“O praise ye the Lord! Praise him upon earth, in tuneful accord, all ye of new birth; praise him who hath brought you his grace from above, praise him who hath taught you to sing of his love.” What a wonderful hymn! In singing it, and in saying Psalm 148, on which it is based, we’ve now heard twice the gracious invitation to use all our voices and our musical instruments to join with the heavenly hosts in praising God. Praise God! Shout it with me, “Praise God, Praise God!”
Did shouting, “Praise God,” feel odd? Do you wonder why we should praise God? Do you wonder why God needs our praise? God doesn’t need our praise, but we need to praise God! We need to praise God, because doing so helps us to focus on God and to remember all the ways in which God has been active in our lives, in our communities, and in creation. Do you want a simple but effective spiritual discipline? At the end of the day, take a few minutes to praise God for all the good things that God has given you during the day. Use Psalm 148 or Canticle 12 in the Book of Common Prayer. Praising God is also a way of thanking God for creating us, for enabling us to be co-creators with God, and for sustaining us through the many ups and downs of our lives. And isn’t praise of God also a form of evangelism? As we praise God for what God has done in our lives, we also encourage other people to see the signs of God’s redemptive presence in their own lives. So, “Praise God!”
Are we the only ones invited to praise God? Our psalm makes it plain that all creation is invited to join in the mighty chorus of praise. All the angels, all the heavenly bodies, and all the manifestations of weather – fire and hail, snow and fog, storms – all are invited to praise God. All earthly creatures, sea creatures, mountains, hills, trees, wild and domestic animals, insects, and birds, all join in praise of their creator. We too join that chorus of praise. All of us: royalty and commoners, young and old, male and female, all of us together can praise God from the depths of our being.
We can shout our praise, as we just did, but how, you might wonder, does the rest of creation praise God? Can animals praise God? Certainly they can. They do so chiefly by being themselves, by living out their lives as they were created to be. Can rocks and trees and stars praise God? Certainly they do, if we would but let them praise God and then listen to their chorus of praise. Perhaps you’ve heard the echoes of this chorus of praise in a beautiful natural scene. When you walk into the mountains, or gaze up into a star-studded sky, glimpse a crystal-blue lake, hear the roaring of ocean waves, or see the myriad points of light bouncing off a snow-covered slope, don’t you slow down? Don’t you look and listen more attentively? Don’t you fell yourself in a “thin place,” a place where God seems especially present? Don’t you stand in silence, in awe, and offer your praise to God for what God has created?
How many of you walk for exercise? The next time you do, take God with you! As you see the lovely trees in flower and leaf at this time of year, as you hear the returning birds, and feel the warm sun on your head, offer your own praises to God. Then join in creation’s thanksgiving for God’s greatness. Let Mary Oliver’s poem, “When I Am Among the Trees,” echo in your head:
When I am among the trees, When I Am Among the Trees
When I am among the trees,
Especially the willows and the honey locust,
Equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
They give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
In which I have goodness, and discernment,
And never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
And call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
It is simple. But increasingly, creation is unable to praise God, unable to invite us into the joyful chorus. Increasingly, creation groans in agony. Our creeks are filled with acid mine drainage from abandoned mines. We’re destroying our mountain tops and pouring toxic chemicals into our wells and waterways. Do you want to hear a true story of what we have done to God’s good creation? Read a book called Toms River. It tells in horrifying detail how Union Carbide and the chemical company Ciba-Geigy dumped tons of toxic chemicals into the water around Toms River, New Jersey. Polar ice caps are disappearing, and the oceans are rising. In some parts of the world you’re lucky if you can even marvel at a starry sky, so filled with smog is the atmosphere. We’re driven some species to extinction and cruelly abuse others. Our landfills are overflowing. Do you know that we have a new continent? It’s the Pacific Ocean Garbage Patch. It’s an area of about ten million square miles, ten million square miles, filled with plastic, trash, and junk, that is deadly to marine life, and that is making the North Pacific unhealthy and unnavigable.
There are no easy answers to these problems, you might say. And you would be right. When we begin thinking about the causes of environmental degradation and, what is more important, how we might restore the environment to something closer to its original created state, the issues are complex. Other nations have a right to develop their economies as we did ours. None of us is ready – or able – to live off the grid. Everyone needs access to clean water. Yet God has given creation into our hands and commanded us to be responsible stewards. We must be concerned about climate change, endangered species, and trash islands. Otherwise, how will creation rightfully praise its creator?
There are no easy answers, but there are actions we can take. We can keep the Pacific Ocean Garbage Patch from getting any larger, and possibly help it to shrink. We can use our own canvas bags to shop. We can take our own mug to Starbucks. We can recycle as much plastic as we can. We can use glass and other recyclable materials when possible. We can try to buy things that are not encased in plastic. And we can educate ourselves about the impact of our continued use of plastics.
Can we do anything as a parish? You bet we can. This past Monday was Earth Day, and June 5th is World Environment Day. The Church of England has embarked on a national environmental campaign called “Shrinking the Footprint,” inviting parishes to sign up for energy audits. The goal is to enable at least 100 parishes to become more energy efficient. As David Shreeve, the Church of England's national environment adviser, reminds us, "Energy use represents a significant proportion of the Church of England's carbon emissions, and energy reduction will help to meet our commitment to protecting God's creation, as well as leading to cost savings. Our case studies show how simple it is to achieve." The program is available online using simple software. Meanwhile, here at St. Peter’s, and in our homes, we can be scrupulous in recycling all our plastic, cardboard, and other recyclable materials. We can turn off lights and adjust thermostats. We can decrease our use of paper and, if we need to print, use the other side of scrap paper if possible. If you’re electronically connected, join the list of the Episcopal Ecological Network, or the Mission 4/1 Earth of the United Church of Christ, or access either group on Facebook or Twitter.
“O praise ye the Lord! Thanksgiving and song to him be outpoured all ages along! For love in creation, for heaven restored, for grace of salvation, O praise ye the Lord!” May all of us join with angels, all people, and all of creation in praise of God our creator!
Showing posts with label Fifth Sunday of Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fifth Sunday of Easter. Show all posts
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Beloved, Let Us Love One Another
Who is God? What does God expect of us? Around the turn of the first century, a beleaguered Christian community in Asia Minor (in what is now Turkey) struggled with these questions. Within their fledgling community people were arguing with each other. Even though they were deeply committed to Jesus they still disagreed about the nature of God, whether it was possible to know anything about God, who Jesus was, and how they were supposed to live out their faith. Worse yet, these Christians were a tiny minority in the vast sea of Jews, Greeks, Romans, and people of other ethnicities. Unlike those around them, they welcomed into their midst both Jews and Gentiles, slaves and free. They let both women and men lead them. They were mostly despised by their neighbors, who thought them at worst insane, or at best misguided. Amidst the tension within and the disdain and persecution without, their leaders wondered if they would survive as a community of Jesus’ disciples. And then a series of letters arrived. It wasn’t clear exactly who they were from. The writer just called him or herself “the elder.” The letters helped the Christians answer some of their questions about God and begin learning how to live out their commitment to the Way of Jesus.
Today we know these letters as the first, second, and third letters of John. In our Bibles they now come close to the end of the New Testament. While the second and third letters seem to be truly letters, the first letter, from which our Epistle reading comes this morning, seems to be more like a sermon or essay than a letter. Don’t be confused by the name! It’s unlikely that the Gospel according to John, these letters, and the Revelation to John were all written by the same person. John was a very common name in the ancient world! What is likely, though, is that the writer of these letters and the writer of the Gospel according to John shared many ideas, may have been part of similar Christian communities, and may have known some of the same accounts of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Certainly, they used similar language to convey their ideas. If you’ve been hearing echoes of the Gospel of John in our Epistle readings, you’re in good company!
Even though as disciples of Jesus we live in a very different time and place from those ancient Christians who first heard “the elder’s” letters, we may have some of the same questions they did. As I listen to what people share in our weekday Eucharists or in our study sessions, I hear people wondering who God is for us now. Many of us are still grappling with who Jesus is, and we certainly wonder what God expects of us in the twenty-first century. Perhaps this part of “the elder’s” letter can give us some clues.
Actually, “the elder’s” first letter is hard to follow. Like Jesus’ speeches in the Gospel according to John, the writer does not follow the linear arguments so familiar to us moderns. Instead, following the high-toned rhetorical style of the ancient world, the writer keeps spiraling back and forth over similar themes. Fortunately, the portion we’ve heard this morning gives us the heart of the letter, allowing us to hear what it is truly most important. To begin with, the writer reminds us of God’s love. Indeed, we are God’s beloved. God loves us, and all creation, with a deep, active, sacrificial love. God loves us without any quid pro quo, without waiting for us to love God first, and without any expectation of a return of God’s “investment” in us. How do we know this? We know it because we believe that Jesus was truly the Word of God, who became flesh and moved into our neighborhood. We know it because we have seen in Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross, the depth and breadth of God’s love for the world.
How then do we respond to the discovery of God’s sacrificial love, love which was manifested most clearly to us in Jesus’ sacrifice? If we are committed to being Jesus’ disciples, if we “abide in him,” then we respond by attempting to love, albeit perhaps feebly, in the same way that Jesus loved. And right now, let’s be clear: the love “the elder” is talking about is not a mushy, romantic love. The love “the elder” is talking about is a verb, not a noun, an action, not a feeling, a sacrifice of self for the sake of another. And, what is more important, the love we are attempting to act out in our lives goes in two directions. We are called to love God, to praise God, and to thank God for all that God has done for us. And, no surprise, we are called to love those around us, the brothers and sisters we can see. In the Gospel of Matthew we hear that loving God is the first and greatest commandment, and that second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself. Here “the elder” goes one step further and suggests that love of God and love of neighbor are the same, that they are inseparable, indeed that we express our love of God through our love of our brothers and sisters. And we express our love with this assurance: that God will continue to deepen our love, continue to transform us, and continue to enable us to become more and more like Jesus himself.
Is it easy to love others in the same way that God loves them? As the community to whom “the elder” was writing knew well, it is very difficult. For that community, as for us, it is often difficult to love those who are right in our very midst. Those who live in convents and monasteries – communities dedicated to practicing and modeling God’s love – know that even in the best families and Christian communities, some of us are harder to love than others. Perhaps, though, knowing already that all of us are loved by God can help us to see that all are valued by God, and that all have a place in the Body of Christ.
I have struggled in my own life with understanding the value to God of all of God’s children. I often feel as if I have taken only baby steps in learning to love my brothers and sisters as fellow beloved children of God. As some of you know, I spent the summer of 2006 at Children’s Hospital in Columbus doing what we call clinical pastoral education, i.e., serving as a pastoral care intern. During that summer I met many severely disabled children, children who would spend their lives blind or deaf, children who would never walk, children who might never be able to dress or even toilet themselves. I struggled with how to be pastorally present to these children, children who were so different from my own competent and successful grown children. Then I began to pay more attention to the parents of these children. I remember one young mother, who patiently held her infant day by day, loving him despite his uncertain future. I remember the parents of a twelve-year old girl, lovingly giving her the most basic services as she lay inert in her bed. I remember the foster mother of two disabled children. Although she and her husband had two “normal” children, they especially felt called to foster those children whose disabilities made them unlovable for other foster parents. As I saw real love in practice in those parents, I began to share their love for their children, began to get an inkling of the goodness and value of these children, despite – or maybe because of – who they were.
I began seeing these disabled children through their parents’ eyes after reading Henri Nouwen’s account of living in a L’Arche community. The L’Arche communities were founded in France in1964 by Canadian philosopher Jean Vanier. L’Arche is the French word for shelter, and the L’Arche communities enable “normal” people to live with severely mentally challenged people. “The purpose of these specifically Christian group homes, says Vanier, is not to ‘normalize’ the disabled according to the standards of society, or to solve all their problems, which is never likely to happen, but rather to celebrate them as sacred gifts of God who have their own gifts to offer us.”1 When we first meet disabled people, suggests Vanier, we may be afraid of them. Or we may think we need to leap in and help them. But when we meet severely handicapped people, they really want to ask us just two questions: do you consider me human, and, more important, do you love me? If we meet the disabled on their own ground, says Vanier, “we behold them with wonderment and thanksgiving. We embrace them as fully human and love them for who they are. We can even see the face of God in them, for God uses the weak to confound the strong.”2
“We love because he first loved us…. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” And so we trust that as we continue to draw nearer to Jesus, as we continue to deepen our relationship with God, as we let God’s love flow through us to others, as we begin to see God in the faces of those around us, we will continue to mature in our ability to love: God’s love will be perfected in us. May it be so.
________________________
1. Daniel Clendinen, “A Father, A Son, and Two Important Questions,” Journey with Jesus, May 6, 2012, http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml
2. Ibid.
Today we know these letters as the first, second, and third letters of John. In our Bibles they now come close to the end of the New Testament. While the second and third letters seem to be truly letters, the first letter, from which our Epistle reading comes this morning, seems to be more like a sermon or essay than a letter. Don’t be confused by the name! It’s unlikely that the Gospel according to John, these letters, and the Revelation to John were all written by the same person. John was a very common name in the ancient world! What is likely, though, is that the writer of these letters and the writer of the Gospel according to John shared many ideas, may have been part of similar Christian communities, and may have known some of the same accounts of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Certainly, they used similar language to convey their ideas. If you’ve been hearing echoes of the Gospel of John in our Epistle readings, you’re in good company!
Even though as disciples of Jesus we live in a very different time and place from those ancient Christians who first heard “the elder’s” letters, we may have some of the same questions they did. As I listen to what people share in our weekday Eucharists or in our study sessions, I hear people wondering who God is for us now. Many of us are still grappling with who Jesus is, and we certainly wonder what God expects of us in the twenty-first century. Perhaps this part of “the elder’s” letter can give us some clues.
Actually, “the elder’s” first letter is hard to follow. Like Jesus’ speeches in the Gospel according to John, the writer does not follow the linear arguments so familiar to us moderns. Instead, following the high-toned rhetorical style of the ancient world, the writer keeps spiraling back and forth over similar themes. Fortunately, the portion we’ve heard this morning gives us the heart of the letter, allowing us to hear what it is truly most important. To begin with, the writer reminds us of God’s love. Indeed, we are God’s beloved. God loves us, and all creation, with a deep, active, sacrificial love. God loves us without any quid pro quo, without waiting for us to love God first, and without any expectation of a return of God’s “investment” in us. How do we know this? We know it because we believe that Jesus was truly the Word of God, who became flesh and moved into our neighborhood. We know it because we have seen in Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross, the depth and breadth of God’s love for the world.
How then do we respond to the discovery of God’s sacrificial love, love which was manifested most clearly to us in Jesus’ sacrifice? If we are committed to being Jesus’ disciples, if we “abide in him,” then we respond by attempting to love, albeit perhaps feebly, in the same way that Jesus loved. And right now, let’s be clear: the love “the elder” is talking about is not a mushy, romantic love. The love “the elder” is talking about is a verb, not a noun, an action, not a feeling, a sacrifice of self for the sake of another. And, what is more important, the love we are attempting to act out in our lives goes in two directions. We are called to love God, to praise God, and to thank God for all that God has done for us. And, no surprise, we are called to love those around us, the brothers and sisters we can see. In the Gospel of Matthew we hear that loving God is the first and greatest commandment, and that second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself. Here “the elder” goes one step further and suggests that love of God and love of neighbor are the same, that they are inseparable, indeed that we express our love of God through our love of our brothers and sisters. And we express our love with this assurance: that God will continue to deepen our love, continue to transform us, and continue to enable us to become more and more like Jesus himself.
Is it easy to love others in the same way that God loves them? As the community to whom “the elder” was writing knew well, it is very difficult. For that community, as for us, it is often difficult to love those who are right in our very midst. Those who live in convents and monasteries – communities dedicated to practicing and modeling God’s love – know that even in the best families and Christian communities, some of us are harder to love than others. Perhaps, though, knowing already that all of us are loved by God can help us to see that all are valued by God, and that all have a place in the Body of Christ.
I have struggled in my own life with understanding the value to God of all of God’s children. I often feel as if I have taken only baby steps in learning to love my brothers and sisters as fellow beloved children of God. As some of you know, I spent the summer of 2006 at Children’s Hospital in Columbus doing what we call clinical pastoral education, i.e., serving as a pastoral care intern. During that summer I met many severely disabled children, children who would spend their lives blind or deaf, children who would never walk, children who might never be able to dress or even toilet themselves. I struggled with how to be pastorally present to these children, children who were so different from my own competent and successful grown children. Then I began to pay more attention to the parents of these children. I remember one young mother, who patiently held her infant day by day, loving him despite his uncertain future. I remember the parents of a twelve-year old girl, lovingly giving her the most basic services as she lay inert in her bed. I remember the foster mother of two disabled children. Although she and her husband had two “normal” children, they especially felt called to foster those children whose disabilities made them unlovable for other foster parents. As I saw real love in practice in those parents, I began to share their love for their children, began to get an inkling of the goodness and value of these children, despite – or maybe because of – who they were.
I began seeing these disabled children through their parents’ eyes after reading Henri Nouwen’s account of living in a L’Arche community. The L’Arche communities were founded in France in1964 by Canadian philosopher Jean Vanier. L’Arche is the French word for shelter, and the L’Arche communities enable “normal” people to live with severely mentally challenged people. “The purpose of these specifically Christian group homes, says Vanier, is not to ‘normalize’ the disabled according to the standards of society, or to solve all their problems, which is never likely to happen, but rather to celebrate them as sacred gifts of God who have their own gifts to offer us.”1 When we first meet disabled people, suggests Vanier, we may be afraid of them. Or we may think we need to leap in and help them. But when we meet severely handicapped people, they really want to ask us just two questions: do you consider me human, and, more important, do you love me? If we meet the disabled on their own ground, says Vanier, “we behold them with wonderment and thanksgiving. We embrace them as fully human and love them for who they are. We can even see the face of God in them, for God uses the weak to confound the strong.”2
“We love because he first loved us…. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” And so we trust that as we continue to draw nearer to Jesus, as we continue to deepen our relationship with God, as we let God’s love flow through us to others, as we begin to see God in the faces of those around us, we will continue to mature in our ability to love: God’s love will be perfected in us. May it be so.
________________________
1. Daniel Clendinen, “A Father, A Son, and Two Important Questions,” Journey with Jesus, May 6, 2012, http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml
2. Ibid.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Like Living Stones
There were days when Lydia wondered why she had ever become a Christian. Not that she doubted the truth of the new Way. Even though Christians were such a small minority in first-century Cappadocia, she felt as deeply in her heart as ever that Jesus was truly God’s son and her Lord. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he had lived and died and risen again, for her and for all people, and that he would eventually come back to rule over everyone. It was just that it was so hard being a Christian! Even though her father was liberal and enlightened, he was dead set against Christians. He said they were anti-social and subversive. In fact, he even thought they were dangerous atheists, and that they would call down on the whole state of Cappadocia the wrath of all the gods, because they refused to worship the old gods. Even her fiancé was beginning to wonder about her. He said he loved her, but he too wasn’t sure he wanted his wife to be a Christian. He certainly didn’t want to become one himself – it would ruin his business! Her women friends kept telling her that really getting baptized and becoming a Christian was just something silly she had done when she was younger. Wouldn’t it make more sense to worship her husband’s gods? Some of the others in her Christian cell clearly understood how she felt – they were Greek business people like her family. Most of the others were either working class or some other ethnicity. There were even a few Jews and a few slaves. In their own way, she guessed, all of them encountered the same negative reactions from others that she did. Being a Christian did not make you popular! Had she really done the right thing to go against the wishes of her family and friends to follow Jesus? And then one night, after they had shared the Lord’s Supper, one the elders read a letter….
Fast forward to 2011. There are days when George wonders why he ever let herself be baptized and confirmed. Not that he’s having a crisis of faith. Not at all. He freely accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, he promised to follow him, and he fully believes and tries hard to understand everything that the church teaches. He fully intends to keep all his promises to pray and worship and serve others. It’s just that it’s so hard being a Christian. His family doesn’t understand at all why he joined the church. His parents never went to church – they couldn’t care less about any religion. His fiancée and most of his friends think church is just plain silly: who can believe all that mumbo-jumbo about a Father God and his divine Son? Salvation? From what? Life is good. Bread and wine becoming someone’s body and blood? Yuck! And taking care of the poor? Let the poor take care of themselves – if they just weren’t so lazy they’d all be fine. After he and his friends have been out late on Saturday evening, George has to push himself out of bed to get to even a late service at church. Really, everyone says, just stay home, read the paper, and enjoy your coffee. Of course, all the shops are open on Sundays, along with the theaters, restaurants, bars, and sports events. Even if he wants to go to adult education on Wednesday evening, there’s always some conflict: either his boss wants to him to work late, or his family or friends pull him away for something. Prayer? When does he have time for that? And then, one Sunday morning, when he finally did manage to get to church, the lay reader read a letter….
What Lydia in Cappadocia heard the elder of her house church read was a letter written by someone close to Peter, the leader called by Jesus to be the rock upon which the church would be built. The letter had a lot of good things in it about Jesus. At the end there was lots of advice about how to live properly as a Christian. Lydia wasn’t sure she understood it all. But one part really stuck with her. It was the part about how they were all like “living stones,” and that they should let God build them into a spiritual house, so that they could be a holy priesthood. What were “living stones,” she wondered? As if he’d read her mind, the elder began by reminding everyone of stones in the Bible: how Jacob had used a stone for a pillow when he was running from Esau; how Joshua had made the twelve tribes carry stones from the Jordan to the Promised Land, to remind them of God’s covenant with them; and how John the Baptist had said that God could turn stones into children of Abraham if God had to. Now here they were, stones in a way, people whom others despised, people who had neither a Jewish nor a pagan temple in which to worship, but people who were nonetheless being built into a holy temple in which Jesus would dwell. Maybe it didn’t matter if they were educated or not, if they were the right ethnicity or not, if they were women or men, or even if they were free or not. They were all part of each other, they were all necessary for each other, and together they were letting God make a new, unique, wonderful community out of them. They were letting God make a holy priesthood out of them, who would serve each other and the rest of the world in Christ’s name. They would be a new holy people whom God had mercifully and bountifully blessed. At last, Lydia understood why she was sitting there, and her heart was filled with joy.
Sitting in church that Sunday morning, George heard the lay reader read the same part of Peter’s letter that had so struck Lydia. And George too had a revelation. He realized that, even if he were no longer living in the age of the great cathedrals, even if the day when everyone went to church – either out of social obligation or real conviction – were long past, even if the world around him and everyone he knew thought going to church was totally unnecessary, he realized that the people of St. Monica’s, his church community, were also living stones. They too had been called by God to let themselves be built into a spiritual house and a royal priesthood, to serve the world, even if the world didn’t know or care about their service. He realized that the city’s movers and shakers no longer found it necessary to be part of the church. Instead they had a couple of women wearing clothing from some give-away, they had people who passed the peace to each other, even though they were still struggling to forgive each other for some ancient wrong. There was a crying baby who kept interrupting the priest. And, miracle of miracles, there were even a few bored teenagers, who were probably texting their friends when they thought their parents weren’t looking. But they were all there, they were strong and solid and growing spiritually, they were all sharing God’s love, they were all being nourished by Word and Sacrament, they had all been honored and blessed by God, and they had all put themselves into God’s hands, to be fashioned together into a community radiating the love of Christ in the world.
My friends, we are living in George’s world. St. Peter’s is struggling to survive in the same world as that of St. Monica’s. In Gallipolis, people have no earthly reason to come through our red doors on Sunday morning – or Tuesday evening for that matter – and every good reason to relax at home or go out and do their shopping. Perhaps some even see this community and this sanctuary as a white elephant, a holdover from the era of buggy whips and high-button shoes. Our numbers have decreased, and sometimes we wonder whether the pews will ever again be filled for anything other than a wedding or a funeral. We wonder where the dollars will come from to keep the lights on. We know that 1964 will never come again, but we don’t know what’s coming next. We know that we need to change in order to grow again, but we’re not sure how to do that. Where’s the good news?
My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. This community was called into being by Jesus, and Jesus, the same Jesus who promised to be with us until the end of time, will help rebuild it – if we let him. “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house,” the letter writer exhorts us. Let yourselves, cooperate with God, put aside old conflicts, let go of old cliques, take advantage of the opportunities for growth and change that God gives you, let new leaders arise, and then God will fulfill God’s promises. God will remake us into a holy priesthood, a community that witnesses to Jesus’ power to forgive us, heal us, and send us out to serve others. I don’t know if the Common Ministry project, to which we have been invited to apply, is the vehicle through which God wants to work with us. But I do know that, at long last lay people are called to share their gifts and talents with their church communities, to help build up the church in this place. You know, we’re talking these days about bi-vocational priests, priests who are part-time clergy and have either a secular vocation or another source of income. Lay people too are called to be bi-vocational. All of you have used your gifts in your families, work places, and secular volunteer communities. Now God is calling you to claim your baptismal ministries and use the gifts the Spirit has given you to rebuild the church in this community and make disciples for Christ.
God has called a new community into being here, a community of people alive in Jesus. I pray that we are willing to be living stones for Jesus. I pray that we are willing to let ourselves be rebuilt into a new spiritual house.
Fast forward to 2011. There are days when George wonders why he ever let herself be baptized and confirmed. Not that he’s having a crisis of faith. Not at all. He freely accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, he promised to follow him, and he fully believes and tries hard to understand everything that the church teaches. He fully intends to keep all his promises to pray and worship and serve others. It’s just that it’s so hard being a Christian. His family doesn’t understand at all why he joined the church. His parents never went to church – they couldn’t care less about any religion. His fiancée and most of his friends think church is just plain silly: who can believe all that mumbo-jumbo about a Father God and his divine Son? Salvation? From what? Life is good. Bread and wine becoming someone’s body and blood? Yuck! And taking care of the poor? Let the poor take care of themselves – if they just weren’t so lazy they’d all be fine. After he and his friends have been out late on Saturday evening, George has to push himself out of bed to get to even a late service at church. Really, everyone says, just stay home, read the paper, and enjoy your coffee. Of course, all the shops are open on Sundays, along with the theaters, restaurants, bars, and sports events. Even if he wants to go to adult education on Wednesday evening, there’s always some conflict: either his boss wants to him to work late, or his family or friends pull him away for something. Prayer? When does he have time for that? And then, one Sunday morning, when he finally did manage to get to church, the lay reader read a letter….
What Lydia in Cappadocia heard the elder of her house church read was a letter written by someone close to Peter, the leader called by Jesus to be the rock upon which the church would be built. The letter had a lot of good things in it about Jesus. At the end there was lots of advice about how to live properly as a Christian. Lydia wasn’t sure she understood it all. But one part really stuck with her. It was the part about how they were all like “living stones,” and that they should let God build them into a spiritual house, so that they could be a holy priesthood. What were “living stones,” she wondered? As if he’d read her mind, the elder began by reminding everyone of stones in the Bible: how Jacob had used a stone for a pillow when he was running from Esau; how Joshua had made the twelve tribes carry stones from the Jordan to the Promised Land, to remind them of God’s covenant with them; and how John the Baptist had said that God could turn stones into children of Abraham if God had to. Now here they were, stones in a way, people whom others despised, people who had neither a Jewish nor a pagan temple in which to worship, but people who were nonetheless being built into a holy temple in which Jesus would dwell. Maybe it didn’t matter if they were educated or not, if they were the right ethnicity or not, if they were women or men, or even if they were free or not. They were all part of each other, they were all necessary for each other, and together they were letting God make a new, unique, wonderful community out of them. They were letting God make a holy priesthood out of them, who would serve each other and the rest of the world in Christ’s name. They would be a new holy people whom God had mercifully and bountifully blessed. At last, Lydia understood why she was sitting there, and her heart was filled with joy.
Sitting in church that Sunday morning, George heard the lay reader read the same part of Peter’s letter that had so struck Lydia. And George too had a revelation. He realized that, even if he were no longer living in the age of the great cathedrals, even if the day when everyone went to church – either out of social obligation or real conviction – were long past, even if the world around him and everyone he knew thought going to church was totally unnecessary, he realized that the people of St. Monica’s, his church community, were also living stones. They too had been called by God to let themselves be built into a spiritual house and a royal priesthood, to serve the world, even if the world didn’t know or care about their service. He realized that the city’s movers and shakers no longer found it necessary to be part of the church. Instead they had a couple of women wearing clothing from some give-away, they had people who passed the peace to each other, even though they were still struggling to forgive each other for some ancient wrong. There was a crying baby who kept interrupting the priest. And, miracle of miracles, there were even a few bored teenagers, who were probably texting their friends when they thought their parents weren’t looking. But they were all there, they were strong and solid and growing spiritually, they were all sharing God’s love, they were all being nourished by Word and Sacrament, they had all been honored and blessed by God, and they had all put themselves into God’s hands, to be fashioned together into a community radiating the love of Christ in the world.
My friends, we are living in George’s world. St. Peter’s is struggling to survive in the same world as that of St. Monica’s. In Gallipolis, people have no earthly reason to come through our red doors on Sunday morning – or Tuesday evening for that matter – and every good reason to relax at home or go out and do their shopping. Perhaps some even see this community and this sanctuary as a white elephant, a holdover from the era of buggy whips and high-button shoes. Our numbers have decreased, and sometimes we wonder whether the pews will ever again be filled for anything other than a wedding or a funeral. We wonder where the dollars will come from to keep the lights on. We know that 1964 will never come again, but we don’t know what’s coming next. We know that we need to change in order to grow again, but we’re not sure how to do that. Where’s the good news?
My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. This community was called into being by Jesus, and Jesus, the same Jesus who promised to be with us until the end of time, will help rebuild it – if we let him. “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house,” the letter writer exhorts us. Let yourselves, cooperate with God, put aside old conflicts, let go of old cliques, take advantage of the opportunities for growth and change that God gives you, let new leaders arise, and then God will fulfill God’s promises. God will remake us into a holy priesthood, a community that witnesses to Jesus’ power to forgive us, heal us, and send us out to serve others. I don’t know if the Common Ministry project, to which we have been invited to apply, is the vehicle through which God wants to work with us. But I do know that, at long last lay people are called to share their gifts and talents with their church communities, to help build up the church in this place. You know, we’re talking these days about bi-vocational priests, priests who are part-time clergy and have either a secular vocation or another source of income. Lay people too are called to be bi-vocational. All of you have used your gifts in your families, work places, and secular volunteer communities. Now God is calling you to claim your baptismal ministries and use the gifts the Spirit has given you to rebuild the church in this community and make disciples for Christ.
God has called a new community into being here, a community of people alive in Jesus. I pray that we are willing to be living stones for Jesus. I pray that we are willing to let ourselves be rebuilt into a new spiritual house.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Even the Gentiles
Why did those “circumcised believers,” those men in Jerusalem, criticize Peter? What were they so upset about? Why did Peter have to explain to them what he had done in his meeting with Cornelius and Cornelius’s household? In chapter 10 of the Book of Acts we learn that Peter had gone to Cornelius at God’s urging. While Peter was preaching to Cornelius’s household, the Holy Spirit had fallen on them all, and Peter felt compelled to baptize all of them. Then he stayed with them. And he ate with them. This, actually, was what so upset the Jerusalem men. They asked Peter, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Dear God, what was it about eating?
Remember that Jesus and the first Christians were all Jews. For observant Jews, following God’s law, as it was outlined in Scripture, was the way to remain faithful to God and to preserve the identity and boundaries of the Jewish community. Actually, God’s law, as it is laid out in Scripture, is very explicit about what faithful Jews can and cannot eat. Leviticus 11, for example, gives us a lot of detail about clean and unclean foods. God is quite clear: “These are the animals which you may eat among all the animals that are on the earth: Among the animals, whatever divides the hoof, having cloven hooves and chewing the cud -- that you may eat.” The text then goes on to forbid the eating of camels, pigs, shellfish, a number of birds, including eagles, ravens, and owls, flying insects, locusts, lizards, and animals that died a natural death. In Deuteronomy 14 God tells the people that they may eat oxen, sheep, goats, deer, gazelles, roe deer, wild goats, mountain goats, antelopes, and mountain sheep. The passage ends by warning people that, "You shall not eat anything that dies of itself; you may give it to the alien who is within your gates, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner; for you are a holy people to the LORD your God.” By eating with Cornelius’s household, then, Peter risked serious defilement as an observant Jew, since he would have been obligated to eat whatever was set before him, even if the meat were something that God had forbidden, or, worse yet, if it had come from a sacrifice at a pagan temple.
Of course, we don’t have such scruples about food and about eating with people. Or do we? Vegetarians or Vegans, i.e., vegetarians who don’t eat even eggs and dairy, certainly do. They routinely question restaurant servers. What’s in this dish? What was it cooked in? Some of us are worried about food-miles, i.e., how far our food has to travel to get to us. We look at labels to see where the food was grown. Then we ask, “Do I really want to eat that cantaloupe or those grapes, knowing that they came all the way from Honduras, or, worse yet, Chile?” Or maybe the food you’re serving me is loaded with pesticides, fertilizers, and growth hormones rather than being organic. And don’t we worry about who sits down next to us? Do we happily share a meal with the homeless man who clearly hasn’t bathed in days? Do I head for the people who look most like me, if I’m at a community dinner, or the people I know if I’m at, say, Diocesan Convention? Or perhaps, even worse yet, perhaps our home teams are football rivals. You had a pre-game dinner with them?
“Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Because an angel had appeared to Cornelius directing him to send for Peter, and God had directed Peter to go to him, even though Cornelius was a Gentile. What is more important, God had declared that all foods were now lawful for Peter to eat, that no longer were any foods to be considered unclean: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” While Peter was preaching to Cornelius’s household, the totally unexpected happened: the Holy Spirit came upon the Gentiles gathered there. Then Peter understood the meaning of his vision. He ordered that Cornelius’s household be baptized, for he realized that, “If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?" Who indeed! And when the Jerusalem men heard this, they too understood that God was doing something new, that God was welcoming into their community people whom they had formerly disdained, from whom they had kept apart. Then they praised God, saying, "Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life." At that point, the early church turned a corner. Peter and the other leaders in Jerusalem realized that disciples of the risen Christ would no longer only be Jews, but that God’s saving love was available to all people, that there were no people who were “profane” or “impure” to God, but that all were welcome as members of Christ’s Body. Although there were still a few more arguments in Jerusalem, which we hear about in chapter 15 of Acts, from then on, distinctions of ethnicity, gender, color, class, or nationality were no longer important in the Christian community. As the church began to grow and spread as a truly counter-cultural force in the hierarchical, patriarchal Mediterranean society around it, Christians realized joyfully that all were loved as equals in God’s eyes, and that through the power of the Holy Spirit they were creating a whole new community bound together by love rather than by social, familial, or ethnic distinctions.
My sisters and brothers, God gave Peter a vision of a new community, of a church that welcomed all, regardless of their ethnicity or social status. I wonder what our vision for the church is. As disciples of the risen Christ, as people who see ourselves guided by the Holy Spirit that he gave us, do we look forward to a church that welcomes all? We are reminded by Walter Brueggemann that, like Peter, we too are called to “move in generous love,” to reach out across all the boundaries that divide us: citizens and immigrants, Jews and Muslims, gay and straight, rich and poor. Is that our vision for this parish? Do we want to be more than a church for the wealthy? Do we want to be more than a church of those who happen to walk through our doors? Do we want to be a more inclusive parish, one that practices, truly practices, radical hospitality? What is our vision for this parish? What might God’s vision for this parish be, and how might we discover it? We know that we will never again be the church of 1964, but what will we be? What could we be with the help of the Holy Spirit? Could we be a parish that welcomes and cares for “all sorts and conditions of men?” With our particular gifts, how might we best generously reach out to others? Might St. Peter’s become ever more a parish committed to prayer, a center perhaps for more contemplative and intentional prayer? Might our good works then flow from our devotion to prayer? Might we reach out particularly to those in need of our gifts of prayer? Might Grace be an energetic partner in the work of the Meigs Cooperative Parish? Might this building be more than a gathering place for Sunday worshippers and become a center for mission all the rest of the week? Might this community be able to reach out in welcome rather than driving people away through hostility, indifference, and fear?
Henry Wardlaw, Archbishop of St. Andrew's in Scotland at the beginning of the fifteenth century, was a prelate known for his extravagant and generous welcome of all. The masters of his household were rightly afraid that he would exhaust all his funds in entertaining the great numbers who resorted to his palace. So they asked him to make out a list of the people to whom they should extend hospitality. "Well," said the archbishop to his secretary, "take a pen and begin. First put down Fife and Angus"—two large counties, containing several hundred thousand of people. His servants hearing this, retired abashed; "for," says the historian, "they said he would have no man refused that came to his house."
Are we ready to extend such radical welcome to all? Are we ready to let God’s Spirit lead us into being a more inclusive community? Are we ready to make the changes in our life as a parish that being more inclusive might require? Are we ready to put all our resources, of time, talent, and treasure, in the service of such a vision? Are we ready to hear God’s call to us and joyfully serve and welcome all those to whom God leads us?
Lord Jesus, keep working on us. Help us keep our eyes on the vision that you have for us!
Remember that Jesus and the first Christians were all Jews. For observant Jews, following God’s law, as it was outlined in Scripture, was the way to remain faithful to God and to preserve the identity and boundaries of the Jewish community. Actually, God’s law, as it is laid out in Scripture, is very explicit about what faithful Jews can and cannot eat. Leviticus 11, for example, gives us a lot of detail about clean and unclean foods. God is quite clear: “These are the animals which you may eat among all the animals that are on the earth: Among the animals, whatever divides the hoof, having cloven hooves and chewing the cud -- that you may eat.” The text then goes on to forbid the eating of camels, pigs, shellfish, a number of birds, including eagles, ravens, and owls, flying insects, locusts, lizards, and animals that died a natural death. In Deuteronomy 14 God tells the people that they may eat oxen, sheep, goats, deer, gazelles, roe deer, wild goats, mountain goats, antelopes, and mountain sheep. The passage ends by warning people that, "You shall not eat anything that dies of itself; you may give it to the alien who is within your gates, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner; for you are a holy people to the LORD your God.” By eating with Cornelius’s household, then, Peter risked serious defilement as an observant Jew, since he would have been obligated to eat whatever was set before him, even if the meat were something that God had forbidden, or, worse yet, if it had come from a sacrifice at a pagan temple.
Of course, we don’t have such scruples about food and about eating with people. Or do we? Vegetarians or Vegans, i.e., vegetarians who don’t eat even eggs and dairy, certainly do. They routinely question restaurant servers. What’s in this dish? What was it cooked in? Some of us are worried about food-miles, i.e., how far our food has to travel to get to us. We look at labels to see where the food was grown. Then we ask, “Do I really want to eat that cantaloupe or those grapes, knowing that they came all the way from Honduras, or, worse yet, Chile?” Or maybe the food you’re serving me is loaded with pesticides, fertilizers, and growth hormones rather than being organic. And don’t we worry about who sits down next to us? Do we happily share a meal with the homeless man who clearly hasn’t bathed in days? Do I head for the people who look most like me, if I’m at a community dinner, or the people I know if I’m at, say, Diocesan Convention? Or perhaps, even worse yet, perhaps our home teams are football rivals. You had a pre-game dinner with them?
“Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Because an angel had appeared to Cornelius directing him to send for Peter, and God had directed Peter to go to him, even though Cornelius was a Gentile. What is more important, God had declared that all foods were now lawful for Peter to eat, that no longer were any foods to be considered unclean: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” While Peter was preaching to Cornelius’s household, the totally unexpected happened: the Holy Spirit came upon the Gentiles gathered there. Then Peter understood the meaning of his vision. He ordered that Cornelius’s household be baptized, for he realized that, “If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?" Who indeed! And when the Jerusalem men heard this, they too understood that God was doing something new, that God was welcoming into their community people whom they had formerly disdained, from whom they had kept apart. Then they praised God, saying, "Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life." At that point, the early church turned a corner. Peter and the other leaders in Jerusalem realized that disciples of the risen Christ would no longer only be Jews, but that God’s saving love was available to all people, that there were no people who were “profane” or “impure” to God, but that all were welcome as members of Christ’s Body. Although there were still a few more arguments in Jerusalem, which we hear about in chapter 15 of Acts, from then on, distinctions of ethnicity, gender, color, class, or nationality were no longer important in the Christian community. As the church began to grow and spread as a truly counter-cultural force in the hierarchical, patriarchal Mediterranean society around it, Christians realized joyfully that all were loved as equals in God’s eyes, and that through the power of the Holy Spirit they were creating a whole new community bound together by love rather than by social, familial, or ethnic distinctions.
My sisters and brothers, God gave Peter a vision of a new community, of a church that welcomed all, regardless of their ethnicity or social status. I wonder what our vision for the church is. As disciples of the risen Christ, as people who see ourselves guided by the Holy Spirit that he gave us, do we look forward to a church that welcomes all? We are reminded by Walter Brueggemann that, like Peter, we too are called to “move in generous love,” to reach out across all the boundaries that divide us: citizens and immigrants, Jews and Muslims, gay and straight, rich and poor. Is that our vision for this parish? Do we want to be more than a church for the wealthy? Do we want to be more than a church of those who happen to walk through our doors? Do we want to be a more inclusive parish, one that practices, truly practices, radical hospitality? What is our vision for this parish? What might God’s vision for this parish be, and how might we discover it? We know that we will never again be the church of 1964, but what will we be? What could we be with the help of the Holy Spirit? Could we be a parish that welcomes and cares for “all sorts and conditions of men?” With our particular gifts, how might we best generously reach out to others? Might St. Peter’s become ever more a parish committed to prayer, a center perhaps for more contemplative and intentional prayer? Might our good works then flow from our devotion to prayer? Might we reach out particularly to those in need of our gifts of prayer? Might Grace be an energetic partner in the work of the Meigs Cooperative Parish? Might this building be more than a gathering place for Sunday worshippers and become a center for mission all the rest of the week? Might this community be able to reach out in welcome rather than driving people away through hostility, indifference, and fear?
Henry Wardlaw, Archbishop of St. Andrew's in Scotland at the beginning of the fifteenth century, was a prelate known for his extravagant and generous welcome of all. The masters of his household were rightly afraid that he would exhaust all his funds in entertaining the great numbers who resorted to his palace. So they asked him to make out a list of the people to whom they should extend hospitality. "Well," said the archbishop to his secretary, "take a pen and begin. First put down Fife and Angus"—two large counties, containing several hundred thousand of people. His servants hearing this, retired abashed; "for," says the historian, "they said he would have no man refused that came to his house."
Are we ready to extend such radical welcome to all? Are we ready to let God’s Spirit lead us into being a more inclusive community? Are we ready to make the changes in our life as a parish that being more inclusive might require? Are we ready to put all our resources, of time, talent, and treasure, in the service of such a vision? Are we ready to hear God’s call to us and joyfully serve and welcome all those to whom God leads us?
Lord Jesus, keep working on us. Help us keep our eyes on the vision that you have for us!
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