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.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
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.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Our Part in the Christmas Pageant
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
December 26, 2010
The First Sunday after Christmas
Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Psalm 147
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
John 1:1-18
Our Part in the Christmas Pageant
In my Christmas sermons I’ve been talking about how last Friday the children of our day school put on a really wonderful Christmas pageant. The teachers obviously did a great job in choosing kids for their roles and rehearsing them to move and sing on cue. The church was full of delighted parents and grandparents.
I was especially moved by the little girl who played Mary. She entered the church with great solemnity, carrying her baby doll Jesus. She gently placed the newborn messiah into the crib. And then at the end of the pageant, she picked him up again and bore the Son of God out into the world.
After the pageant, the excited children and parents took pictures, visited with St. Nicholas, ate snacks and then went off to continue preparing for Christmas.
As I’ve thought about it, there was only one thing missing from our Christmas pageant. At my former parish in New Jersey, at the end of the pageant an older child would stand, holding a candle, and recite from memory the grand, cosmic verses we just heard from the prologue to John’s gospel:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
I felt the absence of those profound words. Written sometime around the end of the First Century, John’s gospel is the product of divine inspiration and also the product of decades of Jesus-followers reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection.
I wonder how many of the parents made time to really reflect on the meaning of the drama that their children had acted out so well. What was the point of all that hard work to prepare for the Christmas pageant? I worry that instead it was on to the next thing – Christmas shopping and decorating or the other tasks that can fill the days before Christmas.
And I wonder how many of us here make time to reflect on what we have remembered – what we have experienced – these last few days. What was the point of it all?
Both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at St. Michael’s were wonderful gifts. The music was spectacular. The church looked – and still looks – beautiful. You could feel the joy in this place.
And now, today, for those of us who dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, the church offers the opportunity to reflect on what it all means. What’s the point of Christmas?
Of course, Christians have been reflecting on the meaning of Christ’s birth for a long time. And over that time, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, we’ve come to understand that Christ’s birth to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances marked the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the good creation that had gone terribly wrong – the good creation that had been disfigured and broken by human sin.
During his many years of traveling around the Mediterranean, St. Paul must have spent a lot of time reflecting on the meaning of Jesus entering the world.
Paul was someone who never met Jesus during his earthly lifetime yet was transformed by a dramatic encounter with the resurrected Christ. Paul was transformed from a persecutor of Christians into an apostle who gave away his life for Christ.
This morning we heard a snippet of Paul’s letter to the Galatians, probably written around the year 55. Because Paul had started Christian communities in Galatia, part of modern-day Turkey, his readers would have been very familiar with Paul’s understanding of the meaning of Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection.
After Paul left them it seems that some other Jewish Christians arrived among the Galatians and were insisting that non-Jewish, gentile, Christians must follow Jewish Law. When he got wind of this development, an unhappy Paul fired off his letter to the Galatians.
Because the Galatians were already familiar with Paul’s thought he could cut right to the chase. Paul reminds the Galatians that because creation was disfigured and broken by human sin, the Law was given basically to keep us in line. Paul sees the Law as a disciplinarian – literally a house slave whose job it was to discipline the master’s children.
Paul understands that the birth of Christ marks the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform creation – to restore and transform us. Paul himself was transformed by his encounter with Christ, so he understand that, if we are open, all of us can be transformed by our encounter with Christ from slaves of sin to children of God.
The Gospel of John was written about forty years after Paul’s letter. John offers an even more cosmic view of Christ’s birth in the humblest of circumstances. John explicitly reaches back to the moment of creation in the opening of his gospel, “In the beginning.”
John identifies the Word as God’s creative power. “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.”
John doesn’t need to tell us how everything got messed up because we all know the story – we’ve all experienced the story. The good creation created by the Word of God was disfigured and broken by human sin.
And so in the birth of Christ God made the bold move to restore and transform creation. In his version of the nativity story, John doesn’t tell us about Mary and Joseph, the manger, the shepherds or the wise men. In his nativity story, John offers the meaning behind the birth of Christ.
“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”
In the Christmas pageant, the little girl who played Mary solemnly carried her baby doll Jesus up the aisle and carefully placed him in the crib. She captured the holy moment when two thousand years ago in the humblest of circumstances Mary brought into the world the person in whom we see and hear what God is really like. On that first Christmas “the Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us.”
In a feeding trough in Bethlehem, God’s restoration and transformation of the world had begun.
Christian reflection on the meaning of Christmas didn’t end with the Gospel of John, of course. Christians have continued to reflect on the meaning of Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection right up to the present day
A second century bishop named Irenaeus offers us a special insight into the meaning of Christmas as the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the world.
Because of human sin, things had gone terribly wrong. God’s good creation had been broken and disfigured. But now, through Jesus, God offers us what Irenaeus “recapitulation” – a fancy word for a do-over, a second chance, the opportunity to work with God to restore creation to what it was always meant to be.
Today on this first Sunday after Christmas the church offers us a chance to reflect on the meaning behind the amazing events of two thousand years ago.
The Christmas pageant offered the children of our school the chance to act out the drama.
But, the truth is, the point of it all, is that all of us Christians have the opportunity to play our parts in the great drama.
In the birth of Christ, God has made the bold move of beginning the restoration and transformation of creation.
God’s restoration and transformation continues in and through us. Each time we open our hearts to love God and to love one another, we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
Each time, like Joseph, we choose mercy over the rules, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
Each time, like the shepherds and the wise men, we find Christ in the humblest of circumstances, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
Each time, like the angels, we sing the praises of God, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
And, each time, like Mary, we bear Christ out through those doors, we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
On this First Sunday after Christmas the good news, the exciting news, the challenging news is that all of us have a role to play in the great Christmas pageant – God’s great Christmas pageant of restoring and transforming the world.
Merry Christmas!
Amen.
December 26, 2010
The First Sunday after Christmas
Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Psalm 147
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
John 1:1-18
Our Part in the Christmas Pageant
In my Christmas sermons I’ve been talking about how last Friday the children of our day school put on a really wonderful Christmas pageant. The teachers obviously did a great job in choosing kids for their roles and rehearsing them to move and sing on cue. The church was full of delighted parents and grandparents.
I was especially moved by the little girl who played Mary. She entered the church with great solemnity, carrying her baby doll Jesus. She gently placed the newborn messiah into the crib. And then at the end of the pageant, she picked him up again and bore the Son of God out into the world.
After the pageant, the excited children and parents took pictures, visited with St. Nicholas, ate snacks and then went off to continue preparing for Christmas.
As I’ve thought about it, there was only one thing missing from our Christmas pageant. At my former parish in New Jersey, at the end of the pageant an older child would stand, holding a candle, and recite from memory the grand, cosmic verses we just heard from the prologue to John’s gospel:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
I felt the absence of those profound words. Written sometime around the end of the First Century, John’s gospel is the product of divine inspiration and also the product of decades of Jesus-followers reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection.
I wonder how many of the parents made time to really reflect on the meaning of the drama that their children had acted out so well. What was the point of all that hard work to prepare for the Christmas pageant? I worry that instead it was on to the next thing – Christmas shopping and decorating or the other tasks that can fill the days before Christmas.
And I wonder how many of us here make time to reflect on what we have remembered – what we have experienced – these last few days. What was the point of it all?
Both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at St. Michael’s were wonderful gifts. The music was spectacular. The church looked – and still looks – beautiful. You could feel the joy in this place.
And now, today, for those of us who dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, the church offers the opportunity to reflect on what it all means. What’s the point of Christmas?
Of course, Christians have been reflecting on the meaning of Christ’s birth for a long time. And over that time, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, we’ve come to understand that Christ’s birth to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances marked the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the good creation that had gone terribly wrong – the good creation that had been disfigured and broken by human sin.
During his many years of traveling around the Mediterranean, St. Paul must have spent a lot of time reflecting on the meaning of Jesus entering the world.
Paul was someone who never met Jesus during his earthly lifetime yet was transformed by a dramatic encounter with the resurrected Christ. Paul was transformed from a persecutor of Christians into an apostle who gave away his life for Christ.
This morning we heard a snippet of Paul’s letter to the Galatians, probably written around the year 55. Because Paul had started Christian communities in Galatia, part of modern-day Turkey, his readers would have been very familiar with Paul’s understanding of the meaning of Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection.
After Paul left them it seems that some other Jewish Christians arrived among the Galatians and were insisting that non-Jewish, gentile, Christians must follow Jewish Law. When he got wind of this development, an unhappy Paul fired off his letter to the Galatians.
Because the Galatians were already familiar with Paul’s thought he could cut right to the chase. Paul reminds the Galatians that because creation was disfigured and broken by human sin, the Law was given basically to keep us in line. Paul sees the Law as a disciplinarian – literally a house slave whose job it was to discipline the master’s children.
Paul understands that the birth of Christ marks the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform creation – to restore and transform us. Paul himself was transformed by his encounter with Christ, so he understand that, if we are open, all of us can be transformed by our encounter with Christ from slaves of sin to children of God.
The Gospel of John was written about forty years after Paul’s letter. John offers an even more cosmic view of Christ’s birth in the humblest of circumstances. John explicitly reaches back to the moment of creation in the opening of his gospel, “In the beginning.”
John identifies the Word as God’s creative power. “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.”
John doesn’t need to tell us how everything got messed up because we all know the story – we’ve all experienced the story. The good creation created by the Word of God was disfigured and broken by human sin.
And so in the birth of Christ God made the bold move to restore and transform creation. In his version of the nativity story, John doesn’t tell us about Mary and Joseph, the manger, the shepherds or the wise men. In his nativity story, John offers the meaning behind the birth of Christ.
“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”
In the Christmas pageant, the little girl who played Mary solemnly carried her baby doll Jesus up the aisle and carefully placed him in the crib. She captured the holy moment when two thousand years ago in the humblest of circumstances Mary brought into the world the person in whom we see and hear what God is really like. On that first Christmas “the Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us.”
In a feeding trough in Bethlehem, God’s restoration and transformation of the world had begun.
Christian reflection on the meaning of Christmas didn’t end with the Gospel of John, of course. Christians have continued to reflect on the meaning of Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection right up to the present day
A second century bishop named Irenaeus offers us a special insight into the meaning of Christmas as the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the world.
Because of human sin, things had gone terribly wrong. God’s good creation had been broken and disfigured. But now, through Jesus, God offers us what Irenaeus “recapitulation” – a fancy word for a do-over, a second chance, the opportunity to work with God to restore creation to what it was always meant to be.
Today on this first Sunday after Christmas the church offers us a chance to reflect on the meaning behind the amazing events of two thousand years ago.
The Christmas pageant offered the children of our school the chance to act out the drama.
But, the truth is, the point of it all, is that all of us Christians have the opportunity to play our parts in the great drama.
In the birth of Christ, God has made the bold move of beginning the restoration and transformation of creation.
God’s restoration and transformation continues in and through us. Each time we open our hearts to love God and to love one another, we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
Each time, like Joseph, we choose mercy over the rules, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
Each time, like the shepherds and the wise men, we find Christ in the humblest of circumstances, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
Each time, like the angels, we sing the praises of God, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
And, each time, like Mary, we bear Christ out through those doors, we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.
On this First Sunday after Christmas the good news, the exciting news, the challenging news is that all of us have a role to play in the great Christmas pageant – God’s great Christmas pageant of restoring and transforming the world.
Merry Christmas!
Amen.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
The God-Bearers
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville, FL
December 25, 2010
Christmas Day
Isaiah 62:6-12
Psalm 97
Titus 3:4-7
Luke 2:1-20
The God-Bearers
Merry Christmas!
I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas Eve and that this joyous morning is off to a great start.
I’m sure many of you have special Christmas traditions – certain foods that you prepare or eat, certain music you listen to or sing along with. Maybe there’s some special Christmas clothing you wear. Many families have Christmas decorations that have been passed down for a generation or two, or even longer.
When I was growing up, my sister and I had the tradition of getting up really early on Christmas morning to discover what gifts had been left under the Christmas tree. Maybe you did the same thing. This tradition wasn’t so popular with our parents, I guess, who sat with us bleary-eyed, watching us open our gifts.
Here in church, of course, there are lots of Christmas traditions, ranging from the hymns we sing to the prayers we say to the flowers we place around our sanctuary.
One beloved Christmas tradition in many churches is the Christmas pageant when the children act out the great drama of Christ’s birth. Some children get to wear angel wings. One child gets to carry the star. Others get to dress up as shepherds or wise men from the East. One little boy gets to be Joseph, our Lord’s adopted father. And one little girl gets to be the Virgin Mary, the young woman who is at the center of the events leading up to Jesus’ birth.
Last Friday the children of our day school put on their Christmas pageant right here in church. It was wonderful seeing the kids in their costumes, the teachers coaching them and prompting them, and the parents and grandparents filled with joy and wonder.
The little girl who played Mary was just amazing. I mentioned in my sermon last night how she looked so solemn carrying her baby doll Jesus, as she and the boy playing Joseph made their way up the center aisle.
With her simple dignity, this little girl captured the essence of Mary, the young woman who said yes to the awesome responsibility of carrying the Son of God into the world.
With her simple dignity, this little girl captured the essence of Mary, the young woman who, after giving birth in the humblest of circumstances, received both shepherds and wise men. And, as Luke tells us, Mary pondered it all in her heart.
By the Third Century, Christians had done a lot of pondering and praying about Mary and her unique and awesome responsibility of carrying the Son of God into the world. Greek-speaking Christians coined a new name, a new title, for Mary: theotokos, the God-bearer.
Those early Christians recognized and celebrated Mary as the bearer of God. For the nine months of her pregnancy Mary carried the Son of God within her body and on that first Christmas, she bore the Son of God into the world – into the same, messy, dangerous and yet beautiful world where you and I live.
Mary is theotokos, the God-bearer.
During the Christmas pageant, there was a little crib set up right here under the pulpit. When Mary and Joseph made their way up here, Mary very carefully, tenderly, and, yes, solemnly, placed her baby doll Jesus into the crib.
Once Jesus was settled in his crib, then the drama featuring angels and shepherds and wise men and wonderful music unfolded before us.
Then before we knew it the pageant was over. The parents and grandparents were congratulating the children and their teachers. Photos of cute kids in cute costumes were being taken.
As things were wrapping up, the little girl who had played Mary took a few steps away from the crib, ready to get on with the rest of her day. Suddenly she stopped, took a few steps back, reached into the crib, and took out her baby doll Jesus. Then she made her way out of the church, carrying Jesus out into the world.
As I thought about that amazing little scene, I realized that in this post-pageant moment the little girl had captured something else essential about Mary. She didn’t stop being theotokos – she didn’t stop being the God-bearer when the months of her pregnancy were over.
Mary continued to be the God-bearer during Jesus’ childhood. Mary continued to be the God-bearer when Jesus began to teach and to heal and began to get in trouble with the authorities.
Mary continued to be the God-bearer at the foot of the cross.
And after the resurrection, I’m sure Mary continued to be the God-bearer as she witnessed to all that she had experienced and had pondered in her heart long ago. Mary continued to be the God-bearer as she told others about the great things the Mighty One had done for her and for all of humanity.
I’m sure Mary continued to be the God-bearer for the rest of her life. But, by then, she wasn’t alone. All of those whose lives had been transformed by their encounter with Jesus had now become God-bearers, too.
All of the people who formed the Body of Christ here on earth became God-bearers.
And what was true in the First Century among the first followers of Jesus is equally true for us now in the Twenty-First Century.
You and I are the Body of Christ here and now. You and I are today’s God-bearers.
And just like the little girl playing Mary who remembered to carry her baby doll Jesus out into the world, so too, you and I need to remember that we are to carry Jesus – we are to be God-bearers – when we walk through the church doors and out into Gainesville, out into the world.
To be a God-bearer means to be like Mary. To be a God-bearer means to love God and to love God’s people.
To be a God-bearer means to give our lives in service to Jesus, the Son of God. Today on Christmas we celebrate that Mary was willing to be theotokos – to be the God-bearer – willing to bring the Son of God into the world.
And today on Christmas we also celebrate that today in this messy, dangerous yet beautiful world, you and I are also called to be God-bearers.
Today we are given the awesome privilege and responsibility to bring the good news of Jesus out there, into the world.
Merry Christmas and Amen!
December 25, 2010
Christmas Day
Isaiah 62:6-12
Psalm 97
Titus 3:4-7
Luke 2:1-20
The God-Bearers
Merry Christmas!
I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas Eve and that this joyous morning is off to a great start.
I’m sure many of you have special Christmas traditions – certain foods that you prepare or eat, certain music you listen to or sing along with. Maybe there’s some special Christmas clothing you wear. Many families have Christmas decorations that have been passed down for a generation or two, or even longer.
When I was growing up, my sister and I had the tradition of getting up really early on Christmas morning to discover what gifts had been left under the Christmas tree. Maybe you did the same thing. This tradition wasn’t so popular with our parents, I guess, who sat with us bleary-eyed, watching us open our gifts.
Here in church, of course, there are lots of Christmas traditions, ranging from the hymns we sing to the prayers we say to the flowers we place around our sanctuary.
One beloved Christmas tradition in many churches is the Christmas pageant when the children act out the great drama of Christ’s birth. Some children get to wear angel wings. One child gets to carry the star. Others get to dress up as shepherds or wise men from the East. One little boy gets to be Joseph, our Lord’s adopted father. And one little girl gets to be the Virgin Mary, the young woman who is at the center of the events leading up to Jesus’ birth.
Last Friday the children of our day school put on their Christmas pageant right here in church. It was wonderful seeing the kids in their costumes, the teachers coaching them and prompting them, and the parents and grandparents filled with joy and wonder.
The little girl who played Mary was just amazing. I mentioned in my sermon last night how she looked so solemn carrying her baby doll Jesus, as she and the boy playing Joseph made their way up the center aisle.
With her simple dignity, this little girl captured the essence of Mary, the young woman who said yes to the awesome responsibility of carrying the Son of God into the world.
With her simple dignity, this little girl captured the essence of Mary, the young woman who, after giving birth in the humblest of circumstances, received both shepherds and wise men. And, as Luke tells us, Mary pondered it all in her heart.
By the Third Century, Christians had done a lot of pondering and praying about Mary and her unique and awesome responsibility of carrying the Son of God into the world. Greek-speaking Christians coined a new name, a new title, for Mary: theotokos, the God-bearer.
Those early Christians recognized and celebrated Mary as the bearer of God. For the nine months of her pregnancy Mary carried the Son of God within her body and on that first Christmas, she bore the Son of God into the world – into the same, messy, dangerous and yet beautiful world where you and I live.
Mary is theotokos, the God-bearer.
During the Christmas pageant, there was a little crib set up right here under the pulpit. When Mary and Joseph made their way up here, Mary very carefully, tenderly, and, yes, solemnly, placed her baby doll Jesus into the crib.
Once Jesus was settled in his crib, then the drama featuring angels and shepherds and wise men and wonderful music unfolded before us.
Then before we knew it the pageant was over. The parents and grandparents were congratulating the children and their teachers. Photos of cute kids in cute costumes were being taken.
As things were wrapping up, the little girl who had played Mary took a few steps away from the crib, ready to get on with the rest of her day. Suddenly she stopped, took a few steps back, reached into the crib, and took out her baby doll Jesus. Then she made her way out of the church, carrying Jesus out into the world.
As I thought about that amazing little scene, I realized that in this post-pageant moment the little girl had captured something else essential about Mary. She didn’t stop being theotokos – she didn’t stop being the God-bearer when the months of her pregnancy were over.
Mary continued to be the God-bearer during Jesus’ childhood. Mary continued to be the God-bearer when Jesus began to teach and to heal and began to get in trouble with the authorities.
Mary continued to be the God-bearer at the foot of the cross.
And after the resurrection, I’m sure Mary continued to be the God-bearer as she witnessed to all that she had experienced and had pondered in her heart long ago. Mary continued to be the God-bearer as she told others about the great things the Mighty One had done for her and for all of humanity.
I’m sure Mary continued to be the God-bearer for the rest of her life. But, by then, she wasn’t alone. All of those whose lives had been transformed by their encounter with Jesus had now become God-bearers, too.
All of the people who formed the Body of Christ here on earth became God-bearers.
And what was true in the First Century among the first followers of Jesus is equally true for us now in the Twenty-First Century.
You and I are the Body of Christ here and now. You and I are today’s God-bearers.
And just like the little girl playing Mary who remembered to carry her baby doll Jesus out into the world, so too, you and I need to remember that we are to carry Jesus – we are to be God-bearers – when we walk through the church doors and out into Gainesville, out into the world.
To be a God-bearer means to be like Mary. To be a God-bearer means to love God and to love God’s people.
To be a God-bearer means to give our lives in service to Jesus, the Son of God. Today on Christmas we celebrate that Mary was willing to be theotokos – to be the God-bearer – willing to bring the Son of God into the world.
And today on Christmas we also celebrate that today in this messy, dangerous yet beautiful world, you and I are also called to be God-bearers.
Today we are given the awesome privilege and responsibility to bring the good news of Jesus out there, into the world.
Merry Christmas and Amen!
Friday, December 24, 2010
God at the Margins
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
Isaiah 9:2-7
Psalm 96
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-20
God at the Margins
Well, we made it. It’s Christmas!
Whether you’ve been preparing for months, weeks, or just the last couple of days, or even just the last few hours, ready or not, Christmas is here.
For me, it first began to feel like Christmas last Friday right here in church the children of our day school put on their annual Christmas pageant. I had the privilege of serving as narrator from right here in the pulpit, giving me a great view of the whole production. The children and their teachers had been preparing for many weeks – assigning the key roles, practicing songs, gathering costumes, trying to remember cues and memorize lyrics.
When the big day came, the church was full of excited parents and grandparents. Of course, the children were adorable, decked out in angel wings or tinsel crowns or vaguely Middle Eastern looking robes and headgear. As you’d expect, some of the kids were nervous, spending most of their stage time shyly looking down at the floor. Meanwhile others were looking right out into the crowd, beaming with confidence.
I was most impressed by the little girl wearing a blue veil who played Mary. She looked so solemn and serious when she and the little boy playing Joseph made their way up the center aisle. They really looked like they were carrying out a profoundly important responsibility – which, of course they were. Mary looked totally focused on the baby doll, standing in for the newborn Jesus, that she cradled in her arm.
When they got right here, below the pulpit, Mary gently placed her baby, the newborn messiah, into his crib – a crib much more comfortable than an animal’s feeding trough.
All eyes in church were on Mary and Joseph and their child. Cameras – or mostly camera phones – were clicking away, recording this event for posterity.
The Christmas pageant was beautiful. It captured perfectly the joy we should all feel in our hearts when we remember the birth of the Savior, the birth of the Messiah, the birth of the Lord.
Yet, in some key respects the Christmas pageant was very different from the events depicted by Luke in his account of the birth of Jesus.
In telling the story of Jesus’ birth, Luke emphasizes that the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, was born in very difficult and very humble circumstances to a couple of nobodies.
Luke begins his story by mentioning a couple of big shots – Augustus, the Roman emperor who many at the time saw as the lord and savior of the world since he ruled over what was considered a time of peace and stability. Luke also mentions Quirinius, the local Roman governor. We can imagine the splendor in which Augustus and even Quirinius lived. We can imagine the power that was in their hands.
In a real sense, in the First Century all eyes were on Augustus and his underlings like Quirinius. All eyes were on Augustus because, with good reason, people believed that it was Augustus and kings and governors, the high and the mighty, who had the real power and who seemed to at the center of all.
In stark contrast, there were almost no eyes on Mary and Joseph as they brought Jesus into the world. God enters the world not as the center of attention. God enters the world on the margins, born to two people who couldn’t provide anything better than an animal’s feeding trough for their newborn son.
Now that I live here in Gainesville, I imagine Mary and Joseph and their newborn child huddled in some shadowed corner downtown or huddled in the isolated field behind our own church, watching over their newborn child placed carefully in a cardboard box salvaged from a pile of recycling.
Luke’s point is that two thousand years ago the real power was not with the emperor and his underlings. It turns out the real power – the greatest power of all – was at the margins of society, with a child born to a homeless couple.
Of course, from the start there were a few eyes on Mary and Joseph and the newborn Jesus. The angel didn’t announce the birth of the savior to the emperor and his underlings. Instead the angel announced Christ’s birth to shepherds, “keeping watch over their flock by night.”
Shepherds were important to the local economy, but they were pretty low in status. The shepherds lived and did their tedious work on the margins of society. Yet, Luke tells us, they are the ones who are first invited to see Jesus.
On Christmas we are called to remember that God enters the world on the margins.
And Jesus lived his life on the margins of society. Jesus didn’t spend too much time with the seemingly rich and the apparently powerful. Jesus shared God’s love and mercy with them, but, no surprise, they don’t seem to have been too receptive to him.
Jesus, the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, spent his life on the margins of society, spending his time among fishermen, tax collectors, lepers and women.
And ultimately Mary’s son Jesus will die on the margins of society, shamefully executed as a common criminal, abandoned by nearly everyone. But, his mother, the same Mary who said yes to the angel, the same Mary who pondered in her heart all the things she had seen and heard concerning her son’s birth, the same Mary will stand at the foot of the cross and watch her son die in agony.
We can only imagine the pain.
And we can only imagine Mary’s joy when, three days later on Easter, God revealed once and for ever that what the world considers the margins is actually the center of all.
We can only imagine Mary’s reaction when three days later God revealed that what had looked like shame and death was actually the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the world.
And around two thousand years later the children and teachers of the St. Michael’s Day School spent weeks preparing to reenact the events that once seemed to be on the margins but really were always at center stage.
Last Friday, here at St. Michael’s, all eyes were on a little girl in a blue veil as she solemnly carried a baby doll standing in for the newborn messiah. All eyes were on Mary as she carefully placed her baby, the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, into his crib – a crib much more comfortable than an animal’s feeding trough.
It’s Christmas Eve and here in our beautifully decorated church our eyes are on Jesus the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord.
But, what happens during the rest of the year? After the Christmas decorations come down and the nativity set is put away, where do we look to see true power? Do we look to the rich, the famous, those who seem to be in charge? Do we look to the modern-day emperors and their underlings?
Or do we look to the margins? Do we look to the shadowed corners downtown and isolated fields where we just might find Christ with his unlikely band of followers?
On Christmas, God entered the world at the margins.
And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, God reveals to us that what appears to be weak is actually strong; what appears to be poor is actually rich; and what appears to be on the margins is actually at the center of all.
Thanks be to God!
Amen.
December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
Isaiah 9:2-7
Psalm 96
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-20
God at the Margins
Well, we made it. It’s Christmas!
Whether you’ve been preparing for months, weeks, or just the last couple of days, or even just the last few hours, ready or not, Christmas is here.
For me, it first began to feel like Christmas last Friday right here in church the children of our day school put on their annual Christmas pageant. I had the privilege of serving as narrator from right here in the pulpit, giving me a great view of the whole production. The children and their teachers had been preparing for many weeks – assigning the key roles, practicing songs, gathering costumes, trying to remember cues and memorize lyrics.
When the big day came, the church was full of excited parents and grandparents. Of course, the children were adorable, decked out in angel wings or tinsel crowns or vaguely Middle Eastern looking robes and headgear. As you’d expect, some of the kids were nervous, spending most of their stage time shyly looking down at the floor. Meanwhile others were looking right out into the crowd, beaming with confidence.
I was most impressed by the little girl wearing a blue veil who played Mary. She looked so solemn and serious when she and the little boy playing Joseph made their way up the center aisle. They really looked like they were carrying out a profoundly important responsibility – which, of course they were. Mary looked totally focused on the baby doll, standing in for the newborn Jesus, that she cradled in her arm.
When they got right here, below the pulpit, Mary gently placed her baby, the newborn messiah, into his crib – a crib much more comfortable than an animal’s feeding trough.
All eyes in church were on Mary and Joseph and their child. Cameras – or mostly camera phones – were clicking away, recording this event for posterity.
The Christmas pageant was beautiful. It captured perfectly the joy we should all feel in our hearts when we remember the birth of the Savior, the birth of the Messiah, the birth of the Lord.
Yet, in some key respects the Christmas pageant was very different from the events depicted by Luke in his account of the birth of Jesus.
In telling the story of Jesus’ birth, Luke emphasizes that the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, was born in very difficult and very humble circumstances to a couple of nobodies.
Luke begins his story by mentioning a couple of big shots – Augustus, the Roman emperor who many at the time saw as the lord and savior of the world since he ruled over what was considered a time of peace and stability. Luke also mentions Quirinius, the local Roman governor. We can imagine the splendor in which Augustus and even Quirinius lived. We can imagine the power that was in their hands.
In a real sense, in the First Century all eyes were on Augustus and his underlings like Quirinius. All eyes were on Augustus because, with good reason, people believed that it was Augustus and kings and governors, the high and the mighty, who had the real power and who seemed to at the center of all.
In stark contrast, there were almost no eyes on Mary and Joseph as they brought Jesus into the world. God enters the world not as the center of attention. God enters the world on the margins, born to two people who couldn’t provide anything better than an animal’s feeding trough for their newborn son.
Now that I live here in Gainesville, I imagine Mary and Joseph and their newborn child huddled in some shadowed corner downtown or huddled in the isolated field behind our own church, watching over their newborn child placed carefully in a cardboard box salvaged from a pile of recycling.
Luke’s point is that two thousand years ago the real power was not with the emperor and his underlings. It turns out the real power – the greatest power of all – was at the margins of society, with a child born to a homeless couple.
Of course, from the start there were a few eyes on Mary and Joseph and the newborn Jesus. The angel didn’t announce the birth of the savior to the emperor and his underlings. Instead the angel announced Christ’s birth to shepherds, “keeping watch over their flock by night.”
Shepherds were important to the local economy, but they were pretty low in status. The shepherds lived and did their tedious work on the margins of society. Yet, Luke tells us, they are the ones who are first invited to see Jesus.
On Christmas we are called to remember that God enters the world on the margins.
And Jesus lived his life on the margins of society. Jesus didn’t spend too much time with the seemingly rich and the apparently powerful. Jesus shared God’s love and mercy with them, but, no surprise, they don’t seem to have been too receptive to him.
Jesus, the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, spent his life on the margins of society, spending his time among fishermen, tax collectors, lepers and women.
And ultimately Mary’s son Jesus will die on the margins of society, shamefully executed as a common criminal, abandoned by nearly everyone. But, his mother, the same Mary who said yes to the angel, the same Mary who pondered in her heart all the things she had seen and heard concerning her son’s birth, the same Mary will stand at the foot of the cross and watch her son die in agony.
We can only imagine the pain.
And we can only imagine Mary’s joy when, three days later on Easter, God revealed once and for ever that what the world considers the margins is actually the center of all.
We can only imagine Mary’s reaction when three days later God revealed that what had looked like shame and death was actually the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the world.
And around two thousand years later the children and teachers of the St. Michael’s Day School spent weeks preparing to reenact the events that once seemed to be on the margins but really were always at center stage.
Last Friday, here at St. Michael’s, all eyes were on a little girl in a blue veil as she solemnly carried a baby doll standing in for the newborn messiah. All eyes were on Mary as she carefully placed her baby, the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord, into his crib – a crib much more comfortable than an animal’s feeding trough.
It’s Christmas Eve and here in our beautifully decorated church our eyes are on Jesus the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord.
But, what happens during the rest of the year? After the Christmas decorations come down and the nativity set is put away, where do we look to see true power? Do we look to the rich, the famous, those who seem to be in charge? Do we look to the modern-day emperors and their underlings?
Or do we look to the margins? Do we look to the shadowed corners downtown and isolated fields where we just might find Christ with his unlikely band of followers?
On Christmas, God entered the world at the margins.
And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, God reveals to us that what appears to be weak is actually strong; what appears to be poor is actually rich; and what appears to be on the margins is actually at the center of all.
Thanks be to God!
Amen.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Gospel of God
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
December 19, 2010
Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 7:10-16
Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18
Romans 1:1-7
Matthew 1:18-25
The Gospel of God
Today’s second lesson was the opening of Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome. This is the only existing letter of Paul that was written to a congregation that he hadn’t started or hadn’t already visited. Paul knows some of the people in the early Christian community of Rome, but he hasn’t yet been in the empire’s capital city.
Paul begins his letter by boldly introducing himself as “a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the Gospel of God.”
The Gospel of God. It’s an unusual expression, isn’t it?
You may know the word “Gospel” means “good news.” Of course, we talk about the Gospel of Jesus Christ and we talk about the four individual gospels, Matthew, Mark , Luke and John.
But, we don’t usually use the expression the “Gospel of God.”
And just what is the Gospel of God? What is the “good news” of God?
The Gospel of God isn’t a book. The Gospel of God isn’t a religion. The Gospel of God isn’t a set of laws. The Gospel of God isn’t a philosophy.
What is the Gospel of God?
The Gospel of God is a person. The good news of God is Jesus Christ.
As Advent draws to a close and we move toward Christmas, it’s a good time to remind ourselves that the Gospel of God is Jesus Christ. This is the good news that we proclaim. The good news of God is Jesus Christ.
In a unique way, God reveals God’s self in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In Jesus Christ, God says here I am, this is what I am really like. In Jesus Christ, God shows special love for the poor, the outcast and the suffering. In Jesus Christ, God shows no limit to forgiveness. In Jesus Christ, God proves that even death itself cannot destroy love.
The Gospel of God is Jesus Christ.
And during Advent we’re reminded that from the start, God has called people – in a sense, God has needed people - to nurture this Gospel.
And one of the great nurturers of the Gospel of God was Joseph.
In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew tells us about the events leading up to Jesus’ birth, and introduces us to Joseph, a descendant of King David living in modest circumstances. We don’t get many details about him, but maybe we’re told everything we need to know.
At this crucial moment, Joseph briefly takes center stage.
Try to imagine Joseph’s situation. In First Century Judaism, marriage had little or nothing to do with romantic love. In that time and place marriage was a contract negotiated by two families aiming to gain as much advantage for themselves as possible.
The first part of the marriage process was betrothal. Betrothal was a much greater commitment than our engagement. Under Jewish law, divorce was required to break a betrothal.
In the midst of all of this, Joseph learns that his betrothed, Mary, is pregnant. Imagine Joseph’s shock, confusion, anger, disappointment and shame. According to the law, Joseph could return Mary to her father and she could be killed.
Yet, Joseph the righteous man doesn’t act on his legal rights. Instead, from the start, he shows mercy toward Mary, planning on a quiet divorce. Maybe he hoped that the man who had impregnated Mary would do the honorable thing by stepping up and taking care of her and their child.
But, then God calls on Joseph to be more righteous than he probably he ever thought possible. God calls on Joseph to be more merciful than he probably ever thought possible.
God called on Joseph to nurture the Gospel of God.
Joseph nurtured the Gospel of God by being open to the unexpected and difficult responsibility that God had given him. Joseph nurtured the Gospel of God by choosing love and mercy over the letter of religious law.
And thanks to Joseph’s courage and faith the Gospel of God was nurtured and grew stronger.
God called Joseph. And God is still calling. God is calling us here today, right here in Gainesville, to nurture the Gospel of God.
What would that look like for us?
For starters, nurturing the Gospel of God would mean not giving in to fear. There’s certainly plenty to fear in our world. The world seems to grow more bleak and dangerous with each passing day: threats of economic collapse in Europe, riots in Haiti, a broken political system and economy here in the United States. Each morning I cringe a little when I open the newspaper. On Thursday morning I opened the New York Times and was chilled by this headline: “New Advice on the Unthinkable: How to Survive a Nuclear Bomb.” Great. Plus, there’s all the routine, everyday suffering around the world that never makes it into the newspapers.
And there’s plenty to fear in our own lives. Some of us are fearful about our health or the health of one we love. Some of us are desperately looking for work or fearful that our job may be on the line. Some of us are fearful of being alone. Some of us are fearful of how people would judge us if they knew our most shameful secrets. Some of us fear God’s judgment. (And some of us fear that the end of this building would mean the end of St. Michael’s – the community that is a lifeline for us.)
In his dream the angel says to Joseph, “do not be afraid.” Joseph had to overcome his fears because a fearful Joseph could not have nurtured the Gospel of God. And what was true for Joseph is certainly true for us. If we give in to fear, we cannot nurture the Gospel of God.
Joseph isn’t only courageous. Joseph is also described as righteous, as someone who took the expectations of his religion and his culture very seriously. But, for Joseph, mercy overrode the rules and regulations of his religion and culture. Even before his dream, Joseph wasn’t publicly judging Mary or condemning Mary. Instead, even before his dream, Joseph was planning to show mercy to Mary.
Nurturing the Gospel of God would mean being righteous like Joseph and more importantly it would mean being merciful like Joseph. Nurturing the Gospel of God would mean resisting the temptation to judge others, resisting the temptation to assume the worst of others, resisting the temptation to hold a grudge against those who disappoint us or hurt us.
Finally, nurturing the Gospel of God would mean giving away our lives in service to the good news that is Jesus Christ.
In a very real and concrete way, Joseph risked it all to nurture the Gospel of God.
And Joseph’s not the only one who risked it all to nurture the Gospel of God. There’s Mary, of course. And there’s also Paul, who gave away his life traveling around the Mediterranean telling people the good news of Jesus.
Finally, by the time of the mid to late 50s of the First Century, as he was about to undertake his journey to the heart of the Roman Empire, Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome. He boldly introduced himself as “a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the Gospel of God.”
The Gospel of God isn’t a book. The Gospel of God isn’t a religion. The Gospel of God isn’t a set of laws. The Gospel of God isn’t a philosophy.
The Gospel of God is a person. The good news of God is Jesus Christ.
And God is calling us today just as God called Joseph, and Mary and Paul. God is calling us to nurture the Gospel of God. God is calling us to nurture the good news of God, right here and now.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
December 19, 2010
Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 7:10-16
Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18
Romans 1:1-7
Matthew 1:18-25
The Gospel of God
Today’s second lesson was the opening of Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome. This is the only existing letter of Paul that was written to a congregation that he hadn’t started or hadn’t already visited. Paul knows some of the people in the early Christian community of Rome, but he hasn’t yet been in the empire’s capital city.
Paul begins his letter by boldly introducing himself as “a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the Gospel of God.”
The Gospel of God. It’s an unusual expression, isn’t it?
You may know the word “Gospel” means “good news.” Of course, we talk about the Gospel of Jesus Christ and we talk about the four individual gospels, Matthew, Mark , Luke and John.
But, we don’t usually use the expression the “Gospel of God.”
And just what is the Gospel of God? What is the “good news” of God?
The Gospel of God isn’t a book. The Gospel of God isn’t a religion. The Gospel of God isn’t a set of laws. The Gospel of God isn’t a philosophy.
What is the Gospel of God?
The Gospel of God is a person. The good news of God is Jesus Christ.
As Advent draws to a close and we move toward Christmas, it’s a good time to remind ourselves that the Gospel of God is Jesus Christ. This is the good news that we proclaim. The good news of God is Jesus Christ.
In a unique way, God reveals God’s self in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In Jesus Christ, God says here I am, this is what I am really like. In Jesus Christ, God shows special love for the poor, the outcast and the suffering. In Jesus Christ, God shows no limit to forgiveness. In Jesus Christ, God proves that even death itself cannot destroy love.
The Gospel of God is Jesus Christ.
And during Advent we’re reminded that from the start, God has called people – in a sense, God has needed people - to nurture this Gospel.
And one of the great nurturers of the Gospel of God was Joseph.
In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew tells us about the events leading up to Jesus’ birth, and introduces us to Joseph, a descendant of King David living in modest circumstances. We don’t get many details about him, but maybe we’re told everything we need to know.
At this crucial moment, Joseph briefly takes center stage.
Try to imagine Joseph’s situation. In First Century Judaism, marriage had little or nothing to do with romantic love. In that time and place marriage was a contract negotiated by two families aiming to gain as much advantage for themselves as possible.
The first part of the marriage process was betrothal. Betrothal was a much greater commitment than our engagement. Under Jewish law, divorce was required to break a betrothal.
In the midst of all of this, Joseph learns that his betrothed, Mary, is pregnant. Imagine Joseph’s shock, confusion, anger, disappointment and shame. According to the law, Joseph could return Mary to her father and she could be killed.
Yet, Joseph the righteous man doesn’t act on his legal rights. Instead, from the start, he shows mercy toward Mary, planning on a quiet divorce. Maybe he hoped that the man who had impregnated Mary would do the honorable thing by stepping up and taking care of her and their child.
But, then God calls on Joseph to be more righteous than he probably he ever thought possible. God calls on Joseph to be more merciful than he probably ever thought possible.
God called on Joseph to nurture the Gospel of God.
Joseph nurtured the Gospel of God by being open to the unexpected and difficult responsibility that God had given him. Joseph nurtured the Gospel of God by choosing love and mercy over the letter of religious law.
And thanks to Joseph’s courage and faith the Gospel of God was nurtured and grew stronger.
God called Joseph. And God is still calling. God is calling us here today, right here in Gainesville, to nurture the Gospel of God.
What would that look like for us?
For starters, nurturing the Gospel of God would mean not giving in to fear. There’s certainly plenty to fear in our world. The world seems to grow more bleak and dangerous with each passing day: threats of economic collapse in Europe, riots in Haiti, a broken political system and economy here in the United States. Each morning I cringe a little when I open the newspaper. On Thursday morning I opened the New York Times and was chilled by this headline: “New Advice on the Unthinkable: How to Survive a Nuclear Bomb.” Great. Plus, there’s all the routine, everyday suffering around the world that never makes it into the newspapers.
And there’s plenty to fear in our own lives. Some of us are fearful about our health or the health of one we love. Some of us are desperately looking for work or fearful that our job may be on the line. Some of us are fearful of being alone. Some of us are fearful of how people would judge us if they knew our most shameful secrets. Some of us fear God’s judgment. (And some of us fear that the end of this building would mean the end of St. Michael’s – the community that is a lifeline for us.)
In his dream the angel says to Joseph, “do not be afraid.” Joseph had to overcome his fears because a fearful Joseph could not have nurtured the Gospel of God. And what was true for Joseph is certainly true for us. If we give in to fear, we cannot nurture the Gospel of God.
Joseph isn’t only courageous. Joseph is also described as righteous, as someone who took the expectations of his religion and his culture very seriously. But, for Joseph, mercy overrode the rules and regulations of his religion and culture. Even before his dream, Joseph wasn’t publicly judging Mary or condemning Mary. Instead, even before his dream, Joseph was planning to show mercy to Mary.
Nurturing the Gospel of God would mean being righteous like Joseph and more importantly it would mean being merciful like Joseph. Nurturing the Gospel of God would mean resisting the temptation to judge others, resisting the temptation to assume the worst of others, resisting the temptation to hold a grudge against those who disappoint us or hurt us.
Finally, nurturing the Gospel of God would mean giving away our lives in service to the good news that is Jesus Christ.
In a very real and concrete way, Joseph risked it all to nurture the Gospel of God.
And Joseph’s not the only one who risked it all to nurture the Gospel of God. There’s Mary, of course. And there’s also Paul, who gave away his life traveling around the Mediterranean telling people the good news of Jesus.
Finally, by the time of the mid to late 50s of the First Century, as he was about to undertake his journey to the heart of the Roman Empire, Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome. He boldly introduced himself as “a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the Gospel of God.”
The Gospel of God isn’t a book. The Gospel of God isn’t a religion. The Gospel of God isn’t a set of laws. The Gospel of God isn’t a philosophy.
The Gospel of God is a person. The good news of God is Jesus Christ.
And God is calling us today just as God called Joseph, and Mary and Paul. God is calling us to nurture the Gospel of God. God is calling us to nurture the good news of God, right here and now.
Amen.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Signs of the Messianic Age
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
December 12, 2010
Year A: The Third Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 35:1-10
Canticle 15
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11
Signs of the Messianic Age
You may remember that last week we heard about John the Baptist preaching his powerful message of repentance as he baptized people in the River Jordan.
Not only did John offer his own message, he also made some bold and downright scary predictions about the messiah who was coming.
John said of this messiah, “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.”
It seems that John the Baptist expected a messiah who was going to be judge of all – welcoming the righteous and sending the sinful into eternal punishment.
Well, people in authority always feel threatened by people like John. The religious establishment feared him because John was the real deal. He didn’t need to hide behind fancy robes and grandiose titles. The political establishment feared John because he spoke the truth to power. They feared him because who knows what he could get people to do if he put his mind to it?
So, of course, John the Baptist was arrested and his fate was sealed.
And, apparently while he was sitting in prison, he heard about what Jesus of Nazareth was up to. He heard that others were recognizing that Jesus was the messiah – the savior they had been awaiting. John heard that with Jesus the messianic age had begun.
There was just one problem. Jesus’ ministry and teaching didn’t look or sound very much like what John had predicted and expected.
There was no winnowing fork in Jesus’ hand. It didn’t seem like Jesus was clearing the threshing floor, gathering the wheat and burning the chaff.
So, John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to await for another?”
John’s asking Jesus, are you the messiah? Are we really living in the time of the messiah – the messianic age?
In reply, Jesus sums up what he’s been doing by alluding to the messianic signs predicted by the Prophet Isaiah: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news brought to them.”
Jesus doesn’t say that John’s expectations were wrong. In fact, John was describing the end of time, the final judgment that we especially anticipate during Advent. Maybe, though, John the Baptist was having trouble recognizing that he was already living in the messianic age. The messiah, Mary’s son, has already arrived and has begun to change everything.
And, maybe, we have the same problem. Maybe we have the same trouble recognizing that we are living in the time of the messiah – the messianic age.
After all, the world seems to groan on with at least as much suffering and loss as ever. So, where is this messianic age that Mary proclaims so boldly in the Magnificat? In her great song, Mary declares that in this new messianic age, God “has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent away empty.”
Just where are the signs that we are living in the messianic age that began with the birth of Mary’s son?
This past week marked the thirtieth anniversary of John Lennon’s murder in New York City. For many it’s hard to believe that three decades have passed since that senseless act – and it’s hard to believe that Lennon would be 70 years old this year.
A few weeks ago another thirtieth anniversary of a horrific and brutal act passed – but this anniversary received much less media attention.
Thirty years ago the Central American country of El Salvador was one of the hot spots of the Cold War. It was ruled by a right-wing military regime that had a close alliance with the United States government. Nearly everyone in El Salvador was desperately poor. Just about all the country’s wealth was in the hands of a few.
Back then some brave and faithful American Christians were living in El Salvador working among the poor and calling for social justice in that harsh country. Since the Roman Catholic archbishop of El Salvador had been assassinated while celebrating mass, all the missionaries knew that their lives were at risk.
On December 2, 1980 members of the El Salvadoran national guard pulled over a car containing three American nuns and one laywoman who had been working with the poor of El Salvador. The women were brought to a secluded area where they were tortured, raped and murdered.
The nuns were Ita Ford, Maura Clark and Dorothy Kazel and the laywoman was Jean Donovan.
Their murder was a horrible and vicious act in a world filled with horrible and vicious acts. When terrible things like this happen, like John the Baptist, we might well have trouble seeing the signs that we are living in the messianic age begun by Mary’s son.
There was outrage around the world and especially in the United States when the news broke of the murders. The outrage was particularly great in the United States in part because these were American women but also because the repressive El Salvadoran government was receiving so much support from the American government – and, in reality, from the American taxpayer.
The murder of these four faithful Christian women also shined an unforgiving light on the School of the Americas at Ft. Benning in Georgia. This school had been set up during the cold war to train military and police from Latin America in various tactics, ranging from traditional military strategy to techniques against rebel groups and government opponents.
A large number of the alumni of the School of the Americas went on to infamous careers as leaders of some of the most oppressive regimes in the Western Hemisphere, including El Salvador. The US government and the leaders of the school always denied that they taught or condoned torture, but training manuals used at the time tell a different story.
After the murders of the four women in El Salvador, word got out about the School of the Americas. Huge protests have been held annually at Ft. Benning by people demanding that the school be closed.
As a result of this highly publicized pressure, in 2001 the school’s name was changed to the “Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation.” More importantly, the U.S. military admitted to some past mistakes and pledged that current students at the WHISC receive extensive training in human rights. Some people are convinced that real change has occurred – others not so much. This year the annual protest was much smaller than in the past.
A couple of weeks ago on the anniversary of the murders, the New York Times published an article with the headline, “After 30 Years, Preserving Nuns’ Legacy”.
The article mentioned a woman named Flor Lazo, who was born in El Salvador five years after the murder of the churchwomen. Ms. Lazo is now living in Brooklyn, where she is learning English at the Maura Clarke – Ita Ford Center, a social services center named for two of the nuns so brutally tortured and killed thirty years earlier.
When Ms. Lazo told her mother back in El Salvador the name of the place where she was building a new and better life for herself, her mother said, “Yes, I remember that day when they were murdered.”
Those four murdered women who gave their lives to Jesus and the poor were powerful signs that we live in the time of the messiah. And the grace that has flowed from their sacrifice is also a sign that we live in the messianic age that began two thousand years ago when Mary gave birth to her son in the humblest of circumstances.
In her great song, Mary expresses what God is doing in this messianic age: “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.”
And Jesus himself expressed what God is doing in this messianic age in his message to John the Baptist: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
Yes, the world groans on in suffering and loss, yet, if we look, we see there are signs of the messianic age all around us.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
December 12, 2010
Year A: The Third Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 35:1-10
Canticle 15
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11
Signs of the Messianic Age
You may remember that last week we heard about John the Baptist preaching his powerful message of repentance as he baptized people in the River Jordan.
Not only did John offer his own message, he also made some bold and downright scary predictions about the messiah who was coming.
John said of this messiah, “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.”
It seems that John the Baptist expected a messiah who was going to be judge of all – welcoming the righteous and sending the sinful into eternal punishment.
Well, people in authority always feel threatened by people like John. The religious establishment feared him because John was the real deal. He didn’t need to hide behind fancy robes and grandiose titles. The political establishment feared John because he spoke the truth to power. They feared him because who knows what he could get people to do if he put his mind to it?
So, of course, John the Baptist was arrested and his fate was sealed.
And, apparently while he was sitting in prison, he heard about what Jesus of Nazareth was up to. He heard that others were recognizing that Jesus was the messiah – the savior they had been awaiting. John heard that with Jesus the messianic age had begun.
There was just one problem. Jesus’ ministry and teaching didn’t look or sound very much like what John had predicted and expected.
There was no winnowing fork in Jesus’ hand. It didn’t seem like Jesus was clearing the threshing floor, gathering the wheat and burning the chaff.
So, John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to await for another?”
John’s asking Jesus, are you the messiah? Are we really living in the time of the messiah – the messianic age?
In reply, Jesus sums up what he’s been doing by alluding to the messianic signs predicted by the Prophet Isaiah: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news brought to them.”
Jesus doesn’t say that John’s expectations were wrong. In fact, John was describing the end of time, the final judgment that we especially anticipate during Advent. Maybe, though, John the Baptist was having trouble recognizing that he was already living in the messianic age. The messiah, Mary’s son, has already arrived and has begun to change everything.
And, maybe, we have the same problem. Maybe we have the same trouble recognizing that we are living in the time of the messiah – the messianic age.
After all, the world seems to groan on with at least as much suffering and loss as ever. So, where is this messianic age that Mary proclaims so boldly in the Magnificat? In her great song, Mary declares that in this new messianic age, God “has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent away empty.”
Just where are the signs that we are living in the messianic age that began with the birth of Mary’s son?
This past week marked the thirtieth anniversary of John Lennon’s murder in New York City. For many it’s hard to believe that three decades have passed since that senseless act – and it’s hard to believe that Lennon would be 70 years old this year.
A few weeks ago another thirtieth anniversary of a horrific and brutal act passed – but this anniversary received much less media attention.
Thirty years ago the Central American country of El Salvador was one of the hot spots of the Cold War. It was ruled by a right-wing military regime that had a close alliance with the United States government. Nearly everyone in El Salvador was desperately poor. Just about all the country’s wealth was in the hands of a few.
Back then some brave and faithful American Christians were living in El Salvador working among the poor and calling for social justice in that harsh country. Since the Roman Catholic archbishop of El Salvador had been assassinated while celebrating mass, all the missionaries knew that their lives were at risk.
On December 2, 1980 members of the El Salvadoran national guard pulled over a car containing three American nuns and one laywoman who had been working with the poor of El Salvador. The women were brought to a secluded area where they were tortured, raped and murdered.
The nuns were Ita Ford, Maura Clark and Dorothy Kazel and the laywoman was Jean Donovan.
Their murder was a horrible and vicious act in a world filled with horrible and vicious acts. When terrible things like this happen, like John the Baptist, we might well have trouble seeing the signs that we are living in the messianic age begun by Mary’s son.
There was outrage around the world and especially in the United States when the news broke of the murders. The outrage was particularly great in the United States in part because these were American women but also because the repressive El Salvadoran government was receiving so much support from the American government – and, in reality, from the American taxpayer.
The murder of these four faithful Christian women also shined an unforgiving light on the School of the Americas at Ft. Benning in Georgia. This school had been set up during the cold war to train military and police from Latin America in various tactics, ranging from traditional military strategy to techniques against rebel groups and government opponents.
A large number of the alumni of the School of the Americas went on to infamous careers as leaders of some of the most oppressive regimes in the Western Hemisphere, including El Salvador. The US government and the leaders of the school always denied that they taught or condoned torture, but training manuals used at the time tell a different story.
After the murders of the four women in El Salvador, word got out about the School of the Americas. Huge protests have been held annually at Ft. Benning by people demanding that the school be closed.
As a result of this highly publicized pressure, in 2001 the school’s name was changed to the “Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation.” More importantly, the U.S. military admitted to some past mistakes and pledged that current students at the WHISC receive extensive training in human rights. Some people are convinced that real change has occurred – others not so much. This year the annual protest was much smaller than in the past.
A couple of weeks ago on the anniversary of the murders, the New York Times published an article with the headline, “After 30 Years, Preserving Nuns’ Legacy”.
The article mentioned a woman named Flor Lazo, who was born in El Salvador five years after the murder of the churchwomen. Ms. Lazo is now living in Brooklyn, where she is learning English at the Maura Clarke – Ita Ford Center, a social services center named for two of the nuns so brutally tortured and killed thirty years earlier.
When Ms. Lazo told her mother back in El Salvador the name of the place where she was building a new and better life for herself, her mother said, “Yes, I remember that day when they were murdered.”
Those four murdered women who gave their lives to Jesus and the poor were powerful signs that we live in the time of the messiah. And the grace that has flowed from their sacrifice is also a sign that we live in the messianic age that began two thousand years ago when Mary gave birth to her son in the humblest of circumstances.
In her great song, Mary expresses what God is doing in this messianic age: “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.”
And Jesus himself expressed what God is doing in this messianic age in his message to John the Baptist: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
Yes, the world groans on in suffering and loss, yet, if we look, we see there are signs of the messianic age all around us.
Amen.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Repentance is Transformation
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
December 5, 2010
Year A: The Second Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 11:1-10
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
Romans 15:4-13
Matthew 3:1-12
Repentance is Transformation
Obviously, something has gone very wrong.
Obviously, something has gone very wrong with our economy. I’m sure we were all disappointed – but not surprised – to learn that the unemployment rate inched up last month.
Obviously, something has gone very wrong with our political system. It’s become a cliché to describe our country as “polarized.” Two years ago a wave of Democrats were elected to Congress when President Obama was elected. And, sure enough, a month ago the Democratic tide went back out and a Republican wave poured into the House and Senate.
Obviously, something has gone very wrong among the American people. There’s profound and often bitter disagreement on a whole bunch of hot-button issues, ranging from heath care reform to tax cuts to global warming to gays serving openly in the military. Maybe worst of all, we seem to be unable - or unwilling - to listen to people with whom we disagree.
Actually, the only thing that most Americans seem to agree on is the fact that something has gone very wrong. I looked at some recent national public opinion polls and – no surprise - in all of them the vast, vast majority agreed that the country is on the wrong track.
We may disagree on the causes and the details and the solutions, but we all sense that something has gone very wrong.
So, maybe during this difficult time in our country and world we can especially appreciate an insight that lies very close to the heart of Judaism and Christianity. From the start, people of both faiths have recognized that, for us humans, something has gone very wrong.
Jews and Christians have understood that we were not meant to live in a world with so much pain and suffering and loss.
The story of Adam and Eve (which we will hear later on during our Lessons and Carols service) best captures this recognition - this deep understanding – that for us humans something has gone very wrong.
The story of Adam and Eve tells us what we already know in our hearts. We know that God made a good creation. We know that human disobedience messed it up and continues to mess it up. We know that we used to feel very close to God and God felt very close to us. But then we turned away from God and even tried to hide from God.
And over and over God tried to seek us out, tried to find us, tried to rebuild the relationship that had been broken so painfully.
One way God tried to seek us out was through the prophets. Over and over, the prophets called the people back to faithfulness – with decidedly mixed results.
Which brings us to today’s gospel lesson and the last in this long line of prophets, John the Baptist.
The four gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – all give a good bit of attention to John the Baptist. Some of the details vary, but all four agree on John’s basic character and the content of his message.
John, probably very consciously, modeled himself on prophets of the Jewish past. His outfit of camel’s hair and a leather belt around his waist echoed the Prophet Elijah.
His food of locusts and wild honey would have been a sign of his total dependence on God. No hunting or farming for John – just faith in God.
Like many of the earlier prophets, John was very critical of the religious establishment. In today’s lesson we heard John greet the Sadducees and the Pharisees as a “brood of vipers.” John calls them children of snakes – definitely not a compliment!
John’s no fan of the religious establishment. John warns the religious establishment that their heritage and positions of prestige would be no protection from God’s wrath.
During that very tense time in Jewish history, John’s fiery message would have threatened both religious and political leaders.
Living under Roman rule was not easy. The Jewish religious establishment had to be careful not to anger the Romans and at the same time maintain authority among the people.
The people were waiting for someone to break things open. Some were waiting for a prophet. And many were waiting for more than a prophet. They were waiting for a messiah, God’s anointed one, to restore the greatness the people of Israel had known a thousand years earlier under King David.
Living and preaching out in the wilderness, John the Baptist must have seemed like the real deal. So, no surprise, many went out to hear his message. They came from all walks of life to be baptized by him in the Jordan. Some were so taken by John’s life and words that they became his disciples. Many scholars think that a young Jesus of Nazareth himself was one of John’s disciples.
So, John would have been recognized as a prophet. And some would have thought – would have hoped – that John was the messiah.
Of course, the authors of the gospels make it very clear that John is not the messiah. The gospels insist that John’s the one who was to prepare the way for Jesus the messiah. In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew describes John’s secondary role by quoting from the Prophet Isaiah:
“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’”
John’s job is to prepare the way of the Lord. And just how are we to prepare the way of the Lord? John’s message is very much like Jesus’ own message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
But, what does that mean? What does it mean to repent?
When most of us hear the word repent we think of saying we’re sorry for some wrong we’ve done and pledging to change our ways. And that’s true enough, as far as it goes.
But for both John and Jesus, repentance means much more than just saying we’re sorry and trying to do better next time.
Repentance means total transformation. For John, and for us, this total transformation is acted out in our baptism. Because of how and to whom most baptisms happen in church, we may forget that baptism is about total transformation. John’s baptism wasn’t a little water poured out delicately onto the head of an adorable baby dressed in white frilly clothes.
No, John’s baptism was a dunking – it was a near drowning – so the old self would die underwater and the new transformed person would rise up, gasping, breathing in the air of new life.
Repentance is transformation. In baptism our transformation has begun.
Something has gone very wrong in our world, in our country and in our lives. Advent may be a season of waiting, but the good news is that in baptism our repentance – our transformation – has begun.
We can see the shape of our transformation in the words of the Baptismal Covenant – the part of the Baptism service when, with God’s help, we promise to continue our transformation that begins in the water of baptism.
Repentance is transformation. In baptism our transformation has begun.
In the Baptismal Covenant, we promise, with God’s help, to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.
We promise, with God’s help, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self.
We promise, with God’s help, to strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being.
In baptism our repentance – our transformation – has begun.
And the more we allow God to transform us the more the world will be transformed. The more the world will look like the world that God always intended. The more we allow God to transform us, the more what has gone wrong will be made right.
The more we allow God to transform us the more that Isaiah’s dream of the transformed world will become reality:
“They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.”
So, on this Second Sunday of Advent as we look back at Christ’s birth and look ahead to Christ’s return, let’s give thanks for John the Baptist’s call to repentance and especially let’s give thanks for the gift of baptism.
And, most of all, let’s remember that in baptism our transformation – and the transformation of the whole world – has begun.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
December 5, 2010
Year A: The Second Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 11:1-10
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
Romans 15:4-13
Matthew 3:1-12
Repentance is Transformation
Obviously, something has gone very wrong.
Obviously, something has gone very wrong with our economy. I’m sure we were all disappointed – but not surprised – to learn that the unemployment rate inched up last month.
Obviously, something has gone very wrong with our political system. It’s become a cliché to describe our country as “polarized.” Two years ago a wave of Democrats were elected to Congress when President Obama was elected. And, sure enough, a month ago the Democratic tide went back out and a Republican wave poured into the House and Senate.
Obviously, something has gone very wrong among the American people. There’s profound and often bitter disagreement on a whole bunch of hot-button issues, ranging from heath care reform to tax cuts to global warming to gays serving openly in the military. Maybe worst of all, we seem to be unable - or unwilling - to listen to people with whom we disagree.
Actually, the only thing that most Americans seem to agree on is the fact that something has gone very wrong. I looked at some recent national public opinion polls and – no surprise - in all of them the vast, vast majority agreed that the country is on the wrong track.
We may disagree on the causes and the details and the solutions, but we all sense that something has gone very wrong.
So, maybe during this difficult time in our country and world we can especially appreciate an insight that lies very close to the heart of Judaism and Christianity. From the start, people of both faiths have recognized that, for us humans, something has gone very wrong.
Jews and Christians have understood that we were not meant to live in a world with so much pain and suffering and loss.
The story of Adam and Eve (which we will hear later on during our Lessons and Carols service) best captures this recognition - this deep understanding – that for us humans something has gone very wrong.
The story of Adam and Eve tells us what we already know in our hearts. We know that God made a good creation. We know that human disobedience messed it up and continues to mess it up. We know that we used to feel very close to God and God felt very close to us. But then we turned away from God and even tried to hide from God.
And over and over God tried to seek us out, tried to find us, tried to rebuild the relationship that had been broken so painfully.
One way God tried to seek us out was through the prophets. Over and over, the prophets called the people back to faithfulness – with decidedly mixed results.
Which brings us to today’s gospel lesson and the last in this long line of prophets, John the Baptist.
The four gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – all give a good bit of attention to John the Baptist. Some of the details vary, but all four agree on John’s basic character and the content of his message.
John, probably very consciously, modeled himself on prophets of the Jewish past. His outfit of camel’s hair and a leather belt around his waist echoed the Prophet Elijah.
His food of locusts and wild honey would have been a sign of his total dependence on God. No hunting or farming for John – just faith in God.
Like many of the earlier prophets, John was very critical of the religious establishment. In today’s lesson we heard John greet the Sadducees and the Pharisees as a “brood of vipers.” John calls them children of snakes – definitely not a compliment!
John’s no fan of the religious establishment. John warns the religious establishment that their heritage and positions of prestige would be no protection from God’s wrath.
During that very tense time in Jewish history, John’s fiery message would have threatened both religious and political leaders.
Living under Roman rule was not easy. The Jewish religious establishment had to be careful not to anger the Romans and at the same time maintain authority among the people.
The people were waiting for someone to break things open. Some were waiting for a prophet. And many were waiting for more than a prophet. They were waiting for a messiah, God’s anointed one, to restore the greatness the people of Israel had known a thousand years earlier under King David.
Living and preaching out in the wilderness, John the Baptist must have seemed like the real deal. So, no surprise, many went out to hear his message. They came from all walks of life to be baptized by him in the Jordan. Some were so taken by John’s life and words that they became his disciples. Many scholars think that a young Jesus of Nazareth himself was one of John’s disciples.
So, John would have been recognized as a prophet. And some would have thought – would have hoped – that John was the messiah.
Of course, the authors of the gospels make it very clear that John is not the messiah. The gospels insist that John’s the one who was to prepare the way for Jesus the messiah. In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew describes John’s secondary role by quoting from the Prophet Isaiah:
“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’”
John’s job is to prepare the way of the Lord. And just how are we to prepare the way of the Lord? John’s message is very much like Jesus’ own message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
But, what does that mean? What does it mean to repent?
When most of us hear the word repent we think of saying we’re sorry for some wrong we’ve done and pledging to change our ways. And that’s true enough, as far as it goes.
But for both John and Jesus, repentance means much more than just saying we’re sorry and trying to do better next time.
Repentance means total transformation. For John, and for us, this total transformation is acted out in our baptism. Because of how and to whom most baptisms happen in church, we may forget that baptism is about total transformation. John’s baptism wasn’t a little water poured out delicately onto the head of an adorable baby dressed in white frilly clothes.
No, John’s baptism was a dunking – it was a near drowning – so the old self would die underwater and the new transformed person would rise up, gasping, breathing in the air of new life.
Repentance is transformation. In baptism our transformation has begun.
Something has gone very wrong in our world, in our country and in our lives. Advent may be a season of waiting, but the good news is that in baptism our repentance – our transformation – has begun.
We can see the shape of our transformation in the words of the Baptismal Covenant – the part of the Baptism service when, with God’s help, we promise to continue our transformation that begins in the water of baptism.
Repentance is transformation. In baptism our transformation has begun.
In the Baptismal Covenant, we promise, with God’s help, to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.
We promise, with God’s help, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self.
We promise, with God’s help, to strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being.
In baptism our repentance – our transformation – has begun.
And the more we allow God to transform us the more the world will be transformed. The more the world will look like the world that God always intended. The more we allow God to transform us, the more what has gone wrong will be made right.
The more we allow God to transform us the more that Isaiah’s dream of the transformed world will become reality:
“They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.”
So, on this Second Sunday of Advent as we look back at Christ’s birth and look ahead to Christ’s return, let’s give thanks for John the Baptist’s call to repentance and especially let’s give thanks for the gift of baptism.
And, most of all, let’s remember that in baptism our transformation – and the transformation of the whole world – has begun.
Amen.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Look! Weep! Live!
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 28, 2010
Year A: The First Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 2:1-5
Romans 13:11-14
Psalm 122
Matthew 24:36-44
Look! Weep! Live!
Well, we made it - we’ve arrived at the start of a new church year. Today we begin the sacred season of Advent. Now that Thanksgiving has passed and the crowds have poured into the malls on “Black Friday,” the world has begun what it thinks of as preparing for Christmas – the busyness of buying and wrapping gifts, decorating, holiday parties and all the rest that leaves most of us pretty well wiped out by the time Christmas actually does arrive.
Here in church, it’s true that preparing for Christmas is part of what Advent is all about. Each Sunday we’ll light another Advent candle as we countdown to the day we celebrate Jesus’ birth.
But preparing for Christmas is just one part of what Advent is all about. The other part – and, really, the more important part - and also the part most of us would probably like to ignore – the other part of Advent is preparing for the end.
During Advent we’re supposed to prepare for the return of the Son of Man. During Advent we’re supposed to prepare for the last day - when in the words of today’s collect, Jesus will “come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead.”
I guess most of us don’t give much thought to Jesus’ return, though it’s one-third of what we call “the mystery of faith.”
The first followers of Jesus expected that his return would happen very quickly – certainly within their lifetimes.
But, by the time the Gospel of Matthew was written a couple of generations had passed since the earthly lifetime of Jesus. Obviously Jesus had not returned as many had expected and hoped.
So, Matthew’s emphasis is clearly on the fact that, although they had expected Jesus to come back right away, they - and we – just don’t know when Jesus will return. In fact, the gospel tells us that Jesus himself doesn’t know when he will return.
The essential question for us is: how are we to live in the meantime?
Here Jesus is very clear. We are told to “keep awake.” We are told that we “must be ready.”
But, what exactly does that mean for us? What does it mean to keep awake and be ready?
Taking these words literally is a prescription for exhaustion and neurosis. Let’s face it, there’s no healthy way to live in a constant state of suspense. There’s no sane way to be constantly looking out our window asking, “Is he here yet?” “Is he here yet?” We would quickly drive ourselves - and everyone around us - crazy. Plus, nothing would get done.
So, in all seriousness, what does it mean for us to keep awake and to be ready?
I’ve been reading a book called Soul Making. It’s by Alan Jones, who was the dean of Grace Cathedral, the Episcopal cathedral in San Francisco. His book is about what he calls “the desert way of spirituality” – the Christian spirituality that grew out of the monasteries in the Egyptian deserts.
Jones boils desert spirituality into three great challenges: Look! Weep! Live!
Look! Weep! Live!
And that’s a good way to sum up how we Christians are to wait – how we are to keep awake – how we are to be ready for the return of Jesus at the end of time.
Look! Weep! Live!
Our first challenge is to look – to really pay attention – to see things as they really are.
Let’s face it, many of us consciously and subconsciously do as much as we can to look away – to not pay attention – to not see things as they really are. We busy ourselves with our tasks – some necessary, others not so much. We fill up our lives with noise and stuff. We text away as the world grinds on around us. We do everything we can to not look. We do everything we can to stay in our own little dream world.
But, what do we see if we look? Sometimes what we see is heartbreakingly beautiful. Last week I went to our day school’s Thanksgiving parade. As usual, it was fun to be with the happy children and their teachers. Before the parade, the children had a “banquet” of chicken nuggets and pie. Just before it was time to eat, I had stepped away to deal with some church business. By the time I returned the banquet was over and the tables were being taken down.
I didn’t give it a second thought. But, later a teacher told me that one of the children didn’t want to start eating because I wasn’t there. He protested, “But, what about Fr. Tom?!” Even at a young age, he understood the importance of hospitality and sharing. He understood that everyone has a place at the banquet.
Sometimes when we look what we see is heartbreakingly beautiful.
On the other hand, sometimes when we look what we see is heartbreakingly sad. I don’t need to tell you there is so much suffering and loss in the world and in our lives.
I once knew an elderly priest who became a close friend – he was sort of my spiritual grandfather. After he returned from fighting in the Pacific during World War II, he went to seminary and was ordained a priest. He and his wife had a rich ministry in exotic places ranging from Montana, to Beverly Hills, to…New Jersey.
By the time I knew him his wife had died and he had become blind. Walking had become painful and difficult. For the most part he was stuck in his apartment except to go out for doctors appointments or to church when he was able. He was totally dependent on others. I spent a lot of time at his apartment, benefiting a great deal from his wisdom, experience and kindness.
One day he was lamenting his current circumstances when he said, “My big mistake was thinking that things would always stay the same.”
I was stunned. Here was someone who over decades had been present at life-changing moments for thousands of people – births, weddings, divorces and deaths – someone who certainly knew better, yet, even he was able to fool himself into thinking that in his life things would be always the same – that somehow in his life there wouldn’t be change – that there wouldn’t be suffering and loss.
Sometimes when we look what we see is heartbreakingly sad.
Look! Weep! Live!
When we really look our natural reaction is to weep – to weep with joy at the boy who knows everyone has a place at the banquet – and to weep with sadness that in this life there is so much suffering and loss.
The weeping might take the form of real tears or it just might mean expanding our hearts to truly celebrate life’s joy and to mourn life’s sadness. And then, once we’ve really looked, once we have really wept, then we can really live. Then we can really live because we can see life as it really is. In the words of St. Paul in his letter to the Romans, it is now the moment for us to wake from sleep.
Look! Weep! Live!
Once we awaken from sleep, once we look and weep, then we really know our total dependence on a God who loves us more than we can begin to imagine.
Once we awaken from our sleep, once we look and weep, then we can experience God’s love made present in the child in the feeding trough.
Once we awaken from our sleep, once we look and weep, then we can experience God’s love made present in the innocent man nailed to a tree.
Once we awaken from our sleep, once we look and weep, then we can experience God’s love in the Christ who will return in glorious majesty and in loving mercy to judge the living and the dead.
So this is the start of a new year. It’s Advent. It’s time to wake up. It’s time to be ready. It’s time to look, weep and live.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 28, 2010
Year A: The First Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 2:1-5
Romans 13:11-14
Psalm 122
Matthew 24:36-44
Look! Weep! Live!
Well, we made it - we’ve arrived at the start of a new church year. Today we begin the sacred season of Advent. Now that Thanksgiving has passed and the crowds have poured into the malls on “Black Friday,” the world has begun what it thinks of as preparing for Christmas – the busyness of buying and wrapping gifts, decorating, holiday parties and all the rest that leaves most of us pretty well wiped out by the time Christmas actually does arrive.
Here in church, it’s true that preparing for Christmas is part of what Advent is all about. Each Sunday we’ll light another Advent candle as we countdown to the day we celebrate Jesus’ birth.
But preparing for Christmas is just one part of what Advent is all about. The other part – and, really, the more important part - and also the part most of us would probably like to ignore – the other part of Advent is preparing for the end.
During Advent we’re supposed to prepare for the return of the Son of Man. During Advent we’re supposed to prepare for the last day - when in the words of today’s collect, Jesus will “come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead.”
I guess most of us don’t give much thought to Jesus’ return, though it’s one-third of what we call “the mystery of faith.”
The first followers of Jesus expected that his return would happen very quickly – certainly within their lifetimes.
But, by the time the Gospel of Matthew was written a couple of generations had passed since the earthly lifetime of Jesus. Obviously Jesus had not returned as many had expected and hoped.
So, Matthew’s emphasis is clearly on the fact that, although they had expected Jesus to come back right away, they - and we – just don’t know when Jesus will return. In fact, the gospel tells us that Jesus himself doesn’t know when he will return.
The essential question for us is: how are we to live in the meantime?
Here Jesus is very clear. We are told to “keep awake.” We are told that we “must be ready.”
But, what exactly does that mean for us? What does it mean to keep awake and be ready?
Taking these words literally is a prescription for exhaustion and neurosis. Let’s face it, there’s no healthy way to live in a constant state of suspense. There’s no sane way to be constantly looking out our window asking, “Is he here yet?” “Is he here yet?” We would quickly drive ourselves - and everyone around us - crazy. Plus, nothing would get done.
So, in all seriousness, what does it mean for us to keep awake and to be ready?
I’ve been reading a book called Soul Making. It’s by Alan Jones, who was the dean of Grace Cathedral, the Episcopal cathedral in San Francisco. His book is about what he calls “the desert way of spirituality” – the Christian spirituality that grew out of the monasteries in the Egyptian deserts.
Jones boils desert spirituality into three great challenges: Look! Weep! Live!
Look! Weep! Live!
And that’s a good way to sum up how we Christians are to wait – how we are to keep awake – how we are to be ready for the return of Jesus at the end of time.
Look! Weep! Live!
Our first challenge is to look – to really pay attention – to see things as they really are.
Let’s face it, many of us consciously and subconsciously do as much as we can to look away – to not pay attention – to not see things as they really are. We busy ourselves with our tasks – some necessary, others not so much. We fill up our lives with noise and stuff. We text away as the world grinds on around us. We do everything we can to not look. We do everything we can to stay in our own little dream world.
But, what do we see if we look? Sometimes what we see is heartbreakingly beautiful. Last week I went to our day school’s Thanksgiving parade. As usual, it was fun to be with the happy children and their teachers. Before the parade, the children had a “banquet” of chicken nuggets and pie. Just before it was time to eat, I had stepped away to deal with some church business. By the time I returned the banquet was over and the tables were being taken down.
I didn’t give it a second thought. But, later a teacher told me that one of the children didn’t want to start eating because I wasn’t there. He protested, “But, what about Fr. Tom?!” Even at a young age, he understood the importance of hospitality and sharing. He understood that everyone has a place at the banquet.
Sometimes when we look what we see is heartbreakingly beautiful.
On the other hand, sometimes when we look what we see is heartbreakingly sad. I don’t need to tell you there is so much suffering and loss in the world and in our lives.
I once knew an elderly priest who became a close friend – he was sort of my spiritual grandfather. After he returned from fighting in the Pacific during World War II, he went to seminary and was ordained a priest. He and his wife had a rich ministry in exotic places ranging from Montana, to Beverly Hills, to…New Jersey.
By the time I knew him his wife had died and he had become blind. Walking had become painful and difficult. For the most part he was stuck in his apartment except to go out for doctors appointments or to church when he was able. He was totally dependent on others. I spent a lot of time at his apartment, benefiting a great deal from his wisdom, experience and kindness.
One day he was lamenting his current circumstances when he said, “My big mistake was thinking that things would always stay the same.”
I was stunned. Here was someone who over decades had been present at life-changing moments for thousands of people – births, weddings, divorces and deaths – someone who certainly knew better, yet, even he was able to fool himself into thinking that in his life things would be always the same – that somehow in his life there wouldn’t be change – that there wouldn’t be suffering and loss.
Sometimes when we look what we see is heartbreakingly sad.
Look! Weep! Live!
When we really look our natural reaction is to weep – to weep with joy at the boy who knows everyone has a place at the banquet – and to weep with sadness that in this life there is so much suffering and loss.
The weeping might take the form of real tears or it just might mean expanding our hearts to truly celebrate life’s joy and to mourn life’s sadness. And then, once we’ve really looked, once we have really wept, then we can really live. Then we can really live because we can see life as it really is. In the words of St. Paul in his letter to the Romans, it is now the moment for us to wake from sleep.
Look! Weep! Live!
Once we awaken from sleep, once we look and weep, then we really know our total dependence on a God who loves us more than we can begin to imagine.
Once we awaken from our sleep, once we look and weep, then we can experience God’s love made present in the child in the feeding trough.
Once we awaken from our sleep, once we look and weep, then we can experience God’s love made present in the innocent man nailed to a tree.
Once we awaken from our sleep, once we look and weep, then we can experience God’s love in the Christ who will return in glorious majesty and in loving mercy to judge the living and the dead.
So this is the start of a new year. It’s Advent. It’s time to wake up. It’s time to be ready. It’s time to look, weep and live.
Amen.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
A Different Kind of King. A Different Kind of Kingdom
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 21, 2010
Year C: The Last Sunday after Pentecost - Christ the King
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Canticle 4
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43
A Different Kind of King. A Different Kind of Kingdom
There’s been a lot of talk in the media lately about the initial public offering of stock in what’s being called “New GM.” – the General Motors that is emerging out of bankruptcy and leaving behind the broken and empty shell of “Old GM.” Apparently this has been expected to be the biggest initial public offering of stock in history – pretty amazing considering that not so long ago it looked like GM was going to sink under the weight of debt and poor leadership into oblivion.
Of course, we can still see “Old GM” in abandoned plants scattered around the country. We can still see “Old GM” in unemployment lines. And we can still see “Old GM” in tens of thousands of Oldsmobiles, Pontiacs and Saturns that are still out on the road.
Actually, Sue and I used to own a Saturn. Anyone else? It was nothing fancy but we liked it – that is, until it died suddenly one morning as Sue was driving to work on a busy elevated highway.
At first Saturn seemed kind of cool and cutting edge. GM claimed that with Saturn it was changing the way it made and sold cars. Do you remember Saturn’s advertising slogan?
“A different kind of car. A different kind of car company.”
I guess in the end Saturn turned out to be not different enough.
Here in church, today we have reached the last in the long line of Sundays after Pentecost. We’ve reached the last Sunday of the church year. We’re in white to celebrate Christ the King.
Thinking of Christ as king is a very old idea but celebrating Christ the King on the last Sunday before Advent is actually very new. In 1925 Pope Pius XI declared that the last Sunday in October would be set aside the celebration of Christ the King. And then in 1970 it was moved to the last Sunday of the church year – and many Anglican churches adopted the celebration.
So here we are. To be honest calling Christ the King can be problematic. History is filled with kings who were only concerned with their own power and prestige and wealth. The good kings are remembered so well because they were so few and far between.
Today, at least in Europe, kings live on as ceremonial figureheads and their families get a lot of tabloid attention. I bet you’ve all heard the Prince William is getting married next year.
I have nothing against Prince William, but Christ is a different kind of king. Christ has no palace and he has no jewels. Although he may wear crowns and elegant vestments in statues, in reality Christ is a different kind of king and he rules over a different kind of kingdom.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
Today’s lessons highlight how Christ is a different kind of king. Look at what images the Church offers us on the last Sunday of the church year. Just as many of us are beginning to look ahead with a mixture of excitement and dread to the so-called holiday season, the Church sets aside this Sunday to celebrate Christ the King by presenting us with Jesus of Nazareth hanging in agony on the cross.
A different kind of king.
On this last Sunday of the year, the Church takes us back to the place that is called The Skull and makes us look up at Jesus, the crucified king hanging between two criminals, praying to the Father to forgive those who had nailed him there. There’s Jesus the crucified king watching as they cast lots to divide his clothing. There’s Jesus the crucified king being offered sour wine. There’s Jesus the crucified king hanging beneath the mocking inscription, “This is the king of the Jews.”
A different kind of king.
Of course, we know what happened next. Fast forward through the First Century. God raised Jesus on Easter Sunday. It didn’t take long for the first followers to understand that Jesus the crucified king is the Christ, God’s anointed one. The first followers realized that when they looked at Jesus they saw what God is really like.
The Good News began to spread throughout the Mediterranean world. In Jesus of Nazareth the God of the universe had become one of us – had lived, died and risen again. The stories were passed around, the bread was broken and the wine was poured out, over and over. The Body of Christ grew with each new convert. The Church grew with each new baptism.
Probably sometime near the end of the First Century a Christian – probably not Paul himself but someone writing under the name of Paul - sent a letter to the Colossians. And in that letter, the writer quoted from an extraordinarily grand hymn about Jesus that was probably known among the early Jesus followers - a hymn that we just heard read this morning:
“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created through him and for him.”
By the end of the First Century the followers of Jesus had come to understand that this rabbi from Galilee, this teacher and healer, this teller of parables, this crucified messiah, was the king.
A different kind of king.
Christ is a different kind of king who was born into a world of nobodies and he lives there still. Christ is a king who hung out with the sick and the outcasts and he hangs out with them still. Christ is a different kind of king who chose the unlikeliest of people to be his friends and disciples and he chooses them still.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
Two weeks ago in the Beatitudes we heard Jesus’ clearest and most challenging description of the kingdom of God.
The kingdom of God is a different kind of kingdom. It’s a different kind of kingdom where the poor and the hungry and the weeping are blessed. It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are called to love our enemies and to do good to those who hate us.
It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are to turn our cheek when we are struck. It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are to give to everyone who begs of us. It’s a different kind of kingdom where if anyone takes away our goods, we are not to ask for them back.
It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are to do to others as we would have them do to us.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
As we speak, out in the world there’s lots of hope and excitement as “New GM” is being born out of the broken pieces of “Old GM.” There’s lots of hope that this time GM really will produce a different kind of car; that this time GM really will be a different kind of car company.
We’ll see. But, here in church we can be sure that you and I were reborn in our baptism. We were reborn as followers of a different kind of king. We were reborn as residents of a different kind of kingdom.
Unfortunately, the sad truth is we often live as if we haven’t been reborn. The sad truth is that we live like everyone else, like the followers of the kings of this world. The sad truth is we live like we are residents of the kingdoms of this world.
Fortunately, the church gives us another chance. Another church year is about to start. Next Sunday it will be Advent – the holy season when we’ll be looking back to the birth of Jesus and looking ahead to the completion of the kingdom of God.
We have another chance to follow Christ the King. We have another chance to build the kingdom of God right here and now.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 21, 2010
Year C: The Last Sunday after Pentecost - Christ the King
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Canticle 4
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43
A Different Kind of King. A Different Kind of Kingdom
There’s been a lot of talk in the media lately about the initial public offering of stock in what’s being called “New GM.” – the General Motors that is emerging out of bankruptcy and leaving behind the broken and empty shell of “Old GM.” Apparently this has been expected to be the biggest initial public offering of stock in history – pretty amazing considering that not so long ago it looked like GM was going to sink under the weight of debt and poor leadership into oblivion.
Of course, we can still see “Old GM” in abandoned plants scattered around the country. We can still see “Old GM” in unemployment lines. And we can still see “Old GM” in tens of thousands of Oldsmobiles, Pontiacs and Saturns that are still out on the road.
Actually, Sue and I used to own a Saturn. Anyone else? It was nothing fancy but we liked it – that is, until it died suddenly one morning as Sue was driving to work on a busy elevated highway.
At first Saturn seemed kind of cool and cutting edge. GM claimed that with Saturn it was changing the way it made and sold cars. Do you remember Saturn’s advertising slogan?
“A different kind of car. A different kind of car company.”
I guess in the end Saturn turned out to be not different enough.
Here in church, today we have reached the last in the long line of Sundays after Pentecost. We’ve reached the last Sunday of the church year. We’re in white to celebrate Christ the King.
Thinking of Christ as king is a very old idea but celebrating Christ the King on the last Sunday before Advent is actually very new. In 1925 Pope Pius XI declared that the last Sunday in October would be set aside the celebration of Christ the King. And then in 1970 it was moved to the last Sunday of the church year – and many Anglican churches adopted the celebration.
So here we are. To be honest calling Christ the King can be problematic. History is filled with kings who were only concerned with their own power and prestige and wealth. The good kings are remembered so well because they were so few and far between.
Today, at least in Europe, kings live on as ceremonial figureheads and their families get a lot of tabloid attention. I bet you’ve all heard the Prince William is getting married next year.
I have nothing against Prince William, but Christ is a different kind of king. Christ has no palace and he has no jewels. Although he may wear crowns and elegant vestments in statues, in reality Christ is a different kind of king and he rules over a different kind of kingdom.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
Today’s lessons highlight how Christ is a different kind of king. Look at what images the Church offers us on the last Sunday of the church year. Just as many of us are beginning to look ahead with a mixture of excitement and dread to the so-called holiday season, the Church sets aside this Sunday to celebrate Christ the King by presenting us with Jesus of Nazareth hanging in agony on the cross.
A different kind of king.
On this last Sunday of the year, the Church takes us back to the place that is called The Skull and makes us look up at Jesus, the crucified king hanging between two criminals, praying to the Father to forgive those who had nailed him there. There’s Jesus the crucified king watching as they cast lots to divide his clothing. There’s Jesus the crucified king being offered sour wine. There’s Jesus the crucified king hanging beneath the mocking inscription, “This is the king of the Jews.”
A different kind of king.
Of course, we know what happened next. Fast forward through the First Century. God raised Jesus on Easter Sunday. It didn’t take long for the first followers to understand that Jesus the crucified king is the Christ, God’s anointed one. The first followers realized that when they looked at Jesus they saw what God is really like.
The Good News began to spread throughout the Mediterranean world. In Jesus of Nazareth the God of the universe had become one of us – had lived, died and risen again. The stories were passed around, the bread was broken and the wine was poured out, over and over. The Body of Christ grew with each new convert. The Church grew with each new baptism.
Probably sometime near the end of the First Century a Christian – probably not Paul himself but someone writing under the name of Paul - sent a letter to the Colossians. And in that letter, the writer quoted from an extraordinarily grand hymn about Jesus that was probably known among the early Jesus followers - a hymn that we just heard read this morning:
“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created through him and for him.”
By the end of the First Century the followers of Jesus had come to understand that this rabbi from Galilee, this teacher and healer, this teller of parables, this crucified messiah, was the king.
A different kind of king.
Christ is a different kind of king who was born into a world of nobodies and he lives there still. Christ is a king who hung out with the sick and the outcasts and he hangs out with them still. Christ is a different kind of king who chose the unlikeliest of people to be his friends and disciples and he chooses them still.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
Two weeks ago in the Beatitudes we heard Jesus’ clearest and most challenging description of the kingdom of God.
The kingdom of God is a different kind of kingdom. It’s a different kind of kingdom where the poor and the hungry and the weeping are blessed. It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are called to love our enemies and to do good to those who hate us.
It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are to turn our cheek when we are struck. It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are to give to everyone who begs of us. It’s a different kind of kingdom where if anyone takes away our goods, we are not to ask for them back.
It’s a different kind of kingdom where we are to do to others as we would have them do to us.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
As we speak, out in the world there’s lots of hope and excitement as “New GM” is being born out of the broken pieces of “Old GM.” There’s lots of hope that this time GM really will produce a different kind of car; that this time GM really will be a different kind of car company.
We’ll see. But, here in church we can be sure that you and I were reborn in our baptism. We were reborn as followers of a different kind of king. We were reborn as residents of a different kind of kingdom.
Unfortunately, the sad truth is we often live as if we haven’t been reborn. The sad truth is that we live like everyone else, like the followers of the kings of this world. The sad truth is we live like we are residents of the kingdoms of this world.
Fortunately, the church gives us another chance. Another church year is about to start. Next Sunday it will be Advent – the holy season when we’ll be looking back to the birth of Jesus and looking ahead to the completion of the kingdom of God.
We have another chance to follow Christ the King. We have another chance to build the kingdom of God right here and now.
A different kind of king. A different kind of kingdom.
Amen.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Advent
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 14, 2010
Year C, Proper 28: The Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Isaiah 65:17-25
Canticle 9
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
Luke 21:5-19
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Advent
If you’ve been in a store during the past few weeks you’ve noticed that Christmas decorations and signs are already beginning to go up. If they haven’t started already, soon there will be Christmas commercials on TV. And soon well-meaning Christians complain about how the secular world has twisted Christmas beyond our recognition. But all our moaning and groaning isn’t going to change the fact that this is the time of year when stores and companies make a big chunk of their money. So whether we like it or not – especially during this deep recession - out there in the world it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
But church is different. Here in church it’s beginning to look a lot like… Advent. In just two weeks we begin the holy season of Advent – the season when we look back to the events leading up to the birth of the Messiah in the unlikeliest and most humble of places. In just two weeks we begin Advent – the season when we look ahead to the end; when we look ahead to the completion of the kingdom of God – “the new heavens and the new earth.”
Today’s Gospel lesson is a powerful reminder that it’s beginning to look a lot like Advent. This year we’ve been making our way through the Gospel of Luke. The best guess of scholars is that Luke wrote his Gospel around the year 80, some 50 years after the earthly lifetime of Jesus. Needless to say, much had happened in those 50 years: the crucifixion, resurrection and ascension of Jesus; the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost; the unexpected spread of the Good News among the gentiles; the persecution of the first Christians; the horrifying destruction of the Jerusalem temple by the Romans in the year 70 and the Jewish-Roman War of the 70s. Luke’s first readers and hearers would have been well aware of all these amazing and traumatic events.
In today’s passage we are approaching the end of Luke’s account of Jesus’ ministry. Today we find Jesus and some of his followers are in the Jerusalem Temple.
It’s worth pausing here and reminding ourselves just how central the Temple was in the lives of Jews in the First Century. It was seen as the holiest place in the universe – the place where, in a sense, God lived. It was the center of prayer and especially of sacrifice. It was the place where the covenant between God and God’s people was lived out in ritual day after day.
The Temple of Jesus’ day was what’s called the Second Temple. It had been reconstructed by Herod the Great in an attempt to win popular approval. According to ancient sources it was one of the most spectacular buildings of its time.
So imagine the scene – here’s Jesus the teacher and prophet from the countryside surrounded by his country bumpkin followers who were dazzled by this extraordinary building – with its “beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God.”
In the midst of this spectacular setting Jesus makes what must have been a terrifying prophecy: “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”
Then Jesus warns about false prophets, wars and insurrections, and even natural disasters.
Finally, Jesus gets personal, predicting that his followers would be arrested and persecuted. And then he says, “this will give you an opportunity to testify.”
Luke’s first readers and hearers would have known what we know – that all of this has come to pass and continues to come to pass.
It’s beginning to look like Advent – we can see the outlines of the kingdom of God – we know what the new heavens and the new earth will look like. In fact, we heard Jesus’ vision of God’s kingdom right here just last week.
God’s kingdom is the new earth where the poor and the hungry and the weeping will be blessed.
And last week we heard how we can do our part to build the kingdom of God right here and now. To build the kingdom of God we must love our enemies, do good to those who hate us, pray for those who abuse us.
To build the kingdom of God we must turn the other cheek and give to everyone who begs of us.
To build the kingdom of God, to build the new heavens and the new earth, we must do to others as we would have them do to us.
So, what’s holding us back? What’s delaying the kingdom of God?
Well, I think it’s all the things that Jesus warns us about in today’s gospel – all of which might be summed up as our attachments. It’s our attachments that hold us back from testifying through our actions and our words about the love of God that we experience in Jesus Christ. It’s our attachments that delay the kingdom of God.
Sometimes we’re attached to our buildings just as the Jewish people of the First Century were attached to the Temple. But, even that magnificent temple couldn’t contain the power and love of God – and its destruction did nothing to weaken God’s presence in the world.
This past week at Chapel House we had the latest in a long and expensive list of physical plant issues. We found out that one of the furnaces at Chapel House needed to be replaced, to the tune of $5000. I half-joked to someone at the diocese that since building maintenance takes so much of my time I’d like my next job to be as rector of a storefront church or one of a church that rents a movie theatre for services.
But, in all seriousness, I know it’s hard but we can’t get attached to our buildings. Our buildings are not the church. We are the church. And God help us if our buildings get in the way of the kingdom of God.
Jesus warns us about false prophets and sure enough sometimes it’s our attachment to false prophets that delays the kingdom of God. Right now all across the land there are powerful preachers proclaiming the so-called “Prosperity Gospel.” Their gospel says that if you follow the rules God will reward you with a nice house and fancy cars and all the rest. Unfortunately, many thousands have gotten attached to these preachers. Sure enough it seems like it’s the preachers who are prospering the most.
Or sometimes we get attached to the false prophets who proclaim a negative Christianity that’s all about what we’re against and who’s not invited. And each time we get attached to that kind of Christian leader, the kingdom of God gets delayed a little more.
But, by far the strongest of our attachments is the attachment to our own lives and to the lives of those we love.
Some of you know that not long before we moved to Florida Sue and I found out that our cat, Noelle, had cancer of the jaw. It was devastating news because we loved her so much. And, to be honest, it’s hard to imagine two people more attached to their cat.
On Friday we made the very painful decision to put Noelle to sleep. It meant the two of us letting go of our attachment to her. And, as hard as it was – and still is – when we let go of our attachment to her, when we stopped trying to hold on to her, then we loved her more deeply and more purely than ever.
So, more than ever I understand Jesus’ call to let go of our attachments because then we really are free – free to live the lives we were meant to live – free to love God with our whole self and to love our neighbors, and even our pets, as ourselves.
When we can let go of our attachments, then we really are free to do the only work that really satisfies us – the work we were born to do – the work of building the kingdom of God right here and now.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Advent. We’re beginning to look back to the birth of the Messiah. And we’re beginning to look ahead to the completion of the kingdom of God – the creation of a new heavens and a new earth.
With God’s help, let’s set aside our attachments and get to work.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 14, 2010
Year C, Proper 28: The Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Isaiah 65:17-25
Canticle 9
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
Luke 21:5-19
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Advent
If you’ve been in a store during the past few weeks you’ve noticed that Christmas decorations and signs are already beginning to go up. If they haven’t started already, soon there will be Christmas commercials on TV. And soon well-meaning Christians complain about how the secular world has twisted Christmas beyond our recognition. But all our moaning and groaning isn’t going to change the fact that this is the time of year when stores and companies make a big chunk of their money. So whether we like it or not – especially during this deep recession - out there in the world it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
But church is different. Here in church it’s beginning to look a lot like… Advent. In just two weeks we begin the holy season of Advent – the season when we look back to the events leading up to the birth of the Messiah in the unlikeliest and most humble of places. In just two weeks we begin Advent – the season when we look ahead to the end; when we look ahead to the completion of the kingdom of God – “the new heavens and the new earth.”
Today’s Gospel lesson is a powerful reminder that it’s beginning to look a lot like Advent. This year we’ve been making our way through the Gospel of Luke. The best guess of scholars is that Luke wrote his Gospel around the year 80, some 50 years after the earthly lifetime of Jesus. Needless to say, much had happened in those 50 years: the crucifixion, resurrection and ascension of Jesus; the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost; the unexpected spread of the Good News among the gentiles; the persecution of the first Christians; the horrifying destruction of the Jerusalem temple by the Romans in the year 70 and the Jewish-Roman War of the 70s. Luke’s first readers and hearers would have been well aware of all these amazing and traumatic events.
In today’s passage we are approaching the end of Luke’s account of Jesus’ ministry. Today we find Jesus and some of his followers are in the Jerusalem Temple.
It’s worth pausing here and reminding ourselves just how central the Temple was in the lives of Jews in the First Century. It was seen as the holiest place in the universe – the place where, in a sense, God lived. It was the center of prayer and especially of sacrifice. It was the place where the covenant between God and God’s people was lived out in ritual day after day.
The Temple of Jesus’ day was what’s called the Second Temple. It had been reconstructed by Herod the Great in an attempt to win popular approval. According to ancient sources it was one of the most spectacular buildings of its time.
So imagine the scene – here’s Jesus the teacher and prophet from the countryside surrounded by his country bumpkin followers who were dazzled by this extraordinary building – with its “beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God.”
In the midst of this spectacular setting Jesus makes what must have been a terrifying prophecy: “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”
Then Jesus warns about false prophets, wars and insurrections, and even natural disasters.
Finally, Jesus gets personal, predicting that his followers would be arrested and persecuted. And then he says, “this will give you an opportunity to testify.”
Luke’s first readers and hearers would have known what we know – that all of this has come to pass and continues to come to pass.
It’s beginning to look like Advent – we can see the outlines of the kingdom of God – we know what the new heavens and the new earth will look like. In fact, we heard Jesus’ vision of God’s kingdom right here just last week.
God’s kingdom is the new earth where the poor and the hungry and the weeping will be blessed.
And last week we heard how we can do our part to build the kingdom of God right here and now. To build the kingdom of God we must love our enemies, do good to those who hate us, pray for those who abuse us.
To build the kingdom of God we must turn the other cheek and give to everyone who begs of us.
To build the kingdom of God, to build the new heavens and the new earth, we must do to others as we would have them do to us.
So, what’s holding us back? What’s delaying the kingdom of God?
Well, I think it’s all the things that Jesus warns us about in today’s gospel – all of which might be summed up as our attachments. It’s our attachments that hold us back from testifying through our actions and our words about the love of God that we experience in Jesus Christ. It’s our attachments that delay the kingdom of God.
Sometimes we’re attached to our buildings just as the Jewish people of the First Century were attached to the Temple. But, even that magnificent temple couldn’t contain the power and love of God – and its destruction did nothing to weaken God’s presence in the world.
This past week at Chapel House we had the latest in a long and expensive list of physical plant issues. We found out that one of the furnaces at Chapel House needed to be replaced, to the tune of $5000. I half-joked to someone at the diocese that since building maintenance takes so much of my time I’d like my next job to be as rector of a storefront church or one of a church that rents a movie theatre for services.
But, in all seriousness, I know it’s hard but we can’t get attached to our buildings. Our buildings are not the church. We are the church. And God help us if our buildings get in the way of the kingdom of God.
Jesus warns us about false prophets and sure enough sometimes it’s our attachment to false prophets that delays the kingdom of God. Right now all across the land there are powerful preachers proclaiming the so-called “Prosperity Gospel.” Their gospel says that if you follow the rules God will reward you with a nice house and fancy cars and all the rest. Unfortunately, many thousands have gotten attached to these preachers. Sure enough it seems like it’s the preachers who are prospering the most.
Or sometimes we get attached to the false prophets who proclaim a negative Christianity that’s all about what we’re against and who’s not invited. And each time we get attached to that kind of Christian leader, the kingdom of God gets delayed a little more.
But, by far the strongest of our attachments is the attachment to our own lives and to the lives of those we love.
Some of you know that not long before we moved to Florida Sue and I found out that our cat, Noelle, had cancer of the jaw. It was devastating news because we loved her so much. And, to be honest, it’s hard to imagine two people more attached to their cat.
On Friday we made the very painful decision to put Noelle to sleep. It meant the two of us letting go of our attachment to her. And, as hard as it was – and still is – when we let go of our attachment to her, when we stopped trying to hold on to her, then we loved her more deeply and more purely than ever.
So, more than ever I understand Jesus’ call to let go of our attachments because then we really are free – free to live the lives we were meant to live – free to love God with our whole self and to love our neighbors, and even our pets, as ourselves.
When we can let go of our attachments, then we really are free to do the only work that really satisfies us – the work we were born to do – the work of building the kingdom of God right here and now.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Advent. We’re beginning to look back to the birth of the Messiah. And we’re beginning to look ahead to the completion of the kingdom of God – the creation of a new heavens and a new earth.
With God’s help, let’s set aside our attachments and get to work.
Amen.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Saints Are Not Statues!
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
November 7, 2010
Year C: All Saints’ Sunday
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Psalm 149
Ephesians 1:11-23
Luke 6:20-31
Saints Are Not Statues!
Many of you know that in addition to serving as chaplain here I’m also rector of St. Michael’s, a church about four miles away in northwestern Gainesville.
What you might not know is that there’s a day school at St. Michaels with 62 children ranging from age three to six.
Part of my duties is to lead a chapel service with all of the students and teachers once a month. My first service was a week and a half ago.
When I was planning the chapel service I thought I would talk about Halloween and how it’s connected to the following day, All Saints’ Day – you know, the day when we’ve already eaten all the candy we really like and now we’re starting to get to the bottom of the bag. (Which here at the chapel means a bowl filled with Whoppers, apparently our least favorite candy. Look in the refrigerator if you don’t believe me!)
Anyway, I began by asking the children if any of them could tell me what a saint is.
Most of them looked around or down at the floor, unsure and maybe a little nervous that I’d call on them and put them on the spot.
But two children raised their hands with what looked like some confidence.
I called on the first and he struggled to put his answer into words. Finally, he stretched out his arms and said, “They’re made out of stone and they stand like this.”
And then the other one chimed in, “Yeah, they’re statues!”
The teachers chuckled and the other kids looked confused and I wondered how to explain all of this to children ranging in age from three to six…
As I thought about this exchange later on, though, I realized that these kids were on to something. Even we adults think of the saints as statues. We think of them as these impossibly perfect figures who were and are forever frozen in positions of prayer and piety.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings who faced many of the same challenges, obstacles, and temptations that we do.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings whose lives were scarred by sin and whose hearts were broken by disappointment.
Dorothy Day, one of the founders of the Catholic Worker movement during the last century once said, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”
All too often we think of the saints as statues – and dismiss them almost as if they weren’t quite real.
So, if the saints aren’t statues, what exactly are they?
Well, as the rector in my previous parish used to say, there are big S and small S saints.
The big S saints are famous Christians who’ve been formally honored. You’ll appreciate the irony that there is a movement underway to have Dorothy Day formally canonized as a saint in the Roman Catholic Church. Some people who revere her rightly worry that she’s on her way to being as easily dismissed as a statue!
On the other hand, the little S saints are people past and present that nobody’s ever heard of – the people whose faith is known to God alone. In the words of the charming hymn that I’m sure some of you know: These are the saints we can meet “in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
The truth is there’s not much difference between the big S and small S saints. The saints are people who have glimpsed Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God. The saints are people who recognize that if we are to build the kingdom of God then, in the words of today’s reading from Ephesians, we need “to set our hope on Christ.”
In today’s gospel lesson we heard Luke’s account of the Beatitudes – Jesus’ clearest and most challenging expression of his vision of the kingdom of God.
Most scholars think that Luke’s very concrete, here and now version is closer to what Jesus actually said than Matthew who softens it a bit by making Jesus’ vision seem abstract, impersonal and spiritual.
In Matthew, Jesus says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
But in Luke’s more concrete, more economic and social, more here and now version Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.”
The saints, past and present, set their hope in Christ because it takes hope and faith in Christ to imagine how we can build the kingdom of God here and now – to build the kingdom for the poor, to build the kingdom where the hungry will be fed, to build the kingdom where the millions of people all around the world who weep from grief will laugh with joy.
It’s a big and tough job to build the kingdom of God right here and now. But, it’s a job for flawed human beings just like us – and definitely not a job for a statue. It’s a big and tough job to turn Jesus’ vision of the kingdom into a physical reality right here in Gainesville, right here in America, right here on earth.
To do that job first we need to set our hope on Christ. And then Jesus tells us very clearly how we can do this big and tough job of building the kingdom of God – though we may not like what he has to say.
To build the kingdom of God, right here and now Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
Dorothy Day was born into a religiously indifferent Episcopalian family in the late 19th Century. As a young woman she was inspired and angered by the poverty and suffering that she saw all around her. She got involved in radical politics but thought Christianity was irrelevant nonsense.
And, like all of us, Dorothy was scarred by sin. In her case, she was haunted by an extramarital affair and a resulting abortion.
Yet, God was able to use this imperfect, flesh and blood human being to help build the kingdom. After several powerful experiences, including the birth of her daughter, Dorothy was able to glimpse Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God and work to make it a reality here on earth. After her conversion, she not only fed the poor but asked the uncomfortable question of why there was so much poverty in a country that’s so rich. She lived in voluntary poverty, wearing donated clothing and living in community in New York’s Lower East Side. She angered people by preaching and practicing total nonviolence.
Dorothy Day set her hope on Christ and then, with God’s help, went about building the kingdom of God right here on earth.
And, each in our own way, that’s the work you and I are called to. With God’s help, we are called to be saints – whether big S or small S is up to God.
Building the kingdom of God here on earth, right here in Gainesville, is a big job. It’s a job not for statues but for flawed and scarred flesh and blood human beings who set their hope on Christ. It’s a job, with God’s help, for people just like us.
Saints aren’t statues, so together we can say the words of the hymn, “The saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
Amen.
November 7, 2010
Year C: All Saints’ Sunday
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Psalm 149
Ephesians 1:11-23
Luke 6:20-31
Saints Are Not Statues!
Many of you know that in addition to serving as chaplain here I’m also rector of St. Michael’s, a church about four miles away in northwestern Gainesville.
What you might not know is that there’s a day school at St. Michaels with 62 children ranging from age three to six.
Part of my duties is to lead a chapel service with all of the students and teachers once a month. My first service was a week and a half ago.
When I was planning the chapel service I thought I would talk about Halloween and how it’s connected to the following day, All Saints’ Day – you know, the day when we’ve already eaten all the candy we really like and now we’re starting to get to the bottom of the bag. (Which here at the chapel means a bowl filled with Whoppers, apparently our least favorite candy. Look in the refrigerator if you don’t believe me!)
Anyway, I began by asking the children if any of them could tell me what a saint is.
Most of them looked around or down at the floor, unsure and maybe a little nervous that I’d call on them and put them on the spot.
But two children raised their hands with what looked like some confidence.
I called on the first and he struggled to put his answer into words. Finally, he stretched out his arms and said, “They’re made out of stone and they stand like this.”
And then the other one chimed in, “Yeah, they’re statues!”
The teachers chuckled and the other kids looked confused and I wondered how to explain all of this to children ranging in age from three to six…
As I thought about this exchange later on, though, I realized that these kids were on to something. Even we adults think of the saints as statues. We think of them as these impossibly perfect figures who were and are forever frozen in positions of prayer and piety.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings who faced many of the same challenges, obstacles, and temptations that we do.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings whose lives were scarred by sin and whose hearts were broken by disappointment.
Dorothy Day, one of the founders of the Catholic Worker movement during the last century once said, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”
All too often we think of the saints as statues – and dismiss them almost as if they weren’t quite real.
So, if the saints aren’t statues, what exactly are they?
Well, as the rector in my previous parish used to say, there are big S and small S saints.
The big S saints are famous Christians who’ve been formally honored. You’ll appreciate the irony that there is a movement underway to have Dorothy Day formally canonized as a saint in the Roman Catholic Church. Some people who revere her rightly worry that she’s on her way to being as easily dismissed as a statue!
On the other hand, the little S saints are people past and present that nobody’s ever heard of – the people whose faith is known to God alone. In the words of the charming hymn that I’m sure some of you know: These are the saints we can meet “in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
The truth is there’s not much difference between the big S and small S saints. The saints are people who have glimpsed Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God. The saints are people who recognize that if we are to build the kingdom of God then, in the words of today’s reading from Ephesians, we need “to set our hope on Christ.”
In today’s gospel lesson we heard Luke’s account of the Beatitudes – Jesus’ clearest and most challenging expression of his vision of the kingdom of God.
Most scholars think that Luke’s very concrete, here and now version is closer to what Jesus actually said than Matthew who softens it a bit by making Jesus’ vision seem abstract, impersonal and spiritual.
In Matthew, Jesus says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
But in Luke’s more concrete, more economic and social, more here and now version Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.”
The saints, past and present, set their hope in Christ because it takes hope and faith in Christ to imagine how we can build the kingdom of God here and now – to build the kingdom for the poor, to build the kingdom where the hungry will be fed, to build the kingdom where the millions of people all around the world who weep from grief will laugh with joy.
It’s a big and tough job to build the kingdom of God right here and now. But, it’s a job for flawed human beings just like us – and definitely not a job for a statue. It’s a big and tough job to turn Jesus’ vision of the kingdom into a physical reality right here in Gainesville, right here in America, right here on earth.
To do that job first we need to set our hope on Christ. And then Jesus tells us very clearly how we can do this big and tough job of building the kingdom of God – though we may not like what he has to say.
To build the kingdom of God, right here and now Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
Dorothy Day was born into a religiously indifferent Episcopalian family in the late 19th Century. As a young woman she was inspired and angered by the poverty and suffering that she saw all around her. She got involved in radical politics but thought Christianity was irrelevant nonsense.
And, like all of us, Dorothy was scarred by sin. In her case, she was haunted by an extramarital affair and a resulting abortion.
Yet, God was able to use this imperfect, flesh and blood human being to help build the kingdom. After several powerful experiences, including the birth of her daughter, Dorothy was able to glimpse Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God and work to make it a reality here on earth. After her conversion, she not only fed the poor but asked the uncomfortable question of why there was so much poverty in a country that’s so rich. She lived in voluntary poverty, wearing donated clothing and living in community in New York’s Lower East Side. She angered people by preaching and practicing total nonviolence.
Dorothy Day set her hope on Christ and then, with God’s help, went about building the kingdom of God right here on earth.
And, each in our own way, that’s the work you and I are called to. With God’s help, we are called to be saints – whether big S or small S is up to God.
Building the kingdom of God here on earth, right here in Gainesville, is a big job. It’s a job not for statues but for flawed and scarred flesh and blood human beings who set their hope on Christ. It’s a job, with God’s help, for people just like us.
Saints aren’t statues, so together we can say the words of the hymn, “The saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
Amen.
Saints Are Not Statues!
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
November 7, 2010
Year C: All Saints’ Sunday
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Psalm 149
Ephesians 1:11-23
Luke 6:20-31
Saints Are Not Statues!
A week and a half ago I had the pleasure of leading my first chapel service for the children and teachers of our day school. I have to tell you it was a blast. The 62 children all clearly love being part of our school, where they are very much loved and cared for by their teachers.
Those of us who aren’t around here during the week can forget the school is even back there. But, I’ve discovered that the day school is a big part of why St. Michael’s is such a special place. In the coming months, my hope is that we can find ways to bring the church and our school even closer together. As I said to Kelly Pence, the head of school, “We’re in this together – we are you and you are us.”
Anyway, when I was planning the chapel service I thought I would talk about Halloween and how it’s connected to the following day, All Saints’ Day – you know, the day when we’ve already eaten all the candy we really like and now we’re starting to get to the bottom of the bag.
So, I began by asking the children if any of them could tell me what a saint is.
Most of them looked around or down at the floor, unsure and maybe a little nervous that I’d call on them and put them on the spot.
But two children raised their hands with what looked like some confidence.
I called on the first and he struggled to put his answer into words. Finally, he stretched out his arms and said, “They’re made out of stone and they stand like this.”
And then the other one chimed in, “Yeah, they’re statues!”
The teachers chuckled and the other kids looked confused and I wondered how to explain all of this to children ranging in age from three to six…
As I thought about this exchange later on, though, I realized that these kids were on to something. Even we adults think of the saints as statues. We think of them as these impossibly perfect figures who were and are forever frozen in positions of prayer and piety.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings who faced many of the same challenges, obstacles, and temptations that we do.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings whose lives were scarred by sin and whose hearts were broken by disappointment.
Dorothy Day, one of the founders of the Catholic Worker movement during the last century once said, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”
All too often we think of the saints as statues – and dismiss them almost as if they weren’t quite real.
So, if the saints aren’t statues, what exactly are they?
Well, as the rector in my previous parish used to say, there are big S and small S saints.
The big S saints are famous Christians who’ve been formally honored. You’ll appreciate the irony that there is a movement underway to have Dorothy Day formally canonized as a saint in the Roman Catholic Church. Some people who revere her rightly worry that she’s on her way to being as easily dismissed as a statue!
On the other hand, the little S saints are people past and present that nobody’s ever heard of – the people whose faith is known to God alone. In the words of the charming hymn that I’m sure some of you know: These are the saints we can meet “in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
The truth is there’s not much difference between the big S and small S saints. The saints are people who have glimpsed Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God. The saints are people who recognize that if we are to build the kingdom of God then, in the words of today’s reading from Ephesians, we need “to set our hope on Christ.”
In today’s gospel lesson we heard Luke’s account of the Beatitudes – Jesus’ clearest and most challenging expression of his vision of the kingdom of God.
Most scholars think that Luke’s very concrete, here and now version is closer to what Jesus actually said than Matthew who softens it a bit by making Jesus’ vision seem abstract, impersonal and spiritual.
In Matthew, Jesus says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
But in Luke’s more concrete, more economic and social, more here and now version Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.”
The saints, past and present, set their hope in Christ because it takes hope and faith in Christ to imagine how we can build the kingdom of God here and now – to build the kingdom for the poor, to build the kingdom where the hungry will be fed, to build the kingdom where the millions of people all around the world who weep from grief will laugh with joy.
It’s a big and tough job to build the kingdom of God right here and now. But, it’s a job for flawed human beings just like us – and definitely not a job for a statue. It’s a big and tough job to turn Jesus’ vision of the kingdom into a physical reality right here in Gainesville, right here in America, right here on earth.
To do that job first we need to set our hope on Christ. And then Jesus tells us very clearly how we can do this big and tough job of building the kingdom of God – though we may not like what he has to say.
To build the kingdom of God, right here and now Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
Dorothy Day was born into a religiously indifferent Episcopalian family in the late 19th Century. As a young woman she was inspired and angered by the poverty and suffering that she saw all around her. She got involved in radical politics but thought Christianity was irrelevant nonsense.
And, like all of us, Dorothy was scarred by sin. In her case, she was haunted by an extramarital affair and a resulting abortion.
Yet, God was able to use this imperfect, flesh and blood human being to help build the kingdom. After several powerful experiences, including the birth of her daughter, Dorothy was able to glimpse Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God and work to make it a reality here on earth. After her conversion, she not only fed the poor but asked the uncomfortable question of why there was so much poverty in a country that’s so rich. She lived in voluntary poverty, wearing donated clothing and living in community in New York’s Lower East Side. She angered people by preaching and practicing total nonviolence.
Dorothy Day set her hope on Christ and then, with God’s help, went about building the kingdom of God right here on earth.
And, each in our own way, that’s the work you and I are called to. With God’s help, we are called to be saints – whether big S or small S is up to God.
Building the kingdom of God here on earth, right here in Gainesville, is a big job. It’s a job not for statues but for flawed and scarred flesh and blood human beings who set their hope on Christ. It’s a job, with God’s help, for people just like us.
Saints aren’t statues, so together we can say the words of the hymn, “The saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
Amen.
November 7, 2010
Year C: All Saints’ Sunday
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Psalm 149
Ephesians 1:11-23
Luke 6:20-31
Saints Are Not Statues!
A week and a half ago I had the pleasure of leading my first chapel service for the children and teachers of our day school. I have to tell you it was a blast. The 62 children all clearly love being part of our school, where they are very much loved and cared for by their teachers.
Those of us who aren’t around here during the week can forget the school is even back there. But, I’ve discovered that the day school is a big part of why St. Michael’s is such a special place. In the coming months, my hope is that we can find ways to bring the church and our school even closer together. As I said to Kelly Pence, the head of school, “We’re in this together – we are you and you are us.”
Anyway, when I was planning the chapel service I thought I would talk about Halloween and how it’s connected to the following day, All Saints’ Day – you know, the day when we’ve already eaten all the candy we really like and now we’re starting to get to the bottom of the bag.
So, I began by asking the children if any of them could tell me what a saint is.
Most of them looked around or down at the floor, unsure and maybe a little nervous that I’d call on them and put them on the spot.
But two children raised their hands with what looked like some confidence.
I called on the first and he struggled to put his answer into words. Finally, he stretched out his arms and said, “They’re made out of stone and they stand like this.”
And then the other one chimed in, “Yeah, they’re statues!”
The teachers chuckled and the other kids looked confused and I wondered how to explain all of this to children ranging in age from three to six…
As I thought about this exchange later on, though, I realized that these kids were on to something. Even we adults think of the saints as statues. We think of them as these impossibly perfect figures who were and are forever frozen in positions of prayer and piety.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings who faced many of the same challenges, obstacles, and temptations that we do.
All too often we think of the saints as statues and not as flesh and blood human beings whose lives were scarred by sin and whose hearts were broken by disappointment.
Dorothy Day, one of the founders of the Catholic Worker movement during the last century once said, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”
All too often we think of the saints as statues – and dismiss them almost as if they weren’t quite real.
So, if the saints aren’t statues, what exactly are they?
Well, as the rector in my previous parish used to say, there are big S and small S saints.
The big S saints are famous Christians who’ve been formally honored. You’ll appreciate the irony that there is a movement underway to have Dorothy Day formally canonized as a saint in the Roman Catholic Church. Some people who revere her rightly worry that she’s on her way to being as easily dismissed as a statue!
On the other hand, the little S saints are people past and present that nobody’s ever heard of – the people whose faith is known to God alone. In the words of the charming hymn that I’m sure some of you know: These are the saints we can meet “in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
The truth is there’s not much difference between the big S and small S saints. The saints are people who have glimpsed Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God. The saints are people who recognize that if we are to build the kingdom of God then, in the words of today’s reading from Ephesians, we need “to set our hope on Christ.”
In today’s gospel lesson we heard Luke’s account of the Beatitudes – Jesus’ clearest and most challenging expression of his vision of the kingdom of God.
Most scholars think that Luke’s very concrete, here and now version is closer to what Jesus actually said than Matthew who softens it a bit by making Jesus’ vision seem abstract, impersonal and spiritual.
In Matthew, Jesus says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
But in Luke’s more concrete, more economic and social, more here and now version Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.”
The saints, past and present, set their hope in Christ because it takes hope and faith in Christ to imagine how we can build the kingdom of God here and now – to build the kingdom for the poor, to build the kingdom where the hungry will be fed, to build the kingdom where the millions of people all around the world who weep from grief will laugh with joy.
It’s a big and tough job to build the kingdom of God right here and now. But, it’s a job for flawed human beings just like us – and definitely not a job for a statue. It’s a big and tough job to turn Jesus’ vision of the kingdom into a physical reality right here in Gainesville, right here in America, right here on earth.
To do that job first we need to set our hope on Christ. And then Jesus tells us very clearly how we can do this big and tough job of building the kingdom of God – though we may not like what he has to say.
To build the kingdom of God, right here and now Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.”
Hmm. How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
To build the kingdom of God right here and now Jesus says, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
How does that sound? Do we still want to be saints?
Dorothy Day was born into a religiously indifferent Episcopalian family in the late 19th Century. As a young woman she was inspired and angered by the poverty and suffering that she saw all around her. She got involved in radical politics but thought Christianity was irrelevant nonsense.
And, like all of us, Dorothy was scarred by sin. In her case, she was haunted by an extramarital affair and a resulting abortion.
Yet, God was able to use this imperfect, flesh and blood human being to help build the kingdom. After several powerful experiences, including the birth of her daughter, Dorothy was able to glimpse Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God and work to make it a reality here on earth. After her conversion, she not only fed the poor but asked the uncomfortable question of why there was so much poverty in a country that’s so rich. She lived in voluntary poverty, wearing donated clothing and living in community in New York’s Lower East Side. She angered people by preaching and practicing total nonviolence.
Dorothy Day set her hope on Christ and then, with God’s help, went about building the kingdom of God right here on earth.
And, each in our own way, that’s the work you and I are called to. With God’s help, we are called to be saints – whether big S or small S is up to God.
Building the kingdom of God here on earth, right here in Gainesville, is a big job. It’s a job not for statues but for flawed and scarred flesh and blood human beings who set their hope on Christ. It’s a job, with God’s help, for people just like us.
Saints aren’t statues, so together we can say the words of the hymn, “The saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
