How does one become a U.S. citizen? As most of you probably know, if you are born in one of the fifty U.S. states or one of its territories, you are automatically a citizen, regardless of the citizenship of your parents. Anyone born here, even the child of foreign nationals, is a U.S. citizen. If you are born abroad to U.S. citizen parents, all your parents have to do is register your birth with a U.S. embassy or consulate, and, again, you are automatically a U.S. citizen. If you are born anywhere else, you may become a naturalized U.S. citizen. You must be at least eighteen years old, must have lived here at least five years as a resident alien, i.e., have a “green card,” you must have a reasonable command of English, and you must pass a citizenship test. After that, you have all the rights and responsibilities of U.S. citizens. You may vote, and you are expected to abide by the law and pay taxes.
How does one become a citizen in God’s realm? For those residents of God’s realm who acknowledge Jesus as their leader, the process is something like that of becoming a U.S. citizen. If you were “born into” the church, i.e., if you were baptized as an infant, you became a Christian by virtue of the promises and commitments of your parents and sponsors. If you were baptized as an adult, you made your own promises and commitments, promises and commitments that you affirmed or reaffirmed in confirmation. As a citizen in God’s realm, you are assured of forgiveness of all your sins, you may share in Christ’s Body and Blood, and you may receive, as the old Book of Common Prayer put it, “all other benefits of his passion.” But what else? To what else have we committed ourselves, and, more important, what are our responsibilities as citizens of God’s realm?
This is a good question to ask ourselves today. We are at the very end of the liturgical year. Next Sunday we will begin a new year, with a new set of Scripture readings. You’ll notice that your bulletin cover and Scripture insert says that today is the Last Sunday after Pentecost and the feast of Christ the King. Why, you might ask, are we reflecting on Christ as a king? Jesus strongly resisted those who would have made him a king. The Gospel of John tells us that, “When Jesus realized,” after multiplying the loaves and fish, “that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.” Even so, the gospels frequently use royal imagery for Jesus. The gospel of Matthew begins by announcing straight out that Jesus is God’s Anointed One. In the same gospel, when the Persian astrologers arrive in Jerusalem after Jesus’ birth, they ask, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” And towards the end, when Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph, Luke tells us that people shouted, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”
Even so, the feast of Christ the King is not an ancient feast. In the Book of Common Prayer that preceded our current book, the so-called 1928 Prayer Book, we had a one-year lectionary, i.e., the same readings year after year. The last gospel reading for the Sunday next before Advent, as this day was known, was the story of the Loaves and Fishes from John. And this is a strange feast for those who live in a democracy, especially for citizens of the U.S., whose forebears either fought a war to detach from a monarchy or fled tyrannical regimes and persecution elsewhere in the world.
Actually, the feast of Christ the King only dates from 1925. It was created by Pope Pius XI, who also suggested today’s readings. Fascism was rising in Italy and Germany, the Great Depression was looming in Europe, and war was clearly not far off. Pius wanted to remind the faithful that our allegiance as Christians is to something other than earthly rulers. When Protestant churches adopted the three-year lectionary in the 1960’s and ‘70’s, they also adopted the feast of Christ the King with it.
So, as citizens of God’s realm, to what have we committed ourselves, and what are our responsibilities? In our reading from 2 Samuel, we hear the last words of the dying King David. In reflecting on how he has fulfilled God’s covenant with him, David alludes to the just ruler, who is a blessing to all people, and who will eventually triumph over evil. In our reading from the gospel according to John, we hear Jesus confront an earthly despot. Despite facing his own death, Jesus reminds Pilate that the realm that Jesus has proclaimed is totally unlike earthly realms and has its origin and continued life in God.
Our reading from the Book of Revelation gives us more clues as to whom we have committed ourselves and what that commitment might mean for how we actually live. But first a word about Revelation: it’s often misunderstood, especially by those who make the mistake of taking it literally. It was written towards the end of the first century to a persecuted fledgling Christian community. Its writer was most likely not the writer of the gospel of John, but rather the leader of a Christian community in Ephesus, who was exiled by the Romans to the Greek island of Patmos.
Curiously, the book brings together two kinds of writing. First, it is apocalypse, i.e., a vision of a future realm in heaven that contrasts sharply with the present corrupt times. Many of the early scenes take place in heaven, while in the latter part we witness the defeat of Babylon, the writer’s stand-in for the Roman Empire. But the book is also a letter to seven of the Christian communities in cities near Ephesus. The greetings and the praise of God at the beginning of the passage we just heard are standard fare for ancient letters. Even so, in this opening section, complete with quotations from two Hebrew prophets, we have suggestions as to what it might mean to be a subject of this king, a citizen of God’s realm. And what do we hear? We hear something about who Jesus is, what Jesus has done for us, and how we are to live as Jesus’ followers.
Who is Jesus? Jesus is, first of all, a martyr, which literally means “witness.” Jesus is a faithful witness to God’s power and an instrument of it. Jesus is also the one who, though a martyr, overcame death. Most important, Jesus is a ruler, the final authority over all earthly political rulers, indeed of all creation. As a descendant of David, he too has kept God’s covenant, and he will be the just, generous, and merciful ruler to which David alluded in his dying words.
What has Jesus done for us? Jesus “loves us and freed us from our sins….” Notice the tenses. Jesus is present to us now, loving us and caring for us now. More important, Jesus’ saving work is completed. “It is finished,” Jesus said from the cross in John’s gospel. Finally, Jesus “made us to be,” or perhaps enabled us to be, citizens of his country, whose work as citizens is to worship and serve.
So how indeed do we live in this realm? How do we worship and serve? As those who wish to be faithful followers of Jesus, we are, first of all, called to follow Christ’s example as a faithful witness ourselves. We are to acknowledge that our first loyalty is to him: not to our family, not to our social class, not to our friends, our team, our school, our political party, or even to our own country. And here let me say that loving one’s country is not a bad thing, it’s a good thing, but our first commitment as Christians is to God and to God’s realm. As Pius XI reminded faithful Catholics, nationality and all other identities come second. If we are serious about our allegiance to Christ, then we must also be prepared for hard choices, when we must intentionally and prayerfully try to align our will with God’s will.
Truthfully, the only way we can align our will with God’s will is to be in close relationship with Jesus. And that is our second responsibility as citizens of God’s realm. We are called to worship regularly, pray daily, and continue to grow as Christian through study of Scripture, theology, history, and ethics. If we wish to do the works are truly of God’s realm, we must be servant-leaders. Even when the forces of darkness threaten to overwhelm us, as they did in Beirut, Paris, and Mali, we are called to work diligently for peace. We are called to demonstrate compassion for all, as Jesus did, care for those in need, and welcome to our table the least, the lost, and the left behind. In so doing, we are to bring others into Christ’s gracious realm, serving as windows and instruments of Christ’s mercy.
Finally, as citizens of God’s realm, we are called to remember that we have committed ourselves not to a tyrant or a despot, but to a God of love, a God who deeply loves us and all creation as beloved children, a God who has promised to love us forever. “Rejoice, the Lord is King!” This is the good news! Proclaim it and live it!
Showing posts with label Christ the King. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christ the King. Show all posts
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Sunday, November 23, 2014
And the Righteous Will Answer
Have you ever been to one of the great Gothic cathedrals? Notre Dame or Canterbury or Westminster Abbey? If you have, or even if you’ve seen pictures of them, you know that they are literally sermons in glass and stone. In the great cathedrals, all the architectural details, all the windows, and all the sculpture are designed to tell us something about God and what God has done for us. Though not medieval, the Washington National Cathedral, the cathedral church of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, is also such a sermon in stone. Episcopal priest Frank Logue tells us that the entire building is designed to point us towards God and to remind us of God’s mighty works. As with the medieval cathedrals, the focal point of the national cathedral is the high altar. Behind the high altar the huge reredos depicts Christ in glory surrounded by over one hundred figures. But look closely: nearest the glorified Christ stand who? The great angels? The most exemplary saints? The apostles? The martyrs? None of these. Closest to the glorified Christ, at the very heart of this great cathedral, stand six allegorical figures, figures of people who are hungry, thirsty, homeless, naked, sick, and imprisoned. You can’t miss the theme of the sermon: it is they, the poor, the needy, the weak, and the victims, whom Christ first embraces in paradise.
Are you surprised? Were you surprised that Jesus depicted the final judgment as a test of how we treated others, especially of how we treated “the least of these?” Jesus warned us, didn’t he? He told us that when he returned to begin his reign over all creation we would face a test. Not on whether we understood and professed every iota of the Nicene Creed. Not on whether we had read and understood the sermons of John Chrysostom or John Donne. Not on whether we had the most beautiful sanctuaries and vestments. He would test us, Jesus told us, on how visible our faith was, on how we had treated those who were poor, sick, hungry, oppressed, or in prison, on whether we had actively attended to their needs or ignored them. He would remind us that faith isn’t faith until it’s actualized, until it’s made concrete in the ways that we live out our lives. Even if we don’t always know exactly who the beneficiary of our good works is, even if we’re not always sure that those whom we help are part of the “deserving poor,” Jesus tells us that when we use our faith to benefit others, we show our love for Jesus himself.
Didn’t we already know that? Didn’t the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures tell us that? And hadn’t the writer of the Letter of James repeated the same message to his hearers when he asked, “What good is it to profess faith without practicing it?” What good is it if you ignore the needs of the naked or the hungry? Like Jesus, hadn’t James also warned us that “without good deeds faith is useless?” Or, as James Forbes, the former pastor of Riverside Church in New York City, put it, "Nobody gets to heaven without a letter of reference from the poor."
So Jesus’ parable – and the sermon in stone – remind us that whether we like it or not, God will ultimately hold us accountable for how we have lived our lives and how we have used God’s gifts to us. This Sunday, the very last Sunday of the liturgical year, as we recognize and give thanks to God that we are accountable to Christ rather than to any secular authority, perhaps this is a good time to pause and look at our own lives. How would you do on Jesus’ test? What do your datebook and checkbook say about you? Are you merely an admirer of Jesus, or do you truly try to do what he did? Does he nourish you in Scripture and sacrament? More important, does receiving Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharist change the rest of your life? Do you notice the needs of only your closest family and friends and ignore the needs of those on the margins of your social circle? Do you know who “the least, the lost, and the left behind” in our world are, and are you concerned about them? Do you see Jesus in others, even in “difficult” people, in people you don’t like, in people who have hurt you? Do you look beyond the charitable handout and try to make a difference in the systems of injustice and inequity that trap people in poverty, disease, and disaster? Do the needs of our brothers and sisters in other countries have any claim on you?
Jesus isn’t posing these questions to us only or even primarily as individuals. All the pronouns in the parable are in the second person plural. So Jesus’ questions are also addressed to us corporately, to us here at St. Peter’s as a parish. And the questions are similar. This is a parish with many God-given gifts: physical plant, talented people, and financial resources. How are we using these gifts? If we were to lock the doors and all go our separate ways, would anyone miss us? Take a minute and think about it: where do you yearn to bring the good news to the wider community? Where does Jesus want us to go? If money were no object, and we had all the people we needed, what are we as a parish called to do in this community? What tugs at your heart? Do you think we need more money or more people to truly live out our faith? If we have the will to try to befriend the “least of these,” Jesus’ sisters and brothers whom we see around us, might not God provide the resources that we need?
Or, conversely, perhaps you find it hard to take this gospel seriously. We so easily blame the poor for their poverty. If they really wanted decent healthcare, education, housing, and a living wage, we think, they could get it. Jesus is just offering us pie-in-the-sky, isn’t he? The truth is that when we commit to following Jesus – not just admiring him, or giving intellectual assent to statements about him – we profess that the dispossessed, those on the margins of society, are the ones we are charged to care for. Most astonishing of all to us good folks is that, according to Matthew, if we really want a transformative, face-to-face experience of Jesus’ presence, we will find him in the faces of the poor. Like Fritz Eichenberg, the Quaker artist whose woodcuts frequently appeared in Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker newspaper, the truth is that if we truly seek Christ we will find him in the breadlines.
Are you beginning to feel that I am judging you and putting you on the spot? Do you fear the separation of the sheep and the goats depicted in Jesus’ parable? Where’s the good news? My brothers and sisters, here’s the good news. That Jesus holds us accountable for what we do means that our lives have consequences, and it matters to God and to those around us how we live them out. Our lives may be short, our scope of action may be limited, but our lives still matter. That Jesus also holds us accountable as a parish for how we use God’s gifts means that our life together as a community of faith also has value and meaning. It does – or it should – mean that our being here helps to advance God’s reign!
As we ponder Jesus’ last words to us, we come back to the question we have been wrestling with for the last several weeks, ever since, in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus began his last sermon in Jerusalem. And that question is, how do we live in this middle time between Jesus’ death and resurrection and the full inauguration of his reign on earth? The answer is both simple and complicated. We heard Jesus himself give the answer to the question: “You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. That is the greatest and first commandment. The second is like it: You must love your neighbor as yourself.” Love God, love your neighbor: that is how we live in the middle time.
So what are you afraid of? Are you afraid of getting your hands dirty, of not knowing what to say, of wondering if someone will ask you about your faith? Are you afraid you might lose your faith when you listen to the needs of the poor? Put yourself on the line. Do more than write a check – although checks are always welcome! Tutor children. Join Deacon Carolyn and visit a nursing home. Come to Loaves and Fishes. Help deliver the meals to the First Holzer apartments. Sit down and talk with our diners, or just greet them. Think about others in your neighborhood – or your world – who are among the least, the lost, and the left behind. See them as those beloved of God and think about how you might begin caring for them.
Jesus was a great preacher. Here are his last words to us. If we want to live in his realm, both now and when his reign on earth is complete, we need only ask ourselves the most practical of questions. Did we feed the hungry? Did we shelter the homeless? Did we care for the sick and the imprisoned? And we will answer….
Are you surprised? Were you surprised that Jesus depicted the final judgment as a test of how we treated others, especially of how we treated “the least of these?” Jesus warned us, didn’t he? He told us that when he returned to begin his reign over all creation we would face a test. Not on whether we understood and professed every iota of the Nicene Creed. Not on whether we had read and understood the sermons of John Chrysostom or John Donne. Not on whether we had the most beautiful sanctuaries and vestments. He would test us, Jesus told us, on how visible our faith was, on how we had treated those who were poor, sick, hungry, oppressed, or in prison, on whether we had actively attended to their needs or ignored them. He would remind us that faith isn’t faith until it’s actualized, until it’s made concrete in the ways that we live out our lives. Even if we don’t always know exactly who the beneficiary of our good works is, even if we’re not always sure that those whom we help are part of the “deserving poor,” Jesus tells us that when we use our faith to benefit others, we show our love for Jesus himself.
Didn’t we already know that? Didn’t the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures tell us that? And hadn’t the writer of the Letter of James repeated the same message to his hearers when he asked, “What good is it to profess faith without practicing it?” What good is it if you ignore the needs of the naked or the hungry? Like Jesus, hadn’t James also warned us that “without good deeds faith is useless?” Or, as James Forbes, the former pastor of Riverside Church in New York City, put it, "Nobody gets to heaven without a letter of reference from the poor."
So Jesus’ parable – and the sermon in stone – remind us that whether we like it or not, God will ultimately hold us accountable for how we have lived our lives and how we have used God’s gifts to us. This Sunday, the very last Sunday of the liturgical year, as we recognize and give thanks to God that we are accountable to Christ rather than to any secular authority, perhaps this is a good time to pause and look at our own lives. How would you do on Jesus’ test? What do your datebook and checkbook say about you? Are you merely an admirer of Jesus, or do you truly try to do what he did? Does he nourish you in Scripture and sacrament? More important, does receiving Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharist change the rest of your life? Do you notice the needs of only your closest family and friends and ignore the needs of those on the margins of your social circle? Do you know who “the least, the lost, and the left behind” in our world are, and are you concerned about them? Do you see Jesus in others, even in “difficult” people, in people you don’t like, in people who have hurt you? Do you look beyond the charitable handout and try to make a difference in the systems of injustice and inequity that trap people in poverty, disease, and disaster? Do the needs of our brothers and sisters in other countries have any claim on you?
Jesus isn’t posing these questions to us only or even primarily as individuals. All the pronouns in the parable are in the second person plural. So Jesus’ questions are also addressed to us corporately, to us here at St. Peter’s as a parish. And the questions are similar. This is a parish with many God-given gifts: physical plant, talented people, and financial resources. How are we using these gifts? If we were to lock the doors and all go our separate ways, would anyone miss us? Take a minute and think about it: where do you yearn to bring the good news to the wider community? Where does Jesus want us to go? If money were no object, and we had all the people we needed, what are we as a parish called to do in this community? What tugs at your heart? Do you think we need more money or more people to truly live out our faith? If we have the will to try to befriend the “least of these,” Jesus’ sisters and brothers whom we see around us, might not God provide the resources that we need?
Or, conversely, perhaps you find it hard to take this gospel seriously. We so easily blame the poor for their poverty. If they really wanted decent healthcare, education, housing, and a living wage, we think, they could get it. Jesus is just offering us pie-in-the-sky, isn’t he? The truth is that when we commit to following Jesus – not just admiring him, or giving intellectual assent to statements about him – we profess that the dispossessed, those on the margins of society, are the ones we are charged to care for. Most astonishing of all to us good folks is that, according to Matthew, if we really want a transformative, face-to-face experience of Jesus’ presence, we will find him in the faces of the poor. Like Fritz Eichenberg, the Quaker artist whose woodcuts frequently appeared in Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker newspaper, the truth is that if we truly seek Christ we will find him in the breadlines.
Are you beginning to feel that I am judging you and putting you on the spot? Do you fear the separation of the sheep and the goats depicted in Jesus’ parable? Where’s the good news? My brothers and sisters, here’s the good news. That Jesus holds us accountable for what we do means that our lives have consequences, and it matters to God and to those around us how we live them out. Our lives may be short, our scope of action may be limited, but our lives still matter. That Jesus also holds us accountable as a parish for how we use God’s gifts means that our life together as a community of faith also has value and meaning. It does – or it should – mean that our being here helps to advance God’s reign!
As we ponder Jesus’ last words to us, we come back to the question we have been wrestling with for the last several weeks, ever since, in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus began his last sermon in Jerusalem. And that question is, how do we live in this middle time between Jesus’ death and resurrection and the full inauguration of his reign on earth? The answer is both simple and complicated. We heard Jesus himself give the answer to the question: “You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. That is the greatest and first commandment. The second is like it: You must love your neighbor as yourself.” Love God, love your neighbor: that is how we live in the middle time.
So what are you afraid of? Are you afraid of getting your hands dirty, of not knowing what to say, of wondering if someone will ask you about your faith? Are you afraid you might lose your faith when you listen to the needs of the poor? Put yourself on the line. Do more than write a check – although checks are always welcome! Tutor children. Join Deacon Carolyn and visit a nursing home. Come to Loaves and Fishes. Help deliver the meals to the First Holzer apartments. Sit down and talk with our diners, or just greet them. Think about others in your neighborhood – or your world – who are among the least, the lost, and the left behind. See them as those beloved of God and think about how you might begin caring for them.
Jesus was a great preacher. Here are his last words to us. If we want to live in his realm, both now and when his reign on earth is complete, we need only ask ourselves the most practical of questions. Did we feed the hungry? Did we shelter the homeless? Did we care for the sick and the imprisoned? And we will answer….
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Who is Jesus?
Who is Jesus? Who is this Galilean rabbi wandering the countryside teaching and healing? As John the Baptizer lay in Herod’s prison, he heard of what Jesus was doing. He sent his own disciples to ask, “Are you the One we’ve been expecting, or are we still waiting?” Do you remember how Jesus answered them? Jesus told them, “Go back and tell John what’s going on: the blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the wretched of the earth learn that God is on their side.” Jesus then turned around and put the question to his own disciples. After asking them who other people thought he was, he looked his friends straight in the eye and said, “But who do you say that I am?” Perhaps speaking for them all, and perhaps speaking without even thinking, Peter exclaimed, “You’re the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Now, if Jesus were standing this morning where I’m standing and asked you that question, how would you answer? Do today’s lections give you any clues?
We’ve come to the very end of the church year. Next Sunday we will begin a new church year. Today we crown the church year by proclaiming that Christ is King. It’s an odd proclamation in a way. Our Scriptures are at best ambivalent about kings. Once the Israelites were settled in Canaan, they were governed by Judges. When the leaders of the people begged the prophet Samuel to anoint a king for them, he at first demurred and reminded them of all the ways that a king would tyrannize them. Nor does the proclamation of Christ as King have ancient roots. The lectionaries of previous prayer books list no such feast. Indeed, if we were still using the 1928 prayer book, today we would be observing the Sunday Next Before Advent and would be hearing the story from John’s Gospel about the feeding of the five thousand. As an observance Christ the King only dates from the Italy of 1925. Worried about the growing power of Fascism in Italy, and especially the government of Benito Mussolini, Pope Pius XI instituted the feast of Christ the King. For nations wracked by the Great War and likely facing another, the day proclaimed God’s reign over the entire world. The day also reminded Christians that their allegiance was to a divine ruler and not to earthly political leaders. In proclaiming Christ as King, we now join with Roman Catholics, as well as Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Methodists, in acknowledging the Lordship of Christ in our lives.
But if Christ is our king, of what kind of king are we the subjects? Do our texts shed any light on that question? In our reading from the prophet Jeremiah, we hear words spoken to a people in exile. Jeremiah proclaimed God’s word before and during the sacking of Jerusalem and exile of the religious and political leadership in 586 BC. Throughout his prophecy he has especially harsh words for the political leadership, castigating them for provoking the Babylonian rulers. In today’s lesson, Jeremiah compares the kings, who have brought about the disaster of exile, to bad shepherds who have not properly cared for God’s flock. After attending to the bad shepherds, God promises that the people will return to Jerusalem, to their own “fold,” and that God will send good shepherds to lead them. Speaking through Jeremiah, God makes an even more startling promise, that God will raise up from David’s line a “righteous branch,” a true king who will be wise, just, and righteous. From very early on, Christians have understood Jesus to be that “righteous branch,” that wise, just ruler.
If Jeremiah gave us God’s promises about a ruler in the earthly realm, in a restored Jerusalem, Paul, in his letter to the church at Colossae, gives a vision of Christ that unites the human dimension with the cosmic dimension. In what must have been a fragment of a hymn, he gives us a vision of the majesty of Christ, who is the very image of God, who gives coherence to the created order, and through whom God unites all people. If we are indeed subjects of such a Christ, if indeed we have been transferred out of a life of darkness into this glorious kingdom, then we are called to an absolute commitment to Christ: we either accept Christ or reject him, we either are or are not loyal to him and to no other. Neither the Colossians nor we can be spiritual consumers, picking one element from column A and another from column B, following Christ’s lead when we feel like it and the call of worldly pursuits when we don’t.
Of what kind of king are we subjects? We’ve heard Jeremiah’s vision of a righteous shepherd and Paul’s vision of a cosmic Christ who reconciles all creation within himself. Then we come to the Gospel. Wham! We have Jesus on the cross, tortured, humiliated, and executed as a criminal. Is this the picture of a king? The inscription on the cross, which is supposed to let onlookers know for what crimes the person is being executed, declares “The King of the Jews.” The soldiers declare, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.” We may be proclaiming Jesus’ absolute authority in our lives, we may be declaring ourselves to be his subjects, but for those who saw him in the flesh that day, he was anything but a king. He was powerless, his friends, except for a few stalwart women, had deserted him, and he was surrounded by a jeering crowd and brutal executioners.
What are we to make of this depiction of Jesus’ crucifixion? There’s no blood or gore in Luke’s account. But there is in Luke – and in Luke alone an – an astonishing conversation between Jesus and the second thief. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” the thief says. Kingdom? On the face of it, this is an absurd request. There the two of them are, stripped naked, bereft of every human relationship or possession, dragged outside the city walls, undergoing a brutally painful death, and knowing that they will be left hanging on their crosses as examples to any who would challenge the Roman rulers. And yet, astonishingly, we hear no despair or pain in this conversation. We hear talk of the future: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” “Today, you shall be with me in paradise.” Is Jesus really like one of those kings in his parables, able to show extravagant generosity to someone who asks for a boon? Does Jesus know something no one else knows? Is there more to the story than is apparent?
Perhaps. Perhaps there are a couple of clues in this story about what the kingship of Christ is really about. The first clue may be that, for now at least, his reign is hidden in suffering. He scarcely looked like a king on the day of his death, nor for most people does he appear to be one now. After centuries of ascendancy and alignment with the political powers, Christ’s cause appears to be failing. Churches have been undergoing a period of disestablishment, as theologian Douglas John Hall calls it. Church membership in Europe is virtually non-existent, and mainline denominations in this country are in serious decline. Wars stretch on and on, political leaders are assassinated, and gun violence, along with every other kind of violence, continues unabated. And yet, like the second thief on the cross, we carry a glimmer of hope. We can sense that selfishness, violence, and injustice are not the end of the story. Jesus’ answer to the thief allows us to see that eventually every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord. But for now his sovereignty is hidden in the suffering of the innocent.
And yet. Dark though this world may be, can’t we see the hidden majesty of our king for brief moments? Do we get glimpses of his mercy when someone recovers from illness? Is his grace apparent when relationships are healed, the hungry are fed, the grieving are consoled? Have we journeyed further into his kingdom when we take steps to right an injustice, make peace among those estranged, forgive each other, and allow ourselves to be forgiven? Do we walk in his footsteps when we speak a word of faith to those who are hopeless and suffering? If we strain our eyes, can we just see that there may be blessings ahead, even though the journey may be long and painful? Can we share our hope with those in despair?
Who is Jesus? Are we ready join the kingdom of the Crucified One? Are we ready to be transformed into his likeness? Can we see him already at work in the world?
Shepherd of Israel, hear our prayer,
as your Son heard the plea
of the criminal crucified with him.
Gather us into Christ's holy reign.
Gather the broken, the sorrowing, and the sinner,
that all may know
wholeness, joy, and forgiveness. Amen.
We’ve come to the very end of the church year. Next Sunday we will begin a new church year. Today we crown the church year by proclaiming that Christ is King. It’s an odd proclamation in a way. Our Scriptures are at best ambivalent about kings. Once the Israelites were settled in Canaan, they were governed by Judges. When the leaders of the people begged the prophet Samuel to anoint a king for them, he at first demurred and reminded them of all the ways that a king would tyrannize them. Nor does the proclamation of Christ as King have ancient roots. The lectionaries of previous prayer books list no such feast. Indeed, if we were still using the 1928 prayer book, today we would be observing the Sunday Next Before Advent and would be hearing the story from John’s Gospel about the feeding of the five thousand. As an observance Christ the King only dates from the Italy of 1925. Worried about the growing power of Fascism in Italy, and especially the government of Benito Mussolini, Pope Pius XI instituted the feast of Christ the King. For nations wracked by the Great War and likely facing another, the day proclaimed God’s reign over the entire world. The day also reminded Christians that their allegiance was to a divine ruler and not to earthly political leaders. In proclaiming Christ as King, we now join with Roman Catholics, as well as Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Methodists, in acknowledging the Lordship of Christ in our lives.
But if Christ is our king, of what kind of king are we the subjects? Do our texts shed any light on that question? In our reading from the prophet Jeremiah, we hear words spoken to a people in exile. Jeremiah proclaimed God’s word before and during the sacking of Jerusalem and exile of the religious and political leadership in 586 BC. Throughout his prophecy he has especially harsh words for the political leadership, castigating them for provoking the Babylonian rulers. In today’s lesson, Jeremiah compares the kings, who have brought about the disaster of exile, to bad shepherds who have not properly cared for God’s flock. After attending to the bad shepherds, God promises that the people will return to Jerusalem, to their own “fold,” and that God will send good shepherds to lead them. Speaking through Jeremiah, God makes an even more startling promise, that God will raise up from David’s line a “righteous branch,” a true king who will be wise, just, and righteous. From very early on, Christians have understood Jesus to be that “righteous branch,” that wise, just ruler.
If Jeremiah gave us God’s promises about a ruler in the earthly realm, in a restored Jerusalem, Paul, in his letter to the church at Colossae, gives a vision of Christ that unites the human dimension with the cosmic dimension. In what must have been a fragment of a hymn, he gives us a vision of the majesty of Christ, who is the very image of God, who gives coherence to the created order, and through whom God unites all people. If we are indeed subjects of such a Christ, if indeed we have been transferred out of a life of darkness into this glorious kingdom, then we are called to an absolute commitment to Christ: we either accept Christ or reject him, we either are or are not loyal to him and to no other. Neither the Colossians nor we can be spiritual consumers, picking one element from column A and another from column B, following Christ’s lead when we feel like it and the call of worldly pursuits when we don’t.
Of what kind of king are we subjects? We’ve heard Jeremiah’s vision of a righteous shepherd and Paul’s vision of a cosmic Christ who reconciles all creation within himself. Then we come to the Gospel. Wham! We have Jesus on the cross, tortured, humiliated, and executed as a criminal. Is this the picture of a king? The inscription on the cross, which is supposed to let onlookers know for what crimes the person is being executed, declares “The King of the Jews.” The soldiers declare, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.” We may be proclaiming Jesus’ absolute authority in our lives, we may be declaring ourselves to be his subjects, but for those who saw him in the flesh that day, he was anything but a king. He was powerless, his friends, except for a few stalwart women, had deserted him, and he was surrounded by a jeering crowd and brutal executioners.
What are we to make of this depiction of Jesus’ crucifixion? There’s no blood or gore in Luke’s account. But there is in Luke – and in Luke alone an – an astonishing conversation between Jesus and the second thief. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” the thief says. Kingdom? On the face of it, this is an absurd request. There the two of them are, stripped naked, bereft of every human relationship or possession, dragged outside the city walls, undergoing a brutally painful death, and knowing that they will be left hanging on their crosses as examples to any who would challenge the Roman rulers. And yet, astonishingly, we hear no despair or pain in this conversation. We hear talk of the future: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” “Today, you shall be with me in paradise.” Is Jesus really like one of those kings in his parables, able to show extravagant generosity to someone who asks for a boon? Does Jesus know something no one else knows? Is there more to the story than is apparent?
Perhaps. Perhaps there are a couple of clues in this story about what the kingship of Christ is really about. The first clue may be that, for now at least, his reign is hidden in suffering. He scarcely looked like a king on the day of his death, nor for most people does he appear to be one now. After centuries of ascendancy and alignment with the political powers, Christ’s cause appears to be failing. Churches have been undergoing a period of disestablishment, as theologian Douglas John Hall calls it. Church membership in Europe is virtually non-existent, and mainline denominations in this country are in serious decline. Wars stretch on and on, political leaders are assassinated, and gun violence, along with every other kind of violence, continues unabated. And yet, like the second thief on the cross, we carry a glimmer of hope. We can sense that selfishness, violence, and injustice are not the end of the story. Jesus’ answer to the thief allows us to see that eventually every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord. But for now his sovereignty is hidden in the suffering of the innocent.
And yet. Dark though this world may be, can’t we see the hidden majesty of our king for brief moments? Do we get glimpses of his mercy when someone recovers from illness? Is his grace apparent when relationships are healed, the hungry are fed, the grieving are consoled? Have we journeyed further into his kingdom when we take steps to right an injustice, make peace among those estranged, forgive each other, and allow ourselves to be forgiven? Do we walk in his footsteps when we speak a word of faith to those who are hopeless and suffering? If we strain our eyes, can we just see that there may be blessings ahead, even though the journey may be long and painful? Can we share our hope with those in despair?
Who is Jesus? Are we ready join the kingdom of the Crucified One? Are we ready to be transformed into his likeness? Can we see him already at work in the world?
Shepherd of Israel, hear our prayer,
as your Son heard the plea
of the criminal crucified with him.
Gather us into Christ's holy reign.
Gather the broken, the sorrowing, and the sinner,
that all may know
wholeness, joy, and forgiveness. Amen.
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 20, 2011
When Did We See You Hungry?
Have you ever been to one of the great Gothic cathedrals? Notre Dame or Chartres or Westminster Abbey? If you have, or even if you’ve seen pictures of them, you know that they are literally sermons in glass and stone. In the great cathedrals, every architectural detail, every window, and every sculpture are designed to point us to God and to remind us of God’s mighty works on our behalf. Though not medieval, the great Washington National Cathedral, the cathedral church of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, is also such a sermon in stone. Episcopal priest Frank Logue tells us that the entire building is designed to point us towards God and to remind us of God’s mighty works.1 As with the medieval cathedrals, the focal point of the national cathedral is the high altar. Behind the high altar the huge reredos depicts Christ in glory surrounded by over one hundred figures. But look closely: closest to the glorified Christ stand who? The great angels? The most exemplary saints? The apostles? The martyrs? None of these. Closest to the glorified Christ, at the very heart of this great cathedral stand six allegorical figures, figures of people who are hungry, thirsty, homeless, naked, sick, and imprisoned. You can’t miss the theme of the sermon: it is they, the poor, the needy, the weak, the victims, whom Christ first embraces in paradise.
Are you surprised? Were you surprised that Jesus depicted the final judgment as a test of how we treated others, especially of how we treated “the least of these?” Jesus warned us, didn’t he? He told us that when he returned to begin his reign over all creation we would face a test. Not on whether we understood and professed every iota of the Nicene Creed. Not on whether we had read and understood the sermons of John Chrysostom or John Donne. Not on whether we had the most beautiful sanctuaries and vestments. He would test us, Jesus told us, on how real our faith was, on how we had treated those who were poor, sick, hungry, oppressed or in prison, on whether we had actively attended to their needs or ignored them. He would remind us that faith isn’t faith until it’s actualized, until it’s made concrete in the ways that we live our lives. Even if we don’t always know exactly who the beneficiary of our good works is, even if we’re not always sure that those whom we help are part of the “deserving poor,” Jesus would say that when we use our faith to benefit others, we show our love for Jesus himself. Didn’t we already know that? Didn’t the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures tell us that? And hadn’t the writer of the Letter of James repeated the same message to his hearers when he asked, “What good is it to profess faith without practicing it?” What good is it if you ignore the needs of the naked or the hungry? Hadn’t he also warned us that “without good deeds faith is useless?”
So Jesus’ parable – and the sermon in stone – remind us that whether we like it or not, we will ultimately be accountable to God for how we have lived our lives and how we have used God’s gifts to us. This Sunday, when we recognize and give thanks to God that it is Christ to whom we are accountable rather than to any secular authority, perhaps this is a good time to pause and look at our own lives. How would we do on Jesus’ test? What does your datebook and your checkbook say about you? Are you regular in worship, and does the nourishment you receive in the Eucharist change the rest of your life in any way? Do you pay attention to the needs of only your closest family and friends and ignore the needs of those on the margins of your social circle? Whom do you consider “the least” in your world, and are you concerned about them? Do you look to see Jesus in others, even in “difficult” people, or people you don’t like? Do you look beyond the charitable handout and try to make a difference in the systems of injustice and inequity that trap people in poverty, disease, and disaster? Are you mindful of the needs of our brothers and sisters in other countries?
Jesus’ test isn’t only or even primarily addressed to us as individuals. All the pronouns in the parable are in the second person plural. So Jesus’ questions are also addressed to us corporately, to us here at St. Peter’s as a parish. And the questions are similar. This is a parish with many gifts: physical plant, talented people, resources. How are we using those gifts for the benefit of the community? If we were to lock the doors and all go our separate ways, would anyone miss us? Take a minute and think about it: where are you anxious, restless, to bring the Gospel to the wider community? Where would Jesus want us to go? If money were no object, and we had all the people we needed, what would we as a congregation want to do in the wider community? What tugs at your heart? Do we think we need more money or more people to truly live out our faith? If we have the will to try to befriend the “least of these,” Jesus’ sisters and brothers whom we see around us, might not God provide the resources that we need to do so?
Are you beginning to feel judged and put on the spot? Do you fear the separation of the sheep and the goats depicted in Jesus’ parable? Where’s the good news? My brothers and sisters, here’s the good news. That Jesus holds us accountable for what we do means that our lives have consequences, and it matters to God and to those around us how we live them out. Our lives may be short, our scope of action may be limited, but our lives still have value and meaning. That Jesus also holds us accountable as a parish for how we use God’s gifts means that our life together as a community of faith also has value and meaning. It does – or it should – mean that our being here makes a difference!
Ultimately, we come back to the question we have been wrestling with for the last several weeks, ever since, in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus began his last sermon in Jerusalem. And that question is, how do we live in this middle time between Jesus’ death and resurrection and the full inauguration of his reign on earth? The answer is both simple and complicated. We heard Jesus himself give the answer to the question: “You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. That is the greatest and first commandment. The second is like it: You must love your neighbor as yourself.” Love God, love your neighbor: that is how we live in the middle time.
St. Teresa of Avila told us, “We cannot be sure if we are loving God … but we can know quite well if we are loving our neighbor.” I’d like to tell you about a community – not an individual, not even a parish, but an entire community – who looked to the margins and discovered the neighbors they were called to love. Not In Our Town: Light in the Darkness is a one-hour documentary, that was shown on public television, about a town coming together to take action after anti-immigrant violence devastated the community.2 In 2008, a series of attacks on Latino residents of Patchogue, New York culminated in the murder of Marcelo Lucero, an Ecuadoran immigrant who had lived in the Long Island village for thirteen years. For the next two years, Mayor Paul Pontieri, Joselo Lucero, the murdered man’s brother, and Patchogue residents wrestled with the underlying causes of the violence. Four months after Marcelo Lucero’s murder, the mayor led the Patchogue Board of Trustees in passing a resolution stating that "thoughtful discourse can only occur in an environment free of hatred and vilification," and that anti-immigrant rhetoric not only harms targeted groups but "our entire social fabric." Joselo urged people to come together so that a tragedy like his brother's death would never happen again. The Suffolk County Police Department assigned two Spanish-speaking officers to Patchogue, one of whom serves as a community relations liaison with the immigrant community. The local library became both a safe place for Latino immigrants, who often felt uneasy in other public places, and a gathering place for those who wanted to continue working for reconciliation. Gradually the “Not in our Town” movement began to spread. Now more than fifty such groups exist all over North America, from Alaska to Florida, from California to Prince Edward Island.
The righteous will ask, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” Pray that it may be said of us that when we served his brothers and sisters in need we recognized him in them.
---------------------------
1. Frank Logue pointed out the connection between the National Cathedral figures and this Gospel lection in his article, “The Power of Disturbing Faith,” accessed on November 17, 2011 at http://www.kingofpeace.org/religioncolumn/052110.htm.
2. See http://www.niot.org/lightinthedarkness
Are you surprised? Were you surprised that Jesus depicted the final judgment as a test of how we treated others, especially of how we treated “the least of these?” Jesus warned us, didn’t he? He told us that when he returned to begin his reign over all creation we would face a test. Not on whether we understood and professed every iota of the Nicene Creed. Not on whether we had read and understood the sermons of John Chrysostom or John Donne. Not on whether we had the most beautiful sanctuaries and vestments. He would test us, Jesus told us, on how real our faith was, on how we had treated those who were poor, sick, hungry, oppressed or in prison, on whether we had actively attended to their needs or ignored them. He would remind us that faith isn’t faith until it’s actualized, until it’s made concrete in the ways that we live our lives. Even if we don’t always know exactly who the beneficiary of our good works is, even if we’re not always sure that those whom we help are part of the “deserving poor,” Jesus would say that when we use our faith to benefit others, we show our love for Jesus himself. Didn’t we already know that? Didn’t the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures tell us that? And hadn’t the writer of the Letter of James repeated the same message to his hearers when he asked, “What good is it to profess faith without practicing it?” What good is it if you ignore the needs of the naked or the hungry? Hadn’t he also warned us that “without good deeds faith is useless?”
So Jesus’ parable – and the sermon in stone – remind us that whether we like it or not, we will ultimately be accountable to God for how we have lived our lives and how we have used God’s gifts to us. This Sunday, when we recognize and give thanks to God that it is Christ to whom we are accountable rather than to any secular authority, perhaps this is a good time to pause and look at our own lives. How would we do on Jesus’ test? What does your datebook and your checkbook say about you? Are you regular in worship, and does the nourishment you receive in the Eucharist change the rest of your life in any way? Do you pay attention to the needs of only your closest family and friends and ignore the needs of those on the margins of your social circle? Whom do you consider “the least” in your world, and are you concerned about them? Do you look to see Jesus in others, even in “difficult” people, or people you don’t like? Do you look beyond the charitable handout and try to make a difference in the systems of injustice and inequity that trap people in poverty, disease, and disaster? Are you mindful of the needs of our brothers and sisters in other countries?
Jesus’ test isn’t only or even primarily addressed to us as individuals. All the pronouns in the parable are in the second person plural. So Jesus’ questions are also addressed to us corporately, to us here at St. Peter’s as a parish. And the questions are similar. This is a parish with many gifts: physical plant, talented people, resources. How are we using those gifts for the benefit of the community? If we were to lock the doors and all go our separate ways, would anyone miss us? Take a minute and think about it: where are you anxious, restless, to bring the Gospel to the wider community? Where would Jesus want us to go? If money were no object, and we had all the people we needed, what would we as a congregation want to do in the wider community? What tugs at your heart? Do we think we need more money or more people to truly live out our faith? If we have the will to try to befriend the “least of these,” Jesus’ sisters and brothers whom we see around us, might not God provide the resources that we need to do so?
Are you beginning to feel judged and put on the spot? Do you fear the separation of the sheep and the goats depicted in Jesus’ parable? Where’s the good news? My brothers and sisters, here’s the good news. That Jesus holds us accountable for what we do means that our lives have consequences, and it matters to God and to those around us how we live them out. Our lives may be short, our scope of action may be limited, but our lives still have value and meaning. That Jesus also holds us accountable as a parish for how we use God’s gifts means that our life together as a community of faith also has value and meaning. It does – or it should – mean that our being here makes a difference!
Ultimately, we come back to the question we have been wrestling with for the last several weeks, ever since, in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus began his last sermon in Jerusalem. And that question is, how do we live in this middle time between Jesus’ death and resurrection and the full inauguration of his reign on earth? The answer is both simple and complicated. We heard Jesus himself give the answer to the question: “You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. That is the greatest and first commandment. The second is like it: You must love your neighbor as yourself.” Love God, love your neighbor: that is how we live in the middle time.
St. Teresa of Avila told us, “We cannot be sure if we are loving God … but we can know quite well if we are loving our neighbor.” I’d like to tell you about a community – not an individual, not even a parish, but an entire community – who looked to the margins and discovered the neighbors they were called to love. Not In Our Town: Light in the Darkness is a one-hour documentary, that was shown on public television, about a town coming together to take action after anti-immigrant violence devastated the community.2 In 2008, a series of attacks on Latino residents of Patchogue, New York culminated in the murder of Marcelo Lucero, an Ecuadoran immigrant who had lived in the Long Island village for thirteen years. For the next two years, Mayor Paul Pontieri, Joselo Lucero, the murdered man’s brother, and Patchogue residents wrestled with the underlying causes of the violence. Four months after Marcelo Lucero’s murder, the mayor led the Patchogue Board of Trustees in passing a resolution stating that "thoughtful discourse can only occur in an environment free of hatred and vilification," and that anti-immigrant rhetoric not only harms targeted groups but "our entire social fabric." Joselo urged people to come together so that a tragedy like his brother's death would never happen again. The Suffolk County Police Department assigned two Spanish-speaking officers to Patchogue, one of whom serves as a community relations liaison with the immigrant community. The local library became both a safe place for Latino immigrants, who often felt uneasy in other public places, and a gathering place for those who wanted to continue working for reconciliation. Gradually the “Not in our Town” movement began to spread. Now more than fifty such groups exist all over North America, from Alaska to Florida, from California to Prince Edward Island.
The righteous will ask, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” Pray that it may be said of us that when we served his brothers and sisters in need we recognized him in them.
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1. Frank Logue pointed out the connection between the National Cathedral figures and this Gospel lection in his article, “The Power of Disturbing Faith,” accessed on November 17, 2011 at http://www.kingofpeace.org/religioncolumn/052110.htm.
2. See http://www.niot.org/lightinthedarkness
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Kingdom of God's Beloved Son
It’s the last Sunday after Pentecost, the very end of the church year. So why does our church calendar tell us that we are celebrating the feast of Christ the King? Americans, understandably, have negative images of kings. Consider how the writers of the Declaration of Independence characterized George III of England: “The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States.” The writers lay out eighteen ways in which the king has oppressed the colonists, allude to the ways they have attempted to redress these ills, and finally conclude that, “A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.” And indeed Americans have not pledged allegiance to any king since the Declaration was signed.
Nor is the feast of Christ the King in any of our old prayer books. The old lectionary in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer lists no such feast. Indeed, if we were still using the 1928 prayer book today we would be observing the Sunday Next Before Advent and would be hearing the story from John’s Gospel about the feeding of the five thousand. So where does this feast come from? Is it some ancient observance that Episcopalians only discovered when we revised our prayer book in the 1970s and adopted the Revised Common Lectionary? Actually, as an observance Christ the King only dates from the Italy of 1925. In a response to the growing power of Fascism in Italy, and especially to the government of Benito Mussolini, Pope Pius XI, instituted the feast of Christ the King. For nations wracked by one war and facing another, the day proclaimed God’s reign over the entire world. The day also reminded Christians that their allegiance was to a divine ruler and not to earthly political leaders. In concluding our liturgical year with the acknowledgement of Christ as our true ruler, we now join with the Roman Catholics, as well as Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Methodists, in acknowledging the Lordship of Christ in our lives.
O.K. I get it. But if Christ is my king, my lord, my true ruler, the one to whom I owe primary allegiance, why do we hear this Gospel reading? Aren’t there others that better showcase Jesus’ majesty? Wasn’t Jesus truly regal when he calmed the sea and commanded the winds? Wasn’t his power obvious when he fed the multitudes with bread and fish? Surely he showed his authority when he drove demons out of people and healed them from every imaginable illness. And whenever he debated with the religious leadership, the greater depth of his wisdom was clearly evident. Why this Gospel, that shows Jesus at the lowest point of his life, his humiliation on a cross? Isn’t this Gospel reading more suitable for Good Friday?
Well, certainly we read the whole Passion story in Holy Week, beginning with Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which we celebrate on Palm Sunday, and going right through to his death on the Cross on Good Friday. As I wrestled with today’s readings, it became clear to me that the Church lets us hear this story again to drive home to us just what kind of Lord we actually have, of what kind of king we are actually subjects. The Gospel of Luke is a Gospel of reversals and irony, and in a wonderfully ironic touch, it is those who here mock and reject Jesus who point to Jesus’ true identity. To begin with, Jesus is mocked by those in political authority. Shortly before the scene of today’s reading, Jesus stood before Pontius Pilate, a man dependent on political power and the threat of violence. Jesus had been accused of saying that he was the Messiah, God’s anointed one. Thinking in political terms, Pilate mockingly asked Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus’ answer? “You say so.” Even so, Pilate had the inscription “This is the King of the Jews” put on the cross. But Jesus was not a political ruler.
Secondly, the religious leaders mock Jesus: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah….” But Jesus was not a religious leader: he did not found a new rabbinical school or Jewish sect. Those welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday might have been expecting him to take up arms and free Jerusalem from the hated Romans. Indeed some think that Judas betrayed Jesus in the hope of stirring up a military rebellion. However, Jesus was clearly not called to be a military leader. And so, the sneering soldiers similarly denigrate him. As they cast lots for his clothes, they taunt him, saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” Even the first thief, who thinks only of himself, mocks Jesus: : “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”
Those who mock and taunt Jesus show us clearly that Jesus is no George III. Jesus is a different kind of king from any we could have imagined. No, Jesus is not a king in political, military, or even religious terms. What Jesus models for us is self-giving, sacrificial love. Unlike the tyrants of his own or even our world, Jesus models the servant-shepherd leader foretold by God in the prophecy of Jeremiah, which we heard in our Old Testament reading. Letting go of any possibility of political, military, or religious power, Jesus offers himself up for the life of the world. At the point of death, Jesus reigns from the cross, giving himself up for us, forgiving us, and assuring us of God’s deep love for us.
What would the kingdom that Jesus announced look like in our world? What would our lives be like if Jesus ruled the nations, instead of Kim Jong-Il, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Robert Mugabe, or even David Cameron or Barak Obama? Unquestionably, every aspect of our lives would be different. We would have peace instead of endless war. Gone would be exploitation of others and human trafficking, the modern-day equivalent of slavery. Instead of a vengeful, punitive system of justice, we would have mercy and forgiveness. Adequate healthcare would be available to all, instead of only to the fortunately wealthy few. Walls between ethnic groups and races would cease to exist, and all would be included within our communities. When God’s Kingdom comes, the kingdom we pray for every time we recite the Lord’s Prayer, we would truly know shalom, the well being of all humankind, and indeed of all creation. This is our hope, this is what we proclaim, and this is what we pray for with all our hearts. The shalom and reconciliation of all creation is the place to which everything that we have heard, preached, and said this year has led us. This is the point of the whole story: that God’s Kingdom, inaugurated by the birth, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus, would come to full realization.
And what of ourselves? By God’s grace, we have been brought into, transferred to this kingdom governed by Christ. We are now citizens of a different world, not our own. In the world of which we are now citizens, we know that our hope lies not in the agendas of Democrats or Republicans, of capitalists or socialists or communists, of management or labor, of democracy or theocracy. Just as we learned last week that no human monument is forever, so this week our texts proclaim that no human system is forever. None can claim ultimate allegiance from us. Every system ultimately fails. Only Christ is truly sovereign. Only Christ has the authority to claim us as his subjects.
As Christ’s subjects, we are invited to live as he lived. We are invited to see that at the heart of everything is a God who deeply, truly, passionately loves us. We discover with joy that Jesus is the Ultimate Reality who should be our Ultimate Concern. We celebrate Jesus not as a distant tyrant, a George III across a three thousand mile-wide ocean from his subjects, but as a near, dear, close presence in our lives – as close as a prayer. We celebrate Jesus as lover of the world and all that is in it. We celebrate Jesus as pure Mother/Father love, as supreme healer and transformer of life. We celebrate Jesus, God’s anointed one, who through his death and resurrection takes away the sin of the world for all and forever.
And so as we celebrate the feast of Christ the King, and as we give thanks to God for blessing us with the gift of inclusion in his kingdom of grace, let us pray in the words of St. Teresa of Avila, “We are all vassals of the King. May it please his Majesty that, like brave soldiers, we may look only where the banner of our King is flying, and thus follow his will.” Amen.
Nor is the feast of Christ the King in any of our old prayer books. The old lectionary in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer lists no such feast. Indeed, if we were still using the 1928 prayer book today we would be observing the Sunday Next Before Advent and would be hearing the story from John’s Gospel about the feeding of the five thousand. So where does this feast come from? Is it some ancient observance that Episcopalians only discovered when we revised our prayer book in the 1970s and adopted the Revised Common Lectionary? Actually, as an observance Christ the King only dates from the Italy of 1925. In a response to the growing power of Fascism in Italy, and especially to the government of Benito Mussolini, Pope Pius XI, instituted the feast of Christ the King. For nations wracked by one war and facing another, the day proclaimed God’s reign over the entire world. The day also reminded Christians that their allegiance was to a divine ruler and not to earthly political leaders. In concluding our liturgical year with the acknowledgement of Christ as our true ruler, we now join with the Roman Catholics, as well as Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Methodists, in acknowledging the Lordship of Christ in our lives.
O.K. I get it. But if Christ is my king, my lord, my true ruler, the one to whom I owe primary allegiance, why do we hear this Gospel reading? Aren’t there others that better showcase Jesus’ majesty? Wasn’t Jesus truly regal when he calmed the sea and commanded the winds? Wasn’t his power obvious when he fed the multitudes with bread and fish? Surely he showed his authority when he drove demons out of people and healed them from every imaginable illness. And whenever he debated with the religious leadership, the greater depth of his wisdom was clearly evident. Why this Gospel, that shows Jesus at the lowest point of his life, his humiliation on a cross? Isn’t this Gospel reading more suitable for Good Friday?
Well, certainly we read the whole Passion story in Holy Week, beginning with Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which we celebrate on Palm Sunday, and going right through to his death on the Cross on Good Friday. As I wrestled with today’s readings, it became clear to me that the Church lets us hear this story again to drive home to us just what kind of Lord we actually have, of what kind of king we are actually subjects. The Gospel of Luke is a Gospel of reversals and irony, and in a wonderfully ironic touch, it is those who here mock and reject Jesus who point to Jesus’ true identity. To begin with, Jesus is mocked by those in political authority. Shortly before the scene of today’s reading, Jesus stood before Pontius Pilate, a man dependent on political power and the threat of violence. Jesus had been accused of saying that he was the Messiah, God’s anointed one. Thinking in political terms, Pilate mockingly asked Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus’ answer? “You say so.” Even so, Pilate had the inscription “This is the King of the Jews” put on the cross. But Jesus was not a political ruler.
Secondly, the religious leaders mock Jesus: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah….” But Jesus was not a religious leader: he did not found a new rabbinical school or Jewish sect. Those welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday might have been expecting him to take up arms and free Jerusalem from the hated Romans. Indeed some think that Judas betrayed Jesus in the hope of stirring up a military rebellion. However, Jesus was clearly not called to be a military leader. And so, the sneering soldiers similarly denigrate him. As they cast lots for his clothes, they taunt him, saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” Even the first thief, who thinks only of himself, mocks Jesus: : “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”
Those who mock and taunt Jesus show us clearly that Jesus is no George III. Jesus is a different kind of king from any we could have imagined. No, Jesus is not a king in political, military, or even religious terms. What Jesus models for us is self-giving, sacrificial love. Unlike the tyrants of his own or even our world, Jesus models the servant-shepherd leader foretold by God in the prophecy of Jeremiah, which we heard in our Old Testament reading. Letting go of any possibility of political, military, or religious power, Jesus offers himself up for the life of the world. At the point of death, Jesus reigns from the cross, giving himself up for us, forgiving us, and assuring us of God’s deep love for us.
What would the kingdom that Jesus announced look like in our world? What would our lives be like if Jesus ruled the nations, instead of Kim Jong-Il, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Robert Mugabe, or even David Cameron or Barak Obama? Unquestionably, every aspect of our lives would be different. We would have peace instead of endless war. Gone would be exploitation of others and human trafficking, the modern-day equivalent of slavery. Instead of a vengeful, punitive system of justice, we would have mercy and forgiveness. Adequate healthcare would be available to all, instead of only to the fortunately wealthy few. Walls between ethnic groups and races would cease to exist, and all would be included within our communities. When God’s Kingdom comes, the kingdom we pray for every time we recite the Lord’s Prayer, we would truly know shalom, the well being of all humankind, and indeed of all creation. This is our hope, this is what we proclaim, and this is what we pray for with all our hearts. The shalom and reconciliation of all creation is the place to which everything that we have heard, preached, and said this year has led us. This is the point of the whole story: that God’s Kingdom, inaugurated by the birth, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus, would come to full realization.
And what of ourselves? By God’s grace, we have been brought into, transferred to this kingdom governed by Christ. We are now citizens of a different world, not our own. In the world of which we are now citizens, we know that our hope lies not in the agendas of Democrats or Republicans, of capitalists or socialists or communists, of management or labor, of democracy or theocracy. Just as we learned last week that no human monument is forever, so this week our texts proclaim that no human system is forever. None can claim ultimate allegiance from us. Every system ultimately fails. Only Christ is truly sovereign. Only Christ has the authority to claim us as his subjects.
As Christ’s subjects, we are invited to live as he lived. We are invited to see that at the heart of everything is a God who deeply, truly, passionately loves us. We discover with joy that Jesus is the Ultimate Reality who should be our Ultimate Concern. We celebrate Jesus not as a distant tyrant, a George III across a three thousand mile-wide ocean from his subjects, but as a near, dear, close presence in our lives – as close as a prayer. We celebrate Jesus as lover of the world and all that is in it. We celebrate Jesus as pure Mother/Father love, as supreme healer and transformer of life. We celebrate Jesus, God’s anointed one, who through his death and resurrection takes away the sin of the world for all and forever.
And so as we celebrate the feast of Christ the King, and as we give thanks to God for blessing us with the gift of inclusion in his kingdom of grace, let us pray in the words of St. Teresa of Avila, “We are all vassals of the King. May it please his Majesty that, like brave soldiers, we may look only where the banner of our King is flying, and thus follow his will.” Amen.
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