“And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’” Even the tax collectors and the soldiers asked him, “And we, what should we do?” And the lawyers and judges, the nurses and doctors, the teachers and the stay-at-home moms and dads, even the priests and deacons asked him, “And we, what should we do?”
It’s Gaudete Sunday. We’ve lit the pink Advent candle. We’ve begun to anticipate celebrating Christmas and especially finding the gifts that mysteriously appear under the tree. Why then do we hear John the Baptist’s thundering exhortation? Why do we hear his answers to the plaintive questions of the crowds?
All the other Scripture readings for today tell us to rejoice. Following his recitation of the judgments of God on the people of Israel, the prophet Zephaniah now calls on them to rejoice: “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” In the canticle from the prophet Isaiah, which we said in response to the reading from Zephaniah, we hear a similar theme. Looking ahead to the return from the Exile in Babylon, the prophet exhorts the people “Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy….”
Most important, we hear the call to rejoice in Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi. Written from prison in 64AD, this was Paul’s last letter. We heard the opening section of the letter last week, in which Paul gave thanks for the help and support he received from the Philippian Christian community. Now, at the end of the letter, Paul twice commands the Philippian Christians to rejoice. The Latin for the command to “rejoice,” gaudete, gives us the name for this Sunday.
In seeming contrast to all these commands to “rejoice,” in our Gospel reading we hear John’s pronouncements and promises of judgement. We even hear him fulminate at the crowds who come out to be baptized by him: “Brood of snakes! What do you think you’re doing slithering down here to the river? Do you think a little water on your snakeskins is going to deflect God’s judgment?” And then the evangelist tells us that, “with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.” Good news?
Advent is strange. To begin with, it’s counter-cultural. Out there, we’ve been celebrating “Christmas” since Thanksgiving – or even before – and for many people, the Twelve Days of Christmas begin today, rather than after Christmas day. Moreover, in Advent we live in three time zones at once. We look back to the past, to the past even before the birth of Jesus, we look to the future, to the coming celebration of Jesus’ birth and to Jesus’ Second Coming, and, we acknowledge Christ’s coming to us in the present. But Advent also has two faces, both of which are reflected in today’s readings. It has a joyful aspect, in which we rejoice at the coming celebration and trust in God’s future, in God’s promises of a renewed creation. And Advent also has an aspect of judgement, in which we are called to reflect on how we live our lives as we wait for God’s coming, God’s coming at Christmas, in the future, and in our lives now.
How then are we to live? What do we see in our readings? In John the Baptist’s exhortations, we are asked to recognize that God’s call to repentance, to changing our way of life, is addressed to all of us. While Matthew directs John’s hard words at the religious leaders, here in Luke, John’s exhortations are to the “crowds.” John is not shouting at the Scribes or Pharisees, he is shouting at ordinary people. And not only ordinary people but also the hated tax collectors, who colluded with the Roman occupiers, and even with Roman soldiers themselves, who enforced Roman rule. He was especially critical of those who claimed special status as God’s chosen people, reminding them that “children of Abraham are a dime a dozen. God can make children from stones if God wants.”
John also calls the crowds to recognize that immersion in water is a symbolic act that reflects an inner commitment to draw closer to God. But it is a commitment that has to be realized in concrete acts, in concrete individual and communal behavior. So, if those who were baptized were serious about preparing to greet the one who will baptize us “with the Holy Spirit and fire,” they must be generous with their worldly goods, honest in their business dealings, kind and compassionate in their personal relationships, and content with their station in life.
With all these prescriptions, John also asked the crowds to recognize what Barbara Brown Taylor called “an altar in the world.” That is, they were to understand that their ordinary lives, their daily lives, were sacred and holy. Although John himself was a desert ascetic, who wore garments of camel’s hair and ate locusts and honey, he did not ask people to follow him into the wilderness. Instead, he asked them to show their commitment to God’s way in their day-to-day lives. Moreover, they were to trust that God was at work in them and in the world, and that God would deliver on God’s promises.
Don’t we hear a similar message in the letter to the Philippians? After commanding these new followers of Jesus to “rejoice,” Paul also exhorts them. He calls them to “forbearance,” or as The Message puts it, “Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them.” Moreover, they are to let God’s nearness change their behavior now, by behaving more compassionately with others, and by trusting that God is aware of their needs. If they do, again quoting The Message, “Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”
Not surprisingly, our canticle and reading from Zephaniah echo Paul’s call for a deeper trust in God in all that we do. As Isaiah puts it, “I will trust in him and not be afraid. For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense….” Similarly, Zephaniah calls the people to trust in God’s promises, most especially God’s promise that, “I will make you renowned and praised among all the people of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes says the Lord.”
What then should we do? The virtues to which John the Baptizer calls us twenty-first century followers of Jesus are good for all seasons. Perhaps, though, it is especially important to hear John’s message at this time of year, when the “Christmas season,” tends to overwhelm us. Make no mistake: we too are part of the crowds who heard John’s exhortations, and we too must change our lives. First, we too are called to realize that ultimately no human status will save us. We will not be saved through our class, our caste, or our ethnicity. Neither will our possessions, our wealth, or our attainments save us. We will not be saved solely because we are Episcopalians. To paraphrase John, we cannot say to ourselves, “We have Thomas Cranmer as our father,” as if that alone guaranteed us special treatment before God.
Like the crowds who heard John, we are also called to be generous. As we scurry to find the perfect Christmas gift, as we worry if we cannot afford everything on our children’s gift lists, do we remember those who have no coat? Right in this parish, you can be generous with hats, scarves, gloves, and diapers. Can you donate to food banks, the Outreach Center, or Serenity House? National and international charitable organizations abound. Episcopal Relief and Development is an especially worthy organization, as it works in disasters in this country, including one right here in Gallia County, and in partnership with church organizations overseas. Consider supporting them with a monthly donation. Or how about organizations working on environmental issues? Two to consider: the National Parks Conservation Association, which works to protect our own national parks, and the World Wildlife Fund.
Like the tax collectors who heard John, we are also called to be honest in all our dealings. And that includes honesty with ourselves. Self-examination, as twelve-step programs repeatedly stress, is an important practice. I invite you to practice reviewing your day or week regularly. Like the Roman soldiers, we are also called to contentment, to “bloom where you are planted,” as we used to say. Ambition and the desire for transformation, challenge, and growth, are all important parts of maturity. Yet, we are also called to contentment, to staying grounded where we are, doing our best to be Christ for others where we are. And, of course, we are called to kindness and compassion, to gentleness or forbearance with all. Random acts of kindness are wonderful, but the deeper challenge is to see all people as children of God, to see Christ’s face in all those whom we meet and treat them as we would treat Christ.
So is there good news after all in John the Baptist’s message? My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. We can trust that God loves us so much that God wants to transform us, that God wanted to gift us with God’s son to provide us with a model of how we are to live, and that ultimately God gives us God’s Spirit to guide us in what we do. “The Lord is near.” The Lord is always near, walking beside us, not just at Christmas, but now and forever. What then should we do? “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say Rejoice.”
Showing posts with label Advent 3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advent 3. Show all posts
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Sunday, December 14, 2014
We are Witnesses
Above the altar of the hospital chapel of Saint Anthony’s Monastery in Isenheim in France, there is a painting of the crucifixion. The altarpiece was painted in the sixteenth century by an artist named Matthias Grünewald. In the painting appears John the Baptist. It is anachronistic, since the gospels tell us that John was murdered by Herod before Jesus himself was executed. Nevertheless the artist has placed John the Baptist at the foot of the cross. Holding open a book at his side showing a lamb bearing a cross, John points a long, bony finger towards Jesus.
Prophets! Once again, our Scripture readings point us towards prophets. Last week we heard the prophets call us to confession of our sins, repentance, and transformation of life. Last week, in John the Baptizer’s call in the Gospel according to Mark, we heard especially clearly our need to confess our corporate sins, and to work toward real amendment of life. This week, our Scriptures send us a different message. While transformation of life is always on God’s agenda for us, this week, this Gaudete Sunday bearing the pink candle of joy, we hear the prophets proclaim, point to, and witness to the wonders that God is working among us. Are we ready to hear that message?
Can you hear the joyful note in the voice of the prophet in our reading from the book of Isaiah? Here the prophet excitedly proclaims good news to those returning from exile in Babylon. Even though Jerusalem is in ruins, the prophet reminds the people of what God has already done for them, and yet again restates God’s promises. Can you hear that good news? Anointed by God, the prophet promises consolation for those who mourn, freedom for those in prison, voices to praise God, the will and the means to rebuild Jerusalem, and assurance that their relationship with God will last forever. Just as we might, the people joyfully respond to what they hear: “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,” they say, “my whole being shall exult in my God….”
Even our psalm echoes that note of joy. Here too, the people are envisioned as having just returned from exile. Joyfully, the psalmist hears them declare, “Then was our mouth filled with laughter and our tongue with shouts of joy.” Agreeing with their neighbors’ judgment that “The Lord has done great things for them,” the returning exiles witness to God’s deeds as they shout, “The Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed.”
What do you hear and see in the depiction of John the Baptizer in the Gospel according to John? For sure, not John the accuser calling for confession and repentance. Instead, like the John depicted in the Isenheim altarpiece, we see and hear a witness pointing to Jesus. This gospel, the fourth and latest gospel, is a gospel of signs, of signs of the true identity of Jesus and of his oneness with God. We see those signs of Jesus’ identity most clearly, according to the evangelist, in Jesus’ “I am” statements: “I am the light of the world, I am the true bread,” etc. In this reading, the Jesus who will provide all these signs has not yet begun his public ministry but is as yet hidden among the people. In a sense, John the Baptizer is the first sign of Jesus in his “I am not statements.” As he denies that he is the Messiah, Elijah, i.e., the Messiah’s forerunner, and the Prophet, John points towards Jesus’ coming. In so doing, he prepares others to recognize Jesus and to understand who Jesus might be. He is, as he tells us, Jesus’ forerunner, the first witness to Jesus’ true identity.
Did you hear a call to witness in our reading from Paul’s first letter to the Christians in Thessaloniki? Does Paul call those early followers of the Way to point their fingers at Jesus and proclaim his true identity to their neighbors? Directly, no, since the Thessalonians were probably more worried about surviving Roman persecution or lasting until Jesus’ return, an event they believed was imminent. Even so, if you were listening carefully, you might have heard a call to indirect witness to Jesus’ identity embedded in Paul’s letter.
What do we make of these ancient calls to proclamation and witness? Are we called to be God’s witnesses? Or is the role of witness reserved for Isaiah, the psalmist, John the Baptizer, the writer of the fourth gospel, Paul, the Thessalonian Christians, the creator of the Isenheim altarpiece, and a few assorted saints? If you receive our e-news or attend an evening Eucharist, you know that many other people, those whose lives are commemorated in Holy Women, Holy Men, have been – and are – called to point to Jesus and to his impact on their lives.
My brothers and sisters, we too are called to be witnesses. In the Gospel according to Luke, Jesus applied to himself the self-description of the prophet Isaiah – and rightly so. But these words also apply to us. Say to yourself, “The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me.” Believe it: we too are called to speak God’s consoling word – among our family and friends, in hospitals and nursing homes, as we distribute diapers, and as we serve our Loaves and Fishes friends. We too are called to rebuild the broken places in our world – when a family is burned out of their home, when the land is despoiled, when we liberate concentration camps or welcome refugees, and when we reassure those around us, whoever they are, that God’s covenant includes all of us, and that all of us are God’s beloved children.
Like John the Baptizer, we too are called to be a sign of the coming of Jesus. It’s possible, isn’t it, that someone might say of us, “There was a woman sent from God whose name was N,” or “There was a man sent from God whose name was N.” And when someone asks you, “Who are you,” you too can answer, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” It indeed may feel like a wilderness out there, yet we too are called to take John’s role and point to Jesus. We too are called to remind others that Jesus is coming – even in the midst of this frenzied “holiday” season.
And how do we, as Jesus’ twenty-first century followers actually do that? Are we called to tell others that “the Lord has anointed me?” Are we called to remind others that one is coming after us whose sandals we are not worthy to untie? For some, the answer to those questions would indeed be “yes.” However, our reading from the letter to the Thessalonian Christians gives us another answer. Perhaps we can proclaim Jesus, we can point to the reality of his impact on us, in the way that we live. Perhaps this is our witness: to show forth God’s praise, “not only with our lips but with our lives.”
And how are we to do that? Actually, Paul’s counsels are quite clear. We are to be joyful, not “happy clappy” joyful, but, rather confident in God’s promises and God’s love. We are to “pray without ceasing.” This does not mean saying “Our Father” or “Hail, Mary” every spare minute. It does mean understanding our relationship with God as the very ground of our being and seeking to be in touch with God wherever we are. A practice you might adopt to foster a deeper sense of your life as grounded in God is to do a nightly recast of your day: take just a few minutes to ask yourself, “Where was God in this day for me?” We are to be thankful, for all that God has given us, for those elements in our day or life that made us feel loved and affirmed, but also for those times in which we felt tired, ashamed, angry, and unloved. God is in those moments as well, teaching us and supporting us. We are to trust that the Holy Spirit is at work in us, we are to listen to the prophets among us, most especially when they tell us what we don’t want to hear, and we are to carefully consider all that we see, hear, and do. In short, as William Brosend tells us, we witness best to the reality of Christ when we live lives that are joyous, prayerful, Eucharistic, Spirit-filled, prophetic, and tested. As we live out our calling as followers of Jesus, each of our lives will look different. Even so, all of us can trust that God will empower our witness, because, “The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do this.”
Are you ready to be like John the Baptizer in the Isenheim altarpiece? Are you ready to be a witness for Jesus? Then, as you prepare to welcome him as a tiny baby, hear the prayer of another witness:
Winter God, in the darkest time of year
you brought in starlight,
angel song, and baby cries.
Stay with me as I journey to new birth
and celebrate this time of saints,
psalms, and prayer.
In the silence and stillness,
Fashion my prayer into a carol of praise
and focus my life so that I may act as a
Herald of Christ, the child of peace
and the prophet of justice. Amen.1
1. Based on Larry J.Peacock, Openings, (Woodstock, VT: Skylight Paths, 2014), 351.
Prophets! Once again, our Scripture readings point us towards prophets. Last week we heard the prophets call us to confession of our sins, repentance, and transformation of life. Last week, in John the Baptizer’s call in the Gospel according to Mark, we heard especially clearly our need to confess our corporate sins, and to work toward real amendment of life. This week, our Scriptures send us a different message. While transformation of life is always on God’s agenda for us, this week, this Gaudete Sunday bearing the pink candle of joy, we hear the prophets proclaim, point to, and witness to the wonders that God is working among us. Are we ready to hear that message?
Can you hear the joyful note in the voice of the prophet in our reading from the book of Isaiah? Here the prophet excitedly proclaims good news to those returning from exile in Babylon. Even though Jerusalem is in ruins, the prophet reminds the people of what God has already done for them, and yet again restates God’s promises. Can you hear that good news? Anointed by God, the prophet promises consolation for those who mourn, freedom for those in prison, voices to praise God, the will and the means to rebuild Jerusalem, and assurance that their relationship with God will last forever. Just as we might, the people joyfully respond to what they hear: “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,” they say, “my whole being shall exult in my God….”
Even our psalm echoes that note of joy. Here too, the people are envisioned as having just returned from exile. Joyfully, the psalmist hears them declare, “Then was our mouth filled with laughter and our tongue with shouts of joy.” Agreeing with their neighbors’ judgment that “The Lord has done great things for them,” the returning exiles witness to God’s deeds as they shout, “The Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed.”
What do you hear and see in the depiction of John the Baptizer in the Gospel according to John? For sure, not John the accuser calling for confession and repentance. Instead, like the John depicted in the Isenheim altarpiece, we see and hear a witness pointing to Jesus. This gospel, the fourth and latest gospel, is a gospel of signs, of signs of the true identity of Jesus and of his oneness with God. We see those signs of Jesus’ identity most clearly, according to the evangelist, in Jesus’ “I am” statements: “I am the light of the world, I am the true bread,” etc. In this reading, the Jesus who will provide all these signs has not yet begun his public ministry but is as yet hidden among the people. In a sense, John the Baptizer is the first sign of Jesus in his “I am not statements.” As he denies that he is the Messiah, Elijah, i.e., the Messiah’s forerunner, and the Prophet, John points towards Jesus’ coming. In so doing, he prepares others to recognize Jesus and to understand who Jesus might be. He is, as he tells us, Jesus’ forerunner, the first witness to Jesus’ true identity.
Did you hear a call to witness in our reading from Paul’s first letter to the Christians in Thessaloniki? Does Paul call those early followers of the Way to point their fingers at Jesus and proclaim his true identity to their neighbors? Directly, no, since the Thessalonians were probably more worried about surviving Roman persecution or lasting until Jesus’ return, an event they believed was imminent. Even so, if you were listening carefully, you might have heard a call to indirect witness to Jesus’ identity embedded in Paul’s letter.
What do we make of these ancient calls to proclamation and witness? Are we called to be God’s witnesses? Or is the role of witness reserved for Isaiah, the psalmist, John the Baptizer, the writer of the fourth gospel, Paul, the Thessalonian Christians, the creator of the Isenheim altarpiece, and a few assorted saints? If you receive our e-news or attend an evening Eucharist, you know that many other people, those whose lives are commemorated in Holy Women, Holy Men, have been – and are – called to point to Jesus and to his impact on their lives.
My brothers and sisters, we too are called to be witnesses. In the Gospel according to Luke, Jesus applied to himself the self-description of the prophet Isaiah – and rightly so. But these words also apply to us. Say to yourself, “The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me.” Believe it: we too are called to speak God’s consoling word – among our family and friends, in hospitals and nursing homes, as we distribute diapers, and as we serve our Loaves and Fishes friends. We too are called to rebuild the broken places in our world – when a family is burned out of their home, when the land is despoiled, when we liberate concentration camps or welcome refugees, and when we reassure those around us, whoever they are, that God’s covenant includes all of us, and that all of us are God’s beloved children.
Like John the Baptizer, we too are called to be a sign of the coming of Jesus. It’s possible, isn’t it, that someone might say of us, “There was a woman sent from God whose name was N,” or “There was a man sent from God whose name was N.” And when someone asks you, “Who are you,” you too can answer, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” It indeed may feel like a wilderness out there, yet we too are called to take John’s role and point to Jesus. We too are called to remind others that Jesus is coming – even in the midst of this frenzied “holiday” season.
And how do we, as Jesus’ twenty-first century followers actually do that? Are we called to tell others that “the Lord has anointed me?” Are we called to remind others that one is coming after us whose sandals we are not worthy to untie? For some, the answer to those questions would indeed be “yes.” However, our reading from the letter to the Thessalonian Christians gives us another answer. Perhaps we can proclaim Jesus, we can point to the reality of his impact on us, in the way that we live. Perhaps this is our witness: to show forth God’s praise, “not only with our lips but with our lives.”
And how are we to do that? Actually, Paul’s counsels are quite clear. We are to be joyful, not “happy clappy” joyful, but, rather confident in God’s promises and God’s love. We are to “pray without ceasing.” This does not mean saying “Our Father” or “Hail, Mary” every spare minute. It does mean understanding our relationship with God as the very ground of our being and seeking to be in touch with God wherever we are. A practice you might adopt to foster a deeper sense of your life as grounded in God is to do a nightly recast of your day: take just a few minutes to ask yourself, “Where was God in this day for me?” We are to be thankful, for all that God has given us, for those elements in our day or life that made us feel loved and affirmed, but also for those times in which we felt tired, ashamed, angry, and unloved. God is in those moments as well, teaching us and supporting us. We are to trust that the Holy Spirit is at work in us, we are to listen to the prophets among us, most especially when they tell us what we don’t want to hear, and we are to carefully consider all that we see, hear, and do. In short, as William Brosend tells us, we witness best to the reality of Christ when we live lives that are joyous, prayerful, Eucharistic, Spirit-filled, prophetic, and tested. As we live out our calling as followers of Jesus, each of our lives will look different. Even so, all of us can trust that God will empower our witness, because, “The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do this.”
Are you ready to be like John the Baptizer in the Isenheim altarpiece? Are you ready to be a witness for Jesus? Then, as you prepare to welcome him as a tiny baby, hear the prayer of another witness:
Winter God, in the darkest time of year
you brought in starlight,
angel song, and baby cries.
Stay with me as I journey to new birth
and celebrate this time of saints,
psalms, and prayer.
In the silence and stillness,
Fashion my prayer into a carol of praise
and focus my life so that I may act as a
Herald of Christ, the child of peace
and the prophet of justice. Amen.1
1. Based on Larry J.Peacock, Openings, (Woodstock, VT: Skylight Paths, 2014), 351.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Are You the One?
What’s going on here? Why did the writer of the Gospel of Matthew show us John the Baptist sending his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Wouldn’t Matthew’s readers think that John already knew for certain who Jesus was? The gospel accounts showed John and Jesus as cousins. The community of Jewish Christians for whom this gospel was written very likely knew that Jesus had been one of John’s disciples. Moreover, the gospel had already told them that when Jesus asked John for baptism along with everyone else, John said, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” And after Jesus was baptized, the gospel tells us that a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Was the gospel writer trying to suggest that, lying in prison, John suddenly doubted his cousin’s identity?
Actually, there are at least three questions embedded in this story. The first question is the nature of the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus, a live and important question for Matthew’s audience. It’s possible that John was a member of the Essenes, an influential ascetic community that wrote and preserved what we now call the Dead Sea Scrolls. Even if he was not an Essene, John was a powerful prophetic voice as Jesus was beginning his own ministry. Many in Jesus’ time wondered how to regard the two of them. The gospel writer voices the consensus the early church reached as to John’s part in salvation history. Quoting from the prophecy of Isaiah, the gospel writer avers that John was a great prophet, perhaps the greatest of the prophets. Even so, quoting from the prophet Malachi, the writer suggests that John’s role was that of a forerunner or messenger, one who prepared the way for the coming of the Messiah, now known to be Jesus.
The second question in this passage is the question of what kind of Messiah Jesus actually was. During Jesus’ lifetime, many Jews had expected God’s anointed one to be a military leader, a “shoot from the stump of Jesse,” i.e.., another David who would free them from the Roman yoke. From their experience of Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection, the early church gained a new understanding of God’s Anointed One. Jesus’ answer to John’s disciples reflects that new understanding. Notice that the gospel writer does not have Jesus answer their query directly. Rather, Jesus asks John’s disciples to look around them, see with their own eyes, and draw their own conclusions as to his identity. Then he alludes to the prophet Isaiah. He indirectly claims the Messiah’s mantle by suggesting that, because of him, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” To drive home his point, he tells them that all who understand this new definition of God’s anointed one will be blessed.
And the third question in this passage is an implied question: is it all right to have questions and doubts? The answer? Absolutely! John must surely have had questions about Jesus’ identity. The earliest followers of Jesus struggled for several centuries to come to terms with the impact of his life, death, and resurrection. Ever since, underneath social coercion to conform to the church, thoughtful, serious Christians have struggled with faith, have struggled with the nature of Jesus’ identity, have struggled with who God is, how to trust God, and how to love their neighbors. Having doubts and asking questions are part of the natural cycle of faith. In the end, struggling with questions is the only way to grow spiritually. If you are too content, you may be stagnating spiritually.
The value of struggling with questions is as true for the church as it is for individual Christians. In the early part of the nineteenth century, the Oxford movement within the Anglican Church struggled with reappropriating the liturgies, vestments, paraments, and icons of the pre-reformation church. Later on in the century, churches struggled with the call to support overseas missions. The mid-twentieth century brought us questions of liturgical renewal, the role of women, and the inequities faced by racial and ethnic minorities. Today, we struggle with the fate of our institutions, even as the church seems to be breaking out in new forms of witness and mission.
Fortunately, for us, we are in the right place to ask all kinds of faith questions. The Anglican Church has never been a confessional church. Lutherans, for example, are expected to subscribe to the twenty-eight faith statements of the Augsburg Confession. Presbyterians and other members of Reformed Churches subscribe to the Westminster Confession. Anglicans and Episcopalians have no such confessions. Anglicans and Episcopalians are not expected to hew solidly to certain theological perspectives. What about the Nicene Creed, the affirmation of faith that we recite in our liturgy, you may ask. Agreed upon in the fourth century, the creed is the normative statement of faith for the whole church. Whether any individual understands or even accepts every word of it is another matter. Whether, if we were creating a creed today, we would make exactly the same statements as the Nicene Creed is also an open question. The point is that we are part of a church that welcomes questions. I love the title of a Forward Movement pamphlet: “The Episcopal Church: A Faith for Thinking People.” My friends, that is who all of us are.
So what keeps us grounded as Christians? How do we keep growing and evolving in our understanding of who God is? What do we do when we wonder, “Are you the One?” Anglican spirituality is essentially liturgical. It is grounded in worship and fulfilled in worship. More to the point, Anglican spirituality is grounded in a life shaped by Scripture and mediated to us through the cycles of the liturgical year. Think about it. Day by day, if you read Morning or Evening prayer, or even the Forward Movement meditations, you encounter two or three lessons from Scripture. And not just any random Scripture, but Scripture that is chosen to help us hear a vast part of the Word of God in a logical, orderly way. Similarly, week by week, in the Eucharist, we hear four readings from Scripture, again artfully chosen to enable us to understand who Jesus is and what the good news is.
More to the point, our pattern of readings has remained largely the same for nearly a millennium. If you look at the Epistle and Gospel readings for Advent, for example, you will find that they are the same readings that were used not only in the medieval English church but also in a lectionary that goes back to the fifth century. Each of our texts reflects on the other, and all are chosen to help us deepen our understanding of the one in whom we have put our trust. Anglican reformers saw no need to change the ancient pattern; they only wanted us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” the Scriptures, so that we would be able to “embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope” which we have in Jesus Christ. As Anglicans, we grow spiritually as we hear and meditate on that proclamation year by year. In truth, we never hear the same Scripture twice, i.e., every time we hear a passage from Scripture it speaks to us afresh. As we mature as Christians, we ask questions, we ponder, chew, and hopefully grow in our understanding.
I invite you to reflect on your own understanding of Jesus and his importance in your life. Are you too asking John the Baptist’s question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Did you begin as a young person with clear ideas about God, Jesus, and the church? What changes have taken place in your understanding of God or Jesus? Do you wonder what you really believe? If pressed against a wall and asked to defend your faith, could you do it? Are you here in church because you think you should be here, or because you really trust God’s faithfulness and want to commit your life to Jesus? How does the way you live reflect your commitment to Jesus? In this time of waiting and expectation, as we prepare once again to ponder the mystery of the Word moving into our neighborhood, you would do well to find a few moments of quiet and meditate on these questions.
My friends, this is good news: it’s always OK to ask John the Baptist’s question. We will rarely get a straight answer to the question. Just like he did with John’s disciples, Jesus will ask us to look around and see the evidence for his presence among us. When we do arrive at some answer, it will always be temporary and tentative, and it will reflect only the next stage in our growth as disciples. But every time we ask that question – “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” – we can be assured that our questions are, in the end, God-given and will eventually lead us deeper into the heart of God.
Actually, there are at least three questions embedded in this story. The first question is the nature of the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus, a live and important question for Matthew’s audience. It’s possible that John was a member of the Essenes, an influential ascetic community that wrote and preserved what we now call the Dead Sea Scrolls. Even if he was not an Essene, John was a powerful prophetic voice as Jesus was beginning his own ministry. Many in Jesus’ time wondered how to regard the two of them. The gospel writer voices the consensus the early church reached as to John’s part in salvation history. Quoting from the prophecy of Isaiah, the gospel writer avers that John was a great prophet, perhaps the greatest of the prophets. Even so, quoting from the prophet Malachi, the writer suggests that John’s role was that of a forerunner or messenger, one who prepared the way for the coming of the Messiah, now known to be Jesus.
The second question in this passage is the question of what kind of Messiah Jesus actually was. During Jesus’ lifetime, many Jews had expected God’s anointed one to be a military leader, a “shoot from the stump of Jesse,” i.e.., another David who would free them from the Roman yoke. From their experience of Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection, the early church gained a new understanding of God’s Anointed One. Jesus’ answer to John’s disciples reflects that new understanding. Notice that the gospel writer does not have Jesus answer their query directly. Rather, Jesus asks John’s disciples to look around them, see with their own eyes, and draw their own conclusions as to his identity. Then he alludes to the prophet Isaiah. He indirectly claims the Messiah’s mantle by suggesting that, because of him, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” To drive home his point, he tells them that all who understand this new definition of God’s anointed one will be blessed.
And the third question in this passage is an implied question: is it all right to have questions and doubts? The answer? Absolutely! John must surely have had questions about Jesus’ identity. The earliest followers of Jesus struggled for several centuries to come to terms with the impact of his life, death, and resurrection. Ever since, underneath social coercion to conform to the church, thoughtful, serious Christians have struggled with faith, have struggled with the nature of Jesus’ identity, have struggled with who God is, how to trust God, and how to love their neighbors. Having doubts and asking questions are part of the natural cycle of faith. In the end, struggling with questions is the only way to grow spiritually. If you are too content, you may be stagnating spiritually.
The value of struggling with questions is as true for the church as it is for individual Christians. In the early part of the nineteenth century, the Oxford movement within the Anglican Church struggled with reappropriating the liturgies, vestments, paraments, and icons of the pre-reformation church. Later on in the century, churches struggled with the call to support overseas missions. The mid-twentieth century brought us questions of liturgical renewal, the role of women, and the inequities faced by racial and ethnic minorities. Today, we struggle with the fate of our institutions, even as the church seems to be breaking out in new forms of witness and mission.
Fortunately, for us, we are in the right place to ask all kinds of faith questions. The Anglican Church has never been a confessional church. Lutherans, for example, are expected to subscribe to the twenty-eight faith statements of the Augsburg Confession. Presbyterians and other members of Reformed Churches subscribe to the Westminster Confession. Anglicans and Episcopalians have no such confessions. Anglicans and Episcopalians are not expected to hew solidly to certain theological perspectives. What about the Nicene Creed, the affirmation of faith that we recite in our liturgy, you may ask. Agreed upon in the fourth century, the creed is the normative statement of faith for the whole church. Whether any individual understands or even accepts every word of it is another matter. Whether, if we were creating a creed today, we would make exactly the same statements as the Nicene Creed is also an open question. The point is that we are part of a church that welcomes questions. I love the title of a Forward Movement pamphlet: “The Episcopal Church: A Faith for Thinking People.” My friends, that is who all of us are.
So what keeps us grounded as Christians? How do we keep growing and evolving in our understanding of who God is? What do we do when we wonder, “Are you the One?” Anglican spirituality is essentially liturgical. It is grounded in worship and fulfilled in worship. More to the point, Anglican spirituality is grounded in a life shaped by Scripture and mediated to us through the cycles of the liturgical year. Think about it. Day by day, if you read Morning or Evening prayer, or even the Forward Movement meditations, you encounter two or three lessons from Scripture. And not just any random Scripture, but Scripture that is chosen to help us hear a vast part of the Word of God in a logical, orderly way. Similarly, week by week, in the Eucharist, we hear four readings from Scripture, again artfully chosen to enable us to understand who Jesus is and what the good news is.
More to the point, our pattern of readings has remained largely the same for nearly a millennium. If you look at the Epistle and Gospel readings for Advent, for example, you will find that they are the same readings that were used not only in the medieval English church but also in a lectionary that goes back to the fifth century. Each of our texts reflects on the other, and all are chosen to help us deepen our understanding of the one in whom we have put our trust. Anglican reformers saw no need to change the ancient pattern; they only wanted us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” the Scriptures, so that we would be able to “embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope” which we have in Jesus Christ. As Anglicans, we grow spiritually as we hear and meditate on that proclamation year by year. In truth, we never hear the same Scripture twice, i.e., every time we hear a passage from Scripture it speaks to us afresh. As we mature as Christians, we ask questions, we ponder, chew, and hopefully grow in our understanding.
I invite you to reflect on your own understanding of Jesus and his importance in your life. Are you too asking John the Baptist’s question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Did you begin as a young person with clear ideas about God, Jesus, and the church? What changes have taken place in your understanding of God or Jesus? Do you wonder what you really believe? If pressed against a wall and asked to defend your faith, could you do it? Are you here in church because you think you should be here, or because you really trust God’s faithfulness and want to commit your life to Jesus? How does the way you live reflect your commitment to Jesus? In this time of waiting and expectation, as we prepare once again to ponder the mystery of the Word moving into our neighborhood, you would do well to find a few moments of quiet and meditate on these questions.
My friends, this is good news: it’s always OK to ask John the Baptist’s question. We will rarely get a straight answer to the question. Just like he did with John’s disciples, Jesus will ask us to look around and see the evidence for his presence among us. When we do arrive at some answer, it will always be temporary and tentative, and it will reflect only the next stage in our growth as disciples. But every time we ask that question – “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” – we can be assured that our questions are, in the end, God-given and will eventually lead us deeper into the heart of God.
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 11, 2011
He Came to Testify to the Light
”He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What light? With the frenetic holiday celebrations taking place on the other side of the red doors, we often don’t see much of the Light of the World at this time of year – or any time of year. And in a world where gunmen kill police officers on college campuses and suicide bombers still threaten innocent worshippers, it may be hard even to believe in the Light of the World.
A middle manager in a small factory – let’s call him Tom – stood looking at his desk on Christmas Eve.1 His report to his boss was overdue. Everyone else had left, and the building was eerily quiet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed. This month had been one of the worst in his career. His department had lost several key positions to budget cuts, and everyone was expected to “work smarter,” i.e., get everything done with fewer people. “Don’t worry about me,” he’d told his staff members as he sent them home to their Christmas Eve celebrations, “I’ll be done very soon.” But Tom knew that the report would take him a long time to finish. He might be in the office for several hours yet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed again.
About 8:00, he decided to go out to the corner deli and get something to eat. Making his way out the back door into the icy air of the alley, he nearly fell over a pile of rags, cardboard, and what seemed to be a tarpaulin. As he lifted his foot to kick the pile out of the way, a woman’s voice said weakly, “Sorry, mister. No one usually comes through that door at this time of night. It’s a good place to sleep, you see, because of the warm air coming out from under the door.” Tom had enough on his mind, so he just turned away, headed towards the deli, and muttered again, “I hate Christmas.” As he waited in the long line at the deli, Tom had time to read “A Pastor’s Christmas Note” in the local free newspaper. The pastor told the story of a homeless man whom he had watched sharing a stale hunk of bread with a flock of birds gathered round him. The man would take a bit of bread, break it in two, eat one part, and give the other part to the birds. No one bothered the homeless man, who seemed perfectly content sharing his meager meal with the birds. When he got to the counter, Tom ordered his usual corned beef on rye. Then he burst out, “No, make it two. And throw in a couple of pot pies and some veggies. I’ll have some orange juice too. How about a couple of Hershey bars? And do you have any warm hats?” Tom left the deli with two full sacks. Now he was eagerly looking forward to his Christmas Eve dinner with the homeless woman by the back door. He didn’t care if the report got done in time. Who would read it on Christmas anyway? As he walked through the cold night to his office, an old hymn floated back to him, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel ….”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What was John the Voice in the Wilderness up to? As he gathered followers around him and began baptizing people, the religious authorities confronted him. They questioned him, just as they would later challenge Jesus. “Who the devil are you, and why are you baptizing people?” “I know you’re waiting for the Messiah, God’s anointed one, but I am not he,” John told them plainly. “I’m not Elijah either, nor am I the prophet like Moses whom Moses said would be the Messiah’s forerunner.” Not, not, not. Then who was he?
The Fourth Gospel introduces us to John immediately after its opening hymn to the incarnate Word, immediately after its celebration of the light of life, the light that enlightens everyone, the light that darkness cannot quench. Who was John? John was a witness to that light. John was not a witness to a cute little baby, lying in a stable surrounded by adoring animals. John was a witness to an adult, an adult who would, through his own death and return to life, give life to the world. “This is the Messiah for whom you are waiting,” John told the religious authorities. “In all the old prophecies, in Isaiah, in Jeremiah, in Micah, in Malachi, God promised you a savior. Now God has made good on God’s promises. As I point to him, I am preparing people to receive him. And I rejoice to see this day, for God is faithful.”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” In a story in the Huffington Post last year, Lynne Hybels wrote, “When Jesus comes, everything changes.”2 About a hundred years ago, Egyptians from rural villages migrated to Cairo. Most of them were unskilled and illiterate, and so they wound up becoming itinerant trash collectors. In the 1970s, the zabaleen, as the trash collectors were called, were forced into a kind of tin-shack ghetto near Cairo’s Mt. Muqattam. Poor, filthy, and dangerous, Garbage Village had no churches, schools, electricity, running water, health care, or even stores. Disease, addiction to drugs and alcohol, and violence were widespread. One day, in 1974 a young trash collector asked a Christian businessman whose trash he collected, to tell him about Jesus. Then the young man persuaded the businessman to teach a Bible study in one of the shacks in Garbage Village. The zabaleen rejoiced to hear the message that God loved them. Within a few years, there were so many believers that the Coptic Orthodox built a church in the village. The villagers were free to select their priest, so they chose the businessman who had shared God’s love with them. After the businessman was ordained by the Coptic Church he became known as Father Samaan. “When Jesus comes to a place, it changes the whole society,” said Father Samaan.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What about us? Do we recognize the light to whom John pointed? Do we recognize that we too are loved by God? Do we share with John the sense that God has given us a purpose in the story of salvation? Dare we believe that we are less important than John the Voice or Father Samaan? Advent is a special time. Advent is a time to stop, pause, and reflect. Instead of getting caught up in the activities that beckon us at every turn this month, take the gift of Advent quiet to prayerfully reflect on your own life. Reflect on the miracle of your own birth, your life choices, and your vocation. What do close friends and family members see in you? What are your gifts and from whom have they come? Who needs what you have to offer? Could it be that you too are a beloved child of God, with a unique and essential purpose? Could it be that you too are called to enable people to see the light?
Could it be that you are called to be an evangelist? Episcopalians shy away from that word. We say, “The Episcopal Church is the best kept secret,” and I sometimes think we prefer it that way. Faith is a private affair, some of us would say. Is that what the prophets say? Is that what Paul says? Is that what John the Voice in the Wilderness says? If our faith is a source of joy to us, how can we not want to share it? I’m not talking about damning non-believers to hell. I’m not talking about coercing or manipulating people into believing. I am talking about pointing to Jesus, enabling people to see the light, either through our words, or, better yet, through the quality of our lives and ministries. If we are truly his disciples, then as individuals and as parishes, we cannot be ashamed or afraid to say, “There he is.” During Epiphany tide we will hear the passage that comes a little later in this same chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Philip tells Nathanael that he has found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael scornfully asks. Philip’s answer: “Come and see.” We too are called to say, “Come and see.” We too are called to point to the light, to share the good news of Jesus, using words, if necessary, as Francis of Assisi said. We too are called to stand at the foot of the Cross and point to him.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” Such is our call too.
1. The following story is based on Tom Gordon, “A Deeper Meaning,” in Within an Open Eye (Iona: Wild Good Publications, 2011), 24-29.
2. The following is based on material in Synthesis, December 2011, 3. The story by Lynne Hybels originally appeared in the Huffington Post on December 21, 2010.
A middle manager in a small factory – let’s call him Tom – stood looking at his desk on Christmas Eve.1 His report to his boss was overdue. Everyone else had left, and the building was eerily quiet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed. This month had been one of the worst in his career. His department had lost several key positions to budget cuts, and everyone was expected to “work smarter,” i.e., get everything done with fewer people. “Don’t worry about me,” he’d told his staff members as he sent them home to their Christmas Eve celebrations, “I’ll be done very soon.” But Tom knew that the report would take him a long time to finish. He might be in the office for several hours yet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed again.
About 8:00, he decided to go out to the corner deli and get something to eat. Making his way out the back door into the icy air of the alley, he nearly fell over a pile of rags, cardboard, and what seemed to be a tarpaulin. As he lifted his foot to kick the pile out of the way, a woman’s voice said weakly, “Sorry, mister. No one usually comes through that door at this time of night. It’s a good place to sleep, you see, because of the warm air coming out from under the door.” Tom had enough on his mind, so he just turned away, headed towards the deli, and muttered again, “I hate Christmas.” As he waited in the long line at the deli, Tom had time to read “A Pastor’s Christmas Note” in the local free newspaper. The pastor told the story of a homeless man whom he had watched sharing a stale hunk of bread with a flock of birds gathered round him. The man would take a bit of bread, break it in two, eat one part, and give the other part to the birds. No one bothered the homeless man, who seemed perfectly content sharing his meager meal with the birds. When he got to the counter, Tom ordered his usual corned beef on rye. Then he burst out, “No, make it two. And throw in a couple of pot pies and some veggies. I’ll have some orange juice too. How about a couple of Hershey bars? And do you have any warm hats?” Tom left the deli with two full sacks. Now he was eagerly looking forward to his Christmas Eve dinner with the homeless woman by the back door. He didn’t care if the report got done in time. Who would read it on Christmas anyway? As he walked through the cold night to his office, an old hymn floated back to him, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel ….”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What was John the Voice in the Wilderness up to? As he gathered followers around him and began baptizing people, the religious authorities confronted him. They questioned him, just as they would later challenge Jesus. “Who the devil are you, and why are you baptizing people?” “I know you’re waiting for the Messiah, God’s anointed one, but I am not he,” John told them plainly. “I’m not Elijah either, nor am I the prophet like Moses whom Moses said would be the Messiah’s forerunner.” Not, not, not. Then who was he?
The Fourth Gospel introduces us to John immediately after its opening hymn to the incarnate Word, immediately after its celebration of the light of life, the light that enlightens everyone, the light that darkness cannot quench. Who was John? John was a witness to that light. John was not a witness to a cute little baby, lying in a stable surrounded by adoring animals. John was a witness to an adult, an adult who would, through his own death and return to life, give life to the world. “This is the Messiah for whom you are waiting,” John told the religious authorities. “In all the old prophecies, in Isaiah, in Jeremiah, in Micah, in Malachi, God promised you a savior. Now God has made good on God’s promises. As I point to him, I am preparing people to receive him. And I rejoice to see this day, for God is faithful.”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” In a story in the Huffington Post last year, Lynne Hybels wrote, “When Jesus comes, everything changes.”2 About a hundred years ago, Egyptians from rural villages migrated to Cairo. Most of them were unskilled and illiterate, and so they wound up becoming itinerant trash collectors. In the 1970s, the zabaleen, as the trash collectors were called, were forced into a kind of tin-shack ghetto near Cairo’s Mt. Muqattam. Poor, filthy, and dangerous, Garbage Village had no churches, schools, electricity, running water, health care, or even stores. Disease, addiction to drugs and alcohol, and violence were widespread. One day, in 1974 a young trash collector asked a Christian businessman whose trash he collected, to tell him about Jesus. Then the young man persuaded the businessman to teach a Bible study in one of the shacks in Garbage Village. The zabaleen rejoiced to hear the message that God loved them. Within a few years, there were so many believers that the Coptic Orthodox built a church in the village. The villagers were free to select their priest, so they chose the businessman who had shared God’s love with them. After the businessman was ordained by the Coptic Church he became known as Father Samaan. “When Jesus comes to a place, it changes the whole society,” said Father Samaan.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What about us? Do we recognize the light to whom John pointed? Do we recognize that we too are loved by God? Do we share with John the sense that God has given us a purpose in the story of salvation? Dare we believe that we are less important than John the Voice or Father Samaan? Advent is a special time. Advent is a time to stop, pause, and reflect. Instead of getting caught up in the activities that beckon us at every turn this month, take the gift of Advent quiet to prayerfully reflect on your own life. Reflect on the miracle of your own birth, your life choices, and your vocation. What do close friends and family members see in you? What are your gifts and from whom have they come? Who needs what you have to offer? Could it be that you too are a beloved child of God, with a unique and essential purpose? Could it be that you too are called to enable people to see the light?
Could it be that you are called to be an evangelist? Episcopalians shy away from that word. We say, “The Episcopal Church is the best kept secret,” and I sometimes think we prefer it that way. Faith is a private affair, some of us would say. Is that what the prophets say? Is that what Paul says? Is that what John the Voice in the Wilderness says? If our faith is a source of joy to us, how can we not want to share it? I’m not talking about damning non-believers to hell. I’m not talking about coercing or manipulating people into believing. I am talking about pointing to Jesus, enabling people to see the light, either through our words, or, better yet, through the quality of our lives and ministries. If we are truly his disciples, then as individuals and as parishes, we cannot be ashamed or afraid to say, “There he is.” During Epiphany tide we will hear the passage that comes a little later in this same chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Philip tells Nathanael that he has found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael scornfully asks. Philip’s answer: “Come and see.” We too are called to say, “Come and see.” We too are called to point to the light, to share the good news of Jesus, using words, if necessary, as Francis of Assisi said. We too are called to stand at the foot of the Cross and point to him.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” Such is our call too.
1. The following story is based on Tom Gordon, “A Deeper Meaning,” in Within an Open Eye (Iona: Wild Good Publications, 2011), 24-29.
2. The following is based on material in Synthesis, December 2011, 3. The story by Lynne Hybels originally appeared in the Huffington Post on December 21, 2010.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Therefore Be Patient
In 1887 Bishop Henry Codman Potter of the Episcopal Diocese of New York called for the building of a cathedral that would rival St. Patrick's Cathedral, the Roman Catholic cathedral in mid-town Manhattan. Land was found in upper Manhattan, architects created plans for a magnificent Byzantine-Romanesque building, and ground was broken on December 27, 1892, St. John’s day. Little by little the great cathdral of St. John the Divine rose up: first the massive foundation, then the crypt in 1899, then the great central dome in 1909. Excavations for the nave began in 1925, and the building was first opened end to end on November 30, 1941, a week before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Work on the cathedral stopped almost immediately and didn’t begin again until 1979, when Bishop Paul Moore decided that construction should be resumed, in part to help neighborhood youths by training them in the crafts of stonemasonry. Construction halted again in 1997, and in 2001 fire destroyed part of the organ and the as yet unfinished north transept. Following a massive restoration begun in January 2005, the cathedral was finally rededicated on Sunday, November 30, 2008. Construction and restoration of the cathedral continue, and many affectionately call it “St. John the Unfinished.”
What, a cathedral still unfinished after more than one hundred years? Of course, some of the great European cathedrals took as much or even more time to build, and builders, patrons, monarchs, and all those watching their construction knew that foresight, vision, and patience were all needed to fully realize such magnificent buildings. Perhaps those cathedral builders, perhaps even the builders of St. John the Divine in New York, took to heart the command to “be patient,” that we heard in today’s reading from the Letter of James. Were you startled to hear that command? We Americans are not patient people. We want everything fast and faster. We grumble when the supermarket line has more than three people in it. And now all around us the world has raced to the manger and is celebrating Christmas. Of course, the stores have been celebrating Christmas since before Halloween! But now everywhere the Christmas trees are up, and houses are decorated. In our neighboring churches, choirs are singing Christmas cantatas and hosting Christmas parties. Unlike the world around us, we Episcopalians stubbornly cling to an ancient liturgical calendar and keep Advent – at least on this side of the red doors! Why are we being so deliberately counter-cultural? Why haven’t we raced to the manger along with everyone else? Do we want to ensure the sure and certain demise of our church?
I believe there is a deeper reason why we stubbornly keep Advent, and part of that deeper reason is to be found in James’ counsel. Advent is a time of waiting. What are waiting for? Certainly, we wait – as eagerly as small children sometimes – for the celebration of God’s first coming among us in Jesus. I still like Advent calendars, those loyal companions in the countdown to Christmas Eve. But in Advent the church also asks us to look further ahead, to look beyond ourselves, to have the patience of a cathedral builder who knew that the great building would not be finished in one lifetime. The church asks us to look ahead to the full realization of God’s promises, the completion of the renewal of creation begun in Jesus. And the church also counsels us to cultivate that most important of Christian virtues, patience. The church asks us to live in both uncertainty and hope, waiting patiently for God to bring God’s plans to fulfillment in God’s good time.
In his plea for patience “until the coming of the Lord,” James uses agricultural imagery. He reminds us that we are like farmers who must wait until both the early and late rains have arrived, that the fulfillment of God’s promises is not under our control, but that the green shoots of God’s promises will indeed in God’s good time be fully mature. God’s time is not our time, James implies, and God’s “soon” does not mean “tomorrow,” or even “next week.” Indeed, if you think of the age of the earth, of time from God’s perspective, the time between Jesus’ birth and today is a mere blip! Patiently waiting for God’s fulfillment of God’s plans is not easy, and so James also counsels strength of heart. Now just as our physical hearts need exercise in order to stay strong, so do our spiritual hearts. Certainly, we cultivate spiritual strength through regular prayer and worship. But, James tells us, what is more important, is that we cultivate strength of heart through patient acceptance of each other. “Do not grumble against each other,” he commands. In being patient with one another, we also show forth Christ, who accepted all. Finally, if we would know what patient waiting looked like, James suggests that we take the prophets as our models. We have been hearing their voices this Advent, haven’t we, especially those of Isaiah and John the Baptist. We have been hearing their call to hope, and we have seen their visions of a return to Jerusalem of the “ransomed of the Lord” and of a renewed creation. We know that they patiently endured the wrath and imprisonment of those in power who didn’t want to hear their preaching, and we are asked to follow their example.
Now it is unlikely that any of us will be imprisoned or beheaded for speaking about our faith. However, as disciples of Jesus we are commanded to remain as faithful to God’s promises as the exemplary folks of Scripture, or even of our own families, who courageously spoke in God’s name. One writer tells of her grandfather, who worked for justice and once risked his life for a black friend in the segregated South. When the civil rights laws were finally passed, he had been long gone, but during his lifetime he did his best to nurture those green shoots of the hope for racial justice that had poked up through the soil around him.
And so it is for us. As faithful disciples of the one who died and rose again, we too commit ourselves to patient, faithful waiting, to speaking God’s truth, and to envisioning a renewed world truly realized. Especially in this busy, noisy season, when most of those around us have forgotten the need for patience, we take to heart James’ counsel: “be patient until the coming of the Lord.” Shutting your ears for the moment to the clamor of premature Christmas carols, I invite you to hear again James’ words to us, as Brahms set them in his great German Requiem (played for congregation on ipod):
So seid nun geduldig, liebe Brüder, Be patient therefore, brethren,
bis auf die Zukunft des Herrn. unto the coming of the Lord.
Siehe, ein Ackermann wartet Behold, the husbandman waiteth
auf die köstliche Frucht der Erde for the precious fruit of the earth,
und ist geduldig darüber, and has long patience for it,
bis er empfahe den Morgenregen und until he receive the morning and evening Abendregen. rain.
So seid geduldig. Jakobus 5:7 Be patient therefore. James 5:7
So seid nun geduldig. So therefore be patient. And by God’s grace, we are indeed patient, as we live in love until the coming of the Lord.
What, a cathedral still unfinished after more than one hundred years? Of course, some of the great European cathedrals took as much or even more time to build, and builders, patrons, monarchs, and all those watching their construction knew that foresight, vision, and patience were all needed to fully realize such magnificent buildings. Perhaps those cathedral builders, perhaps even the builders of St. John the Divine in New York, took to heart the command to “be patient,” that we heard in today’s reading from the Letter of James. Were you startled to hear that command? We Americans are not patient people. We want everything fast and faster. We grumble when the supermarket line has more than three people in it. And now all around us the world has raced to the manger and is celebrating Christmas. Of course, the stores have been celebrating Christmas since before Halloween! But now everywhere the Christmas trees are up, and houses are decorated. In our neighboring churches, choirs are singing Christmas cantatas and hosting Christmas parties. Unlike the world around us, we Episcopalians stubbornly cling to an ancient liturgical calendar and keep Advent – at least on this side of the red doors! Why are we being so deliberately counter-cultural? Why haven’t we raced to the manger along with everyone else? Do we want to ensure the sure and certain demise of our church?
I believe there is a deeper reason why we stubbornly keep Advent, and part of that deeper reason is to be found in James’ counsel. Advent is a time of waiting. What are waiting for? Certainly, we wait – as eagerly as small children sometimes – for the celebration of God’s first coming among us in Jesus. I still like Advent calendars, those loyal companions in the countdown to Christmas Eve. But in Advent the church also asks us to look further ahead, to look beyond ourselves, to have the patience of a cathedral builder who knew that the great building would not be finished in one lifetime. The church asks us to look ahead to the full realization of God’s promises, the completion of the renewal of creation begun in Jesus. And the church also counsels us to cultivate that most important of Christian virtues, patience. The church asks us to live in both uncertainty and hope, waiting patiently for God to bring God’s plans to fulfillment in God’s good time.
In his plea for patience “until the coming of the Lord,” James uses agricultural imagery. He reminds us that we are like farmers who must wait until both the early and late rains have arrived, that the fulfillment of God’s promises is not under our control, but that the green shoots of God’s promises will indeed in God’s good time be fully mature. God’s time is not our time, James implies, and God’s “soon” does not mean “tomorrow,” or even “next week.” Indeed, if you think of the age of the earth, of time from God’s perspective, the time between Jesus’ birth and today is a mere blip! Patiently waiting for God’s fulfillment of God’s plans is not easy, and so James also counsels strength of heart. Now just as our physical hearts need exercise in order to stay strong, so do our spiritual hearts. Certainly, we cultivate spiritual strength through regular prayer and worship. But, James tells us, what is more important, is that we cultivate strength of heart through patient acceptance of each other. “Do not grumble against each other,” he commands. In being patient with one another, we also show forth Christ, who accepted all. Finally, if we would know what patient waiting looked like, James suggests that we take the prophets as our models. We have been hearing their voices this Advent, haven’t we, especially those of Isaiah and John the Baptist. We have been hearing their call to hope, and we have seen their visions of a return to Jerusalem of the “ransomed of the Lord” and of a renewed creation. We know that they patiently endured the wrath and imprisonment of those in power who didn’t want to hear their preaching, and we are asked to follow their example.
Now it is unlikely that any of us will be imprisoned or beheaded for speaking about our faith. However, as disciples of Jesus we are commanded to remain as faithful to God’s promises as the exemplary folks of Scripture, or even of our own families, who courageously spoke in God’s name. One writer tells of her grandfather, who worked for justice and once risked his life for a black friend in the segregated South. When the civil rights laws were finally passed, he had been long gone, but during his lifetime he did his best to nurture those green shoots of the hope for racial justice that had poked up through the soil around him.
And so it is for us. As faithful disciples of the one who died and rose again, we too commit ourselves to patient, faithful waiting, to speaking God’s truth, and to envisioning a renewed world truly realized. Especially in this busy, noisy season, when most of those around us have forgotten the need for patience, we take to heart James’ counsel: “be patient until the coming of the Lord.” Shutting your ears for the moment to the clamor of premature Christmas carols, I invite you to hear again James’ words to us, as Brahms set them in his great German Requiem (played for congregation on ipod):
So seid nun geduldig, liebe Brüder, Be patient therefore, brethren,
bis auf die Zukunft des Herrn. unto the coming of the Lord.
Siehe, ein Ackermann wartet Behold, the husbandman waiteth
auf die köstliche Frucht der Erde for the precious fruit of the earth,
und ist geduldig darüber, and has long patience for it,
bis er empfahe den Morgenregen und until he receive the morning and evening Abendregen. rain.
So seid geduldig. Jakobus 5:7 Be patient therefore. James 5:7
So seid nun geduldig. So therefore be patient. And by God’s grace, we are indeed patient, as we live in love until the coming of the Lord.
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