1. Children’s Sermon
It’s time! [Holding up a large clock], well, what time is it? [Children say what time the clock says.] And what day is it? [Children say, “It’s Christmas Eve!”] Yes, it’s Christmas Eve. For twenty-four long days, we’ve been waiting for Christmas. We’ve been watching and waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes less patiently. We’ve been opening or reading our Advent calendars one day at a time. Most of the time we’ve been nice to each other – and to strangers too – but sometimes we’ve gotten tired and cranky, maybe even disappointed, worried, or angry. We’ve watched – and helped – as the house got cleaned and decorated, the Christmas tree was bought or unpacked and then decorated. Maybe someone in your house baked or bought special cookies, or cakes, or pies. Maybe you’ve been preparing for a special Christmas dinner. Maybe you have plans to visit or talk with distant relatives.
All this preparation for Christmas! And now all the preparation is finished, and the time has finally come! The presents have been bought, wrapped, and put under the tree. Now the time has finally come! Jesus is finally here! Jesus has been born and is lying in the stable with his mother and father and all the animals. Finally, after all the waiting, we can celebrate again that Jesus was born. We can celebrate again our faith that Jesus continues to come to us today, tomorrow, and all the days of our lives. We can celebrate again our faith that when Jesus comes he changes our lives. We can celebrate again that God is with us tonight and is always with us. So what are some of the things you see in this church that remind you that Jesus is always with us? [Let children mention a few things: e.g., the crèche, the cross, the Jesus window, the Bible, even the hymnals.] That’s really good. Now I have a special job for you. I’m going to talk to the adults for a bit. While I’m doing that, I want you to give these out papers and these treats to the adults. Can you do that? [Children pass out candy and invitations to “Come celebrate the birth of Jesus!”]
2. Adult sermon
The time has come! The time has come to savor again the joyous, mysterious message of Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth. The story starts in chronos, historical time: “when Quirinius was governor of Syria.” This was a time when an emperor could force all his subjects to travel in order to respond to the census-takers’ demands. Joseph and a very pregnant Mary, even travelling in caravan, would have needed at least a week to comply with this demand. This was a time when Roman rule was and continued to be oppressive and hated by all those subject to it. This was a time when one of the emperor’s puppets would order the murder of all boys under two years old in Jerusalem. This was a time of subjugation, capital punishment, war, conquest, destruction, and even natural disaster. This was a time of darkness.
Is our time any different? We too live in a time of war – unending so it seems in Afghanistan, with precious little to show for it but soldiers’ deaths and wasted taxpayer dollars. We too live in a time of climate change and natural disasters. Have we already forgotten the devastation and destruction wrought by Hurricane Sandy? We too live in a time of glaring social inequality, not only between countries, but also even within this country. The poor are still very much with us. We too live in a time of horrific violence, when innocent children and teachers can be gunned down in their classrooms. We too find ourselves stunned by the often unexpected deaths of those we love. We may feel – with justification – that we too live in a time of darkness.
Yet, in the midst of the historic darkness of Luke’s story, something happened. A birth took place, a birth that was scarcely noticed. I’m reminded of a carol we’ll sing in our Lessons and Carols service o Sunday. It’s one of my favorites, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” It was written in the nineteenth century by Episcopal bishop Philips Brooks. “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given,” the carol says of Jesus’ birth. It wasn’t that Mary didn’t shout with the pain of her labor, that the midwife didn’t offer comforting words, that Jesus didn’t cry when he was finally born, or that the animals didn’t low and moo with all the commotion in the stable. Rather, in that corner of conquered Judea, Jesus’ birth didn’t make any “noise.” It went virtually unnoticed. Jesus was just another child born to poor parents in a backwater village of the empire. No one important knew about it. No royal birth announcements were sent out.
And yet here is the good news: this birth changed the world forever. Into a dark world came a burst of light, as angels made an astounding announcement – not to Augustus or any other powerful person, but to poor, ragged, dirty, despised shepherds. The angels announced to the shepherds that in the old, dark world this birth had set in motion a new kind of time, Kairos, God’s time. The angels announced that in a stable in Bethlehem God had entered history today, that a savior, a messiah, God’s anointed one, had been born. And although the birth was as yet unnoticed, the angels’ announcement of it was nonetheless a proclamation of good news for all people, an assurance that the old dark time had come to an end, and that God’s good time had begun. And what of those poor, ragged shepherds? Naturally, at first they were afraid. But once they understood what the angels were telling them, they leapt up to see this child for themselves. And when they saw him, they were full of joy, singing out their praise of God.
This is the good news that we too are invited to share. This birth, this change from historic time to God’s time is good news for us too. Because of this birth, we too can hear the angel of the Lord say, “Do not be afraid.” Because of this birth, we too can let go of our fears. Because of the one who was born this day, we too can be joyful. We too can trust that darkness does not have the last word. We too can trust that war, destruction, subjugation, violence, natural disaster, and untimely death have been overcome and transformed by the one born this day. We too can have faith that God continues to come to us, transforming and changing us, as we live into the joyful reality of this birth in our own lives. We too can wait with hope for the final realization of the time ushered in with Jesus’ birth, God’s time, a time when all people will live in peace, freedom, abundance, and justice under Jesus’ most gracious reign.
This then is the holy mystery we have all come to celebrate tonight: that time itself was forever changed that holy night, that that silent birth forever transforms us, and that as Jesus’ disciples we already live our lives on a new and different plane. Because of that holy birth, we too can “sing to the Lord a new song.” We too can sing with all our hearts, “Joy to the world, the Lord is come.”
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Rejoice!
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.” Joy. Is that an emotion that most of us know well? How often do you feel joy? Not fleeting pleasure, but deep, overwhelming, abiding joy? Did you feel joy at the altar when you exchanged vows with your beloved? Did the mothers among you feel it when that tiny newborn was finally placed in your arms? Did you feel joy when your received the diagnosis you had hoped for or the degree you’d worked so hard for? When a friend or relative warmly embraced you after a long absence? When you finally turned your life around or got free of addiction to alcohol or drugs? Some of us clergy felt deep joy when the bishop and all the other priests laid hands on us in ordination. Do you ever feel joy in worship? Has God ever touched you in the middle of a hymn or at the altar? Do you even ever expect to feel joy? Or are you resigned to gray, low-key emotions?
In fact, right now Paul’s command to the Philippian Christians may seem almost impossible. Rejoice, you say?? Gracious and holy God, how can I rejoice? How can I rejoice when a man can walk into an elementary school and strike down teachers, staff, even children? “Our hearts are broken today,” said President Obama. And how can I rejoice when another gunman, someone whom neighbors described as a kind person, can open fire on Christmas shoppers in a crowded mall? How can I rejoice when someone – as yet unknown – can shoot at a car as it travels through a neighborhood intersection in Columbus? Dear God, when will this country, or even this state, have a sane gun policy and keep assault weapons out of the hands of all but law enforcement and military personnel? And how can I rejoice when people are still dying in Syria or eking out their lives in refugee camps? How can I rejoice when those whose homes, stores, and churches were destroyed by Hurricane Sandy are still wondering when, or even if, they will return to anything resembling normal life? Christmas may be only eight days away, but my heart is anything but merry.
The hearers of all of today’s Scripture texts would have understood my feelings. They too could have been excused for not feeling joyful. The prophet Zephaniah, the writer of our first lesson, was active during the latter half of the seventh century B.C, a time when the kingdom of Assyria controlled Judah and the surrounding countries. And it was a most desperate time. As the prophet warns his hearers in the first chapter of the book, “The great day of the Lord is near, near and hastening fast; the sound of the day of the Lord is bitter, the warrior cries aloud there. That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of ruin and devastation, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of trumpet blast and battle cry against the fortified cities and against the lofty battlements” (1:14-16). Over and over again the prophet reminds his hearers that they are reaping the consequences of their own sins, and that it is God’s judgment on their faithlessness that has brought the foreign rule they find so oppressive, and that has caused them such deep misery.
Those who heard the preaching of John the Immerser were also miserable. Their tiny country was under the thumb of the hated Roman Empire. They routinely endured harassment at the hands of Roman soldiers. They faced extortion and abuse from members of their own community who collaborated with the Romans in an oppressive tax collection system. The elaborate system of required purification and the expense associated with sacrificial animals kept temple worship out of the reach of those who were peasants and artisans. Prophets had been silent for more than a century. No wonder John the Immerser’s offer of a baptism of repentance attracted so many people. No wonder people began to whisper to each other, “Could he be the one to finally deliver us? Could this be God’s anointed one?”
Paul ought to have been the most miserable of all! When he wrote to the Christian community at Philippi, Paul was in prison, most likely in Rome awaiting trial and possibly a death sentence. He couldn’t be sure that the Christian communities he had helped to found would survive his death. How could he have been so upbeat? What reason did he have to rejoice – or to tell others to rejoice?
And yet. And yet there is a profound sense of joy in all these lessons. God’s condemnation of Judah’s faithlessness is not God’s last word to Zephaniah or his hearers. Even in the midst of national disaster God takes the long view, as God commands the Judeans to sing and shout for joy. God promises forgiveness and declares that God himself will rejoice over the restoration of Jerusalem: “he will rejoice over you with gladness,” the prophet sings, “he will renew you in his love; he will exult over you with loud singing as on a day of festival.”
John’s message too is “good news.” Good news? Even though John called people who came to be baptized by him a colony of snakes, they were eager for his teaching. They flocked to hear him tell them not only to talk the talk, but to walk the walk and to turn their lives around in very concrete ways: the wealthy should share their possessions with the needy, the tax collectors should collect only the taxes that were actually due, and the soldiers should give up harassment and abuse. Most important, John also held out a promise to his hearers. John declared that he was only a warm-up act, that God was not only calling them to repentance, God would, through Jesus and the power that Jesus brought to them, enable them actually to make real change in their lives. God was even now, John declared, fulfilling God’s promises to God’s people.
In the midst of real turmoil, in the midst of captivity, destruction, and death, Paul is moved to prayer. As he prays he meditates on the community he has brought into being and understands himself united in Jesus in his suffering. Pressing on towards his goal of union with Jesus, he exhorts his hearers also to rejoice in Jesus’ victory and to pray. True joy, he reminds them, lies in realizing that Christ is now always near to us, with us in all our uncertainties and struggles, and that God is always ready to hear all that we ask for, whether it be for our families, for the victims of violence, or for our nation.
So where do we find true joy in our world? With cultural Christmas in high gear out there, with such stark reminders as we’ve had this week of the human capacity for violence and evil, how can we follow Paul’s exhortation to the Philippians and feel any joy at all? First of all, let me invite you to slow down. Stay here in this sanctuary a minute or two longer. Leave outside for a minute or two the chains of cultural Christmas, the grief and the mourning, and just breathe. Open yourselves to the possibility that God might come to you, that God and God’s prophets will call you to look at your life in a new way, and that God might enable you to make real changes in your life. Be patient a while longer, and let God nourish you. Stay in this oasis, this place from which all our celebration and service flows, and let God speak to you. Listen carefully as God reminds you that, in Christ, you and all God’s children are beloved. Receive God’s gifts to you, gifts that will last a lifetime: gentleness, contentment, thanksgiving, peace, and joy. And then thank God for calling us into covenant with God and for promising us restoration and renewal, for providing us with prophets, teachers, helpers, and friends who help us to experience renewal in our own lives, and for promising us that, when we are open to his presence, Christ is always with us.
Although this weekend our hearts grieve with all those in Oregon, in Connecticut, in Syria, and wherever there is violence in the world, yet we hear and accept God’s promise of joy. As we wait for God to fulfill God’s promises, we pray, in the words of Henri Nouwen,
Lord Jesus, master of both the light and the darkness, send your Holy Spirit upon our preparations for Christmas.
We who have so much to do seek quiet spaces to hear your voice each day.
We who are anxious over many things look forward to your coming among us.
We who are blessed in so many ways long for the complete joy of your kingdom.
We whose hearts are heavy seek the joy of your presence.
We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light.
To you we say, “Come, Lord Jesus!” Amen.
In fact, right now Paul’s command to the Philippian Christians may seem almost impossible. Rejoice, you say?? Gracious and holy God, how can I rejoice? How can I rejoice when a man can walk into an elementary school and strike down teachers, staff, even children? “Our hearts are broken today,” said President Obama. And how can I rejoice when another gunman, someone whom neighbors described as a kind person, can open fire on Christmas shoppers in a crowded mall? How can I rejoice when someone – as yet unknown – can shoot at a car as it travels through a neighborhood intersection in Columbus? Dear God, when will this country, or even this state, have a sane gun policy and keep assault weapons out of the hands of all but law enforcement and military personnel? And how can I rejoice when people are still dying in Syria or eking out their lives in refugee camps? How can I rejoice when those whose homes, stores, and churches were destroyed by Hurricane Sandy are still wondering when, or even if, they will return to anything resembling normal life? Christmas may be only eight days away, but my heart is anything but merry.
The hearers of all of today’s Scripture texts would have understood my feelings. They too could have been excused for not feeling joyful. The prophet Zephaniah, the writer of our first lesson, was active during the latter half of the seventh century B.C, a time when the kingdom of Assyria controlled Judah and the surrounding countries. And it was a most desperate time. As the prophet warns his hearers in the first chapter of the book, “The great day of the Lord is near, near and hastening fast; the sound of the day of the Lord is bitter, the warrior cries aloud there. That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of ruin and devastation, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of trumpet blast and battle cry against the fortified cities and against the lofty battlements” (1:14-16). Over and over again the prophet reminds his hearers that they are reaping the consequences of their own sins, and that it is God’s judgment on their faithlessness that has brought the foreign rule they find so oppressive, and that has caused them such deep misery.
Those who heard the preaching of John the Immerser were also miserable. Their tiny country was under the thumb of the hated Roman Empire. They routinely endured harassment at the hands of Roman soldiers. They faced extortion and abuse from members of their own community who collaborated with the Romans in an oppressive tax collection system. The elaborate system of required purification and the expense associated with sacrificial animals kept temple worship out of the reach of those who were peasants and artisans. Prophets had been silent for more than a century. No wonder John the Immerser’s offer of a baptism of repentance attracted so many people. No wonder people began to whisper to each other, “Could he be the one to finally deliver us? Could this be God’s anointed one?”
Paul ought to have been the most miserable of all! When he wrote to the Christian community at Philippi, Paul was in prison, most likely in Rome awaiting trial and possibly a death sentence. He couldn’t be sure that the Christian communities he had helped to found would survive his death. How could he have been so upbeat? What reason did he have to rejoice – or to tell others to rejoice?
And yet. And yet there is a profound sense of joy in all these lessons. God’s condemnation of Judah’s faithlessness is not God’s last word to Zephaniah or his hearers. Even in the midst of national disaster God takes the long view, as God commands the Judeans to sing and shout for joy. God promises forgiveness and declares that God himself will rejoice over the restoration of Jerusalem: “he will rejoice over you with gladness,” the prophet sings, “he will renew you in his love; he will exult over you with loud singing as on a day of festival.”
John’s message too is “good news.” Good news? Even though John called people who came to be baptized by him a colony of snakes, they were eager for his teaching. They flocked to hear him tell them not only to talk the talk, but to walk the walk and to turn their lives around in very concrete ways: the wealthy should share their possessions with the needy, the tax collectors should collect only the taxes that were actually due, and the soldiers should give up harassment and abuse. Most important, John also held out a promise to his hearers. John declared that he was only a warm-up act, that God was not only calling them to repentance, God would, through Jesus and the power that Jesus brought to them, enable them actually to make real change in their lives. God was even now, John declared, fulfilling God’s promises to God’s people.
In the midst of real turmoil, in the midst of captivity, destruction, and death, Paul is moved to prayer. As he prays he meditates on the community he has brought into being and understands himself united in Jesus in his suffering. Pressing on towards his goal of union with Jesus, he exhorts his hearers also to rejoice in Jesus’ victory and to pray. True joy, he reminds them, lies in realizing that Christ is now always near to us, with us in all our uncertainties and struggles, and that God is always ready to hear all that we ask for, whether it be for our families, for the victims of violence, or for our nation.
So where do we find true joy in our world? With cultural Christmas in high gear out there, with such stark reminders as we’ve had this week of the human capacity for violence and evil, how can we follow Paul’s exhortation to the Philippians and feel any joy at all? First of all, let me invite you to slow down. Stay here in this sanctuary a minute or two longer. Leave outside for a minute or two the chains of cultural Christmas, the grief and the mourning, and just breathe. Open yourselves to the possibility that God might come to you, that God and God’s prophets will call you to look at your life in a new way, and that God might enable you to make real changes in your life. Be patient a while longer, and let God nourish you. Stay in this oasis, this place from which all our celebration and service flows, and let God speak to you. Listen carefully as God reminds you that, in Christ, you and all God’s children are beloved. Receive God’s gifts to you, gifts that will last a lifetime: gentleness, contentment, thanksgiving, peace, and joy. And then thank God for calling us into covenant with God and for promising us restoration and renewal, for providing us with prophets, teachers, helpers, and friends who help us to experience renewal in our own lives, and for promising us that, when we are open to his presence, Christ is always with us.
Although this weekend our hearts grieve with all those in Oregon, in Connecticut, in Syria, and wherever there is violence in the world, yet we hear and accept God’s promise of joy. As we wait for God to fulfill God’s promises, we pray, in the words of Henri Nouwen,
Lord Jesus, master of both the light and the darkness, send your Holy Spirit upon our preparations for Christmas.
We who have so much to do seek quiet spaces to hear your voice each day.
We who are anxious over many things look forward to your coming among us.
We who are blessed in so many ways long for the complete joy of your kingdom.
We whose hearts are heavy seek the joy of your presence.
We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light.
To you we say, “Come, Lord Jesus!” Amen.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Garments of Hope
Who are you wearing? Which designer is “you?” And, more to the point, what message do your clothes proclaim? It wasn’t so long ago that women would not have dared to come through the red doors of St. Peter’s or any Episcopal church without a hat and gloves, and men without a jacket and tie – the hat, of course, coming off at the door. What did our clothes then proclaim? Status, comfort, and wealth? In the 1970s, professional women were advised to “dress for success.” That dark skirted suit, worn with a light-colored blouse with a bow-tie collar, we were told, would surely proclaim our professionalism to our colleagues. In our laid-back culture today, does anyone still dress to impress? They do, at least in Hollywood. Every year at the Academy Awards program, the media declare the losers and winners in what the website Moviefone calls “the Super Bowl of movie star fashion.” The Moviefone writers ask, “Who sparkled? Who missed the mark?” Then they warn us that, “from stylish first-time nominees … to some of Oscars hottest couples … we've got glowing praise and brutally honest critiques for all of them.”1
Who are you wearing? On this second Sunday in Advent, the prophet Baruch poses this same question to all who are preparing to celebrate Jesus’ first coming, all who even now are seeing signs of his presence among us, and all who are waiting in hope for his return. Unless you go to an Easter Vigil service or perhaps a service of Lessons and Carols for Advent, this is the only time in the three-year Revised Common Lectionary that you will hear from this prophet. Although this prophecy is ascribed to Jeremiah’s secretary Baruch and is addressed to those in exile in Babylon in the sixth century, the book of Baruch was probably written to second-century Jews who were suffering oppression at the hand of Greek rulers. Like the Babylonian exiles, like those who heard John the Baptist’s message two centuries later, and like us, those who heard the prophecies in the book of Baruch were desperately in need of words of hope. And so the prophet tells them, “Take off your widow’s weeds, your clothes proclaiming your grief and desolation. Put on a robe and a crown, the clothes of a monarch, the clothes that proclaim hope.” Addressing the city of Jerusalem directly, the prophet proclaims the fulfillment of God’s promises, and the restoration and rebuilding of Israel. To complete the message of hope, to underscore why the people dare put on the clothing of hope, the prophet declares that God will change and restore all creation, bringing all Israel to that place of exultation and joy in the mighty acts of God.
We hear Baruch’s message of hope reiterated in Luke’s description of Jesus’ cousin John the Baptist. As you know, we are hearing the story out of order. When John comes out of the desert, Jesus is an adult, the much cherished nativity scenes well behind us. Indeed, shortly after John’s proclamation here, Jesus will be baptized by John. Jesus will retreat himself to the wilderness for forty days and then begin his own public ministry. To prepare people for the coming of Jesus, the gospel writer tells us that John proclaims a message of “repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” But there’s more here than simply repentance, necessary as repentance might be. Using language borrowed from the prophet Isaiah and similar to that found in Baruch, the gospel reminds us that John’s message not only announces the coming of Jesus, it also offers us hope. In Isaiah’s language, originally addressed to those who are exiled in Babylon, John restates God’s promises of return, restoration, and the renewal of all creation. Most important, John proclaims that God’s promise of hope and restoration is intended for all – not just for those who happened to encounter the earthly Jesus.
Who is wearing the clothing of hope in our world? Whose clothing proclaims that God is at work, actively restoring God’s people and God’s creation? Who is working to rekindle hope among those whose situations seem hopeless? December 1st was World AIDS day. Two months ago, a woman named Esperança came to the health center in Cobue, a small village in a remote corner of Mozambique.2 There Episcopal Relief and Development partners with the Anglican Diocese of Niassa in running a comprehensive community health program called Salt, Light, Health. Esperança had faithfully taken her anti-retrovirus medications since she was first diagnosed with AIDS. Now she was unable to walk or sit up because of infected ulcers and bedsores and was clearly losing the battle. But Esperança lived up to her name. She had esperança, she had hope that was stronger than the bacteria that sought to defeat her. After working to clear her body of infection, clinic doctors gained approval from the national Ministry of Health to treat her with the scarce, more powerful “second-line” drugs. Though she had prepared herself for death, within a few days, Esperança was able to get up and walk. Soon thereafter she returned to joyful friends and family members who had been certain they would never see her again. The “Mother’s Union,” the local church women’s group, joyfully thanked God for her return. Esperança wouldn’t be alive today were it not for the support of all who cared for her, the availability of second-line medications, and the doctors and nurses at Salt, Light, Health. But, more than anything else, Esperança refused to wear the “garment of sorrow and affliction.” Instead, Esperança drew from her deep well of faith, courageously insisting on wearing the garment of hope. In surviving this latest assault of the AIDS virus she not only fulfilled her own hope, she also became a model of hope for others, among both her fellow AIDS sufferers and the Salt, Light, Health staff.
Who are we wearing? What message do our clothes proclaim? Do our clothes proclaim faith in God’s promises and hope for God’s restoration of our world? On Tuesday this week we took a different approach to the prayers of the people in the evening Eucharist. As some of you know, we put prayer request cards on the tables for Loaves and Fishes diners. There was a stack of them on my desk this week. I read them all, one by one, including those clearly written by children or barely legible. At the beginning of the Eucharist I passed out the prayer request cards to the people there. Instead of the set prayers of the people in the Book of Common Prayer we each in turn read out what was written on the cards. One person asked for prayers for someone newly diagnosed with cancer. Another prayed for a son just diagnosed with diabetes. “I had hoped to keep him from suffering as I have suffered,” the card said. Others asked prayers for someone with a hurt shoulder, someone needing dental work, or an uncle in jail. One prayed that the meager Christmas her resources allowed her to provide this year would not disappoint her family. Another thanked God for the healing of a spouse and asked prayers for upcoming surgery. I don’t know about what the others felt, but that evening I felt the weight of the world’s pain and grief more deeply than I had ever felt before. I also felt a deeper compassion for all those people who had opened their hearts to God and to us on those prayer cards. And I wondered: how can I, how can we rekindle their hope? How can we help clothe them with the garments of hope? How can we help them to share the promise of God’s restoration and renewal?
For, ultimately we are all called to be Baruch. We are all called to give God’s people a new hope and a new message: that they are to exchange the weeds of grief and despair for the robe of restoration and return. We are all called to be John the Baptist. We are all called to proclaim that God fulfills God’s promises. We are all called to proclaim that, “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.” We are called to rekindle hope in the world around us, in practical and concrete ways. We are called to look ahead to the final restoration of the world under Jesus’ reign. And we are called to proclaim that God’s promises are not meant for only a chosen few, but are ultimately given to all people.
What are you wearing? Are you wearing the garment of hope, restoration and return? Are you helping to rekindle hope in the world? As our worship ends this morning, we will sing “Fling wide your gates, O Zion; your Savior’s rule embrace. His tidings of salvation proclaim in every place.” With Baruch, with John the Baptist, with Esperança, may we too put on the garments of hope and wearing them may we proclaim glad tidings in our world.
1. Moviefone, http://news.moviefone.com/2012/02/26/oscars-2012-best-worst-dressed_n_1302709.html, accessed December 7, 2012.
2. Rebecca J. Vander Meulen, “World AIDS Day 2012: Esperança ’s Esperança,” Episcopal Relief and Development, November 30, 2012, accessed at http://blog.er-d.org/, December 7, 2012. The rest of Esperança’s story is based on this blog post.
Who are you wearing? On this second Sunday in Advent, the prophet Baruch poses this same question to all who are preparing to celebrate Jesus’ first coming, all who even now are seeing signs of his presence among us, and all who are waiting in hope for his return. Unless you go to an Easter Vigil service or perhaps a service of Lessons and Carols for Advent, this is the only time in the three-year Revised Common Lectionary that you will hear from this prophet. Although this prophecy is ascribed to Jeremiah’s secretary Baruch and is addressed to those in exile in Babylon in the sixth century, the book of Baruch was probably written to second-century Jews who were suffering oppression at the hand of Greek rulers. Like the Babylonian exiles, like those who heard John the Baptist’s message two centuries later, and like us, those who heard the prophecies in the book of Baruch were desperately in need of words of hope. And so the prophet tells them, “Take off your widow’s weeds, your clothes proclaiming your grief and desolation. Put on a robe and a crown, the clothes of a monarch, the clothes that proclaim hope.” Addressing the city of Jerusalem directly, the prophet proclaims the fulfillment of God’s promises, and the restoration and rebuilding of Israel. To complete the message of hope, to underscore why the people dare put on the clothing of hope, the prophet declares that God will change and restore all creation, bringing all Israel to that place of exultation and joy in the mighty acts of God.
We hear Baruch’s message of hope reiterated in Luke’s description of Jesus’ cousin John the Baptist. As you know, we are hearing the story out of order. When John comes out of the desert, Jesus is an adult, the much cherished nativity scenes well behind us. Indeed, shortly after John’s proclamation here, Jesus will be baptized by John. Jesus will retreat himself to the wilderness for forty days and then begin his own public ministry. To prepare people for the coming of Jesus, the gospel writer tells us that John proclaims a message of “repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” But there’s more here than simply repentance, necessary as repentance might be. Using language borrowed from the prophet Isaiah and similar to that found in Baruch, the gospel reminds us that John’s message not only announces the coming of Jesus, it also offers us hope. In Isaiah’s language, originally addressed to those who are exiled in Babylon, John restates God’s promises of return, restoration, and the renewal of all creation. Most important, John proclaims that God’s promise of hope and restoration is intended for all – not just for those who happened to encounter the earthly Jesus.
Who is wearing the clothing of hope in our world? Whose clothing proclaims that God is at work, actively restoring God’s people and God’s creation? Who is working to rekindle hope among those whose situations seem hopeless? December 1st was World AIDS day. Two months ago, a woman named Esperança came to the health center in Cobue, a small village in a remote corner of Mozambique.2 There Episcopal Relief and Development partners with the Anglican Diocese of Niassa in running a comprehensive community health program called Salt, Light, Health. Esperança had faithfully taken her anti-retrovirus medications since she was first diagnosed with AIDS. Now she was unable to walk or sit up because of infected ulcers and bedsores and was clearly losing the battle. But Esperança lived up to her name. She had esperança, she had hope that was stronger than the bacteria that sought to defeat her. After working to clear her body of infection, clinic doctors gained approval from the national Ministry of Health to treat her with the scarce, more powerful “second-line” drugs. Though she had prepared herself for death, within a few days, Esperança was able to get up and walk. Soon thereafter she returned to joyful friends and family members who had been certain they would never see her again. The “Mother’s Union,” the local church women’s group, joyfully thanked God for her return. Esperança wouldn’t be alive today were it not for the support of all who cared for her, the availability of second-line medications, and the doctors and nurses at Salt, Light, Health. But, more than anything else, Esperança refused to wear the “garment of sorrow and affliction.” Instead, Esperança drew from her deep well of faith, courageously insisting on wearing the garment of hope. In surviving this latest assault of the AIDS virus she not only fulfilled her own hope, she also became a model of hope for others, among both her fellow AIDS sufferers and the Salt, Light, Health staff.
Who are we wearing? What message do our clothes proclaim? Do our clothes proclaim faith in God’s promises and hope for God’s restoration of our world? On Tuesday this week we took a different approach to the prayers of the people in the evening Eucharist. As some of you know, we put prayer request cards on the tables for Loaves and Fishes diners. There was a stack of them on my desk this week. I read them all, one by one, including those clearly written by children or barely legible. At the beginning of the Eucharist I passed out the prayer request cards to the people there. Instead of the set prayers of the people in the Book of Common Prayer we each in turn read out what was written on the cards. One person asked for prayers for someone newly diagnosed with cancer. Another prayed for a son just diagnosed with diabetes. “I had hoped to keep him from suffering as I have suffered,” the card said. Others asked prayers for someone with a hurt shoulder, someone needing dental work, or an uncle in jail. One prayed that the meager Christmas her resources allowed her to provide this year would not disappoint her family. Another thanked God for the healing of a spouse and asked prayers for upcoming surgery. I don’t know about what the others felt, but that evening I felt the weight of the world’s pain and grief more deeply than I had ever felt before. I also felt a deeper compassion for all those people who had opened their hearts to God and to us on those prayer cards. And I wondered: how can I, how can we rekindle their hope? How can we help clothe them with the garments of hope? How can we help them to share the promise of God’s restoration and renewal?
For, ultimately we are all called to be Baruch. We are all called to give God’s people a new hope and a new message: that they are to exchange the weeds of grief and despair for the robe of restoration and return. We are all called to be John the Baptist. We are all called to proclaim that God fulfills God’s promises. We are all called to proclaim that, “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.” We are called to rekindle hope in the world around us, in practical and concrete ways. We are called to look ahead to the final restoration of the world under Jesus’ reign. And we are called to proclaim that God’s promises are not meant for only a chosen few, but are ultimately given to all people.
What are you wearing? Are you wearing the garment of hope, restoration and return? Are you helping to rekindle hope in the world? As our worship ends this morning, we will sing “Fling wide your gates, O Zion; your Savior’s rule embrace. His tidings of salvation proclaim in every place.” With Baruch, with John the Baptist, with Esperança, may we too put on the garments of hope and wearing them may we proclaim glad tidings in our world.
1. Moviefone, http://news.moviefone.com/2012/02/26/oscars-2012-best-worst-dressed_n_1302709.html, accessed December 7, 2012.
2. Rebecca J. Vander Meulen, “World AIDS Day 2012: Esperança ’s Esperança,” Episcopal Relief and Development, November 30, 2012, accessed at http://blog.er-d.org/, December 7, 2012. The rest of Esperança’s story is based on this blog post.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Strengthen Your Hearts in Holiness
Clunk, clunk, clunk! The thud of the chains of Marley’s ghost grew louder and louder, as Scrooge cringed in fear in his gloomy sitting room. The ghost roared at him, and Scrooge’s face contorted in terror. I love Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, especially the 1951 film version with veteran British actor Alastair Sim. Lionel Barrymore’s radio version, first broadcast in 1934, is also justly famous, as are the films starring George C. Scott and Albert Finney, and the many other adaptations of this beloved tale. Do you have a tradition of listening to it at least once during Advent? I do!
Do you remember the story? After the ghost of his dead partner Jacob Marley visits him, miserly, isolated Ebenezer Scrooge is led away from his dark chambers by three spirits. Through the eyes of the Spirit of Christmas Past, Scrooge revisits his earlier life. His eyes light up as he sees again the bountiful Christmas celebration presided over by his generous employer Mr. Fezziwig, and he ruefully shakes his head as he sees himself turn away his lovely fiancée in his pursuit of wealth. With the Ghost of Christmas Present, Scrooge sees with horror the desperate situation of the poor in nineteenth-century London. He notes with surprise that, despite their poverty and the frail health of their youngest child, Tiny Tim, the family of his much-abused clerk, Bob Cratchett, finds true joy sharing their meager Christmas feast. In an abrupt turn-about, the silent hooded Ghost of Christmas Future allows Scrooge to see the Cratchetts’ grief at the death of Tiny Tim and his own lonely unmourned death. In the most poignant scene of the story, Scrooge cries out, “Can these shadows be changed?” To his and our joy, the visions of the three Spirits leave Scrooge a changed man, and the shadows can and do change.
We have begun a new church year. It is the season of Advent. In Advent, like Scrooge, we too live in three time frames at once. We look to the past as we remember God’s promises to Israel. In our reading from the prophet Jeremiah, addressed to the community in exile from Jerusalem, we hear again God’s promise to rebuild Jerusalem and ultimately to establish a new reign of justice and righteousness. We also look to the past as we prepare to celebrate the first coming of Jesus, his birth at Bethlehem, and we ponder how God began to fulfill God’s promises in Jesus’ birth. We look to the present as we see God’s continual breaking into our world, confronting us, enlightening us, and enlarging us as individuals and as a community.
Most important, we look to the future. As we begin a new church year, we are reminded once again of the goal of all our lives as Jesus’ disciples. We are reminded that, just like the beleaguered community to whom Luke was writing, we too are heirs of God’s promises. Together with them, we too can look forward to the coming of the Kingdom of God. We too can catch glimpses of that time when oppressive political systems, war, famine, sickness, genocide, slavery, human trafficking, hatred, and environmental abuse will be no more, when creation will be renewed, and all people will live in peace. For us, as for Luke’s community, the apocalyptic language and images convey good news. For us, as for them, present catastrophes give us hope that the world is moving inexorably toward the coming reign of God. We, like them, are not overwhelmed or beaten down by the chaos in Syria, Egypt, Palestine, or Afghanistan, by the reality of AIDS – yesterday was World AIDS day – or the persistence of hunger and poverty in our midst, by homicides or natural disasters. We, like them, can stand up, raise our heads, and trust in God’s future and in God’s reign.
But we live in the middle time. We trust both that God initiated a radical transformation of the world in the first coming of Jesus, and that God will, in God’s own time, complete that transformation. “When will this be,” we too cry out in despair. All Jesus – or anyone – can answer is that the time is hidden in God. And so, we wait. Although Americans are not a patient people, nevertheless, as Jesus’ disciples we try to wait, with patience, and with hope. But we don’t wait passively. Along with those first disciples, we too are called to be alert and attentive. With Luke’s community we hear the call to live with our eyes focused on the signs that demonstrate God’s reign and to trust that Jesus’ redemption of the world will be completed. Along with the hearers of the letter to the fledgling Christian community at Thessalonica we hear the call to “abound in love for one another and for all” and to strengthen our Advent hearts in holiness. We hear the call to grow as disciples. We hear the call to worship regularly, deepen our own personal relationship with Jesus, and, most important, strengthen our own Christian community, so that it may truly be a community of love, and a witness to the world of Jesus’ power.
As we begin again our liturgical year, the church graciously gives us four weeks to ponder how we might live more deeply into God’s future. Would you like some concrete suggestions? Here are several. First, Jesus tells us to be alert for signs that God’s kingdom is near. I invite you to use these sheets to write down any signs you see this week that God’s kingdom is near. You can post them yourselves on the bulletin board or give them to me or Christina, and we’ll post them. I will summarize them in the e-news. As you begin looking for signs of God’s kingdom, you may be surprised at how often you actually catch glimpses of it.
Second, commit to even a few minutes daily reflection during Advent. If you have internet access subscribe to a set of daily reflections published by CREDO and available by email. If you would like them in hard copy, I can print them out for you. If you listen to podcasts, subscribe to the Advent podcasts of the Anglican Church of Canada. Hang up the Advent calendar map, look at it every day, and follow as many of its suggestions as you can. Or make your own advent wreath, using four candles and any circular candle holder. Light your candles, and then follow the suggestions in “Bringing the Kingdom of God closer,” in your bulletin insert.
Finally, I’d like to suggest something really radical. In a recent article in his Sojourners blog Evangelical social and political commentator Jim Wallis noted that Americans plan to spend more this Christmas season on consumer gifts than they did last year, but give less to charities and ministries that help the poor. Many say they are less likely to give a charitable gift as a holiday present. In response, Wallis suggested that we start what he is calling the “Christmas Tithe.” Here’s how it works. “Keep track of all your holiday spending for gifts this year, and then tithe a percentage of that amount to an organization that directly serves the poor. A tithe is traditionally 10 percent, but you could decide to do less or even more. But make a decision about your Christmas tithe and pledge it to groups that are now struggling to respond to the highest number of Americans in poverty in half a century, and to those who focus on the poorest and most vulnerable around the world. This is a time to give more – not less.”1 Do this together with your family. You can even involve the kids. Episcopal Relief and Development, Habit for Humanity, Heifer, World Vision, and many similar organizations even have “catalogues” from which you can choose gifts. Or focus on local organizations. Choose your gifts on Christmas Day, after you have opened your own. Then thank God, both for all that you have and for the chance to share your wealth with those who have so much less. In addition to all that we do through the organizations to which we belong, Wallis reminds us that we grow personally through helping to advance God’s kingdom through our very own efforts.
These shadows will change. We, as individuals and as faith communities, are integral and essential to what God is up to in the world. In Advent we are called to remember that God comes to us unexpectedly and wonderfully, that God renews our hope, that God delivers on God’s promises, and that God invites us into partnership with God in bringing those promises to fulfillment. As God’s partners, we work with God knowing that the final completion of the renewal of creation lies in God’s hands. And we rejoice, trusting that God will accomplish God’s holy will.
1. “Starting the Christmas Tithe,” SojoMail 11.29.2012.
Do you remember the story? After the ghost of his dead partner Jacob Marley visits him, miserly, isolated Ebenezer Scrooge is led away from his dark chambers by three spirits. Through the eyes of the Spirit of Christmas Past, Scrooge revisits his earlier life. His eyes light up as he sees again the bountiful Christmas celebration presided over by his generous employer Mr. Fezziwig, and he ruefully shakes his head as he sees himself turn away his lovely fiancée in his pursuit of wealth. With the Ghost of Christmas Present, Scrooge sees with horror the desperate situation of the poor in nineteenth-century London. He notes with surprise that, despite their poverty and the frail health of their youngest child, Tiny Tim, the family of his much-abused clerk, Bob Cratchett, finds true joy sharing their meager Christmas feast. In an abrupt turn-about, the silent hooded Ghost of Christmas Future allows Scrooge to see the Cratchetts’ grief at the death of Tiny Tim and his own lonely unmourned death. In the most poignant scene of the story, Scrooge cries out, “Can these shadows be changed?” To his and our joy, the visions of the three Spirits leave Scrooge a changed man, and the shadows can and do change.
We have begun a new church year. It is the season of Advent. In Advent, like Scrooge, we too live in three time frames at once. We look to the past as we remember God’s promises to Israel. In our reading from the prophet Jeremiah, addressed to the community in exile from Jerusalem, we hear again God’s promise to rebuild Jerusalem and ultimately to establish a new reign of justice and righteousness. We also look to the past as we prepare to celebrate the first coming of Jesus, his birth at Bethlehem, and we ponder how God began to fulfill God’s promises in Jesus’ birth. We look to the present as we see God’s continual breaking into our world, confronting us, enlightening us, and enlarging us as individuals and as a community.
Most important, we look to the future. As we begin a new church year, we are reminded once again of the goal of all our lives as Jesus’ disciples. We are reminded that, just like the beleaguered community to whom Luke was writing, we too are heirs of God’s promises. Together with them, we too can look forward to the coming of the Kingdom of God. We too can catch glimpses of that time when oppressive political systems, war, famine, sickness, genocide, slavery, human trafficking, hatred, and environmental abuse will be no more, when creation will be renewed, and all people will live in peace. For us, as for Luke’s community, the apocalyptic language and images convey good news. For us, as for them, present catastrophes give us hope that the world is moving inexorably toward the coming reign of God. We, like them, are not overwhelmed or beaten down by the chaos in Syria, Egypt, Palestine, or Afghanistan, by the reality of AIDS – yesterday was World AIDS day – or the persistence of hunger and poverty in our midst, by homicides or natural disasters. We, like them, can stand up, raise our heads, and trust in God’s future and in God’s reign.
But we live in the middle time. We trust both that God initiated a radical transformation of the world in the first coming of Jesus, and that God will, in God’s own time, complete that transformation. “When will this be,” we too cry out in despair. All Jesus – or anyone – can answer is that the time is hidden in God. And so, we wait. Although Americans are not a patient people, nevertheless, as Jesus’ disciples we try to wait, with patience, and with hope. But we don’t wait passively. Along with those first disciples, we too are called to be alert and attentive. With Luke’s community we hear the call to live with our eyes focused on the signs that demonstrate God’s reign and to trust that Jesus’ redemption of the world will be completed. Along with the hearers of the letter to the fledgling Christian community at Thessalonica we hear the call to “abound in love for one another and for all” and to strengthen our Advent hearts in holiness. We hear the call to grow as disciples. We hear the call to worship regularly, deepen our own personal relationship with Jesus, and, most important, strengthen our own Christian community, so that it may truly be a community of love, and a witness to the world of Jesus’ power.
As we begin again our liturgical year, the church graciously gives us four weeks to ponder how we might live more deeply into God’s future. Would you like some concrete suggestions? Here are several. First, Jesus tells us to be alert for signs that God’s kingdom is near. I invite you to use these sheets to write down any signs you see this week that God’s kingdom is near. You can post them yourselves on the bulletin board or give them to me or Christina, and we’ll post them. I will summarize them in the e-news. As you begin looking for signs of God’s kingdom, you may be surprised at how often you actually catch glimpses of it.
Second, commit to even a few minutes daily reflection during Advent. If you have internet access subscribe to a set of daily reflections published by CREDO and available by email. If you would like them in hard copy, I can print them out for you. If you listen to podcasts, subscribe to the Advent podcasts of the Anglican Church of Canada. Hang up the Advent calendar map, look at it every day, and follow as many of its suggestions as you can. Or make your own advent wreath, using four candles and any circular candle holder. Light your candles, and then follow the suggestions in “Bringing the Kingdom of God closer,” in your bulletin insert.
Finally, I’d like to suggest something really radical. In a recent article in his Sojourners blog Evangelical social and political commentator Jim Wallis noted that Americans plan to spend more this Christmas season on consumer gifts than they did last year, but give less to charities and ministries that help the poor. Many say they are less likely to give a charitable gift as a holiday present. In response, Wallis suggested that we start what he is calling the “Christmas Tithe.” Here’s how it works. “Keep track of all your holiday spending for gifts this year, and then tithe a percentage of that amount to an organization that directly serves the poor. A tithe is traditionally 10 percent, but you could decide to do less or even more. But make a decision about your Christmas tithe and pledge it to groups that are now struggling to respond to the highest number of Americans in poverty in half a century, and to those who focus on the poorest and most vulnerable around the world. This is a time to give more – not less.”1 Do this together with your family. You can even involve the kids. Episcopal Relief and Development, Habit for Humanity, Heifer, World Vision, and many similar organizations even have “catalogues” from which you can choose gifts. Or focus on local organizations. Choose your gifts on Christmas Day, after you have opened your own. Then thank God, both for all that you have and for the chance to share your wealth with those who have so much less. In addition to all that we do through the organizations to which we belong, Wallis reminds us that we grow personally through helping to advance God’s kingdom through our very own efforts.
These shadows will change. We, as individuals and as faith communities, are integral and essential to what God is up to in the world. In Advent we are called to remember that God comes to us unexpectedly and wonderfully, that God renews our hope, that God delivers on God’s promises, and that God invites us into partnership with God in bringing those promises to fulfillment. As God’s partners, we work with God knowing that the final completion of the renewal of creation lies in God’s hands. And we rejoice, trusting that God will accomplish God’s holy will.
1. “Starting the Christmas Tithe,” SojoMail 11.29.2012.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Whom Do We Represent?
Were you holding your breath for the eight days in which Hamas and Israel were bombarding each other with rockets? It’s been a long century of wars. We’ve endured two great world-wide conflicts – and so many lesser conflicts from 1945 on, at home and abroad. This past week it seemed as if war would break out in the Middle East yet again, as Hamas and Israel traded accusations along with rocket fire. Benjamin Netanyahu even threatened an armed invasion of Gaza. As threats began to escalate, Secretary of State Hilary Clinton, representing President Obama, joined Egyptian president Mohamed Morsi in “shuttle diplomacy.” Going back and forth between the combatants, the two managed to bring both sides to the table. As some of us were fervently praying, “Let there be peace,” a cease-fire was announced on Wednesday evening. Although a young Palestinian man was killed and nine others wounded in a clash with Israeli soldiers on Friday, once again we hope that both sides can take concrete steps towards resolving the conflict. Once again we hope that Hilary Clinton, Mohamed Morsi, Benjamin Netanyahu, and those representing the interests of the Palestinians can find a way to ensure peace and political stability in a region sacred to Christians, Jews, and Muslims.
As we continue to watch events play out in Israel and Palestine, you and I trust Mrs. Clinton and all our representatives to do all that they can to ensure a just and fair peace. What we may not remember is that you and I also represent a leader. On this feast day of Christ the King, the church reminds us that we who dare to call ourselves Christians, that we who claim to be Jesus’ disciples represent the Christos, God’s anointed one. Although the one whom we represent discouraged his friends from calling him “king” or “messiah,” we nevertheless acknowledge him as our leader, as the one who invited us to follow him into a new country, a new realm, the Kingdom of God.
Who is this leader to whom we profess allegiance? What kind of leader do we claim to follow, speak for, celebrate, and represent to others? Here is what he is not: despite the title of “king,” despite the identification by Pope Pius XI in 1925 of this day as Christ the King Sunday, the leader whom we follow is anything but a traditional king. In declaring to Pilate that “My kingdom is not from this world,” he was declaring that he was not like Caesar, the king whom Pilate represented. He was not like the other kings of the ancient world – or like the Kaisers and tsars of the nineteenth century. He did not build his realm on structures of power, dominance, and exploitation. He did not claim or wish to exercise absolute power, and he had no need of heaps of gold, rich clothes, gorgeous palaces, or crowds of servants. He did not hide himself away from his subjects or force them, as did Henry VIII, to kneel in his presence and speak only if he deigned to address them. Nor did he proclaim himself the leader of a merely a spiritual kingdom, or of one that would come into being only in heaven, or even of one that his followers would see only in some future age beyond history.
In his journey to Jerusalem these last couple of months in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus gave us some clues as to the kind of leader he really was. Instead of showing us the tyranny of traditional kings, or promising us “pie in the sky when you die,” Jesus showed us a leader who was the servant of all, who cared for the “least of those” among us, who left the constraints of his own community to minister to any and to all who needed his help. Jesus showed us a leader who stood in opposition to traditional structures of power. Instead of slavery, he offered his followers liberation – from their own egoism and selfishness, from suffering, sickness, exclusion, tyranny, persecution, even death. Jesus showed us a leader who ultimately gave his own body and blood for the life of the world.
This is the leader whom we profess to represent. As truly as Hilary Clinton represented the U.S. in the shuttle diplomacy in Gaza, we are called to represent Jesus to the world around us. We are called to represent him in a world at war, where mourners weep over the deaths of innocent bystanders, where fathers, son, and brothers die in battle, and where invading armies rape and pillage with abandon. We are called to represent him in a world steeped in greed, where CEOs receive lavish bonuses while workers on the floor see their pensions erode and their health insurance disappear. We are called to represent him to a world that hugely profits from his birth, even as our national holidays steadily disappear. We are called to represent him in a world where people still go hungry. We are called to represent him in a world that couldn’t care less about his message, and in which churches are rapidly becoming minority communities deemed irrelevant by the rest of the world.
In this warring, greedy, hungry, and broken world, as Jesus’ representatives, we are called to be countercultural. We are called to shout “Jesus is Lord, not Caesar! Forget your Kaisers and tsars, forget your kings and queens, forget even your presidents and prime ministers, Jesus is our boss, our head honcho, the one whom we trust, the one whose decisions for us are final.” If Jesus is the one whom we represent, then, for us, Jesus is in charge, Jesus is the one whom we obey, Jesus is the one whom we follow, wherever he leads, even to the cross. If we say that Jesus is the one whom we represent, then his priorities become our priorities. Did he minister to those on the margins of his society? Did he touch those whom religious leaders declared unclean? Did he feed the hungry and heal the sick? If we truly call ourselves citizens of his country, then so must we. If Jesus is our leader, then we must take our allegiance to him seriously. We must worship regularly, draw closer to one another in community, pray regularly, and return some of our wealth back to God. If we say that Jesus is then one whom we represent, then we declare that we will place our loyalty to him above every other loyalty, and that we will give to no other person, cause, organization, or even country, the loyalty and allegiance that we owe to him.
If Jesus is the one whom we represent, whose values we profess, whose model we follow, then, God willing, we strive to create communities in his name where all his friends are welcome, most especially those whom we may serve. Who are some of those friends who are welcome in a community led by Jesus’ representatives? We welcome those who are single, married, divorced, gay, rich, poor, or yo no habla Ingles. We like crying newborns, those who can sing with the angels, and those who don’t know one note from another. We welcome those who are just browsing, who haven’t been here since their cousin’s baptism, or who just got out of jail. We welcome soccer moms, NASCAR dads, artists, environmentalists, vegetarians, or junk food eaters. We welcome all those who are depressed, and all those who are “spiritual but not religious.” We welcome those who need prayer, all those who had religion forced on them, and all those who got lost on SR 7 and wound up here by mistake.1 All and more are subjects of the king whose name we bear, and, in his name we welcome all for whom he gave his life.
And we rejoice to represent him to all to whom he sends us. We will probably never join the Secretary of State in shuttle diplomacy – at least not on the international level – though we may be called to represent Jesus in peacemaking efforts on a local level. Even so, as Jesus’ representatives, we can reach out to a hurting and broken world, tending to the least in the Kingdom of God and bringing his presence and values into our own world wherever we are. In a few minutes we will say the Lord’s Prayer. As you do so, know that saying this prayer is truly a subversive act. Know that you are asking God that, “Thy kingdom come, they will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” As Daniel Clendinen reminds us, “people who pray this way have a very different agenda than Caesar’s, whether Republican or Democrat, whether capitalist, socialist, communist, whether democratic or theocratic. Why? Because they’ve entered a kingdom, pledged their allegiance to a ruler, and submitted to the reign of Christ the King.”2 May it please his Majesty that we may look only where the banner of our King is flying and follow wherever it leads us!
1. Adapted from Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Community Church Bulletin, as quoted in Synthesis, November 25, 2012.
2. “’Yes, I am a King:’ The Anti-Politics of Christ the King,” Journey with Jesus, http://www.journeywithjesus.net, accessed 11/19/2012.
As we continue to watch events play out in Israel and Palestine, you and I trust Mrs. Clinton and all our representatives to do all that they can to ensure a just and fair peace. What we may not remember is that you and I also represent a leader. On this feast day of Christ the King, the church reminds us that we who dare to call ourselves Christians, that we who claim to be Jesus’ disciples represent the Christos, God’s anointed one. Although the one whom we represent discouraged his friends from calling him “king” or “messiah,” we nevertheless acknowledge him as our leader, as the one who invited us to follow him into a new country, a new realm, the Kingdom of God.
Who is this leader to whom we profess allegiance? What kind of leader do we claim to follow, speak for, celebrate, and represent to others? Here is what he is not: despite the title of “king,” despite the identification by Pope Pius XI in 1925 of this day as Christ the King Sunday, the leader whom we follow is anything but a traditional king. In declaring to Pilate that “My kingdom is not from this world,” he was declaring that he was not like Caesar, the king whom Pilate represented. He was not like the other kings of the ancient world – or like the Kaisers and tsars of the nineteenth century. He did not build his realm on structures of power, dominance, and exploitation. He did not claim or wish to exercise absolute power, and he had no need of heaps of gold, rich clothes, gorgeous palaces, or crowds of servants. He did not hide himself away from his subjects or force them, as did Henry VIII, to kneel in his presence and speak only if he deigned to address them. Nor did he proclaim himself the leader of a merely a spiritual kingdom, or of one that would come into being only in heaven, or even of one that his followers would see only in some future age beyond history.
In his journey to Jerusalem these last couple of months in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus gave us some clues as to the kind of leader he really was. Instead of showing us the tyranny of traditional kings, or promising us “pie in the sky when you die,” Jesus showed us a leader who was the servant of all, who cared for the “least of those” among us, who left the constraints of his own community to minister to any and to all who needed his help. Jesus showed us a leader who stood in opposition to traditional structures of power. Instead of slavery, he offered his followers liberation – from their own egoism and selfishness, from suffering, sickness, exclusion, tyranny, persecution, even death. Jesus showed us a leader who ultimately gave his own body and blood for the life of the world.
This is the leader whom we profess to represent. As truly as Hilary Clinton represented the U.S. in the shuttle diplomacy in Gaza, we are called to represent Jesus to the world around us. We are called to represent him in a world at war, where mourners weep over the deaths of innocent bystanders, where fathers, son, and brothers die in battle, and where invading armies rape and pillage with abandon. We are called to represent him in a world steeped in greed, where CEOs receive lavish bonuses while workers on the floor see their pensions erode and their health insurance disappear. We are called to represent him to a world that hugely profits from his birth, even as our national holidays steadily disappear. We are called to represent him in a world where people still go hungry. We are called to represent him in a world that couldn’t care less about his message, and in which churches are rapidly becoming minority communities deemed irrelevant by the rest of the world.
In this warring, greedy, hungry, and broken world, as Jesus’ representatives, we are called to be countercultural. We are called to shout “Jesus is Lord, not Caesar! Forget your Kaisers and tsars, forget your kings and queens, forget even your presidents and prime ministers, Jesus is our boss, our head honcho, the one whom we trust, the one whose decisions for us are final.” If Jesus is the one whom we represent, then, for us, Jesus is in charge, Jesus is the one whom we obey, Jesus is the one whom we follow, wherever he leads, even to the cross. If we say that Jesus is the one whom we represent, then his priorities become our priorities. Did he minister to those on the margins of his society? Did he touch those whom religious leaders declared unclean? Did he feed the hungry and heal the sick? If we truly call ourselves citizens of his country, then so must we. If Jesus is our leader, then we must take our allegiance to him seriously. We must worship regularly, draw closer to one another in community, pray regularly, and return some of our wealth back to God. If we say that Jesus is then one whom we represent, then we declare that we will place our loyalty to him above every other loyalty, and that we will give to no other person, cause, organization, or even country, the loyalty and allegiance that we owe to him.
If Jesus is the one whom we represent, whose values we profess, whose model we follow, then, God willing, we strive to create communities in his name where all his friends are welcome, most especially those whom we may serve. Who are some of those friends who are welcome in a community led by Jesus’ representatives? We welcome those who are single, married, divorced, gay, rich, poor, or yo no habla Ingles. We like crying newborns, those who can sing with the angels, and those who don’t know one note from another. We welcome those who are just browsing, who haven’t been here since their cousin’s baptism, or who just got out of jail. We welcome soccer moms, NASCAR dads, artists, environmentalists, vegetarians, or junk food eaters. We welcome all those who are depressed, and all those who are “spiritual but not religious.” We welcome those who need prayer, all those who had religion forced on them, and all those who got lost on SR 7 and wound up here by mistake.1 All and more are subjects of the king whose name we bear, and, in his name we welcome all for whom he gave his life.
And we rejoice to represent him to all to whom he sends us. We will probably never join the Secretary of State in shuttle diplomacy – at least not on the international level – though we may be called to represent Jesus in peacemaking efforts on a local level. Even so, as Jesus’ representatives, we can reach out to a hurting and broken world, tending to the least in the Kingdom of God and bringing his presence and values into our own world wherever we are. In a few minutes we will say the Lord’s Prayer. As you do so, know that saying this prayer is truly a subversive act. Know that you are asking God that, “Thy kingdom come, they will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” As Daniel Clendinen reminds us, “people who pray this way have a very different agenda than Caesar’s, whether Republican or Democrat, whether capitalist, socialist, communist, whether democratic or theocratic. Why? Because they’ve entered a kingdom, pledged their allegiance to a ruler, and submitted to the reign of Christ the King.”2 May it please his Majesty that we may look only where the banner of our King is flying and follow wherever it leads us!
1. Adapted from Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Community Church Bulletin, as quoted in Synthesis, November 25, 2012.
2. “’Yes, I am a King:’ The Anti-Politics of Christ the King,” Journey with Jesus, http://www.journeywithjesus.net, accessed 11/19/2012.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Do Not Be Alarmed
It was 1912. The prosperous congregation of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Gallipolis, made up mostly of the families of businessmen, physicians, and other professionals, worshipped in the red brick building that had been consecrated in 1859 by then Bishop Charles P. McIlvaine. Electric lights now illuminated the well-appointed interior of the church. A vested choir led the congregation in singing the familiar hymns. The Rev. Charles Elliott Mackenzie preached and presided at Sunday worship. Although the town of Gallipolis had weathered the social and economic challenges of the years following the Civil War, and the Rev. Mr. Elliott had already had more than twenty predecessors, in 1912 most of the adult members of St. Peter’s likely thought that the world was at a comfortable and stable plateau.
Many in the larger world shared that sense of stability. In the U.S. and Europe, children left school at thirteen to take up work in stores, factories, and mines. Wealthy and aristocratic families lived comfortably on richly furnished estates. Kings and queens, the Kaiser and the tsar, reigned serenely from their centuries-old palaces. The U.S. and European countries, especially the United Kingdom, grew rich from colonies in South America, Africa and Asia. American and European Protestants sent out evangelists who took up Jesus’ Great Commission and strove to bring the Gospel to the benighted heathen. Many believed that the world had at last reach a comfortable and stable place of peace.
That peace was shattered on July 28, 1914, when Austria-Hungary invaded Serbia, Germany invaded Belgium, Luxembourg and France, and Russia attacked Germany. Britain soon joined the war on the side of France. The U.S. joined the conflict in 1917 on the side of Britain and France. The War to End all Wars finally ground to a halt on November 11, 1918, leaving over nine million combatants dead. Unfortunately, the 1918 Armistice was a fragile and short-lived peace. With the rise of fascism, war broke out again among European nations in 1939. The U.S. again went to war following the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. European fascists were defeated, and the war came to a fiery end in Japan with the fall of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August, 1945. However, the Allied victory did not usher in a new period of peace and stability. While the U.S. fought a Cold War, colonial nations fought for independence. Wars were waged again in Vietnam, the Persian Gulf, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Armed conflicts broke out in Chechnya, the former Yugoslavia, Iran, Lebanon, Egypt, Israel, and Syria. The Soviet Union broke apart in 1989.
Meanwhile, the U.S., Europe, and other parts of the world experienced major social changes. Women were granted the right to vote, African Americans achieved major civil rights victories, shifting tides of immigration created previously unimaginably diverse communities, and people learned how to communicate electronically. Americans and Europeans became more open to different expressions of sexuality. Mainline churches ordained women but ceased to be centers of social life. The Episcopal Church finally untied itself from sixteenth century English and learned that God could still hear our prayers in contemporary language. And now many observers believe that the church is undergoing yet another Reformation, from which it will emerge with yet new ways of organization, expression, and worship.
What a century it has been! Could the worshippers in these pews in 1912 imagine what awaited their world? How do we survive in a time of such great change? If we were Buddhists, the answer to that question would be easy. A central tenet of Buddhist teaching is that everything is in flux, and that there are no times or places of stability and peace. The answer is not quite so simple for us Christians. Do our Scriptures give us some clues? Not surprisingly, all the communities who heard the readings that you just heard were experiencing huge changes in the world around them. The book of Daniel, the source of our first lesson, was written in the second century BC, when Greek rulers were attempting to destroy Jewish communities. Our lesson comes at the end of a three-chapter sequence in which God, speaking through Daniel, assures the Jews that, even though they may be in anguish, the great angel Michael, will surely deliver them. Our psalmist reiterates that theme by reminding his hearers to trust in God’s protection.
And what of the hearers of Mark’s Gospel? That Gospel was written during or slightly after the destruction of Jerusalem that took place between 66 and 70 CE. For them, it was as if 9/11 were stretched over four years. The center of the system of sacrifices and their religious universe, that great temple that had been rebuilt after the Exile, the temple that Herod the Great had enlarged, the temple where Jesus had walked and prayed, was no more! The whole city was devastated and most of its inhabitants scattered to the four winds! Worst of all, Mark’s community was facing discrimination and trials. Who more than they needed to hear of God’s eventual liberation of the world? And even the hearers of the Letter to the Hebrews needed to hear again that they had already been rescued by Christ. They were a discouraged and disheartened congregation desperately needing a new vision and a new hope.
As we look back on the last century, and as we look around us at our lives now, many of us feel as if we are living in a time of cataclysmic change, especially in the church. So what do these lessons say to us about living in such a time? To begin with, they tell us that we are to be neither complacent nor afraid. Daniel reminds his hearers that only some of those who sleep will be raised, and that some will be condemned. On the other hand, those who are wise will “shine like the brightness of the sky.” Our psalm distinguishes between those who are godly and those who are not. Even so, the psalmist takes refuge in God and rejoices in God’s protection. The gospel reading warns us both to beware of false prophets, those who would lead God’s people astray, and to trust in God’s deliverance and “not be alarmed.” The letter to the Hebrews reminds us to trust Christ’s saving work above all and know that we can approach God with faith because Christ’s victory has removed the separation between humanity and God.
More important, our readings encourage us to live in two time frames at once. We are to live in the now, confident and faithful regardless of how messy and dangerous the world around us appears. But we are also to look ahead into the future, God’s future, we are to catch a glimpse every now and then of creation liberated and renewed, of the joy to come. “Your people shall be delivered,” Daniel tells his hearers. “You will show me the path of life,” the psalmist confidently prays. “The end is yet to come,” we hear Jesus telling the disciples, “this is but the beginning of birth pangs.” We are to hold fast to that vision, we are to have confidence in the coming of God’s future, the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us. Christ’s work is finished, but we are still awaiting the full realization of Christ’s victory.
Finally, and perhaps most important, we are to encourage one another. Like Daniel’s people, we are to cultivate wisdom so that we may help others to trust in God’s future. Like the hearers of the Letter to the Hebrews, we are strengthen our ties as a praying community, we are to love one another, and, most important, we are to actively partner with God to bring God’s future nearer. In Christ, we are reminded that, together, as a community of disciples, we have all that we need to do what God has called us to do.
Here at St. Peter’s one thing is crystal clear: we cannot live as if it is still 1912. So much has happened to our world and to the church since then. The church has changed, and will continue to change. We cannot sit back and refuse to acknowledge those changes. Nor can we indulge in the luxury of fear or despair at what we see. God is at work! As we seek to do God’s will in Gallipolis, we can trust that God is leading us, just as God led this community a century ago. Most important, we can do everything in our power to strengthen this community and to build each other up. We are a unique community, called into being by God and surviving by God’s will. Believe it! “In an age when communities of all kinds are crumbling and individualism is the prevailing ideology, only the church ‘can offer a community that was here before any of us were born, that will be here after all of us die and that binds us to one another because it binds us to Christ.’”1 Trust that God is bringing in God’s future. Today join hands with your brothers and sisters in Christ and rise up to do God’s holy will.
1. Robert Bellah, quoted by Jerry L. Van Marter, “Church is Best Equipped to Rebuild Communities,” PCUSA NEWS #4041, 2/112/97, quoted by David E. Leininger, Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima, OH: CSS Publishing, 2008), 277.
Many in the larger world shared that sense of stability. In the U.S. and Europe, children left school at thirteen to take up work in stores, factories, and mines. Wealthy and aristocratic families lived comfortably on richly furnished estates. Kings and queens, the Kaiser and the tsar, reigned serenely from their centuries-old palaces. The U.S. and European countries, especially the United Kingdom, grew rich from colonies in South America, Africa and Asia. American and European Protestants sent out evangelists who took up Jesus’ Great Commission and strove to bring the Gospel to the benighted heathen. Many believed that the world had at last reach a comfortable and stable place of peace.
That peace was shattered on July 28, 1914, when Austria-Hungary invaded Serbia, Germany invaded Belgium, Luxembourg and France, and Russia attacked Germany. Britain soon joined the war on the side of France. The U.S. joined the conflict in 1917 on the side of Britain and France. The War to End all Wars finally ground to a halt on November 11, 1918, leaving over nine million combatants dead. Unfortunately, the 1918 Armistice was a fragile and short-lived peace. With the rise of fascism, war broke out again among European nations in 1939. The U.S. again went to war following the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. European fascists were defeated, and the war came to a fiery end in Japan with the fall of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August, 1945. However, the Allied victory did not usher in a new period of peace and stability. While the U.S. fought a Cold War, colonial nations fought for independence. Wars were waged again in Vietnam, the Persian Gulf, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Armed conflicts broke out in Chechnya, the former Yugoslavia, Iran, Lebanon, Egypt, Israel, and Syria. The Soviet Union broke apart in 1989.
Meanwhile, the U.S., Europe, and other parts of the world experienced major social changes. Women were granted the right to vote, African Americans achieved major civil rights victories, shifting tides of immigration created previously unimaginably diverse communities, and people learned how to communicate electronically. Americans and Europeans became more open to different expressions of sexuality. Mainline churches ordained women but ceased to be centers of social life. The Episcopal Church finally untied itself from sixteenth century English and learned that God could still hear our prayers in contemporary language. And now many observers believe that the church is undergoing yet another Reformation, from which it will emerge with yet new ways of organization, expression, and worship.
What a century it has been! Could the worshippers in these pews in 1912 imagine what awaited their world? How do we survive in a time of such great change? If we were Buddhists, the answer to that question would be easy. A central tenet of Buddhist teaching is that everything is in flux, and that there are no times or places of stability and peace. The answer is not quite so simple for us Christians. Do our Scriptures give us some clues? Not surprisingly, all the communities who heard the readings that you just heard were experiencing huge changes in the world around them. The book of Daniel, the source of our first lesson, was written in the second century BC, when Greek rulers were attempting to destroy Jewish communities. Our lesson comes at the end of a three-chapter sequence in which God, speaking through Daniel, assures the Jews that, even though they may be in anguish, the great angel Michael, will surely deliver them. Our psalmist reiterates that theme by reminding his hearers to trust in God’s protection.
And what of the hearers of Mark’s Gospel? That Gospel was written during or slightly after the destruction of Jerusalem that took place between 66 and 70 CE. For them, it was as if 9/11 were stretched over four years. The center of the system of sacrifices and their religious universe, that great temple that had been rebuilt after the Exile, the temple that Herod the Great had enlarged, the temple where Jesus had walked and prayed, was no more! The whole city was devastated and most of its inhabitants scattered to the four winds! Worst of all, Mark’s community was facing discrimination and trials. Who more than they needed to hear of God’s eventual liberation of the world? And even the hearers of the Letter to the Hebrews needed to hear again that they had already been rescued by Christ. They were a discouraged and disheartened congregation desperately needing a new vision and a new hope.
As we look back on the last century, and as we look around us at our lives now, many of us feel as if we are living in a time of cataclysmic change, especially in the church. So what do these lessons say to us about living in such a time? To begin with, they tell us that we are to be neither complacent nor afraid. Daniel reminds his hearers that only some of those who sleep will be raised, and that some will be condemned. On the other hand, those who are wise will “shine like the brightness of the sky.” Our psalm distinguishes between those who are godly and those who are not. Even so, the psalmist takes refuge in God and rejoices in God’s protection. The gospel reading warns us both to beware of false prophets, those who would lead God’s people astray, and to trust in God’s deliverance and “not be alarmed.” The letter to the Hebrews reminds us to trust Christ’s saving work above all and know that we can approach God with faith because Christ’s victory has removed the separation between humanity and God.
More important, our readings encourage us to live in two time frames at once. We are to live in the now, confident and faithful regardless of how messy and dangerous the world around us appears. But we are also to look ahead into the future, God’s future, we are to catch a glimpse every now and then of creation liberated and renewed, of the joy to come. “Your people shall be delivered,” Daniel tells his hearers. “You will show me the path of life,” the psalmist confidently prays. “The end is yet to come,” we hear Jesus telling the disciples, “this is but the beginning of birth pangs.” We are to hold fast to that vision, we are to have confidence in the coming of God’s future, the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us. Christ’s work is finished, but we are still awaiting the full realization of Christ’s victory.
Finally, and perhaps most important, we are to encourage one another. Like Daniel’s people, we are to cultivate wisdom so that we may help others to trust in God’s future. Like the hearers of the Letter to the Hebrews, we are strengthen our ties as a praying community, we are to love one another, and, most important, we are to actively partner with God to bring God’s future nearer. In Christ, we are reminded that, together, as a community of disciples, we have all that we need to do what God has called us to do.
Here at St. Peter’s one thing is crystal clear: we cannot live as if it is still 1912. So much has happened to our world and to the church since then. The church has changed, and will continue to change. We cannot sit back and refuse to acknowledge those changes. Nor can we indulge in the luxury of fear or despair at what we see. God is at work! As we seek to do God’s will in Gallipolis, we can trust that God is leading us, just as God led this community a century ago. Most important, we can do everything in our power to strengthen this community and to build each other up. We are a unique community, called into being by God and surviving by God’s will. Believe it! “In an age when communities of all kinds are crumbling and individualism is the prevailing ideology, only the church ‘can offer a community that was here before any of us were born, that will be here after all of us die and that binds us to one another because it binds us to Christ.’”1 Trust that God is bringing in God’s future. Today join hands with your brothers and sisters in Christ and rise up to do God’s holy will.
1. Robert Bellah, quoted by Jerry L. Van Marter, “Church is Best Equipped to Rebuild Communities,” PCUSA NEWS #4041, 2/112/97, quoted by David E. Leininger, Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima, OH: CSS Publishing, 2008), 277.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
We Offer Ourselves
Some years ago Pastor Heidi Neumark attended mass at a Roman Catholic parish in one of the poorest parts of Mexico City.1 The mass was outdoors, and the people were sitting on plastic chairs and wooden benches arranged around the altar. At the time of the offertory, as the guitar band played, people came forward carrying small plastic bags filled with something white. Slowly they poured the contents of their bags into coffee cans placed around the altar. Each person poured only a small amount of raw rice into the cans, but soon the cans were filled to the brim. After mass, the priest told Neumark that every day every family set aside at least one spoonful of rice. As the rice collected this way was then brought to the altar, it became a concrete offering to God from the daily life of the families. No one in the families went hungry, and no family went destitute in offering the rice. The collected cans went mostly to people in houses where there had been illness or death. As the rice provided material sustenance, it also tangibly reminded those who were hurting of both God’s love and the care of their fellow parishioners.
Like today’s Scripture readings, Neumark’s story reminds us that those with little are often among the most generous, and that even small gifts can soon add up to very tangible offerings. The widow of Zarephath, in our Hebrew Bible lesson, was down to her last bit of flour and oil. All she needed for a last meal with her son were a few twigs for a cooking fire. Yet when Elijah promised her that, if she gave the cake she was fixing to him instead, God would abundantly provide for her. Miraculously she agreed, and Elijah’s words were fulfilled. The widow in our reading from the Gospel of Mark was down to her last two lepta, the smallest coin of her day. Even without any explicit promises from Jesus or anyone else, she handed them over to the Temple treasury and went on her way.
Do any of these stories raise questions for you? While applauding the Mexican parishioners’ generosity, Neumark wondered whether the rice bags did anything to change the system of poverty and inequality in that Mexico City neighborhood. After hearing the story of the widow at Zarephath, we might wonder why a Gentile woman chose to believe the impossible promise of an Israelite prophet. Was she at the point where she had nothing to lose? After all, she was only one meal away from certain starvation. Perhaps the holy man knew something that she didn’t? The story of the widow and her offering in the Gospel lesson is even more problematic. Although she is often held up as model, the poor widow is not an example of good stewardship. Jesus merely observes her action. He does not praise it or commend it to the disciples. God understands that we have obligations to ourselves, our families, and our community. God does not expect us to cease providing for those dependent on us. The church’s standard of giving has historically been the tithe, 10% of our resources, scarcely more than the Mexican parishioner’s daily spoonful. Actually we might say that the widow in the gospel story is a negative example, in her giving away more than she should to a temple system that encouraged inequality and did nothing to ease her burden.
But perhaps these widows, and even the Mexican parishioners, are models in a different way. Remember that Jesus’ observations about giving at the temple’s gate are part of his last public discourse before his journey to the cross. He has been reminding his disciples and friends that communities of his followers will not perpetuate the inequality of the society around them, but, rather, will be led by those who are willing to be servants of all. He points to the scribes. As wealthy people who parade their status and piety, they are all that leaders of Christian communities should not be. By contrast, the widow’s offering, ill-advised though it may ultimately be – how will she take care of herself after all – symbolizes what Jesus himself is about to do, i.e., offer himself, all of himself, back to God for the benefit of the whole world.
So there is a challenge for us here, although it’s not what we might think it is. We’re not being challenged to give all our money to the church. For some that might be the right course, for example, for those who join monastic communities and take voluntary vows of poverty. For most of us, such a life is not possible. Which doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t honestly examine our use of our resources, perhaps foregoing our indulgence in the latest gadgets and perhaps finding ways to increase our giving to God, charities, and organizations that work for justice and peace. The real challenge is far deeper. The question that the poor widow – and ultimately Jesus himself – ask us is, how do we offer our very lives to God? In many churches, as the offering basket comes to the altar, instead of the people singing the Doxology, as we do here, the priest says, “All things come of thee, O Lord,” to which the people respond, “And of thine have we given thee.” In Rite I of the Great Thanksgiving, we “offer and present” to God “ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice.” How do we do that? How do we place not only our dollars in the offering basket, how do we place our whole lives on the altar along with the basket? All things do come from God, and whatever we give, we are only giving God’s gifts back to God. But what does offering our lives to God really mean?
Let me invite you to ponder that question, and let me suggest some ways to answer it. First of all, offering our lives to God really does involve giving back to God, supporting the church and its ministries as generously as you can. Secondly, offering our lives to God means cultivating a generous and open spirit, seeing all those around us as God’s beloved children and staying alert to opportunities for responding to the needs of those whom we encounter. Do you want to begin cultivating such a spirit? Wherever you are, in this sanctuary, in the parish hall, in Bob Evans or Walmart, look at the people around you one by one and say to yourself, “Christ died for thee.”
Third, offering ourselves to God means considering our ministries. We do a splendid job of feeding people here. However, in the wake of the election, we might begin thinking in terms of broader changes that we need to promote, so that fewer people go hungry. Scripture resounds with declarations of God’s care for the poor and marginalized. Listen again to the psalm we all said a few minutes ago: we hope in God “who gives justice to those who are oppressed and food to those who hunger.... [T]he Lord opens the eyes of the blind; the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down.” We may honestly disagree about policy issues, but can we support micro-lending programs to help people start small businesses, community gardens, increases in funding for supplemental nutrition, basic healthcare for all, and a taxation system that doesn’t unduly burden the poor? Can we educate ourselves and increase our skills, so that we can be more effective ministers in both the secular world and the church? Are there orphanages, schools, churches, hospitals, and relief organizations here or overseas that need our resources? I especially commend to you Episcopal Relief and Development, which, right now, has a matching program for any gift made by year’s end. Are there other charitable organizations close to your heart? Have you made provision for charitable giving in your will? If you are retired, on a limited income, are there local organizations to which you can offer your talents? Can you stay informed on the issues by subscribing to magazines, newsletters, or electronic communications? Can you use your social media networks to spread the word about causes dear to you? More important, can you write letters or communicate electronically with your elected officials on important issues? Regardless of your age or station, can you simplify your life, so that there is room in it for God to get a word in edgewise? Can you find time to let God get that word in?
I invite all of us to ponder how we might offer ourselves for the life of the world. I invite you to offer yourself in service to those for whom God cares. I invite you to offer your life for those for whom Jesus died. I invite you to let your life witness to your promise to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.
1. “Reflections on the Lectionary,” Christian Century (129, 22, Oct. 31, 2012), 21.
Like today’s Scripture readings, Neumark’s story reminds us that those with little are often among the most generous, and that even small gifts can soon add up to very tangible offerings. The widow of Zarephath, in our Hebrew Bible lesson, was down to her last bit of flour and oil. All she needed for a last meal with her son were a few twigs for a cooking fire. Yet when Elijah promised her that, if she gave the cake she was fixing to him instead, God would abundantly provide for her. Miraculously she agreed, and Elijah’s words were fulfilled. The widow in our reading from the Gospel of Mark was down to her last two lepta, the smallest coin of her day. Even without any explicit promises from Jesus or anyone else, she handed them over to the Temple treasury and went on her way.
Do any of these stories raise questions for you? While applauding the Mexican parishioners’ generosity, Neumark wondered whether the rice bags did anything to change the system of poverty and inequality in that Mexico City neighborhood. After hearing the story of the widow at Zarephath, we might wonder why a Gentile woman chose to believe the impossible promise of an Israelite prophet. Was she at the point where she had nothing to lose? After all, she was only one meal away from certain starvation. Perhaps the holy man knew something that she didn’t? The story of the widow and her offering in the Gospel lesson is even more problematic. Although she is often held up as model, the poor widow is not an example of good stewardship. Jesus merely observes her action. He does not praise it or commend it to the disciples. God understands that we have obligations to ourselves, our families, and our community. God does not expect us to cease providing for those dependent on us. The church’s standard of giving has historically been the tithe, 10% of our resources, scarcely more than the Mexican parishioner’s daily spoonful. Actually we might say that the widow in the gospel story is a negative example, in her giving away more than she should to a temple system that encouraged inequality and did nothing to ease her burden.
But perhaps these widows, and even the Mexican parishioners, are models in a different way. Remember that Jesus’ observations about giving at the temple’s gate are part of his last public discourse before his journey to the cross. He has been reminding his disciples and friends that communities of his followers will not perpetuate the inequality of the society around them, but, rather, will be led by those who are willing to be servants of all. He points to the scribes. As wealthy people who parade their status and piety, they are all that leaders of Christian communities should not be. By contrast, the widow’s offering, ill-advised though it may ultimately be – how will she take care of herself after all – symbolizes what Jesus himself is about to do, i.e., offer himself, all of himself, back to God for the benefit of the whole world.
So there is a challenge for us here, although it’s not what we might think it is. We’re not being challenged to give all our money to the church. For some that might be the right course, for example, for those who join monastic communities and take voluntary vows of poverty. For most of us, such a life is not possible. Which doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t honestly examine our use of our resources, perhaps foregoing our indulgence in the latest gadgets and perhaps finding ways to increase our giving to God, charities, and organizations that work for justice and peace. The real challenge is far deeper. The question that the poor widow – and ultimately Jesus himself – ask us is, how do we offer our very lives to God? In many churches, as the offering basket comes to the altar, instead of the people singing the Doxology, as we do here, the priest says, “All things come of thee, O Lord,” to which the people respond, “And of thine have we given thee.” In Rite I of the Great Thanksgiving, we “offer and present” to God “ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice.” How do we do that? How do we place not only our dollars in the offering basket, how do we place our whole lives on the altar along with the basket? All things do come from God, and whatever we give, we are only giving God’s gifts back to God. But what does offering our lives to God really mean?
Let me invite you to ponder that question, and let me suggest some ways to answer it. First of all, offering our lives to God really does involve giving back to God, supporting the church and its ministries as generously as you can. Secondly, offering our lives to God means cultivating a generous and open spirit, seeing all those around us as God’s beloved children and staying alert to opportunities for responding to the needs of those whom we encounter. Do you want to begin cultivating such a spirit? Wherever you are, in this sanctuary, in the parish hall, in Bob Evans or Walmart, look at the people around you one by one and say to yourself, “Christ died for thee.”
Third, offering ourselves to God means considering our ministries. We do a splendid job of feeding people here. However, in the wake of the election, we might begin thinking in terms of broader changes that we need to promote, so that fewer people go hungry. Scripture resounds with declarations of God’s care for the poor and marginalized. Listen again to the psalm we all said a few minutes ago: we hope in God “who gives justice to those who are oppressed and food to those who hunger.... [T]he Lord opens the eyes of the blind; the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down.” We may honestly disagree about policy issues, but can we support micro-lending programs to help people start small businesses, community gardens, increases in funding for supplemental nutrition, basic healthcare for all, and a taxation system that doesn’t unduly burden the poor? Can we educate ourselves and increase our skills, so that we can be more effective ministers in both the secular world and the church? Are there orphanages, schools, churches, hospitals, and relief organizations here or overseas that need our resources? I especially commend to you Episcopal Relief and Development, which, right now, has a matching program for any gift made by year’s end. Are there other charitable organizations close to your heart? Have you made provision for charitable giving in your will? If you are retired, on a limited income, are there local organizations to which you can offer your talents? Can you stay informed on the issues by subscribing to magazines, newsletters, or electronic communications? Can you use your social media networks to spread the word about causes dear to you? More important, can you write letters or communicate electronically with your elected officials on important issues? Regardless of your age or station, can you simplify your life, so that there is room in it for God to get a word in edgewise? Can you find time to let God get that word in?
I invite all of us to ponder how we might offer ourselves for the life of the world. I invite you to offer yourself in service to those for whom God cares. I invite you to offer your life for those for whom Jesus died. I invite you to let your life witness to your promise to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.
1. “Reflections on the Lectionary,” Christian Century (129, 22, Oct. 31, 2012), 21.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Blessed Assurance, Blessed Invitation
Five days ago, Hurricane Sandy roared out of the Caribbean and up the east coast of the United States causing horrific destruction from Haiti to the Lake Erie shore. Still devastated by the earthquake that struck in January 2010, Haiti yet again experienced the destruction of homes, schools, businesses, and healthcare facilities. As the hurricane charged up the east coast, making landfall in New Jersey, millions of people suffered loss of electric power. Over eighty people died. Transportation networks were destroyed. Great cities were shut down. Even our own state, on the Lake Erie shore felt the hurricane’s effects. Right now, the economic impact of the hurricane is unfathomable, and it will be years before those affected by it fully recover.
Of course we in southern Ohio are no strangers to destructive weather, having suffered our own prolonged loss of power in this past summer’s derecho. Perhaps some of you lost food and trees or sweltered in the late June heat. In August 2011 Hurricane Irene visited destruction on, of course, the Caribbean. However, after making landfall in southern New Jersey, it turned inward, causing cyclonic winds and flooded rivers in Vermont and New Hampshire, areas mostly immune to the dangers of hurricanes. And who can forget the destruction brought about in New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina in 2005?
We could go on and on with hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, cyclones, and tsunamis. To so-called “natural disasters” we can easily add those caused by human folly. Who can forget the BP Gulf oil spill or that of the Exxon Valdez? Add to them, on the macro level famine, war, ethnic cleansing, and violent political dictatorships, and, on the micro level, rape, illness, addiction, domestic abuse, and accidents. In the face of so much human need, our elected officials often seem to be handcuffed by extreme partisanship and totally unable to reach agreement on even the smallest steps. No wonder some of us want to cry out, “Where are you, God? What are you doing about our messy, broken, sinful world? Are you totally disconnected from all these disasters?”
And yet, we are also people of faith. We trust that there is more to human destiny than one disaster after another. Our Scriptures, so full of God’s promises, tell a different story than that of the daily news. Today’s Scripture readings in particular give us an assurance, a “blessed assurance,” that God is with us in all the disasters that crash in on our lives. What is more important, in the midst of these disasters, God offers us hope for the future, for a restoration of creation, and for life lived on a new plane. Addressing a people in exile, the writer of the first part of the book of Isaiah assures his readers that God knows their plight and sorrows with them. Although their world had been turned upside down, in much the same way as for those now suffering from the hurricanes, Isaiah suggests that God will ultimately bring about a different future for the exiles. Can you picture that heavenly banquet? All the wonderful food and the best wine? Wouldn’t you be comforted to hear that God will perfect creation, and that a future without death, of joyful abundance, and open to all, is part of God’s plan?
Our Gospel reading puts “skin” on Isaiah’s vision, so to speak. Do you have any doubts that God knows our pain? Jesus’ visit to Bethany is the last of the signs that John’s Gospel offers us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, that Jesus is sent by God to be God in our midst. And what does God with us do? He weeps! He knows our pain and loss and grieves with us – then and now. And then, pointing forward to his own resurrection, he releases his friend Lazarus from the bonds of death and assures the crowd, the gospel readers, and us, that eventually all of us will be set free from the bonds of death, that all of us will, with the readers of Isaiah, feast at God’s great banquet.
Surely the writer of the book of Revelation also understood God’s promises of restoration and wholeness. Writing to Jewish Christian communities that had suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Roman Empire, he used different images to capture his vision of God’s future. In the image of the new Jerusalem, he gives us a wonderful symbol for perfected creation. Can you picture that perfect city, so different from any known on earth? Shining, sparkling, gem-encrusted, perfect in its dimensions, a place where all is new, where death has been banished, where the gates are open to all? And more: in this newly perfected Jerusalem, the compassionate God who comforted the exiles and wept over Lazarus knows all of God’s people intimately. And lest we think all this is a vain hope, John declares that, “It is done!” God has already acted decisively, and, despite our doubts, God is even now bringing God’s plans to fruition.
At this point you might be asking, “Wait, isn’t this All Saints Sunday? Aren’t we celebrating all those saints ‘who from their labors rest?’ Why do we hear all these readings outlining God’s compassion for us and God’s promises of a restored creation? What about all those holy women and men?” Here’s the answer. To begin with, by saints we do not mean only holy people who lived centuries ago and are now enshrined in icons and stained glass windows. The true saints, both those on the official calendars, and those known only to a few friends and relatives, are those who have caught the vision. The true saints are those who have experienced God at work in their own lives and who trust God’s promises. The true saints are those who can see past the grief and pain of this life and can glimpse God’s future with their own eyes. The true saints are those who, seeing this future in their mind’s eyes, have accepted God’s invitation to help bring nearer the day when God’s future will be fully realized.
The saints do indeed constitute a “great cloud of witnesses” for us. Certainly the saints of history, those ancient martyrs in whose memory this feast day began, are among their number. So too are those like Francis and Clare of Assisi, who turned their backs on wealth and adopted a life of service to the poor. Who can forget the scholars among them, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, or Catherine of Siena? Or the mystics, Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich? Or Brother Lawrence, who knew God’s presence with him in the pots and pans of a monastery kitchen? More contemporary saints are also alive in that “cloud:” people like Philander Chase, the founder of the Episcopal Church in Ohio, Julia Chester Emery, the founder of the United Thank Offering, Mother Ruth, the founder of the Community of the Holy Spirit, Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and teacher of mysticism to all of us, or Martin Luther King, Jr., whose martyrdom helped break down the walls separating the races. And then there are the saints known only to you: those relatives, friends, and teachers, who shared their vision of God with you and led you to trust in God’s promises. Truly the saints are beyond number.
And what of ourselves? What is our call on All Saints Day? Certainly, we are called to remember the saints with gratitude, to give thanks to God for the courage they showed in their day in sharing their visions of God. And are we among the saints? When our time is past, will we be among that “cloud of witnesses?” You and I could not stop Hurricane Sandy in its tracks. We cannot solely by our own individual efforts stop war and erase poverty. But can we too catch the vision? Can we deepen our relationship with God? Can we see ahead to God’s future and accept God’s invitation to join in bringing that future nearer? Lane Denson reminds us that in our readings from Mark’s Gospel this fall we have been called to be servant leaders. On All Saints Sunday, we are charged with accepting that call and falling in with all the rest of the saints, with the apostles, martyrs, and mystics, all the founders of communities, all those who have gone to the aid of those suffering in disasters, all those who gave their lives for racial and ethnic justice, all those who care for God’s creation, and all those who seek to eliminate poverty and injustice. On All Saints Sunday we too are called to proclaim the good news and to “walk the talk.” We too are called to see beyond the limitations of this life in the present, beyond the disasters, beyond the social inequity and racial discrimation, beyond the abuse and destruction that we have visited on nature. With the saints we too are called to claim the promise of God’s reign now and forever.
O blest communion, fellowship divine! God grant that we may know ourselves to be numbered among them!
Of course we in southern Ohio are no strangers to destructive weather, having suffered our own prolonged loss of power in this past summer’s derecho. Perhaps some of you lost food and trees or sweltered in the late June heat. In August 2011 Hurricane Irene visited destruction on, of course, the Caribbean. However, after making landfall in southern New Jersey, it turned inward, causing cyclonic winds and flooded rivers in Vermont and New Hampshire, areas mostly immune to the dangers of hurricanes. And who can forget the destruction brought about in New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina in 2005?
We could go on and on with hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, cyclones, and tsunamis. To so-called “natural disasters” we can easily add those caused by human folly. Who can forget the BP Gulf oil spill or that of the Exxon Valdez? Add to them, on the macro level famine, war, ethnic cleansing, and violent political dictatorships, and, on the micro level, rape, illness, addiction, domestic abuse, and accidents. In the face of so much human need, our elected officials often seem to be handcuffed by extreme partisanship and totally unable to reach agreement on even the smallest steps. No wonder some of us want to cry out, “Where are you, God? What are you doing about our messy, broken, sinful world? Are you totally disconnected from all these disasters?”
And yet, we are also people of faith. We trust that there is more to human destiny than one disaster after another. Our Scriptures, so full of God’s promises, tell a different story than that of the daily news. Today’s Scripture readings in particular give us an assurance, a “blessed assurance,” that God is with us in all the disasters that crash in on our lives. What is more important, in the midst of these disasters, God offers us hope for the future, for a restoration of creation, and for life lived on a new plane. Addressing a people in exile, the writer of the first part of the book of Isaiah assures his readers that God knows their plight and sorrows with them. Although their world had been turned upside down, in much the same way as for those now suffering from the hurricanes, Isaiah suggests that God will ultimately bring about a different future for the exiles. Can you picture that heavenly banquet? All the wonderful food and the best wine? Wouldn’t you be comforted to hear that God will perfect creation, and that a future without death, of joyful abundance, and open to all, is part of God’s plan?
Our Gospel reading puts “skin” on Isaiah’s vision, so to speak. Do you have any doubts that God knows our pain? Jesus’ visit to Bethany is the last of the signs that John’s Gospel offers us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, that Jesus is sent by God to be God in our midst. And what does God with us do? He weeps! He knows our pain and loss and grieves with us – then and now. And then, pointing forward to his own resurrection, he releases his friend Lazarus from the bonds of death and assures the crowd, the gospel readers, and us, that eventually all of us will be set free from the bonds of death, that all of us will, with the readers of Isaiah, feast at God’s great banquet.
Surely the writer of the book of Revelation also understood God’s promises of restoration and wholeness. Writing to Jewish Christian communities that had suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Roman Empire, he used different images to capture his vision of God’s future. In the image of the new Jerusalem, he gives us a wonderful symbol for perfected creation. Can you picture that perfect city, so different from any known on earth? Shining, sparkling, gem-encrusted, perfect in its dimensions, a place where all is new, where death has been banished, where the gates are open to all? And more: in this newly perfected Jerusalem, the compassionate God who comforted the exiles and wept over Lazarus knows all of God’s people intimately. And lest we think all this is a vain hope, John declares that, “It is done!” God has already acted decisively, and, despite our doubts, God is even now bringing God’s plans to fruition.
At this point you might be asking, “Wait, isn’t this All Saints Sunday? Aren’t we celebrating all those saints ‘who from their labors rest?’ Why do we hear all these readings outlining God’s compassion for us and God’s promises of a restored creation? What about all those holy women and men?” Here’s the answer. To begin with, by saints we do not mean only holy people who lived centuries ago and are now enshrined in icons and stained glass windows. The true saints, both those on the official calendars, and those known only to a few friends and relatives, are those who have caught the vision. The true saints are those who have experienced God at work in their own lives and who trust God’s promises. The true saints are those who can see past the grief and pain of this life and can glimpse God’s future with their own eyes. The true saints are those who, seeing this future in their mind’s eyes, have accepted God’s invitation to help bring nearer the day when God’s future will be fully realized.
The saints do indeed constitute a “great cloud of witnesses” for us. Certainly the saints of history, those ancient martyrs in whose memory this feast day began, are among their number. So too are those like Francis and Clare of Assisi, who turned their backs on wealth and adopted a life of service to the poor. Who can forget the scholars among them, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, or Catherine of Siena? Or the mystics, Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich? Or Brother Lawrence, who knew God’s presence with him in the pots and pans of a monastery kitchen? More contemporary saints are also alive in that “cloud:” people like Philander Chase, the founder of the Episcopal Church in Ohio, Julia Chester Emery, the founder of the United Thank Offering, Mother Ruth, the founder of the Community of the Holy Spirit, Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and teacher of mysticism to all of us, or Martin Luther King, Jr., whose martyrdom helped break down the walls separating the races. And then there are the saints known only to you: those relatives, friends, and teachers, who shared their vision of God with you and led you to trust in God’s promises. Truly the saints are beyond number.
And what of ourselves? What is our call on All Saints Day? Certainly, we are called to remember the saints with gratitude, to give thanks to God for the courage they showed in their day in sharing their visions of God. And are we among the saints? When our time is past, will we be among that “cloud of witnesses?” You and I could not stop Hurricane Sandy in its tracks. We cannot solely by our own individual efforts stop war and erase poverty. But can we too catch the vision? Can we deepen our relationship with God? Can we see ahead to God’s future and accept God’s invitation to join in bringing that future nearer? Lane Denson reminds us that in our readings from Mark’s Gospel this fall we have been called to be servant leaders. On All Saints Sunday, we are charged with accepting that call and falling in with all the rest of the saints, with the apostles, martyrs, and mystics, all the founders of communities, all those who have gone to the aid of those suffering in disasters, all those who gave their lives for racial and ethnic justice, all those who care for God’s creation, and all those who seek to eliminate poverty and injustice. On All Saints Sunday we too are called to proclaim the good news and to “walk the talk.” We too are called to see beyond the limitations of this life in the present, beyond the disasters, beyond the social inequity and racial discrimation, beyond the abuse and destruction that we have visited on nature. With the saints we too are called to claim the promise of God’s reign now and forever.
O blest communion, fellowship divine! God grant that we may know ourselves to be numbered among them!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Who's Your Model
Who’s your model of Christian discipleship? Who exemplifies for you what a faithful follower of Jesus looks like? Take a minute or two right now and ponder who stands out for you, in your own life, as a faithful follower of Jesus. It can be someone living or dead, someone you’ve read about or someone you’ve known face to face. The person might not even be a professed Christian, yet still exemplify faithful discipleship. Take a minute or two and see who comes to mind. [Congregation ponders for a minute or two.]
I’d like to propose another possibility, one perhaps that none of you has thought of: formerly blind Bartimaeus from today’s Gospel reading. Let me remind you that the Gospel of Mark, or any of the books of the Bible that tell a story, is like a novel or a movie. If you hadn’t slogged through all 960 pages or all four hours of Gone with the Wind, for example, Rhett Butler’s parting words to Scarlett O’Hara, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” wouldn’t make much sense. It’s the same with the Gospel. In church, we read it in snippets, a scene here, an episode there, and out of order to boot! No wonder you have a hard time following the story! So let’s recap again. We’re at the end of a large section that began in chapter 8 with another healing of a blind man. This section has depicted Jesus’ journey from Galilee to Jerusalem. Along the way, Jesus has predicted three times what will happen to him in Jerusalem. Of course, we already know what will happen in Jerusalem, since we heard that part of the story back on Palm Sunday and Easter! Jesus has also been explaining to his friends what being one of his followers really involves and how leaders of a community of disciples ought to behave. Surprisingly, Jesus’ closest disciples don’t understand his message. Time and again, they are deaf and blind to it: clearly they expect Jesus to be a political messiah, and they certainly don’t behave as servant leaders. They have yet to realize that following Jesus ultimately leads to a new way of seeing.
Bartimaeus gets it! Here at this last stopping point before Jerusalem, Mark finally provides his readers with a model of what faithful discipleship truly looks like. Are you surprised? A blind beggar is a model of discipleship? Let’s take a closer look at Bartimaeus and what he does in this story. To begin with, Bartimaeus recognizes Jesus. He understands that Jesus is indeed God’s anointed one, even if he is not a political savior. “Jesus, Son of David,” he calls out, using one of the traditional titles for the messiah. Knowing that Jesus is God’s anointed, Bartimaeus asks Jesus, not to “have mercy,” i.e., think kindly about him, as the NRSV translation puts it, but, more correctly, to do something for him. What’s more important, Bartimaeus is insistent and persistent in reaching out to Jesus. Even though he is physically unseeing, he is not deterred by the obstacles thrown up by others, and he continues to call out. When Jesus reaches out to him, he leaves behind what might have been his sole possession, his cloak, and rushes toward Jesus. In answer to Jesus’ question, he clearly states his need. How different his answer is to James’ and John’s answer to that very same question, which we heard last week. Clearly, too, Bartimaeus is a person of faith, trusting Jesus and expecting something life-changing to happen. Finally, Bartimaeus allows his encounter with Jesus to change his life. He “followed him on the way,” presumably to Jerusalem, and probably in the new way of life that Jesus’ death and resurrection inaugurated.
So is Bartimaeus a model of discipleship for us? Let’s turn the spotlight back on ourselves. Do we recognize Jesus’ true identity? Is he really God’s anointed one? Was he an interesting historical figure, the subject of some revered books, or is he, as Marcus Borg puts it, “the decisive revelation of what a life full of God looks like?”1 Is he active in our lives? Do we call out to him in prayer, and are we persistent in our prayers? When he calls us into his service, can we surrender all those elements in our lives that get in the way of our relationship with him? Think about it: what might you have to give up in order to have a deeper relationship with Jesus? Are we like James and John, sure that Jesus has nothing to give us but wealth and fame? Or, rather, can we admit our helplessness and need and honestly ask Jesus to heal our spiritual brokenness? What kind of faith do we have? Does our faith consist only of intellectual assent to certain propositions about God and Jesus? Or do trust in Jesus’ love and care, persist in staying in relationship with him, and try to model our lives after his example? Does our encounter with Jesus change our lives? Are we changed and renewed people when we rise from prayer or when we receive Christ’s Body and Blood?
Who’s your model of faithful discipleship? Is it Bartimaeus or someone else? Thanks be to God, models of faithful discipleship abound! Beginning literally with Jesus’ resurrection and stretching all the way to those whom we encounter in our own lives, Jesus’ faithful followers are beyond numbering. Let me tell you about two whom I recently discovered. On our church calendar for this past Friday I discovered Alfred the Great. Although he was a fifth son, Alfred became king of England in 871 and reigned until his death in 899. Most of his reign was consumed with repelling Danish invaders. “Battle, murder, and sudden death,” were common events. At the same time, Alfred was a deeply faithful Christian, and in his later years he strove to repair the cultural and educational institutions damaged by the Danes. He especially wished to see parish clergy better educated, and he supervised translations into English of important theological and historical works. His devotion to continual renewal in Christ shines forth in his reminder – timely even for us – that, “He seemed a very foolish man, and very wretched, who will not increase his understanding while he is in the world, and ever wish and long to reach that endless life where all shall be made clear.”2
There being no one on our church calendar on October 24, this past Wednesday, I turned to Robert Ellsberg’s All Saints, an inspiring collection of reflections on saints for our time. There I discovered Fritz Eichenberg, a Quaker artist who lived from 1901 to 1990.3 Born in Cologne, he was a talented artist from an assimilated Jewish background. In 1933, realizing that there was little hope for a career in art in Nazi Germany, he emigrated with his family to the U.S. However, his wife tragically died in 1938. Finding consolation in Quaker teaching and attracted by the Quaker vision of the Peaceable Kingdom, he formally joined the Society of Friends soon thereafter. In 1949, he was introduced to Dorothy Day, the editor of the Catholic Worker newspaper and founder of intentional communities serving the poor. By that time, Eichenberg had become known for his woodcut illustrations of the Russian classics, in which Day was also greatly interested. Seeing in Day’s newspaper an expression of his own pursuit of mercy and peace, he agreed to Day’s request that he serve God through his woodcut illustrations. He began by depicting the saints. His woodcuts, whether of Benedict, John of the Cross, or Francis of Assisi, show strong flesh and blood people who struggle to follow Jesus and challenge us to do the same. Depictions of modern saints also came from his hands: Mahatma Gandhi, Thomas Merton, Cesar Chavez. Finally, he agreed to depict the life of Christ in contemporary settings. His moving and powerful images show us Jesus’ birth in a war zone, Jesus in a line of people waiting for their daily handout of bread, the “Christ of the Homeless,” and a haunting Pietá, that links Jesus with refugees, outcasts, and prisoners.
Who is your model of faithful Christian discipleship? Is it formerly blind Bartimaeus, who had the courage to persist in making known his true needs to Jesus, and who was forever changed by his encounter with the servant messiah? Is it Alfred the Great, who, despite the political turbulence of his time, understood the need to continually pursue and facilitate deeper Christian learning and formation? Is it Fritz Eichenberg, who used his great artistic talent to open the eyes of those around him and to further the cause of peace and justice? Or is it someone else altogether? Someone perhaps known only to you? The good news is that God has surrounded us with a great cloud of witnesses, both living and dead, a great cloud of faithful disciples of Our Lord. I invite you to reflect on one of these models and ask God to help you to become a more faithful disciple yourself.
1. The Heart of Christianity (New York: Harper Collins, 2003), 88.
2. Lesser Feasts and Fasts 2006 (New York: Church Publishing, 2006), 430.
3. All Saints (New York: Crossroad, 2000), 463-4
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Jesus is on the Move
Sitting is hazardous to your health! Why did James and John want to sit with Jesus in his glory, one at his right hand and one at his left? Didn’t they hear what he’s been telling them? Didn’t they understand his mission at all? In the two verses immediately preceding the beginning of our lection, Jesus has given James, John, and the other disciples, for the third time, a clear statement of his fate. Mark tells us, “They were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them; they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. He took the twelve aside again and began to tell them what was to happen to him, saying, ‘See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.’ (Mark 10:32-34).” There they have it: the rest of Jesus’ story in a nutshell, and Jesus’ clearest explanation for his disciples of the kind of messiah he will be.
Do the disciples get it? Do they want to go up to Jerusalem with him? Even though James and John were to become revered apostles in Mark’s community, here it is clear that they still haven’t understood Jesus’ teaching. They still think that Jesus will establish a new political regime, in which he will reign like the other despots of the ancient world. Like little children sheepishly asking for a goody from Dad, they ask if they can sit, seemingly static and unmoving, and bask in his reflected glory. As if we didn’t need another, here is just one more illustration of the gap between what the disciples thought and what Jesus himself foretold. Like Peter before them, James and John cannot get their minds around what Jesus has told them, so they instead envision a static kingdom with themselves in places of honor. As if that weren’t bad enough, James’ and John’s insistence on sitting with Jesus when he becomes king creates dissension within the little band of followers. The other disciples also want their piece of the pie! They too want to sit with Jesus in glory.
Is that what we want? Do we too want to sit with Jesus, inertly basking in his glory? Jesus is on the move, and sitting is hazardous to both our physical and spiritual health. Certainly we have been bombarded by messages that sitting is hazardous to our physical health. Think about it: how much time do you spend sitting each day? Most of us spend a lot of time in our cars. Perhaps we work at a desk. What about the time you spend in front of your computer, or eating, or reading the newspaper, or paying bills, or watching TV? On the weekend, do you sit in a movie theater or in the bleachers at a sporting event? When you add it all up, middle class Americans spend an average of nine hours a day sitting! And that’s a problem. A recent study by the American Cancer Society found that sitting six or more hours a day increases your risk of early death from any cause by 18 percent for men and 37 percent for women. Someday your office chair or your easy chair just might come with a Surgeon General’s warning that says, “Caution: Sitting may be hazardous to your health.”
Sitting may also be hazardous to our spiritual health. Certainly, there is a place for silently sitting and listening patiently for God’s word. But think about it: is your prayer life static and inactive? Do you go through the same rote prayers day after day? Have your ideas about God, Jesus, Church, and faith stayed the same since the bishop laid hands on you in confirmation? Have you learned anything about the Bible since then? Or perhaps you only think about your spiritual health sitting in the pew? Perhaps our pews should come with a warning: “Caution sitting here may be hazardous to your spiritual health!”
Sitting is hazardous because Jesus is on the move! No sitting allowed for his disciples! Jesus has invited his friends to walk with him to Jerusalem. He has invited them to be partners with him in the events that will play out there. James and John, at least, glibly and naively assert their ability to share Jesus’ fate, and Jesus assures them that they will do just that. Just to make sure once more that they understand the demands of the new community he is forming, Jesus reminds them that they are not called to sit like despotic kings but rather to be up and moving as servant leaders. And he proclaims one more time that if they are truly his disciples they will eventually find themselves, like him, walking toward the cross.
Do we want to walk with Jesus? Movement is good for our health. Indeed, building any kind of extra physical activity into our day is beneficial. In fact, as you are able, stand up right now, breathe deeply, and stretch. Don’t you feel better already? Walking is especially good for your health. Physician and priest Bill Watson reminds us that, “…walking is a part of God’s design. It is a natural action, perhaps next to breathing, our most natural. Walking opens the world to us and is central to who we are.” Experts at the Mayo Clinic detail the benefits of walking. Walking lowers bad (LDL) cholesterol, raises good cholesterol (HDL), lowers blood pressure, reduces the risk of or helps manage type 2 diabetes, helps control weight, improves your mood, and helps you stay strong and fit.
But did you know that walking also has spiritual benefits? To convince clergy of the benefits of walking, CREDO, the clergy renewal program of the Episcopal Church has designated October as the month to “Walk and be Well.” For each day of the month, there is a brief meditation – ideally to be heard while walking – that connects our physical and spiritual well-being. Walking a labyrinth is another form of spiritual walking. Have your ever walked one? A labyrinth is not a maze. It is a circular arrangement of stones or marks that has only one path to the center and back out. Walking into and out from the center of the labyrinth enables one to experience spiritual centering, contemplation and prayer. It’s a wonderful practice that, if done slowly and contemplatively helps us quiet our minds and focus on a spiritual question or prayer. People in Gallipolis are fortunate: there’s a labyrinth in the healing garden at Holzer medical center. Try it sometime! Yet another form of spiritual walking is pilgrimage. Pilgrimages are, of course, ancient forms of devotion, and almost every faith community has some form of pilgrimage practice. Pilgrimages were especially popular in medieval Europe, but even today, nearly 200,000 people walk the Way of St. James to Santiago de Compostela in Spain.
Walking may also be a form of spiritual witness. We are familiar with the charity walks that raise visibility and funds for many good causes. But have you ever heard of the Peace Pilgrim? Starting on January 1, 1953, Mildred Lisette Norman, calling herself only "Peace Pilgrim," walked more than 25,000 miles on a personal pilgrimage for peace. She vowed to "remain a wanderer until mankind has learned the way of peace, walking until given shelter and fasting until given food." In the course of her 28 year pilgrimage she touched the hearts, minds, and lives of thousands of individuals all across North America. Her message was both simple and profound. It continues to inspire people all over the world: "This is the way of peace: overcome evil with good, and falsehood with truth, and hatred with love." Although she died in an automobile accident in 1981, her witness lives on in her book and through the voluntary organization of Friends of the Peace Pilgrim.
Perhaps you and I are not called to duplicate the walking of the Peace Pilgrim. But Jesus is on the move, and we are called to walk with him. We can commit ourselves to the appropriate habits of exercise that will keep our bodies strong and enable us, frail and mortal though we may be, to be his faithful followers and servants. We can commit ourselves to continuing to grow in our understanding of our call, through study of the Bible and other aspects of our faith. We can commit ourselves to serving those of his children who are sick, in need, in prison, hungry, and hurting. We can work for a more just and peaceful world. And we can ask God to strengthen our desire to grow spiritually through worship, contemplative prayer, study, walking prayer, pilgrimages, retreats, quiet days, and any other way that God may open to us.
Jesus is on the move, and I want to walk with him. O Master, let me walk with thee!
Sunday, October 14, 2012
What Must I Do?
“What must I do to inherit eternal life?” What must we do? Take out your bulletin. Take a few minutes and write down somewhere on the bulletin – perhaps on the cover -- three things you think you must do to “inherit eternal life,” to live in God’s realm. This is for yourself only, so you can be honest. [Give the congregation two or three minutes to write.] So what must we do to enter God’s realm? Do we have to follow every one of the Ten Commandments? Do we have to observe all 650+ prescriptions in the laws of Moses? Do we have to leave our families and our livelihoods to follow after an itinerant rabbi? Do we have to be crucified upside down like Peter? Must we be thrown to the wild beasts in Rome’s arena like Perpetua and her companions? Must we spend our lives as contemplative anchorites like Julian of Norwich? Will I be welcomed more warmly into God’s realm if I am a spell-binding preacher like “golden-mouthed” John Chrysostum or Phillips Brooks? Do I have to found settlement houses like Vida Dutton Scudder, or enter a convent or monastery? Must we all forsake the kingdom of thingdom, close all our accounts, sell our houses, and live as homeless beggars? Will any of these actions gain us entrance into God’s realm?
What must I do to inherit eternal life? We’re still in the gospel of Mark, and we’re still on the road to Jerusalem with Jesus and his friends. In preparation for his leaving them, Jesus has been instructing his closest friends in what discipleship involves. As we’ve been overhearing these conversations, we’ve learned, with the disciples, that we must truly understand what kind of messiah Jesus is. We must accept that he is a suffering messiah who will die a criminal’s death on a Roman cross. We’ve learned that those who wish to lead a community of Jesus’ followers must be servants of all. We’ve been reminded that we must respect the sacred commitments we’ve made to our life partners. We’ve learned that we must become spiritual children who acknowledge their vulnerability and their dependence on God alone.
Now, we come face to face with a shocking reality: in order to be able to accept God’s love, in order to truly live as spiritual children, we must relinquish our sense of self-control. We must let go of all that we place ahead of God, all that encourages us to trust our own possessions, powers, and abilities instead of God. How could this be? People of Jesus’ time, both Jews and Gentiles, believed that the rich especially enjoyed God’s favor. Wasn’t the rich man in today’s reading especially blessed by all his possessions? It’s painful to watch this scene play out. Can’t you see the look of shock and disbelief as this powerful man hears Jesus tell him to give up all his possessions, to let go of everything that had given his life meaning, to set out in a different direction? Can’t you see the tears running down his face, as he turns away from Jesus?
What must I do to inherit eternal life? Change is painful. Letting go is painful. Deciding to let go of our prized possessions, beliefs, attitudes, habits, or voting patterns, and trusting God to lead us into new life is difficult. Perhaps the man in this story “went away grieving,” because, as most people think, he knew he couldn’t do what Jesus had asked of him, and he wept because he was turning his back on an opportunity to change his life. Or perhaps he had decided to follow Jesus, but he knew how hard it would be to see the furniture crated up and carted off, the silver and china sold at auction, the silk and wool robes given to the relatives, the art work donated to the local synagogue. The tears would surely flow again and again.
Entering with Jesus into God’s realm is not easy. Letting go and following God’s leading is difficult. Taking that first step into new life, letting go of old ways of living, is often so painful that we put off doing what we know we must until our lives become unbearable. Attending that first AA meeting: can you imagine the guts it must take to stand up and say, “I’m Bill, and I’m an alcoholic.” Letting go of the past and taking those first steps toward wholeness is so difficult: making that first appointment with a marriage counselor, calling your physician about a mysterious symptom, returning to school, coming out to family and friends, sitting down with strange people, visiting a nursing home, hearing a call to ministry, or, as it was for this man, intentionally and honestly examining our use of our resources.
In our culture, letting go of some of our control over our resources can truly be painful and difficult. Money is the last taboo for us. It’s hard for us to admit that “where your treasure is, there your heart is also.” It’s hard to acknowledge that for most of us our bank statement reveals more about what we truly value than any other document. “Rich or poor, it’s nice to have money,” my mother used to say, but the hard spiritual truth is that our bank accounts will not save us. Make no mistake: we are not called to a life of destitution. Rather, Jesus is asking the rich man and us to see our money not as a measure of our self-worth, not as ticket to heaven, not as means of separating ourselves from others, but as a tool, as a means of benefiting others, especially the least, the lost, and the left behind of our society. What is your money doing? Who besides you is benefiting from it? Does your wealth help or harm the poor? Are you giving back some of your wealth to God?
What must I do to inherit eternal life? Ultimately entering God’s realm is about living a new and transformed life. Our lives are so busy and stressful, we might reasonably wonder, “Then who can be saved?” How can I possibly live up to what God expects of me? Where can I find the time, the nerve, and the resources to take those first necessary steps toward God? In our story, the rich man actually did something right: he came to Jesus! Coming to Jesus is actually the first step of a spiritual transformation that helps make all the other changes possible. When we spend time in Jesus’ presence, in worship, in reading the gospels for ourselves, or in private prayer, when we join ourselves to a community of people committed to Jesus, when we bear each other’s burdens, then we are giving God’s spirit time and opportunity to work in us and to gently lead us into the new ways of living that bring us farther into God’s realm. “With God, all things are possible,” Jesus reminds us. Buoyed by that hopeful word, we can trust that God is already at work within us, recreating and transforming us, giving us the courage to live into the changes that God has already begun in us.
What must I do to inherit eternal life? Ultimately, nothing. You can’t do anything to merit entry into the kingdom. We are do not merit the kingdom because we are just, honest, merciful, and generous. We are all only there by God’s free gift in Christ. If the rich man learned nothing else from his encounter with Jesus, he surely must have realized that he could not buy his way into heaven. He could only gratefully accept Jesus’ offer of a new and changed life. As Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, “No matter what we do, none of us earns eternal life. We can keep the commandments until we are blue in the face; we can sign our paychecks over to Mother Teresa and rattle tin cups for our supper without ever earning a place at the banquet table of God. The kingdom of God is not for sale. It never has been; it never will be. The poor cannot buy it with their poverty and the rich cannot buy it with their riches. The kingdom of God is a consummate gift.”
What must I do to inherit eternal life? The way may be difficult, we may hesitate to take the needed first steps, we may fall off the road and have to wait for Jesus pick us up again, and we may even face the cross. But we can take heart that we have Jesus to accompany us on our journey. We can trust that, despite our own shortcomings and sinfulness, we have already been graced by God and showered with God’s love. Will we too go away grieving because we cannot let go of all that holds us back, cannot bear to change our lives? Or will we let Jesus’ love lead us into the only life worth living?
What must I do to inherit eternal life? We’re still in the gospel of Mark, and we’re still on the road to Jerusalem with Jesus and his friends. In preparation for his leaving them, Jesus has been instructing his closest friends in what discipleship involves. As we’ve been overhearing these conversations, we’ve learned, with the disciples, that we must truly understand what kind of messiah Jesus is. We must accept that he is a suffering messiah who will die a criminal’s death on a Roman cross. We’ve learned that those who wish to lead a community of Jesus’ followers must be servants of all. We’ve been reminded that we must respect the sacred commitments we’ve made to our life partners. We’ve learned that we must become spiritual children who acknowledge their vulnerability and their dependence on God alone.
Now, we come face to face with a shocking reality: in order to be able to accept God’s love, in order to truly live as spiritual children, we must relinquish our sense of self-control. We must let go of all that we place ahead of God, all that encourages us to trust our own possessions, powers, and abilities instead of God. How could this be? People of Jesus’ time, both Jews and Gentiles, believed that the rich especially enjoyed God’s favor. Wasn’t the rich man in today’s reading especially blessed by all his possessions? It’s painful to watch this scene play out. Can’t you see the look of shock and disbelief as this powerful man hears Jesus tell him to give up all his possessions, to let go of everything that had given his life meaning, to set out in a different direction? Can’t you see the tears running down his face, as he turns away from Jesus?
What must I do to inherit eternal life? Change is painful. Letting go is painful. Deciding to let go of our prized possessions, beliefs, attitudes, habits, or voting patterns, and trusting God to lead us into new life is difficult. Perhaps the man in this story “went away grieving,” because, as most people think, he knew he couldn’t do what Jesus had asked of him, and he wept because he was turning his back on an opportunity to change his life. Or perhaps he had decided to follow Jesus, but he knew how hard it would be to see the furniture crated up and carted off, the silver and china sold at auction, the silk and wool robes given to the relatives, the art work donated to the local synagogue. The tears would surely flow again and again.
Entering with Jesus into God’s realm is not easy. Letting go and following God’s leading is difficult. Taking that first step into new life, letting go of old ways of living, is often so painful that we put off doing what we know we must until our lives become unbearable. Attending that first AA meeting: can you imagine the guts it must take to stand up and say, “I’m Bill, and I’m an alcoholic.” Letting go of the past and taking those first steps toward wholeness is so difficult: making that first appointment with a marriage counselor, calling your physician about a mysterious symptom, returning to school, coming out to family and friends, sitting down with strange people, visiting a nursing home, hearing a call to ministry, or, as it was for this man, intentionally and honestly examining our use of our resources.
In our culture, letting go of some of our control over our resources can truly be painful and difficult. Money is the last taboo for us. It’s hard for us to admit that “where your treasure is, there your heart is also.” It’s hard to acknowledge that for most of us our bank statement reveals more about what we truly value than any other document. “Rich or poor, it’s nice to have money,” my mother used to say, but the hard spiritual truth is that our bank accounts will not save us. Make no mistake: we are not called to a life of destitution. Rather, Jesus is asking the rich man and us to see our money not as a measure of our self-worth, not as ticket to heaven, not as means of separating ourselves from others, but as a tool, as a means of benefiting others, especially the least, the lost, and the left behind of our society. What is your money doing? Who besides you is benefiting from it? Does your wealth help or harm the poor? Are you giving back some of your wealth to God?
What must I do to inherit eternal life? Ultimately entering God’s realm is about living a new and transformed life. Our lives are so busy and stressful, we might reasonably wonder, “Then who can be saved?” How can I possibly live up to what God expects of me? Where can I find the time, the nerve, and the resources to take those first necessary steps toward God? In our story, the rich man actually did something right: he came to Jesus! Coming to Jesus is actually the first step of a spiritual transformation that helps make all the other changes possible. When we spend time in Jesus’ presence, in worship, in reading the gospels for ourselves, or in private prayer, when we join ourselves to a community of people committed to Jesus, when we bear each other’s burdens, then we are giving God’s spirit time and opportunity to work in us and to gently lead us into the new ways of living that bring us farther into God’s realm. “With God, all things are possible,” Jesus reminds us. Buoyed by that hopeful word, we can trust that God is already at work within us, recreating and transforming us, giving us the courage to live into the changes that God has already begun in us.
What must I do to inherit eternal life? Ultimately, nothing. You can’t do anything to merit entry into the kingdom. We are do not merit the kingdom because we are just, honest, merciful, and generous. We are all only there by God’s free gift in Christ. If the rich man learned nothing else from his encounter with Jesus, he surely must have realized that he could not buy his way into heaven. He could only gratefully accept Jesus’ offer of a new and changed life. As Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, “No matter what we do, none of us earns eternal life. We can keep the commandments until we are blue in the face; we can sign our paychecks over to Mother Teresa and rattle tin cups for our supper without ever earning a place at the banquet table of God. The kingdom of God is not for sale. It never has been; it never will be. The poor cannot buy it with their poverty and the rich cannot buy it with their riches. The kingdom of God is a consummate gift.”
What must I do to inherit eternal life? The way may be difficult, we may hesitate to take the needed first steps, we may fall off the road and have to wait for Jesus pick us up again, and we may even face the cross. But we can take heart that we have Jesus to accompany us on our journey. We can trust that, despite our own shortcomings and sinfulness, we have already been graced by God and showered with God’s love. Will we too go away grieving because we cannot let go of all that holds us back, cannot bear to change our lives? Or will we let Jesus’ love lead us into the only life worth living?
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Jesus and Bill Doubleday on Marriage and Divorce
A Sermon Preached at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Mt. Kisco, NY
By the Rev. William A. Doubleday
October 7, 2012
In the name of the One God, Who Creates, Redeems, and Inspires Us.
Those Pharisees just won’t leave Jesus alone. They keep coming back with questions with which they hope to catch Jesus out, trip him up, prove him wrong, or get him in trouble with religious or secular authorities. They were never really interested in hearing the Good News of Repentance and Forgiveness – of Healing and New Life – of Death and Resurrection - which Jesus had come to proclaim. They were dedicated critics – taking copious notes - with an agenda for the failure of Jesus, not seekers and searchers looking for insight into what new words God might wish them to hear.
In today’s Gospel reading from the tenth Chapter of Mark’s Gospel, the latest Pharisaical question is: “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”
As he often does, Jesus attempts to turn the question back on his interrogators: “What did Moses command you?”
They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.”
We might want to ask what the Pharisees are actually saying about the teachings of Moses on divorce. The minority of rabbis in Jesus’ day would have explained their answer to that question by saying, “If your wife commits adultery, you may hand her a note that says something like: ‘Because of your adulterous behavior, I divorce you. Good bye. Good riddance. Pack your bags. Be gone. You’re out of here.’” To modern ears, that perhaps sounds rather abrupt and rather lacking in any sort of due process or concern for individual women. No discussion of reconciliation. No possibility of appeal. No financial provisions.
But the view of the overwhelming majority of rabbis in Jesus’ day was far worse. They would have explained their answer with a simpler and more straightforward understanding of Moses’ teaching on divorce. It went something like this: “If for any reason, at any time, you wish to divorce your wife, hand her a note that says something like: ‘I divorce you. Good bye. Good riddance. Pack your bags. Be gone. You’re out of here.’” No cause need be given, whether it was the burnt toast, the untidy house, the inability to produce children or a male heir, a fading beauty, or the man’s desire to be rid of one wife so that he could more conveniently and with fewer encumbrances seek another. No financial provision was made for the divorced wife. Again no appeal was available. Usually she had to return to her family of origin in hopes of a charitable reception and a safe place to stay. I suppose one might call it a “no fault divorce plan for men.”
I must emphasize that there was no provision in Palestine in the days of Jesus, for women to divorce their husbands at all. Though there would be a time when women would be allowed to divorce their husbands on grounds of adultery, that time had not yet come. Indeed, in the days of Jesus, sexual mores were defined a lot differently than they have come to be in modern times. Polygamy was still an option for men. A married man only committed adultery if he engaged in a relationship with a woman who was in fact married to another man. The lesser sin of fornication, when a married man – or any man - had a non-marital sexual relationship with an unmarried woman was not likely to be punished unless some sort of scandal or serious accusation had ensued. Any sexual sin by a married woman was deemed heinous, and in some instances brought the death penalty either in the courts or in the court of public opinion. You may recall Jesus coming to the aid of the woman taken in adultery who was about to be stoned to death. He said: “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Jesus responded to those curious Pharisees with a challenging teaching that would seem to call them, as well as all of us who would call ourselves his followers, to a higher standard. He says: “Because of your hardness of heart Moses wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
Jesus reaches back to the Book of Genesis for his rationale for this teaching, and he is clearly setting a new and higher standard for marriage and a clearer opposition to divorce than had pertained in his day. Many commentators have observed that where the traditional teaching about divorce had essentially cast women in the role of property which could be discarded at will, Jesus upheld and pointed towards the sacramental nature of marriage and the divinely blessed unity of husband and wife. Even if at times our marriages have not lived up to this standard, it is a standard which every married couple in the Christian tradition has been asked to live into. “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
The evangelist Mark tells us that when they got inside the house, the disciples asked Jesus again about this matter. Clearly he had offered a teaching different from any they had ever heard before. Could they have heard him wrong?
But he says to them: “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” Here it would seem – and this is where much of the Church has been stuck down through the centuries – here it would seem that Jesus is not so much condemning divorce itself, but the phenomenon of remarriage after a divorce. There can be reasons for divorce that have nothing to do with adultery or sexual infidelity. But when remarriage or infidelity occurs, then the “they are no longer two, but one flesh” standard has been violated.
By now, some of you may be wondering why I am taking so much time to try to explore what Jesus most likely said about divorce and remarriage. Let me be quite clear, as a pastor I know that there are many times when divorce is in fact painful, grief-ridden, tragic, necessary, ultimately life-giving, and even life-saving for one or both spouses and whole families. As a pastor, I know that there are many times when remarriage is a matter of divine and human love, the restoration of hope, the experience of grace, and the occasion of blessed new beginnings for all concerned.
Though many are, as a pastor, I know that all divorces do not need to be marked by extreme rancor, acute hostility, permanent animosity, or perpetual contempt. As a pastor, I know that with time, many spouses, many children, many families, even many congregations come to recognize that as painful as divorces may be, as challenging and uncertain as remarriages may be, they in fact sometimes give us glimpses of Good Friday and hints of Easter Morning in our very own lives, families, and communities.
Though many Americans still seem to think of the Bible as a sexual rule book, except in the Holiness Code found in the Book of Leviticus and related texts, the Bible says relatively little about sex or even marriage – it is a book far more concerned with economic and social justice and care for the widows, orphans, and strangers in the land. Jesus says even less about human sexuality or marital relationships. John’s Gospel tells us that early in his ministry, Jesus and his disciples attended a marriage in Cana with his mother, Mary, and that in the face of a wine shortage, with his mother’s delighted encouragement, he turned water into wine and thus prolonged a very good party. John tells us nothing about Jesus’ thoughts on that occasion or about his thoughts about marriage more generally.
There are five or six places where in the Gospels – as is the case in today’s reading from Mark - where Jesus touches on issues of divorce and remarriage, and at least in his time and place he appears to have been opposed to both, though in at least one place in Matthew’s Gospel he does allow for divorce and remarriage, presumably for the so-called “innocent party” in a marriage that ended for reasons of adultery.
During much of the Christian Church’s history, divorce was generally taboo and remarriage was forbidden or frowned upon. Protestant churches, earlier than Catholic and Anglican Churches ones, came to an understanding that sometimes marriages fail, sometimes love dies, sometimes people grow dramatically apart, sometimes domestic violence destroys lives and families, and sometimes marriages for very good, if often tragic reasons, need to end. Very often it is far more an occasion of grief and sadness than it is somehow a matter of sin or a reason for judgment.
Today, Roman Catholics still contend with marriage tribunals that annul marriages, effectively saying marriages never existed, though inexplicably there are large numbers of children who were legitimately conceived. Many Roman Catholics who have left that Church for this or other reasons have been able to find sacramental homes in the Episcopal Church, for which I give particular thanks.
I am sorry to say that until the Canons of the Episcopal Church were drastically revised in 1973, the Episcopal Church canonically forbade clergy from officiating at most remarriages. Clergy who read the marriage canons severely, often even excommunicated parishioners who had gone elsewhere for remarriage and then had come right back to the Episcopal Church. Fortunately those days are now behind us – and by most of us completely forgotten – alas I did my curacy in a parish in Western Massachusetts where that was a still very painful issue in 1980.
Whatever Jesus may actually have intended for us in marital relationship today, the reality is that our life spans are immeasurably longer than was the case in New Testament. The social, economic, cultural, and religious settings of our lives, our relationships, and our families are separated by eons from the realities of Judaism three thousand years ago, or the realities of 1st century Palestine where Jesus lived and taught. What we do know is that marriage is a blessed sacrament. What we do know is that we are called to lives of faithfulness. What we do know is that God is a God of Love.
The Anglican theologian, Norman Pittenger, called God a Cosmic Lover – who created us to be lovers, who might both know and reciprocate God’s love, and who might love one another – even in life giving – life sustaining - life creating situations of marriage and family. The shape and parameters of those marriages and families have evolved and changed over the past two centuries and will undoubtedly continue to do so.
My prayer for us today is that God may yet – God may still – God may always bless us – in our lives – in our loves – in our friendships – in our relationships - in our marriages – in our families – in our brokenness – in our healing – in the new beginnings which God offers us – no matter who we are – no matter where we may have been – no matter what we may have done – no matter how we may have failed.
By the Rev. William A. Doubleday
October 7, 2012
In the name of the One God, Who Creates, Redeems, and Inspires Us.
Those Pharisees just won’t leave Jesus alone. They keep coming back with questions with which they hope to catch Jesus out, trip him up, prove him wrong, or get him in trouble with religious or secular authorities. They were never really interested in hearing the Good News of Repentance and Forgiveness – of Healing and New Life – of Death and Resurrection - which Jesus had come to proclaim. They were dedicated critics – taking copious notes - with an agenda for the failure of Jesus, not seekers and searchers looking for insight into what new words God might wish them to hear.
In today’s Gospel reading from the tenth Chapter of Mark’s Gospel, the latest Pharisaical question is: “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”
As he often does, Jesus attempts to turn the question back on his interrogators: “What did Moses command you?”
They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.”
We might want to ask what the Pharisees are actually saying about the teachings of Moses on divorce. The minority of rabbis in Jesus’ day would have explained their answer to that question by saying, “If your wife commits adultery, you may hand her a note that says something like: ‘Because of your adulterous behavior, I divorce you. Good bye. Good riddance. Pack your bags. Be gone. You’re out of here.’” To modern ears, that perhaps sounds rather abrupt and rather lacking in any sort of due process or concern for individual women. No discussion of reconciliation. No possibility of appeal. No financial provisions.
But the view of the overwhelming majority of rabbis in Jesus’ day was far worse. They would have explained their answer with a simpler and more straightforward understanding of Moses’ teaching on divorce. It went something like this: “If for any reason, at any time, you wish to divorce your wife, hand her a note that says something like: ‘I divorce you. Good bye. Good riddance. Pack your bags. Be gone. You’re out of here.’” No cause need be given, whether it was the burnt toast, the untidy house, the inability to produce children or a male heir, a fading beauty, or the man’s desire to be rid of one wife so that he could more conveniently and with fewer encumbrances seek another. No financial provision was made for the divorced wife. Again no appeal was available. Usually she had to return to her family of origin in hopes of a charitable reception and a safe place to stay. I suppose one might call it a “no fault divorce plan for men.”
I must emphasize that there was no provision in Palestine in the days of Jesus, for women to divorce their husbands at all. Though there would be a time when women would be allowed to divorce their husbands on grounds of adultery, that time had not yet come. Indeed, in the days of Jesus, sexual mores were defined a lot differently than they have come to be in modern times. Polygamy was still an option for men. A married man only committed adultery if he engaged in a relationship with a woman who was in fact married to another man. The lesser sin of fornication, when a married man – or any man - had a non-marital sexual relationship with an unmarried woman was not likely to be punished unless some sort of scandal or serious accusation had ensued. Any sexual sin by a married woman was deemed heinous, and in some instances brought the death penalty either in the courts or in the court of public opinion. You may recall Jesus coming to the aid of the woman taken in adultery who was about to be stoned to death. He said: “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Jesus responded to those curious Pharisees with a challenging teaching that would seem to call them, as well as all of us who would call ourselves his followers, to a higher standard. He says: “Because of your hardness of heart Moses wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
Jesus reaches back to the Book of Genesis for his rationale for this teaching, and he is clearly setting a new and higher standard for marriage and a clearer opposition to divorce than had pertained in his day. Many commentators have observed that where the traditional teaching about divorce had essentially cast women in the role of property which could be discarded at will, Jesus upheld and pointed towards the sacramental nature of marriage and the divinely blessed unity of husband and wife. Even if at times our marriages have not lived up to this standard, it is a standard which every married couple in the Christian tradition has been asked to live into. “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
The evangelist Mark tells us that when they got inside the house, the disciples asked Jesus again about this matter. Clearly he had offered a teaching different from any they had ever heard before. Could they have heard him wrong?
But he says to them: “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” Here it would seem – and this is where much of the Church has been stuck down through the centuries – here it would seem that Jesus is not so much condemning divorce itself, but the phenomenon of remarriage after a divorce. There can be reasons for divorce that have nothing to do with adultery or sexual infidelity. But when remarriage or infidelity occurs, then the “they are no longer two, but one flesh” standard has been violated.
By now, some of you may be wondering why I am taking so much time to try to explore what Jesus most likely said about divorce and remarriage. Let me be quite clear, as a pastor I know that there are many times when divorce is in fact painful, grief-ridden, tragic, necessary, ultimately life-giving, and even life-saving for one or both spouses and whole families. As a pastor, I know that there are many times when remarriage is a matter of divine and human love, the restoration of hope, the experience of grace, and the occasion of blessed new beginnings for all concerned.
Though many are, as a pastor, I know that all divorces do not need to be marked by extreme rancor, acute hostility, permanent animosity, or perpetual contempt. As a pastor, I know that with time, many spouses, many children, many families, even many congregations come to recognize that as painful as divorces may be, as challenging and uncertain as remarriages may be, they in fact sometimes give us glimpses of Good Friday and hints of Easter Morning in our very own lives, families, and communities.
Though many Americans still seem to think of the Bible as a sexual rule book, except in the Holiness Code found in the Book of Leviticus and related texts, the Bible says relatively little about sex or even marriage – it is a book far more concerned with economic and social justice and care for the widows, orphans, and strangers in the land. Jesus says even less about human sexuality or marital relationships. John’s Gospel tells us that early in his ministry, Jesus and his disciples attended a marriage in Cana with his mother, Mary, and that in the face of a wine shortage, with his mother’s delighted encouragement, he turned water into wine and thus prolonged a very good party. John tells us nothing about Jesus’ thoughts on that occasion or about his thoughts about marriage more generally.
There are five or six places where in the Gospels – as is the case in today’s reading from Mark - where Jesus touches on issues of divorce and remarriage, and at least in his time and place he appears to have been opposed to both, though in at least one place in Matthew’s Gospel he does allow for divorce and remarriage, presumably for the so-called “innocent party” in a marriage that ended for reasons of adultery.
During much of the Christian Church’s history, divorce was generally taboo and remarriage was forbidden or frowned upon. Protestant churches, earlier than Catholic and Anglican Churches ones, came to an understanding that sometimes marriages fail, sometimes love dies, sometimes people grow dramatically apart, sometimes domestic violence destroys lives and families, and sometimes marriages for very good, if often tragic reasons, need to end. Very often it is far more an occasion of grief and sadness than it is somehow a matter of sin or a reason for judgment.
Today, Roman Catholics still contend with marriage tribunals that annul marriages, effectively saying marriages never existed, though inexplicably there are large numbers of children who were legitimately conceived. Many Roman Catholics who have left that Church for this or other reasons have been able to find sacramental homes in the Episcopal Church, for which I give particular thanks.
I am sorry to say that until the Canons of the Episcopal Church were drastically revised in 1973, the Episcopal Church canonically forbade clergy from officiating at most remarriages. Clergy who read the marriage canons severely, often even excommunicated parishioners who had gone elsewhere for remarriage and then had come right back to the Episcopal Church. Fortunately those days are now behind us – and by most of us completely forgotten – alas I did my curacy in a parish in Western Massachusetts where that was a still very painful issue in 1980.
Whatever Jesus may actually have intended for us in marital relationship today, the reality is that our life spans are immeasurably longer than was the case in New Testament. The social, economic, cultural, and religious settings of our lives, our relationships, and our families are separated by eons from the realities of Judaism three thousand years ago, or the realities of 1st century Palestine where Jesus lived and taught. What we do know is that marriage is a blessed sacrament. What we do know is that we are called to lives of faithfulness. What we do know is that God is a God of Love.
The Anglican theologian, Norman Pittenger, called God a Cosmic Lover – who created us to be lovers, who might both know and reciprocate God’s love, and who might love one another – even in life giving – life sustaining - life creating situations of marriage and family. The shape and parameters of those marriages and families have evolved and changed over the past two centuries and will undoubtedly continue to do so.
My prayer for us today is that God may yet – God may still – God may always bless us – in our lives – in our loves – in our friendships – in our relationships - in our marriages – in our families – in our brokenness – in our healing – in the new beginnings which God offers us – no matter who we are – no matter where we may have been – no matter what we may have done – no matter how we may have failed.
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