The disciples were panicking. They had thrown in their lot with Jesus, they had left their families, friends, and livelihoods back in Galilee, and they had followed Jesus all the way to Jerusalem. They’d been there with the crowds welcoming him into the city like the next David, but they quickly realized that he had no intention of asserting himself militarily and claiming David’s throne. What then? He’d gathered them in an upper room for a special dinner. A farewell dinner. But then he’d done a strange thing: he behaved as if he were a servant and persuaded the disciples to let him wash their feet. As they were eating, he announced that Judas was going to betray him. How? When? Then, after Judas had hurriedly left, he announced in that commanding voice of his, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.” A little more softly he said, “Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’” The disciples froze. Jesus started to speak again, but the other disciples didn’t hear anything else until Peter blurted out, “Where are you going, Lord?” He didn’t really say. He just kept saying that they couldn’t follow him, and that they should love one another. Philip and Thomas asked him again in different ways where he was going, and he more or less said the same thing. The more he spoke, the more it became clear that he was preparing to die – and he implied that his death was part of God’s plan. The disciples froze. He did say he would send them another Advocate, the “Spirit of Truth,” but what did that mean? What on earth would the disciples do without Jesus? How would their little community survive without him?
In the midst of his speech, Jesus said something that caught them off guard. He said, “I will not leave you orphaned.” The disciples knew very well how desperate life was for orphans. Without a father – or a husband for that matter – children and women had no social place. Unless a relative adopted them or took them into their own household, orphans would most likely become beggars or even die of starvation or exposure. The same for widows, who often were forced to become servants or, worse, prostitutes. The disciples also knew their Scripture. They knew that, because orphans were so vulnerable, God had a special concern for them. Didn’t God say in Deuteronomy that he would hear the orphan’s cry if anyone abused them? Didn’t the psalmist promise that the Lord upholds the way of the orphan and widow? Didn’t all the prophets command them to take care of the orphans and widows? Yes, like orphans, that’s just how the disciples were feeling when they thought about Jesus leaving them. So would God take care of them too?
The disciples paid close attention to the next thing that Jesus said: “On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I in you.” The disciples got a little glimpse of Jesus’ meaning right then and there in the upper room. After his death, resurrection and ascension, really after Pentecost, the disciples finally understood what he had been saying that night. That night Jesus consoled the disciples by making them a promise. He promised them that he himself would dwell amongst them, in the midst of those truly committed to him, in the community he was birthing there among them. He was already looking beyond his own death towards his ascension and towards Pentecost. And so he promised the disciples that through the power of the Holy Spirit, who would come into their hearts, they would have a second Advocate, i.e., another Advocate besides himself. They would have God’s Spirit, who would enable them to participate in Jesus’ God-given life. Just like Jesus, they too would now be sent into the world, they would be empowered to be Jesus in the world, and they would be able to continue his ministry.
The disciples knew well what Jesus’ ministry had been. Hadn’t they watched what he did as they travelled with him? Hadn’t they seen him heal all those people, take care of widows and orphans, calm the storms, drive out demons, feed people, make peace, and call people to join with him in bringing in God’s Reign? They knew what he was talking about when he commanded them to “love one another as I have loved you.” They’d seen him demonstrate that love in the world. And they realized that with the Holy Spirit in them they would be called and empowered to do everything that Jesus did – including reaching out to those who felt orphaned and abandoned themselves.
My friends, are we too sharing some of the disciples’ panic? Do you feel a little like orphans here in this place? We might wonder, has God abandoned us? Does the diocese care about us? Does anyone in this community care about us? Do even some of our former members care about whether St. Peter’s survives or not? What’s going to happen next? Hear again Jesus’ promise: “I will not leave you orphaned.” We may feel cut off, we may feel as if scarcely anyone cares about us. But the good news is that God loves us in Jesus! God asks us to trust him, and God is always present with us through the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is at work in and through us, even when we don’t recognize the Spirit’s power. We may feel lonely and cut off, but we have Jesus’ promise: “I will not leave you orphaned.” We have not been abandoned! We can trust that God will show us what our ministry in this place can be, and how we are to continue to be Jesus in the world – in new and different ways from the ones that worked for earlier generations in this parish. We can trust that that second Advocate will also empower us all to heal the sick, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and be good stewards of our environment. And if we know a little of the feeling of possible abandonment, perhaps we too can reach out to care for the orphans and widows among us.
I want to tell you a story, a story that’s particularly appropriate for this Memorial Day weekend. I want to tell you about three people living in Bangor, Maine, people who would have understood the disciples’ panic, who themselves might have felt orphaned, but who reached out to others anyway. Jerry’s beloved dog was dying, and he was battling a heart condition. Joan was none too steady on her feet and worried about slipping on the ice in her driveway, which in central Maine is possible for at least half the year. She also worried about her granddaughter who was deploying to Afghanistan as a helicopter pilot. Bill was drowning in debt, was trying to get his old farmhouse cleaned up for sale, and was being treated for prostate cancer. Bangor, their home town, is a small city four hours north of Boston and close to the Canadian border. It once boasted a Strategic Air Command base, so it has a huge airport, one big enough to land jumbo jets from overseas. Consequently, since 2003 it has been the first domestic airport for troops arriving home from Iraq and Afghanistan. Jerry, Joan, and Bill might have felt like orphans themselves – or given in to understandable self-pity. Instead, they realized that soldiers far from home and family might also feel like orphans. Empowered by the Spirit, Jerry, Joan, and Bill banded together with about a dozen other retirees to meet every troop plane landing in Bangor. Many arrive in the middle of the night. No matter. When they get the word, Joan starts the telephone tree, and they all converge on the airport – at any time of day or night. They applaud the returning troops as they exit the jetway, they shake their hands or hug them, thanking them for their service, and they direct them towards the room where snacks and free cell phones are available for calls to loved ones. They show returning soldiers where pictures of fallen comrades are posted, and they keep them company as they wait for connecting flights. Since the operation began, the Bangor seniors have welcomed over 750,000 weary soldiers back to the United States. Unquestionably, Jerry, Joan, Bill, and the others provide us with poignant examples of the Spirit at work through us, of ordinary folks sharing God’s grace with strangers.1
The Spirit is ready to empower us here. If we believe that God brought this Christian community into being, then we also have to trust in Jesus’ promise: “I will not leave you orphaned.” We must trust that the Spirit will continue to empower us. Just as the folks in Bangor realized, there are orphans and widows, single mothers, and disabled people, hungry and lonely people, who call out to us to share God’s grace with them. When we commit ourselves wholly to Jesus, the Spirit will empower us. I believe that with all my heart!
1. The story of the Bangor Airport welcome operation is told in the documentary film The Way We Get By. Information about the film is available at http://www.thewaywegetbymovie.com/ . The film is also available on Hulu.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Like Living Stones
There were days when Lydia wondered why she had ever become a Christian. Not that she doubted the truth of the new Way. Even though Christians were such a small minority in first-century Cappadocia, she felt as deeply in her heart as ever that Jesus was truly God’s son and her Lord. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he had lived and died and risen again, for her and for all people, and that he would eventually come back to rule over everyone. It was just that it was so hard being a Christian! Even though her father was liberal and enlightened, he was dead set against Christians. He said they were anti-social and subversive. In fact, he even thought they were dangerous atheists, and that they would call down on the whole state of Cappadocia the wrath of all the gods, because they refused to worship the old gods. Even her fiancé was beginning to wonder about her. He said he loved her, but he too wasn’t sure he wanted his wife to be a Christian. He certainly didn’t want to become one himself – it would ruin his business! Her women friends kept telling her that really getting baptized and becoming a Christian was just something silly she had done when she was younger. Wouldn’t it make more sense to worship her husband’s gods? Some of the others in her Christian cell clearly understood how she felt – they were Greek business people like her family. Most of the others were either working class or some other ethnicity. There were even a few Jews and a few slaves. In their own way, she guessed, all of them encountered the same negative reactions from others that she did. Being a Christian did not make you popular! Had she really done the right thing to go against the wishes of her family and friends to follow Jesus? And then one night, after they had shared the Lord’s Supper, one the elders read a letter….
Fast forward to 2011. There are days when George wonders why he ever let herself be baptized and confirmed. Not that he’s having a crisis of faith. Not at all. He freely accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, he promised to follow him, and he fully believes and tries hard to understand everything that the church teaches. He fully intends to keep all his promises to pray and worship and serve others. It’s just that it’s so hard being a Christian. His family doesn’t understand at all why he joined the church. His parents never went to church – they couldn’t care less about any religion. His fiancée and most of his friends think church is just plain silly: who can believe all that mumbo-jumbo about a Father God and his divine Son? Salvation? From what? Life is good. Bread and wine becoming someone’s body and blood? Yuck! And taking care of the poor? Let the poor take care of themselves – if they just weren’t so lazy they’d all be fine. After he and his friends have been out late on Saturday evening, George has to push himself out of bed to get to even a late service at church. Really, everyone says, just stay home, read the paper, and enjoy your coffee. Of course, all the shops are open on Sundays, along with the theaters, restaurants, bars, and sports events. Even if he wants to go to adult education on Wednesday evening, there’s always some conflict: either his boss wants to him to work late, or his family or friends pull him away for something. Prayer? When does he have time for that? And then, one Sunday morning, when he finally did manage to get to church, the lay reader read a letter….
What Lydia in Cappadocia heard the elder of her house church read was a letter written by someone close to Peter, the leader called by Jesus to be the rock upon which the church would be built. The letter had a lot of good things in it about Jesus. At the end there was lots of advice about how to live properly as a Christian. Lydia wasn’t sure she understood it all. But one part really stuck with her. It was the part about how they were all like “living stones,” and that they should let God build them into a spiritual house, so that they could be a holy priesthood. What were “living stones,” she wondered? As if he’d read her mind, the elder began by reminding everyone of stones in the Bible: how Jacob had used a stone for a pillow when he was running from Esau; how Joshua had made the twelve tribes carry stones from the Jordan to the Promised Land, to remind them of God’s covenant with them; and how John the Baptist had said that God could turn stones into children of Abraham if God had to. Now here they were, stones in a way, people whom others despised, people who had neither a Jewish nor a pagan temple in which to worship, but people who were nonetheless being built into a holy temple in which Jesus would dwell. Maybe it didn’t matter if they were educated or not, if they were the right ethnicity or not, if they were women or men, or even if they were free or not. They were all part of each other, they were all necessary for each other, and together they were letting God make a new, unique, wonderful community out of them. They were letting God make a holy priesthood out of them, who would serve each other and the rest of the world in Christ’s name. They would be a new holy people whom God had mercifully and bountifully blessed. At last, Lydia understood why she was sitting there, and her heart was filled with joy.
Sitting in church that Sunday morning, George heard the lay reader read the same part of Peter’s letter that had so struck Lydia. And George too had a revelation. He realized that, even if he were no longer living in the age of the great cathedrals, even if the day when everyone went to church – either out of social obligation or real conviction – were long past, even if the world around him and everyone he knew thought going to church was totally unnecessary, he realized that the people of St. Monica’s, his church community, were also living stones. They too had been called by God to let themselves be built into a spiritual house and a royal priesthood, to serve the world, even if the world didn’t know or care about their service. He realized that the city’s movers and shakers no longer found it necessary to be part of the church. Instead they had a couple of women wearing clothing from some give-away, they had people who passed the peace to each other, even though they were still struggling to forgive each other for some ancient wrong. There was a crying baby who kept interrupting the priest. And, miracle of miracles, there were even a few bored teenagers, who were probably texting their friends when they thought their parents weren’t looking. But they were all there, they were strong and solid and growing spiritually, they were all sharing God’s love, they were all being nourished by Word and Sacrament, they had all been honored and blessed by God, and they had all put themselves into God’s hands, to be fashioned together into a community radiating the love of Christ in the world.
My friends, we are living in George’s world. St. Peter’s is struggling to survive in the same world as that of St. Monica’s. In Gallipolis, people have no earthly reason to come through our red doors on Sunday morning – or Tuesday evening for that matter – and every good reason to relax at home or go out and do their shopping. Perhaps some even see this community and this sanctuary as a white elephant, a holdover from the era of buggy whips and high-button shoes. Our numbers have decreased, and sometimes we wonder whether the pews will ever again be filled for anything other than a wedding or a funeral. We wonder where the dollars will come from to keep the lights on. We know that 1964 will never come again, but we don’t know what’s coming next. We know that we need to change in order to grow again, but we’re not sure how to do that. Where’s the good news?
My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. This community was called into being by Jesus, and Jesus, the same Jesus who promised to be with us until the end of time, will help rebuild it – if we let him. “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house,” the letter writer exhorts us. Let yourselves, cooperate with God, put aside old conflicts, let go of old cliques, take advantage of the opportunities for growth and change that God gives you, let new leaders arise, and then God will fulfill God’s promises. God will remake us into a holy priesthood, a community that witnesses to Jesus’ power to forgive us, heal us, and send us out to serve others. I don’t know if the Common Ministry project, to which we have been invited to apply, is the vehicle through which God wants to work with us. But I do know that, at long last lay people are called to share their gifts and talents with their church communities, to help build up the church in this place. You know, we’re talking these days about bi-vocational priests, priests who are part-time clergy and have either a secular vocation or another source of income. Lay people too are called to be bi-vocational. All of you have used your gifts in your families, work places, and secular volunteer communities. Now God is calling you to claim your baptismal ministries and use the gifts the Spirit has given you to rebuild the church in this community and make disciples for Christ.
God has called a new community into being here, a community of people alive in Jesus. I pray that we are willing to be living stones for Jesus. I pray that we are willing to let ourselves be rebuilt into a new spiritual house.
Fast forward to 2011. There are days when George wonders why he ever let herself be baptized and confirmed. Not that he’s having a crisis of faith. Not at all. He freely accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, he promised to follow him, and he fully believes and tries hard to understand everything that the church teaches. He fully intends to keep all his promises to pray and worship and serve others. It’s just that it’s so hard being a Christian. His family doesn’t understand at all why he joined the church. His parents never went to church – they couldn’t care less about any religion. His fiancée and most of his friends think church is just plain silly: who can believe all that mumbo-jumbo about a Father God and his divine Son? Salvation? From what? Life is good. Bread and wine becoming someone’s body and blood? Yuck! And taking care of the poor? Let the poor take care of themselves – if they just weren’t so lazy they’d all be fine. After he and his friends have been out late on Saturday evening, George has to push himself out of bed to get to even a late service at church. Really, everyone says, just stay home, read the paper, and enjoy your coffee. Of course, all the shops are open on Sundays, along with the theaters, restaurants, bars, and sports events. Even if he wants to go to adult education on Wednesday evening, there’s always some conflict: either his boss wants to him to work late, or his family or friends pull him away for something. Prayer? When does he have time for that? And then, one Sunday morning, when he finally did manage to get to church, the lay reader read a letter….
What Lydia in Cappadocia heard the elder of her house church read was a letter written by someone close to Peter, the leader called by Jesus to be the rock upon which the church would be built. The letter had a lot of good things in it about Jesus. At the end there was lots of advice about how to live properly as a Christian. Lydia wasn’t sure she understood it all. But one part really stuck with her. It was the part about how they were all like “living stones,” and that they should let God build them into a spiritual house, so that they could be a holy priesthood. What were “living stones,” she wondered? As if he’d read her mind, the elder began by reminding everyone of stones in the Bible: how Jacob had used a stone for a pillow when he was running from Esau; how Joshua had made the twelve tribes carry stones from the Jordan to the Promised Land, to remind them of God’s covenant with them; and how John the Baptist had said that God could turn stones into children of Abraham if God had to. Now here they were, stones in a way, people whom others despised, people who had neither a Jewish nor a pagan temple in which to worship, but people who were nonetheless being built into a holy temple in which Jesus would dwell. Maybe it didn’t matter if they were educated or not, if they were the right ethnicity or not, if they were women or men, or even if they were free or not. They were all part of each other, they were all necessary for each other, and together they were letting God make a new, unique, wonderful community out of them. They were letting God make a holy priesthood out of them, who would serve each other and the rest of the world in Christ’s name. They would be a new holy people whom God had mercifully and bountifully blessed. At last, Lydia understood why she was sitting there, and her heart was filled with joy.
Sitting in church that Sunday morning, George heard the lay reader read the same part of Peter’s letter that had so struck Lydia. And George too had a revelation. He realized that, even if he were no longer living in the age of the great cathedrals, even if the day when everyone went to church – either out of social obligation or real conviction – were long past, even if the world around him and everyone he knew thought going to church was totally unnecessary, he realized that the people of St. Monica’s, his church community, were also living stones. They too had been called by God to let themselves be built into a spiritual house and a royal priesthood, to serve the world, even if the world didn’t know or care about their service. He realized that the city’s movers and shakers no longer found it necessary to be part of the church. Instead they had a couple of women wearing clothing from some give-away, they had people who passed the peace to each other, even though they were still struggling to forgive each other for some ancient wrong. There was a crying baby who kept interrupting the priest. And, miracle of miracles, there were even a few bored teenagers, who were probably texting their friends when they thought their parents weren’t looking. But they were all there, they were strong and solid and growing spiritually, they were all sharing God’s love, they were all being nourished by Word and Sacrament, they had all been honored and blessed by God, and they had all put themselves into God’s hands, to be fashioned together into a community radiating the love of Christ in the world.
My friends, we are living in George’s world. St. Peter’s is struggling to survive in the same world as that of St. Monica’s. In Gallipolis, people have no earthly reason to come through our red doors on Sunday morning – or Tuesday evening for that matter – and every good reason to relax at home or go out and do their shopping. Perhaps some even see this community and this sanctuary as a white elephant, a holdover from the era of buggy whips and high-button shoes. Our numbers have decreased, and sometimes we wonder whether the pews will ever again be filled for anything other than a wedding or a funeral. We wonder where the dollars will come from to keep the lights on. We know that 1964 will never come again, but we don’t know what’s coming next. We know that we need to change in order to grow again, but we’re not sure how to do that. Where’s the good news?
My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. This community was called into being by Jesus, and Jesus, the same Jesus who promised to be with us until the end of time, will help rebuild it – if we let him. “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house,” the letter writer exhorts us. Let yourselves, cooperate with God, put aside old conflicts, let go of old cliques, take advantage of the opportunities for growth and change that God gives you, let new leaders arise, and then God will fulfill God’s promises. God will remake us into a holy priesthood, a community that witnesses to Jesus’ power to forgive us, heal us, and send us out to serve others. I don’t know if the Common Ministry project, to which we have been invited to apply, is the vehicle through which God wants to work with us. But I do know that, at long last lay people are called to share their gifts and talents with their church communities, to help build up the church in this place. You know, we’re talking these days about bi-vocational priests, priests who are part-time clergy and have either a secular vocation or another source of income. Lay people too are called to be bi-vocational. All of you have used your gifts in your families, work places, and secular volunteer communities. Now God is calling you to claim your baptismal ministries and use the gifts the Spirit has given you to rebuild the church in this community and make disciples for Christ.
God has called a new community into being here, a community of people alive in Jesus. I pray that we are willing to be living stones for Jesus. I pray that we are willing to let ourselves be rebuilt into a new spiritual house.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I am the Door
This Gospel passage disturbs me. I don’t like its binary oppositions between those who enter the sheepfold legitimately and those who don’t, between bandits and shepherds, between strangers and trusted leaders. I don’t like its implied anti-Semitism. Make no mistake that note is very much there. Remember that John’s Gospel was the last to be written, most likely in the early ‘90s. It was written for a community already in conflict with the Jewish religious leaders, and it consistently presents them in a very negative light. As part of its approach this Gospel describes miracles, then follows those miracles with portrayals of conflict and then a speech from Jesus. In the speech Jesus explains what he has done, and makes an “I am” statement. That is exactly what we have here, except that we have just a small part of the whole story. What we heard this morning follows directly on the healing of the man born blind. Do you remember that story? We heard it early last month, on the fourth Sunday in Lent. In it we saw clearly the unwillingness of the religious leaders to accept the healing of the blind man and Jesus’ condemnation of their spiritual blindness. Our Gospel passage follows immediately on that condemnation and is addressed to the same religious leaders. For some reason, our lectionary spreads Jesus’ speech over three years. This year, Year A, we hear the first ten verses. Next year, Year B, we hear Jesus identify himself as the Good Shepherd. Finally in Year C, we hear the last part of Jesus’ speech, after which we move on to the last miracle in this Gospel, the raising of Lazarus, which we heard last month on the fifth Sunday in Lent.
So this Sunday we’re at the beginning of Jesus’ commentary for the religious leaders on his healing of the blind man. The Gospel has him begin his commentary with an image that implicitly contrasts their leadership with his. Not surprisingly, they do not understand the image. So, as you heard, Jesus shifts to another image, that of the gate, or more accurately, door. He tells them, “Amen, amen, I tell you, I AM the door for the sheep.” Why is that I AM important? Remember that God’s name, as we learned in the Old Testament, is I AM. Every time Jesus makes an I AM statement in John’s Gospel, the Gospel writer is reminding us that Jesus is divine. So when readers of the Gospel and we hear that I AM statement, here I AM the door for the sheep, they and we are reminded again that Jesus has been sent by God, that Jesus is the Word become flesh, and that everything Jesus does flows from his relationship with God.
Now that’s maybe more narrative analysis of the Gospel than you bargained for on a Sunday morning. So shift gears with me, and let’s meditate a little on that image of the door. “I am the door for the sheep,” Jesus tells us. Doors are an interesting image, aren’t they? You can imagine this gate or door at the entrance to a pen, either a pen attached to a house or barn, as they were in ancient times, or a pen that’s free-standing. Gates or doors swing in both directions, don’t they? They let animals and people in to a place where they can find safety and security. They also let animals and people out to wider pastures where they can find plenty of good food and the freedom to roam.
Does that spark any associations? As I look around this place, I see a door – a red door – that also swings both ways. Is this place anything like that sheepfold? We come in through the red door perhaps seeking safety and security, at the very least reassurance that God loves us. Once here, we are gifted with Jesus himself, present to us in Word and Sacrament. Restored, healed, and nourished, we are sent back out through the red door, out into the life of the world. In and out, in and out, we go, just like those sheep in Jesus’ image. Actually, our life of discipleship is one of a series of alternations, of cycling in and out. We come and go in our weekly cycle of worship in this place, followed by work for God’s kingdom in the world. We also come and go in a yearly, seasonal cycle. Our church year begins with the solemn watching and waiting of Advent, moves to the joyous celebration of Christmas and Epiphany, plunges us into the austerity of Lent, then gives of fifty days of Easter joy, and finally allows us to grow and flourish through the season of Pentecost until we reach Advent again. In our personal lives, we cycle between work and home, between work and leisure. In our spiritual lives, we may cycle between periods of boredom and excitement or of certainty and doubt. We cycle between contemplation and action, letting our resting in Jesus empower us for going out into the world in his name, and returning to him in prayer before going out again. Ultimately, it is our connection with Jesus that gives all our cycles meaning and life. Our incorporation into the Body of Christ through baptism is what enables us to lead a holy life. “I am the door,” Jesus assures us. All of our spiritual practices, our devotion, our worship, our good works, are helpful in drawing us closer to Jesus, but it is our relationship with him that enables us to participate in the abundant life that he has promised us. No matter our understanding of theology, our preference for certain liturgies, our insistence on certain moral stances, or our devotion to certain religious practices, we have Jesus’ promise: when we come and go through him, we will have life abundantly.
Now notice one more thing about this Jesus-door. It is wide enough and it stays open long enough that an entire flock goes through it. The Gospel reminds us yet again that Christian life is a corporate experience. We are not in this as atoms. We go in and out as part of a flock. Now you might not like being compared to sheep. Sheep have a reputation for being stupid and blindly following one another. However, sheep are highly social animals, which is why they flock tightly together. But that’s the point of the sheep image: we too are highly social animals who flock together. The Christian life is a corporate life: we live and grow in it together, through our worship, our study, and our service in mission. We understand ourselves to be inter-connected, to be part of a group in which all members are beloved. And no surprise that John’s Gospel gives us here the image of a flock for a Christian community. The importance of community is a continuing motif in this Gospel, and here and elsewhere we are reminded that together we are bonded to Jesus in an indissoluble bond.
We are now at a time in the life of St. Peter’s when we have to think hard about community, about whether this parish will survive as a Christian community, and how it can become a stronger community. St. Peter’s has been invited to apply to be one of six parishes participating in the Common Ministry formation program of our diocese. The program will help us to explore our gifts, assets, and community needs so as to better discern the ministry or ministries to which God is calling us. It will strengthen us for engaging in those ministries. It will also help us to develop clearer goals as a congregation. It will enable us to see better where we fit in the diocesan mission. What is most important, the training offered by the Common Ministry program will help us identify lay leaders, form ministry teams, and develop clear expectations for them. Karl Ruttan, our canon for life formation, will be meeting with the Vestry this Tuesday evening to tell us more about the Common Ministry program. About a dozen or so parishes have been invited to apply, so there is no guarantee that we will be accepted for the program. However, if we do participate, we will have to make several commitments. We will have to commit ourselves to the survival and strengthening of St. Peter’s. We will have to put aside our factions, conflicts, pet peeves, and preferences, and put the good of the whole parish first. We will be asked to take our membership in the flock seriously and intentionally, and do everything that we can do, with our resources of money, time, and talents, to work for the well-being of St. Peter’s. Most important, we will be asked to commit ourselves more deeply to strengthening our relationship with Jesus, to going in and out with him, through worship, prayer, study, and mission.
I pray that this flock will continue to survive and grow in this place. I pray that the Holy Spirit will give us all that we need to come and go in Jesus. Most especially, I pray that we will always remain bonded with Jesus, as we come in to be nourished by him at the altar, and as we go out to partner with him in the bringing in of his gracious reign.
So this Sunday we’re at the beginning of Jesus’ commentary for the religious leaders on his healing of the blind man. The Gospel has him begin his commentary with an image that implicitly contrasts their leadership with his. Not surprisingly, they do not understand the image. So, as you heard, Jesus shifts to another image, that of the gate, or more accurately, door. He tells them, “Amen, amen, I tell you, I AM the door for the sheep.” Why is that I AM important? Remember that God’s name, as we learned in the Old Testament, is I AM. Every time Jesus makes an I AM statement in John’s Gospel, the Gospel writer is reminding us that Jesus is divine. So when readers of the Gospel and we hear that I AM statement, here I AM the door for the sheep, they and we are reminded again that Jesus has been sent by God, that Jesus is the Word become flesh, and that everything Jesus does flows from his relationship with God.
Now that’s maybe more narrative analysis of the Gospel than you bargained for on a Sunday morning. So shift gears with me, and let’s meditate a little on that image of the door. “I am the door for the sheep,” Jesus tells us. Doors are an interesting image, aren’t they? You can imagine this gate or door at the entrance to a pen, either a pen attached to a house or barn, as they were in ancient times, or a pen that’s free-standing. Gates or doors swing in both directions, don’t they? They let animals and people in to a place where they can find safety and security. They also let animals and people out to wider pastures where they can find plenty of good food and the freedom to roam.
Does that spark any associations? As I look around this place, I see a door – a red door – that also swings both ways. Is this place anything like that sheepfold? We come in through the red door perhaps seeking safety and security, at the very least reassurance that God loves us. Once here, we are gifted with Jesus himself, present to us in Word and Sacrament. Restored, healed, and nourished, we are sent back out through the red door, out into the life of the world. In and out, in and out, we go, just like those sheep in Jesus’ image. Actually, our life of discipleship is one of a series of alternations, of cycling in and out. We come and go in our weekly cycle of worship in this place, followed by work for God’s kingdom in the world. We also come and go in a yearly, seasonal cycle. Our church year begins with the solemn watching and waiting of Advent, moves to the joyous celebration of Christmas and Epiphany, plunges us into the austerity of Lent, then gives of fifty days of Easter joy, and finally allows us to grow and flourish through the season of Pentecost until we reach Advent again. In our personal lives, we cycle between work and home, between work and leisure. In our spiritual lives, we may cycle between periods of boredom and excitement or of certainty and doubt. We cycle between contemplation and action, letting our resting in Jesus empower us for going out into the world in his name, and returning to him in prayer before going out again. Ultimately, it is our connection with Jesus that gives all our cycles meaning and life. Our incorporation into the Body of Christ through baptism is what enables us to lead a holy life. “I am the door,” Jesus assures us. All of our spiritual practices, our devotion, our worship, our good works, are helpful in drawing us closer to Jesus, but it is our relationship with him that enables us to participate in the abundant life that he has promised us. No matter our understanding of theology, our preference for certain liturgies, our insistence on certain moral stances, or our devotion to certain religious practices, we have Jesus’ promise: when we come and go through him, we will have life abundantly.
Now notice one more thing about this Jesus-door. It is wide enough and it stays open long enough that an entire flock goes through it. The Gospel reminds us yet again that Christian life is a corporate experience. We are not in this as atoms. We go in and out as part of a flock. Now you might not like being compared to sheep. Sheep have a reputation for being stupid and blindly following one another. However, sheep are highly social animals, which is why they flock tightly together. But that’s the point of the sheep image: we too are highly social animals who flock together. The Christian life is a corporate life: we live and grow in it together, through our worship, our study, and our service in mission. We understand ourselves to be inter-connected, to be part of a group in which all members are beloved. And no surprise that John’s Gospel gives us here the image of a flock for a Christian community. The importance of community is a continuing motif in this Gospel, and here and elsewhere we are reminded that together we are bonded to Jesus in an indissoluble bond.
We are now at a time in the life of St. Peter’s when we have to think hard about community, about whether this parish will survive as a Christian community, and how it can become a stronger community. St. Peter’s has been invited to apply to be one of six parishes participating in the Common Ministry formation program of our diocese. The program will help us to explore our gifts, assets, and community needs so as to better discern the ministry or ministries to which God is calling us. It will strengthen us for engaging in those ministries. It will also help us to develop clearer goals as a congregation. It will enable us to see better where we fit in the diocesan mission. What is most important, the training offered by the Common Ministry program will help us identify lay leaders, form ministry teams, and develop clear expectations for them. Karl Ruttan, our canon for life formation, will be meeting with the Vestry this Tuesday evening to tell us more about the Common Ministry program. About a dozen or so parishes have been invited to apply, so there is no guarantee that we will be accepted for the program. However, if we do participate, we will have to make several commitments. We will have to commit ourselves to the survival and strengthening of St. Peter’s. We will have to put aside our factions, conflicts, pet peeves, and preferences, and put the good of the whole parish first. We will be asked to take our membership in the flock seriously and intentionally, and do everything that we can do, with our resources of money, time, and talents, to work for the well-being of St. Peter’s. Most important, we will be asked to commit ourselves more deeply to strengthening our relationship with Jesus, to going in and out with him, through worship, prayer, study, and mission.
I pray that this flock will continue to survive and grow in this place. I pray that the Holy Spirit will give us all that we need to come and go in Jesus. Most especially, I pray that we will always remain bonded with Jesus, as we come in to be nourished by him at the altar, and as we go out to partner with him in the bringing in of his gracious reign.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
I Was Blind But Now I See
What kept the disciples from recognizing Jesus? What finally enabled them to see him? After they recognized him, what did they do? This familiar but challenging Gospel story always raises some difficult questions. And then, as I pray today’s collect, and ask God to “open the eyes of our faith,” I have to ask the same questions about us. What keeps us from recognizing Jesus “in all his redeeming work?” What enables or helps us to see him? And finally, after we’ve recognized him, what do we do, we who like the two on the road to Emmaus claim to be his followers, what do we then do?
So, what kept the disciples’ “eyes from recognizing” Jesus? Hadn’t they been close enough to him, that they would instantly know him? As those two dejected disciples plodded along to Emmaus, they surely wondered what had happened to all their hopes that the Messiah had come at last. Perhaps they had followed him sure that he was the righteous king destined to free Israel from the Romans. Hadn’t they been there waving their palm branches when he came into Jerusalem? Before he was executed, he had said something about rising again. And the women – if you can believe anything that women say – had said that they saw him alive this morning, but, really resurrection? Surely these disciples found the whole idea beyond belief. Their hopes dashed, what could they do but try to get on with their lives and put the whole experience of following Jesus behind them?
Sound at all familiar? Are we anything like those disciples? Perhaps we too are disappointed with our lives, our families, our friends. Things just haven’t worked out the way we expected. Maybe we have physical disabilities that make it impossible to sense Jesus’ presence. Or perhaps we let the busyness of our lives or our concern for material goods crowd him out. Do the events that bring us grief – poverty, injury, illness, divorce, death – help us to shut him out? Perhaps we too find the whole idea of resurrection, that Jesus could still be alive, beyond belief. Death, yes, we know it well. Good Friday we can easily accept. But Easter and resurrection, no way! Actually, perhaps some of us even find the whole Bible hard to believe. Aren’t the Gospels just stories – two thousand year old stories at that? Where’s Jesus when we really need him to help us understand all the stories?
So what helped the two disciples to actually recognize Jesus in their midst? As they walked along, perhaps the explanation of the Scriptures that this mysterious stranger offered them gave them a hint that there was something different about him. They heard his reminder that God had created the world, that God had delivered the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, that God had made a covenant with them through Moses, that God had sent the prophets, and that God’s Messiah was to be a suffering servant and not a triumphant military leader. What’s more important, they engaged in real conversation with him. They spoke with him, asked him questions. They heard what he had to say, they didn’t just read about it some dusty tome.
Can we relate to those disciples’ experience? Many of us have a deeper sense of Christ’s presence when we prayerfully study and read Scripture. It’s important to study together the history and form of all our Scripture texts, to understand the narratives of which they are a part, and the communities for which they were written. And it also happens that when we read Scripture slowly and meditatively, in the quiet spaces of our lives, sometimes a story will catch us unawares. Sometimes a psalm will exactly express what we are feeling at a particular moment. Sometimes a word or phrase in a reading will “shimmer” or speak to us. Sometimes a sermon will “cut” us “to the quick,” as Peter’s sermon did, and we see our lives in a whole new light. In all those times, we can trust that Jesus is truly present to us.
And yet, even after the Bible study, the disciples still had not recognized Jesus. So they generously offered him a meal and a place to stay. As he joined them around the table, they saw him do exactly what he had done when he fed the five thousand, and what he had done in that last meal with them: “he took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.” And then, finally they recognized Jesus! As they received his broken Body in the bread, they knew that Jesus had truly risen, that he was truly present to them, and that he would continue to be present to them, not as a mere memory, but as a living, breathing reality, whenever they broke bread and drank wine in that same way.
And so it is for us, by God’s grace. Whenever we come together for the Eucharistic meal, whenever we receive the sacrament of his Body and Blood, we realize that Jesus is as truly present to us now as he was to those two questioning disciples. Like them, we too are on journeys, we too may wonder where our lives are going, and where God is. And in the midst of our journeys, Jesus meets us too. One writer has used the image of a rendez-vous for the sacramental meal of bread and wine. The French word literally means “present yourselves.” In 21st century English its meaning is more nearly “meet together at a particular time and place.” At every blessed rendez-vous, we too can experience Jesus’ presence. As we present ourselves to him, we too can feel yet again the joy of being at table with him, we too can thank him for keeping his promise to be with us forever.
After they recognized Jesus, what did the two disciples do? They didn’t stay in Emmaus! Even though it was late and getting dark – they weren’t on Daylight Savings time back then – they ran back to Jerusalem. They ran seven miles, to tell the other disciples about what had happened. Having finally understood the plan of salvation, having gotten a blessed glimpse of Jesus’ “redeeming work,” and having realized without a doubt that Jesus was truly alive, they ran to share that good news. Hearing that Peter had also seen Jesus alive again, they joyfully shared with the others that they had seen him and recognized him “in the breaking of the bread.”
And when we have seen him “in the breaking of the bread,” what do we do? If we gain a deeper understanding of Jesus’ work through Scripture, do we keep that understanding to ourselves? If we truly experience his presence with us in the Eucharist, do we forget all about that experience, that rendez-vous with him, as soon as we go out the door? My friends, there’s one more lesson for us to learn from the disciples’ experience on the road to Emmaus. And that is that the Christian life is a shared life, a life lived in community with others. Yes, there have been hermits and solitaries, yes, some of us spend periods of time apart in prayer and in silent retreats, but at its heart Christian life is meant to be lived in community. And so we test our experience of reading the Bible with others. More importantly, we gather with others to meet Jesus in the Eucharist, letting our experience of his presence with us bind us not only to him but also to each other. And then we run to tell others, with both word and deed, of the joy of our sight, as we seek to draw others into his gracious community of love.
Ultimately, seeing Jesus and experiencing the reality of his presence, whether in solitude or community, are gifts of God. We cannot compel God’s gifts, but we can be more open to them, we can find ways to be more receptive to Jesus’ presence with us. We can come together with others and use our intellects to break open the powerful stories in Scripture of God’s redeeming work in Jesus. We can let our own lives be illuminated by those stories. Then we can sit at table and break bread with Jesus and each other. We can recognize with our hearts the truth of what we saw with our intellects. And we then can ponder the stories from our own lives, when our eyes were opened. Was it when someone welcomed us? Was when we opened our own hearts, doors, lives to strangers who brought unexpected blessings? Was it when we looked out on the world with eyes of faith and saw reflections of God’s love in all around us?
Lord, that we may know you in the breaking,
in the break of day, in the breaking of hearts,
and in the breaking of bread,
help us to know that you are risen indeed,
and that you are with us in the holy communion.
May your church ever proclaim your presence,
and know that you travel with us on the road we go.
Teach us, Lord, to abide in you,
that we may know that you abide in us….
Lord, abide with us,
and we will abide in you.1
1. David Adam, Clouds and Glory, Morehouse (Harrisburg, PA: 2001), 63.
So, what kept the disciples’ “eyes from recognizing” Jesus? Hadn’t they been close enough to him, that they would instantly know him? As those two dejected disciples plodded along to Emmaus, they surely wondered what had happened to all their hopes that the Messiah had come at last. Perhaps they had followed him sure that he was the righteous king destined to free Israel from the Romans. Hadn’t they been there waving their palm branches when he came into Jerusalem? Before he was executed, he had said something about rising again. And the women – if you can believe anything that women say – had said that they saw him alive this morning, but, really resurrection? Surely these disciples found the whole idea beyond belief. Their hopes dashed, what could they do but try to get on with their lives and put the whole experience of following Jesus behind them?
Sound at all familiar? Are we anything like those disciples? Perhaps we too are disappointed with our lives, our families, our friends. Things just haven’t worked out the way we expected. Maybe we have physical disabilities that make it impossible to sense Jesus’ presence. Or perhaps we let the busyness of our lives or our concern for material goods crowd him out. Do the events that bring us grief – poverty, injury, illness, divorce, death – help us to shut him out? Perhaps we too find the whole idea of resurrection, that Jesus could still be alive, beyond belief. Death, yes, we know it well. Good Friday we can easily accept. But Easter and resurrection, no way! Actually, perhaps some of us even find the whole Bible hard to believe. Aren’t the Gospels just stories – two thousand year old stories at that? Where’s Jesus when we really need him to help us understand all the stories?
So what helped the two disciples to actually recognize Jesus in their midst? As they walked along, perhaps the explanation of the Scriptures that this mysterious stranger offered them gave them a hint that there was something different about him. They heard his reminder that God had created the world, that God had delivered the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, that God had made a covenant with them through Moses, that God had sent the prophets, and that God’s Messiah was to be a suffering servant and not a triumphant military leader. What’s more important, they engaged in real conversation with him. They spoke with him, asked him questions. They heard what he had to say, they didn’t just read about it some dusty tome.
Can we relate to those disciples’ experience? Many of us have a deeper sense of Christ’s presence when we prayerfully study and read Scripture. It’s important to study together the history and form of all our Scripture texts, to understand the narratives of which they are a part, and the communities for which they were written. And it also happens that when we read Scripture slowly and meditatively, in the quiet spaces of our lives, sometimes a story will catch us unawares. Sometimes a psalm will exactly express what we are feeling at a particular moment. Sometimes a word or phrase in a reading will “shimmer” or speak to us. Sometimes a sermon will “cut” us “to the quick,” as Peter’s sermon did, and we see our lives in a whole new light. In all those times, we can trust that Jesus is truly present to us.
And yet, even after the Bible study, the disciples still had not recognized Jesus. So they generously offered him a meal and a place to stay. As he joined them around the table, they saw him do exactly what he had done when he fed the five thousand, and what he had done in that last meal with them: “he took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.” And then, finally they recognized Jesus! As they received his broken Body in the bread, they knew that Jesus had truly risen, that he was truly present to them, and that he would continue to be present to them, not as a mere memory, but as a living, breathing reality, whenever they broke bread and drank wine in that same way.
And so it is for us, by God’s grace. Whenever we come together for the Eucharistic meal, whenever we receive the sacrament of his Body and Blood, we realize that Jesus is as truly present to us now as he was to those two questioning disciples. Like them, we too are on journeys, we too may wonder where our lives are going, and where God is. And in the midst of our journeys, Jesus meets us too. One writer has used the image of a rendez-vous for the sacramental meal of bread and wine. The French word literally means “present yourselves.” In 21st century English its meaning is more nearly “meet together at a particular time and place.” At every blessed rendez-vous, we too can experience Jesus’ presence. As we present ourselves to him, we too can feel yet again the joy of being at table with him, we too can thank him for keeping his promise to be with us forever.
After they recognized Jesus, what did the two disciples do? They didn’t stay in Emmaus! Even though it was late and getting dark – they weren’t on Daylight Savings time back then – they ran back to Jerusalem. They ran seven miles, to tell the other disciples about what had happened. Having finally understood the plan of salvation, having gotten a blessed glimpse of Jesus’ “redeeming work,” and having realized without a doubt that Jesus was truly alive, they ran to share that good news. Hearing that Peter had also seen Jesus alive again, they joyfully shared with the others that they had seen him and recognized him “in the breaking of the bread.”
And when we have seen him “in the breaking of the bread,” what do we do? If we gain a deeper understanding of Jesus’ work through Scripture, do we keep that understanding to ourselves? If we truly experience his presence with us in the Eucharist, do we forget all about that experience, that rendez-vous with him, as soon as we go out the door? My friends, there’s one more lesson for us to learn from the disciples’ experience on the road to Emmaus. And that is that the Christian life is a shared life, a life lived in community with others. Yes, there have been hermits and solitaries, yes, some of us spend periods of time apart in prayer and in silent retreats, but at its heart Christian life is meant to be lived in community. And so we test our experience of reading the Bible with others. More importantly, we gather with others to meet Jesus in the Eucharist, letting our experience of his presence with us bind us not only to him but also to each other. And then we run to tell others, with both word and deed, of the joy of our sight, as we seek to draw others into his gracious community of love.
Ultimately, seeing Jesus and experiencing the reality of his presence, whether in solitude or community, are gifts of God. We cannot compel God’s gifts, but we can be more open to them, we can find ways to be more receptive to Jesus’ presence with us. We can come together with others and use our intellects to break open the powerful stories in Scripture of God’s redeeming work in Jesus. We can let our own lives be illuminated by those stories. Then we can sit at table and break bread with Jesus and each other. We can recognize with our hearts the truth of what we saw with our intellects. And we then can ponder the stories from our own lives, when our eyes were opened. Was it when someone welcomed us? Was when we opened our own hearts, doors, lives to strangers who brought unexpected blessings? Was it when we looked out on the world with eyes of faith and saw reflections of God’s love in all around us?
Lord, that we may know you in the breaking,
in the break of day, in the breaking of hearts,
and in the breaking of bread,
help us to know that you are risen indeed,
and that you are with us in the holy communion.
May your church ever proclaim your presence,
and know that you travel with us on the road we go.
Teach us, Lord, to abide in you,
that we may know that you abide in us….
Lord, abide with us,
and we will abide in you.1
1. David Adam, Clouds and Glory, Morehouse (Harrisburg, PA: 2001), 63.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Peace Be With You
Today is May 1st. For many people around the world, today is not only the second Sunday of Easter, but also a day of less joyful remembrances. For many people today is also Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, the day that forces us to remember the murder of six million people in Europe by the Nazis.1 Attempts by one group to exterminate another group are not new in the grand scheme of world history, but it is only since the 1950s that we have learned to call such events “genocide.” A term that goes well beyond the Holocaust, genocide refers to the attempt to systematically destroy entire ethnic, religious, political, and cultural groups. So on this day we remember the six million Jews, gays, Gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Russian prisoners, and disabled people who were murdered by the Nazis. But we also remember the Armenians who lost their lives to the Turks, Stalin’s mass murder of the Ukrainians, the Cambodians murdered by the Khmer Rouge, the Kurds murdered by Saddam Hussain, the “ethnic cleansing” in Croatia, the Tutsis murdered by extremist Hutus, the tribal groups decimated in Darfur, and the millions of victims of the nearly invisible civil war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. According to one scholar, nearly two-thirds of the world’s people have been effected in one way or another by attempted genocide. Nor is our world at peace now. On this very day, Libyans are fighting for the overthrow of Muammar Gadhafi, Syrians remain trapped in their homes for fear of government-supported snipers, and American soldiers are still dying in Afghanistan. May 1st poignantly reminds us that we live in a world of no peace, in which whole populations are still threatened with destruction.
In this context of a world of no peace, our Gospel for this morning sounds a very different note. Here were the disciples huddled in fear in a locked room. They were no doubt sure that, when the authorities realized that they had been followers of the rabbi who had just been executed, they would be next on the Cross. Worse, they were no doubt also ashamed that they had betrayed Jesus, they had lied about knowing him, they had hidden when he was arrested, and many of them had run away when he was dying. But their fear and shame couldn’t keep Jesus away. Into that locked room walked Jesus himself! And what did he do? As Laurel Dykstra points out,2 here’s what he didn’t do: he didn’t say, “What happened,” or “Where were you?” He didn’t accuse them, he didn’t say “You betrayed me,” or “You screwed up,” or even “I expected better of my friends.” He didn’t accuse them of anything. He said, “Peace be with you.” And after the disciples were joyfully convinced that, yes, it really was Jesus, he said it again: “Peace be with you.”
And after Jesus said “Peace be with you” a second time, he invited them. He invited them to participate more deeply in his own risen life. In his farewell speech to them on that last fateful night – was it only just last Thursday? – he had promised them a special gift. Do you remember it? He had talked about peace then too. He had said, “Peace I leave with you; my own peace I give to you.” And he had promised that, “the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” He had also said, “When the Advocate comes … the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. You also are to testify because you have been with me from the beginning.” And then, in that locked room, Jesus made good on his promise. Just as the disciples were bubbling over with happiness, Jesus reminded them of his earlier instruction. He told them, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And then came the gift of the promised Spirit. Jesus breathed on the disciples and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Be wise, discerning, and empowered to proclaim my truth in the world.” In the face of chaos, loss, destruction, and despair in the world around them, Jesus truly empowered his disciples, giving them the reassurance, hope, and conviction that they needed to leave the self-imposed prison of that locked room and go out into the world to be Christ for those around them.
Because of what happened that Easter evening, we too can hear Jesus’ promise of the Spirit and his command to go out into the world. Peter’s eloquent sermons, parts of which we hear throughout Easter tide, testify to the power given the disciples by the Spirit. And by God’s grace, we too, as people baptized into Christ’s Body, we too have also received that same Spirit. And to us too does Jesus therefore say, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you. Into this troubled, chaotic, no-peace world in which you live, I send you to bring to others the peace that I have brought to you, the reconciliation and the welcome that I have extended to you.”
How do we do that? The short answer is that we say Jesus’ “Peace be with you” wherever and to whomever we can. You know the song, “Let there be peace on earth. And let it begin with me.” We begin by seeking peace within our own families. Are you estranged from a family member? Is there a family member with whom you constantly fight? Can you say to that person, “Peace be with you. Please be welcome in my heart?” As a Christian community, we seek peace by being a welcoming community – for all. Laurel Dykstra reminds us that we do not say to the poor and the marginalized, “You are not good enough. You are not welcome. The food bank is around the corner.” Rather she tells of worshipping in a street church and telling the people gathered around that Jesus said, “You are not accused, you are invited.” She tells us that the first time she used these words, a heroin addict and occasional prostitute whispered to her, “That was the first time in so many years that I felt like I was good enough to be part of this.” We also seek peace in the wider community. Who are the people in our town who are at odds with each other? Is there anything we can do to bring them to the same table? We can fight capital punishment, remembering that it is a violent and often unjust solution to the problem of human sin. And, most importantly, we can seek peace in our nation and in the world. We can actively hope for peace. We can urge our president to bring the troops home from Afghanistan and Iraq. As we rejoice in our Lord’s glorious resurrection, we can support such organizations as Churches for Middle East Peace, which works for peace, justice, and security for all in the Holy Land and beyond. And when the Lord calls us to put our own bodies on the line in the cause of peace, we can go – without hesitation.
I want to tell you the story of a man named Art Gish. Art was a farmer in Athens County, who died tragically last July at the age of 70 when his tractor rolled over him. Art was a deeply devoted member of the Church of the Brethren and, with his wife Peggy, he was a tireless, life-long worker for peace. An inspiration to many, Art worked in the Civil Right movement in the 1960s and protested against war in the 1970s. Beginning in 1995, he was a frequent member of Christian Peacemaker teams in the West Bank city of Hebron and in the Palestinian village of At-Tuwani. Art believed that his Brethren forebears were the radicals of their day, that they understood that “a Christian stands over against the world and is in conflict with the world.” “To be at peace with God,” Art said, “means that one is in conflict with the world.” His wife Peggy was in Iraq before and after the US invasion, and Art led nonviolence seminars as part of the Christian Peace Witness. Of his death, Rose Marie Berger, herself a Christian advocate for peace, wrote that Art was an “honorable man who literally lived ‘neath his vine and fig tree in peace and unafraid’ while always standing with those whose vines and fig trees were uprooted by men with guns and for whom peace and safety were fleeting ideals.”3
You may not be ready to do what Art and Peggy Gish have done. You may not even feel ready to welcome those who might come to street church. But, as we remember all those who died, simply because there were of the wrong color, religion, ethnicity, or nationality, as we hear again Jesus’ command to let ourselves be sent into the world as he was sent, and as we ponder where our resources might make a difference in this warring world, if we do nothing else, we can pray for peace. We can and do pray for those in the military. Perhaps we can also pray for diplomats and governments, for refugees from civil strife, for Afghans and Libyans, for Palestinians and Syrians, as well as for Americans. Perhaps we can make the prayer attributed to St. Francis our own prayer, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” Amen.
1. Thanks to Daniel B. Clendinin for reminding me of the significance of this date in his reflections on Journey with Jesus, http://www.journeywithjesus.net, accessed on April 25, 2011.
2. Laurel A. Dykstra in Sojourners Magazine (March 2008), quoted in Synthesis, May 1, 2011.
3. “World-Renowned Peacemaker Art Gish Dies,” Sojourners e-newletter, July 29, 2010, accessed on April 28, 2011.
In this context of a world of no peace, our Gospel for this morning sounds a very different note. Here were the disciples huddled in fear in a locked room. They were no doubt sure that, when the authorities realized that they had been followers of the rabbi who had just been executed, they would be next on the Cross. Worse, they were no doubt also ashamed that they had betrayed Jesus, they had lied about knowing him, they had hidden when he was arrested, and many of them had run away when he was dying. But their fear and shame couldn’t keep Jesus away. Into that locked room walked Jesus himself! And what did he do? As Laurel Dykstra points out,2 here’s what he didn’t do: he didn’t say, “What happened,” or “Where were you?” He didn’t accuse them, he didn’t say “You betrayed me,” or “You screwed up,” or even “I expected better of my friends.” He didn’t accuse them of anything. He said, “Peace be with you.” And after the disciples were joyfully convinced that, yes, it really was Jesus, he said it again: “Peace be with you.”
And after Jesus said “Peace be with you” a second time, he invited them. He invited them to participate more deeply in his own risen life. In his farewell speech to them on that last fateful night – was it only just last Thursday? – he had promised them a special gift. Do you remember it? He had talked about peace then too. He had said, “Peace I leave with you; my own peace I give to you.” And he had promised that, “the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” He had also said, “When the Advocate comes … the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. You also are to testify because you have been with me from the beginning.” And then, in that locked room, Jesus made good on his promise. Just as the disciples were bubbling over with happiness, Jesus reminded them of his earlier instruction. He told them, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And then came the gift of the promised Spirit. Jesus breathed on the disciples and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Be wise, discerning, and empowered to proclaim my truth in the world.” In the face of chaos, loss, destruction, and despair in the world around them, Jesus truly empowered his disciples, giving them the reassurance, hope, and conviction that they needed to leave the self-imposed prison of that locked room and go out into the world to be Christ for those around them.
Because of what happened that Easter evening, we too can hear Jesus’ promise of the Spirit and his command to go out into the world. Peter’s eloquent sermons, parts of which we hear throughout Easter tide, testify to the power given the disciples by the Spirit. And by God’s grace, we too, as people baptized into Christ’s Body, we too have also received that same Spirit. And to us too does Jesus therefore say, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you. Into this troubled, chaotic, no-peace world in which you live, I send you to bring to others the peace that I have brought to you, the reconciliation and the welcome that I have extended to you.”
How do we do that? The short answer is that we say Jesus’ “Peace be with you” wherever and to whomever we can. You know the song, “Let there be peace on earth. And let it begin with me.” We begin by seeking peace within our own families. Are you estranged from a family member? Is there a family member with whom you constantly fight? Can you say to that person, “Peace be with you. Please be welcome in my heart?” As a Christian community, we seek peace by being a welcoming community – for all. Laurel Dykstra reminds us that we do not say to the poor and the marginalized, “You are not good enough. You are not welcome. The food bank is around the corner.” Rather she tells of worshipping in a street church and telling the people gathered around that Jesus said, “You are not accused, you are invited.” She tells us that the first time she used these words, a heroin addict and occasional prostitute whispered to her, “That was the first time in so many years that I felt like I was good enough to be part of this.” We also seek peace in the wider community. Who are the people in our town who are at odds with each other? Is there anything we can do to bring them to the same table? We can fight capital punishment, remembering that it is a violent and often unjust solution to the problem of human sin. And, most importantly, we can seek peace in our nation and in the world. We can actively hope for peace. We can urge our president to bring the troops home from Afghanistan and Iraq. As we rejoice in our Lord’s glorious resurrection, we can support such organizations as Churches for Middle East Peace, which works for peace, justice, and security for all in the Holy Land and beyond. And when the Lord calls us to put our own bodies on the line in the cause of peace, we can go – without hesitation.
I want to tell you the story of a man named Art Gish. Art was a farmer in Athens County, who died tragically last July at the age of 70 when his tractor rolled over him. Art was a deeply devoted member of the Church of the Brethren and, with his wife Peggy, he was a tireless, life-long worker for peace. An inspiration to many, Art worked in the Civil Right movement in the 1960s and protested against war in the 1970s. Beginning in 1995, he was a frequent member of Christian Peacemaker teams in the West Bank city of Hebron and in the Palestinian village of At-Tuwani. Art believed that his Brethren forebears were the radicals of their day, that they understood that “a Christian stands over against the world and is in conflict with the world.” “To be at peace with God,” Art said, “means that one is in conflict with the world.” His wife Peggy was in Iraq before and after the US invasion, and Art led nonviolence seminars as part of the Christian Peace Witness. Of his death, Rose Marie Berger, herself a Christian advocate for peace, wrote that Art was an “honorable man who literally lived ‘neath his vine and fig tree in peace and unafraid’ while always standing with those whose vines and fig trees were uprooted by men with guns and for whom peace and safety were fleeting ideals.”3
You may not be ready to do what Art and Peggy Gish have done. You may not even feel ready to welcome those who might come to street church. But, as we remember all those who died, simply because there were of the wrong color, religion, ethnicity, or nationality, as we hear again Jesus’ command to let ourselves be sent into the world as he was sent, and as we ponder where our resources might make a difference in this warring world, if we do nothing else, we can pray for peace. We can and do pray for those in the military. Perhaps we can also pray for diplomats and governments, for refugees from civil strife, for Afghans and Libyans, for Palestinians and Syrians, as well as for Americans. Perhaps we can make the prayer attributed to St. Francis our own prayer, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” Amen.
1. Thanks to Daniel B. Clendinin for reminding me of the significance of this date in his reflections on Journey with Jesus, http://www.journeywithjesus.net, accessed on April 25, 2011.
2. Laurel A. Dykstra in Sojourners Magazine (March 2008), quoted in Synthesis, May 1, 2011.
3. “World-Renowned Peacemaker Art Gish Dies,” Sojourners e-newletter, July 29, 2010, accessed on April 28, 2011.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
"i thank You God for most this amazing"
I’m a great fan of bluegrass music. I like Bill Monroe and Ralph Stanley and Earl Scruggs, and all the old-time performers. I also like some of the current performers. I’ve actually heard Rhonda Vincent perform twice – the first time right here in the Ariel theater. One of my favorite bluegrass recordings is a two-CD set entitled, “O Sister,” which showcases some of the great women singers: Rhonda Vincent, Hazel Dickens, Maybelle Carter, Allison Krauss, and many others. If you know these artists, you know that their music is at best bittersweet. There are always a few Gospel songs, typically at the end of a CD or concert, but most of their songs, just like those of the bluesmen and the jazz singers, are about pain and loss of all kinds. In unforgettable songs like “Mama’s Hand,” Pathway of Teardrops,” or “It Rains Everywhere I go,” we hear of leaving home, unrequited love, failed relationships, loneliness, depression, dysfunctional families, even murder and imprisonment.
Loss, grief, execution -- isn’t that where we’ve been this week? From the first reminder of Jesus’ death last Sunday, in our painful last meal with him on Thursday, in walking with him to Jerusalem and in mourning his death on the Cross, haven’t we too experienced almost unbearable pain and darkness – literally and spiritually? And isn’t the pain and darkness of Good Friday where most of us live out our lives? Pain, loss, grief, death – we know that territory well. We too leave the comforts of home, our children grow up too fast, we see loved ones move away, we miss opportunities to do good, we make mistakes, we spend time in prison, we get divorced, we lose sisters, brothers, children, and spouses to sickness and death. Perhaps that’s why bluegrass music is so powerful. It speaks to who and where we are, right now, “in the midst of life.”
But here, in this place, there is another word. And isn’t that why you’re here, because you want to hear that word? Don’t you want to hope that pain, darkness, and death are not the whole story? Aren’t you looking for a different ending to the story of your life? My friends, the church offers us a very different story indeed. The church offers us resurrection. The church reminds us that, contrary to what everyone expected that first Good Friday, death was not the end of the story. The church carries us from the Cross to Jesus’ descent into hell, to an empty grave, to a risen Lord. The church tells us: resurrection happened. And happens. Those who witnessed that first Easter, those who experienced that surge of joy, those who delivered Jesus’ message to his disciples, those disciples who began to proclaim the good news to others realized that they were now living in a new reality – not the old reality of pain and death, but, because of what had happened to Jesus, a new reality of life, and hope, and resurrection.
Is that the word you came to hear? My friends, we don’t always want to hear about resurrection! Lutheran theologian Karl Barth reminded us that resurrection is “a difficult, dark truth, and a word that can scarcely be tolerated by our ears.” Indeed, Barth said, we are “threatened by resurrection,” by the very thought that we need resurrection. We don’t want to admit our own powerlessness, our sinfulness, the shortness of our lives. We don’t want to admit our poverty before God. We don’t want to admit that we need God’s merciful rescue. But God says to us, “Rise up! You are dead, but I call you to live. I have already acted, I have triumphed!” “This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes,” shouts the psalmist. “Don’t be afraid,” says Jesus, “accept my gift of new life.”
That new way of living, that new plane of life, that gift that Jesus offers is truly ours. “So if you have been raised with Christ,” Paul writes to the Christians at Colossae, “seek the things that are above.” Actually, the first part of that command is declarative. And the word “above” doesn’t so much mean “up in the sky,” as “beyond this world of pain and death” So what Paul is really saying to the Colossians is “Since you have been raised with Christ, fix your minds on where Christ is now, i.e., beyond this world of pain and death.” And why can the Colossians do this? This exhortation is part of a passage that addresses the consequences of baptism. Because they have been baptized into Christ’s death and, in baptism, they have been raised with Christ, the Colossian Christians are now empowered by Christ to live a life that is in some sense already “beyond” death. They are now an “Easter people,” and they can live differently, they can live knowing that pain and death are not the end of their story. They don’t have to live as if this life were all there were, they don’t have to numb their pain with addiction, they don’t have to be bound by outmoded rules and traditions, they don’t have to despair. Because their lives are now “hidden with Christ,” because they partake of Christ’s own risen life, they can live knowing that their identity is not bound up with this perishable world, and that earthly things do not demand their ultimate loyalty. They can live with hope, rejoicing in the knowledge that Christ has triumphed over all that would defeat them, and that they are now safe from the powers of darkness and death.
And so can we. We too as baptized people are heirs to the hope that was born that Easter morning. As we reverse our own descent into hell, as we too experience the shocking turn of events that occurred in that long ago dawn, we too can embrace that life-giving hope. We too can say, with the Colossians, “Yes, there is more to life than this earthly life.” We have been to Cross and the grave this week. Perhaps some of us are still carrying heavy crosses, or are still grieving painful losses. Two days ago, it was Friday. But now it is Sunday, it is Easter, and, once again we experience the miracle. Yes, there is hope, and there is resurrection. Our lives are now hidden with Christ in God. We no longer have to depend on our own efforts. We can trust in God’s saving power for the rest of our lives and beyond. We can sing “alleluia” with true joy.
And our Easter joy doesn’t end on the other side of the red doors. It doesn’t end with this day. The church gives us fifty days to celebrate the gift of our new life in Christ: from today, through our celebration of Jesus’ Ascension, to his gift of the Holy Spirit in Pentecost. But we can also celebrate Jesus’ gift of new life every day. In a sense, every day is a gift of God, and every day gives us an opportunity to praise God for all that God has done for us. Every day gives us a chance to live with the hope of resurrection.
E.e cummings is a poet whom some of you may know. I began reading cummings’s poetry as a teenager – even before I knew anything about bluegrass music. I’ve liked his poem “i thank You God for most this amazing” for a long time, but I realized only recently how well it expresses our understanding of Easter as a daily experience, how well it shows that resurrection isn’t something we experience once a year in church but is ultimately part of all of God’s creation. Hear cummings’s reminder that God is “everything that is yes:”
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
What could be more joyful news than God’s “yes” to us. This Easter day, may the ears of your ears awake to God’s promise, may the eyes of your eyes see God at work in your life, and may we all shout once again, “Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!”
Loss, grief, execution -- isn’t that where we’ve been this week? From the first reminder of Jesus’ death last Sunday, in our painful last meal with him on Thursday, in walking with him to Jerusalem and in mourning his death on the Cross, haven’t we too experienced almost unbearable pain and darkness – literally and spiritually? And isn’t the pain and darkness of Good Friday where most of us live out our lives? Pain, loss, grief, death – we know that territory well. We too leave the comforts of home, our children grow up too fast, we see loved ones move away, we miss opportunities to do good, we make mistakes, we spend time in prison, we get divorced, we lose sisters, brothers, children, and spouses to sickness and death. Perhaps that’s why bluegrass music is so powerful. It speaks to who and where we are, right now, “in the midst of life.”
But here, in this place, there is another word. And isn’t that why you’re here, because you want to hear that word? Don’t you want to hope that pain, darkness, and death are not the whole story? Aren’t you looking for a different ending to the story of your life? My friends, the church offers us a very different story indeed. The church offers us resurrection. The church reminds us that, contrary to what everyone expected that first Good Friday, death was not the end of the story. The church carries us from the Cross to Jesus’ descent into hell, to an empty grave, to a risen Lord. The church tells us: resurrection happened. And happens. Those who witnessed that first Easter, those who experienced that surge of joy, those who delivered Jesus’ message to his disciples, those disciples who began to proclaim the good news to others realized that they were now living in a new reality – not the old reality of pain and death, but, because of what had happened to Jesus, a new reality of life, and hope, and resurrection.
Is that the word you came to hear? My friends, we don’t always want to hear about resurrection! Lutheran theologian Karl Barth reminded us that resurrection is “a difficult, dark truth, and a word that can scarcely be tolerated by our ears.” Indeed, Barth said, we are “threatened by resurrection,” by the very thought that we need resurrection. We don’t want to admit our own powerlessness, our sinfulness, the shortness of our lives. We don’t want to admit our poverty before God. We don’t want to admit that we need God’s merciful rescue. But God says to us, “Rise up! You are dead, but I call you to live. I have already acted, I have triumphed!” “This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes,” shouts the psalmist. “Don’t be afraid,” says Jesus, “accept my gift of new life.”
That new way of living, that new plane of life, that gift that Jesus offers is truly ours. “So if you have been raised with Christ,” Paul writes to the Christians at Colossae, “seek the things that are above.” Actually, the first part of that command is declarative. And the word “above” doesn’t so much mean “up in the sky,” as “beyond this world of pain and death” So what Paul is really saying to the Colossians is “Since you have been raised with Christ, fix your minds on where Christ is now, i.e., beyond this world of pain and death.” And why can the Colossians do this? This exhortation is part of a passage that addresses the consequences of baptism. Because they have been baptized into Christ’s death and, in baptism, they have been raised with Christ, the Colossian Christians are now empowered by Christ to live a life that is in some sense already “beyond” death. They are now an “Easter people,” and they can live differently, they can live knowing that pain and death are not the end of their story. They don’t have to live as if this life were all there were, they don’t have to numb their pain with addiction, they don’t have to be bound by outmoded rules and traditions, they don’t have to despair. Because their lives are now “hidden with Christ,” because they partake of Christ’s own risen life, they can live knowing that their identity is not bound up with this perishable world, and that earthly things do not demand their ultimate loyalty. They can live with hope, rejoicing in the knowledge that Christ has triumphed over all that would defeat them, and that they are now safe from the powers of darkness and death.
And so can we. We too as baptized people are heirs to the hope that was born that Easter morning. As we reverse our own descent into hell, as we too experience the shocking turn of events that occurred in that long ago dawn, we too can embrace that life-giving hope. We too can say, with the Colossians, “Yes, there is more to life than this earthly life.” We have been to Cross and the grave this week. Perhaps some of us are still carrying heavy crosses, or are still grieving painful losses. Two days ago, it was Friday. But now it is Sunday, it is Easter, and, once again we experience the miracle. Yes, there is hope, and there is resurrection. Our lives are now hidden with Christ in God. We no longer have to depend on our own efforts. We can trust in God’s saving power for the rest of our lives and beyond. We can sing “alleluia” with true joy.
And our Easter joy doesn’t end on the other side of the red doors. It doesn’t end with this day. The church gives us fifty days to celebrate the gift of our new life in Christ: from today, through our celebration of Jesus’ Ascension, to his gift of the Holy Spirit in Pentecost. But we can also celebrate Jesus’ gift of new life every day. In a sense, every day is a gift of God, and every day gives us an opportunity to praise God for all that God has done for us. Every day gives us a chance to live with the hope of resurrection.
E.e cummings is a poet whom some of you may know. I began reading cummings’s poetry as a teenager – even before I knew anything about bluegrass music. I’ve liked his poem “i thank You God for most this amazing” for a long time, but I realized only recently how well it expresses our understanding of Easter as a daily experience, how well it shows that resurrection isn’t something we experience once a year in church but is ultimately part of all of God’s creation. Hear cummings’s reminder that God is “everything that is yes:”
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
What could be more joyful news than God’s “yes” to us. This Easter day, may the ears of your ears awake to God’s promise, may the eyes of your eyes see God at work in your life, and may we all shout once again, “Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!”
Friday, April 22, 2011
For I have Set You an Example
“For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”
Really? Jesus has just done a very odd thing. Although he was the disciples’ beloved teacher and master, he behaved as if he were a household servant, as if he were, in our day, the person who takes your coat at a fancy restaurant. He literally “took the form of a slave,” as the hymn in Paul’s letter to the Philippians puts it. He stripped down to his underclothes, took up a towel, and washed his disciples’ feet. He even persuaded hotheaded Peter to let him wash his feet by reminding Peter that unless he allowed Jesus to wash his feet, he would have “no share” with Jesus. Now the disciples are standing around open-mouthed. “Do you know what I have done for you?” Jesus asks. “No Lord, we have no clue,” they surely thought. Fortunately, it was a rhetorical question that Jesus goes on to answer: “I’ve given you an example of what you are to do for one another. If I have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet.”
So our desire to follow Jesus’ command to his disciples on that last night is partly the reason why we are shortly about to do the same for each other. Even though this ceremony will be replicated in churches around the diocese, indeed around the world this night, the Book of Common Prayer doesn’t require us to do it. All it says is “When observed, the ceremony of the washing of feet…” follows the Gospel and homily. And it may be just as well that foot-washing never became a sacrament. If it had, priests would worry about the logistics of it – especially on a carpeted floor. Theologians would endlessly debate whether the feet should be sprinkled or immersed. Liturgists would argue about whether the left foot or the right foot should be washed first. As one commentator has noted, “It’s always easier to follow Jesus in our heads that it is to follow him with our feet on the Via Dolorosa,” the way to the Cross.
Even though it is not a sacrament, this ceremony has an ancient lineage. Bishops and priests have long washed the feet of the poor on this day. Abbots have washed the feet of monks, and kings have washed the feet of peasants. Even Queen Elizabeth I washed the feet of twenty poor women on Maundy Thursday. So recapturing our traditions might be another reason for doing the foot-washing ceremony. But there’s another even more important reason. Christianity, and especially its expression in the Episcopal Church, is an incarnational religion. We believe that the Word became flesh and lived with us, that God became human in Jesus. For that reason we also believe that we experience spiritual realities in our bodies. When we do something, the spiritual reality that it reflects becomes more real to us. That is why we wash each other’s feet, so that the commandment of Jesus becomes more real to us, and so that we can more truly reflect its meaning in our own lives.
But there’s more. The example that Jesus set for us in washing the disciples’ feet was what one commentator called a “paradigmatic example” of Jesus love. It stands for all the ways in which Jesus gave himself for us, all the ways in which he took the form of a servant. Jeremy Taylor, a seventeenth-century Anglican theologian reminds us that Jesus “chose to wash their feet rather than their head, that he might have the opportunity of a more humble posture, and a more apt signification of his charity. Thus God lays everything aside, that he may serve his servants….” What is more, all that the New Testament records of what Jesus did and said reflects that same self-giving love and becomes his example for us. All of Jesus’ reflections of self-giving love, his healing of the sick, his feeding of the hungry, his caring for the poor, and his welcome of sinners, become examples for us. Ultimately, Jesus’ self-giving love in being willing to die a criminal’s death on the Cross is the most powerful reflection for us of the depths of God’s love for us – deeper than anything we can imagine. Out of our immense gratitude for all that Jesus has done for us, we joyfully accept his commandment, we joyfully replicate with our own bodies our acceptance of Jesus’ self-giving love. We give this service to each other and receive it from each other in recognition that we are part of him and he of us, that we “have a share” with him. And we pray that God’s Spirit will help us to be more like him and empower us to do what he did.
So tonight we will follow Jesus’ commandment literally, as we wash each other’s feet. Out foot-washing may not be a sacrament, but it is a liturgy with real symbolic power. After we have experienced its power, after we have been at table with Jesus on his last night on earth, and after we have walked with him to Jerusalem, how we will continue to follow his example in the rest of our lives? How will we receive and share his self-giving love? Let me give you two examples. Anita and Michael Dohn were successful physicians in the Cincinnati area. Anita was an Associate Director at the St. Elizabeth Family Practice Residency Program in Edgewood, KY, and Michael was Associate Professor of Clinical Internal Medicine at the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine and Deputy Director for Clinical Care for the Infectious Diseases Center at the UC Medical Center. About twelve years ago they sensed a call to follow more closely Jesus’ example of self-giving love. After a period of discernment, they were accepted as missionaries by the Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders and were assigned to work with the Dominican Episcopal Church. After attending language school in Costa Rica, they arrived in San Pedro de Macorís in the Dominican Republic at the beginning of May, 2000. They have been there ever since. Anita follows Jesus’ example by working in a clinic and community health program that especially addresses children’s and women’s health and treatment of HIV/AIDS. Michael serves as Medical Director for the diocesan clinic, which treats over 25,000 people a year.
How about an example closer to home? On the second Monday of each month, parishioners of the tiny Church of the Epiphany in Nelsonville join others in participating in a long running euchre tournament with prisoners at the nearby Hocking Correctional Facility. And even closer to home? Following our Eucharist on Easter day, members of St. Peter’s and other churches, having shopped and cooked, will serve dinner to members of this community who have no one else to serve them dinner. As surely as we will give to them, they will bless us in accepting from us a small reflection of God’s love for us and for them.
And so, as we prepare to accept Jesus’ love for us, as we allow our feet to be washed, let us also pray this night: Holy God, in washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus gave us an example of the dignity of service and of self-giving love. As we walk with him to the Cross, help us to accept and share his love for us and for all people, so that all may come to know the depth of that love. We ask this, as we do all our prayers, in the name of Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.
Really? Jesus has just done a very odd thing. Although he was the disciples’ beloved teacher and master, he behaved as if he were a household servant, as if he were, in our day, the person who takes your coat at a fancy restaurant. He literally “took the form of a slave,” as the hymn in Paul’s letter to the Philippians puts it. He stripped down to his underclothes, took up a towel, and washed his disciples’ feet. He even persuaded hotheaded Peter to let him wash his feet by reminding Peter that unless he allowed Jesus to wash his feet, he would have “no share” with Jesus. Now the disciples are standing around open-mouthed. “Do you know what I have done for you?” Jesus asks. “No Lord, we have no clue,” they surely thought. Fortunately, it was a rhetorical question that Jesus goes on to answer: “I’ve given you an example of what you are to do for one another. If I have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet.”
So our desire to follow Jesus’ command to his disciples on that last night is partly the reason why we are shortly about to do the same for each other. Even though this ceremony will be replicated in churches around the diocese, indeed around the world this night, the Book of Common Prayer doesn’t require us to do it. All it says is “When observed, the ceremony of the washing of feet…” follows the Gospel and homily. And it may be just as well that foot-washing never became a sacrament. If it had, priests would worry about the logistics of it – especially on a carpeted floor. Theologians would endlessly debate whether the feet should be sprinkled or immersed. Liturgists would argue about whether the left foot or the right foot should be washed first. As one commentator has noted, “It’s always easier to follow Jesus in our heads that it is to follow him with our feet on the Via Dolorosa,” the way to the Cross.
Even though it is not a sacrament, this ceremony has an ancient lineage. Bishops and priests have long washed the feet of the poor on this day. Abbots have washed the feet of monks, and kings have washed the feet of peasants. Even Queen Elizabeth I washed the feet of twenty poor women on Maundy Thursday. So recapturing our traditions might be another reason for doing the foot-washing ceremony. But there’s another even more important reason. Christianity, and especially its expression in the Episcopal Church, is an incarnational religion. We believe that the Word became flesh and lived with us, that God became human in Jesus. For that reason we also believe that we experience spiritual realities in our bodies. When we do something, the spiritual reality that it reflects becomes more real to us. That is why we wash each other’s feet, so that the commandment of Jesus becomes more real to us, and so that we can more truly reflect its meaning in our own lives.
But there’s more. The example that Jesus set for us in washing the disciples’ feet was what one commentator called a “paradigmatic example” of Jesus love. It stands for all the ways in which Jesus gave himself for us, all the ways in which he took the form of a servant. Jeremy Taylor, a seventeenth-century Anglican theologian reminds us that Jesus “chose to wash their feet rather than their head, that he might have the opportunity of a more humble posture, and a more apt signification of his charity. Thus God lays everything aside, that he may serve his servants….” What is more, all that the New Testament records of what Jesus did and said reflects that same self-giving love and becomes his example for us. All of Jesus’ reflections of self-giving love, his healing of the sick, his feeding of the hungry, his caring for the poor, and his welcome of sinners, become examples for us. Ultimately, Jesus’ self-giving love in being willing to die a criminal’s death on the Cross is the most powerful reflection for us of the depths of God’s love for us – deeper than anything we can imagine. Out of our immense gratitude for all that Jesus has done for us, we joyfully accept his commandment, we joyfully replicate with our own bodies our acceptance of Jesus’ self-giving love. We give this service to each other and receive it from each other in recognition that we are part of him and he of us, that we “have a share” with him. And we pray that God’s Spirit will help us to be more like him and empower us to do what he did.
So tonight we will follow Jesus’ commandment literally, as we wash each other’s feet. Out foot-washing may not be a sacrament, but it is a liturgy with real symbolic power. After we have experienced its power, after we have been at table with Jesus on his last night on earth, and after we have walked with him to Jerusalem, how we will continue to follow his example in the rest of our lives? How will we receive and share his self-giving love? Let me give you two examples. Anita and Michael Dohn were successful physicians in the Cincinnati area. Anita was an Associate Director at the St. Elizabeth Family Practice Residency Program in Edgewood, KY, and Michael was Associate Professor of Clinical Internal Medicine at the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine and Deputy Director for Clinical Care for the Infectious Diseases Center at the UC Medical Center. About twelve years ago they sensed a call to follow more closely Jesus’ example of self-giving love. After a period of discernment, they were accepted as missionaries by the Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders and were assigned to work with the Dominican Episcopal Church. After attending language school in Costa Rica, they arrived in San Pedro de Macorís in the Dominican Republic at the beginning of May, 2000. They have been there ever since. Anita follows Jesus’ example by working in a clinic and community health program that especially addresses children’s and women’s health and treatment of HIV/AIDS. Michael serves as Medical Director for the diocesan clinic, which treats over 25,000 people a year.
How about an example closer to home? On the second Monday of each month, parishioners of the tiny Church of the Epiphany in Nelsonville join others in participating in a long running euchre tournament with prisoners at the nearby Hocking Correctional Facility. And even closer to home? Following our Eucharist on Easter day, members of St. Peter’s and other churches, having shopped and cooked, will serve dinner to members of this community who have no one else to serve them dinner. As surely as we will give to them, they will bless us in accepting from us a small reflection of God’s love for us and for them.
And so, as we prepare to accept Jesus’ love for us, as we allow our feet to be washed, let us also pray this night: Holy God, in washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus gave us an example of the dignity of service and of self-giving love. As we walk with him to the Cross, help us to accept and share his love for us and for all people, so that all may come to know the depth of that love. We ask this, as we do all our prayers, in the name of Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.
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