Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
March 29, 2012
Funeral Sermon for Mary Wilde Chewning
Wisdom 3:1-5, 9
Psalm 139
1 Corinthians 15:53-58
Psalm 23
John 14:1-6a
Death Has Been Swallowed Up In Victory
The lesson I just read is an excerpt from the Evangelist John’s account of the Last Supper. Jesus has gathered for a final meal with his closest friends and disciples. They are all beginning to face what they probably had been denying for a while: their friend, their teacher, the one they had recognized as the messiah – Jesus – was going to die.
In John’s account, Jesus tries to reassure his friends – and tries to reassure us here today - do not let your hearts be troubled – in my Father’s house there are many dwelling places – I go to prepare a place for you – I will come again and will take you to myself – and you know the way.
But, all these centuries later we can still hear - and maybe even feel - the sadness and the bewilderment in Thomas’ question, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
To which Jesus replies, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”
Two thousand years later, many of us do a pretty good job of denial – denial of our total dependence on God and denial of the fact that we - and the people we most love - will all die.
One of the ways that the Church tries to push back at our denial is the season of Lent – the season that offers 40 days of preparation for Easter - the season that began on Ash Wednesday.
Ash Wednesday is a tough day – it’s a day that offers a dramatic reminder of our dependence on God and a very tangible reminder of our mortality.
If you’ve ever received ashes you know how powerful getting that smudge on your forehead can be.
Imposing ashes is one of the most moving experiences I have as priest.
As we mark people with an ashen sign of the cross, we say, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
It’s especially moving when I really know the person – have some sense of their struggles and hopes. It’s especially moving to mark the ashes on babies and young children – a reminder that even those so young and so full of life and promise will not be exempt from death. And it’s especially moving to mark the ashes on someone gravely ill – someone who is in the thin space between this life and the life to come.
So we begin Lent with ashes. We begin a season when we Christians are invited to take stock of our lives, to reflect on the ways that we have turned away from God and the ways that we have been less than loving toward our brothers and sisters.
Lent is a season when we are called to sacrifice. Some people - maybe some of you here today – give up something like chocolate, or wine with dinner, or maybe smoking. It’s a season when we sacrifice something unnecessary – or even hazardous – in order to remind ourselves of our total dependence on God.
Here in church we do our best to create an environment that sets an appropriately somber tone. The shiny silver and brass are put away, replaced by wood and pottery. We priests wear somber purple vestments. And we don’t say the great celebratory word “Alleluia” until the Easter Vigil.
But, although each year we go through this somber exercise of Lent, we Christians know how the story ends.
It would be morbid – and, frankly, unbearable – to impose ashes on all those foreheads if we didn’t know how the story ends.
But, we know that after the forty days of Lent, after we remember the sacrifice and death of Jesus on the cross on Good Friday, after we remember the time when all hope seemed to be lost – we know that the story ends with the great celebration of Easter.
The silver and brass will be back, we’ll be in white vestments, and the Alleluias will ring out as we celebrate Christ’s resurrection, we’ll celebrate that, yes, ”Death has been swallowed up in victory.”
On Easter, we’ll celebrate God doing what God always does – turn death into new life.
And, really, that’s what we’re about here today. A Christian funeral is like a little Lent and a little Easter.
We begin today with a little Lent. We come here this morning with sadness that we will not see Mary again in this life. Meeting Susannah and Chris and Ray at the hospital and hearing wonderful, often funny stories about Mary made me very sorry that I didn’t get the chance to know her. And then, reading Susannah’s marvelous remembrance that’s in your bulletin makes me even sadder that I never knew her – never knew this strong woman whose life both reflected and transcended her time and place – never knew this woman who was willing to repeatedly reinvent herself – never knew this “righteous soul” who most loved being a mother, the role that allowed her to best reflect God’s own perfect love.
Although she lived a long, full life, I know it still would be wonderful to have her with you even for just a little longer.
We begin today with a little Lent. We come here very much reminded of our mortality. And maybe that reminder is causing us to take stock of our own lives. If we were to die tomorrow, how would we be remembered? Would we be remembered as caring and faithful people? Would we be remembered the way you remember Mary?
So, yes, today we begin with a little Lent. But, we know how the story ends.
We know how the story ends for Jesus. We know how the story ends for Mary. And we know how the story ends for us.
So, you may have noticed that we’re taking a break from Lent this morning and we’re celebrating a little Easter.
There’s no somber purple today – we’re decked out in our white vestments. And there will even be some of those otherwise forbidden alleluias!
At the end of the service, during what’s called the Commendation, Lauren will read words that echo both the solemnity of Ash Wednesday and the joy of Easter.
She’ll say, “All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
So, today is a little Lent – a day to mourn the loss of a righteous soul and maybe face some things about ourselves that we usually try to deny.
But, more importantly, today is also a little Easter – a day when we celebrate that “death has been swallowed up in victory” – a day when we celebrate God doing what God always does, turn death into new life – new life for Jesus, new life for Mary - and new life for us all.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!
Amen.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Satisfy the Hungry Heart
St. Vincent Academy, Newark NJ
Students In Community Sending Forth Ceremony
March 23, 2012
Satisfy the Hungry Heart
When Sister Noreen told me that I was standing between you and early dismissal, I went back and shortened my comments. So, good news, everybody: I think I’ve gotten my talk down to just under an hour…
It’s a joy and a privilege to be back here at St. Vincent’s – and to meet all of you on this big day. SVA is very important to me because the years back in the early and mid ‘90’s I spent here as a teacher really helped to shape me as a person. Like you, I’ve learned so much from Sister June, Sister Margaret, Ms. Nolan, the Freshman Team, Sister Carol, Mr. Hogan, Ms. Palmer, Sister Noreen, Sister Connie, Ms. Francisco and many others.
Like you, I’ve learned from them a whole lot about living a life of faith, service and integrity.
I remember the day I interviewed with Sister June for the job as a history teacher – a job I really wanted and needed, by the way – and she told me something I’ve never forgotten and have tried to keep at the front of my mind and my heart both as a teacher and now as a priest. She told me that every student here is the most important thing in the world to somebody – to a parent, or a grandparent, or some other family member or friend.
She told me to make sure I remembered that, especially on those inevitable days when a student didn’t seem to be making her best effort, or when a girl acted out in class, or even if – and this was rare – there was a student I didn’t really like or, if you can imagine, didn’t like me!
My experience of St. Vincent’s was that most, if not all, of the girls knew that they were the most important thing in the world – were cherished and loved - by somebody.
I hope that all of you here today can feel that love, at least some of the time.
And, if by some horrible chance, you don’t feel like you’re loved by the people in your life, faith teaches us that God loves us unconditionally – now matter how much we mess up, no matter how many times we fail, no matter how many times we disappoint ourselves and others, God’s love for us is always here, in our hearts.
I really like the theme of this year’s SIC: Satisfy the Hungry Heart.
I like it because the words come right out of a very familiar hymn from my 1970s childhood.
I like it, because on one level it’s a hymn about communion – it’s a hymn we sing to God who satisfies the hungry heart with bread of the finest wheat – the holy bread that we receive when we come together in church.
It’s also a hymn about Jesus, who is the Bread of Life, broken and given to the world – broken and given to show us what God’s unconditional love really looks like.
But, it’s also a hymn about us – and a hymn about what you’re going to be up to during SIC – and, hopefully, what we’re all going to be up to during our whole lives.
The truth is that God wants us – even needs us – to be bread for the world – to be bread of finest wheat to satisfy the many, many hungry hearts out there in the world.
You probably know this already, but most of us carry a lot of heavy burdens around with us.
For some of us the heaviest burden is fear – fear that we’ll lose what we have or we’ll never achieve our greatest hopes. It could be the fear of illness for ourselves or for those we love.
For some of us the heaviest burden is regret – regret about bad decisions that we’ve made, regret that we didn’t try harder when we had the chance, regret that we didn’t tell someone that we loved before it was too late.
For some of us the heaviest burden is the high expectations that we place on ourselves or are placed on us by others.
For some of us the heaviest burden is sadness and grief – sadness that someone we loved is no longer with us, sadness and grief that there are so many suffering people around the world.
You could probably add a few more heavy burdens on to my list.
But, I’ve learned over the years, first as a teacher and now as a priest, that most people carry many heavy burdens.
Sometimes those burdens are obvious and close to the surface.
But, other times the burdens are hidden and kept close to the heart.
Maybe this has happened to you, but I’ve often been surprised when I’ve gotten to know someone who seems to have his or her act together and then I discover some huge burden that they’ve been carrying around for too long.
Many of the people you’re going to meet out at your placements are going to be carrying heavy burdens – some visible, and some not.
And carrying those heavy burdens makes people hungry. Of course, sometimes it’s physical hunger, but more often, in the words of the hymn and your theme, carrying those heavy burdens gives people hungry hearts.
Hungry hearts can be fed only by love.
And that’s where you come in.
When you’re out at your placements you may very well encounter someone who doesn’t seem to be making her or his best effort, or someone who acts out, or someone you don’t really like or, if you can imagine, doesn’t like you.
When that happens, try to remember Sister June’s words to me from back in the day. This person who is driving you bananas might be the most important thing to someone - maybe a parent or grandparent, or maybe a spouse, or a child, or a friend.
Sadly, sometimes that’s not true – there are people who are completely alone and unloved. But, even then, for sure this person who is driving you bananas is the most important thing in the world to God.
Please try to remember that this person who is driving you bananas is probably carrying some pretty heavy burdens and probably has a hungry heart.
So, feed them.
God wants us – even needs us – to be bread for the world – to be bread of finest wheat to satisfy – to feed - the many, many hungry hearts out there in the world.
Feed them with your interest, your care, your patience and maybe even your love.
And when you feed them even just by being there for them, God will use you to feed them with the love and grace that only God can give.
One last thing.
Most of us don’t like to admit it, but I know that it’s not just people out there who have hungry hearts – but all of us here, too.
I have my heavy burdens and I know that you carry heavy burdens, as do your teachers and administrators here at SVA. Some of the burdens are visible and some are hidden and kept close to the heart.
But, the great and amazing truth is that as you give of yourself, feeding and satisfying the hungry hearts out there, God will be at work sharing your burdens and satisfying your hungry heart.
If you’ve really been open to this experience, and have really given of yourself, at the end you’ll look back and discover that you’ve been fed at least as much as the people you’ve been serving.
I hope SIC is a wonderful experience for all of you. I will remember you in my prayers.
Students In Community Sending Forth Ceremony
March 23, 2012
Satisfy the Hungry Heart
When Sister Noreen told me that I was standing between you and early dismissal, I went back and shortened my comments. So, good news, everybody: I think I’ve gotten my talk down to just under an hour…
It’s a joy and a privilege to be back here at St. Vincent’s – and to meet all of you on this big day. SVA is very important to me because the years back in the early and mid ‘90’s I spent here as a teacher really helped to shape me as a person. Like you, I’ve learned so much from Sister June, Sister Margaret, Ms. Nolan, the Freshman Team, Sister Carol, Mr. Hogan, Ms. Palmer, Sister Noreen, Sister Connie, Ms. Francisco and many others.
Like you, I’ve learned from them a whole lot about living a life of faith, service and integrity.
I remember the day I interviewed with Sister June for the job as a history teacher – a job I really wanted and needed, by the way – and she told me something I’ve never forgotten and have tried to keep at the front of my mind and my heart both as a teacher and now as a priest. She told me that every student here is the most important thing in the world to somebody – to a parent, or a grandparent, or some other family member or friend.
She told me to make sure I remembered that, especially on those inevitable days when a student didn’t seem to be making her best effort, or when a girl acted out in class, or even if – and this was rare – there was a student I didn’t really like or, if you can imagine, didn’t like me!
My experience of St. Vincent’s was that most, if not all, of the girls knew that they were the most important thing in the world – were cherished and loved - by somebody.
I hope that all of you here today can feel that love, at least some of the time.
And, if by some horrible chance, you don’t feel like you’re loved by the people in your life, faith teaches us that God loves us unconditionally – now matter how much we mess up, no matter how many times we fail, no matter how many times we disappoint ourselves and others, God’s love for us is always here, in our hearts.
I really like the theme of this year’s SIC: Satisfy the Hungry Heart.
I like it because the words come right out of a very familiar hymn from my 1970s childhood.
I like it, because on one level it’s a hymn about communion – it’s a hymn we sing to God who satisfies the hungry heart with bread of the finest wheat – the holy bread that we receive when we come together in church.
It’s also a hymn about Jesus, who is the Bread of Life, broken and given to the world – broken and given to show us what God’s unconditional love really looks like.
But, it’s also a hymn about us – and a hymn about what you’re going to be up to during SIC – and, hopefully, what we’re all going to be up to during our whole lives.
The truth is that God wants us – even needs us – to be bread for the world – to be bread of finest wheat to satisfy the many, many hungry hearts out there in the world.
You probably know this already, but most of us carry a lot of heavy burdens around with us.
For some of us the heaviest burden is fear – fear that we’ll lose what we have or we’ll never achieve our greatest hopes. It could be the fear of illness for ourselves or for those we love.
For some of us the heaviest burden is regret – regret about bad decisions that we’ve made, regret that we didn’t try harder when we had the chance, regret that we didn’t tell someone that we loved before it was too late.
For some of us the heaviest burden is the high expectations that we place on ourselves or are placed on us by others.
For some of us the heaviest burden is sadness and grief – sadness that someone we loved is no longer with us, sadness and grief that there are so many suffering people around the world.
You could probably add a few more heavy burdens on to my list.
But, I’ve learned over the years, first as a teacher and now as a priest, that most people carry many heavy burdens.
Sometimes those burdens are obvious and close to the surface.
But, other times the burdens are hidden and kept close to the heart.
Maybe this has happened to you, but I’ve often been surprised when I’ve gotten to know someone who seems to have his or her act together and then I discover some huge burden that they’ve been carrying around for too long.
Many of the people you’re going to meet out at your placements are going to be carrying heavy burdens – some visible, and some not.
And carrying those heavy burdens makes people hungry. Of course, sometimes it’s physical hunger, but more often, in the words of the hymn and your theme, carrying those heavy burdens gives people hungry hearts.
Hungry hearts can be fed only by love.
And that’s where you come in.
When you’re out at your placements you may very well encounter someone who doesn’t seem to be making her or his best effort, or someone who acts out, or someone you don’t really like or, if you can imagine, doesn’t like you.
When that happens, try to remember Sister June’s words to me from back in the day. This person who is driving you bananas might be the most important thing to someone - maybe a parent or grandparent, or maybe a spouse, or a child, or a friend.
Sadly, sometimes that’s not true – there are people who are completely alone and unloved. But, even then, for sure this person who is driving you bananas is the most important thing in the world to God.
Please try to remember that this person who is driving you bananas is probably carrying some pretty heavy burdens and probably has a hungry heart.
So, feed them.
God wants us – even needs us – to be bread for the world – to be bread of finest wheat to satisfy – to feed - the many, many hungry hearts out there in the world.
Feed them with your interest, your care, your patience and maybe even your love.
And when you feed them even just by being there for them, God will use you to feed them with the love and grace that only God can give.
One last thing.
Most of us don’t like to admit it, but I know that it’s not just people out there who have hungry hearts – but all of us here, too.
I have my heavy burdens and I know that you carry heavy burdens, as do your teachers and administrators here at SVA. Some of the burdens are visible and some are hidden and kept close to the heart.
But, the great and amazing truth is that as you give of yourself, feeding and satisfying the hungry hearts out there, God will be at work sharing your burdens and satisfying your hungry heart.
If you’ve really been open to this experience, and have really given of yourself, at the end you’ll look back and discover that you’ve been fed at least as much as the people you’ve been serving.
I hope SIC is a wonderful experience for all of you. I will remember you in my prayers.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Shadows and Light
Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
March 18, 2012
Year B: The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Numbers 21:4-9
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22
(Ephesians 2:1-10)
John 3:14-21
Shadows and Light
Well, today the rose vestments make one of their two annual appearances. It’s the Fourth Sunday in Lent, called Laetare Sunday from a Latin word meaning joy. We take a break from the Lenten purple because today is the Sunday when we begin to glimpse the joyful light of Easter that’s already shining for us all.
And today, for the second Sunday in a row, we heard a passage from the Gospel of John. The Fourth Gospel was almost certainly the last of the gospels to be written, probably completed right around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.
It’s a gospel that was written at a particularly difficult time for the still-young Jesus Movement.
Of course, Jesus and all of his first followers were Jews. And they lived during a time when, like today, Judaism was very diverse. In fact, it makes more sense to talk about “Judaisms” than one monolithic faith.
Thanks to that Jewish diversity of belief, in the earliest years after the Resurrection it seems that for the most part the followers of Jesus were able to continue worshipping along with their fellow Jews, more or less harmoniously.
But, as the years went by the situation began to change.
First, thanks to the missionary work of Paul and others, non-Jews became an increasingly larger part of the Jesus Movement.
Second, among the followers of Jesus there was increasing use of God language for Jesus. There were lots of supposed messiahs around in the First Century, but to talk about Jesus as in some sense divine was tough for the staunchly monotheistic Jews to accept as permissible, even under the big tent of Judaism.
Finally, the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple by the Romans in the year 70 led Jews by necessity to reflect on what their faith would look like without its center of worship and sacrifice.
In a nutshell, the Gospel of John was written during the challenging, frightening and - for some - exciting time when the followers of Jesus were beginning to develop a new religion, Christianity.
Many Jews, of course, never accepted Jesus as the messiah.
But, others did, and maybe some of them now had to part from their fellow Jews.
And then there were those people who were in-between – those who were attracted to Jesus and his message – but had only partial faith. They were not quite able to fully commit to Jesus.
In the Gospel of John, these in-between people with partial faith are represented by Nicodemus – the Pharisee, the Jewish leader full of questions who comes to see Jesus in the shadowy darkness of night.
In today’s gospel lesson we heard the end of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus.
In the gospel, written during a time of parting, Nicodemus’ choice is described as one between light and darkness.
Now today, when many Christians have made progress toward respecting the Jews as our elder sisters and brothers in faith, we wouldn’t describe Nicodemus’ choice quite that way.
Today, Nicodemus doesn’t represent the Jews of two thousand years ago. No, today Nicodemus represents us – people who just by being here today have said that we’re drawn to Jesus and to his message. Yet, like Nicodemus, our faith is still only partial – we’re not quite ready to commit fully to Jesus and his message.
Like Nicodemus, we’re somewhere in the shadowy place between light and darkness.
Sometimes, with God’s help, we move out of the shadows and closer to the light of Christ.
That’s why we’re here today. Week after week we come here to move closer to the light when we confess our sins and receive absolution, when we hear God’s Word, when we’re moved by sacred music, when we pray, when we exchange the peace, and most especially when we take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our heats.
With God’s help, we move closer to the light when we reach out to someone in need, when we invite someone to cry on our shoulder, when we share with others the blessings that we’ve received.
Now, I know only too well that the church isn’t perfect and can sometimes get in the way of the light, but I think for the most part this is one of the places where it is easiest to move out of the shadows and into the light of Christ.
But, moving out of the shadows and into the light gets a lot more difficult when we leave this place and go out through the church doors and into the world.
During Lent (in the Rite II services) we’ve been saying the second post-communion prayer, in which we pray, “And now, Father, send us out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord.”
Much easier said than done. Once we go through those doors and into the “real world” it’s very easy to move away from the light of Christ and deeper into the shadows.
Maybe hearing the Ten Commandments each Sunday has reminded us of how often we move away from the light and deeper into the shadows.
For those of you in school, that move to the shadows might be cheating on a quiz or test or copying someone else’s homework. Or it might be being mean to a kid who’s different.
In our lives maybe we move away from the light into the shadows by gossiping about or ridiculing others, or holding a grudge, or spreading falsehoods or demonizing people who think or act differently than we do.
Many of us may have experienced the tension between light and shadow at work. That’s probably always true, but maybe especially during tough economic times. There’s so much pressure – we depend on our income to support ourselves and maybe other people count on us, too. Every workplace has its own culture – and often that culture can easily and subtly draw us from the light of Christ and deeper into the shadows.
In my own case, I remember very well how toxic the faculty room could be – a very shadowy place of cynicism and negativity – a place to dwell on grievances – the administration is stupid, the kids don’t want to learn, the parents are a pain, …
The faculty room often provided a toxic environment where it was hard to love and serve God as a faithful witness of Christ our Lord.
I’m sure many of you heard about or read the op-ed piece in the New York Times written by a mid-level executive at a major investment bank and published on the day of his resignation.
In the ultimate example of burning one’s bridges, this 12-year veteran of the firm criticized a corporate culture that he described as “toxic” and “destructive.”
He bemoaned a shadowy culture that puts profit over anything and everything, including, he claimed, the best interests of the firm’s clients – clients who were often ridiculed by his colleagues.
Now, I have no idea if his description of that company’s culture is accurate and fair. And I have no idea how much his description fits the rest of the financial industry or the corporate world.
My sister works for an investment bank and of course a good number of parishioners here work or have worked in the financial industry. Although, obviously, these companies exist to make money, I can’t really imagine my sister or our parishioners putting profit above integrity.
But, I can imagine the pressures created by a high-stakes and cutthroat culture and I can imagine how working in that toxic environment could make it very hard indeed to love and serve God as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord.
No matter who we are, for all of us, it’s an everyday struggle not to get drawn into the shadows.
The struggle between shadow and light doesn’t only take place at work. It can happen any place and any time.
Recently in the Wall Street Journal there was a story about an experiment conducted by a computer security firm. They deliberately “lost” 50 smart phones in various American and Canadian cities. But these were not just any phones – they were loaded with tracking software that allowed the company to follow what the people who found the phones did with them.
First, the good news: it was actually hard to lose the phones because often people would say something when they saw a phone “accidentally” left behind.
But, it’s a discouraging story because, whether out of curiosity or malice or both, 89 percent of the finders clicked on something they shouldn’t have – like banking information, passwords, and photos.
And only 50 percent of the finders offered to return the phones, although the security company made it very easy to find the owner’s contact information.
Faced with a choice, most of the people who found the phones chose to retreat into the shadows rather than move towards the light. In the language of the Gospel of John, they loved darkness rather than light.
So, today, like Nicodemus long ago, you and I are in-between people, living in the shadowy place between darkness and light.
Like Nicodemus, we’re drawn to Jesus and to his message. Yet, like Nicodemus, for most of us our faith is still only partial – we’re not quite ready to commit fully to Jesus and his message.
So we keep coming here week after week, stepping into the light of Christ to be fed through Word and sacrament - fed to give us the strength that we’ll need when we walk through those doors and out into a world where it’s so easy to be drawn into the shadows.
We keep coming here week after week to be reminded that God so loves our shadowy world that he gave – and continues to give – his Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.
We keep coming here on Laetare Sunday and week after week because it’s here that - with God’s help - we move out of the shadows.
We keep coming here week after week because it’s here that we glimpse the joyful light of Easter that’s already shining for us all.
Amen.
March 18, 2012
Year B: The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Numbers 21:4-9
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22
(Ephesians 2:1-10)
John 3:14-21
Shadows and Light
Well, today the rose vestments make one of their two annual appearances. It’s the Fourth Sunday in Lent, called Laetare Sunday from a Latin word meaning joy. We take a break from the Lenten purple because today is the Sunday when we begin to glimpse the joyful light of Easter that’s already shining for us all.
And today, for the second Sunday in a row, we heard a passage from the Gospel of John. The Fourth Gospel was almost certainly the last of the gospels to be written, probably completed right around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.
It’s a gospel that was written at a particularly difficult time for the still-young Jesus Movement.
Of course, Jesus and all of his first followers were Jews. And they lived during a time when, like today, Judaism was very diverse. In fact, it makes more sense to talk about “Judaisms” than one monolithic faith.
Thanks to that Jewish diversity of belief, in the earliest years after the Resurrection it seems that for the most part the followers of Jesus were able to continue worshipping along with their fellow Jews, more or less harmoniously.
But, as the years went by the situation began to change.
First, thanks to the missionary work of Paul and others, non-Jews became an increasingly larger part of the Jesus Movement.
Second, among the followers of Jesus there was increasing use of God language for Jesus. There were lots of supposed messiahs around in the First Century, but to talk about Jesus as in some sense divine was tough for the staunchly monotheistic Jews to accept as permissible, even under the big tent of Judaism.
Finally, the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple by the Romans in the year 70 led Jews by necessity to reflect on what their faith would look like without its center of worship and sacrifice.
In a nutshell, the Gospel of John was written during the challenging, frightening and - for some - exciting time when the followers of Jesus were beginning to develop a new religion, Christianity.
Many Jews, of course, never accepted Jesus as the messiah.
But, others did, and maybe some of them now had to part from their fellow Jews.
And then there were those people who were in-between – those who were attracted to Jesus and his message – but had only partial faith. They were not quite able to fully commit to Jesus.
In the Gospel of John, these in-between people with partial faith are represented by Nicodemus – the Pharisee, the Jewish leader full of questions who comes to see Jesus in the shadowy darkness of night.
In today’s gospel lesson we heard the end of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus.
In the gospel, written during a time of parting, Nicodemus’ choice is described as one between light and darkness.
Now today, when many Christians have made progress toward respecting the Jews as our elder sisters and brothers in faith, we wouldn’t describe Nicodemus’ choice quite that way.
Today, Nicodemus doesn’t represent the Jews of two thousand years ago. No, today Nicodemus represents us – people who just by being here today have said that we’re drawn to Jesus and to his message. Yet, like Nicodemus, our faith is still only partial – we’re not quite ready to commit fully to Jesus and his message.
Like Nicodemus, we’re somewhere in the shadowy place between light and darkness.
Sometimes, with God’s help, we move out of the shadows and closer to the light of Christ.
That’s why we’re here today. Week after week we come here to move closer to the light when we confess our sins and receive absolution, when we hear God’s Word, when we’re moved by sacred music, when we pray, when we exchange the peace, and most especially when we take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our heats.
With God’s help, we move closer to the light when we reach out to someone in need, when we invite someone to cry on our shoulder, when we share with others the blessings that we’ve received.
Now, I know only too well that the church isn’t perfect and can sometimes get in the way of the light, but I think for the most part this is one of the places where it is easiest to move out of the shadows and into the light of Christ.
But, moving out of the shadows and into the light gets a lot more difficult when we leave this place and go out through the church doors and into the world.
During Lent (in the Rite II services) we’ve been saying the second post-communion prayer, in which we pray, “And now, Father, send us out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord.”
Much easier said than done. Once we go through those doors and into the “real world” it’s very easy to move away from the light of Christ and deeper into the shadows.
Maybe hearing the Ten Commandments each Sunday has reminded us of how often we move away from the light and deeper into the shadows.
For those of you in school, that move to the shadows might be cheating on a quiz or test or copying someone else’s homework. Or it might be being mean to a kid who’s different.
In our lives maybe we move away from the light into the shadows by gossiping about or ridiculing others, or holding a grudge, or spreading falsehoods or demonizing people who think or act differently than we do.
Many of us may have experienced the tension between light and shadow at work. That’s probably always true, but maybe especially during tough economic times. There’s so much pressure – we depend on our income to support ourselves and maybe other people count on us, too. Every workplace has its own culture – and often that culture can easily and subtly draw us from the light of Christ and deeper into the shadows.
In my own case, I remember very well how toxic the faculty room could be – a very shadowy place of cynicism and negativity – a place to dwell on grievances – the administration is stupid, the kids don’t want to learn, the parents are a pain, …
The faculty room often provided a toxic environment where it was hard to love and serve God as a faithful witness of Christ our Lord.
I’m sure many of you heard about or read the op-ed piece in the New York Times written by a mid-level executive at a major investment bank and published on the day of his resignation.
In the ultimate example of burning one’s bridges, this 12-year veteran of the firm criticized a corporate culture that he described as “toxic” and “destructive.”
He bemoaned a shadowy culture that puts profit over anything and everything, including, he claimed, the best interests of the firm’s clients – clients who were often ridiculed by his colleagues.
Now, I have no idea if his description of that company’s culture is accurate and fair. And I have no idea how much his description fits the rest of the financial industry or the corporate world.
My sister works for an investment bank and of course a good number of parishioners here work or have worked in the financial industry. Although, obviously, these companies exist to make money, I can’t really imagine my sister or our parishioners putting profit above integrity.
But, I can imagine the pressures created by a high-stakes and cutthroat culture and I can imagine how working in that toxic environment could make it very hard indeed to love and serve God as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord.
No matter who we are, for all of us, it’s an everyday struggle not to get drawn into the shadows.
The struggle between shadow and light doesn’t only take place at work. It can happen any place and any time.
Recently in the Wall Street Journal there was a story about an experiment conducted by a computer security firm. They deliberately “lost” 50 smart phones in various American and Canadian cities. But these were not just any phones – they were loaded with tracking software that allowed the company to follow what the people who found the phones did with them.
First, the good news: it was actually hard to lose the phones because often people would say something when they saw a phone “accidentally” left behind.
But, it’s a discouraging story because, whether out of curiosity or malice or both, 89 percent of the finders clicked on something they shouldn’t have – like banking information, passwords, and photos.
And only 50 percent of the finders offered to return the phones, although the security company made it very easy to find the owner’s contact information.
Faced with a choice, most of the people who found the phones chose to retreat into the shadows rather than move towards the light. In the language of the Gospel of John, they loved darkness rather than light.
So, today, like Nicodemus long ago, you and I are in-between people, living in the shadowy place between darkness and light.
Like Nicodemus, we’re drawn to Jesus and to his message. Yet, like Nicodemus, for most of us our faith is still only partial – we’re not quite ready to commit fully to Jesus and his message.
So we keep coming here week after week, stepping into the light of Christ to be fed through Word and sacrament - fed to give us the strength that we’ll need when we walk through those doors and out into a world where it’s so easy to be drawn into the shadows.
We keep coming here week after week to be reminded that God so loves our shadowy world that he gave – and continues to give – his Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.
We keep coming here on Laetare Sunday and week after week because it’s here that - with God’s help - we move out of the shadows.
We keep coming here week after week because it’s here that we glimpse the joyful light of Easter that’s already shining for us all.
Amen.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Consequences
Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
March 4, 2012
Year B: The Second Sunday in Lent
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16
Psalm 22:22-30
(Romans 4:13-25)
Mark 8:31-38
Consequences
Today we have a tough gospel lesson – Jesus’ prediction of his own fate, an unusually heated exchange between Jesus and Peter, and Jesus’ frank assessment of the costs – the consequences - of discipleship.
But, just before the passage I read Jesus asks his disciples the famous question, “Who do people say that I am?”
Considering all that Jesus had been doing up to that point, it’s no surprise that people were talking about him. Of course, the disciples (and probably Jesus himself) had heard this buzz, which could be summed up with the question, “Who is this guy?”
So the disciples were ready with answers to Jesus’ question: some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others say one of the other prophets. Those answers probably reflect actual speculation about Jesus’ identity.
Then Jesus asks his disciples a harder question: “But, who do you say that I am?”
Maybe surprisingly, it’s Peter who speaks up – and gets the answer right – saying, “You are the Messiah.”
Now, this would seem to be a moment to give Peter a little encouragement – a little congratulations on recognizing who Jesus is – maybe even a little critique of the others for being too slow or timid to recognize and proclaim Jesus’ identity.
Instead, Jesus simply warns them not to tell anyone about him.
The command to keep silence is the first sign that Jesus understands only too well the consequences of being the messiah.
After that little exchange about Jesus’ identity – the little question and answer session when Peter shined as the star student – we move right on to today’s gospel lesson.
For the first time in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus offers a prediction of the consequences of being the messiah. He predicts great suffering, rejection, death, and then, finally, resurrection.
That prediction must have been difficult for the disciples to hear. They had sacrificed much to follow Jesus, and they had probably hurt and disappointed the people closest to them – think for poor Zebedee sitting in his fishing boat watching his sons James and John – watching his future - walk off with this charismatic teacher and healer from Nazareth.
The disciples followed Jesus, tried to make sense of his teachings and had come to love him.
It must have been devastating and just about unbearable to hear him predict his suffering and death. Rising from the dead – if they could even hear that - must have sounded pie in the sky. Suffering, rejection and death must have sounded all too real.
Now, It probably would have been a good time for the disciples to stay quiet. But, Peter – oh, Peter, things had been going so well – instead takes Jesus aside and we’re told rebukes him. That “rebuke” is a strong word – in the gospels it’s usually reserved for addressing demons and evil forces.
Mark doesn’t tell us what Peter says. In the Gospel of Matthew we’re told that Peter says to Jesus, “God forbid it, Lord; this must never happen to you.”
Whatever Peter says, it seems that he is unable or unwilling to accept the consequences that lie ahead for Jesus.
Jesus then does some rebuking of his own and turns the whole exchange into a “teachable moment” by looking at all of the disciples when he tells Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!”
It’s a strong reaction with harsh language and it only makes sense if in truth Jesus was tempted by what Peter was saying - if he was really tempted to avoid the consequences of his identity and his mission. Last Sunday we heard Mark’s account of Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness, but there’s no reason to believe that all of his temptations were put to rest after those forty days.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus. And it’s tempting to try to avoid those consequences.
Jesus then calls to the crowd who were with the disciples and very frankly says that if they – if we – want to follow Jesus then we need to take up our own cross and to give away our lives for Jesus and for his mission.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus.
Sometimes we get that. But, most of the time we’re like Peter. It’s scary to think about the consequences of really following Jesus.
Unfortunately, sometimes, with the best intentions, the Church tries to make it easy to follow Jesus. Sometimes we try make following Jesus convenient and easy - a choice without any real or costly consequences.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus.
Two examples from just this weekend at Grace Church:
Yesterday morning we had the first meeting of the group reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, Speaking of Sin.
We spent some time talking about the general confession of sin that we say here in church. Most of the time, but not during Lent, the confession is tucked into the middle of the service – the last section before we get to the peace – what some of us might think of as sort of the intermission of the service.
Anyway, in our conversation yesterday we wondered, because the words are so familiar for most us, how much thought do we really give to what we’re saying. Do we really stop and think about the specific ways we’ve sinned against God and our neighbor? Are we truly sorry? Do we really humbly repent?
On the one hand, we talked about the comfort of saying the same words as everyone else – the recognition that on a fundamental level we’re all the same – that we’ve all sinned against God in thought, word and deed, by what we have done and what we have left undone.
But, then we wondered if our general confession sort of lets us off the hook too easily for the consequences of our sin. We wondered if the nice and easy general confession and absolution lets us off the hook from the hard consequence of facing up to our wrongdoing, the hard consequence of asking God personally for forgiveness, the hard consequence of asking forgiveness from the people we’ve wronged, and the hard consequence of true repentance, of truly changing our ways.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus.
A second example from this weekend: Diane Riley was our featured parishioner at our First Friday potluck supper. She spoke to us about her work as Director of Advocacy at the Community FoodBank of New Jersey. She shared with us depressing statistics about the depth of hunger in the US and here in New Jersey – and about the massive amounts of food provided by the Community FoodBank and other providers like Trinity Lutheran Church in Dover, which is supported by Grace Church.
Listening to her, I felt indicted. Maybe some of you who were there felt the same way.
The cabinets and the refrigerator over at Surrey Lane are pretty full. I enjoy eating out. Sometimes I remember to pick up something at the supermarket for the Food for Friends barrel and sometimes I don’t. I try to work at the soup kitchen the few times a year that we’re there to provide lunch. And that’s about the grand total of what I, a supposed follower of Jesus, do to feed the hungry.
Maybe some of you do better. I hope so.
But, all of us need to ask ourselves are there any real and costly consequences of following Jesus if we are willing and able to tolerate hunger right here in our communities – let alone in faraway lands?
Those are just two examples of ways that maybe we try to avoid the consequences of following Jesus.
We try to avoid those consequences because most of the time we’re like Peter. It’s scary to think about what it will really cost us to follow Jesus.
But, in his shock and fear, maybe Peter wasn’t able to hear everything that Jesus predicted for himself. Peter definitely heard the suffering, rejection, and death.
But, at least this time, Peter seems to have missed or not understood the ultimate consequence for Jesus – the ultimate consequence for us - resurrection to new life.
So, yes, the consequences of really following Jesus can be scary and costly. The consequences will involve sacrifice and suffering. But the ultimate consequence is resurrection to new life – the ultimate consequence is the joy of Easter morning.
Jesus said, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”
Amen.
March 4, 2012
Year B: The Second Sunday in Lent
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16
Psalm 22:22-30
(Romans 4:13-25)
Mark 8:31-38
Consequences
Today we have a tough gospel lesson – Jesus’ prediction of his own fate, an unusually heated exchange between Jesus and Peter, and Jesus’ frank assessment of the costs – the consequences - of discipleship.
But, just before the passage I read Jesus asks his disciples the famous question, “Who do people say that I am?”
Considering all that Jesus had been doing up to that point, it’s no surprise that people were talking about him. Of course, the disciples (and probably Jesus himself) had heard this buzz, which could be summed up with the question, “Who is this guy?”
So the disciples were ready with answers to Jesus’ question: some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others say one of the other prophets. Those answers probably reflect actual speculation about Jesus’ identity.
Then Jesus asks his disciples a harder question: “But, who do you say that I am?”
Maybe surprisingly, it’s Peter who speaks up – and gets the answer right – saying, “You are the Messiah.”
Now, this would seem to be a moment to give Peter a little encouragement – a little congratulations on recognizing who Jesus is – maybe even a little critique of the others for being too slow or timid to recognize and proclaim Jesus’ identity.
Instead, Jesus simply warns them not to tell anyone about him.
The command to keep silence is the first sign that Jesus understands only too well the consequences of being the messiah.
After that little exchange about Jesus’ identity – the little question and answer session when Peter shined as the star student – we move right on to today’s gospel lesson.
For the first time in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus offers a prediction of the consequences of being the messiah. He predicts great suffering, rejection, death, and then, finally, resurrection.
That prediction must have been difficult for the disciples to hear. They had sacrificed much to follow Jesus, and they had probably hurt and disappointed the people closest to them – think for poor Zebedee sitting in his fishing boat watching his sons James and John – watching his future - walk off with this charismatic teacher and healer from Nazareth.
The disciples followed Jesus, tried to make sense of his teachings and had come to love him.
It must have been devastating and just about unbearable to hear him predict his suffering and death. Rising from the dead – if they could even hear that - must have sounded pie in the sky. Suffering, rejection and death must have sounded all too real.
Now, It probably would have been a good time for the disciples to stay quiet. But, Peter – oh, Peter, things had been going so well – instead takes Jesus aside and we’re told rebukes him. That “rebuke” is a strong word – in the gospels it’s usually reserved for addressing demons and evil forces.
Mark doesn’t tell us what Peter says. In the Gospel of Matthew we’re told that Peter says to Jesus, “God forbid it, Lord; this must never happen to you.”
Whatever Peter says, it seems that he is unable or unwilling to accept the consequences that lie ahead for Jesus.
Jesus then does some rebuking of his own and turns the whole exchange into a “teachable moment” by looking at all of the disciples when he tells Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!”
It’s a strong reaction with harsh language and it only makes sense if in truth Jesus was tempted by what Peter was saying - if he was really tempted to avoid the consequences of his identity and his mission. Last Sunday we heard Mark’s account of Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness, but there’s no reason to believe that all of his temptations were put to rest after those forty days.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus. And it’s tempting to try to avoid those consequences.
Jesus then calls to the crowd who were with the disciples and very frankly says that if they – if we – want to follow Jesus then we need to take up our own cross and to give away our lives for Jesus and for his mission.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus.
Sometimes we get that. But, most of the time we’re like Peter. It’s scary to think about the consequences of really following Jesus.
Unfortunately, sometimes, with the best intentions, the Church tries to make it easy to follow Jesus. Sometimes we try make following Jesus convenient and easy - a choice without any real or costly consequences.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus.
Two examples from just this weekend at Grace Church:
Yesterday morning we had the first meeting of the group reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, Speaking of Sin.
We spent some time talking about the general confession of sin that we say here in church. Most of the time, but not during Lent, the confession is tucked into the middle of the service – the last section before we get to the peace – what some of us might think of as sort of the intermission of the service.
Anyway, in our conversation yesterday we wondered, because the words are so familiar for most us, how much thought do we really give to what we’re saying. Do we really stop and think about the specific ways we’ve sinned against God and our neighbor? Are we truly sorry? Do we really humbly repent?
On the one hand, we talked about the comfort of saying the same words as everyone else – the recognition that on a fundamental level we’re all the same – that we’ve all sinned against God in thought, word and deed, by what we have done and what we have left undone.
But, then we wondered if our general confession sort of lets us off the hook too easily for the consequences of our sin. We wondered if the nice and easy general confession and absolution lets us off the hook from the hard consequence of facing up to our wrongdoing, the hard consequence of asking God personally for forgiveness, the hard consequence of asking forgiveness from the people we’ve wronged, and the hard consequence of true repentance, of truly changing our ways.
There were consequences for Jesus and there are consequences for us when we choose to follow Jesus.
A second example from this weekend: Diane Riley was our featured parishioner at our First Friday potluck supper. She spoke to us about her work as Director of Advocacy at the Community FoodBank of New Jersey. She shared with us depressing statistics about the depth of hunger in the US and here in New Jersey – and about the massive amounts of food provided by the Community FoodBank and other providers like Trinity Lutheran Church in Dover, which is supported by Grace Church.
Listening to her, I felt indicted. Maybe some of you who were there felt the same way.
The cabinets and the refrigerator over at Surrey Lane are pretty full. I enjoy eating out. Sometimes I remember to pick up something at the supermarket for the Food for Friends barrel and sometimes I don’t. I try to work at the soup kitchen the few times a year that we’re there to provide lunch. And that’s about the grand total of what I, a supposed follower of Jesus, do to feed the hungry.
Maybe some of you do better. I hope so.
But, all of us need to ask ourselves are there any real and costly consequences of following Jesus if we are willing and able to tolerate hunger right here in our communities – let alone in faraway lands?
Those are just two examples of ways that maybe we try to avoid the consequences of following Jesus.
We try to avoid those consequences because most of the time we’re like Peter. It’s scary to think about what it will really cost us to follow Jesus.
But, in his shock and fear, maybe Peter wasn’t able to hear everything that Jesus predicted for himself. Peter definitely heard the suffering, rejection, and death.
But, at least this time, Peter seems to have missed or not understood the ultimate consequence for Jesus – the ultimate consequence for us - resurrection to new life.
So, yes, the consequences of really following Jesus can be scary and costly. The consequences will involve sacrifice and suffering. But the ultimate consequence is resurrection to new life – the ultimate consequence is the joy of Easter morning.
Jesus said, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”
Amen.
Friday, March 02, 2012
A Little Lent and A Little Easter
Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
March 2, 2012
Funeral Sermon for Mary Elizabeth Frain
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33
Colossians 3:12-17
John 14:1-6a
A Little Lent and A Little Easter
The lesson I just read is an excerpt from the Evangelist John’s account of the Last Supper. Jesus has gathered for a final meal with his closest friends and disciples. They are all beginning to face what they probably had been denying for a long time: their friend, their teacher, the one they had recognized as the messiah – Jesus – was going to die.
In John’s account, Jesus tries to reassure his friends – and tries to reassure us here today - do not let your hearts be troubled – in my Father’s house there are many dwelling places – I go to prepare a place for you – I will come again and will take you to myself – and you know the way.
But, all these centuries later we can still hear and maybe even feel the sadness and the bewilderment in Thomas’ question, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
And Jesus replies, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”
In 21st Century America many of us do a pretty good job of denial – denial of our total dependence on God and denial of the fact that we will all die.
One of the ways that the Church tries to push back at our denial is the season of Lent – the season that offers 40 days of preparation for Easter - the season that began last week on Ash Wednesday.
Ash Wednesday is a tough day – it’s a day that offers a dramatic reminder of our dependence on God and a very tangible reminder of our mortality.
If you’ve ever received ashes you know how powerful getting that smudge on your forehead can be.
Imposing ashes is one of the most moving experiences I have as priest.
As we mark people with an ashen sign of the cross, we say, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
It’s especially moving when I really know the person – have some sense of their struggles and hopes. It’s especially moving to mark the ashes on babies and young children – a reminder that even those so young and so full of life and promise will not be exempt from death. And it’s especially moving to mark the ashes on someone gravely ill – someone who is in the thin space between this life and the life to come.
So we begin Lent with ashes. No surprise, Lent is a somber season – a season when we Christians are invited to take stock of our lives, to reflect on the ways that we have turned away from God and the ways that we have been less than loving toward our brothers and sisters.
Lent is a season when we are called to sacrifice. Some people - maybe some of you here today – give up something like chocolate, or wine with dinner, or maybe smoking. It’s a season when we sacrifice something unnecessary – or even hazardous – in order to remind ourselves of our total dependence on God.
Here in church we do our best to create an environment that sets an appropriate tone. The shiny silver and brass are put away, replaced by wood and pottery. We priests wear somber purple vestments. And we don’t say the great celebratory word Alleluia until the Easter Vigil.
But, although each year we go through this somber exercise of Lent, we Christians know how the story ends.
It would be morbid – and, frankly, unbearable – to impose ashes on all those foreheads if we didn’t know how the story ends.
We know how the story ends. We know that after the forty days of Lent, after we remember the sacrifice and death of Jesus on the cross on Good Friday, after we remember the time when all hope seemed to be lost – we know that the story ends with the great celebration of Easter.
The silver and brass will be back, we’ll be in white vestments, and the Alleluias will ring out as we celebrate Christ’s resurrection, as we remember that in the words of Lamentations, “the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end.”
On Easter, we’ll celebrate God doing what God always does – turn death into new life.
You know, in some ways a Christian funeral is like a little Lent and a little Easter.
We begin today with a little Lent. We come here this morning with sadness that we will not see Mary again in this life. Although she lived a long, full life – a life with its share of pain and disappointment but mostly a life blessed with love and laughter – although she lived a long, full life, I know it still would be wonderful to have her with you even for just a little longer.
We begin today with a little Lent. We come here very much reminded of our mortality. And maybe that reminder is causing us to take stock of our own lives. If we were to die tomorrow, how would we be remembered? Would we be remembered as loving and generous people? Would we be remembered the way you remember Mary?
So, yes, today we begin with a little Lent. But, we know how the story ends.
We know how the story ends for Jesus. We know how the story ends for Mary. And we know how the story ends for us.
So, you may have noticed that we’re taking a break from Lent this morning and we’re celebrating a little Easter.
There’s no somber purple today – we’re decked out in our white vestments. And a little later there will even be some of those otherwise forbidden alleluias!
At the end of the service, during what’s called the Commendation, Lauren will read words that echo both the solemnity of Ash Wednesday and the joy of Easter.
She’ll say, “All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
So, today is a little Lent – a day to mourn the loss of a remarkable woman and maybe face some things about ourselves that we usually try to deny.
But, more importantly, today is also a little Easter – a day when we celebrate God doing what God always does, turn death into new life – new life for Jesus, new life for Mary - and new life for us all.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!
Amen.
March 2, 2012
Funeral Sermon for Mary Elizabeth Frain
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33
Colossians 3:12-17
John 14:1-6a
A Little Lent and A Little Easter
The lesson I just read is an excerpt from the Evangelist John’s account of the Last Supper. Jesus has gathered for a final meal with his closest friends and disciples. They are all beginning to face what they probably had been denying for a long time: their friend, their teacher, the one they had recognized as the messiah – Jesus – was going to die.
In John’s account, Jesus tries to reassure his friends – and tries to reassure us here today - do not let your hearts be troubled – in my Father’s house there are many dwelling places – I go to prepare a place for you – I will come again and will take you to myself – and you know the way.
But, all these centuries later we can still hear and maybe even feel the sadness and the bewilderment in Thomas’ question, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
And Jesus replies, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”
In 21st Century America many of us do a pretty good job of denial – denial of our total dependence on God and denial of the fact that we will all die.
One of the ways that the Church tries to push back at our denial is the season of Lent – the season that offers 40 days of preparation for Easter - the season that began last week on Ash Wednesday.
Ash Wednesday is a tough day – it’s a day that offers a dramatic reminder of our dependence on God and a very tangible reminder of our mortality.
If you’ve ever received ashes you know how powerful getting that smudge on your forehead can be.
Imposing ashes is one of the most moving experiences I have as priest.
As we mark people with an ashen sign of the cross, we say, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
It’s especially moving when I really know the person – have some sense of their struggles and hopes. It’s especially moving to mark the ashes on babies and young children – a reminder that even those so young and so full of life and promise will not be exempt from death. And it’s especially moving to mark the ashes on someone gravely ill – someone who is in the thin space between this life and the life to come.
So we begin Lent with ashes. No surprise, Lent is a somber season – a season when we Christians are invited to take stock of our lives, to reflect on the ways that we have turned away from God and the ways that we have been less than loving toward our brothers and sisters.
Lent is a season when we are called to sacrifice. Some people - maybe some of you here today – give up something like chocolate, or wine with dinner, or maybe smoking. It’s a season when we sacrifice something unnecessary – or even hazardous – in order to remind ourselves of our total dependence on God.
Here in church we do our best to create an environment that sets an appropriate tone. The shiny silver and brass are put away, replaced by wood and pottery. We priests wear somber purple vestments. And we don’t say the great celebratory word Alleluia until the Easter Vigil.
But, although each year we go through this somber exercise of Lent, we Christians know how the story ends.
It would be morbid – and, frankly, unbearable – to impose ashes on all those foreheads if we didn’t know how the story ends.
We know how the story ends. We know that after the forty days of Lent, after we remember the sacrifice and death of Jesus on the cross on Good Friday, after we remember the time when all hope seemed to be lost – we know that the story ends with the great celebration of Easter.
The silver and brass will be back, we’ll be in white vestments, and the Alleluias will ring out as we celebrate Christ’s resurrection, as we remember that in the words of Lamentations, “the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end.”
On Easter, we’ll celebrate God doing what God always does – turn death into new life.
You know, in some ways a Christian funeral is like a little Lent and a little Easter.
We begin today with a little Lent. We come here this morning with sadness that we will not see Mary again in this life. Although she lived a long, full life – a life with its share of pain and disappointment but mostly a life blessed with love and laughter – although she lived a long, full life, I know it still would be wonderful to have her with you even for just a little longer.
We begin today with a little Lent. We come here very much reminded of our mortality. And maybe that reminder is causing us to take stock of our own lives. If we were to die tomorrow, how would we be remembered? Would we be remembered as loving and generous people? Would we be remembered the way you remember Mary?
So, yes, today we begin with a little Lent. But, we know how the story ends.
We know how the story ends for Jesus. We know how the story ends for Mary. And we know how the story ends for us.
So, you may have noticed that we’re taking a break from Lent this morning and we’re celebrating a little Easter.
There’s no somber purple today – we’re decked out in our white vestments. And a little later there will even be some of those otherwise forbidden alleluias!
At the end of the service, during what’s called the Commendation, Lauren will read words that echo both the solemnity of Ash Wednesday and the joy of Easter.
She’ll say, “All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
So, today is a little Lent – a day to mourn the loss of a remarkable woman and maybe face some things about ourselves that we usually try to deny.
But, more importantly, today is also a little Easter – a day when we celebrate God doing what God always does, turn death into new life – new life for Jesus, new life for Mary - and new life for us all.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!
Amen.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Re-Gifting
Grace Episcopal Church
Madison NJ
The Messenger
March 2012
Associate’s Message
Re-Gifting
Many of you know that a few years ago the structure of our annual parish meeting was changed to give time for Anne, Mary Lea and me to report on the highlights of our ministries during the previous year. I think that was a very positive change, not because I need another chance to speak to the parish, but because I never cease to marvel at the amazingly rich and creative work done by my colleagues and friends. I am always moved by the stories they tell, capturing a little of the crucial ministry that goes on largely hidden from view at choir practice, or in a Sunday school classroom or during one of the many events they devise and lead, especially for the children of Grace.
This year’s annual meeting presented me with a bit of a problem, though. I had only started back at Grace in mid-November, leaving me with very little material for my report. I also knew that in the latter part of the meeting there was going to be a frank and sober discussion about some longstanding and increasingly troubling parish financial issues. So, what should I say?
A few days before the meeting, I settled on the theme of gratitude. Of course, you can’t go wrong with gratitude! But, I was feeling particularly grateful to be back with all of you and to be working again with Lauren and my other friends and colleagues. Plus, as I flipped through the annual report, I was reminded of just how much we have to be thankful for – of all the many wonderful ministries that happen here and the talents and abundance we have been given. We have been given so many gifts!
The morning of the meeting one final idea popped into my head: God wants us to re-gift. In my remarks I wanted to make the point that usualy when we give someone a gift it’s hurtful if that person re-gifts what we have given to them. I made up a story about carefully choosing a sweater to give to Lauren for Christmas, only to later find that she had re-gifted my thoughtful gift to the clothing sale. Not a true story, though it got a big laugh at the meeting.
But, God’s different – God is all about gifts. God has given us everything that we have. It’s all gift! Moreover, God wants, hopes - even demands - that we re-gift. God calls each of us to re-gift what we have so generously been given.
Perhaps getting a little carried away, many of you will remember that I then challenged the parish to raise $4,000 in our “Souper Bowl” fundraiser on Super Bowl Sunday. I thought it was a doable goal but a challenging one, since we would not be receiving the matching grant that has been given in recent years. But, this would be a great opportunity to re-gift a little of what we have been given to some of the poorest and neediest people in our area, the people who are fed each day by the Community Soup Kitchen in Morristown.
Well, you know the rest of the story. The parishioners of Grace Church – you – came through with a whopping $5,460.50! After the 9:00 service on Super Bowl Sunday the Rite 13 youth group and I counted what had been collected so far, and, we had already achieved our original goal. The kids were so excited and amazed. I hadn’t thought of it beforehand, but what a lesson for them about the power and joy of generosity.
The Souper Bowl collection was a great example of re-gifting, of sharing with others even just a little of the abundant gifts we have received.
The season of Lent is a time when the Church invites and challenges us to focus on the ways that we have fallen short of living the loving and generous lives that God hopes and expects for us. During these forty days we are given a special opportunity to repent, to turn back to God and to turn back to our brothers and sisters. Many of us appropriately think of Lent as a time of self-denial, a time to give up chocolate or soda or smoking or something else that’s unessential, or even destructive, in our lives. In more recent times there has been an increased emphasis on “taking on” something for Lent – often a new ministry or spiritual practice. Again, this is certainly an appropriate way to mark the season, assuming that you can take on something that will help you and others and not just add one more burden to an already packed and stressful life.
Personally, while I may give up something and take something on during Lent, mostly I’m going to think of this as a special season of re-gifting. I’m going to try to use these days to reflect on all the good gifts that God has given me – my family and friends, meaningful and challenging work, and a comfortable life in a very pleasant community. And I’m going to look for ways to re-gift, maybe by dropping some cash into my “mite box” or in other unforeseen ways that God may have in mind.
I invite you to join me, since during Lent and in every season, we’re all called by God to re-gift.
Madison NJ
The Messenger
March 2012
Associate’s Message
Re-Gifting
Many of you know that a few years ago the structure of our annual parish meeting was changed to give time for Anne, Mary Lea and me to report on the highlights of our ministries during the previous year. I think that was a very positive change, not because I need another chance to speak to the parish, but because I never cease to marvel at the amazingly rich and creative work done by my colleagues and friends. I am always moved by the stories they tell, capturing a little of the crucial ministry that goes on largely hidden from view at choir practice, or in a Sunday school classroom or during one of the many events they devise and lead, especially for the children of Grace.
This year’s annual meeting presented me with a bit of a problem, though. I had only started back at Grace in mid-November, leaving me with very little material for my report. I also knew that in the latter part of the meeting there was going to be a frank and sober discussion about some longstanding and increasingly troubling parish financial issues. So, what should I say?
A few days before the meeting, I settled on the theme of gratitude. Of course, you can’t go wrong with gratitude! But, I was feeling particularly grateful to be back with all of you and to be working again with Lauren and my other friends and colleagues. Plus, as I flipped through the annual report, I was reminded of just how much we have to be thankful for – of all the many wonderful ministries that happen here and the talents and abundance we have been given. We have been given so many gifts!
The morning of the meeting one final idea popped into my head: God wants us to re-gift. In my remarks I wanted to make the point that usualy when we give someone a gift it’s hurtful if that person re-gifts what we have given to them. I made up a story about carefully choosing a sweater to give to Lauren for Christmas, only to later find that she had re-gifted my thoughtful gift to the clothing sale. Not a true story, though it got a big laugh at the meeting.
But, God’s different – God is all about gifts. God has given us everything that we have. It’s all gift! Moreover, God wants, hopes - even demands - that we re-gift. God calls each of us to re-gift what we have so generously been given.
Perhaps getting a little carried away, many of you will remember that I then challenged the parish to raise $4,000 in our “Souper Bowl” fundraiser on Super Bowl Sunday. I thought it was a doable goal but a challenging one, since we would not be receiving the matching grant that has been given in recent years. But, this would be a great opportunity to re-gift a little of what we have been given to some of the poorest and neediest people in our area, the people who are fed each day by the Community Soup Kitchen in Morristown.
Well, you know the rest of the story. The parishioners of Grace Church – you – came through with a whopping $5,460.50! After the 9:00 service on Super Bowl Sunday the Rite 13 youth group and I counted what had been collected so far, and, we had already achieved our original goal. The kids were so excited and amazed. I hadn’t thought of it beforehand, but what a lesson for them about the power and joy of generosity.
The Souper Bowl collection was a great example of re-gifting, of sharing with others even just a little of the abundant gifts we have received.
The season of Lent is a time when the Church invites and challenges us to focus on the ways that we have fallen short of living the loving and generous lives that God hopes and expects for us. During these forty days we are given a special opportunity to repent, to turn back to God and to turn back to our brothers and sisters. Many of us appropriately think of Lent as a time of self-denial, a time to give up chocolate or soda or smoking or something else that’s unessential, or even destructive, in our lives. In more recent times there has been an increased emphasis on “taking on” something for Lent – often a new ministry or spiritual practice. Again, this is certainly an appropriate way to mark the season, assuming that you can take on something that will help you and others and not just add one more burden to an already packed and stressful life.
Personally, while I may give up something and take something on during Lent, mostly I’m going to think of this as a special season of re-gifting. I’m going to try to use these days to reflect on all the good gifts that God has given me – my family and friends, meaningful and challenging work, and a comfortable life in a very pleasant community. And I’m going to look for ways to re-gift, maybe by dropping some cash into my “mite box” or in other unforeseen ways that God may have in mind.
I invite you to join me, since during Lent and in every season, we’re all called by God to re-gift.
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