What Kind of Sandwich Would You Like?

Fourth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 8) – Year B (RCL)
Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15, 2:23-24; Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43
Sunday, June 28, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


What we have here is a sandwich. Seriously. That’s what Biblical scholars call the literary style represented in today’s gospel lesson. A sandwich consists of a story that is interrupted by another seemingly unrelated story, like in today’s gospel. We have the story of Jairus coming to Jesus to beg him to heal his daughter, to which Jesus agrees. On the way to Jairus’ house, that story line is put on hold while we hear about the woman with hemorrhages. Only after that story is resolved do we get back to the story of Jairus and his daughter, which then plays out to its joyful conclusion.

When used in scripture, this style is also a theological device, with the story in the middle serving as the theological key to the sandwich as a whole. While all the synoptic gospels contain sandwiches, Mark is particularly masterful at the art of, shall we say, sandwich making, employing this device in unique ways to highlight and emphasize major themes of the Gospel. In fact, Mark uses the sandwich technique a total of nine times in his short gospel.

In some ways, the middle story might be considered the more important and more interesting bit – just like when you order a sandwich, you are probably more concerned about what goes in it than with the type of bread being used. That’s not to say the “bread” part, the story on either side of the central “filling,” isn’t important. We need it all, bread and filling, to make a theologically tasty and satisfying sandwich.

That being the case, I want to focus primarily on the story of the woman with the hemorrhages, but not completely forgetting the story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter, as it does provide some nuances that only serve to enhance our understanding of the meaning of the central theological themes Mark is attempting to convey through the use here of the sandwich technique.

So let’s start with the woman herself. Suffice it to say, she’s had a rough life, as indicated in the scriptural account. But when we really consider the implications of what is told about her, it is safe to say her life is worse than rough. Given all that she’s had to suffer and endure, the woman suffering from hemorrhages is, cursed, at the very least, four times over. First, she obviously is experiencing a physical illness, one she had had for 12 years. Since she is a woman, and the affliction entails hemorrhaging, the affliction is in all likelihood gynecological in nature. Second, as Scripture tells us, she has depleted her financial resources in multiple attempts to obtain relief from many physicians, who, by all indications, were probably quacks, taking advantage of her for financial gain. Third, these quacks did not only leave her destitute, but also left her worse off medically, thanks to ineffective and even injurious “remedies.” And fourth, while not specifically mentioned, but as would certainly be the case under Jewish levitical law, she is undoubtedly considered ritually unclean – one, because she has an illness, and two, because of the nature of the hemorrhaging she experiences.

As a result of all this, the woman experiences illness and poverty. She experiences isolation and social alienation. She experiences powerlessness and vulnerability. This is quite the opposite of Jairus, who is a wealthy and powerful leader in the community. Because of his status, Jairus is free to walk up to Jesus and ask for his help. Because of her status, the woman should be nowhere near a crowd of people. Because of her circumstances, it is her duty to stay away, living on the margins of society. And if anyone should come anywhere near her, she is obligated under the law and by social convention to warn them that she is unclean, warning them so that they not risk being made ritually unclean by their contact with her.

Despite being beset by such horrendous circumstances and despite her obligation to her fellow humanity, what does this poor, marginalized woman do? She breaks all social, legal, and religious convention and enters into a crowd. And to make matters worse, she willfully and blatantly touches not only a ritually clean and healthy person, but a man, no less. Three strikes against her. But to her defense, and what is of paramount importance from our perspective, is that she does this, she reaches out to Jesus, because she has faith – faith that if anyone can help her, he can.

We’ll get back to the woman, but I want to turn to Jesus for a moment. One of the questions that troubles me every time I hear this story is why does this woman cause Jesus to feel the power flowing from him, while others pressing in upon him on this and countless other occasions, do not have a similar effect?

While we’re not specifically told, I believe it has to do with the way she touches him, with what motivates her to reach out, even just to touch the hem of his robe. I believe it is because of her faith – a faith so profound, a deep knowledge that he is her only hope. Now, I don’t personally think that the power leaves him per say, as much as he feels a connection with her because of her profound faith. I believe he feels his spirit, the power within him energized by the Holy Spirit, connecting with her spirit, as if his and her spirits are rushing to greet each other, as two friends who have not seen each other in ages rush to greet each other and to embrace. It is as if her spirit says to his, here I am, and I recognize you as my life and my hope, and his spirit turns and rushes toward hers, shouting, “my beloved.” This is all made possible by the woman’s faith in Jesus, that he is the channel to the healing power and presence of God.

I think another thing that is equally important is the fact that the woman could have just as easily taken her gift of healing and gone on her way. She could have slipped through the crowd, undetected. Jesus and those around him would have been none the wiser. Instead, when Jesus senses the connection between them, the touching of spirits, the resulting healing, and attempts to discern the reason, she stops and confesses that she is the one who touched Jesus. She falls down in fear and trembling, presents herself before Jesus, confessing her faith.

So too, Jesus could have just as easily continued on his way after he sensed the power flowing from him. With so many people around him, it could have been anyone. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And chances are, the person responsible would not step forward. So why bother to find out? Chalk it up as one of those strange experiences, the cost of being the Son of God. But no, he stops and diligently attempts to figure out what has happened, and more importantly, to determine who is the cause. This is incredibly important. In doing this, in seeking out the person who has touched him in faith, Jesus is attempting to reciprocate. He is seeking relationship with this person of faith.

In falling at his feet in fear and trembling, the woman is undoubtedly afraid. She has violated all sorts of social, religious, and legal taboos in daring to touch Jesus. But instead of chastising her, Jesus calls her “daughter” – yet another sign of relationship. And in falling at his feet in fear and trembling, she is experiencing “the fear of one who knows that she is coming into relationship with God” (Edington, 192).

The question occurs to me, would the woman have been truly, permanently healed if she had not stopped and confessed her faith in Jesus? We will never know. But I do know that in kneeling before Jesus, she gives a physical, tangible sign of her belief, of her faith. She gives a physical, tangible sign of relationship with Jesus. And in return, Jesus gives a physical, tangible sign of his relationship with her. He proclaims “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

Being sandwiched within the story of Jairus and his daughter provides the story of the woman with the hemorrhage with even more detail. Jairus is rich and powerful. The woman is poor and on the margins of society. The fact that Jesus interrupts his travel to Jairus' house indicates that wealth and social status are of no importance to Jesus. The woman is in as much need as Jairus. The fact that he has money and power make no difference to Jesus. It's not that she has a more immediate or pressing need. Jesus could have had her make an appointment with the disciples and he would get back to her. After all, she had gone for 12 years without relief. What difference would a few more hours make? If anything, the fact that Jesus stops to be with her, putting Jairus on hold, indicates that in his mind, the needs of the marginalized take precedence over the needs of the wealthy and powerful. But in the end, all are worthy of healing. Regardless of who we are, all are worthy of being touched by Jesus, of being made whole, of being called Daughter or Son.

Now all of that being said, it’s time for the disclaimer. Such stories as the healing of the woman with the hemorrhages and the healing of Jairus’ daughter can be a bit precarious for us modern-day Christians. We see how the faith of a woman results in her healing. We see how the faith of a father results in the healing of his daughter. We may be tempted to think that if we just have enough faith, our desires, our prayers, for healing will be answered. And then if those prayers are not answered as we would have hoped, we may be tempted to question whether we have enough faith. We may be tempted to question whether God really hears us, and if He does, does he really care about us, about our needs?

As your pastor, I implore you never, never, entertain such questions. God does hear us. God does care about us and about our needs. The Gospel assures us of that. The very fact that God sent his Son to live among us, to die for us, to be resurrected for us, is proof of that. It is proof that God desires for us and has literally moved heaven and earth, to provide us with the ultimate healing – with new and eternal life with Him. And while everything will work out fine in the end, that does not mean that the road to get there will always be an easy one.

As one minister so wisely put it, “it may be helpful to remember that prayers for healing are not simply utilitarian. That is to say, prayer is not simply a matter of bending the vector of divine will toward my will, my needs, and my hopes. More profoundly, to ask something of God is to edge into deeper relationship with God. God's mind may or may not be changed, but I—my mind and heart—may be” (Lindvall, 190).

This is so important, so profound, so central to our understanding of our relationship with God, these words bear repeating. “Prayer is not simply a matter of bending the vector of divine will toward my will, my needs, and my hopes. More profoundly, to ask something of God is to edge into deeper relationship with God. God's mind may or may not be changed, but I—my mind and heart—may be.”

No matter the response, no matter the outcome, prayer is useful. Prayer is necessary. Why? Because prayer is a sign of faith. Prayer is a sign of relationship. Prayer is our spirit reaching out and touching God’s Spirit in faith. And in response, God’s Spirit asks “Who touched me?” Our response of faith is to fall down before our God, to profess our continued faith, to enter more fully into relationship with Him. And in response, God’s Spirit cries out “My beloved Daughter, my beloved Son, you took a risk of faith, and now you’re healed and whole. Live well, live blessed!” (Mk 5:34, The Message).

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.



References
Edington, Mark D. W. “Mark 5:21-43, Theological Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Lindvall, Michael W. “Mark 5:21-43, Pastoral Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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Oh Hear Us When We Cry To Thee . . .

Third Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 7) – Year B (RCL)
Job 38:1-11; Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32; 2 Corinthians 6:1-13; Mark 4:35-41
Sunday, June 21, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


What a depressing bunch of readings! All the scripture lessons appointed for today are filled with images of struggle and chaos. We start off with Job, that poster boy for a life filled with calamity. The portion of the Book of Job that we have today is in the aftermath of all the struggles Job has been forced to endure. Despite being a righteous and faithful man, Job has had to suffer unspeakable traumas – the loss of his property and wealth, the death of his servants, the death of his children, and finally he is beset with terrible health problems. He’s managed to survive all of this, and now, in today’s lesson, Job is engaged in an argument with God. And as if to add insult to injury, God gets downright sarcastic with Job. “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements—surely you know!”

Then there’s Paul, writing in his second letter to the church in Corinth. He goes on and on about the traumas he has had to endure during the time that he has been traveling around the Mediterranean, establishing churches and proclaiming the Gospel. “Through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger,” just to name a few of his complaints.

And then there’s the gospel lesson from Mark, recounting the story of the disciples in a boat on the Sea of Galilee, when “A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped.” And even when the disciples turn for help to Jesus, who happened to be sleeping in the stern of the boat during all this chaos, the response they get is not what one would necessarily expect from the Messiah, the Son of God. Not unlike God’s response to Job, Jesus’ response is a bit on the sarcastic side. “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

Even the Psalm contains images of doom and gloom. In amongst beautiful language extolling the Lord’s goodness and ever-enduring mercy, what starts off as a song of praise is interrupted with images of stormy winds stirring up high waves of the sea.

We might as well be reading the front page of the San Bernardino Sun or the Redlands Daily Facts. Where’s the Gospel, where’s the Good News, in amongst all this chaos and struggle, all this doom and gloom?

In all fairness, the scriptures are meant to reflect the human condition. They are the stories of ordinary human beings who are attempting to live their lives, to eke out an existence, while also attempting to be faithful to God. But the reality of our human condition is that life is not a bed of roses. Stuff happens. Sometimes, bad stuff happens. Even for people of faith, no matter how faithful we may be, bad stuff can happen. In fact, odds are, at some point in our lives, something bad will happen to us. We’re human. We get sick. We grow old. Accidents happen. We live in a human society. Our lives are intertwined with those of others. And some of those people will unintentionally, or sometimes even intentionally, hurt us. We live on a planet that can be sometimes harsh and unleash destructive forces like storms and earthquakes. And no matter how faithful we are, no matter how often we go to church, no matter how many prayers we say, none of this going to change. Bad stuff will still happen.

In the midst of such struggles, who of us has not cried out to God, “why?” Perhaps one of the most frustrating things is the fact that that question is never answered to our satisfaction. God does not seem to answer. Even the church is at a loss to provide an adequate answer.

Does that mean God doesn’t listen to us? Of course He does. Does that mean that God doesn’t care? Of course not. God does care for His creation. Despite today’s scripture lessons with all the chaos and struggle, doom and gloom, that reflect our human condition, they also reflect the fact that we are not alone. Even though, at times, we may have to deal with some sort of struggle or suffering in our lives, we do not have to face it by ourselves. We do not have to go it alone.

Growing up in a military family – I am fond of saying that I spent the first 16 years of my life in the Marine Corps – we generally attended church at the chapel on the base that served as home. The Marine Corps does not have chaplains of its own, so relies on Navy chaplains to staff Marine Corps base chapels. Just as in our Anglican tradition, you can go anywhere in the world and feel comfortable with the liturgy because it is always based on the Book of Common Prayer, so too, in Navy and Marine Corps chapels, there are certain things that are always the same. While the actual structure of the liturgy would vary depending on the denomination of the chaplain, there were common elements to all worship services. The most notable, the one thing that was always the same, was the closing hymn. It was always “Eternal Father, strong to save,” also known as the Navy Hymn, the sequence hymn we just sang. For old time’s sake, I was tempted to ask Jeff to use it as our closing hymn today, but it actually made more sense to use it as the sequence.

Now, the version of the hymn we usually sang in Navy chapels was a little different, but the message was the same, and is summarized in the repeated phrase: “O hear us when we cry to thee, for those in peril on the sea.” As a child, I always felt such comfort singing the words of the Navy Hymn, and particularly those words “O hear us when we cry to thee, for those in peril on the sea.” As I have reflected on that time in my life, I realize that the sense of comfort was on multiple levels. One level, one shared with every other person in the chapel, was the sense of God caring for and keeping safe our military personnel – those who were in the chapel, but also, and perhaps more importantly, those who were away, often in troubled areas of the world. It was a comfort to know that God was looking out for the likes of my father and my uncle, of my friends’ parents, of the numerous people I encountered on a daily basis.

But I now realize that the words of this hymn provided a sense of comfort, even assurance, at an even deeper, more personal level. These words provided me with a sense that no matter what might happen to me, God would be there to take care of me. It was some of the earliest feelings I had of an abiding trust in God, of an assurance that regardless of whether we are faithful to God or not, God is always faithful to us.

This is born out in all of today’s lessons. In fact, “Eternal Father, strong to save” was inspired in part by some of the imagery of today’s Psalm, Psalm 107, and by today’s gospel lesson from Mark, among other portions of scripture.

Now, of course, even with such comfort and assurance, it does not mean that times of struggle or chaos will be a cake walk. As we’ve established, we are but human. And that brings with it all sorts of emotional stuff in response to what goes on in our lives, no matter how much we may try to be rational about our circumstances. While all of the readings are about life in struggle, addressing life in the midst of chaos of one form or another, they are also about the human emotions that accompany the times of struggle and chaos. Probably the greatest of these are fear and anger. And even these are reflected in today’s scripture lessons. Job is certainly angry at God for the injustices perpetrated upon him. And while the story does not say so, he was also probably even a little fearful. Who wouldn’t be with all that he had to endure? And the disciples in the boat with Jesus were, in no uncertain terms, filled with fear.

Each of today’s lessons provide us with particular insight into how to deal with our fear and anger, how to deal with the uncertainty that is present in those times of struggle and chaos that inevitably confront us.

The encounter between Job and God is a rather interesting one. The part we have in today’s reading is the beginning of a very lengthy discourse by God in response to Job’s questions as to why all these terrible things have beset him. It is interesting because, one, as I’ve already noted, God uses a rather sarcastic tone with Job. It’s as if God is saying “you’re putting yourself in the place of God when in actuality, the whys and wherefores are really none of your concern.” And two, despite the lengthy response, spanning four chapters, God never directly answers Job. Instead, he recounts all the details and wonders of creation. But yet, even in this, God does provide an answer of sorts, if we read between the lines. In his response, God is essentially providing assurance that all creation is a gift from God to humanity. Creation is the way in which God has revealed Himself to humanity. In all that is, God is present. Even in the chaos and suffering that we experience, God is there, ever present, not something apart from our suffering.

The challenge for us is to enter into the experience and to find God in the midst of our suffering. As one commentator so aptly put it, “The deepest places of our knowledge of God are often those places that we cannot explain: [such as] experiences of tranquility in the presence of pain.” This is one of the great mysteries of our relationship with God, of our existence as the people of God. That being the case, “Perhaps the church's vocation has less to do with explaining the root of that mystery and more to do with making space for that kind of mystery to be known and shared” (Connors, 150).

The experience of Paul is more of a direct application of this principal of having faith that God is in the midst of all life, including our struggles and our suffering. In our reading from 2 Corinthians, while he does not specifically state it, the tone of Paul’s words convey the fact that he has unwavering faith in the greater purpose to which God has called him. Despite all the suffering he has endured for the sake of the Gospel, faith in God and in what he was called to do kept Paul going in the midst of his various struggles.

And I believe that the key to understanding this whole concept of having faith in the midst of life’s chaos can be found in Jesus’ response to the disciples as they sit fearfully in the boat in the midst of a violent storm. What are Jesus’ words? The first thing he says to them is “why are you afraid?” Well, in some respects, this is one of those “duh” moments. But then again, in asking “why are you afraid?” Jesus is acknowledging the fear experienced by the disciples. He does not say, “don’t be afraid,” which in the midst of a terrible storm could be interpreted as being patronizing or dismissive. No, the feelings are real, even if, from Jesus’ perspective, a little unfounded. But they are not he, and Jesus recognizes this. He recognizes that the disciples still have some work to do in the area of faith. So, he attempts to meet them where they are, attempts to understand the reason for their fear, and to help them understand and to begin top come to grips with it. Only then can he begin to address it. And that he does. He then goes on to the heart of the matter: “Have you still no faith?” Faith in him, faith in God, is what is ultimately needed to weather the storms that life throws at us.

The bottom line in all of today’s scripture lessons is the same. In every case, the protagonists – Job, Paul, the disciples – do not have to face the ordeals, the chaos, alone. In all cases, God, in some form or fashion, is there in the midst of it with them. He was there all along. The only thing was, they all, Job, Paul, the disciples, had to work through the very natural, but very limiting emotions, that kept them from seeing that God was always there, protecting them, giving them strength to carry on.

Only when we have articulated the feelings of fear, and even of anger toward God, only when we have come to terms with those very human feelings that can get in the way of seeing that God has not abandoned us, that God will never abandon us, that He is always with us, can we then be in a position to be still and listen for God – for the God who is always in our midst, saying “Peace! Be still!” In the midst of storms, we are challenged to listen to and to rediscover our faith in God’s word, the word that proves God is ever-present, no matter what may happen to us or around us.

I believe Emily Bronte, the daughter of an Anglican priest, summed it up most eloquently in her poem, “No Coward Soul is Mine.” She writes:

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

This is the faith of another nineteenth century Anglican who was able to write, “O hear us when we cry to thee for those in peril on the sea.” This is the faith that will see us through whatever struggles and chaos life may throw our way.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Connors, Andrew Foster. “Job 38:1-11, Pastoral Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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Bible Study with Alzheimer's Patients

Several weeks ago, the parish received a call from the program coordinator (or as I like to refer to her, the cruise director) at Somerford Place, a residential facility here in Redlands for Alzheimer’s patients (an extremely nice facility, BTW). There are several churches and religious groups in the area that periodically come in and do worship or Bible study. The "cruise director" wanted to know if Trinity would be interested in doing something similar, providing a more mainline perspective (most of the other groups tend to be a little more on the fundamentalist-evangelical end of the spectrum). David (the rector) and I talked about it and he said he really doesn’t have time to add another program, but if I wanted to do it, go ahead. I decided it would be interesting to at least give it a try. So, I contacted Somerford Place and agreed to do a trial run of every other Mondays during June to see how things go.

Yesterday was the first attempt. I have to admit I was a little nervous. I have no experience dealing with Alzheimer’s patients. I didn’t know what to expect. But I must say, I was pleasantly surprised. There were about 25 people present. Now, about a quarter of them were dozing, but everyone else seemed to be at least somewhat engaged. And there were about five or six who did respond to questions and invitations to share their own insights.

Being the day after Pentecost, I decided to focus on that. I started off with a little discussion about Pentecost. Then I focused on Romans 8:22-27, the Epistle lesson for Pentecost. After one of the patients read the lesson, I essentially gave a recap of my sermon from Sunday. I thought that would be good because in my sermon I focused on how the Holy Spirit is always with us, particularly in times of need. I thought the patients just might be able to relate to that. And they did. After my reflection, I invited people to comment and add their own insights or experiences. There were several people who did open up and talk a little about times of need in their own lives. There were a number of occasions when someone would come up with something that might have seemed tangential or even unrelated to the topic of discussion, but I was generally able to take such comments and use them as a springboard for further discussion.

The Holy Spirit definitely was present in our time together. My initial concerns and uncertainty were quickly dispelled and I felt pretty comfortable with the way things went. Actually, I was pretty surprised that things went so well for the first time out of the chute. I can hardly wait to see what will happen in two weeks.

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The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Pentecost Sunday
Acts 2:1-21; Psalm 104:25-35,37; Romans 8:22-27; John 20:19-23
Sunday, May 31, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


On this, the Feast of Pentecost, we remember and celebrate the giving of the gift of the Holy Spirit to humanity. Each of the scripture readings we just heard deal with the Holy Spirit and the giving of that same Spirit in some form or fashion.

Of course, the first reading, from the second chapter of Acts, is the signature story for Pentecost. It is the story that we all tend to think of when we think of this day, this event. This is the story of the rushing in of the Holy Spirit, in the form of a violent wind. Accompanying the arrival of the Spirit, or perhaps a manifestation of it, is the appearance of tongues of fire resting on each of the persons present, and the proclaiming of the gospel in many languages, with those present speaking in their varied native tongues, but also being able to understand the words being proclaimed by others. We are told that this story takes place 50 days after Christ’s resurrection and was in keeping with Christ’s promise to send an Advocate in his place following his ascension. This fulfillment of Christ’s promise was witnessed by a multitude, not only Jesus’ disciples, but a myriad of others, including devout Jews and newly converted Gentiles from all over the known world.

The Gospel lesson from John, on the other hand, is a little more limited in scope. In this account, the gift of the Holy Spirit is not given to a multitude, but rather is only given to ten of the disciples – the original Twelve minus Judas Iscariot, who had committed suicide, and Thomas, who was inexplicably absent. And rather than occurring after Christ’s ascension, this conveying of the gift of the Holy Spirit occurred much earlier. In fact, it occurred on the Sunday evening of Christ’s resurrection. And rather than the Holy Spirit being sent by Christ, this bestowal of the gift of the Spirit was directly initiated by Christ himself – “he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” Very different circumstances, very different cast of characters, but the same Spirit.

Despite the differences between the Acts and the John stories, the purpose is essentially the same. In both cases, the Holy Spirit is given to humanity as a gift to provide the continuing presence of Jesus among his followers in the aftermath of his death and resurrection. The Holy Spirit is given as a gift to guide the community of believers, to inspire them, to energize and vivify them for the continuation of the work begun by their master – the work of proclaiming the gospel and building the Kingdom of God that they would now be called to continue.

The third story, the lesson from Romans, is quite a bit different. Written some 25 years after the Pentecost event, this passage does not deal with the events leading up to or experienced in the giving of the gift of the Holy Spirit. Rather, Paul, writing to a disparate group of Jews and Gentiles that comprised the Church in Rome, talks about the Holy Spirit in the context of the entirety of salvation history, from the beginning of creation right up to the present day. He is concerned with the implications of the gift of the Holy Spirit for humanity, where humanity has been, where it is, and where it is going. While written to a group of early Christians in Rome in the mid-first century, the meaning and implications continue to be significant and applicable for us Christians, nearly two thousand years later and half-way around the world.

Paul captures the essence of the meaning and implications for the Holy Spirit in our lives in the very first line of today’s Epistle lesson. “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.” Unlike the other two readings which document the sending of the Holy Spirit to particular groups of people on behalf of all humanity, Paul, in his reporting talks about the continuing work of the Holy Spirit, delivered upon the entirety of creation, for all humanity. And he makes clear that the coming of the Holy Spirit was not a single event that happened nearly 2,000 years ago, but an event that is ongoing. The Holy Spirit was not sent once, but is continually being sent for the benefit of us all. The gift of the Holy Spirit is on-going and is all-encompassing.

In saying that the whole creation is groaning in labor pains, Paul invokes the image of physical creation. In this passage, we have the meeting of seemingly polar opposites – creation and Holy Spirit, the physical and the spiritual. This should be of great comfort to us. We often think of the Holy Spirit as a source of inspiration, as a guiding power in our lives. And it is. But the Spirit is more than that. Much more.

Throughout our lives, we have periods when our own lives are filled with the groaning of labor pains. When we struggle with the burden of choices and decisions, with discerning what is right for us, with what God is calling is to do and be. Such times are sometimes difficult. They can cause much soul searching, much anguish, much internal struggle, much spiritual pain. We are filled with the groaning of labor pains as we struggle with emotional hardships. With the pain of loss, of the death of a loved one, of the end of a relationship, of the loss of a job, as we struggle to make sense out of what is happening, of figuring out how we will possible go on in the face of such all-consuming emotional pain. We are filled with the groans of labor pains as we struggle with physical limitations, with the onset of infirmity and disease, as our bodies, once young and vibrant, betray us and succumb to the inevitabilities of age.

I think Paul is right in using the imagery of labor pains. For in such periods of our lives, regardless of whether the pains have their root in the spiritual, the emotional, or the physical, we are indeed struggling to give birth to something new, to a new creation born of God and of the Spirit, born of our very being – the new creation that God is calling us to be. What is being born may not at first glance be pleasant or fun or joyful. But in the new life born of the groans of labor pains, spiritual, emotional, or physical, something new is indeed being born. We are being born into a new way of being whether we like it or not. But even if it is not what we would have envisioned for ourselves, there is hope in what is being brought forth. For the constant in all of this is the hope of redemption promised through the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. These are labor pains filled with, and only made possible through, our faith and an abiding sense of hope.

When Paul talks about hope, which for him, is the hope of redemption, we are not talking about hope in our contemporary understanding. We are not talking about wishful thinking. We are talking about something that is already promised to us. We are talking about trusting that it will happen. We are talking about the certainty that it will happen. We are talking about the pregnant expectation that the promises made to us by our Savior will be brought to fruition in due time. We are talking about the knowledge in faith that it will happen.

Paul assures us that in the face of this sure and certain hope, even in the face of the groaning of labor pains that we may face along the way, we are not alone. We have been given the gift of the Holy Spirit to accompany us on the journey that ultimately leads to the fulfillment of that which we hope for. We have the Holy Spirit to help us make the most of the journey so that when it is complete, when the promise is fulfilled, we will have the most fruitful experience possible. In this, the Spirit walks with us, keeping us company, encouraging us, keeping the sense of hope alive even when we feel that things have become hopeless. In this, the Holy Spirit carries us when we feel as if we cannot possibly take another step.

There are even times on the journey when we may feel that we cannot even so much as utter a prayer on our own behalf. While the other readings imply that the Holy Spirit is a gift from God through Christ to the disciples, and by extension to us, to strengthen, inspire, and energize us for what we are called to do, the reading from Romans implies a much more relational approach. The Holy Spirit is not a one-way conduit with God’s energy and grace flowing from God to us. Paul implies that the conduit works both ways. The flow goes both ways – from God to us, but also from us to God. The “Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” Even when we cannot find the words to pray, when all we can do is heave a heavy albeit pregnant sigh of frustration, anger, sorrow, fear, or resignation, the Holy Spirit is there to take that sigh and lift up to God, transformed by the power of the Spirit into the most eloquent of prayers that cannot help but be heard by God, cannot help but pierce God’s heart.

On this day, we celebrate the most precious gift of the Holy Spirit, sent by our risen and ascended Lord to provide continuation of the gift of his love, strength, and encouragement in his physical absence. Over the years, there have been many products and services that have claimed to be “the gift that keeps on giving.” The only gift that truly can bear up to that moniker is the Holy Spirit. We can be assured that the Holy Spirit will be present, providing us with Christ’s love day after day after day, for as long as we live. And that at all times, in times of joy and particularly in times of need, the Holy Spirit will be with us, the Holy Spirit IS with us, through every groaning from life’s labor pains, through every cry for help, and even when all we can do is utter a pathetic sigh. Because of this promise, every day is Pentecost. This is our sure and certain hope. This is our sure and certain reality.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Blah Blah Blah Love

Sixth Sunday of Easter – Year B (RCL)
Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17
Sunday, May 17, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


My first year of seminary, we had a dean who, whenever he preached a sermon, always seemed to focus on “love.” Even if the lessons didn’t contain the word “love,” Dean Lemler could still manage to make love the central theme. Since Tuesday was the Dean’s Mass where the dean preached, we could nearly always count on a weekly sermon on love. It almost became a joke among the seminarians. Jim was well aware of this as well, as evidenced by a story he told on himself. Apparently while a parish priest, there was an occasion when a young child was in church. For whatever reason, the child’s mother wasn’t there that day. When the child got home, the mother asked, “what was the sermon about.” The child innocently responded, “The usual. Blah blah blah love. Blah blah blah love.” As you can imagine, us seminarians had a field day with that one.

Dean Lemler would have been in heaven with today’s lessons, particularly the second reading and the Gospel, which are very similar, coming out of the Johanine tradition and therefore carrying the same Christological perspective. Blah blah blah love. Blah blah blah love. In a way, that’s almost what the lessons sound like. It seems as if every other word is “love.” Blah blah blah love. Blah blah blah love. As a result, today’s lessons can be mind-boggling, if not downright mind-numbing.

In fact, one commentator, a specialist in the art of homiletics, in examining the Epistle lesson from First John, says “Anyone hoping to track by means of linear reasoning through these few verses of 1 John is likely to emerge seriously frustrated—the author certainly seems to be going around in circles!” (Schlafer, 491). While the lesson from First John contains some central images and concepts that are intended to illustrate the meaning of Christian love, upon hearing them described, the logic, for the twenty-first century Western mind, is hard to follow. “We know that we love the children of God when we love God and obey his commandments.” We can get so wrapped up in trying to logically analyze what is being said that we get caught in a loop that is almost impossible to rationalize our way out of.

To spare us too much of a headache, our friend the commentator has synthesized this passage down into a few key concepts. In order of appearance, these are ideas about belief; relationship, both human and divine; love; obedience; commandments; conquest and victory; and faith. That’s a lot crammed into a mere five verses. No wonder we have a hard time wrapping our minds around all of this. In fact, this same commentator describes this section of biblical text as “a bloodless ballet of abstract categories,” as “an elaborate procession of empty theological circumlocutions,” and as “a vortex of sentimental religious jargon, sucking its audience down in a rhetorical swirl” (Schlafer, 491). Maybe blah blah blah love is a little easier to understand.

But to help us out, and to redeem the meaning of this potentially confusing passage, this homiletical expert provides another image that might just provide the clarity we need, shedding light on the meaning of blah blah blah love. He proposes the metaphor of “something like the orderly attraction of a gravitational field—one in which belief, kinship with God and one another, love, obedience, the commandments of God, triumph over the world, and ‘our faith,’ are all elements encircling each other, held in orbit by a centering energy point, named by the writer as Jesus the Christ” (Schlafer, 491). I think this is a wonderful image to help us understand what the author of First John is attempting to describe. Sort of translating it into a twenty-first century world view, or rather, cosmological view.

The only modification I would make would be that we have all these elements, all these attributes and characteristics of Christian life, held in orbit around and by a centering energy force called Jesus Christ, just as the planets orbit the sun. But instead of love being one of those characteristics, I would say that love is the attractive force holding all else in orbit around Christ. Love is the gravity that keeps it all together. Just as the sun is the source of the gravitational field that influences our solar system, Christ is the source of love that influences the attributes of Christian life. Love, that attractive force between us and our Savior, is what binds together our system of belief, relationship, obedience, God’s commandments, victory in the world, and faith. Without love to bind us with Christ, all else would be meaningless; all else would go flying off into the cosmos, set adrift to wander without aim or purpose.

And just as we require the force of gravity to keep us grounded here on terra firma, so too do we require the force of love generated by Christ and manifest through our relationship with Christ and one another, to keep us firmly grounded in the Christian faith. Without gravity, we would all float off into outer space. Without Christ and the love generated and made possible through him, we would similarly float off into a meaningless existence, drifting about without aim or purpose.

With all this talk of love, it is probably worth a little explanation of what love is and what it is not. When we think of love, most of us will naturally think of the warm, fuzzy, feelings we have toward those with whom we are closest and most intimate. We think of the emotional type of love epitomized in Hallmark cards. But that’s not what we’re talking about here. It’s not what Jesus or the author of First John are talking about. That emotional sense of love is far too narrow, far too limiting. That notion of love tends to be, although not always, possessive, dominating, containing a degree of self-interest, can be coercive, and in limited supply.

Jesus was talking about a far broader definition of love. Unlike English, which only has one word for love, the original Greek of the New Testament has four words for love, each with a differing sense and set of characteristics. The word consistently used in both today’s Epistle and Gospel lessons is agape. While we translate agape as “love,” there are probably more accurate translations that better convey the sense of what it means and of what Jesus was talking about. Agape is translated into Latin as caritas, which made its way into English as “charity.” Rather than love, it means more of a concern for others. The full extent of what agape means is a concern for others that is not possessive or dominating, not coercive, and which allows the other to be who he/she is or is called to be. And most importantly, it is not limiting or limited, but is expansive and in great abundance. With these characteristics, it can be applied, and Jesus even commands us to apply, agape, love, not just to those whom we like or are close to, but to everyone, even those we do not particularly like, to our enemies.

Perhaps this is easier said than done, but when we remember what agape really means, what this definition of love really means, it leaves a little more room to have love for those whom we would not want to or be able to love under our more emotional definition. But remember, we are talking about a love that is a grounding force in our lives, as humans and as Christians – a love that is made possible by and through our relationship with Jesus Christ, the grounding force of our life and faith. Jesus provides the example. Remember, after all, that Jesus, out of his love for us, was willing to die so that we might be saved. And if we’re brutally honest with ourselves, we may not always be the most lovable of individuals. We may have things about us that are not that easy to like. But Jesus had such concern for us, regardless of who we are, that none of that mattered. His love for us extends to all of us, regardless of who we are.

As I said, it’s not easy. It takes practice. Lots of practice. Perhaps a lifetime of practice, to love in the way Jesus has called us to love. But with time, with practice, with the example and help of Christ, the one who first loved us so that we might love others, love becomes less and less of an emotional, even a superficial expression, and more and more a transforming power in our lives.

Part of how that slow and gradual change happens is in our communal life together, in our communal life of worship. This is expressed in the concluding section of our lesson from First John, in which the author gives very specific information about our central, grounding force, about Jesus Christ. “This is the one who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ, not with the water only but with water and the blood.” In this addendum to the explanation of the meaning of love, of the centrality of Jesus Christ to the outpouring of love, to our living that love in our daily lives and ministries, Christ is explicitly described in terms of water and blood. For us, these are tangible signs and reminders of who Christ is. They are tangible reminders of not only who he is, but of all that flows from and is held together by him – our beliefs, our relationships with God and with one another, our expressions of love, our obedience to him, particularly in following God’s commandments, in our striving to conquer the world to bring victory to the kingdom he has ushered in, to our every expression of our faith. Water and blood are the central signs of who we are as Christians. They are the central signs, the grounding influence in our communal worship, which is itself an expression of our life together. They are the ultimate expression of Christ’s love for us, and as such, reminders to us of the love we are to have for one another and for all whom we encounter.

While not explicitly used every time we worship, water is the sign and symbol of our full inclusion in the community of faith, through baptism in water and the Holy Spirit. It is through water that we are made members of the Body of Christ. In water we die to our old way of life and are born again to new and eternal life in Christ. Every Sunday, either directly or indirectly, we remember the waters of baptism, of what that means to us, and through whom that has been made possible, Jesus Christ. This is an expression of our inclusion in God’s family, and a reminder that we too must welcome all we encounter as fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.

And every Sunday when we come together to worship, we employ the sign and symbol of blood, or more explicitly, of body and blood. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist at this table, we take the bread and the wine, and through our prayers and the words of the Great Thanksgiving, we remember what Jesus said at the Last Supper – “this is my body” and “this is my blood.” We remember that these holy gifts were given to us and to all for the forgiveness of our sins. We remember and celebrate that through these holy gifts, we are made one with Christ in his Body, that we are made one with each other in his Body. Through these holy gifts we are nurtured and fed, giving us the strength we need to go back out into the world, carrying the gift of Christ’s love to all those whom we encounter in our day-to-day lives.

Water and blood. Washing and feeding. Inclusion and sending out. This is what the signs of our worship are all about. This is what love is all about. That is how we receive the love that Christ freely gives to us. What we do with it is up to us. We can keep it for ourselves and feel all nice and warm inside. Or we can take it out into the world, and spread it among all those we encounter – those we love, those we like, and even those we do not particularly like. Only by doing this will we be loving as Christ has commanded us to love. And in so doing, we will truly be living as Christ has commanded us to live.

Or put another way, blah blah blah love, blah blah blah live.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Schlafer, David A. “1 John 5:1-6, Homiletical Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 2, Lent Through Eastertide. Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.

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The Gospel According to Whoopi

Fourth Sunday of Easter – Year B (RCL)
Acts 4:4-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:1-18
Sunday, May 3, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


“I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.”

Who among us doesn’t get a warm, fuzzy feeling when we hear today’s Gospel lesson invoking the imagery of Christ as the good shepherd? I would hazard a guess that most of us, upon hearing this story, or any of the similar Gospel stories such as the parable of the lost sheep, recall the various paintings or stained glass windows we have seen depicting Jesus as a shepherd – such as this window here in our own church. Such images always depict Jesus holding a lamb, looking caringly down at it, while the lamb gazes at Jesus with a look of peace and contentment. And at Jesus feet, there are generally several other sheep, looking up at him in grateful adoration. When seeing such images, we cannot help but identify with the lamb in Jesus’ arms or the sheep at his feet, feeling that sense of peace and contentment, of being cared for, of grateful adoration for the One who is our shepherd. After all, that was Jesus’ intent. We are the sheep, and he is the one who shepherds, who tends those under his care – his sheep, us.

But when we really stop and think about the imagery being presented, should we really feel all warm and fuzzy? By all rights, we should probably actually be a little offended. The imagery Jesus uses to describe us, his followers, is that of sheep. Have you ever stopped to think what sheep are really like? They are basically stupid, senseless animals who have a tendency to wander off and get in trouble if not watched every moment. They don’t follow directions. They want to do their own thing. And left to their own devices, they have a tendency to get themselves in some pretty difficult predicaments. Sheep require a lot of watching, a lot of care and guidance, to keep them out of trouble, to keep them safe from harm, to keep them alive.

Wait a minute. That does sound an awful lot like human beings, doesn’t it? I mean, as much as I hate to admit it, I probably have more qualities of sheep than I care to acknowledge. And who of us couldn’t use some occasional help and guidance to keep us on track and out of trouble?

Now I certainly don’t mean to disrespect any of you or to denigrate the human race. And I honestly do not think that Jesus, in using the imagery of sheep and shepherd, was intending to offend his followers. In the rural, pastoral society of Jesus’ time, the image of sheep and shepherd would have been common, one to which nearly everyone could relate, at least on some level. It was a convenient image to convey the sense of caring and concern that Jesus was attempting to impart to his followers.

And in conveying this imagery of sheep and shepherd, Jesus actually manages to take it to another level, at least as applied to the relationship between sheep and shepherd, between Jesus and us, his followers. Remember, Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd” but followed it up with the statement, “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” Jesus is talking about not just tending his sheep, but of actually knowing them. Tending sheep is not just his job. The sheep under his care are not just objects to be looked after. Those under his care are individual beings whom he knows. What did he say? “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” He relates his knowledge of his sheep, of those he is charged to care for, in terms of relationship. As one commentator notes, this knowledge “is not something abstract but realistic, concrete, grounded in love and mutuality” (Heen, 41). We’re not just talking about casual acquaintances. Jesus really knows his sheep. He really knows us. Jesus says he knows us just as his Father knows him and he knows his Father. Jesus is not talking about any relationship. He is talking about intimate, caring relationship.

When you consider that Jesus is talking about an intimate caring relationship with his sheep, with those under his care, there is much more to what Jesus is saying in today’s Gospel. There is much more about what he wants for us than to just keeping us together and out of trouble. Perhaps a modern-day equivalent of this broader story is contained in one of my favorite moves, Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. For those of you who may not have seen this absolutely delightful movie, it and the first Sister Act movie are about a Las Vegas lounge singer named Deloris Van Cartier, played by Whoopi Goldberg. In the first movie, Deloris goes into a witness protection program, whereupon the police hide her in a San Francisco convent, where she masquerades as a nun, Sister Mary Clarence. As Sister Act 2 begins, she is back in Las Vegas. The nuns she befriended in the first movie need her help to teach the music class at the high school they serve. So, Deloris dons a habit once again, and goes to Saint Francis High School in San Francisco, reprising her masquerade as Sister Mary Clarence.

Sister Mary Clarence is immediately placed in the position of being shepherd to a bunch of unruly sheep. Her students are a bunch of undisciplined, street-wise kids from the poor neighborhood surrounding the high school. They are not interested in school. They just want to hang out on the streets, have fun, and coast through high school by taking easy classes, like music (okay, for some us, that would not be easy, but hey . . .).

As she attempts to tend, to reign in her sheep, Sister Mary Clarence comes to recognize that her students, who are resistant to her attempts to make them work, do have musical talent, although not of the type proscribed by the school curriculum. She sees great potential in these kids – a group of kids that many of the teachers, the school administration, and other adults have written off as being useless with no future. In the process of working with the students, she manages to instill a little discipline, teaches them to harness their energy and their talent, teaches them the importance of teamwork, and turns them into a choir. When she started working with them, they were uncooperative, getting into trouble, and couldn’t work together to save their lives. By the time she was done, they were a choir – a choir that manages to make it to the finals of a state choir competition.

Sister Mary Clarence was made shepherd over a bunch of unruly sheep. Despite their resistance and lack of discipline, she saw potential in them. Because she loved them, cared for them, and wanted the best for them, she was willing to work with them and to help them discover and realize that potential.

I think that when Jesus says he is the good shepherd, what he is really saying is that he is a shepherd to a bunch of unruly sheep, who have a tendency to wander off and get in trouble, in the same way that Sister Mary Clarence was shepherd to a bunch of unmotivated, undisciplined, street-wise students. And just like Sister Mary Clarence, Jesus sees the potential in his sheep. He sees the potential in us. This is all because he is not just tending sheep. He is in relationship with us – intimate relationship. Because he loves us, cares for us, and wants the best for us, he is willing to work with us and to help us realize our potential. The difference between Jesus and Sister Mary Clarence is that while Sister Mary Clarence, or rather Deloris Van Cartier, was willing to put her Vegas career on hold for a few months to help her sheep realize their potential, Jesus was willing to put his life on the line for his sheep. He was willing to go to the cross, to suffer and to die, for the sake of his sheep. He saw such potential in us that he was willing to do whatever it took so that that we might discover and realize that potential. Sister Mary Clarence gave her sheep a new chance that they might realize their potential. Jesus gave us new life that we might realize ours.

Part of this process of discovery and realization of our potential means taking responsibility for our actions. For us Christians, those called into the Body of Christ, that means a double whammy. Not only are we responsible for ourselves, we are also responsible for the realization and well-being of the entire Body. For us, that means the church. As we’ve already noted, Jesus tells us “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” This statement doesn’t just point to the love and mutuality inherent in the relationship between Christ our shepherd and us, his sheep. As related to us, this knowledge, this love and mutuality, “flows from the love of God through Christ to abide in the church. Christ, who shares this mutuality both with God and with humanity, is the only and perfect mediator between heaven and earth” (Heen, 41). Christ is the mediator between God, the Creator, and us, made in the image and likeness of God, called to be co-creators with God in the building of the Kingdom. That is the potential given to us by virtue of being God’s beloved creation. That is the potential we are called to realize.

We here at Trinity have an exciting opportunity to enter into and engage in this process of co-creation, in this process of discovering and realizing our potential. As we have announced over the last several weeks, the parish is about to embark on a strategic planning process. Through this process, we will have the opportunity to prayerfully and critically evaluate life and ministry here at Trinity. We will look at our strengths, those gifts, graces, and talents which contribute to the effective mission of this place. And we will look at our weaknesses or areas that are opportunities for growth, those areas which may be holding us back from expanding our current ministry or from engaging in new forms of ministry. Based on this evaluation process, we will then discern what this means for Trinity parish, developing a plan whereby we might expand upon and maximize our strengths. We will prayerfully discern where God is calling Trinity to go and what God is calling is to do in the future.

In short, we know that there is great potential in this place. Christ, as our good shepherd, recognizes that, and has called us to discover and realize that potential. Through this strategic planning process, we will work on identifying what that potential is, and discern the best way to realize it, to make it not just a dream, but a reality. But to do that, we need help, lots of help. There is no way that the handful of people comprising the Strategic Planning Steering Committee can cover all the bases. We need people who have experience in the many different areas of parish life and ministry. We need your experiences. We need to know what your gifts, graces, talents, and passions are. Collectively, we are the Body of Christ in this place. It is only collectively that we will be able to discern what our potential is and it is only collectively that we will be able to realize that potential.

I find it most appropriate that we are embarking on this strategic planning process, on this opportunity to discover and realize our potential, during Eastertide. After all, this is the season of resurrection, of new life, of the promise made to us by the Risen One of new and eternal life. That promise does not just apply to us as individuals. It also applies to us as the Body of Christ, which is only made possible through Christ’s death and resurrection. By providing us with the hope and promise of new life, Christ was saying, “I see great potential in you.” The best thing we can do to honor that potential, to honor and receive the gift that God through Christ has given us, is to do our best to discover and realize that potential.

In this Easter season, we celebrate the One who died for us, who was raised to new life for us, who defeated the bonds of sin and death, who by his actions promises us new life. But even more, we are called to recognize that that new life begins here and now, filled with hope and a great deal of potential. And with Christ, our good shepherd to guide us, to support us, to encourage us, we have all that we need to discover and realize that potential.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Heen, Erik M., et al. New Proclamation: Year B, 2009, Easter through Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008.

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"Who Will Roll Away the Stone For Us?"

The Great Vigil of Easter – Year B (RCL)
Romans 6:3-11; Psalm 114; Mark 16:1-8
Saturday, April 11, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


“Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”

As they were walking to the tomb to anoint the dead body of their teacher and master, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome idly speculated how they would be able to get into the tomb. After all, a large stone would be blocking the entrance, inhibiting their passage to accomplish their task. This would have been of great concern to them. “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”

Little did the women who went to Jesus’ tomb know the profundity of their question. Little did they know that this seemingly innocuous question would actually be one of the most significant theological questions of all time.

Throughout human history, we have sought to be in relationship with the God that created us. As we heard in the Vigil, in the stories of salvation history, throughout human history, God has sought to be in relationship with us, to have us be His children, and Him to be our God. But in our limited human capacities, we were blocked from entering into relationship, at least on a permanent basis. While God continually sought us, and we continually entered into covenant with him, we were not able to maintain the relationship. Ultimately, the problem was sin. As the biblical writers saw, sin is “an ever-present reality that enslaves the human race and has corrupted God’s created order” (Harper Collins Bible Dictionary). Sin is separation from God, because sin is ultimately any action that goes against God, God’s laws, God’s creation, God’s covenant, and God’s purposes.

In order to permanently establish and maintain the covenant relationship between God and humanity, something had to be done about sin. Get rid of sin and the rest takes care of itself. So God sent His Son, Jesus, to take care of the problem of sin. God sent His Son to break the bonds of sin that had enslaved humanity, and thereby created a barrier between God and His beloved creation. That’s what this past week has been about. During this Holy Week, we have witnessed the systematic process of the destruction of sin, of the breaking of the bond that sin has held on humanity since the beginning of creation. We witnessed as Jesus, Son of God who was without sin, was betrayed by one of his friends, was put on trial that could only be considered a perversion of justice, was beaten, was sentenced to death, was crucified, and was buried. And tonight, we witness the culmination of this process. We witness the fulfillment of God’s plan for the destruction of sin and the resulting salvation for all humanity. We witness Christ, risen from the dead, thereby defeating sin and death. And in so doing, we witness Christ paving the way for us to enter into eternal life, into permanent, unbroken relationship with God for all time.

So how do we receive this gift of new and eternal life, freed from the bonds of sin? We do it by entering the tomb – the tomb where the dead body of Jesus has been lain, the tomb where Christ has risen from death. But how? “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”

The Good News is that we don’t need to worry about that. The stone has already been rolled away. Jesus saw to that with his death and resurrection. All we have to do is walk in and be received by the Risen One. We do that when we enter into the waters of baptism. Through baptism, we enter into the tomb. By going down into the waters of baptism, we die to our old, sinful way of life. In so doing, we share in Christ’s death. By rising up from the waters of baptism, we are born to new and eternal life, cleansed from the stain of sin. In so doing, we share in Christ’s resurrection.

In our Gospel lesson, a group of women made their way to Christ’s tomb, wondering “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” Tonight, another group of women approaches the tomb. Tonight, four members of our community – Terry, Aeriel, Brianna, and Amanda – approach the tomb, seeking to enter, to see their Lord and Master, to be welcomed by the Risen Christ. But these four women do not need to worry about who will roll away the stone from the entrance of the tomb. The previous occupant has already done that, in anticipation of their arrival. The risen Christ has rolled away the stone just for them. In a few moments, these women will step into that tomb. They will enter the waters of baptism, willingly choosing to die to self and to rise to new life with Christ and in Christ. In so doing, they will emerge from the tomb, full members of the Body of Christ. They will become the newest members of the Christian community, of this community of faith. They will share in the promise of eternal life given to us all at the time of our own baptisms.

In this life of faith, we are beset by many questions, many uncertainties. But unlike Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, one question we need not worry about is “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” That has been accomplished this night. That has been accomplished by Christ, resurrected for our sake, breaking the bonds of sin and death, providing for us the precious gift of new and eternal life in him. And to that we joyfully respond:

Alleluia, Christ is Risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

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Maundy Thursday Sermon

Maundy Thursday – Year B (RCL)
Exodus 12:1-14; Psalm 116:1,10-17; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17,31b-35
Thursday, April 9, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


What could be more tender, and in some ways, more joyful, more satisfying, than taking care of a child, particularly an infant? This is particularly so for those of you who are parents or grandparents. But I think the opportunity to care for an infant evokes an exceptional set of emotions in nearly all human being, even in those who are not parents. After all, many of us have had occasion to take care of an infant – perhaps a younger sibling or cousin, or the child of a friend. Perhaps such action as feeding and bathing a child touches something deep within us – some instinct that we need to care for our young in order to insure survival of the species. Or perhaps, caring for a child triggers some unconscious memory of a time when we ourselves were cared for by a parent or some other special person who loved and nurtured us – of a time when we ourselves were fed by another, provided with life-giving sustenance; of a time when we ourselves were bathed, made clean at the hands of another.

Today’s Gospel lesson contains such images. The images of one tenderly, joyfully, feeding and washing those whom he loves. In this passage, we witness Jesus’ final act of love and compassion toward those who were among his most beloved friends, his disciples. He has shared his last supper with the disciples – feeding them not just with bread and wine, but with his body and blood. And after the meal, he tenderly washes their feet, making them ritually clean, in preparation for their reception into the midst of the holy. These are tender and sacred actions. Not because they are performed by Jesus. Not because they are his final actions before his arrest and his eventual trial and crucifixion. But because they touch at the very heart of a most basic and natural set of human behaviors – caring for those whom we care about, meeting the most fundamental needs of another.

In these actions, Jesus imitates the actions of a parent caring for a helpless infant. In these actions, Jesus provides an expression of the self-less love of parent for child. In fact, at one point, he even tells the Twelve, “Little children, I am with you only a little longer.” Referring to a bunch of grown men as “little children” is not meant to be condescending. Rather, it is meant to convey the sense of their need for someone to care for them, to nurture them, to provide for them; not because they can’t do it for themselves, but out of a sense of love and compassion by someone who deeply and truly cares for them. But more importantly, it is meant to convey the fact that he himself, sent by God, of God, is willing to do this for them. He who is from God, representing God, is saying, “the Father and I love you and wish to care for you in the most tender and intimate of ways, just as a parent cares for a child.”

While the Gospel lesson deals with both feeding and washing, the central action is most definitely the washing of the disciples’ feet. This is not without significance. The invitation to wash the disciples’ feet’ and their, particularly Peter’s, reluctance, indicates something very specific – something that applies not only to the Twelve, but to all of us. To have one’s feet washed is an exercise in vulnerability. Even when performed by one who is a close friend, having your feet washed by another requires a deep connection on a physical level, one that also touches us at deep emotional and even spiritual levels.

I remember the first time I experienced foot washing. I was in high school and my entire youth group went to a camp over Presidents Day weekend in the San Bernardino Mountains. There were hundreds of youth there from all over Southern California. On the first night, as part of the opening worship experience, we were told to sit down in small groups, in circles. Someone brought basins of water and placed them in the center of each circle. We were instructed to pair up, and to wash each other’s feet. There, in the dimly lit room, with soft contemplative music playing in the background, all I could think about was how I didn’t want to do this. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing. No one made a move to start the foot washing. Finally, my partner took the initiative. He took my bare feet and gently, tenderly washed them in the basin of warm water. Almost as soon as he started, I began to cry. Having someone wash my feet was such a humbling experience. I felt so vulnerable, having someone care for me in such a way, to completely give up any control over the situation and what was being done to me, to drop my guard enough to allow another to care for me.

And then, when he was done washing my feet, I washed his. And to my dismay, I continued to cry. I was crying because I had to be vulnerable in a different way. Once again, I had to let my guard down, but this time it was to set aside my ego, to allow myself to be open and vulnerable to being of service to another – not just any service, like passing the salt at dinner. That doesn’t require vulnerability. No, this required that I tear down any barriers I had between me and this other person, to allow myself to enter into an intimate connection with another. Even in the midst of the tears, I felt the joy of being able to care for another. The tears of humility and vulnerability turned to tears of joy. I felt the joy of being able to connect in a very deep way, in a non-verbal way, with another of God’s children, to share a moment of mutual vulnerability, where we were able to connect on a spiritual level, knowing who we are, and more importantly, whose we are.

It’s incredibly uncomfortable to be vulnerable. Peter expresses this in his reluctance to allowing Jesus to wash his feet. He is reluctant to accept Jesus’ gift of intimacy. Peter does eventually overcome his reluctance, only after Jesus convinces him that this simple gesture of washing of feet, that the willingness of to be vulnerable, provides the opening that is needed to connect on a much deeper, more spiritual level. And so, Peter and the disciples consent to be vulnerable. They allow Jesus to wash their feet.

And in this act of washing the disciples’ feet, Jesus, too, was allowing himself to be vulnerable. Not vulnerable in the sense of entering into the place of humility that is required for a person to be of service to another. That part was easy for Jesus. That was who he was. He was used to the humble self-less, self-giving service to others. No, for Jesus, this place of vulnerability was the ultimate test of his character, the ultimate test of who he was, of who he was called to be, of what he was called to do.

Unbeknownst to Peter and the other disciples, Jesus was not only going to wash away the dirt from their feet. What they did not know at that moment was that in just a few hours, Jesus would be betrayed. He would be arrested and brought to trial before Pontius Pilate on trumped up charges. He would be found guilty in a trial that was a mockery of justice. He would be sentenced to death by the most cruel and demeaning form of punishment ever envisioned by humanity. And three days later, he would be raised from the dead. In so doing, he would break the bonds of sin and death, paving the way for eternal life for all. What looked like a simple act of humility and compassion on this night, the washing away of a little dirt, was but a foretaste of what was to come. For in a few days from now, it is not just a little dirt that is washed away, but sin and death itself.

Knowing all of this would take place, knowing that this act of washing the feet of his closest friends would be his last act of compassion in his human existence, Jesus would have had to break down all the defenses, all the human desires for self-preservation, to be utterly and completely vulnerable to the will of his Father. Jesus would have to be so vulnerable that all sense of self-protection would be stripped away to allow him to take on the most self-less and self-giving task ever asked of anyone – to take on the sins, not only of another, but of all of humanity. He would have to be vulnerable enough to be willing to die for all of humanity. But this he was willing to do. Why? Because of his complete and total love and compassion for his fellow human beings. Because of his complete and total love and compassion for us.

In this Holy Week, we are not called to just witness Jesus’ vulnerability. We are called to be vulnerable ourselves. Because of what happens over the next few days, we are ultimately given new life. We are given new life to be the Body of Christ. And that calling to be the Body of Christ carries with it a huge price tag. It requires that we, like the disciples, like Jesus, be vulnerable to the will of the Father, to be open and vulnerable to be called to do whatever is necessary as we proclaim the mysteries that are happening this week in our midst, as we proclaim the Gospel of Christ.

On this side of the resurrection, we are the hands of Christ in the world, taking Christ’s message to others through our actions. When we wash the feet of another, we are the hands of Christ washing the feet of his dear disciples. When we allow another to wash our own feet, that person is the hands of Christ washing the feet of a dear disciple. Both acts, washing the feet of another and allowing another to wash our feet, both require vulnerability – vulnerability to be open to the will of another; vulnerability to be of service to another; vulnerability to share the love and compassion of Christ with a world so in need of a tender, caring touch.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Ash Wednesday Homily

Ash Wednesday – Year B (BCP)
Joel 2:1-2,12-17; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:1-; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
Wednesday, February 25, 2009 – St. Alban’s Westwood

So, what are you giving up for Lent? I am always a little intrigued when Lent rolls around and people become focused on what they are going to give up for Lent. I rarely do it, but I’m always tempted to ask, “why do you give up something for Lent?” For me the question is not so much about “what” as about “why.” It is not so much the thing or activity that is being put aside for the season as why it is important or necessary to the person to do it in the first place.”

Some people give up something for Lent because that’s what you’re “supposed to do.” Really? Where does it say that in Scripture? Some people give up something for Lent because God wants us to. Again, I ask, really? Where does it say that in Scripture? Some people give up something for Lent because it is a way to become closer to God. Well, now we’re getting warmer. One commentator I read notes that some people even give up something for Lent because they feel such a discipline will entice God to be closer to us. While we don’t say it specifically, the intent is a form of bribery or manipulation. For some people, a Lenten discipline carries an implied “I’ll give up this if you come into my life.” Fortunately, I have never gotten even a hint that anyone I know feels that way, but I’m sure there are people out there who do. Regardless, the bottom line in this line of questioning is one of motivation. What motivates us to do such things for the six weeks in Lent?

At the heart of the season of Lent is the theme of transformation. Historically, it was a time of preparation for baptism at the Great Vigil of Easter. It was a time in which the candidates for baptism, those seeking to become part of the Christian faith, those seeking to become members of the Body of Christ, learned what it means to be a Christian. It was a time of instruction into the fundamentals of the faith. But more importantly, it was a time of transformation – a transformation of one’s life. It was a time of transformation of mind and heart, to be aligned with God.

But the transformation of Lent is not a once in a lifetime occurrence that happens prior to a person’s baptism. The annual commemoration of Lent is viewed by believers as a time of preparation for the commemoration of the Passion and death of Jesus during Holy Week, and of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ celebrated on Easter. This preparation has traditionally included participation in one or more spiritual disciplines: prayer, penitence, almsgiving, and self-denial. These spiritual disciplines are intended to facilitate the preparation process, to be a means of assisting in the personal transformation that occurs as we journey through Lent.

While these disciplines, which, today, many translate into the ever-popular “giving up” of something, may be beneficial, will they assure our personal transformation? Will they definitely prepare us for Holy Week and Easter? For some, it only serves to prepare them to resume whatever had been given up forty days previous. I don’t mean to dismiss the potential importance of giving up something for Lent. For some, it is incredibly helpful and significant. Some years, I find it very meaningful. Other years, not so much. All I wish to point out is that it is not so much the practice, but the motivation that is of supreme importance.

I believe the Old Testament lesson from Joel speaks to this. Joel is speaking to Israel at a time when the people were almost fanatical about demonstrating their piety outwardly, engaging in activities that showed their devotion to God. But Joel tells them that God does not require such outward signs to prove their love of and devotion to God. Joel provides a good corrective to this notion that we have to have some sort of outward sign of our personal piety, of our devotion to God, or of the sincerity of our penitence. He writes, “return to [God] with all your heart.” He then goes on to say “rend your hearts and not your clothing.” It’s not about the external, what others see, but about the internal, what God sees.

The Gospel lesson from Matthew further emphasizes this importance on the internal over the external. We hear the constant refrain, “and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” This is applied to our practices of all three major disciplines, almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. “When you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” “Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” “When you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

When Joel says “rend your hearts,” he is saying that we need to open our hearts and our souls so that God may enter. When Matthew talks about “your Father in secret,” he is talking about God acting in the secret, inmost parts of our being, our hearts and our souls. Both are saying the same thing – that we need to be open to transformation; to be open to God’s transforming love and grace, acting in our own lives.

To be honest, there are no simple, mechanical methods that can achieve or insure such transformation. Transformation only occurs by divine grace. It cannot be initiated by us. It can only be initiated by God. Does that mean we needn’t bother with spiritual disciplines. Of course not. Spiritual disciplines play an important role. For the practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving all share the quality or practice of detachment. They teach us what it means to be detached from the things in our lives that distract us from the awareness of God’s loving presence. They won’t make God come in and transform our lives. But they can provide a space for God to enter in. They can provide an opening in which God can come in and begin to work in our lives. As one commentator so eloquently notes, “Through these practices we seek to experience and listen to God as God, and to be transformed from our self-centered, instrumental, manipulative, idolatrous religious existence to a true life of faith and the genuine experience of the God who exists in freedom and comes to us in freedom as authentic Other” (Hunter, 24).

As we begin another Lenten season, I would challenge you not to think so much about what you are going to “give up” for Lent, but rather to contemplate what discipline, be it prayer, be it fasting, be it almsgiving, be it something else, that will provide the opening and the space in your heart and soul, that will allow God to enter in and to lovingly transform you into who you are called to be. Be creative. Think outside the box. You are unique. Your relationship with God is unique. Do something that will open up your heart and soul, that will nourish and enrich your unique relationship with God, and allow for the transformation that is meant for you and you alone.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Hunter, Rodney J. “Matthew 6:1-6,16-21, Pastoral Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 2, Lent Through Eastertide. Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.

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Farewell Sermon as Curate of St. Alban's

Last Sunday after the Epiphany (BCP)
1 Kings 19:9-18; Psalm 27:5-11; 2 Peter 1:16-19; Mark 9:2-9
Sunday, February 22, 2009 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

If someone were to ask you what one story in the Bible describes what it means to live, or at least to try to live, the Christian life, what would it be? There are so many great choices. For me, it would probably be the story of the Transfiguration, which we just heard. This story is so rich, carries so much imagery, has so many meanings on various levels, that in many ways, it does provide a pretty good summation of what it means to be a Christian. Or more importantly, what it means to be a Christian on the journey of faith, attempting to understand, to be faithful to, to live, the Gospel message.

For a long time, I had never given the story of the Transfiguration much thought. But when I started the formal process of discerning whether or not I was being called to Holy Orders, the story of the Transfiguration attracted my attention, and has continued to hold my attention ever since. For me, it has almost become a signature story, if you will. It is a story of transformation that helped carry me through not only the discernment process that led me to the priesthood, but also one which continues to guide me in ministry.

While on the surface, the story of the Transfiguration illustrates the revelation of who Jesus is and, indeed, the transformation of Jesus into the fullness of who he is and who he was called to be, it is, in many ways, also the story of the transformation of the followers of Jesus into who they are called to be. As the story of the Transfiguration unfolds, we see the disciples who accompany Jesus up the mountain, Peter, James, and John, but particularly Peter, for who they really are, in all their humanness. And as the story unfolds, we get a glimpse of who they are called to be. When Jesus is transfigured before them and when Elijah and Moses appear and talk with Jesus, the disciples are awestruck. They don’t know what to make of the situation. They are not able to comprehend what is happening. In response, they fall back on their basic human nature. They become fixated, stuck on that which they know, on that with which they are comfortable. They become stuck on very human things. Peter’s response is “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” They wanted to hold on to the moment. They wanted to bask in the glory they were witnessing. They wanted to stay there and live in the afterglow of that mountaintop experience.

But I think there was something even more basic at the root of this desire to remain on the mountaintop with their transfigured Lord. They wanted to keep the glory of the Transfiguration to themselves. After all, they had been chosen, of all the Twelve, to witness this event. They had been chose from all the people on Earth to share in this experience. They were obviously the chosen ones. They wanted to keep this miraculous experience to themselves. But they also had other, equally selfish motives. Just six days before, Jesus had revealed to them that he would eventually suffer and die. Staying on this mountaintop, maybe, just maybe, they could prevent, or at least deny, the inevitability of Jesus’ suffering and death. Yes, he could still be the messiah. But rather than one who was to suffer and die, maybe they could prevent such a tragedy while still making Jesus into someone who conformed to their idea of what a messiah should be, an earthly messiah.

But despite Peter’s best efforts, Jesus’ glory at the Transfiguration reveals that our human goals and desires are futile, that they are of no importance compared to what Jesus has to offer. For in response to Peter’s proposal, God breaks the tension between what the disciples want and what must be done – “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” In this simple, yet profound statement, no new information is being given. What the disciples need to know they have already heard and seen. What they need to know has been or will be revealed through Jesus, as proclaimed in his words, as enacted in his ministry. What the disciples need is to go back to the basic message of proclaiming the Good News, working for justice, feeding the hungry, healing the sick. And that they cannot do alone, by staying on the mountaintop.

In this, the disciples glimpse a new view of reality – but not the reality they thought. It was not the reality of the Transfiguration event itself, but the reality of a world transfigured by the grace and love and mercy of God. It was the reality that cannot stay bound to a particular place, but must be taken into the world. We see the disciples called into a new way of viewing Jesus. We see them called into a new way of viewing what it means to be Jesus’ followers. We see them called into a new way of being. The disciples are called to leave the safety of their mountaintop “church” and to go into the world – to take what they have gained in that mountaintop experience and embody it in the world. They are called to follow Jesus’ example to preach the Good News, but even more importantly, to live the Good News, to give the Good News not so much in words, but to exemplify it in their actions.

I dare say that this message applies not only to Peter, James, and John, but to all of us who call ourselves followers of Christ. To truly follow him, we cannot remain on the mountaintop. We cannot remain in the pews, keeping the wonder of what we have experienced to ourselves. Like Peter, James, and John, we are not called to build dwellings for ourselves or for our Lord, here in the safety of the church. We are called to build something even greater out in the world. We are called to build the Kingdom of God out there, in the world, for all to see, for the benefit of all.

Don’t get me wrong. Church is important. It’s where we go to hear the word of God. “This is my Son, the Beloved; Listen to him!” More importantly, it’s where we have the support of community. It’s where we hear and process the Word through interaction with our fellow Christians. It’s where we discern how to live the Word. It’s where we receive support from community as we go out into the world, and where we provide support to others as they do likewise. It’s easy and comfortable to want to stay in the pews. But that’s not what we are called to do, difficult thought it may seem. We must come down from the mountaintop and go into the world.

Last Sunday I had a personal lesson in just this very thing. Or maybe it was God holding me accountable to the lesson of the Transfiguration. As you may recall, the gospel lesson for last Sunday was the story of a leper coming to Jesus and saying “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Jesus responds, “I do chose. Be made clean!” During my reflection at the Sunday evening Canterbury service, I talked about how Jesus reached out to the man, across the barriers imposed by Jewish purity laws and social convention. He chose to go against all that was expected so that he could heal the man. I then posed the question “what does this passage have to say to us about how we deal with those on the margins, such as people with AIDS or who are homeless?” The students got into a lively discussion, struggling with what the passage means for us. But this posed a real dilemma for the students. How can we possibly make a difference? The problems of society are so great. Jesus could make the problems go away, just as he healed the man of his leprosy. What little we could possibly do will not make the problems go away. One student said, “we don’t have that kind of power.” I responded that we need to do something, no matter how small the gesture. Sometimes, just taking a little time and treating a homeless person as a human being, with a little respect and dignity, can make a difference. As little a thing as that may seem, that simple act can make all the difference. I’ve seen it happen. Treat someone with a little respect, and they begin to have respect for themselves. They begin to have faith in themselves. And then they can begin to change their lives around. That is grace. That is mercy. That is the love of God at work in the world.

Now during the service, an older man slipped into the chapel. After the service, I went up to the man and introduced myself. He told me that he was one of those we had been talking about, someone who was, at least temporarily, homeless. He told me about how he was visiting LA and had been robbed. He had no money and was trying to get back home. He didn’t know where to turn and had seen the church and felt compelled to go inside. He said the group’s reflection on the gospel lesson had really spoken to him and given him a sense of hope.

My first thought was, “is God testing me?” If I refused to help, I would be acting counter to the very thing we had just talked about in worship. I would have been keeping the message of Jesus a private thing, locked up in the church, on the mountaintop. I realized that God was not testing me as much as holding me accountable. It’s one thing to talk about the meaning of the Gospel. It’s another to live the Gospel. So that’s what I did. I decided to live the Gospel. I spent some time talking with the man, hearing his story. I prayed with him, and gave him enough money for bus fare and some food. I did not allow myself to stay on the mountain, basking in the glory of Christ, contemplating the meaning of the Gospel in a safe haven. Instead, I walked down the mountain and was instantly confronted with an opportunity to actually live the Gospel. For me, it was an important lesson about the connection between what we do in here on Sunday mornings, and how we respond and live our lives out there the rest of the week. The need is there. The opportunities for living the Gospel are there.

As I end my tenure as your curate, I cannot help but reflect that, at least for me, there is a more significant, long-term implication to the story of the Transfiguration, to the reality of transformation that can occur, particularly within a parish. That is through relationships formed in the parish community that can have a long-lasting transformative effect.

For me, this is best expressed by an image presented by Peggy Tabor Millin, in the autobiography of her spiritual journey, Mary's Way. Millin writes:

“I was on a train on a rainy day. The train was slowing down to pull into a station. For some reason I became intent on watching the raindrops on the window. Two separate drops, pushed by the wind, merged into one for a moment and then divided again—each carrying with it a part of the other. Simply by that momentary touching, neither was what it had been before. And as each one went on to touch other raindrops, it shared not only itself, but what it had gleaned from the other . . . I realized then that we never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a trace.”

Two and a half years ago, the raindrop that is me splashed into the mass of raindrops that collectively form St. Alban’s. Over the past two and a half years, the winds of parish life, sometimes turbulent, sometimes soft and gentle, the winds of the Holy Spirit, have blown that mass of raindrops around, with each of the drops, yours and mine, touching and colliding and mixing. And now, the time has come when the wind of the Holy Spirit once again separates the raindrop that is me from St. Alban’s. But the raindrop that fell into your midst two and a half years ago is not the same as when it first fell. Because of it being touched by and mingling with the many other raindrops in this place, it blows off in some unknown direction, forever changed, carrying with it, a part of you, and leaving behind, a part of itself.

You have prepared me well. When I engage in ministry in the future, wherever that may be, that ministry, the way that I enter into it, the way that I engage it, will be informed by my time here as your curate. A part of you will accompany me. A part of you will have become a permanent part of who I am, as a priest, but also as a person, as a child of God. In this way, I will be able to share a part of you with those with whom I do ministry in the future. And I can only hope that as you continue on your own path, as a parish, and as individual members of the Body of Christ, a small part of me, of my presence among you this past two and a half years, will be with you, supporting you, encouraging you, loving you. For in this way, while we may be physically separated, we will continue to be a part of each other’s lives and ministries.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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