All the Light We Cannot See is a recent novel that is set in occupied France during World War II. It tells the story of Marie-Laure LeBlanc who, at the age of six, becomes blind from a degenerative condition. Her widowed father is a master locksmith at the Museum of Natural History in Paris. To help her navigate the world and live independently, Marie-Laure’s father builds her a scale model of her neighborhood, and then walks her through the streets, teaching her to count her steps. He also has her learn Braille and brings her books that open up her world.
When the Nazis invade France in 1940, Marie-Laure and her father flee to Saint-Malo on the Atlantic coast, where they live in the house of great-uncle Etienne, a recluse. Again Marie-Laure’s father builds her wooden scale models and teaches her to navigate Etienne’s house and neighborhood. Although her father is arrested by the Nazis, partly because of his diligence in mapping Saint-Malo, Marie-Laure is able to function without him, draw out Etienne, help her neighbors, and change the life of Werner, a young German soldier of the occupation. There’s much more to the story, and I highly recommend that you read it for yourself. And why do I recommend it? It is not only the character of Marie-Laure that captivates us. What is more important is that the novel reminds us that there are different kinds of blindness, and that physical blindness does not necessarily lead to a life of misery, but only if the world around us is willing to support us and enable us to “see” differently.
Today’s readings from Scripture also ask us to consider the meanings and varieties of blindness. As you heard the reading from the first book of Samuel about the choice of a king to succeed Saul, couldn’t you just picture the parade of Jesse’s sons passing by the prophet Samuel? Tall, strong, probably accomplished horsemen, hunters, and fighters, wouldn’t they all have made excellent kings? No one in the story here is physically blind, but all are inwardly blind, as they seem to focus only on outward physical appearance. Even Samuel, when he sees tall Eliab, thinks that Eliab must be God’s choice. However, Samuel is also attuned to God, and so he is able to hear God say, “Do not look on his appearance … for the Lord does not see as mortals see….” When David is finally summoned from tending the sheep and is brought before Samuel, Samuel is able to hear God say, “Rise up and anoint him; for this is the one.”
Our Gospel story from the Gospel according to John similarly intrigues us with its depiction of different kinds of blindness. But first, there are some caveats, or warnings, when we talk about this gospel. Remember that it was written in the 90’s, i.e., sixty years after Jesus’ death. More important, it was written for a community in conflict with the mainline Judaism of its day. “The Jews” in this text are the religious leaders opposed to Jesus, not all Jews and not even all religious leaders. When this particular story mentions that followers of Jesus were “put out of the synagogue,” it refers to what Jesus’ followers in the 90’s were experiencing, not the experience of Jesus’ first disciples. And finally, remember that the overarching theme of this gospel is proving Jesus’ divinity, which you can hear here in “If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.”
So keeping that all in mind, let’s look at this challenging story. Here we see different kinds of blindness and different ways of responding to what is plainly in front of us. To begin with we see the man born blind, i.e., physically blind like Marie-Laure. However, unlike Marie-Laure, this man is stigmatized by his community because of his disability. Considered unclean, he is forced to become a beggar. Yet by God’s grace he is able to allow Jesus to touch him with a mixture of mud and saliva, and to follow Jesus’ instruction to wash in the pool of Siloam. Knowing he has been healed, he declares Jesus to be a prophet and one who had surely come from God.
Meanwhile, everyone else in the story is unable to see what has happened. The bystanders waffle: maybe it was he who was healed, maybe it wasn’t. The man’s parents cannot or will not say that their son has been healed. And the religious leaders, like so many people we know, cannot believe what they see and hear. Why? Because what has happened does not conform to their view of the world, the Law of Moses, or what are permissible activities on the Sabbath. While the evangelist seems to portray these religious leaders negatively, I can easily understand their desire to hold on to tradition, their inability to accept a changed reality, and their certainty that they are right.
And more important, aren’t we too in these stories? We are surely in the story from first Samuel. So many of us are just like Samuel! We too can’t see beyond outward characteristics! Don’t we judge other people on the basis of looks? Actually, our culture is obsessed with looks, especially how women look. Just look at the ads in any magazine! But don’t we also judge people on the basis of gender, age, religion, ethnicity, nationality, social class, and disability? “You only get one chance to make a first impression,” the how-to-succeed books say. But so often that first impression is so wrong. For most of us, it takes more than one encounter for us to see the real person beneath the outward trappings. How hard it is to see “as God sees.”
And don’t we also find it hard to see that God has done and is doing a new thing in our lives or in our world? Do we find it difficult to accept the reality of God’s actions because, like the bystanders, we don’t trust the evidence right in front of us, or because, like the beggar’s parents, we are afraid of what others might say if we commit to some new understanding? Or more than likely, we find it hard to see God at work, doing a new thing, because we are still looking through the lenses of the past. Like the religious leaders, we dismiss the possibility that God is changing our lives or our world, because we can’t let go of cherished beliefs and practices. “Tradition!” says Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, when he attempts to explain life in his village. Do we still cling to outmoded traditions and beliefs?
We don’t have to stay blind! Marie-Laure learned to “see” through her father’s models and measured walks. Samuel learned to see by trusting God’s voice inside him, as he rejected all of Jesse’s older sons. The blind man was able to see through trusting a strange rabbi. The bystanders, the man’s parents, and the religious leaders were not able, at least in this story, to learn how to see.
How do we learn to see more clearly? To me, we begin to see more clearly when we give up our own sense of “how things are” and allow for the possibility that God does see differently than we do. We see more clearly when we can grasp that reality might be different than we think it is. We see more clearly when we are willing to give up our intense control of our lives and admit that we are not always right. For some of us, that is very difficult!
And how do we cultivate discernment and inner sight? How do we learn to let God help us see more clearly? There are lots of formal processes and good books about discernment out there. The Jesuits are especially good at teaching us discernment through meditating on Scripture. They also teach an especially good practice of walking through our day, watching for where God might have shown up. In the secular world, strategic planning, especially when it includes visioning exercises, can lead to clearer sight. Parishes can engage in communal discernment practices, and, again, there are many good books, consultants, and programs out there for that. Some of you are familiar with the discernment processes that accompany a felt sense of call to ordained ministry.
For us as individuals, perhaps the best way to learn to see more clearly is to spend some time, preferably every day, in intentional silence. Lectio divina, i.e., slow reading of Scripture, intentionally listening for God’s word to us, is one practice that, like new eyeglasses, can improve our sight. Or just sit in silence, even for five or ten minutes, setting aside your own thoughts and even conscious prayers, just listening for God’s word. Have you ever considered a silent retreat? They are wonderful for bringing us to a place of openness to God and for enabling us to consider how God might want to do something new in our lives. If you’re not ready for a week in silence – even though I highly recommend it – I invite you instead to try this spiritual exercise. Sit quietly. Take a few deep breaths. Ask yourself: what does God see in me? What does God see in N? Is there anything about N that I might not be seeing?
Ultimately, our goal as followers of Jesus is to cultivate wisdom, about ourselves, the world, and God, which is how we truly see. As we listen for the Word made flesh, i.e., God present to us in Jesus, we will learn wisdom. We will not be blind, but we will truly see God at work in ourselves and in all whom we encounter.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Serve and Protect
It’s a fable. The enchanting – or perhaps frightening – story of Eve, Adam, the serpent, and the tree is a fable. We know that the earth isn’t just 6,000 years old. We accept the Big Bang theory and believe that our cosmos came into being about thirteen billion years ago, and that it’s still continuing to expand. The theory of evolution tells us that human beings didn’t just appear exactly fully formed as we are today. We know that the first woman was not formed out of one of the ribs of the first man. If anything, scientists tell us that the first humanoid might have been a woman. We even know that there were alternate humans, the Neanderthals, who eventually blended in with our species, homo sapiens. (If you’re interested in humans and Neanderthals, look into Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari.)
It’s a fable. The sages who finally included the story in the Torah, and all the rabbis who have commented on it since, knew it was a fable and not to be taken literally. But the sages who compiled the Hebrew Bible included the two stories of human creation because both of them contain deep truths – truths to which we must still pay attention. Today’s story in the reading from the book of Genesis especially contains within it lessons about our place in creation and God’s expectations of us. As we begin our Lenten journey to the Cross, it is important that we not miss what the story of Adam, Eve, the serpent, and the tree has to tell us.
Today’s reading comes from the second creation story in Genesis. What you heard is actually two disconnected pieces, with an important piece missing. In the first part of the story, God has made the first human being “Adam” from the dust of the earth, “adamah” in Hebrew. In the Bible, yes, we truly are “dust.” Then God created a garden and placed the first human in it. God gave the first human two instructions: what our translation renders as to “till and keep” the garden (“dress it and keep it” in the KJV), and to refrain from eating from a certain tree. After this, there is the story of the creation of a second human, a woman, which our reading skips over. Then we have the second part of our reading, the story of the interplay among the woman, the man, the serpent, and the fruit of the forbidden tree.
So what are we supposed to learn from this fable? Both creation stories, and especially the first one, give us a breath-taking picture of God speaking creation into being. “Let there be light,” God thunders in the first creation story, and there was light. Let the waters recede, and let there be sun and moon, and vegetation, and animals, and – finally – humans created in God’s own image. And it was all good.
The second creation story, the one we hear about this morning, begins right with the creation of the first human being, followed by the creation of the Garden of Eden. Why did God create the human being? Here is the answer: to “till and keep” the garden, and by implication all of creation.1 In the context of ancient creation myths this reason is quite amazing. Other creation stories show humans as an accident, or an after-thought, or even a mistake. In our modern creation myth, we humans tend to see ourselves as the apex of creation, the point of it all. In contrast to both these points of view, the Genesis story says that humans are not created for themselves, but are created to till and keep the garden.
Do you wonder what “till and keep” means? Actually, this isn’t a good translation of the Hebrew. A better translation would be to “serve and protect.” In other words, we humans were created, as the teller of the Genesis story understands it, to take care of creation – not to exploit it. We were created so that we could pay attention to the needs of creation, rather than to our own needs, to love creation as God loves it. And we are responsible for its well-being, both now and into the future. We are to be concerned “for those who come after us.”. In a word care for God’s garden is our mission as human beings.
And how well are we fulfilling our mission as human beings? The story of Adam, Eve, the serpent, and the tree suggests that we are not doing very well. In a word, we let ourselves get distracted and forget about God’s mission. We get distracted by our physical needs. Eve thought that the forbidden tree was “good for food.” Those in our country who still worry about where their next meal is coming from – and whether their SNAP dollars will last through the end of the month – are very appropriately distracted by physical needs. Most of us, though, are distracted by our desire for “stuff,” for clothes, cars, electronics, airplanes, weapons – you name it. Do really need the latest style of tennis shoes, or a new cell phone every two years? Our landfills are bursting, and still we keep buying – and tossing out. Worse, we get distracted by physical substances that do us real harm, especially alcohol and drugs. You have only to open the daily newspaper to know that, despite the “war on drugs,” our opiate addiction is killing us – right here in southern Ohio. (If you’re interested in the drug problem right here at home, look into Dream Land: The True Story of America’s Opiate Epidemic by Sam Quinones.)
If we are not distracted by physical needs, many of us are distracted by things that dazzle and entertain us. For Eve, the forbidden tree “was a delight to the eyes.” Well, sometimes I get dazzled by flowering trees, but most of us are more likely to become dazzled and enthralled by football games or other spectacles. Or maybe you’re hooked on video games. For some of us it’s social media. Am I the only one who looks around after an hour or so and says, “Did I just spend all that time on Facebook?”
Aren’t we also distracted by our need for control? Eve thought that the forbidden tree would “make one wise,” i.e., that it would allow her and Adam to be like God. Do we think we can know all the variables that will affect our lives and then control them? We know we cannot, yet we can get seduced into thinking that we can.
And finally, of course, we get distracted by the illusion that we will not die. This is the serpent’s most perverse lie: “You will not die.” But we believe it! Or we live as if we do. We live as if there’s still time to turn our lives around. We live as if there’s yet another day to do the right thing. We think we have plenty of time to apologize and make amends to those we have hurt – or to forgive and reconcile with those who have hurt us. We put off working for peace and justice, because there’s still plenty of time for us to do those good things. We don’t take care of our bodies, nor do we care whether our neighbors have enough to eat or have access to decent healthcare. We don’t make wills. And we don’t prepare for the day when we will actually take our last breath.
My brothers and sisters, it’s just a fable, but it’s a fable that is also describing our lives. What happened in that garden also happens to us. The story of Adam, Eve, the serpent, and the tree is also a story about us. We still have a responsibility to serve and protect the earth, in the 21st century now perhaps more than ever. The Paris agreement on climate change still matters, as does the ability of our federal and state agencies to fund research. In our relatively under-populated country, we may still think that the earth will regenerate itself after we’ve harmed it – or that we can just move further west. The truth is that the network of mines under southeast Ohio will last forever. The mountains in Kentucky and West Virginia that were flattened by the mining companies will be scarred for centuries. The fracking water that we’ve pumped underground will stay there forever – we hope.
Lent is a time to acknowledge and recommit ourselves to stewardship of the earth – and to remind our elected representatives to be mindful of the needs of “this fragile earth, our island home.” Lent is a time to recognize and repent of all the things that distract us from our responsibilities. It is a time to turn our backs on the blandishments of the serpent and return to our responsibility for creation and its inhabitants. It is a time to read Scripture attentively and note, for example, how Jesus responded to the distractions from his mission that he was offered. Lent is a time to examine our lives and ask how we, as individuals, as a parish, and as a community, need to change. Lent is a time to pray that now, in this mortal life, God’s Holy Spirit will lead us to amendment of life and commitment to God’s holy mission. Lent is time to be confident in God’s mercy and open to God’s leading. May it be so.
1. With thanks to Jon Berquist in Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 2 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox), pp. 27ff., for suggesting the theme of “till and keep” for this story.
It’s a fable. The sages who finally included the story in the Torah, and all the rabbis who have commented on it since, knew it was a fable and not to be taken literally. But the sages who compiled the Hebrew Bible included the two stories of human creation because both of them contain deep truths – truths to which we must still pay attention. Today’s story in the reading from the book of Genesis especially contains within it lessons about our place in creation and God’s expectations of us. As we begin our Lenten journey to the Cross, it is important that we not miss what the story of Adam, Eve, the serpent, and the tree has to tell us.
Today’s reading comes from the second creation story in Genesis. What you heard is actually two disconnected pieces, with an important piece missing. In the first part of the story, God has made the first human being “Adam” from the dust of the earth, “adamah” in Hebrew. In the Bible, yes, we truly are “dust.” Then God created a garden and placed the first human in it. God gave the first human two instructions: what our translation renders as to “till and keep” the garden (“dress it and keep it” in the KJV), and to refrain from eating from a certain tree. After this, there is the story of the creation of a second human, a woman, which our reading skips over. Then we have the second part of our reading, the story of the interplay among the woman, the man, the serpent, and the fruit of the forbidden tree.
So what are we supposed to learn from this fable? Both creation stories, and especially the first one, give us a breath-taking picture of God speaking creation into being. “Let there be light,” God thunders in the first creation story, and there was light. Let the waters recede, and let there be sun and moon, and vegetation, and animals, and – finally – humans created in God’s own image. And it was all good.
The second creation story, the one we hear about this morning, begins right with the creation of the first human being, followed by the creation of the Garden of Eden. Why did God create the human being? Here is the answer: to “till and keep” the garden, and by implication all of creation.1 In the context of ancient creation myths this reason is quite amazing. Other creation stories show humans as an accident, or an after-thought, or even a mistake. In our modern creation myth, we humans tend to see ourselves as the apex of creation, the point of it all. In contrast to both these points of view, the Genesis story says that humans are not created for themselves, but are created to till and keep the garden.
Do you wonder what “till and keep” means? Actually, this isn’t a good translation of the Hebrew. A better translation would be to “serve and protect.” In other words, we humans were created, as the teller of the Genesis story understands it, to take care of creation – not to exploit it. We were created so that we could pay attention to the needs of creation, rather than to our own needs, to love creation as God loves it. And we are responsible for its well-being, both now and into the future. We are to be concerned “for those who come after us.”. In a word care for God’s garden is our mission as human beings.
And how well are we fulfilling our mission as human beings? The story of Adam, Eve, the serpent, and the tree suggests that we are not doing very well. In a word, we let ourselves get distracted and forget about God’s mission. We get distracted by our physical needs. Eve thought that the forbidden tree was “good for food.” Those in our country who still worry about where their next meal is coming from – and whether their SNAP dollars will last through the end of the month – are very appropriately distracted by physical needs. Most of us, though, are distracted by our desire for “stuff,” for clothes, cars, electronics, airplanes, weapons – you name it. Do really need the latest style of tennis shoes, or a new cell phone every two years? Our landfills are bursting, and still we keep buying – and tossing out. Worse, we get distracted by physical substances that do us real harm, especially alcohol and drugs. You have only to open the daily newspaper to know that, despite the “war on drugs,” our opiate addiction is killing us – right here in southern Ohio. (If you’re interested in the drug problem right here at home, look into Dream Land: The True Story of America’s Opiate Epidemic by Sam Quinones.)
If we are not distracted by physical needs, many of us are distracted by things that dazzle and entertain us. For Eve, the forbidden tree “was a delight to the eyes.” Well, sometimes I get dazzled by flowering trees, but most of us are more likely to become dazzled and enthralled by football games or other spectacles. Or maybe you’re hooked on video games. For some of us it’s social media. Am I the only one who looks around after an hour or so and says, “Did I just spend all that time on Facebook?”
Aren’t we also distracted by our need for control? Eve thought that the forbidden tree would “make one wise,” i.e., that it would allow her and Adam to be like God. Do we think we can know all the variables that will affect our lives and then control them? We know we cannot, yet we can get seduced into thinking that we can.
And finally, of course, we get distracted by the illusion that we will not die. This is the serpent’s most perverse lie: “You will not die.” But we believe it! Or we live as if we do. We live as if there’s still time to turn our lives around. We live as if there’s yet another day to do the right thing. We think we have plenty of time to apologize and make amends to those we have hurt – or to forgive and reconcile with those who have hurt us. We put off working for peace and justice, because there’s still plenty of time for us to do those good things. We don’t take care of our bodies, nor do we care whether our neighbors have enough to eat or have access to decent healthcare. We don’t make wills. And we don’t prepare for the day when we will actually take our last breath.
My brothers and sisters, it’s just a fable, but it’s a fable that is also describing our lives. What happened in that garden also happens to us. The story of Adam, Eve, the serpent, and the tree is also a story about us. We still have a responsibility to serve and protect the earth, in the 21st century now perhaps more than ever. The Paris agreement on climate change still matters, as does the ability of our federal and state agencies to fund research. In our relatively under-populated country, we may still think that the earth will regenerate itself after we’ve harmed it – or that we can just move further west. The truth is that the network of mines under southeast Ohio will last forever. The mountains in Kentucky and West Virginia that were flattened by the mining companies will be scarred for centuries. The fracking water that we’ve pumped underground will stay there forever – we hope.
Lent is a time to acknowledge and recommit ourselves to stewardship of the earth – and to remind our elected representatives to be mindful of the needs of “this fragile earth, our island home.” Lent is a time to recognize and repent of all the things that distract us from our responsibilities. It is a time to turn our backs on the blandishments of the serpent and return to our responsibility for creation and its inhabitants. It is a time to read Scripture attentively and note, for example, how Jesus responded to the distractions from his mission that he was offered. Lent is a time to examine our lives and ask how we, as individuals, as a parish, and as a community, need to change. Lent is a time to pray that now, in this mortal life, God’s Holy Spirit will lead us to amendment of life and commitment to God’s holy mission. Lent is time to be confident in God’s mercy and open to God’s leading. May it be so.
1. With thanks to Jon Berquist in Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 2 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox), pp. 27ff., for suggesting the theme of “till and keep” for this story.
Monday, February 27, 2017
Up a High Mountain
There they stand, hundreds of them, in southern Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras: massive limestone pyramids, flat on top, with stone staircases up one side. They were built by the ancient Maya people, mostly between 250 and 900 AD. Many of them reach almost 200 feet in height. They stand in complex cities that once contained as many as 3,000 buildings. The people who built these massive structures were literate – they had a hieroglyphic writing system, similar to that of the ancient Egyptians, although using different characters. They also had a complex calendar, an astrological system, and a unique mythology. Their writings tell us that their massive buildings were temples, used for many different religious ceremonies. The people considered these temples to be mountains that would allow their priests who conducted the many ceremonies on top of them to draw near to the gods.
Were the Mayas right? Do we need to climb mountains to draw near to God? Certainly our own Scriptures are full of stories of people having mountain-top encounters with God. Strange things seem to happen on mountains. Almost every time Scripture mentions a mountain, we know that there will be an encounter with the Divine, a terrifying, mysterious, cloud-shrouded, ultimately inexplicable experience of nearness to the Holy One.
In our reading from the book of Exodus, Moses is summoned by the Holy One, the God whose name is only a form of the verb “to be.” As Moses ascends the mountain, he enters into a “cloud of unknowing,” a mysterious space where all is shrouded in mystery. It is from this space, this space of encounter with God, that Moses receives the tablets of the Law, the Law that will define Israel as a nation, the Law for which Moses will forever be named transmitter and interpreter.
At the end of his life, Moses has another, a different kind of mountain-top experience. As we hear at the end of the book of Deuteronomy, Moses knows that he is close to death. He has blessed the people whom he led through the wilderness and prepared Joshua to succeed him. Again God leads Moses up a mountain. As Deuteronomy tells us, “Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho, and the Lord showed him the whole land: Gilead as far as Dan, all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea, the Negeb, and the Plain – that is, the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees – as far as Zoar. The Lord said to him, ‘This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, “I will give it to your descendants;”’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there.” Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, at the Lord’s command.”
In our gospel reading for today, we hear of yet another kind of mountain-top experience. In the passage before today’s reading, Jesus has heard Peter declare him to be the Messiah, God’s Anointed. Perhaps to clarify for Peter and his other friends just what “messiah” means, Jesus then warns his friends that he is heading to Jerusalem, and that he will die there.
“Six days later,” we are told, Jesus leads three of his closest friends up an unnamed mountain. On this mountain the three also have an encounter with the Divine, a mysterious, inexplicable, even terrifying experience. They see Jesus in all his glory, they understand that Jesus is the fulfillment of both the Law of Moses and the promises of the prophets, and they hear that Jesus is the one on whom they are to model their own lives.
Throughout the centuries, in our own tradition, and in the traditions of other faith communities, saints and others close to God have had similar experiences, similar encounters with the Divine. Some encounters have been on mountains, some in other “thin places,” as Celtic spirituality calls those places where the veil separating heaven and earth becomes “thin” enough for us to get a glimpse of the divine reality that grounds our lives.
Martin Luther King Jr. was a man of deep prayer. Throughout his life he struggled to discern God’s will. As he endured attack dogs, fire hoses, and angry, rock-throwing mobs, he often sought reassurance in prayer that he was on the right path. One night he was sitting alone in prayer at his kitchen table. He heard what he called an “inner voice” telling him to do what he knew was right. From then on, he felt sure that God was leading him, and he was able to courageously lead his people to face what lay ahead.
King’s trust in God’s leading led him eventually to Memphis, to participate in a strike by city sanitation workers. In his speech on April 3, 1968, he encouraged the workers to persevere in their struggle and to remain united. Then, echoing Moses, he said, “Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live - a long life; longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” Twenty-four hours later, King was cut down by an assassin’s bullet.
Do these mountain-top encounters mean anything to us? Often such experiences are mysterious, even indescribable. Yet those who encounter God this way, who have this kind of epiphany, come down from the mountain transformed. They are not the same people! After his experience of receiving God’s Law, Moses had a deeper relationship with God and was a stronger, more effective leader as the Israelites journeyed to the Promised Land. Jesus’ friends caught a glimpse of Jesus’ true nature, an inkling of his glory. As they descended the mountain they were able to follow Jesus to Jerusalem, perhaps reassured that they had made the right decision in staying with him. Like Jesus, Martin Luther King continued to work with the sanitation workers, despite his premonition of his approaching martyrdom.
And we ourselves? Yes, strange, even terrifying, things may happen on mountain tops and other thin places. But we need these mountain-top experiences. We need these times when God comes near, to reassure us and to challenge us. With the old spiritual we may sometimes sing, “Sometimes I feel discouraged, and think my work’s in vain….” Then we need God to reassure us that we are on the right path in committing our lives to Jesus’ way – just as his friends did. We also need God to challenge us, and even to transform us. We need God to help us change the way we see the world. Trust me, once you have had an encounter with the Holy One, once you’ve glimpsed God’s future as it is revealed in Jesus, it cannot be business as usual. You are not the same person. Having glimpsed his reality and seen his glory, you have to come down the mountain wanting to follow him more closely and wanting to share with others the love and compassion that he embodies.
And so where do we encounter God? Do we need to climb to the top of a Mayan temple to encounter God? Do we need to go up Mt. Nebo with Moses? Do we need Jesus to lead us up the unnamed mountain of his transfiguration? Where are the “thin places” in our lives?
The truth is that there are “thin places” everywhere if we could but see them. Mountains – or Mayan temples – certainly give us a sense of God’s infinite grandeur. But we can also encounter God in more mundane places – at the kitchen table as did Martin Luther King, in the woods, or our own backyard, or in our own room. Wherever and whenever you can pull apart from our noisy, 24/7 world, wherever and whenever we can quiet down, wherever and whenever we can engage in silent, contemplative prayer, then and there there’s a chance that God might show Godself to us, that God might speak to us in the silence of our own hearts, that God might move us to deeper compassion and service. For, when we let God get a word in edgewise, there’s no telling what can happen. Is that why most of us shy away from prayer and silence?
We are on the cusp of Lent. Ash Wednesday is this Wednesday. The church gives us the gift of forty days in which to examine our spiritual lives more closely. During Lent this year, I invite you to ask yourself: where are your “thin places,” your mountain tops, the places where you get a glimpse of Divine life? And then, what is more important, how is God inviting you to change?
So here is my prayer for you, for all of us. God be with you and grant you to stand in “thin places,” where the Presence is deeply known and Mercy abounds and Wisdom flourishes. Amen.
Were the Mayas right? Do we need to climb mountains to draw near to God? Certainly our own Scriptures are full of stories of people having mountain-top encounters with God. Strange things seem to happen on mountains. Almost every time Scripture mentions a mountain, we know that there will be an encounter with the Divine, a terrifying, mysterious, cloud-shrouded, ultimately inexplicable experience of nearness to the Holy One.
In our reading from the book of Exodus, Moses is summoned by the Holy One, the God whose name is only a form of the verb “to be.” As Moses ascends the mountain, he enters into a “cloud of unknowing,” a mysterious space where all is shrouded in mystery. It is from this space, this space of encounter with God, that Moses receives the tablets of the Law, the Law that will define Israel as a nation, the Law for which Moses will forever be named transmitter and interpreter.
At the end of his life, Moses has another, a different kind of mountain-top experience. As we hear at the end of the book of Deuteronomy, Moses knows that he is close to death. He has blessed the people whom he led through the wilderness and prepared Joshua to succeed him. Again God leads Moses up a mountain. As Deuteronomy tells us, “Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho, and the Lord showed him the whole land: Gilead as far as Dan, all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea, the Negeb, and the Plain – that is, the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees – as far as Zoar. The Lord said to him, ‘This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, “I will give it to your descendants;”’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there.” Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, at the Lord’s command.”
In our gospel reading for today, we hear of yet another kind of mountain-top experience. In the passage before today’s reading, Jesus has heard Peter declare him to be the Messiah, God’s Anointed. Perhaps to clarify for Peter and his other friends just what “messiah” means, Jesus then warns his friends that he is heading to Jerusalem, and that he will die there.
“Six days later,” we are told, Jesus leads three of his closest friends up an unnamed mountain. On this mountain the three also have an encounter with the Divine, a mysterious, inexplicable, even terrifying experience. They see Jesus in all his glory, they understand that Jesus is the fulfillment of both the Law of Moses and the promises of the prophets, and they hear that Jesus is the one on whom they are to model their own lives.
Throughout the centuries, in our own tradition, and in the traditions of other faith communities, saints and others close to God have had similar experiences, similar encounters with the Divine. Some encounters have been on mountains, some in other “thin places,” as Celtic spirituality calls those places where the veil separating heaven and earth becomes “thin” enough for us to get a glimpse of the divine reality that grounds our lives.
Martin Luther King Jr. was a man of deep prayer. Throughout his life he struggled to discern God’s will. As he endured attack dogs, fire hoses, and angry, rock-throwing mobs, he often sought reassurance in prayer that he was on the right path. One night he was sitting alone in prayer at his kitchen table. He heard what he called an “inner voice” telling him to do what he knew was right. From then on, he felt sure that God was leading him, and he was able to courageously lead his people to face what lay ahead.
King’s trust in God’s leading led him eventually to Memphis, to participate in a strike by city sanitation workers. In his speech on April 3, 1968, he encouraged the workers to persevere in their struggle and to remain united. Then, echoing Moses, he said, “Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live - a long life; longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” Twenty-four hours later, King was cut down by an assassin’s bullet.
Do these mountain-top encounters mean anything to us? Often such experiences are mysterious, even indescribable. Yet those who encounter God this way, who have this kind of epiphany, come down from the mountain transformed. They are not the same people! After his experience of receiving God’s Law, Moses had a deeper relationship with God and was a stronger, more effective leader as the Israelites journeyed to the Promised Land. Jesus’ friends caught a glimpse of Jesus’ true nature, an inkling of his glory. As they descended the mountain they were able to follow Jesus to Jerusalem, perhaps reassured that they had made the right decision in staying with him. Like Jesus, Martin Luther King continued to work with the sanitation workers, despite his premonition of his approaching martyrdom.
And we ourselves? Yes, strange, even terrifying, things may happen on mountain tops and other thin places. But we need these mountain-top experiences. We need these times when God comes near, to reassure us and to challenge us. With the old spiritual we may sometimes sing, “Sometimes I feel discouraged, and think my work’s in vain….” Then we need God to reassure us that we are on the right path in committing our lives to Jesus’ way – just as his friends did. We also need God to challenge us, and even to transform us. We need God to help us change the way we see the world. Trust me, once you have had an encounter with the Holy One, once you’ve glimpsed God’s future as it is revealed in Jesus, it cannot be business as usual. You are not the same person. Having glimpsed his reality and seen his glory, you have to come down the mountain wanting to follow him more closely and wanting to share with others the love and compassion that he embodies.
And so where do we encounter God? Do we need to climb to the top of a Mayan temple to encounter God? Do we need to go up Mt. Nebo with Moses? Do we need Jesus to lead us up the unnamed mountain of his transfiguration? Where are the “thin places” in our lives?
The truth is that there are “thin places” everywhere if we could but see them. Mountains – or Mayan temples – certainly give us a sense of God’s infinite grandeur. But we can also encounter God in more mundane places – at the kitchen table as did Martin Luther King, in the woods, or our own backyard, or in our own room. Wherever and whenever you can pull apart from our noisy, 24/7 world, wherever and whenever we can quiet down, wherever and whenever we can engage in silent, contemplative prayer, then and there there’s a chance that God might show Godself to us, that God might speak to us in the silence of our own hearts, that God might move us to deeper compassion and service. For, when we let God get a word in edgewise, there’s no telling what can happen. Is that why most of us shy away from prayer and silence?
We are on the cusp of Lent. Ash Wednesday is this Wednesday. The church gives us the gift of forty days in which to examine our spiritual lives more closely. During Lent this year, I invite you to ask yourself: where are your “thin places,” your mountain tops, the places where you get a glimpse of Divine life? And then, what is more important, how is God inviting you to change?
So here is my prayer for you, for all of us. God be with you and grant you to stand in “thin places,” where the Presence is deeply known and Mercy abounds and Wisdom flourishes. Amen.
Monday, January 9, 2017
Seek and Serve Christ in All Persons
Celebrant: Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? People: I will, with God’s help.
On the morning of January 2, students and faculty arrived at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati to find a swastika painted on the entrance sign to the campus. For 140 years, HUC-JIR has peacefully co-existed with its neighbors. Those who saw the swastika, both Jews and non-Jews, instantly recognized it as a reminder of the profound evil visited on Jews, gays, gypsies, disabled people, and other marginal groups during the Holocaust. The next day, about twenty-five people gathered at the sign in freezing temperatures. Many of them were members of Call to Action, a progressive Roman Catholic organization. Faith Kemper, the organizer of the event said that her father had fought in World War II, and that for her the swastika represents leaders who are power-hungry and hateful. She was joined by several members of her St. Monica-St. George Parish, whose church is on nearby McMillan Avenue. One carried a sign that said, "We support our Jewish neighbors."
Reflecting on the vandalism at HUC-JIR and other similar events, another participant wondered whether the recent presidential campaign had suggested that such acts were OK. Cincinnati Mayor John Cranley said, "I am deeply offended and disturbed by these actions. The City is committed to using all of our resources to bring these criminals to justice. As we work to build a more welcoming and inclusive City, we will not stand for this intimidation." Alan Dicken, a Disciples of Christ pastor, went further. In a letter dated January 5, Dicken reminded his fellow Christians of what their response to such acts of vandalism should be: “I can reach out to those who need to hear a gospel of love and acceptance,” He wrote. “I can do my part to show the world that the Christ that I follow, who for the record was Jewish, [was] a leader of love and a prince of peace. I can listen to my friends who are rabbis and leaders in the Jewish community and respond in ways that they feel would be helpful and supportive to them. It may not seem like much, but it is a hell of a lot more than doing nothing. Doing nothing gives permission for this culture to continue.”
Twenty-eight hundred years before the events at HUC-JIR, an Israelite prophet reflected on the state of his people. They were no strangers to violence and desecration. Their holy city of Jerusalem had been overrun by the Babylonians, and their sacred temple had been destroyed. The elite of the country had been forced into exile, while the peasants were left to scratch out a living in a drought-ridden land. And yet, as the prophet reflected on the fate of his people, he heard God whispering a new message to him, one of hope, rather than despair. He heard God promising that the community would have a new leader, indeed that the whole community would be a leader among the nations. Led by the new leaders, they would be loving servants, who would treat all with gentleness and compassion. They would follow a leader who would “not cry or lift up his voice,” who would “faithfully bring forth justice,” and who would help them to be “a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.”
Eight centuries later, another prophet reflected on the state of his people. Like his forebear in faith, John beheld a people suffering under the oppressive rule of both the Romans and their local collaborators. He saw religious leaders focused on punctilious observance of sacrificial ritual and not the welfare of ordinary people. He called people of all walks of life to change their way of life. To reflect their commitment to change, he invited them to undergo a traditional Jewish ritual of cleansing, through immersion in flowing water. Into this scrum of people gathered on the banks of the Jordan, walked an itinerant rabbi from Galilee, who asked his cousin John to administer the ritual cleansing to him. As the writer of today’s gospel tells us, John demurred. He knew there was something special about his cousin. But Jesus insisted. “Do it,” he said. “God’s work, putting things right all these centuries, is coming together right now in this baptism.” So John did it.
As Jesus came up out of the Jordan, he experienced a deep sense of acceptance by God, a sense of God’s affirmation of him as God’s own beloved. He knew himself to be empowered for ministry by God’s Spirit. Almost immediately after his baptism, God’s Spirit drove him into the Judean hills for a period of reflection and discernment. During those weeks in the wilderness Jesus knew that he had to forego all forms of coercive power. Reflecting on the Scriptures that he knew so well, i.e., the Hebrew Scriptures, he came to understand himself as the leader foretold by Isaiah, as the one who would not break a bruised reed or quench a dimly burning wick, who would bring forth justice and release those in prison. In his first recorded sermon in the gospel according to Luke, Jesus reminded his hearers of those words of the prophet. He read from the scroll of Isaiah, “God’s Spirit is on me; he’s chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor, Sent me to announce pardon to prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind,
To set the burdened and battered free, to announce, “This is God’s year to act!” Then Jesus said, “You’ve just heard Scripture make history. It came true just now in this place.” The evangelist even echoes Jesus’ self-description. Further along in the gospel of Matthew, the evangelist uses this very passage from Isaiah that we just heard to describe how Jesus was doing what God expected of him.
Since 1963, volunteers in the Simon Community in the UK have been ministering to homeless people on the streets of London. They provide two houses with shelter for the night and a day center to connect homeless people to available social services. In addition, every night volunteers carry flashlights into the dark corners of the streets to bring soup and sandwiches to those who, for whatever reason, do not want to come to the shelters. Young and old, representing all ethnicities, church members and non-members, these volunteers seek out the needy in derelict buildings and back alleys, on the streets, and under bridges and overpasses. They keep in touch with the latest news on the streets, and monitor how many people are sleeping outside at different times of the year. They also keep in close contact with as many people as possible, and respond as far as they can to people’s needs. They recognize that each homeless person has different needs, but to all they offer hands of friendship and welcome without judgement. Many of the volunteers work with the community fulltime. They receive room and board but no stipend. Why do they do it? A volunteer named Joe Bailey described why he marched with the community in support of help for the homeless. “In the face of diminishing availability of support accessible to vulnerable people,” he said, “we see the effects of austerity measures run deeper and deeper into society, and it can make us feel helpless. But albeit a small shout out in protest, there is hope in the work that we do, and we are not alone in our dedication to offer support to those who need it.”
My brothers and sisters, the waters that rolled over Jesus have also rolled over us. We too went down into the Jordan with Jesus, and we too came up out of the water with him. The baptismal font is our River Jordan. Whether we were brought to the font by someone else, or whether we came of our own free will, whether we were immersed or sprinkled, Jesus was standing beside us as those waters flowed over us. As we rose from the water, the Holy Spirit descended on us, and God proclaimed us to be God’s beloved sons and daughters. In joining ourselves to Jesus, we too are affirmed, empowered, and commissioned. And we are called to model our lives after his.
It is still God’s year to act – perhaps even more urgently now than in many other years. With Jesus we too are called to embrace Isaiah’s vision of compassionate leadership and a just and peaceful world. We too are called to remember and celebrate our solidarity with Jews, and also with Muslims, with Hindus and Buddhists, with all people of all faiths and no faith. We too are called to resist any attempt to demean, harass, or persecute people of any community, even if they are wearing a yarmulke or a hijab. We too are called to seek out the least, the lost, and the left behind, and to minister to their needs, whoever and wherever they are. We too are called to love God, love ourselves, and care for all those – all those – whom God has called beloved.
Celebrant: Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? People: I will, with God’s help.
On the morning of January 2, students and faculty arrived at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati to find a swastika painted on the entrance sign to the campus. For 140 years, HUC-JIR has peacefully co-existed with its neighbors. Those who saw the swastika, both Jews and non-Jews, instantly recognized it as a reminder of the profound evil visited on Jews, gays, gypsies, disabled people, and other marginal groups during the Holocaust. The next day, about twenty-five people gathered at the sign in freezing temperatures. Many of them were members of Call to Action, a progressive Roman Catholic organization. Faith Kemper, the organizer of the event said that her father had fought in World War II, and that for her the swastika represents leaders who are power-hungry and hateful. She was joined by several members of her St. Monica-St. George Parish, whose church is on nearby McMillan Avenue. One carried a sign that said, "We support our Jewish neighbors."
Reflecting on the vandalism at HUC-JIR and other similar events, another participant wondered whether the recent presidential campaign had suggested that such acts were OK. Cincinnati Mayor John Cranley said, "I am deeply offended and disturbed by these actions. The City is committed to using all of our resources to bring these criminals to justice. As we work to build a more welcoming and inclusive City, we will not stand for this intimidation." Alan Dicken, a Disciples of Christ pastor, went further. In a letter dated January 5, Dicken reminded his fellow Christians of what their response to such acts of vandalism should be: “I can reach out to those who need to hear a gospel of love and acceptance,” He wrote. “I can do my part to show the world that the Christ that I follow, who for the record was Jewish, [was] a leader of love and a prince of peace. I can listen to my friends who are rabbis and leaders in the Jewish community and respond in ways that they feel would be helpful and supportive to them. It may not seem like much, but it is a hell of a lot more than doing nothing. Doing nothing gives permission for this culture to continue.”
Twenty-eight hundred years before the events at HUC-JIR, an Israelite prophet reflected on the state of his people. They were no strangers to violence and desecration. Their holy city of Jerusalem had been overrun by the Babylonians, and their sacred temple had been destroyed. The elite of the country had been forced into exile, while the peasants were left to scratch out a living in a drought-ridden land. And yet, as the prophet reflected on the fate of his people, he heard God whispering a new message to him, one of hope, rather than despair. He heard God promising that the community would have a new leader, indeed that the whole community would be a leader among the nations. Led by the new leaders, they would be loving servants, who would treat all with gentleness and compassion. They would follow a leader who would “not cry or lift up his voice,” who would “faithfully bring forth justice,” and who would help them to be “a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.”
Eight centuries later, another prophet reflected on the state of his people. Like his forebear in faith, John beheld a people suffering under the oppressive rule of both the Romans and their local collaborators. He saw religious leaders focused on punctilious observance of sacrificial ritual and not the welfare of ordinary people. He called people of all walks of life to change their way of life. To reflect their commitment to change, he invited them to undergo a traditional Jewish ritual of cleansing, through immersion in flowing water. Into this scrum of people gathered on the banks of the Jordan, walked an itinerant rabbi from Galilee, who asked his cousin John to administer the ritual cleansing to him. As the writer of today’s gospel tells us, John demurred. He knew there was something special about his cousin. But Jesus insisted. “Do it,” he said. “God’s work, putting things right all these centuries, is coming together right now in this baptism.” So John did it.
As Jesus came up out of the Jordan, he experienced a deep sense of acceptance by God, a sense of God’s affirmation of him as God’s own beloved. He knew himself to be empowered for ministry by God’s Spirit. Almost immediately after his baptism, God’s Spirit drove him into the Judean hills for a period of reflection and discernment. During those weeks in the wilderness Jesus knew that he had to forego all forms of coercive power. Reflecting on the Scriptures that he knew so well, i.e., the Hebrew Scriptures, he came to understand himself as the leader foretold by Isaiah, as the one who would not break a bruised reed or quench a dimly burning wick, who would bring forth justice and release those in prison. In his first recorded sermon in the gospel according to Luke, Jesus reminded his hearers of those words of the prophet. He read from the scroll of Isaiah, “God’s Spirit is on me; he’s chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor, Sent me to announce pardon to prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind,
To set the burdened and battered free, to announce, “This is God’s year to act!” Then Jesus said, “You’ve just heard Scripture make history. It came true just now in this place.” The evangelist even echoes Jesus’ self-description. Further along in the gospel of Matthew, the evangelist uses this very passage from Isaiah that we just heard to describe how Jesus was doing what God expected of him.
Since 1963, volunteers in the Simon Community in the UK have been ministering to homeless people on the streets of London. They provide two houses with shelter for the night and a day center to connect homeless people to available social services. In addition, every night volunteers carry flashlights into the dark corners of the streets to bring soup and sandwiches to those who, for whatever reason, do not want to come to the shelters. Young and old, representing all ethnicities, church members and non-members, these volunteers seek out the needy in derelict buildings and back alleys, on the streets, and under bridges and overpasses. They keep in touch with the latest news on the streets, and monitor how many people are sleeping outside at different times of the year. They also keep in close contact with as many people as possible, and respond as far as they can to people’s needs. They recognize that each homeless person has different needs, but to all they offer hands of friendship and welcome without judgement. Many of the volunteers work with the community fulltime. They receive room and board but no stipend. Why do they do it? A volunteer named Joe Bailey described why he marched with the community in support of help for the homeless. “In the face of diminishing availability of support accessible to vulnerable people,” he said, “we see the effects of austerity measures run deeper and deeper into society, and it can make us feel helpless. But albeit a small shout out in protest, there is hope in the work that we do, and we are not alone in our dedication to offer support to those who need it.”
My brothers and sisters, the waters that rolled over Jesus have also rolled over us. We too went down into the Jordan with Jesus, and we too came up out of the water with him. The baptismal font is our River Jordan. Whether we were brought to the font by someone else, or whether we came of our own free will, whether we were immersed or sprinkled, Jesus was standing beside us as those waters flowed over us. As we rose from the water, the Holy Spirit descended on us, and God proclaimed us to be God’s beloved sons and daughters. In joining ourselves to Jesus, we too are affirmed, empowered, and commissioned. And we are called to model our lives after his.
It is still God’s year to act – perhaps even more urgently now than in many other years. With Jesus we too are called to embrace Isaiah’s vision of compassionate leadership and a just and peaceful world. We too are called to remember and celebrate our solidarity with Jews, and also with Muslims, with Hindus and Buddhists, with all people of all faiths and no faith. We too are called to resist any attempt to demean, harass, or persecute people of any community, even if they are wearing a yarmulke or a hijab. We too are called to seek out the least, the lost, and the left behind, and to minister to their needs, whoever and wherever they are. We too are called to love God, love ourselves, and care for all those – all those – whom God has called beloved.
Celebrant: Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? People: I will, with God’s help.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
What's in a Name?
“Lord, you are in the midst of us, and we are called by your Name: Do not forsake us, O Lord our God.”
What’s in a name? The old English major in me couldn’t resist going back to the second scene of act 2 of Romeo and Juliet. Juliet has seen the conflict between her family, the Capulets, and the Montagues, the family of Romeo, with whom she has fallen in love. She asks herself this question in a poignant speech, unaware that Romeo is standing under her balcony listening to her. If you studied Romeo and Juliet in high school, or saw Franco Zeffirelli’s lovely rendering of it on film, you can probably say Juliet’s plaintive speech with me:
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name.
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot
Nor arm nor face nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other name.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.”
We might question whether we would actually dare to experience the sweetness of a rose if it were called a skunk cabbage instead. But Romeo can no sooner give up his name than Juliet can hers. For Romeo, his name, his identity as a Montague, is more than a title. Rather, his name reflects his place within a particular family, with their particular history, and especially with their history of conflict with other noble families. Sadly the play ends in tragedy, as the young lovers discover how difficult it is to shed the identities their names reflect.
What’s in a name? What’s in the name of today’s feast? If we were still using the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, today we would be celebrating the Feast of the Circumcision. Using the same gospel portion that we heard today, the day commemorated Jesus’ circumcision after his birth, and his inclusion, according to the Law of Moses, in God’s covenant with Israel. This day became the Feast of the Holy Name with the adoption of our current prayer book. However, this is not a new observance. Actually, it was popularized by a 15th century Franciscan who was looking for a way to overcome the class struggles and family rivalries in the Italian city states. In 1721 Pope Innocent XIII extended it to the whole church, though it was celebrated on other dates. The change in our current prayer book from Circumcision to Holy Name reflects our recognition that in this gospel Luke’s emphasis is on Jesus’ name, i.e., the name affirmed at his circumcision, not on the circumcision itself.
What’s in a name? If we listen closely to our Scriptures for today, the answer is “a lot.” Just as “Romeo” and “Montague” embody the history and relationships of a family and suggest how the individual man Romeo fits into that history, so too does the name that we venerate today. What kind of a name is it actually? The name given the holy child derives from the Hebrew Yehoshu’ah, Joshua in modern English. It means “God saves or delivers God’s people.” The name became Yeshu’ah in Aramaic, the language of Jesus’ earthly family, iesus, in Greek, the language of the New Testament, and finally Jesus in English. In whichever language, the name recalls the many saving acts of God, and especially God’s deliverance of Israel from Egypt. We heard echoes of that history two weeks ago, in the angel’s instructions to Joseph in the gospel of Matthew: “She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”
Luke’s mention of the angels in today’s gospel reminds us again of that saving history – and more. We hear again what the angel Gabriel said to Mary when he announced that she was to bear a son: “And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Just as Romeo’s name proclaims his family history and identity, so for Luke and for us, Jesus’ name also makes a proclamation. Jesus’ name proclaims his place within a particular human family, i.e., as a descendant of royalty, his place within the Godhead, i.e., as God’s Son, and the hope of the Christian community to which Luke writes, for Jesus’ eventual consummation of God’s reign.
What’s in a name? We hear another answer to that question in Paul’s advice to the Christians at Philippi. Alluding to what may have been a hymn of some kind, Paul counsels the Philippians to venerate Jesus’ name. However, through the hymn Paul admonishes them that Jesus’ name also embodies the God who joined Godself inseparably to the human condition. Jesus’ name reminds us that this is a God who experienced all the limitations of human life, and especially all the worst that humans could do, even unjust execution and agonizing death. God as all-vulnerable and all-suffering, as Richard Rohr puts it. The glory and exaltation due to Jesus, the veneration of his name, comes from all that he suffered as a human person. And why has Paul taken such pains to remind the Philippians of the reason for venerating Jesus’ name? “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus:” they – and by extension we – are called to venerate Jesus by modeling our own lives on his model.
There’s yet one more promise embedded in our Scripture. In much of the Bible, God’s name is unknown or not spoken. You remember that, before the Exodus, Moses asks God for God’s name. God gives an answer that has puzzled us ever since: “I am Who I am.” The four Hebrew letters of that name were not pronounced as they were written. Pious Jews substituted another word, “Adonai,” and translated any passages with the original name as “the Lord,” not with the name revealed to Moses.
In the name of Jesus, we now have a name for God. We can be as it were on a first-name basis with God. As one preacher suggests, “The point here is not that we’re celebrating the fact that Jesus was named “Jesus” instead of, say, “Floyd” or “George.” Instead, today we celebrate the fact that God has again spoken his name to his people – and not just as a word, but as the Word made flesh. God has spoken his name to us a person.” Now we have a name for the great mystery that has made itself known to us in human form. Through that name we – all of us – are invited into deeper and greater intimacy with God.
What’s in a name? Is all this talk of Jesus’ name just interesting head-stuff, the kind of intriguing word-game that preachers like to play? Just as with Romeo, just as with us, Jesus’ name embodies an identity and a history. Jesus’ name is a kind of shorthand for who he was, who he is, and who he will be. As his followers, we dare to call ourselves by his name – Jesus and Joshua are still common names. We dare to proclaim ourselves as members of his family. We dare to pray in his name. We may even dare to use his name as part of our practice of breath prayer or centering prayer.
Today is the first day of a new civic year. As we go back into the world, into the places to which we have been called, into the places where we meet Christ in other people and other creatures, we are called remember in whose name we go, whose name we carry. We are called to acknowledge that our identity as his followers supersedes all our other identities, and that it is the most important identity that we have. We are called to imitate him in all that we do. We are called to remember that Jesus lived, died, and rose again for all us, and that we are all – each and every one of us – members of his family and therefore connected to each other. We are called to see him in everyone we meet. And we are called to open our hearts to him in deeper and deeper relationship.
What’s in a name? In the name of Jesus, all that we are, and all that we are called to be.
Sunday, December 4, 2016
That We Might Have Hope
“Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given 0us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”
Do you recognize this collect? If we had been following the collects in the Book of Common Prayer, we would have heard it on the next to last Sunday of the Church year. Because we are experimenting with an extended Advent season, we heard a new collect written for the second Sunday of extended Advent. However, in the former Book of Common Prayer, the 1928 Prayer Book, this prayer was heard today, i.e., what would have been the second Sunday of Advent. As a prayer, it actually dates back to 1549 and our very first Book of Common Prayer. It reminds us that study of Scripture must be an integral and ongoing part of our lives, so that we may truly understand what God has done and continues to do for us.
It’s not surprising that the church heard this collect on the second Sunday of Advent. As a prayer, it reflects the first words of the portion of Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians that we just heard: “Whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.” The “scriptures,” that Paul mentions were the Hebrew Scriptures, since Paul’s letters antedate all the Gospels, and since the writings that we now call the New Testament were declared canonical, i.e., appropriate for followers of Jesus to hear and study, only in the fourth century. Here Paul is at the end of his letter. In his final exhortation to the Christians in Rome, Paul reminds them that, through Christ, the gentiles are now included in the covenants and promises that God made to Israel. More important, he tells them that diligent study of Scripture will enable them to maintain their hope of Christ’s coming, as they work out their differences and learn how to live in harmony with one another.
Paul challenges the Roman Christians to remember their scriptures by embedding references to those very scriptures in his exhortation. The “steadfastness” which he commends to them alludes to the endurance of Christ, especially his endurance of insults, shame, and death. In alluding to Christ’s endurance, Paul echoes Ps. 69:9, a verse that for Christians describes Jesus’ travail: “It is zeal for your house that has consumed me; the insults of those who insult you have fallen on me.” To emphasize God’s inclusion of the gentiles in God’s promises, Paul alludes to Psalm 18:50: “For this I will extol you, O Lord, among the nations, and sing praises to your name.” He also quotes Psalm 117:1 “Praise the Lord, all you nations! Extol him, all you peoples!” Finally, Paul quotes the end of the passage from Isaiah which we just heard: “On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.”
Paul’s insistence on the importance of the Hebrew Scriptures is echoed in the Gospel of Matthew. This Gospel was written after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 AD and was most likely composed for a community of Jewish Christians. So it highlights the Jewish origin and identity of Jesus and his earliest followers. For Matthew, Jesus is God’s anointed. He is a teacher as exalted and as authoritative as Moses, who was considered to be the author of the Hebrew Law.
What is more important, Matthew takes great pains to show that Jesus is the fulfillment of both the law and the prophets, and that in him all of God’s promises are fulfilled. To drive home his point, Matthew opens his account of Jesus’ life with a genealogy that firmly establishes Jesus as one of David’s descendants, i.e., from the “stump of Jesse,” i.e., David’s father. Thereafter, he either directly quotes from the Hebrew Scriptures or alludes to passages from Scripture. In the twelve verses we just heard, Matthew has embedded references to Abraham, and to the prophets Amos, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Zechariah. Here are a few examples. He alludes to the prophet Isaiah to characterize John the Baptizer: “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” With John’s ascetic lifestyle, wearing camel’s hair and eating honey, the evangelist alludes to Elijah’s way of life. His calling the Pharisees and Sadducees a “brood of vipers” is an indirect allusion to the passage from Isaiah we heard today, in which the asp and the adder were seen as former enemies of human beings. At the end of the passage, the “chaff,” an image for the destruction of the wicked in fire, is a recurring image in the Hebrew Scriptures.
Paul of Tarsus knew the Scriptures. The writer of the Gospel according to Matthew knew the Scriptures intimately. Do we? Do we have any sense of the historical contexts of our various books of Scripture? Have we encountered Jesus’ own understanding of his mission, as the Gospels characterize it? Do we know why the four Gospels are different? Do we know what the content of our hope as Christians really is? This Advent our Scripture readings have been suggesting what the reign of God might be like. Do we have any clearer picture of the “reign of God” or the “Kingdom of Heaven,” that has now come near us? Do we know what Scripture has to tell us about living together in harmony? Do we have any clues about the contents of the Scriptures of other faith communities besides our own?
Scott Gunn, the editor of Forward Day by Day, tells us that a “recent study revealed that Episcopalians are about the most spiritually content people around.” For Gunn, this is not good news. People who are spiritually healthy, he suggests, are not content with what they learned of God in confirmation class, especially when that event was decades ago. Rather, he tells us, “People who are spiritually healthy want to grow and learn, to always look for the next step in their journey.” That includes us. You say you’ve already read the Bible from cover to cover? You say you’ve been going to church as long as you can remember, and you’ve heard these passages from Scripture hundreds of times? Scott Gunn reminds us – and I would strongly second his observation – that “every time I study any passage in the scriptures, even one I’ve read dozens of times, I grow and learn.”
Advent – especially this extended Advent season -- is a time a think about the promises and prophecies that God has made to us and to all people, prophecies we hear first in the Hebrew Scriptures, prophecies that are restated in the Christian Scriptures, and prophecies that have parallels in the Scriptures of almost every other major faith tradition. Advent is a time to wonder whether and when the peaceable kingdom Isaiah describes will come to pass. Advent is a time to ask what the one more powerful than John the Baptizer will be like. Advent is a time to wonder how the Scriptures of other faith communities describe God’s promises about the future of history. Our understandings of Jesus, God, and the future of humanity should change and evolve as a result of our life experiences. Ideally, Advent is a time to take stock, and to see whether we are growing in an appreciation of God’s love and mercy, towards ourselves and towards all people. Advent is a time to make a fresh start and a new commitment, a commitment to renewing our cooperation with God and to hearing again what God is telling us through sacred texts.
So here’s my invitation to you: find a time and a way to grow in your understanding of Scripture. Can you find a regular time to read reflectively some part of the Bible – even a few verses at a time? Forward Day by Day is a good place to start – and it’s even available on line if you don’t take one of the paper copies we order for the parish. Or try reading a few verses contemplatively, then journaling about what they mean for your life. How about reviving the Wednesday evening Bible study that Deacon Carolyn was leading? If you would like a good commentary on the Bible, A.J. or I would be happy to suggest one. Are you interested in learning more about the parallels and differences between our faith and those of other faith communities? There are tons of good books on those subjects, as well as many different web sites.
Of course, studying Scripture is not an end in itself. We don’t get special treatment or brownie points from God because we can quote Scripture. The Sadducees could quote the Torah, and the Pharisees knew both the Torah and other writings. Even the devil could quote Scripture!
So here’s the good news. Our Scriptures are a gift from God! They were written, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, to reinforce our trust in God. They equip us to live holy lives and to share the good news with others. Most important, they enable us to give voice to the hopes we have for God’s future. May God enable us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” our scriptures, and may the Word that we hear become flesh in us.
Do you recognize this collect? If we had been following the collects in the Book of Common Prayer, we would have heard it on the next to last Sunday of the Church year. Because we are experimenting with an extended Advent season, we heard a new collect written for the second Sunday of extended Advent. However, in the former Book of Common Prayer, the 1928 Prayer Book, this prayer was heard today, i.e., what would have been the second Sunday of Advent. As a prayer, it actually dates back to 1549 and our very first Book of Common Prayer. It reminds us that study of Scripture must be an integral and ongoing part of our lives, so that we may truly understand what God has done and continues to do for us.
It’s not surprising that the church heard this collect on the second Sunday of Advent. As a prayer, it reflects the first words of the portion of Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians that we just heard: “Whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.” The “scriptures,” that Paul mentions were the Hebrew Scriptures, since Paul’s letters antedate all the Gospels, and since the writings that we now call the New Testament were declared canonical, i.e., appropriate for followers of Jesus to hear and study, only in the fourth century. Here Paul is at the end of his letter. In his final exhortation to the Christians in Rome, Paul reminds them that, through Christ, the gentiles are now included in the covenants and promises that God made to Israel. More important, he tells them that diligent study of Scripture will enable them to maintain their hope of Christ’s coming, as they work out their differences and learn how to live in harmony with one another.
Paul challenges the Roman Christians to remember their scriptures by embedding references to those very scriptures in his exhortation. The “steadfastness” which he commends to them alludes to the endurance of Christ, especially his endurance of insults, shame, and death. In alluding to Christ’s endurance, Paul echoes Ps. 69:9, a verse that for Christians describes Jesus’ travail: “It is zeal for your house that has consumed me; the insults of those who insult you have fallen on me.” To emphasize God’s inclusion of the gentiles in God’s promises, Paul alludes to Psalm 18:50: “For this I will extol you, O Lord, among the nations, and sing praises to your name.” He also quotes Psalm 117:1 “Praise the Lord, all you nations! Extol him, all you peoples!” Finally, Paul quotes the end of the passage from Isaiah which we just heard: “On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.”
Paul’s insistence on the importance of the Hebrew Scriptures is echoed in the Gospel of Matthew. This Gospel was written after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 AD and was most likely composed for a community of Jewish Christians. So it highlights the Jewish origin and identity of Jesus and his earliest followers. For Matthew, Jesus is God’s anointed. He is a teacher as exalted and as authoritative as Moses, who was considered to be the author of the Hebrew Law.
What is more important, Matthew takes great pains to show that Jesus is the fulfillment of both the law and the prophets, and that in him all of God’s promises are fulfilled. To drive home his point, Matthew opens his account of Jesus’ life with a genealogy that firmly establishes Jesus as one of David’s descendants, i.e., from the “stump of Jesse,” i.e., David’s father. Thereafter, he either directly quotes from the Hebrew Scriptures or alludes to passages from Scripture. In the twelve verses we just heard, Matthew has embedded references to Abraham, and to the prophets Amos, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Zechariah. Here are a few examples. He alludes to the prophet Isaiah to characterize John the Baptizer: “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” With John’s ascetic lifestyle, wearing camel’s hair and eating honey, the evangelist alludes to Elijah’s way of life. His calling the Pharisees and Sadducees a “brood of vipers” is an indirect allusion to the passage from Isaiah we heard today, in which the asp and the adder were seen as former enemies of human beings. At the end of the passage, the “chaff,” an image for the destruction of the wicked in fire, is a recurring image in the Hebrew Scriptures.
Paul of Tarsus knew the Scriptures. The writer of the Gospel according to Matthew knew the Scriptures intimately. Do we? Do we have any sense of the historical contexts of our various books of Scripture? Have we encountered Jesus’ own understanding of his mission, as the Gospels characterize it? Do we know why the four Gospels are different? Do we know what the content of our hope as Christians really is? This Advent our Scripture readings have been suggesting what the reign of God might be like. Do we have any clearer picture of the “reign of God” or the “Kingdom of Heaven,” that has now come near us? Do we know what Scripture has to tell us about living together in harmony? Do we have any clues about the contents of the Scriptures of other faith communities besides our own?
Scott Gunn, the editor of Forward Day by Day, tells us that a “recent study revealed that Episcopalians are about the most spiritually content people around.” For Gunn, this is not good news. People who are spiritually healthy, he suggests, are not content with what they learned of God in confirmation class, especially when that event was decades ago. Rather, he tells us, “People who are spiritually healthy want to grow and learn, to always look for the next step in their journey.” That includes us. You say you’ve already read the Bible from cover to cover? You say you’ve been going to church as long as you can remember, and you’ve heard these passages from Scripture hundreds of times? Scott Gunn reminds us – and I would strongly second his observation – that “every time I study any passage in the scriptures, even one I’ve read dozens of times, I grow and learn.”
Advent – especially this extended Advent season -- is a time a think about the promises and prophecies that God has made to us and to all people, prophecies we hear first in the Hebrew Scriptures, prophecies that are restated in the Christian Scriptures, and prophecies that have parallels in the Scriptures of almost every other major faith tradition. Advent is a time to wonder whether and when the peaceable kingdom Isaiah describes will come to pass. Advent is a time to ask what the one more powerful than John the Baptizer will be like. Advent is a time to wonder how the Scriptures of other faith communities describe God’s promises about the future of history. Our understandings of Jesus, God, and the future of humanity should change and evolve as a result of our life experiences. Ideally, Advent is a time to take stock, and to see whether we are growing in an appreciation of God’s love and mercy, towards ourselves and towards all people. Advent is a time to make a fresh start and a new commitment, a commitment to renewing our cooperation with God and to hearing again what God is telling us through sacred texts.
So here’s my invitation to you: find a time and a way to grow in your understanding of Scripture. Can you find a regular time to read reflectively some part of the Bible – even a few verses at a time? Forward Day by Day is a good place to start – and it’s even available on line if you don’t take one of the paper copies we order for the parish. Or try reading a few verses contemplatively, then journaling about what they mean for your life. How about reviving the Wednesday evening Bible study that Deacon Carolyn was leading? If you would like a good commentary on the Bible, A.J. or I would be happy to suggest one. Are you interested in learning more about the parallels and differences between our faith and those of other faith communities? There are tons of good books on those subjects, as well as many different web sites.
Of course, studying Scripture is not an end in itself. We don’t get special treatment or brownie points from God because we can quote Scripture. The Sadducees could quote the Torah, and the Pharisees knew both the Torah and other writings. Even the devil could quote Scripture!
So here’s the good news. Our Scriptures are a gift from God! They were written, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, to reinforce our trust in God. They equip us to live holy lives and to share the good news with others. Most important, they enable us to give voice to the hopes we have for God’s future. May God enable us to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” our scriptures, and may the Word that we hear become flesh in us.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Swords into Ploughshares
In the north garden of the United Nations building in New York City stands a huge bronze sculpture. The sculpture depicts a man with a hammer in one hand and a sword in the other. The man is beating on the sword, in order to convert the sword into the cutting edge of a plow. This arresting sculpture was created by the Ukrainian artist Evgeniy Victorovich Vuchetich. It was given to the UN by the then Soviet Union in December, 1959. Although at that time the United States and the Soviet Union were “enemies,” the statue is a powerful visual reminder of our human desire to end wars and to convert instruments of death into tools that bring forth life.
Vuchetich’s statue alludes to one of the most famous passages of Scripture, which we just heard: “… they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks….” This image comes from the beginning of the book of the prophet Isaiah. Really three books bound together, the first forty chapters of Isaiah were written in the 8th century BC, during a period of great political turmoil in Israel. The passage that we just heard presents a series of wonderful images that point us to God’s promises and God’s future, to what lies beyond our immediate earthly events.
Speaking through Isaiah, what does God promise us? We hear first of all that devotion to God will be what brings all people together. We hear that humanity – all humanity – will be happy to receive God’s direction and instruction. We hear that people will no longer be motivated by envy, greed, resentment, retribution, and fear. We hear that people will renounce war, and that they will turn their instruments of war into implements that enable them to nourish each other. And, lest we get too dreamy about all these promises, we hear a challenge from God: “O house of Jacob. Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!” Through Isaiah’s words, God invites us – not commands us, invites us – to share God’s vision and to orient ourselves towards God’s promises, just as we follow a beam of light.
What a vision! While much of the church has just begun Advent, we are in the fourth week of our extended Advent. During this season we are invited to continue sharing God’s vision of what will be. As Jesus’ followers we are confident that God’s reign has already begun. After all, Jesus began his ministry by calling out, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near.” As we wait in this mid-time for God’s reign to be fully realized, in this Advent season we continue to divine its shape. Two weeks ago, we heard that there are no scapegoats in God’s realm, no one who is “other.” In God’s realm all are included, a promise echoed in Isaiah’s prophecy in “all the nations” and “many peoples.” Last week we heard that, as people already living in God’s realm, we owe our highest allegiance not to any earthly authorities but to Christ himself. Today we are reminded that in God’s realm, there will be both diversity and unity: all the many nations and peoples of the earth will come together under God, and will live with each other in peace. As followers of Jesus, is God’s promise of peace so surprising? Didn’t Luke’s gospel depict angels announcing Jesus’ birth with the promise of “Peace to all men and women on earth who please him?” Didn’t Jesus himself promise, in the gospel of John, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you?”
So do we see any of Isaiah’s vision of peace and unity realized in our own world? I was born in 1943. I was too young to experience World War II. But I do remember the cold war and the threat of nuclear disaster: “duck and cover” under my school desk, bomb shelters, and Nevil Shute’s On the Beach. I remember Korea, Viet Nam, India and Pakistan, Bosnia, and Iraq. Now Syria is in ruins. Forty years after the 1967 war, Israelis and Palestinians are still not at peace.
And in our country? We have just come through a divisive election, in which both sides vilified each other. We heard that some groups among us are dangerous and unwanted. Even local elections proved divisive, causing conflict in families, among friends, even in parishes. Many people fear for the future of our nation, state, and community. Will we ever get closer to Isaiah’s vision of unity and peace?
What about in our own lives? Are we at peace within our families, with our friends, within this parish? Or are we estranged from someone? Is there someone with whom we need to reconcile? Are we are peace within our own hearts? Or are we fearful, worried, angry, feeling unloved, or even unworthy of love?
If we want to catch glimpses of the reality of God’s promises, perhaps we need to begin with ourselves. Perhaps we need to make peace within ourselves. Perhaps we are called to accept God’s invitation to walk in God’s way on a personal level. As your pastor, I invite you to take time, even during this busy “holiday” season, to sit in silence and encounter the true source of all that we long for, the true source of shalom, peace. Find that deeper relationship with God. Franciscan Richard Rohr reminds us that, “This might well be the essence of the spiritual journey for all of us – to accept that we’re accepted [by God] and to go and live likewise.”1 Can you know the truth of that acceptance by God in your own heart and share it generously with others? Perhaps this is the time to engage in self-examination, to look hard at our relationships with family members, friends, members of this parish, and members of other faith communities and organizations. Perhaps this is the time to pursue reconciliation wherever it is needed.
Perhaps “now in the time of this mortal life,” we might consider accepting God’s invitation to partner with God in making real God’s promises of unity and peace. Can we truly accept that there are no “others” in God’s realm? I want to share with you a poem that so perfectly expresses that acceptance. It is called “Shalom: Magnetic heart.” The poem begins with the lines,
You and I are “other” to each other,
foreign creatures,
locked in our independent skin.
You and I, we’re unnerved
when we’re together,
we’re fractured, disconnected,
thin as moth-wing.
And yet, the same stuff
that tears us from each other
gravitates us to each other,
and all along,
the earth keeps spinning
to help us shake the
regret-dust from
our shoulders.
The poem ends with these lovely images of unity within God’s Shalom:
Shalom– She knows us better.
Shalom– She binds together the
blistered souls,
and we quiet ourselves,
eyes locked,
all “otherness” dissipated
in a stream of
perfect light.2 https://kaitlincurtice.com/
Can we accept that we live in a diverse nation that embraces people of all ethnicities, national origin, faith community, and gender? Can you find that part of God’s realm that you are uniquely called by God to contribute to? Can you make common cause with others across ethnic and religious lines? Perhaps you want to see immigrants treated fairly. Perhaps you want to stop the death penalty. Perhaps you want to see to see the people who grow our tomatoes receive a fair wage and access to decent health care. Perhaps you want to help end the scourge of addiction in this community. Today we offer a diverse community of people a hot meal. Where else in this county are we called to bring people together in peace?
And world peace? “Not in my lifetime,” you say. Yet, all over the globe, Episcopal Relief and Development, the United Thank Offering, and many other organizations are showing us how we might make it possible for “all people” to come together. An example. For generations different tribes have fought each other in Kalinga, a region of mountain villages in the Philippines. The region struggles with chronic economic hardship. In November 2012, three Episcopal congregations came together to begin planting trees. In the face of climate change that has denuded their mountains and eroded their soil, these communities have overcome decade old feuds to undertake a massive tree planting. In so doing they have helped various ethnic and tribal groups to come together in peace and to advance themselves economically. Is ERD on your Christmas gift list? Perhaps it should be.
And just one more example. This coming February, the Rev. Abeosah Flemister, a priest of our diocese, will visit us and tell us about Partners in Ministry in Liberia, a mission of our diocese that brings diverse people together to provide education for children. Are we called to be one of the partners in this ministry?
In any of these activities we are doing no more than accepting God’s invitation to follow where Jesus led and to share God’s peace with all. And we engage in any of these activities not because we rely on our own strength, or our own political leaders, but because we believe God’s promises. We especially trust that the end of all things, as God’s seers have taught us, is God’s shalom, peace, justice, and well-being for all creation. May it be so.
1. The Divine Dance (New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 2016), 109.
2. https://kaitlincurtice.com/
Vuchetich’s statue alludes to one of the most famous passages of Scripture, which we just heard: “… they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks….” This image comes from the beginning of the book of the prophet Isaiah. Really three books bound together, the first forty chapters of Isaiah were written in the 8th century BC, during a period of great political turmoil in Israel. The passage that we just heard presents a series of wonderful images that point us to God’s promises and God’s future, to what lies beyond our immediate earthly events.
Speaking through Isaiah, what does God promise us? We hear first of all that devotion to God will be what brings all people together. We hear that humanity – all humanity – will be happy to receive God’s direction and instruction. We hear that people will no longer be motivated by envy, greed, resentment, retribution, and fear. We hear that people will renounce war, and that they will turn their instruments of war into implements that enable them to nourish each other. And, lest we get too dreamy about all these promises, we hear a challenge from God: “O house of Jacob. Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!” Through Isaiah’s words, God invites us – not commands us, invites us – to share God’s vision and to orient ourselves towards God’s promises, just as we follow a beam of light.
What a vision! While much of the church has just begun Advent, we are in the fourth week of our extended Advent. During this season we are invited to continue sharing God’s vision of what will be. As Jesus’ followers we are confident that God’s reign has already begun. After all, Jesus began his ministry by calling out, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near.” As we wait in this mid-time for God’s reign to be fully realized, in this Advent season we continue to divine its shape. Two weeks ago, we heard that there are no scapegoats in God’s realm, no one who is “other.” In God’s realm all are included, a promise echoed in Isaiah’s prophecy in “all the nations” and “many peoples.” Last week we heard that, as people already living in God’s realm, we owe our highest allegiance not to any earthly authorities but to Christ himself. Today we are reminded that in God’s realm, there will be both diversity and unity: all the many nations and peoples of the earth will come together under God, and will live with each other in peace. As followers of Jesus, is God’s promise of peace so surprising? Didn’t Luke’s gospel depict angels announcing Jesus’ birth with the promise of “Peace to all men and women on earth who please him?” Didn’t Jesus himself promise, in the gospel of John, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you?”
So do we see any of Isaiah’s vision of peace and unity realized in our own world? I was born in 1943. I was too young to experience World War II. But I do remember the cold war and the threat of nuclear disaster: “duck and cover” under my school desk, bomb shelters, and Nevil Shute’s On the Beach. I remember Korea, Viet Nam, India and Pakistan, Bosnia, and Iraq. Now Syria is in ruins. Forty years after the 1967 war, Israelis and Palestinians are still not at peace.
And in our country? We have just come through a divisive election, in which both sides vilified each other. We heard that some groups among us are dangerous and unwanted. Even local elections proved divisive, causing conflict in families, among friends, even in parishes. Many people fear for the future of our nation, state, and community. Will we ever get closer to Isaiah’s vision of unity and peace?
What about in our own lives? Are we at peace within our families, with our friends, within this parish? Or are we estranged from someone? Is there someone with whom we need to reconcile? Are we are peace within our own hearts? Or are we fearful, worried, angry, feeling unloved, or even unworthy of love?
If we want to catch glimpses of the reality of God’s promises, perhaps we need to begin with ourselves. Perhaps we need to make peace within ourselves. Perhaps we are called to accept God’s invitation to walk in God’s way on a personal level. As your pastor, I invite you to take time, even during this busy “holiday” season, to sit in silence and encounter the true source of all that we long for, the true source of shalom, peace. Find that deeper relationship with God. Franciscan Richard Rohr reminds us that, “This might well be the essence of the spiritual journey for all of us – to accept that we’re accepted [by God] and to go and live likewise.”1 Can you know the truth of that acceptance by God in your own heart and share it generously with others? Perhaps this is the time to engage in self-examination, to look hard at our relationships with family members, friends, members of this parish, and members of other faith communities and organizations. Perhaps this is the time to pursue reconciliation wherever it is needed.
Perhaps “now in the time of this mortal life,” we might consider accepting God’s invitation to partner with God in making real God’s promises of unity and peace. Can we truly accept that there are no “others” in God’s realm? I want to share with you a poem that so perfectly expresses that acceptance. It is called “Shalom: Magnetic heart.” The poem begins with the lines,
You and I are “other” to each other,
foreign creatures,
locked in our independent skin.
You and I, we’re unnerved
when we’re together,
we’re fractured, disconnected,
thin as moth-wing.
And yet, the same stuff
that tears us from each other
gravitates us to each other,
and all along,
the earth keeps spinning
to help us shake the
regret-dust from
our shoulders.
The poem ends with these lovely images of unity within God’s Shalom:
Shalom– She knows us better.
Shalom– She binds together the
blistered souls,
and we quiet ourselves,
eyes locked,
all “otherness” dissipated
in a stream of
perfect light.2 https://kaitlincurtice.com/
Can we accept that we live in a diverse nation that embraces people of all ethnicities, national origin, faith community, and gender? Can you find that part of God’s realm that you are uniquely called by God to contribute to? Can you make common cause with others across ethnic and religious lines? Perhaps you want to see immigrants treated fairly. Perhaps you want to stop the death penalty. Perhaps you want to see to see the people who grow our tomatoes receive a fair wage and access to decent health care. Perhaps you want to help end the scourge of addiction in this community. Today we offer a diverse community of people a hot meal. Where else in this county are we called to bring people together in peace?
And world peace? “Not in my lifetime,” you say. Yet, all over the globe, Episcopal Relief and Development, the United Thank Offering, and many other organizations are showing us how we might make it possible for “all people” to come together. An example. For generations different tribes have fought each other in Kalinga, a region of mountain villages in the Philippines. The region struggles with chronic economic hardship. In November 2012, three Episcopal congregations came together to begin planting trees. In the face of climate change that has denuded their mountains and eroded their soil, these communities have overcome decade old feuds to undertake a massive tree planting. In so doing they have helped various ethnic and tribal groups to come together in peace and to advance themselves economically. Is ERD on your Christmas gift list? Perhaps it should be.
And just one more example. This coming February, the Rev. Abeosah Flemister, a priest of our diocese, will visit us and tell us about Partners in Ministry in Liberia, a mission of our diocese that brings diverse people together to provide education for children. Are we called to be one of the partners in this ministry?
In any of these activities we are doing no more than accepting God’s invitation to follow where Jesus led and to share God’s peace with all. And we engage in any of these activities not because we rely on our own strength, or our own political leaders, but because we believe God’s promises. We especially trust that the end of all things, as God’s seers have taught us, is God’s shalom, peace, justice, and well-being for all creation. May it be so.
1. The Divine Dance (New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 2016), 109.
2. https://kaitlincurtice.com/
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