They just couldn’t do it! The Israelites could not keep their side of God’s covenant with them. They could not live as God had intended them to live. In our journey with the Israelites from Egypt to Sinai we saw clearly that they were unable to do what God had commanded. Even after the Israelites reached the Promised Land, even after they crossed over the Jordan and settled in Canaan, they could not follow God’s commands. They persisted in worshipping other gods, they lied, they stole, and they committed adultery, just to name a few of their sins. Their stories fill the Hebrew Bible books that follow the Torah. The stories in Judges especially seem to set the cycle for the Israelites’ relationship with God. The Israelites sin, bad things happen to them, mostly the consequences of their sins, they cry out to God for help, and God, who as we know is “slow to anger and of boundless compassion,” comes to their aid and raises up a new leader for them. When they finally demand that the prophet Samuel provide a king for them, they get Saul, David, and Solomon, but they continue their sinful ways. Time and again, the prophets call the people to repentance. Through Amos, God thundered, “I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies…. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Hosea was directed by God to name his first child, lo’ammi, “not my people.” God directed Isaiah to deliver his message to “this people.” Like us, the Israelites were sinful and broken, and they continued to forsake God’s law.
The situation of the Israelites became particularly acute during the time of Jeremiah, in the sixth century B.C. The old kingdom had been divided, and the northern part had come under the rule of the Assyrians a century before. In the southern kingdom, Jeremiah had helped King Josiah institute needed reforms and bring the people’s religious life closer to what the law had laid out. However, after Josiah’s death in battle in 609, his successor Jehoiakim entered into a series of disastrous alliances. The southern kingdom was conquered by the Babylonians in 587, the temple destroyed, and the leadership of the country taken into Exile, an exile that lasted more than seventy years.
For most of his prophetic ministry, Jeremiah had been considered a traitor, since he repeatedly denounced Jehoiakim’s alliances and proclaimed that the Babylonians were acting as instruments of divine justice. He risked his life on several occasions, was thrown into a well, and was put under house arrest. Yet after the Exile – Jeremiah himself followed a group that settled in Egypt – Jeremiah had something else to offer God’s people: consolation. Most especially in chapter 31 of the book of Jeremiah, from which today’s reading comes, we hear God’s words of consolation and promise to God’s people. For a people grieving and lamenting their terrible losses, for a people who acknowledged that their own sinfulness had brought them to the dire straits in which they now found themselves, God’s words of consolation must have been good news indeed.
And what did that good news consist of? Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann reminds us that we can hear four important themes in God’s words of consolation. To begin with, it is important to remember that, strictly speaking, this is not a “new covenant.” God reminds the people that the Torah, the summary of the old covenant, the law, will still be their guide to a holy life. But God also seems to be taking a more realistic view of humanity. Israel’s history had repeatedly shown that, despite the best intentions, the people cannot by themselves fulfill God’s requirements for a holy life. Therefore God proposes a new way for them to fulfill the covenant. God will no longer impose God’s commands on them from the outside, as the earlier covenants had done. Rather, in the future, God will make it possible for the people to internalize the law, to embrace it from within, and to regard it not as a burden, but as a privilege and a blessing. Second, God restates God’s everlasting commitment to the Israelites: “I will be their God and they will be my people.” Third, God reminds God’s people that God’s relationship is offered to all the Israelites, “from the least to the greatest.” Moreover, that relationship will be as intimate as that of a marriage, the people will trust and obey God, and they will have the will to care for the poor and needy. Finally, God’s recommitment to God’s covenant with the Jews does not arise out of repentance or conversion on Israel’s part. It is God’s unilateral action, and it is God’s choice and desire to “forgive their iniquity and remember their sins no more.”
By God’s mercy and grace, God’s words of consolation to the exiled Jews are also words of consolation for us. At this point in Lent, we too need words of consolation. As we look at ourselves honestly, as we confront our own sins, as we come closer to Jerusalem and Jesus’ death there, perhaps we fear that God has abandoned us because of our sins. Perhaps we are in exile, perhaps we have stayed away from the church, or neglected the good works that God has given us to do. Perhaps we are estranged from family members or friends. Perhaps we have been unable to forgive those who have wronged us. Perhaps we have a rule of life but constantly find ourselves unable to live up to it. Perhaps we turn a deaf ear to the cries of those around us, or we forget that we too have promised to “strive for justice and peace among all people.” We too need consolation. We too need to hear again God’s unilateral offer of forgiveness and God’s promise that God will enable all of us to know God more intimately. “The days are surely coming,” says Jeremiah. My brothers and sisters, we need to hear those words too.
Yes, the covenant that God has promised to us through the words of Jeremiah continues to stir us, continues to offer hope to all of us weak, sinful, and broken human beings, continues to offer us a vision of a renewed humanity. Jesus too offered us that vision. Jesus too offered us a “new covenant,” sealed in his death and resurrection. Even so, Brueggemann cautions us Christians against any sort of supersessionism, any belief that suggests that the covenant God articulated with the Jews in Jeremiah 31 has been nullified, superseded or made obsolete by Jesus. Make no mistake: Scripture, the New Testament included, makes clear that God’s covenant with the Jews stands forever. God has not revoked is to enable all the rest of us to be grafted on to Israel. In Jesus, God has spoken God’s covenant to all of us, to Christians, and ultimately to all of humanity. All of us are now included in God’s never-ending covenant. In Jesus the Jew, who became Jesus the Messiah, Jesus the Christ, God has drawn all of God’s people into a covenant with God and with each other that stands forever. As we look at the enmity and conflicts in our world, as we grieve with those Jews who are still the targets of hatred, as we look at the distrust and lack of cooperation among the members of the Body of Christ, as we look at the conflicts and distrust even within our own church, do we not hear good news in this promise? God’s condemnation of our enmities, of our distrust of each other, of our sinfulness is not God’s last word to us. God still offers us the hope of forgiveness, renewed relationship, and unity with all of God’s people.
As we look toward Jerusalem, as we draw near to the end of our long Lenten journey, we are also filled with anticipation. Palm Sunday is coming, and we look forward to joining the people of Jerusalem as they welcome the coming of their King. We shiver a little as we anticipate the grief, gratitude, passion, and hope that come with Holy Week. Yet we know that Good Friday turns into Holy Saturday, and Holy Saturday overflows into the joy of Easter. How can we not be thankful for all of God’s promises to us, for God’s enduring love for us, and for God’s most precious gift of God’s Son?
As we turn to God in gratitude for God’s faithfulness, the words of today’s collect seem particularly apt. Hear them again: “Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.”
Showing posts with label Lent 5 sermon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lent 5 sermon. Show all posts
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Signs and Wonders
How many of you have travelled in another country? How many of you travelled by car and were either the driver or the navigator? How many of you travelled by public transportation? When my husband and I drove around the UK some years back, I was struck by the differences between UK and US road signs. The Brits use more diagrams than we do, but even the English itself is different. For example, British drivers are warned against “soft verges,” that a “dual carriageway” or “motorway” ends, and that they are to “give way” to other traffic. How many of you have travelled in non English-speaking countries? Haven’t you been grateful for the multi-language signs, as you’re trying to navigate subways, railroad stations, or airports? And then, of course, there are the common pictographs. Whether the octagonal red sign says “Arrêt” or “Alto,” we recognize it as a stop sign. And who hasn’t been led to the restrooms by two stick figures, one triangular and the other straight, or been glad to see an emergency exit sign of a stick figure running down the stairs? We know only too well, for our comfort and safety in unfamiliar places, how much we depend on good, well-placed signs.
Today we have just heard a story that is also intended to be a sign, a sign that is even more important to us than stop signs or directions to the rest room. Actually, the first half of John’s Gospel is often called the Book of Signs, and the story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life is the last of several similar incidents that are meant to be signs to us. In our yearly lectionary we hear many of those other stories. John’s Gospel closes the story of the wedding at Cana, where Jesus turns water into wine, by informing us that, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory….” Two chapters later, Jesus’ healing of the royal official’s son who is on the point of death, is a second sign. Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand and Jesus’ healing of the man born blind, which we heard last week, are also intended as signs to us.
As we hear all these stories, we might be tempted to ask, “Could that really happen? Could Jesus really do that?” Of course, where God is involved anything can happen! But that question misses the point of all these events. The miracles in all of these events, and many others in John’s and the other Gospels, including the restoration of Lazarus to life, are not important in themselves. Yes, individuals benefited from Jesus’ actions. But that is not what makes these events important, either for the people who witnessed them, or for us. What makes these events important is that they show clearly that God is at work, that God has revealed Godself in Jesus. They establish Jesus’ true status and identity as the Messiah, as someone “sent” by the Father, as the Word made Flesh and come among us, as God’s Son. And they demonstrate, for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, that in Jesus God is fulfilling God’s promises to us.
But there’s more. In the story of the restoration to life of Lazarus, we see not only a sign that Jesus is God’s Son. What is more important we get a glimpse of what that event might mean for us. Actually, the Gospel gives us a clue to the meaning of Lazarus’s restoration even before we see it. The evangelist wants to make sure that we get it! To begin with, did you notice that both Martha and Mary greet Jesus in exactly the same way? “Lord,” they say, “if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Even before anyone sees what Jesus will do, Martha and Mary acknowledge Jesus’ ability to give life. Ironically, even one of Jesus’ detractors says almost the same thing: “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” What is more important is how Jesus answers Martha when she proclaims her faith in the general resurrection of the dead on the last day. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Hear it again. This is the theme of John’s entire Gospel: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Here is what Martha – and we – hear in Jesus’ words. “Those who believe in me, even though they die will live,” i.e., physical death no longer has power over all those who commit themselves, give their hearts, to Jesus. And “everyone who lives and believes in me will never die,” i.e., all those who put their trust and confidence in Jesus experience eternal life, life on a new plane, in the present, now. Our life here and now is lived in a new dimension of nearness to God. Having elicited Martha’s trust in these promises, Jesus goes on to demonstrate their truth for one person, their beloved brother Lazarus.
Don’t you wonder what Lazarus felt as he hobbled out of the tomb, his hands and feet bound and his face swathed with cloth? Don’t you wonder what the rest of his life was like? Of course, he must have eventually experienced physical death again at some point, but what was his life like between the end of this story and his final physical death? We will never know. Having shown him restored to life on earth, the gospel now ignores him. However, we do know how the witnesses to this extraordinary event responded. In the response of some of them, Jesus’ fate was sealed. The Gospel goes on to tell us that some of the witnesses went to the religious leaders and told them what Jesus had done. The religious leaders then met secretly at night to condemn Jesus to death. No doubt afraid that Jesus’ movement would pull down punishing Roman reaction, their rationale for sacrificing Jesus ironically described exactly what Jesus’ death accomplished: “It is better for you to have one man die for the people,” they said, “than to have the whole nation destroyed.” However, many of those who had come with Martha and Mary had a different reaction. Like many others in this Gospel who had seen the signs, seen what Jesus did, they committed themselves to him. And, as the Gospel tells us, some of these same people were among those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem soon thereafter waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!”
Don’t you sometimes wish you had been in Bethany that day and seen Jesus restore Lazarus to life? I do. And yet, if our Lenten goal is ultimately to deepen our trust in Jesus, to give our heart to him more truly, then we don’t have to go to Bethany. There are signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s presence, signs God’s love and care for us everywhere. Some participants at a conference on Christian education wanted their children to take part in the daily Eucharist. When Chaplain Robin Szoke heard the children’s stories, she decided to help them plan a healing service. During the service, five seven and eight year-olds, with the younger ones standing by, laid hands on the adults. “Every one of the children called the adult by their name, invited a question as to what they would like prayers for, laid their hands on them and prayed in the most beautiful way extemporaneously.”1 The service was such a powerful experience for the adults that it literally stopped the conference. And for those adults, the children’s prayers became a sign. Jesus was powerfully present, the adults’ trust in him was greatly strengthened, and God’s love for them and their children was powerfully manifest.
Where are the signs for us? Perhaps you’ve had an experience something like that of the Christian education conference adults. Perhaps you see the signs of Jesus’ healing presence in the “Lazarus Effect,” a documentary film about life-giving anti-retroviral medications that give life and hope to people with HIV/AIDS. The film is part of a project of the church that seeks to address the HIV/AIDS pandemic and to persuade those of us who believe in the resurrection to help prevent needless death and suffering among God’s people. Perhaps it is even possible that you are a sign of God’s presence for someone else. As we prepare to follow Jesus to the Cross and beyond, I ask you to ponder how you personally and we as a parish can be a stronger and deeper sign of God’s healing reality. Whom can we draw into the circle of God’s grace, into the light of deeper, richer, eternal life? To whom will we be a sign of the reality of God’s love? Where do we need to go to find others who need to experience God’s love?
There’s an Advent hymn that begins, “Signs of ending all around us, darkness, death, and winter days shroud our lives in fear and sadness….” The good news is that there are also signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s grace and love surrounding us and leading us into life. Perhaps all we need is “to be a good audience for whatever kind of experience reveals itself” to us.
1. Sharon Sheridan, “Praying with Children,” Episcopal Life, Nov. 2004, as quoted in Synthesis, April 10, 2011.
Today we have just heard a story that is also intended to be a sign, a sign that is even more important to us than stop signs or directions to the rest room. Actually, the first half of John’s Gospel is often called the Book of Signs, and the story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life is the last of several similar incidents that are meant to be signs to us. In our yearly lectionary we hear many of those other stories. John’s Gospel closes the story of the wedding at Cana, where Jesus turns water into wine, by informing us that, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory….” Two chapters later, Jesus’ healing of the royal official’s son who is on the point of death, is a second sign. Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand and Jesus’ healing of the man born blind, which we heard last week, are also intended as signs to us.
As we hear all these stories, we might be tempted to ask, “Could that really happen? Could Jesus really do that?” Of course, where God is involved anything can happen! But that question misses the point of all these events. The miracles in all of these events, and many others in John’s and the other Gospels, including the restoration of Lazarus to life, are not important in themselves. Yes, individuals benefited from Jesus’ actions. But that is not what makes these events important, either for the people who witnessed them, or for us. What makes these events important is that they show clearly that God is at work, that God has revealed Godself in Jesus. They establish Jesus’ true status and identity as the Messiah, as someone “sent” by the Father, as the Word made Flesh and come among us, as God’s Son. And they demonstrate, for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, that in Jesus God is fulfilling God’s promises to us.
But there’s more. In the story of the restoration to life of Lazarus, we see not only a sign that Jesus is God’s Son. What is more important we get a glimpse of what that event might mean for us. Actually, the Gospel gives us a clue to the meaning of Lazarus’s restoration even before we see it. The evangelist wants to make sure that we get it! To begin with, did you notice that both Martha and Mary greet Jesus in exactly the same way? “Lord,” they say, “if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Even before anyone sees what Jesus will do, Martha and Mary acknowledge Jesus’ ability to give life. Ironically, even one of Jesus’ detractors says almost the same thing: “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” What is more important is how Jesus answers Martha when she proclaims her faith in the general resurrection of the dead on the last day. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Hear it again. This is the theme of John’s entire Gospel: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Here is what Martha – and we – hear in Jesus’ words. “Those who believe in me, even though they die will live,” i.e., physical death no longer has power over all those who commit themselves, give their hearts, to Jesus. And “everyone who lives and believes in me will never die,” i.e., all those who put their trust and confidence in Jesus experience eternal life, life on a new plane, in the present, now. Our life here and now is lived in a new dimension of nearness to God. Having elicited Martha’s trust in these promises, Jesus goes on to demonstrate their truth for one person, their beloved brother Lazarus.
Don’t you wonder what Lazarus felt as he hobbled out of the tomb, his hands and feet bound and his face swathed with cloth? Don’t you wonder what the rest of his life was like? Of course, he must have eventually experienced physical death again at some point, but what was his life like between the end of this story and his final physical death? We will never know. Having shown him restored to life on earth, the gospel now ignores him. However, we do know how the witnesses to this extraordinary event responded. In the response of some of them, Jesus’ fate was sealed. The Gospel goes on to tell us that some of the witnesses went to the religious leaders and told them what Jesus had done. The religious leaders then met secretly at night to condemn Jesus to death. No doubt afraid that Jesus’ movement would pull down punishing Roman reaction, their rationale for sacrificing Jesus ironically described exactly what Jesus’ death accomplished: “It is better for you to have one man die for the people,” they said, “than to have the whole nation destroyed.” However, many of those who had come with Martha and Mary had a different reaction. Like many others in this Gospel who had seen the signs, seen what Jesus did, they committed themselves to him. And, as the Gospel tells us, some of these same people were among those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem soon thereafter waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!”
Don’t you sometimes wish you had been in Bethany that day and seen Jesus restore Lazarus to life? I do. And yet, if our Lenten goal is ultimately to deepen our trust in Jesus, to give our heart to him more truly, then we don’t have to go to Bethany. There are signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s presence, signs God’s love and care for us everywhere. Some participants at a conference on Christian education wanted their children to take part in the daily Eucharist. When Chaplain Robin Szoke heard the children’s stories, she decided to help them plan a healing service. During the service, five seven and eight year-olds, with the younger ones standing by, laid hands on the adults. “Every one of the children called the adult by their name, invited a question as to what they would like prayers for, laid their hands on them and prayed in the most beautiful way extemporaneously.”1 The service was such a powerful experience for the adults that it literally stopped the conference. And for those adults, the children’s prayers became a sign. Jesus was powerfully present, the adults’ trust in him was greatly strengthened, and God’s love for them and their children was powerfully manifest.
Where are the signs for us? Perhaps you’ve had an experience something like that of the Christian education conference adults. Perhaps you see the signs of Jesus’ healing presence in the “Lazarus Effect,” a documentary film about life-giving anti-retroviral medications that give life and hope to people with HIV/AIDS. The film is part of a project of the church that seeks to address the HIV/AIDS pandemic and to persuade those of us who believe in the resurrection to help prevent needless death and suffering among God’s people. Perhaps it is even possible that you are a sign of God’s presence for someone else. As we prepare to follow Jesus to the Cross and beyond, I ask you to ponder how you personally and we as a parish can be a stronger and deeper sign of God’s healing reality. Whom can we draw into the circle of God’s grace, into the light of deeper, richer, eternal life? To whom will we be a sign of the reality of God’s love? Where do we need to go to find others who need to experience God’s love?
There’s an Advent hymn that begins, “Signs of ending all around us, darkness, death, and winter days shroud our lives in fear and sadness….” The good news is that there are also signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s grace and love surrounding us and leading us into life. Perhaps all we need is “to be a good audience for whatever kind of experience reveals itself” to us.
1. Sharon Sheridan, “Praying with Children,” Episcopal Life, Nov. 2004, as quoted in Synthesis, April 10, 2011.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I Press on Toward the Goal
The third chapter of that aprocyphal Gospel Alice in Wonderland begins with a bedraggled group of birds, animals, and Alice herself coming out of a pool “wet, cross, and uncomfortable.” How to get dry? The Dodo proposes a Caucus race. “What is a Caucus race,” Alice wondered. Proceeding to demonstrate, the Dodo marked out a circular course and placed the party along it, here and there. All began running and stopping as they liked. After half an hour, all were dry, and the Dodo declared the race over. “Who has won?” the group asked him. After some thought, the Dodo responded that all had won and must have prizes. Prizes? All pointed to Alice, who in despair pulled a box of small candies from her pocket and handed them out. “But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the Mouse. Searching her pocket once more, Alice found a thimble, which she handed over to the Dodo. Saying, “we beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble,” the Dodo solemnly presented it to her, while the rest of the group cheered.
St. Paul, of course had never heard of a Caucus race, since mathematician Lewis Carroll didn’t write Alice in Wonderland until 1865. But perhaps when he wrote his letter to the Christians in Philippi he had in mind something like a race in which all competed and all won a prize. As the Book of Acts tells us, Paul had founded this Christian community and seems to have maintained a cordial relationship with its members. At the time of writing this letter, he was nearing the end of his life and was in prison, possibly for the last time before his execution in Rome. Fortunately, no great issues seemed to divide the Philippian Christians. Indeed, Paul seems to have written to them chiefly to reassure them that he was well and to thank them for sending him one of their number, a disciple named Epaphroditus. At the same time, Paul knew that there were divisive forces at work in this community. Home to several different ethnic groups, Philippi was a cosmopolitan city. Within the small Christian community, there were those who took pride in their highly valued Roman citizenship, those who took pride in the purity of their Jewish origins, and those who, in joining the Christian way, felt the same kind of antagonism toward Jews that Jews had historically felt toward Gentiles. As Paul reflected on his own life, and the shape his life had taken since his momentous encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, he felt called to urge the Philippian Christians to continue to focus on the real goal of their life in Christ, to keep only one goal in mind, that of knowing Christ.
Paul begins here by reminding the Philippians that he himself has the most impeccable pedigree for a Jew, and that “as to righteousness under the law,” he was “blameless.” And yet, Paul tells them, all such markers of human status, whether Roman citizenship, ethnic purity, or visible leadership roles in the church, all such markers of human status are worse than worthless. They are “rubbish,” more exactly “excrement,” or “refuse.” Such markers are meaningless in God’s economy. What is more important, when we focus on our own heritage or accomplishment, we cannot focus on God. When we concern ourselves with the heritage or achievements of others, we cannot fully welcome them into the Body of Christ. The status that Paul prizes – and urges the Philippians to prize – is the righteousness that comes from faith. Paul’s goal in life is not the acquisition of more status symbols. Rather, as he tells them, “I want to know Christ” and share in his sufferings – that is the whole goal of the Christian life. What does “knowing Christ” mean? Knowing Christ means acknowledging what Christ has done for us and accepting Christ’s claim on us. Knowing Christ means becoming as empty of human status as Christ became of divine status and earnestly striving to do Christ’s will in all things. As long as we are in this life, we cannot fully attain this goal of knowing Christ, but, like good athletes, we discipline our bodies, we don’t look behind us, we run the track we are on, and we keep our eye on the prize. We go for the gold remembering that the goal of knowing Christ is the great prize that surpasses anything else we might gain or desire in this life.
So what is the goal that you are pursuing in life? What prize is your eye on? What do we need to leave behind or at least pay less attention to in order to focus more clearly on our goal as Christians? What are the status markers in our lives that keep us from wholeheartedly growing in our knowledge of Christ? Do we need to live in the right neighborhood, buy the right clothes, or vacation in the right places? Do we need to go to the right church or worship with the right liturgy? Do we need to insist on the correctness of our opinions, the rightness of our causes, our need to hear an apology from one who has wronged us, rather than to offer the hand of forgiveness? If we are claimed by Christ, seized by Christ, “marked as Christ’s own forever,” are we pursuing what really matters, paying attention ultimately only to Christ? This Lent we have been asked to engage in the hard work of giving up those things that deflect us from Christ, knowing that, in the end, growth in our life in Christ demands giving up, in the words of T.S. Eliot, “no less than everything?”
My sisters and brothers, this is the reason for anything we do this Lent: to know Christ more deeply. Ultimately, as we run toward that goal, we focus less on what we have given up and more on what we have taken on as we deepen our knowledge of Christ. Although in some sense, our race is a marathon, demanding every ounce of our commitment and energy to finish, in some sense perhaps too our race is a Caucus race. We are all on different parts of the circle. Our lives begin and end at different times. We all run our race according to the gifts and skills that we have been given. Last Wednesday we began thinking about ministry and what our particular gifts for ministry are. As we focus on the prize, perhaps some are gifted in prayer and are called to a more contemplative life. Perhaps those engaged in an active working life are called to pursue that life in a God-centered way, much as Brother Lawrence did in the kitchen of his monastery, daily remembering that God is at work in our lives and knowing that all we do is for the glory of God and can be used by God to bring in God’s Kingdom. For some, keeping our eye on the prize means expanding an existing ministry or taking on a new ministry, for example, finally completing the establishment of St. Peter’s as an Ohio Benefits Bank site. And for some, going for the gold means truly giving up an old life and redefining one’s life in a totally new way.
George Macleod was born in 1895 in Glasgow into a highly respected Scottish family. His grandfather had been a chaplain to Queen Victoria, his father had been a successful politician and business man, and his mother had come from a wealthy and distinguished family. George himself was heir to a baronetcy. Just as he finished his education at Oxford, World War I broke out. George saw service in several war zones. He was so profoundly affected by his wartime experiences that he decided to train for the ministry. Turning his back on wealthy parishes, in 1930 he became minister to a poor parish in Glasgow. There he encountered the effects of poverty on real people’s lives. His devotion to the work was so intense that he suffered a breakdown. Recuperating in Jerusalem, he went to an Orthodox church on Easter Day 1933. There he understood in a new and deeper way that the church was called to be the Body of Christ in the world. Giving up the financial security of a minister’s stipend, in 1938 he founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical community dedicated to social justice. With the help of ministers, students, and unemployed laborers, he restored the historic abbey on the holy island of Iona. Through his efforts the Iona community grew into an international community, with offices in Glasgow and a continuing presence on the Isle of Iona. Though no longer a minister, until his death in 1991 Macleod exercised a profound influence on the Scottish Church. Although some dismissed him, he helped many others to understand the importance of pursuing social justice concerns ecumenically. More importantly, through his founding of the Iona Community he helped develop new forms of ministry outside denominational structures.
Like George Macleod, and like those in the Caucus race, God has called all of us to run the race and win the prize. God has called, seized, marked, gifted, and redeemed all of us. God is always going ahead of us, always doing a new thing. May we too keep our eye on the prize, forgetting what lies behind and pressing forward to the goal of deeper knowledge of Christ.
St. Paul, of course had never heard of a Caucus race, since mathematician Lewis Carroll didn’t write Alice in Wonderland until 1865. But perhaps when he wrote his letter to the Christians in Philippi he had in mind something like a race in which all competed and all won a prize. As the Book of Acts tells us, Paul had founded this Christian community and seems to have maintained a cordial relationship with its members. At the time of writing this letter, he was nearing the end of his life and was in prison, possibly for the last time before his execution in Rome. Fortunately, no great issues seemed to divide the Philippian Christians. Indeed, Paul seems to have written to them chiefly to reassure them that he was well and to thank them for sending him one of their number, a disciple named Epaphroditus. At the same time, Paul knew that there were divisive forces at work in this community. Home to several different ethnic groups, Philippi was a cosmopolitan city. Within the small Christian community, there were those who took pride in their highly valued Roman citizenship, those who took pride in the purity of their Jewish origins, and those who, in joining the Christian way, felt the same kind of antagonism toward Jews that Jews had historically felt toward Gentiles. As Paul reflected on his own life, and the shape his life had taken since his momentous encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, he felt called to urge the Philippian Christians to continue to focus on the real goal of their life in Christ, to keep only one goal in mind, that of knowing Christ.
Paul begins here by reminding the Philippians that he himself has the most impeccable pedigree for a Jew, and that “as to righteousness under the law,” he was “blameless.” And yet, Paul tells them, all such markers of human status, whether Roman citizenship, ethnic purity, or visible leadership roles in the church, all such markers of human status are worse than worthless. They are “rubbish,” more exactly “excrement,” or “refuse.” Such markers are meaningless in God’s economy. What is more important, when we focus on our own heritage or accomplishment, we cannot focus on God. When we concern ourselves with the heritage or achievements of others, we cannot fully welcome them into the Body of Christ. The status that Paul prizes – and urges the Philippians to prize – is the righteousness that comes from faith. Paul’s goal in life is not the acquisition of more status symbols. Rather, as he tells them, “I want to know Christ” and share in his sufferings – that is the whole goal of the Christian life. What does “knowing Christ” mean? Knowing Christ means acknowledging what Christ has done for us and accepting Christ’s claim on us. Knowing Christ means becoming as empty of human status as Christ became of divine status and earnestly striving to do Christ’s will in all things. As long as we are in this life, we cannot fully attain this goal of knowing Christ, but, like good athletes, we discipline our bodies, we don’t look behind us, we run the track we are on, and we keep our eye on the prize. We go for the gold remembering that the goal of knowing Christ is the great prize that surpasses anything else we might gain or desire in this life.
So what is the goal that you are pursuing in life? What prize is your eye on? What do we need to leave behind or at least pay less attention to in order to focus more clearly on our goal as Christians? What are the status markers in our lives that keep us from wholeheartedly growing in our knowledge of Christ? Do we need to live in the right neighborhood, buy the right clothes, or vacation in the right places? Do we need to go to the right church or worship with the right liturgy? Do we need to insist on the correctness of our opinions, the rightness of our causes, our need to hear an apology from one who has wronged us, rather than to offer the hand of forgiveness? If we are claimed by Christ, seized by Christ, “marked as Christ’s own forever,” are we pursuing what really matters, paying attention ultimately only to Christ? This Lent we have been asked to engage in the hard work of giving up those things that deflect us from Christ, knowing that, in the end, growth in our life in Christ demands giving up, in the words of T.S. Eliot, “no less than everything?”
My sisters and brothers, this is the reason for anything we do this Lent: to know Christ more deeply. Ultimately, as we run toward that goal, we focus less on what we have given up and more on what we have taken on as we deepen our knowledge of Christ. Although in some sense, our race is a marathon, demanding every ounce of our commitment and energy to finish, in some sense perhaps too our race is a Caucus race. We are all on different parts of the circle. Our lives begin and end at different times. We all run our race according to the gifts and skills that we have been given. Last Wednesday we began thinking about ministry and what our particular gifts for ministry are. As we focus on the prize, perhaps some are gifted in prayer and are called to a more contemplative life. Perhaps those engaged in an active working life are called to pursue that life in a God-centered way, much as Brother Lawrence did in the kitchen of his monastery, daily remembering that God is at work in our lives and knowing that all we do is for the glory of God and can be used by God to bring in God’s Kingdom. For some, keeping our eye on the prize means expanding an existing ministry or taking on a new ministry, for example, finally completing the establishment of St. Peter’s as an Ohio Benefits Bank site. And for some, going for the gold means truly giving up an old life and redefining one’s life in a totally new way.
George Macleod was born in 1895 in Glasgow into a highly respected Scottish family. His grandfather had been a chaplain to Queen Victoria, his father had been a successful politician and business man, and his mother had come from a wealthy and distinguished family. George himself was heir to a baronetcy. Just as he finished his education at Oxford, World War I broke out. George saw service in several war zones. He was so profoundly affected by his wartime experiences that he decided to train for the ministry. Turning his back on wealthy parishes, in 1930 he became minister to a poor parish in Glasgow. There he encountered the effects of poverty on real people’s lives. His devotion to the work was so intense that he suffered a breakdown. Recuperating in Jerusalem, he went to an Orthodox church on Easter Day 1933. There he understood in a new and deeper way that the church was called to be the Body of Christ in the world. Giving up the financial security of a minister’s stipend, in 1938 he founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical community dedicated to social justice. With the help of ministers, students, and unemployed laborers, he restored the historic abbey on the holy island of Iona. Through his efforts the Iona community grew into an international community, with offices in Glasgow and a continuing presence on the Isle of Iona. Though no longer a minister, until his death in 1991 Macleod exercised a profound influence on the Scottish Church. Although some dismissed him, he helped many others to understand the importance of pursuing social justice concerns ecumenically. More importantly, through his founding of the Iona Community he helped develop new forms of ministry outside denominational structures.
Like George Macleod, and like those in the Caucus race, God has called all of us to run the race and win the prize. God has called, seized, marked, gifted, and redeemed all of us. God is always going ahead of us, always doing a new thing. May we too keep our eye on the prize, forgetting what lies behind and pressing forward to the goal of deeper knowledge of Christ.
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