood. He is a Jew. (How much he knew, when he knew it, and what all of this says about his psyche are not my points today). I just want to stress and remind us all how powerful and important blood relationships are.

As in the case of Mr. Szegedi, blood is used culturally to define “us” and “them.” It was used evilly and cruelly in the context of racial segregation and subjugation. One drop of colored blood defined those who were to be segregated and subjugated.

Some of you may have heard the recent case of Elizabeth Warren. She is running for the Senate in Massachusetts. In the past she self-identified herself as Cherokee. In the current political climate in this country, there has been considerable debate about why she did that. But the point is, you can’t self-identify as Cherokee. It isn’t a casual thing based on family stories or personal desire. Can’t be casual. It must be proved by blood. I’m not sure of the specific membership laws of the Cherokee nation. The Sioux, which I know a little bit more about, require—I think—at least three generations of lineal descent. You must have at least 1/16 Sioux blood.

You know the phrase “blood is thicker than water.” Usually, it is a positive statement on the richness and preeminence of family relationships in the midst of all of the other things that tug at our affiliation.

I say all of this just to bring into our awareness how important, powerful and indissoluble we think that blood relationships are. And then to say that our relationships in Christ are more powerful and more important.

From the Baptism rubrics in the Book of Common Prayer. “Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s Body the Church. The bond which God establishes in Baptism is indissoluble.”

The bond and relationship that Christ establishes with us through baptism is more powerful than any blood relationship. And not only are we united with Christ in baptism we are brought into the Body of Christ. The relationships that we share with one another within the Body of Christ are stronger and more important than any human blood relationship. And these relationships are renewed each time we participate in Holy Communion… each time we take into ourselves the Body and Blood of the living Christ. We share the divine, living blood of Christ…

This is very good news. It means, as St. Paul says, that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ, from Christ himself. Nothing we might do, nothing anyone else might do can sever us from Christ. And, ultimately, nothing can break the relationships that we share within the Body of Christ. As Christians, we are never alone.

Our relationship with Christ and our relationships through Christ with one another are more powerful, more significant than any other relationships or affiliations in our lives. We don’t act that way most of the time. We live as though we value almost all other relationships more, even casual relationships.

Think about it: Our relationship with Christ and our connections with one another through Christ are more powerful, more important that anything else. To be sisters and brothers in Christ trumps any other affiliation.

What would it be like to really live that way? Within the parish? Within other spheres of our lives? Within our church debates? Within our ecumenical conversations? We do not all need to agree, but to be sisters and brothers in Christ is an indissoluble bond.

Think about it this way. Blood may be thicker than water. But Jesus is thicker even than blood.