When Once You Have Turned Back

Don’t you find yourself shaking your head at Peter? How could he have so proudly boasted that he would go to prison and even death with Jesus? Really, what a strange journey it’s been for Peter. It all began with that miraculous catch of fish, that moment when he caught a glimpse of who Jesus truly was. In that moment he also knew the truth about himself, and he tried to chase Jesus away, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man.” But he followed Jesus anyway and accepted his call to “catch people.” He became the de facto spokesperson for the band of disciples. He was the first to acknowledge Jesus as the Son of God, but he was also the first to deny the possibility of Jesus’ death on the cross, making Jesus so angry that Jesus said, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

Now Peter and the rest of the disciples are here in Jerusalem. A few days ago they watched the excited crowds hail Jesus’ coming. Then as they hid from the authorities, they ate that last meal with Jesus in constant fear. Jesus warned them that the Enemy would be severely testing them, but Peter boasted that he would follow Jesus to prison or even death! Countering Peter’s bravado, the Lord predicted that Peter would deny him three times! And, of course, Jesus’ prediction was right on the mark. First Peter denied his relationship with Jesus: “I do not know him.” Second, he denied his relationship with the other disciples, saying that he was not one of them. And third, he denied even being a Galilean, in effect writing off the entire experience with Jesus that had begun in Galilee. With the cock’s crow, Peter knew that Jesus had spoken truly. Peter realized that, despite everything he had experienced in Jesus’ presence, despite everything he had learned as a disciple, that he had been right about himself all along: “I am a sinful man.”

Ah, now, maybe, instead of shaking our heads at Peter, can we see ourselves in him – when we’re being honest with ourselves perhaps? At the beginning of our relationship with Jesus, many of us feel ourselves unworthy of his calling. We too want to say, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful person.” In baptism we turn our backs on our old life, are born again with water and the Holy Spirit, and join with the rest of the Christian community in trying to live up to our calling – and to all those promises we made. And yet, as we walk our Christian journey, we too waver in our commitment to Jesus. Sometimes, we acknowledge him as the Lord of our lives, sometimes we stand with those crowds, as we did today, praising his entrance into Jerusalem, and sometimes we even bravely boast that we will follow him anywhere – even to prison and death, as some of today’s Christian martyrs do. Just as often, though, if someone asks us, we can deny that we ever knew him. We can fall away from the Church and even forget that we were ever baptized into Christ’s body. We might even find ourselves among those calling out, “Crucify him!” The Enemy hasn’t stopped wanting to sift us – all of us, even those with a clerical collar around our necks. Our commitment to Jesus will be tested in myriad ways throughout our lives. And sometimes, like Peter, we will fail the test.

But the cock’s crow isn’t the end of the story. When the cock crows, Peter doesn’t throw up his hands and run away. When the cock crows, something else happens: the Lord turns and looks at Peter. And Peter looks back and feels Jesus’ gaze, looks back into Jesus’ eyes. And then looking into Jesus’ eyes, Peter remembers what Jesus had said, how Jesus had known all along that Peter would deny him. And in that moment, Peter is invited by Jesus back into relationship. Jesus’ gaze causes Peter to “weep bitterly,” but in that moment of weeping, he is reconnected with Jesus. Peter’s repentance begins, and he knows himself to be forgiven. Perhaps too, looking back into Jesus’ eyes, Peter remembers Jesus’ other words to him: “when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.” Weeping bitterly, acknowledging yet more deeply his own sinfulness, but repentant, and yet forgiven, Peter will indeed emerge after the Resurrection as one of the strongest leaders of the fledgling community of Jesus’ followers.

So, my sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. God knows us through and through. God knows our strengths and our limitations. God knows that like Peter we are weak, sinful human beings. God knows that the Enemy will challenge us. But Jesus has already prayed for us and will continue to pray for us. Jesus has already seen beyond our betrayals to what we still have the potential to become. When we repent, when we turn back to Jesus, when we return his gaze, when we come back into relationship with him, then we too are forgiven and strengthened for leadership in the Christian community.

In these weeks of Lent, we have, with God’s help, been pondering our own shortcomings and failures. But we have also heard again and again of God’s forgiveness. The collect for Ash Wednesday assures us in no uncertain terms of God’s forgiveness: “you hate nothing that you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent.” Two weeks ago, in hearing that great parable of the forgiven sons, we know that God eagerly waits for us to return to relationship with him and extends forgiveness to us without reserve or condition. Last week, we heard in our Epistle lesson Paul’s reminder to keep the deepening of our relationship with Jesus as the most important goal of our lives. On this Sunday, when we praise God for all that Jesus willingly endured on our behalf, we know that our own human weakness, and even the challenges of the Enemy, are not the end of our story. As we travel this Holy Week, we continue to look beyond sin, both our own sins and those of others, beyond pain, sorrow, and death to the Easter joy that awaits those who turn back to Jesus and fix their eyes on him.

I Press on Toward the Goal

The third chapter of that aprocyphal Gospel Alice in Wonderland begins with a bedraggled group of birds, animals, and Alice herself coming out of a pool “wet, cross, and uncomfortable.” How to get dry? The Dodo proposes a Caucus race. “What is a Caucus race,” Alice wondered. Proceeding to demonstrate, the Dodo marked out a circular course and placed the party along it, here and there. All began running and stopping as they liked. After half an hour, all were dry, and the Dodo declared the race over. “Who has won?” the group asked him. After some thought, the Dodo responded that all had won and must have prizes. Prizes? All pointed to Alice, who in despair pulled a box of small candies from her pocket and handed them out. “But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the Mouse. Searching her pocket once more, Alice found a thimble, which she handed over to the Dodo. Saying, “we beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble,” the Dodo solemnly presented it to her, while the rest of the group cheered.

St. Paul, of course had never heard of a Caucus race, since mathematician Lewis Carroll didn’t write Alice in Wonderland until 1865. But perhaps when he wrote his letter to the Christians in Philippi he had in mind something like a race in which all competed and all won a prize. As the Book of Acts tells us, Paul had founded this Christian community and seems to have maintained a cordial relationship with its members. At the time of writing this letter, he was nearing the end of his life and was in prison, possibly for the last time before his execution in Rome. Fortunately, no great issues seemed to divide the Philippian Christians. Indeed, Paul seems to have written to them chiefly to reassure them that he was well and to thank them for sending him one of their number, a disciple named Epaphroditus. At the same time, Paul knew that there were divisive forces at work in this community. Home to several different ethnic groups, Philippi was a cosmopolitan city. Within the small Christian community, there were those who took pride in their highly valued Roman citizenship, those who took pride in the purity of their Jewish origins, and those who, in joining the Christian way, felt the same kind of antagonism toward Jews that Jews had historically felt toward Gentiles. As Paul reflected on his own life, and the shape his life had taken since his momentous encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, he felt called to urge the Philippian Christians to continue to focus on the real goal of their life in Christ, to keep only one goal in mind, that of knowing Christ.

Paul begins here by reminding the Philippians that he himself has the most impeccable pedigree for a Jew, and that “as to righteousness under the law,” he was “blameless.” And yet, Paul tells them, all such markers of human status, whether Roman citizenship, ethnic purity, or visible leadership roles in the church, all such markers of human status are worse than worthless. They are “rubbish,” more exactly “excrement,” or “refuse.” Such markers are meaningless in God’s economy. What is more important, when we focus on our own heritage or accomplishment, we cannot focus on God. When we concern ourselves with the heritage or achievements of others, we cannot fully welcome them into the Body of Christ. The status that Paul prizes – and urges the Philippians to prize – is the righteousness that comes from faith. Paul’s goal in life is not the acquisition of more status symbols. Rather, as he tells them, “I want to know Christ” and share in his sufferings – that is the whole goal of the Christian life. What does “knowing Christ” mean? Knowing Christ means acknowledging what Christ has done for us and accepting Christ’s claim on us. Knowing Christ means becoming as empty of human status as Christ became of divine status and earnestly striving to do Christ’s will in all things. As long as we are in this life, we cannot fully attain this goal of knowing Christ, but, like good athletes, we discipline our bodies, we don’t look behind us, we run the track we are on, and we keep our eye on the prize. We go for the gold remembering that the goal of knowing Christ is the great prize that surpasses anything else we might gain or desire in this life.

So what is the goal that you are pursuing in life? What prize is your eye on? What do we need to leave behind or at least pay less attention to in order to focus more clearly on our goal as Christians? What are the status markers in our lives that keep us from wholeheartedly growing in our knowledge of Christ? Do we need to live in the right neighborhood, buy the right clothes, or vacation in the right places? Do we need to go to the right church or worship with the right liturgy? Do we need to insist on the correctness of our opinions, the rightness of our causes, our need to hear an apology from one who has wronged us, rather than to offer the hand of forgiveness? If we are claimed by Christ, seized by Christ, “marked as Christ’s own forever,” are we pursuing what really matters, paying attention ultimately only to Christ? This Lent we have been asked to engage in the hard work of giving up those things that deflect us from Christ, knowing that, in the end, growth in our life in Christ demands giving up, in the words of T.S. Eliot, “no less than everything?”

My sisters and brothers, this is the reason for anything we do this Lent: to know Christ more deeply. Ultimately, as we run toward that goal, we focus less on what we have given up and more on what we have taken on as we deepen our knowledge of Christ. Although in some sense, our race is a marathon, demanding every ounce of our commitment and energy to finish, in some sense perhaps too our race is a Caucus race. We are all on different parts of the circle. Our lives begin and end at different times. We all run our race according to the gifts and skills that we have been given. Last Wednesday we began thinking about ministry and what our particular gifts for ministry are. As we focus on the prize, perhaps some are gifted in prayer and are called to a more contemplative life. Perhaps those engaged in an active working life are called to pursue that life in a God-centered way, much as Brother Lawrence did in the kitchen of his monastery, daily remembering that God is at work in our lives and knowing that all we do is for the glory of God and can be used by God to bring in God’s Kingdom. For some, keeping our eye on the prize means expanding an existing ministry or taking on a new ministry, for example, finally completing the establishment of St. Peter’s as an Ohio Benefits Bank site. And for some, going for the gold means truly giving up an old life and redefining one’s life in a totally new way.

George Macleod was born in 1895 in Glasgow into a highly respected Scottish family. His grandfather had been a chaplain to Queen Victoria, his father had been a successful politician and business man, and his mother had come from a wealthy and distinguished family. George himself was heir to a baronetcy. Just as he finished his education at Oxford, World War I broke out. George saw service in several war zones. He was so profoundly affected by his wartime experiences that he decided to train for the ministry. Turning his back on wealthy parishes, in 1930 he became minister to a poor parish in Glasgow. There he encountered the effects of poverty on real people’s lives. His devotion to the work was so intense that he suffered a breakdown. Recuperating in Jerusalem, he went to an Orthodox church on Easter Day 1933. There he understood in a new and deeper way that the church was called to be the Body of Christ in the world. Giving up the financial security of a minister’s stipend, in 1938 he founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical community dedicated to social justice. With the help of ministers, students, and unemployed laborers, he restored the historic abbey on the holy island of Iona. Through his efforts the Iona community grew into an international community, with offices in Glasgow and a continuing presence on the Isle of Iona. Though no longer a minister, until his death in 1991 Macleod exercised a profound influence on the Scottish Church. Although some dismissed him, he helped many others to understand the importance of pursuing social justice concerns ecumenically. More importantly, through his founding of the Iona Community he helped develop new forms of ministry outside denominational structures.

Like George Macleod, and like those in the Caucus race, God has called all of us to run the race and win the prize. God has called, seized, marked, gifted, and redeemed all of us. God is always going ahead of us, always doing a new thing. May we too keep our eye on the prize, forgetting what lies behind and pressing forward to the goal of deeper knowledge of Christ.

This Fellow Welcomes Sinners

“This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Every week people of every sort and in every possible condition imaginable gather around the altar of the Church of St. Gregory of Nyssa in San Francisco. Some of them may have gathered with the rest of the congregation on Sunday to partake of the Eucharist from that altar. However, on a weekday, they gather to receive physical food – cans and boxes, fresh produce, bread, and meat. Many of them are people with whom you and I would hesitate to rub shoulders, people from whom we would probably turn away, people whom we would cross the street to avoid. They are poor and uneducated. They are recovering druggies and alcoholics. Some were prostitutes, some spent time in prison. Some are homeless. They are men and women, old people and children. They represent every ethnicity found in San Francisco. They have one thing in common: they are hungry. And every week they receive food – eleven tons of it altogether. They “taste God in “holy food and groceries,” says Sara Miles, the founder of St. Gregory’s food program. Everyone who comes receives food, there are no tests of worthiness or deservedness, and no one is turned away.

In its welcome of all, St. Gregory of Nyssa practices what some have called “radical hospitality.” St. Gregory of Nyssa uses its altar to feed both bodies and souls. St Gregory of Nyssa also welcomes all in yet another important way. Everyone who wants to volunteer is given a job. No one is denied the gift of contributing to the food give-away. Even the homeless people are allowed to volunteer. There are only a few rules for volunteers: volunteers must not be intoxicated, they must not steal, and they must train two more people to do their job in case they cannot. Beyond these few rules, all, whether “inappropriate or unqualified,” are welcomed as valued members of the program, and they are accepted as necessary to its operation.

Radical hospitality. If Jesus were walking among us today, perhaps he would visit St. Gregory of Nyssa. Perhaps he would welcome and break bread with all that motley and diverse group of people who find their way to St. Gregory’s. Perhaps he would bless their efforts to reach out to all those in need. Indeed, our Gospel for today shows us a Jesus who could and did offer radical hospitality in the flesh. We’re still on the road with Jesus, heading towards Jerusalem and the events that we know will take place there. In Luke’s account, Jesus keeps stopping to teach his followers. Much to the consternation of the religious leaders, Jesus’ influence seems to extend well beyond his inner circle. In the incident depicted in today’s reading, the “tax collectors and sinners” are crowding around him, eager to take in his teachings, eager to be fed by him spiritually. The religious leaders are aghast. They criticize Jesus, saying in effect, doesn’t he know any better than to associate – and defile himself by eating – with people like that, a supposedly learned rabbi like him? Not addressing the religious leaders directly, Jesus answers their criticism by telling three stories. Two of them we will hear in September, i.e., the story of the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine sheep to go in search of the one that was lost, and the story of the woman sweeping the corners of her house until she has found the coin that she lost. We hear the third of the three stories today. All three stories are about the finding of something “lost,” about the return to community of something separated from that community. All three also end with joy and celebration. All three, in answering the criticism of the Pharisees and scribes, shed light on Jesus’ understanding of his mission and the kind of community he is creating.

To begin with, through the figure of the father in the story we learn that Jesus eagerly waits for people to come into his community of love. No matter what people have done, Jesus is waiting for them. Jesus sees people coming from far away and comes running to them, closing the gap between him and them. And Jesus expects only one thing of them: that they “come to themselves,” or “come to their senses,” i.e., that they acknowledge that they are children of God, creatures, not self-made, self-dependent entities, and that they understand themselves as members of God’s family, God’s beloved community. Wherever they come from, wherever they’ve been, whatever they have or haven’t done, they are welcome: Jesus doesn’t ask people to show their identity card, their honorable discharge papers, or their diploma before welcoming them. Moreover, Jesus doesn’t ask for breast-beating or groveling. He only asks that those who come to him know who they are in relation to God. So note that the younger son’s first – and in my opinion most important – word is not “I have sinned,” or “I am not worthy.” Not that acknowledging one’s sin is unimportant – we say the confession in every Eucharist. The most important word the younger son says is “Father.” Acknowledging God’s reality is all that is needed for Jesus’ gracious acknowledgement and embrace of his followers, and no one who acknowledges Jesus is excluded from his embrace. Like the folks at St. Gregory of Nyssa, everyone is welcome. What is most important, the return of anyone to the fold of God’s love is an occasion for rejoicing, for bringing out the best clothes, the best food, the musicians, and the leaders of the dances.

And note this. Jesus’ welcome also includes those self-righteous Pharisees and scribes, those, who like the elder brother refuse to acknowledge a relationship with the “lost” who have returned, refuse to consider the possibility that they too need to be “found,” and refuse to participate in the radical hospitality that Jesus models for them. Unfortunately, the story and the Gospel account both leave us hanging. Did the elder brother break down and join the party? Did any of the Pharisees and scribes come to accept that others besides themselves could be welcomed by God? We don’t know. Perhaps in God’s good time they all did.

So where do we find ourselves in this story? Here’s a radical thought: the Church, both in its individual parishes like this one and as a whole, is the Body of Christ. The Church is Christ incarnate and manifest in the world. Could the father in this story possibly be an image for the church itself? Could a faith community whose model is Jesus, whose members strive to grow into the fullness of Christ, could such a community be like the father in this story and extend that same kind of radical welcome to all who come through its doors? Could such a community go out and meet those who are still on the way and welcome them into a community of faith? Those of us who are already here have perhaps experienced in our own personal lives the radical welcome that Jesus offers. We too know that whatever we have been, whatever we have done or not done, whether we were divorced, whether we were alcoholics, whether we spent time in prison, whether we are rich or poor, male or female, young or old, Asian, Latino, Anglo, African-American, or anything in between, we are welcome in this place.

But if we are the Body of Christ, we are also called to offer that radical welcome to others. In the promises we make or reaffirm at Baptism we pledge to “seek and serve Christ in all people.” Did you hear that word, “seek?” If we are to be a faith community whose members strive to be Christ in the world, then we too are to go out of the church and seek those who need to be welcomed by our community. In that seeking, how do we treat those who are hungry? Do we ask them why they are hungry? Do we try to determine whether they deserve our help? Or do we just feed them? Who are the lost among us? Who are the unwelcome among us? In our “Undie Sunday” (on Saturday), we begin to model a community that seeks the needy, that welcomes all without conditions. Are there other ways that we can be more like Jesus? Other ways we can do what St. Gregory of Nyssa does? What else can we do to be the radically welcoming community that Jesus has called us to be?

“This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So may it be said of us!

Change Your Thinking

Why did they tell him about those Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices? Jesus was now on the way to Jerusalem, ready to face his own trial. It’s true that he had been teaching his disciples and others about God’s judgment, and he had healed some people, but why did his questioners want to know what he thought about those Galileans, of all people? Were they just curious about what this Galilean teacher would say about something that had happened to his own people? Since Jesus had been talking about judgment, were these questioners looking to Jesus to validate their sense that surely these Galileans had done something really bad to bring such disaster on themselves? Were they trying to see if this teacher knew why such bad things happen? Did they think that God punishes people for their sins by bringing disaster on them? And were they also hoping then that they could keep bad things from happening to them by avoiding whatever the Galileans had done, and by keeping an angry God appeased through the right sacrifices and beliefs?

Don’t we also ask the same questions when disaster strikes? When the earthquake struck Haiti, didn’t we ask exactly the same question? Didn’t we come up with plausible answers about what the Haitians had “done wrong?” “The government is corrupt,” we said. “They have no building codes. They deforested the land, so they have to build with concrete.” Did you agree with Pat Robertson, who told us that the Haitians had made a pact with Satan during their freedom struggle two hundred years ago, and that’s why God was punishing them now? Do you believe that’s why all those Haitians died, because God was punishing them? Or how about when Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans? Didn’t we blame the Army Corps of Engineers for not building good enough levees? Or did you agree with the commentator who said that God used Katrina to punish New Orleans because of the sin of abortion? When a student is assaulted in the parking lot of her apartment complex, do we ask why she was there at 12:30 at night? Was God perhaps punishing her for having sex with her boyfriend? When personal tragedy strikes, many of us do say similar things. When I was a chaplain-intern at Children’s Hospital, I stood with a mother as her young son was being wheeled into surgery. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “God is punishing me for my sins by making him sick.” “No, no, no,” I said. “God isn’t like that.”

In some ways, tragedy would be easier for us to bear if we truly thought that God is vindictive and vengeful. We want to have a God whose world operates the way we think it should operate, i.e., in which every effect has an identifiable cause. We want to see bad people punished, and ourselves rewarded for not doing whatever it was that they did. Ultimately, we want to be in control of what happens. We want to have a reason why bad things happen, even if it’s our own weakness and sinfulness. That’s better than no reason at all.

How does Jesus answer those who asked about the Galileans, and, by implication, us, since we ask similar questions? Just as I answered the mother at Children’s Hospital, Jesus says, in effect, “No, no, no, God isn’t like that.” Jesus doesn’t go into a long theological discourse on God’s nature or on why bad things happen. Instead he pointedly asks them if they truly think the Galileans, or the people on whom the Tower of Siloam fell, were especially sinful. Then he tells his questioners to “repent.” Actually, the verb used in the Greek, although often translated “repent,” also means to change one’s thinking. “Change your thinking,” he answers them. There isn’t a quid pro quo in the universe. God doesn’t work that way. God doesn’t punish people that way. Bad things happen, and they happen to both bad and good people. Bad things happen even to innocent people. There’s no magic or sure-fire way to avoid disaster. Even going to the Temple every Sabbath or offering all the prescribed sacrifices won’t keep disaster from striking or accidents from happening. We can search out all the reasons for tragedy. We can point to human free will that allows people to hurt each other. We can suggest that natural disasters happen, because creation is still incomplete. We can even point to the ways in which human actions may make natural disasters even worse. But we can’t always understand why bad things happen. Nor can we understand why one person is struck, and another escapes. In the end, we have to accept that suffering and death are mysteries. We have to accept that human life is fragile: we never know when disaster will strike, accidents will happen, or people will get sick.

“Change your thinking,” Jesus tells us. Understand that we’re all under a death sentence. Understand that in this broken and sinful world bad things happen to everyone, that no one is immune from disaster, not even if you pray every day and come to church every Sunday. Realize that life is fragile, and that bad things can happen at any time. Knowing that life is fragile, and that we can return to the dust from whence we came at any time, and without any notice, be prepared. Treasure your families, loved ones, friends, and acquaintances. Never miss an opportunity to express your love, admiration, care, and concern for them. Forgive old hurts, let go of old resentments, and restrain your anger. Continue this Lent and always to re-examine your choices in life. What is more important, whatever your age, whether you’re in your twenties or your eighties, put your affairs in order. Get out of debt. If you have dependents, buy life insurance, even if all you can afford is reducing term insurance. Make a will – it’s the best gift you can give to your family. Indeed, the Book of Common Prayer reminds me that, “The Minister of the Congregation is directed to instruct the people, from time to time, about the duty of Christian parents to make prudent provision for the well-being of their families, and of all persons to make wills, while they are in health, arranging for the disposal of their temporal goods, not neglecting, if they are able, to leave bequests for religious and charitable uses (445).” Consider yourselves so instructed. Since modern medicine can prolong our lives beyond anything the ancients could have imagined, have advanced directives. Name someone to function as your health care power of attorney, i.e., someone who can make decisions about your care, if you are no longer able to do so. Put your wishes in writing, and be clear about what they are. Don’t end up like Terri Schaivo. Do you remember her? She collapsed in the hallway of her St. Petersburg apartment and spent the next fifteen years in a vegetative state, while her husband and her parents wrangled about what her wishes were for the end of her life.

At this point, you’re probably saying to yourself, “Where’s the good news, Mo. Leslie?” Here’s the good news. This week, Jean Zaché Duracin, the Episcopal bishop of Haiti, reminded the rest of the church that the situation is still very serious in Haiti. Many still have no homes, many children have not yet returned to school, much of the infrastructure of the country has been destroyed, and many famous churches, including Trinity Cathedral in Port au Prince, are gone. Nevertheless, many parishes are growing, because people are turning to the church for spiritual, moral, and social help. What is most important, the church in Haiti is committed to rebuilding all its communities. Calling for the rest of the church to continue to remember and help Haiti, Duracin proclaimed that,”The earthquake on January 12th was our baptism, now is our new creation.”

And so, we remember that human life is fragile and can end unexpectedly. We try to prepare ourselves as best we can, asking God, as we do in the Great Litany, to deliver us “from dying suddenly and unprepared.” And then, having done all that, we turn back to God. We remember how much God loves us. Every time you say the Lord’s Prayer remember that God does not punish us for our sins, but willingly forgives us, even before we acknowledge our shortcomings. Remember that the life you have is a gift from God. Remember that God has graced and gifted you for God’s work in the world. Remember that, just as God heard the cries of the Israelites in Egypt and sent Moses to lead them out, God hears our cries of pain and leads us out of suffering and despair. Remember that God came among us in the flesh and experienced death alongside us. And most of all, remember that in Jesus the Christ God brings forth healing and hope from ruin and disaster, God brings forth life from death.

Join in Imitating Me

Do you have a personal hero or heroine? Whose personal qualities or accomplishments inspire you? Who do you see as someone who is doing God’s work in the world? Maybe your role model is a spouse, a parent, or a friend. Perhaps it’s a character in a book, or a saint on our church’s calendar. For many Marian Wright Edelman is a model of someone who is dedicated to Christ and to doing God’s work in the world. Born in segregated Bennettsville, SC in 1939, Marian was the fifth and youngest child of a Baptist minister. Although her father died when she was fourteen, Marian never forgot his reminders that being a Christian means serving the world. She tells us, “Daddy used to say that God ran a full-employment economy. Just follow the needs.” After graduating from Spelman College, she entered Yale Law School and became the first African American woman to be admitted to the Mississippi bar. In addition to working for the NAACP, in 1968 she moved to Washington, DC, where she advised Martin Luther King’s Poor People’s Campaign. In Washington she also became interested in children’s development and poverty. In 1973, she founded the Children's Defense Fund to speak for poor, minority and disabled children and to research the needs and concerns of children. As the leader of the CDF, Wright Edelman persuaded Congress to overhaul foster care, support adoption, improve child care, and protect children who are disabled, homeless, abused, or neglected. She has written over a dozen books and received many awards for her work, including a MacArthur fellowship and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. What’s more important, as a person of faith she reminds us that, “When Jesus Christ asked little children to come to him, he didn't say only rich children, or white children, or children with two-parent families, or children who didn't have a mental or physical handicap. He said, ‘Let all children come unto me.’” For many of us, in her passionate advocacy for children and her dedication to “the least of these,” Marian Wright Edelman provides a moving example of a faithful disciple of Christ, someone who in her own life models Christ for us.

Who are your heroes or heroines? Who are your heroes or heroines, Paul asks the Christian community at Phillipi. Who do you want to imitate? Paul himself had had an overwhelming conversion experience on the road to Damascus. As he began to preach Christ crucified and risen, he realized that to complete the transformation he had experienced he would have to imitate Christ, conform himself to Christ, every day of his life. In our reading from his letter to the new Christians at Philippi Paul urges them to press forward in singleheartedly modeling themselves after Christ. Although Paul called this community his “joy and crown,” the Philippians needed this reminder. Philippi was located on the Via Egnatia, the highway that linked Rome with Asia Minor. A cosmopolitan city, Philippi contained people of many different philosophical persuasions and spiritual practices. The few Jews in the city thought that those Jews who believed that Jesus was the Messiah were making a mockery of their ancient faith. On the other hand, some of the Jewish Christians were Judaizers, extremists who believed that all followers of Jesus, including Gentiles, should be circumcised and should follow all the Jewish dietary laws. Some others perhaps were Gnostics who regularly took part in sexual orgies. Some others took advantage of their special status as Roman citizens. Although this Christian community was likely mostly Gentile in origin, it would have been easy for its members to get sidetracked from their devotion to Christ. There were so many differences among them that might cause disharmony, dissension, and strife. The Philippian Christians all needed a role model whom they could follow, a hero or heroine who could inspire them as they grew into Christian maturity.

Paul suggests that they look to him, the founder of their community, as a role model of faith. He makes this suggestion, not because he is proud or arrogant, but because he really wants the Philippians to join with him in imitating Christ and to model themselves after those who are true followers of Christ. While the Cross may have its enemies, he tells them, true followers of Christ look to those who exemplify a life dedicated to Christ. These are the people who must be their role models, not the Judaizers, nor the hedonists, nor those who flaunt their Roman citizenship. As baptized Christians, as people who have had the cross marked on their foreheads, as people who have left behind the values of this world, they are called to live out their commitment to servant leadership, in imitation of Paul himself, and ultimately, in imitation of Christ. For some, as it did for Paul, that commitment may even mean imitating Christ in his martyrdom.

Who are your heroes or heroines? Who are your role models of faith? Who are the role models of faith and Christ-like living for this parish? Whom do we model our lives after? Last month, in one of our readings from Paul’s letter to the fractious Corinthian Christians, we discovered that love is a verb, and that those who come together in Christian community, who want to grow together as mature Christians, learn to treat each other in ways that reflect their commitment to living as Jesus’ followers. Are there any such communities that can be models of faithful life for us? For many throughout the centuries, monastic communities have been models of Christian community. Even today, the sisters of the Community of the Holy Spirit in New York or the Community of the Transfiguration in Cincinnati, the brothers of the Society of St. John the Evangelist in Boston or at Three Rivers Abbey in Michigan, the monks of the Trappist monastery in Kentucky, all exemplify communities who are dedicated to living in conformity with Christ and that reflect back to the world their commitment to Christ. But what of non-monastic communities, communities of ordinary lay folks? Are there any such communities who can be role models of the Christian life for us? Within the last decade, a “New Monasticism” movement has taken shape. Born out of a desire for what its founders call “a grassroots ecumenism and a prophetic witness within the North American church,” member communities of this movement share certain characteristics. These marks of community include location in what are called “the abandoned places of Empire,” hospitality to strangers, active pursuit of racial reconciliation, “intentional formation in the way of Christ and the rule of the community,” caring in common for a plot of land, and commitment to a disciplined prayer life. Right here in Ohio, a group calling themselves Common Friars has begun to live as an intentional community at the Good Earth Mission Farm in Athens. In Cincinnati the Walnut Hills Fellowship is a group of inner-city neighbors “learning to love each other and the rest of the world according to the teachings of Jesus.” At Kent State University Kairos House is an intentional student community that lives, works, and studies together. In all these communities, and in the many others in other parts of the country, members treat each other with love and respect, encourage each other to remain firmly focused on Christ, live out their Christian commitment in all aspects of their lives, and reach out to the communities around them to do the work God has set before them.

Who are your role models? Who inspires you? Where are true followers of Christ to be found whom we can imitate? What could our parishes become if we took our Christian commitment seriously and modeled ourselves after one of these new communities? Wouldn’t we grow and flourish as people who love and care for each other? Wouldn’t we be better prepared to do God’s work in the world? Wouldn’t others know that we are Christians by the way we live out our lives together? Here’s my Lenten challenge for you. When you get home, think of two different people who model Christ for you, who inspire you in your Christian walk. Reflect on what it is that these people model for you. Is it possible to tell them how much they have helped you grow? If so, do it. Then think of one Christian community that inspires and encourages you. If you can’t think of any, Google The New Monasticism on the web. Or go to the Good Earth Farm on Tuesday evenings and share their Eucharist. Learn about one of these communities. Then ask, what can our parishes learn from them? Is there any way we can join in imitating them? Can we too more fully seek and serve Christ in all persons, and more truly love our neighbors as ourselves? We can, with God’s help.