“Say what, Lord? Did I hear you right?” Ananias was dumbfounded. He had just had a vision in which God told him to go to the house of a certain Judas on Straight Street and seek out Saul of Tarsus, to lay hands on him. Ananias was terrified. “Lord,” Ananias said, “not this man. He has been persecuting us, and even now, he has the authority to arrest us all.” “Nevertheless,” replied the Lord, “you must go to him. He is my chosen instrument who will spread the good news about me to both Jews and Gentiles.” Although Ananias felt as if he were literally risking his life, he threw caution to the winds, went to Judas’s house, and laid hands on Saul.
Saul was surely God’s chosen instrument. He himself had had a terrifying encounter with the risen Lord on the road leading into Damascus. Struck blind, he waited for three days for Ananias to come and lay hands on him. No doubt Ananias was also there when Saul became a member of Christ’s Body in baptism. After that, Saul, or Paul as we know him from his Latin name, became a formidable preacher, founder, and letter writer who laid the foundation for the rapid spread of the Gospel among Gentile communities. However, Paul wasn’t the only instrument in this story. Without Ananias, would Paul have become such a great preacher and evangelist? Without Ananias’ ministry, quite possibly Paul’s ministry would have died on the vine. Fortunately for the church and for us, Ananias overcame his fear and headed for Straight Street, ready to face whatever the Lord had for him there. Let’s look for a minute at what Ananias did. First of all, he overcame his personal prejudices. Despite Saul’s reputation, Ananias was willing to embrace him in the Lord’s name, and even managed to call him “Brother Saul.” He also dared to believe in transformation: he believed that, despite what Saul had been, it was possible that the Lord had really transformed him into a preacher of the Gospel. What is most important, Ananias overcame his personal fears and trusted the Lord’s words to him. He was able to take a great risk.
Ananias was hardly alone in risking his own personal safety in order to follow the Lord’s call. Our Scriptures are full of the stories of those who risked their safety and security to follow God’s call. How about Abraham? He was comfortably settled in Ur of the Chaldees when God told him to pack up and go to the land of Canaan. God even promised him that, although Abraham and his wife Sarah were childless and over seventy, that their descendants would be as numerous as the stars. How about Moses? He was hiding out from the authorities working as a shepherd for his father-in-law when God told him to go to Pharaoh and persuade him to let the Israelites leave Egypt. Worse, at the edge of the Sea of Reeds, God told Moses to lead the people right into the water! How about Mary? She was betrothed but not yet married, and she hadn’t slept with her fiancée yet, when the angel Gabriel announced to her that God wanted her to bear God’s son, who was to be the savior of his people. And Jesus? As they left the upper room that last night, didn’t he know that the religious and civil authorities were out to get him? Shouldn’t he have said to his followers, “We’re out of here folks. If we move fast, we can get away before they find us.” Instead, he fulfilled his destiny and went to Gethsemane. Even Peter. He kept his promises to Jesus to feed Jesus’ sheep, risking his life and ultimately following his Lord to a martyr’s death. How did they all do it? Quite simply, they trusted God, they set their faces in the direction they believed God was asking them to go, and they went.
And what of us? Can we follow in the footsteps of Abraham, Moses, Mary, Peter, and Ananias? In this post-9/11 world we think that we can ensure safety and security through better surveillance and a “war on terror.” But, my friends, following God’s call has always been risky. Saul was only the first of many persecutors of the early Christian community. Until well into the fourth century, it was a crime to be a Christian in the Roman empire! During the Reformation, non-conformists, to the Roman Church, or even to the Church of England for more than two centuries, faced legal and social discrimination. Today in Palestine, Iraq, Iran, India, China, and parts of Africa, followers of our Lord face imprisonment or even worse. Perhaps, for us, the risks that we are asked to take to follow our Lord pale in comparison to the risks taken by Christians in other countries. But there are still risks, even if they are only risks of time, talent, and treasure!
There are no certainties in this faith life, there is no safety and security when God has your cell phone number. When once you have heard God’s call, when once you are a member of the Body of Christ, all you can do is set your face in God’s direction and go. On April 20, 1964, when Apartheid in South Africa was in full sway, Nelson Mandela proclaimed his commitment to an inclusive, democratic, and free society. It was, Mandela said, “an ideal which I hope to live for and achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.” After twenty-seven faithful years in prison, Mandela lived to see his vision fulfilled. Six years ago, I was like Abraham, happily ensconced in my position as dean. Then the Lord said, “Give up your academic career, go to seminary, and become a priest.” “Say what, Lord? Did I hear you right?” And like Ananias, I screwed up my courage and went.
There are no certainties in this faith life. There is only what Roman Catholic social activist Dorothy Day called “precarity,” precariousness, or rather faith in God and dependence on God, despite God’s call to what seems wildly risky business. Parishes too face “precarity.” God is always calling us out in faith, always calling us out to take risks so that the Gospel may continue to be proclaimed. United Methodist Bishop Robert Schnase suggests five ways in which parishes, if they want to flourish and grow, are called to take risks. I’d like to suggest what Schnase’s strategies might look like in our context. First, a parish is called to practice radical hospitality: reaching out in genuine welcome to all in our community who yearn to hear the good news of God in Christ and listening deeply to hear what people’s needs actually are. Second, a parish is called to embrace passionate worship, worship that really connects us to God, that enables us to enter into the mystery of God present to us in Word and Sacrament. For us, especially, passionate worship also includes worship that unites the best from both our rich liturgical tradition with the rich variety of contemporary liturgies. Third, a parish must engage in intentional faith development. Our education as Christians wasn’t completed when the bishop laid hands on us in confirmation. A vibrant and healthy parish constantly engages in formation and offers to its members opportunities to grow and mature in faith. Later this year, I will challenge you to join with me again in just such transformative education. Fourth, we must be about risk-taking mission and service, we must engage in mission that stretches us as a parish. We must look hard at our gifts and abilities and the needs of the community and the world, and ask ourselves where they intersect, where we can continue fulfilling our baptismal promise to “seek and serve Christ in all people.” Finally, we must practice extravagant generosity. Among other things, extravagant generosity means letting God have first claim on our resources – all our resources. Historically for Christians extravagant generosity has meant the tithe, giving one-tenth of one’s income back to God. At the very least generosity means intentional, proportional giving, intentionally dedicating a portion of our resources to God and to mission, in gratitude for everything God has given us. When we put first in our lives our obligations to God, including our obligations to give of our resources, our whole relationship to God and to the people around us radically changes. These are all risky behaviors, but they are all the risks that a parish needs to take in order to grow and flourish.
There are no certainties in this faith life, neither for individuals nor for parishes. The only certainty is that we are called to go where God leads us. We are all called to screw up our courage, head for Straight Street and lay hands on a former persecutor. Ananias, we see you heading out the door. By God’s grace, we’re right behind you.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
So I Send You
The electricity had gone off in the cramped apartment in Armenia . Across a table lit only by a single candle Vigen Guroian’s friend Kevork related his sorrowful tale. It had been a sunny day in December, 1988. An earthquake of such magnitude struck Armenia that the high-rise apartment building in which Kevork and his family had lived was demolished. Kevork and his wife had already left for work, but their two children, ten-year old Armen and seven year-old Lillit were still home when the quake struck. The two children were buried in the rubble for three days. Although both were rescued, Armen died in the hospital, and Lillit was seriously injured. Still locked in his grief, Kevork shouted at Vigen, “I have argued with God day and night! But God has not answered!” Determined to speak to his friend’s hopelessness and despair, Vigen asked if Kevork had a Bible. Kevork had a Russian Bible that someone had given him, and a Russian-Armenian dictionary. Vigen got out his English Bible and Armenian-English dictionary. In the candlelight, both men began to read the 15th chapter of Paul’s first letter to the Christians at Corinth, the chapter in which Paul triumphantly proclaims the resurrection of the body. After several readings, Kevork’s face began to glow. “Vigen,” he shouted, “It says we will have bodies. I will see Armen’s face again, just as I see yours now in the candlelight!” It was promised. Vigen had courageously reached out to Kevork with the good news: Christ is risen. Death has been swallowed up in Victory! And now Kevork knew it too. Kevork too had been brought into that inexplicably joyful fellowship of eternal life in Christ.
On that Easter evening, Jesus’ friends would easily have understood Kevork’s feelings. Huddled together in a locked room, sure that the religious authorities would do to them what they had done to Jesus, they were wracked with fear and regret. Why had they followed Jesus in the first place? Why hadn’t God’s reign come, as they were so sure it would? Could the whole Jesus thing have been temporary madness? Why had they left their homes, their families, their businesses to wind up huddled together like hopeless fugitives? And then Jesus came into that room. He allayed their fears and forgave them for their weakness, regret, faithlessness, and betrayal. He showed them his resurrected body, with all its signs of what he had endured on the cross. The crucified one was now the resurrected one, and the disciples could not contain their joy! But was their joy short-lived? For, immediately the crucified and resurrected one charged them, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you!” Back to the Cross? Maybe! And then he breathed on them! This is the only place in the New Testament where the verb “to breathe” occurs. Just as God breathed life into Adam, just as God called the breath from the Four Winds and brought the dry bones of the House of Israel back to life, so now did Jesus breathe new life into his friends. And immediately, immediately, as soon as the new and life-giving air entered their lungs, the disciples were on their feet to receive an Apostolic Commission. The empowerment that came with the new Spirit was for a purpose: they were to go out into the world and do what Jesus did. They were to have the courage to leave behind all their fears, their locked rooms, their locked churches. They were to go out to carry on Jesus’ work. They were to heal the sick, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring new life to the despairing. They were to proclaim Jesus’ victory over sin and death. They were to release others from the hell of despair and grief. They were to bring the exiles back home to the Father. They were to gather others into the community of love and eternal life in Jesus’ name. They were to bear witness unceasingly to the love of God shown forth so gloriously in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
“As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” This, my sisters and brothers, is the heart of John’s Gospel, indeed of our entire story as Christians. We are charged to proclaim by word and deed what we know and what we have experienced ourselves of the saving acts of God in Christ. We too have the Holy Spirit given to us in baptism, and we too are charged to not remain in our locked rooms, our locked churches, waiting in fear. We too are sent into the world. The words that Jesus spoke to the disciples in John’s Gospel he also speaks to us: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you, people of St. Peter’s and Grace.” We too are to go out into the world courageously proclaiming the risen Christ and continuing his work. One way to do that is to find those areas in our world where we need to bring the risen Christ. Glen Echo Presbyterian Church in Columbus has been sending mission teams to Fort Liberte in Haiti since 2003. On February 12th, in the wake of the earthquake that had devastated Haiti a month before, they set off for another mission trip, their luggage crammed with clothing and other items needed by their Haitian friends. It was a hard week at the clinic at which they worked. First, the generator broke down, leaving them without air conditioning or lights. They needed more translators for the Sunday clinic. They had to do medical triage. Torrential rains threatened one of the clinic walls. Their transportation didn’t always show up. Eight days and over 1300 patients later, the group was ready to head for home. They had saved lives and lessened the pain and discomfort of many. They had given away food, clothing, and money. What was most important, they had visibly brought Christ’s healing presence to the people of Fort Liberte, helping them to remember, that Christians empowered by the Holy Spirit can still bring the blessings of God’s reign to those who are hurting or in despair.
Mission trips are wonderful, and nothing would please me more than to see groups go our from our parishes. But perhaps we don’t have to go to Haiti to fulfill Jesus’ commission. Mission trips, valuable as they are, are not our only vehicles for doing God’s will. For some of us, remaining faithful to our commission in this place, “blooming where we are planted,” may be just as true a way to fulfill our commission as a mission trip, even if we don’t know what the future will bring, even if we aren’t sure we will have all the resources that we will need. Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, the author of The Wisdom of Stability, tell us about his friend Mary Nelson. In 1968 she went to the West Side of Chicago to help her brother settle into his new Lutheran parish. She’d only planned to stay a summer, but the neighborhood was torn by riots, and she wanted to help the parish ease its neighbors’ pain. She is still there, and many of her hopes for the neighborhood have indeed been realized. She has served for twenty-six years as head of a ministry that she founded that provides affordable health care, help with employment, affordable housing, after-school programs for kids, and a support network for the elderly. How did all this happen, Wilson-Hartgrove asks? The answer: Mary (and many others) chose to stay and work for a better community. The desert father Anthony tells us, “In whatever place you find yourself, do not easily leave it.” Mary Nelson and many others embody this wise counsel.
My friends, we too have the privilege of embodying Abba Anthony’s counsel. Green shoots have begun to poke up through the hard, dry soil of both our parishes. At St. Peter’s we will baptize two more children next week. We have a successful diaper give-away at the Lutheran Social Services food distribution site across the street. We are about to open our site for the Ohio Benefit Bank. Our web page will soon be up and running again. We have a flourishing children’s Sunday school. At Grace we baptized the granddaughter of a family member at the Easter Vigil. The Sunday School is also up and going again, and we are hosting the Vacation Bible School this year. We have helped to breathe new life into the Pomeroy cluster of the Meigs Cooperative parish, and we had the third of our highly successful offerings of gift cards to the community. Indeed, Richelle Thompson, our diocesan communications officer, posted pictures of our Undie Saturday on her Facebook page, along with the Holy Week activities of other congregations in the diocese. The shoots have appeared. Will the shoots continue to grow? By God’s grace, they will have a chance to grow if we continue to remain stable, faithful, and committed, if we are willing to commit our resources to the life of this place. They will grow if we look to the future, not wondering if all the resources we need will indeed be there, but trusting God to work God’s will in this place, as in all places. The green shoots will grow if we can leave fear behind and let ourselves be sent out into the world. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
Kevork's story comes from “Descended into hell,” by Vigen Guroian, Christian Century, 127, 6 (March 23, 2010), 26-29). Guroian uses the story as a beginning point for his discussion of Armenian icons of Christ’s descent into hell.
Glen Echo Presbyterian’s trip is described in a series of articles in the Columbus Dispatch, beginning on Feb. 12, 2010.
Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, “Searching for Community in a Hyper-Mobile Culture,” God’s Politics, a blog by Jim Wallis, April 6, 2010, http://blog.sojo.net/2010/04/06/searching-for-community-in-a-hyper-mobile-culture/ .
On that Easter evening, Jesus’ friends would easily have understood Kevork’s feelings. Huddled together in a locked room, sure that the religious authorities would do to them what they had done to Jesus, they were wracked with fear and regret. Why had they followed Jesus in the first place? Why hadn’t God’s reign come, as they were so sure it would? Could the whole Jesus thing have been temporary madness? Why had they left their homes, their families, their businesses to wind up huddled together like hopeless fugitives? And then Jesus came into that room. He allayed their fears and forgave them for their weakness, regret, faithlessness, and betrayal. He showed them his resurrected body, with all its signs of what he had endured on the cross. The crucified one was now the resurrected one, and the disciples could not contain their joy! But was their joy short-lived? For, immediately the crucified and resurrected one charged them, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you!” Back to the Cross? Maybe! And then he breathed on them! This is the only place in the New Testament where the verb “to breathe” occurs. Just as God breathed life into Adam, just as God called the breath from the Four Winds and brought the dry bones of the House of Israel back to life, so now did Jesus breathe new life into his friends. And immediately, immediately, as soon as the new and life-giving air entered their lungs, the disciples were on their feet to receive an Apostolic Commission. The empowerment that came with the new Spirit was for a purpose: they were to go out into the world and do what Jesus did. They were to have the courage to leave behind all their fears, their locked rooms, their locked churches. They were to go out to carry on Jesus’ work. They were to heal the sick, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring new life to the despairing. They were to proclaim Jesus’ victory over sin and death. They were to release others from the hell of despair and grief. They were to bring the exiles back home to the Father. They were to gather others into the community of love and eternal life in Jesus’ name. They were to bear witness unceasingly to the love of God shown forth so gloriously in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
“As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” This, my sisters and brothers, is the heart of John’s Gospel, indeed of our entire story as Christians. We are charged to proclaim by word and deed what we know and what we have experienced ourselves of the saving acts of God in Christ. We too have the Holy Spirit given to us in baptism, and we too are charged to not remain in our locked rooms, our locked churches, waiting in fear. We too are sent into the world. The words that Jesus spoke to the disciples in John’s Gospel he also speaks to us: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you, people of St. Peter’s and Grace.” We too are to go out into the world courageously proclaiming the risen Christ and continuing his work. One way to do that is to find those areas in our world where we need to bring the risen Christ. Glen Echo Presbyterian Church in Columbus has been sending mission teams to Fort Liberte in Haiti since 2003. On February 12th, in the wake of the earthquake that had devastated Haiti a month before, they set off for another mission trip, their luggage crammed with clothing and other items needed by their Haitian friends. It was a hard week at the clinic at which they worked. First, the generator broke down, leaving them without air conditioning or lights. They needed more translators for the Sunday clinic. They had to do medical triage. Torrential rains threatened one of the clinic walls. Their transportation didn’t always show up. Eight days and over 1300 patients later, the group was ready to head for home. They had saved lives and lessened the pain and discomfort of many. They had given away food, clothing, and money. What was most important, they had visibly brought Christ’s healing presence to the people of Fort Liberte, helping them to remember, that Christians empowered by the Holy Spirit can still bring the blessings of God’s reign to those who are hurting or in despair.
Mission trips are wonderful, and nothing would please me more than to see groups go our from our parishes. But perhaps we don’t have to go to Haiti to fulfill Jesus’ commission. Mission trips, valuable as they are, are not our only vehicles for doing God’s will. For some of us, remaining faithful to our commission in this place, “blooming where we are planted,” may be just as true a way to fulfill our commission as a mission trip, even if we don’t know what the future will bring, even if we aren’t sure we will have all the resources that we will need. Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, the author of The Wisdom of Stability, tell us about his friend Mary Nelson. In 1968 she went to the West Side of Chicago to help her brother settle into his new Lutheran parish. She’d only planned to stay a summer, but the neighborhood was torn by riots, and she wanted to help the parish ease its neighbors’ pain. She is still there, and many of her hopes for the neighborhood have indeed been realized. She has served for twenty-six years as head of a ministry that she founded that provides affordable health care, help with employment, affordable housing, after-school programs for kids, and a support network for the elderly. How did all this happen, Wilson-Hartgrove asks? The answer: Mary (and many others) chose to stay and work for a better community. The desert father Anthony tells us, “In whatever place you find yourself, do not easily leave it.” Mary Nelson and many others embody this wise counsel.
My friends, we too have the privilege of embodying Abba Anthony’s counsel. Green shoots have begun to poke up through the hard, dry soil of both our parishes. At St. Peter’s we will baptize two more children next week. We have a successful diaper give-away at the Lutheran Social Services food distribution site across the street. We are about to open our site for the Ohio Benefit Bank. Our web page will soon be up and running again. We have a flourishing children’s Sunday school. At Grace we baptized the granddaughter of a family member at the Easter Vigil. The Sunday School is also up and going again, and we are hosting the Vacation Bible School this year. We have helped to breathe new life into the Pomeroy cluster of the Meigs Cooperative parish, and we had the third of our highly successful offerings of gift cards to the community. Indeed, Richelle Thompson, our diocesan communications officer, posted pictures of our Undie Saturday on her Facebook page, along with the Holy Week activities of other congregations in the diocese. The shoots have appeared. Will the shoots continue to grow? By God’s grace, they will have a chance to grow if we continue to remain stable, faithful, and committed, if we are willing to commit our resources to the life of this place. They will grow if we look to the future, not wondering if all the resources we need will indeed be there, but trusting God to work God’s will in this place, as in all places. The green shoots will grow if we can leave fear behind and let ourselves be sent out into the world. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
Kevork's story comes from “Descended into hell,” by Vigen Guroian, Christian Century, 127, 6 (March 23, 2010), 26-29). Guroian uses the story as a beginning point for his discussion of Armenian icons of Christ’s descent into hell.
Glen Echo Presbyterian’s trip is described in a series of articles in the Columbus Dispatch, beginning on Feb. 12, 2010.
Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, “Searching for Community in a Hyper-Mobile Culture,” God’s Politics, a blog by Jim Wallis, April 6, 2010, http://blog.sojo.net/2010/04/06/searching-for-community-in-a-hyper-mobile-culture/ .
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Why Do You Look for the Living Among the Dead?
“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” They were baffled, those faithful women. He had died on Friday afternoon, just as the Sabbath was beginning, so they couldn’t prepare his body. He had been executed as a criminal. They had to put him in a strange, unused tomb, then they rolled the big, round stone, the one that looked like a huge chariot wheel, over the entrance. It was done. The Light had gone out of their lives forever. But the women, those ever-faithful women, came back on the first day of the week to finally take care of his body. And they were baffled. The big round stone had been rolled away, his body was gone, and the two dazzling angels reminded them of what he had said: don’t you remember how he told you so early on that he would be executed, and that on the third day he would rise again? And they did remember! They did remember that he had indeed said all that! And so they told his friends! But, of course, since they were women, no one believed them. Except maybe Peter. He went running over there to see for himself, but even he couldn’t figure out what happened. He was baffled!
Are you also baffled? Most of us are. Someone rising from the dead absolutely defies reason! It just doesn’t happen! I’ve been to many funerals, and I never saw anyone come back to life in a new and different body, and neither probably did you. In dreams maybe, but not in a new and perfected body. The Resurrection is an absolutely unique event in human history. In the last two hundred years, we’ve all become such skeptics. If we didn’t see something with our own eyes, even though most of us know that even our own eyes are untrustworthy witnesses, if we ourselves didn’t see something, then it didn’t happen. Or, if we don’t have an absolutely convincing, water-tight historical record, then as far as we’re concerned an event didn’t happen. If science can’t replicate the event, then for sure it didn’t happen. We weren’t there, we didn’t see it happen, and we can’t fit it into the neat boxes of our limited, human reason, so how could the Resurrection have happened? Like the women and Peter, we are baffled. You may even wonder why you are here in a church celebrating such an unlikely event! You know this celebration is about more than bunnies, and springtime, and girls in new dresses. But what is this day really about?
Something happened the first day of that week so long ago! Jesus’ friends discovered that what he had promised them actually happened. He had fulfilled all his own prophecies. He had conquered death and was alive again in a new and different body. The experience of Jesus alive again was so powerful that his followers collected, treasured, remembered, and eventually wrote down all the eye-witness accounts of people who had seen Jesus alive again. Paul tells us that, besides Jesus’ closest friends, five hundred people saw him alive. Paul himself met Jesus on the road to Damascus. All of our Gospels record the testimony of those who found Jesus alive again. One of the many compelling accounts of Jesus’ showing himself to his disciples alive again was one we won’t hear this Easter tide. Perhaps you remember it. In the afternoon of the very same day that the women and Peter came away baffled from the empty tomb, two of Jesus’ friends were walking to the village of Emmaus, about six miles from Jerusalem. Jesus joined them, but, of course they didn’t recognize him. As they were sharing with him their grief over Jesus’ death, Jesus himself began to do Bible study with them, showing them how the Scripture was fulfilled in his Resurrection. When they got to Emmaus Jesus joined them at the table. As he broke and blessed the bread, suddenly they realized it was he! He disappeared from their sight, but they ran all the way back to Jerusalem to tell the others. They were no longer baffled!
Maybe you’re still baffled, but you’re also still here. Perhaps something in your heart still hopes that all those old stories are true. Despite all the skepticism of our age, perhaps in your heart of hearts you still long for resurrection! Actually, you may be surprised to learn that the historical and archeological evidence for the Jesus’ resurrection is quite strong. Taking into account what we know of ancient Jewish society and the remains of it that we have actually found, if there’s any shred of truth in the Gospel accounts, Jesus’ resurrection is the only convincing way to explain them. But history and archeology are not our primary evidence for the resurrection. Our primary evidence for the truth of the Resurrection is the lives that have been changed by encountering the risen Christ. Mary of Magdala and the other women became leading figures in the early Christian community. The men walking to Emmaus told others whose lives were also changed. Peter went from being an illiterate fisherman to a respected leader of a new community. Through his contact with the risen Christ, he became a dedicated and articulate spokesperson for the Way – as we will hear in our readings from the Book of Acts in the weeks to come. Paul was transformed from a persecutor of the fledgling Christian community to a tireless preacher to the Gentiles of the good news of the risen Christ.
What’s most important, the Resurrection has changed our lives! The Resurrection is not about “going to heaven.” In the resurrection we have evidence that the Enemy has been conquered, that God’s reign has begun. We are no longer bound hand and foot by the powers of this world or of the Enemy. We are no longer imprisoned in the depths of our own depressions, addictions, limitations and sinfulness. We are no longer hopeless. Rather, we look ahead to the even greater future that God has waiting for us through the power of the Holy Spirit. Yes, my sisters and brothers, the Resurrection is about the here and now in this world. Our own lives in this world have been changed by the Resurrection. Because of Jesus’ victory, we have eternal life, and the quality of our lives in this world has been changed forever. And God invites us, God invites us every day, not only on Easter, to partake of the blessings of God’s new world order, and to invite everyone we know to come into the community of God’s love. As we roll away the stone from our own hearts, as we spread the good news of life and hope, we encounter the risen Christ for ourselves. Out of death comes new life, and we are no longer baffled!
Out of death comes new life. A writer tells about a school teacher assigned to visit children in the hospital. She was called to visit a particular child. The child’s regular teacher told her, "We’re studying nouns and adverbs in this class now. I’d be grateful if you could help him with his homework, so he doesn’t fall behind the others." When the visiting teacher got to the boy’s room she realized she was in the hospital’s burn unit. No one had prepared her to find a young boy badly burned and in great pain. She didn’t want to just turn around and walk out, so she just said, "I’m the hospital teacher, and your teacher sent me to help you with nouns and adverbs." This boy was in so much pain that he barely responded. The young teacher stumbled through his English lesson, ashamed at putting him through such a senseless exercise. The next morning a nurse on the burn unit asked her, "What did you do to that boy?" Before the teacher could finish apologizing, the nurse interrupted her: "You don’t understand. We’ve been very worried about him. But ever since you were here yesterday, his whole attitude has changed. He’s fighting back; he’s responding to treatment. It’s as if he has decided to live." The boy later explained that he had completely given up hope until he saw the teacher. It all changed when he came to a simple realization. With joyful tears, the boy said: "They wouldn’t send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a boy who was dying, would they?"
We are not baffled. We too have encountered the risen Christ. Even when all we see around us is pain and disappointment, and brokenness, we know that on the other side of pain there is resurrection. The great Easter truth is not that we are to live newly after death. That is not what we celebrate. We are to be new here and now by the power of the Resurrection. Our lives are transformed by the power of the Resurrection. “Let the whole world see and know,” we pray in the liturgy for Good Friday, “that things that were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new.” By the power of Christ’s Resurrection, it shall be so! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!
Are you also baffled? Most of us are. Someone rising from the dead absolutely defies reason! It just doesn’t happen! I’ve been to many funerals, and I never saw anyone come back to life in a new and different body, and neither probably did you. In dreams maybe, but not in a new and perfected body. The Resurrection is an absolutely unique event in human history. In the last two hundred years, we’ve all become such skeptics. If we didn’t see something with our own eyes, even though most of us know that even our own eyes are untrustworthy witnesses, if we ourselves didn’t see something, then it didn’t happen. Or, if we don’t have an absolutely convincing, water-tight historical record, then as far as we’re concerned an event didn’t happen. If science can’t replicate the event, then for sure it didn’t happen. We weren’t there, we didn’t see it happen, and we can’t fit it into the neat boxes of our limited, human reason, so how could the Resurrection have happened? Like the women and Peter, we are baffled. You may even wonder why you are here in a church celebrating such an unlikely event! You know this celebration is about more than bunnies, and springtime, and girls in new dresses. But what is this day really about?
Something happened the first day of that week so long ago! Jesus’ friends discovered that what he had promised them actually happened. He had fulfilled all his own prophecies. He had conquered death and was alive again in a new and different body. The experience of Jesus alive again was so powerful that his followers collected, treasured, remembered, and eventually wrote down all the eye-witness accounts of people who had seen Jesus alive again. Paul tells us that, besides Jesus’ closest friends, five hundred people saw him alive. Paul himself met Jesus on the road to Damascus. All of our Gospels record the testimony of those who found Jesus alive again. One of the many compelling accounts of Jesus’ showing himself to his disciples alive again was one we won’t hear this Easter tide. Perhaps you remember it. In the afternoon of the very same day that the women and Peter came away baffled from the empty tomb, two of Jesus’ friends were walking to the village of Emmaus, about six miles from Jerusalem. Jesus joined them, but, of course they didn’t recognize him. As they were sharing with him their grief over Jesus’ death, Jesus himself began to do Bible study with them, showing them how the Scripture was fulfilled in his Resurrection. When they got to Emmaus Jesus joined them at the table. As he broke and blessed the bread, suddenly they realized it was he! He disappeared from their sight, but they ran all the way back to Jerusalem to tell the others. They were no longer baffled!
Maybe you’re still baffled, but you’re also still here. Perhaps something in your heart still hopes that all those old stories are true. Despite all the skepticism of our age, perhaps in your heart of hearts you still long for resurrection! Actually, you may be surprised to learn that the historical and archeological evidence for the Jesus’ resurrection is quite strong. Taking into account what we know of ancient Jewish society and the remains of it that we have actually found, if there’s any shred of truth in the Gospel accounts, Jesus’ resurrection is the only convincing way to explain them. But history and archeology are not our primary evidence for the resurrection. Our primary evidence for the truth of the Resurrection is the lives that have been changed by encountering the risen Christ. Mary of Magdala and the other women became leading figures in the early Christian community. The men walking to Emmaus told others whose lives were also changed. Peter went from being an illiterate fisherman to a respected leader of a new community. Through his contact with the risen Christ, he became a dedicated and articulate spokesperson for the Way – as we will hear in our readings from the Book of Acts in the weeks to come. Paul was transformed from a persecutor of the fledgling Christian community to a tireless preacher to the Gentiles of the good news of the risen Christ.
What’s most important, the Resurrection has changed our lives! The Resurrection is not about “going to heaven.” In the resurrection we have evidence that the Enemy has been conquered, that God’s reign has begun. We are no longer bound hand and foot by the powers of this world or of the Enemy. We are no longer imprisoned in the depths of our own depressions, addictions, limitations and sinfulness. We are no longer hopeless. Rather, we look ahead to the even greater future that God has waiting for us through the power of the Holy Spirit. Yes, my sisters and brothers, the Resurrection is about the here and now in this world. Our own lives in this world have been changed by the Resurrection. Because of Jesus’ victory, we have eternal life, and the quality of our lives in this world has been changed forever. And God invites us, God invites us every day, not only on Easter, to partake of the blessings of God’s new world order, and to invite everyone we know to come into the community of God’s love. As we roll away the stone from our own hearts, as we spread the good news of life and hope, we encounter the risen Christ for ourselves. Out of death comes new life, and we are no longer baffled!
Out of death comes new life. A writer tells about a school teacher assigned to visit children in the hospital. She was called to visit a particular child. The child’s regular teacher told her, "We’re studying nouns and adverbs in this class now. I’d be grateful if you could help him with his homework, so he doesn’t fall behind the others." When the visiting teacher got to the boy’s room she realized she was in the hospital’s burn unit. No one had prepared her to find a young boy badly burned and in great pain. She didn’t want to just turn around and walk out, so she just said, "I’m the hospital teacher, and your teacher sent me to help you with nouns and adverbs." This boy was in so much pain that he barely responded. The young teacher stumbled through his English lesson, ashamed at putting him through such a senseless exercise. The next morning a nurse on the burn unit asked her, "What did you do to that boy?" Before the teacher could finish apologizing, the nurse interrupted her: "You don’t understand. We’ve been very worried about him. But ever since you were here yesterday, his whole attitude has changed. He’s fighting back; he’s responding to treatment. It’s as if he has decided to live." The boy later explained that he had completely given up hope until he saw the teacher. It all changed when he came to a simple realization. With joyful tears, the boy said: "They wouldn’t send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a boy who was dying, would they?"
We are not baffled. We too have encountered the risen Christ. Even when all we see around us is pain and disappointment, and brokenness, we know that on the other side of pain there is resurrection. The great Easter truth is not that we are to live newly after death. That is not what we celebrate. We are to be new here and now by the power of the Resurrection. Our lives are transformed by the power of the Resurrection. “Let the whole world see and know,” we pray in the liturgy for Good Friday, “that things that were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new.” By the power of Christ’s Resurrection, it shall be so! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I Press on Toward the Goal
The third chapter of that aprocyphal Gospel Alice in Wonderland begins with a bedraggled group of birds, animals, and Alice herself coming out of a pool “wet, cross, and uncomfortable.” How to get dry? The Dodo proposes a Caucus race. “What is a Caucus race,” Alice wondered. Proceeding to demonstrate, the Dodo marked out a circular course and placed the party along it, here and there. All began running and stopping as they liked. After half an hour, all were dry, and the Dodo declared the race over. “Who has won?” the group asked him. After some thought, the Dodo responded that all had won and must have prizes. Prizes? All pointed to Alice, who in despair pulled a box of small candies from her pocket and handed them out. “But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the Mouse. Searching her pocket once more, Alice found a thimble, which she handed over to the Dodo. Saying, “we beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble,” the Dodo solemnly presented it to her, while the rest of the group cheered.
St. Paul, of course had never heard of a Caucus race, since mathematician Lewis Carroll didn’t write Alice in Wonderland until 1865. But perhaps when he wrote his letter to the Christians in Philippi he had in mind something like a race in which all competed and all won a prize. As the Book of Acts tells us, Paul had founded this Christian community and seems to have maintained a cordial relationship with its members. At the time of writing this letter, he was nearing the end of his life and was in prison, possibly for the last time before his execution in Rome. Fortunately, no great issues seemed to divide the Philippian Christians. Indeed, Paul seems to have written to them chiefly to reassure them that he was well and to thank them for sending him one of their number, a disciple named Epaphroditus. At the same time, Paul knew that there were divisive forces at work in this community. Home to several different ethnic groups, Philippi was a cosmopolitan city. Within the small Christian community, there were those who took pride in their highly valued Roman citizenship, those who took pride in the purity of their Jewish origins, and those who, in joining the Christian way, felt the same kind of antagonism toward Jews that Jews had historically felt toward Gentiles. As Paul reflected on his own life, and the shape his life had taken since his momentous encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, he felt called to urge the Philippian Christians to continue to focus on the real goal of their life in Christ, to keep only one goal in mind, that of knowing Christ.
Paul begins here by reminding the Philippians that he himself has the most impeccable pedigree for a Jew, and that “as to righteousness under the law,” he was “blameless.” And yet, Paul tells them, all such markers of human status, whether Roman citizenship, ethnic purity, or visible leadership roles in the church, all such markers of human status are worse than worthless. They are “rubbish,” more exactly “excrement,” or “refuse.” Such markers are meaningless in God’s economy. What is more important, when we focus on our own heritage or accomplishment, we cannot focus on God. When we concern ourselves with the heritage or achievements of others, we cannot fully welcome them into the Body of Christ. The status that Paul prizes – and urges the Philippians to prize – is the righteousness that comes from faith. Paul’s goal in life is not the acquisition of more status symbols. Rather, as he tells them, “I want to know Christ” and share in his sufferings – that is the whole goal of the Christian life. What does “knowing Christ” mean? Knowing Christ means acknowledging what Christ has done for us and accepting Christ’s claim on us. Knowing Christ means becoming as empty of human status as Christ became of divine status and earnestly striving to do Christ’s will in all things. As long as we are in this life, we cannot fully attain this goal of knowing Christ, but, like good athletes, we discipline our bodies, we don’t look behind us, we run the track we are on, and we keep our eye on the prize. We go for the gold remembering that the goal of knowing Christ is the great prize that surpasses anything else we might gain or desire in this life.
So what is the goal that you are pursuing in life? What prize is your eye on? What do we need to leave behind or at least pay less attention to in order to focus more clearly on our goal as Christians? What are the status markers in our lives that keep us from wholeheartedly growing in our knowledge of Christ? Do we need to live in the right neighborhood, buy the right clothes, or vacation in the right places? Do we need to go to the right church or worship with the right liturgy? Do we need to insist on the correctness of our opinions, the rightness of our causes, our need to hear an apology from one who has wronged us, rather than to offer the hand of forgiveness? If we are claimed by Christ, seized by Christ, “marked as Christ’s own forever,” are we pursuing what really matters, paying attention ultimately only to Christ? This Lent we have been asked to engage in the hard work of giving up those things that deflect us from Christ, knowing that, in the end, growth in our life in Christ demands giving up, in the words of T.S. Eliot, “no less than everything?”
My sisters and brothers, this is the reason for anything we do this Lent: to know Christ more deeply. Ultimately, as we run toward that goal, we focus less on what we have given up and more on what we have taken on as we deepen our knowledge of Christ. Although in some sense, our race is a marathon, demanding every ounce of our commitment and energy to finish, in some sense perhaps too our race is a Caucus race. We are all on different parts of the circle. Our lives begin and end at different times. We all run our race according to the gifts and skills that we have been given. Last Wednesday we began thinking about ministry and what our particular gifts for ministry are. As we focus on the prize, perhaps some are gifted in prayer and are called to a more contemplative life. Perhaps those engaged in an active working life are called to pursue that life in a God-centered way, much as Brother Lawrence did in the kitchen of his monastery, daily remembering that God is at work in our lives and knowing that all we do is for the glory of God and can be used by God to bring in God’s Kingdom. For some, keeping our eye on the prize means expanding an existing ministry or taking on a new ministry, for example, finally completing the establishment of St. Peter’s as an Ohio Benefits Bank site. And for some, going for the gold means truly giving up an old life and redefining one’s life in a totally new way.
George Macleod was born in 1895 in Glasgow into a highly respected Scottish family. His grandfather had been a chaplain to Queen Victoria, his father had been a successful politician and business man, and his mother had come from a wealthy and distinguished family. George himself was heir to a baronetcy. Just as he finished his education at Oxford, World War I broke out. George saw service in several war zones. He was so profoundly affected by his wartime experiences that he decided to train for the ministry. Turning his back on wealthy parishes, in 1930 he became minister to a poor parish in Glasgow. There he encountered the effects of poverty on real people’s lives. His devotion to the work was so intense that he suffered a breakdown. Recuperating in Jerusalem, he went to an Orthodox church on Easter Day 1933. There he understood in a new and deeper way that the church was called to be the Body of Christ in the world. Giving up the financial security of a minister’s stipend, in 1938 he founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical community dedicated to social justice. With the help of ministers, students, and unemployed laborers, he restored the historic abbey on the holy island of Iona. Through his efforts the Iona community grew into an international community, with offices in Glasgow and a continuing presence on the Isle of Iona. Though no longer a minister, until his death in 1991 Macleod exercised a profound influence on the Scottish Church. Although some dismissed him, he helped many others to understand the importance of pursuing social justice concerns ecumenically. More importantly, through his founding of the Iona Community he helped develop new forms of ministry outside denominational structures.
Like George Macleod, and like those in the Caucus race, God has called all of us to run the race and win the prize. God has called, seized, marked, gifted, and redeemed all of us. God is always going ahead of us, always doing a new thing. May we too keep our eye on the prize, forgetting what lies behind and pressing forward to the goal of deeper knowledge of Christ.
St. Paul, of course had never heard of a Caucus race, since mathematician Lewis Carroll didn’t write Alice in Wonderland until 1865. But perhaps when he wrote his letter to the Christians in Philippi he had in mind something like a race in which all competed and all won a prize. As the Book of Acts tells us, Paul had founded this Christian community and seems to have maintained a cordial relationship with its members. At the time of writing this letter, he was nearing the end of his life and was in prison, possibly for the last time before his execution in Rome. Fortunately, no great issues seemed to divide the Philippian Christians. Indeed, Paul seems to have written to them chiefly to reassure them that he was well and to thank them for sending him one of their number, a disciple named Epaphroditus. At the same time, Paul knew that there were divisive forces at work in this community. Home to several different ethnic groups, Philippi was a cosmopolitan city. Within the small Christian community, there were those who took pride in their highly valued Roman citizenship, those who took pride in the purity of their Jewish origins, and those who, in joining the Christian way, felt the same kind of antagonism toward Jews that Jews had historically felt toward Gentiles. As Paul reflected on his own life, and the shape his life had taken since his momentous encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, he felt called to urge the Philippian Christians to continue to focus on the real goal of their life in Christ, to keep only one goal in mind, that of knowing Christ.
Paul begins here by reminding the Philippians that he himself has the most impeccable pedigree for a Jew, and that “as to righteousness under the law,” he was “blameless.” And yet, Paul tells them, all such markers of human status, whether Roman citizenship, ethnic purity, or visible leadership roles in the church, all such markers of human status are worse than worthless. They are “rubbish,” more exactly “excrement,” or “refuse.” Such markers are meaningless in God’s economy. What is more important, when we focus on our own heritage or accomplishment, we cannot focus on God. When we concern ourselves with the heritage or achievements of others, we cannot fully welcome them into the Body of Christ. The status that Paul prizes – and urges the Philippians to prize – is the righteousness that comes from faith. Paul’s goal in life is not the acquisition of more status symbols. Rather, as he tells them, “I want to know Christ” and share in his sufferings – that is the whole goal of the Christian life. What does “knowing Christ” mean? Knowing Christ means acknowledging what Christ has done for us and accepting Christ’s claim on us. Knowing Christ means becoming as empty of human status as Christ became of divine status and earnestly striving to do Christ’s will in all things. As long as we are in this life, we cannot fully attain this goal of knowing Christ, but, like good athletes, we discipline our bodies, we don’t look behind us, we run the track we are on, and we keep our eye on the prize. We go for the gold remembering that the goal of knowing Christ is the great prize that surpasses anything else we might gain or desire in this life.
So what is the goal that you are pursuing in life? What prize is your eye on? What do we need to leave behind or at least pay less attention to in order to focus more clearly on our goal as Christians? What are the status markers in our lives that keep us from wholeheartedly growing in our knowledge of Christ? Do we need to live in the right neighborhood, buy the right clothes, or vacation in the right places? Do we need to go to the right church or worship with the right liturgy? Do we need to insist on the correctness of our opinions, the rightness of our causes, our need to hear an apology from one who has wronged us, rather than to offer the hand of forgiveness? If we are claimed by Christ, seized by Christ, “marked as Christ’s own forever,” are we pursuing what really matters, paying attention ultimately only to Christ? This Lent we have been asked to engage in the hard work of giving up those things that deflect us from Christ, knowing that, in the end, growth in our life in Christ demands giving up, in the words of T.S. Eliot, “no less than everything?”
My sisters and brothers, this is the reason for anything we do this Lent: to know Christ more deeply. Ultimately, as we run toward that goal, we focus less on what we have given up and more on what we have taken on as we deepen our knowledge of Christ. Although in some sense, our race is a marathon, demanding every ounce of our commitment and energy to finish, in some sense perhaps too our race is a Caucus race. We are all on different parts of the circle. Our lives begin and end at different times. We all run our race according to the gifts and skills that we have been given. Last Wednesday we began thinking about ministry and what our particular gifts for ministry are. As we focus on the prize, perhaps some are gifted in prayer and are called to a more contemplative life. Perhaps those engaged in an active working life are called to pursue that life in a God-centered way, much as Brother Lawrence did in the kitchen of his monastery, daily remembering that God is at work in our lives and knowing that all we do is for the glory of God and can be used by God to bring in God’s Kingdom. For some, keeping our eye on the prize means expanding an existing ministry or taking on a new ministry, for example, finally completing the establishment of St. Peter’s as an Ohio Benefits Bank site. And for some, going for the gold means truly giving up an old life and redefining one’s life in a totally new way.
George Macleod was born in 1895 in Glasgow into a highly respected Scottish family. His grandfather had been a chaplain to Queen Victoria, his father had been a successful politician and business man, and his mother had come from a wealthy and distinguished family. George himself was heir to a baronetcy. Just as he finished his education at Oxford, World War I broke out. George saw service in several war zones. He was so profoundly affected by his wartime experiences that he decided to train for the ministry. Turning his back on wealthy parishes, in 1930 he became minister to a poor parish in Glasgow. There he encountered the effects of poverty on real people’s lives. His devotion to the work was so intense that he suffered a breakdown. Recuperating in Jerusalem, he went to an Orthodox church on Easter Day 1933. There he understood in a new and deeper way that the church was called to be the Body of Christ in the world. Giving up the financial security of a minister’s stipend, in 1938 he founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical community dedicated to social justice. With the help of ministers, students, and unemployed laborers, he restored the historic abbey on the holy island of Iona. Through his efforts the Iona community grew into an international community, with offices in Glasgow and a continuing presence on the Isle of Iona. Though no longer a minister, until his death in 1991 Macleod exercised a profound influence on the Scottish Church. Although some dismissed him, he helped many others to understand the importance of pursuing social justice concerns ecumenically. More importantly, through his founding of the Iona Community he helped develop new forms of ministry outside denominational structures.
Like George Macleod, and like those in the Caucus race, God has called all of us to run the race and win the prize. God has called, seized, marked, gifted, and redeemed all of us. God is always going ahead of us, always doing a new thing. May we too keep our eye on the prize, forgetting what lies behind and pressing forward to the goal of deeper knowledge of Christ.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
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!
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!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
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.
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.
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