St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 30, 2011
Year A: The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany
Micah 6:1-8
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
Psalm 15
Matthew 5:1-12
The Downside-Up Kingdom
I’m going to start with a big understatement.
We’re living in a time of frightening change.
Living in a time of frightening change can reduce us to survival mode – to focusing on just getting through the day – to focusing on all the scary things that have happened and might still happen.
Living in a time of frightening change can make it hard to remember – or even believe - that God is at work, just as God is always at work, restoring the good creation that has been broken.
Change is burning across the Middle East. The government of Tunisia has already fallen and now the leadership of Egypt and maybe other countries are about to tumble, as well. People in the part of the world had seemed beaten into submission forever, and, yet, now they are rising up and demanding a better life, demanding freedom.
As for the United States, it was just a few short years ago that we were strutting across the world stage, declaring ourselves the indispensible super power, declaring that it was unlikely that any other country would be able to challenge our supremacy any time soon.
And then, on Tuesday night there was the President in the State of the Union address warning us that we were losing ground. Our children are not learning what they need to learn and are falling farther and farther behind their counterparts in Europe and Asia.
So many of our jobs have been exported. Our infrastructure is crumbling around and beneath us. The Chinese, to whom we owe an astonishingly huge amount of money, seem to be breathing down our necks.
We’re living in a time of frightening change.
And there’s been much frightening change closer to home, too.
(Last week, when I was standing right here preaching from this pulpit, our beloved sister Merna was, as usual, sitting right there in the first pew, next to Gill. And now she has gone from us and is in the full presence of the God who loved her into existence.
As much as we celebrate the completion of her journey, her sudden death is another reminder that only right now is promised – nothing more.
Last week our beloved brother and sister Phil and Sue had no idea that the following day their home would be set ablaze by a lightning strike and be destroyed. While we are relieved that they are safe, I know all of us mourn with them the loss of their home.
And of course many here are still reeling from the possibility that this property may be sold and that this building that is our spiritual home may be demolished. Many of us are still struggling to accept the frightening change that began for us when the bishop visited us in November – the change of leaving this place and moving to a new church building on another piece of property.)
(It’s been only a couple of weeks since the shocking death of our sister, Shayna. Many of us are still trying to absorb – if that’s the right word - that loss. Her sudden death was a powerful reminder that only right now is promised – nothing more.
The career fair this past week is a real reminder that time is passing, the semester is already one month old, and for the seniors their days here at UF are drawing to close.
May I remind you of the fine graduate programs available at UF?
Some of us are beginning to think about what it will be like to leave this place. Others of us are beginning to think about what it will be like without some great people who have given so much to build up and support this community.
In previous years this may have been an exhilarating time. I could be wrong, but I sense fear more than excitement.)
Well, I don’t know if this will make us feel any better, but the truth is, it’s not so unusual to live during a time of frightening change. In fact, it’s probably the norm.
The Prophet Micah also lived during a time of frightening change. In his case, it was the late 8th Century BC.
He lived during the time when the Kingdom of Israel had fallen to the Assyrians and the other Israelite kingdom, Judah, was threatened.
Micah lived during a time when the old ways of life seemed to be dying as droves of people left the countryside and moved to the big city of Jerusalem.
In a time of frightening change, I’m sure it was hard to see that God was at work, building God’s kingdom right here and now.
In a time of frightening change, it was hard to remember that, as always, God was inviting people to join in the great work of building God’s kingdom. So, speaking through Micah, God reminds the people of this invitation in the most beautiful question ever asked:
“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”
We are invited to work with God on the great project of building God’s kingdom, of restoring the good creation right here and now.
We are invited to work with God by doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God.
The invitation from God spoken through Micah still stands.
And, as Christians, we receive God’s ultimate invitation in, and through, and from Jesus of Nazareth.
One of the highlights of this new year has been our Tuesday evening Bible study at the chapel. Each week a wonderful group has gathered to study the Gospel of Matthew – this inspired text that is so important to Christians.
One of the things we talked about was how this gospel was written during a time of frightening change.
For the first few decades after the earthly lifetime of Jesus it was possible for his Jewish followers to continue to gather at the synagogues, just as always. But that was becoming increasingly difficult by the time the gospel was written in the last decades of the First Century. The Jesus followers were making bold claims about Jesus – claims that to many seemed less and less Jewish.
So, Matthew’s gospel was written during a time of big change. The Romans had destroyed the Temple and now the Jewish followers of Jesus were faced with the reluctant parting from the faith of their ancestors.
Matthew writes to and for a mostly Jewish Christian community – a community faced with frightening change.
And once again, during a time of frightening change, a time when we might prefer just to hunker down in survival mode, God invites the people to join in the great work of building God’s kingdom. This time God’s invitation is even more direct.
Matthew sets the scene by telling us that Jesus is on a mountain, reminding us of the encounter Moses had with God on another mountain long before.
This time, though, rather than Moses receiving revelation from God, Jesus is God’s revelation.
In the poem that has come to be known as the Beatitudes, Jesus extends the invitation to join with God in the great work of building God’s kingdom.
In Matthew, Jesus calls it the “kingdom of heaven.” But, he’s probably not referring to life after death. Instead, Jesus is talking about the transformation of this world – the transformation of the good creation that has been broken.
First, Jesus tells us that this kingdom is like no kingdom we’ve ever seen.
Jesus tells us in this downside-up kingdom it’s the poor in spirit – the people who are at the end of their rope – who are blessed.
In this downside-up kingdom, it’s those who mourn and those who are meek who are blessed.
In Jesus, God offers the ultimate invitation to be part of the great work of building God’s kingdom, right here and now.
We accept God’s invitation when we hunger and thirst for righteousness, when we’re merciful, when we’re pure in heart and when we’re peacemakers.
It’s quite an invitation.
And to make matters worse, Jesus warns us that if we accept God’s invitation we’re likely to suffer.
If we accept God’s invitation we may be persecuted for righteousness’ sake.
If we accept God’s invitation we may very well be persecuted and slandered.
It’s quite an invitation.
And, as always, God leaves the response up to us.
Living in a time of frightening change can reduce us to survival mode – to focusing on just getting through the day – to focusing on all the scary things that have happened and might still happen.
Living in a time of frightening change it’s hard to remember – or even believe - that God is at work, just as God is always at work, building the downside-up kingdom, restoring the good creation that has been broken.
Yet, during this time of frightening change, God invites us – you and me - to join in the great work of building God’s kingdom, right here and now.
So, what’s it going to be?
Do we respond by hunkering down in survival mode?
Or do we respond by doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God?
Amen.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
God the Risk-Taker
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 23, 2011
Year A: The Third Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 5-13
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23
God the Risk-Taker
This Sunday’s gospel is a somewhat different take on the story we heard last week – Jesus’ calling of the first disciples. Last week we heard John’s version of these events. This week we hear Matthew’s account.
The details that Matthew gives us along with the events of the past week have gotten me thinking about risk – the risk that God took in creation; the risk that God took in becoming one of us in Jesus; and the risk that you and I take when we live and love the way we are meant to.
First, I’ve been thinking about the risk God took in creating a physical world.
God didn’t have to create. God could have spent all of eternity, for ever and ever, in the perfect life and love that is God.
Yet, despite knowing fully the risks, God chose to create. God chose to share the love that is God.
I suppose God who is spirit could have been fully in charge of a kind of spiritual creation. Instead God creates a physical world filled with energy and stuff – rocks, water, flesh and blood. God chose to create a physical world in which sometimes things can get broken, things can and do go wrong.
God chose to create a physical world knowing it would bring God and bring all of us great joy and would also bring us great sorrow.
God creates us, knowing fully the risk involved.
Those of you who are parents probably have some insight into God’s desire to create. Every day women and men bring children into the world, having a pretty good idea of the risks involved.
When Sue and I couldn’t get home for Christmas one of my nieces wrote that it was the worst day of her life. I wish that would always be true, but of course, it won’t be. There will be far worse days ahead.
The Adam and Eve story in Genesis captures the truth of the risk God takes in creation. God creates a good creation, but chooses not to be in charge of creation. In the story, God sets a few ground rules, but essentially God puts man and woman in charge. In the story, Adam and Eve are free to mess things up – and they do almost immediately.
By giving us freedom to love or not to love, by giving us the freedom to make bad choices, by allowing for the chance that things may go very wrong in this physical world, God takes a risk – a risk for God, and risk for us.
It’s pretty amazing that God takes a risk on us. But what’s even more amazing is that God never gives up on us when we stumble and when we suffer.
The whole story of salvation is a story of the spiritual God relentlessly reaching out to the physical us, over and over. It’s a story of God pouring grace onto us and into us, giving us the strength we need to live our risky lives in this risky world.
God is always working to turn death into life.
At its heart, the story of salvation is the story of God appearing in Jesus. It’s the story of God taking the great risk of living, walking, laughing, suffering and weeping right beside us in this physical world.
In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew lets us know right from start about risk. Matthew tells us that Jesus heard that John the Baptist had been arrested.
I’m sure this was not unexpected news. After all, then and now, someone who challenges the political establishment and the religious establishment is likely to get into big trouble.
Just like us, the first readers and hearers of this gospel would have known that the arrest of John the Baptist was the beginning of his end. His execution was not far off.
But, the truth is, the beginning of the end of John the Baptist was the day when he first accepted his call, when he first took the risk of speaking truth to power. The beginning of the end of John the Baptist was the first day when he went out into the wilderness and began to preach repentance – the first day when he began to demand that people risk changing their ways, risk changing their hearts.
Matthew tells us that Jesus began his public ministry after the arrest of John the Baptist. So, Jesus would have been fully aware of the risk he took the first day he went out into the world to proclaim the Good News.
To underline the point, Matthew tells us that the beginning of Jesus’ message is exactly what John the Baptist had been proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
Jesus knew the risk involved in carrying out his mission. Yet, he did it anyway.
And the first disciples were willing to take the great risk of following Jesus. Apparently, they were willing to leave behind their livelihood, to leave behind the boats and the nets, to leave behind the people they loved.
We have that haunting image of Zebedee sitting in the boat, watching his sons go off and take the risk of their lives.
Peter and Andrew, James and John, they would have had some sense of the risks involved in following Jesus. Yet, they did it anyway.
God took big risks in creating all of this and in joining us in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. The first disciples and Christians throughout the ages have taken – and continue to take – big risks in following Jesus.
And now, you and I here today are called to take the risk of following Jesus, the risk of living and loving the way we are meant to.
We’re meant to be a risk-taker like God. We’re meant to take the risk of creating and loving, knowing fully that things can, and often do, go terribly wrong.
If you were here last week, you know I preached about suffering and how you and I are meant to shine the light of Christ into a world shadowed with suffering and pain.
Little did I know that many of us in the chapel community would experience a great deal of suffering and sadness the very next day, when we received the heartbreaking news of the sudden and unexpected death of one of our own, Shayna.
God took the risk of creating a physical world in which things go wrong, things get broken, and all living things eventually die.
Not that it helps with our shock, pain, confusion, anger, and sadness at the death of this young woman who radiated sunshine as she anticipated her life as a nurse, a life of service; a life that was not to be.
Whenever I encounter the death of a young person I’m reminded of a sermon given by William Sloan Coffin after the death of his 24 year-old son Alex, in a car accident. (Some of you may remember that) William Sloan Coffin was chaplain at Yale during the Vietnam War era, and later pastor of Riverside Church in New York.
It was at Riverside Church that he gave this sermon. He reflected on how after his son’s death, people said the usual things like the accident was God’s will. Here’s his response to that idea:
“The one thing that should never be said when someone dies is ‘It is the will of God.’ Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God's heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”
“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”
I love that. I think that’s exactly right.
The Good News is that for God and for us, our story doesn’t end with heartbreak.
God’s heart was the first to break when Jesus suffered and died on the cross, followed nearly immediately, I’m sure, by the broken heart of his mother, Mary.
Yet, on that first Easter, God the risk-taker showed that our story doesn’t end in heartbreak. God didn’t give up on Jesus and doesn’t give up on any of us. Ever.
God the risk-taker is the God of love, the God who creates and never gives up on creation.
Even when everything seems to have gone wrong, even when everything seems to have been broken, God the risk-taker is at work, turning death into life.
At this very moment and in every moment, God is pouring out love, grace and strength on all of us.
I could feel that powerful grace in the full chapel on Monday night when we gathered to pray, to weep, and, yes, to celebrate.
Shayna has completed her all-too-brief journey from God and to God. Her journey is now completed in the presence of the God who loved her into creation – the God who was with her through all the highs and lows, twists and turns of life – the God who was with her as she took her last breath.
Shayna’s journey is complete.
But, for us, the journey continues.
If we’re open to it, if we’re willing to take the risk, like Peter and Andrew, James and John, we can join God in the great work of creation. By loving God and loving one another, in good times and not so good, we can join God in the great, risky, work of turning death into life.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 23, 2011
Year A: The Third Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 5-13
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23
God the Risk-Taker
This Sunday’s gospel is a somewhat different take on the story we heard last week – Jesus’ calling of the first disciples. Last week we heard John’s version of these events. This week we hear Matthew’s account.
The details that Matthew gives us along with the events of the past week have gotten me thinking about risk – the risk that God took in creation; the risk that God took in becoming one of us in Jesus; and the risk that you and I take when we live and love the way we are meant to.
First, I’ve been thinking about the risk God took in creating a physical world.
God didn’t have to create. God could have spent all of eternity, for ever and ever, in the perfect life and love that is God.
Yet, despite knowing fully the risks, God chose to create. God chose to share the love that is God.
I suppose God who is spirit could have been fully in charge of a kind of spiritual creation. Instead God creates a physical world filled with energy and stuff – rocks, water, flesh and blood. God chose to create a physical world in which sometimes things can get broken, things can and do go wrong.
God chose to create a physical world knowing it would bring God and bring all of us great joy and would also bring us great sorrow.
God creates us, knowing fully the risk involved.
Those of you who are parents probably have some insight into God’s desire to create. Every day women and men bring children into the world, having a pretty good idea of the risks involved.
When Sue and I couldn’t get home for Christmas one of my nieces wrote that it was the worst day of her life. I wish that would always be true, but of course, it won’t be. There will be far worse days ahead.
The Adam and Eve story in Genesis captures the truth of the risk God takes in creation. God creates a good creation, but chooses not to be in charge of creation. In the story, God sets a few ground rules, but essentially God puts man and woman in charge. In the story, Adam and Eve are free to mess things up – and they do almost immediately.
By giving us freedom to love or not to love, by giving us the freedom to make bad choices, by allowing for the chance that things may go very wrong in this physical world, God takes a risk – a risk for God, and risk for us.
It’s pretty amazing that God takes a risk on us. But what’s even more amazing is that God never gives up on us when we stumble and when we suffer.
The whole story of salvation is a story of the spiritual God relentlessly reaching out to the physical us, over and over. It’s a story of God pouring grace onto us and into us, giving us the strength we need to live our risky lives in this risky world.
God is always working to turn death into life.
At its heart, the story of salvation is the story of God appearing in Jesus. It’s the story of God taking the great risk of living, walking, laughing, suffering and weeping right beside us in this physical world.
In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew lets us know right from start about risk. Matthew tells us that Jesus heard that John the Baptist had been arrested.
I’m sure this was not unexpected news. After all, then and now, someone who challenges the political establishment and the religious establishment is likely to get into big trouble.
Just like us, the first readers and hearers of this gospel would have known that the arrest of John the Baptist was the beginning of his end. His execution was not far off.
But, the truth is, the beginning of the end of John the Baptist was the day when he first accepted his call, when he first took the risk of speaking truth to power. The beginning of the end of John the Baptist was the first day when he went out into the wilderness and began to preach repentance – the first day when he began to demand that people risk changing their ways, risk changing their hearts.
Matthew tells us that Jesus began his public ministry after the arrest of John the Baptist. So, Jesus would have been fully aware of the risk he took the first day he went out into the world to proclaim the Good News.
To underline the point, Matthew tells us that the beginning of Jesus’ message is exactly what John the Baptist had been proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
Jesus knew the risk involved in carrying out his mission. Yet, he did it anyway.
And the first disciples were willing to take the great risk of following Jesus. Apparently, they were willing to leave behind their livelihood, to leave behind the boats and the nets, to leave behind the people they loved.
We have that haunting image of Zebedee sitting in the boat, watching his sons go off and take the risk of their lives.
Peter and Andrew, James and John, they would have had some sense of the risks involved in following Jesus. Yet, they did it anyway.
God took big risks in creating all of this and in joining us in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. The first disciples and Christians throughout the ages have taken – and continue to take – big risks in following Jesus.
And now, you and I here today are called to take the risk of following Jesus, the risk of living and loving the way we are meant to.
We’re meant to be a risk-taker like God. We’re meant to take the risk of creating and loving, knowing fully that things can, and often do, go terribly wrong.
If you were here last week, you know I preached about suffering and how you and I are meant to shine the light of Christ into a world shadowed with suffering and pain.
Little did I know that many of us in the chapel community would experience a great deal of suffering and sadness the very next day, when we received the heartbreaking news of the sudden and unexpected death of one of our own, Shayna.
God took the risk of creating a physical world in which things go wrong, things get broken, and all living things eventually die.
Not that it helps with our shock, pain, confusion, anger, and sadness at the death of this young woman who radiated sunshine as she anticipated her life as a nurse, a life of service; a life that was not to be.
Whenever I encounter the death of a young person I’m reminded of a sermon given by William Sloan Coffin after the death of his 24 year-old son Alex, in a car accident. (Some of you may remember that) William Sloan Coffin was chaplain at Yale during the Vietnam War era, and later pastor of Riverside Church in New York.
It was at Riverside Church that he gave this sermon. He reflected on how after his son’s death, people said the usual things like the accident was God’s will. Here’s his response to that idea:
“The one thing that should never be said when someone dies is ‘It is the will of God.’ Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God's heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”
“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”
I love that. I think that’s exactly right.
The Good News is that for God and for us, our story doesn’t end with heartbreak.
God’s heart was the first to break when Jesus suffered and died on the cross, followed nearly immediately, I’m sure, by the broken heart of his mother, Mary.
Yet, on that first Easter, God the risk-taker showed that our story doesn’t end in heartbreak. God didn’t give up on Jesus and doesn’t give up on any of us. Ever.
God the risk-taker is the God of love, the God who creates and never gives up on creation.
Even when everything seems to have gone wrong, even when everything seems to have been broken, God the risk-taker is at work, turning death into life.
At this very moment and in every moment, God is pouring out love, grace and strength on all of us.
I could feel that powerful grace in the full chapel on Monday night when we gathered to pray, to weep, and, yes, to celebrate.
Shayna has completed her all-too-brief journey from God and to God. Her journey is now completed in the presence of the God who loved her into creation – the God who was with her through all the highs and lows, twists and turns of life – the God who was with her as she took her last breath.
Shayna’s journey is complete.
But, for us, the journey continues.
If we’re open to it, if we’re willing to take the risk, like Peter and Andrew, James and John, we can join God in the great work of creation. By loving God and loving one another, in good times and not so good, we can join God in the great, risky, work of turning death into life.
Amen.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
"There Is Light In This Situation"
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 16, 2011
Year A: The Second Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-12
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42
“There Is Light in This Situation”
In a previous sermon I mentioned that each morning I cringe a little when I open the newspaper and look at the front page. I know I’m not alone in wondering what new horrors we’ll have to face each new day.
And there’s certainly been no shortage of horrors lately.
In the natural world, this week marked the one-year anniversary of the earthquake that pulverized much of Haiti. If you’re like me, you had almost forgotten about Haiti and the plight of its desperately poor people who are still trying to reassemble the pieces of their broken lives. Despite the aid given by many, a year has gone by and apparently not much progress has been made.
More recently, there have been terrible floods in Albania, Australia, and Brazil, causing widespread devastation.
Closer to home, this has been a rough winter for much of the country. Even places like New York, well experienced with blizzards, have struggled to dig out from under massive snowfalls. Here in Florida the second cold winter in a row is leading to expensive heating bills for families, businesses and institutions and putting agriculture in danger.
And then there are the disasters created by human beings. As college seniors are discovering in a particularly painful way, at best the economy has just begun to recover from a very deep recession. At every service down at the chapel students pray for their job searches. And some of us who had worked for a long time are also praying very hard for employment.
The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan continue to grind on, although we try to push them out of our minds. And most of us know that in both countries there’s little hope of results that would justify the sacrifice of our precious blood.
There was the attack on Egyptian Christians as they left church after Christmas services.
And, a little more than a week ago, in Tucson our country was shaken by the latest incident of an absurdly well-armed and deranged person coldly executing people in an extremely ordinary setting – this time a supermarket parking lot.
The difference this time was that a federal judge and a member of the House of Representatives had been all too effectively targeted. Immediately the TV talking heads began to cast blame, pointing to the increasingly angry and violent language that passes these days for political discourse.
I think Jon Stewart was one of the first to recognize the saving grace of this terribly frightening tragedy. He said on the Daily Show:
"There is light in this situation," he insisted. "I urge everyone: Read up about those who were injured or killed; you will be comforted about [how] much anonymous goodness there is in the world... you realize people that you don't even know and have never even met are leading lives of real dignity and goodness. And you hear about crazy, but it is rarer than you think."
“There is light in this situation.”
That little phrase should carry enormous power especially for Jews and Christians. Throughout the history of our faiths, so many have faced - and continue to experience - enormous tragedies, unspeakable suffering, and yet have hung on to that core belief, to that little phrase, that powerful truth:
“There is light in this situation.”
In today’s reading from the Prophet Isaiah we heard the second of what’s called the Servant Songs. The servant is sometimes taken to represent Israel itself or the prophet himself or maybe some other historical character. From very early on, Christians have seen the servant as prophecy of Jesus, the suffering messiah.
In any event, in this song the servant recognizes a call from God that began even before he was born. But the servant also admits to many obstacles and much suffering. The servant’s faith even seems to waiver for a moment. He says,
“I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”
And haven’t we all waivered more often than we’d like to admit? In the face of so much suffering and tragedy in the world and in our own loives, haven’t we all thought something like, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”
But then the Prophet Isaiah declares that “there is light in this situation.”
God says to the servant, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach the end of the earth.”
We Christians recognize that Jesus is that light given to the nations. And you and I are invited, given the responsibility, given the privilege, of shining the light of Christ into the world.
In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott explains why she makes her young son go to church on Sunday.
First, she writes, “I make him because I can. I outweigh him by nearly seventy-five pounds.”
Then she turns serious, writing, “But that is only part of it. The main reason is that I want to give him what I found in the world, which is to say a path and a little light to see by. Most of the people I know who have what I want – which to say purpose, heart, balance, gratitude, joy – are people with a deep sense of spirituality.”
She continues, “They follow a brighter light than the glimmer of their own candle; they are part of something beautiful.”
You and I experience the light of Christ when we gather here together in church, when we “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.”
Here we are, part of an unlikely group of people who in most cases would probably never have met one another – and maybe even wouldn’t have wanted to meet one another - except that we’re all drawn to the light of Christ.
Here we are, part of something beautiful.
Here we are, part of something beautiful, because in our own way we’ve asked Jesus the same question the two disciples asked so long ago.
We’ve asked Jesus, “Where are you staying?”
And in his usual enigmatic way Jesus has answered, “Come and see.”
And so, here we are, to be illumined by light of Christ as we hear God’s Word, as we reach out our hands and hugs in peace with one another.
Here we are, to receive the light of Christ in the simple gifts of bread and wine. Here we are, about to receive Christ into our bodies, giving us the grace and strength we need.
Here we are, to receive the grace and strength we need to shine the light of Christ in a world darkened by the shadows of suffering and tragedy.
And so, after the service, we go out through those doors to share Christ with the world - in our lives and in our words– revealing to a suffering and tragic world, “There is light in this situation.”
We shine the light of Christ when we “proclaim by word and example the Good News.”
We shine the light of Christ when we “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.”
We shine the light of Christ when we “strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.”
There’s no denying it’s a pretty bleak world out there.
We may sometimes get discouraged and feel overwhelmed. We may sometimes think, in the words of Isaiah, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”
Yet, we are part of something beautiful.
At the heart of our Judeo-Christian tradition, there is the core belief, the firm foundation, that can be summed up in a little phrase,
“There is light in this situation.”
And we are invited, given the responsibility, given the privilege, of shining that light, shining the light of Christ, into the world.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 16, 2011
Year A: The Second Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-12
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42
“There Is Light in This Situation”
In a previous sermon I mentioned that each morning I cringe a little when I open the newspaper and look at the front page. I know I’m not alone in wondering what new horrors we’ll have to face each new day.
And there’s certainly been no shortage of horrors lately.
In the natural world, this week marked the one-year anniversary of the earthquake that pulverized much of Haiti. If you’re like me, you had almost forgotten about Haiti and the plight of its desperately poor people who are still trying to reassemble the pieces of their broken lives. Despite the aid given by many, a year has gone by and apparently not much progress has been made.
More recently, there have been terrible floods in Albania, Australia, and Brazil, causing widespread devastation.
Closer to home, this has been a rough winter for much of the country. Even places like New York, well experienced with blizzards, have struggled to dig out from under massive snowfalls. Here in Florida the second cold winter in a row is leading to expensive heating bills for families, businesses and institutions and putting agriculture in danger.
And then there are the disasters created by human beings. As college seniors are discovering in a particularly painful way, at best the economy has just begun to recover from a very deep recession. At every service down at the chapel students pray for their job searches. And some of us who had worked for a long time are also praying very hard for employment.
The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan continue to grind on, although we try to push them out of our minds. And most of us know that in both countries there’s little hope of results that would justify the sacrifice of our precious blood.
There was the attack on Egyptian Christians as they left church after Christmas services.
And, a little more than a week ago, in Tucson our country was shaken by the latest incident of an absurdly well-armed and deranged person coldly executing people in an extremely ordinary setting – this time a supermarket parking lot.
The difference this time was that a federal judge and a member of the House of Representatives had been all too effectively targeted. Immediately the TV talking heads began to cast blame, pointing to the increasingly angry and violent language that passes these days for political discourse.
I think Jon Stewart was one of the first to recognize the saving grace of this terribly frightening tragedy. He said on the Daily Show:
"There is light in this situation," he insisted. "I urge everyone: Read up about those who were injured or killed; you will be comforted about [how] much anonymous goodness there is in the world... you realize people that you don't even know and have never even met are leading lives of real dignity and goodness. And you hear about crazy, but it is rarer than you think."
“There is light in this situation.”
That little phrase should carry enormous power especially for Jews and Christians. Throughout the history of our faiths, so many have faced - and continue to experience - enormous tragedies, unspeakable suffering, and yet have hung on to that core belief, to that little phrase, that powerful truth:
“There is light in this situation.”
In today’s reading from the Prophet Isaiah we heard the second of what’s called the Servant Songs. The servant is sometimes taken to represent Israel itself or the prophet himself or maybe some other historical character. From very early on, Christians have seen the servant as prophecy of Jesus, the suffering messiah.
In any event, in this song the servant recognizes a call from God that began even before he was born. But the servant also admits to many obstacles and much suffering. The servant’s faith even seems to waiver for a moment. He says,
“I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”
And haven’t we all waivered more often than we’d like to admit? In the face of so much suffering and tragedy in the world and in our own loives, haven’t we all thought something like, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”
But then the Prophet Isaiah declares that “there is light in this situation.”
God says to the servant, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach the end of the earth.”
We Christians recognize that Jesus is that light given to the nations. And you and I are invited, given the responsibility, given the privilege, of shining the light of Christ into the world.
In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott explains why she makes her young son go to church on Sunday.
First, she writes, “I make him because I can. I outweigh him by nearly seventy-five pounds.”
Then she turns serious, writing, “But that is only part of it. The main reason is that I want to give him what I found in the world, which is to say a path and a little light to see by. Most of the people I know who have what I want – which to say purpose, heart, balance, gratitude, joy – are people with a deep sense of spirituality.”
She continues, “They follow a brighter light than the glimmer of their own candle; they are part of something beautiful.”
You and I experience the light of Christ when we gather here together in church, when we “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.”
Here we are, part of an unlikely group of people who in most cases would probably never have met one another – and maybe even wouldn’t have wanted to meet one another - except that we’re all drawn to the light of Christ.
Here we are, part of something beautiful.
Here we are, part of something beautiful, because in our own way we’ve asked Jesus the same question the two disciples asked so long ago.
We’ve asked Jesus, “Where are you staying?”
And in his usual enigmatic way Jesus has answered, “Come and see.”
And so, here we are, to be illumined by light of Christ as we hear God’s Word, as we reach out our hands and hugs in peace with one another.
Here we are, to receive the light of Christ in the simple gifts of bread and wine. Here we are, about to receive Christ into our bodies, giving us the grace and strength we need.
Here we are, to receive the grace and strength we need to shine the light of Christ in a world darkened by the shadows of suffering and tragedy.
And so, after the service, we go out through those doors to share Christ with the world - in our lives and in our words– revealing to a suffering and tragic world, “There is light in this situation.”
We shine the light of Christ when we “proclaim by word and example the Good News.”
We shine the light of Christ when we “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.”
We shine the light of Christ when we “strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.”
There’s no denying it’s a pretty bleak world out there.
We may sometimes get discouraged and feel overwhelmed. We may sometimes think, in the words of Isaiah, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”
Yet, we are part of something beautiful.
At the heart of our Judeo-Christian tradition, there is the core belief, the firm foundation, that can be summed up in a little phrase,
“There is light in this situation.”
And we are invited, given the responsibility, given the privilege, of shining that light, shining the light of Christ, into the world.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Baptismal Beginnings
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 9, 2011
Year A: The First Sunday after Epiphany – the Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 42:1-9
Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17
Baptismal Beginnings
During these days of Epiphany we remember and celebrate the ways that the identity and power and meaning of Jesus is manifested to the whole world.
Traditionally there has been three parts of Epiphany. Of course, there’s the visit of the wise men in which Jesus’ identity as king is made manifest.
There’s also the wedding at Cana, where Jesus performs his first sign, turning water into wine. At that banquet Jesus’ power and abundance is made manifest.
And finally, there’s the event we remember and celebrate today - the greatest of the three manifestations - the Baptism of Jesus.
It’s here at the River Jordan that we are introduced to Jesus as an adult. There’s almost nothing in the gospels about Jesus as he grew up. Luke tells us about the boy Jesus causing his parents to panic by staying behind in Jerusalem and teaching in the Temple. But that’s about it.
So we’re left to imagine the formative years of Jesus of Nazareth – the years leading up to his Baptism. In my imagination I see the young Jesus looking and acting pretty much like everyone else – playing with friends, laughing at jokes, mourning those who died, studying his religious tradition and learning a trade in order to survive. I imagine the young Jesus trying to figure out who he was; trying to figure out his place in the world.
And in my imagination I also see people recognizing that there was something different about Jesus. Mary and Joseph and maybe a few others would have remembered the strange circumstances of his birth. But more than that, there would have been something intangible that set him apart from others.
And I imagine Jesus himself, with a mix of wonder and fear, recognizing that there was something that set him apart.
The gospels don’t say this exactly, but most scholars believe that Jesus like many others was drawn to John the Baptist, the wild prophet preaching repentance out in the wilderness. Most scholars accept that Jesus was a disciple of John the Baptist.
And, naturally, like most everyone else who came to John, Jesus was baptized by him.
This fact created some understandable awkwardness for early Christians. Matthew quotes John the Baptist as expressing this awkwardness when he asks Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”
John’s question is a really good one, especially considering his understanding of Baptism. In the wilderness of Judea, John cries out, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” John tells the people who come to be baptized in the Jordan, “I baptize you with water for repentance.”
And then John offers a frightening vision of the one who was to come, “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
So, for John, baptism was primarily, if not entirely, about repentance and forgiveness for sin. Since Jesus had no need of repentance and forgiveness, John naturally asks Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”
John’s question is a really good one. It’s a really good question if Baptism is only or mostly about repentance and forgiveness.
But, our understanding of Baptism – the Christian understanding of Baptism – is much broader, much deeper and much better news – than John’s understanding of Baptism.
It’s in baptism that Jesus discovers who he really is.
The Spirit of God descends upon Jesus, not in a fiery and scary way, but peacefully, like a dove. And then a voice from heaven tells Jesus and all those who had ears to hear, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
It’s in Baptism that Jesus discovers that he is God’s Son, the Beloved.
And it’s in Baptism that you and I discover who we really are.
For us, Baptism is partly about the washing away of sin – the original sin that infects all of us.
For us, Baptism is also partly about initiation. It’s in baptism that we become full members of the Church.
But, most important, for us it’s in Baptism – it’s in symbolically dying and rising again with Jesus – that God adopts us as children of God.
Let’s face it, God may not always be “well-pleased” with us. the way God was “well-pleased” with Jesus.
But, the very good news is that there is nothing that we can do to break the bond between God and us that is formed in Baptism. In the words of the prayer book, “The bond which God establishes in Baptism is indissoluble.”
In his Baptism, Jesus discovered that he is God’s Son – God’s Beloved.
And Mark, Matthew and Luke all agree that Baptism is not the end but the beginning of Jesus’ journey. After the discovery of his identity at his Baptism, Jesus begins his public ministry of teaching and healing. It’s after discovering who he really is that Jesus begins the journey of loving service that will take him to the Cross and beyond into resurrected life.
In our Baptism, our sins are washed away. In Baptism, we are initiated into the Church. But, most importantly, in Baptism, we discover who we really are. In Baptism we discover that we are the beloved adopted children of God.
And, no matter if we’re baptized as infants, or as children, or as adults, Baptism is not the end but the beginning of our journey loving service.
After the discovery of our identity, we are called to begin our journey of loving service to Jesus and to the world.
Baptism is my favorite Church service because each time a new Christian is baptized we’re all reminded of our own Baptism. We’re reminded that we’re beloved adopted children of God. We’re reminded that Baptism marks the beginning of our journey.
At every service of Baptism we are asked if we believe in the Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.
Then we are asked if we are willing to put that faith into action. We are asked if we are willing give away our lives in service to the Gospel. We are asked if we are willing to begin, or to continue, the journey that begins in the water of Baptism.
At every Baptism we are asked, Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
How we answer these challenging questions will shape our journey that begins in the water of Baptism. Or better, how we live the answers to these questions will shape our journey that begins in the water of Baptism.
The first Christians felt some awkwardness about the baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan. After all, why did Jesus need to be baptized by John?
The people who wrote the gospels could have deleted the story of Jesus’ baptism. They didn’t because they recognized its importance for Jesus and for us.
It’s at his Baptism that in a new and profound way Jesus discovers who he really is – the Son of God, God’s Beloved. And it’s Jesus’ baptism that marks the beginning of his journey of loving service.
And for us, it’s at our Baptism that we discover who we really are – beloved adopted children of God. And it’s our Baptism that marks the beginning of our journey of loving service.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 9, 2011
Year A: The First Sunday after Epiphany – the Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 42:1-9
Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17
Baptismal Beginnings
During these days of Epiphany we remember and celebrate the ways that the identity and power and meaning of Jesus is manifested to the whole world.
Traditionally there has been three parts of Epiphany. Of course, there’s the visit of the wise men in which Jesus’ identity as king is made manifest.
There’s also the wedding at Cana, where Jesus performs his first sign, turning water into wine. At that banquet Jesus’ power and abundance is made manifest.
And finally, there’s the event we remember and celebrate today - the greatest of the three manifestations - the Baptism of Jesus.
It’s here at the River Jordan that we are introduced to Jesus as an adult. There’s almost nothing in the gospels about Jesus as he grew up. Luke tells us about the boy Jesus causing his parents to panic by staying behind in Jerusalem and teaching in the Temple. But that’s about it.
So we’re left to imagine the formative years of Jesus of Nazareth – the years leading up to his Baptism. In my imagination I see the young Jesus looking and acting pretty much like everyone else – playing with friends, laughing at jokes, mourning those who died, studying his religious tradition and learning a trade in order to survive. I imagine the young Jesus trying to figure out who he was; trying to figure out his place in the world.
And in my imagination I also see people recognizing that there was something different about Jesus. Mary and Joseph and maybe a few others would have remembered the strange circumstances of his birth. But more than that, there would have been something intangible that set him apart from others.
And I imagine Jesus himself, with a mix of wonder and fear, recognizing that there was something that set him apart.
The gospels don’t say this exactly, but most scholars believe that Jesus like many others was drawn to John the Baptist, the wild prophet preaching repentance out in the wilderness. Most scholars accept that Jesus was a disciple of John the Baptist.
And, naturally, like most everyone else who came to John, Jesus was baptized by him.
This fact created some understandable awkwardness for early Christians. Matthew quotes John the Baptist as expressing this awkwardness when he asks Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”
John’s question is a really good one, especially considering his understanding of Baptism. In the wilderness of Judea, John cries out, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” John tells the people who come to be baptized in the Jordan, “I baptize you with water for repentance.”
And then John offers a frightening vision of the one who was to come, “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
So, for John, baptism was primarily, if not entirely, about repentance and forgiveness for sin. Since Jesus had no need of repentance and forgiveness, John naturally asks Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”
John’s question is a really good one. It’s a really good question if Baptism is only or mostly about repentance and forgiveness.
But, our understanding of Baptism – the Christian understanding of Baptism – is much broader, much deeper and much better news – than John’s understanding of Baptism.
It’s in baptism that Jesus discovers who he really is.
The Spirit of God descends upon Jesus, not in a fiery and scary way, but peacefully, like a dove. And then a voice from heaven tells Jesus and all those who had ears to hear, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
It’s in Baptism that Jesus discovers that he is God’s Son, the Beloved.
And it’s in Baptism that you and I discover who we really are.
For us, Baptism is partly about the washing away of sin – the original sin that infects all of us.
For us, Baptism is also partly about initiation. It’s in baptism that we become full members of the Church.
But, most important, for us it’s in Baptism – it’s in symbolically dying and rising again with Jesus – that God adopts us as children of God.
Let’s face it, God may not always be “well-pleased” with us. the way God was “well-pleased” with Jesus.
But, the very good news is that there is nothing that we can do to break the bond between God and us that is formed in Baptism. In the words of the prayer book, “The bond which God establishes in Baptism is indissoluble.”
In his Baptism, Jesus discovered that he is God’s Son – God’s Beloved.
And Mark, Matthew and Luke all agree that Baptism is not the end but the beginning of Jesus’ journey. After the discovery of his identity at his Baptism, Jesus begins his public ministry of teaching and healing. It’s after discovering who he really is that Jesus begins the journey of loving service that will take him to the Cross and beyond into resurrected life.
In our Baptism, our sins are washed away. In Baptism, we are initiated into the Church. But, most importantly, in Baptism, we discover who we really are. In Baptism we discover that we are the beloved adopted children of God.
And, no matter if we’re baptized as infants, or as children, or as adults, Baptism is not the end but the beginning of our journey loving service.
After the discovery of our identity, we are called to begin our journey of loving service to Jesus and to the world.
Baptism is my favorite Church service because each time a new Christian is baptized we’re all reminded of our own Baptism. We’re reminded that we’re beloved adopted children of God. We’re reminded that Baptism marks the beginning of our journey.
At every service of Baptism we are asked if we believe in the Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.
Then we are asked if we are willing to put that faith into action. We are asked if we are willing give away our lives in service to the Gospel. We are asked if we are willing to begin, or to continue, the journey that begins in the water of Baptism.
At every Baptism we are asked, Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
How we answer these challenging questions will shape our journey that begins in the water of Baptism. Or better, how we live the answers to these questions will shape our journey that begins in the water of Baptism.
The first Christians felt some awkwardness about the baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan. After all, why did Jesus need to be baptized by John?
The people who wrote the gospels could have deleted the story of Jesus’ baptism. They didn’t because they recognized its importance for Jesus and for us.
It’s at his Baptism that in a new and profound way Jesus discovers who he really is – the Son of God, God’s Beloved. And it’s Jesus’ baptism that marks the beginning of his journey of loving service.
And for us, it’s at our Baptism that we discover who we really are – beloved adopted children of God. And it’s our Baptism that marks the beginning of our journey of loving service.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
The Great Pilgrimage
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
January 2, 2011
The Second Sunday after Christmas
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Psalm 84
Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12
The Great Pilgrimage
Merry Christmas!
Although the world has moved on to New Year’s Eve and Day celebrations, for the church it is still very much Christmas.
And in today’s gospel we heard one of the last missing pieces of the Christmas story – the arrival of the magi, the wise men, bearing gifts for the newborn king of Israel.
We imagine three men in exotic costumes, topped with crowns, each carrying a gift. Yet, Matthew never tells us how many of these wise men made the trip to Bethlehem. But, in the Christmas story it’s always three, isn’t it?
In reality, “the Christmas story” itself is actually a blend of the birth stories found in two gospels, Luke and Matthew.
Luke tells the story very much from Mary’s perspective. And in Luke, it’s lowly shepherds who first pay homage to the newborn king – very much in keeping with Luke’s emphasis on the Good News that Jesus brings to the poor.
Matthew gives us our information about Joseph. And in Matthew, it’s the magi, these mysterious visitors from the East who first pay homage to the newborn king and present him with precious gifts appropriate for a royal child.
Matthew’s story of the magi is very much in keeping with his emphasis on Jesus as the messiah not only for Israel, but Jesus as the messiah for the whole world. Matthew makes this point at the beginning of his gospel with these foreign visitors to Bethlehem. And Matthew makes the same point at the end of his gospel, when the resurrected Christ tells his disciples, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…”
So it’s these mysterious visitors from the East who receive the first manifestation of Christ – the first Epiphany – to the non-Jewish world.
This week as I’ve reflected on the story of the magi, I’ve been drawn to the idea that they were making a pilgrimage. They wouldn’t have thought of their trip as a pilgrimage since it was common for foreign governments to send representatives to present gifts on the occasion of a royal birth.
Yet, these magi left their homes and traveled a considerable distance in order to meet and honor the newborn king of Israel. There hadn’t been a formal announcement of this royal birth. Their invitation was subtler and more personal. The magi looked to the heavens and discerned that they were to make this journey into the unknown.
And, as sometimes happens on a pilgrimage, their ultimate destination turned out to be much different than they expected. Matthew tells us first they went straight to the capital, straight to Jerusalem. After all, where else would you find a newborn king?
Instead, their pilgrimage takes the magi to the unexpected, to Bethlehem, where it had been predicted the messiah’s birth would take place. The magi wouldn’t have known that, of course, since they weren’t Jews.
And when the magi reach the unexpected destination of their pilgrimage, what do they find? There’s no palace and no servants. There’s no heavenly host singing. Matthew tells us simply,
“On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage.”
Although they couldn’t have truly understood the magnitude of this experience, for the magi this pilgrimage had ended in an unexpected place, in the presence of the Creator.
And having found the newborn king in such an unexpected place, I bet the magi were transformed by this pilgrimage. I imagine them puzzling over everything that they had seen, as “they left for their own country by another road.” I imagine them reflecting on this unusual experience in the years to come.
Pilgrimages seem to have a nearly universal appeal. Somehow we are drawn to visit places associated with the holy men and women of the past.
Christian pilgrims still make their way to the Holy Land to walk and pray in the land of Jesus and his first followers. Pilgrims continue to follow Paul’s route around the Mediterranean. Pilgrims visit Rome. And, for us Anglicans, there’s no greater pilgrimage than taking the road to Canterbury.
Part of the appeal of a pilgrimage is that when we’re on a pilgrimage we really keep our eyes open much more than in our everyday sleepwalking lives. When we’re on a pilgrimage we’re really open to having some kind of encounter with the Creator, and sure enough, we often do.
In my previous church I made two pilgrimages with some of our teenagers. Three years ago we went to San Francisco and made our way down the beautiful California coast visiting the Spanish mission churches. Nearly all of these churches straddle the uncomfortable zone between still serving as houses of worship while also being tourist attractions.
I remember one day when we were sitting in one of the mission churches (I’m not sure which, they’ve all blurred in my memory) talking probably about the art or architecture or the history. Maybe we were comparing this church with others we had seen. There were plenty of tourists milling around, chatting and taking pictures.
Gradually the room grew quiet as people stopped what they were doing to watch, either directly or out of the corner of their eye, as an old woman dressed in black from her veil to her shoes, slowly made her way on her knees up the center aisle. She paid no attention to the people around her. As she passed us we could see that she was praying the rosary that she clutched in her hands.
She was still praying at the altar rail when we quietly exited the church, a living symbol of piety and prayerfulness.
My second pilgrimage was just this past summer. We visited Montreal and Quebec City, where you Floridians would have felt right at home in the surprising heat and humidity.
Near the end of the trip we visited a grandiose, baroque chapel built for the Ursuline sisters, Roman Catholic nuns who have been in Quebec since the start of French settlement.
By this time the kids and, yes, the adults were getting pretty churched-out. So as we sat in this beautiful space with its large iron gate designed to set apart the worship space for the nuns, there was a good bit of chatter, texting, picture-taking - you get the idea.
An elderly woman who seemed to be an attendant, shushed the kids. They quieted down to what I thought was an acceptable whisper. Then she came over to us and reminded us that we were in a place of prayer and if we couldn’t be quiet we’d have to leave.
Just as I was thinking that we’d better go, in her very quiet voice this woman began to engage the kids in conversation. It turned out that she was Usuline nun and had lived in this convent for many, many years. She talked to us about the importance of prayer over her long life in the convent.
She was delightful. She radiated a deep holiness and serenity. She charmed the kids she’d been shushing a few moments earlier. What had seemed like an unpleasant situation turned out to be a great, unexpected, blessing.
Not in the same way as the magi, of course, but both in watching the black-veiled woman make her way up the aisle on her knees and in meeting the holy sister in Quebec, I felt that my pilgrimage had brought me to an unexpected place, into the presence of the Creator.
The great truth is we don’t have to go to the Holy Land or Rome or Canterbury or California or Quebec to make a pilgrimage. The truth is we are on a pilgrimage right now. We are on the great pilgrimage back to the One who created us, who loves us and whose presence, we, like the magi, find in unexpected places.
As this Christmas season draws to a close and a new year begins, maybe we can all resolve to stop sleepwalking and resolve to keep our eyes open. Maybe we can resolve to be pilgrims – knowing that our great pilgrimage will take us to unexpected places where we will have epiphanies of Christ – encounters with the Creator.
Merry Christmas.
Amen.
January 2, 2011
The Second Sunday after Christmas
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Psalm 84
Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12
The Great Pilgrimage
Merry Christmas!
Although the world has moved on to New Year’s Eve and Day celebrations, for the church it is still very much Christmas.
And in today’s gospel we heard one of the last missing pieces of the Christmas story – the arrival of the magi, the wise men, bearing gifts for the newborn king of Israel.
We imagine three men in exotic costumes, topped with crowns, each carrying a gift. Yet, Matthew never tells us how many of these wise men made the trip to Bethlehem. But, in the Christmas story it’s always three, isn’t it?
In reality, “the Christmas story” itself is actually a blend of the birth stories found in two gospels, Luke and Matthew.
Luke tells the story very much from Mary’s perspective. And in Luke, it’s lowly shepherds who first pay homage to the newborn king – very much in keeping with Luke’s emphasis on the Good News that Jesus brings to the poor.
Matthew gives us our information about Joseph. And in Matthew, it’s the magi, these mysterious visitors from the East who first pay homage to the newborn king and present him with precious gifts appropriate for a royal child.
Matthew’s story of the magi is very much in keeping with his emphasis on Jesus as the messiah not only for Israel, but Jesus as the messiah for the whole world. Matthew makes this point at the beginning of his gospel with these foreign visitors to Bethlehem. And Matthew makes the same point at the end of his gospel, when the resurrected Christ tells his disciples, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…”
So it’s these mysterious visitors from the East who receive the first manifestation of Christ – the first Epiphany – to the non-Jewish world.
This week as I’ve reflected on the story of the magi, I’ve been drawn to the idea that they were making a pilgrimage. They wouldn’t have thought of their trip as a pilgrimage since it was common for foreign governments to send representatives to present gifts on the occasion of a royal birth.
Yet, these magi left their homes and traveled a considerable distance in order to meet and honor the newborn king of Israel. There hadn’t been a formal announcement of this royal birth. Their invitation was subtler and more personal. The magi looked to the heavens and discerned that they were to make this journey into the unknown.
And, as sometimes happens on a pilgrimage, their ultimate destination turned out to be much different than they expected. Matthew tells us first they went straight to the capital, straight to Jerusalem. After all, where else would you find a newborn king?
Instead, their pilgrimage takes the magi to the unexpected, to Bethlehem, where it had been predicted the messiah’s birth would take place. The magi wouldn’t have known that, of course, since they weren’t Jews.
And when the magi reach the unexpected destination of their pilgrimage, what do they find? There’s no palace and no servants. There’s no heavenly host singing. Matthew tells us simply,
“On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage.”
Although they couldn’t have truly understood the magnitude of this experience, for the magi this pilgrimage had ended in an unexpected place, in the presence of the Creator.
And having found the newborn king in such an unexpected place, I bet the magi were transformed by this pilgrimage. I imagine them puzzling over everything that they had seen, as “they left for their own country by another road.” I imagine them reflecting on this unusual experience in the years to come.
Pilgrimages seem to have a nearly universal appeal. Somehow we are drawn to visit places associated with the holy men and women of the past.
Christian pilgrims still make their way to the Holy Land to walk and pray in the land of Jesus and his first followers. Pilgrims continue to follow Paul’s route around the Mediterranean. Pilgrims visit Rome. And, for us Anglicans, there’s no greater pilgrimage than taking the road to Canterbury.
Part of the appeal of a pilgrimage is that when we’re on a pilgrimage we really keep our eyes open much more than in our everyday sleepwalking lives. When we’re on a pilgrimage we’re really open to having some kind of encounter with the Creator, and sure enough, we often do.
In my previous church I made two pilgrimages with some of our teenagers. Three years ago we went to San Francisco and made our way down the beautiful California coast visiting the Spanish mission churches. Nearly all of these churches straddle the uncomfortable zone between still serving as houses of worship while also being tourist attractions.
I remember one day when we were sitting in one of the mission churches (I’m not sure which, they’ve all blurred in my memory) talking probably about the art or architecture or the history. Maybe we were comparing this church with others we had seen. There were plenty of tourists milling around, chatting and taking pictures.
Gradually the room grew quiet as people stopped what they were doing to watch, either directly or out of the corner of their eye, as an old woman dressed in black from her veil to her shoes, slowly made her way on her knees up the center aisle. She paid no attention to the people around her. As she passed us we could see that she was praying the rosary that she clutched in her hands.
She was still praying at the altar rail when we quietly exited the church, a living symbol of piety and prayerfulness.
My second pilgrimage was just this past summer. We visited Montreal and Quebec City, where you Floridians would have felt right at home in the surprising heat and humidity.
Near the end of the trip we visited a grandiose, baroque chapel built for the Ursuline sisters, Roman Catholic nuns who have been in Quebec since the start of French settlement.
By this time the kids and, yes, the adults were getting pretty churched-out. So as we sat in this beautiful space with its large iron gate designed to set apart the worship space for the nuns, there was a good bit of chatter, texting, picture-taking - you get the idea.
An elderly woman who seemed to be an attendant, shushed the kids. They quieted down to what I thought was an acceptable whisper. Then she came over to us and reminded us that we were in a place of prayer and if we couldn’t be quiet we’d have to leave.
Just as I was thinking that we’d better go, in her very quiet voice this woman began to engage the kids in conversation. It turned out that she was Usuline nun and had lived in this convent for many, many years. She talked to us about the importance of prayer over her long life in the convent.
She was delightful. She radiated a deep holiness and serenity. She charmed the kids she’d been shushing a few moments earlier. What had seemed like an unpleasant situation turned out to be a great, unexpected, blessing.
Not in the same way as the magi, of course, but both in watching the black-veiled woman make her way up the aisle on her knees and in meeting the holy sister in Quebec, I felt that my pilgrimage had brought me to an unexpected place, into the presence of the Creator.
The great truth is we don’t have to go to the Holy Land or Rome or Canterbury or California or Quebec to make a pilgrimage. The truth is we are on a pilgrimage right now. We are on the great pilgrimage back to the One who created us, who loves us and whose presence, we, like the magi, find in unexpected places.
As this Christmas season draws to a close and a new year begins, maybe we can all resolve to stop sleepwalking and resolve to keep our eyes open. Maybe we can resolve to be pilgrims – knowing that our great pilgrimage will take us to unexpected places where we will have epiphanies of Christ – encounters with the Creator.
Merry Christmas.
Amen.
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