Meditations of our Hearts

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

2012-01-23T05:06:00.000-08:00

Free Spirits
Psalm 62:6-14
Mark 1:14-20

Last week the Old Testament reading included a call story—the story of God’s call to Samuel. God called Samuel my name to a life of prophetic proclamation. Today, particularly in the Gospel reading, we hear some more call stories. Jesus calls Simon, Andrew, James and John to follow him. And they do.

These are familiar stories. Simon and Andrew, James and John, fishing on the Sea of Gallilee. Familiar as these stories are, they have always gnawed at me. There had to have been more going on, of course, than Mark’s bare-boned telling of the story. But it seems so incredible that they would respond so quickly and radically. Some stranger walks by and says, “follow me.” And immediately they do without any apparent reservation.

Jesus was a stranger to them!

Remember we’re still in the first chapter of Mark. Years before Peter would recognize and confess Jesus as the Messiah. We have no evidence that Simon, Andrew, James or John had any idea who called to them. I’ve often imagined that there had to be something irresistibly compelling about Jesus. But the Gospel writers don’t mention anything special. Mark tells us only that he was preaching repentance. A stranger strolls passed preaching a call to repentance. I would find that pretty easy to resist.

Or maybe word had spread throughout Galilee… Maybe Jesus’ reputation had preceded him and they had heard of his grace a power. Maybe. Although again we have no evidence. All we know is that out of the blue Jesus said “follow me” and they did. It’s incredible.

They left everything behind… family, the social network of the village, their place in the community, their only means of supporting themselves, their whole identities, really. It’s hard to believe. In that context how could Jesus possibly have presented an attractive option? How could following Jesus have appeared as the preferred path?

Now I can imagine some other settings where following Jesus would definitely seem like an attractive choice. It would be one thing if Jesus showed up in the middle of a difficult history test and said, “Oh, let’s blow off the test. Follow me.” That would be tempting. Or if Jesus showed up when you were in the middle of working on your income taxes and said “Put those aside and follow me.” Or if he showed up in the midst of a deadly office Christmas party and said, “Let’s skip this joint and go have some fun.”

If Jesus came offering a means of escape, an opportunity to flee life’s unpleasant burdens. Then the call to follow might sound pretty good.

In a way, that’s exactly what Jesus offers. Freedom.

Jesus calls us to be free spirits. Literally. He does offer us freedom. Escape.

One way to think of Jesus’ call to us is as an invitation to become free spirits. Come, be free spirits. Literally.

Writing about this passage in Mark, William Loader writes “the calling of James and John and Simon and Andrew…function as a protest… against societal structures which simply perpetuate the past and trap people into the service of the status quo and its gods.” False gods imposed by society, or family, or peer groups trap us. We are trapped in the service of false gods.

Jesus says, let’s run away and be free spirits.

Ask yourself: Do you let society or even family determine which gods you worship? False gods like social standing or conformity. Material success. The false god of family reputation or even tradition. The false gods of physical strength or beauty. Do you feel forced to give yourself to the worship of these gods? Or maybe others?

Jesus offers an escape. Freedom. Lose yourself in love and worship of the one true God. For God alone my soul waits, as the psalmist sings.

Come, be a free spirit, Jesus says.

Maybe there’s a small voice in the back of your head saying, “I can’t become a free spirit. That would be irresponsible!” We can’t just abandon the people who depend upon us. It is our responsibility to maintain an ordered society. Surely Jesus doesn’t intend for us to thumb our noses at all responsibility and run off to be free spirited hippies.

I could point out that actually that is pretty much what the disciples did. But I would agree that following Jesus does not imply a selfish indifference to the care of others. Free spirited does not mean self-centered or indifferent to God’s children or God’s creation.

But becoming a free spirit does offer us freedom from the imposed worship of false gods. There is a difference, for example, between a parent who cherishes a child as a gift from God and would do absolutely anything to help that child flourish in the love and wonder of God. In contrast to the parent who worships the competitive gods of family reputation or financial success and maybe even with good intentions forces a child to worship those gods, too.

Remember, Zebedee let his sons go.

Ask yourselves which gods you worship, which gods you really give yourself to. And do you feel bound, or trapped? If you feel bound or trapped, look deeply within and ask why-- false gods bind and trap. False gods bind and trap us in their service. Jesus does not.

Jesus says, hey! I can set your spirit free. That’s a pretty attractive offer any time and place. I will set your spirit free. Come, follow me.

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

2012-01-21T08:35:00.000-08:00

The Call of Samuel

1 Samuel 3:1-20

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

John1:43-51

The lesson we heard today from the Hebrew Scriptures is usually referred to as “The Call of Samuel.” It’s a wonderful story that almost preaches itself.

Just to review: The young boy Samuel and his mentor Eli are working in the Temple. It is their job to ensure that the rituals and worship of the Lord in the Temple are maintained. It’s night. Both have gone to bed. Samuel hears someone call his name and he runs to Eli, but Eli says it wasn’t him. Samuel definitely heard someone call his name. They both go back to bed. The same thing happens two more times before Eli begins to wonder at what might be going on. Following Eli’s advice, the next time Samuel hears his name he recognizes that it is God who is calling, and he stops to listen.

There are a number of points to note in this story.

First, even people in the professional religion business did not immediately recognize God’s voice. They heard it, but thought it was someone else. And that’s something to highlight. They heard God’s voice… they clearly heard it, but thought it was someone else.

We should also note that God persisted. God called again and again and again and again, until Samuel recognized him and stopped to listen.

And, finally, God called Samuel by name. God did not post a general notice on Craig’s list: Prophet Wanted. God called Samuel name. God wanted to talk to Samuel, about Samuel’s vocation.

In Samuel’s case, the vocation God called him to was not an easy one. Samuel was called to a lifelong vocation as a prophet, and his first task was to condemn the iniquity of his mentor Eli.

The adult Christian Education class this week asks the question: What is the purpose of your life? In the class, the context is a study of God as creator. God doesn’t create casually or capriciously. God creates for a purpose. What purpose were you, as an individual, created for?

The general answer is to fulfill God’s call for you. Your personal call.

God knows us individually. We are baptized by name. We do not baptize Christian number 4 trillion thirty seven. You are sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever, by name. The psalm appointed for today speaks of how God knows us. Lord you have searched me out and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up. Lord, you know me. This psalm is a source of great strength and comfort to many people. In times of need or longing, it is nice to know that God knows and cares for us individually, that God responds to our personal, individual needs.

The Gospel also highlights how God knows us. Jesus knew Nathanael, even though they had not yet met in the flesh.

God knows us individually. This is a comfort when we think of God responding to our individual needs. But it also means that God calls each of us to our own individual vocations.

God called Samuel by name.

And God calls us individually by name. Sometimes to grand life vocations. Samuel’s call was to a lifelong vocation of prophetic witness. Here in the U.S., we remember the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. this weekend. He, too, was called to an all-consuming life of prophetic witness on behalf of civil rights. Jesus called the disciples call to leave behind everything else to fulfill their calls to discipleship.

God’s calls are often not easy to follow—witness Samuel and Dr. King. Scripture is full of stories of people who answered reluctantly when God called them by name, feeling unwilling or unable to respond to God’s call.

But when God calls us by name, it is not always to a grand and challenging life vocation. Sometimes God calls us to smaller tasks of everyday life or life within the church. Think about the stories in the Gospels. On several occasions a particular individual was called to host a dinner or offer hospitality. There’s the young lad who shared his lunch. Just one day, one lunch, a loaf and a few fish. Someone was called to offer his colt when Jesus needed it to ride into Jerusalem. We are called, as individuals, to everyday tasks like these, too.

We hear this particular Old Testament story and this Gospel story during Epiphany because Samuel and Nathanael had epiphanies. Within the context of these stories, they recognized that it was God who was speaking to them. The voice Samuel heard in the night calling him by name was God’s voice. The person Nathanael saw across the way was Jesus, Son of the living God. Voices, people that were there, a part of their lives. Samuel and Nathanael came to recognize God’s presence, God’s voice with them.

Similar Epiphanies await us all.

God knows you personally and calls you by name. You have a roll to fulfill, a call to respond to as part of God’s action in the world. Maybe it’s a grand vocation or maybe it’s an occasional task in the midst of daily life.

Remember Samuel’s story. God will call you by name… persistently until you stop to listen. God may call while you’re trying to sleep, or while you’re just standing under a fig tree, or while you’re at soccer practice with your kids, or this Sunday at coffee hour. Sometimes God speaks directly; sometimes through other people.

So consider…. Everytime you hear your name… Every time you are directly spoken to… Consider the possibility that God is speaking to you. Consider that this might be an epiphany moment for you. A time for you to recognize that it is God’s voice, God’s presence, with you in your life. It’s not always easy to tell at first—remember Samuel and Eli—but God will persist until you have your epiphany.

And when that epiphany comes and you say with awe: Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It is you. When you have that epiphany of recognition, remember Samuel and follow his example. Stop whatever else you’re doing and say: Speak to me, Lord, for your servant is listening.

Christmas Day

2011-12-30T11:54:00.000-08:00

Beautiful Feet
Isaiah 52:7-10

Today’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures is one of many gems from the prophet known as Second Isaiah. For those of you who know Handel’s Messiah, you hear the words sung. But the words themselves are beautiful. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns.’”

How beautiful are the feet.

How often have you said to anyone you know, “You have beautiful feet?” It’s not a part of the human body that we usually associate with beauty. Even the most glamorous of people, I expect, is rarely complimented on the beauty of her feet.

I love this Christmas Day service. One of the things I love is what I might call its ordinariness. Christmas comes, and is celebrated, in ordinary circumstances, not just the extraordinary splendor of last night. Feet, not wings, are the focus today.

In Luke’s Gospel story of Jesus’ birth, which we hear on Christmas Eve, the angels are the heralds of good news. Trumpets sound and the heavenly host assembles with shimmering wings. Hark, the herald-angels sing.

In Isaiah, the herald has feet, not wings. Tired feet, I imagine, from rushing up and down mountains to bring good news to Zion.

The passages are parallel. Both describe God’s heralds who bring good news. As heralds, the angels or messengers need some sort of locomotion. They need feet or wings to bring the news to us. The heralds bring the good news to God’s people that God isn’t just out there somewhere anymore. God is coming now at this moment to be here with us. Actively reigning in our hearts and lives.

It is the heralds’ message that is beautiful. And many sorts of wings and feet bring it to us. In our ordinary lives, the heralds mostly have feet rather than wings.

Today give thanks for the bearers of the message in your life. They are beautiful, all those people who, in so many ways, have showed us that God is with us. Our God is with us.

Give thanks for the people who have shared God’s wonder and love with us, who have brought us the good news, who have helped us sing glory hallelujah.

I think tired feet are beautiful feet, especially this time of year. Maybe your tired feet have been heralds for others. Maybe your tired feet have brought the good news of God’s love and joy, God’s tender care into the lives of others.

It’s a beautiful message. Of peace and salvation. Of God with us. How beautiful are the feet of all the heralds who bring the message to us in the ordinary times and places of our lives.

Sing for joy! Isaiah says. Our God reigns.

Christmas Eve

2011-12-30T11:16:00.000-08:00

Chreaster

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Yes, it’s been a long day, but, No, I’m not confused. I do know that this is Christmas Eve, not Easter. The angels sweetly sing glory and alleluia on this holy night of Jesus’ birth. And all the earth joins in to sing refrains of joy and celebration. But the angels will come back—to the tomb to make another announcement. He is risen. The angels mark both Christmas and Easter with their proclamations.

We would not celebrate Christmas, of course, if it hadn’t been for Easter. The beginning of Jesus’ life would not be particularly noteworthy if we did not know how his life ends.

Tonight we are celebrating Christmas. The celebration of Christmas evokes feelings of hope and joy. Feelings that evidently even some staunch atheists are not immune from. Even as they say: I do not believe… I do not believe… The celebration of the Christmas season evokes feelings of hope and joy.

I do think God is in those feelings of hope and joy. Yet it is also possible that it is just the celebration itself that spreads good cheer. The seasonal festivities themselves may be the only source of good feeling.

I do think it’s possible, maybe easy, even for Christians to celebrate Christmas without ever really feeling God’s touch. And I’m not talking now of the rush of materialism and consumerism that tempt us all. I’m talking about celebrating the season without getting past the season to the presence of God. We all enjoy the season, its celebration, its symbols and its traditions… And the season itself evokes good feelings. It is easy to go no further than those feelings.

The celebration of the Christmas season is replete with powerful symbols…

We are surrounded by light shining in the darkness.

We celebrate a new baby and all of the new possibilities and new beginnings that come with new birth.

Families, usually at their best, gather to share time, gifts and love with one another.

Even among people of no faith this season brings a tradition of generosity.

These are good things. And they can point to God. If we look beyond the symbols…

Garrison Kiellor has written a parody of the angel’s Christmas Eve message. In his version the angel says: I’ve come with good news that should make you really happy, for there is born today a child who shall be a symbol of new beginnings and possibilities.

As Christians we do not celebrate Christmas because it is a symbol of anything, even a symbol new beginnings and possibilities. Christmas is much more than a collection of hopeful symbols that make us feel good. We celebrate Christmas because the story that begins in the manger ends in glory. We celebrate Christmas because of how this story ends.

The Christmas lights will come down (some as early as tomorrow!) Families will disperse. Decorations will be packed up. We’ll stop singing Christmas carols. The symbols of Christmas will go away.

And babies grow up. All babies grow up. Even that most significant of Christmas symbols is transient. And with regular human babies—not Jesus—no matter how much hope and promise we may feel at their birth, we cannot be confident of their future. Without Easter. Without Easter even the most hopeful of beginnings can end up anywhere.

Without Easter, the feelings evoked by Christmas symbols will fade as the trees grow brittle and the needles fall off. Without Easter, once the crèche is put away we are left with nothing except wistful memories.

So we need to celebrate Easter, too, tonight. And we do.

Listen carefully to Christmas carols, at least religious Christmas carols. A lot of them use phrases that sound pretty Easter-y. And remember, Handel’s Messiah is actually an Easter oratorio. Christmas and Easter are all wrapped up together. We need to celebrate them together.

So. Alleluia. Christ is risen.

Have you noticed that we always say that Easter acclamation in the present tense? And Jesus is born in the present tense, too.

The Christmas story and the Easter story are the same story. And they take place in the present tense. Our present tense.

What does all of this mean for us? There is a Christmas blessing that includes these words: “May Christ, who by his Incarnation gathered into one things earthly and heavenly, fill you with his joy and peace..."

The events of Jesus’ life gathered into one things heavenly and things earthly. Whether you think of things heavenly descending at Christmas. Or things earthly ascending at Easter. Earth and heaven are gathered into one. That’s God’s Christmas/Easter gift to us in Jesus. Our earth and God’s heaven are gathered into one.

In another blessing that we will use this evening, we say that Jesus joins earth to heaven and heaven to earth.

Alleluia. This baby Jesus is risen, tonight, his earthly flesh gathered into one with heavenly glory. This baby Jesus born in poverty in a dirty stable is risen.

And through Jesus, our babies, all of our babies, are risen. Now in the present tense. Whether born into poverty or privilege… whatever their earthly prospects may seem to be, in every human baby earth and heaven are joined. Each newborn shines with the glory of heaven.

All that Jesus experienced in his earthly life, he gathered heaven into those experiences. He wove together human experience and heavenly glory.

Jesus, who worked hard and walked far is risen to highest heaven at the same time his feet trudge the dust of earth.

Jesus, who was unjustly maligned and criticized on earth, brings the splendor in heaven into those human experiences.

Jesus, who shared feasts and fellowship with friends is risen. So he brings God’s angels to the feasts and songs of human fellowship.

Jesus, forsaken by friends and followers is risen, gathering into one earth’s profound despair and heaven’s unquenchable hope.

And we are a part of this. Now. In the present tense. Our earthly lives are raised with Christ. Our human experiences are made one with heaven. The weak and vulnerable, tired, dirty, forsaken, hopeful, confused, afraid, joyous are raised. All of our earthly experiences are joined with heaven. Our work, our journeys, our trials and our celebrations. Our lives shine with the glory of heaven even after the tree is down and the twinkling lights are dark.

Alleluia! We are risen.

The Fourth Sunday in Advent

2011-12-19T11:05:00.000-08:00

Greetings, Favored One
Luke 1:26-38

The Gospel passage we just heard is a very familiar one, usually called The Annunciation. It tells of the angel Gabriel’s annunciation—announcement—to Mary that she will bear a son Jesus who will be God’s own son.

Thinking about this very familiar passage I want to share something old and something new. Something that has been a part of my reflection on this passage for many years and something that is new to me this year.

First the old. In Frederick Buechner’s book, Peculiar Treasures, he provides interpretive descriptions of many of the people of the Bible. Some are illustrated. The entry on Gabriel includes an illustration. It’s a line drawing of a rather dilapidated and worn out angel. We are looking at him from the back and can see that, behind his back, Gabriel has his fingers crossed. In the text, out of his own imagination, Buechner wonders: how many houses has Gabriel visited before he found a young woman who would say yes.

Regardless of whether or not we imagine Gabriel visiting multiple houses, preachers and interpreters of this passage often focus on Mary’s “yes.” And the obedience and humility Mary shows as she assents to God’s plan for her.

But what might this passage have to say to us before we get to Mary’s “yes?”

If we do imagine that Gabriel might have visited a whole string of houses before he God to Mary, did he use the same greeting in each of them? Did he say to each young woman as he came to her, “Greetings favored one?”

The new window into this passage for me this year is that word “favored.” Gabriel uses it twice with respect to Mary, calling her favored, one who has found favor with God.

So I wonder: Was Mary God’s special favorite? Was she favored in some unique way? Or is this just how angels greet humans? Greetings, favored one… Maybe that’s what angels, God’s messengers, always say when they encounter humans. Greetings, favored one.

I did a little research on the Greek word that Luke uses that is translated “favor” or “favored.” It has absolutely no connotations of favorite, of being somehow set apart from others. It’s related to grace. Joy. One who brings delight. So what Gabriel is saying to Mary is, Greetings, “graced” one, one whom God fills with grace. Greetings, one who brings God joy and delight. Greetings, you who bring joy and delight to God.

After Jesus’ birth and after all of the events of his life, death and resurrections, Christians have certainly looked back at Mary as uniquely favored, as special, more blessed than others. Looking back, we have attributed a special and different status to her. And hers was, of course, a unique vocation. We hold her in special esteem.

But before Gabriel came to her, was she more favored by God than others? The Scriptures do not seek to paint her that way. And I think they would have been deeply tempted to do so if there had been even the slightest perception or evidence that she was chosen because she was special. She is not described as unusually pious or prayerful. She has no special status or role. She’s just a young woman from a small town. She could be any young woman.

And the awesome angel Gabriel shows up and says, Greetings, favored one. And she says, who me? Me? Favored?

As Luke tells the story, she is much perplexed and apparently afraid, by the greeting. This is before Gabriel mentions what God has in mind. Mary is perplexed by the greeting. She is confused and frightened by an angel who describes her as favored by God.

We may assume that she does not see herself that way. She sees herself as ordinary and unremarkable.

One writer says that the greatest thing that happens in the course of this remarkable passage is Mary’s journey from being who she sees herself to be to becoming who God sees her to be. The greatest part of this story is Mary’s journey from seeing herself as ordinary and unremarkable in God’s eyes, to seeing herself as what she has always been—favored by God.

Do you see yourself as one favored by God? Do you know and feel like you bring joy and delight to God? If the angel called you favored one, would you believe him? Or would you look over your shoulder to see to whom he was really talking?

Jesus was born because God favors us! Each of us. Pure and simple. Christmas happened because God favors us. Each of us favored by God.

It took Mary a little bit of time and reflection to absorb and accept what Gabriel said. And it may take us a little time and cogitation, prayer and wonder. But the same journey is ours to make. From who we see ourselves to be to who God sees us to be.

You are favored by God. The words are spoken by Gabriel to you today. Greetings, favored one. In the midst of whatever may be going on in your life right now. Greetings to you, favored one.

Mary wasn’t expecting a visit from Gabriel that night. She hadn’t made any special preparations. Actually, we have no evidence that it was night. Maybe it was day. Maybe she was cleaning, or harried with duties. Maybe she was in a foul mood. And the angel Gabriel came to her and said: Greetings, Mary. You are favored by God. You bring joy and delight to God. God pours his grace upon you.
Today, the angel says that to you. That is how God sees you. You are favored by God. You bring joy and delight to God.

There’s a prayer in our compline service that I’ve always found a bit quaint. We pray: Almighty God, keep me as the apple of your eye. It actually comes from the psalms. And we are, each of us, the apple of God’s eye.

Jesus was born because God favors us.

Can you make Mary’s journey? From however you may see yourself to how God sees you as favored and full of grace? It’s a journey we should all do our best to make. It is actually a form of the sin of pride to see ourselves as less than God sees us, to presume to discredit God’s care and favor. And Mary’s journey is part of the Advent journey towards Christmas. It is part of preparing for Jesus’ birth, of being able to welcome him into our lives.

Maybe it lurks in some intellectual corner of your lives… Yes, I know God cares for me, but… There are no buts. Bring that awareness up and out into fullness, into the open in your life. You bring joy and delight to God. Greetings, favored one, and one, and one, and one, and one…. Greetings, favored ones.

The Third Sunday of Advent

2011-12-12T11:03:00.000-08:00

Three Principles for Christian Living
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

As I did last week, I ask you to imagine a scene with a child and a parent or other caregiver. It’s the child’s first day of kindergarten. Or maybe it’s the child’s first day of middle school or any other great endeavor. And the parent is giving her child last minute advice before the bus comes. Very important instructions for making the most of life… Basic principles to hang on to…

All of us have been the child in this scene. Many of you have also been the parent. What kernels of advice were you given or did you give? I recently asked one mom what advice she gave her daughter on the first day of school. Three things. Remember these three things, she said: Pay attention. Listen, especially to your teacher. Have fun. Good advice for a young student. Good principles to live by in kindergarten.

These sorts of principles are important. Parents pass them on to their children in the hope that the children will be more than just passive participants in life, but will flourish and make the most of life’s opportunities. They help us grow. Grow into who we are called to be.

In addition to the principles our parents may impart, there are many other sources of principles for living.

The boy scouts have twelve. That seems to me like too many to remember, and yet many scouts have remembered them and, to at least some degree, tried to live by them. A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.

This time of year, many African Americans will soon be celebrating Kwanza. Central to that celebration is the affirmation of seven guiding principles for living. Unity, self-determination, collective work and responsibility, cooperative economics, purpose, creativity, faith.

One more example. I’ve had Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute in my head all weekend. I don’t see the current production at Lyric until January, but once the music gets in your head, it stays. It is about the young hero’s journey towards love, purpose and fulfillment. Whenever he comes to a crisis or needs help, three young spirits appear to encourage and guide him. In their clear treble voices they sing: Sei standhaft! Duldsam! Und verschwiegen! Even if you don’t understand the German, they sound like laudable, vigorous principles. Be steadfast, patient and discreet, the spirits sing. These will enable you to achieve your goal.

None of these various collections of guiding principles are explicitly Christian. None are anti-Christian, but none speak specifically to living a Christian life. Thinking again of a child heading off to the first day of school, if we are the child and God is the parent, what instruction might we be given? What principles should we hang onto during the day so that we might be who we want to be, to live as Christians?

We have the ten commandments, of course. These precede the Christian witness, but are certainly worthwhile principles to live by. Jesus provides the summary of the law: you shall love God with your whole being and your neighbor as yourself. This is very important guidance, but could feel a bit abstract for daily living.

Then there’s Paul’s advice in the First Letter to the Thessalonians. I’m surprised we don’t repeat and emphasize these more. In the passage appointed for today, Paul is bringing his letter to a close. He is saying goodbye to the Thessalonians and giving them parting advice. Paul had just founded the Christian church in Thessalonica, and he had probably only been gone a month or two when he wrote this letter. Remember these are brand new Christians. They need basic, practical advice on how to be Christians. They live surrounded by pagan and secular pressures and temptations (as do we).

And Paul gives them three principles to live by: Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. Give thanks in all circumstances.

Paul gives the same advice in Romans, Colossians, and Ephesians. As one commentator says, these principles “belong essentially to the Christian life as Paul lived and taught it.”

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. Give thanks in all circumstances.

One thing strikes me immediately as I consider this list. All three things happen all of the time. Paul does not say, rejoice when it’s your birthday. He does not say, pray when you are in trouble. He does not say, give thanks when you get an A or win the game. Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. Give thanks in all circumstances. There are no gaps. There is no time when you put the Christian life and identity aside.

Rejoice always. Rejoice in the gift of faith… the gifts of the spirit. Rejoice even in difficult times. The psalmist rejoiced in times of plenty and in times of trial. Paul rejoiced even in his suffering. Rejoice. Have fun. Rejoice because the spark of wonder and joy has been implanted in your heart by the Holy Spirit. On this third Sunday of Advent, our focus is often on Mary, although it’s not explicit in the Scripture readings this year. But remember the Magnificat, Mary’s great hymn of praise. My spirit rejoices in God my savior. My spirit rejoices in God. Always.

And pray without ceasing. This doesn’t mean we need to be on our knees reciting prayers from the Prayer Book 24/7. It does mean we should maintain our conversation, our connection, with God at all times. We should seek God’s presence and guidance and be open to God’s word to us in every aspect of our lives. Never let your focus on God wane or cease.

And give thanks in all things. Flip through the Book of Common Prayer and you will find many prayers of thanksgiving for all sorts of occasions and circumstances. This service that we participate in each Sunday, the Holy Eucharist, is a service of thanksgiving. In all circumstances, there is opportunity for thanksgiving. And we are called to be more than thank-ful; we are called to give thanks. One of the general thanksgivings in the Prayer Book concludes with a thanksgiving for the opportunity to know Christ and make Christ known. Give thanks in all circumstances for the opportunity to know Christ and make Christ known.

So every morning, when you embark on whatever your day holds, whether it is a grand new adventure or a day of mundane routine, hear Paul speak to you with these three important principles for Christian living: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, and give thanks in all circumstances.”

The Second Sunday of Advent

2011-12-12T10:57:00.000-08:00

Pay Attention
Isaiah 40:1-11
Mark 1:1-8

I’d like you to bring to mind a scene that you can undoubtedly imagine or remember. A child is trying to get the attention of a parent or teacher or some other adult. The child has just learned some great new skill or accomplishment or has made some wondrous discovery, and he wants to share it. But first he has to get his father’s attention. Speaking, poking, pestering, waiting… sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t work to get an adult’s attention.

And how often, even if the child succeeds in drawing his parents’ attention, does the parent say, “Yes, I’m watching, dear” and then immediately turn back whatever they were doing or talking to before?
In this scene, God is the child, and each of us is the preoccupied adult. God has wonderful things to show us if only he could get our attention.

Prophets are often thought of as soothsayers, people who predict the future. That is never the Biblical witness. They are spokespeople, individuals who speak for God. Or, the more I think about it, maybe the primary job of the prophet is to get the peoples’ attention. The prophet tries to shake the people out of their routine… To get them to stop whatever they are preoccupied with long enough to see or hear God.

The Old Testament prophets were good at getting peoples’ attention. There was a great example in the daily office readings this week from Amos. Amos painted a vivid picture of the dire consequences that would ensue if the people remained indifferent or oblivious to God.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, Isaiah, too, is trying to get the peoples’ attention, but in a different way. He paints a picture of hope and promise for those who focus on and follow God. But he’s still saying, “pay attention.” If you will only pay attention, God has great things in store for you.

It is not easy to get our attention.

I recently heard an interview on the radio with Harvey Weinstein. He’s a movie producer credited with “inventing” the modern Oscar campaign. These days producers actively advertise and campaign for their films to receive Oscars. In any case, I heard this interview and I thought “Advent.”

Weinstein said: “I… grew up in politics and I used to work for the Democratic party. When I first got into politics, I met Frank Sedita, who was the mayor of Buffalo … and he told me: ‘When I was young, Harvey, we didn’t have media TV advertising or any of those things to get a crowd. … It’s hard to get people’s attention. … What we used to do is throw a little bomb in the middle of the street. Everybody would come out of their houses in the 1920s to see what all the fuss was.’ [Sedita would] grab a soapbox, get up and say, ‘Hi, I’m Frank Sedita and I’m running for so-and-so.’

“The metaphor to me was: If you can make some noise, perhaps you can find a way to get people away from seeing the stupider movie that week or the movie that the kids want to go to. … You just say, ‘You know what? I’m sorry, guys, I’m going to go and nourish my mind instead’” (www.npr.org).

It’s hard to get people’s attention. But maybe if you throw a bomb into the middle of their lives… Maybe if you make enough noise… So God sent John the Baptist.

God want to nourish our souls. God wants to show us the wonder of the incarnation, the birth of God’s son among us. But first God needs to get our attention. And that is not easy.

Evidently, John the Baptist did a pretty good job of grabbing people’s attention back then.

By all accounts his physical appearance was an attention-getter, wearing sackcloth and eating locusts. Would that get your attention today? Outlandish dress hardly creates a ripple these days. At most, we might give it a passing glance.

John offered forgiveness for sins. Would that get your attention? Would you drop what you are doing to listen to sole voice preaching repentance?

John proclaimed that someone of immense power and majesty is coming. Would that get your attention?

What would it take to break into your awareness, to distract you from personal preoccupations? What would it take to really get your attention long enough to see and experience the wonder of God’s birth in the world?

And consider this: This Advent season, how can you be a prophet for someone else? What can you do to get someone else’s attention so that they can witness their Savior’s birth?

The First Sunday of Advent

2011-12-01T08:51:00.000-08:00

The Blessings of This Day

The season of Advent is about time. The passage of time is a recurrent theme within Advent. In this mortal life we all live within time, of course. Advent nudges us to reflect upon the passage of time. The primary symbols of Advent are about time. The Advent wreath on which we light additional candles as the weeks pass. The Advent calendar which marks the passing days of the season.

All seasons cover a span of time, but Advent is defined primarily as time—the time between a set beginning and a defined end. Advent is the time before Christmas. It doesn’t so much have its own identity as it is just time before Christmas. Time which starts four Sundays before Christmas Day.

We often talk about the time of Advent as time for hopeful waiting. A time when, in our spiritual lives, we savor the sweetness of anticipation. Advent reassures us of the sureness of God’s promise, a promise that will be fulfilled in a future time. We hope that as this season draws us forward, it also draws us closer to God.

This year I’ve been thinking about Advent as a time spent waiting for God. In all aspects of our lives, we miss a lot if we’re spending our time just waiting for the future. No matter how faithfully or hopefully we may be waiting, if we’re just waiting for some future event, we’re missing the present. I don’t think God intentionally tarries just to teach us how to wait.

Maybe Advent is less about waiting and more a lesson in learning how to praise the blessing of time. Time itself is a gift. Don’t waste it waiting. Don’t waste the gift of time in impatience or indifference or in a blind focus on some future event or expectation.

Advent is not just one more countdown. We’re good at those… counting down the time as we await some exciting event. We countdown to space launches (or we used to) and that exciting roar of liftoff to adventure and exploration. A prisoner counts down the days to release. Our culture counts down the shopping days until Christmas (with stress and excitement). A school child counts down the days to vacation with eager anticipation. We countdown time, eager to put it behind us as we wait for the excitement of the future.

Advent is more than a holy countdown.

I’ve been thinking about the difference between an Advent calendar and a calendar on which we are counting down the days to vacation or some other exciting event. I think over the years I’ve undervalued the power of the Advent calendar as a symbol, seeing it as just another way to count the days until Christmas. To remind you how an Advent calendar works: They should start today, the first Sunday of Advent, although the ones you buy in the stores will start December 1. A window or door covers each day. And as that day comes, you open the window and there is always a wonderful treat inside. Sometimes it’s chocolate, or a word of encouragement, or a beautiful picture. It’s always a treat, a blessing, a source of joy.

On calendars when we are “counting down the days” we X off each day as it passes. It’s X’ed out… over with, gone, useless. All we want from those days is to get them behind us so that we can cross them off and get closer to whatever we await in the future.

In an Advent calendar, each day is a window that opens upon a treat, a blessing.

Advent reminds us to cherish the present time, to celebrate the joy of this day. As time passes, each day brings a gift, a blessing from God.

During this Advent season, we do look forward to the celebration of our Savior’s birth. But I’m encouraged also to look to time much closer at hand. We have a whole span of days before us. And a treat is offered to us in every single one of them.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T05:05:00.000-08:00

Give Thanks for Giving

South Suburban Ministerial Association

Community Interfaith Thanksgiving Service

It may surprise you to hear me say that, as a preacher, I find Thanksgiving extremely challenging. It might seem like it should be a slam dunk. As a person of faith, giving thanks… giving thanks to God is one of my primary activities. Preaching on thanksgiving should be a simple pleasure.

But I find it very challenging to preach on this particular holiday. One of the challenges is unique to me as an Episcopalian. As we celebrate Thanksgiving as a national holiday here in America, part of our focus is on a historical event—the arrival of the Mayflower in 1620, the safe landing of the Pilgrims, and their spirited escape from religious persecution by the government and Church of England. The Episcopal Church in America is a direct descendent of the Church of England. The pilgrims were fleeing us.

In many ways the contemporary American Episcopal Church is a very far cry from the Church of England in the 17th century, but as contemporary Episcopalians we cherish much of what we inherited from that church. I give thanks for religious freedom, but I cannot demonize those from whom the Pilgrims fled. This business of claiming history as our own story is complicated… We might all do well to be reminded of that.

It is also challenging for me, and perhaps for you, to avoid a certain spiritual smugness as we undertake the task of counting our blessings at Thanksgiving time. It is good to be mindful of our blessings and to name them as blessings. But despite our very best and sincere efforts, it seems almost impossible not to end up thanking God that we happen to be on the right side of a world in which the distributive justice that I believe God yearns for is not realized. As we express our gratitude to God for all that we have been given, we do so in the shadow of those less fortunate. And I’m not talking about the 99% or the 1% in this country. Statistics are mushy, but I’m talking about the 15% who live below the poverty level in this country or the 25% of the world’s population that lives on less than a dollar and a quarter a day. I cannot thank God for data that indicate that the inequality of private consumption is growing exponentially.

Moving on… I do try to at least limit my Thanksgiving sermon rants…. But to name one final challenge for the Thanksgiving preacher. How can I possibly say anything tonight that you don’t already know?

Actually, I think it often is the preacher’s task to tell us things we already know… to give words to things that God has spoken into our hearts… to celebrate out loud the inner truths of life as God’s beloved people.

So let me tell you something I hope you already know. Let me tell you about the joy, and the blessing—of giving. The joy and blessing that are part of the experience of giving.

And I remind you tonight to give thanks for giving. To give thanks for the opportunities and the experiences of giving. I’m not just encouraging you to give, although I certainly do that. I’m encouraging you to give thanks for the opportunities and the experiences of giving.

There are many reasons to give of ourselves. We give back as a grateful response for what we’ve been given. We also give out of a sense of moral responsibility to care for one another. Those are values that many people might share.

Or we give just because it’s a joy and a blessing to give. Not out of a sense of obligation or as a specific response of gratitude at holiday time. Those are great, but giving just because we can is a source of joy and blessing. That’s the truth that God whispers into our hearts. That’s the experience of God’s faithful people. Faithful giving. Faithful giving brings us close to God. Giving, just for the sake of giving, is a way to share in God’s own life, to “partner” with God in God’s work. That’s an indescribably exciting and joyous experience.

So give. Your ideas, your creativity. And feel God’s creative spark kindle within you. Give your time. Give within your families. Give within your neighborhoods and your faith communities. Give your labor and know the sure guidance and unflagging zeal of God working with you. Give your laughter and your hopes. Give within the broader communities of the south suburbs. Give your music and your money. Give around the world; share with God in God’s own limitless compassion and generous love.

Faithful giving is a blessing. The opportunities and the acts of giving are something to be thankful for. So this Thanksgiving, let us give thanks for giving.

The Last Sunday after Pentecost

2011-11-24T05:01:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolutions

It’s the end of the year. Today is the last Sunday of the church year. In a sense, it is New Year’s Eve.

There is a profound disconnect this time of year between the church calendar and the secular calendar. In our secular lives, the holidays are coming. This is not a time to pause. Both anticipation and stress are building. Momentum is hurtling us forward into the holiday season. On the secular calendar, the new year comes after the holidays.

How do we mark that transition that comes December 31? Do we look back, reflect on the past year? Certainly the media will present us with infinite lists of the “top ten” occurrences of the past year… the top ten political stories of 2011, the top ten sports events, the top ten movies… But in terms of individual personal reflection, it doesn’t seem we do much thoughtful looking back.

New Year’s Eve's perspective on the past seems to be a whiff of nostalgia as people sing Old Lang Syne (does anyone actually know the words?) and a lot of drunken amnesia.

And we look to the year ahead with a determination to “wipe the slate clean; get a new start.” I’m just gonna put the past behind me and starting today I’m gonna be a new person.

Year’s End in the church is different. We commemorate New Year’s Eve every year with reminders of judgment. These last two Sundays of the church year always hold up before us the images of judgment… both the judgment that comes to us in this life and God’s final judgment that lies ahead of us all.

We are reminded that the slate of the past cannot be wiped clean by amnesia or denial or our own deliberate resolution to “put the past behind us.” Only God’s mercy and forgiveness can restore and renew our souls.

As we look back and reflect upon our lives and our past actions, the church reminds us to turn to God and seek forgiveness and reconciliation. And coupled with that process of reconciliation, the church talks about “amendment of life.” That’s the forward-looking part of spiritual renewal. Amendment of life. That’s what Christians call New Year’s Resolutions.

Many of you know that the annual convention of the Diocese of Chicago just concluded. St. John’s was represented by a great group. We met with others from throughout the diocese this Friday and Saturday. Part of convention is the Bishop’s Address (find the entire address here). In the context of his address this year, Bishop Lee gave us all a charge. Over the last few years Bishop Lee has articulated the diocesan mission with these words: Grow the church; form the faithful; change the world. His charge is cast in that format. These are great New Year’s Resolutions.

Bishop Lee’s charge to every member of the Diocese of Chicago:

Grow the Church… Everyone talk to one. I want every member of this diocese to have at least one meaningful conversation in the next year with someone about their life and God. This is all evangelism boils down to. We’re good at conversations and evangelism happens one conversation at a time. If you find the prospect of discussing our faith with someone daunting, fear not. The website will have a variety of resources that will help you to meet this challenge—and quite possibly even enjoy it. It might be as simple as sharing with a coworker a defining moment in your life. Throughout the year we’ll be publishing your faith stories, and you will hear more about that in the new year.

Form the Faithful… Everyone study one. I ask every member of this diocese to read one verse, one part of a chapter of the bible every day. Use Forward Day by Day, the Daily Office lectionary, an online resource such as the Speaking to the Soul blog at Episcopal Café. Join a bible study group—a great bible teacher in our church Verna Dozier used to say, “No one should read the bible! They need to study it!” Let’s read, mark, learn and inwardly digest the scriptures.

Change the world… Everyone help one. Let every member of this diocese choose one person, one cause, one agency, one outreach activity to support. I am talking about something that goes beyond the money we might toss into the red bucket outside the grocery store (although that’s great), and involves you personally, something that involves relationship, something about which you need to learn something.

Talk to one. Study one. Help one. Great resolutions for the new year.

The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost

2011-11-13T14:16:00.000-08:00

The Opposite of Faithful: Lazy
Matthew 25:14-30

As many of you know we, as a parish, had a funeral yesterday. It was a wonderful family affair. It was hard to tell where the Madden family ended and the parish family began. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

There is a line in today’s Gospel that is sometimes associated with memorial services. It may have slipped past you in our current translation.

Just to recap the parable that Jesus tells: A man of considerable resources is going away on a long journey and needs someone to care for his property. He summons three of his own—in some translations they are servants, in others they are slaves, in one they are bondsmen—they are his own. He entrusts his money to them. As Matthew tells the story, it’s a lot of money. More than they might see in a lifetime. Two invest the money they are given; one hides it.

The man returns and settles accounts. To those who invested the money and produced an additional return, the master (in many translations he is called lord) says: “Well done, good and trustworthy slave.” In the King James translation, the lord says, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” To the slave who did nothing with the money he was given, the master says “You wicked and lazy slave.”

This parable is often understood to teach us that we are to use the talents we are given. And it does teach us that. But I want to add weight to that teaching.

We are nearing the end of the church year. Today is the next to last Sunday in the church year. This time of year, the readings and the teaching of the church always focus on judgment. We are prodded to take the measure of our lives. We are called to accountability, to consider the consequences of our way of living.

Next Sunday, the Gospel will be about the Last Judgment. On the whole, I’m more interested in the consequences of our actions that we face in this life than I am in the final judgment. But there is no doubt that Matthew offers this parable against the backdrop of the last judgment. This is serious stuff.

In the shadow of judgment, the lord or master’s words to his servants are meant to highlight a stark contrast. Two different ways of living. The phrases are intentionally parallel. Well done, good and faithful servant. You wicked and lazy servant.

Good and faithful.
Wicked and lazy.

Laziness is coupled with wickedness. And this isn’t just physical laziness. It is laziness of life. And laziness is contrasted to faithfulness. This is what really hit me. If you remember nothing else, remember this. In this parable, the opposite of faithful is lazy.

How would you measure laziness? Life-laziness of body and soul? I wonder if we don’t measure it the same way we measure wealth. I can’t city any actual research, but I’ve heard that most people measure wealth as a little more money than they have. No matter what their economic status may be. They do not see themselves as wealthy. Wealth is just a little more than I have. By analogy, laziness is just a little less than I do. I am not lazy. The person who does less than me is lazy.

This parable is not about idleness providing opportunity for the devil. It’s not about all of those sayings and clichés where idle hands lead to the devil’s work. That may be true, but it’s a completely different subject. This parable is about idleness itself being wicked. It is not about wicked acts. A failure to act is equated with wickedness.

Nor is this parable is not about our “talents," about whether or not we nurture our artistic talent or use our talent of patience for good. The word talent occurs in the parable, and it’s easy to slip into talking about our talents even though that’s not what the word means here.

This parable isn’t about some particular individual talent; it is about life. It is about what we do with our lives. The word faithful is sometimes translated trustworthy, as we heard today. A faithful servant is one who is worthy of the life God has entrusted to him or her.

This is another example from the Bible where faith is not about belief. Being faithful is not about holding certain beliefs. Being a faithful servant is about what we do with our lives. Do the actions of our lives illustrate a life worthy of God’s trust? Faithfulness and trustworthiness are the same thing. To live faithfully is to act in a way worthy of God’s trusting us with life.

The alternative to faithful living is laziness. The Greek word translated lazy or (in the King James) slothful describes “those who are slow to act through hesitation, anxiety, negligence or sloth” (Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, ed. Kittel and Friedrich).

At the end of this parable, the lord describes the lazy slave as “worthless.” A faithful life is a life worthy of God’s trust. A lazy life is worthy of nothing; it is worthless.

One commentator writing on this parable summarized it by saying: “Indolence in the service of the lord is wicked.” He continues: “God’s gift can never be passively possessed” (The Good News according to Matthew, Eduard Schweizer). As long as we are passive, we cannot really know or possess God’s gifts.

God has given us, entrusted us, with the gift of life. We are meant to use that life to enrich the Kingdom of God. This parable is about the Kingdom of God. The activity to which we are all called in life is to enrich the Kingdom of God. The children of God are the Kingdom of God. Enrich the Kingdom of God. That means feeding, teaching, evangelizing, giving, building, creating.

Two starkly different ways of living: Good and faithful. Wicked and lazy. And there are consequences. A good and faithful life leads to joy. Enter into the joy of your lord. Share a life of joy with God.
A life of laziness leads to outer darkness. A life without light, without joy, without God.

All Saints Sunday

2011-11-11T12:52:00.000-08:00

The Communion of Saints

In our worship together today we are celebrating All Saints’ Day. Officially, of course, All Saints’ Day falls on November 1. But the Prayer Book allows, even encourages, us to celebrate it on the Sunday following.

There are several ways to look at what we celebrate when we celebrate All Saints’ Day. This year I really want to focus on the communion of saints. What we celebrate in worship on All Saints’ Day is the communion of saints.

A book called Holy Women, Holy Men describes the calendar of named saints who we have the option of remembering in the Episcopal Church. It replaces and expands upon earlier books that were titled Lesser Feasts and Fasts. Holy Women, Holy Men reminds us that for centuries Christians have acknowledged and celebrated the “intercommunion of the living and the dead in the Body of Christ.” There’s that word “communion” or “intercommunion.” All Saints’ Day is about the intercommunion in Christ of the living and the dead.

Holy Women, Holy Men also reminds us that church is defined as “the communion of saints, that is, a people made holy through their mutual participation in the mystery of Christ.” We, all of us, are the communion of saints. Or part of the communion of saints.

On All Saints’ Day we do not so much celebrate the saints themselves. They are individual historical figures worthy of remembrance (not, in our tradition, worthy of worship). As individuals they have stories to tell and lessons to teach us. But what we celebrate today is the communion of saints. We celebrate that there is a communion of saints. We celebrate the wonderful mystery of God’s gift of connection, communion, intercommunion. We celebrate the bonds that form the communion of saints.

Focus for a moment on the word community, rather than communion. A community is more than a group, more than a collection. Community is more than a gathering, even a gathering of people with a common interest. Community is formed by shared experience. Community is forged by mutual participation in a common experience. Experience is key. Think about how we use the word “commune.” To commune with nature is more than observing or even appreciating; to commune with nature is to experience nature. It’s all about experience. And community is all about shared experience. The experience that is shared by the communion of saints is the presence of God. We experience the presence of God, because God chooses to commune with us.

Communion, beyond our understanding of community, speaks of the reality of shared experience even across the chasm of death. A shared experience of God’s presence and therefore even a shared experience of one another within the communion of saints. Even across the apparent boundary of death.

This connection among the communion of saints is begun at baptism and cannot be broken by any force on earth. It is strengthened and enriched by participation in the life of the community. Today we baptize Ruby into the communion of saints, into the church. Part of what that means is that she will soon be connected to the experiences of Saint Richard Hooker, of Saint Anskar, and Saint Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky. Their faith, their own experiences of God will become hers as well. Saint Ruby will also come into communion with each of us and we with her. Her joy, her blessing will become our joy and blessing, too.

It is the shared experience of God that unites us and, in fact, makes us holy. I’ve been trying to think of metaphors for the communion of saints. It’s a bit like a power grid you can always plug into. Unlike our physical power grids, this one never goes down. Anywhere, anytime you can plug into the communion of saints and experience the presence of God. Or it’s like an aquifer always flowing with living water. Whenever we participate in the communion of saints, we tap into that living water. Or it’s probably like cloud computing—if I understand cloud computing. Access to God is not limited to any particular time or place or just one unique access device. Just being with one (or more) other members of the Body of Christ creates a communion, linked by the living presence of God.

It is about access. God certainly can and does appear to isolated individuals. But as participants in the communion of all saints, we have guaranteed, universal access to the experience of God’s presence. That’s something to celebrate.

The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-11-03T14:33:00.000-07:00

Faith, Hope and Charity
Deuteronomy 34:1-12

Among the propers appointed for this day, once again it is the collect which caught my attention.

In it we pray to God to “increase in us the gifts of faith, hope and charity.” This is another ancient prayer of the church; Christians have been praying it in corporate worship for many centuries. The words clearly draw upon First Corinthians, chapter 13. This is the well-known passage where Paul speaks of God’s gifts of faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love. It’s a bit interesting that this passage is so commonly chosen at weddings. The sort of love Paul is talking about in First Corinthians is not romantic love, eros, it is agape. Agape, the self-giving, generous love, derived from God, sometimes translated as charity. There is certainly a place for agape in marriage, but it’s not what most dewy-eyed couples are thinking about on their wedding days.

But to return to the collect for today. We pray for the gifts of faith, hope and agape or charity.

Many of you will be aware of those questions on standardized tests where you have to pick which item doesn’t fit in the list? They give you a list like apple, pear, orange, tricycle, and you have to identify which item does not fit in the list.

Faith, hope, and charity. At least for me, at first glance charity doesn’t seem to fit in this list. It’s different. It’s an action. Charity is about what we do in the world for others. Faith and hope are just about us, God’s gifts to us. And they’re not actions; they’re internal qualities.

So, while these are all good things—faith, hope and charity—charity seems out of place in this list…

Or maybe charity is not the odd one in this list. Maybe it’s the key to understanding the other two. Charity is an action. It’s about what we do. Maybe that’s the key to a better understanding of faith and hope.

Bernard Brandon Scott (in the Saving Jesus curriculum) talks about the huge shift in Christianity’s self understanding that took place primarily during the time of Constantine and the writing of the creeds. Christianity shifted from being primarily about praxis, a set of practices, to being primarily about belief. Being a Christian used to be about what you did. Then it became about what you believed. Scott thinks this was a disastrous shift.

We definitely live on this side of that shift. We equate faith with belief. For us, we think that to have faith is to have belief in at least most of the affirmations of the creeds.

Scott and others point out that in the Bible, faith was a verb. English doesn’t even have a word for faith as a verb. In the Bible the people who Jesus commends for their faith are commended for their actions, for what they do. For example, those who are healed by Jesus have come to him at considerable personal effort and risk, trusting in his presence and power. He doesn’t quiz them on their belief; he commends them for their action in coming.

Some sort of belief usually motivates that action, but it’s not necessary. You can act even on those days you’re not sure any of the creed is true. In fact, that’s what Christians do. (And, as an aside, in that action you will often enrich your belief.) But it’s the action that seems to count. And action is always a choice.

Faith is the choice to act in trust of God’s presence and God’s love. To venture out, trusting in God’s presence and love. To venture out of your personal space, your personal identity, your personal safety, your personally constructed world, risking, offering your actions, your time, your resources, in trust of God’s presence and love.

Ultimately, faith is not about whether you believe that Jesus is “very God of very God, begotten of his father before all worlds.” Faith is just about acting like Jesus is real. Act in the world like Jesus is real in the world. Act like Jesus is real.

So faith, like charity, is really about how we act in the world. It’s not so much some intrinsic quality; it’s about what we do with our lives.

What about hope? It is certainly my prayer that God will increase the gift of hope in me. And what I think of when I utter that prayer is a yearning to feel hopeful.

A sermon by Bruce Epperly (in a recent issue of Christian Century) on this morning’s Scriptures focuses on the Deuteronomy reading. Moses has done so much, worked so hard and yet he is not given to reach the Promised Land. It seems supremely unfair. About this, Epperly writes: “What we do in the present shapes the future and the future of those who follow us. We are always planting seeds for fruit that we will never harvest.”

It was never about Moses getting to the Promised Land. He would have made a lot better time traveling by himself. It was always about the future of God’s people.

Hope is about planting seeds for fruit that we will never harvest. Epperly also quotes a statement attributed to Martin Luther: “Even if I knew the world would end tomorrow, I would still plant a tree today.”

Hope is about acting in the present on behalf of the future. It is about creating beauty that will endure; it’s about sowing seeds of justice that will only bear fruit with future generations; it’s about living sustainably so that God’s people in the future will be enriched by the resources of God’s creation. It’s not about feeling hopeful. Hope is about acting for the future.

So like charity and faith, hope, too, is about action.

I talked about charity last week. Maybe not by name, but charity is acts of generosity through which we share the abundance of God’s blessing and goodness that we have with others. Charity is about distributing God’s blessings to God’s people. Give unto God’s people all the richness and blessing that are God’s.

So faith, hope, and charity do all fit together in this list of God’s gift. They are all about what we do as Christians. They are all about how we act, how we practice our Christianity in the world.

Almighty God, increase in us your gifts of faith, hope and charity. Give us the desire and the ability to act faithfully, in thanksgiving and proclamation of your real presence in our world. Give us the desire and the ability to act hopefully, acting not only for ourselves, but on behalf of future children of God. Give us the desire and ability to act charitably, generously sharing in your self-giving love for others. Almighty God, help us do what Christians do.

The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-10-17T16:10:00.000-07:00

Give to God's People the Things that are God's
Matthew 22:15-22

Today’s Gospel passage concludes with probably one of the most widely known passages in Scripture. From the old King James translation: Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God. This passage is frequently used to justify the separation of church and state or as a prod to generous stewardship. But this passage begins with the Pharisees. Historians and religious scholars don’t seem to know a lot about the Pharisees: who they really were, how important they were, what their role or purpose was.

The Gospel writers portray them as active opponents of Jesus. And that gets my attention. When I think of the lack of discipleship in our contemporary society it seems to me to come from indifference, and maybe some selfishness, but not active opposition.

But the Pharisees actively sought to discredit and defeat Jesus. And not just the Pharisees. In today’s passage, Matthew says that the Herodians have come to challenge Jesus as well. It’s easy to read right past that phrase, but we shouldn’t. Here’s what one commentator says about the Herodians in this story: “Now the Pharisees have brought members of the Herodians along. These are the courtiers and clients of Herod, Rome’s puppet king. They represent not only the Jewish ruling authority in Judaea outside the city of Jerusalem, but also the threat of Roman intervention in Jesus’ public ministry. Notoriously, Herod and his followers accommodated the Roman occupying power. So when the Herodians show up to listen to Jesus, the authority of Caesar has now entered the scene” (Angela V. Askew, Sermons that Work).

In the Gospels the Pharisees represent, not so much Judaism overall, but the entrenched structure and power of the temple authorities. And the Herodians represent the political power structure of the day. They represent Caesar and the Roman empire.

In the Adult Ed class last year one of the curricula we used was titled “Eclipsing Empire.” Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan presented the material. Their primary thesis is that God’s Kingdom, as it was presented and manifest in Jesus, directly threatened to eclipse the Roman Empire. Borg and Crossan stress that talking about Jesus without talking about the Roman Empire is like talking about Martin Luther King without talking about racism in America. And yet in church we very often talk about Jesus without any mention of the Roman Empire. They stress that we really need that historical matrix to understand and interpret Jesus’ words and actions.

This certainly seems a valid point with this Gospel passage. In this passage Jesus is reacting. Jesus’ words are said in reaction to provocation from the Pharisees and representatives of the Roman Empire.
Borg and Crossan emphasize how Jesus was an explicit threat to the Empire. For example, Caesar’s public titles at the time included: “Divine, Son of God, God, God from God, Lord, Liberator, Redeemer, and Savior of the World.” When equivalent claims and status are attributed to Jesus, they come into direct conflict.

Also, the Kingdom of God and the Roman Empire offered contrasting ways to order society, to bring peace and stability, to establish right relationship between citizens. In the Roman Empire peace is achieved through victory. Civic relationships are characterized by a differential of power and this maintains security and stability.

In the Kingdom of God peace is achieved through justice… the sort of justice which is called distributive justice. Right relationship between citizens in the Kingdom of God is characterized by a just distribution of God’s blessing and abundance.

Peace through the victory of the powerful. Peace through the just distribution of God’s abundance. Empire versus the Kingdom of God.

We do well to ask ourselves today: What is the coinage of our relationships with others in society, in the world. What is the coinage of our relationships with other human beings? Is it power? Or is it the just distribution of God’s gifts? Are we on the side of Empire or the Kingdom of God?
I think it is hard to deny that in the global world of nations we live in a world of empire, a world where relationships are characterized by power.

A very superficial Wikipedia search suggested that in a recent year, the United States’ budget for military spending was over 650 billion. In the same time frame, non military foreign aid was around 30 billion. That’s 5% on sharing, compared to power. I know this kind of statement tends to generate knee jerk reactions from people on all parts of the political spectrum. Hold those knee jerks. It occurred to me in passing as I was thinking about these things that knee jerk reactions and kneeling are mutually incompatible activities. You can’t have a knee jerk reaction and kneel at the same time.

I know these are complicated issues. I only mean to illustrate a reality that I think is very hard to deny. We live in a world of empire. We live in a world that maintains, or seeks to maintain peace and stability by the use of power.

We also live in a world that lacks distributive justice. Some of you drive through Ford Heights on your way to church. And there are all of the occupy Wall Street, occupy Chicago, occupy everywhere protests that are going on right now. I haven’t really given these much careful thought. And the issues here, too, are complicated. I am sympathetic to the critics who point out that the protestors are complicit in the systems they criticize and that their goals are vague. But it seems to me that this movement arises out of the unarguable reality that distributive justice is not present in our world. Our world is not characterized by a just distribution of God’s gifts.

We live in a world of empire. And just as he did 2000 years ago when he challenged the Roman Empire, I think Jesus challenges the world of empire in which we live.

I do believe that Jesus calls us to citizenship and advocacy for a world of distributive justice. The Kingdom of God is a place where God’s blessing and bountiful gifts are justly distributed. Even the Pharisees when they were speaking to Jesus noted that Jesus did not treat people with partiality. And our baptismal covenant, our Episcopal articulation of faith and mission, speaks of our call to work for justice and to respect the full and equal dignity of every human being.

Yes, on a global or national scale in the political sphere, these issues are complex. But we must ask ourselves: If we affirm that all good comes from God… all good comes from God… the bounty of the earth, the abundance of blessing, the opportunity for joy and wonder… the rich resources of creation… If all good comes from God, how can we act to help justly distribute God’s good gifts? We must act that question at every stage of our civil and political involvement. How can my action, my voice, my vote, help in the just distribution of God’s gifts?

And the choice between empire and the Kingdom of God is ours also on a more immediate or personal level. Every time you encounter a person in need and you have resources in your possession share, distribute. It’s that simple. Every time you have been blessed with something good or beautiful, share.

A few other examples come to mind. A ministry colleague of mine is involved in a program called the National Parks Project. This is not a government program. It’s a program that works to provide opportunities for kids with limited opportunities to experience our country’s National Parks. It’s a way to share with others the wondrous beauty of God’s creation found in our National Parks. That’s Kingdom of God distributive justice work.

Another program. Chicago Opera Theater (Chicago’s other opera company) has a program called Opera for all. It’s an outreach program in the schools. Lots of cultural institutions do something like this, taking the arts to the schools, and these are all good programs, but this one is special. This is about much more than the formation of future audiences. They go to four elementary schools in Chicago where exposure to the arts is limited. And they don’t just go for one concert; they stay for the whole year. They perform music, yes, but they also work with the students to help the kids write their own operas. I doubt that the finished product has much in common with traditional grand opera, but the kids have the opportunity to be creative. It’s a sharing of God’s gift of creativity. Distributing the glorious gift of creative endeavor more justly.

As Christians, we often talk about how everything comes from God. With that comes the general sense of obligation that we probably ought to be giving more to the church than we are as a way of giving back to God. But God doesn’t need our gifts. And I think we forget that God is not present just in the church, but in the hearts and souls and lives of every human being. God is present in God’s people. To give to God’s people is to give to God.

So maybe we should hear Jesus’ words in this morning’s Gospel like this: Give to God’s people the good things that are God’s. As citizens of the Kingdom of God, we are to work for the just distribution of God’s good gifts. Give to the people of God the abundant goodness that is God’s.

The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-10-13T16:20:00.000-07:00

Our Grace Field
Collect of the Day (proper 23)

The “Propers” are that portion of our Sunday service that is specific to this particular Sunday on the church calendar. As you might imagine, this includes the Scripture readings appointed for this day. The propers also include the collect of the day. And the collect appointed for this day is one that strikes me every year when it comes around.

“Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us.” This prayer is found in a manuscript of liturgical prayers known as the Gregorian sacramentary, which dates from the late 8th century. So Christians have been praying this collect for a very long time.

“Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us.” It always conjures up for me visual images of God’s grace. One image is of the Peanuts character Pigpen. Remember him? Everywhere he went (everywhere!) he was preceded and followed by a great cloud of dust. Or sometimes, with my interest in science fiction, I see a Star Trek image of a personal force field, surrounding an individual. But it’s not a force field, it’s a grace field.

We are surrounded by a field of grace.

What does this grace field do for us? This may sound really obvious, but it’s important. It enables us to be grace-full.

It enables us to be graceful. Full of grace. Many of you are familiar with the prayer known as the Hail Mary. “Hail, Mary, full of grace…” Ave Maria, gratia plena… Part of what this collect says is that “full of grace” isn’t just for Mary anymore. It is for all of us.

God’s grace makes us grace-full. Not, unfortunately in the physical sense. God’s grace won’t get us a place on dancing with the stars. It makes us spiritually grace-full.

As Anglicans, we affirm that the sacraments are a “sure and certain” way through which God bestows grace upon us. But they are not the only way. God pours out his grace with abundance. I like this image of being surrounded by grace throughout our daily lives. We are not just filled with grace; we are surrounded by grace. God’s grace is always near at hand. Similarly Paul, writing from prison, reassures the Philippians: “The Lord is near.”

For theologians, grace is the lynchpin of Christian theology. It is how God shares God’s self with us. Grace is where our lives and God’s lives intersect.

Theologians have written many, many words describing how that intersection takes place. And those descriptions don’t all agree, but all do agree that grace comes to us as an unearned and unmerited gift. Unearned and unmerited.

One way I understand the effect of God’s grace is that it enables us to be better than our best. With God’s grace we, literally, are inspired to be better than the absolute best we could possibly be on our own. An old ad campaign used to claim that in the Army you could be all that you can be. God’s grace enables us to be more than we can be.

God’s grace offers us a share in God’s own life and God’s own power.

I like the image of a grace-field. Although God’s grace does not act like an impenetrable force field. It does not protect us from all physical harm. But I like the idea of God’s grace being outside of us, around us in the space in which we act. God’s grace does not only fill our hearts and affect our feelings. God’s grace empowers our actions. And I like to think that when we act grace-fully that grace-field stretches out to encompass and surround those whom we touch and help.

This grace field enables us to be better than our best. It gives us compassion and the courage and will to act upon that compassion. It inspires us to good works, all good works, as the collect says. Good works even beyond the best of our human nature. God’s grace enables us to forgive the unforgivable.
It is a resource beyond ourselves offering comfort, courage and hope in times of trial. More than we could muster ourselves. God’s grace gives us the gift of wonder… a particularly divine gift… the awe and joy to wonder at the majesty and mystery of God’s creation. And, as St. Paul says in today’s epistle, God’s grace pours peace into hearts… peace beyond all human understanding to guard our hearts and souls.

In the collect we pray that God’s grace field will precede and follow us. Why do we pray that it may follow us? Why do we need God’s grace behind us?

For one thing, to pick up after us. To clean up the messes and hurts we leave behind in our lives. Like a long-suffering parent picking up the trail of a child’s life, God’s grace picks up after us. Grace is the substance of forgiveness and reconciliation. It is grace that makes forgiveness and reconciliation possible. We pray that God’s grace will follow behind us to bring forgiveness and reconciliation to the messes and hurts we leave behind in life.

I have one other thought on the value of God’s grace following behind us. Psalm 139 is probably familiar to many of you. Listen to these verses as the psalmist cries out to God:

Where can I flee from your presence? If I climb up to heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed, you are there also. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea (as far away as humanly possible), even there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will cover me, and the light around me turn to night,’ Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike (Psalm 139:6b-11).

Even if we turn away and try to flee from God, God’s grace will still be there behind us. Even in those times when we turn our back on God, God’s grace is still with us. It’s like trying to outrun your shadow. You can’t.

Roman Catholic theologians have written a lot about grace. They talk about actual grace, cooperating grace, efficacious grace, irresistible grace, prevenient grace, sanctifying grace (which is the same as habitual grace), and sufficient grace.

I’m talking about inescapable grace. God’s inescapable field of grace which fills and surrounds us all, enabling us to be better than our best. Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us.

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-10-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

The Ten Words
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20

This morning’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures includes what we often call the Ten Commandments. The only time they are mentioned by title within the Scriptures themselves, they are called the Ten Words. Not the Ten Commandments, but the ten words. And when we refer to them as the Decalogue, as we do in the Prayer Book, we are using a Greek word that means “ten words.” Decalogue. The ten words.

I like calling them the ten words. Words communicate. Commandments control. The last few days I’ve been wandering around a relatively random sample of references on the Ten Commandments. One point that many commentators make is that these words are much more about identity than regulation. They are words, God’s words, meant to communicate a peoples’ identity, not a set of commandments meant to regulate a society’s behavior. To say they are words about identity does not diminish their significance. I think it makes them even more important, even more foundational.

I want to share a few general observations about the ten words, and then focus on what we usually call the Third Commandment. In today’s reading it was translated: “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God.” The Book of Common Prayer presents it in two translations. One is probably the most familiar: “Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord thy God in vain.” Within the context of the Rite 2 service, the Prayer Book translates it: “You shall not invoke with malice the Name of the Lord your God.” The third commandment.

First a few general observations.

You all know, of course, as important as we consider the Ten Commandments to be, that they appear twice in the Hebrew Scriptures. The content in the two places is very similar. The first list, which we heard this morning, does not mention any stone tablets. That’s in a later version of the story, told by the Deuteronomist.

Several commentators point out that there are only ten. Only ten words. With lots of room in between for freedom and grace to intersect.

It occurs to me that if we insist upon casting these words in stone, and we have been doing that for millennia, since the time of the Deuteronomic editor… if we are going to cast these words in stone, it should be a very large stone. A stone of the expanse of a human life, or perhaps even stretching as large as all human culture. A stone that large with just ten words written upon it and lots of space in between. Space where freedom and grace can intersect. But we don’t usually present the ten words that way. Usually we leave no room in between.

Also, if we are going to cast these words in stone, we should bear in mind that there has long been a difference of opinion on how to exactly delineate the ten words.

The Jews count what we would call the introduction as the first word.

Lutherans and Roman Catholics (and that’s a lot of Christians) combine what we would call one and two into one single commandment and then split the tenth. There are always ten. One for each finger, a helpful mnemonic. But the numbering of the ten varies.

So, if you do feel inclined to cast them unchangeably in stone… you need to get your denominational affiliation straight first. Maybe we aren’t meant to cast them in stone. But cherish them in our hearts and lives.

These words are a gift. A gift to be cherished indeed, given from God directly to the people. That’s rare in the Hebrew Scriptures! God speaks directly to the people. With the gift of these words.

God’s first words are: I am the Lord your God. That’s the starting point. We are God’s people. That’s established at the beginning. God does not say: Here is a list of regulations for your behavior. If you manage to follow these regulations, then you can be my people. God starts out. I am the Lord your God. I give you these words as a gift to help you build your identity as my own people, my beloved.

As I browsed the literature on the Ten Commandments, I found a lot of articles on the one about keeping the Sabbath holy. It’s interesting that this one has attracted so much attention, when it is probably the most widely ignored these days. But all those articles reveal something else. This commandment really requires interpretation. It can’t be taken just at face value. But remember it is a description of identity, rather than a regulation of behavior. It identifies us as a people who value the holiness of the Sabbath. But we must interpret what that means for us in our time. Every faith community has had to interpret this “commandment” within the context of their own place and time.

These ten words are an incredibly important foundation upon which we can build our own identity as God’s people, God’s beloved. God’s words are just the starting point. We must do the work of interpreting and building.

The commandment about the Sabbath is one that clearly requires interpretation. But that is really true of all of them. What we call the third commandment also requires interpretation.

Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord thy God in vain.

At some point American civil religion took this word of God’s and turned it into a general prohibition against swearing. This interpretation is really both too limited and too sweeping. Too limited in that being people who revere God’s Name is about a lot more than swearing. And too sweeping in that it has come to be implied—in American civil religion—that the Ten Commandments prohibit all swearing, even the earthier forms of oaths that do not mention God. I’m not advocating vulgar language, but I don’t see how it has anything to do with the Third Commandment.

So how do we interpret this third word in our time, in our lives?

For one thing, remember that names are important. Our own names are important. We value our names. We want people to spell them correctly, to pronounce them correctly. To know someone’s name is to have some level of intimacy or power over them. The telephone caller who knows your name has more power over you than the one who doesn’t. For those of us in relationship with God, God’s Name is important. Don’t use it casually.

Personally, I am much less concerned by the occasional, emotional oath which may name God, than I am by the pervasive casual use in our culture of OMG. OMG. It’s become an acronym, thrown away in casual speech like used tissues. In our day and time using God’s name blasphemously is much less significant than using God’s name indifferently. Do not use God’s Name casually.

Do not take the Lord’s Name in vain. “In vain” in contemporary English usage means futile. Without success. He tried in vain to achieve a world’s record. His efforts were in vain. Without success. Our purposes fail when they are not God’s purposes. One interpretation of using the Lord’s Name in vain would be to seek personal success by using God’s Name. “Branding” our efforts with God’s Name. Do not take your vanity and name it as God’s will. Do not take projects or goals that are your own and call them God’s.

This is tricky, because, of course we do seek to do God’s will, and it’s not always easy to discern what is God’s will and what is ours. We are called to be people whose efforts are offered in God’s name. Which is why it is so important to differentiate our own goals from God’s. Difficult, but important. This commandment requires us to take that task of discernment very seriously.

I gather that the Hebrew word translated “in vain” has to do with something that lacks reality or truth. So in the lives of the early Hebrew people, this third word was interpreted to prohibit perjury. Do not speak words with no truth. And also to prohibit magic. Do not do things that are not real.
One commentator, writing in a dusty version of the Interpreter’s Bible that I have from the 50’s talks about magic and the Third Commandment. The fifties were quite a while ago now, but his words are worth pondering.

"We still are subject to [this] temptation, to belief in the [magical] power of sacred names…. Every minister is tempted to cater to the primitive urge on the part of some in the congregation to hear over and over again certain magic formulas which seem to them to guarantee soundness of faith and comfortable doctrine. Whether the phrase is “the blood of Jesus” or “the brotherhood of man,” it is merely magical when it is used as a spell. Religion for many people consists in the good feeling aroused by the repetition of certain beloved formulas. This type of piety can be recognized by its extreme harshness in the denunciation of those who do not use them. (Or, I might add, in vehement resistance to any change in the formulas.) Its sin is disobedience to the Third Commandment, which forbids the cheap and easy use of the divine name to cover up poverty of real thought and feeling.” (J. Coert Rylaarsdam, Exegesis of Exodus, The Interpreter's Bible, 1952).

Do not use the Lord’s name as a magic talisman to conjure up religious feeling. Do not use the Lord’s Names as a placebo in place of a true relationship with God.

Another writer, an ethicist, writing on this third word: This commandment is “particularly designed to prevent the misuse of the power of religion, the numinous power of the holy, to further one’s own ends at the expense of the life or welfare of others. Like the commandment against idolatry, it provides a check against authoritarian priestcraft, and especially against the use of fear to compel allegiance to religious demands.” (Walter Harrelson, "Decalogue," The Westminster Dictionary of Christian Ethics).

He’s not speaking exclusively of ordained priests. Priestcraft connotes a position of power over others. So this prohibits the use of the Lord’s name as an implement of power, to compel others to your purposes. Do not use the Lord’s name as a weapon.

So, a few ways we might interpret the third word of the Decalogue in our own time.

Do not use the Lord’s name casually.
Do not take your own purpose, your will, and slap God’s name on it.
Do not use the Lord’s name as a magical talisman, as a placebo in place of true religion.
Do not use the Lord’s name (including the Decalogue) as a weapon to compel anyone to do anything.

We cling to the Decalogue because it seems so clear, so easy. It is a wonderful gift, but it is just the beginning. It is the foundation upon which we can build an identity as God’s own, God’s beloved. But we must do the work to build a faithful life upon the foundation God has given us.

But as we do that work, remember the first words God said to his people: I am the Lord, your God. I am the Lord, your God.

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-09-27T05:41:00.000-07:00

Let the Same Mind Be in You
Philippians 2:1-13

A little history lesson on Paul to provide background. In the year 50 or 51 Paul, along with Silas and Timothy, traveled by sea from Asia Minor (present day Turkey) to Europe, landing on the northern coast of the Aegean Sea in what is now north-eastern Greece. They landed at an access point to one of the great Roman roads—not the Appian Way (that’s in Italy)—but the Via Egnatia. The city of Philippi was ten miles inland along the Via Egnatia.

Philippi was a major Roman city then. It was there (in 42 BC, about 100 years before Paul arrived) that Marc Antony and Octavian defeated Brutus and Cassias, the assassins of Julian Caesar, and established control of the Roman Empire. The veterans of the victorious armies were settled in Philippi, making up a sizeable population. Paul came to Philippi on what is called his second missionary journey. Paul proclaimed the Gospel and established his first Christian community in Europe.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians was written some years later from prison. Paul was imprisoned several times for preaching the Gospel. Scholars debate which imprisonment was the one from which this letter was written. Paul appears to have maintained a close and cordial relationship with the community in Philippi.

New Testament scholar Raymond Brown writes about the letter to the Philippians: “In some ways this is the most attractive Pauline letter, reflecting more patently than any other the warm affection of the apostle for his brothers and sisters in Christ. Indeed, Philippians has been classified as an example of the rhetoric of friendship. It contains one of the best-known and loved New Testament descriptions of the graciousness of Christ: one who emptied himself and took on the form of a servant, even unto death on a cross” (An Introduction to the New Testament).

That beloved description of the graciousness of Christ is part of the reading appointed for this day.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus…

who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form, he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord
to the glory of God the Father.
(Philippians 2:5-11)

This portion of Philippians is thought to be an early Christian hymn, a very early Christian hymn. In the original Greek, its structure and style are distinct from the rest of the letter. Among scholars there is lack of clarity about the hymn’s specific origin and how involved Paul may or may not have been in writing it. But it is clearly something that Paul knew, and it is possible that he taught it to the Philippians on his initial visit.

Hymns are powerful tools for evangelism and for community building.

The hymn is introduced with a line that could also be its refrain: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”

To help understand what the mind of Jesus was, as so graciously described in this hymn, I want to look at two words. One word clearly describes what Christ did not do; what was not in the mind of Christ. The other word highlights what Jesus did do.

Jesus did not “exploit;” he did “empty himself.”

He did not “exploit.” The Greek word (harpagmos) is used only here in the New Testament. In the Greek of the time it appears to have meant “to utilize something for gain.” Different translators, bringing somewhat different theological presuppositions to the act of translation, have translated the Greek word differently. But all of the English translations I looked at conveyed a certain level of violence.

“Exploit,” as we heard this morning.

The King James Version translates this verse: “[Jesus], being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God.”

The New English Bible says: “For the divine nature was his from the first; yet he did not think to snatch at equality with God.”

The New Jerusalem: “[Jesus] did not count equality with God something to be grasped.”

The New Revised Standard Version, which we use in worship: “[Jesus] did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited.”

Jesus did not rob, snatch, grasp or exploit.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

And Jesus could have snatched or exploited. This is very important. As the hymn says, and as we know… Jesus was in the form of God. Equality with God was who he was. He had every right to claim his divinity. He was entitled to every aspect of God’s being. Jesus shared God’s being. He was entitled to every bit of power over human kind that God possesses. He deserved an exalted status. He had a right to stand in full glory remote from human kind.

But he didn’t. What he did do was empty himself. The Greek verb (keno’o) is rare in the New Testament. It has both active and passive meanings. The passive meaning is to “be desolate.” The active use occurs only here. It means “to make empty.” To actively empty. Jesus emptied himself.
To find fulfill his purpose he emptied himself. His life’s meaning and purpose came through serving others.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

How often in our daily lives do we say things like…

I have a right to…
I earned it…
I deserve it….

And we say this about things that we do have a right to, that we have earned or are entitled to. Or we say...

This is important to me, to who I am as a person…
I can’t live without….

From the trivial to the not at all trivial trivial, we grasp, snatch, exploit… time, status, stuff, the earth’s bounty… we grasp, snatch, exploit for our own gain. Thumbing our noses at Jesus rather than bending our knees in humility at the sound of his name.

Jesus did not exploit, even that which was rightfully his. He did empty himself in service to others.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Paul was fond of the Philippians. And, lest we despair, we should remember what Paul reminds them of: God is at work in you. By God’s grace, with God’s help…

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Who did not grasp or cling or rob or exploit—even the things and position and power to which he was fully entitled. Rather he humbly poured himself out in service of others.

The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-09-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

Active Worship

It is easy for us adults to become passive about worship, to think of worship as something we just attend… something that is offered to us or done for us. But worship is a verb, an active verb. And you, in the pews, are the ones whose activity creates worship. Without your active participation, there is no worship.

This sermon is prompted by a change taking place in our worship practice here at St. John’s. For some of you just those words elicit anxiety. For those of you who are feeling anxious now, I wonder if you could articulate what specific change in worship it is that you dread, or does any mention of any change at all in worship fill you with apprehension.

In general, not just in worship, change is often good. Remember: One of our foundational affirmations as Christians is that in death, life is changed, not ended. Not all change is good, but the complete absence of change is death.

The specific worship change here at St. John’s will primarily impact the 10:00 service. This fall, children’s chapel will no longer be offered. Many parishes offer some sort of children’s chapel as an alternative worship experience for children. When Donica was hired as our Christian Education director, I asked her to develop a children’s chapel program here. It was offered at the same time as the first half of the 10:00 service and designed to be an age-appropriate liturgy of the word. And Donica did a great job of creating an experience that was engaging for the kids.

Despite the fact that children’s chapel here began at my initiative, I’ve always had mixed feelings about it. I admit that the elimination of children’s chapel at this particular time is prompted in part by the fact that we have not been able to fill the Christian Ed position, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always had real reservations about anything that segregates the worshiping community.

Children’s chapel certainly has some potential benefits for children, but I believe we are impoverished as a community when we are segregated during worship. To have two separate worship experiences going on at 10:00 diminishes us all. Worship should unite us as a parish family.

To have really common worship as a full community may be more work, especially for us adults, but I think God is calling us to that work. To create worship together that is engaging for all ages is work, but I know that we will be spiritually enriched by doing that work. For one thing, having the children with us as part of the worshiping community throughout the 10:00 service challenges us to a healthy reexamination of the activity of worship. Worship as activity.

On the one hand you might say that Episcopalians are pretty active in worship. As a child, I was taught the sit/stand/kneel drill. Sit for instruction, stand for praise, kneel for prayer. More recently some people have quipped that one of the advantages of being an Episcopalian is that you get worship and aerobics all at the same time. And then there are all those books and leaflets to juggle.

But I want to offer a particular definition of worship, at least for the purposes of this sermon. Worship is not just any physical activity that happens to take place in this place. Worship is activity directed specifically to God. Worship is active, created by activity… activity aimed directly at God. Which is to say, it is possible to be within this space for a whole hour and never actually worship.

What are the activities of worship? Prayer is one, of course. At least when those prayers are our own, active prayers. Being a people of “common prayer” has both strengths and weaknesses. It is our common prayer that unites us, draws us into communion with one another. In these common prayers we support one another and share times of trial and joy. The Book of Common Prayer provides a depth of reverence and majesty of language that most of us could not muster on our own. But it also enables us to coast. To just sit back and passively coast through the prayers without making them our own, without ever personally, actively engaging God with our own prayers. Pray actively. To God.

Another activity of worship is praise. Episcopalians talk about praise; we are not so good at it as an activity, as something we do towards God. Every Sunday as we begin Communion, I say, “Lift up your hearts.” For the early Christians that was a literal command to stand up. Stand up in praise. Throw your heart open to God. Offer your whole body to God in praise. Be actively praise-full. Other denominations clap and shout and dance in praise. That’s not the only way to be actively praise-full. I think our children can probably help us find ways to be better at the worship activity of praise.

Offering is another activity of worship. That portion of our Sunday liturgy that serves as a prelude to Holy Communion is called the offertory. It is a time specifically dedicated to the activity of offering. How do you participate in the offertory? The ushers are busy collecting money. I am busy setting the table. In the midst of that busy-ness it’s hard to think of directing those activities to God, but I, at least, am going to work on it. The choir is offering their voices and talent to God.

What about you? Theoretically, placing an envelope in a plate could be an activity of worship, could be a focused activity directed towards God. But is it? Does it feel that way? Or is placing an envelope in a plate a brief distraction from whatever thoughts or conversations or non-worship activities you happen to be involved in at the time?

Starting next Sunday there will be an opportunity for children to participate actively in the offertory. To offer something themselves to God. To bring an offering to God’s altar. That’s what the red basket is for in front of the altar. Each week it will be placed there at the offertory time, and children are encouraged to walk up and place their personal offering in the basket. Whatever they want to offer of themselves for God’s use.

A few possible suggestions might include things for the food pantry. A can of soup or a box of cereal. Offered out of their abundance in compassion for God’s children who are hungry.

Or something for God’s non-human creatures in need. The needs of lost and abandoned pets have been dear to the hearts of the children here at St. John’s for a long time. A child may want to offer a blanket or some dog food to God as an act of sharing in God’s care for all creatures. We’ll make sure it gets to the Humane Society.

Or money. Families handle money differently. Have that conversation in your family if it is appropriate. We have special offering envelopes available in the back of the church for kids to use. They go in the red basket, too. An offering to God, for the church’s use in doing God’s work.

We’re going to make one change, too, in how the “adult” financial offering is handled. After it’s collected, we’re going to place it on the altar and leave it there throughout Communion. That’s better liturgical practice anyway. Money isn’t something we collect and then stash in the corner; it is part of each of our self-offering to God. So it should be brought to God’s altar.

Any given Sunday during the time you are here, ask yourself: When am I actually doing something active, directed towards God? Not just sitting here thankful that God has dropped by to share this time with me, but actively praying, praising, offering myself directly to God?

It seems like those things that we get most actively involved in are not worship, not God-directed activities. Even during worship time that can be true. The challenge for all of us of all ages is to dedicate ourselves to worship, to seek out and focus ourselves on activities that engage us with God. For those of us who are adults it is also our responsibility to try to make this particular Sunday morning time a time when children’s God-directed activity engages them and enriches our common worship.

Some people say that children are too active to be in worship. I would suggest that most adults are not nearly active enough to be in worship.

A little child will lead us, Isaiah said. And Jesus seemed to agree, when he said in Matthew’s Gospel, speaking to his grown-up disciples, “unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

The Twelth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-09-11T17:58:00.000-07:00

Remembering September 10th, September 2001

Today, of course, is September 11th. It is the tenth September 11th since the one in 2001. Anniversaries with zeros on the end tend to get special attention—whether they are anniversaries of joy, like a birth or a marriage, or if they are anniversaries of grief or tragedy.

So this anniversary has received a lot of attention in the media and the public sphere. Everyone is remembering… in public. It almost seems like businesses, organizations, public figures… all are engaged in competitive remembering. Or, if not competitive remembering, compulsive remembering. Major League Baseball remembers, America Remembers, ABC remembers, the Stars of Lyric opera concert at Millennium Park last night remember. The front page of today’s Tribune—after you peel of the post-it note advertisement—proclaims in the largest possible font: We Remember.

As though any American who was alive then could forget. As though any of us who were alive then could forget the loss, the fear, the heroism, the compassion, the shock.

This is an important anniversary, but I’m a bit tired of all the public reflecting and remembering. I feel a bit guilty admitting it, but I’m definitely suffering from 9/11 news overload now.

Nevertheless… Considering much of what has been said in the last week or so, change seems to be the most prominent topic. How 9/11 caused change.

The Christian Science Monitor writes, “The terrorist attacks have become this generation’s Pearl Harbor—an epic event that has changed young peoples’ view of the world and America’s place in it.”

One news anchor said, “It changed everything.” Everything.

In an interview with National Geographic, President Bush noted how the events of that day dramatically changed his presidency. Probably no one would argue with that.

BBC North America editor, Mark Mardell, wrote, “When I first started asking Americans about how 9/11 had changed their country, I was surprised. I had been expecting something about the wars, or other philosophical reflections. Instead they talked about queues at airports.” The responses may seem a bit superficial, but the focus is still on change, the expectation that the way to reflect on 9/11 is to analyze the changes that it produced.

A subheading on the front page of today’s Tribune says, “The day that changed a decade.”

Change. 9/11 is to be interpreted and understood in terms of the changes that were set in motion by the events of that day.

Despite my news fatigue, remembering is not a bad thing to do today, on this tenth anniversary of September 11th, 2001. I was not here then, of course. When I preached to the people of St. Patrick’s, in Brewer, Maine, on the Sunday after September 11th, I did urge them to remember. I want to say to you some of what I said to them ten years ago. Remember. Remember September 10th, 2001. Ten years ago September 11th was a Tuesday. I urge you to remember Monday. Remember Monday, September 10th, 2001.

On Monday, September 10th, countless Christians around the world woke up and began the day with prayer. As they have for thousands and thousands of years, people of faith offered their private and corporate prayers and praises to God. They found joy, courage, hope and strength in the unshakable presence of God in their daily lives. Many in this country, Episcopalians in particular, may have begun their day on September 10th with the pamphlet of prayer and meditation knows as Forward Day by Day. On that Monday, it referred to Paul’s letter to the Philippians and spoke of “sharing in the gospel.” “Did you ever see a child,” the meditation said, “open a wonderful present and not share it with anyone? Good news is to be shared. ‘I pray’ says Paul, ‘that your love may overflow.’ Love is never static; it grows or diminishes. And in growth, our capacity to love breaks through, overflows, and takes root in another and another and another. Love is always shared, and always more than enough.” A Christian meditation from September 10th, 2001. Love is always shared, and always more than enough.

On Monday, September 10th, countless other Christians began their day with Daily Morning Prayer. As they do every single day, they presented themselves to God. Possibly, as they read through the service of Daily Morning Prayer, they may have confessed their sins, large and small, so that they could begin that ordinary Monday with newness of heart. They read a lesson from the First Book of Kings, chapter 13, verses 1-10. The day before they had read the end of chapter 12. The next day they would continue on in First Kings… Because, as Christians have, for thousands of years, they found insight and guidance in the regular, daily reading of God’s word. In Morning Prayer, they said the Lord’s Prayer… “give us this day our daily bread… thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”

On that Monday, September 10th, ten years ago, I imagine that some Christian woman somewhere, widowed perhaps, deeply connected to the life and worship of the church, went out to work in her garden early in the morning and began humming to herself, “Oh God, our help in ages past. Our hope for years to come. Our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.” Maybe she was lonely or anxious on that particular Monday. Or maybe it was just one of her absolute favorite hymns of the church. That day in her garden, she felt the resonance of the hymn and its powerful words grow and grow with the strength of the millions upon millions of voices of faith who have sung that hymn over the centuries.

On Monday, September 10th, 2001, the day before September 11th, Christians around the world buried their dead. On Monday. Proclaiming in the midst of their grief and loss, as Christians always have, the sure and certain hope that in death life is changed, not ended. And that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

On Monday, September 10th, Christians around the world reached out with compassion to the sick and suffering. Every day for almost 2000 years Christian have heeded Jesus’ words: “If you do this for the least of these, you do it for me.”

On Monday, September 10th, 2001, September 10th being a Monday that year, some Christians might have paused for just a moment to remember the day before—a Sunday, the Lord’s Day. It would have been the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost. Maybe on that Sunday a parent watched his child reach out to receive communion for the first time and then, in the moment when he, too, received, the father knew, with a startling certainty, the absolutely insurmountable strength of the bond shared by those who share the Body and Blood of Christ. Those who are united in Christ cannot be separated.

That September Sunday would have been Rally Day, Jubilation Sunday, for many parishes. Christians would have done what Christian in parish communities do: they would have signed up for Sunday School, joined in fellowship and conversation with one another, perhaps shared in a common meal. They would have participated in the everyday activities of Christian community because it is within Christian community… it is in the relationships that bind a parish together into the Body of Christ… It is those relationships that manifest God’s power of unity to overcome estrangement, the power of forgiveness to heal guilt, and of joy to conquer despair. It happens whenever two or three are gathered together in Jesus’ name.

Perhaps that Monday, September 10th, a goodly number of Christian clergy read the Scripture readings appointed for the coming Sunday. (I would not have been among them looking ahead.) Not having any idea what the week ahead would bring, they read the Scripture passages so that God’s Word might color and inform their lives during the week, and so that the meshing of the Scriptures with their experiences during the coming week might inspire their preaching on the following Sunday. Those clergy would have gone to bed Monday night with these words rolling around in their minds (we were in a different lectionary year that year): “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”

On Monday, September 10th, Christians gave thanks. Thanks for the food on their tables. Thanks for the blessing of families. Thanks for minds to think and hearts to love, and hands to touch and serve. Thanks for health and leisure. Thanks for those who are brave and courageous and patient. Thanks for the opportunity, as creatures in God’s creation, to seek and explore and build and imagine.

And on Monday, September 10th, 2001, a Christian particularly prone to spiritual reflection might have reflected back upon the worst day that the world has ever seen. A day when human kind crucified the Son of God. When we left the God of love hanging to die upon a cross on Calvary. No day can ever be worse than that one. Nothing can be darker, more hopeless, more evil than that day. And yet God entered into that day of human evil and suffering and brought us out of it. Brought us out of it. Out of that very worst day God brought unimaginable hew hope and new life.

On Monday, September 10th, 2001, Christians found strength and guidance in prayer; celebrated the blessing of God’s presence; shared God’s love in worship; supported one another with compassion; and proclaimed God’s victory over evil and death.

Many people are saying that on Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, everything changed.

I hope not.

Given what everyday Christian were doing on September 10th, I hope that everything did not change.

I know that our baptismal covenant did not change. The baptismal covenant, which begins with the ancient affirmation of faith from the Apostles’ Creed and continues with our prayer, that by God’s help, we may live into our Christian vocations… The baptismal covenant did not change.

Many people were profoundly affected by the events of September 11th, 2001. Please don’t imagine for a second that I am discounting the impact of the events of that day ten years ago upon individuals and upon our nation.

But for those of us who are Christian, what did not change that day is more important than what did. The baptismal covenant did not change. Our affirmation of Christ’s love and mercy. The glorious hope to which we are called as beloved children of God. The measure of the Christian vocation to which, with God’s help, we may aspire. These have not changed. And these are bigger, more important, even, than 9/11.

Well more than ten years ago, St. Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome, encouraging them to persevere in the Christian faith and life. A few weeks ago, we heard St. Paul’s list of characteristics of the Christian life. He concluded by reminding the Christians in Rome that Christians are called to be people who “overcome evil with good.”

Christians are people who overcome evil with good. That is something that 9/11 has not changed.

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-09-04T13:58:00.000-07:00

Just Do Your Best

Matthew 18:15-20

In the portion from Romans that we heard last week Paul offered what sounded to me like a checklist. He provided the Christians in Rome a checklist on the different aspects of Christian living. If you want to live as a Christian, these are the things you should be doing. How many can you check in your own life?

Let love be genuine.
Hate what is evil.
Hold fast to what is good.
Love one another with mutual affection.
Do not lag in zeal.
Be ardent in spirit.
Serve the Lord.
Rejoice in hope.
Be patient in suffering.
Persevere in prayer.
Contribute to the needs of the saints.
Extend hospitality to strangers.
Bless those who persecute you.
Rejoice with those who rejoice.
Weep with those who weep.
Live in harmony with one another.
Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly.
Do not claim to be wiser than you are.
Live peaceably with all.
Never avenge yourselves.
Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
(Romans 12:9-21)

That was last week; he gets a bit of a second wind in this week’s passage and there’s more. So how do you do? How many can you check of as “yeses” in your daily life?

I expect most of us would agree that all of the things on Paul’s list are aspects of good Christian living. But the list seems pretty overwhelming. If that list were a parents’ advice to a child for the first day of school, the kids’ eyes would have glazed over after item three.

Thinking of advice that we give to children and young people, how often do we say to them, “Just do your best.” Just do your best. Before a big test. Before the first day of kindergarten. Before the first day of college. Before the big game. Before the first game of T-ball season. Before their first job.
Just do your best.

Don’t worry about remembering a checklist.
Don’t measure yourself against others.
Don’t measure yourself by some perceived outside standard.
Don’t measure yourself by the final score on the scoreboard.
Just do your best.

I hear Jesus saying that to us in this morning’s Gospel. Just do your best.

What he actually says in Matthew’s Gospel is: “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, I am there among them.” These words are particularly familiar to many Episcopalians from the prayer of St Chrysostom which is in our Prayer Book. “O Lord, you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name, you will be in the midst of them.” I still remember an occasion when I was in high school, and the little church we attended in Edwardsville was between priests. One Sunday the lay reader and I (the acolyte) were the only ones who showed up. He reminded me of this prayer. He reminded me that we two were gathered together in Jesus’ Name and Jesus was with us. We know and cherish Jesus’ promise.

You may or may not know the particulars of the context for Jesus’ words. Jewish public worship then and now requires a minyan. A minyan is a quorum of ten. It is required for most public worship. There has been considerable debate over the years exactly who constitutes a legitimate participant (age, gender, standing in the community), but the quorum, the number is absolute. Ten participants. The peoples’ prayers, public worship cannot begin without ten.

But Jesus says, if two or three is the best you can do today, I will be in the midst of you. If two or three is the best you can do, that’s OK. I… whom Peter has just named Son of the living God… I will be with you.

So Jesus says to us today: Do not measure the quality of your worship against the numbers of the megachurch down the street. Do not fret about some perceived ideal or standard without which worship is not authentic. Don’t worry about whether or not everything is “just right.”

Just do your best. And I will be among you. Whenever two or three gather in my name—you have my promise—I will be among you.

The editorial in the most recent issue of the Christian Century talks about the nature of the church—what makes a group of people a church? One thing a church is is a group of people skilled in everyday practices of faith. People who “display some measure of forgiveness, compassion, hospitality, care for the Earth, solidarity with those who suffer and perseverance in distress.”

It’s a shorter summary of Paul. Maybe it seems more manageable than his long checklist. Or maybe you still say to yourself… I can’t meet that standard. Maybe if I were stronger, or more spiritual. Maybe if we were bigger church. If, if, if… if only, then maybe.

Jesus says to us, whenever two or three are gathered in my name, in worship or in service… Whenever two or three work side by side, in my name, doing their best to live faithfully, I will be with you.
This is a very comforting assurance. Jesus says, don’t measure yourself by somebody else’s standard. Just do you best. Don’t give up. Just gather one or two others with you and do your best. And I, Jesus, will be with you.

Hear Jesus’ words of comfort. Hang on to Jesus’ words of comfort.

But also hear these words as challenge.

As adults, often when we say the words “It was the best I could do,” we say them as throw-away words. We actually mean, “This nowhere near the best I could do.” The words mean: I didn’t take the time to do better; I didn’t care enough to do better… given the very low priority of this project in the midst of everything else going on my life, this was all I really felt like doing… It was the best I could do.

We say those words, with that meaning, a lot to Jesus.

In next week’s Gospel, Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the community sins against me, how often should I forgive?” Then, imagining an extravagant number as a sign of his holiness, he says, “As many as seven times?” Should we, your followers forgive as many as seven times?

Jesus says to Peter, “Just do your best.” Do your best to forgive. Not seven times, but maybe seventy-seven times. Jesus concludes this passage by saying, it isn’t really about numbers. Forgive from your heart. Offer the best of yourself in forgiveness. Do your best to forgive.

How often do we save our best for other things and other times and other activities, and withhold our best from God?

Just do your best, Jesus says.

Of course, Jesus doesn’t actually say those words anywhere in Matthew’s Gospel. But it’s what I hear Jesus saying to me, to us, today. In these passages from Matthew that are all about being a community in Christ.

Just do your best.

They are words both of profound comfort and significant challenge. We need to remember them as both, as comfort and as challenge. Your best is enough, but offer your best. Comfort and challenge. “Just do your best.”

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

2011-09-03T08:08:00.000-07:00

I Want to Be Like ~~Mike~~ Moses
Exodus 3:1-15
Matthew 16:21-28

Part of our focus as we gather as a parish community today is the beginning of a new school year. At the 10:00 service we are blessing backpacks and the students who carry them and praying for everyone who is involved in the process of education.

At first glance I thought today’s Gospel reading might be relevant to the beginning of a new school year—especially from the students’ perspective. Jesus talks about how he is going to undergo “great suffering” and he mentions carrying your own cross. But that really isn’t an appropriate use of Jesus’ words.

As we do focus on the commencing of another new school year it is a time to think about aspirations, dreams. It is a time to look forward to the person God is calling each of us to become. Education is a process of formation that shapes and grows us into who we are called to be. For children, of course, one part of who they are called to be is functional and productive members of society. And part of the role of education is to help them grow into their vocation as citizens. It also helps them grow towards their own individual vocational dreams and aspirations. Helps them become who they want to be when they grow up.

Who do you want to become? No matter what your age; no matter whether you think you are already “grown up” or not… As you look forward, who do you want to become. The question for the moment is not so much “What do you want to do?” As it is “Who do you want to be?”

If part of your answer is Christian, then I remind you, no matter what your age, that Christian Formation is absolutely necessary. That’s how you become a Christian. That’s how you grow into your identity and vocation as a Christian. Life-long Christian Formation.

Thinking about dreams and aspirations reminded me of an iconic TV commercial. I was a bit shocked to discover that it aired 20 years ago (!) but many of you will remember it. It had a very catchy song… “I Want to be like Mike.” I want to be like Mike. Even if you are too young or don’t remember the commercial itself, you know who Mike is. Especially here in Chicago, you know who Mike is. Michael Jordan.

I want to be like Mike. The commercial did not so much play upon the affluence and fame that come along with being Michael Jordan, although it obviously would not have been effective without that context. But it was mostly about his wondrous grace and skill. His ability to make seemingly miraculous dunk shots. And the sense of joy with which he played the game. Not bad aspirations for anyone: to be grace-full and skill-full and to find joy in your vocation. Sadly, of course, very, very few people can realistically aspire to be like Mike. Even with Gatorade.

But I’m wondering… What if the same advertising genius that created that commercial were to focus on Moses?

I want to be like Moses may not have quite the same ring, but it is a very good aspiration for kids and for all of us. I want to be like Moses. I want to become like Moses. And Moses, if you think about it, does some pretty cool things. Things I would like to do. It is unlikely that he was skilled at dunking a basketball, but he saw a burning bush and talked with God as flames sparkled and danced in the bush, but did not consume it. Moses parted the Red Sea. That’s a neat trick. He was a mountain climber. He helped free God’s people. He helped others escape slavery.

I want to be like Moses. He had a close, spirit-filled, enthusiastic relationship with God. He did a lot for God’s people. I want to be like Moses.

At first glance that may seem about as likely as me being like Mike. For any of us to aspire to be like Moses may seem about as unreasonable as aspiring to be like Michael Jordan.

It’s easy to think of Moses as having special qualities, of being remarkable, exceptional, different from most of us. More spiritually gifted than we are.

But think about what we really know about Moses. He was abandoned by his mother at birth. We know why, but did he? As a child? There were no safe haven laws back then. She put him adrift in a river! He was brought up in foster care. In his case, it turned out to be pretty cushy foster care, but still he was away from his family, his culture, his people. Maybe not so unlike people today who deal with complicated parenting and family situations.

Later on, in today’s vernacular, he made a bad life decision. He killed a man. True, the man he killed was an Egyptian slave master, but that doesn’t change the fact that, in uncontrolled anger, Moses took another human life.

He fled that situation and now he’s doing an entry-level job working for his father-in-law.

When he talks with God in the burning bush, Moses is not eager to serve. He is reluctant. He is adamant that he does not have “the right stuff” for the job. He has no special skills or personal qualities that equip him for God’s service.

Finally, he does grudgingly say OK. OK, God. This is your show, but I will be a part of it. This is your team, and I guess I want to be on it.

Moses, unlike Michael Jordan, does not have any special talent. He is not extraordinarily religious or remarkably equipped to serve God. There is nothing about Moses that is any different or better than any one of us. So if we want to be like Moses, we can be.

If we want to be like Moses, we can be. Nothing stands in the way of that aspiration.

We can have the same enthusiastic, intimate relationship with God that Moses had. We can do wondrous things to free and help the people that God loves. We can be like Moses.

All we have to do is stop for just a minute when God speaks to us. Just for a minute. Stop to listen when God speaks your name. In the middle of whatever you’re doing, stop just for a minute. And then trust God just enough to say, OK, this is your show, God. You don’t have to trust God infinitely or extravagantly… Trust God just a bit, just enough, to grudgingly say, “OK, God. I’ll try, with your help. I’d like to be a part of your show. Fill me with your spirit. Use me as you will. And always to your glory.” I want to be like Moses. Amen.

The Blessing of the Backpacks

2011-08-28T14:25:00.000-07:00

A litany of thanksgiving as a new school year begins.

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 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 Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-08-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

A Peculiar Church
Matthew 16:13-20

The passage we heard as this morning’s Gospel is usually referred to as the “Confession of Peter.” Peter witnesses, proclaims, “confesses,” that Jesus is the Son of God. Similar passages appear in Mark and Luke’s Gospels. God reveals to Peter the wonder of Jesus’ identity. It’s a powerful and important passage and remains a strong witness to us today of who Jesus is.

As powerful and important as Peter’s words are as witness and revelation, interpreting Jesus’ words is a bit more problematic. As I work to interpret Jesus’ words I’ve drawn heavily on a commentary on Matthew’s Gospel by Eduard Schweizer that we used in seminary. My focus in particular is on the phrase spoken by Jesus: “You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church.”

What was Jesus’ vision for the future for his followers? What did Jesus hope to build?

When Jesus says, “on this rock I will build my church,” the Greek word that is translated “church” is ecclesia. It is the root of our contemporary churchy words like ecclesiastical. But there are two very important things to know about that word ecclesia as it is used in the Bible.

One. Although it has now come to be a part of words meaning church, it was not a religious word in Jesus’ day. It was a general, entirely secular word meaning simply “gathering” or “assembly.” It did not mean “church.” Schweizer translates it “community.” It just meant any community of people who were gathered or assembled.

Two. The word is virtually absent from all four Gospels. It appears here and in one other place in Matthew and that’s it. It appears a lot in Paul and the post-Easter letters, but it is not a part of the Gospels. The words and activities of Jesus' life and ministry do not include the word “church.”

Jesus’ proclamation to Peter about being the rock upon which Jesus will build his church does not appear at all in Mark or Luke’s telling of the Confession of Peter. (The Confession itself is not recounted at all in John.) Writing about this particular phrase, Schweizer states: “the saying about the community [or church] is a post-Easter addition, possibly Matthew’s own. In all four Gospels the word “community” appears only here and in 18:17. In the post-Easter epistles and in Acts it appears frequently, but always in the phrase “community of God,” which translates the Old Testament expression “levy of God,” meaning Israel. The New Testament is aware throughout that Jesus, unlike the Qumran community or the Pharisees, does not seek to establish a special community but to call the whole people of God back to their Lord.”

Whether or not Jesus actually said the words proclaiming Peter as the rock upon which the church would be built is a matter of scholarly debate. Schweizer thinks that Jesus did not say these words; that the words were added by a later author. So what can we say about Jesus’ vision?

I think we can say that Jesus had absolutely no idea whatsoever of anything that we might call “church.” Nothing that we might call church was a part of Jesus’ vision… Church as an institution with any sort of organizational and leadership structure, whether that leadership be papal, episcopal or congregational… Church as something with defined membership guidelines… Even church as a group of people ascribing to a particular creed or confession… None of these was a part of Jesus’ vision.

The word “peculiar” shows up in some of our hymns and Rite 1 collects in its archaic sense of “special.” We sang one last week, which is probably why it’s in my head: “Let every creature rise and bring peculiar honors to our King.” “Peculiar” always means particular. It used to mean particularly special, uniquely wonderful. Only in the 17th century did it come to mean particularly odd, uniquely strange.

I’m not sure how far to push this idea, but maybe it’s helpful to think of everything we call church as peculiar. In both senses of the word. Our own special, uniquely wonderful way of knowing and sharing and praising God. But totally strange, odd, unknown to Jesus. Our current churches would be peculiar indeed to Jesus’ vision.

Jesus does not talk about ecclesia or church. The words Jesus uses are words like people and kingdom. Jesus talks about all of God’s people. All of God’s people. And about bringing them to God’s kingdom and bringing God’s kingdom to them. Jesus’ ministry is about making God’s kingdom real for all of God’s people.

To say that Jesus’ did not talk about ecclesia, whether you translate it church or community, is not a license for us to abandon our particular faith communities. That, I think, would be equally incomprehensible to Jesus. There is only the “people” of God; not "a person" of God. There is no singular.

God only knows if there are any limits on how broad the expanse of God’s people is. Only God knows.
But the people of God are a people bound together by God. Bound. United. Held together by God. Not by human choice, but by God. The people of God are not just individuals, each cared for by God; they are a people… a people bound to one another by God. Not by our choice, but by God's power.

The absolutely greatest differentiation we might imagine amongst us is trivial compared to what binds us one to another. The link is forged by God’s desire and by God’s power. It is literally infinitely stronger than anything on earth.

I am bound to people of God whom I do not know by the power of God. People I do not know, do not understand, maybe don’t even like… the bond uniting us is full of God’s power.

That turns the world upside down.

Whether the words in Matthew’s Gospel about Peter and the church are Jesus’ own or a post-Easter addition is an issue debated among scholars. The collect appointed for this day is definitely post-Easter, appearing first in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. “Grant, O merciful God, that your Church, being gathered together in unity by your Holy Spirit, may show forth your power among all peoples, to the glory of your Name.” It is the Holy Spirit’s presence and power that gathers, unites the people of God. It is God’s spirit, love and power that gathers us into unity. Not us. The Holy Spirit. That gathers the people of God into unity. And then we pray that we may, by how we live and serve as God’s people, show forth God’s power to the world. That we, by our words and actions, may proclaim God’s power to gather and unite. That’s the particular power this collect is talking about—God’s power to gather and unite. We pray that even this peculiar church may be a witness to the world of God’s power to gather and unify.

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

2011-08-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

What if God Doesn't Like Me?

Matthew 15:10-28

The story we just heard in the second part of today’s appointed Gospel reading is a challenging one. Jesus and the Canaanite woman. What could God be saying to us today in the words of this story? How are we to interpret this passage?

To begin, we should remember that in Jesus’ day, the Hebrew people knew the Canaanites as foreigners and pagans. They were foreigners and they did not worship the one, true God. In the perception of the Jews, the Canaanites were the very people whom God had displaced when God brought the Jews into the promised land.

In addition to being a foreigner and a pagan, she was a woman. She didn’t count. No census of the day would have counted her among the living. In this story she doesn’t even have a name. No identity worth noticing.

When she comes before Jesus with her intercession, Jesus first ignores her completely. Then Jesus more or less says, “I did not come for such as you.” Then Jesus says, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” You are no more than an animal to me. Jesus says.

One tempting way to try to interpret this story is to focus in on just single facets of the story. There is the woman’s persistence and courage. That persistence and courage ultimately pay off. That’s a good message and one that Jesus himself makes elsewhere. Persist in prayer; persist in intercession. The woman’s persistence can be an encouraging model to us.

If we look at the passage as a whole, however, we cannot avoid Jesus’ words. Jesus’ hurtful, hateful words. Jesus’ name-calling that defines this woman as literally subhuman.

I suppose these words of Jesus could be used by some people as justification for their own desire to label some other people as subhuman. After all, if Jesus calls pagans dogs, if Jesus calls women dogs, if Jesus calls foreigners dogs…. Well then I ought to be able to call people whatever I want to. Some people might use Jesus’ words to justify their frustration with the demand to use “politically correct” language. Or even worse, some people might use Jesus’ words to justify their hatred of others who differ from them. If anyone is even remotely tempted by this argument, bear in mind that Jesus does not ultimately destroy the Canaanite woman, or cast her away or even “correct” her perceived shortcomings—he helps her.

Other people (and I would put myself in this category) might be tempted to just chuck out this whole particular passage from Matthew’s Gospel. This passage can’t be as important as the other ones that I like better.

In past years (and this Gospel comes around every three years) one of the sermons I’ve preached focuses on the human Jesus. Maybe the human Jesus, conditioned by his own human experience and the social setting of his day, could have spoken those words, but thank God the divine Jesus won out in the end! That’s a spin on the passage that can teach us something, but it’s really pretty bad theology. The two natures of Jesus—human and divine—are not that separate. The human and divine Jesus don’t settle issues by debate or arm wrestling. There is one Jesus. The divine Jesus spoke these difficult words as fully as the human Jesus did.

One on-line sermon I found skirted the issue very creatively, focusing on the disciples' impatience with the woman’s shouting on behalf of her daughter. Jesus’ message, then, in helping the woman, is to affirm that it is OK to get overly emotional where your children are involved.

I’ve said all this up to this point to point out—again!—the complexity of Biblical interpretation, if we take it seriously. If we take Biblical interpretation seriously it is complicated and difficult work.

Here’s how this passage speaks to me this year.

The context is real. We can’t narrow our focus so much that we lose the context of Jews and Canaanites… the “us” versus “them” animosity between Canaanites and Jews. I don’t know if Jesus actually said the words calling this woman a “dog.” It’s hard for me to imagine that he did, but I can’t know for sure. I can’t know for sure. It is ironic, though, to say the least, that just a few lines earlier in this Gospel passage, Jesus himself says that “what comes out of the mouth defiles…” The words that come out of a human mouth defile the speaker when those words express “evil intentions or slander.” Jesus’ words about the Canaanite woman seem slanderous. So either he didn’t say both parts of this passage, or he proclaims himself defiled…

We cannot be absolutely certain what specific words he said. But I think we can be pretty confident that most of the Jews of Jesus’ day would have seen the Canaanite woman as no more than an animal. They would have dismissed her out of hand. Jesus’ disciples would have seen her that way… the writer of Matthew would have seen her that way… and she, herself, would have seen herself that way. That’s what grabs my attention. She would have seen herself as contemptible, of no account, in the eyes of Jesus. Just because of who she was. As a Canaanite woman, she had every expectation that Jesus would dismiss her, dislike her.

Do you think Jesus likes you? We always make these sweeping statements about God’s limitless love, but do you think that Jesus likes... you? Would like to spend time with you, on a human level? Likes you for who you are?

You’ve been taught, I hope, that God loves you unconditionally (and therefore will forgive you when you sin). But, beyond this theological affirmation, do you feel like Jesus likes you? Do you think Jesus has any reason to care for you in particular? Most of us want to feel liked. It’s distressing to feel disliked. We work to be liked. Do you think Jesus likes who you are?

God acts with healing and hope regardless. Regardless of what you think God thinks of you, God acts with healing and hope in your life.

These are two things we know from this story: The Canaanite woman saw herself as contemptible in Jesus' eyes. Jesus healed her daughter.

It isn’t about what we think God thinks of us. Even if and when you think of yourself as unlikeable in God’s eyes, God will act with hope and healing in your life. Even when you see yourself as beneath God’s notice, God acts with hope and healing. Even if you feel contemptible before God, God acts with hope and healing.

One final word… It’s also important to remember that those "other" people whom you think that God couldn’t possibly like, for whatever reason… God acts with hope and healing in their lives, too.

The Second Sunday in Lent

2011-03-21T11:03:00.000-07:00

John 3:16
John 3:1-17

The Episcopal Café is an online resource offered by the Episcopal Diocese of Washington containing all sorts of information and reflections pertaining to the Episcopal Church. An interesting post appeared there this week. It was entitled, “Is Japan asking for your financial assistance?” Is Japan asking for your financial assistance?

The post began:

We see the images from Japan of the three-fold catastrophe and wonder how we can help. The Japanese government has not called for foreign relief aid except in specific cases. Japan is a wealthy country and largely able to respond to natural disasters itself….

The whole issue of “asking” for assistance in times of disaster isn’t one I had thought about before. America, too, is a “wealthy country.” I didn’t have time to really research our own nation’s practice. The fact that I don’t know if we have ever asked for outside assistance suggests that, if we have, we certainly haven’t made a fuss about it. I did discover that the U.S. evidently quietly asked the European Union for some very specific sorts of aid at the time of Katrina. I imagine that, like Japan, we are not in the general habit of publicizing a need or desire for foreign aid.

I have tried to think of reasons why an individual or a country would not ask for aid in times of need. I can’t think of any good reason. There’s pride. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone else’s help.” Then there’s what, for lack of a better term, I’ll call bigotry. “I’d rather die than accept help from the likes of you.”

I also saw a headline sometime this week. The gist of it was… “Reasons why the nation of Japan will recover.” And, of course, the nation will recover. Thousands upon thousands of individuals will not.
The bottom line for us as Christians is simple. Whenever we are aware of a need, we must help. It is the mandate of our baptismal covenant. It is about who we are. Whether we are asked or not is irrelevant. We must offer what help we can.

The post at Episcopal Café continued:

Beyond [these considerations of whether the government has asked], there we are in the position of having ties within Japan. Through the Anglican Communion and companion dioceses relationships, there are bonds between the Episcopal Church and Anglican Episcopal Church in Japan. The church in Japan has asked for help. We asked Brian Sellers-Petersen of Episcopal Relief and Development for background on how giving to ER-D will make a difference in Japan.

"As you know, our primary partner in a disaster of this kind is always the local church, and here we are working in solidarity with the Anglican Episcopal Church in Japan - the Nippon Sei Ko Kai (NSKK). While they are still in the throes of reviewing how clergy and congregations are impacted by the disaster, and struggling with communications in the coastal areas closest to the quake and tsunami, they have indicated they are conducting needs assessments involving survivors in communities that surround their churches.

Our program team is in contact with NSKK. We know that survivors will turn to the Church for both short-term and long-term assistance (particularly in the coming days and weeks as resources are exhausted through other avenues).

As representatives of sister churches, we work in a different manner than [many other charitable organizations]. Just as we were grateful during Hurricane Katrina, when the NSKK supported recovery efforts in the impacted dioceses of the Gulf Coast, through Episcopal Relief & Development, we know that they are deeply grateful for all of our help during this time. The resources of the Japanese people are extensive, but still the people to people contacts that we embody will help the local Anglican Church as it reaches out to the vulnerable in its communities."

ER-D is one way to help. It is not the only way. But we must help.

This morning’s Gospel is relevant. As I was reading the Gospel I thought at I might see fireworks set off, or bright lights begin to flash or spirited “Amen’s” arise from the congregation… when I got to John 3:16. But, no.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

We see John 3:16 held up on placards at football games and other public events. I suppose it is meant to be a form of evangelism, although I don’t really see how a citation of chapter and verse on a poster held up by a stranger would bring someone who is unchurched and unfamiliar with the Bible any closer to Jesus.

Considering the importance this verse has for many people I looked it up in Raymond Brown’s two volume commentary on the Gospel of John. Again, I was a little disappointed not to find any particularly enthusiastic emphasis placed on this one verse. In fact, there seems to be some discussion among Biblical scholars whether or not Jesus even said these words or whether they are part of a homily by the Evangelist (our St. John) placed on the lips of Jesus.

In his commentary, Brown focuses on one word, “loved.” “God so loved the world…” Brown writes: “The aorist implies a supreme act of love…” The aorist is a verb tense we don’t have in English. It is a past tense always implying an event or action, something that happened. God’s love wasn’t a feeling, it was an action. Brown continues, “The verb here is agapan; and if Spicq is right, we have a perfect example of agapan expressing itself in action. Agapan. We know the word “agape.” God’s love, expressed in action. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.”

God didn’t wait to be asked. God saw the need throughout the world that all human kind had for God to share, redeem and restore our human nature. So God sent his Son. God responded to our need. No one in Jesus’ day was asking for a Savior. The Jews anticipated the coming of the Messiah, but they were not asking for what they got in Jesus. As for the pagan Gentiles of the day, if anyone had asked them if they needed the Hebrew God to send Immanuel to them, they would have said, “Good God, NO! We certainly don’t need anything from that God.”

But God saw the world’s need, our need, and loved Jesus into the world.

It seems to me the best way to live into the spirit of John 3:16 is not so much to hold up placards in public places. We should act in ways that meet the needs of others. We should bring God’s agape into the world by our actions.

As Christians only two things are important. Need and agape. Need is around us. We can supply agape.

The questions that should persistently be on the lips of all Christians is “How can I help?” How can I help? Not, can I afford the time or resources to help. Not, have they asked for my help or do they want my help. Just simply, how can I help. How can I meet another’s need? How can I make God’s love real in the lives of others?

We should ask ourselves this question not just with respect to Japan, although the need there is profound right now. Wherever there are human beings, there is need: spiritual need, physical need, emotional need. Harkening back to John 3:16, there may be people in our lives who do not know the love of Christ, whose lives are desperate and faithless. We must act in response to that need with evangelism, by somehow sharing the Good News.

There is need within the parish. Think about your immediate neighborhood or local community. Even within our mighty, self-sufficient nation, there is need. And, sadly, Japan is not the only area world-wide where human beings are in grave physical need. We must act. As Christians, we must act, as best we are able, to help. No individual, of course, can meet the needs of the world. And for some of the need that surrounds us, it is not always clear how best to help. Prayer is always an appropriate response. And when we, in worship, pray for the needs and concerns of the world, we are acting to help. But we must always remember that indifference or inaction are never options for Christians. No matter what the need, indifference or inaction are never options. Whether or not we have been asked to help. Whether or not we know those in need or have any kind of ties with them. Whether or not our help is even welcome. Indifference or inaction are never options.

Wherever there are human beings there is always need. And, to God’s glory, there is always agape. And it is always our job to put agape into action.

The First Sunday in Lent

2011-03-14T14:59:00.000-07:00

The Wilderness
Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7
Matthew 4:1-11

One of the predominant themes of this First Sunday in Lent is wilderness. The Old Testament reading from Genesis tells at least most of the story of Adam and Eve’s expulsion from paradise into the wilderness. And the Gospel reading is about Jesus’ time in the wilderness.

You know the story from Genesis. From my perspective it is not meant to be about who is to blame, nor is the primary focus on exactly what he or she did wrong. Rather, the story illustrates a fact of human existence. Its meaning is to illuminate something that is uniformly true about human beings, especially with respect to our relationship with God. Note that in this story no human being lived and died in paradise. No human being, male or female, lived his or her entire life in paradise. Throughout the Biblical witness we do not have any examples of people who avoided life outside of paradise—life in the wilderness. We all live in the wilderness. We all live our whole lives in the wilderness.

I’ve mentioned before what a rich teaching resource the seasons of the church year are. Each in its turn enables us to explore and experience a different facet of our life of faith. But it’s also important to remember that, although we experience the seasons in sequence, one after another, they are, in fact, cumulative. They are all true simultaneously. The season of Lent brings the wilderness. But we actually dwell in the wilderness of Lent all of the time—every day of our lives.

It’s very important to specify what this particular wilderness is and what it is not. The story from Genesis helps us. The wilderness of Lent is a place where we have the knowledge of good and evil. We know that there is good and there is evil and we affirm that they are profoundly different. And yet, we are not consistently able to choose the good. We know that good and evil are monumentally different and yet we cannot, or do not, or will not do what is good. That is the wilderness of our daily existence.

The Litany of Penitence which we said on Ash Wednesday reminds us of our failure to choose the good. In the litany we confess “the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives… our self-indulgent appetites and ways, and our exploitation of other people… our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work.” Simple, everyday dishonesty. Then there is “our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us… our indifference to injustice and cruelty… uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors… our waste and pollution of [God’s] creation, and lack of concern for those who come after us.” These failures are a part of every human life. They vary in magnitude, and perhaps you would be reluctant to call them “evil.” But they are. They are all failures to choose the good. They are all evil in God’s sight.

The wilderness of Lent is a place where we understand and acknowledge a profound difference between good and evil, between what is godly and what is not, and yet we are unable to consistently choose the good.

The wilderness is a place of intense moral and spiritual tension and struggle. This particular wilderness is not a place where the physical aspects of life are hard. Nor is it a place of natural disaster and calamity. The wilderness of Lent is a place of moral and spiritual struggle. It is not a place of earthquakes and tsunamis. I’ve said before: God doesn’t cause earthquakes; human sin doesn’t cause earthquakes. Plate tectonics causes earthquakes. Plate tectonics are not a part of the wilderness of Lent. But it is a part of the wilderness when we understand plate tectonics, but human greed or ambition or indifference continues to build cities in areas of high risk with only minimal standards. And I’m think more now of the US than Japan. And the voracious demand for energy of all of the developed countries is a part of the wilderness. Our ungodly refusal to temper that voracious demand places many at grave risk.

Nor is the wilderness of Lent the true wilderness of the American frontier, for example, or other areas in the world today where the physical aspects of life are hard. Where disease or economic conditions make life trying. Not to diminish those struggles at all…. But the wilderness of Lent is a place of moral and spiritual struggle. A place where good and evil lie before us and we struggle and fail to choose the good.

We have a tendency to try to escape or deny the wilderness of our lives. We seek to escape by falsely persuading ourselves that we really can make the right decisions. We delude ourselves with the belief that if we really try we can consistently choose the good. Just a few weeks ago in the epistle reading none other than St. Paul came pretty close to claiming moral perfection. He maintained that he wasn’t really aware of anything that could be held against him. But even he backed down and acknowledged that God might know better (The Eighth Sunday after the Epiphany; 1 Corinthians 4:1-5). It is either delusion or pride to maintain that we can escape the wilderness of Lent by our own strength or will. That we can make always right decision and thereby escape the tension and struggle of the wilderness.

The only other way out of the wilderness would be to renounce our baptisms. To deny that there is any difference between good and evil. Neither good nor evil really exists and we don’t care if there is a difference between them. It doesn’t matter what choices we make. This is to deny the reality of moral struggle and therefore deny the reality of the wilderness. The only way to make that claim is to renounce our identity as Christians.

For Christians, the difference between good and evil is real and profoundly important. And, yet, we are unable on our own to consistently choose the good. Today and the season of Lent are meant to remind us that escape and denial are not options for us. There is no escape from the wilderness for us. We live our lives in a place where the decisions and choices we make are overwhelmingly important, yet we cannot always get it right.

Which leaves us with only God’s mercy and grace.

The church’s invitation to us all to the observance of a Holy Lent culminates with the reminder of “the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.” No exceptions. All Christians. All the time. Need to renew our repentance and faith. Living in the wilderness, our repentance and faith need renewing all of the time.

And Jesus is in the wilderness with us offering renewal and reconciliation. Remember Jesus was in the wilderness, too. It is not a Godless place. God’s own being, God’s own grace and beauty and creative power can be found in the wilderness. Jesus is here. Seek him here in the wilderness. He offers the renewal that we need.

We live in the wilderness of Lent. A place where we know good, but often do evil. As Lent proceeds we will be reminded that it was in the wilderness that Jesus was crucified. But it was also in the wilderness that he rose again from the dead.

Ash Wednesday

2011-03-11T14:51:00.000-08:00

Start from Scratch

Ash Wednesday derives its name, of course, from the important liturgical action we perform as we gather in worship today—the imposition of ashes. It’s interesting, isn’t it, that ashes are an “imposition,” something that is “imposed” upon us rather than eagerly received. Whether we are eager or not, each of us has chosen today to have a cross of ashes imposed upon our forehead.

Why do we do this liturgical action? What do the ashes actually mean to us? For millennia, ashes have been signs of public penance. And in the words of the liturgy for Ash Wednesday we refer to the ashes as “signs of our mortality and penitence.” They are imposed with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” At least to me, dust implies insignificance. Remember your insignificance.

But it’s ash, not dust, that is used. Ash. Literally, ash is what is left over when something is burned. Ash is the residue of burning. It is what is left over when something has been consumed by fire.

You may be aware, that as people of faith we burn physical or material things that have had a sacred purpose when that purpose is done. Material things which have been used for holy purposes are burned when their usefulness is done. At least when practical, we burn material things that have served a sacred or holy purpose when their usefulness is done. This is true for the vessels and vestments of the church, things that have been blessed and set apart for sacred use. When their use is done, they are burned. The analogy with cremation is direct. The human body is a material thing set apart for a wondrously sacred and holy use, the sustenance of an individual human life. When the body’s sacred use is done, one reverent action we may take is burning.

One way to think about what we are doing when we burn things whose sacred use is done is to imagine that we are liberating the sacred or the holy from the material vessel that bore it. In burning, we are symbolically freeing everything that is holy, offering it back to God. And ash is left over.

Once you’ve liberated all that is holy, ash is what is left over. When everything that is sacred has been burned away and has ascended like incense to fill the vault of heaven, ash is what is left over. Ash. Devoid of form, beauty, function, holiness. With holiness removed, we are but ash. Without the image of God within us, we are no more than ash.

Even when we’re alive, ash is all we are without God.

We remember this, not just at the end of life, but at the beginning of Lent. Think of Ash Wednesday as a day to start life from scratch. In a few moments I will invite you, in the name of the church, to the observance of a holy Lent. Maybe we could all think of Lent as a time when we invite God to renew holiness within us. The disciplines of Lent are invitations to God to work within us. In Lent we invite God to do what we cannot do for ourselves, to recreate God’s image within us, to rebuild the sacred within us. Starting from scratch. Evidently to start from scratch was originally an athletic metaphor. It meant to start from the very beginning, the starting line scratched in the earth, without any sort of head start or advantage. To start from the very beginning with no advantage. We are ash. And to restore beauty, form and grace we cannot rely upon any of the advantages we cling to in life—our money, our cleverness, our strength, our skill, our intellect. None of those will help us. Only God can recreate us from scratch.

But to start from scratch often also means starting over again after a previous failure. All of our past failures and infirmities, all of our old baggage have also been burned away. We are freed from past burdens as we invite God to work anew in us this Lent.

Today we are reminded that without the holy image of God within us, we are no more than ash. Through the disciplines of Lent invite God to recreate a clean and beautiful heart within you. This Lent enable God to renew in you a right and righteous spirit. Call upon God to do what only God can do… to start from scratch, from ash, to recreate God’s own image of grace and hope in our lives.

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-03-11T14:46:00.000-08:00

God's Rudeness
Matthew 17:1-9

This Sunday, finally, is the Last Sunday after the Epiphany. When Easter is late, as it is this year, we have more Sundays between the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6 and Ash Wednesday. But no matter how many Sundays after the Epiphany show up on the calendar, we always celebrate the Last Sunday after the Epiphany. There are propers—a collect and Scripture readings—designated for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, the last Sunday before Lent begins.

The Gospel reading for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany is always one of the tellings of the story of Jesus’ transfiguration. I hope the story is familiar to you. Jesus takes Peter, James and John with him up a high mountain. And there on the mountain top Jesus’ appearance is transfigured. Whether or not his appearance actually changed is less important than the fact that Peter, James and John saw Jesus in a way they had never seen him before. They truly saw the glory of God shining indescribably from and in and through the person of Jesus.

As familiar as this story is, I heard something new in it this year. As Matthew tells it Peter, well-meaning but misguided as usual, offers to build some sort of booths for Jesus and Moses and Elijah, who have appeared with Jesus. While Peter was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him.” While Peter was still speaking, basically, God interrupted. I was certainly taught that it is bad manners to interrupt someone else. Evidently, God is not always mannerly.

Most of us probably do think it is rude to interrupt someone else; we undoubtedly think it is rude when someone else interrupts us. We don’t like to have our conversations, our plans, or much of anything else interrupted.

Especially as Episcopalians, we don’t like to have our worship interrupted by cell phones or noisy conversations. We don’t like to have the familiar words or structure of worship interrupted by anything new or different. These are all examples of how we dislike interruptions from one another. Sometimes I think we don’t even want our worship interrupted by God.

We prefer control and steady familiarity. Many people have speculated that Peter, at Jesus’ transfiguration, was motivated by a desire to enshrine the experience. To contain it in something controlled and familiar, so that he could revisit the wonder again and again at times and occasions of his choosing.

I enjoy going to the Art Institute. Some of the traveling or temporary exhibitions are spectacular. But I also have a few favorite paintings, a few favorite spots I return to again and again. They are familiar and I know that they will always bring enjoyment. I’m so glad the Chagall windows and the armory are both back! Although neither are as well situated as they used to be. We often approach God the same way. Returning again and again to familiar places. This is OK. Institutional religion is built around the power of these common and familiar experiences. And part of what religion assures us of is that God will be found again and again in the places where we have found God before. Part of the promise of our life together as a faith community is that we will always find God, for example, in the Sacraments.

But the familiar should never be the limit of our expectations of God.

The voice that says, “This is my Son… right here, right now in front of you… THIS IS MY SON... Listen to him…” That voice will always be an interruption.

God is rude. If you remember nothing else, remember that. God is rude. God interrupts our lives, our plans, our conversations. God rudely interrupts. How ready and willing are you to be interrupted?

I think this is one of the messages of the transfiguration. Maybe not the most important message, but a message. God is rude. And if you want to hear the voice that says, “This is my Son,” then you’d better expect to be interrupted. In whatever you are doing, whether you’re at home, or work, or even in church. The voice that says, “This is my Son” always comes as an interruption. The living God always interrupts our lives. But in that interruption we will see things we’ve never seen before, hear things we’ve never heard before, know and understand God in ways more deeply and fully than we ever have before.

Lent, at its best, primes us to be interrupted. We deliberately choose to interrupt what is normal with some sort of special discipline. We open little chinks in our daily lives, where perhaps we will be more tolerant of God’s interruptions. In today’s collect, we pray that, by God’s grace, we may be changed more and more into Jesus’ own likeness, that we may take on more and more of God’s glory in our own lives. It is a remarkable hope and prayer for our own transfiguration. Which can only take place with some pretty significant interruptions from God.

The Eighth Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-03-04T14:22:00.000-08:00

To See the Mountains Skip
Isaiah 49:8-16a

What would you say if a young child came up to you excitedly and said, “Guess what I just heard! Guess! I bet you can't guess. I just heard the mountains sing.” Or what would you do if an earnest and breathless child said, “I just saw the mountains skipping.” Most of us would probably be kind, but dismissive. “That’s nice, dear, run along now.” Or we might praise the child for a vivid imagination.

This morning’s reading from Isaiah speaks of the mountains breaking forth into singing. And of the earth itself rising up in exultation. There’s a passage in the psalms that describes the mountains skipping like rams. Skipping! At another place in Isaiah, the prophet proclaims that the trees of the field shall clap their hands.

I would like to see and hear these things. I would like to know these experiences. I do believe that these wonderful images are more than metaphors… and more than the product of a childlike imagination. I believe that, somehow, they speak of something that we can truly experience. I believe they describe the world’s joyful response to the presence of God. And I believe that we can see and hear that response. It is possible to really hear the trees clap their hands. It is possible to see the mountains playfully skipping like rams.

So why is it so rare or unimaginable for us to hear the mountains sing or to see the earth itself exult? What keeps us from these experiences? What blocks our senses?

Today’s collect is about our ability to perceive. It speaks to what blocks our vision of God’s wonders. “Most loving Father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who care for us: Preserve us from faithless fears and worldly anxieties, that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from us the light of that love which is immortal, and which you have manifested to us in your Son Jesus Christ our Lord…” Preserve us from faithless fears and worldly anxieties, that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from us the light of your love. It is the faithless fears and worldly anxieties—which are a part of every human life—that cloud our vision, that stop our ears. Faithless fears and worldly anxieties impede our ability to sense the love and presence of God. Faithless fears and worldly anxieties are the clouds that keep us from seeing the mountains skip, from hearing the earth sing, from feeling God’s own love poured out on us.

I spent some time trying to come up with examples of faithless fears and worldly anxieties to help illustrate my point. What sort of fears are faithless fears? What are some examples of worldly anxieties, as distinct from other every-day anxieties? I’ve come to the conclusion that all of our fears are faithless and all of our anxieties are worldly. All of our fears are faithless and all of our anxieties are worldly. And it is all of these fears and anxieties that cloud our perception of God’s presence and love.

So how do we clear our hearing and sight? How do we avoid being blinded and deafened by the fears and anxieties that are a part of all of our lives? Today’s collect helps again. “Most loving Father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who care for us…” We are to cast our cares on God. Most of us yearn to know God’s will for us. This collect tells us one piece of it, at least. God wills us to cast our cares on him. God, whom we address in this collect as “Most Loving Father,” wants us to give our fears and anxieties to him. We had a funeral here yesterday. I’m reminded of a passage from the burial service where we are praying for those who mourn, people troubled by distress, cares and anxieties. We pray that those who mourn may “cast all their cares on God and know the consolation of God’s love.” And this is the really important part. It is in casting our cares on God that we come to know the consolation of God’s love. It is casting our cares on God that disperses the clouds that block our seeing and hearing God’s presence and love. When we cast our cares on God, the clouds part, and God’s love shines into our lives. We are able to sense and feel that love.

The place to start is by naming the specific fears and anxieties that trouble your life. Face and name, directly and specifically, the particular fears and anxieties that cloud your life. Today. Small fears, large fears, persistent anxieties or a single anxious event. Name them. That’s where you have to start. And then prayerfully give them to God. Place them in God’s care, in God’s hands. My own experience is intermittent, at best, but I know this works. As we cast our cares on God, the clouds of this mortal life disperse and the glorious light of God’s love shines in. And, as those clouds of faithless fears and worldly anxieties break up and dissolve away, I do believe that we will also be able to see—to really see—the mountains skipping joyfully like rams and to hear the earth itself singing in exultation. All in joy and praise of the presence of God.

The Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-02-28T11:48:00.000-08:00

The Love of God, Lived
Leviticus 19:1-2, 9-18
Matthew 5:38-48

Today is the Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany. Many years we don’t even have a Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany, but as you probably know, Easter is very late this year. Most years, therefore, we would not hear the Scripture lessons appointed for this day (at least not at this point in the calendar). When we do, though, I’m thinking we should subtitle this Sunday “Commandment Sunday.” Both the Old Testament Reading and the Gospel are all about God’s commandments or ethical teachings.

The passage from Leviticus is a variation on the theme of the Ten Commandments. This is not the clear articulation of the Ten Commandments that we find in Exodus and Deuteronomy, but it should have sounded very familiar. “You shall not steal; you shall not deal falsely or lie to one another. You shall not swear falsely, profaning the name of your God. You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” This is how God’s people live in relationship to one another and to God.

Then in this morning’s Gospel reading from Matthew, Jesus gives very clear ethical instructions to his followers. This passage is part of the Sermon on the Mount. With the Ten Commandments brought to mind by the Old Testament lesson, as I read the Gospel I found myself wondering why Christians are not clamoring to have these commandments of Jesus posted in courthouses and public places. These are Jesus’ own words to us. This is Jesus’ teaching on how we are to live as Christians, what code of behavior should govern our lives as followers of Christ. Why are we not fighting to have these posted in our halls of justice and public squares?

“If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well.” I think that one should be posted in our halls of justice. “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you…. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

Why is there no movement to display these commandments of Jesus in our public places? Probably because most of us really don’t want to follow them. It would be difficult, certainly, to actually live our daily lives according to these precepts.

But this is how Jesus lived. These statements are not so much guidelines or commandments or a set of ethical precepts. They are not instructions or abstract ideals set down to govern our daily lives. These words are descriptive. This is how Jesus lived. These words are not prescriptive, they are descriptive. This is what the love of God looks like when it is lived by a human being. This is the love of God, lived.

We are the Body of Christ today. We are the human shape of God in the world today. In John’s Gospel, over and over Jesus says to his followers: “Abide in my love.” He invites his disciples then and now to share and live in the love of God in the same way that he does. So maybe these words from the sermon on the mount describe how we are to live. We are the Body of Christ; we are called to abide in and live God’s love. We are to be the love of God, lived.

When we think about the love of God, I wonder if most of us would very much like to receive God’s love, but we are a lot less enthusiastic about sharing it or giving it to others. We like to be the recipients of God’s love and to know its peace and comfort. We yearn to be loved by God. But it feels like work, and often unpleasant work, to be the donors of God’s love to others.

We think of receiving God’s love and giving God’s love to others as two different things. And we probably say to ourselves, “Well, if I just received a lot more of God’s love, then maybe I’d be better at sharing it.” Or, on our better days, or if we happen to be deeply steeped in the Protestant work ethic, we may say to ourselves, “Maybe if I work really hard at showing God’s love for others, then I’ll receive more of it for myself from God.”

But as I consider this morning’s Gospel, I have come to think that we go seriously astray when we try to separate receiving God’s love from giving God’s love. I’m not sure they are two different things. I don’t think they can be separated. I don’t think you can have one without the other. I don’t think we can even think about receiving God’s love or giving God’s love. There is only living God’s love. There is only God’s love, lived. The receiving and giving are completely woven together in the living.

So how do we become people who are the love of God, lived? Prayer. Listen again to this morning’s collect. “O Lord, you have taught us that without love whatever we do is worth nothing….” We can be the love of God, lived, or the alternative is being nothing more than a bunch of worthless actions. “Send your Holy Spirit and pour into our hearts your greatest gift, which is love, the true bond of peace and of all virtue, without which whoever lives is accounted dead before you….” There it is again, without God’s love we are virtually dead. So let us pray this collect over and over again. “Send your Holy Spirit and pour into our hearts your greatest gift, which is love.” So that our human lives may be the love of God, lived.

The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-02-14T14:42:00.000-08:00

Identity
Matthew 5:21-37

I have preached in the past on the difficult Gospel passage we just heard. And sometime in the future I will preach on it again, but not today. Like many of you, I expect, I have found the events in Egypt and the Middle East grabbing a good bit of my attention these last few weeks. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a news junky, so I’ve just seen bits and pieces of coverage, and probably not the same bits and pieces that you’ve seen.

As I’ve watched and followed the stories, I’ve been very much aware of how all the news we get in this country is interpreted. Everything comes to us interpreted, from decisions on how headlines are written to which clips to show on TV, never mind the actual commentary. Everything is interpreted. And, as with many other stories, interpreting the events in Egypt has become fodder for journalistic extremism. In the midst of all this, I urge you to pray a prayer I think everyone can share for the people of Egypt. Pray that this time may be for the people of Egypt a new beginning, not just an end. Pray that in these events they will find a new beginning that offers new life, new creativity, new liberty.

I actually want to talk about us, not Egypt, this morning. The revolution in Egypt is ultimately about identity. (For this insight, I’m indebted to an editorial I read in the on-line Christian Science Monitor.) It is about the people of Egypt determining who they want to be, what their identity will be. This broad search for identity is relevant for us, too. As individual human beings, as Christians, as Episcopalians, even as members of this parish. With respect to the people of Egypt, many commentators have noted that, at least up to now, the people of Egypt have been much clearer about who they did not want to be, and not at all clear about who they do want to be. They have clearly rejected their past identity, but have yet to form a vision of who they do want to be in the future.

And that aspect of the issue of identity has meaning for us as well. Figuring out who you are not, who you don’t want to be is very important, and it is often the beginning of a wondrous process of transformation. But it is only the beginning. To grow into, to claim the identity God has in mind for us, we need to move beyond a self-identity that is based on who we are not, to one that lives and celebrates who we are.

I may be particularly aware of this because of my experiences at my last parish. As some of you remember, I was Rector of St. Patrick’s in Brewer, Maine, before I came here. St. Pat’s is a small parish; Brewer is a small town. Brewer is right across the river from Bangor, a considerably larger small town. And in Bangor there is a lofty Gothic stone Episcopal church, called, coincidentally, St. John’s. The people of St. Pat’s were faithful, had a rich character and good ministries. But much of their sense of their own identity revolved around not being St. John’s. They were not a Bangor church; they wanted to not be St. John’s, which was perceived, I think, by the folk of St. Pat’s to be a hoity-toity place and rather rigid.

Knowing who you are not, knowing who you do not want to be, is important, and often the beginning of growth and transformation. But to really be who God calls us to be we need to perceive and claim an identity that celebrates and lives into who we are.

As individual human beings, I think psychologists call this the process of self-actualization. It begins with the clear affirmation, “I am not my mother,” and grows into a sense of who I am. This process is an important aspect of maturity and mental health.

As individual Christians, the journey into identity begins at baptism, when we say, “I am not subject to the powers and principalities of this world.” Then through prayer and study we grow into the particular vocation that God desires for us. “This is the character of the life I am called to live as part of the Body of Christ.”

What about our identity as Episcopalians? If I were to ask you to describe our Episcopal identity, what would you say? You might look to our history. You might feel like you should be able to talk about our particular theology, if only you were clearer on what it actually is.

It seems, as Episcopalians, we are often more clear on who we are not. For example, we are not mindless fundamentalists. At least we perceive fundamentalists to be mindless and we know we do not want to be that. A while back there was an advertising poster for the Episcopal Church that said. “You don’t have to check your mind at the door.” Or, we are not like those emotional, flash-in-the-pan, weepy personal-relationship-with-Christ evangelicals. We do not think of Jesus as our best bud. Or, in more modern lingo, Jesus is not my BFF. We’re not Roman Catholics, whom we certainly perceive to be faithful, but enslaved by the institutional church.

So who are we, in positive terms, as Episcopalians? I offer you two very important qualities of our identity that you might not have on the tip of your tongue. This is far from a comprehensive description of Episcopal identity, but it is something to hang onto.

First, we are people who pray together. The most important activity that unites us, that we do in common, is prayer. Some of you might have said, as individuals, that the Book of Common Prayer is something you cherish about the Episcopal identity. But the Book of Common Prayer is much more than something you or I may like; it is what we do. This has been true since the time of the English Reformation when differences of politics and even theology were seen as subordinate to the activity of common prayer. The activity of kneeling side-by-side, sharing the same words in prayer, is more important than anything that might seem to divide us. The most important thing we do together as a community is pray. Any liturgical church could say this about its identity, but we are people who pray in common.

Second, as Episcopalians, our life of faith is pragmatic. At a diocesan meeting yesterday, Bishop Lee reminded us that Episcopal scholar John Booty identifies us as pragmatic. And by this, he doesn’t mean “pragmatic” in the sense of “practical,” he means rooted in “practice.” Look at our baptismal covenant, the most powerful and focused articulation of how Episcopalians see ourselves living as Christians. It begins with an affirmation of faith in the Trinitarian God. Then comes what Bishop Lee calls the “so-what” questions. So you believe in the Trinitarian God… so what? What follows are five clear practices. It is not a theological confession that identifies us, not an emotional experience of God; it is what we do. We continue in the apostles teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers. That is, we go to church and participate in the life of the parish. We persevere in resisting evil and practice reconciliation (as today’s Gospel commands us to do.) We practice evangelism. We practice service and compassion towards others. We strive for justice and peace. Our identity is wrapped up in what we do, our practice of faith. We are pragmatic.

What is our identity as a parish? I’ll admit I hear parishioners, from time to time, talk about our identity in terms of who we are not. We are not IJP. I think people mean by that primarily that we are not Roman Catholic, rather than focusing on any particular feature of IJP as a parish. We are not Community Church. Sometimes that is said with relief; sometimes with a twinge of envy. Perceiving the size of their budget or the abundance of their programs to be enviable. And I expect there are one or two parishioners who can only see us as “not what we used to be.”

All of these are really OK. Even these “nots” are a part of our identity. And they can be a starting point for transformation and discovery of the identity that God calls us into now. In seeing who we are not, we begin to get a vision of who we are.

Who are we? Remember that the qualities of our Episcopal identity that I described earlier are ours as a parish as well. We pray together. A diverse and disparate group of people; we share common prayer. We value our shared life of prayer as a very important part of who we are. And we practice our faith. We are a pragmatic parish. If you haven’t read my annual report, do (earlier post). You’ll see faith identified through practice.

I would add one more quality of our identity. As a parish, we are a place defined less by our programs (although we have good ones) and more by our relationships. Individual relationships, nurtured over the years through caring and Christian companionship. We have lots of what congregational development gurus call relational groups. Formal and informal groups in which connection and communion flourish. And we do fellowship well. Fellowship doesn’t just happen. It is a particular charism of this parish; it is part of our identity. Maybe you have other thoughts on our identity as Episcopalians or as a parish. I’d be interested to hear them. We are richly blessed, both in who we are and in who God calls us to become.

Rector's Annual Report

2011-02-14T04:26:00.000-08:00

The Body of Christ.

A parish community is both a place to find the Body of Christ and to be the Body of Christ. I am grateful to be a part of a parish community in which the life of the Body of Christ is so richly shared, both within the parish fellowship and beyond.

For example, just in the last month or so:

Before Christmas the children who participate in the Little Hands ministry invested their spirit, time and creativity to create and deliver Advent gifts for some of our less mobile parishioners. They decorated cookies and made cards and bags which proclaimed both the love of Christ and the care of the children towards the recipients.

Christmas services were full of glory. We welcomed and celebrated the remembrance of Christ’s birth in the majestic and reverent liturgy of the church. The children’s Christmas pageant was the “Best Christmas Pageant” ever. We had the largest number of children participating that we’ve had in recent years. But even more importantly, the children were both happy and proud to be a part of the pageant, to be the evangelists sharing the story of Christ’s birth with the parish. At the late service on Christmas Eve our worship shone brightly in the night like the star that proclaimed Jesus’ birth. Music is surely one of God’s greatest gifts to us. As the choir makes music so richly within worship—especially on Christmas Eve—they enable us all to share in celebration and praise of God’s gifts and presence with us.

Christmas Eve falling on a Friday this year, it just happened to be St. John’s night to staff P.A.D.S. at St. Agnes’ Catholic Church in Chicago Heights. So at the same time that Christians everywhere were celebrating Christ’s birth in a dingy stable because there was no room for the holy family at the inn, lay ministers from St. John’s were helping to offer shelter, in Christ’s name, to individuals in our own community. The Body of Christ reaching out.

For the last several years in early January the vestry has offered a Feast to the parish. The Feast of St. John the Evangelist began out of the vestry’s desire to thank the people of the parish for being the parish, for being the Body of Christ. It is wonderful to see individual vestry members give so generously of their time and creativity, to exercise their ministry of leadership in acts of service. The event itself certainly highlights the gift of fellowship… what a gift it is to share fellowship as the Body of Christ across a wide range of ages and backgrounds.

Over the last six months the vestry has been methodically working to address needed improvements in the physical accessibility of St. John’s. There should be no barriers to participation in the life of Christ. In early January requests for bids were sent to architectural firms. This manifests a care, not only for those within our current congregation who may have various physical limitations, but also a desire to welcome others whom we do not yet know who may be seeking the Good News of God in Christ.

As 2010 ended and 2011 began we also hosted two funerals. Like many others, they were “good” funerals. Good because the Body of Christ was very much in evidence. They were times of sadness and loss, both within Adrienne and George’s immediate families, and within their larger parish family. But the individual faith each of them lived was a lively example to all and worthy of celebration. And the hands and voice of Christ were definitely present within the parish in the many acts and words of kindness shared, in the many individuals who offered their time and help with the receptions, and in the voices and hearts of all those who prayed, and continue to pray, in the confidence of eternal life given by God and shared with the saints in light.

Several new parishioners have become a part of the parish community recently. Again and again they say how strongly they feel at home within this parish community. This speaks both to the welcoming nature of parishioners and also to the presence of Christ, made real and made known among us here. Christ, who yearns to welcome us all home into his presence.

Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-01-31T09:42:00.000-08:00

What Would It Take?
Micah 6:1-8
Matthew 5:1-12

The prophet Micah stood outside somewhere, maybe on a street corner near the temple and cried out, “Hear what the Lord says.” And people stopped to listen. Maybe not everyone, but many stopped, knowing that this prophet spoke God’s words and that God was speaking to them. They accepted the personal immediacy of God’s words for them. But that was a long time ago; times have changed.

The Gospel for today recounts that people drew near to Jesus. Even before he began to speak they gathered around him, yearning to hear God’s words spoken to them. And they knew that Jesus would speak the Word of God with authenticity and authority and potency—to them. But Jesus, the Word made flesh, no longer walks among us in the flesh. Who can speak God’s word so directly into our lives today?

In both of these readings God’s word is spoken with power and authority directly to the individuals who came to hear. Through Micah, God spoke words of rebuke and guidance. Jesus spoke God’s words of blessing. And the people seem to know and accept that God is speaking personally to them. That acceptance of the personal immediacy of God’s word seems to come much harder to us today. We might ask ourselves: What would it take for us to really hear and know God’s word intended personally and powerfully for us? What would it take for me to hear God’s word with such immediacy and potency that I would have to take notice? That it would change my life forever? What would it take for these words on our Scripture inserts to be more than just words on a page about God and become God’s own voice speaking directly to me, to you? The Beatitudes are very familiar and speak to us of a wonderful God who bestows blessing. What would it take for us to experience ourselves personally addressed and blessed by these words?

Would it take hearing them intoned by an extraordinary, modern-day prophet? Would we feel the immediacy of God’s words in our lives if they were spoken by a person of extraordinary power and stature, someone outside our normal sphere of experience? What if we were in the presence, say, of Martin Luther King, Jr? Or, by a very circuitous route, I’ve recently been reminded of Barbara Jordan. That was a voice of extraordinary power and a person of extraordinary authenticity and authority! If Barbara Jordan’s voice spoke directly to you saying, “What does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God,” you truly might feel that God had spoken directly to you.

Is this what it takes? Do we need to hear God’s words spoken, not by the person next to us in the pew or the person with whom we chat at coffee hour, but by an extraordinary, larger-than-life, modern day prophet?

Here in church we are surrounded by God’s word, printed and spoken, read and preached. What would it take to hear those words spoken with immediacy and potency into our individual lives? Maybe it would take an extraordinary church setting. This building is beautiful, but maybe if God’s words came to us in the midst of the awesome majesty of a great cathedral? Or maybe if we heard them preached by a truly extraordinary preacher. Not the one we see at the grocery store on Tuesday, but someone like George Whitfield, whom we’re studying in the adult education class. Someone of truly extraordinary skills of oration, who could evidently move thousands by his words. Or maybe God’s words would become real and powerful for us if we heard them in the midst of an extraordinary parish community, not this one that is so familiar to us, but one of remarkable sanctity where everyone is already half-way to heaven.

Or maybe it takes a time of extraordinary personal crisis before God’s words really strike home in our lives.

Some of you know that one of my favorite comics is Zits. I’ve enjoyed it for years. If you don’t know it, it’s about teenage life. It’s about being a teenager, about living with a teenager, about the high school experience. I think one reason I enjoy it is that it so often reminds me of life in the church. Think about it. We all behave like teenagers a lot of the time in our relationship with God and in our life in the church. In our religious lives, we are all teenagers. The stereotypical teenager is: (1) totally self-absorbed and seemingly indifferent to the external world and (2) totally dependent upon the external world to meet his or her every need. Self-absorbed and entitled. That’s us in our religious lives. Self-absorbed in our personal spirituality, focused on our own spiritual needs, with a powerful expectation that the external world, the church, should meet those needs.

We would like to hear God’s word with personal immediacy, but we look to external, extraordinary events or people to make that possible. We depend upon someone or something other than ourselves to break us open to God’s Word. Ultimately, however, it is not the responsibility of some extraordinary prophet, nor preacher, nor church building, nor church community… it is not their responsibility to make us hear. Nor should we be dependent upon some singular, grave occurrence of personal trial. It is our responsibility to listen. And if we really seek to listen, we will hear. It’s that simple. If we approach God’s word seeking to hear it spoken to us, we will. If we approach life yearning to know God’s presence with us, we will find it.

If we yearn to hear God speaking powerfully, personally to us, we will. In extraordinary voices and events when those are given to us, but also in the very ordinary events of daily life. The beatitudes are addressed to people who yearn… who yearn and hunger for peace, for fulfillment, for righteousness. And those who yearn are blessed, filled by God’s blessing.

I’m reminded of the story of the Wizard of Oz. Part of that story is about Dorothy’s discovery that she did not need the extraordinary intervention of others to make her way home. She did not need the wizard’s magic, nor even the charlatan’s balloon. She did not need the intercessions of the Good Witch. All she needed was a yearning, a longing in her heart, and then the power to go home was within her.

All we need is a yearning for God’s Word and it will be spoken to us. What does it take for us to hear God speaking with personal immediacy and potency in our individual lives? All it takes is a yearning within. If you yearn to hear God’s word, you will.

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-01-24T12:43:00.000-08:00

Follow the Light
Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 5-13
Matthew 4:12-23

Light is an important theme in the Scripture readings for today. Isaiah, the Psalm and the Gospel all speak of God being light or bringing light into darkness.

Light is a very powerful image throughout the New Testament and one that we use a lot in the church. We speak of the Light of Christ. Jesus is the light of the world. We are awed by the wonder and power of God’s light to dispel both literal and figurative darkness. God’s light brings illumination, enabling us to see God in the world around us. God’s light has the wondrous power to cast out fear and dispel doubt.

A life lived with God is a life into which light shines. Conversely, a life without God is a life lived in darkness, in shadow. It’s a stark dichotomy. The absence of God and darkness verses the presence of God and light.

Especially as I considered Matthew’s Gospel, I became aware of another dichotomy, another set of images coincident with the images of darkness and light.

What happens in the darkness? The people sit. Matthew says it repeatedly. The people sat in darkness. Those who sat in the shadow of death.

And then Jesus comes and says, “Follow me.” Move. Get up off your backsides and move.

So along with the dichotomy of darkness and light is the parallel dichotomy of stasis verses motion; passivity verses growth; inactivity verses an active journey Godwards.

Which is to say: God’s light is not for basking in. It is for guidance. It is meant to lead us as we move closer and deeper in our relationship with God. That’s a wonderful gift, a beacon to guide us in our journey towards God. All of us, I expect want to be closer to God and give thanks for God’s desire to help us move beyond ourselves and our limitations. We affirm and celebrate God’s gift to us of guidance, of motion. In the Eucharistic Prayer we are currently using, we thank God, that in Christ, God has brought us: out of error into truth, out of sin into righteousness, out of isolation into community, out of death into life.

Surely, we are all eager to move out of the darkness, eager to move God-wards. Eager to move….

Except when we don’t want to move anywhere at all.

When we treat being a Christian more like a vacation than a vocation. What is the stereotypical vacation? Sitting around in the sun doing as little as possible. Soaking up the sun, basking in the light, with an absolute minimum of motion. We often seem to think being a Christian is like a vacation. Lord, wash away my sin and doubt and fear with your glorious light, while I just sit here and work on my tan. We think of the church as a sort-of spiritual tanning salon, a place to relax and bask in God’s light.

It doesn’t work that way. The popular hymn (which the choir is going to sing in just a bit) does not say, “I want to sit as a child of the light.” It says, “I want to walk as a child of the light. I want to follow Jesus.”

If you are, spiritually speaking, the same person, in the same place, doing the same thing today as you were yesterday, you are not following Jesus. Jesus is the light of the world. The light does not sit still. Sitting is for the darkness. The light is for following.

Being a Christian is a vocation, not a vacation. A vocation of study, prayer and ministry. A vocation by which Jesus leads us closer and closer to God. Being a Christian is an active vocation of growth, of movement. The light of the world says, Follow me. Where is the light leading you? What vocation of prayer, study or ministry are you being called forward to?

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

2011-01-24T12:39:00.000-08:00

Not a Saint
1 Corinthians 1:1-9

The epistle reading appointed for today comes from the very beginning of Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth. Even if you’re not a student of ancient history or even a Biblical scholar, you may be aware that, at the time Paul was writing, epistles or letters were governed by a formal structure. Especially the opening lines of a letter were formulaic. We hear that formula repeated over and over in Paul’s letters. Because we know they’re formulaic, because they sounds formulaic, we may not always give those opening lines much attention. But we should. The structure follows a set formula, but the words are Paul’s. And they are definitely worth our attention.

“Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and our brother Sosthenes, To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints…”

I was browsing a very scholarly commentary I have on First Corinthians. Very scholarly! Hans Conzelmann devotes a whole page just to verse two. But in the midst of all the academic disputes and minutiae, tucked into numerous references to the original Greek, one sentence absolutely jumped off the page. Paul’s letter is addressed to the Christians in Corinth, whom Paul refers to as those “called to be saints.” Conzelmann writes: “Paul never uses the word [saints] in the singular of the individual Christian.”

Paul never uses the word saint in the singular.

Conzelmann elaborates: “Holiness is not a quality of the individual, but a communal state in which we are placed by baptism.” Holiness and saintliness are the same word in Paul’s Greek. The saints are the holy ones. And Paul always uses the word in the plural; he never uses the word saint in the singular to refer to an individual Christian. He never even speaks of aspiring to be a saint himself, and that’s pretty remarkable, if you think about it. He never speaks of a saint.

This is so counter to our general world view and our usage of the word saint, that it’s almost impossible to grasp. It seems in every aspect of our lives we are defined by our individual qualities, our singular aspirations, our personal accomplishments. In this context, a saint, is an individual who is remarkably holy.

In addition to our general focus on the individual, we also tend to think of ourselves as self-made. I am what I work to become. In the church we talk about how the quality of holiness cannot be worked for or earned. It can only be bestowed by the gift of God. Even though we use that language in the church, it’s hard for us to really internalize its meaning. We really think it we pray hard enough or often enough we can make ourselves holy. Maybe if we remember Paul, it will help. There is no such thing as an individual saint. No singular or individual qualities confer sainthood.

For Paul, there are only the saints, plural. The community, which is the church, made holy, sanctified by God’s grace. All who are brought into that community by baptism become holy ones.

This perspective is not unique to Paul. A quick glance at a concordance did not reveal any uses of the word saint in the singular anywhere in the New Testament. No individual is described as a saint. No one is encouraged to aspire to sainthood. Sainthood is only experienced in the plural.

This is in stark contrast to the individualism that is prevalent in our culture. It is also in contradiction to Roman Catholic practice. Just this week the news included stories of Pope John Paul II’s progress towards sainthood. I am not questioning his personal holiness, nor the faithfulness of his papacy. I am criticizing the practice that differentiates individuals… categorizing only those special individuals who appear to possess certain qualities as “saints.” This is not the witness of the New Testament.

The only way I can become a saint is by standing with you. What makes you a saint is praying with me. We are saints only when we are side by side.

This understanding of corporate sainthood is a message worth remembering on this weekend when American society remembers Dr. Martin Luther King and his work for civil rights. Any barriers or exclusivity that divide us one from another are not only morally wrong, they destroy sainthood. They fracture our common holiness.

The understanding that sainthood or holiness is found in the shared life of the church also speaks to those who say they can be better Christians outside the church. I do understand where they are coming from; there are days when I feel the same way. It certainly is possible to be a good person outside the church. It is even possible to be a faithful person outside the church. According to Paul, it is not possible to be a holy person at all. There is no such thing as a holy person, a saint. There are only holy people, plural… those who are part of the fellowship of the Body of Christ.

It’s also worth noting, that the most important way in which the early Christians designated themselves was “the church.” That’s not as self-evident as it may at first appear. They could have focused on a certain tenet of belief, or a religious practice, or a foundational event. But they didn’t. They were a community, a fellowship. The Church of God; those called to be saints.

What might be thought of as the negative side of Paul’s theology is the impossibility of individual sainthood outside the fellowship of the church. But think about the positive side… the generous gift of holiness to all within the church. As the church, part of who we are is the holy ones. It’s God’s gift, given to all, shared in common. It’s a marvelous, unqualified abundance of grace. We are the saints.

The predominant theme of the season of Epiphany is recognition. Our seeing and recognizing what God has already done in the world, in our lives. The usual focus is on recognizing the divine person and glory of God within the human hands and face of Jesus. In the Epiphany proper preface we thank God for the ability to know, or recognize, God’s glory in the face of Jesus Christ.

Maybe we could also pray for the ability to recognize our own holiness, to see and know God’s gift of sanctification, already given to us, the church. God has already done it. We are the holy ones. God help us to recognize our common, shared sainthood.

The First Sunday after Christmas Day

2011-01-02T03:53:00.000-08:00

Life Goes On

Quite a few of the holy days of the church have complex titles with headings and subheadings. For example: The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Colon. Christmas Day. The Epiphany, or, The Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles. The First Sunday after the Epiphany. Colon. The Baptism of Our Lord.

Today could be called The First Sunday after Christmas Day. Colon. Life Goes On. Officially, of course, it is only the First Sunday after Christmas Day, which this year also happens to be the day after Christmas. Life Goes On.

For those of us who work in the church, it’s not as auspicious arrangement of the calendar when December 26 is a Sunday. The very next day after Christmas, I have to get up early, be “on” again? After all the energy put into three very different Christmas Services—two of which had their own homilies. Even for people not employed in the church, being a Christian is always work. It is much more than that, but it is also work. Life goes on.

Everyone today is surrounded by the aftermath of Christmas. Maybe that’s a warm glow, a lingering feeling of the best of human life and relationships. Maybe it’s pent up tension, the stress of human expectations, fulfilled and unfulfilled. Undoubtedly the aftermath of Christmas includes fatigue. But life goes on.

In England and some other parts of the former British Empire, December 26 is Boxing Day. Technically, I understand that this year the legal holiday will be tomorrow, December 27, because today is a Sunday, but I associate Boxing Day with December 26. A prominent custom of boxing day is for the wealthy, the privileged, to “box up” left over’s from their Christmas feast, or unwanted presents, and pass them along to tradespeople and servants. The “less fortunate.” More generally, Boxing Day is a time to give alms. The day after Christmas, poor are still with us. Life goes on. Life’s injustices go on.

Today is also St. Stephen’s Day. The day we commemorate the church’s first martyr. The day after Christmas, the day we remember and celebrate Christ’s birth, we remember Stephen, stoned to death for being a Christian. The ugliness of life goes on.

I understand that the retail industry in America has very high hopes for today. One headline I saw said, “Stars are aligned for a super Sunday.” Never mind the Magi’s star. Today is all about the post Christmas sale and exchange shopping extravaganza. And it’s a weekend! Yippee. American life goes on.

Life goes on.

For us today is the First Sunday after Christmas Day. It is the second Day of Christmas season. We are still celebrating the birth of Emmanuel, God with us. Life goes on with Jesus in it. This is the life Jesus was born to share, to transform and to redeem.

Life goes on with Jesus in it. I hope that makes a difference. For you. For the world.

Life goes on—with Jesus in it.

Christmas Day

2010-12-31T12:46:00.000-08:00

Jesus' Grandparents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas Eve

2010-12-31T12:43:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

2010-12-20T10:29:00.000-08:00

A Perfect Christmas
Matthew 1:18-25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Third Sunday of Advent

2010-12-16T15:00:00.000-08:00

A Season for Gathering Hopes
Isaiah 35:1-10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably not the malls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advent: A season for gathering hopes.

The Second Sunday of Advent

2010-12-08T11:03:00.000-08:00

Thy Kingdom Come
Isaiah 11:1-10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The First Sunday of Advent

2010-12-08T10:58:00.000-08:00

The Aroma of Advent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving Day

2010-12-08T10:56:00.000-08:00

The Beauty of Holiness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Last Sunday after Pentecost

2010-12-08T10:50:00.000-08:00

Clint Eastwood and Sally Bingham

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When do you do the same?

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

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

The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost

2010-11-06T03:46:00.000-07:00

God's Orchestra

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost

2010-10-25T12:36:00.000-07:00

Drawing by Kate Parrent, 1988

Church Buildings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The church is not a building.

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

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

The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

2010-06-29T05:14:00.000-07:00

Freedom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Third Sunday after Pentecost

2010-06-14T16:35:00.000-07:00

The Stanley Cup and the Oil Spill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are all guilty. Repent.

The Second Sunday after Pentecost

2010-06-14T16:24:00.000-07:00

All Good

Galatians 1:11-24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instructed Eucharist

2010-05-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Trinity Sunday, 2010

Before the Procession

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

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

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

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

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

Procession

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

The Opening Acclamation

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

The Collect for Purity

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

The Summary of the Law
The Gloria

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

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

Collect of the Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Nicene Creed

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

The Prayers of the People
Confession and Absolution

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

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

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

The Peace

Announcements

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sursum Corda

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

The Proper Preface for Trinity
Sanctus

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

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

The Great Thanksgiving, continued

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

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

The Lord’s Prayer

The Fraction (Breaking of the Bread)
The Fraction Anthem

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

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

The Invitation

Distribution of Communion

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

Post-communion Prayer
Blessing

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

Hymn
Dismissal

Postlude

Pentecost

2010-05-30T14:40:00.000-07:00

Belong

Acts 2:1-21

Today is Pentecost. One of the great feast days of the church calendar and the culmination of the Great Fifty Days of Easter. But Pentecost was, and still is, a Jewish Holy Day, called Pentecost by Greek speaking Jews, but known as Shavuot in Hebrew. Shavuot falls fifty days after Passover and commemorates the giving of the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. As I understand it, today it celebrates God’s giving of the Torah to his people. Words of covenant and guidance.

The story we heard from Acts this morning defines Pentecost for Christians. The early disciples were gathered, with other first century Jews, in Jerusalem to celebrate Pentecost. While gathered there, they received the gift of the Holy Spirit. For us, Pentecost is about God’s gift of the Holy Spirit. It is the power of the Spirit that makes God’s living presence real in our lives. And it is the Spirit that guides and sustains us in the way of God’s truth. Through the Spirit we know God’s presence with us and God’s purpose for us.

So it is appropriate that we baptize on Pentecost. This morning we will welcome Nneka and Dakota into the fellowship of the Body of Christ. Through baptism, they will become Christians. As I told their parents and godparents yesterday, this is the most important event in their lives. I can say that with certainty, even this early in their young lives. It would do us all good to be reminded… For all of us, baptism is far and away the most important event in our whole lives.

Thinking about baptism raises the question: How do we really become Christians? Beyond just a label or a name, what is the process by which we truly become Christians.

There is considerable discussion these days among people who think about the church on the three B’s. (Not, I have to say, Biggio, Bagwell, and Bell.) The three B’s of becoming Christian are Believe, Behave and Belong. Ways of becoming Christian: Believe, Behave and Belong. The discussion centers on the appropriate sequence for actions. The evangelical wing of Christianity is very clear that Believe comes first. The first and essential step in becoming Christian is to Believe. Personal belief in Jesus Christ as savior is the beginning of Christian becoming. After acquiring belief, a seeker should try to learn and practice appropriate Christian behavior. And only when that is more or less successful, does real belonging take place. Believe first. Then Behave. Then, finally, belonging is earned.

It’s not just evangelicals who teach this sequence. I expect that consciously or subconsciously, most of us accept this sequence also. We consider the status of our belief to be crucial to any claim of Christian identity. Then, we imagine that we earn belonging based upon how Christian we are able to behave.

Our baptismal service even follows this sequence. Within the context of the service, first we say the creed, a statement of belief. Then we rehearse the baptismal covenant, an outline of Christian behavior. Then, finally we baptize and welcome the newly baptized.

Folks who identify themselves with what is called the “emergent church” movement would like to redo the sequence of the three B’s of Christian belonging. Specifically, they want to place Belong first, not last. Belonging is the beginning. For the emergent church people, their emphasis is on our existing Christian communities or parishes and how those parishes help others become Christian. They stress that our parishes need to be primarily places of welcome and belonging before people new to faith can even begin the Christian journey. That’s certainly a worthwhile point.

But I want to put belong first for a different reason. Not as a reminder to us of who we should be as a Christian community, not as a reminder of what our behavior should be. Belonging is the beginning of the Christian journey because of who God is and what God does. Period.

Belonging is the beginning because God acts in baptism. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are marked as Christ’s own forever. It isn’t conditional on anything, certainly not our belief or our behavior. God gives the gift. Remember that the Pentecost story does NOT say that tongues of flame, as of fire, descended upon some of the disciples, those whose personal faith was sufficient to gain them that privilege.

We need to remember and claim and celebrate the power of God that acts in baptism. We belong. By God’s power, by God’s gift, we belong. No one or no thing can take that belonging away. We, of course, can be indifferent to the joys and responsibilities of active membership in the Body of Christ. But nothing can diminish or revoke our belonging. Thank God!

The early church understood this. Historian Andrew McGowan writing on the early church, “While faith was of course fundamental to being a Christian, it wasn’t faith itself that achieved that for you, because the church wasn’t quite a voluntary organization in the modern sense where membership and desire to belong are more or less the same. Rather, baptism was understood to be a transforming action in which God, rather than the convert, was the key player, and in which one actually became a Christian through the action of the Holy Spirit.” (Quoted by Sheryl A. Kujawa-Holbrook and Fredrica Harris Thompsett, "The Ministry of the Baptized," Alban Weekly.)

It isn’t your faith that enables you to become a Christian, it is the transforming action of God in baptism. That’s good news.

Belonging comes first. By God’s grace, by God’s action. Then there is ongoing discussion about how the other two B’s, behaving and believing, are related. I can speak from my own experience to say that behaving leads to believing. Do not wait upon belief before you try to behave as a Christian. Behave as a Christian and you will find your belief grows. Live according to the baptismal covenant and you will grow closer to God.

I’m not going to, of course, but I’d like to turn the baptismal service upside down. I’d like to start right off with the flourish and splash of baptism. God’s unconditional gift of belonging first. Then the covenant of behavior outlined in our baptismal covenant. And, finally, as our Christian identity matures over a lifetime, the creed, an articulation of belief.

Belong. Behave. Believe.

The Seventh Sunday of Easter

2010-05-17T14:46:00.000-07:00

Sing Praise

Acts 16:16-34
John 17:20-26

We are still amid the Great Fifty Days of Easter. Today is the Seventh Sunday of Easter, day 43 in the Great Fifty. Today is also the Sunday after the Ascension. This past Thursday was the Feast of the Ascension. Ascensiontide, in a way, is a subset of Easter season. And, as we continue to rejoice in the celebration of Easter resurrection, the collect and readings for today also make allusion to Jesus’ Ascension.

As I said in my homily for Ascension Day, Jesus’ ascension created a momentous shift in the lives of the disciples. It caused a huge change in the way they understood their relationship with Jesus. This profound conversion or change in perception has very significant implications for us today.

For the disciples, Jesus’ ascension changed Jesus’ life and ministry from a historical event to a timeless reality. Before the ascension the disciples had met and known Jesus in particular places and times, singular historical events. After the ascension, they came to meet and know Jesus, alive with them, in all times and places. Jesus, of course, was always a part of God’s eternity. It was the disciples’ awareness that changed.

In Jesus’ Easter resurrection, people became aware of his power, his transcendence over death. After his crucifixion, he came to them alive. Mary met him in the garden. The disciples saw and touched the living Christ in the upper room. They ate with him by the Sea of Galilee. They gathered with Jesus on the mountaintop. Then they saw him leave. He promised to send them the comforter, the Holy Spirit. And he promised to be with them always. And he left, ascending into heaven.

The disciples would never see him again in the same way they had in the past, in particular places and events. But by the power of the Holy Spirit, they would meet the living Christ in all sorts of places in the future. Somewhat paradoxically, Jesus’ physical departure from the earth made him infinitely more accessible to the disciples and to us.

Meeting the living Christ no longer depends upon being in the right place at the right time. We cannot grieve because we had a schedule conflict and missed the one showing of the Sermon on the Mount. We can’t be upset that we were not among the chosen twelve. We cannot say, “if only….” If only I had been there, then, I would have met Jesus. Those days are gone. For the disciples and for us. But a wondrous new day has dawned. Now, by the power of the Holy Spirit, the living Christ is present in all places and all times. The living Christ is always with us.

The living Christ is always with us. There is no time or place in our lives today in which Jesus is not with us.

So. Do we live that way? Do we live as though we are aware or care that Jesus is with us always?
Do the choices and actions of our daily lives reflect the presence of Christ? At the risk of casting Jesus as Big Brother, do we act as though he were watching over us? Do we seek his guidance, follow his will in the choices and actions of our everyday lives?

In our interactions with one another, with our fellow human beings, we often quip: “It is easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” We plow ahead with thoughtless or ill-advised actions in the hope that we will be forgiven for any potential hurt or harm. It is easier to ask forgiveness than permission. That is never a faithful approach to living. Even though God is abundantly, infinitely ready to forgive—more so than our fellow human beings—we should never be casual or indifferent to Jesus’ presence with us, assuming that God will understand or forgive us in the long run. Every choice, every action is made in the presence of the living Christ.

What a wonderful gift. Jesus, always with us. To guide and support us, never abandoning or forsaking us. But do we welcome and cherish the gift of Christ’s presence with us in the actions and choices we make everyday?

There is a prayer in the Book of Common Prayer for Young Persons (p. 829). It is only appropriate, of course, for young people. It speaks of the actions and choices of daily living.

God our Father, you see your children growing up in an unsteady and confusing world: show them (us) that your ways give more life than the ways of the world, and that following you is better than chasing after selfish goals. Help them (us) to take failure, not as a measure of their worth, but as a chance for a new start. Give them strength to hold their faith in you, and to keep alive their joy in your creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Do we live as though we had the living presence of Christ with us? To say that Jesus is with us always is also to say that he is with others always. Today’s Gospel reminds us that we are one. We are one because we are united, bound together, by the very life of Christ present and shared among us all. This is most powerfully true when we share in communion, when we literally take the living presence of Christ into our bodies. That living presence of the Body and Blood of Jesus binds us into one.

But in this post-ascension world in which we live, it is always true that we are bound together by the presence of Christ. In our baptismal covenant, we vow that we will “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.” When we look upon others, do we see the face of Christ? Jesus is with them, too, always. Do we live that way?

Finally, in terms of living in the presence of Christ…. In the Gospel reading for Ascension Day, Luke says that immediately after Jesus ascended from their sight, the disciples went to the temple and were there praising God continually. Continually. They were not lost in grief or despair, they were praising God continually. We know that eventually they left the temple, at least from time to time, to become apostles. To help others discover the living Christ present with them.

But no matter where they went or what they did, they continued praising God, singing songs of worship and praise. Even in prison.

In today’s reading from Acts, Paul and Silas have been imprisoned. Falsely imprisoned. What would your reaction have been? They were thrown in prison because some other people were greedy and angry and had the power to imprison them. An abuse of power, illegitimately exercised. And Paul and Silas were beaten, imprisoned and chained. The story turns out OK in the end, but they couldn’t have known that then. They only knew that God was with them. By the power of the Holy Spirit, the living Christ was with them and they began to sing songs of praise.

The living Christ is with us. Sing praise. No matter what is going on in our lives. Whether it is a time of wonder or a time of mundane tedium. Whether we are mired in tragedy or being tried beyond endurance. Or whether it is a time of peace or beauty or joy. By the power of the Holy Spirit, Jesus is with us. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, Jesus is with us. Sing praise.

We have Jesus’ own assurance that he will be with us always. Do we act like we know or care? Pray that we may live thankfully aware of Jesus’ life shared with us, seeking his support and guidance in all we do, cherishing and nurturing his presence in others, and always offering thanks and praise.

Every day. Everywhere. Sing praise.

The Sixth Sunday of Easter

2010-05-13T04:07:00.000-07:00

An Acquired Skill

John 14:23-29

Do you love God? I’m not asking for any actual response. But ask yourself, really, honestly, do you love God? Today, on a scale of 1 to 10 how much do you love God? Any of you have had any experience around hospitals know how the nurses incessantly ask: how’s your pain now? On a scale of 1 to 10, how is your pain today? So what is the level of your love for God?

We are taught that loving God is very important. In the summary of the law Jesus commands us to love the Lord our God with all our heart and all our soul and all our mind. This is the first and great commandment for us as Christians. The collect appointed for this morning, the Sixth Sunday of Easter, speaks of us as people who certainly hope to love the Lord.

So do you? Do you really love God?

Loving God is not something that comes naturally to us. For me, this is a very important statement to hang onto. Loving God is not something we are automatically able to do; it’s not something we are born able to do. It isn’t something that just happens or that we just fall into without trying. Being able to love God does not come naturally to us. It is an acquired skill.

This is an imperfect metaphor, but it’s a bit like being a major league shortstop or a concert pianist. No one is born with the skills of a shortstop. No one just discovers someday out of the blue that they can play Chopin. These are acquired skills.

Now it does seem to be true that some people are born with greater potential than others for athletic or musical excellence. No one is born fully skilled, but some people do seem to be born with greater potential. So is the same true of loving God? Are some people born with a greater potential to become skilled lovers of God? What do you think? Think of yourself and others. No matter what you consider your own potential, I’ll bet every one of you is thinking of someone else whom you imagine was born with a greater potential than you were to love God. But each of those people is thinking of someone else... It is NOT like baseball or music. All of us are born with the full potential to love God. We must learn and acquire the skill. But each of us has full and equal potential to become a person who loves God. Like baseball or piano playing, it takes time, focus, practice, desire, commitment, to become skilled. None of us is born automatically or naturally able to love God, but each and every one of us has the potential to acquire and grow in our love of God.

I think that’s good news. If I’m not as good at loving God as I would like to be... One, it does not mean I was born somehow spiritually flawed or lacking and, two, it does mean improvement is possible. Improvement is possible.

What does it mean to love God?

It’s always helpful to be reminded that loving God is not a feeling, it is not the romantic feeling we usually mean when we speak of loving one another. It is not like being in love, that indescribable feeling of warmth and affection.

Loving God is an action. It is giving ourselves to God. It is offering everything we do, everything we think or hope or care about to God, so that our lives are literally shared with God. To love God is be with God, to seek God in everything. To love God is to choose to share all that we are and all that we do with God.

I enjoy the comic strip Zits. I find a lot of parish life reflected in it. This image won’t work as well for those of you who don’t know the strip, but there is a character in Zits called Richandamy. One word. Richandamy. Theoretically, Rich and Amy are two people, but in the strip they are perpetually glued to one another, pressed together in a permanent embrace. They have but one thought, one opinion, on any subject. They breathe together. Their bodies are linked on a cellular level. This may not be a healthy model for human relationships, but maybe it is not a bad image for loving God, for a life lived shared with God.

Loving God is more than worshiping God. More than serving God. More than being a generous or self-giving person, although all of those are positive qualities of living faithfully. Loving God means being united with God, sharing our lives with God.

Why. Why should we seek to acquire the skill of loving God? God commands us to. That is reason enough. Or, in response not only to God’s command, but in response to God’s act of self-offering to us. We seek to love God, as the old hymns says, “because he first loved us.” Because God offered the fullness of his life and death to us through Jesus Christ, in response we offer the fullness of our lives. Because God shared his very life with us, we gratefully share our lives with him.

But there is also a tangible incentive to become skilled at loving God. Remember today’s collect. God has prepared good things that surpass our understanding for those who love God. To share our lives with God is to share in God’s own life. To share good. To experience good. The deep, true good that is God. To offer our lives to God in love is to be enabled to know good.

Over and over again in John’s Gospel, as in the portion we heard today, Jesus offers peace to his disciples. My own peace I leave with you, Jesus says. The peace of God which passes human understanding. Do not let your hearts be troubled, Jesus says. To love God, to share God’s own life in love, is to experience God’s own peace. The peace which stills anxiety and fear. The more deeply we share our lives with God, the more deeply we will know the peace of God in our hearts.

The ability to love God does not come naturally or automatically to us. It isn’t something we are born proficient at, although each and every one of us is born with the ability, the potential to learn how to love God. And we acquire that skill, we learn how to love God, by praying to God that God will teach us how to love him. It is only by God’s gift that we are able to love God. And we seek that gift in prayer.

Remember the collect of the day. Collects always start with a statement about God. “God, you have prepared for those who love you such good things as surpass our understanding.” That’s a given. That’s a statement of fact about God. God has prepared for those who love him good beyond human understanding. After this opening statement, the intercessory part of the collect begins. We pray. We pray that God will pour into our hearts love towards God. We pray that God will give us the ability to love him. We pray that God will help us grow in a life of love.

Those prayers will be answered. In today’s Gospel, Jesus says that we (the Triune God) will come to those who love us make our home with them. That Greek word “home” or “dwelling place” occurs in another very familiar portion of John’s Gospel where Jesus says, In my Father’s house there are many mansions or dwelling places and I go to prepare a place for you. We read that passage at funerals and find great hope and comfort in the assurance that Jesus has prepared a dwelling place in heaven with God. A place to find peace and rest and joy. Not only are we promised a dwelling place, there, in heaven with God; God promises to make God’s own dwelling place, home, here, with us.

Loving God is an acquired skill. None of us is good at it on our own. But if we pray, pray that God will give us the ability to love him, those prayers will be answered and God will make his home with us.

Fourth Sunday of Easter

2010-04-27T06:09:00.000-07:00

Seeds of New Life

Acts 9:36-43

Loren Eiseley was an American anthropologist, naturalist and author. Academically trained as an anthropologist, he is probably best known for his written reflections on the natural world. He looked for meaning in the natural world and in the lives of all sorts of creatures. He died in 1977. I’m not sure I had even heard of him then, but I’ve read a fair bit of his work since, prompted by church people whom I admire.

This morning’s reading from Acts reminded me of Eiseley. Peter is summoned to bring new life to Tabitha and her community. I’ll come back to the connections.

One of Eiseley’s essays is titled “The Secret of Life” [The Immense Journey, 1957]. He explores the academic quest to understand the origins of life itself. But he also ponders what makes life life. What is the secret that is embodied within life itself?

I am middle-aged now, but in the autumn I always seek for it again hopefully. On some day when the leaves are red, or fallen, and just after the birds are gone, I put on my hat and an old jacket, and over the protests of my wife that I will catch cold, I start my search. I go carefully down the apartment steps and climb, instead of jump, over the wall. A bit further I reach an unkempt field full of brown stalks and emptied seed pods.

By the time I get to the wood I am carrying all manner of seeds hooked in my coat or piercing my socks or sticking by ingenious devices to my shoestrings. I let them ride. After all, who am I to contend against such ingenuity? It is obvious that nature, or some part of it in the shape of these seeds, has intentions beyond this field and has made plans to travel with me.

We, the seeds and I, climb another wall together and sit down to rest, while I consider the best way to search for the secret of life. The seeds remain very quiet and some slip off into the crevices of the rock. A wooly-bear caterpillar hurries across a ledge, going late to some tremendous transformation, but about this he knows as little as I.

It is not an auspicious beginning. The things alive do not know the secret, and there may be those who would doubt the wisdom of coming out among discarded husks in the dead year to pursue such questions. They might say the proper time is spring, when one can consult the water rats or listen to little chirps under the stones. Of late years, however, I have come to suspect that the mystery may just as well be solved in a carved and intricate seed case out of which the life has flown, as in the seed itself.

You remember the Gospel reading from last Sunday. The risen Christ has come to be with the disciples as they fish in the Sea of Galilee. Jesus speaks to Peter. Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my lambs. Care for my people. In this morning’s story in Acts, Peter is doing just that.

This is one of two stories about Peter stuck into Acts right after the story of Paul’s grand debut which we heard last Sunday. In both stories about Peter, Peter brings the healing power of God, the new life of the risen Christ, to people in need. A man named Aeneas has been paralyzed for years. In the name of Jesus, Peter heals him, and he begins a new life freed from the limitation of his handicap. In this morning’s story, Tabitha has apparently died. And her ministry has died, too. William Willamon describes her as a one-women welfare agency [Interpretation Commentary: Acts]. She provided clothing and assistance for widows who had no one else to provide for them. Her loss was deeply felt. Peter prayed. And Tabitha and her community were given new life.

In both of these stories it is the Word that heals, the Word of God that brings new life. Peter speaks the Word, but it is the Word itself that bears the power of God. It is not Peter’s power that heals; it is God’s. It is not Peter who brings new life to the dead; it is very presence and power of the risen Christ. But Peter speaks that power into being where it is needed.

Although it is God’s power that is manifest in these stories, they are stories primarily about Peter. They are not here to “prove” God’s power to heal or overcome death, nor to illustrate God’s care for the sick and poor. After all, God can heal and overcome death all on his own. God doesn’t need Peter. So these stories are here to tell us about Peter, about the meaning and purpose of Peter’s life. These stories are about the secret of human life, the purpose of our lives lived in a world where the power and presence of the risen Christ are real and afoot.

Peter’s life is about carrying and disbursing the seeds of new life. Peter brings the name of Jesus, the power of God, the seeds of new life, to people who need to know Jesus and his love and healing power. Peter carries God’s seeds of new life stuck to his sweater, piercing his socks, hanging on his shoelaces. And he brings them to Aeneas and Tabitha.

Listen again to just a small portion of Eiseley:

By the time I get to the wood I am carrying all manner of seeds hooked in my coat or piercing my socks or sticking by ingenious devices to my shoestrings. I let them ride. After all, who am I to contend against such ingenuity? It is obvious that nature, or some part of it in the shape of these seeds, has intentions beyond this field and has made plans to travel with me.

We, the seeds and I, climb another wall together and sit down to rest, while I consider the best way to search for the secret of life. The seeds remain very quiet and some slip off into the crevices of the rock.

It’s a wonderful image. Carrying the seeds of God’s presence and new life and disbursing them throughout the world. We come here, to this place and this community to pick up the seeds, to get them stuck to our clothes. We come here to get the name of Jesus, the power of God, the seeds of new life, instilled in our hearts and filling our lives. Come here. Come wearing fleece. Back in the good old days people dressed up for church, put on their best for God. Some still do, and it’s a wonderful practice. But, metaphorically at least, we should all wear fleece sweaters, wool socks and shoes with laces to church. So that the seeds will stick.

We need to be open and intentional about taking the name of Jesus, the words of Scripture, the presence of Christ into our lives. We don’t just listen to Bible readings in worship. In the words of the traditional “prayer for the whole state of Christ’s church and the world,” with “meek heart and due reverence” we receive God’s holy word. We get God’s word stuck to our sweater, piercing our socks. So bring a meek heart and due reverence so that you can really receive God’s word. Or when we gather at the Lord’s table, we don’t just take communion, we receive the most precious Body and Blood of Jesus. We become carriers of the living presence of Jesus.

The secret of our lives, the purpose of our lives, like Peter’s are to carry and disburse God’s seeds of new life throughout the world. To pick them up here and disburse them out there. Eiseley carries the seeds from an unkempt field to the forest beyond. My long haired dog carries them from the back yard onto the living room carpet. Peter carried them from the Sea of Galilee, from his experience of the risen Christ, to Aeneas and Tabitha. We carry them from here to out there, to all of the people and places of our daily lives.

One of the wonderful things is that some of the seeds we pick up here will fall off on their own. If our lives are permeated with the Word of God and the presence of Christ, some of God’s seeds of new life will just fall off as we go about our lives. Without even thinking about it, we will bring God’s healing and love and new life to others.

Other times, like Peter, we are called to be intentional in our presence and our prayers. Our touch or our voice will speak the power of God where it is needed. We will take a seed of new life that we have received from God here and purposefully plant it in someone else’s life.

The secret of life. To disburse God’s seeds of new life throughout the world.

The Third Sunday of Easter

2010-04-19T10:44:00.000-07:00

Go

Acts 9:1-20
John 21:1-19

Jesus has a lot to say in the Scripture readings we heard this morning. He seems positively chatty in the readings from Acts and John. If our Scripture inserts followed the custom of writing the words of Jesus in red, there would be a lot of red ink this morning.

This is still Easter season, of course. The Scripture stories we hear are ones that take place after Jesus’ death and resurrection. The Jesus who is talking to Paul and Ananias and the disciples in this morning’s stories is the Jesus who has been crucified and now lives again. The story in John takes place before Jesus’ ascension, so the disciples hear Jesus and actually see him in the flesh, the Jesus who was crucified and then rose from the dead. Paul and Ananias experience Jesus in a vision and hear his voice, but do not encounter him in bodily form. In both stories, the risen Christ has a lot to say.

We live in the world after Jesus’ death and resurrection. So, in a way, these stories take place in our world. These are models for how we might encounter the risen Christ. With that in mind, I went to all four Gospels and reread all of the descriptions of encounters with Jesus after his death and resurrection. It’s an interesting survey.

The Gospel of Matthew. On that first Easter morning, before anyone knew what was going on, Matthew describes the two Mary’s, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, going to the tomb. There is a great earthquake and first they encounter an angel who tells them that Jesus has been raised. Then Jesus himself appears before them and says, “Do not be afraid. Go.” Go. Go tell the disciples that I have been raised. Go tell them that I will come to them. Go.

A few verses later, Matthew describes the meeting between Jesus and the disciples on the mountain in Galilee. Jesus says to them, “Go.” “Go make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Go.

Mark’s Gospel as it was originally written probably did not contain any post-resurrection appearances. There is the so-called “longer ending” of Mark that was likely added later by another author. In it, Jesus is described (not quoted) as upbraiding the disciples for their slowness of belief in his resurrection, then Jesus is quoted as saying to the disciples, “Go.” “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation.”

Some years on this Third Sunday of Easter we hear Luke’s story of Jesus’ appearance to Cleopas and his companion along the road to Emmaus. It’s a familiar story. Jesus has been crucified and the two disciples are leaving Jerusalem. A figure whom they don’t recognize walks with them and explains the Scriptures to them, helps them understand the story and its meaning for them. When Jesus shares a meal with them, in the breaking of the bread, they recognize them. When Jesus appears later to the assembled disciples, he offers them peace and again he explains the Scriptures.

The Book of Acts was written by the same author as Luke’s Gospel, so in this morning’s story about Paul’s conversion, we have another post-resurrection occurrence as described by Luke. Saul is on his way to Damascus and is literally blown off his feet by the presence of the risen Christ, who says to him, “Get up and enter the city.” Get up and go. Go into the city. And await further instructions. Go.

When Jesus appears to Ananias in a vision, the first thing he says is, “Get up and go.” And then gives him very specific directions. Go to number 47 Straight Street and lay hands on Saul to heal his blindness. Go. I have much for Saul to do, but first it is your job to heal him. Go.
John’s Gospel tells several stories of encounters with the risen Christ. On Easter morning, Mary meets him in the garden and he says to her, “Do not hold on to me, but go…” Go spread the news.

Then Jesus appears three times to the disciples. We heard the first two on the Sunday after Easter. Jesus appears to the disciples in the locked room, one without Thomas and then again when Thomas is present. Over and over, Jesus says to them, “Peace.” He breathes on them to convey the Holy Spirit, and he says, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” As the Father has sent me to bring life and redemption into the world, so I send you to bring life and redemption into the world. Go. I send you. Go.

Today’s Gospel is the third time in John’s Gospel that Jesus appears to the disciples. He helps them fish so that they will be nourished. He shares a meal with them. Then, in the focal point of this passage, he speaks with Peter. “Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs. Feed my sheep.” Go. Care for my people. Go.

A few general observations about all of the appearances of the risen Christ. Jesus doesn’t cure anybody. Jesus doesn’t fix any problems. Jesus doesn’t perform any miracles (except, of course, the wondrous miracle of his living presence.) In fact, the risen Christ doesn’t really do much of anything. He does talk.

But as he talks, he doesn’t address any of the burning questions I would like to ask the risen Christ. What is it like, really, to die and then live again? What is heaven like? What last minute advice can you give about salvation? What should I be doing to strengthen my faith and deepen my spiritual life? What did you really mean when you said I should take up my cross and follow you? The risen Christ doesn’t answer any of these questions. In fact, he shows no interest whatsoever in the state of the disciples’ souls.

He just tells them what to do. The risen Christ may not do anything, but he tells the disciples what to do. His words are really more directions than conversation. Jesus doesn’t wait for the disciples’ questions. He initiates the dialogue and tells them what to do.

Go. Go out into the world and tell all people that he is risen. Alleluia. Go preach forgiveness. Go heal the sick and tend to the poor. Go baptize. Paul, go spread the good news to the Gentiles. Peter, go feed my sheep, care for my people. Go. Over and over again, the risen Christ says, Go.

There is a little more to these post-resurrection encounters. On the road to Emmaus Jesus pauses to explain the Scriptures. He helps the disciples fish. He doesn’t miraculously cause the fish to jump into the boat. The disciples do the fishing, but Jesus guides them, so they will not go hungry. Jesus brings peace to the assembled disciples and gives them the gift of the Holy Spirit. They find connection with him over a shared meal.

But what he says to them is, Go. I don’t imagine we should expect to hear anything different from the risen Christ. Go, Jesus says to us.

Come here, yes. Come here to this holy place and gather as the people of God. Come to receive the gift of peace that passes all understanding. Come for food, for physical and spiritual nourishment. Come to gain understanding of the Scriptures, to learn the story and its meaning for you. As important as all of these things are, they are just prep work. They are background, the foundation for the real stuff of Christian discipleship. We come here so that we may be enabled to do what Jesus really wants us to do: Go.

Go share the good news. Go baptize the lost. Go feed the hungry and care for the downtrodden. Go. Jesus wants us to go.

The Second Sunday of Easter

2010-04-12T10:21:00.000-07:00

An Extraordinary Season

How are you coming with your Easter discipline?

Most of you heard my Easter Day sermon and may remember that I reminded us all of the opportunity to celebrate the Great Fifty Days of Easter, to observe a holy Easter season with celebration.

We don’t do a very good job celebrating the Easter season. Partly I think we just haven’t been reminded often enough or given the specific tools and practices of holy celebration. And I don’t think we’re good at sustained celebration. We think of celebration as a blitz, blow your whole wad, sort of thing. We don’t know how to celebrate for fifty whole days.

In our corporate worship we do keep this season as a special season of holy celebration. For one thing, we say excessive alleluias. During Lent, of course, we refrain from saying alleluia altogether. During most of the church year, we say it sparingly in worship at singularly wondrous times like the breaking of the bread. But during the Great Fifty Days of Easter we say alleluia exuberantly, excessively, every chance that we get. We have the wonderful alleluia banner hanging in the back of the church. We say it at the beginning of worship, at the end of worship, and over and over every chance we get. In our worship, Easter season is recognizable as a time of abundant alleluias.

The Paschal Candle also burns at every occasion of our parish worship during the Great Fifty Days of Easter. The light of Christ is always within our sight during the Easter season.

I had a professor in seminary who had personal practice that he followed in worship during the Easter season. During these Great Fifty Days he stood to receive communion. There is historical and liturgical justification for the practice. Charlie knew that. But for us… look at the risen Christ and imagine his outstretched arms raising you up. These Great Fifty days we celebrate that we have been raised with him. Consider for yourself, celebrating that awesome wonder by standing during Easter season.

Pick some Easter discipline, some practice to mark these fifty days in your life beyond our worship here. We tend to think of “discipline” as negative or unpleasant. But the point of discipline is always to create something good. Celebration is good. And there’s nothing negative or unpleasant about it. But we do need practice. We need to commit ourselves to the discipline of holy celebration.

Throughout these Great Fifty Days, try treating yourself like God treats you. It’s about living into God’s desire for you. Find some practice of holy celebration that God would applaud. For fifty days, treat yourself like God treats you.

During this past Easter week, on Wednesday these words were posted for reflection on Episcopal Café. They were written by St. Augustine of Hippo back in the fourth century (not the most celebratory of eras in human history).

Sing with your voices,
Sing with your hearts,
Sing with your lips,
Sing with your lives.
“Sing to the Lord a new song.”
Do you ask what you should sing about the one whom you love?
Of course you want to sing about the one you love.
Do you ask what you should sing in praise of him?
Listen:
“His praise is in the assembly of the saints.”
The singer himself is the praise contained in the song.
Do you want to speak the praise of God?
Be yourself what you speak.
If you live good lives,
you are his praise.

Be praise. Live praise.

What does that mean in practical terms? What does it mean to live praise? What sort of holy practices might we undertake for Easter? I’m still thinking. I encourage to consider what sort of Easter discipline might work for you to celebrate these great Fifty Days of resurrection joy. Think, perhaps, in the terms I outlined on Easter Day: Praise, feasting and shared celebration. The goal is the experience the goodness of God’s gift. In Easter God has burst the dam of sin and death; waters of new life are rushing around us. But we have to turn on the tap in our own lives. It isn’t a matter of being cheerful or superficially glad or drawing smiley faces everywhere. You don’t have to be happy to celebrate Easter. It’s about choosing a practice, a discipline that celebrates God’s gift of new life.

A few ideas. As I read and studied C. S. Lewis’ book the Screwtape Letters this Lent, I was struck by the contrast he drew between hell as a place of noise and heaven as a place of music. For me, an Easter discipline would be to enjoy good music. Every single one of the great fifty days. What a glorious celebration.

Or feast. Holy feasting isn’t about quantity or even calories. It’s about enjoying good food. In Isaiah it says that the Lord will prepare a feast of rich foods and well-aged wines, strained clear. Good food, produced from the rich bounty of God’s creation. Make it a practice during these great fifty days to feast on good food.

Or relish relationships. Establish the discipline of time together. To enjoy the blessing and life that God gives in relationships, especially friends and family. Celebrate how, in God’s math, one plus one equals infinity. Share the Great Fifty Days with others.

For those of us who live in the northern hemisphere, Easter always comes at the time when the earth is awakening to the new life of spring. We draw images of Easter from the flowers of spring and the new buds green growth we see all around. What about an Easter discipline of planting? Seeing spring as more than just symbols for Easter and actually doing something to be a part of that new life and growth. Sow something each of the Great Fifty days.

In general, live generously. It’s a great joy to live generously. Easter is all about celebrating God’s abundantly generous gift to us of new life. Live it.

As we look at the church calendar over the course of the entire year, the longest time span, by far, is what we call “ordinary time.” There are many more Sundays in ordinary time than in any of the special seasons like Advent or Christmas or Lent. And that’s good. God is certainly present in the ordinary times of our lives. But there is nothing ordinary about Easter season. This is an extraordinary time. Fifty Great Days to celebrate the resurrection, to celebrate our identity as Easter people. Celebrate this extraordinary season in your life. Alleluia.

Easter Day

2010-04-09T10:44:00.000-07:00

The Observance of a Holy Easter

Dear People of God: The first Christians observed with great devotion the days of our Lord’s passion and resurrection, and it became the custom of the Church to commemorate this great gift of new life by a season of celebration and joy. This season of Easter provided a time for new converts to explore the mysteries of life in Christ and experience for the first time the wonder of Christ’s living presence made real in the sacraments and the common life of the Christian community. Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the abundance of God’s grace and mercy.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Easter, by praise, feasting and shared celebration.

For some of you these words will sound familiar, but somehow not quite right. Maybe you recognize the template for these words of invitation to the observance of a holy Easter season. They are a rewritten version of the invitation to the observance of a holy Lent that you heard on Ash Wednesday. As Lent began 40 days ago, we were reminded of some of the characteristics of the Lenten season. In the early church, it was a time when adult converts were prepared for baptism. It was also a time when notorious sinners publicly sought forgiveness and restoration to communion. And thereby less notorious sinners were reminded that they really weren’t in any holier than thou and they had better repent and seek absolution and renewal of faith as well.

And then when Easter came, what a wondrous celebration it was. In those early centuries of the Christian Church all Christians were converts, adult converts, drawn irresistibly to Christianity by the divine spark of new life they saw in other Christians who were their friends and neighbors. The catechumenate, or time of preparation for baptism, was long. The time of yearning and learning could be years, reaching its final and formal intensity during Lent. And then at the Easter Vigil, they were baptized and invited to the Lord’s Table for the first time on Easter morning. Imagine what that was like for them. And imagine what an example it was to the existing community to witness the wonder and joy of the new converts. For the newly baptized this season after their baptism was known as the mystagogia, the learning of the mysteries. Not in the sense of being inducted into a secret society and learning mysterious passwords and secret handshakes, but in the sense of experiencing what the BCP calls “that wonderful and sacred mystery”—the church. In addition to experiencing the living Christ in communion—in the full breadth of what communion means—during the Easter season the newly baptized heard sermons on what it meant to be a part of that wonderful and sacred mystery, the church…. What it means to be recipients of God’s grace through the sacraments, to know God in worship, to live as a Christian in the world. Those weeks after Easter were a season of wonder for them and a glorious time for the whole community. When all could witness and share in the joy of the newly baptized and be reminded of the wonderful mystery of God’s love that they were all a part of.

Easter season begins today. We did not baptize any new adult converts last night at the Vigil, but we did celebrate with great joy God’s wonderful gift of new light and life, given to us all at baptism. Easter season lasts for 50 days, from today, Easter Day, until Pentecost. After Pentecost, we return to what the church calls “ordinary time.” These are the Great Fifty Days of Easter. We use the word “Great” sparingly in the church. So it means something. The Great Fifty Days of Easter.

We have, of course, just spent forty long days in Lent. Not called “great,” incidentally, the forty days of Lent. The Rev. Boone Porter was a prominent American liturgist who had a major role in developing the current Book of Common Prayer. Around the time it was published, he noted, “It is a strange irony that many church people try faithfully during Lent to observe forty days of preparation, yet virtually abandon Eastertide after going to church on Easter Day.” It is a strange irony. We may not exactly look forward to Lent, but we do try to live it faithfully. And we pretty much know how to do Lent. The church’s invitation to the observance of a holy Lent makes sense. And practices like self-examination and repentance; prayer, fasting and self-denial certainly feel religious. So they must be good practices for faithful Christians to undertake.

But why, as Porter suggests, are we so prone to abandon Eastertide after this morning? It is ironic that we seem more inclined to commit ourselves to enduring the 40 days of Lent than we are to celebrating the great 50 days of Easter. Maybe we’ve all lost a bit of the true wonder and awe of God’s grace and mercy. Maybe the value of God’s resurrection gift has depreciated over time since the first centuries of the church. Or maybe we in the church just haven’t done a good enough job of highlighting holy practices of celebration. I wonder if celebration just doesn’t feel religious or holy enough. Celebrating is a secular thing you do when you land a great job or win the final four. We know how to do that sort of celebrating, but it doesn’t feel sacred like fasting or penitence.

Whatever the reasons for our lackluster interest in Easter season in the past, today is a new day. Today is Easter day. Today is Day One in the 2010 Great Fifty Days of Easter. And I invite you to the celebration of a holy Easter season.

Even if you individually didn’t do much by the forty days of Lent, now it’s time for all of us to celebrate the holy season of Easter. Even those of us who did endeavor to keep a holy Lent need to be reminded that Lent doesn’t earn us Easter. Lent brings rich blessings, and it can help us prepare ourselves for Easter; but it doesn’t earn us Easter. God gives us Easter. All of us. And all of us have fifty great days of Eastertide ahead of us.

So I invite you all to keep a holy Easter season with practices of praise, feasting and shared celebration. In Lent we are called to prayer, fasting and self-denial as practices that take us out of ourselves and help us focus on our need for God and our dependence upon God’s gifts and mercy. It seems to be that the practices of praise, feasting and shared celebration are also practices that take us out of ourselves. Practices that take us out of ourselves in joyful gratitude for God’s abundant gifts and blessing given to us. Easter “disciplines”, holy practices, of praise, feasting, and shared celebration.

Praise God. Sing songs of praise to God. Raise voices in praise to God. Praise God, as the Prayer Book says, for “the splendor of the whole creation, for the beauty of this world, for the wonder of life, and for the mystery of love.” Offer praise. Outloud. Daily during the great fifty days. A different translation of today’s psalm concludes, “This is a day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.” Some of you really want to sing those words. Sing praise this Easter season.

Holy practices of praise, feasting and shared celebration. Feasting, as a holy practice, is all about taking pleasure in the holy. The holy practice of feasting is not about eating or drinking large quantities. Although being grateful for abundance is a good thing. Feasting is about taking pleasure in God’s gifts. It is about noticing and cherishing God’s good gifts of food and friends and family and beauty. Enjoying and cherishing God’s good gifts. The Eucharist, of course, is a feast. Come join the Lord’s feast often these great fifty days. A meal with the first fresh peas from the garden is a feast. Enjoy God’s gifts. Any meal shared in love is a feast. Enjoying and cherishing God’s good gifts. Feasting our eyes and ears on God’s gifts is a holy practice. Listen to lots of Mozart. Walk along the lakeshore. Resolve to listen to the Hallelujah chorus every Sunday in Easter.

Mindful of my own sermon, this morning I cracked open a new jar of chokecherry jelly. Chokecherries grow wild out west and must be picked by hand. And the jelly made at home. It has a wonderful flavor, that brings me special pleasure and also evokes, for me, the grandeur of the western mountains and God’s creation. Chokecherry jelly and toast is a feast. What feast will you keep throughout this Easter season?

Finally, shared celebration. Celebration is infectious. If we really celebrate Easter resurrection, we can’t help but share that celebration. God’s Easter gift knows no limit. Part of sharing that gift the gift of resurrection means doing mission and outreach. Sharing new life with people who need new life. Shared celebration also means coming together in fellowship with other Easter people. In God’s math, when just two or three are gathered in his name, the glorious company of all the saints in light are there, too. Just by gathering, by sharing Easter joy, our celebration becomes glorious across all time and space. We become a part of eternity. Gather together as Easter people to share the celebration that he is risen.

The Great Fifty Days of Easter have begun. I invite you, in the name of the church, to the celebration of a holy Easter season, by praise, feasting and shared celebration! Alleluia!

Easter Vigil

2010-04-09T10:43:00.000-07:00

Passage

Please check back. Sermon will be posted soon.

Good Friday

2010-04-09T10:42:00.000-07:00

Look at the Cross

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Maundy Thursday

2010-04-09T10:41:00.000-07:00

Are You Ready to Go Yet?

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Palm Sunday

2010-04-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

Not the Crowd

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