Ash Wednesday

I Know Where I Am Going

One of the church’s hymns for Lent begins with these words, “Eternal Lord of love behold your Church / Walking once more the pilgrim way of Lent.” The pilgrim way of Lent.

I’ve mentioned before that the seasons of the church year are cumulative. We experience them sequentially, one after another. But each season teaches us something about our relationship with God that is always true. So the perspective and the message of Lent is true not just during these forty days. Lent is an ongoing part of our faithful life.

As they hymn reminds us, one of the images for Lent is a pilgrimage. During Lent we walk the pilgrim’s way. The power of this metaphor is that a pilgrimage has destination. A pilgrimage always has a destination. A pilgrimage is defined by its destination. It is different from a journey of exploration. And definitely different from a casual stroll or aimless wandering. A pilgrimage has a clear destination, often a sacred place, that draws the pilgrim forward.

The naturalist and author Loren Eiseley wrote that perhaps Jesus’ most remarkable proclamation was: I know where I am going. I have come from the father and I am going to the father. I know where I am going. Maybe this proclamation struck him particularly from the perspective of the natural world where where events may seem random, or out of control, or at best cyclical. But not intentional or directional.

Jesus said: I know where I am going.

That is the mantra of a pilgrim. I know where I am going.

As you look at your life or at the world around you, do you see aimlessness or do events feel out of control or does life seem like an endless loop, round and round over and over again?

Jesus says: I am not wandering aimlessly. I am not walking in circles. My earthly pilgrimage has a destination. I know where I am going.

And we know where we are going. Lent reminds us that we are always pilgrims. We are pilgrims Easter bound. Lent always ends in Easter. We are on a pilgrimage to Easter—to fullness of life, to freedom from all that binds or oppresses us, to eternal life shared in the nearer presence of God. We are on the road to Easter.

We know where we are going, and Lent reminds us to live our lives now mindful of the destination towards which we travel. We are called to live our daily lives always aware, always mindful, of where we are going.

We know where are going.

When we’re feeling harried or life seems out of control, we know where we are going.

When we’re crushed or immobilized with guilt or despair, we know where we are going.

When we are struggling with illness or any of life’s hardships, we know where we are going.

And when we’re about to rush past someone in need, we should stop to remember that we know where we are going.

We know where we are going.

To live always mindful of our pilgrimage’s destination changes how we live in the present. This is the important part. To live mindful that we are Easter bound sanctifies the present and transforms the way we live.

When we say, I know where I am going, it transforms how we treat one another. When we say I know where I am going, it transforms how we treat the created world around us. When we say I know where I am going, it transforms what we do with our own lives.

To think of life as a pilgrimage does not mean that our earthly lives are no more than a means to an end. Nor does it mean that we are in charge of building the highway to heaven. Jesus’ death and resurrection have opened the Easter way for us. By God’s grace, we are promised our journey’s end. We may find that our pilgrimage’s path meanders in unexpected ways, but we always know where we are going.

To live mindful of our destination transforms and sanctifies the present. That is part of Lent’s gift. To know that we are going to God opens us up to knowing God more fully here. We are “toward your presence bent,” the hymn says, “far off yet here—the goal of all desire.” God’s presence is both far off and here. And the more we bend our pilgrimage towards God, the more deeply we will know God in our lives now.

To live as pilgrims, knowing our destination, is a daily journey into holiness. Lent may seem like a trial. But really it is a reminder to us that—throughout our lives—we are always on the way to Easter.

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Your Faith is Yours
Mark 9:2-9

Today is the last Sunday after the Epiphany. In a few days, Lent will begin on Ash Wednesday. Today is our last Sunday to say Alleluia, our last Sunday in this Epiphany season.

Every year on this last Sunday after the Epiphany we hear one of the Gospel accounts of the Transfiguration. We call this story Jesus’ Transfiguration because it describes how his appearance appeared to be changed. We call this Jesus’ transfiguration, but this story is really about Peter, James and John. It is about their recognition that they are in the presence of God. It is about their rush of awareness that God’s glory is in Jesus. This story is about their realization without a doubt that Jesus is the living God. God is with them, among them. Close enough to touch. Close enough to talk to. Right there for them to interact with.

I want to remind you that Peter, James and John were laypeople. They were not clergy. Of course, technically, Christian clergy didn’t exist at the time, but the point is still valid. Peter, James and John were lay people. And God was right there with them. And they knew it.

Peter, James and John did not need or depend upon someone else to tell them about God or to bring God to them. They experienced God directly.

Over the centuries after the event of the Transfiguration, the Christian movement grew. As Christianity grew, the institutional church grew with it, and the awareness that people could experience God directly changed. The church and its ordained leadership became the sole purveyor of God. The church and its ordained leadership were the only supplier of God into peoples’ lives.

A big part of what the Protestant reformation was about was hitting the reset button on this issue. The Protestant reformation was about correcting the trend that had taken hold. The reformation proclaimed: you do not need, you should not depend upon, the church alone to bring God to you.

The church is not the only purveyor God’s grace. You do not need… you should not depend upon… the church as the only way God can come into your life. Although we Protestants have been saying that since the 16th century, it’s been more difficult to make it real for people. We’ve affirmed it, but the church hasn’t lived it. A while back I read a pamphlet by the Rev. Frank Wade, for many years Rector of St. Alban’s, the parish church on the grounds of the National Cathedral in Washington. He points out that for centuries the implicit teaching and understanding of the church has been that the people’s job is just to “congregate,” hence the term congregation. The people are just to congregate, to gather. Then the priest “ministers” God to them.

I’ve been thinking about this, not just because of the story of the Transfiguration, but because of the Episcopal Diocese of Quincy. The Episcopal Diocese of Quincy was formed in 1877. It has always been small. It comprises ten rural counties in the area around Peoria. It is also one of the four dioceses within the Episcopal Church that have been wracked in the last few years by conflict and schism as their former bishops have left the Episcopal Church and have tried to take as many people as possible with them. I cannot speak to the issues of conscience or faith that have led those bishops to feel they must leave the Episcopal Church. But their efforts to take others with them have been extremely destructive to the faithful lives of hundreds of Christians.

The group of people in the Diocese of Quincy who very much want to remain in the Episcopal Church have been working to discern their future. They are considering the possibility of reunification with the Diocese of Chicago, and they have asked for the opportunity to discuss that with us. Bishop Lee has asked me to be a part of that still informal conversation. I have heard stories from Quincy, and second hand from the other conflicted dioceses, of bishops willfully manipulating others, of hiding information, of cloaking power plays in secrecy. It is these actions that have been deeply hurtful—in large part because of a system that granted to the bishop too much personal authority and power over the faith lives and Christian identities of people in the pews. The tragic and destructive and hurtful results of these bishop’s actions have happened, in part, because lay people were too dependent upon ordained leadership for their sense of God’s presence in their lives.

I am not blaming the victims. The hurt in Quincy and the other dioceses happened because a very few men abused their power. But it is a power they never should have had, but for the misguided history of the church.

This is definitely not to say that the institutional church is bad. Nor is there anything inherently wrong with ordained leadership (especially not today, the 20th anniversary of my ordination).

I think we need the institutional church. I’ve said before that I don’t think you can be a Christian on your own. Or if you can, it is only a washed out sort of Christian with all the color sucked out. To live vividly and vibrantly as a Christian, you need community. You need to be a part of the Body of Christ. The institutional church is, by far, the best way to nurture and sustain Christian community.

It is within community that we perceive God with us, often active in the lives of others. As the Body of Christ, we are able to make the kingdom of God real, as best we can, in the world around us. And, at least as Episcopalians, we believe that it is within community that we receive the gift of the sacraments. We need community. It is a gift to us, made real by the institutional church.

But your faith is YOURS. Your relationship with your Lord is yours. You are a beloved child of God. God cares for you and is directly present to you. Your faith is yours. Claim it. Live it. Do not let anyone rob you of your direct experience of God. Do not ever fall into dependence upon the church—or the ordained leadership of the church—to provide your only access to God. God is made present through the church, but not only through the church. Do not let anyone else control or limit your life in Christ.

Remember, Peter, James and John were lay people.

But they did have to climb the mountain. With their own two feet.

You have a vivid, vibrant life with Christ, now and ahead of you. God is present in your life. Close enough to touch, to talk with, to interact with.

But you have to claim that faithful life. You have to live it! You have to climb the mountain. Lent is a good opportunity to pick up some or more of that responsibility for your life of faith, your relationship with God. Take on some sort of Lenten discipline this year—something to strengthen your direct relationship with God in your life.

And hang on to that image of Peter, James and John on the mountain. Lay people just like you. In the presence of their Lord.

The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany

Saint Naaman
2 Kings 5:1-14

The Old Testament story we heard today is a great story, full of lots of interesting characters. Most of them—with the exception of Elisha—are minor within the sweep of the whole Bible. We never hear of them again. But they are fascinating in this story. We get little psychological insights into their characters and they are complicated, full of mixed motives. For me this makes this story real and timeless. It speaks just as powerfully to us today as it did when it took place. The people and issues are contemporary.

Just to review. Naaman is a prominent military leader in the nation of Aram. Aram is present day Syria. The people of Israel and the people of Syria did not get along any better then than they do now. “War was a way of life at that time.” As it is now. In the Middle East and throughout the world.

Naaman is an important man in his own nation and society. But he’s sick. A young girl from Israel suggests that Aram might find healing in Israel. She’s a girl. A captive slave. From an enemy nation. Suggesting that an enemy prophet of a foreign God might heal Naaman. Remarkably, Naaman is willing to pursue her suggestion.

He goes to his king. The king of Aram sees a political opportunity in the situation. He appears to have no interest in Naaman’s health. The king of Israel is in a no-win situation as the weaker political leader. He’s consumed by political angst. A contemporary story….

Elisha, the prophet of the Lord, apparently seizes upon this situation as an opportunity for religious one upmanship. “The Syrians may have defeated us in war,” he implies, “but I’ll show them there’s a real prophet in Israel.” He doesn’t seem at all concerned about Naaman either. Through a servant Elisha asks Naaman to wash seven times in the Jordan. Naaman’s ego is severely bruised is reluctant, but ultimately his own servant persuades him. He washes in the Jordan and is made whole.

In this story leprosy is a symbol. It is a physical illness, yes. But it also signifies sickness of the soul, the brokenness of a human spirit. To seek healing is to seek wholeness, cure of the soul as well as the body.

There’s a lot going on in this story.

There are oversized egos all over the place, especially among political leaders. It is about a world at war, where enmity between peoples is the context for all that happens. As I said, it’s a contemporary story.

People have mixed motives. The need to maintain social standing or prominence motivates the kings and even Elisha. Naaman struggles with his desire for cure and the complexities of seeking that cure among an enemy people. The maid’s motives seem pure. She is an extension of God’s unqualified desire and ability to heal. And that is certainly one very important lesson in this passage…. God’s unqualified desire and ability to heal, even in the midst of the complex and messy human sitution.

But the message that I hear in this story, at least as I read it now, is an affirmation of the human ability to overcome immense difficulty in our striving for God’s healing. This story begins with Naaman’s desire for healing. And that’s where the story begins for us. The story begins with a desire, a longing for wholeness and healing. The journey from desire for healing to fulfillment was very difficult for Naaman. It was hard. He had to overcome a lot in his world and within himself. But he made it. And if Naaman can do it, so can we.

Maybe Naaman’s journey does not seem so hard to us. But think first what he must have had to overcome within in himself before he accept the words of the maid—an enemy slave. His journey to Elisha may have been facilitated by his power, but once he got there, what Elisha asks him to do is very difficult. Why? What does he have to lose? Why is this so hard? It may seem like there’s nothing to it, as his servant points out, just a dip in the Jordan. But Naaman had to risk a lot of who he was to take that bath in the Jordan.

Elisha tells him to wash seven times in the Jordan and he will be made whole.  One writer describes why this might be a difficult decision for Naaman.

“If Elisha is right, then this Syrian military commander, who has led his troops into both pitched battles and smaller raids against Israel, will have to acknowledge that his healing could come in Israel, but not in Aram. While he was willing to allow that Israel might have a prophet connected to God like no other, admitting that Israel was uniquely blessed by God was a lot to ask.

At the same time, if Elisha is wrong, then this military leader will be publicly embarrassed by abasing himself in a ritual anyone could have known would never work…. Everyone knows that river water cannot wash away leprosy. If it could, Naaman would not have traveled to see the man of God. Elisha’s simple request requires great risk. Naaman could have traveled all this distance to be made a fool.”

It’s complicated. It’s hard. He’s risking his reputation, his self-image, much that he has worked for in his life. But he wants to be cured. He yearns to be made whole.
 
And God offers wholeness. God offers wholeness. But it doesn’t just land in our lap. We have to seek it. Naaman had to seek God’s healing and wholeness in enemy territory at considerable personal risk. The journey to wholeness and healing takes work. It can be hard. But it is never too hard. Do you want wholeness? We, as human beings, do have the strength and courage and guidance we need to come to the place where we can receive God’s healing. Naaman teaches us that. The journey may be hard, but it is never too hard.

In today’s collect we pray: O God, the strength of all who put their trust in you. It’s a matter of putting our trust in God. Getting to that place where we can truly put our trust in God.

Probably everyone here would acknowledge God’s desire and ability to heal. But we want God to come to us on our own terms. We would just as well stay put and have God come to us. And we’d like God to come to us within our own social group, keeping a low profile, and at a time convenient to our busy schedules.

Naaman would undoubtedly have preferred that, too. But he made the difficult journey to the place where he could accept God’s healing.

It can be hard to whole-heartedly trust God today. We life in a word, as did Naaman, where everybody is divided up. Group loyalties are hard strong and the boundaries that divide us are hard to cross. What if God’s healing is to be found in a group other than your own?

We also live in a world that often labels it weak or fooling to trust in God. Can you risk your reputation or self-image to place your trust in God? Naaman did.

Do you seek the healing and wholeness that God offers? That’s what matters. That’s all that matters. If you do yearn for your soul to be healed and made whole: Do not say to yourself… it is too hard… or God is too far away… or my life is too complicated to put my full trust in God… The journey to wholeness may be hard, but it is never too hard. If Naaman made it, so can we.

We don’t name Old Testament figures as saints. We study and admire them but do not name them saints. But I think of Naaman, the Syrian, as a saint. For me, he is an encouraging example of godly living. He is a witness to who we can be and what we, as human beings, can do.

God offers us healing and wholeness. And by God’s grace, we do have the strength and ability we need to make our own journeys to God, the strength of all who put their trust in him.

The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany

Wait Upon the Lord
Isaiah 40:21-31
1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Just listening to today’s reading from First Corinthians makes me tired. Paul being all things to all people. To the Jews I became Jew… To one outside the law I became as one outside the law… To the weak I became weak. There is a very important message and a challenge to us in the content of this reading. How much would we be willing to change, say, just about our worship in order to share the blessing of the Gospel with others?

But in addition to that challenge, as I consider this passage this year I’m struck mostly by Paul’s breathless activity, the frenetic intensity of all that he does. We know from elsewhere in Scripture that he was tireless in his travels throughout the Mediterranean. In this morning’s reading he is transforming himself moment to moment to engage others with the Gospel. He was intense and driven as an evangelist and apostle.

Some have suggested he had a hyperactivity disorder. That’s a cheap shot, although it usually gets a grin. Or we could say he is just one of those sorts of high energy people and leave it at that. And since we are not one of those sorts of people we are excused from any similar energetic dedication to the gospel.

But wouldn’t you like to have that sort of passion? Isn’t there at least a part of you that envies that sort of energy? Both for living life in general and for living a life full of faith? I would like to have at least some of that enthusiasm for the Gospel.

The propers for this day—the collect and Scripture readings appointed as a group for this day—invite us to hold the passages from Isaiah and First Corinthians next to one another.

The Isaiah reading begins by describing God—the energy and power that is God’s. God, who creates all that is. God, who destroys everyone who claims to triumph through human power. God, who commands the very stars of heaven. God, who will never faint or grow weak.

And then Isaiah turns to speaking about people: “those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

Those who wait for the Lord shall be given the Lord’s power. Maybe that’s Paul’s secret.

A little background on this passage from Isaiah. This is from that portion of Isaiah often informally called “Second Isaiah.” The book in the Bible that we call Isaiah was written by several different authors at different times. Second Isaiah, which begins at chapter 40, wrote in the late 6th c. BC. At that time the standing and strength of the people of God had been shattered. The people have been defeated and dispersed, many were in exile in Babylon. The people were fearful of their future and uncertain of God’s presence and care.

To these people, the prophet Isaiah says: Wait for the Lord. The King James translated it differently, and I prefer this translation. The King James does not say, “wait for the Lord,” it says, “wait UPON the Lord.” As a servant might wait upon a master. Attentive and vigilant. It’s not a passive fatalism. It’s not about sitting back and waiting. It’s about maintaining attention and focus. Eyes fixed unservingly. Anticipating the master’s word or gesture.

I think also of a well-trained dog waiting upon a command. Those laser eyes focused on you, the dog almost trembling with anticipation. Please, please, please tell me what I get to do next. Sit? Fetch? Come? Wait upon the Lord.

One commentator, reflecting on this passage wrote: “Great views of God are essential to call forth great hopes and great energies.” Viewing God greatly, focusing on God with great attention, calls forth great hopes and great energies.

Wait upon the Lord. Look to God. Look away from anxieties and fears. Look away from the troubles and demands of the world. Do not be districted by anything of this world. Lift up your eyes and keep your focus upon the Lord, the Creator of all.

The people to whom Second Isaiah wrote lived in terrible times, especially for the people of God. Paul lived in a world very challenging for new Christians. We live in times that certainly challenge our faith and try us in many ways.

So Isaiah speaks to us: wait upon the Lord. Again, this is not helplessly sitting back and waiting for God to come and fix everything. It is an intense and focused vision on God alone. We find that focus in the places you would expect—worship, prayer, Scripture. Wait upon the Lord with unwavering attention.

Those who wait upon the Lord, like Paul, will be given God’s own power and energy in their lives. They will mount up like eagles. They will never grow weary or faint. They will live faithfully with purpose, energy and hope.