Let’s imagine that Jesus were standing right in our midst. He poses the question to us, “Who do people say that I am?” We might wonder why Jesus was asking that question. Was he still unsure of his identity? Hadn’t the voice at his baptism in the Jordan convinced him? Perhaps he needs our reassurance.
In any case, we have to answer. You [pointing to someone] might answer, “Well, you seem to know a lot about Scripture, and you sure can preach, so some people say that you must be a super mega-church leader, even better than Rick Warren and Billy Graham.” But you [pointing to someone else] might say, “People notice that you’re always talking about peace and justice, so some people say that you’re Mahatma Gandhi, someone who can enable real social change through non-violent means.” And then you [someone else] might pipe up, “Some people notice how you much care about the poor, and how you’re always talking about taking care of ‘the least of these,’ so they think you’re another Mother Teresa.” But then you [someone else] might want to warn Jesus. So you say, “There are those who think you’ll get in trouble with the authorities, maybe even get yourself killed like Martin Luther King.” Then you [another person] might want to sum up the answers of the rest of us and say, “You’re a wonderful person, Jesus, a person we’d all like to emulate, a person who’s as good or better than other great people we know about. But aren’t you just a human being, like the rest of us, and nothing more?” If you think about Jesus at all, would most of you give answers similar to these?
Then Jesus turns to us, to me, and asks – we knew he would – “But who do you say that I am?” How to answer? We know what Simon answered when Jesus asked him that question. We might wonder whether Simon was answering only for himself or for the whole group. Although anyone who followed Jesus had to eventually answer that question, I think Simon was already the de facto leader of the group and could have been speaking for all. We know that Simon said, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” But what did Simon mean when he said that? The word “messiah” comes from the Hebrew mashiah, meaning “anointed one.” It was translated into Greek as christos, from which we get “Christ.” It means the promised liberator of Israel. Simon was saying to Jesus, “You are the one in whom God’s promises to us are fulfilled, you are the king and deliverer we’ve been hoping for, you are the one who will ultimately rule the world. You are more than just a learned rabbi, more than just a champion of the poor. You have a relationship with God that no other person has ever had.”
So when Jesus turns to me, what do I say? Do I use the same words as Simon Peter? Or are there other ways I can say what Peter said, words that twenty-first century people might understand, just as Jesus’ first followers understood Peter’s words? Here’s how I would answer Jesus’ question. I believe in God’s promises to humankind, and I believe that you are the one in whom these promises are fulfilled, including God’s promise to restore all creation. Therefore you are the one to whom I give my full allegiance, above all dictates of politics, culture, family, even, perhaps, the church itself. You are the one whom I want to love and follow with my whole heart. You are the one St. Teresa of Avila meant when she prayed, “We are all vassals of the King. May it please his Majesty that, like brave soldiers, we may look only to where the banner of our King is flying and follow his will.”
I would also say to Jesus that I believe that you are the Word made flesh. You are not only human, you are also God as well. What we know of the nature of the mysterious, unknowable source of all being we know because you reveal it to us. You are still alive, still working to make us more like you, still leading, guiding, and consoling us, and still helping us to partner with you in the transformation of the world.
How did Jesus respond to Peter’s answer? He said, “Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.” Peter had an “epiphany,” an extraordinary revelation from God of the truth of Jesus’ identity. The gift of being able to see Jesus as both fully human and as the Word made flesh is a gift of God’s grace. Paul reminded the new Corinthian Christians that “no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit.” And so it is for us too. Some of you may have trouble accepting Jesus’ full humanity, and the possibility that we can be like him. Others of you may struggle with seeing him as more than a good man who died 2,000 years ago. When we come to the place of understanding Jesus as both human and divine, it is indeed a gift of grace. When we are baptized and commit ourselves to him, it is a gift of grace. When we reaffirm our baptisms in confirmation, it is a gift of grace.
And here’s the important part: God’s gift of grace is a transformative gift, it is a gift given to us out of God’s great love for us. At first glance, we might wonder whether Peter’s epiphany and confession made any difference in his life. He was still impulsive, impetuous, and clueless. He said all the wrong things when Jesus was transfigured. He fell asleep at Gethsemane, denied he even knew Jesus, and ran away when Jesus was executed. Even so, his confession was the turning point of his life, and God’s transformative grace began to work within him. After the Resurrection, Jesus commanded Peter to feed his sheep. After Pentecost Peter became a gifted preacher, as our lesson from Acts suggests. As a church founder he was a respected elder, who was able to offer sound advice on leadership, as we heard in the second lesson. Tradition even says that, like Jesus, Peter was crucified. In fact, there’s a legend that, in the time of Nero’s persecution of Christians, Peter tried to flee Rome. On the road, Jesus came up behind him. “Where are you going, Lord?” the legend says Peter asked (in Latin, ‘Quo vadis, Domine?’). “To Rome, to be crucified again,” Jesus replied, as he walked past Peter and other faithful Christians already crucified along the Appian Way into Rome. Ashamed, Peter turned around and went into the city to his own death.
And so too for us. The grace that enables us to confess Jesus as lord also works its transformative power in us. We may not feel an immediate transformation. We don’t raise our heads from the font with a halo on, any more than Peter did after his first recognition of Jesus’ identity. Indeed, the transformation at work in us is often called “the slow work of God.” When we continue to let God into our lives, when we “dispose” ourselves to transformation, God will continue to work in us.
And then, like Peter we too will proclaim the good news to others. More, we too will be the good news for others. When God begins God’s transformation of us, God does not lead us onto Easy Street. Rather, in the transformation that makes us more like Jesus, God leads to the streets of exploitation of others, so that we find ways to enable God’s other children to climb out of poverty. God bids us prod our elected representatives into seeking justice for all. God sends us into prisons and bids us ask why so many of our citizens are incarcerated. God bids us welcome strangers and feed Jesus’ sheep. God takes our hands so that we too may partner with God in the bringing in of God’s reign.
And like Peter, we too will find ourselves at the Cross. When we committed ourselves to Jesus in our baptisms, we did not make what Mary Poppins called “piecrust promises,” easily made and easily broken. We committed ourselves to following Jesus heart and soul. Faithful discipleship cannot avoid the walk to Jerusalem and the confrontation with principalities and powers. As members of Jesus’ body, as adopted and beloved children of God, we cannot be bystanders in the fulfillment of God’s promises. Jesus comes up behind us too. In our questions and doubts, we might say to him, “Quo vadis, Domine, where are you going, Lord?” His answer will always be the same, “To the Cross.” And then he will say to us, “Where are you going?” My answer, God willing, will be, “I will go wherever you lead me.”
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Baptized in Water
Where is your baptismal certificate? For more than half his life Mario had been homeless.1 Before coming to the church shelter he had lived on the streets of New York. The friends who came to his sixtieth birthday party at the shelter declared that he didn’t look sixty. Mario answered by reaching into his coat pocket and taking out his birth certificate. Yes, indeed, he was sixty years old. Then Mario said, “Wanna see my baptismal certificate?” He pulled it out. The certificate said that Mario had been baptized as an infant in an Episcopal Church on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Why had Mario carried his baptismal certificate with him as he roamed the streets of Manhattan?
Why did Jesus come to the Jordan to be baptized by John? This question haunted the early church. If John’s baptism was for the cleansing of sin, and Jesus was indeed sinless, why did he need to undergo John’s rite? More to the point, if John was the Messiah’s forerunner, not “worthy to carry his sandals,” why did Jesus come to John asking for baptism? The account of Jesus’ baptism, as recorded in the gospel of Matthew, gives us some clues as to how the early church began to answer these questions.
After having provided Jesus’ genealogy, some details about his birth, and the account of the discovery of Jesus by the Persian astrologers, Matthew has brought us to the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. In his account Matthew suggests that, to begin with, Jesus came to the Jordan in fulfillment of God’s commands. Using water as a sacramental means of purification and repentance was an established rite in Jesus’ time. Indeed, even today, among Orthodox Jews, ritual bathing is required for converts to Judaism and for women at the close of their menstrual periods. By allowing himself to be baptized, Jesus showed that he too, as an observant Jew, was willing to do what God required of him. His response to John’s reluctance to immerse him reflects and exemplifies his humble obedience: “It is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”
More important, in undergoing baptism, in being willing to experience all that those around him were experiencing, Jesus joined himself fully to our human condition. He was doing what his people did. Though he himself was sinless, he “inaugurated his public ministry by identifying with ‘the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem.’ He identified himself with the faults and failures, the pains and problems, of all the broken people who had flocked to the Jordan River. By wading into the waters with them he took his place beside us.”2
In the account of what transpired after Jesus went down into the water, the evangelist tells us something even more important. As he rose from the Jordan, Jesus had a vision. He saw the Holy Spirit descend on him. In that moment he knew himself empowered for ministry and commissioned as God’s anointed one. And more: a voice from heaven publicly proclaimed Jesus’ identity: “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Not “You are my Son, the beloved,” as in the gospels of Mark and Luke, but “This is my Son.” If Jesus, the onlookers at the Jordan, the hearers of Matthew’s gospel, or we had any doubts as to Jesus’ identity, those doubts must surely have been dispelled in that moment.
Obedient, in solidarity with broken human beings, affirmed, empowered, and commissioned, Jesus was all that and more as he went down into and arose from the Jordan. And here’s the good news: the waters that rolled over Jesus have also rolled over us. We too went down into the Jordan with Jesus, and we too came up out of the water with him. The baptismal font is our River Jordan. Whether we were brought to the font by someone else, or whether we came of our own free will, whether we were immersed or sprinkled, Jesus was standing beside us as those waters flowed over us. As we rose from the water, the Holy Spirit descended on us, and God publicly proclaimed us to be God’s beloved children. And in joining ourselves to Jesus, we too are affirmed, empowered, and commissioned.
Do you believe that you are affirmed by God, that you are God’s beloved child? Believe it! You are. You are loved, and accepted and affirmed by God unconditionally and forever. Yet it’s so easy to forget God’s affirmation of us. As children, we may have difficulty in school and discover that we don’t measure up. As teens we may hear other teens deride our ethnicity, our clothing, our taste in music, or our interest in science. The media bombard us as adults with messages reminding us that we are not sufficiently successful, rich, beautiful, athletic, educated, fashionable, or technologically with it – whatever message will sell the next new product. We may stop hearing God’s voice and forget that we are God’s beloved children. So try this exercise. How would you respond to questions like these?3 Do you think that Jesus might be proud of you, proud of you for trusting and believing in him? Might Jesus be proud of you for not giving up on yourself and others and for trusting that he can help you? Do you ever think that Jesus appreciates that you want him, and that you are willing to let go of all that separates you from him? Do you ever think that Jesus is grateful to you for all the many ways in which you show kindness and generosity to others? Do you ever think Jesus wonders why you can’t believe that he has forgiven you totally, or why you think are not loved?
When we know ourselves as beloved children, we also begin to see that God has declared all of us to be beloved children. There is literally no one who is outside the circle of God’s love, even those with whom we violently disagree. Gene Robinson, the retired bishop of New Hampshire and first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal Church, said of Peter Akinola, the archbishop of Nigeria, who strongly opposed Robinson’s consecration, “By virtue of our baptism, Peter Akinola and I are brothers in Christ and one day we are going to be in heaven together, so we might as well learn to get along here because we will have to get along there. God won’t have it any other way.” When we meet those whom we think are unattractive, lazy, dishonest, or hateful do we forget that they too are God’s children? Do we let our own judgments about people drown out God’s affirmation of others? Most important, do we understand that because all of us have been affirmed by God, with Jesus, we have been empowered by the Holy Spirit and commissioned to be Jesus in the world? Do we realize and accept that we have been gifted with the power and the charge to care for all those for whom Jesus cared, those who are poor, oppressed, in need, and unloved? Do we know that we have been called to pursue justice and peace? Are we willing to take up the charge of creating communities of love and inviting those around us into them?
One wonders what Mario experienced on the streets of New York. Those who glanced at him as they walked by probably saw a bum, a homeless panhandler. Did they decide that he was part of the “undeserving poor,” someone who didn’t deserve government assistance or decent clothes or access to the kind of healthcare that you and I routinely enjoy? Did they even wonder whether local shelters and food banks had adequate funding? As I listen to the stories of people who come to Loaves and Fishes sometimes I ask myself the same questions. Recently another parishioner and I saw to it that one of our regular diners, someone who lives in an unheated garage, had a can of kerosene for the space heater that provides his only heat.
Mario was fortunate to finally find a congregation that recognized him as another of God’s beloved children. They understood that his baptismal certificate was an affirmation of his status as someone beloved of God, someone who deserved their care. They welcomed him into their shelter and into their hearts. They claimed him as one of their own.
As we live out our own lives, can we hear again God’s voice at our baptisms? The waters that washed over Jesus also washed over us. If the voice in your head is disparaging and judgmental, try saying to yourself, “I am God’s beloved child, and with me God is well pleased.” If the voice in your head turns toward another in judgment and criticism, say to yourself, “You are also God’s beloved child, and with you God is also well pleased.” Then accept the Spirit’s power and commit yourself to following Jesus up from the water and out into the world.
1. Based on Patricia J. Calahan, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox), 44ff.
2. Daniel B. Clendinen, “Journey with Jesus,” January 12, 2014, http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml .
3. Adapted from A Glimpse of Jesus: The Stranger to Self-Hatred, quoted in Synthesis, January 12, 2014.
Why did Jesus come to the Jordan to be baptized by John? This question haunted the early church. If John’s baptism was for the cleansing of sin, and Jesus was indeed sinless, why did he need to undergo John’s rite? More to the point, if John was the Messiah’s forerunner, not “worthy to carry his sandals,” why did Jesus come to John asking for baptism? The account of Jesus’ baptism, as recorded in the gospel of Matthew, gives us some clues as to how the early church began to answer these questions.
After having provided Jesus’ genealogy, some details about his birth, and the account of the discovery of Jesus by the Persian astrologers, Matthew has brought us to the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. In his account Matthew suggests that, to begin with, Jesus came to the Jordan in fulfillment of God’s commands. Using water as a sacramental means of purification and repentance was an established rite in Jesus’ time. Indeed, even today, among Orthodox Jews, ritual bathing is required for converts to Judaism and for women at the close of their menstrual periods. By allowing himself to be baptized, Jesus showed that he too, as an observant Jew, was willing to do what God required of him. His response to John’s reluctance to immerse him reflects and exemplifies his humble obedience: “It is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”
More important, in undergoing baptism, in being willing to experience all that those around him were experiencing, Jesus joined himself fully to our human condition. He was doing what his people did. Though he himself was sinless, he “inaugurated his public ministry by identifying with ‘the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem.’ He identified himself with the faults and failures, the pains and problems, of all the broken people who had flocked to the Jordan River. By wading into the waters with them he took his place beside us.”2
In the account of what transpired after Jesus went down into the water, the evangelist tells us something even more important. As he rose from the Jordan, Jesus had a vision. He saw the Holy Spirit descend on him. In that moment he knew himself empowered for ministry and commissioned as God’s anointed one. And more: a voice from heaven publicly proclaimed Jesus’ identity: “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Not “You are my Son, the beloved,” as in the gospels of Mark and Luke, but “This is my Son.” If Jesus, the onlookers at the Jordan, the hearers of Matthew’s gospel, or we had any doubts as to Jesus’ identity, those doubts must surely have been dispelled in that moment.
Obedient, in solidarity with broken human beings, affirmed, empowered, and commissioned, Jesus was all that and more as he went down into and arose from the Jordan. And here’s the good news: the waters that rolled over Jesus have also rolled over us. We too went down into the Jordan with Jesus, and we too came up out of the water with him. The baptismal font is our River Jordan. Whether we were brought to the font by someone else, or whether we came of our own free will, whether we were immersed or sprinkled, Jesus was standing beside us as those waters flowed over us. As we rose from the water, the Holy Spirit descended on us, and God publicly proclaimed us to be God’s beloved children. And in joining ourselves to Jesus, we too are affirmed, empowered, and commissioned.
Do you believe that you are affirmed by God, that you are God’s beloved child? Believe it! You are. You are loved, and accepted and affirmed by God unconditionally and forever. Yet it’s so easy to forget God’s affirmation of us. As children, we may have difficulty in school and discover that we don’t measure up. As teens we may hear other teens deride our ethnicity, our clothing, our taste in music, or our interest in science. The media bombard us as adults with messages reminding us that we are not sufficiently successful, rich, beautiful, athletic, educated, fashionable, or technologically with it – whatever message will sell the next new product. We may stop hearing God’s voice and forget that we are God’s beloved children. So try this exercise. How would you respond to questions like these?3 Do you think that Jesus might be proud of you, proud of you for trusting and believing in him? Might Jesus be proud of you for not giving up on yourself and others and for trusting that he can help you? Do you ever think that Jesus appreciates that you want him, and that you are willing to let go of all that separates you from him? Do you ever think that Jesus is grateful to you for all the many ways in which you show kindness and generosity to others? Do you ever think Jesus wonders why you can’t believe that he has forgiven you totally, or why you think are not loved?
When we know ourselves as beloved children, we also begin to see that God has declared all of us to be beloved children. There is literally no one who is outside the circle of God’s love, even those with whom we violently disagree. Gene Robinson, the retired bishop of New Hampshire and first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal Church, said of Peter Akinola, the archbishop of Nigeria, who strongly opposed Robinson’s consecration, “By virtue of our baptism, Peter Akinola and I are brothers in Christ and one day we are going to be in heaven together, so we might as well learn to get along here because we will have to get along there. God won’t have it any other way.” When we meet those whom we think are unattractive, lazy, dishonest, or hateful do we forget that they too are God’s children? Do we let our own judgments about people drown out God’s affirmation of others? Most important, do we understand that because all of us have been affirmed by God, with Jesus, we have been empowered by the Holy Spirit and commissioned to be Jesus in the world? Do we realize and accept that we have been gifted with the power and the charge to care for all those for whom Jesus cared, those who are poor, oppressed, in need, and unloved? Do we know that we have been called to pursue justice and peace? Are we willing to take up the charge of creating communities of love and inviting those around us into them?
One wonders what Mario experienced on the streets of New York. Those who glanced at him as they walked by probably saw a bum, a homeless panhandler. Did they decide that he was part of the “undeserving poor,” someone who didn’t deserve government assistance or decent clothes or access to the kind of healthcare that you and I routinely enjoy? Did they even wonder whether local shelters and food banks had adequate funding? As I listen to the stories of people who come to Loaves and Fishes sometimes I ask myself the same questions. Recently another parishioner and I saw to it that one of our regular diners, someone who lives in an unheated garage, had a can of kerosene for the space heater that provides his only heat.
Mario was fortunate to finally find a congregation that recognized him as another of God’s beloved children. They understood that his baptismal certificate was an affirmation of his status as someone beloved of God, someone who deserved their care. They welcomed him into their shelter and into their hearts. They claimed him as one of their own.
As we live out our own lives, can we hear again God’s voice at our baptisms? The waters that washed over Jesus also washed over us. If the voice in your head is disparaging and judgmental, try saying to yourself, “I am God’s beloved child, and with me God is well pleased.” If the voice in your head turns toward another in judgment and criticism, say to yourself, “You are also God’s beloved child, and with you God is also well pleased.” Then accept the Spirit’s power and commit yourself to following Jesus up from the water and out into the world.
1. Based on Patricia J. Calahan, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox), 44ff.
2. Daniel B. Clendinen, “Journey with Jesus,” January 12, 2014, http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml .
3. Adapted from A Glimpse of Jesus: The Stranger to Self-Hatred, quoted in Synthesis, January 12, 2014.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Seekers
I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. It was a long time ago, but I can still remember it all: the journey, Herod, the house, the child. There are days when I still can’t believe we really did it, really actually saw the child, especially since we had such a hard time finding him. But it was all worth it. My life has never been the same since. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
We were astrologers. Well, I was really an apprentice, but I was far enough along that my master slipped me into the travelling party. We lived in Persepolis, in the eastern part of the Persian Empire. We were Zoroastrians at that time. As astrologers, we diligently studied the skies. We read all the old treatises and knew exactly where all the stars, comets, and galaxies were. We knew how the Sumerians, the Greeks, and the Buddhists had mapped out the constellations. About that time, we’d had some inkling that some kind of shift or transformation was about to take place in the universe, but no one was sure what it was, or how we would know that it had happened.
One night my master came running in from the observation room. “The House of the Jews,” he shouted, “It’s in the House of the Jews!” “What is, master?” I asked. “It’s a star I’ve never seen before in that constellation,” he shouted. “Call the others!” After the others had studied the House of the Jews, they tentatively agreed that there seemed to be a new star there. None of them could say for sure the meaning of such a sign. My master, though, was sure that this star was the sign of the transformation we had been expecting. He said, “I feel a stirring, deep down. Some of us most go to Jerusalem, to the center of the land of the Jews and find out what this star means.” Most of the others looked at my master doubtfully. Jerusalem? Travel a thousand miles just because you think you see a new star?
My master was determined. He doggedly pursued his friends, and finally a few other astrologers agreed to go with him. They had to raise funds for the trip. They had to buy the provisions and equipment. They had to arrange for the camels and the camel drivers. My master had to get a letter of introduction to the government in Jerusalem. Once we started, it should have taken us about two months to get to Jerusalem. But we got lost several times. People sent us in the wrong direction. Some of the roads were washed out. The camels got sick, and one even died. And the camel drivers demanded that we spend longer than just one night whenever we stopped at a caravanserai. And, of course, none of us knew exactly where we were going. My master had figured out that we were looking for “the king of the Jews,” but he had no idea where this king might actually be.
At last we reached Jerusalem. We took our letters of introduction to Herod’s palace and actually got an audience with the great man. My master asked point blank, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” Herod and his courtiers went white. Trembling, Herod called for his priestly advisors. His voice shook as he asked them what Scripture had foretold about the birth of the Messiah. “Bethlehem,” they said. With that, Herod sent us on our way, reminding us to come back and let him know where this child was, so that he too could worship him. I was skeptical. Herod had called himself the “king of the Jews.” Would he really let someone else, a child, usurp his power?
Although Bethlehem was only six miles away from Herod’s palace, again we got lost. It took us a while to find the right gate out of the city. When we got to Bethlehem we wandered around for a while. We reached a small house on the street of the carpenters. “This is it!” my master shouted. “Are you sure?” the others said. “This small house? We thought we were looking for another king.” My master gingerly knocked. I held my breath. A man ushered us in. And there he was, the most beautiful child I had ever seen, a toddler, maybe eighteen months old or so, sitting on his mother’s lap. Seeing us, he leapt up and ran to us. He laughed and crowed and opened his arms to welcome us. We were awe-struck. For several minutes we couldn’t do anything but kneel there gazing at him. When he laughed some more, we unfroze and began to unpack our bags and pull out the gifts we had carefully carried all the way from Persepolis, gold, incense and myrrh. Even now, I wonder how my master actually found the child. I wonder if the child knew who we were. I wonder what his mother thought when she saw what we had brought.
We found a place to stay for a few days. Then we knew it was time to go back. The night before we were to leave my master had a dream. “We’re not going back to Herod,” he said, “that old fox is up to no good.” The locals told us how to get back to Persia without going through Jerusalem. Later, I shuddered as I heard that Herod, instead of worshipping the holy child, had ordered his soldiers to kill all the boys in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or younger. “It’s OK,” said my master. “Herod didn’t find him. His parents had already taken him to safety in Egypt.”
I’m an old man now. I have children, grandchildren, and even great grandchildren. They are all wonderful people. But something about that child made him more wonderful than any other child I’ve ever known. And my life changed forever the day I saw him. I knew myself as loved and accepted by God in a way I had never known before. How grateful I am that my master saw that miraculous sign and persuaded us all to join him on that wondrous journey.
Only Matthew tells us this story. And what a wonderful story it is. How can it be that foreigners, people from Iran, a country from which the U.S. is currently estranged, were the first to sense the true identity of the holy child? Could it be that God’s revelations sometimes come to outsiders, not only to faithful Christians or Jews? Is it possible that God’s revelations even come to our enemies or to those we think undeserving of God’s love? How could it be that the Persian astrologers were led not by Scripture, but by a celestial phenomenon? Could it be that God speaks through the non-human world as well as through the human world? Could it be that birds and fish and bears and deer, even our own companion animals, reveal something to us of God? How could it be that God spoke to the astrologers through dreams? Could God be speaking to us too through our dreams, through our hopes, wishes, fears, and joys?
How could it be that the astrologers trusted God to lead them back home by an alternate route? As 2014 begins, many of us are not where we thought we might be. Perhaps unexpected changes have occurred in our families, in our jobs, in our health, and in our relationships. Perhaps someone has lost a loved one or been forced to change living arrangements. Just by virtue of being a year older, we are travelling by a different road than we travelled last year. Even so, like the Persian astrologers we too can trust God to continue to reveal Godself to us and to lead us on the challenging alternative roads of our lives.
Laura Sumner Truax reminds us that, “The Magi are traveling companions for us in our information-rich age and especially good for us to emulate as we put one year to bed and once again hold out hope for the new one. Our plans may seem set, but just as 2013 took many of us in a different direction, so will 2014.”1 And as we set forth, we may not have any better information than the astrologers. Even though we have diligently read the Bible, faithfully worshipped, and fervently prayed, we still may have only a dim sense of who God is and what God desires for us. We still may not know exactly where God is leading us. We still may get stuck or discouraged and wonder who can give us accurate directions. We still may encounter detours and alternate routes, even to return home. We still may have to endure losing companions along the way.
Here is the good news: God is with us. Wherever we are on our spiritual journey, neophyte, beginner, wanderer, wonderer, or old soul, God is with us. God will lead us, sustain us, and bring us home. And “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
1. “Reflections on the Lectionary,” Christian Century, 130, 26, Dec. 25, 2013, p. 19.
We were astrologers. Well, I was really an apprentice, but I was far enough along that my master slipped me into the travelling party. We lived in Persepolis, in the eastern part of the Persian Empire. We were Zoroastrians at that time. As astrologers, we diligently studied the skies. We read all the old treatises and knew exactly where all the stars, comets, and galaxies were. We knew how the Sumerians, the Greeks, and the Buddhists had mapped out the constellations. About that time, we’d had some inkling that some kind of shift or transformation was about to take place in the universe, but no one was sure what it was, or how we would know that it had happened.
One night my master came running in from the observation room. “The House of the Jews,” he shouted, “It’s in the House of the Jews!” “What is, master?” I asked. “It’s a star I’ve never seen before in that constellation,” he shouted. “Call the others!” After the others had studied the House of the Jews, they tentatively agreed that there seemed to be a new star there. None of them could say for sure the meaning of such a sign. My master, though, was sure that this star was the sign of the transformation we had been expecting. He said, “I feel a stirring, deep down. Some of us most go to Jerusalem, to the center of the land of the Jews and find out what this star means.” Most of the others looked at my master doubtfully. Jerusalem? Travel a thousand miles just because you think you see a new star?
My master was determined. He doggedly pursued his friends, and finally a few other astrologers agreed to go with him. They had to raise funds for the trip. They had to buy the provisions and equipment. They had to arrange for the camels and the camel drivers. My master had to get a letter of introduction to the government in Jerusalem. Once we started, it should have taken us about two months to get to Jerusalem. But we got lost several times. People sent us in the wrong direction. Some of the roads were washed out. The camels got sick, and one even died. And the camel drivers demanded that we spend longer than just one night whenever we stopped at a caravanserai. And, of course, none of us knew exactly where we were going. My master had figured out that we were looking for “the king of the Jews,” but he had no idea where this king might actually be.
At last we reached Jerusalem. We took our letters of introduction to Herod’s palace and actually got an audience with the great man. My master asked point blank, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” Herod and his courtiers went white. Trembling, Herod called for his priestly advisors. His voice shook as he asked them what Scripture had foretold about the birth of the Messiah. “Bethlehem,” they said. With that, Herod sent us on our way, reminding us to come back and let him know where this child was, so that he too could worship him. I was skeptical. Herod had called himself the “king of the Jews.” Would he really let someone else, a child, usurp his power?
Although Bethlehem was only six miles away from Herod’s palace, again we got lost. It took us a while to find the right gate out of the city. When we got to Bethlehem we wandered around for a while. We reached a small house on the street of the carpenters. “This is it!” my master shouted. “Are you sure?” the others said. “This small house? We thought we were looking for another king.” My master gingerly knocked. I held my breath. A man ushered us in. And there he was, the most beautiful child I had ever seen, a toddler, maybe eighteen months old or so, sitting on his mother’s lap. Seeing us, he leapt up and ran to us. He laughed and crowed and opened his arms to welcome us. We were awe-struck. For several minutes we couldn’t do anything but kneel there gazing at him. When he laughed some more, we unfroze and began to unpack our bags and pull out the gifts we had carefully carried all the way from Persepolis, gold, incense and myrrh. Even now, I wonder how my master actually found the child. I wonder if the child knew who we were. I wonder what his mother thought when she saw what we had brought.
We found a place to stay for a few days. Then we knew it was time to go back. The night before we were to leave my master had a dream. “We’re not going back to Herod,” he said, “that old fox is up to no good.” The locals told us how to get back to Persia without going through Jerusalem. Later, I shuddered as I heard that Herod, instead of worshipping the holy child, had ordered his soldiers to kill all the boys in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or younger. “It’s OK,” said my master. “Herod didn’t find him. His parents had already taken him to safety in Egypt.”
I’m an old man now. I have children, grandchildren, and even great grandchildren. They are all wonderful people. But something about that child made him more wonderful than any other child I’ve ever known. And my life changed forever the day I saw him. I knew myself as loved and accepted by God in a way I had never known before. How grateful I am that my master saw that miraculous sign and persuaded us all to join him on that wondrous journey.
Only Matthew tells us this story. And what a wonderful story it is. How can it be that foreigners, people from Iran, a country from which the U.S. is currently estranged, were the first to sense the true identity of the holy child? Could it be that God’s revelations sometimes come to outsiders, not only to faithful Christians or Jews? Is it possible that God’s revelations even come to our enemies or to those we think undeserving of God’s love? How could it be that the Persian astrologers were led not by Scripture, but by a celestial phenomenon? Could it be that God speaks through the non-human world as well as through the human world? Could it be that birds and fish and bears and deer, even our own companion animals, reveal something to us of God? How could it be that God spoke to the astrologers through dreams? Could God be speaking to us too through our dreams, through our hopes, wishes, fears, and joys?
How could it be that the astrologers trusted God to lead them back home by an alternate route? As 2014 begins, many of us are not where we thought we might be. Perhaps unexpected changes have occurred in our families, in our jobs, in our health, and in our relationships. Perhaps someone has lost a loved one or been forced to change living arrangements. Just by virtue of being a year older, we are travelling by a different road than we travelled last year. Even so, like the Persian astrologers we too can trust God to continue to reveal Godself to us and to lead us on the challenging alternative roads of our lives.
Laura Sumner Truax reminds us that, “The Magi are traveling companions for us in our information-rich age and especially good for us to emulate as we put one year to bed and once again hold out hope for the new one. Our plans may seem set, but just as 2013 took many of us in a different direction, so will 2014.”1 And as we set forth, we may not have any better information than the astrologers. Even though we have diligently read the Bible, faithfully worshipped, and fervently prayed, we still may have only a dim sense of who God is and what God desires for us. We still may not know exactly where God is leading us. We still may get stuck or discouraged and wonder who can give us accurate directions. We still may encounter detours and alternate routes, even to return home. We still may have to endure losing companions along the way.
Here is the good news: God is with us. Wherever we are on our spiritual journey, neophyte, beginner, wanderer, wonderer, or old soul, God is with us. God will lead us, sustain us, and bring us home. And “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
1. “Reflections on the Lectionary,” Christian Century, 130, 26, Dec. 25, 2013, p. 19.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
The Everlasting Light
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” The baby was born. The angels rejoiced and glorified God. The shepherds came and found the baby, just as the angels had described him. While Mary pondered in her heart her experience of this strange birth, the shepherds returned to their flock, rejoicing at what they had heard and seen. Yes, we heard it all on Christmas Eve – together with a story about an angel that doesn’t occur in Scripture! Yes, Christmas Eve was wonderful! But where is the baby now? Why, on this first Sunday after Christmas, do we not hear more about him and his miraculous birth? Actually, perhaps some of you are heaving a sigh of relief. Perhaps you are like those who toss out their Christmas trees the day after Christmas, saying, “Thank heaven, we’re done with that for another year!”
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” Strangely, perhaps, we hear details of Jesus’ birth only in the gospel of Luke. The gospel of Mark, the earliest gospel, begins with Jesus’ adult ministry. The gospel of Matthew prefaces the birth with the wonderful story of Joseph’s discovery that Mary is pregnant, yet of the birth the gospel relates only that Joseph and Mary didn’t have sexual intercourse until after Mary had given birth. We also hear no birth story in the gospel of John, whose opening eighteen verses you just heard. Instead, the writer of this gospel asks us to ponder a much deeper mystery than that of the miraculous birth of a child. We are asked to ponder who it truly was that was born: a precious baby or something much more mysterious and awe-inspiring?
The opening words of this gospel plunge us right into that mystery: “In the beginning….” Do those words sound familiar? The original hearers of this gospel would have recognized them immediately. They are the very first words of the Hebrew Scriptures. The very first words of the book of Genesis, the first book in the Hebrew Bible, are “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” Indeed, the very first word of the Hebrew Bible, bereshit, literally means “in the beginning.” The first hearers of John’s gospel would also have remembered that “in the beginning” the first thing that God created was light: God swept God’s spirit over the formless waters and said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. And God pronounced the light good.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” The first hearers of John’s gospel would also have recognized the Greek word, logos, which we translate as Word. They would have known that in using that word the Evangelist was reminding them and us that the God in whom we put our trust was not like one of the Greek gods, not like those disdainful deities who looked down on the struggles, heartaches, joys, and fears of this world with supreme detachment. Rather, John was reminding his hearers that the God whom they and we worship was not only unknowable mystery but also the driving force behind all creation. This God was also the construction foreman, if you will, of the whole creation project. And, more miraculous still, this logos, this Word, this God, was so involved, so caring, so loving, so giving, that he deigned to join himself body and soul with humanity, he dared to “pitch his tent” among us.
And more. This construction foreman of creation, this activator of God’s light, this logos who was now inseparably joined to humanity, was the light of the world, that light that “shines in the darkness,” which the darkness has never extinguished. The Evangelist reminds us that John came to testify to that light and to prepare us to receive that light. Because the Word took on human flesh and moved into our neighborhood, into the neighborhood of every living being, we who live in the light that he brought are not only children of God but have received from God more grace than we can ever fathom.
My friends, this is why we celebrate the birth of that baby. We celebrate Jesus’ birth, because, even though we are frail, limited, broken human beings, we do not live in total darkness. Even into our “dark streets” the “everlasting light” penetrates. The light that came into the world with Jesus still shines on us wherever we are. And where are the dark streets in our lives? Do you need me to name them? There are dark streets wherever there is war and conflict: in Iraq, Syria, South Sudan, Afghanistan, the West Bank; on the streets of Columbus, Cleveland, and Cincinnati, in Boston, Newtown, Connecticut, and Aurora Colorado, in shopping malls in Nairobi and Logan, Ohio. There are dark streets wherever there is enmity and conflict. There are dark streets wherever there is estrangement: especially within families, between parents and children, or among siblings. There are dark streets wherever there is addiction. There are dark streets wherever there is sickness, or when people are unemployed, homeless, or despairing.
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” The baby was conceived, born, executed, and raised to life again. Now we, who are privileged to be members of his body, are filled with his light. The Word now becomes flesh within us. We too are called to spread the tiny flame of the everlasting light that we carry into the dark streets around us. We too are called to join with others and create new communities of love that continue his ministry into a dark world. For another miracle happens: when the Light of the World shines on the children of God, a new community comes into being. Now we suddenly see those around us as friends. Now we find the night sky dotted with the lights of the homes of neighbors. Now we see a community of love ready to reach out to those in need. When the Light of the World shines on us, we see the truth of Mother Teresa’s reminder: “It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you – yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand.”
This is a true story. It ran in the New York Times the day after Thanksgiving.1 There was a thirty-three year old cabbie who tied his shoulder-length hair in a ponytail. About five years ago, the cabbie “prayed to God for guidance on how to help the forgotten people of the streets who exist in life’s shadows.” He heard God tell him, “Make eight pounds of spaghetti, throw it in a pot, give it out on 103rd Street and Broadway with no conditions, and people will come.” He did, they came, and now he goes from door to door giving people food to eat.
God is probably not asking us to rush to New York and give out spaghetti. Today, we at St. Peter’s give dinners to the hungry every month. Like the New York cabbie, we offer people dinner with no conditions. And people come. This month we are also offering hats, scarves, and gloves. To what other ministry might God be calling us? Might God be calling us to offer spiritual sustenance to those around us? Is there anything else people need from us besides a free dinner? What else might God be inviting us to act on “with no conditions?” How are you personally and we as a parish being called to be living lights for others?
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” Let us pray,
Holy One, sender of the Word made flesh,2
So many in our world still wait in darkness and long for your light.
In the midst of darkness, enkindle our hope.
As we long for lasting peace in the midst of war, be with us.
As we long for families to be reunited, be with us.
As we long for enemies to be reconciled, be with us.
As we long for cures, healings, and freedom from addictions, be with us.
As we long for decent jobs and economic security be with us.
As we long for love and community, be with us.
Fulfill the deepest longings of your people and dispel the darkness in our hearts and in our world. Teach us to take your light into the dark places of our world. And let your Word ignite the hope the world needs to bring to life your love and justice. Amen.
1. www.educationforjustice.org
2. Adapted from “Advent Prayer Service,” Education for Justice, www.educationforjustice.org
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” Strangely, perhaps, we hear details of Jesus’ birth only in the gospel of Luke. The gospel of Mark, the earliest gospel, begins with Jesus’ adult ministry. The gospel of Matthew prefaces the birth with the wonderful story of Joseph’s discovery that Mary is pregnant, yet of the birth the gospel relates only that Joseph and Mary didn’t have sexual intercourse until after Mary had given birth. We also hear no birth story in the gospel of John, whose opening eighteen verses you just heard. Instead, the writer of this gospel asks us to ponder a much deeper mystery than that of the miraculous birth of a child. We are asked to ponder who it truly was that was born: a precious baby or something much more mysterious and awe-inspiring?
The opening words of this gospel plunge us right into that mystery: “In the beginning….” Do those words sound familiar? The original hearers of this gospel would have recognized them immediately. They are the very first words of the Hebrew Scriptures. The very first words of the book of Genesis, the first book in the Hebrew Bible, are “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” Indeed, the very first word of the Hebrew Bible, bereshit, literally means “in the beginning.” The first hearers of John’s gospel would also have remembered that “in the beginning” the first thing that God created was light: God swept God’s spirit over the formless waters and said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. And God pronounced the light good.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” The first hearers of John’s gospel would also have recognized the Greek word, logos, which we translate as Word. They would have known that in using that word the Evangelist was reminding them and us that the God in whom we put our trust was not like one of the Greek gods, not like those disdainful deities who looked down on the struggles, heartaches, joys, and fears of this world with supreme detachment. Rather, John was reminding his hearers that the God whom they and we worship was not only unknowable mystery but also the driving force behind all creation. This God was also the construction foreman, if you will, of the whole creation project. And, more miraculous still, this logos, this Word, this God, was so involved, so caring, so loving, so giving, that he deigned to join himself body and soul with humanity, he dared to “pitch his tent” among us.
And more. This construction foreman of creation, this activator of God’s light, this logos who was now inseparably joined to humanity, was the light of the world, that light that “shines in the darkness,” which the darkness has never extinguished. The Evangelist reminds us that John came to testify to that light and to prepare us to receive that light. Because the Word took on human flesh and moved into our neighborhood, into the neighborhood of every living being, we who live in the light that he brought are not only children of God but have received from God more grace than we can ever fathom.
My friends, this is why we celebrate the birth of that baby. We celebrate Jesus’ birth, because, even though we are frail, limited, broken human beings, we do not live in total darkness. Even into our “dark streets” the “everlasting light” penetrates. The light that came into the world with Jesus still shines on us wherever we are. And where are the dark streets in our lives? Do you need me to name them? There are dark streets wherever there is war and conflict: in Iraq, Syria, South Sudan, Afghanistan, the West Bank; on the streets of Columbus, Cleveland, and Cincinnati, in Boston, Newtown, Connecticut, and Aurora Colorado, in shopping malls in Nairobi and Logan, Ohio. There are dark streets wherever there is enmity and conflict. There are dark streets wherever there is estrangement: especially within families, between parents and children, or among siblings. There are dark streets wherever there is addiction. There are dark streets wherever there is sickness, or when people are unemployed, homeless, or despairing.
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” The baby was conceived, born, executed, and raised to life again. Now we, who are privileged to be members of his body, are filled with his light. The Word now becomes flesh within us. We too are called to spread the tiny flame of the everlasting light that we carry into the dark streets around us. We too are called to join with others and create new communities of love that continue his ministry into a dark world. For another miracle happens: when the Light of the World shines on the children of God, a new community comes into being. Now we suddenly see those around us as friends. Now we find the night sky dotted with the lights of the homes of neighbors. Now we see a community of love ready to reach out to those in need. When the Light of the World shines on us, we see the truth of Mother Teresa’s reminder: “It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you – yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand.”
This is a true story. It ran in the New York Times the day after Thanksgiving.1 There was a thirty-three year old cabbie who tied his shoulder-length hair in a ponytail. About five years ago, the cabbie “prayed to God for guidance on how to help the forgotten people of the streets who exist in life’s shadows.” He heard God tell him, “Make eight pounds of spaghetti, throw it in a pot, give it out on 103rd Street and Broadway with no conditions, and people will come.” He did, they came, and now he goes from door to door giving people food to eat.
God is probably not asking us to rush to New York and give out spaghetti. Today, we at St. Peter’s give dinners to the hungry every month. Like the New York cabbie, we offer people dinner with no conditions. And people come. This month we are also offering hats, scarves, and gloves. To what other ministry might God be calling us? Might God be calling us to offer spiritual sustenance to those around us? Is there anything else people need from us besides a free dinner? What else might God be inviting us to act on “with no conditions?” How are you personally and we as a parish being called to be living lights for others?
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” Let us pray,
Holy One, sender of the Word made flesh,2
So many in our world still wait in darkness and long for your light.
In the midst of darkness, enkindle our hope.
As we long for lasting peace in the midst of war, be with us.
As we long for families to be reunited, be with us.
As we long for enemies to be reconciled, be with us.
As we long for cures, healings, and freedom from addictions, be with us.
As we long for decent jobs and economic security be with us.
As we long for love and community, be with us.
Fulfill the deepest longings of your people and dispel the darkness in our hearts and in our world. Teach us to take your light into the dark places of our world. And let your Word ignite the hope the world needs to bring to life your love and justice. Amen.
1. www.educationforjustice.org
2. Adapted from “Advent Prayer Service,” Education for Justice, www.educationforjustice.org
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Are You the One?
What’s going on here? Why did the writer of the Gospel of Matthew show us John the Baptist sending his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Wouldn’t Matthew’s readers think that John already knew for certain who Jesus was? The gospel accounts showed John and Jesus as cousins. The community of Jewish Christians for whom this gospel was written very likely knew that Jesus had been one of John’s disciples. Moreover, the gospel had already told them that when Jesus asked John for baptism along with everyone else, John said, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” And after Jesus was baptized, the gospel tells us that a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Was the gospel writer trying to suggest that, lying in prison, John suddenly doubted his cousin’s identity?
Actually, there are at least three questions embedded in this story. The first question is the nature of the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus, a live and important question for Matthew’s audience. It’s possible that John was a member of the Essenes, an influential ascetic community that wrote and preserved what we now call the Dead Sea Scrolls. Even if he was not an Essene, John was a powerful prophetic voice as Jesus was beginning his own ministry. Many in Jesus’ time wondered how to regard the two of them. The gospel writer voices the consensus the early church reached as to John’s part in salvation history. Quoting from the prophecy of Isaiah, the gospel writer avers that John was a great prophet, perhaps the greatest of the prophets. Even so, quoting from the prophet Malachi, the writer suggests that John’s role was that of a forerunner or messenger, one who prepared the way for the coming of the Messiah, now known to be Jesus.
The second question in this passage is the question of what kind of Messiah Jesus actually was. During Jesus’ lifetime, many Jews had expected God’s anointed one to be a military leader, a “shoot from the stump of Jesse,” i.e.., another David who would free them from the Roman yoke. From their experience of Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection, the early church gained a new understanding of God’s Anointed One. Jesus’ answer to John’s disciples reflects that new understanding. Notice that the gospel writer does not have Jesus answer their query directly. Rather, Jesus asks John’s disciples to look around them, see with their own eyes, and draw their own conclusions as to his identity. Then he alludes to the prophet Isaiah. He indirectly claims the Messiah’s mantle by suggesting that, because of him, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” To drive home his point, he tells them that all who understand this new definition of God’s anointed one will be blessed.
And the third question in this passage is an implied question: is it all right to have questions and doubts? The answer? Absolutely! John must surely have had questions about Jesus’ identity. The earliest followers of Jesus struggled for several centuries to come to terms with the impact of his life, death, and resurrection. Ever since, underneath social coercion to conform to the church, thoughtful, serious Christians have struggled with faith, have struggled with the nature of Jesus’ identity, have struggled with who God is, how to trust God, and how to love their neighbors. Having doubts and asking questions are part of the natural cycle of faith. In the end, struggling with questions is the only way to grow spiritually. If you are too content, you may be stagnating spiritually.
The value of struggling with questions is as true for the church as it is for individual Christians. In the early part of the nineteenth century, the Oxford movement within the Anglican Church struggled with reappropriating the liturgies, vestments, paraments, and icons of the pre-reformation church. Later on in the century, churches struggled with the call to support overseas missions. The mid-twentieth century brought us questions of liturgical renewal, the role of women, and the inequities faced by racial and ethnic minorities. Today, we struggle with the fate of our institutions, even as the church seems to be breaking out in new forms of witness and mission.
Fortunately, for us, we are in the right place to ask all kinds of faith questions. The Anglican Church has never been a confessional church. Lutherans, for example, are expected to subscribe to the twenty-eight faith statements of the Augsburg Confession. Presbyterians and other members of Reformed Churches subscribe to the Westminster Confession. Anglicans and Episcopalians have no such confessions. Anglicans and Episcopalians are not expected to hew solidly to certain theological perspectives. What about the Nicene Creed, the affirmation of faith that we recite in our liturgy, you may ask. Agreed upon in the fourth century, the creed is the normative statement of faith for the whole church. Whether any individual understands or even accepts every word of it is another matter. Whether, if we were creating a creed today, we would make exactly the same statements as the Nicene Creed is also an open question. The point is that we are part of a church that welcomes questions. I love the title of a Forward Movement pamphlet: “The Episcopal Church: A Faith for Thinking People.” My friends, that is who all of us are.
So what keeps us grounded as Christians? How do we keep growing and evolving in our understanding of who God is? What do we do when we wonder, “Are you the One?” Anglican spirituality is essentially liturgical. It is grounded in worship and fulfilled in worship. More to the point, Anglican spirituality is grounded in a life shaped by Scripture and mediated to us through the cycles of the liturgical year. Think about it. Day by day, if you read Morning or Evening prayer, or even the Forward Movement meditations, you encounter two or three lessons from Scripture. And not just any random Scripture, but Scripture that is chosen to help us hear a vast part of the Word of God in a logical, orderly way. Similarly, week by week, in the Eucharist, we hear four readings from Scripture, again artfully chosen to enable us to understand who Jesus is and what the good news is.
More to the point, our pattern of readings has remained largely the same for nearly a millennium. If you look at the Epistle and Gospel readings for Advent, for example, you will find that they are the same readings that were used not only in the medieval English church but also in a lectionary that goes back to the fifth century. Each of our texts reflects on the other, and all are chosen to help us deepen our understanding of the one in whom we have put our trust. Anglican reformers saw no need to change the ancient pattern; they only wanted us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” the Scriptures, so that we would be able to “embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope” which we have in Jesus Christ. As Anglicans, we grow spiritually as we hear and meditate on that proclamation year by year. In truth, we never hear the same Scripture twice, i.e., every time we hear a passage from Scripture it speaks to us afresh. As we mature as Christians, we ask questions, we ponder, chew, and hopefully grow in our understanding.
I invite you to reflect on your own understanding of Jesus and his importance in your life. Are you too asking John the Baptist’s question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Did you begin as a young person with clear ideas about God, Jesus, and the church? What changes have taken place in your understanding of God or Jesus? Do you wonder what you really believe? If pressed against a wall and asked to defend your faith, could you do it? Are you here in church because you think you should be here, or because you really trust God’s faithfulness and want to commit your life to Jesus? How does the way you live reflect your commitment to Jesus? In this time of waiting and expectation, as we prepare once again to ponder the mystery of the Word moving into our neighborhood, you would do well to find a few moments of quiet and meditate on these questions.
My friends, this is good news: it’s always OK to ask John the Baptist’s question. We will rarely get a straight answer to the question. Just like he did with John’s disciples, Jesus will ask us to look around and see the evidence for his presence among us. When we do arrive at some answer, it will always be temporary and tentative, and it will reflect only the next stage in our growth as disciples. But every time we ask that question – “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” – we can be assured that our questions are, in the end, God-given and will eventually lead us deeper into the heart of God.
Actually, there are at least three questions embedded in this story. The first question is the nature of the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus, a live and important question for Matthew’s audience. It’s possible that John was a member of the Essenes, an influential ascetic community that wrote and preserved what we now call the Dead Sea Scrolls. Even if he was not an Essene, John was a powerful prophetic voice as Jesus was beginning his own ministry. Many in Jesus’ time wondered how to regard the two of them. The gospel writer voices the consensus the early church reached as to John’s part in salvation history. Quoting from the prophecy of Isaiah, the gospel writer avers that John was a great prophet, perhaps the greatest of the prophets. Even so, quoting from the prophet Malachi, the writer suggests that John’s role was that of a forerunner or messenger, one who prepared the way for the coming of the Messiah, now known to be Jesus.
The second question in this passage is the question of what kind of Messiah Jesus actually was. During Jesus’ lifetime, many Jews had expected God’s anointed one to be a military leader, a “shoot from the stump of Jesse,” i.e.., another David who would free them from the Roman yoke. From their experience of Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection, the early church gained a new understanding of God’s Anointed One. Jesus’ answer to John’s disciples reflects that new understanding. Notice that the gospel writer does not have Jesus answer their query directly. Rather, Jesus asks John’s disciples to look around them, see with their own eyes, and draw their own conclusions as to his identity. Then he alludes to the prophet Isaiah. He indirectly claims the Messiah’s mantle by suggesting that, because of him, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” To drive home his point, he tells them that all who understand this new definition of God’s anointed one will be blessed.
And the third question in this passage is an implied question: is it all right to have questions and doubts? The answer? Absolutely! John must surely have had questions about Jesus’ identity. The earliest followers of Jesus struggled for several centuries to come to terms with the impact of his life, death, and resurrection. Ever since, underneath social coercion to conform to the church, thoughtful, serious Christians have struggled with faith, have struggled with the nature of Jesus’ identity, have struggled with who God is, how to trust God, and how to love their neighbors. Having doubts and asking questions are part of the natural cycle of faith. In the end, struggling with questions is the only way to grow spiritually. If you are too content, you may be stagnating spiritually.
The value of struggling with questions is as true for the church as it is for individual Christians. In the early part of the nineteenth century, the Oxford movement within the Anglican Church struggled with reappropriating the liturgies, vestments, paraments, and icons of the pre-reformation church. Later on in the century, churches struggled with the call to support overseas missions. The mid-twentieth century brought us questions of liturgical renewal, the role of women, and the inequities faced by racial and ethnic minorities. Today, we struggle with the fate of our institutions, even as the church seems to be breaking out in new forms of witness and mission.
Fortunately, for us, we are in the right place to ask all kinds of faith questions. The Anglican Church has never been a confessional church. Lutherans, for example, are expected to subscribe to the twenty-eight faith statements of the Augsburg Confession. Presbyterians and other members of Reformed Churches subscribe to the Westminster Confession. Anglicans and Episcopalians have no such confessions. Anglicans and Episcopalians are not expected to hew solidly to certain theological perspectives. What about the Nicene Creed, the affirmation of faith that we recite in our liturgy, you may ask. Agreed upon in the fourth century, the creed is the normative statement of faith for the whole church. Whether any individual understands or even accepts every word of it is another matter. Whether, if we were creating a creed today, we would make exactly the same statements as the Nicene Creed is also an open question. The point is that we are part of a church that welcomes questions. I love the title of a Forward Movement pamphlet: “The Episcopal Church: A Faith for Thinking People.” My friends, that is who all of us are.
So what keeps us grounded as Christians? How do we keep growing and evolving in our understanding of who God is? What do we do when we wonder, “Are you the One?” Anglican spirituality is essentially liturgical. It is grounded in worship and fulfilled in worship. More to the point, Anglican spirituality is grounded in a life shaped by Scripture and mediated to us through the cycles of the liturgical year. Think about it. Day by day, if you read Morning or Evening prayer, or even the Forward Movement meditations, you encounter two or three lessons from Scripture. And not just any random Scripture, but Scripture that is chosen to help us hear a vast part of the Word of God in a logical, orderly way. Similarly, week by week, in the Eucharist, we hear four readings from Scripture, again artfully chosen to enable us to understand who Jesus is and what the good news is.
More to the point, our pattern of readings has remained largely the same for nearly a millennium. If you look at the Epistle and Gospel readings for Advent, for example, you will find that they are the same readings that were used not only in the medieval English church but also in a lectionary that goes back to the fifth century. Each of our texts reflects on the other, and all are chosen to help us deepen our understanding of the one in whom we have put our trust. Anglican reformers saw no need to change the ancient pattern; they only wanted us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” the Scriptures, so that we would be able to “embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope” which we have in Jesus Christ. As Anglicans, we grow spiritually as we hear and meditate on that proclamation year by year. In truth, we never hear the same Scripture twice, i.e., every time we hear a passage from Scripture it speaks to us afresh. As we mature as Christians, we ask questions, we ponder, chew, and hopefully grow in our understanding.
I invite you to reflect on your own understanding of Jesus and his importance in your life. Are you too asking John the Baptist’s question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Did you begin as a young person with clear ideas about God, Jesus, and the church? What changes have taken place in your understanding of God or Jesus? Do you wonder what you really believe? If pressed against a wall and asked to defend your faith, could you do it? Are you here in church because you think you should be here, or because you really trust God’s faithfulness and want to commit your life to Jesus? How does the way you live reflect your commitment to Jesus? In this time of waiting and expectation, as we prepare once again to ponder the mystery of the Word moving into our neighborhood, you would do well to find a few moments of quiet and meditate on these questions.
My friends, this is good news: it’s always OK to ask John the Baptist’s question. We will rarely get a straight answer to the question. Just like he did with John’s disciples, Jesus will ask us to look around and see the evidence for his presence among us. When we do arrive at some answer, it will always be temporary and tentative, and it will reflect only the next stage in our growth as disciples. But every time we ask that question – “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” – we can be assured that our questions are, in the end, God-given and will eventually lead us deeper into the heart of God.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Written for our Learning
“Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”
Do you recognize this collect? In our present prayer book we hear it on the next to last Sunday of the Church year. This year we heard it on November 17th. However, in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, it was the collect for today, the Second Sunday in Advent. As a prayer, it actually dates back to 1549 and our very first Book of Common Prayer. It reminds us that study of Scripture must be an integral and ongoing part of our lives, so that we may truly understand what God has done and is continuing to do for us.
It’s not surprising that the church heard this collect on the second Sunday of Advent. As a prayer, it reflects the first words of the portion of Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians that we just heard: “Whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.” The “scriptures,” of course, that Paul was talking about were the Hebrew Scriptures, since Paul’s letters antedate any of the Gospels, and since the writings that we now call the New Testament were declared canonical only in the fourth century. Now at the end of his letter, in his final exhortation to the Roman Christians, Paul reminds them that the covenants and promises that God made to the Israelites now, through Christ, also include the gentiles. More to the point, he tells them that diligent study of Scripture will enable them to maintain their hope of Christ’s coming, as they work out their differences and learn how to live in harmony with one another.
Paul challenges the Roman Christians to remember their scriptures by embedding references to those very scriptures in his exhortation. Quite likely, the “steadfastness” which he commends to them alludes to the endurance of Christ, especially his endurance of insults, shame, and death. Many think that in the allusion to Christ’s endurance, Paul echoes Ps. 69:9, a verse that for Christians describes Jesus’ travail: “It is zeal for your house that has consumed me; the insults of those who insult you have fallen on me.” To emphasize God’s inclusion of the gentiles in God’s promises, Paul alludes to Psalm 18:50: “For this I will extol you, O Lord, among the nations, and sing praises to your name.” He also quotes Psalm 117:1 “Praise the Lord, all you nations! Extol him, all you peoples!” Finally, Paul quotes the end of the passage from Isaiah which we just heard: “On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.”
Paul’s acknowledgement of the importance of the Hebrew Scriptures finds an echo in the Gospel of Matthew. We are now at the beginning of the first year of our three-year Revised Common Lectionary, a set of readings from Scripture that Roman Catholics, Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, and other denominations share. Between now and next Advent, most of our Gospel readings will come from the Gospel according to Matthew. Written after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD, possibly in Antioch, this Gospel was most likely composed for a community of Jewish Christians. As such it highlights the Jewish origin and identity of Jesus and his earliest followers. For Matthew, Jesus is God’s anointed. He is a teacher as exalted and as authoritative as Moses, who was considered to be the author of the Hebrew Law.
What is more important, Matthew takes great pains to show that Jesus is the fulfillment of both the law and the prophets, and that in him all of God’s promises are fulfilled. To drive home his point, Matthew opens his account of Jesus’ life with a genealogy that firmly establishes Jesus as one of David’s descendants, thus alluding to the “stump of Jesse,” i.e., David’s father. Thereafter, he often either directly quotes from the Hebrew Scriptures or alludes to passages from Scripture. In the twelve verses we just heard, Matthew has embedded references to Abraham, and to the prophets Amos, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Zechariah. A few examples. He alludes to the prophet Isaiah to characterize John the Baptizer: “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” With John’s ascetic lifestyle, wearing camel’s hair and eating honey, he alludes to the way of life of traditional prophets, especially that of Elijah. His calling the Pharisees and Sadducees a “brood of vipers” is an indirect allusion to the passage from Isaiah we heard today, in which the asp and the adder were acknowledged as former enemies of human beings. At the end of the passage, the “chaff,” an allusion to the wicked who will be destroyed in fire, is a recurring image in the Hebrew Scriptures.
Paul of Tarsus knew the Scriptures. The writer of the Gospel according to Matthew knew the Scriptures intimately. Do we? Do we have any sense of the historical contexts of our various books of Scripture? Have we encountered Jesus’ own understanding of his mission, as the Gospels characterize it? Do we know what the content of our hope as Christians really is? Do we have any clue as to what the “reign of God” or the “Kingdom of Heaven,” that has now come near us, really is? Do we know what Scripture has to tell us about living together in harmony?
Scott Gunn, the editor of the publication Forward Day by Day, tells us that a “recent study revealed that Episcopalians are about the most spiritually content people around.” For Gunn, this is not good news. People who are spiritually healthy, he suggests, are not content with what they learned of God in confirmation class, especially when that event was decades ago. Rather, he tells us, “People who are spiritually healthy want to grow and learn, to always look for the next step in their journey.” That includes us. You say you’ve already read the Bible from cover to cover? You say you’ve been going to church as long as you can remember, and you’ve heard these passages from Scripture hundreds of times? Scott Gunn reminds us – and I would strongly second his observation – that “every time I study any passage in the scriptures, even one I’ve read dozens of times, I grow and learn.”1
Advent is a time a think about the promises and prophecies that God has made to us and to all people, prophecies we hear first in the Hebrew Scriptures and prophecies that are restated in the Christian scriptures. Advent is a time to wonder who the one more powerful than John the Baptizer really is. Our understandings of Jesus and God should change and evolve as a result of our life experiences. Ideally, Advent is a time to take stock, and to see whether we are growing in an appreciation of God’s love and mercy, towards ourselves and towards all people. Advent is a time to make a fresh start and a new commitment, a commitment to renewing our cooperation with God and to hearing again what God is telling us through Scripture.
So here’s my challenge to you: let’s study the Scriptures together. It’s a new Church year. Let’s make a new year’s resolution to study the Bible together. Here are some possibilities. They’re not mutually exclusive. One is an online study of a commentary on the Gospel of Matthew. A second is a face-to-face bi-weekly meeting to do the same, i.e., to study the Gospel of Matthew. For example, we could meet two Tuesday afternoons a week. Another would be a period of Bible study either before the Eucharist or after coffee hour. Yet another possibility would be to make 2014 our year for the Bible Challenge, in which we commit to reading the entire Bible during the calendar year. During our potluck, I will ask you how ready you are to renew your commitment to letting Scripture instruct you.
Studying the Bible is not an end in itself. We don’t get special treatment or brownie points from God because we can quote Scripture. The Sadducees could quote the Torah, and the Pharisees knew both the Torah and the other writings. Even the devil could quote Scripture, as we learn from the stories of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness.
So here’s the good news. Our Scriptures are a gift from God! They were written, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, to reinforce our trust in God and our hope for the realization of God’s future. They equip us to live holy lives and to share the good news with others. Most important, they enable us to show forth our praise of God, “not only with our lips, but in our lives.” May God enable us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” our scriptures, and may the Word that we hear become flesh in us.
1. Forward Day by Day (Cincinnati: Forward Movement, 2013), Thursday, December 5.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Put on the Armor of Light
“… the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light ….”
Why do we light candles on a wreath of greens? Although the Advent wreath has been part of our tradition as Episcopalians for a long time, no one quite knows its origin. Some think that pre-Germanic people used wreaths with lit candles during December as a sign of hope for the warmth and light of spring. Others think that Scandinavian people lighted candles around a wheel and prayed to the god of light to turn “the wheel of earth” back toward the sun and bring back longer and warmer days. By the Middle Ages, Christians had adopted this tradition and used Advent wreaths to help prepare for Christmas.
Actually, it’s not hard to see why the Advent wreath became a Christian symbol, and why we still use it today. The greens of the wreath – evergreens – remind us of continuing life. The circle, which has neither beginning nor end, symbolizes the eternity of God, the immortality of our own souls, and the new life of the resurrection. The purple candles symbolize the prayer, sacrifice, and good works that are part of this season. The pink candle, which we light on the third Sunday in Advent, Gaudete Sunday, or Rejoice Sunday, symbolizes joy and hope, joy for the celebration of Jesus’ first coming and hope for his expected second coming to judge the world and renew creation. Finally, the light of the candles signifies Christ, the Light of the World, the light that dispels darkness, the light of the new day that is already dawning.
It is just this wonderful image of the light of the dawning of a new day that we heard in our reading from Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians. Unlike his other letters, Paul was not writing here to a community that he had personally founded. And this may well have been his last letter, as it sounds something like his “last will and testament.” If you read it through – and I encourage you to go beyond the snippets of the letter that we hear in the lectionary – you will discover that Paul spends much of it wrestling with the implications of the transformed – and transforming – way of life to which he understands disciples of Jesus to be called. Although Paul respects the way of life of the Jews around him, as a follower of Jesus he has come to realize that the ritual requirements and dietary restrictions of Hebrew law no longer bind followers of Jesus. Rather, Jesus’ disciples are called to a life epitomized by love.
We hear this call clearly in the verses immediately preceding our lection: “Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet’; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law” (Rom. 13:8-10). Do you hear the commandment in this kind of love? Love here is not a sappy, sentimental, or romantic feeling; it is a way of behaving that wants only to benefit another person. Paul’s charge here then? As followers of Jesus we are called to a transformed way of life that is grounded in love.
In the piece of this wonderful letter that we just heard, Paul uses the images of night and dawn to emphasize his point. In effect, he is telling the Roman Christians – with some urgency – to get up and get dressed for a new day. Whether or not the second coming of Jesus is imminent – and it’s not clear what at this point in his life Paul believed about Jesus’ second coming – it is clear that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus brought about a turning point in time, a “new day.” From now on, Christians are called to dream with God of a new heaven, a new earth, a new way of being human beings made in God’s image. As those baptized into his body, the Roman Christians are now living in a new time. Just as those who were baptized took off their old clothes and put on new white robes, the Roman Christians – and we – have entered a new time, a time in which we are called to exchange the nightgowns and pajamas of the old life for the “armor of light,” for Sunday clothes, for the clothes of newly transformed people.
As we begin preparing to enter into that new day, as we lay out the armor of light, what, we might ask, are the night clothes that we must first take off? One way to answer that question is that we are told – commanded – to give up all those old habits that dull our senses and all those uncaring behaviors that destroy our relationships. Here’s another way of thinking about what night clothes we might remove. To put on the joy of the new day, the true joy of this season, first we might remove “the fears and pains that weigh us down, that we carry around like heavy wool coats, that we try to wrap up in festive themes” during this “holiday season.”1 Perhaps what we really need is an oasis of silence, a place to be quiet for a few moments, a place where we might open our hearts and share with God all that is really on our minds. .
Second, we might take off our feelings of isolation. Although our culture encourages our hyper-individualism, as Christians we are never only single cells. We are called to be members of a community, always in relationship with others, in families, workplaces, parishes, villages, and communities across the globe. While we are enjoying our full refrigerators and warm houses, this is the time to take off our blinders. This is the time to see that there are many people – some right here in this town – who have no parties, no warm clothes, no heat, and no reason for joy or hope. And third perhaps we might take off our guilt. Putting on the armor of light, the clothes of a new day, does not require us to be ashamed of what we have. Rather, we are always called to share with others some of the many gifts with which God has blessed us.
We too are included in Paul’s commandments. We too are called to take off night clothes and put on the clothes of a new day. What might that look like at St. Peter’s? Perhaps if we wish to live into a new day as a parish we might continue to ensure that our worship truly reflects our tradition and is true to the people we are today, in 2013. Our life as a Christian community in the Anglican tradition did not stop in 1549 or 1662 or even 1928. We must also continue to grow in our faith and Christian practice, both as individuals and as a parish. You have all continued to grow as people since middle school and high school. Has your understanding of your faith similarly continued to grow? More to the point, are we helping each other grow as mature, faithful people? Finally, we must also grow in our understanding of ministry. To what new ministries in this new day is God calling us? Do we have the courage to take off old ways of doing things and put on new responses to the needs of those around us? Are we far-sighted enough to see on the horizon God’s reign breaking in?
I spent the summer of 2006 doing a chaplaincy internship at Children’s Hospital in Columbus. Nine times during the ten weeks I was there I was called to be on call for twenty-four hours. One of those nine nights I waited with three generations of an anxious family while a newborn infant was in surgery. The prognosis had not been good. Indeed, after some time, the surgeon came out and told the family that the surgery had not helped, and that the infant would be taken off artificial life support. At the request of the family, I baptized the infant and waited with them until he died. Then we wept and prayed together. It was a long night. As I was returning to my little room on an upper floor of the hospital, the first streaks of dawn were already appearing. As I prayed one last time for the child and his family, I did so with a heavy heart, but also with the certainty that God would receive him, bless his grieving family, and eventually bring us all to that day when grief and crying are no more.
It’s still dark out. But the first streaks of dawn are already appearing on the horizon. We the followers of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, continue to pray for his coming, into our own lives today, and into the future of which he has already shown us a glimpse. As we light our Advent candles, as we enjoy their glow, we remember the light that is coming. We rejoice in God’s gifts to us, and, with the Roman Christians, and all of Christ’s faithful disciples, we put on the new clothes of that glorious day.
1. Catherine A. Caimono at faithandleadership.com (11/23/10), quoted in Synthesis December 1, 2013; and following. well.
Why do we light candles on a wreath of greens? Although the Advent wreath has been part of our tradition as Episcopalians for a long time, no one quite knows its origin. Some think that pre-Germanic people used wreaths with lit candles during December as a sign of hope for the warmth and light of spring. Others think that Scandinavian people lighted candles around a wheel and prayed to the god of light to turn “the wheel of earth” back toward the sun and bring back longer and warmer days. By the Middle Ages, Christians had adopted this tradition and used Advent wreaths to help prepare for Christmas.
Actually, it’s not hard to see why the Advent wreath became a Christian symbol, and why we still use it today. The greens of the wreath – evergreens – remind us of continuing life. The circle, which has neither beginning nor end, symbolizes the eternity of God, the immortality of our own souls, and the new life of the resurrection. The purple candles symbolize the prayer, sacrifice, and good works that are part of this season. The pink candle, which we light on the third Sunday in Advent, Gaudete Sunday, or Rejoice Sunday, symbolizes joy and hope, joy for the celebration of Jesus’ first coming and hope for his expected second coming to judge the world and renew creation. Finally, the light of the candles signifies Christ, the Light of the World, the light that dispels darkness, the light of the new day that is already dawning.
It is just this wonderful image of the light of the dawning of a new day that we heard in our reading from Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians. Unlike his other letters, Paul was not writing here to a community that he had personally founded. And this may well have been his last letter, as it sounds something like his “last will and testament.” If you read it through – and I encourage you to go beyond the snippets of the letter that we hear in the lectionary – you will discover that Paul spends much of it wrestling with the implications of the transformed – and transforming – way of life to which he understands disciples of Jesus to be called. Although Paul respects the way of life of the Jews around him, as a follower of Jesus he has come to realize that the ritual requirements and dietary restrictions of Hebrew law no longer bind followers of Jesus. Rather, Jesus’ disciples are called to a life epitomized by love.
We hear this call clearly in the verses immediately preceding our lection: “Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet’; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law” (Rom. 13:8-10). Do you hear the commandment in this kind of love? Love here is not a sappy, sentimental, or romantic feeling; it is a way of behaving that wants only to benefit another person. Paul’s charge here then? As followers of Jesus we are called to a transformed way of life that is grounded in love.
In the piece of this wonderful letter that we just heard, Paul uses the images of night and dawn to emphasize his point. In effect, he is telling the Roman Christians – with some urgency – to get up and get dressed for a new day. Whether or not the second coming of Jesus is imminent – and it’s not clear what at this point in his life Paul believed about Jesus’ second coming – it is clear that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus brought about a turning point in time, a “new day.” From now on, Christians are called to dream with God of a new heaven, a new earth, a new way of being human beings made in God’s image. As those baptized into his body, the Roman Christians are now living in a new time. Just as those who were baptized took off their old clothes and put on new white robes, the Roman Christians – and we – have entered a new time, a time in which we are called to exchange the nightgowns and pajamas of the old life for the “armor of light,” for Sunday clothes, for the clothes of newly transformed people.
As we begin preparing to enter into that new day, as we lay out the armor of light, what, we might ask, are the night clothes that we must first take off? One way to answer that question is that we are told – commanded – to give up all those old habits that dull our senses and all those uncaring behaviors that destroy our relationships. Here’s another way of thinking about what night clothes we might remove. To put on the joy of the new day, the true joy of this season, first we might remove “the fears and pains that weigh us down, that we carry around like heavy wool coats, that we try to wrap up in festive themes” during this “holiday season.”1 Perhaps what we really need is an oasis of silence, a place to be quiet for a few moments, a place where we might open our hearts and share with God all that is really on our minds. .
Second, we might take off our feelings of isolation. Although our culture encourages our hyper-individualism, as Christians we are never only single cells. We are called to be members of a community, always in relationship with others, in families, workplaces, parishes, villages, and communities across the globe. While we are enjoying our full refrigerators and warm houses, this is the time to take off our blinders. This is the time to see that there are many people – some right here in this town – who have no parties, no warm clothes, no heat, and no reason for joy or hope. And third perhaps we might take off our guilt. Putting on the armor of light, the clothes of a new day, does not require us to be ashamed of what we have. Rather, we are always called to share with others some of the many gifts with which God has blessed us.
We too are included in Paul’s commandments. We too are called to take off night clothes and put on the clothes of a new day. What might that look like at St. Peter’s? Perhaps if we wish to live into a new day as a parish we might continue to ensure that our worship truly reflects our tradition and is true to the people we are today, in 2013. Our life as a Christian community in the Anglican tradition did not stop in 1549 or 1662 or even 1928. We must also continue to grow in our faith and Christian practice, both as individuals and as a parish. You have all continued to grow as people since middle school and high school. Has your understanding of your faith similarly continued to grow? More to the point, are we helping each other grow as mature, faithful people? Finally, we must also grow in our understanding of ministry. To what new ministries in this new day is God calling us? Do we have the courage to take off old ways of doing things and put on new responses to the needs of those around us? Are we far-sighted enough to see on the horizon God’s reign breaking in?
I spent the summer of 2006 doing a chaplaincy internship at Children’s Hospital in Columbus. Nine times during the ten weeks I was there I was called to be on call for twenty-four hours. One of those nine nights I waited with three generations of an anxious family while a newborn infant was in surgery. The prognosis had not been good. Indeed, after some time, the surgeon came out and told the family that the surgery had not helped, and that the infant would be taken off artificial life support. At the request of the family, I baptized the infant and waited with them until he died. Then we wept and prayed together. It was a long night. As I was returning to my little room on an upper floor of the hospital, the first streaks of dawn were already appearing. As I prayed one last time for the child and his family, I did so with a heavy heart, but also with the certainty that God would receive him, bless his grieving family, and eventually bring us all to that day when grief and crying are no more.
It’s still dark out. But the first streaks of dawn are already appearing on the horizon. We the followers of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, continue to pray for his coming, into our own lives today, and into the future of which he has already shown us a glimpse. As we light our Advent candles, as we enjoy their glow, we remember the light that is coming. We rejoice in God’s gifts to us, and, with the Roman Christians, and all of Christ’s faithful disciples, we put on the new clothes of that glorious day.
1. Catherine A. Caimono at faithandleadership.com (11/23/10), quoted in Synthesis December 1, 2013; and following. well.
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