Father Fincher's Freeway of Faith

Response to 9/11

2011-09-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

13th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 19) – Year A
Tenth Anniversary of 9/11
Genesis 50.15-21; Psalm 103.(1-7), 8-13; Romans 14.1-12;
Matthew 18.21-35
Sunday, September 11, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

It was a pleasant summer morning as I walked into St. George’s parish in Riverside, for our regular Tuesday morning Eucharist. When I walked in, I could immediately tell something was wrong. Everyone looked in shock. That’s when I learned that planes had crashed into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers, and that another plane had just crashed into the Pentagon. We sat huddled around a radio in the rector’s office, listening for something that would help us make sense out of what was happening. The 7:00 a.m. Eucharist service, our usual breakfast afterwards, and the rest of the day, seemed surreal. Everything seemed so still and quiet. Things seemed to move in slow motion. Everyone you saw had the same look of shock. Everyone kept asking “why?”

By the end of the day, we knew that two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. Another had crashed into the Pentagon. And yet another, intended for an unknown target in Washington, D.C., crashed in a field in rural Pennsylvania. All four planes had been hijacked by members of a previously little-known Islamist militant group called al Qaeda. In time we would come to find out that 2,977 people lost their lives in those events, including 411 emergency services personnel who died while conducting search and rescue operations at Ground Zero. Over 6,000 other people were injured.

On that day, America was forever changed. This was only the second time in our history that we had been attacked by a foreign entity, and the first time the continental United States had been so attacked. With that attack, we lost our innocence, having to face a reality citizens of many other nations live with day in and day out – the vulnerability to and possibility of terrorist attacks. We lost our sense of security that we are the safest and most well-protected country in the world. We had a new emotion to deal with – fear, and the accompanying paranoia about who might try to hurt us next. This event caused us to reassess who we are – that we are no longer the impervious, invincible superpower we imagined ourselves to be and the world thought us to be.

In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, America proved itself to be noble and good, exhibiting what we think of as the best virtues of a professed Christian nation. There was a sense of unity rarely seen in our often polarized society. There was a coming together to help our neighbors in New York. Emergency response personnel from all over the country rushed to Ground Zero to help out. Individuals and groups collected money to help with rescue efforts and to assist the families of those lost in the attacks. Churches and individuals fervently prayed for those affected by the events of that day. We all somehow became a little more compassionate and patient, more kind and caring. In the wake of tragedy, much good happened, as we stepped outside of ourselves and focused on those truly in need. In those days, we were able to truly exhibit the best that humanity has to offer – and for us people of faith, what it means to live the Great Commandment and the Golden Rule.

But sadly, there was also the ugly side of the response to 9/11. Out of a sense of fear, many became paranoid of any who might be different from themselves. People of Arab descent and followers of Islam were assumed to be sympathetic to, if not just like, those who perpetrated the attacks. Such people and many others who happened to look a little different or have different beliefs were unjustly targeted as being a potential threat. Despite calls from Presidents Bush and Obama to distinguish terrorism from Islam, many have engaged in aggressive expressions of Christian nationalism, holding up their constitutional right to practice their Christian faith, while condemning and seeking to deny Muslim Americans the right to practice their faith.

As we consider 9/11, we cannot just stop with the events of that one day and the immediate aftermath. The response to 9/11 did not just last for a few days or a few weeks or even a few months. The response to 9/11 continues to this day, having occupied much of our political, economic, and social energy for the last ten years. For the aftermath of 9/11 and our chosen response has shaped our existence as a nation for the past decade and continues to do so.

Less than a month after 9/11, we went to war in Afghanistan – a direct response to 9/11, with the goal of eliminating al Qaeda and their Taliban supporters. Ten years later, we continue to fight in Afghanistan, making it the longest war in American history. Eighteen months after we invaded Afghanistan, we began a second war in Iraq, believing Saddam Hussein to similarly be a terrorist threat. Eight and a half years later, we continue to fight in Iraq, making it the second longest war in American history. During that time, 2.3 million American soldiers have served, with hundreds of thousands having served multiple tours of duty. Nearly 7,500 coalition troops have been killed, 6,200 of these, Americans. About 40,000 American soldiers have been wounded, some quite seriously. And lest we forgot, the death toll on the other side is estimated to be approximately 200,000 Afghanis, Iraqis, and Pakistanis. To date, these two wars have cost us $1.25 trillion, with estimates that the total direct and indirect costs could eventually top $4 trillion. And while we ultimately got Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden, are we or the world any safer, any less vulnerable to terrorism. The sad fact is the answer is “probably not.” If anything, the world is probably a more dangerous place, with groups like al Qaeda even more determined to harm America, which they feel has replaced the Devil as the enemy of Islam. Witness the truck bomb attack last night at an American base in Afghanistan, killing two Afghanis and injuring 77 American soldiers.

All of this in direct response to 9/11 – the inspiring response in the immediate days following 9/11 vastly overshadowed by the events of the succeeding ten years. As people of faith, we have to ask ourselves, was this response worth it? We have to ask, is this the response our God would have us give?

As we remember the events of 9/11 and the response of the last decade, our lectionary readings deal with issues of forgiveness and judgment. Coincidence? I don’t think so. It’s amazing how the lectionary readings for a particular day happen to be just the right readings for that occasion. Today the lectionary calendar and history’s calendar are in perfect synch, giving us words that we need to hear, as hard is it may be to hear them. And even harder though it may be to live them.

In today’s Gospel, Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus responds, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” While Peter’s question specifically asks about forgiveness relative to members of the church, we are forced to recognize that as people of faith, as those who follow the Christ who came for the benefit of all humanity, that our calling to forgive, our obligation to forgive, does not stop at these walls. Today’s passage opens the opportunity to explore the meaning of forgiveness at a number of levels: in relationship with ourselves, with those we love (family and friends), with those we don’t know but encounter in our day-to-day lives, with God, with those of other faiths, with our enemies. The nature of this particular day pushes us to consider what may be the most difficult forgiveness of all – forgiveness of our enemies.

Today’s Gospel lesson implies that forgiveness is more radical than we can imagine. Peter is willing to not forgive just once, not twice, but all the way up to seven times. As hard as it is for most of us to forgive someone who has wronged us, to forgive seven times would be considered quite gracious. But that is not enough, according to Jesus. We need to forgive far more than that. In Jewish numerology, seven is the number of completeness. So in saying that we must forgive 77 times, Jesus is really saying we must absolutely, positively, completely, 100 percent, no two ways about it, always and forever, forgive. Jesus is also recognizing that forgiveness is hard. Really hard. It is something that we really have to work on. We have to commit to it. We need to keep doing it again and again until it sticks. That’s why seven times is not enough. That’s why Jesus commands, not suggests, but commands, that we forgive and that we do it over and over again.

Jesus then goes on to tell the parable of the unforgiving servant. In this parable, the first servant owes 10,000 talents, or approximately $2.5 billion at today’s minimum wage. The king has mercy on the servant and forgives this massive debt. The servant then runs into someone who owes him 100 denarii, or about $6,400 in today’s terms, but does not seem to remember the mercy shown him by the king and demands immediate payment in full. The first servant then has the second thrown in jail when he cannot pay up. Upon hearing of this, the king has the first servant thrown in jail until he can pay off his debt.

Obviously the amounts being dealt with are ridiculously high for servants, but the point is that the king, who represents God, has forgiven the gigantic debt of the first servant, who represents us. Just as God has freely forgiven our sinfulness, so too are we to forgive the sin others do to us. This parable exemplifies the vast greatness by which forgiveness is to be exercised, and further, connects our human forgiveness with divine forgiveness. Our forgiveness is to mirror God’s forgiveness and mercy made real through Jesus Christ.

We are reminded of the need to forgive every time we say the Lord’s Prayer. There’s that line, “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us,” which means we are asking that God’s forgiveness of our sins be like our forgiveness of those who sin against us. What this means is that if we freely forgive others, we are asking God to freely forgive us. But if we do not forgive others, what we are really asking for is that God not forgive us. Is that what we really want?

Admittedly, for many of us, forgiveness is a difficult thing under the best of circumstances. Limit situations like 9/11 push our imagination when it comes to forgiveness. If we have a hard time forgiving someone we know for some minor offense, how much harder is it for us to forgive an enemy that kills thousands of people? In such situations, we often prefer revenge to forgiveness. We take the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” and turn it around to “Do unto others as they have done unto you – only harder.” At times like this, forgiveness does not even seem to be an option. It’s as if we feel that forgiveness would be a sign of weakness. That if we forgive, we have to pretend it never happened. Or that if we forgive, we give up any right or hope for justice. Not so. Nonetheless, in many ways, forgiveness is harder than retaliation or retribution.

What we need to remember is that forgiveness is not about denying what happened, about denying the hurt. Rather, to forgive we need to acknowledge what has happened, to acknowledge the pain, to acknowledge that another has done this to us. But it also necessitates letting go of the other, refusing to allow them and what they did to have power over our lives, to dictate who we are, to control how we live and how we view the world around us. Forgiveness is refusing to be held captive by the actions of another, no matter how painful or damaging. Forgiveness is leaving the past behind and moving forward into the future that God is calling us to. But even so, it does not mean we have to forget. And in some cases, we should never forget.

A great example of this is the change in our relationship with Japan following World War II. At least at some formal level, we each acknowledged what we had done to the other. We forgave each other. And we made the conscious choice to reestablish relationship. As a result of reconciliation, Japan, formerly our most bitter and deadly of enemies, has become one of our strongest political allies, one of our largest economic trading partners, one of our closest friends. Does that mean that we have forgotten Pearl Harbor? No. Does that mean Japan has forgotten Hiroshima or Nagasaki? No. But we were both able to put that behind us and move forward in friendship.

Now, when it comes to al Qaeda, I seriously doubt reconciliation is a possibility. They have such anger and hatred toward the United States, and we suffered such pain at their hands, that we will likely never be friends. But that does not mean that forgiveness cannot occur. I know for many, that’s asking the impossible. But at the very least, maybe it means not buying into the cycle of hatred the events of 9/11 precipitated. Maybe it means truly trying to live the Gospel mandate to love our neighbors as ourselves, to live the injunction in our Baptismal Covenant to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.” That begins in small ways, with each of us doing our part.

To this end, Scott Bader-Saye, professor of Christian Ethics and Moral Theology at the Episcopal Seminary of the Southwest writes, “The church’s capacity to respond to an event like 9/11 is formed long before the event in all the small ways we learn to practice patience, love, kindness, compassion, and forgiveness. It is these practices that we needed on 9/11 to give light in the dusty darkness, and it is these practices that we need ten years later to empower our witness for peace and reconciliation” (Bader-Saye, 10).

There are no easy answers. But we do know that change can happen and is happening. Christians and Muslims in this city, in this country and around the world are choosing not to engage in the hostilities their governments are engaged in. They are choosing to work together, to learn about and from each other, to become friends. In their actions, they are choosing to affirm across religious lines the loving and reconciling God worshiped by all the Abrahamic faiths – Christians, Muslims, and Jews.

One commentator sums it up quite eloquently when he writes, “This anniversary is not a time to focus on aggression or victory by way of violence or war. Violence only begets violence. While there is and needs to be an accountability, accountability does not heal, retribution does not heal, violence does not heal. Forgiveness heals for it is in forgiveness that we meet the other, sister or brother, as one for whom Christ died” (Giere, 158).

In this, Peter’s question in today’s Gospel speaks volumes, particularly as we face difficult acts of forgiveness. His inquiry of Jesus, “how often should I forgive” was intended to determine when we can stop forgiving. The meaning of forgiving seventy-seven times is crystal clear: we never stop forgiving. Ours is a God who forgives completely, and we as the body of Christ are commanded to do likewise. But the real question is not when we can stop forgiving, but rather, when do we start?

References
Bader-Saye, Scott. “9/11: Ten Years Later.” Christian Century, August 23, 2011, 10-12.

Giere, S. D., et al. New Proclamation: Year A, 2011, Easter through Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2010.

Preaching Styles

2011-09-03T11:55:00.000-07:00

Back in May, David (my rector) and I were driving to San Pedro for the annual spring clergy conference for the Diocese of Los Angeles. We started talking about preaching style. As long as I have been preaching (with a couple of exceptions), I have prepared a manuscript. Then earlier this year I went through a spell of taking the manuscript and converting it into an outline and then preaching from the outline. In more recent months, I had gotten away from that approach, as it actually takes more time to prepare and I had been too busy to devote the time needed. As a result, I had slipped back into relying solely on the manuscript while preaching. In addition, I tend to get too tied to the words that I write in the manuscript process.

David commented that my delivery was better when I was going from the outline. He suggested that maybe what I need to do is not prepare a manuscript at all, but to only prepare notes or an outline. I decided to take him up on his challenge – on Trinity Sunday (June 19). I figured that would be a good test run, since I would only have to preach once (being our patronal festival, we had a combined service that day). Of course, some may question the sanity of preaching on something like the doctrine of the Trinity without a manuscript, but I did it. And I also decided that if I wasn’t going to use a manuscript, I would not really need the pulpit. So I preached from the top of the sanctuary steps.

I was, understandably, a little nervous. But amazingly, I don’t think I even looked at my notes. And I got such positive comments from parishioners. They felt I had more energy and was more engaged in preaching without the manuscript. And they really liked the feeling of me being closer and more accessible by preaching from the steps instead of from behind the pulpit. And I really liked the ability to more readily make changes on the fly, allowing for a more dynamic preaching process.

So, after a good test run, I decided that this is the way I need to preach all the time. The only problem is that I now no longer have a record of my actual sermons – nothing to be able to post on my blog. And that has primarily been the purpose of my blog. And ironically, in the last two months of preaching this way (six sermons) several times people have asked me for copies of my sermons, and I have had to tell them there is no copy.

I have been struggling with this dilemma, with that engineer in me that wants a complete record. So I have decided to check into dictation software. If I can dictate the sermon either immediately before delivering it or afterwards (probably afterwards since I will have in mind any of the more recent changes), then I could post the transcript on the blog. Of course, after I preach the sermon, I could sit down and type out the gist of it from memory, but that would take more energy and time than I usually have or am willing to expend on a Sunday afternoon. So, we will see how the transcription process works. I know the technology is not perfect and editing will still be needed. But minor edits will be far easier than typing the whole thing (and risking getting bogged down with how I should have said something as opposed to how it was really said).

We shall see. The software should arrive in the next week or so.

_______________

Quantum Shepherd

2011-05-15T12:29:00.000-07:00

Fourth Sunday of Easter – Year A
Acts 2.42-47; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2.1925; John 10.1-10
Sunday, May 15, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

The shepherd was a well-known image for first century Jews and Christians. Not only were shepherds part of the everyday landscape of their agrarian society, the image of a good shepherd would have had significant political and religious meaning for these people. King David, the best known and most loved of Israel’s monarchs was the Shepherd King – an ordinary shepherd boy who God anointed to be king, who would go on to become the greatest of kings, the standard by which all future kings would be measured. In fact, the long-awaited Messiah was anticipated to be a king of the line of David, with all the positive attributes of David and more. The Psalmist, who may have been David himself, writes of God as protector and provider using the imagery of shepherd: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. He makes me like down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters” (Ps 23.1-2). And in later times, the vision of the Messiah would even incorporate the image of shepherd, as portrayed by the prophet Isaiah: “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep” (Is 40.11). So it is significant for the original hearers of Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel that he fulfills Israel’s hope for a good shepherd, and more importantly, a messiah in the form of the good shepherd. The simple imagery carried a loaded message about who Jesus was.

Even in our non-agrarian culture, we still find the imagery of sheep and of the good shepherd comforting. But most of us today have no experience with sheep other than at a petting zoo. So how does this imagery speak to us in our present day, in a context completely opposite of the original? Well, the meaning behind the imagery is no less true today than it was two thousand years ago.

Jesus uses imagery of himself as both the shepherd and the gate into the sheepfold. While a little confusing, being both shepherd and gate, these images help us to understand something of what it means to be his followers.

As shepherd, Jesus specifically addresses three characteristics about our relationship with him: the shepherd leading, the sheep following, and the shepherd being known by the sheep. First, Jesus tells us that the shepherd leads the sheep out of the sheepfold and goes before them, leading the way, and second, the sheep follow the shepherd. What this clearly means is that Jesus leads and we follow. Not that we lead and expect Jesus to follow. We may not always know where the path will take us, but we have to have faith that Jesus knows the way, pioneering the trail for us. We often get bogged down in the minutia, only seeing what is immediately in front of us, immediately around us. But Jesus has the big picture, seeing longer range than we are able to see, or longer range that we are sometimes willing to see. So a big part of this is trusting that Jesus is leading is on the right path, which really is a path only he can fully know. And the other part is being willing to give up our own needs or desires for control, letting Jesus lead the way, trusting that Jesus knows better than we do.

The ability to do this is all tied in with the shepherd being known by the sheep. Jesus says the shepherd calls his own by name and that “the sheep follow him because they know his voice.” Very important piece. Jesus himself even comments on it, talking about knowing the voice of the shepherd and not knowing the voice of strangers, of those whom he refers to as thieves and bandits. We are willing to follow because we know the sound of his voice – we know the sound of his message and are able and willing to do the critical work of comparing what we hear at any given time with what we know to be the truth. Is the voice we are hearing, the message being proclaimed, consistent with the truth as proclaimed in Scripture, the law and the prophets, as well as the words and actions of Jesus himself; as proclaimed in our historical understanding of the experienced tradition as passed down through the last two millennia; and as revealed in the reasoning necessary to apply the shepherd’s teachings to the present circumstances? Only when filtered through our understanding of scripture, tradition, and reason, can we discern if what we are hearing from the Church, from our leaders, clergy and lay, is the path Jesus is leading us along, or some other path.

As gate, Jesus specifically addresses three characteristics about what his followers can expect: that entering through the gate provides safety, allows us to find pasture, and provides us with place and identity. First, Jesus tells us that “whoever enters by me will be saved.” By entering into a life in Christ, we are assured of shelter from the world. This is not to say that what happens in the world will not impact us. It most assuredly will. What saved means is that if we place our trust in Christ, with making following him our first priority, we will always have the love and protection of God to fall back-on when times do get tough. We will have the resources of God’s family backing us up, our church family to care for us in our times of need. We will have the strength of our faith and the assurance of God’s love to stand upon and to guide us through whatever we may confront in life.

Second, those who enter the gate “will come in and go out and find pasture.” We don’t know much about pasture in our contemporary lives, but pasture is a place of comfort, rest, and sustenance. In this case, it is not necessarily physical respite. Rather Jesus is speaking of a spiritual comfort, rest, and sustenance that come from being his followers. By coming into the sheepfold that is the Body of Christ, that is the Church, we are assured of the spiritual comfort and rest from the cares of the world outside these walls, even if only for a brief time. This is a pasture where we can come and be nurtured and cared for, where we can recharge and gain the strength we need to go back out and face the world, to do ministry in the world. And that comes through the sustenance we receive every week in Eucharist – in the hearing of the word proclaimed, and at the altar where we are nourished by the bread and wine, by the body and blood of our Lord.

And third, by entering through the gate that is Jesus, we have a place and an identity that is determined exclusively by relationship with him. We have a place at the table. We have an identity as members of his body, as a part of the family of Christ that is the Church. We are part of a community that is defined by Jesus, the gate through which we enter, but also that is defined by and consists of the flock of which we are a part. For being part of the larger family through Christ, of being Christians, is essential. But so is the flock, the local community of which we are a part, as here at Trinity. For it is in the local community of faith that we discern and live out what it means to enter the gate and to follow the shepherd.

While all of this stuff about the Good Shepherd is meant to be comforting to us and descriptive of what it means to be Christian, there is something missing from the imagery. The Good Shepherd and the gate describe the nature of the Church as a body, of community and its centrality, and of our place and identity within the community. But it does not really say much about what the community does. We need something else to help round out the image, to give the flock some sort of purpose, other than just standing around in a group, grazing in the pasture. We are not quite the same as sheep, are we? As humans we are not content to just be as sheep. We need some purpose for the flock. For that, we can look to something called the Quantum Sheep project, or the “Poetry of Sheep.”

In 2002, Valerie Laws received a grant of 2,000 pounds from an arts council in northern England, to create living poetry using sheep. She spray-painted a single word on the backs of 15 sheep. As the sheep wandered around, the ordering of words took on a new structure every time they stopped moving. The reason Valerie undertook the project was out of an interest in quantum mechanics. She noted that randomness and uncertainty are apparently central to how the universe was formed and operates, and that this is quite difficult for many of us to understand, particularly since we rely on order. The sheep project was an attempt to explore such principles of quantum mechanics as randomness, duality, and the influence of the observer on the observed; to explain how something of meaning might come out of the randomness of the universe. Specifically, the project explored how the random movement of the sheep might occasionally result in somewhat meaningful poetry. Even if not rational, some of the resulting poems certainly had a whimsical, even comedic, quality.

While Valerie Law’s experiment was intended to illustrate something of quantum mechanics and the workings of the universe, particularly in a whimsical manner, it also ties in nicely with the story of the Good Shepherd and what it means to be part of his flock.

First, the Quantum Sheep project demonstrates that you can’t write a poem with only one word. We need most, if not all, of the words painted on the flock to make a meaningful poem. This reinforces the fact that we need each other, living in community, to do the work God has called us to do. One cannot do it by him or herself.

Second, the flock sometimes gets spooked and scatters. Be it by some outside influence or at the hands of an inept or uninterested guide, the flock can easily spook and scatter to seek safety. So too with communities of faith, which must be handled gently and tenderly. For sometimes we too become spooked, with the community scattering, individuals running for cover. But generally this is only temporary, for we come back together because we ultimately know that in community we are safer than by ourselves; that we have the community for support and protection.

Third, the flock sometimes is a jumbled mess, with each of the sheep just sitting there doing nothing. When this happens, the poem makes no sense. It is just words strung together without meaning. Communities of faith can be like that, too. When we are together, we sometimes have a jumbled mess that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. But the reality is that even if we look like a jumbled mess, we are still together in community, still taking in sustenance as when a flock grazes, drawing nourishment from each other and from the sacraments. The jumbled mess is an in-between time while we wait for movement and for meaning to occur, for our purpose, our message, to be revealed.

Fourth, sometimes the flock does not have all the words it needs to make a complete or comprehendible poem. Other sheep with other words, which are not like us, may be needed to expand the vocabulary and allow for even richer, more meaningful poetry. As a community, we may not have all the resources needed to carry out some project or ministry. Sometimes we need others to come in and add to our vocabulary, to add their gifts and talents to ours, adding to the richness of what we are capable of.

And finally, and most importantly, the members of the flock occasionally surprise the observers by arranging themselves to form a poem that is both coherent and beautiful. As we stumble about in our lives within the community, we occasionally surprise ourselves and write an absolutely beautiful and poignant poem that shows to God and all the world what we are capable of. And when we do this, the Shepherd delights in what he witnesses.

That’s what the Good Shepherd is all about. By trusting in Jesus and being willing to follow, even when, especially when, it seems as if we don’t know where we are going; following him whose voice and message we know and that we know to be true; by entering into relationship with Jesus Christ, who promises us safety and shelter from the world; who promises a place for comfort, rest, and sustenance; who provides us with our own true identity; we are freed to, open to, called to, be the community of faith God has ordained us to be – one in which we can rise to the occasion and write beautiful poems that are witnessed by our God and by others – poems that bear witness to the love and grace of the Good Shepherd in our lives individually and together as his flock.

Doubting Disciples?

2011-05-01T13:06:00.000-07:00

Second Sunday of Easter – Year A
Acts 2.141, 22-32; Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1.3-9; John 20.19-31
Sunday, May 1, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

The Sunday after Easter is commonly known as “Low Sunday,” due to the fact that attendance is markedly lower than on Easter Sunday, and is typically even lower than regular Sundays. After all the excitement of Easter, particularly as a culmination to all the drama and emotion that comes with traveling through Holy Week, with Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and then the climax of the Great Vigil of Easter, we might think we deserve a break, a little respite from all this church stuff. But scripture says otherwise. In his Gospel, John barrels on ahead, picking up with the disciples on the evening of Easter, immediately after the scene with Mary Magdalene at the tomb, where the Risen Christ reveals himself to her. There’s still a lot of work to do, and we can’t be wasting any time.

Now what most of us tend to focus on in this particular Gospel reading is the part where Thomas, not present at Jesus’ initial post-resurrection appearance to the disciples, says “unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” – leading to the rather unflattering descriptor of “Doubting Thomas.” Now every time I preach on this passage, I am quick to rush to Thomas’ defense. But not today. In fact, many make the other disciples out to be the epitome of faith while denigrating Thomas. But not me. I’m going to drag them all down – every last one of them.

If you really look at the story, Thomas was not the only one of the disciples who doubted. It may not be expressed quite as explicitly, but it’s there in John’s description of events. All of the disciples initially doubted the reality of the Risen Lord. At the end of the Easter Gospel, we are told “Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’” (Jn 20.18a). But here, in today’s reading, which, remember, takes place mere hours after Mary’s announcement, the Risen Christ appears to all the remaining disciples minus Thomas, who is inexplicably absent. They did not rejoice upon seeing him. First he had to talk to them – “Peace be with you.” And when that didn’t elicit a response, Jesus showed them his hands and his side. Only then do the disciples rejoice in the appearance of their resurrected Lord. Despite having been told by Jesus himself that he would die and be resurrected, despite testimony from Mary Magdalene, they would not believe until they had seen the wounds that bore irrefutable proof that this was their Lord, risen.

And then, of course, we know about Thomas. After the Risen Lord had appeared to his ten comrades and they tell him about the experience, he responds with his famous statement of doubt. Before he is going to believe, he demands the same proof that the other disciples had been party to – to see firsthand the wounds resulting from the crucifixion. Jesus appears a week later saying, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Upon seeing the wounds, Thomas believes that his master had been resurrected, responding “My Lord and my God!”

But even before the events of today’s Gospel lesson, we have Mary Magdalene filled with doubt about the fate of Jesus. Upon finding the tomb empty, she goes and tells the disciples, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” And later on, she weeps because she does not know what happened to Jesus, maintaining that someone must have taken his body away. This despite Jesus having foretold his death and resurrection. It is only when Jesus appears to her and calls her name that she recognizes him as her Lord, risen as he had promised.

So you see, it was not just Doubting Thomas. It was also Doubting Peter and Doubting John. It was also Doubting Mary and all the other doubting disciples. But what is more striking is the fact that as the story progressed, first with the appearance to Mary Magdalene, and then the disciples, and then Thomas, each party at each succeeding step had more and more information. Each had testimony from previous post-resurrection appearances. Why did Mary doubt when she had Jesus’ word that he would be raised from the dead? Why did the disciples doubt when they had Jesus’ word, plus Mary’s testimony that he had indeed been raised? Why did Thomas doubt when he had Jesus’ word, plus Mary’s testimony, plus the testimony of the other ten disciples?

Overall, it appears that there is a general lack of faith among the disciples. Not so much a lack of faith in what Jesus had told them. After all, no one had ever been resurrected before, at least not under these extreme circumstances. It would therefore be natural for the disciples to question Jesus’ foretelling of death and resurrection. They did not know what that would look like. Rather, the lack of faith that they experienced was in each other and in one another’s witness and testimonies.

Okay, maybe I’ve beat up on the disciples enough. To their defense, this was a very tense time. The general theme of the day was distrust. The local population had a broad distrust of the Roman Empire and its forces that were occupying their homeland. There was distrust of the locals who collaborated with the Roman occupiers. The disciples would have had distrust for the Temple authorities who had conspired to have Jesus arrested, tried, and executed. And now there was distrust of each other. After all, one of their own had betrayed their master for a few pieces of silver. Who’s to say the Romans or the Temple authorities might not come after the disciples next? Who can be trusted in times like these?

In these early days, when so much was still tenuous, so much was still uncertain, the disciples would have been looking for assurance. What the events of Easter Day as portrayed by John tells us is that all the disciples need assurance that this person who appears before them is the one who was crucified, died, and buried. The Risen One must have the wounds in his hands and feet and side – to manifest the triumph of God’s grace and love over death – visible signs of God’s grace and love, visible signs of the ultimate defeat of sin and death. Seeing the wounds would have been assurance that the one before them is indeed the one whom they had been following, and was indeed the one whom they would continue to follow.

So while there may have been some initial distrust, the disciples, through their cautiousness, provided a valuable service. They did the hard work, vetting the Risen Lord on behalf of those who would come after. Because of the due diligence and testimony of Thomas and the other disciples working on our behalf, we are able to have faith and believe. We are blessed because of those like Mary Magdalene and Thomas and the other disciples who have gone before. As Jesus said to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Jesus proclaims blessing on all those who have not seen the Risen Lord with their own eyes, who have not had the opportunity to see the wounds, to poke their fingers into his wounds. That would be us.

When I look at the initial post-resurrection appearances, like the one we have in today’s Gospel, like the comparable versions we have in the other three Gospels, where the disciples are doubtful, it always amazes me that our religion, based on the foundation of Christ’s resurrection, even got off the ground. In those early days, no one was willing or able to accept what had happened. How do you expect those who had not been witnesses to any post-resurrection appearances to come to believe? How is it that we, two millennia later, have come to believe and continue to tell the story?

In the days following Christ’s resurrection, each of the disciples had to find their own way to process what they had experienced, to find their own way to make such an unbelievable experience real for them. That is what we are seeing in today’s Gospel reading – the initial attempts at processing. Once the disciples got over their initial shock, distrust, even disbelief, once they had irrefutable proof from their Risen Lord, they were able to embrace the story wholeheartedly. They came to believe and to understand in a way that became a part of their very being, so that when they told the story to others, as in Acts, as in First Peter, you can just tell that it’s true.

Throughout Christian history, those like us, disciples who did not have benefit of first-hand post-resurrection appearances, came to believe because of the telling of the story. You feel the passion, the zeal, with which the story is told and retold, and you get caught up in it, coming to believe it yourself. It is the story of the resurrection, along with that passion and zeal that is passed on from believer to new convert, on through history to our own day, to our own hearing of the story. It is that passion and zeal that have kept our faith, our religion, alive these two thousand years.

It is often said that we are an Easter people. That is true. The story of Easter is our own story – told and experienced with passion, with conviction, passed on from believer to convert from the first Easter day until now. Our job as Easter people is to keep that story alive. Like the first disciples, we have to find our own ways of processing the story, making it real for ourselves, and then sharing it with others in our words and our actions. For if we truly believe the story and live it in our own lives, others will see the passion and sincerity and will be open to making the story their own.

It may sound a little naïve, but it’s true. That’s the concept behind our Catechesis of the Good Shepherd program. If you’ve ever talked to their teachers, if you’ve ever talked to our little ones or watched them in worship, it becomes obvious that they know the story, and they know the story to be true because of the sincerity with which it has been told to them and the experiences they have of it. And they are willing to share the story with others, with that same passion. Out of the mouths of babes comes the secret to being Easter people and to perpetuating our Easter faith.

It all boils down to the importance of believing the witness to what happened on the first Easter, as shared by those who have gone before, of continuing to focus on the resurrection – Christ’s resurrection and the hope and assurance of our own resurrection, and carrying that joy and passion out into the world.

The Empty Tomb as a "Thin Place" (or a Gaping Hole)

2011-04-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

Easter Day – Year A
Acts 10.34-43; Psalm 118.1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3.1-4; John 20.1-18
Sunday, April 24, 2011 (8:00 a.m.) – Trinity, Redlands

In ancient Celtic tradition, there are locations known as “thin places,” where the separation between heaven and earth is tenuous, where the two nearly touch, and may even be somewhat permeable. In these “thin places,” it is said that the veil is drawn back sufficiently that one can experience the other realm, possibly seeing into the other side, maybe even sensing or feeling the presence of the holy. It is sometimes said that in such “thin places,” the ordinary becomes sacred and the sacred becomes ordinary.

The thing about “thin places” is that not everyone experiences them the same way. There is a full spectrum of awareness and experience of “thin places.” Some people are completely unaware of them. Others have some sense of their existence, having a vague feeling that there is something different, maybe even special, about a particular location. And others still have incredibly intense experiences.

I think that the tomb encountered by Mary Magdalene, the empty tomb with its stone rolled aside, was just such a “thin place.” If anything, the tomb and all that it represents is not just a “thin place” where the veil is pulled aside, but is rather a place where the fabric of existence is ripped open, creating a gaping hole between heaven and earth, between the ordinary and the holy.

Nonetheless, or perhaps because of the extraordinary nature of this thin place turned gaping hole, John’s Gospel records varying reactions to what is experienced, spanning the spectrum. On one end you have Simon Peter’s reaction. Upon hearing the news about the empty tomb, he runs to the tomb, goes in, and finds Jesus’ linen wrappings lying in a heap on the floor. The Gospel does not tell us specifically how he reacts or what he thinks. But the way I read it, he surveys the situation, sees a pile of linen, and just sort of gives up. He sees Jesus is gone but doesn’t seem to really comprehend the magnitude of what has happened. Eventually he does come to a greater understanding, but for now, he seems to need time to figure it out. He’s seen enough and so he leaves to go home, presumably to continue cogitating on the matter.

The Beloved Disciple seems a little more thought-filled or even awe-filled than is Simon Peter. When he arrives at the tomb, he sticks his head in to survey the situation, but does not go in. After Simon Peter enters, the Beloved Disciple does likewise. When he sees the full scene from the inside, we are told “he saw and believed.” The implication is that while he may not have completely understood what happened, he did understand the significance of the empty tomb, and that he trusted what Jesus had foretold about his own death and resurrection. With this, he too goes home, presumably to further ponder the situation.

And then there’s Mary Magdalene. She obviously doesn’t quite know what to make of finding the empty tomb. Her initial reaction is that someone has removed Jesus’ body. But even in her distress, she perseveres in trying to figure out what has happened to her Lord. Even after Simon Peter and the Beloved Disciple have gone home, she continues to try to make sense out of what has happened. Mary is confused and certainly distraught that Jesus’ body had apparently been taken away. Even though he is dead, if at least she could find his body, it would be something to hold onto, something to help ease the grief of the previous few days, maybe even help make sense out of the situation. Unlike Simon Peter and the Beloved Disciple, she is not going home until she gets some answers. So she persists in her search for the truth. And her perseverance pays off. When things look hopeless, she encounters the risen Lord – the first disciple to have such an experience. The elation she must have felt when this seemingly unknown person calls her name and she recognizes that it is Jesus. “Rabbouni!”

Mary’s natural reaction is to reach out and try to embrace her master and her friend. She is undoubtedly dismayed when he stops her, saying, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” Why can’t she embrace and hold onto this man whom she has been following for years, whom she loves more than life itself? This is the one thing she cannot comprehend. What she does not yet understand is that in resurrected form, Jesus cannot be physically grasped; just as what has happened to him cannot be fully grasped, fully comprehended by the human mind. In his resurrected form, Jesus is no longer confined to this realm. Jesus cannot be held here in our presence. What is happening is for a greater purpose, as he foretold to the disciples. For Christ’s ascension extends the promise of the resurrection beyond this existence, through the “thin place,” through the gaping hole, into the heavenly realm. The promise of the resurrection is taken to the heavenly realm that transcends our own, to be located in the heart of God. And there, the promise of the resurrection, the new and eternal life that is promised to all humanity through Christ’s death and resurrection, will abide forever. This resurrection is not limited in its duration as was that of Lazarus. No, this resurrection and the ensuing gift of new life for all are for ever and ever.

Each of the disciples, Mary, Simon Peter, and the Beloved Disciple, had their own way of approaching the empty tomb and coming to understand the resurrection. But this was not something that happened in an instant. For with the death and resurrection of their Lord and Master, the disciples were moving from pre-resurrection life in the presence of Jesus the man, to a post-resurrection life in the presence of the Risen Christ. In the days and years that follow, they would struggle to find how to express the experience of Jesus Christ, as living man and as Risen Lord. They would need the rest of Eastertide, with its various post-resurrection encounters, to more fully understand what has happened to Jesus, and what this means for them, his followers.

Our other lessons, from the Acts of the Apostles, and from Paul’s Letter to the Colossians, show this continuing attempt on the part of Jesus’ followers to more fully understand the meaning of post-resurrection life in the presence of the Risen Christ and the implications to those who are and will become his followers. That’s what the entire New Testament is about. That’s what the entire Christian faith is about – making sense of Jesus’ life on earth, of his death and resurrection, and of our part in the continuing story.

We talk about Easter being the culmination of Holy Week, which it certainly is. You cannot have Easter without first having Palm Sunday, with Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. You cannot have Easter without first having Maundy Thursday, with the institution of the Last Supper, followed by Jesus’ being betrayed and arrested in the Garden. You certainly cannot have Easter without first having Good Friday, with Jesus being tried, convicted, and sentenced to death; without Jesus being crucified on a cross, and then buried in a tomb. So yes, in Christ’s resurrection at Easter, we have the end of a tumultuous journey. But Easter is not the end of the story. It is merely the beginning. That story is being played out through the rest of the New Testament. It is being played out through two thousand years of Christian history. And it is being played out in our own lives, here and now, and will continue to play out for the rest of our lives.

That’s why we’re here today, in our continuing efforts to try to make sense of what happened two thousand years ago at a tomb in the countryside outside Jerusalem. Because just like the disciples, we each have our own unique way that we approach the empty tomb and come to understand the resurrection. We would do well to take our cue from Mary Magdalene – to not give up so easily, but to persevere, to continue searching for the Risen Lord.

Of course, this side of existence, this side of the gaping hole that is the empty tomb, we cannot, nor will we ever fully understand all the whys and wherefores of the resurrection. All we really need to know is that in that empty tomb, in that gaping hole, heaven burst forth into the earthly realm. All we really need to know is that God’s love broke through in a new way, destroying the bonds of sin and death that had a hold on humanity. All we really need to know is that Christ is risen, thereby providing each and every one of us with the gift of new and eternal life in him. Everything else flows from that promise and from that assurance.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

“Do You Know What I Have Done To You?”

2011-04-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

Maundy Thursday – Year A
Exodus 12.1-4, (5-10), 11-14; Psalm 116.1, 10-17; 1 Corinthians 11.23-26; John 13.1-17, 31b-35
Thursday, April 21, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

“Do you know what I have done to you?” (Jn 13.12)

In John’s telling of the events of Maundy Thursday, what Jesus has done has nothing to do with the Last Supper. While the Synoptic Gospels all tell of Jesus’ final Passover feast with his disciples and document the institution of what will become one of the two major sacraments of the Christian faith – the Eucharist – John says nothing of this event. There is nothing about breaking of bread. There is no command to “take, eat; this is my body” (Mt 26.26). There is nothing about taking the cup and giving thanks. There is nothing said about “drink of it all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Mt 26.27-27).

Yes, today’s Gospel lesson is set in the context of a meal. In John’s telling, we hear of the events of the day of preparation, the day before the Passover feast is celebrated. But this is just an ordinary meal among friends. For John, it is not the meal that is important. In fact, he never really tells us about it. For John, what is important is the rather unusual event that occurs in the midst of this ordinary meal. Jesus “got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him” (Jn 13.4-5).

This act is significant in a number of ways. In the simple act of washing the disciples’ feet, he is giving them the secret to what it means to be his followers. This act is one of service, of giving of self for the benefit of others. But even more so, is the manner in which the service is carried out. Jesus is the master to these disciples. He is the host of the dinner gathering. But rather than exalt himself, rather than demand that his disciples serve him, Jesus humbles himself, taking on the role of servant. In this, he is modeling the quality of humble service – of putting the needs of others before self – that all who follow this servant king are called to undertake.

Even more than humble service, the act of washing of feet demonstrates some of the qualities that are needed to live the Christian life. These are not adequately conveyed in the Gospel narrative, but are only evident through experiencing the act of foot-washing – not just having your feet washed, but also in the act of washing the feet of another. In this I am reminded of my first experience with foot-washing. I shared this story a couple of years ago, but as I have been reflecting on Jesus’ washing of the disciples’ feet, I have gained increased insight though reflecting on my own experience with that sacred act.

My first experience with foot washing was when I was in high school. Our entire youth group went to a camp in the San Bernardino Mountains over Presidents Day weekend. 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. The room was dimly lit. There was soft contemplative music playing in the background. 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 was a great deal of reluctance on the part of most present, myself included. Finally, my foot-washing 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. I continued to cry, but for a different reason. 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 serving another in an intimate way. This act 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.

I think that is what Jesus was trying to teach his disciples as he washed their feet – that they need to be able to humble themselves to serve others; that they need to be willing to open themselves to be vulnerable to others, to be vulnerable in the presence of others, particularly those whom they are serving; and that they must allow an intimate connection to develop with those they are ministering to.

We are called to live those same qualities in our life as Christians:

Humility – putting the needs of others before our own, even when – especially when – it may be a little uncomfortable;

Vulnerability – allowing ourselves to be open to the movement of the Spirit and to the ways another human being can touch deep within our being – a place where very few see, let alone are allowed to touch; and

Intimacy – allowing the ability to be close with others, in their vulnerability and in ours; to be with others, sharing their deepest hurts and their deepest hopes.

These are all key hallmarks of what it means to truly be a Christian, to live a Christian life.

The calling to exhibit these qualities is beautifully illustrated by Quaker elders in England, several centuries ago. They used the term “tendered” to describe their experience of coming to the faith. “Tendered” in this context meant having been shown tenderness by another. For them, it was the experience of tenderness, through humility and vulnerability; tenderness leading to a sacred intimacy with another person – an intimacy that conveyed something of Christ’s love, of God’s grace and mercy, that led them to becoming followers of Christ. While the specifics are not documented, I cannot help but think that such experiences as having one’s feet washed might have led to the sense of being “tendered.” I cannot help but think that is what our Lord had in mind as he washed the feet of his disciples – giving an example of what it means to be his followers and how to spread that message to others, not in words, but in tender action and presence.

As we commemorate Maundy Thursday, we of course remember the institution of the Last Supper, as commanded by St. Paul in our lesson from 1 Corinthians. After all, the Eucharist based on this event is central to our weekly worship experience as a community. That’s what it means to live as Christians in community. But the message behind the washing of feet – the call to humble service, to openness to vulnerability, to intimate connections with others, sharing God’s love, grace, and mercy to a broken world; that’s what it means to live as Christians out in the world. That is why Jesus came into this world. That is why Jesus shared this last experience with his disciples. That is why Jesus willingly went to his death on the cross the following day – the ultimate act of humility, vulnerability, and intimacy.

"Things Will Work Out; They Always Do"

2011-04-17T13:32:00.000-07:00

Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday – Year A
Isaiah 50.4-9a; Psalm 31.9-16; Philippians 2.5-11; Matthew 26.14-27.54
Sunday, April 17, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

When I was growing up, and even now as an adult, whenever I have found myself in a difficult situation – one where there just seemed no way out, when you feel like there is no hope – my mother would always say to me, “things will work out; they always do.” I never told her, but that always annoyed me. It always struck me as being trite, merely a platitude to try to make me feel better. She was right, things did always work out, but it still annoyed me.

As I got older, I realized that “things will work out; they always do” was so much more than a mere platitude. That one simple and seemingly simplistic phrase was shorthand for a much greater message. In it, Mom was saying that she thought I had the skills and talents to get myself out of, or work through, whatever situation happened to be plaguing me. In it, Mom was saying that she had faith in me and knew that no matter what I might be feeling at the moment, I would be able to work things out. In it, Mom was saying that no matter how dark things might seem, I needed to trust that things would get better, and not let the darkness give way to despair. And most importantly, in it, Mom was saying don’t give up hope.

Truth be told, even though hearing those words sometimes annoyed me, it really was, and still is, comforting to have Mom say them. I have even found that when there are times where I am struggling with some sort of seemingly hopeless problem, and when Mom isn’t around, there’s that little voice in the back of my head that sounds just like Mom, and it says, “things will work out; they always do.” Because I still need to hear those words. And because they are true.

On this, the Sunday of the Passion, we watch the events of Jesus’ final days unfold, starting off great guns with his triumphal entry into Jerusalem with shouts of “Hosanna!” and “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” But then things go downhill from there. Within a few days, Jesus turns his attention to celebrating the Passover meal with his dearest friends – knowing this would be the last Passover meal with them, that it would be his last meal period. The meal is not as pleasant as one would hope, for this is where the tatters begin to show, where things start to unravel. Later that evening, while Jesus is praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, Judas betrays his Master, bringing the Temple authorities to arrest him. Despite protestations of faithfulness, all the disciples desert Jesus in his time of trouble. Shortly thereafter, Peter, Jesus’ right-hand man, denies even knowing Jesus.

Jesus is brought to trial before the high priest, on trumped up charges, and found guilty of blasphemy. He is then spat on, struck, and mocked. Not able to exact the punishment they want, the Temple authorities send Jesus to Pontius Pilate, the civil authority. Here he is brought up on what amount to charges of treason against the Roman Empire. Found guilty according to the letter of the law, Pilate is not comfortable with the outcome, so attempts to free Jesus using a local Passover custom. But the crowd will have no part of it. They turn against Jesus, issuing cries of “Let him be crucified!” Pilate has no choice but to condemn Jesus to death, the punishment the Temple authorities were seeking. Before exacting the final punishment, he is flogged and mocked – “Hail King of the Jews.” And finally, he is sent to his death, nailed to a cross. As he hangs dying, he is further mocked by soldiers, passers-by, and fellow prisoners alike, while the soldiers gamble for the few pieces of clothing he had been wearing.

Jesus’ life is spiraling out of control. Yet there are commentators who write about how every step of the way, the Matthian Jesus is in control of the situation, that he knew what he was doing, making it sound like he was calm, cool, and collected under the pressure of his final days and hours. But this denies the very humanity of Jesus. Even thought he knew what had to be done, that doesn’t mean he didn’t feel a sense of darkness, a sense of hopelessness. After all, in the Garden, he prays not once, not twice, but three times, “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me.” And on the cross, as he hung there dying, he cries out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” If that isn’t despair and hopelessness I don’t know what is. In this final week of his life, Jesus knew what it feels like to have life slip away, spiraling out of control, as shouts of “Hosanna” turn to calls of “Let him be crucified!”; as a ticker tape parade ends on death row.

How many of us, when confronted with a difficult situation, have not ourselves prayed “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me?” How many of us in the midst of a seemingly hopeless situation, have not cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In our own human experience, we at times travel the path from Palm Sunday to Good Friday. But what this week shows us, what the culmination of this week in the Easter event shows us is that we do not travel this path alone. Our faith is founded on a God who has traveled the same path with us. Our Savior has walked this path before us, suffering and enduring far worse than we ever will. Jesus walked this path before us, suffering and enduring far worse so that we never have to.

Even in the midst of very human feelings of darkness, despair, and hopelessness that the human Jesus would have undoubtedly experienced, the divine Christ would have known the truth. On this side of the resurrection, we who travel this path laid out before us this coming week see and know the truth. Even as we approach the darkness of Maundy Thursday night, stripped bare of the presence of our Lord, we know the truth. Even as we approach Good Friday, kneeling at the foot of the cross on which our Lord and Master was crucified, we know the truth. Things will work out; they always do.

Responding to Evil

2011-04-03T13:14:00.000-07:00

Fourth Sunday in Lent (Year A)
1 Samuel 16.1-13; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5.8-14; John 9.1-41
Sunday, April 3, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (Jn 9.2)

This question by the disciples gets to the heart of what may be one of the thorniest issues in Christianity: theodicy. Theodicy deals with the question of how can an all-loving, all-knowing, all-powerful God allow evil and suffering in the world? In our attempts to reconcile our image and felt experience of God with the reality of evil and suffering, we struggle with explanations that seek to make sense out of this apparent dichotomy. And while we Christians struggle on one side of the equation, there are those who are not believers who claim that the existence of a loving God and evil are logically incompatible, and conclude that since evil and suffering obviously do exist in our world, God could not possible exist. Sadly, it is the experience of evil and suffering that is probably the main reason many people reject Christianity - a faith that can help them deal with evil and suffering.

When it comes to evil, there is a classification system, of sorts, that helps us in our thinking about the subject, and plays a part in our view toward evil. The two classifications of evil are moral evil and natural evil. Moral evil is the result of an event that is caused by the intentional action or inaction of a person or entity. Moral evil has both a perpetrator and victims. Examples of moral evil include murder, violence, adultery, dishonesty, and slavery, to name a few. Why does God allow such moral evil to occur and to persist in the world? While it may not always be a satisfactory answer, we recognize that such moral evil exists because of freewill that has been given to us by God – freewill that is misused for selfish purposes and against other human beings. God has given humanity the gift of freewill and self-determination, and for reasons we cannot completely fathom, God chooses not to interfere. Influence, yes. Interfere, no.

Natural evil, on the other hand, is a bad event that occurs without the intervention of an agent. Natural evil only has victims, and is generally the result of natural processes. Examples of natural evil include disease, birth defects, tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, and anything that in legal terms would be designated as “an act of God.” Why does God allow such natural evil to occur and to persist in the world? That is a little harder to understand, and for some, a little harder to stomach than the acceptance of moral evil. Natural evil does not involve freewill, so why doesn’t God use a little of that omnipotence and prevent such things as Hurricane Katrina or earthquakes in Haiti, New Zealand, and Japan? And while that is one of the mysteries of our God, many people are not content to settle for the unknown, to the appeal to mystery, and struggle to make sense out of natural evil.

Who of us has not occasionally asked “why me” or “why is God doing this to me” when bad things happen to us? Now I speak in the broadest of terms, but what tends to happen when we try to make sense out of natural evil is that we sometimes seek to introduce other variables into the equation. We introduce variables that add a human dimension to the moral neutrality of natural evil –blame or responsibility. “Who sinned, this man or his parents?” Generally, the only way we can make sense of an all-powerful God allowing evil and suffering in the world is by presuming divine punishment for some wrongdoings or sinful behavior. Even if we cannot see the specific reason, the sinfulness being punished, we are readily able to accept that God must know what he’s doing. To explain the apparent inconsistency between our all-powerful God and the existence of evil and suffering, we provide a connection, justified by finding someone to blame. In so doing, we attempt to turn a natural evil into a moral evil.

Now on a certain level we know that God doesn’t cause bad things to happen – at least I hope we know. But it is certainly rampant in our society. So we need to be able to name it and put it in proper theological perspective.

After all, we see examples of this every time there is a major natural disaster, a sizeable incident of natural evil. Think back to Hurricane Katrina. At the time, many people asked why this happened. Most likely a rhetorical question, but there were those who immediately leaped in and tried to explain the natural evil by turning the incident into one of moral evil. One nationally recognized televangelist said that “Katrina was God's punishment for sinful behavior in New Orleans.” Another prominent Christian figure attempted to link Hurricane Katrina with an act of judgment against legalized abortion. Human sinfulness was brought into the equation as a way of explaining a natural phenomenon, attempting to make natural evil into moral evil, with the incident itself being divine retribution.

And most recently, with the Japanese earthquake and tsunami, many people naturally asked why this happened. And again, there were those who had answers that involved attempts to place blame. On the Monday after the earthquake, the Governor of Tokyo said “The Japanese people must take advantage of this tsunami to wash away their selfish greed. I really do think this is divine punishment.” He did later apologize for the insensitive comment. But a prominent American figure kept the notion alive by maintaining that the earthquake and tsunami were a message from God as a punishment for sinfulness. Here again, mislaid allegations of human sinfulness was brought into the equation in an attempt to make natural evil into moral evil, with the incident itself being divine retribution.

In response to the comment made by the Governor of Tokyo, a Buddhist monk said, “We can’t pinpoint exactly what brought this about. For Buddhists, it almost doesn’t matter what caused this situation; what’s important is the response.” And I would say not just for Buddhists. While alleged Christian figures make ludicrous claims about natural evil actually being incidents of God’s judgment and punishment, the truth of the Gospel on such matters is born out in today’s lesson. “[Jesus’] disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ Jesus answered, ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him’” (Jn 9.2-3).

Jesus is very clear. The man was born blind – a natural evil. When the disciples attempted to make it into an issue of moral evil, attempting to determine the cause of the sin that resulted in the man being born blind – which, by the way, was a very common view of that time – Jesus put an end to such a perspective. Sin had nothing to do with it. The man was the victim of disease or some natural defect that resulted in blindness. Now what Jesus does say by way of explanation is that “he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him.” In other words, the point is not to find a cause for the natural evil that has occurred, but to view it as an occasion for doing God’s work; in this case, the work of healing. Was the man born blind so that God’s glory could be revealed through his gaining sight? Maybe, maybe not. The important thing is that the natural evil that was his plight was ultimately used to reveal God’s glory. In other words, it doesn’t matter what caused the situation; what’s important is the response.

The imagery of the man’s eyes being opened, of gaining sight, in combination with the imagery Jesus uses of light and darkness, is a clue that this is not just about Jesus showing God’s glory in the immediate event, in the healing of the man born blind. In the story, it is not only the man who gains sight, but also the disciples. And so do we as the audience. As the events unfold, we too gain sigh, or insight, into how to respond to events of evil – certainly natural evil, but moral evil as well. We are called to open our eyes to see as God sees – to look at such events of evil as God would, and to respond accordingly. With opened eyes we see that it’s not about what blame is falsely or ignorantly placed on a situation, but rather how we respond. In a broader sense, the work of God that is done through incidents of evil is the work of mercy and compassion. Just as Jesus had compassion on the man born blind and healed him, we are called to have mercy and compassion on those who suffer as a result of evil. We are called to look with eyes of faith and to see how God’s work might be revealed – what can be done to bring the light of Christ into a dark situation.

There are so many examples of how this parish looks at dark situations in our world – incidents of evil – and sees not with the eyes of judgment, but with eyes of faith, sees the suffering of evil’s victims, and seeks to reveal God’s work of mercy and compassion through those situations. We help those with behavioral issues through our support of Sierra Vista Rehabilitation Center in Highland, providing various items needed by the residents. We help low income and homeless families through our support of Family Service Association with the food collected weekly during the offertory. We help those who are homeless and hungry through our support of the Shared Ministries, in which we providing a meal one Saturday a month to the homeless population of Redlands. We help the homeless through the Cold Weather Shelter at Blessing Center, when one night a week our parishioners staff the Shelter. We help those who lack access to adequate health care through our support of the annual medical mission to Nicaragua. We help abused women and children through our support of Option House, by providing them with much needed personal and household items. We help those who are in prison or who have recently been released through our support of Step By Step in its various efforts to minister to parolees and the families of those who are incarcerated. And Trinity has also been great at stepping up to help out with special needs, such as when Episcopal Relief and Development raised money for Haiti and most recently, Japan. We have seen with the eyes of faith – not casting judgment, but seeing as God sees. And in our response, the glory of God is being revealed.

Through the example of your works of mercy and compassion, you have helped open the eyes of our youth. Several months ago our Youth Group, after hearing about the plight of homeless teens here in Redlands, have started a project to help YouthHope, the program that provides assistance to the homeless teens in Redlands. One Sunday a month, our teens come together to prepare a meal that will be served to about 100 homeless teens later in the week, providing one of the few meals these kids have each week. The eyes of our youth were opened to an incident of evil, to a need in our community. They saw with the eyes of faith, the way God sees those homeless teens, and they responded. In their actions, the glory of God is being revealed.

With eyes of faith we see that God works in, around, and through events that are counter to God’s purposes in the world, and that in the process, God’s true purposes are accomplished. God needs us to be his hands and feet in the world to do this. So as we work in, around, and through those events of evil, our eyes are opened, we work to accomplish God’s purposes – namely the showing of the glory of God through our acts of mercy and compassion. We are not judging, only loving; just as our Lord does with us.

Living Water

2011-03-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

Third Sunday in Lent (Year A)
Exodus 17.1-7; Psalm 95; Romans 5.1-11; John 4.5-42
Sunday, March 27, 2011 – St. Joseph of Arimathea, Yucca Valley

Those of us living in the Southwest, and particularly those of you who live in the middle of the desert, know the importance of water. Water is absolutely necessary for life. Prior to birth we are formed in and surrounded by water, which nourishes, nurtures, and protects us. After we are born, we require water on a regular basis to survive. In fact, depending on specific conditions, a healthy person can survive up to eight weeks without food, while that same person can only survive three to five days without water.

Good old H2O serves a number of useful purposes, including cleaning and providing cooling and comfort. In addition, we know that water has the potential to wield a great deal of power. It can be the source of great energy, such as when used to operate old-fashioned mills or to generate energy via hydroelectric dams. And we see the power of water in nature, such as the way the water of the Colorado River has eroded the Arizona desert over millions of years to create the Grand Canyon.

And sadly, we know of the destructive potential of water, as well. We see it every year as rainstorms flood parts of our country, destroying homes and crops. In our own area, we see flooding and mudslides due to heavy rains, washing out roads and destroying homes and businesses. And of course, who of us have not been moved by the images of the tsunami in northeastern Japan two weeks ago, as walls of water up to 35 feet high swept up to six miles inland, wiping out everything in their path – whole villages and cities, crop fields, killing over 10,000 people and causing $300 billion in damages.

Water is so necessary to our existence, but also can be so dangerous to our fragile lives. It’s a delicate balance that we humans must negotiate. Perhaps that’s why we find stories about water in today’s scripture lessons – in both the Old Testament and the Gospel – stories that examine the importance of water in our lives, not just physically, but also spiritually; stories that look at the power of water from a different perspective.

Today’s readings certainly address the physical need for water. In Exodus, we have the Israelites grumbling about the lack of water and demanding that Moses provide for their thirst. They are concerned for themselves, their children, and their livestock – that if they are not given water soon, they will perish in the wilderness. So Moses goes to God who provides water for his people. And in John, we have Jesus traveling across the desert at mid-day. Tired out, he stops by a well while his disciples continue on in search of food. Thirsty after a long morning’s journey, he asks a local woman for some water. The physical need for water is readily apparent in both readings.

What may be a little less apparent is the spiritual power of the water in these two stories. In fact, in Exodus, the story itself contains no direct indication. But if we look back at the previous actions of the Israelites, we can see it. Here in Chapter 17 the Israelites are demanding water. But this is not the first time they have made such demands of Moses and of God. Two chapters previous, right after the Israelites had crossed the Red Sea and celebrated their escape from the Egyptians, they immediately began grumbling that they had no water to drink. So at the waters of Marah, Moses threw a piece of wood into the pool of bitter water and it became sweet so that they could drink of it. Then in Chapter 16, the Israelites grumbled about needing food. So God gave them manna from heaven to eat. Here in the space of three chapters, which covers the span of a couple of months, the Israelites have grumbled about lack of water twice and the lack of food once. And every time, God has provided for them.

I think what was really going on was not so much physical thirst or hunger. Yes, that was real, but I think it was only the presenting issue. I think what was really going on was that the Israelites were unsure of God’s devotion to them. Yes, he had liberated them from Egypt, but now he did not appear to be around. They craved not so much water or food, but assurance that God was with them, in their midst, caring for them and protecting them. It’s easy to see that God is with us when we have what we need or want. But in times of scarcity, it is harder to see that God is present. So to ease their uncertainty they insisted on signs, tangible things like food and water, which became symbols of a spiritual need – a symbol of God’s presence, care, and protection of his people. The expression of tangible physical need thereby becomes an expression of spiritual need.

The physical-spiritual connection and the spiritual implications of water in the lesson from John are more apparent. And it becomes somewhat apparent to the Samaritan woman, thanks to the extended interaction she has with Jesus. As the woman is talking about water from Jacob’s well and the physical need for water, Jesus is talking about living water – that which nourishes not one’s physical life, but rather one’s spiritual life. In the course of that engagement, she comes to realize that he is the long-awaited Messiah – the one who does not just provide living water, but is the source of living water.

Now no detailed explanation is given regarding the exact nature of “living water.” The term is only used in this passage in John and one other equally cryptic reference in John chapter 7. The only thing we know, and probably all we really need to know, is what Jesus himself tells us – “The water that I . . . give will become . . . a spring of water gushing up to eternal life” – the new and eternal life that we are promised through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Not only is this new and eternal life symbolized by water, but the sacramental sign of that promise is water itself – the waters of baptism. The way we receive living water is through baptism.

What I love about this story is the interplay between Jesus and the Samaritan woman, in how they deal with the various aspects of water. It’s not so much what they say, but how they need each other. This demonstrates a central truth about our lives of faith and the interconnection between the physical and the spiritual. There is a certain paradox that the Samaritan woman thinks Jesus needs what only she can provide – water from the well; whereas in reality, she is the one who needs what only he can provide – eternal life. But the truth is that they need each other. In the encounter at the well, Jesus needs the woman to have his human needs met. He has no means of getting water to satisfy his physical thirst, so he needs her and her bucket. And the woman needs Jesus to have her spiritual needs met. There is this marvelous synchronicity between physical and spiritual, that wonderfully illustrates the true nature of our faith – a faith where human and divine are united in Christ, where physical and spiritual are integral parts of who we are as followers of Christ.

We need Jesus to have our spiritual needs met. And Jesus still needs us to have his human needs met. No, this side of the Resurrection, Jesus does not need us to meet such physical needs as satisfying thirst or hunger. But he does need us to provide the human, the physical connection, to the world – connecting what he has to offer spiritually with the physicality of human existence, for which his gift is graciously offered. We talk about us being the Body of Christ, and that is quite literally true. Christ relies on us to do the physical, the human, part of his ministry. In demonstrating this, the Gospel story also shows that Jesus can and does need all of us. Jesus can and does use all of us, no matter who we are.

That’s what he does with the Samaritan woman. From where Jesus was standing, she was the epitome of being an outsider, a nobody. For starters, Jesus was Jewish and she was a Samaritan. The two religious groups disagreed on a number of things and both taught that it was wrong to have any contact with the other. Then add the fact that she was a woman, someone who had no real social standing. And then there was her questionable reputation, having been married five times and now living with a man who was not her husband. In fact, she was probably even ostracized by her own people. Normally women went out to the well in the early morning hours when it was still cool to get the water for the day. They went together for protection, but also as a time for the women to catch up with their friends. The fact that this woman was out mid-day alone indicates she was probably not accepted by the other women in the village. So she was a real nobody. But despite all of that, despite knowing what type of person she was, Jesus did not shun her. He did not turn her away.

In fact, quite the opposite. She was a newcomer to the faith. Jesus was willing to explain things to her, to help her understand what he was saying. He nurtured her. He never judged her, only loved her. And in the process, he made her an apostle – a missionary sent out to proclaim the truth she had witnessed and experienced in Jesus. She was sent back to her own village by Jesus to testify to who he is – the Messiah. In fact, she may have been the first apostle outside of the Twelve – at least as recorded by John.

Jesus stepped across many lines to talk with her – gender, religious, cultural, moral. He stepped across many lines to make her an apostle and to use her for his own purposes – connecting what he had to offer spiritually with the physicality of human existence – extending that gift of living water, of new life, to outsiders. He steps across those same lines to extend the gift of living water to each of us. And he steps across those same lines to use each of us to meet his human needs in the world around us – to help him provide living water to all who thirst for it.

Born Again Episcopalians

2011-03-20T12:58:00.000-07:00

Second Sunday in Lent (Year A)
Genesis 12.1-4a; Psalm 121; Romans 4.1-5, 13-17; John 3:1-17
Sunday, March 20, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. (Although, frankly, it’s not that uncommon in the Gospel According to John). Nicodemus comes to Jesus and butters him up by commenting that it is obvious that Jesus comes from God because of the signs he performs. This is the type of thing Jesus doesn’t like to hear. It’s not about the outward signs, but rather about the bigger picture – the kingdom of God. So, Jesus attempts to correct Nicodemus’ position by saying “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above” (Jn 3.3). Misunderstanding what Jesus is trying to say, Nicodemus starts talking about “being born after having grown old” and questioning how a grown person can be born of his mother’s womb a second time. Maybe you’ve had similar experiences. You say something and the other person seems to completely miss your point and goes off in some other direction. When this happens, my initial reaction, my inside unspoken reaction, is “what are you babbling about?” I don’t know if Jesus had that same reaction, but he really tries to explain things so as to make Nicodemus understand. We don’t know how Nicodemus reacts or if he ever gets what Jesus is saying.

I don’t know who to feel sorry for: Nicodemus for not getting it or Jesus for trying and trying to no avail. Jesus is apparently talking about some spiritual birth or renewal. So why is Nicodemus babbling about the physiological impossibility of a grown person being born again? Is Nicodemus so dense that he can’t see that Jesus might be speaking metaphorically? But in reality, it is sort of understandable why there is this misunderstanding – understandable if you look at the original Greek text. When Jesus says, “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above,” the Greek word translated as “from above” is anōthen, which actually has two meanings. One meaning is “from above,” as is translated in the NRSV text and as clearly intended by Jesus. And the other is “anew” or “again,” which is obviously the meaning Nicodemus latches onto. So while Jesus meant “born from above,” Nicodemus heard “born again.” Both meanings are technically correct linguistically. But theologically? While Nicodemus and Jesus were pretty far apart in their respective meanings and interpretations of the terminology being used, I think that theologically they were on the same page.

Now as Anglicans, the term “born again” does not generally appear in our descriptions of our spiritual journeys. In fact, many in our tradition, as well as others in our society, have a hard time with the concept, may be leery of what is meant, and have a knee-jerk reaction against the term “born again” and those who talk about the need for such a conversion experience. Now admittedly, there is a segment of evangelical Christianity that firmly believes one must have a “born again” conversion experience in order to be a true believer in and follower of Jesus Christ. While the specifics of such an experience may vary slightly among particular groups, there is, nonetheless, a special emphasis on said experience and its significance. I mean in no way to disparage our brothers and sisters who hold such views. But I think our reaction to such views is more in response to the often overzealousness with which they are expressed; to the fact that a specific and rigidly defined experience is required; and to the sense of being judged and even condemned if we have not had such an experience.

But the reality is that the concept of being “born again” has been a part of Christian history dating back to day one, perhaps in large part due to our friend Nicodemus. Throughout our history, to be “born again” was understood as a spiritual awakening or regeneration through the sacrament of baptism. So, we are all, by virtue of our baptisms, “born again.” In our baptismal liturgy, we even use the language of dying to self and being brought to new life in Jesus Christ; of receiving “the Sacrament of new birth;” that we are “reborn by the Holy Spirit;” that we are “cleansed from sin and born again;” that we are “raised . . . to the new life of grace.” It’s all there, right in our Prayer Book.

Now, of course in today’s Gospel Jesus speaks of a radical new birth from above – one that focuses on our spiritual being – not that which is born of flesh but that which is born of spirit. And maybe Nicodemus got a little hung up on the physicality of being “born again” or “born from above.” But I think there may be something to be said for Nicodemus’ somewhat mistaken notion of being “born again” as imagery for what Jesus was really trying to get at. There are some aspects of the imagery of physical birth that could apply to the spiritual rebirth that Jesus talks about and that we ourselves experience.

First, the physical birth that Nicodemus envisions is literally a birth out of water. When a baby is born, it must travel through water, the amniotic fluid, to be born. So too is our being “born again” in the sacramental sense a birth out of water. Through the sacrament of baptism, we enter into the water as a sinful being, whereupon we die to that sinfulness, where we die to self. And then we emerge from the water, “cleansed from sin and born again” through the Holy Spirit.

Second, prior to being born, the fetus lives in the darkness of the womb. At birth, the baby comes forth from the womb into the full light of day. This dichotomy of light and darkness is an important feature in John’s Gospel, where he frequently uses the imagery of darkness to represent the realm of unbelief and the imagery of light to represent the realm of belief. In the course of our spiritual journey toward new life in Christ, we travel from the darkness of unbelief that the secular world tends to promote, from the darkness of our own unbelief in God and Christ, into the full light of faith and belief. We emerge into the light and grace of God as revealed through his son. And perhaps most importantly, we move from proclaiming and practicing our faith in a dark private place to proclaiming and exercising our faith in the full light of day. We move into a place of wanting to share our faith with others and to manifest it through our actions in the world around us.

Third, when a child is born into this world, it is generally given a clean slate upon which to build its life. Of course there are cases of babies born addicted to drugs or inheriting some sort of medical condition that may impede or encumber the individual’s development. But generally we are born into a life open to unlimited possibilities. When we are “born again” in Christ, we too are given a clean slate. As we emerge from the waters of baptism, our sins are washed away and we are given a fresh outlook, as clear and unencumbered as a baby’s life. But unlike physical birth, this new existence we are given in our new life in Christ is not just limited to the remainder of our normal human lifespan. For in our new life in Christ we are promised and given eternal life. While we may not know what that really looks like, just think of the possibilities eternal life has in store for us!

Fourth, those of you have experienced childbirth, and the rest of us who have either been present or seen videos know that giving birth is a pretty messy process. There is the stress, strain, and sweat of labor. There is the water breaking. There is the newborn child emerging in amongst water and blood. There is screaming from the mother and crying from the baby. The process of being “born again” can also be messy. Not always, but it has the potential. There is not the physical messiness of corporeal birth, but more of an emotional and spiritual messiness. As we are born to our new life in Christ, as we enter into a new way of being on our spiritual journeys, there is often the mental and emotional labor involved in shifting from one perspective to another; of moving from unbelief or serious questioning to a position of belief, faith, and trust in God. There is the uncertainty and maybe even discomfort of getting used to this new way of being, of shedding old practices and taking on new ones, maybe even of ridding our life of old friends and making new ones. Screaming and crying can quite often be a part of the process.

And finally, we are not born alone. Someone needs to give birth to us. In the physical birth process, our mother obviously provides us with life, drawn from and issued forth from her own life. And there is usually someone present to midwife the process. So too in the process of being “born again.” We cannot do it alone. We need someone to birth us into our new life. And of course that happens by the grace of God. The new life that we are being born into is a gift from God that flows from and through the Spirit and is made possible only through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Through his death and resurrection, Christ defeated the bonds of sin and death and opened the way for the eternal life we are to receive. And as we move into new life, we need the help of our fellow Christians, who midwife us through the process and guide us into the fullness of what it means to be Christian.

The key to the process of being “born again” is given to us by Jesus in today’s Gospel lesson. “No one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit” (Jn 3.5). We know that water means baptism, and we’ve already talked about the place of baptism in the process of being “born again.” And in five weeks we will experience it first hand as Emily and Matt go into the waters of baptism and come out “born again” into the Body of Christ. The place of Spirit is a little more mysterious. Jesus uses the imagery of wind to describe Spirit: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit” (Jn 3.8). What Jesus is saying is that the Spirit is mysterious and beyond human knowledge, and is certainly beyond human control. The way the Spirit deals with each of us and works within each of us is as unique as we are. All that we can do is to open ourselves to allowing the Spirit to live and move and have its being within us.

It seems to me that Lent is a good time to do this. As I commented in my Ash Wednesday homily, Lent is not about enduring some discipline for six weeks, but is instead about trying on and discovering those disciplines and practices that will support and sustain us over the long haul – that will support and sustain us in our spiritual lives, our relationship with God. Lent is about opening ourselves up to the Spirit, allowing the Spirit to work in the deep recesses of our lives, and seeing what happens. And I can assure you that what will happen is that the Spirit will move you ever closer to the fulfillment of God’s mission through Jesus Christ – that God loves us and all humanity so much that he sent his son so that we might be given eternal life. That’s what it truly means to be “born again.” All we have to do is accept the invitation and to be open to the possibilities of what being “born again” can mean in our own lives.

Lenten Motivation

2011-03-09T11:27:00.000-08:00

Ash Wednesday (Year A)
Isaiah 58.1-12; Psalm 103.8-14; 2 Corinthians 5.20b-6.10;
Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21
Wednesday, March 9, 2011 (10:00 am) – Trinity, Redlands

The Gospel reading for Ash Wednesday is a portion of the Sermon on the Mount that begins to get down to the nitty-gritty of what it means to worship God and to follow Christ. If I were to boil it down into one theme, it would have to be "motivation." What motivates us to do what we do when it comes to spiritual disciplines and practices?

I think this is an important consideration as we enter into Lent, a time when we customarily engage in some sort of extra discipline for the season, be it abstaining from something, such as a particular food, drink, or activity; or taking on something, such as additional study, prayer, or volunteer work. So many people chose to do such things as giving up chocolate. Don't get me wrong. Giving up chocolate is an extreme hardship. But when asked why, you often get answers like, “because I really like chocolate and it will be hard to live without for six weeks.” I don’t know if that is what is really behind the idea of Lenten discipline. As we consider what, if anything we will do or not do as a Lenten discipline, there should be some real meaning behind our decision. In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus gives us an idea of what this means.

The traditional Lenten disciplines involve almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. And Jesus addresses all three. Look at the examples Jesus uses. When you give alms, don’t do it with a lot of fanfare, shouting from the rooftops what you are doing. Rather, give alms quietly, discreetly. It doesn’t matter that other people know or what they might think. What matters is that God sees in secret – God knows and takes notice.

When you pray, don’t do it in a public place or make a big display of it for all to see and hear. Rather, pray in private, directing your prayers to God alone. It doesn’t matter that other people know or what they might think. What matters is that God hears in secret – God knows and takes notice.

When you fast, do not make a dramatic display of how much you are suffering for your faith by giving up food. Rather make no display, appearing as if all is normal. It doesn’t matter that other people know or what they might think. What matters is that God sees in secret – God knows and takes notice.

What is the common theme? That we are not to make displays so that others see how righteous and pious we are in our devotions and disciplines. Our disciplines are not for the benefit of those who might be looking on, nor are they intended to be about us. We need to remember that the theological foundation of our faith is communion with God and that we are to glorify God. Any worship or practices that cause us to think more of ourselves and how we appear to others detracts from the primary purpose of our faith – to know and be known by God.

That is the real purpose of our Lenten disciplines – to facilitate the process of knowing and being known by God. The purpose of such disciplines as fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, is to remove the focus from ourselves and to direct it instead toward God. That is what should be the motivation for our Lenten discipline – that it be something that brings us closer to God, to allow us to know God more deeply and to be known by God more deeply.

In fasting, we abstain from physical nourishment to focus on the God who ultimately nourishes us. In almsgiving, we turn our attention to those in need, focusing on those who are of special concern to God – the poor and marginalized. In prayer, we focus our time and intention on communication with God. All these things are intended to shift the focus away from us and onto God and our relationship with God.

So often, we choose a Lenten discipline, but in our hearts we can’t wait for Lent to be over so we can get back to normal life, so we can start eating chocolate again, or no longer have to do that extra charity work. When we do this, we miss the point of Lent. If this happens, we are in danger of going through the motions without learning how to live Lent.

In so doing, we contain Lent within a six week period, as opposed to allowing our Lenten practices to become a way of life. Lent is not about feeling holy or pious for six weeks out of the year, but is really about a lifelong commitment that will help us to know God more deeply, to be better followers of Jesus Christ. Lent is not about enduring some discipline for six weeks, but is instead about trying on and discovering those disciplines and practices that will support and sustain us over the long haul – that will support and sustain us in our spiritual lives, our relationship with God.

So this Lenten season, I challenge all of us to consider the motivation behind our Lenten disciplines. Is it something to be endured? Or is it something that will sustain and nourish us through this season; something that may become part of our regular spiritual practices; something that will sustain us as we continue on our life-long spiritual journeys? For the reward granted by our Father who sees in secret will be deepened and enriched relationship with him. After all, that’s what really matters.

Mountaintop Experiences

2011-03-06T13:07:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday After Epiphany (Year A)
Exodus 24.12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1.16-21; Matthew 17.1-9
Sunday, March 6, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

The season of Epiphany is the time when Jesus as Messiah, as savior of humanity, is truly revealed. Throughout this season, we have been specifically shown what Messiah means and what this Messiah can and will do for humanity. We have seen Jesus baptized and proclaimed by God, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3.17). We have seen John the Baptist proclaim, “Look, here is the Lamb of God” (Jn 1.36). Jesus has called his disciples, giving these select few an inside look at who this man Jesus is. We have seen Jesus begin his ministry of public preaching, fulfilling, interpreting, and expanding on the law, and beginning to reveal what the Kingdom of God will be like. And today, as we celebrate the last Sunday after the Epiphany, we have the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration – perhaps the greatest and most spectacular of the epiphany stories.

As we hear the story, we cannot help but notice that there are similarities with the Old Testament lesson from Exodus, in which Moses is summoned to the top of Mount Sinai for an audience with God. Both events take place atop cloud-shrouded mountaintops, obscuring from view what is transpiring. I don’t know about you, but I seem to be intrigued with mountains that have their peaks shrouded by cloud cover. You see most of the mountain, but the top is hidden, inviting speculation and imaginings about what mysteries are being cloaked. I am reminded of images of Mount Olympus, shrouded in clouds, hiding the courtly proceedings and sordid shenanigans of the Greek pantheon – events that affect humanity, but to which we are not privy.

At the time of their occurring, the events on Mount Sinai and the Mount of the Transfiguration were hidden from view of all but those present – clouds hiding the glory that was revealed on those mountains. Yet, while temporarily obscured from our sight, these events are made known to us in scripture, through the readings we have heard today – the events on both mountains being pivotal to our life as people of faith. We have the accounts of what happened on Mount Sinai and on the Mount of the Transfiguration, but what is the significance of these events? Let’s start with Moses on Mount Sinai.

In today’s reading from Exodus, we have the account of Moses being called by God to go to the top of Mount Sinai. Today we didn’t hear all of what went on between God and Moses, but they had a lot to talk about. As noted in today’s reading, Moses spent 40 days and nights up on Mount Sinai. And the account of what was covered spans seven chapters of Exodus. We commonly think that the whole reason for Moses going up the mountain was to receive the Ten Commandments. Well, that was only a part of it. In the broadest sense, on Mount Sinai Moses receives covenantal demands and covenantal signs from God. God and Moses were hammering out the details of the Covenant, as it were. Their discussions covered such things as instructions regarding construction of the Ark of the Covenant and the tabernacle, the establishment of the priesthood, instructions regarding vestments, instructions regarding construction for the altar for burnt offerings and for making the various ritual objects to be used in worship. And then, only when all those other details were finalized, did God give the law in the form of stone tablets – the Ten Commandments. In all of this, over the course of the 40 days and nights spent on the mountain, Moses receives tangible signs of relationship with God. He receives clarification as to what this Covenant with God entails and what it means to the People to be in relationship with their God.

While God had revealed himself to humanity in a number of ways up to this point, this was the most extensive and prolonged revelation to date. Previous revelations had been momentary encounters between the divine and humanity, often through intermediaries such as angelic messengers, or through such phenomena as burning bushes. But here, even for a short time, man dwelt with God on the mountaintop.

In this way, the law and all the other accompanying signs of covenantal relationship between God and humanity were presented to us, forming the foundation of Judaic law, shaping Jewish worship practices, molding Jewish societal and cultural tradition – all of which are fundamental and foundational to Christianity. In so many ways, what happened on Mount Sinai is the basis, the starting point, for our own faith tradition, for who we are as a people. All of this coming out of a cloud-covered mountaintop.

As Moses was thrust into the murkiness of the cloud on Mount Sinai, so too, are three of Jesus’ disciples overshadowed by the bright cloud veiling God’s glory on another mountain. In the Gospel reading from Matthew, we have the story of the Transfiguration, in which Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. While there, Jesus is transfigured, so that “his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.” In this moment, Jesus is transformed to reveal his future glory, as he would appear following his death, resurrection and ascension. The disciples are able to witness the fullness of what Jesus was talking about six days earlier when he revealed to them that he would be killed and then raised from the dead. At the time, his words would have not made a lot of sense to them. But now, seeing the final outcome that Jesus was foretelling, they could more nearly appreciate and understand the meaning of his cryptic message.

In the midst of this Transfiguration event, as if seeing their Lord and master in his future and eternal glory were not enough, two additional characters appear on the scene – Moses and Elijah. This adds significance to the vision that they had seen in Jesus, as Moses and Elijah are central figures in Judaism, representing the Law and the Prophets. Their appearance is intended to help provide greater understanding of who Jesus is. Their appearance indicates a connection between Jesus and these figures – that Jesus, standing with these two, is in a line of succession extending from Moses and Elijah. But Jesus is not their equal. Rather, his Transfiguration, the revelation of his glory in their midst, places him above Moses and Elijah in the heavenly hierarchy. He is not merely an extension of the Law and the Prophets, but is instead the fulfillment, as he notes elsewhere in the Gospels. He is the fulfillment of prophecy of the Messiah who is to come.

And then, as if all that weren’t enough, the voice of God himself comes from the cloud, saying “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” (Mt 17.5). Just as at Jesus’ baptism, God declared him his Son, the Beloved with whom he is well pleased, God uses this event to reiterate this divine proclamation. But this time he adds a little extra punch: “listen to him!” In this Transfiguration event, in which Jesus is placed over the authority of the Law and the Prophets, God grants ultimate approval and ultimate authority to Jesus.

On Mount Sinai, Moses received tangible signs of relationship with God. On the Mount of the Transfiguration, humanity through Peter, James, and John, receives the most tangible sign of relationship with God – “this is my Son . . .” On Mount Sinai, relationship between God and humanity was revealed. On the Mount of the Transfiguration, God incarnate, God made man was revealed. On Mount Sinai, for a short time man dwelt with God on the mountaintop. As revealed on the Mount of the Transfiguration for a short time, God has dwelt with us, as one of us, on this earth.

That’s a whale of a lot to take in. What happened on the Mount of the Transfiguration took the foundation established on Mount Sinai and kicked it up – intensified it beyond imagination. The relationship with God, central to Judaism, became far more personal, far more intimate through Jesus Christ – thus forming the foundation of our own faith. No wonder the disciples fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. How could these simple men fathom the immensity of what was revealed to them on the Mount of the Transfiguration? How can humanity take in the magnitude of what was revealed about our Messiah and about our relationship with God in that one event? It’s just too much.

But for the benefit of the disciples, and also for ours, Jesus boiled it down to one simple action: “Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid’” (Mt 17.7). The glory of God, mystifying, incomprehensible, even terrifying to humans, is boiled down into something that we can comprehend and that is not terrifying but rather comforting – a touch and a word. Jesus recognized that there would be a temptation to dwell on the mystical – just as Peter wanted to do in building dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. But Jesus brought it back to the practical. In ordering the disciples to “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead” (Mt 17.9), he was steering the new and future church away from getting wrapped up in this mystical event, to the reality that lay ahead – the cross and the empty tomb. And to the reality of what Christ has actually done for us – gently touched us and offered words of encouragement, that through him all will be well.

We are about to enter into a time that carries its own sense of cloud-cover, of murkiness, of overshadowing the rest of our existence – Lent. The experience on the Mount of the Transfiguration and all it means for us as people of faith steers us into this season, toward the reality of the cross and the empty tomb. It is a time of really looking at what it means for us to be followers of Christ. And what that means is not contained in deep theological statements, but rather is contained in a gentle touch and a word of encouragement from our Lord. As we go out into the world, as we encounter others, it will be a gentle touch, a kind word, that will speak volumes about who we are and about the one we choose to follow on the cloudy journey ahead – taking us to the foot of a cross, culminating in the revealing of the ultimate glory of Christ at an empty tomb.

Building the Kingdom of God

2011-02-20T13:12:00.000-08:00

Seventh Sunday After Epiphany (Year A)
Leviticus 19.1-2,9-18; Psalm 119.3340; 1 Corinthians 3.10-11,16-23; Matthew 5.38-48
Sunday, February 20, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

We live in a society that is founded upon law. There is the underlying assumption that if people follow the law, society will run pretty smoothly. And most of us are willing to follow the law, even if we may not totally agree with some of them, like the “suggestion” that we drive 65 on the freeway, because we know that it is for the common good. So, from this perspective, most of us probably don’t have a problem with the selection we had from Leviticus. We’d probably agree with God’s commandments that we not steal or deal falsely with or defraud others; that we should not render unjust judgment; that we should not hate our kin; that we should not take revenge or hold a grudge. Breaking any of these laws, particularly on a large scale, could lead to a damaging of relationship, in a deterioration of the proper ordering of society, and just general unpleasantness for all of us.

The language used in our lesson from Leviticus gives us an indication as to the purpose for the law in general. God tells Moses to tell the people, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy.” The law serves as the guide to this holiness that God desires for us all. The law is to prepare the people to be signs and instruments of God’s grace. And while the recitation of the law contains the constant refrain, “I am the Lord,” the implication is not that we should obey these laws because God said so. Rather, we are in covenant with God, and part of that covenant is that God gave the law as a means of caring for us, of guiding us to the holiness that he desires for all of us. The law is not an appeal to God’s authority, but rather is an expression of God’s affection. In short, the law is about relationship. The specifics speak of how we engage in relationship with our neighbors, with the poor, with employees. And the presentation of the law speaks to the covenantal theology inherent in the refrain of “I am the Lord” – the relationship God seeks to have with us, and that we should seek to have with one another.

This being the case, I think it’s safe to assume that we are all fairly comfortable with the law as presented thus far. But then we get to the Gospel. And that’s where things start to get a little uncomfortable. Jesus takes the law handed down from God to Moses to the people, and kicks it up a notch or two, or five. The law allows for justifiable retribution – “an eye for an eye.” But Jesus says forget that. Instead we are not to resist those who do evil to us. If someone strikes us, we are to turn the other cheek. If they take our coat, we are to give our cloak as well. Where’s the justice in that? And then he reminds that the law tells us that we are to love our neighbor and hate our enemy. But Jesus says forget that, too. Instead we are to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us. It’s hard enough to love our neighbors sometimes. How are we expected to love our enemies? And as if all that isn’t difficult enough, Jesus tops it all off by telling us to “be perfect . . . as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Right.

It’s no wonder many people have problems with this text. So much so that we often try to come up with obscure or convoluted arguments to explain away what Jesus was commanding or to demonstrate how this new interpretation of the law doesn’t really apply to us. That, or we try to twist Jesus’ words into some sort of spiritual admonitions that really don’t have anything to do with the way we actually live our lives. So, at the risk of being accused of attempting to explain away what Jesus was talking about, I will say that I think the key lies in the distinction between the letter of the law and the spirit of the law. Of course Jesus knows that we are not always going to be able to love our enemies or even pray for them. Of course Jesus does not expect us to be doormats and let people walk all over us, abusing us while we do nothing, taking the very shirt off our backs without us putting up a fight. And of course Jesus doesn’t expect us to be perfect in everything we do. We’re human and we’re going to make mistakes occasionally, no matter how hard we try.

I think the key to what Jesus is really getting at goes back to the fact that the law speaks to our relationship with others, and particularly speaks to the relationship we have with God and that God seeks to have with us. The way the law is laid out in Leviticus sends the distinct message that these laws are to be obeyed. The way Jesus lays them out in Matthew, the way he expounds upon them, says that the law is not merely something to be obeyed, but now is something that leads to transformation. Earlier in the fifth chapter of Matthew, Jesus says, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill” (Mt 5.17). And that fulfillment comes in the form of transformation – transformation of our understanding of the law and transformation of ourselves. Jesus is calling is to step outside ourselves and allow ourselves to be transformed in who we are and in how we approach the world.

In the passage from Matthew, Jesus may seem to focus on our feelings toward our enemies and how we deal with those who may harm or take advantage of us. But loving our enemies is not about how we feel toward those who hurt us – whether we like them or not – but rather about how we act toward them, how we react to them. It’s not about how we obey the law, but rather about how we live the law, how we live the intent of the law. Jesus shows us time and again that the Christian response to life – and the response to the law is no exception – is and must be abnormal and counter-cultural.

In his admonitions to us today, in his reinterpreting the law, Jesus is calling for our transformation in how we approach life in general, and how we approach relationship with our fellow human beings in particular. He is calling for us to love as God loves – with that unbounded, unconditional love that God shows toward us. And that’s what Jesus means when he calls on us to be perfect as God is perfect. This perfection is not about always getting things right, but is more about loving as God loves – the prefect love that is God. And Jesus is the sign and the proof of that love. God gives his love extravagantly, indiscriminately. We are the recipients of that love and are called to bear witness to that love. How then can we not at least try to love extravagantly and indiscriminately, as God does?

In today’s statements, Jesus recognizes that we cannot do this on our own, out of our own resources, out of sheer determination. Jesus prefaces his reinterpretation of the law with “but I say to you.” In this, he is not just redefining the law, but is also providing an example. Again, “I have come not to abolish [the law] but to fulfill [it].” With the coming of Jesus Christ into the world, the law is no longer just words written in Scripture. He shows us how to truly live the law, to make it the foundation of our faith in action. And in this, Jesus sets forth God’s vision for the world – the blueprint we are to follow to achieve the kind of world God intends – a blueprint that starts with the law, which becomes transformed through Jesus Christ so that we are asked not just to obey it, but to be transformed by it to the point of loving as God loves.

When we look at the ideal of the Kingdom of God as expressed through Jesus in today’s Gospel lesson, and compare that with where we and the world are today, at times it seems as if we are worlds apart, as if we’ll never get there, never achieve the ideal. But we must have faith that it will indeed happen. This is what I hear in Paul’s words to the church in Corinth. In today’s passage, he uses language of construction, of a work in progress, of the importance of a solid foundation, of faithfully following the blueprint that God has laid out, to complete the task at hand.

When I look at where we are and how distant it seems we are from the Kingdom, Paul’s imagery reminds me of my visit to Shrewsbury Abbey in England. The Benedictine monastery founded in Shrewsbury in 1083 no longer exists, disbanded and essentially destroyed during the Dissolution under Henry VIII. But the original chapel remains and is now a parish church. When the chapel was originally started in the late 11th century, they started building the chancel area where the altar would be. And to expedite construction, they also started building from the opposite end where the narthex would be. The intent was to have the two parts of the church meet in the middle, forming the completed whole – completing the vision of what the church would be. While it took several hundred years to complete, the two halves of the church were eventually completed and joined together. The interesting thing to me as an engineer was that when the two halves met, they were only off by something like a sixteenth of an inch – a virtual miracle given the lack of our modern engineering techniques. The differential was so small that from the floor looking up at the point where the two portions of the arched ceiling meet, there is no discernible deviation. And the most important thing is that minute deviation was so insignificant that it did not disrupt the structural integrity of the whole.

God has been working on building the Kingdom from his side. We the Church have been working on building the Kingdom of God from our side. While coming at it from different sides, the entire Kingdom is based on a single blueprint, God’s law, and on the foundation of Jesus Christ. And in the fullness of time, God’s part and our part will come together. Our work will have aligned with God’s purposes. Given the fact that we are merely human, the two halves may not meet exactly. There may be a sixteen of an inch difference. But I have to believe that if we are faithful to the blueprint we have been provided, if we follow the law first given by God, then adjusted to the new understanding as presented by Jesus, the differential will be so insignificant, that it will not be noticeable and not disrupt the structural integrity of the whole.

The foundation of the Kingdom is Jesus Christ. The blueprint is God’s law – not the letter as presented by Moses, but the intent as laid out by Jesus. And each and every one of us is a building block. If we are true to the blueprint, we will all fit into our place, each being integral to the building of the Kingdom – each being transformed by the love of God, and sharing that love with others, extravagantly, indiscriminately, and unconditionally. For that is what the Kingdom of God is all about.

Presentation of Christ in the Temple

2011-02-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

Presentation of Christ in the Temple – Year A
Malachi 3.1-4; Psalm 84; Hebrews 2.14-18; Luke 2.22-40
Wednesday, February 2, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

Today we commemorate the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. According to Jewish law, the firstborn male is to be consecrated to God 40 days after he is born. In addition, the mother must undergo ritual purification after giving birth, which also occurs 40 days after childbirth. Undoubtedly, the two rites, consecration and purification, were timed to coincide, allowing mother and child to be together for the event. For Jesus and for Mary, this would have occurred 40 days after Christmas, on February 2 by our calendar.

In the Western church, the term “Candlemas” (or Candle Mass) has also been used for this feast day. Candlemas refers to the practice whereby priests bless candles for use throughout the year, both in the church and in the home. The blessing of candles on this particular day is specifically in reference to the line in the Nunc Dimittis, or Song of Simeon, where Simeon refers to the infant Jesus as “a light for revelation to the Gentiles” (Lk 2:32). This commemoration of Candlemas with its blessing of candles taken forth from the church symbolizes the carrying of the light of Christ into the world.

But not only is today the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple and the celebration of Candlemas, it’s also a lesser known feast day – that of St. Phil of Punxsutawney – what secular society refers to as Groundhog Day. Trying to figure out how all of this fits together is a little confusing to say the least.

I just love the story of the minister who visits the Sunday school class to see what they’ve learned. The teacher tells him that they have been studying the liturgical year and have been focusing on the upcoming seasons of Lent and Easter. The minister then says to the children, “Who can tell me about Easter?” Several children raise their hands, and the minister calls on one of the boys. “Tommy, why don’t you tell me what happened at Easter.”

“Well sir, Jesus and his disciples were eating at the last supper. One of the disciples named Judas betrayed Jesus and the Romans arrested him. They took him to be crucified. He was stabbed in the side. They made him wear a crown of thorns. He was hung on a cross with nails in his hands and feet. Then he died. Then they buried Jesus in a cave and closed it with a big boulder.” Tommy paused, a little nervous. The minister said, “Go on, you’re doing great.” With renewed confidence, Tommy continued, “And on Easter, the boulder is moved away so that Jesus can come out. And if he sees his shadow, there will be six more weeks of winter!”

Now, of course Groundhog Day has nothing to do with Easter. But there may actually be a connection between Groundhog Day and Candlemas. There is evidence that points to Groundhog Day as being derived from pagan festivals occurring in parts of Europe around the first of February – festivals entailing images of light and sacred fire, as well as healing and purification. These same festivals may well have been the reason the practices of Candlemas were introduced into the church as it spread into northern Europe – essentially a celebration placed in opposition to the local pagan practices, in an attempt to Christianize these pagan festivals.

Regardless of the origins of some of these more obscure festivals and practices, our celebration here tonight first and foremost centers on the presentation of the infant Jesus in the Temple, as an act of consecration of this holy child to God. As the firstborn male child, Jewish law and custom would require that Jesus be so consecrated. The thing is, Jesus is not only the firstborn of Mary; he is also the firstborn of all creation, God’s only begotten son. In some ways, it seems superfluous to be consecrating God’s own son to God’s divine purposes. If anything, the presentation of Christ in the Temple is not for God’s purposes as laid out in Jewish law, but rather for our own benefit. If anything, this is the Lukan version of the Epiphany event – Luke’s equivalent to the coming of the Magi, in which Jesus is revealed or manifested to the world.

As we look at the scriptural account of the Presentation, we are told nothing of the rite of consecration that Jesus would be part of, or the rite of purification that Mary would have been a part of. Rather, we are presented with two wise old souls – first Simeon and then Anna – who through the guidance and inspiration of the Spirit recognize this month and a half old infant for who he is, and for who he is destined to become. They recognize that this child is not so much being presented to God as he is being presented to God’s people – among the earliest revelations that this child is the long-awaited Messiah. This is beautifully articulated by Simeon in the canticle bearing his name, the Song of Simeon which we say every time we do Compline:

Lord, you now have set your servant free
to go in peace as you have promised;
For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
A Light to enlighten the nations,
and the glory of your people Israel.

Every time I say these words, I am right there with Simeon – proclaiming the glory of God as revealed to the world through Jesus Christ – “A Light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people Israel.” And just as Simeon expressed gratitude for being allowed to see the Savior before his death, I am able to share in those same words of gratitude. In saying them, I too am expressing thanksgiving that I have been allowed to know and serve our Savior. In saying the Song of Simeon, I often feel as if I am right there at the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, as Jesus is consecrated to God, as he is revealed as the one who would bring light to a dark world. And saying these words also serves as my own presentation of myself to God’s service through Jesus Christ.

As Christians, we are called to continually present ourselves to God for his service. When we enter into worship, we are reminded of who Christ is for us and for the world – a light to enlighten the nations. We are the Body of Christ. And in coming to worship in this, our temple, we are given the opportunity to present ourselves anew, through the liturgy and particularly through the actions that take place around the altar, where we are once again consecrated as God’s own, as God’s beloved, seeking to serve him through Jesus Christ, seeking to continue the Epiphany, the manifestation of Christ to the nations, through our own words and actions, carrying the light of Christ out into a world so much in need of that light.

What Are You Looking For?

2011-01-16T14:04:00.000-08:00

Second Sunday After Epiphany (Year A)
Isaiah 49.1-7; Psalm 40.1-12; 1 Corinthians 1.1-9; John 1.29-42
Sunday, January 16, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

“What are you looking for?” (Jn 1.38)

That’s a pretty loaded question, particularly in the context of today’s Gospel reading. It’s the question that Jesus asks a couple of John’s disciples, but it’s also the question that can be asked of each and every Christian as we attempt to live into what it means to be followers of Christ. The specific answer to Jesus’ question will be as unique as are the individuals who are called Christians. But today’s Gospel reading can provide us with a framework to help us ferret out what the answer is for each of us.

Today’s reading from the Gospel According to John starts off with another encounter with John the Baptist. This appearance is reminiscent of Advent in some ways. On the first Sunday of Advent we talked about how John the Baptist straddles the Old and New Testaments as he looks back to the Old Testament prophecies and looks forward to their fulfillment through Jesus. That role certainly continues in today’s Gospel. So, just as John the Baptist straddles the Old and New Testaments in his role, so too does he have one foot in Advent and one foot in Epiphany. In Advent John helped us with the anticipation and preparation for Jesus’ coming at Christmas. In the season of Epiphany, Jesus, the one who is pointed to by John, is revealed to humanity in various ways.

Yes, at Christmas, Jesus is revealed as God Incarnate. We know that is who the baby is in that manger in Bethlehem. But is this really sufficient proof? Do we need him to be revealed in other ways, to have his glory as the Son of God revealed to us? Epiphany is the time when Jesus as Messiah, as savior of humanity, is truly revealed. It’s when we are given the specifics of how this baby now grown up is the Messiah. It’s when we are specifically shown what Messiah means and what this Messiah can and will do for humanity.

Last Sunday was the first Sunday in Epiphany, focusing on Jesus’ baptism and how he is revealed through God’s statement “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3.17). Today is the beginning of how Jesus is revealed to humanity in more tangible ways, through his words, his ministry, his actions. To that purpose, today’s Gospel passage has John the Baptist continuing to point the way to Jesus. The Lamb of God has already been made known to John. His job is now to provide testimony, pointing the way so that others may come to recognize Jesus as the Christ.

The first who are given testimony that Jesus is the Messiah, or at least the first to believe John’s testimony, are a couple of John’s own disciples. These two men, Andrew and his companion, are obviously looking for something. They have been following John the Baptist. But John, by his own admission, does not have what they are looking for, is not who they are looking for. John willingly fulfills his designated role as the one crying in the wilderness, pointing the way to the truth that they seek, to Jesus.

So with a word from John, “Look, here is the Lamb of God,” the two disciples are off seeking to follow Jesus. As they approach him, Jesus asks, “What are you looking for?” Now how would most of us answer that question under those circumstances? “We’re looking for the truth?” “We’re looking for the Messiah?” “We’re looking for salvation?” Rather than give some theologically correct answer, they answer Jesus’ question with a question. And with a bit of an odd question at that: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” What kind of response is that? What does Jesus’ address have to do with what they are looking for?

In actuality, it is the absolutely correct response. Cryptic, but correct. In that one simple question – “Rabbi, where are you staying?” – these would-be disciples are giving a huge indication of what they are looking for and what it will truly mean to be a follower of Christ. These disciples have been following John, who undoubtedly had some things to teach them. But they weren’t satisfied with just sitting around listening to some simple teachings about who the Messiah is or what he will be like. Words were not enough for them. They weren’t content to sit around and help out as a bunch of people flocked to the River Jordan to be baptized. Liturgical actions were not enough for them. They wanted more. They needed more. They recognized that a true life of faith is more than words and liturgy. In asking Jesus where he is staying, these new disciples were saying two things. One, “we are not so much interested in what you say as how you live your life, how you live what you profess to believe.” In other words, “actions speak louder than words, and that will be the true test as to whether you are indeed the one we are seeking.” But even more importantly, they are saying, “we’ve had enough of words. We’ve had enough of liturgy. We want to learn from your way of life. We want to learn from your actions. We want to be with you, to be a part of your ministry.”

And then the other piece of it, which occurs after Andrew and his companion have had a chance to see just what this Jesus is all about and decided for themselves that they do indeed want to follow him and be his disciples, is to reach out to and share that revelation with others. In today’s Gospel reading, after spending some time with Jesus, Andrew goes to his brother Simon and tells him all about what he has discovered: “We have found the Messiah.”

Today’s Gospel lesson provides a great summary of what the essence of true discipleship is about – going out and doing ministry, sharing the Good News with others not so much in our words, but through our actions. All the other stuff, the words and the liturgy, are important because help us to understand what we are doing and why we do it, but it is living the message that has the most powerful impact. I saw this illustrated in several ways this past week.

First, this past Sunday our Youth Group started a new unit entitled “Compassion and Acts of Mercy,” which will last for three to four months. In their first session the teens studied and discussed scripture passages dealing with the subject of compassion, as well as the thorny issue of faith versus works. I was very proud of our teens as they delved into the texts and really struggled with the importance of faith and works, and how works are an outward sign of our faith, that we do acts of compassion not to score points with God but in response to God’s love and compassion for us. We do these acts of compassion to share God’s love and compassion with others. Over the next few months, the Youth Group will be studying this subject in more detail, and will be exploring and discerning how they themselves might engage in acts of compassion – putting the words of the Gospel into action.

And second, on Tuesday the City sponsored the “Heal the Land, Heal the City” prayer walk as a community-wide response to the tragic shooting a week and a half ago of four Redlands High School students – injuring Jordan Howard and Tequan Roberson, and killing 16 year-old Andrew Jackson and 17 year-old Quinn McCaleb. On Tuesday afternoon, about a dozen of our parishioners, including two teens, along with a thousand other people gathered at the intersection where one of the boys died, to support the families and to send a message that the evil of such a tragedy will not prevail. We prayed together, and then walked to Micah House where we prayed some more and listened to City officials and local clergy reflect on both the tragedy and the promise of hope that arises from the unity and solidarity represented in the assembled crowd. Yes, there were lots of words spoken. But what touched me the most was not the speeches by our mayor or the police officer leading the investigation to find the perpetrator or the pastor of one of the boys or the other clergy present – all of which were spirit-led and hope-filled. What touched me, particularly as I had my turn at speaking and as I looked out over the crowd, was the awesome sense of oneness that this crowd represented. In that moment, it was obvious that what was important was not race or age or gender or denomination or political ideology or whether we were from the north side or the south side. What was important was that we were all children of God, coming together to proclaim the Gospel through our actions – through praying together, through walking together, through just being together.

Those thousand people got it. They were not content to sit at home or in their pews and lament what had happened. Rather they were willing to take the Gospel to the street, to proclaim it through their very presence. In those thousand people standing in the middle of Oxford Drive, the Gospel of peace and compassion was proclaimed – that despite the darkness of the tragic situation that drew us all there, the light of the Gospel shines in Redlands through those people present, and many more who could not be there. In my words to the crowd, I told them as much, that they carry the light of Christ, that they carry the Gospel within them, and that their job was to carry that light of Christ back into the community. That is what today’s Gospel lesson is about – seeking how to follow Christ and to live the Gospel in our own lives, out in the world – through our actions, through our presence – even in the midst of darkness, especially in the midst of darkness.

As baptized persons, we share the journey with Jesus – the journey whereby he is revealed. We too are to reveal the light of Christ to the world. And that was accomplished this week in our church and our community. Our Youth struggled with discerning what it means to reveal the light of Christ to the world through acts of compassion and mercy. Our community came together to reveal the light of Christ in the midst of darkness. In both cases were examples of how we as God’s faithful people struggle to discern what it means to live the Gospel in tangible ways. In both cases were carried on the tradition of Andrew and his companion, seeking to answer for themselves the question, “what are you looking for?”, seeking the Messiah, the one who invites all of us in our own searching and in our own quest to live the Gospel, to “come and see.”

Running Away, Running Home

2011-01-02T14:04:00.000-08:00

Second Sunday After Christmas – Year A
Jeremiah 31.7-14; Psalm 84.1-8; Ephesians 1.3-6,15-19a;
Matthew 2.13-15,19-23
Sunday, January 2, 2011 – Trinity, Redlands

Today’s gospel reading sort of stirs up the whole Christmas story a bit, doesn’t it? Jesus has barely been born. The shepherds have just returned to their fields after adoring the child. The Magi have come and gone (don’t worry, you didn’t miss them – we’ll deal with them on Epiphany). And now the Holy Family is on the move, heading for Egypt. What are we to make of this disruption in the lovely scene we saw on Christmas Eve?

Well, part of the problem is that we are really dealing with two stories. We have Luke’s account of the Nativity, which we heard on Christmas Eve, and we have Matthew’s account, part of which we have just heard. And both accounts differ in a number of ways. Among other differences, Luke focuses on the events at the time of Jesus’ birth – the manger, the swaddling clothes, choirs of angels, and shepherds visiting the scene. Matthew tells us nothing about the birth, only noting that Jesus is born. No mention of mangers, shepherds, or angels. Shortly after Jesus’ birth, Luke tells of the presentation of Jesus in the Temple and then has the family returning to their home in Nazareth. Matthew, on the other hand, reports the visit from the Magi, after which, the Holy Family flees to Egypt.

Obviously, the two versions of the Nativity do not quite agree. And the problem is that in our minds, we have essentially conflated the two stories, resulting in some jarring transitions and facts that don’t quite jibe. We have no way of being sure of the actual chain of events. But for our purposes today, we really do need to separate the versions, differentiating between them, so that we can focus on the unique nature of Matthew’s version.

What we must remember if we are to gain some understanding of Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth and early life is that Matthew was a Jewish convert to Christianity and the gospel bearing his name was primarily addressed to Jews and Jewish converts to Christianity. Matthew seeks to demonstrate, through references to Hebrew Scripture, that the events he documents are the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. In this manner, Mathew attempts to provide legitimacy to the claim that Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah.

In addition to statements emphasizing prophetic fulfillment, Matthew’s theological intentions are achieved through use of typology – correlating Jesus’ life with those of prominent Old Testament characters – namely patriarchs and prophets. In so doing, Matthew attempts to interpret Jesus in the context of both Israel’s past and future. Some of the most significant correlations are provided in today’s gospel lesson, in which imagery is used to link Jesus with Moses, but also to link Joseph the earthly father of Jesus to Joseph the son of Jacob. Let’s just take a quick look at these connections, beginning with Joseph.

The Old Testament Joseph was well known for having dreams that revealed his future and provided for his own safety and well-being. As a result, he is forced to go to Egypt, not of his own freewill, but as a refugee, as the only way of having his life spared from the wrath of his brothers. And ultimately, he is able to save his entire family, the early Israelites, from famine and death by giving them a home in Egypt. The New Testament Joseph likewise has a series of dreams that reveal the future, allowing him to provide for the safety and well-being of Jesus. He is similarly displaced and homeless, forced to go to Egypt as a refugee, to spare Jesus’ life from the wrath of a paranoid despot.

Some of the Old Testament ordeals of Moses are similarly mirrored in the early life of Jesus. In the Old Testament, Pharaoh ordered the elimination of all the male Hebrew children for fear that the Israelites were becoming a threat to the Egyptians. So too, Herod orders the death of all the male children under the age of two because he fears the newborn King of the Jews will displace him as ruler of Israel. In the Old Testament, the Exodus of Moses and the Hebrews out of Egypt returned the people to their ancestral home. Following the death of Herod, Jesus and his family are able to leave Egypt and return to their home, thereby portraying Jesus as the new Moses.

Through these parallels, as well as other connections contained throughout his gospel, Matthew is providing evidence that this Jesus is indeed the Messiah that has been foretold in Scripture. To do this, Matthew is attempting to convince his Jewish audience that this Jesus is the new Moses, the new and ultimate lawgiver. Just as Moses led the people to a new life in the Promised Land, so too will this Jesus lead the people to new life. The message Matthew is attempting to convey is that God has always been faithful to his people, has always upheld his end of the Covenant, and has liberating his Chosen People from slavery and brought them to the long-awaited Promised Land. God continues to show his faithfulness to his people by sending them his son Jesus, who is the Messiah, who will continue to provide salvation for the people through new and eternal life – a new Promised Land, if you will.

While we don’t, or shouldn’t, need convincing that Jesus is the Messiah, we do sometimes need reassurance that God is faithful to us. After all, today’s gospel reading is a reminder, albeit an uncomfortable one, that we live in a world that is broken and far from perfect. The story of the flight into Egypt reminds us that life is uncertain and subject to change at a moment’s notice. Matthew’s rendition of Christmas starts with the story of Christ’s birth followed by the visit of the Magi. This is a story filled with promise and hope. But very quickly it turns to a story of fear and terror, thanks to the paranoid and deranged Herod, necessitating the Holy Family fleeing for their lives. Such is the world into which Jesus was born. Such is the world Jesus came to save.

And two thousand years later, things are not much better. The news is filled with stories of lives turned upside down thanks to paranoid and deranged despots and their cronies. We are ending one war and continuing another because of the actions of such people. Because of unbearable conditions in these and a variety of other places, millions of people continue to be forced to flee their homelands, seeking refuge elsewhere. Unlike Jesus and his family, most of these can never return home. And even in our own country, women flee their homes, seeking refuge and protection from abusive husbands and boyfriends. In our own cities, children are murdered while playing in their own homes and yards, innocent victims of gang warfare and drive-by shootings. Such is the world into which Jesus was born. Such is the world Jesus came to save.

These are extreme situations that make the news, but are indicative of the stress and turmoil that go on all around us day in and day out. Mary and Joseph had to run away to protect the life of their child. But how many of us are running away from situations that trouble us, making our lives stress-filled, if not unbearable? A problem, issue, or struggle at home or in the workplace or at school; tense if not broken relationships; even issues with ourselves – poor self-esteem, lack of self-confidence; feelings that we do not belong, that we are in some respects homeless. There are all sorts of things that cause us to run away, either figuratively or literally. The causes are as unique and varied as those of us who carry them.

We may try running, but what are we running to? Where are we seeking refuge? Usually, our refuge is found in supposed comforts that promise relief but in actuality provide no solution, and often only exacerbate matters – burying ourselves in our work; becoming overly involved in some other activities so we don’t have to face reality; dependence on alcohol or drugs; over-eating; withdrawal from the world. Over time, whatever it is that distracts us from our problems generally becomes less and less satisfying, requiring more and more time or intensity to help block out the pain we are trying to escape. Again, what we run to is as unique and varied as those of us who run.

I have a friend who decided that life in Southern California was not what he wanted for his family. He did not know where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do, but decided the best thing to do would be to run away – but not to run away to escape. Rather, to run away in hopes of actually running toward something. So about four months ago, he quit his job, sold his home, bought a motor home, and set out to explore the country and to discern what type of life would be best for his family. He admits that there is a lot of uncertainty in what he is doing, but finds that with a bit of faith, he always finds comfort, courage, and guidance; if only he is brave enough to ask God for help. And he says it does help – no matter how weird things seem to get, God is always there.

My friend is not so much running away from something as he is running toward something. He doesn’t know what or where it is, yet. But he knows that God will help him find what and where he is looking for. He hasn’t said so, but I think that in the process of trying to run toward some as yet undetermined place or outcome, my friend just happened to run into God.

That was the message that Matthew was trying to convey to his audience two thousand years ago – that in his faithfulness and love for us, God continues to be there for us to run into. And that message is still valid, maybe even more valid, today. After all, the Gospel is about people in the midst of the trials of everyday life, when unsure how they are going to continue on, happen to run into God – a faithful and loving God who wants to be there for us, helping us, guiding us, saving us from what burdens us. That is why he sent his son to live among us – his son who was as much a refugee from the trials and burdens of life as we ourselves are; his son who is willing and able to carry the burden for us, if we just let him.

Jesus and his family were able to return home guided and protected by God’s love. And as Matthew attempted to convey to his audience, that event proves God’s continuing love and faithfulness to us. If we open ourselves up to God’s love and faithfulness, we too can find that rather than run away from what troubles us, we would do well to run toward God. And we are assured that with a little faith, God will help us find the way home.

Feast of Your Holy Name

2010-12-31T22:00:00.000-08:00

New Year’s Eve Vigil / Holy Name
Numbers 6.22-27; Psalm 8; Galatians 4.4-7; Luke 2.15-21
Friday, December 31, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

In September of 1974, I began a trip down the slippery slope of multiple identities. No, I wasn’t trying to evade the law. I was beginning intermediate school and was immediately confronted with the issue of my identity. Up to that point, I had always gone by my middle name. But intermediate school would be different. It was a lot bigger than elementary school, and there were multiple classes to attend. Class registration information was computerized and the class rolls for all six of my classes said I was Michael Fincher. So, on day one of intermediate school, I had to decide how to deal with my identity. Do I go through the hassle of correcting six teachers and who knows how many administrators and run the risk of things getting all confusing because Michael wanted to be called Kevin, or do I just make life easier on everyone else and agree to be called Michael? I opted for the latter, and from that moment on, assumed dual identities – Kevin in family situations, and Michael in school and other public situations.

Things got even more complicated as time went by, so that the contexts in which I was known by one name or the other had changed and, in some cases, blurred together. At times, I can’t even keep track of who some people know me as. But what I have discovered is that, even though I am the same person and am used to going by two different names, those names seem to convey separate identities. This is very apparent to me on those rare occasions when those who know Kevin intersected with those who know Michael. It just doesn’t sound or feel right when someone who knows me as Kevin tries to call me Michael, or vice versa. It is in those moments that I am most aware that a name is more than a descriptor to identify an individual, but actually conveys some sense of identity. This was reinforced when a parishioner and I were recently talking about names and he said that I am definitely a Michael and not a Mike. The identity conveyed by “Michael” was more in keeping with who he perceived me to be, whereas “Mike” did not.

The understanding of names and naming practices varies greatly by culture. Some cultures name children after living relatives or ancestors. Others prefer to use names from the Bible. In other cultures, the parents indicate their hopes for the child’s future or the qualities they hope the child will possess in the name they give. But suffice it to say that most parents, regardless of culture, give great thought to, even agonize over, just the right name for their newborns. Such is the importance of name.

And some cultures even use the addition or change of name to mark some significant events. For example, it is not uncommon for Roman Catholics on the occasion of baptism or confirmation to add a new middle name, that of a favored saint. My guess is that the name is intended to convey some quality of the saint the person hopes to emulate in his or her new life. More obvious is the practice in some monastic orders that when a monk or nun professes life vows, he or she takes on a new name, generally that of a saint, as a sign of renunciation of the former way of life and the establishment of a new identity within the monastic community. Yet again, the importance of name as an indication of identity.

This evening, we commemorate the Feast of the Holy Name, which is tomorrow. As stated in the last verse of our Gospel reading, “After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb” (Lk 2.21). In the Jewish tradition, while the mother gives birth, it is the father who names the child at the ceremony of circumcision, which happens on the eighth day following the child’s birth. In the act of naming, the father gives a sign that the child belongs to him, is a member of his family and an heir to the family’s legacy. Now in the case of Jesus, we have a slight anomaly. It is not Joseph who chose the baby’s name. Remember that it was an angel who announced to Joseph that the child would be called Jesus. So, it was really God who named his son. Joseph was merely serving as a proxy in the naming ceremony.

But in reality, Jesus was doubly blessed. He received, in a way, a double identity, at his naming. God had chosen the name Jesus. Therefore, in naming his son, God had made the sign that this child was indeed his son, of whom God would later proclaim, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3.13). But in making the public proclamation of the child’s name, Joseph was taking on the earthly role of father, proclaiming that Jesus was his son, and that he would raise him as his own – caring for him, protecting him, guiding him into manhood.

So in this naming ceremony, Jesus effectively received two identities – that conferred by his true father and the one who gave him the name Jesus, the identity as the son of God, Messiah-to-be; and that conferred by Joseph his human father, as Jesus of Nazareth, carpenter-to-be. In this naming ceremony, Jesus received his identity as being both fully divine and fully human. And in this naming ceremony, an indication of his purpose was revealed, for the meaning of the name Jesus is “God has saved.” So in Jesus’ case, the naming ceremony we commemorate conveys a wealth of information about who this child is.

Most of us probably did not go through any type of elaborate naming ceremony. Chances are, when we were born, a nurse asked our parents what our name was to be, and that is what showed up on our birth certificate. No pomp and circumstance involved; although, considerable thought probably went into the name selection prior to our birth. Nonetheless, that name conferred on us at the time of our birth became our identity and will continue to define who we are for the rest of our life.

But as Christians, most of us do eventually participate in ritual that is specifically intended to signify, establish, and proclaim an identity – the sacrament of baptism. In this sacrament, we are named and marked as Christ’s own forever. As we go through the rite of baptism, we recognize that our identity is changed. We renounce our own sinfulness. We turn to Jesus Christ, putting our trust in his grace and love, promising to follow and obey him. As we go into the water of baptism, we die to self, to our old way of life, to our old identity. As we rise out of the water, we put our past behind us and are born to a new and eternal life, to new identity, in Christ. And then the community welcomes us into the household of God – both the Body of Christ of which we are now a part, and the local faith community where our life as a new Christian continues to be formed, where we continue to live out our calling as Christian.

Through the sacrament of baptism, through our incorporation into this faith tradition, we are effectively given a new name. By accepting us into the Body of Christ, into his body, Jesus shares his name with us. Through him, we are given the name Christian. And just as in the Jewish tradition, in the act of being by and for him, Christ who gives us that name is giving a sign that we belong to him, that we are a member of his family and an heir to his legacy. And equally important is the fact that the name conferred upon us, that of Christian, conveys something of our identity – a very important part of our identity. That identity is that we promise to live in accordance with God’s laws and Christ’s teachings. And that identity carries with it the promise that God through Jesus Christ will care for us, and that we are heirs to his kingdom.

While it may only be coincidental that the Feast of the Holy Name happens to be New Year’s Day, maybe there is a lesson to be had in this timing nonetheless. At this time of year, as we prepare to say farewell to the old year and welcome in a new one, many people make resolutions for changes or betterment in the new year. Maybe the only resolution that is needed or is of any real importance is to be true to that identity extending from the Feast of the Holy Name. On this day, Jesus was given his name, establishing his identity. And he has shared his name with us, thereby sharing his and establishing our identity. If we live up to that, no other resolutions are needed and everything else should take care of itself.

Happy New Year and Blessed Feast of your Holy Name.

"Pleased as Man with Us to Dwell; Jesus our Emmanuel"

2010-12-24T23:59:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve
Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-20
Friday, December 24, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

Tonight, in these words from the angel to the shepherds, we move from Advent into Christmas. We move from the season of anticipation and preparation into the season of receiving that which we have been anticipating and preparing. And that can be summed up in one word – Emmanuel – “God with us.”

This year, the image of Emmanuel that has been with me throughout Advent is from “Hark the Harold Angels Sing,” which we just sang. The last line of the second verse is “Pleased as man with us to dwell; Jesus our Emmanuel!” That line has been running around in my head for weeks now. Emmanuel. And not just God with us, but God who is “Pleased as man with us to dwell.” That makes a huge difference.

It is precisely this concept of Emmanuel that is the basis for our faith tradition and for the event that we celebrate this night. Ours is a unique religion. From the days of Abraham and Sarah, ours has been a religion based on reciprocal relationship between God and humanity. Our Judeo-Christian heritage is based on a covenant relationship established between God and his Chosen People – that Yahweh would be our God and we would be his people. And the amazing thing is that it was not we who first sought to be in relationship with God, but rather it was God who reached out to us. It was God who initiated this relationship.

Of course, salvation history shows that we have not done a great job of upholding our end of the relationship. We have not held to our part of the covenant with God. The covenant was continually broken, not by God, but by us. And yes, we had to bear the consequences of this disobedience. But just as we continually broke the covenant, God continually reached out to reestablish the covenant, to renew the relationship. Why? Despite our inability to maintain the covenant, God was not willing to abandon us. Despite our inability to remain faithful to God and to love him, God continues to be faithful to us and to love us.

We are made in the image and likeness of God. Even so, it’s just too hard for us to relate to an entity that we cannot see or touch or embrace. We just can’t really relate to a God that is generally unseen, or a God who speaks through angelic messengers and prophets, or a God that takes the form of a burning bush or a pillar of smoke. We humans need face-to-face, flesh-to-flesh relationship. After us repeatedly breaking the covenant and God repeatedly taking us back, it became clear that a more direct way of relating between God and his people was needed. Like any successful relationship, we needed common ground. There’s no way we could become more like God, but God could become more like us. God could become flesh, become human like us.

That is what this night is all about. In God becoming incarnate, through the child born this night, a great mystery has occurred. In the mystery that is God, the Son of God is at the same time God, yet even more. This child is fully divine, as is God, but is also fully human, as is Mary his mother. A mystery that is difficult for us to wrap our minds around, yet a mystery that is so crucial to this night. For in the child born this night, the incomparable glory of God – limitless, powerful, majestic – comes together with the ordinariness of humanity – limited, weak, humble.

In the mystery that is the Incarnation, God was able to become someone we can see and touch and embrace. And in so doing, God was able to experience life as we do, complete with the same limitations that we do – someone who is born, who grows up, who ultimately dies; someone who can share our joys, our excitement, our wonderment; and who can experience our pain, our frustrations, our longings, our disappointments, our vulnerabilities, our hurts, our losses. In coming as a child, God chose to be as those he came to be with – innocent and vulnerable. This is the meaning of Emmanuel. God with us, sharing life as we know it – the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly – sharing our experiences, being one of us. “Pleased as man with us to dwell.” This was something that God was willing to do precisely because he continues to be faithful to us and to love us. That is what this night is about – celebrating that moment 2,000 years ago when God, in his infinite love for us, ceased being somewhere out there and became Emmanuel, right here in our midst, in the form of a child.

Despite being God, being the King of Kings, this was not a child born in the splendor of a spacious, elegant palace surrounded by royal attendants and nursemaids, clothed in the finest silk, laid in a soft, comfortable crib. On the contrary, this son of God was born in a stable surrounded by smelly animals and animal waste, wrapped in rags, and laid in a feeding trough. For only in this way, could God have the opportunity to experience the true essence of humanity – the commonness and ordinariness. Not as the scion of a Bill Gates or a Warren Buffett, but as the ward of a poor laborer. Not as someone secure, facing a life of ease; but as someone vulnerable, facing uncertainty, even difficulty. Only in this way could he experience the hardship that so many of God’s people face. Only in this way could he experience the most basic of human needs and wants. Only in this way could he experience the true joys of human existence. Only in this way could he be able to relate to common everyday folk like you and me.

In this child, God obtained the experience of what it means to be human. And humanity gained a far greater gift. In this child, humanity is touched by the divine in a way that has not been possible until now. In this child, the divine is made flesh and the baseness of humanity is made sacred. In this child, the divine becomes, for a time, bound by human experience, while the experience of humanity is poised to burst forth with limitless possibilities as the Spirit of the divine energizes and comes to dwell within each of us.

In this child, Emmanuel, the world, and the entire fate of humanity is forever changed as the child grows into an adult, submitting himself to death on a cross for the salvation of all humanity. No, even on this most beautiful of nights, we cannot ignore the fate of this child, the primary reason for his coming among us. For in this child, Emmanuel, is the hope of the world – the hope for the salvation and new and eternal life that his birth promises for each and every one of us.

All of this is only made possible through the experience of Emmanuel – God with us. All of this is only possible because of a God who is “Pleased as man with us to dwell.” God who is WITH each and every one of us. God who came FOR each and every one of us. You couldn’t ask for a more precious gift.

Our Need for Wilderness

2010-12-05T15:00:00.000-08:00

Sunday of Advent – Year A
Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12
Sunday, December 5, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

As we continue our journey through Advent we find ourselves in the wilderness with John the Baptist. In this journey, it is significant that we find ourselves in the presence of this interesting and colorful character. John has a pivotal role in Judeo-Christian theology and prophecy. He is a bridge between the Old Covenant and the New Covenant. He is, at the same time, the last of the Old Testament prophets and the first of the New Testament prophets. As an Old Testament prophet, John looks backward, reminding us of what it means to be God’s Chosen People, reminding us of the prophecies about a new king of the line of David who will come and save God’s Chosen People and usher in a new kingdom as described in today’s reading from Isaiah. As a New Testament prophet, John looks forward, pointing the way to the one who will fulfill the prophecy – Jesus, the Word made flesh. As such, John the Baptist is the iconic figure for the season of Advent. In looking backward, he brings the anticipation of the coming of the Messiah to the fore. And in looking forward, he points to the preparation needed to receive this Messiah.

The description we have of John is one of a wild-eyed, crazy man. He wears a garment made of camel’s hair and eats locusts and wild honey. And he is out in the middle of nowhere shouting the words of the Prophet Isaiah, issuing warnings that people need to repent of their sins and be baptized, and accosting people with such unsavory epithets as “you brood of vipers.” If we saw such a character on the street, which you certainly do in some places, many of us would cross the street to the other side out of a sense of personal safety.

For first century Jews, however, the image of this man and the style and content of his preaching would have been reminiscent of the Prophet Elijah, one of the greatest and most revered of the Jewish prophets. As Elijah never died but was taken up to heaven by God, perhaps this was Elijah returned. Such a possibility would have added weight and credibility to what John was preaching, even if it did sound like the ravings of a lunatic at times. Of course, this side of Jesus’ birth, death, and resurrection, we know the whole story. We are able to see the significance of John the Baptist in ways that his first century hearers would not have been able to. We see that he was indeed the one who would prepare the world and us for the coming of our Messiah.

So too is it significant that we find ourselves in the wilderness on this second Sunday of Advent. Certainly John’s message of repentance is important, but I think the place the message was proclaimed is also of importance, for several reasons.

First, John did not do his preaching in the town square, not in the Temple precinct in Jerusalem, where there would have been a lot of passers-by to hear his message. Rather, he chose to proclaim his message out in the wilderness. Out in the wilderness, it would have been easy to ignore John’s preaching. But Matthew tells us that “the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going to him.” The fact that so many people from all over the country made the effort to go into the wilderness – for some, undoubtedly a long and arduous, possibly even hazardous, journey – is an indication that people were looking for something, longing for something – something that John’s message touched within them. Here, away from the city, John would not attract idle on-lookers, but those who were sincere in their desire for repentance and forgiveness, who had a desire for the new life that the coming Messiah would provide.

Second, for the Jewish people hearing John’s message, the setting of wilderness would have been deeply significant from a historical and religious perspective. It would have reminded them of the forty years wandering in the wilderness, where the Israelites were tested and cleansed, where they discerned for themselves who they were and what it meant to be God’s Chosen People. Similarly, the wilderness would have reminded them of the Maccabean Revolt two hundred years earlier, where rebel warriors fought foreign occupiers, conducting guerilla warfare from outposts in the wilderness. The wilderness was seen as a place for those seeking righteousness and justice. And it would be from the wilderness that righteousness and justice prevailed, resulting in freedom for the people, reasserting Jewish religious practices that had been outlawed, and rededication of the Temple. (As a side note, this victory is the basis for the Jewish festival of Hanukkah, which happens to be this week.) So the setting of the wilderness would have reminded them of key events in the history of this people, of events that shaped their identity as God’s Chosen. And for those present, John the Baptist, through his preaching and sacramental acts, would further shape their identity as those who would become the earliest Christians.

And third, the wilderness has always been a place of escape from the distractions of everyday life – to recharge, to seek or reconnect with God, to struggle with whatever might be going on in one’s life. The Gospels tell us that when Jesus needed time for prayer or to re-energize, he would withdraw to remote places, sometimes the wilderness. In the early centuries of Christianity, the Desert Fathers and Mothers went into the wilderness to escape the distractions of the world and to focus on their relationship with God. And even today, how many of us occasionally feel a need to retreat to a wilderness place, be it desert, forest, mountains, ocean – anyplace where we can get away from the distractions of our busy world, to focus on some deeper need – connecting with God, struggling with some sort of personal issue, even reconnecting with loved ones? Wilderness may be more and more difficult to find in the 21st century, but we continue to have a need for it nonetheless.

Last Sunday as I was reading the morning paper, I looked at my usual cartoons. There are only a few that I regularly read, but that day, my eye fell on one I don’t normally read, “Rose is Rose,” and the imagery grabbed my attention. In the comic strip, Rose is walking along and you see a city skyline in the background. She looks at her cell phone and it has five bars. She continues walking and the skyline grows smaller as she gets into a more rural area with trees and a stream. She looks at her cell phone again and it has three bars. She continues walking deeper into the countryside. She looks at her cell phone again and there is that message we hate to see – “No Service.” In the final panel, Rose looks out over the hilly countryside with a stream and birds in the sky, and has a deeply contented, even prayerful, countenance. The text in this final panel reads “Sometimes you have to lose the signal to get the message!” In other words, sometimes you need to get away from all the distractions in order to reconnect with yourself and with God.

I think that is one of the key lessons in today’s Gospel reading. In this season of anticipation and preparation, maybe what we need to do by way of preparation is to take a cue from John the Baptist. A key part of his wilderness message was that we need to turn away from that which separates us from God and to reconnect with God. To do that, maybe we need to take a little trip into the wilderness.

Of course, it is not always easy to find wilderness. There is very little wilderness left. And even the alleged wilderness is not free from societal influences. This past spring I was hiking at Jenks Lake and stopped to rest and take in the beauty of my surroundings. As I sat there, all of a sudden there was a ringing coming from my knapsack. There out in the wilderness, away from civilization, and I was still being interrupted thanks to technology. And what did I do? I gave in and took the call. A lot of our inability to find wilderness space, to separate ourselves from that which distracts us, is of our own doing. We are so connected and so dependent on our cell phones and Blackberries and laptops and iPads, that we are continually being bombarded and distracted by calls, text messages, instant messages, and e-mails – no matter where we are. So, if anything, we need to be even more intentional in our attempts to find or create wilderness space in our lives. True wilderness space means getting away from all distractions, even the electronic devices we think we can’t live without, so that the only voice we hear is that of God speaking to us.

We are social beings requiring human interaction; hence our need to be connected, even electronically. But we are also spiritual beings requiring interaction with our God. And to do that requires our full attention. Such efforts are made easier by withdrawing to a wilderness place. True wilderness, truly away, is probably best. But barring that, there are other options closer to home, if we but look.

Ironically, if you take our looser definition of wilderness as that which removes us from the distractions of day-to-day life and allows us time to reconnect with God and with our own spirit, then we are in a wilderness space right now. Yes, sadly, but thankfully, the church is a wilderness space. While the church used to pretty much be the center of everyday life and activity, its place in society has changed. Now, rather than being a familiar second home, for many people the church is a strange and foreign place, not unlike true wilderness places. Church is seen as a place apart from “the real world.”

But that’s not such a bad thing. It’s actually a blessing. Because it is in the wilderness space of the church that we can, even if only for a brief time, remove ourselves from the distractions of our otherwise crazy lives. It is a place apart where we can be in silence for a change and open ourselves to God’s presence, to hear God’s voice, and to get in touch with the hopes and hurts that we carry in our own beings. And it may even be a place where we occasionally encounter some wild and wooly characters who might jolt us just enough to see in a different way, who might show us how to prepare the way of the Lord in our own lives.

“Jesus is Coming! Everybody Look Busy!”

2010-11-28T14:32:00.000-08:00

First Sunday of Advent – Year A
Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44
Sunday, November 28, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

As we begin this Advent season, it feels to me as if there is so much going on. Perhaps it is because we just finished Thanksgiving and are already three days into the official Christmas season as reckoned by secular society. Perhaps it is because I made the mistake of looking at my calendar and see how much we have going on around here, how much needs to be done before Christmas – Advent programming, Lessons and Carols, Las Posadas, Blue Christmas, planning for pageants and special liturgies. That may contribute to it, but what I am particularly referring to is that Advent is not just a time when there is a lot of activity going on, but it is also a time in which there is a lot going on theologically.

We always talk about how Advent is a time of anticipation and preparation. It is the time when we anticipate the coming of our Lord, both in terms of the birth of Jesus in a manger in Bethlehem, and in terms of the coming of the Risen Lord at the end of the ages, what we refer to as the parousia, the Second Coming. And it is a time of preparation, as we prepare our hearts and our spirits to receive the newborn baby who grows up to be our Messiah, who ultimately is crucified and resurrected for our salvation. It is also a time of preparation for his coming again; of putting our spiritual lives in order so that we are ready for the Second Coming and the new kingdom it will usher in. Advent is the time of anticipation and preparation for receiving God’s gift of salvation through the Word made flesh in varying manifestations.

We pretty well have the anticipation and preparation for Jesus’ birth, for Christmas, taken care of. We have something tangible to shoot for, something date certain – Christmas Day, which, by the way, is only 27 shopping days from now. For most people, the good cheer amid carols of “Joy to the World” and “O Come All Ye Faithful,” the retelling of the nativity story, just sort of naturally prepare our hearts and spirits for the remembrance of Jesus’ birth. But in all the rushing, the frantic and frenetic activity, we tend to miss out on some of the theological richness of this season. We tend to overlook the second component of Advent – the anticipation and preparation for the Second Coming of our Lord.

The Second Coming is a little more difficult for many of us to fathom, isn’t it? As Jesus tells us in the Gospel lesson, “about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” We don’t know when it’s going to happen, and I think for many of us in this crazy, busy-ness oriented, schedule driven world, this is a little uncomfortable. We need to know when it’s going to happen so we can get it on the calendar. Even if we aren’t able to control the timing, at the very least, we want to know the details about what is going to happen, so we know what to expect. But Scripture doesn’t give us any useful information. Because the whole Second Coming thing is far less tangible than Christmas, maybe it’s just as easy to ignore that unknown and unknowable part of Advent.

But how can we when our Gospel lesson focuses on that very subject? Jesus makes it clear that despite the unknown timing, we are to be prepared. Prepared how? I have to admit that whenever I read this section of Matthew’s Gospel, whenever I think about Christ’s Second Coming and what it means to be prepared, I am instantly reminded of a bumper sticker I saw years ago – “Jesus is Coming! Everybody Look Busy!” And to be honest, I think that’s kind of what a lot of people think about the Second Coming. Oh, I’m not going to worry about it until later, when it actually happens.

As the 20th century Swiss theologian Karl Barth has commented, Christians look backward, remembering God’s acts of salvation, and we look forward, anticipating the inauguration of the new heaven and the new earth. As such, Barth notes, we Christians live “between the times.” Advent focuses on these two times, the time of Jesus’ birth 2,000 years ago, and Christ’s Second Coming at some time in the future. Advent is a reminder that we do live “between the times.” As such, we cannot look down the road at some yet-to-be determined event, but rather we would do best to focus on our lives as they are in the here and now, “between the times.” That’s not to say that we shouldn’t look to the past or anticipate the future. The past gives us insight and the future allows for imagination. But we live in the here and now. And so our preparations need to be in the here and now.

That is part of why we come to church and do all the other stuff that goes on around here. It’s about preparation. We come together to explore what it means to live the Gospel. But the work doesn’t stop there. We are to take what we see and hear and experience home with us, reflect on it in relation to our own lives, and figure out what we might need to change, what we might need to do better, to live the Gospel, to be the Body of Christ in the world, to help us be better prepared. This is not something that can happen instantaneously, but is on-going work.

Another way to look at it is the same as you would New Year’s. Appropriate, since today, the first Sunday of Advent, is the beginning of a new liturgical year – our New Year’s Day, if you will. On New Year’s Eve, I tend to spend some time looking back at the previous year, at what went well, what went right, and celebrate that. I also look at what didn’t go so well, at where I may have fallen short, and try to see the lessons to be had in those experiences. And I look forward, at the blank slate ahead of me and maybe note some ideas of what I might want to do with that blank slate. But then I move back to the present, because it is what I do in my day-to-day life that is going to make the difference as I move into the future, that will define who I am, who I become. There is an anticipation of what the future holds, and recognition of the preparation that will be needed to get there. Some people make that anticipation and preparation real through New Year’s resolutions. There is a recognition that something needs to change, there is the motivation to do so, leading to a resolution to make the change a reality.

It can be easy to put off making changes to sometime down the road, particularly when there is no apparent pressing need to do so – such as an uncertain time frame like the Second Coming. But Jesus’ warning is that we “must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” Based on this, our preparations cannot wait. Jesus is calling us to identify where we are falling short in living the Gospel; what we need to do to achieve what Paul describes as coming “to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13). After all, that is what each of us is called to as Christians.

The anticipation is pretty much the same for all of us. We examine our lives and see where and how we might be able to better live the Gospel, to be ready for Christ’s coming again. The preparations that we need to make, on the other hand, will vary from person to person. Just as one person might make a New Year’s resolution to spend more time with loved ones, one person’s Advent resolution may be to spend more time with God in prayer. Just as another person may make a New Year’s resolution to take a class or learn a new language, someone might make an Advent resolution to study the Bible more intentionally. Just as someone might make a New Year’s resolution to undertake an exercise program, so might someone make an Advent resolution to exercise their missional muscles by engaging in outreach.

And it’s not just individuals that do this. The church, as the Body of Christ in the world is similarly struggling to discern how best to live the Gospel in the world. I think we have seen that in our own parish over the last few years. In 2009 we began our strategic planning process, in which we spent a lot of time looking backward, at who we are, where we have been, at what worked in the past and what did not. And we determined that while we have done some good things, maybe we could do a better job of looking beyond our walls and be the Body of Christ in our community. Based on this information, we developed a strategic plan that identified who we want to become and where we want to go. In 2010, we spent a lot of time fleshing that out, identifying what specifically needs to be done, how and where we need to change, to meet our objectives. A big part of that has been to identify just how we are called to use our gifts and talents in mission to the community and to plan how to do that. And in 2011, we will begin implementing some of those plans, more fully living the Gospel, and moving more into the fullness of who God is calling Trinity parish to be. I see this new year as one in which Trinity busts loose and really starts to live into the fullness of who and what God is calling us to be.

And the beautiful thing is that all this preparation tends to build on itself. We as individuals prepare ourselves by striving to better live the Gospel. And a lot of that for those of us in the church translates into the energy and resources that are needed for the parish to move forward, proclaiming and living the Gospel in the world. And this collective energy further strengthens the resolve of the individuals to devote more energy to exemplify the Body of Christ, being the hands and feet and heart of Christ in the world. In this we grow together into who God is calling us to be. That is the preparation that Jesus asks of us.

As individuals and as a parish, Jesus issues the same warning – to be ready, for he will come at an unexpected time. So let’s not just look busy. Let’s get busy. Jesus is coming!

Being True to Our Identity

2010-11-14T14:51:00.000-08:00

25th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 28) – Year C (RCL)
Native American Sunday
Malachi 4:1-2a; Psalm 98; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19

Sunday, November 14, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“By your endurance you will gain your souls” (Luke 21:19)

These are the final words of assurance and encouragement Jesus provides to his disciples after a pretty nasty description of things to come. Jesus has just foretold the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. He also foretells of false messiahs, wars and insurrections, earthquakes, famines and plagues, dreadful portents, and persecution of his followers. We know that the Temple was indeed destroyed in 70 AD. And all the other things foretold by Jesus may well have been the reality at the time that Luke was writing his Gospel, and therefore, been reflected in his writings. But this foretold reality is ancient history to us in 21st century America.

What Jesus is talking about is a time of betrayal, condemnation, and persecution that, in his time and the time immediately following his death and resurrection, was because of his name. This betrayal, condemnation, and persecution would be directed toward the followers of Jesus merely because of who they chose to worship, because of who they were. In short, this was all about identity and what can happen to us because of our identity. And in those final words, “By your endurance you will gain your souls,” I believe Jesus is telling us that what is of paramount importance is to be true to our identity, no matter what.

Sadly, betrayal, condemnation, and persecution because of identity are not a thing of the past, but have been and continue to be very much a part of our societal struggles and conflicts. I am particularly mindful of this today, as we celebrate Native American Sunday. From the time that Europeans set foot on this continent, interaction and relations with the Native peoples has been characterized by distrust, betrayal, and persecution. Our European ancestors and the government they established have broken treaties originally made with Native tribal nations, stolen Native lands, and forcibly relocated proud peoples to desolate, nearly uninhabitable reservations. For generations, up through the latter part of the 20th century, our government’s policy was to force the assimilation of Native peoples into “American society.”

Our honored guests today include a number of our Native brothers and sisters. Among them are the White Rose Singers from Sherman Indian High School in Riverside. The school was established by the US Government in 1892 to assimilate Native Americans into mainstream society. The purpose and programming of Sherman Indian School and similar institutions across the country was to force Native children to learn English and to adapt to the American way of life. Use of their own languages was forbidden. Traditional customs and cultural practices were forbidden. Native spiritual beliefs and rituals were forbidden. They were taught that their traditional cultures were inferior and shameful. In short, these people were denigrated because of their identity as Native. As a result, many became, and continue to be, ashamed of who they are.

Sadly, because of such shame, the betrayal, condemnation, and persecution of who we are because of identity is not solely from the outside, at the hands of others, but can be wrought at our own hands. We are sufficiently capable of betraying, condemning, and persecuting ourselves for who we are as well. I want to tell you the story of such a person, of a woman who grew up and lived her entire life ashamed of being Native. Her name was Hazel Nell Hunt, and she was born in 1891 in southeastern Kansas. Hazel Nell was Cherokee. Because of the time in which she lived, she was made to feel ashamed of her Native heritage. But Hazel Nell had an advantage, at least as far as she was concerned, in that she could “pass.” Her features and complexion were such that she appeared to be white. Because she was ashamed of being Native, she used her looks to her advantage and was able to hide who she was, to deny her heritage.

Hazel Nell grew into a young woman, and two days before her 17th birthday, she married a white man – someone who could remove her one step further from her despised heritage. She eventually had six children, five boys and a girl. While the outside world may have thought Hazel Nell was white, her husband and her children knew that she was Cherokee. But because she was ashamed of who she was, and probably to protect her children from the shame of being “half-breeds,” she never taught them anything about their Cherokee heritage. As a result, one of Hazel Nell’s sons, my grandfather, never learned about his Native heritage. And as a result, he was never able to pass along that part of his heritage to my father. And he was never able to pass along that part of his heritage to me and my sister. As a result, a valuable and proud part of my family history is essentially lost to me. As a result, I feel a bit incomplete, not knowing my full heritage, not knowing my whole identity.

I don’t condemn my great-grandmother. It’s not Hazel Nell’s fault. Who could blame her? She was just doing what she felt she needed to do in the early 20th century to protect herself and her family from potential persecution because of bloodline and blood quantum. But in protecting herself, my grandfather, and his siblings, she herself effectively instituted the forced assimilation that was the policy of the US government. It wasn’t imposed from outside. Hazel Nell imposed it on herself and her family. To prevent the government from taking away her identity, she stripped herself of that identity. But does that make the damage any less real? Because the reality is that no matter how much she claimed to be white, she was not. She was Cherokee. She knew herself to be Cherokee. She knew that she was living a lie. So how much did her well-meaning actions impact her sense of dignity and self-worth? How much did they impact her soul? There has to be some emotional and spiritual damage in being forced to deny who you are, who you know yourself to be.

I think that is what Jesus was warning his disciples, and us, about in today’s Gospel reading – to be faithful and true to our basic and most fundamental identity. Be it what Jesus was talking about – our identity because of his name, because of being Christians – or any other identity we have, be it based on race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, or whatever else – it is part of who we are. It is how God made us. God honors and loves what He has made and how He has made us, and so should we.

We belong to a Church that believes that identity is not an issue when it comes to membership. We are as God made us and that is enough. When our Creator made us, no matter who we are, He declared what He did when He made the first humans – that we are very good. In our primary act of inclusion, at the time of baptism, we vow to “respect the dignity of every human being.” And several times each year, we renew those same baptismal vows, just as we did last Sunday, re-promising to God and reminding ourselves of the importance of respecting the dignity of all, no matter who they are. God respects our dignity. And so are we to do likewise.

Actually, I need to take that back. Identity is an issue. But the only identity that makes any difference to God is our identity in Jesus Christ, our identity as God’s beloved children, made in His image and likeness. And yes, that image and likeness is red. And it is brown. And it is black. And it is yellow. And it is white. And God honors us and loves us despite our identity, and because of our identity. God loves us precisely for who we are. As such, who we are is not to be hidden, but celebrated.

It has taken many years, but maybe we’re finally beginning to get the message Jesus preached 2,000 years ago. Many of our Native sisters and brothers were forced to assimilate. Many of our great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers felt compelled to hide who they were. But no more. That is why we celebrate Native American Heritage Month – to honor our heritage, to honor those who have gone before and paved the way so that today we can freely and openly proclaim who we are, whatever that may be. And that is true for every person in this room, Native or not. For that heritage given us by God is what makes us who we are. And it is our identity in Jesus Christ that gives us the strength and courage to boldly proclaim who we are and whose we are, to claim that which gives us life and gives it to us in abundance. For as Jesus proclaims, “By your endurance,” by being true to your identity, your total identity, “you will gain your souls” and the fullness and richness of life that your identity opens to you.

Persistence in Prayer

2010-10-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

21st Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 24) – Year C (RCL)
Genesis 32:22-31; Psalm 121; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8
Sunday, October 17, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Unlike some of Jesus’ parables, where we are left trying to figure out what he means, today’s Gospel lesson tells us up from that it is about the “need to pray always and not lose heart.” But the imagery used to illustrate the point is a little puzzling. We have a widow who is persistent and continually nags a judge to grant her justice. While the persistence of the widow makes sense in the context of prayer, the unjust judge is the puzzling part. He is obviously a bad judge. Judges were, after all, charged with executing justice on behalf of God. The fact that he has no fear of God and no respect for those petitioning him indicates that he is not doing the job he is charged with, but is likely in it for his own gain. And the only reason he finally gives in and grants the widow justice is that if she keeps bringing up the issue, people will start to see that he is not doing his job. He will be exposed for the charlatan he is and possibly lose his job and the accompanying place of status.

If the widow and her actions are intended to represent the need for persistence in our prayer life, does that mean the judge is intended to represent God? No, of course not. We know that God is concerned with justice and mercy. Our God would not behave the way the judge does in the parable. I think the unjust judge is merely a device, a barrier the widow comes up against, something requiring patience and persistence to overcome. The real point of the parable is just what the intro says: we “need to pray always and not lose heart.” The whole scene illustrates the benefits of the widow being persistent and not losing heart that she would prevail. That is how we need to approach our prayer life.

Prayer is nothing more than communicating with God. And what this parable tells us is that like in any relationship, communications is essential and ongoing. If you only communicated with your spouse or partner when it was absolutely necessary or only when you wanted something, chances are your relationship wouldn’t last very long. It probably wouldn’t have started in the first place. Now that doesn’t mean that if we don’t communicate with God, if we don’t pray regularly, God will abandon us. God is patient. He will wait for us as long as it takes. And when we do finally get around to praying, God will just be happy that we remember him and want to talk. But communications goes so much smoother, and is so much easier, when we practice, when we do it regularly with those we care about. Think back to when you first met someone, maybe a first date. Remember how awkward it can be to communicate with someone you don’t really know. But over time, as you get to know someone, as you communicate with them more and more, it becomes easier. It is no longer a chore, but a delight.

I’m always somewhat amused in movies or TV shows where the protagonist, when faced with a crisis situation and when all other options are exhausted, decides now is the time to pray. It always goes the same way: Okay God, I’m not very good at this. I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, I could really use your help right now . . . Well if you had been praying all along, you’d probably be good at it, or at least somewhat comfortable. God is not a crisis help line. God is someone who wants to be in relationship with us, wants us to be in relationship with him. And a key part of that is communications. By developing good prayer practices now, we become comfortable with prayer. Then when the time comes when we really feel a need for fervent prayer, we are not stumbling around trying to figure out what to do, but can approach God with confidence, laying out what is in our heart and on our mind. That’s why the persistence is important. Persistence in prayer is about regular, faithful time with the One who delights in being with us.

Regular, faithful, persistent prayer is also about something else. By being persistent, we demonstrate that we have not abandoned God. We are opening ourselves to participate in the coming kingdom, living in hope, to working however we can for what is most important to God: justice, mercy, and peace. When we do pray, a lot of our activity is spent in talking at God, rattling off a list of prayer concerns, going through a laundry list of things we want or think we need, offering advice to God on how to run the universe. And it’s important to convey our own needs and concerns to God. But it’s not solely about expressing our own stuff. Part of prayer is also opening ourselves up to listen for God, opening ourselves up to discern what he is calling us to do by way of ministry in our parishes and our communities, to discern how he is calling us to participate in the coming kingdom.

Again, prayer is communications and effective communications is a two-way street. If we are in relationship with someone, we can’t do all the talking and expect them to only listen. We need to pause occasionally and allow the other person to communicate as well. So it is with God. We need to incorporate some times of silence into our prayer life to allow God the opportunity to communicate with us. And here again, that is where persistence comes in. We need to be persistent in prayer, including times of silence to allow for God’s voice, so that we can become more comfortable with being in silence before God. We need to be persistent so that we become more comfortable and skilled at discerning how God is communicating with us. Such skills require time to develop and cannot be honed with an occasional dumping of a prayer list onto God’s lap and then walking away.

As to content of our prayers, that can get a little dicey for some of us. Many of us have prayed in earnest, or had friends or family who have prayed in earnest for a particular thing or outcome, only to have the prayers go unanswered; or rather, not answered in the way we wanted. And I’m not talking about prayers to win the lottery. Usually such experiences of unanswered prayers tend to involve issues of health and wholeness, of life and death. When this happens, we can begin to question our faith. Do I not have enough faith? Did I not do something right? Particularly when we have lessons from scripture like today’s Gospel lesson which imply that if we are just persistent enough, we will get what we want; our prayers will be answered. Well, that’s not really what today’s Gospel lesson is saying. Yes, in the story, the widow did prevail. But the story is not about getting what we pray for as much as it is about persistence and not losing heart when prayers do not seem to be answered.

Years ago, when I was a lay person at St. Francis, San Bernardino, I had a dilemma regarding prayers for healing. We had a parishioner who was very ill and was obviously not going to get better. This person was on the parish prayer list for healing and I dutifully prayed for healing. But I did not feel right about praying for the healing of someone who was going to die at any time. I finally went to Fr. David and explained my problem. He told me that even in the case of terminally ill people it’s okay to pray for healing because healing takes many forms. The person may not be healed physically, but there can be emotional or spiritual healing. Relationships can be healed. And ultimately, death is a form of healing, whereby we are made new and whole. It’s up to God to decide what form healing may take. Just as it’s up to God to determine how any prayer is answered.

When it comes to answering prayers, we don’t know why some get answered and others don’t. We do know that God gives us not what we most want or what we think we need, but what we most need. And sometimes the needs of a number of people have to be balanced. To see how prayers are answered, why they are answered the way they are, sometimes we need to dig and try to figure out what that is in amongst the situations we find ourselves in. Sometimes it may not be apparent for some time, if ever. Just like a parent who hears our pleas for a cookie before dinner or a pony for Christmas, God hears with loving patience, but knows ultimately what is best for us. Or, as The Rev. James Dillet Freeman, a twentieth century minster and poet notes, “Sometimes the answer to prayer is not that it changes life, but that it changes you” (James Dillet Freeman Quotes).

That’s what today’s Gospel lesson is ultimately about. If we are persistent in prayer, if we are faithful in our ongoing communication with the God who loves us and wants to be in relationship with us, our life will be greatly enriched. Just as in all the other areas of our lives, our prayers may not always be answered the way we would have them. But we can rest assured that God does hear our prayers. He always answers our prayers. And if we let them, the answers just might change our lives.

References
“James Dillet Freeman Quotes.” httt://thinkexist.com/quotes/james_dillet_freeman/ (12 October 2010).

Returning, Offering Thanks and Praise

2010-10-10T15:00:00.000-07:00

20th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 23) – Year C (RCL)
2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; Psalm 111; 2 Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19
Sunday, October 10, 2010 (8:00 service only) – Trinity, Redlands

“Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” (Luke 17:18)

Both our Old Testament and Gospel lessons document healings of lepers who are also foreigners. In 2 King, the prophet Elisha facilitates the healing of Naaman, an Aramean soldier. In Luke, Jesus heals ten lepers, with the focus being on one who is a Samaritan. In both cases, healing is provided to double outcasts. Both Naaman and the Samaritan leper are foreigners with different religious practices from the Jews. And both men initially suffered from leprosy, effectively ostracizing them from their own communities, as well as any other. But what could the healing of a couple of foreign lepers have to do with us? More than you might think.

If we look carefully at both stories, we find that the focus isn’t really on the acts of healing. In 2 Kings, the prophet Elisha merely tells Naaman to go wash in the Jordan River seven times. No pomp. No extended ritual. Just take a long bath. Similarly, in Luke, the healing act is downplayed. Usually, there is narrative about what Jesus does to heal people – touching them, putting mud on their eyes, or at least telling them their sins are forgiven or that they are healed. But in this pericope, all Jesus says is “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Nothing more. No, the healing acts in and of themselves are not that important. What is more important in both readings is what happens after the healing events. What is more important is Naaman’s and the Samaritan leper’s response to being healed.

Upon being healed, Naaman returned to Elisha and said “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.” He was offering not only his thanks to Elisha, but also his praise to the God who had made his healing possible. And the Samaritan leper, unlike the other nine who were similarly healed, “turned back, praising God with a loud voice.” He then “prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him.” In both cases, these men returned and offered thanks and praise to God, the source of the healing.

When we talk about praying for healing, we often get caught in a thorny predicament. If we pray for healing and we or a loved one isn’t healed, does that mean we don’t have enough faith? Did we not do something right? This implies that having faith is about cause and effect, that it’s about having a sufficient quantity to get the job done, to achieve the desired result. But that’s not what it’s about at all. It’s not about having faith but about living it. Truly having faith means expressing it. Truly having faith means living in gratitude. And living in gratitude strengthens faith. In both our stories, the men’s gratitude is expressed through faith in the God who healed them. They live this new found faith in gratitude, through their expressions of thanks and praise. This is a cyclic phenomenon. Faith results in gratitude results in more faith results in more gratitude, and so on.

The healing of a couple of foreign outcasts resulted in each returning and offering gratitude, in “converting,” believing in and worshiping God who made this possible for them. How much more, then, should those of us who already believe in and worship God trust in his presence and healing power in our own lives? How much more should we return and offer gratitude, offer our thanks and praise for the blessings God has provided us?

That is what all of this is about. That is why we come to church. We don’t come because we have to. We come in response, out of gratitude. Offering thanks and praise is central to what we do in this place. For what is the central act of our worship but Eucharist? Eucharist, from the Greek eucharisto, meaning “gratitude, giving of thanks.” The Eucharistic prayer is also known as the Great Thanksgiving. And at the very beginning of the Great Thanksgiving, the priest says “Let us give thanks to the Lord our God,” to which the people respond and affirm the central purpose of our worship, “It is right to give him thanks and praise.” Every Sunday, we join with Naaman and with the Samaritan leper. We return to this place to express thanks and praise as we gather around this table.

And there’s something else about Naaman and the Samaritan leper that apply to us and to what we do here. In their healings, both Naaman and the Samaritan leper, by virtue of being cleansed, were able to return to their respective communities. Where they had been previously ostracized because of disease, they were now cleansed and could be welcomed home. Here again, this is what we do every Sunday. When we come to church, when we participate in Eucharist, we are joining Naaman and the Samaritan leper in being reunited with our community. Whatever we feel might keep us away from this place has been washed away by the grace of God’s incredible love for us. We enter this place anew each Sunday. We are given a fresh start. In this place, we are not ostracized but welcomed. We are not outcasts but community. And that community does not just exist within these walls. We are part of a community that is much larger, one that welcomes us just as readily.

At our 10:15 service, we will welcome the Right Reverend Diane Jardine Bruce, Bishop Suffragan of this diocese. As a bishop of the church, she represents the broader communities of which we are a part – the Diocese of Los Angeles, the Episcopal Church, and the Anglican Communion. And at that service, six members of our parish will be confirmed and two will be received – reaffirming their Baptismal Vows, affirming their commitment to Christ and his Church and a deepening of their journey into living the faith, into living lives of gratitude. Bishop Bruce will lay hands on these members on behalf of the broader church community, confirming and receiving them as members of the Church, affirming that they are part of a vast community of brothers and sisters in the faith.

In scripture, we have the examples of the likes of Naaman and the Samaritan leper, outsiders, who have chosen to live the faith out of gratitude. Throughout our long history as a religion, we have many more examples of those dedicated to offering thanks and praise to our God. And in our own community, we are blessed to have the newest witnesses to the faith, as Allysan, Amanda, Heather, Hopi, Kenneth, Laura, Susan, and Zach make that conscious decision and public affirmation to follow the one who heals and cleanses, who nurtures and sustains us all. Let them be reminders of our own commitment to the Church, and living examples to all of us of what it means to live a life of faith – continually made new, continually returning, continually offering thanks and praise, and continually welcomed by this community of faith.

Invisible Suffering

2010-09-26T12:53:00.000-07:00

18th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 21) – Year C (RCL)
Amos 6:1a ,4-7; Psalm 146; 1 Timothy 6:6-19; Luke 16:19-31
Sunday, September 26, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Certainly one of the obvious meanings of today’s Gospel lesson is the dichotomy between rich and poor. More specifically, the implication that riches are evil and those who are rich will suffer in the world to come, while those who have suffered poverty in this life will be blessed in the next. And the other readings for the day certainly support this theme. But part of the lesson from 1 Timothy implies that wealth in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing. We’ve talked about this several times this past summer, including last week in Father David’s sermon. What is important is our attitude toward wealth, that we not become obsessed with it, distracting us from what is truly important. What is important is what we do with our riches. Rather than harp on that theme again, there are a couple of sub-themes in today’s Gospel lesson that are worth exploring – themes that transcend wealth and speak to us regardless of socioeconomic status.

The first is what one scholar refers to as “invisible suffering.” The Gospel lesson tells us that Lazarus, a poor beggar, positioned himself at the rich man’s gate. Whenever he came or went, the rich man would have had to have passed Lazarus. The rich man couldn’t help but see Lazarus laying there. But he did nothing to help ease Lazarus’ plight. It’s not that the rich man had anything against Lazarus. The reality is that while he may have seen him, the rich man did not notice Lazarus. Many of us have probably had experiences where we have seen someone, say a homeless person, and walked right on by as if they didn’t exist. When I lived in Los Angeles and in Chicago, I saw a lot of homeless. When you see them all the time, it can become easy to see them but to not really take notice. They just become part of the landscape. This is what is meant by the “invisible suffering.” They are there, but we just don’t pay attention to them. They suffer, but we don’t notice.

This disregard is further illustrated by the rich man’s actions after the two have died and gone to the place of the dead. The rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus to ease his agony and later asks Abraham to send Lazarus back to warn the rich man’s brothers. Not only does the rich man treat Lazarus as an inferior, as a servant, he also speaks about Lazarus in the third person, as if he is not even there, just as he treated him in life.

The interesting thing about the plight of the poor and the invisible suffering is that thanks to mass media and the internet, we are much more aware of global suffering than we ever were before. But we are still detached. When we grow weary of seeing it, we can always change the channel or surf to a happier website. That way we don’t have to see the ugliness, feel the sorrow or pain. And if we do choose to help, it is often in an equally detached way. Just a click of a mouse and we can send money from our credit card to some organization that will help. No need to get our hands dirty. But while we may be aware of needs in some distant third world country, are we even aware of the magnitude of need in our own country, in our own city? Just like the rich man, when confronted with it on our own doorsteps, more often than not, we just walk by, anesthetized to the plight of others.

In the dichotomy between the rich man and Lazarus, the Gospel lesson is not just providing a message in how we use our financial resources. It is about something broader and more fundamental. It is about our humanity, about having compassion for others, for our fellow human beings. And not just to the poor. While Lazarus is an example of the typical marginalized person in first century Palestine, he also serves as an archetype of a much broader category of invisible suffering. He is the archetype of all who are marginalized – all who are the victims of violence, oppression, or neglect because of who they are – be that based on socioeconomic status, race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, disability, etc. All who are marginalized regardless of the reason suffer in some way, generally in ways that we cannot see. Invisible suffering takes on a whole new meaning.

The fundamental message is that as children of God and followers of Jesus Christ, it is our imperative to see the marginalized, to make visible the suffering and injustice in the world, and to reach out in compassion, with respect, and do what we can to help ease the plight of the other. Right in our own Baptismal Covenant, we pledge to strive for justice and to respect the dignity of every human being. It is a fundamental part of who we are as Christians.

The whole scene in the Gospel lesson that takes place in the underworld gives us a clue as to why this is so important. No, it’s not that we will be damned to eternity in flaming agony if we don’t seek justice and mercy for the marginalized. As I see it, the scene in underworld is not so much about damnation for what we do or don’t do in life, but more an image to help us understand faithfulness. Abraham, as the founder of the three Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Islam, and Christianity, can be seen as a representation of what our tradition views as faithfulness, and particularly faithful living. After all, Abraham’s whole life was about faithfully following God and doing his will. The chasm can be seen as the separation between faithfulness and unfaithfulness. Scripture repeatedly tell us that God has preference for the marginalized. This is symbolized by Lazarus resting with Abraham. Our God and our faith tradition call us to be on the side of the suffering and the marginalized, to do what we can to ease their suffering, to comfort them. Now if we are truly living our faith and doing what God is calling us to do, that puts us on the Abraham side of the chasm that separates the faithful from the unfaithful, that separates those who really get it from those who are self-absorbed and don’t get it.

But living our faith is not always easy. Sometimes we get so busy that we just don’t see the marginalized in front of us. Or if we do, we aren’t willing to take the time to respond. When I am confronted with and ignore the marginalized in my midst, my inaction seems to haunt me. I cannot help but agonize over my inaction, dwelling on that moment when I was more absorbed in my own business and did not take the opportunity to live my faith as God calls me to. Invariably, I then find myself thinking about the afterlife. The interesting thing is that I don’t worry about what God will say to me about what I did and did not do in this life. What I think about is what will happen if and when I run into someone I have ignored or somehow mistreated. I wonder if they will remember what I did or did not do. If so, I wonder what they might say to me. What if they ask why I didn’t help? What will say to them? Will they forgive me?

But before that happens, I have a choice. I can choose to be more aware of my brothers and sisters who are marginalized. I can choose to do something instead of just walking by as if there were no one there. I can choose to live my faith, doing what I am able to live God’s call for justice and mercy.

As I read the Gospel lesson, another question comes to mind. What is our motivation for attempting to live our faith? Why do we strive to do what God asks us to do? The rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers, to warn them, so that they might change their ways and not end up suffering the same fate as the rich man. Somehow, the motivation seems all wrong. The rich man is implying that we should do the right thing, not because it is the right thing, not because it is what God asks us to do, but because it will score brownie points with God. Rack up enough point and you get into heaven. No, Lazarus going back to the brothers would be sending the wrong message – be kind, do mercy in order to save yourself from eternal damnation. That’s not the way it works.

God has given us free will. We have a choice in how we respond to the situations that present themselves, including how we deal with the invisible suffering. As Abraham points out, we have the law and the prophets to guide us. We are given the Scriptures to educate us as to how we are to live our lives, how we are to treat others, how we are to work for justice and mercy. God sent Christ into the world out of his love for all humanity. We are given the gift of Jesus Christ, God’s greatest gift of mercy to humanity, to guide us in how to live faithfully. We can follow Christ and be motivated by the example of God’s love for us to love our neighbors and to care for them, especially our neighbors who are the invisible suffering. Or we can be motivated by fear of God’s wrath and eternal damnation if we don’t do the right things.

God wants us to follow him and to follow his commands because we want to out of gratitude and love, not out of fear. We don’t need someone to come back to warn us, because the only one who has ever come back, been resurrected, Jesus Christ, has shown us the path of love that leads to eternal life, for us and for all God’s children, including the invisible suffering. And through his death and resurrection, we do not need to worry about which side of the chasm we are on, whether we are the rich man or Lazarus. But we are the rich man’s brothers and sisters. And we have a choice.

Eucharistic Theology from the Mouths of Babes 3

2010-08-29T14:07:00.000-07:00

During the 10:15 service, I was giving communion to a family comprised of the parents, two older children (around three and four), and the baby Elani who is probably about two. I gave hosts to the two older children, and then went to give a host to Elani, whom her mother was holding. As I got ready to give it to her, Elani eagerly reached out to receive it. After I gave her the host, I then communicated the two parents. Since they were at the end of the altar rail, I stepped aside to make room for the LEM. After Elani finished eating the host, she looked over at me and reached out her hand for more. I could not help but laugh, as did the parents. She knew the goodness of the Body of Christ and wanted more.

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Seat of Honor

2010-08-29T14:00:00.000-07:00

14th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 17) – Year C (RCL)
Proverbs 25:6-7; Psalm 112; Hebrews 13:1-8,15-16; Luke 14:1,7-14
Sunday, August 29, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Where is Emily Post when you need her? Haven’t these people ever heard of seating charts painstakingly prepared to be sure that everyone is assigned to just the right spot according to their social ranking? Haven’t they heard of place cards, preferably in calligraphy, so the guests will know where they are to sit, thereby avoiding embarrassment of sitting at the wrong table?

In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus uses the imagery of a common event, a wedding feast, to convey something about our relationship with God. In the parable, he cautions against sitting in too high of a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished arrive. If that were to happen, the host would need to displace you to make room for the more distinguished guest. With everyone else already seated, you would be forced to move to the lowest spot available, probably over in the corner by the door to the kitchen. And then you would have the embarrassment as you take that long walk past all the other guests, to the lowest place. And they would all know that this was because you think more highly of yourself than warranted.

To understand this a little better, we need to know something about first-century Palestinian wedding feasts. The male guests would all recline on couches to eat. There was a center couch which served as the equivalent of the head table, where the honored guests sat. At the beginning of the wedding feast, people would take their places based on wealth or power. So naturally, the wealthiest or most powerful person present would take his place at the center couch. But as was very common, the very wealthy and powerful often arrived fashionably late. In that case, the person at the center couch, if of lesser status, would need to be displaced. So Jesus was really only offering sound practical advice that you should assume yourself to be of lesser status, so if no one with higher status shows, you will honored by being invited to the center couch. And all will see how you are honored. But what Jesus is really telling us is far richer and deeper than how to navigate social situations with minimal embarrassment.

In this, Jesus is attempting to give some insight into a different banquet, the heavenly banquet to which all God’s people are invited to attend at the end of the ages, when the kingdom of God is truly initiated. And even more than that, the dynamics within the context of banquet tell us something about our relationship with God, who is host. But I think we might have a hard time with the interpretation if we are to view the heavenly banquet and our relationship with God in light of a Palestinian wedding feast. If we take the parable at face value, we are immediately told that some people have a higher standing, more worth, than others. Does that mean that some people are worth more to God or loved more by God, than others? No. If we take the parable at face value, we are told that we can manipulate our position in the eyes of God by pretending to be of lower status than we might really think of ourselves. Does that mean that we can fool God into favoring us over someone else? No.

What all of this really comes down to is humility, and the exercise of humility when it comes to our relationship with God and one another. Unfortunately, humility is a characteristic that, in our culture, we often associate with weakness, low social position, low self-esteem, maybe lack of ambition. And while humility can incorporate some of those meanings, it is more accurately the quality of not being pretentious, proud, or arrogant; of being unpretending or unassuming. And when discussed in a religious or spiritual context, humility is seen as the characteristic of transcending the ego or the self, of not being preoccupied with what we want but focusing rather on what God wants – what God wants for us and from us.

As William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury during World War II wrote, “Humility does not mean thinking less of yourself than of other people, nor does it mean having a low opinion of your own gifts. It means freedom from thinking about yourself one way or the other at all” (Temple). In other words, humility provides the freedom to live and move and have our being in God, to allow God to be the foundation and the driving force in our lives, focusing on God rather than on our own ourselves.

The word humility is derived from the word humus, meaning ground, soil, earth. And I think this is significant. If we go back to the meaning of Christian humility, that of transcending of self and focusing on where God is in our lives, on what God wants us to do, haven’t we defined the essence of Christian living, the foundation of how we are to live our faith? Just as humus, soil, is the physical foundation on which we stand and are supported, and is the medium that provides growth and nurture for all living things, so too is humility the foundation on which our spiritual lives stand. Humility is the medium that allows for our spiritual growth and nurture, for our faith to grow and mature. Because it is only when we get out of the way of ourselves and allow God to work in our lives, to be in relationship with us, are we able to grow closer to God, and to grow in our faith.

I think this is wonderfully summed up in the words of one commentator who writes “The human condition is a process of maintaining a balance between knowing oneself to be created in the image of God and recognizing that all are created from dust” (Davidson, 193). It is through the practice of humility that we are able to recognize that while each of us is unique and special in so many ways, we are all ultimately equal in the eyes of God. We are all made in the image and likeness of God. None is more valued than another. And when we die, we will all return to the earth, to humus.

So back to our parable of the wedding feast and what it tells us about how we are to exercise humility in our relationship with God. In the parable, God is the host of the banquet, and the implication is that we are all trying to be deemed worthy to sit in the place of honor – not unlike the story of James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who wanted to have places of honor in the heavenly kingdom. The implication also seems to be that if we exercise humility and assume a lower place than we really think we should have – after all , we still have our egos intact, don’t we? – then God might just honor us when he sees how humble we are. Right? Wrong. This is false humility.

What this parable is really saying is that when we assume a place of honor that is not rightly ours, we are puffed up, focused on how important we are, or how worthy (at least we think) we are for a position of honor. And when we assume a lower place out of false humility, we are trying to manipulate God, we are still puffed up. But it is precisely that puffed-up-ness and arrogance that get in the way of our relationship with God. It is that sense of pride that forms a façade, a barrier that keeps God at a distance. But through the exercise of humility, by attempting to recognize that in God’s eyes we are all equal and that none of us is more special than anyone else, we are able to strip away the façades and barriers that stand between us and God. In stripping away those barriers, we are able to present ourselves as we are, to God. We are able to present ourselves to God as he made us – in his image and likeness. And in presenting ourselves as we are, we are able to be in closer relationship with God, which is what the seat of honor is really about – closeness to the host and recognition of being beloved in the eyes of the host.

How do we do that? I think the ending of today’s Gospel lesson provides a clue. Jesus tells the one who invited him that when giving a party, he should not invite his wealthy friends and family who will repay his invitation in kind. Rather, he is to invite those who are poor and marginalized, those who are typically not invited, those who do not take an invitation for granted, those who are not able to reciprocate. In other words, the host is to put aside his own ego and embrace those who are marginalized, those who he is able to help because of his wealth and power.

That is a sure-fire way to find and exercise our own sense of humility – to move outside of ourselves, outside of our own wants and concerns, outside our self-absorption and arrogance about who we think we are, and to help others, especially those who live on the margins. When we put our own stuff aside and turn our attention to the needs of others, we find out that we are not so different from those others. When we strip aside all the things that impress us about our own lives, we find that we are all human beings, that we are all children of God, with the same needs, the same hopes, the same dreams, the same fears. What separates us is extraneous stuff that we have allowed to define us, to be all-consuming of our time and energy – the same things that separate us from true relationship with our God. We get back to the foundation of what makes us human, what provides us with growth and nurture, with humus, with humility. We get back to true relationship with God. When in true relationship with God, our place at the banquet makes no difference. When in true relationship, there is nothing separating us from God. We are there with God, in the seat of honor.

The Good News is that in our relationship with God, and in the divine economy, there is not just one seat of honor at the heavenly banquet, but as many as are needed to accommodate all who are the children of God. So we don’t need to worry about jockeying for position or trying to get a good seat, because the invitations have been sent, the place cards have been set, and each and every one of us is assured of a seat of honor.

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

References
Davidson, Lisa W., et al. New Proclamation: Year C, 2009-2010, Easter through Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2010.

Temple, William. “A Definition.” Bible.Org. <> (23 August 2010).

How Are We To Deal With Division?

2010-08-15T18:10:00.000-07:00

12th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 15) – Year C (RCL)
Jeremiah 23:23-29; Psalm 82; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56
Sunday, August 15, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” (Luke 12:51)

Wait a minute! Something is not right here. One of the major themes of Luke and of Jesus’ ministry is peace and reconciliation. Luke starts out with choirs of angels at the time of Jesus’ birth proclaiming peace on earth. At the end of Luke, Jesus greets his disciples with “peace be with you” the last time he sees them before his ascension. And in between, Jesus preaches a message of peace and reconciliation through his words and actions. But here in the middle of all that, we have Jesus giving us a different message. Here, it seems that Jesus is defining his ministry not in terms of peace and reconciliation, but in terms of division and judgment. If Jesus were a modern-day politician, we would accuse him of flip-flopping. So what are we to make of this reversal in position, albeit momentary. It must be important if such a radical departure from the central message is recorded.

Over the last 2,000 years, scholars have been attempting to unlock the key to this particular passage, which is, without a doubt, the toughest collection of verses in Luke’s gospel. The most obvious interpretation is that as the Gospel of Jesus Christ spreads and takes hold, there will be differences and disagreements between believers and non-believers. Even amongst believers, there may be differences in interpretation of what the Gospel message means and how we are to live it out. Others influenced by ancient Greek ideas regarding rationality or by more modern concepts of individuality view this passage as symbolic of division and struggle within the self, with rational thought being the key to overpower sinful impulses.

In attempting to figure out what Jesus is talking about, there is some thought that the key may lie in his use of fire imagery. “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled.” Is the fire Jesus references a refining, purifying fire, in which the faithful will be cleansed of sin? Or is it fire of judgment and destruction in which those who have sinned will be tried and if found guilty, subject to harsh punishment?

Given the overall nature of Jesus’ ministry of peace and reconciliation, I cannot accept the idea that he was referring to a fire of judgment and destruction. A cleansing, purifying fire might be a little more palatable. But looking at the Gospel message of love, justice, mercy, and inclusivity, I think he may have meant something a little different still. When you consider the overall Gospel message, I cannot help but think that the fire he brings to the earth is a bold proclamation of the Gospel that would be incendiary: a message so revolutionary the world had not seen the likes of it; a message which, once ignited, would spread like wildfire; a message so inflammatory that there would be some who don’t want to hear it. This would undoubtedly include the audience of Jesus’ proclamations in preceding passages – corrupt temple leaders.

Now as to the breadth and depth of the division, Jesus indicates it’s going to cut pretty deep. Jesus uses family imagery in describing the severity of division: father against son, daughter against mother. I don’t think that Jesus is speaking literally as much as he is speaking metaphorically, using a redefined understanding of family. Earlier in Luke, Jesus is told “your mother and your brothers are standing outside, wanting to see you.” He responds by saying “my mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (Luke 8:20-21). It is apparent from this exchange that for Jesus, the definition of family and kinship is redefined. For Jesus, kinship is not based on family ties and allegiances, but rather on obedience to God. In the wake of Jesus’ death and resurrection, kinship is not based on family bloodlines, but rather on Christ’s blood. By virtue of our baptisms, we are made part of the family as redefined by Jesus. And we even use that language, talking about our church family. So this familial division that Jesus is talking about is division amongst us, the faithful.

Throughout our history, we have seen divisions in the church. In the early centuries of Christianity, we experienced disagreements and divisions over the nature of Christ and over the nature of the Trinity. In the 11th century, we experienced the Great Schism, the division that separated the singular Catholic Church into the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church. In the 16th century, we experienced the Reformation, the division that separated a number of different Protestant groups from the Roman Catholic Church, including our own Anglican Church. In our own denomination we have experienced division over such issues as slavery and the validity of female priests and bishops. And now The Episcopal Church is experiencing disagreement and division over issues of sexual orientation – should we bless same-sex partnerships and should we ordain bishops who are in same-sex relationships? Throughout history, we the church have dealt with our differences through division and breaking apart.

The problem is that division and separation do not do anything to resolve differences. If anything, division makes the differences more tangible, more felt, more hurtful. And given Jesus’ foundational message of peace and reconciliation, I do not think this is what Jesus intended. Yes, as illustrated in today’s Gospel lesson, he predicted that it would happen. But I don’t think he wanted it to be this way.

Given Jesus’ message of peace and reconciliation, I think his statement of division within the family – and again, that would be us, the family that is the church – is not necessarily prescriptive, but rather is descriptive. Disagreement and division will happen. It’s inevitable. But the degree to which it happens, how we chose to handle the division is open. Division does not necessarily mean a breaking apart. That’s not what Jesus wants. I think that today’s Gospel is more of a warning. “Okay guys, you’re going to experience division. What you do with it, how you deal with it, is up to you.”

Even though Jesus talks about division, I have to believe that he has no patience for the petty divisions that detract from the true message of the Gospel. Over the last few weeks, our Gospel lessons have shown us that we are not to allow obsessions with possessions and constant activity to distract us from what is truly important: our relationship with God and with others. We are not to allow our anxieties and fears to get in the way of trusting God and experiencing his faithfulness to us. We are not to allow ourselves to be distracted from preparing and being vigilant in waiting for the kingdom and the eternal life God promises us and is even now preparing for us.

When it comes to obeying God and living the Gospel, Jesus synthesized it all down to two commandments. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Boiled down even further results in love of God and love of others. It’s that simple. All else flows from these. These commandments are primarily demonstrated through love, justice, mercy, and inclusivity. Specifically:

God’s love for us is the standard for love and provides the example whereby we are to have love for others – and not just the people who agree with us.

God’s justice for the marginalized is the standard for justice and provides the example whereby we are called to work for justice for all, particularly for the marginalized.

God’s grace and mercy toward us is the standard for mercy and provides the example whereby we are to be merciful and compassionate toward others, toward all people.

God’s inclusivity of all as his children is the standard for hospitality and provides the example whereby we are to welcome and include all our sisters and brothers around the table.

This was the focus of Jesus’ ministry – in his words and his actions. Jesus believed in this so much he was willing to die for us, so that the world might truly hear and live this Gospel message. What that says to me is that if Jesus was willing to die for that, we as his followers need to focus on living the Gospel message and not the other extraneous stuff that gets in the way – the stuff Jesus never even mentions anyway.

I was a parishioner at St. Francis about 20 years ago when the whole issue of sexual orientation within the church started getting hot and heavy. We had a parishioner who was against the direction in which The Episcopal Church was moving. Knowing that I was on the opposite end of the issue, she took every opportunity to try to convince me I was wrong and she was right. One Sunday after church, she caught me in the parking lot and started in. Before she could get very far, I cut her off and said “Stop. You know where I stand, and I know where you stand. Neither of us is going to change the other’s mind. And frankly, as far as I’m concerned, this is not a salvation issue. The important thing is that you and I are brother and sister in Christ and that despite our opinions and political beliefs, we can come together at the same table and share Eucharist.” I went on to tell her that even though I did not agree with her, I support her right to her own beliefs and encouraged her to do what she felt was necessary – writing the bishop, the national church, or whatever, to make her voice heard. That conversation changed the dynamics of our relationship. The subject never came up again between us, and in many ways, we were closer than we had been before. Focus on issues of sexuality divided us, brother and sister in Christ. Focus on the Gospel of Jesus Christ brought us together.

Of course division will happen. And there’s no way to ignore differences and disagreements. For the health of the family, they need to be dealt with. But that must be done with mutual respect for opposing views and those holding them. The only way we are going to deal with our differences is to focus on living the Gospel. The only way we are going to prevent divisions from becoming needless schisms, is to keep everyone at the table, in conversation, in relationship, with respect, with open minds and hearts, with love.

Otherwise, what happens at that table [pointing to altar] means absolutely nothing.

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

God's Faithfulness

2010-08-08T14:00:00.000-07:00

11th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 14) – Year C (RCL)
Genesis 15:1-6; Psalm 33:12-22; Hebrews 11:1-3,8-16; Luke 12:32-40
Sunday, August 8, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

There are a lot of people who have a hard time relating to the Bible. After all, what do 21st century Americans have in common with people living in the Middle East several thousand years ago? But even though society has progressed considerably, there is one thing that has not changed – human emotions. The emotions we experience today are the same as those experienced by our forefathers and foremothers thousands of years ago. The stories of the Bible record the full spectrum of human emotions. And because of this, I find that even if I can’t relate to the actions taking place, I can generally relate to the emotions being displayed. And I think the way these emotions are dealt with tells us as much, if not more, about our relationship to our God as do the actions portrayed.

In one way or another, all of our lessons for today deal with a common set of emotions – anxiety and fear. In the reading from Genesis, Abram is a little anxious that God has established a covenant with Abram that if he leaves his home and goes to a foreign land, God will bless him and make of him a great nation. Abram has done his part and followed God, but he is still without even a single heir to be the start of this supposed great nation. He expresses his concern to God, who assures Abram that God’s promise will be fulfilled. This is reiterated in the reading from Hebrews, in which the author recounts God’s covenant with Abraham (Abram), who is only one character in a catalog of our forefathers who similarly faced the unknown and the accompanying anxiety and fear. All this to provide examples as the author calls his audience to persevere as they face their own times of anxiety and fear that the eagerly awaited Second Coming has not yet occurred. And in the lesson from Luke, Jesus starts off by telling his disciples, “Do not be afraid.” Jesus has already foretold his death twice. The reality of what he is talking about is starting to sink in, and as a result, they are naturally beginning to feel a little anxious and fearful about what the future holds.

Anxiety and fear seem to be particularly pervasive human emotions. In general, much of our anxiety and fear is rooted in uncertainty about the future. That’s certainly the root of the anxiety and fear being exhibited in today’s lessons: uncertainly about when, if ever, God is going to fulfill the promises of the covenant; uncertainly about when Jesus is going to return.

In our own day, we have a lot of anxiety and fear, both personally and collectively. We never know what will happen in the future, and there are times when we don’t worry about it. But then there are times when uncertainty of the future wreaks havoc with us emotionally, such as we are experiencing with the current recession. I’m sure most of us know people who are unemployed, experiencing anxiety and fear about whether they will be able to find work. And as time goes on with no job prospects in sight, there is increasing anxiety and fear about how they will be able to put food on the table or pay rent or the mortgage. There are people who are employed, but due to cutbacks are experiencing anxiety and fear about whether they will have a job next week or next month. There are people who are retired who have seen their investments decimated who are experiencing anxiety and fear about their ability to provide for their future needs. And there are people who are nearing retirement who are experiencing anxiety and fear that they may not be able to afford to retire. Or maybe we ourselves fit into one of these categories, experiencing the anxiety and fear firsthand.

And our churches are similarly experiencing anxiety and fear. They have been for some time as church attendance has declined over the last four or five decades. But particularly in times like these, we experience increased anxiety and fear about how we are going to be able to survive. We need to bring in more members to replenish and energize an aging membership. We need more youth and more children because they are the future of the church and without them, we may be gone in a few generations. We need more money to pay for the increasing cost of church operations and of doing ministry. We experience anxiety and fear at the thought of bringing in new leadership because they might change our worship or our music. We experience anxiety and fear at the prospect of our congregation becoming more liberal or more conservative. All churches experience some of these anxieties and fears at one time or another. Even Trinity.

As people of faith, how do we deal with our anxieties and our fears, both individual and communal? Just as the Bible deals with the full spectrum of human emotions, so too does it provide means of dealing with these emotions. Just as our lessons for today deal with anxiety and fear, they also provide an answer.

Not only do our lessons deal with anxiety and fear, they also are about faithfulness. In Genesis, God assures Abram that he will have a child of his own who will become his heir, and that he will be just the beginning of a great number of descendents. Based on God’s assurances, Abram has faith in what God tells him. In Hebrews, the author expands on the faith of Abraham, extending it to Isaac and Jacob and all subsequent generations. All these generations seeking the land promised by God continue to have faith based on God’s original assurance to Abram. And in Luke, because of the assurances of Jesus to his disciples, they are able to step out in faith and do as he asks.

All three lessons are about how the principals – Abram, his descendents, the disciples, the early Christians – maintained faithfulness to God’s promises, even when they did not see immediate results, when their prayers were not always answered in the ways they would have wanted. Our religion is about having faith in our God and trusting that he will be true to his word, even when we don’t get immediate results. This is borne out in the accounts of salvation history recorded in the pages of the Bible. Even so, as is shown among some of the characters in the Bible, it is sometimes difficult to be faithful in the midst of our own personal anxiety and fear. Our own stuff gets in the way.

Here again, our lessons provide an answer to this struggle with trying to be faithful in the midst of anxiety and fear. Even when we have a hard time being faithful, God is always faithful to us. When Abram expresses his anxiety and fear, God assures him that he will indeed be a great nation. While Abram did not live to see it, we know that God was good to his word, that he was faithful to Abram and to his descendents. And just the assurance that it would happen helped Abram to put aside the anxiety and fear just enough that he was able to trust God, to which God reckoned as righteousness. And Jesus tells his disciples that “it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” God’s good pleasure. God delights in being faithful to us and giving us what he has promised. While the disciples did not see it, and while even we have not seen it – yet – we place our entire faith in fulfillment of that promise, of the coming of the kingdom.

What these stories tell us is that we just have to trust in God, knowing that he will be faithful to us, and provide for us. Maybe not in the timeframe that we want. Maybe not in the way that we want. But we are assured that regardless of the ultimate outcome, in it, God is being faithful to us and to his vision of who we are and who we will become. And in that knowledge of his faithfulness, we can begin to let the anxiety and fear subside, allowing us to be faithful to God in return.

By way of illustration, I want to share a little story about how in a time of my own anxiety and fear, God proved himself faithful to me – not in a way I would have envisioned, but in a way that has ultimately proved to be best for me.

About a year and a half into my position at St. Alban’s Westwood, I started looking for my next position. Seeking a new calling can take 12 to 18 months or even more. Knowing that I would eventually have to leave St. Alban’s when the grant that paid my salary ran out, I started looking. I really wanted to be a rector and applied to a number of places all over the country. I lost count after sending letters of interest to about 20 parishes. Some parishes never responded. Some did not feel I was what they were looking for and rejected me in the early stages of the process. I did manage to get a few interviews, but no jobs came of them. I was starting to get a little concerned. At the end of February, 2009, the half of my job at St. Alban’s ended. One month later, the other half of my job as Episcopal chaplain at UCLA was scheduled to end. Here it was, early March, I was living on only half a salary, and had no job lined up. My last viable prospect had just evaporated. That was when Father David and I began serious conversations about me coming to Trinity as Associate Rector. Three weeks later, I started my current position with you.

During the first three months of 2009, I experienced a lot of anxiety and fear. By the end of March I would be unemployed, and nothing was panning out. In amongst the anxiety and fear, I allowed myself to trust in God, to trust in his faithfulness to me, to trust that God brought me this far and would not abandon me, to trust that something would come available. And it did. Not quite as I expected. But it turns out that while not the type of position I particularly wanted at the time, it was the best possible thing, as this position has provided me with invaluable experiences and opportunities that have helped me to grow and mature as a priest. And when I do become a rector, I will be better prepared because of my experiences here at Trinity. And that is part of God’s faithfulness to us. Even when things do not go the way we would have them go, it often proves to ultimately be for the better.

Even in the midst of our anxiety and fear, particularly in the midst of our anxiety and fear about the future, we as people of faith are called to trust in our God, knowing that even when we are not faithful to him, he is always faithful to us. Scripture bears that out. And chances are your own lives bear that out. And while we may not always see the results, or have happen what we want to happen, in his faithfulness, God takes care of us. And when things don’t go the way we want, perhaps it’s because God sees a better way of getting us to where we are called to be. So next time you are gripped by anxiety and fear, try putting a little of that emotional energy into trusting God and his faithfulness to you, and see what might happen if you leave the future up to God.

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

New Additions to the Family

2010-08-07T11:51:00.000-07:00

I’ve been a little busy lately, so have not written anything on the blog about the latest additions to the family – kittens Latimer and Ridley (their names are almost bigger than they are). I got them on Thursday, July 27. They were just over seven weeks old when I got them.

The boys are a handful, spending virtually every waking minute chasing each other around the house and wrestling. Initially they would play for about an hour or two and then sleep for about three or four. Now they seem to be active for three or four hours (and even more) and then nap briefly before starting in again. Their youthful exuberance is so much fun to watch. And they are definitely partners in crime. They do everything together, including eating and using the litter box (or at least one will play in the box while the other is trying to do his business – strange).

As for the names, they are named after English Reformation martyrs, Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley.

Here are a few pics of the little devils.

Latimer on left, Ridley on right

Ridley on left, Latimer on right

Latimer and Ridley praying the Anglican Rosary. Latimer is using the beads to pray and Ridley is making the sign of the cross. They are very pious.

_______________

Vanity of Vanities

2010-08-01T18:50:00.000-07:00

10th Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 13) – Year C (RCL)
Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14, 2:18-23; Psalm 49:1-11; Colossians 3:1-11;
Luke 12:13-21
Sunday, August 1, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

Sorry folks. I hate to tell ya’, but in these words, Jesus is not just speaking to the foolish rich man. He’s also speaking us. No, I don’t mean that we are all going to die tonight, as did the foolish rich man. But I do mean that our lives are being demanded of us as God has already laid claim to our lives by virtue of our baptisms. When we were baptized, brought into the Body of Christ, our lives ceased to be our own. In that moment, as we emerged from the baptismal waters, our lives became God’s. God is free to do with each and every one of us as God sees fit. And right now, God is laying claim to what is His.

The reason for this wake-up call is pretty evident when you look at all three of our lectionary readings. Ecclesiastes talks about how we spend our entire lives toiling in what the writer describes as being “vanity of vanities.” Colossians tells us to “set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” And in Luke, Jesus says “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does no consist in the abundance of possessions.” He then goes on to tell the parable of the foolish rich man which describes the outcome of such actions in no uncertain terms. Looking at the parable of the foolish rich man and filtering it through a 21st century lens, I see two components that we need to be concerned with: possessions and activity.

The most obvious thing being criticized in today’s scripture lessons, particularly in the Gospel, is the accumulation of material possessions. In the parable, the rich landowner is blessed to have had a bumper crop. Unfortunately he doesn’t have large enough facilities to store the surplus – a good problem to have. What to do with all the extra? He has the opportunity to share the wealth with his neighbors, or better yet, to those really in need. But, no. He’s more concerned with holding onto his riches. So he has to find someplace to store the bounty. Instead of doing the rational thing and building additional barns, he tears down the existing barns and builds even bigger ones. He takes the opportunity to flaunt his wealth. If he builds mega-barn, everyone will know he’s wealthy and successful. Unfortunately for him, just about the time he finishes his building project, he dies. He spent his whole time obsessing about his wealth and how to keep and protect it that he never had a chance to enjoy it.

And I’m afraid that in our consumer-oriented society, we have a tendency of following the lead of the foolish rich man. Society says more, more, more. Gotta keep up with the Joneses, or surpass them. Would you like to supersize that? And most of us say “yes.”

In addition to possessions, there is something else that our lessons seek to warn us about – activity, or rather over-activity. We see it with the foolish rich man who engages in a frenzy of activity in his massive building project. And Ecclesiastes talks about constant toil so that even “at night their minds do not rest.” Humanity is beset by some sort of need for constant activity.

But in our own day, I think we have managed to elevate the art of being overly active, of overextending ourselves, to an art form. It’s almost become a perverse form of status, a badge of honor, to be so busy you don’t know if you’re coming or going. We all do it. I have to admit that I catch myself doing it. I am sooooo busy today. I have to lead a Bible study and then meet with the rector and then I have to see three parishioners in the hospital – one at Redlands Community, one at Loma Linda, and one at Kaiser Fontana. Then I have to write my sermon for Sunday, do a conference call, write an article for the Messenger, go to a committee meeting, plan the fall adult education program, and go to a vestry meeting. And then after lunch . . .

You get the idea. But I’m finding this phenomenon seems to be more and more pervasive. When you ask someone how they are, more often than not, you get a litany of what they’ve been doing or what they have to do. And sadly, it’s gotten to the point that even our children are doing it. Recently I was talking with a young person, asking how the summer break was going, and I got a list of all the things and activities this person was doing. It made me tired just listening to it. I can sort of understand this in adults. It makes us look, or at least feel, valuable and indispensible in the workplace. It makes us look like the success-driven go-getters that society expects us to be. But our children? What happened to just being a kid, enjoying some time off from school, spending time with friends, or just laying around and doing nothing?

Ecclesiastes has a term for all this. Vanity of vanities. Not vanity as in self-obsession, though that certainly fits in many instances. The Hebrew word we translate as vanity really means vapor or breath, something illusory, meaningless, empty. The other term Ecclesiastes uses is “chasing after wind.” In other words, all of this, our pursuit of possessions and our obsession with activity, these things that seem so important to humans, is not what really matters. Quite the opposite. If anything, these things, our obsession with possessions and activity distracts us from what is truly important.

Just as criticism of our views toward possessions and activity comes from our readings for the day, so too do they provide a corrective – maybe not directly, but the corrective is certainly implied in the meaning of the parable of the foolish rich man, as well as in Ecclesiastes’ assertion that all these things are vanity and chasing after wind.

Now there’s nothing inherently wrong with worldly goods and success, with having big houses, fancy cars, nice things, etc. We work hard. It’s okay to reward ourselves. It’s not the possessions in and of themselves that are problematic, but rather our obsession with them. It’s the building up of material goods, the drive to get more even when we already have enough or more than enough. What the scriptures are really saying is that we need to be careful not to become so focused on getting more, striving for bigger and better. In spending so much time and energy on acquisition and maintenance, we don’t have time to enjoy what we do have. In focusing our energy on getting more, we are thinking about ourselves and what labors went into getting all this stuff, failing to recognize God’s hand in the bounty we have. In becoming self-absorbed with what we are doing for our selves, because we deserve it, we fail to recognize the needs of those who are on the margins and how we could possibly share out of our bounty. In the drive for more, we get wrapped up in the thrill of getting, not realizing that we have way more than we need or could possibly use. We are unable to discern what really is enough.

It’s all about personal stewardship of the resources we have. True stewardship entails careful use and care of what we have. This does mean saving some surplus for the future – for retirement, for a rainy day. But stewardship is more than this. Good stewardship also entails recognizing the source of all we have and giving thanks to God for what we have. And good stewardship entails care for one’s neighbors, providing for the poor and marginalized, particularly when we have more than enough.

And then there’s dealing with over-activity. The Teacher in Ecclesiastes speaks to this when he tells us that all our human activity is ultimately vanity of vanity, is chasing after wind. While we think everything we do is of upmost important, the reality is that a lot of it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference in the grand scheme of things. Working 70 hours a week as opposed to a standard 40 hour work week probably won’t make a significant difference in the quality of our lives, other than taking us away from our loved ones. Having extracurricular activities are important to help relieve the stress from our workaday lives and help make us well-rounded persons, but are they really beneficial if we just end up stressing about how we are going to get everything done: the job, the 20 or 30 different activities we do, not to mention household chores, and oh yeah, spending time, real quality time, with our loved ones? And we haven’t even factored in yet, where do we find time for God in all of this frenetic activity? Where and how do we take a little time to give thanks to the God who has given us so much, to praise him for the beauty of creation, to check in and let him know how we’re doing, what our concerns are?

What we tend to forget is that there’s a reason for Sabbath, and I mean real Sabbath, not just a day off to fill with back-to-back activities. Sabbath is about giving us the time we need to slow down and catch up with ourselves, to catch up with and spend time with our loved ones, to spend time with the One who created us and gives us all we have and all that we are. That’s why the Jewish religion mandates a day of Sabbath with minimal activity – to focus on self, family, and God, not on going, doing, rushing around. Sabbath time is an invitation to renewed relationship with God, and with one another – relationship that does not happen on the fly, but can only really happen when we are intentional about it, by being present to those we love and being present to our God.

The statements made in today’s lessons, and the correctives they provide are not meant to be pessimistic statements about human existence or to provide onerous requirements. Rather, they are an observation of how we can get carried away and lose sight of what is truly important. These correctives are really meant to be liberating, to free us from our focus on possessions, our obsession with ceaseless activity, and to give us the space we need to focus on care of self; care for our loves ones; care for others, including our neighbors and the marginalized; and nurture of our relationship with our God. We are meant to be free to have time to enjoy life and all that it brings as a gift from God.

Today’s lessons, while seemingly harsh, are therefore expressed out of loving concern. It’s not so much that our life is being demanded of us as that we are being invited into another way of being. We are invited to slow down and discern what God is calling us to do with our possessions, our time and our activity. We are invited to evaluate our standard of what is enough. We are invited to determine what is truly important in our lives. We are invited to examine our understanding of God’s blessings and our purpose in life. And we are invited to do this in partnership with God, in renewed relationship with the One without whom our lives really are nothing more than vanity of vanities and a chasing after wind.

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

"How-To" Manual for Doing Mission

2010-07-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 9) – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 66:10-14; Psalm 66:1-8; Galatians 6:(1-6)7-16; Luke 10:1-11,16-20
Sunday, July 4, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

It’s amazing how the assigned Sunday lectionary readings just happen to speak to what is going on in our lives.

Over the past year, we have been engaged in a process to develop a long-range strategic plan for Trinity parish. The process we have been using has a clear bias toward focusing on missional work – work outside the walls of the parish that meets some of the hopes and hurts of the community of which we are a part. When we first started the process, there was a reluctance to look at our deficiencies when it comes to missional work. That’s not to say that we don’t do outreach – we do. But a place like ours, with so many talented people and so many other resources, could certainly do more. But as we progressed through the process, there was a significant shift in thinking, moving away from an inward-looking perspective to one that is more outward-looking, and an increased willingness to acknowledge that yes, we really could do more outreach.

One of the key objectives of our Strategic Plan is to establish a mission committee that will “examine parish passions for mission and unmet community needs and develop recommended missional objectives and programs” for Trinity parish. Earlier this week, we had a preliminary organizational meeting of this newly forming mission committee. I don’t think it’s coincidence that here, just a few days later, we are hearing a Gospel reading that is essentially a “how-to” manual for doing mission in the world. In our reading from Luke, we virtually have a step-by-step guide of how to do outreach – the nature of the work, and how to approach it. Let’s take a look and see what we might learn about how to do missional work.

As to the nature of the work, Jesus tells us a couple of things. First, “the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few”. There’s a lot of work to be done and not enough people to do it. In expanding those doing outreach by appointing the 70, Jesus was expanding the scope of who does the work. It’s not just the leadership – Jesus and the Twelve who were responsible for missional work. These additional 70 disciples, along with the Twelve, represent the totality of the community, clergy and laity alike. And that is a central part of who we are as the Body of Christ to this day. The Catechism in the BCP asks the question “What is the ministry of the laity?” And the answer is “The ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and . . . to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world . . .” (BCP, 855). Our own doctrine commends each and every one of us to go out into the world to do ministry. And our Lord, through today’s Gospel, sends us out with the same authority that he himself has received from God the Father. We do this in his name.

Now, Jesus does tell us “I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves.” In other words, things will not always be easy out in the field. Going outside the comfort of our community to minister in the world can potentially be dangerous, or at least difficult. In our own context, we are not generally in danger because of our faith, unlike some areas of the world. But proclaiming the Gospel outside these walls may be difficult at times. Despite professing to be a Christian nation, there is a lot of resistance to the Gospel. There is a lot of mistrust about what we are really trying to do, suspicion about what secret agenda we might have. But that’s where the rest of the Gospel reading comes in – the “how-to” part.

The first thing that Jesus tells the 70, and us, about doing mission in the world is to travel light. “Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals.” But I think there is a much deeper meaning to his instructions to travel light. What Jesus is really saying is that when we go out into the world to proclaim the Gospel, to do mission, we are to only take ourselves. Nothing more and nothing less. We go only with the blessing and authority of Christ to do the ministry he has called us to. In essence, we are take with us only the essentials – that which makes us who we are as God’s children.

Taking nothing and focusing only on the essentials means there is nothing to distract us from our ministry. We are freed to focus on who we are called to be and what we are called to do. That is why we are sent in the first place. Nothing should distract us from that mission.

Taking nothing and focusing only on the essentials means we go forth with the talents and skills God has given us. And while God has given us talents to use, we also know that in going forth, we do not trust solely in our own abilities, but trust in the power of God to lead us, inspire us, and help get us through.

Taking nothing and focusing only on the essentials means that we have nothing to hide behind. We present ourselves as we are. We present the true picture of what it means to be Christians, to live the Gospel. Each and every one of you are the face of Christianity. You are the example of what it means to live the Gospel in your day-to-day lives. And that’s what people see when you go out into the world.

Taking nothing and focusing only on the essentials means that the mission we are called to do is not about personal gain – certainly not materially, but neither it is for personal glory. What we do is for the glory of God and God alone.

The second major thing that Jesus tells the 70, and us, about doing mission in the world is that it’s all about hospitality. When Jesus talks about entering a house and eating whatever they provide, and all that, he’s not just talking about the hospitality we are shown by those we are called to minister to. That’s a part, but a more crucial part is the hospitality we show those to whom we minister. When the 70 are sent forth, their sole purpose is to prepare others to encounter Jesus. So too, for us, our primary purpose is, through our ministry to others, to introduce them to and facilitate an encounter with Jesus Christ. This is done in a spirit of peace and goodwill, through gracious presence, in gratitude for the opportunity to serve, through our words and our actions. We do this by building relationship with others based on mutual respect. In this way, we invite others more deeply into our lives, and likewise, we are, in time, invited more deeply into their lives. It is through this process that the Gospel may be shared, once there is respect and trust and an openness to engage in relationship. For the ultimate goal is not to do ministry to others, but to engage in ministry with others. And that is when the encounter with the Risen Christ, in all its fullness, can really happen – for all involved.

And there is hospitality on the part of those we set out to serve. Hospitality comes in the form of openness to receive the gift of service, to receive the offer of friendship, to hear the gospel message, and eventually, maybe even to respond to the gospel message.

If we enter into our mission work bringing only the essentials of ourselves as representatives of Christ, bringing the gifts we have to offer as gifts from God given out of genuine love and respect for the other, then we can, in time, expect hospitable response. For as Jesus has told us, the harvest is plentiful. There are a lot of people out there hungering for what we have to offer. What is lacking are laborers willing to step outside of the comfort of their church families, to step into the world and help with the work that desperately needs to be done.

Jesus shows us that the formula for this hospitality is simple. We go forth, greeting those we are called to minister to in peace. We gather in fellowship, sharing the Gospel message as we have experienced it, as it has been written in our own lives. And in the sharing, we prepare those others to encounter Jesus, to receive Christ. It is no accident that this is the same formula for what happens in our parish community every week. We gather on a weekly basis greeting each other in peace. We hear the Gospel message proclaimed. We share how the Gospel has touched our lives. We gather in fellowship around a meal at the Lord’s Table. And when we are nourished, we are sent out with the words “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” These are not just some nice sounding words, but rather our commissioning to do what we have prepared to do in our worship, to do what God has commanded us to do. The whole structure of our weekly worship is designed to prepare us for our mission in the world. The church is not a refuge from the world. The church is a place of preparation, the place where we are fed, the home base from which we are sent out to engage the world, to do the work of Christ in the world.

Over the next few months, our Strategic Plan Mission Committee will be examining the talents and passions of the members of this parish and the unmet hurts and hopes in the community around us. They will prayerfully discern possibilities for new forms of ministry outside of these walls. It is our hope and prayer that through this process, guided by the lessons from today’s Gospel, Trinity parish may continue to move forward into the fullness of what God is calling us to be and engage in the ministry God is calling us to do. As Jesus tells us in Luke, the kingdom of God has come near. Our job is to go forth and share that kingdom with others in word and deed.

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

Sin Boldly . . . and Be More Boldly Forgiven

2010-06-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

Third Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 6) – Year C (RCL)
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10,13-15; Psalm 32; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:368:3
Sunday, June 13, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“Be a sinner and sin boldly . . .”

This quote from Martin Luther is generally misunderstood and taken out of context. Luther is not condoning sin per say. It is actually part of a statement made in a much broader conversation about sin. Part of that conversation was about what constitutes sin in the eyes of the church, and railing against “sins” that were merely against the teachings of the church and not real sins, such as priests marrying and receiving communion outside the Catholic Church. But it was also part of a longer quote intended to convey something about God’s grace when it comes to dealing with sinful humanity. The fuller quote is “Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly.” And then Luther goes on to say “Pray boldly – for you too are a mighty sinner.” Luther is not giving license to go out and commit big juicy sins. What he is actually doing is using irony and perhaps a bit of hyperbole to convey that we rely on God’s grace to forgive our true sins. And that grace is so powerful it defeats sin completely. We do not have to get hung up on the fact that we are still vulnerable to sin – for we will still sin as long as we live. But instead, we can embrace God’s grace, rejoice in God’s power to overcome sin, and boldly accept that God gives us this gift.

Now this was a far cry from a much younger Martin Luther, who in his early days as an Augustinian monk was obsessed with his own sinfulness. He was said to have engaged regularly in fasts, flagellations, long periods of prayer, and constant confession. I don’t know how true it is, but I have even heard that there were times when Luther would go to confession, go through a detailed list of sins no matter how small, receive absolution from the priest, and then would immediately go to confession again, just in case he happened to sin in those few moments since his last confession.

Here within one man, granted, over a period of 15 to 20 years, we have polar opposite views of dealing with personal sinfulness – from being obsessed with it and being wracked with guilt, to humbly recognizing it, recognizing that only God can take care of it, and joyfully and boldly accepting God’s grace. Or, another way of looking at would be a spectrum ranging from focusing on sin to focusing on forgiveness.

This range of understandings of our sinfulness is what is being addressed in today’s Gospel lesson. As we read our Gospel lesson from Luke we are confronted with a question that runs just beneath the surface: How do we approach sin, or rather, what is our understanding of our own sinfulness?

The key players in today’s reading represent two extremes in dealing with sin. We have our host, Simon, a Pharisee who is at the “obsessed with sin” end of the spectrum. This is revealed in a couple of ways – one obvious and the other not so obvious. The obvious is contained in the words of Simon when he says to himself “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him – that she is a sinner.” Her status as a sinner is the first thing that comes to his mind when he sees her. Not outrage that an uninvited guest had crashed his party. Not wondering what she is doing there. Not questioning whether she might be a threat. No, he went straight for her status as a sinner.

And the less obvious reason is the fact that he was a Pharisee. While not specifically stated, he would have been concerned with keeping the Law so as to avoid becoming ritually unclean, to avoid doing anything that might be seen as a sin in the eyes of God – or more likely, in the eyes of his fellow Pharisees. In following the Law, he “knew” himself to be righteous before God. And his guests would have thought likewise. So to Simon, it was quite obvious that the woman was a sinner and he was not. When it comes to his own sinfulness, Simon is in self-righteous denial.

On the other end of the spectrum, we have the woman who knows she is a sinner and in need of forgiveness. We are not told how, but not only does she recognize her sinfulness and the need for forgiveness, she actually recognizes that she is forgiven and moreover, she recognizes the source of her forgiveness. In her recognition, and out of sheer gratitude and joy for having been given such a great, she comes to Jesus to express her thanks. She brings ointment to anoint him, as a proper king should be anointed. But before she can even do that, she becomes overcome with emotion at being in the presence of the one who forgives her unconditionally that she begins to cry. In humility, she makes her own tears a gift to Jesus, to wash his tired, dirty feet. This woman, while certainly aware of her sinfulness, is focusing on forgiveness, not her sinfulness.

Comparing the two principals in this, Simon lacks appreciation of his own sinfulness. He isn’t even aware of his own sinfulness. The woman certainly appreciates her own sinfulness, as well as the enormity of the gift of forgiveness that she has received. What this says to us is that we need awareness of own sinfulness in order to receive forgiveness. After all, we will not accept, or even seek out, that which we do not feel we need. And there is so much that flows from recognition of the need for forgiveness. When we recognize the need, we can accept the gift of forgiveness and know what that feels like – the great joy that the woman felt. And in knowing what that feels like, we are able to experience the love and compassion that God has for us – the love and compassion that leads us to respond in several ways. One is to respond out of gratitude to the one who has granted forgiveness. For us, that takes the form of worship of and service to our God. And the other response is the ability and the desire to forgive others who have wronged us.

Now in a very subtle way, this pericope is cast in such a way as to manipulate us. On one level, we know that we should be like the woman – accepting our sinfulness, but rather than focus on that, to accept and be thankful for our forgiveness. Yet, through the flagrant transgressions of the woman, inappropriate behavior and actions that we ourselves, being proper folk, would never engage in, we are meant to identify more with Simon and his guests. We are meant to recognize that maybe we don’t quite get it when it comes to dealing with our own sinfulness. Maybe we need to look at our image of ourselves and compare it with that of the woman. Maybe we are supposed to look at ourselves and see how we might be able to become less like the Pharisee and more like the woman. For if we are brutally honest with ourselves, how many of us, even if we are willing to admit that we are sinners, tend to think that we are a little less sinful than our neighbors? How many of us are quick to recognize the sinfulness of others, while remaining in self-righteous denial about our own sinfulness. And if that’s where you are, there’s no shame in that. There are a lot of us right there with you. There are a lot of us who need to learn that lesson, too. So what this pericope asks us is: Do we cling to our self-righteousness, or do we blatantly, flagrantly, throw aside the peripherals and joyfully embrace the forgiveness that is made possible through Jesus Christ?

Once we recognize that we need to let our own inner Simon go, we can then turn to what else the story from Luke has to teach us. The portrayal of the woman tells us something about how to let go of our sinfulness and to more fully embrace the gift of forgiveness.

The key is in the nature of the woman’s sinfulness. The woman’s sins, whatever they are – we are not told – obviously carry public shame. Everyone seems to know that she is a sinner. While most of us do not have sins that are public or are necessarily publically known, that does not mean there is no less sense of shame. I would venture that most of us have done something, or not done something, in our lives that cause us some sense of shame – something that we would just as soon forget about and pray that no one else ever finds out about. The actual magnitude of the sin makes no difference. Because for us, at a deeply personal level, such transgressions are huge – they are weighty and burdensome to us. The very fact that we carry shame makes such transgressions a tremendous burden. Now some of us are good at burying such things so deep that they rarely see the light of day. But they are there, nonetheless, exerting their toxic influence on our spiritual well-being. But the good news is that, as the woman shows us, while we see the shame, God does not. He only sees the broken, hurting person that we are, and sees the burden that causes us that pain. And in his love and compassion for us, he forgives us, taking away our sins – taking away the cause of the pain. And in forgiving them, there is nothing shameful for God to see. All God sees is one of his beloved children. In this realization, we are freed from the bondage of our sin. It is this liberation that leads the woman to do what she does.

That is the benefit of focusing on the gift of forgiveness we receive as opposed to our sinfulness. We begin to see ourselves as God sees us. For the extravagant actions of the woman – using her tears to wash Jesus’ feet, using her hair to dry them, anointing his feet with expensive ointment, her tenderness and intimacy – are signs of God’s extravagant love for us. It is this extravagant love that leads God to forgive our sins, no matter how great or small, to take them away, to take away our shame, to free us from the bondage of our sins. And it is the receipt of this extravagant gift that allows the woman, and us, to offer extravagant, heartfelt gratitude to God.

There are times in our lives when we do sin boldly. But God forgives us even more boldly. And for that, we rejoice boldly.

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

Lessons in Compassion

2010-06-06T18:30:00.000-07:00

Second Sunday After Pentecost (Proper 5) – Year C (RCL)
Youth Sunday at 10:15 Liturgy
1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Galatians 1:11-24; Luke 7:11-17
Sunday, June 6, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands
[Original manuscript, but sermon preached from outline]

Now that we’ve gotten through Pentecost and Trinity Sunday, we have a shift in liturgical seasons. We enter the longest liturgical season of the year, the season after Pentecost. We have come through Eastertide, where we focus on the promise of new and eternal life made possible through Jesus’ death and resurrection, and we look forward to the coming of the Kingdom of God. We end Eastertide with Pentecost and the celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit, that gift that provides us with what we need to continue in the here and now until the eventual coming of the Kingdom. And now, in the season after Pentecost, we settle into the fact that we do live in the here and now, and begin looking at how we may live the Gospel in our everyday lives.

Because of the sharp shift we have just gone through, from focus on the promise of the Kingdom of God during Eastertide to living of everyday life in anticipation of the Kingdom, we may be tempted to see the Kingdom as being at some future time and place beyond our own realm. But we do not wait idly by for this kingdom to manifest itself. For with Jesus’ death and resurrection, the Kingdom of God has begun. It is not fully manifest, but it is beginning to break through. It is not for some future time and place, but belongs as much in the present. This Kingdom, while not fully manifest, plays out in the day-to-day lives of each of us, as we struggle to meet our basic needs, as we confront the forces of evil still present in our world – greed, self-centeredness, cruelty, complacency. This season after Pentecost is not about waiting for the Kingdom but rather is about doing our part to help make the Kingdom a reality here and now. It is about living a kingdom lifestyle, living the kingdom values proclaimed in the Gospel. And as our liturgical season shifts, so does the tenor of our Sunday scripture lessons. For the next six months, our lessons give us insight into the way we are to live our day-to-day lives in the newly forming Kingdom of God.

Today’s lessons, particularly the Old Testament lesson and the Gospel, focus on the theme of compassion and the various ways it is manifest in our lives. The Gospel lesson from Luke focuses on divine compassion, on the compassion that Jesus has for the widow as she grieves the loss of her only son. Jesus is responding to the widow’s suffering, both seen and unseen. There is seen suffering in the loss of her son, but also unseen suffering in the sense of hopelessness that she faces now that she has no male provider to care for her. She has instantly been thrust into poverty and to the margins of society. Jesus, moved by her plight, has compassion and solves her two-fold suffering in a miraculous way, through the raising of her son from the dead. For us, this story illustrates the first step in engaging in acts of compassion. Jesus was moved to help the woman. We cannot act in compassion until we are first moved, casting aside our complacency or our hardness of heart.

Now what Jesus actually does is a little beyond us. I doubt many of us have raised someone from the dead lately. So, we will move on to the Old Testament lesson, which puts a slightly different, more human, face on compassion.

In this story from 1 Kings, the prophet Elijah comes to Zarephath. While his entry into the village and immediate demand for food may seem a bit rude, we have to realize that 1) God has told him this woman will provide for him, and 2) he has been living out in the wilderness during a time of drought. So, he has probably not had much to eat or drink for some time. Now the widow is in a bad place herself. She is without hope, having barely enough meal and oil for one final loaf of bread for her and her son. And in this drought situation, there is no hope of getting any more. This is the end for her. But despite her own plight, she has compassion on Elijah and does as he requests. Of course, it probably helps that he tells her that God will provide for her needs. But even so, she had to have a certain amount of faith, as well as compassion, to trust the word of this crazy stranger who has just wandered in off the desert and to give of her remaining meager supplies. Out of her compassion, she does give of what little she has to Elijah. In fulfilling Elijah’s request, God’s promise to her is fulfilled. The meal and the oil do not run out, and she, her son, and Elijah have enough to eat for some time to come.

Now while this story does rely on miracle and divine intervention, I think it also holds some insights into compassion and the miracle of engaging in compassionate acts. In this story, we have the intersection of, or interaction between, human and divine compassion. God had compassion on Elijah and provided for his needs through the widow. In so doing, God also had compassion for the widow. In fact, God’s compassion was really operating on multiple levels. Through Elijah’s words of assurance to the widow, she gained a renewed sense of hope – that this might not be the end, but that she and her son might yet survive. And then through the miracle of the jars of meal and oil, God’s compassion physically sustained the widow and her entire household. The fact that the jars of meal and oil never gave out reveal an even greater truth about God’s love and compassion – God’s desire for all to have life and to have it abundantly.

Not to sound trite, but the underlying message is that when we have compassion for others, our own needs or concerns seem to be taken care of in the process – and sometimes in ways we don’t even anticipate. It’s one of those mysteries. There are all sorts of stories of people who had barely enough resources to survive, but helped another in need anyway. I have been blessed to meet some such people. And their story is always the same. Even after giving, they still had enough for their own needs – just like the widow. And not only were their basic needs met, but they were also blessed. They find they were fed physically, and in the process were also fed spiritually. The amazing thing is that when it comes to compassionate giving, those who are among the poorer in our society tend to give a greater proportion of their meager resources to help others in need. And they generally find that they still have enough to meet basic needs. Studies on this phenomenon indicate that the reason this is so is because such help is an expression of how communities come together to meet common goals. By helping others, they also express faith that their own needs will be cared for.

As a religion based on community, we need to listen to this. Our scriptures are full of stories of compassion, particularly toward the most marginalized in society. And it is through community that we are best able to meet those needs, to express compassion. It is through the individual, but particularly the communal expressions of compassion that we begin to create a sense of the Kingdom of God here and now.

I think the story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath also gives us some insight into how we engage compassion, enter into acts of compassion. It is by inviting God into the process, allowing the intersection of human and divine compassion – the divine compassion that presents itself when we invite the prophetic into our midst. This is symbolized in story of Elijah by the widow offering compassionate care to Elijah, the prophet, who in turn revealed that all would be well, and this was backed up by God’s actions. For us, inviting the prophetic into the process means looking to those who have an openness to the calling to be compassionate. Who are these prophetic ones we seek? They are here in our midst. When it comes to openness to being compassionate, there are none more predisposed than our children. Our children and our youth are the prophetic ones we need to turn to.

In this liturgy, we are celebrating our Christian education program by incorporating elements of what our children and youth have been learning all year. In our Christian education programming, we seek to prepare our children and particularly our youth to be sent out into the world. The primary goal is to instill in them the simple fact that God loves them, each and every one of them. And in the process, it is our hope that through their time in our midst, that they have learned what it means to be a Christian, that they have picked-up some sense of Christian responsibility, that they have realized that being a Christian means being willing to serve. But we can only tell them the stories. They have to internalize them. They have to make the lessons their own.

I am pleased to report that when it comes to this part of their education, becoming compassionate followers of Christ, our kids have all passed with flying colors. Our children and youth have not only engaged in acts of compassion, they have been leaders in compassion. Just in the last academic year, our kids and youth have of their own volition (though sometimes with prompting by their teachers) started three campaigns of compassion. They did the Pennies for Peace campaign to help build schools in Afghanistan. They made luminarias to help raise money for the Redlands Community Hospital hospice program, but also to emotionally help those for whom Christmas is a difficult time of year. And our children did a drive to collect baby clothes for Joseph’s Storehouse. And I dare say that this is far more than us grown-ups did during that same timeframe.

Our children and our youth have learned that we who are readily fed are called to feed others. As Christians, this means that we not only feed physically, through the giving of bread, but also spiritually, through the sharing of the Good News, through the giving of Christ, who is the Bread of Life. And they have learned that in feeding others we too are fed spiritually. And thus the cycle continues.

Our job is to raise up our young ones, to teach them, to be good shepherds to them. But our job does not end there. We also need to listen to them, because they also have something to teach us, about Christian values, about Christian responsibility, about working to bring about the Kingdom of God in the here and now. As Isaiah foretells in his prophecy of the coming kingdom, “a little child shall lead them.” And we would do well to follow.

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

Experiencing the Trinity

2010-05-30T13:37:00.000-07:00

Trinity Sunday – Year C (RCL)
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Psalm 8; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15
Sunday, May 30, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

[Following is the original text of the sermon I wrote for Trinity Sunday. I actually preached from an outline instead of a manuscript.]

There’s a famous Far Side cartoon that I’m sure many of you have seen that has a crazed-looking scientist in front of a blackboard. The board is filled with intricate mathematical formulas and calculations. And down in the lower right hand corner, just before the solution, is a clear area with the words “then a miracle happens.” Well, my seminary theology class was sort of like that. In class, we discussed such things as the Trinity and other equally, if not more complicated concepts. At times, it was enough to make your head hurt. In our discussions, we invariably reached a point where we just couldn’t go any further. It was like the scientist who, in order to come to a solution, needed a miracle. Well, our equivalent was “it’s a mystery.” Whenever we reached a point where we couldn’t go any further, the only possible solution was “it’s a mystery.” But that was a cop-out. To prevent us from avoiding struggling with difficult issues, Professor Wondra only allowed us to use “it’s a mystery” in the last ten minutes of class.

When it comes to theological concepts, there are a lot of difficult to understand and certainly a lot of difficult to explain concepts. And we find ourselves faced with one of those today – the Trinity. If this were the last ten minutes of worship, I might be tempted to invoke “it’s a mystery” and be done with it. But I hear Professor Wondra’s voice in my head, telling me to slog through it. So here goes.

When we start talking about the Trinity, we tend to get all theological and almost immediately run into such concepts and descriptions of God as three in one and one in three. We begin to talk about essence and nature and being and persons. And pretty quickly we enter denser terrain, with concepts with obscure Greek names like homoousios, heteroousios , and perichoresis.

As much as clergy dread trying to explain the Trinity, when Trinity Sunday rolls around, we still tend to want to get hung up on the doctrine of the Trinity, with providing explanations of just how the Trinity “works.” As such, we often try to come up with creative analogies to describe how the Trinity works, such as the much used image of the Trinity as being like water, being one substance but existing in three states – liquid, solid, and vapor. Or else we may want to discuss the various functions of the various Persons of the Trinity, such as the Father being the creative force, the Son being catalyst for the act of redemption and salvation, and the Holy Spirit being the guiding, inspiring, and energizing force. Or we want to discuss the relationship aspect, of how the three Persons inter-relate and how this should be a model for Christian community.

Now this is all very interesting, or can be very interesting from an academic perspective. We could have great fun taking any of these approaches, and would certainly learn something about the Trinity in the process. But as I see it, understanding the Trinity, if that is even really possible, is not what’s truly important. We don’t need to know how electricity works before we can switch on a lamp. Likewise, we are not required to understand the intricacies of the Trinity and how “it” works in order to be Christians or to worship God.

Johannes Tauler, a German pastor, writes “To experience the working of the Trinity is better than to talk about it.” I would go one step further. We can talk about the whys and wherefores of the Trinity all we want, but that does not make us Christians. To be Christian, we must experience the Trinity.

If you look at our scripture readings for today, none of them tell us how the Trinity “works.” Rather, all of the readings are intended to help us with our experience of the Trinity. And it is no accident that while today we are exploring the Trinity, the lectionary readings primarily focus on the Holy Spirit. For it is only through the Spirit that we are able to really experience the Trinity in our lives. The Holy Spirit is the Person that connects us with the other two Persons, to the Father and the Son.

Proverbs talks about wisdom and invokes the imagery of Sophia, the personification of Wisdom, which is also used as an image for the Holy Spirit, particularly in the Old Testament. In this passage from Proverbs, Wisdom, the Holy Spirit, is calling out to us. Lady Wisdom reveals something of herself, of her relationship with the Creator, and her place within the Godhead. She delights in humanity and nurtures us. She tenderly woos us, seeking engagement with us. She seeks an intimate relationship with us so that we may be in relationship with the entirety of the Godhead.

Our Gospel reading from John has Jesus focusing on the Spirit, which he has promised will be sent by God following Jesus’ death. Only in passing does he connects the subject of the Spirit with God and with himself. Of primary importance is that the Spirit, whom Jesus refers to as the Sprit of truth, will continue to edify and instruct God’s people, continuing that role that Jesus began before his death. And in addition, the Sprit will provide a guiding and inspiring function.

The Epistle lesson provides the broadest and most useful explanation of our experience of the Trinity. Romans has Paul talking about the Holy Spirit, but in the context of the other two Persons of the Trinity. The central theme that Paul uses is that of faith, and particularly justification by faith – that our justification, in which God forgives our sins and brings us into right relationship with him, is a gift of grace that the Father promises us, a gift that is made possible by Jesus’ death and resurrection, and is received in and through the ministry of the Holy Spirit in our lives – a gift involving all three Persons of the Trinity, requiring all three to be fulfilled. At the end of today’s passage from Roman’s, Paul writes “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” As such, the Holy Spirit is the direct manifestation of God in our lives. It is the way that we most directly and most intimately know God. The Spirit is what provides the connection to the Godhead and to the other persons of the Trinity. The Spirit is what allows us to be directly in relationship with the Father and the Son. While all three Persons of the Trinity are important and necessary, it is the Holy Spirit that allows us to experience the Trinity.

Of course, we experience each Person of the Trinity in different ways, and each of us experience them to varying degrees and in varying ways. Probably the most direct way in which we experience the First Person of the Trinity, the Father, is through God’s creative nature. We probably experience the Father first and foremost through creation, through our encounter with and enjoyment of the natural environment. And while we may not consciously think about it, we encounter the Father in the very fact that we have been created. And not just as any creature, but that we are made in the image and likeness of God.

Probably the most direct way we experience the Son, Jesus Christ, is through our religion and our faith. We are followers of Christ. Our whole belief system is based on the centrality of the Second Person of the Trinity to our experience of the divine, to our experience of the mysterious. Our cognitive experience of the Son comes primarily through the Gospels, the story of his life and the summary of his teachings. But we have a more personal relationship. This is the product of what Christ has directly done for each and every one of us. Through his death and resurrection, he has liberated us from the bondage of sin and death. He has given us new and eternal life. While granted to all humanity, there is still a very personal quality to this act. For many, Christ’s presence in the world is manifest in an abiding friendship, in Jesus Christ as a companion with us on life’s journey.

Trying to generalize the experience of the Holy Spirit is probably more difficult, since the Holy Spirit is a more personal and intimate expression of God’s love, as Paul tells us. Although by and large, most people would probably concur that our experiences of the Holy Spirit tend to come in the form of her inspiration and guidance. This is often manifested in such ways as creativity, intuition, and insight. These are the ways I specifically experience the Holy Spirit. Your own experiences may be different – perhaps more subtle, perhaps more obvious.

Taken together, the varied ways we encounter the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit provide us with our own unique experience of the Trinity – experiences that certainly shape and influence our religious beliefs, but also influence our daily lives. Taken as a whole, our experiences of the Trinity reflect the relationship we have with God, and include three major components: the creative force of the Father, the presence and fellowship of the Son, and the vivifying and energizing force of the Holy Spirit. All these are reflected to one degree or another in our individual lives and experiences of the Trinity.

And these are also reflected in our communal experience of the Trinity. In our case, and given our parish’s history and on-going journey together, I think it is particularly appropriate that this place is named “Trinity.” Throughout our history this parish community has lived out the characteristics of the Trinity. We continue to do so in the present. And as we look to where we see ourselves in the in the future, this parish community is well-poised to continue to live the characteristics of the Trinity. We are actively demonstrating how the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is experienced in our lives, by going into the world.

God the Father provides the creative force in the world. As a parish, we are currently in the process of inventorying the gifts and talents of our parishioners. We are examining the needs of the community. We are identifying the passions of our members. Very shortly, all this will come together and we will begin looking at new and creative ways that we can do ministry in the community. In that work, we hope to be co-creators with God the Father, using our creative talents and energies, to create something new in this City.

Jesus Christ is the incarnation of the Godhead in our world. During his earthly life and ministry, he was the presence both physical and divine, of God, ministering to those whom he encountered, serving as a witness to the love and mercy of God. And even through his death and resurrection, he continues to be a palpable presence in the lives of his followers. So too, Trinity parish, since its founding, has been a presence in the City of Redlands and surrounding communities, witnessing to the power of God, demonstrating in action the love of God for all people, being the hands and feet of Christ in our little part of the world. We bring the presence of Christ every time we feed the homeless, visit shut-ins, help connect a child with a parent in jail, and in all the many other ways we minister to God’s children.

The Holy Spirit is the vivifying, energizing force that guides and inspires us, giving the energy to do the ministry that we are called to do. So too is Trinity parish an energizing force. Just in the last year, we have started some new and exciting things that are energizing the community – namely Blue Christmas and Las Posadas. The energy of the Spirit, working through this parish helped create these, and there is much energy around the continuation of these activities, bringing new life to the ecumenical work in this community.

None of these things, none of these manifestations of the characteristics of the Trinity would be made possible in Trinity parish if it were not for the direct experience of the Trinity in the lives of each and every one of us. Whether we recognize it or not, it is those experiences of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in our individual lives that bring us here week after week, and prompts us onward to share those experiences with one another and the broader community.

No matter how much we talk about the workings of the Trinity, about the doctrines and theological explanations, it would still just be a bunch of talk, and in the process no real ministry would be done. It is not in the talking, but in the experiencing, that we come to learn and live the true meaning of the Trinity, both individually and as a parish community also called Trinity. And that, my friends, is the secret to addressing the mystery of the Trinity.

Through the experience of the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Us and Them Problem

2010-05-02T15:43:00.000-07:00

Fifth Sunday of Easter – Year C (RCL)
Acts 11:1-18; Psalm 148; Revelation 2:1-6; John 13:31-35
Sunday, May 2, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“If God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” (Acts 11:17)

The Church has always struggled with an “us and them” problem. At any given point in time, there has been a fence around the church, keeping “them” out, and keeping “us” safe from “their” influence. Those who comprise “them” has varied over the years. People of a particular nationality, persons of color, female clergy, gays and lesbians, the poor, just to name a few. Such division is not new to the Church. In fact, we can trace it back to day one. And our reading from the Acts of the Apostles shows us how the early church dealt with the original “us and them” problem.

In the early days of the church, and we’re literally talking days, there were already factions among those who followed Jesus. The very first Christians were originally Jewish. Early on, tension arose between the Jewish Christians and Gentiles who were beginning to believe in Jesus Christ. Specifically, the tension was over what was required to become a follower of Christ. Many of the Jewish Christians felt that one first needed to convert to Judaism and follow the Jewish laws and ritual practices. Others didn’t feel that this was important, that one could believe in Christ without being Jewish. It was all about defining who’s in and who’s out.

Today’s story has Peter, leader of the Jewish Christian community, embroiled in this very issue as he faces criticism for being in fellowship with Gentile Christians. The criticism levied against him is in reference to what is documented in the previous chapter of Acts, where Peter baptizes Cornelius, a Roman centurion, and his household. And then following the baptism, Peter stays for the reception, eating and consorting with Gentiles, thereby going against Jewish purity laws. Not only that, but in eating with Gentiles, Peter is not only accepting their hospitality, but is also giving tacit approval to their beliefs and practices – their non-Jewish beliefs and practices.

Now I don’t think the other leaders of the Jewish Christian community, the ones criticizing Peter, were against the baptism of Gentiles. That wasn’t the issue. After all, Jesus, before his ascension, commanded them to spread the gospel to the whole world, including the rite of baptism as the means for inclusion in the Body of Christ. Peter was doing just that when he baptized Cornelius and his family. That event was the start of mission to the Gentile world, the mission Jesus had given the disciples. No, what was happening was that the leaders of the church got hung up on the details, on the minutia, of what it meant to proclaim the gospel to the Gentiles. As a result, they missed the point.

Fortunately, Peter could relate to what they were struggling with. He himself had the same struggles just before his encounter with Cornelius. And to help his colleagues out, he relates to them his own struggle with this very issue. He tells them of a vision he had, in which a sheet came down from heaven with all sorts of animals on it. In the vision, God commands him to eat of these animals. When Peter objects, citing that to do so would violate Jewish dietary laws, God counters with the statement, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” Peter immediately understands that the message God is conveying is not about dietary laws per se, but about inclusion – that he wishes all to be included in the church, Jews and Gentiles alike. And with that new understanding, Peter went and baptized Cornelius and his household, welcoming them into the Body of Christ.

This scene of Peter’s vision was obviously of importance to the early church because it is told not just once, but twice. The 10th chapter of Acts contains the first telling of the vision, in real time, as it were. And then in today’s reading from the 11th chapter, Peter retells his vision from a week previous for the benefit of his colleagues. This vision is worthy of repetition in our sacred writings because it was a pivotal moment in the life of the early church, for several reasons. One, it is important precisely because of the intended message – that all are welcomed at the table, Jews and Gentiles alike. And two, because of the process. The various sides in the issue, while holding definite notions about how things should be done, did not become entrenched in their positions. They were open to listening – listening to each other, and listening for the Spirit to guide them. They were genuinely open to discernment of the course of action that would be in keeping with their purpose, with the central message that Jesus Christ proclaimed – that all are welcomed here.

Because of the genuine listening, the willingness to suspend personal agendas, and the willingness to enter into a process of discernment, the leadership of the Jewish Christian community was able to experience a change of heart and mind, just as a week earlier Peter had experienced a change of heart and mind. In fact, it was because of Peter’s witness to the transformation that he had experienced that the other leaders were able to do likewise. This openness to listening, to discernment of the Spirit, to discernment of God’s voice, was the basis for making a decision that would change the face of the early Christian religion, forever altering the course that it would take.

Despite the struggles of our forebears, the Church has not completely learned the lessons contained in those events. As a whole, the Church and the various expressions thereof have continued along the path initially embarked upon by Peter’s critics. Just as they got hung up on who’s in and who’s out, just as they got hung up on the details and the minutia of what it means to worship the “right way,” just as they got hung up on what specifically one had to believe in order to be part of the “true” faith, so have we been guilty throughout the two thousand years of our history.

But rather than beat ourselves up over it, what we need to do is step back and take a look at the lessons of the early church, and re-learn what they have to teach us. And there are two specifics contained in today’s scripture readings that we should heed.

The first comes from the Gospel reading from John. Jesus tells his disciples, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.” Loving one another means that we don’t get hung up on who’s in and who’s out, because we recognize that all are welcomed at the table. Loving one another means that we don’t get hung up on the details and the minutia, because that’s not what’s important. Rather than get hung up on, obsessing about, and worshiping the specific way we do things, rather than obsessing about and worshiping our own agendas and preconceived notions, we need to focus on the essentials. And when it comes to living our faith, Jesus’ commandment that we love one another is about as essential as it gets. In all three of the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus tells us that we are to love the Lord our God with all our heart, and with all our soul, and with all our strength, and with all our mind; and that we are to love our your neighbor as yourself. This is the core. All else flows from this message. If we just try to do that, everything else will take care of itself.

This should be obvious. Yet I am amazed at how often the subject comes up in one way or another. Just this past week, the struggle with this concept came up three times in just one day – in discussions at two Eucharists and one Bible study, all involving different readings, different people, different contexts. But the discussion always came around to the essentials of faith and the necessity of focusing on what is truly important and not obsessing about the extra trappings.

The second lesson from the early church is how they dealt with disagreement. In our own time, we tend to deal with disagreements through debate. Each side attempts to present their best arguments, substantiated by all sorts of Biblical evidence and theological justifications. Well that just doesn’t work most of the time. If anything, argument and debate only serve to solidify differences, to cause us to become more entrenched in our own positions, more determined to prove ourselves right. But that wasn’t how the early church operated, at least not the model for church lifted up in Acts 11. Peter didn’t present theological debates about why the church should include Gentiles. Instead, he told a story. Why? Because stories invite people into the process. Stories show how God has worked in our lives, and those hearing the stories may be able to relate them to their own lives and experiences. And when we look at our lives and experiences, we find that, regardless of our positions on various issues, we are not so different after all. We find that we share core values and beliefs, and that the other trappings are not that important in the grand scheme of things.

Remember, when confronted with disagreements, Jesus did not use debate or theological arguments. He used parables, stories, to make his point. Because stories change lives, arguments do not. Stories allow for the finding of common ground, while debates only serve to divide and to perpetuate separation. This is because debate comes from within ourselves, born of our own motives and agendas, whereas story and discernment come from outside ourselves, born of the desire for clarity and openness. Debate makes no room for God. Story and discernment make room for God to work. As one pastor notes, “If we would only learn to be story tellers and tell compelling stories . . . we could leave the rest up to the Spirit who takes up where stories end” (Jones, 455).

As we continue to grow and to expand our mission and ministry out into the world, we may at times be confronted with some of the same issues as the early church – to become obsessed with identifying who’s in and who’s out, to get hung up on inconsequential details and minutia because it can seem safer and less messy for “us” than dealing with “them” out there. Instead, we need to refocus, remembering what is essential – love of God and love of neighbor – and to recall our own stories of how God and neighbor have been at work in our own lives, to share those stories, and then to step back and let the Spirit guide us where it will. For who are we that we could hinder God?

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

References
Stephen D. Jones. “Acts 11:1-18, Homiletical Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year C, Volume 2, Lent Through Eastertide. Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Post-Resurrection Experiences

2010-04-18T12:39:00.000-07:00

Third Sunday of Easter – Year C (RCL)
Acts 9:1-6, (7-20); Psalm 30; Revelation 5:11-14; John 21:1-19
Sunday, April 18, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

In today’s Gospel reading we have John’s last reported encounter between the Risen Christ and his disciples, sometime after the encounter between Christ and Thomas, which we explored last week. Seven of the remaining eleven disciples are hanging out at the Sea of Tiberias, possibly for a little R&R. After all, they are overwhelmed by the events of the previous week or so – Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, their last Passover meal with Jesus, his betrayal by Judas Iscariot, Jesus’ arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane, his trial before Pontius Pilate, his flogging and humiliation, and then his crucifixion like a common criminal at Golgotha. And then, as if all that weren’t enough, three days later, Jesus was resurrected, and appeared several times to various of their number. This was almost more than a group of simple fisherman from Galilee could take. They need to take a break from all this disciple stuff. And what better way to do that than to return to some semblance of normalcy, something safe and comfortable, to go back to what they had done before this wild ride began three years before. So they return to the seaside and go fishing.

But alas, they aren’t going to get much of a break. For Jesus manages to track them down even here. What ensues is really three short stories that are woven together to create a larger tapestry. At first Jesus shows up but the disciples don’t recognize who he is – just like all the previous post-resurrection appearances. The disciples have been fishing all night but have caught nothing. So, Jesus offers some advice on fishing technique. And in so doing, he also provides a miracle resulting in the catching of a great number of fish – 153 to be exact. In this miracle the disciples recognize who he is. In the second scene, the disciples have finished bringing their great haul of fish ashore. And there is Jesus, waiting for them. And he’s even cooked breakfast for them, providing them with much needed and appreciated sustenance. And in the third scene following breakfast, we have the famous exchange between Jesus and Simon Peter in which Jesus asks three times if Peter loves him, and each time, with increasing frustration, Peter responds that of course he loves Jesus.

On the surface, this may seem just another encounter between the Risen Christ and his disciples, complete with miracle, meal, and mentoring. But what is presented is really much more than that. It is really an epilogue to the Gospel According to John. And like most epilogues, it serves to wrap up the entire story presented thus far. Or in this case, it doesn’t so much wrap up the story as it reveals that the story really does not end, but continues, and what we are to expect in its continuation. In this respect, the story is not so much about Christ’s encounter with the disciples as it is about our encounter with the Risen Lord. In this, the disciples are stand-ins for us. The disciples merely portray how the Risen Lord will, and does, work in the lives of those who carry on the story. And that would be us.

As I see it, the totality of today’s Gospel reading provides us with an overarching lesson about our relationship with our Risen Lord. And each of the three component stories provides us with a more specific characteristic of that relationship.

Probably the most significant lesson about our relationship with the Risen Christ is revealed in the way in which he enters into the Gospel story. Namely, the Risen Christ breaks into our everyday lives, meeting us wherever we’re at in any given moment, even though, like the first disciples, we may not recognize his presence. Just as Jesus came to the disciples at the Sea of Tiberias where they were fishing, be it recreational or for purposes of earning a living, so too the Risen Christ breaks into our lives and is present to us not only in church on Sundays, not only in our times of prayer and private devotions, but even in our times of recreation, times with our families and friends, and even while we are at work. Prior to his crucifixion, Jesus promised his disciples and all who would be his followers that he would be with them always. That is part of what it means to be the Body of Christ – as members of that Body, with Christ as its head, we are always connected with him, he is always with us. Now, more often than not, we don’t necessarily realize it. We may not be consciously aware that Christ is with us. Not unlike in our Gospel reading when Jesus shows up at the Sea of Tiberias but the disciples do not initially recognize who he is. Of course, nowadays, Christ does not generally appear to us bodily, but in other forms. That makes it even more difficult to recognize him. Certainly he is there, dwelling within us in and through his Spirit. But he is also present to us in more external ways – most notably through other people. In his Rule, St. Benedict discusses how one of the keys to our spiritual lives is to be open to seeing Christ in those whom we encounter. But whether we recognize him or not, Christ is always in our lives, always present, always available.

Each of the three mini-stories comprising today’s Gospel reading provides a lesson that exemplifies the ways in which the Risen Christ is present to us and active in our lives.

In the first story Jesus shows up and learns that the disciples, despite having fished all night, have not caught any fish. He tells them “cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” And with that “advice” the disciples catch so many fish that they are not able to haul in the net. Now he doesn’t always provide miracles in our lives, but the Risen Lord does continue to guide us in our lives. This guidance is provided in more formal ways through Scripture and through the teachings of the church, through educational programs and worship experiences. And it is provided in more informal ways through our connections with each other; in the ways we counsel, support, and challenge each other; in the ways we help each other discern our callings, and in holding each other accountable for living the Gospel.

In the second story, the disciples finish their fishing adventure and come ashore, where they find that Jesus has been busy cooking breakfast for them. This demonstrates that the Risen Lord continues to bless and nourish us. While not always nourished in a physical senses, although sometimes food and drink given us can seem as if a blessing from God, most of our blessings and nourishment come through spiritual means – through the presence, comfort, and guidance of the Holy Spirit. One of the particular ways in which we continue to be blessed and fed directly by our Risen Lord is every time we gather around God’s table to make Eucharist. In this meal, the simple elements of bread and wine become for us the Body and Blood of Christ. In partaking of these elements, though providing only a mere taste with a token of physical nourishment, we are provided with spiritual food and the gifts and graces that nourish us for the continuing ministry that Christ has called us to.

And in the third story, Jesus asks three times if Peter loves him. This exchange is often seen as a parallel to Peter’s earlier threefold denial of Jesus, in which Jesus is rehabilitating Peter, testing his conviction, redeeming his previous unfaithfulness. This exchange is also sometimes seen as Jesus’ commissioning of Peter, and calling him to the ministry and the faithfulness that Jesus knows Peter is capable of. Regardless of Jesus’ specific intent in questioning Peter three times about his devotion, it is clear that even in light of the fact that just a week or two before Peter had denied his Lord and Master three times, Jesus is giving Peter another chance. Jesus knows where Peter’s true heart lies, where his true devotion lies, and is willing to overlook past indiscretions and allow Peter to grow into his true calling. So too, with us the Risen Lord does not focus on the past, on where we may have fallen short or royally messed up. Instead, he is able to see deep within us to what we are capable of, to see where our true devotion lies. And because he is willing to look beyond past mistakes, he gives us all second chances. And third chances. And fourth chances. And as many chances as we need. All he asks is that we take responsibility for the ways in which we have fallen short, recognize how we have failed, and to sincerely work to turn ourselves around and try to get back on the right path.

As the Great Fifty Days of Easter progress, we continue to explore the ways that the Risen Christ manifested himself to his disciples, providing them with the final instruction they would need as they prepared to continue the ministry Jesus had begun, as they prepared to carry the Gospel out into the world. The words he spoke to the first century disciples, the lessons he attempted to impart, are also meant for us, the 21st century disciples who continue in our own day the ministry Jesus began. Even though he is no longer physically present, even though he no longer makes regular post-resurrection appearances to us, he is with us nonetheless – breaking into our everyday lives, guiding us, feeding and nourishing us, giving us all the chances we need to live into what he is asking us to do in his name. For the Easter story does not end with the cessation of Christ’s post-resurrection appearances to his disciples. The story continues right up to the present, and is being constantly played out as the Risen Lord makes his presence felt and known in the lives of each and every one of us. In that, we are all witnesses to post-resurrection experiences, if we just take a closer look.

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

Blessed Are Those Who Question

2010-04-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

Second Sunday of Easter – Year C (RCL)
Acts 5:27-32; Psalm 118:14-29; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31
Sunday, April 11, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” (Jn 20:29)

When you consider this statement by Jesus in light of how everyone has reacted thus far to the various resurrection appearances, it’s nothing short of a miracle that we are even here today. Everyone who witnessed a post-resurrection appearance of Christ initially had a hard time believing what they were experiencing. We start off on Easter morning with Mary Magdalene going to the tomb and finding it empty. After telling the disciples, she has a direct encounter with the Risen Lord, but she does not recognize him until he calls her name. Once she has the confirmation she needs that it is indeed her Master, she runs and tells the disciples what she has experienced. But later that evening, when the Risen Christ appears in their midst as they hid in fear in a locked room, they don’t seem to recognize him, even though Mary has told them that Jesus had indeed risen. Only when he speaks and shows them the wounds in his hands and his side do they recognize him. When they tell Thomas what had happened, that they have seen the Risen Lord, he doesn’t believe them. He needs to see for himself. A week later, he gets his wish. Jesus appears to him and invites Thomas to touch his wounds. Without even having to touch them, he knows that this is indeed his Master. None of them – Mary, the ten, or Thomas – initially believe, despite the facts that they are Jesus’ closest companions, despite the fact that he had prepared them for this, telling them on more than one occasion that he would be killed in Jerusalem and then would be raised up on the third day.

What I particularly find amazing is that despite his own followers, those who knew him best, having a hard time believing his resurrection, that so many people afterwards came to believe. If the eyewitnesses to the resurrection had such a hard time believing, how could those who had not been there be expected to believe? Mary and the disciples were ultimately able to believe because they saw the Risen Lord, had direct contact with him, were able to verify that he was who he said he was, that what he claimed had indeed happened. “Have you believed because you have seen me?” Well, yes.

We don’t know for sure how many people actually had first-hand experiences of seeing the Risen Lord. Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians tells us that in addition to the eleven disciples, he appeared to “more than five hundred brothers and sisters” (1 Cor 15:5-8). But despite only appearing to a total of, say six hundred people max, many more people than that have believed. In the time since Christ’s resurrection, literally billions of people have believed in the Risen Lord, despite not having first-hand knowledge, despite having no proof. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” To me, this is truly a miracle.

When I hear Jesus’ words, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe,” I cannot help but think of a former co-worker of mine. Karen was one of the staff biologists at the consulting firm I used to work for. She was a top-notch scientist, but also struggled with issues of faith. She had been raised Roman Catholic, but had drifted away from the church sometime earlier in her life. It was during the early years of my friendship with Karen that I had a re-awakening or a renewal of my faith journey. It was during this time that I found the Episcopal Church and was launched headlong into parish life and intensive exploration of my own spiritual path. Karen was aware of all of this and we would often have conversations about religion and spirituality. Being the consummate scientist, I think some of this was a challenge for Karen. Once she set her mind on figuring out or understanding something, she was tenacious. And while she saw no conflict between science and religion, I think she tried to approach religion from a more scientific, rationalistic perspective to seek answers, which just didn’t work. This was a cause of great frustration for her. Karen and I were very much alike in a lot of ways. Professionally we were both in fields that required logical, orderly approaches to issues and problems. And I think what was frustrating for her was that I was somehow able to suspend my engineering brain when it came to matters of religion and faith, whereas she did not quite know how to do that. On more than one occasion she would say to me that she saw how important my faith was to me and that she wished she could have that experience, too. She would ask me how she could “get” what I had.

I felt so helpless. I really wanted to help her, but didn’t know how. All I could tell her was that the expression of faith is unique to the individual and that we all have our own path to realizing that. As such, there is no way I could know, let alone tell her, what was right for her. All I could do was invite her to go to church with me, which she did regularly. Now that wouldn’t have worked for some people. But since Karen had a basic foundation due to her early years in the church, and a profound desire to explore her faith, to try to understand it, she would have a fighting chance.

Karen did join the Episcopal Church and seemed to find some satisfaction in our tradition and the broadness that it affords. I have lost touch with Karen, but I sometimes wonder, particularly when this Gospel lesson rolls around in the lectionary, if she ever found what she was looking for. And I often think that Karen and Thomas are two peas in a pod. Actually, I think it’s a pretty big pod, with lots of people keeping company with Thomas and Karen.

So what do we do with Thomas? Based on today’s Gospel lesson, he gets the moniker “Doubting Thomas” and has become the poster child for anyone who doubts, who refused to believe something without direct, physical evidence – even if it’s obvious to the rest of us. Well frankly, Thomas gets a bum rap. A lot of people get the idea that because Thomas had doubts as to whether Jesus had risen and appeared to the other ten apostles, that he lacked faith.

But that’s not really fair. Because up until now, Thomas had not had the opportunity to question his faith, to struggle with what he truly believed. Up until now, Thomas and the others had traveled with Jesus and witnessed all sorts of signs and miracles that pointed the way to who Jesus was, to elicit faith in him as the Messiah, the holy one of God. Up until now, everything about Jesus had been proven to them. And now, when a new situation involving Jesus presents itself, Thomas would have rightly expected some sort of proof, just as had been provided in the past. I don’t think Thomas did not believe as much as his faith was clouded by uncertainty. And when it comes to faith, that is not necessarily a bad thing.

Alan Jones, the former dean of Grace Cathedral, often quotes an unnamed English monk who once said “The opposite of faith isn’t doubt. The opposite of faith is certainty.” Many people think faith and certainty go hand-in-hand. But in reality, when one is certain, particularly in matters of faith, he puts God in a box. When one is certain, there is nothing else to learn on the matter. Certainty closes off the need for or the possibility of questioning or further exploration. Certainty eliminates mystery. And what is our faith and religion if not built on mystery? Doubt, on the other hand asks us to open our minds to possibility. Doubt is about entertaining questions. Doubt invites us to go deeper in our exploration of the unknown, of ourselves, and of our God. Doubt invites us to enter into mystery, to experience the joy that it has to offer.

Episcopal priest Philip Culbertson goes one step further than Alan Jones. Culbertson believes “Doubt is . . . a crucial ingredient in faith. Faith and doubt have a sort of yin-yang relationship – dependent, complementary, energizing and focusing one another. Doubt is the energy of inquiry. Faith is never lost through the fearless search for truth. And so it was with Thomas. His initial doubting leads him to proclaim one of the greatest faith statements of the New Testament . . . ‘my Lord and my God’” (Culbertson, 24). He could not have made such a statement had he initially lacked faith, had he not had a core faith waiting to be brought forth to the surface, a faith wanting to be deepened.

In addition to his underlying faith that just needed to be coaxed forward, Thomas had one other thing that, as I see it, helped him through his period of doubt. Even in his doubts and uncertainty, Thomas was part of a community of faith, namely the other ten apostles. Even though he had his doubts, the community did not reject him. I cannot help but think that the other ten apostles supported him, maybe tried to help him work through his questions and his doubts. After all, what we tend to forget is that a week before, they were where Thomas is now. When Jesus initially appeared before them, they did not know what to make of him. They did not immediately recognize Jesus. While they did not specifically ask for proof, they were provided with it. They heard his voice, they saw the wounds in his hands and his side. In those signs they were assured that this was indeed their Risen Lord. Thomas was not asking for anything that they themselves had not had the opportunity to experience. Maybe they used their experiences of doubt to help Thomas deal with his own doubts.

That’s probably the most important lesson for us, removed two millennia from the resurrection event. We are those whom Jesus was talking about when he said “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” We have not had the benefit of the experiences of the ten apostles on Easter Day. We have not had the opportunity to experience Jesus as Thomas did a week later. Yet, through the witness of innumerable saints over the last two thousand years, through the testimonies of scripture, and through the abiding conviction of our own faith communities, we are able to believe that our Lord is risen. That does not mean that we do not at times question the veracity of the event, wonder about the specific details, the whys and wherefores. Such events are hard to fathom. Such questioning is natural, and if anything, helps us to further our faith – particularly when done in community – through Bible studies, through various groups in the parish such as Daughters of the King, ACES (Adult Christians Exploring Spirituality), and the Companions of Sts Benedict and Scholastica, and even through our informal conversations.

At one time or another, we are all Thomases and Karens. And at other times, we are part of the ten apostles, supporting the Thomases and Karens in our midst. And no matter where we are in our struggles, as long as we have that core faith that keeps us coming back even in the midst of our doubts, we will always be the blessed who may not have seen with our eyes, but have nonetheless seen how the Risen Christ has touched our lives and the lives of others, and because of that proof, cannot help but believe.

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

References
Culbertson, Philip L., et al. New Proclamation: Year C, 2010, Easter through Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009.

The Light That Burns Forever

2010-04-03T22:51:00.000-07:00

Great Vigil of Easter – Year C (RCL)
Romans 6:3-11; Psalm 114; Luke 24:1-12
Saturday, April 3, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Yes, the Lord is risen indeed. These are probably the most beautiful words ever spoken. For these words point to what salvation history is all about. These words reveal the priceless gift God has given us. These words contain the foundation of our faith as Christians. All else flows from the fact that our Lord is risen.

That’s what this whole night has been about. It has been about the fulfillment of salvation history. In the vigil, we started off with the story of our creation in the image and likeness of God and continued with stories emphasizing God’s love for his people, his desire to protect them, and provide for them. These are the stories of a God seeking to be in relationship with us, and for us to be reconciled to God. And while we did our best, we still could not quite live up to what God wanted. We just had a hard time trying to be in relationship with a God who we could not see, who we could not touch. We humans need face-to-face, flesh-against-flesh relationship.

So, it became evident to God that a new covenant was needed, one in which God would come in the flesh, becoming one of us. So it was that God became flesh through Jesus to establish that face-to-face, flesh-to-flesh relationship with us. But even so, there was still a divide that precluded the type of relationship, the complete reconciliation that God desired. That divide was the sinfulness of humanity. Elimination of that sinfulness would require a sacrifice so huge that we could not possibly pay it. There was only one person who could – he who was totally human and totally divine –Jesus, the only begotten son of God. And so Jesus willingly took all the sins of humanity – your sins and my sins – upon himself, so that in his death, those sins would be forgiven and erased. And God allowed this because he loves us so much that he was willing to suffer the ultimate sacrifice, that of his only son, so that our relationship with him, reconciliation with him, might be secured for all time.

That was Good Friday. But on this night, God’s desire is fulfilled. Christ has been resurrected. And in so doing, he has broken down the barrier of sin and destroyed its hold on our lives. He has defeated the bonds of evil and death. Death no longer has dominion over humanity. In breaking those bonds, he has insured for each and every one of us forgiveness of our sins. In washing away our sins, we are made a new creation reconciled with God and promised the joy of eternal life.

The death of Jesus on the cross was not the end of the story. Even his resurrection is not the end of the story. It is just the beginning. On this night, we are all there, at the tomb, along with Mary Magdalene and the other women, witnessing for ourselves the empty tomb, coming to terms with what it means for us that our Lord has risen. In that we are all witnesses to the resurrection. We are all apostles. And our job as apostles is to take the message of the Risen Christ, of God’s promise of forgiveness and eternal life, into the world. That is our sacred responsibility and our solemn vow as members of the Body of Christ. For in a few minutes, we will renew our Baptismal vows, acknowledging that “through the Paschal mystery . . . we are buried with Christ by Baptism into his death, and raised with him to newness of life” (BCP, 292). One of those Baptismal vows we will reaffirm is that we “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ” (BCP, 293). And the news doesn’t get any better than that Christ is risen.

One of my favorite stories about the Easter Vigil and about proclaiming the Risen Christ is a story about St. Patrick.

Every year, the Druids celebrated the festival of Beltane at the time of the Spring Equinox. The festival was held at Tara, the seat of the High King of Ireland. As part of the festival, the Druid priests would light a great ceremonial fire atop the Hill of Tara, from which all other fires in the land would be lit. In preparation for the festival, all fires, inside and out, in the vicinity of Tara were to be extinguished. Law required that no other fires were allowed to burn in the vicinity of the great festival fire. Any such fire would be considered blasphemous, punishable by death.

In the year 433, the eve of Easter happened to coincide with the Spring Equinox and hence, the festival of Beltane. That year, Patrick decided to celebrate the Easter Vigil atop the Hill of Slane, 10 miles across the valley from and in direct line of sight of Tara. And of course, the Vigil started with the Service of Light and the lighting of the new fire, just as we did this night. But this wasn’t just a little fire that might go unnoticed. This was a bonfire bright enough to be seen for miles, in direct violation of Druidic law. The High King and the Druid priests at Tara watched in surprise, horror, and anger as the first fire of Easter burned in the distance – an obvious affront to their beliefs. According to tradition, one Druid priest said to the High King, “If that fire isn’t put out tonight, it will burn forever.”

Outraged, King Laeghaire (pron. Leary) led his army to the Hill of Slane to arrest the rebel responsible for this blasphemous act. Due to Patrick’s eloquent preaching, the King was quickly pacified and rather than being arrested and executed, Patrick was allowed to preach to the pagan army and further extend the light of Christ throughout Ireland. The Druid priest was right in his prediction. That Paschal fire on the Hill of Slane was not put out, at least figuratively. And its light has continued to burn throughout Ireland to this day.

I started off this homily by saying that this night has been about the fulfillment of salvation history. Well, that’s not entirely true. The story is not over. The story is only beginning. And it is our job to continue to tell the story, to live the story of salvation, of the ongoing hope and promise of forgiveness and new life that is only made possible by the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Tonight a new light is shining in the world through the resurrection of our Lord. Through us that light will burn forever, as we continue to boldly proclaim to the world:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.

Standing at the Foot of the Cross

2010-04-02T21:35:00.000-07:00

Good Friday – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Psalm 22; Hebrews 4:14-16, 5:7-9; John 18:1-19:42
Friday, April 2, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Here we are, standing at the foot of the Cross. As we look up at the tortured body hanging on it, we cannot help but look back and reflect on how we got to this point, maybe even trying to figure out what went wrong. Over the past week we have been with Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem and during his last few days with his disciples. We have witnessed his triumphal entry into Jerusalem last Sunday, with waving of palms and shouts of “Hosanna!” Last night we shared the Passover meal with Jesus in the upper room. But then, in the midst of such a festive occasion, things took a turn. One of our own betrayed Jesus. As a result, in the early hours of this morning Jesus was arrested. We followed as he was escorted away, subjected to a so-called trial before Pontius Pilate. We then witnessed the cruel treatment of Jesus at the hands of the Romans, as he was mocked and flogged. And then we walked with Jesus as he took his last steps, as he carried his own cross out of the city to Golgotha. We watched in horror as the Roman soldiers nailed him to the Cross, like a common criminal. And now, here we are, standing at the foot of the Cross, looking up at our crucified Lord and Master.

This is our Messiah? The one who had been foretold by the prophets, whom we have awaited for so long? This is our Savior? How can someone so weak, so helpless, be our savior? We must have been wrong.

No, we weren’t wrong. For things are not always what they seem. Let’s step back and take another look. You can tell a lot about a situation by looking at power dynamics.

The Romans were the ones with the power, right? They were the ones in control, right? After all, they were the ones who tried Jesus, found him guilty, and sentenced him to death. Yes, the Romans were ostensibly the ones in authority. They are the legal authority of the land. But did you notice how Pilate, the one in charge, tried to get out of taking responsibility. He kept going back to the chief priests, trying to convince them that Jesus wasn’t guilty, trying to find a way to turn the matter back over to the Jewish authorities, where it rightfully belonged. Pilate saw that this was really a religious matter, a local dispute that really had nothing to do with the Romans. But the chief priests, through some carefully chosen words, convince Pilate to see things their way. “If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor.” It turns out that, in this particular matter, Pilate was really only a puppet of the chief priests. He was manipulated into playing his part, into finding Jesus guilty and pronouncing sentence.

So then, it was really the chief priests and the Pharisees who were in control, right. After all, they are the religious authority. And the whole dispute with Jesus was about religion and relationship with God, right? Not having the legal authority to accomplish their own desires, that is, the death of this heretic Jesus, they manipulated things behind the scenes to get the Romans to do their dirty work. And in so doing, they refused to take responsibility. In fact, to protect themselves, they eventually wimped out, claiming to be loyal subjects of Caesar, the enemy.

But you know what? Those who appear to be in authority, the Romans, the chief priests, were really cowards, engaged in a dance to try to get the other to do their dirty work. The real authority in all of this, the one with the real power, was the one on trial, the one sentenced, the one crucified.

From the beginning, Jesus was in control of the situation. He willingly marched into Jerusalem, knowing what awaited him. In the garden, instead of running away, Jesus willingly stepped forward and boldly stated “I am he.” When Peter tried to prevent Jesus’ arrest, Jesus ordered him to stand down, that this was what needed to happen. Then at the trial before Pilate, it certainly seemed that Jesus guided, even manipulated the discourse with Pilate through judicious use of taunting questions and cryptic, even insolent, responses. It’s like Jesus manipulated Pilate into finding him guilty, into pronouncing sentence – death by crucifixion. And even here, as he hangs on the Cross, he still exercises control and authority, guiding actions that fulfill scripture.

As we look back at the events of this past week, of the past few hours, we see that Jesus is really the one in control of these events and their outcome. And while it looks like what is happening here at Golgotha is a cruel, inhumane, unjust death, the result of a mockery and miscarriage of justice, it could have happened no other way. Sure, the specifics maybe could have been different, but the end result would have had to have been the same. For the whole purpose of Jesus’ life was to bring about the definitive reconciliation between humanity and God. But to do that, both parties needed to be on equal terms – or as equal as possible. We cannot become like God, but God could become like us. So, to level the field, God needed to become one of us. He needed to be in human form to truly experience the limitations we have in not being divine, to experience all that we experience, just as we experience it – our temptations, our struggles, our frustrations, our sorrows, and our joys.

But even that was not quite enough. Because there was still one thing that stood in the way of complete reconciliation – one great divide that could not be overlooked. Our sinfulness. For even in becoming human, that is the one thing that God could not experience. So the only way to take care of this divide would be to provide a means for ultimate forgiveness of all the sin of humanity. Only then could reconciliation occur.

The first part was relatively easy. Through God made flesh, Jesus, God could himself experience what it means to be human – the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. And that even meant the ability to experience something that God, despite being God, could not experience on his own – death. And therein lay the key to dealing with the second obstacle to reconciliation – sin. For what did YHWH require for the absolving of sin but death – death through Temple sacrifices, whereby an offering was made to atone for particular sins. But what form of sacrifice could possibly be appropriate and sufficient to atone for the sins of all humanity? The usual animal sacrifices would not do. Because of the magnitude of the sin for which forgiveness was being sought, even sacrifice of more precious life, of human life, would not be sufficient. No, atonement on this scale required something far beyond anything we could possibly provide. The only thing that would even begin to cover the debt would be the sacrifice of the perfect human, of that which is totally human and totally divine – Jesus, the only begotten son of God.

And so it was that this exercise of God incarnate provided the means by which atonement for all of humanity’s sin could be gained. And so it was that the events of the past week had to happen, under the guidance and authority of the one being tried, convicted, and crucified, no matter how unjustly, to insure that the debt would be paid. For this, Jesus willingly offered himself as sacrifice for our sins – to insure that the playing field would be completely leveled, paving the way for complete reconciliation between God and humanity.

At the Cross, God is joined to us in the experience of death. And that death is not just any death. It is a death of great sacrifice – the sacrifice that atoned for all the sins of humanity; the sacrifice of our Lord who willingly gave up his life for ours; and the sacrifice of a God who loves us so much that he was willing to suffer the ultimate sacrifice, that of his only son, so that our relationship with him might be secured and reconciled for all time.

Here we are, standing at the foot of the Cross. As we look up at the broken body hanging on in, we look back and reflect on how we got to this point. We are reminded of the cost incurred – by the one hanging on the Cross, and by his father our God. And we are reminded of just why this has happened. Maybe, through the tears, we might begin to catch a glimpse of just what this might mean. And in that glimpse, we see that the story is not over, but is only just beginning.

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

Parable of the Prodigal Father

2010-03-14T13:19:00.000-07:00

Fourth Sunday in Lent – Year C (RCL)
Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3,11b-32
Sunday, March 14, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

I have a confession to make. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I always thought that the designation of the younger son in today’s Gospel as the “Prodigal Son” somehow referred to his returning home. I suppose it was because of how the term is used in secular society, as in “the prodigal son returns.” At least to me, this seems to imply a free-spirit who returns home after a period of wandering. As I was preparing for this sermon, I ran across some commentary that seemed to indicate a different meaning for the word “prodigal.” So, I looked it up and found that it actually means “wastefully or recklessly extravagant” or “lavishly abundant.” Not at all what I expected. Based on the definition, I could see how this pericope got the name Parable of the Prodigal Son. But it still didn’t seem quite right.

As I see it, this story is not so much about the prodigality of the younger son – yes, his prodigal actions are there, but it is merely an explanation of how the boy got himself into his current predicament. Yes, he lost his wealth through extravagant and wasteful spending. And while important, in the grand scheme of things, this is a relatively minor point in the story. His prodigal actions certainly set him on a course that changed his life. His actions and indiscretions set in motion a chain of events that ultimately led to a conversion experience that completely redefined who he was. Because of this, he can no longer be considered recklessly extravagant. That part of his life is but a small detail of his total life story.

Now if you want to talk prodigality, to examine that which is recklessly extravagant or lavishly abundant, we really need to take a look at the father. We certainly see the lavish abundance with which he showers his son upon his return home. But the father exhibits recklessly extravagant behavior throughout the story. Virtually everything he does throughout this parable is out of character for a prosperous landowner. The younger son is obviously impatient and does not want to wait for his father to die to get his share of the old man’s property. The father breaks with social convention and allows his younger son to take his inheritance even before the father is dead. Talk about recklessly extravagant. In his actions, the father would have invited ridicule and criticism from his friends, neighbors, and extended family. As far as society would have been concerned, his actions would have been more like recklessly stupid.

So, the younger son takes his share of the inheritance, which would have been a third of the estate (the eldest son was legally entitled to two-thirds) and goes off and spends it recklessly and extravagantly on whatever tickles his youthful fancy – exciting adventure, rich food and drink, fast chariots, loose woman, you name it. And in due course, when he has exhausted his bank account and is faced with the prospect of living on the streets, he hires himself out as a common laborer, hoping to at least earn enough to have shelter and food. But things turn out to be tougher than he had originally thought and he just isn’t able to earn enough to provide for his basic needs. He eventually realizes that if he is to be consigned to such a miserable and lowly existence, he would probably fare better back home. After all, his father’s hired hands always seem to have enough to eat. And besides, he would at least be in a familiar area among people he knows. He could only hope that his father might have a little compassion and give him a slave’s job. So, he hits the road and heads for home.

As the son approaches his father’s home, we find that the old man has been holding vigil, watching the horizon, hoping against hope that his wayward son might return home. This again would have been one of those recklessly extravagant acts. No man of his status and wealth would waste his time or show such hopeless longing by waiting and watching for the son who had disrespected him by running off with a third of the family fortune. He should have written him off long ago and been done with it. Most men in his position would have. And in a further act of prodigality, when the father does see his son in the distance, he does not coolly wait for his son to come to him. He runs toward his son, throws his arms around him, and kisses him. Again, an act unbecoming of a man of his status. Again, behaving recklessly and extravagantly in his display of emotion.

And before his son can apologize, ask for a job, or do any of the groveling he had expected to have to do, the father again acts in a prodigal manner, ordering a great feast be prepared. This would undoubtedly have been a massive party, one to which the entire village would have been invited, to celebrate the return of the younger son. This was also reckless and extravagant, not in keeping with expected social custom for dealing with such situations. But the father obviously does not care. For in his compassion, what seems reckless and extravagant is a heartfelt expression of lavish abundance, signifying great joy.

It’s pretty obvious that Jesus intended the father to be an analogy for God. Just as the father exhibits extravagance toward his son, lavishing abundance on him, welcoming him back home regardless of what he has done, so too does our God welcome us home whenever we wander off in pursuit of our own fancies. And we don’t even have to ask. Forgiveness is freely given. The offer of reconciliation is freely and joyously offered. But the thing to remember about reconciliation is that while forgiveness is a one-way action, reconciliation is two-way. It is the re-establishment of relationship between two parties. In other words, in the reconciliation dance, it takes two to tango. One has to make the initial offer. And such an offer requires a response. When God offers reconciliation, which he has done through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and continues to do, we have a choice. And his hope is that we will accept the prodigal gift.

But there’s one loose end on the parable that needs to be dealt with. What do we do with the elder son and his attitude problem? “For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” There’s that part of us that just wants to shake the elder son and tell him to get over himself.

But you know what? I think there’s also that part of us that is there siding with the elder son, cheering him on. Because if we stop and think about, isn’t there a little bit of the elder son in us? Sure, we know on one level that God invites, even welcomes, everyone, no matter who they are. That’s Gospel 101. That is Jesus’ central message. That was why Jesus ate with such riffraff as tax collectors and prostitutes. That’s what this whole parable has been about. But even so, it is easy for us to get entrenched in our own opinions, our own beliefs on how the universe, or at least, the church, should operate. Particularly those of us who have stuck it out, followed the rules, done what God has asked of us, whether we wanted to or not. Don’t we get extra points for that? Why should someone who is so radically different from “us” be afforded what should be rightfully ours?

Sadly, we see this across the church, at all levels. We see it in tensions between the Episcopal Church and much of the rest of the Anglican Communion. We see it in tensions between bishops or diocese within the national church. We see it in disagreements between priests or parishes in our own diocese. And we are painfully aware that we have even experienced difficulties within our own parish. Thanks be to God that we have come through it and are stronger for it. But there is still pain to be overcome. There is more healing that needs to happen.

God’s desire and purpose is, as St. Paul says in today’s epistle, that of “reconciling the world to himself, not counting our trespasses.” But that can be hard to do when we become so focused on our own opinions and positions. While we are all entitled to our own perspectives, they can become all consuming, driving a wedge between us, hindering God’s desire for harmony and reconciliation in and through him. Like everyone, I have my own definite opinions on every issue facing the church. Nonetheless, I get so tired of the ongoing battles that detract from the Gospel message and get in the way of reconciliation. I get tired of hearing from “the other side.” And frankly, I get tired of hearing from “my side.” It’s always the same. One side gloats when a little victory is made for their position. In response, the other side whines that “they” are trying to take the church away from them. Regardless of the issue, the dynamics are the same. Frankly, such responses give both sides a bad name and only serve to further fuel the fire of discontent, further driving a wedge between them. In this, we are all a bunch of recalcitrant children, just like the older son.

That’s not what the church is supposed to be about. That’s not what the Kingdom is about. It’s not about your side or my side. It’s not about being right or wrong. It’s about living the Gospel. It’s about seeking reconciliation with God – accepting God’s lavishly abundant offer of forgiveness and reconciliation. And in response for us being reconciled to God, we are to be about the work of being reconciled one with another. That’s what St. Paul is advocating in his second epistle to the Corinthians – we are called to be ambassadors for Christ, seeking and facilitating reconciliation with our brothers and sisters. And that’s what the father in the parable is trying to get across to the elder son – that regardless of who we are, we celebrate and rejoice all who find new life in God through Jesus Christ.

It can be done. Our diocese has a team of people who go out and do reconciliation work in parishes, co-led by two people. Brian is a conservative priest who struggles with the church’s sexuality issues. Joanne is a liberal lay woman and an openly partnered lesbian. And while they disagree on many issues facing the church, including those of sexuality, Brian and Joanne will both tell you that they have incredible respect for each other, that they count each other as good friends, and that they can come together to worship and share bread and wine at the same communion table. This is what it means to be reconciled one with another. It is ultimately about being in relationship despite our differences and coming together at the table. Because it is not our table. We do not decide who is welcome. It is God’s table. And God invites whomever he wishes. And it pleases God to invite us all, younger son, older son, and everyone in between.

In closing, I will note that for me, one of the most interesting things about the parable of the Prodigal Son, the parable of the Prodigal Father, is that Jesus didn’t tell us the end of the story. He tells us the father’s response. “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.” But Jesus doesn’t tell us how the elder son responds or what he does. And I can’t help but believe that this was no accident, no mere omission. Because, as we know first-hand, there is still much work to do. And it is our job to write the ending of the parable.

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

Lenten Journey

2010-02-22T19:10:00.000-08:00

Here we are at the beginning of our Lenten journey, as we travel with Jesus that long and lonely road to Jerusalem. As we make this annual pilgrimage, we are right there with Jesus’ disciples, who have been told by their master that he will “undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day of the week be raised” (Lk 9:22).

Like the disciples, many of us focus on, and feel that we must share, our Lord’s pain and suffering, at least symbolically through such things as giving up something of pleasure or taking on extra burdens; through avoiding all forms of temptation and repenting of our numerous sins. It is as if in such actions we are attempting to take on the ponderous, burdensome weight that the human Jesus undoubtedly carries as he travels that road to Jerusalem.

Yes, some of our Gospel readings for the season of Lent do have such themes as temptation (1st Sunday in Lent, Lk 4:1-13) and repentance (3rd Sunday in Lent, Lk 13:1-9). But on alternating Sundays, we also have readings that tell the other side of the Lenten story, that contain imagery of God desiring to gather his children together “as a hen gathers her brood under her wings” (2nd Sunday in Lent, Lk 13:31-35), and of the Prodigal Son (4th Sunday in Lent, Lk 15:1-3,11b-32). These stories convey messages of God’s unconditional love, of His endless compassion and mercy.

When this combination of Gospel lessons are woven together, we see a tapestry emerge that is much greater than the sum of its parts. We have an image of what Lent is really about. We see that we have an obligation to be obedient to God’s law, and for repentance when we fall short. But we also are the recipients of God’s boundless love and grace. And in this tapestry of the Lenten season, we also have an icon of the essence of what it means to be a Christian and to live a life faithful to our callings as disciples of Jesus Christ. For in reality, the Lenten journey is the Christian journey.

As we travel the road to Jerusalem with Jesus, all we can do is walk by his side. While the ponderous and burdensome weight he carries is ours, it is not ours to carry. It is his to carry. And all he asks, during this Lenten journey, as well as throughout our life journey, is that we be faithful companions along the way and share his love and compassion with others. He will take care of the rest. And that will be demonstrated in its fullness as, in about six weeks, we reach Jerusalem, as we helplessly watch the painful events that will happen there, and most certainly as we stand at the mouth of Jesus’ tomb on Easter morning, peek inside, and finding it empty, realize that his promise has been fulfilled, that the burden has indeed been lifted, and that we are the recipients of God’s unbounded grace and infinite love.

Blessed travels!

Anamnesis

2010-02-21T13:29:00.000-08:00

First Sunday in Lent – Year C (RCL)
Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16; Romans 10:8b-13; Luke 4:1-13
Sunday, February 21, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

While on my first pilgrimage to England to study Benedictine Spirituality, one of the places that our group went was Stanbrook Abbey, a Roman Catholic Benedictine convent in Worcestershire. Shortly after our arrival, we met with Dame Joanna, the abbess. As we sat around the cozy parlor, we were like children sitting at the feet of a parent or a teacher. We all listened intently as Dame Joanna told us the history of Stanbrook Abbey. She told us about the nine women who founded their original convent in 1623 in Flanders. After over a century and a half, the nuns were forcibly removed from their home during the French Revolution and imprisoned under very harsh conditions for 18 months. During their imprisonment, four of the sisters died. Upon release of the remaining nuns, despite being penniless, they made their way to England. In 1838, the nuns eventually settled in Stanbrook and began building a new abbey. And on it went, as Dame Joanna continued with the history of the Abbey up to the present.

The story she told was absolutely fascinating – worthy of a made-for-TV miniseries. But what struck me most was not the story itself, but rather the way that she told it. Throughout, from 1623 up to 1994, she told the entire story with great passion, in the first person. WE established our original convent in Flanders in 1623. WE were forcibly removed from our home during the French Revolution. WE were imprisoned for 18 months. WE made our way to England. You get the picture. It was as if Dame Joanna had been there every step of the way, throughout the Abbey’s 371 year history, living it just as her foremothers did. These were not just some historical facts she was conveying. She was not just telling the story of the Abbey. She was telling her story. For in some mystical way, they are one and the same. The two cannot be separated.

While we don’t really have an English term to describe what happened in that parlor, in Dame Joanna’s telling of her story, there is a Greek term for it – anamnesis. Generally translated as “memorial, recalling, or remembrance,” the term is actually untranslatable into English, because it is not so much the mental recollection of a past event, but rather “an objective action in and by which the event is realized as present.” In some mystical way, the remembering of the event makes it present and real in the here and now.

That’s what’s happening in one way or another in all of our scripture readings for today. In the passage from Deuteronomy, the Israelites have just completed their 40-year trek through the desert. They are on the edge of Canaan, poised to enter the much awaited Promised Land. Before they enter their new home, Moses is giving them final instructions. In the portion that we heard this morning, Moses is issuing a creedal statement about who these people are, an affirmation of the covenant between them and YHWH. After describing some of the requisite liturgical acts, Moses says “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor.” In what follows, he is tracing the story of the people back to Jacob and how he and his sons went down into Egypt. He is recalling how the people prospered, but eventually became slaves to the Egyptians. He is recalling God’s deliverance of the people from the hands of the Egyptians, the Exodus, and the 40 years of wandering and testing in the wilderness that they had just come through. He is recalling how God has given them this new land as their home in which they are to be fruitful and become a blessing to the nations. This is not just ancient history. This is their story. This is who they are. This story gives meaning to their very existence. In fact, to this day, the Jewish people continue to recall, to remember the Passover and the subsequent Exodus which defines not only their religion, but who they are as a people and as individuals – an act of anamnesis. In the retelling, they are there. They have experienced it.

Similarly, Paul’s words in the Epistle to the Romans provide what may be one of the earliest creedal statements of the Christian faith. Paul takes us right to the foundation of what it means to be a Christian. “If you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” What more is needed? This simple sentence says it all. Paul does not feel a need to do much elaboration on this statement, yet the recipients of his epistle, the church in Rome, and all followers of Christ in the first century would have, through anamnesis, experienced in these words the entire story of Jesus and his ministry. In them, they would have heard his parables, witnessed his miracles, helplessly watched as he was beaten and crucified, marveled at seeing the empty tomb, and rejoiced at his post-resurrection appearances.

And even the account of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness as presented in Luke entails anamnesis as Jesus does not simply engage in a war of wills and of words with the devil, but rather with each presented temptation, recalls a portion of Israel’s story, his story, and responds with scriptural references directly tied to that story. In the first temptation, Jesus has not eaten in 40 days and is undoubtedly hungry. This 40 days in the desert without food is reminiscent of the 40 years in the desert, where the Israelites had no food. God provided manna for the people to eat, and to serve as a reminder that “one does not live by bread alone.” And it is this response, out of that ancient story that nourished him, with which Jesus replies to the devil. In the second temptation, the devil tries to get Jesus to abandon God and worship him. This is reminiscent of the continual struggle throughout the time in the wilderness and even upon entering the Promised Land in which the Israelites were tempted to worship other gods – either idols of their own making or the gods of the inhabitants of Canaan. As Moses told the people back then, Jesus now responds to the devil, “worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.” And in the third temptation, the devil sets up a challenge to try to get Jesus to test God’s faithfulness. This is an allusion to the desperation of the Israelites, when they were in the wilderness, thirsty for water, and because of their lack of faith, put God to the test at Massah. In so doing, the Israelites question the general trustworthiness of God as the people wander in the wilderness, lost, hungry, and thirsty. Here again, in response to the devil, Jesus quotes Moses’ response to the Israelites, “do not put the Lord your God to the test.”

In all of these temptations, Jesus is reminded of the story that is not just the story of his ancestors, but which is also his own. Through anamnesis, through remembering the story and making it present in his own life, Jesus was able to find the guidance and the strength needed to resist the devil’s temptations and to provide time-tested and irrefutable responses.

In biblical times, telling of the story of the people, of one’s forefathers and foremothers was an integral part of life. Theirs was an oral culture, relying on remembrance of the stories so that they might be preserved for future generations. That was how the stories of the Old Testament were passed on for generations before they were committed to writing. And in that seemingly simple yet necessary act of telling and retelling the stories, something transformative happened. The story became not only the history of the people, it became the story of the individual. The story became part of who they were, informing how they lived their lives and how they themselves would contribute to the on-going story. This was an act of anamnesis.

This is still the case for some of what we consider “primitive cultures.” Sadly, we in the 21st century western world are losing the art of storytelling. It may not be completely lost, but it is greatly diminished, particularly with each passing generation. There are many reasons for this – our reliance on written documentation to convey history and story; the fact that we no longer live in tribes or extended family groupings, so that our young do not have ready access to the stories, to the wisdom of our elders; just to name a couple. But what is far sadder is the fact that in losing the ability to repeatedly hear the stories, to retell the stories, they do not become a part of who we are. When we hear them, they are nice bits of history, but we are disconnected from them. The stories are not ours. We do not have the ability to make them our own, to make them part of who we are.

One place where that does not have to be the case, where that shouldn’t be the case, is in the Church. Our religion is based on a story that stretches back for millennia, a story that defines who we are. And as a result, ours is a religion based on anamnesis, on the power of the stories to be made present in the here and now so that they become our own stories, shaping and informing who we are. This is particularly evident at this table every time we make Eucharist. In every Eucharistic prayer, we recall the works of salvation history, we recall the events of the Last Supper. And every Eucharistic prayer has a section that is actually called the anamnesis – the words that say “We celebrate the memorial of our redemption, O Father, in this sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. Recalling his death, resurrection, and ascension, we offer you these gifts.” The intent is not that the Eucharist is just some bit of ritual. It is making real, in the here and now, in this place, the central story of our faith – Christ’s death, resurrection, and ascension – so that in that moment, we are living it as our own story.

While we know the stories, many of us have forgotten that they are our story. We have forgotten how to make them our own. As such, we need to learn the stories in a different way. As we begin the Lenten season, I can think of no better time to really focus on living into the stories of our faith. For Lent really is about hearing the story and making it our own. In the ancient church, Lent was the time when the catechumens would study and learn, hearing from the elders of the church the stories of our faith. And in the hearing of the stories, the catechumens would be transformed, through the power of anamnesis, so that the story of our forefathers and foremothers became present to them and thereby became their own story.

As we travel through Lent and indeed the entire liturgical year, we hear the stories. We hear our story. In them, WE went down into Egypt. After a time of prosperity, WE became slaves to the Egyptians. And then, through the grace of God, WE were liberated. WE wandered in the wilderness for 40 long years before reaching the Promised Land, OUR new home.

WE were there with the shepherds witnessing the birth of an infant king in a manger in Bethlehem. WE were baptized by John in the River Jordan. WE followed Jesus for three years, listening to his teachings, struggling with his parables, witnessing his miracles of healing. WE were with him at his last meal in the Upper Room. And then WE watched as he was arrested, taken away, subjected to a mock trial, helpless to do anything. WE were there at the foot of the cross with Mary and John, as our Master was crucified. But then, on the third day, WE went to the tomb with Mary and the other women and found it empty. And WE rejoiced at his being raised from the dead and even more so when he appeared to US, to see him, to touch him, to put our hands in his wounds.

This Lenten season, why not try something a little different? Why not try a little anamnesis? Read the stories of our faith. Put yourself in them. Make them present to you in the here and now. See how they are not just some ancient stories, but how they are your story. See how they are a part of you, shaping and informing who you are as a beloved child of God.

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

Big Bang Call Narratives

2010-02-07T12:54:00.000-08:00

Fifth Sunday After Epiphany – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 6:1-6; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11
Sunday, February 7, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!” (Isaiah 6:8)

Last week, we had the story of God’s call of Jeremiah. Today, we go back in time about a hundred years and witness God’s call of Isaiah. Isaiah’s call is a very different one than Jeremiah’s. As you will recall, Jeremiah was reluctant to accept. God had to push him a little. Isaiah, on the other hand, seems to want to accept, but sees a bit of a problem. He confesses that he is sinful and not worthy of serving as God’s representative – “I am a man of unclean lips.” God takes care of that little problem. Using a seraph to touch Isaiah’s unclean lips with a burning coal, God forgives Isaiah’s sins and removes all guilt. In his exuberance in the wake of God’s gracious gift, Isaiah jumps in when God seeks a volunteer, even though he does not quite know what God is asking – “Here am I; send me!”

Every time I hear this reading, I can’t help but think, “Are you crazy? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” And then I am reminded of a time when I reacted just as Isaiah did, sort of.

In 1994, I went to England for a two-week program on Benedictine Spirituality. While the whole trip was formational in many ways, one of the most significant moments came about a week into the program. We took an overnight trip to Ampleforth Abbey, a Roman Catholic Benedictine monastery north of York. The first evening at Ampleforth, we sang evening prayer with the monks. After evening prayer, I felt moved to just stay in the chapel and pray. The chapel was cold and dimly lit, and as I sat there in the darkness praying, I suddenly experienced a sense of light and warmth, what I perceived to be the overwhelming presence of God surrounding me, holding me, loving me. All I could do was cry. I didn’t want to leave that place. I felt completely at ease, as if I had found home. That night, I did not sleep much. My spirit was restless. My mind was awhirl. The next morning, I took a walk through the foggy Yorkshire countryside with Norvene, one of our program leaders. I told her about my experience the night before and how I felt like I might be called to stay there at Ampleforth. Norvene offered to talk to the Abbot to get his permission for me to stay on for awhile. The idea was very tempting. At first, I was there with Isaiah: “Here am I; send me!” But then I was barraged with all sorts of questions. Was I ready to become Catholic so I could stay here? How will my parents react when I call and tell them I’m not coming home? What about my house and all my belongings back in California? What about my career? After thinking and praying about it, I ultimately declined Norvene’s offer, and decided that I needed to continue on with the study tour. Despite a very close all, I just wasn’t ready to say “Here am I; send me!”

While I did not answer God’s call at that time, it was a pivotal moment in my discernment process – the moment at which I realized in a serious way that God was calling me, and the moment at which I knew I had to really begin the work of discernment. Of course, it took another five years of discernment and some pretty heated arguments with God before I finally accepted the call to Holy Orders.

It’s easy to get swept up when presented with a big, dramatic call scenario. When that happens, we naturally want to join with Isaiah and say, “Here am I; send me!” All of the call stories in today’s scripture lessons are essentially that way – relying on the miraculous, the dramatic, to prompt acceptance of the invitation being issued. In our Gospel lesson from Luke, we hear the call of Peter. After a very unproductive day at fishing, when all Peter wants to do is go home and get some shut-eye, Jesus asks him to go out into the lake and try again. Peter reluctantly complies. Jesus then produces a miracle in which they catch more fish than the nets could hold. Jesus uses a show of abundance to demonstrate to Peter what the Kingdom of God is like, to show him that he is needed to help spread the Gospel message. As a result of this miracle, Peter accepts Jesus’ call, leaves everything, and follows his new master. “Here am I; send me!”

While our Epistle lesson from 1 Corinthian doesn’t specifically deal with Paul’s conversion and call, he certainly alludes to it. You may remember from Acts how the Risen Lord came to Paul as he was traveling to Damascus, and through much drama, including flashes of light, booming voices, three days of blindness, and recovery of sight, Paul gives up his strict adherence to Judaism and his self-righteous persecution of Christians to join the very group he had been persecuting. Because of this, he goes on to become, despite his claims of being the least of the apostles, the most influential apostle in the spread of Christianity to the Gentiles. “Here am I; send me!”

These are some pretty dramatic stories. But the reality is, most often God calls us not so much with explosive scenes of visions and miraculous signs, but rather in more subtle ways, with gentle nudges and soft whispers. These require more work on our part. These require that we be attentive. These require that we struggle through with trying to figure out what is going on. Is God really calling me, or is it something else –fantasy, delusion, wishful thinking? Wouldn’t it be easier if all calls were big bangs? After all, our universe started with the Big Bang – the moment in which God created all that is. And all of our scripture lessons show us that God is capable of operating in our lives with a big bang – breaking through into our everyday lives in unexpected ways.

Regardless of the form God’s call takes, these three call narratives, when taken together, say a lot about how God operates in our lives, about the way God reveals himself to us when we least expect it.

First off, God does not command. God invites. And if at first we refuse, God tries different ways of getting the message across, so that we might reconsider. God invites and Isaiah does not feel worthy due to perceived sinfulness. But God wipes out that problem and invites again. And Isaiah accepts. Jesus invites Peter, who could have said no and continued his life fishing for fish instead of the harder task of fishing for people. But Jesus, through the imagery of the overabundance of fish, showed Peter what the Kingdom of God could be like, if only he would help. And Peter accepts. The Risen Lord invites Paul, who could have said no and continued on the far easier path of maintaining the status quo instead of working to create something new. But God showed Paul his love and mercy, and how he could be a part of taking that message to the world. And Paul accepts. These were all tough nuts to crack, but God patiently continued to invite. But I can tell you one thing from personal experience. Even though God does not command, but invites, he can be very persistent.

A second and related characteristic is that, while God is all powerful and could do all this Kingdom work by himself, he made us to be co-creators with him in this world. He wants us to have input, to be a part of the process of building his Kingdom. And frankly, when you’re dealing with human beings, there are just some times when a human touch makes more sense. In that, God still needs our help. God needed Isaiah as a mouthpiece to the people of Judah, to be someone who could speak to them on their terms. God needed Peter and Paul to carry the message of Jesus Christ to the entire world following his death and resurrection, to share their personal experiences of the Risen Christ. Such tasks are better carried out, can only be carried out, through human agency.

Third, despite our objections, God finds ways to remove our perceived and sometimes self-imposed impediments. Isaiah felt himself to be a sinner. God removed his sin. Impediment gone. Similarly, Peter felt he was a sinful and lowly fisherman. Reading between the lines, Jesus said “that doesn’t matter. We can use you anyway. What better example of who is welcomed than a sinful and lowly fisherman?” Paul felt he was the least of the apostles, unworthy to follow Christ because of his persecution of the church. Despite his past, God showed him that he was loved, through the care of Ananias. No matter who we are, no matter what we may have done, God loves us unconditionally, and wants us to be a part of his work, to be part of his Kingdom.

And fourth, God calls us wherever we are. The time and place in which we receive God’s call is not limited to holy places like churches and monasteries. They can happen anytime, anywhere. For Isaiah, it was during worship in the Temple. For Peter, it was while he was doing his secular job. And for Paul, it was while he was traveling, between assignments, as it were. God looks at where we are in our lives, and meets us there. God makes ordinary places extraordinary. God makes secular places holy.

All of these come together when God breaks into our lives. And ultimately, it’s not about how miraculous or spectacular God presents himself to us. Even though not all calls are filled with visions, like Isaiah’s call, or miracles of abundance, like Peter’s call, or lights and temporary blindness like Paul’s call, they are all still big bangs – for in that moment when we accept God’s call, something new and beautiful is created – the union of Creator and created working in partnership for a common purpose. And in such moments, God is revealing his infinite love for us, his boundless grace. God is showing us that no matter who we are, no matter what we may think our faults are, we are all of value to God, and he wants to use us, if we just give him a chance. If we just give ourselves a chance and boldly say, “Here am I; send me!”

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

Call: It's Not Just For Prophets Anymore

2010-01-31T13:11:00.000-08:00

Fourth Sunday After Epiphany – Year C (RCL)
Jeremiah 1:4-10; Psalm 71:1-6; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13; Luke 4:21-30
Sunday, January 31, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
and before you were born I consecrated you” (Jer. 1:5)

In these words from our Old Testament lesson, we hear God’s calling of Jeremiah to be a prophet at a most critical time in Israel’s history. The Northern Kingdom of Israel has already been decimated by the Assyrians. And now the Southern Kingdom of Judah is facing similar troubles. Someone is needed to for the difficult work of delivering God’s warnings to Judah in the run-up to the Babylonian Exile. And God chooses Jeremiah.

But Jeremiah is reluctant to accept God’s call. “Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.” But this is not about age. Jeremiah resists because he doesn’t think he is up to the task, that he does not have what it will take to do what God is asking. But God sees what Jeremiah does not see. God sees that Jeremiah has the requisite gifts and talents to carry this off. First and foremost, Jeremiah is from a priestly family. He has grown up steeped in the story of Israel and the centrality of its relationship with God. This will allow him to convey God’s message to the people in ways they will hopefully understand – relating it to the unique position that Israel holds as God’s Chosen People. Jeremiah does not see this, but God does. Hence God’s response: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.”

Because of God’s insistence, because of God’s assurance that He will provide Jeremiah with what is needed for the task at hand, Jeremiah acquiesces. And with the help of God, he goes on to become one of the greatest prophets in Israel’s history. He is able to prophesy of the paradoxical power of God – the power that plucks up but also plants, the power that destroys but also builds up, the power of death but also life, the power of judgment but also of salvation. But even so, Jeremiah did not have an easy time of it. He first prophesies in his home town of Anathoth, provoking the anger of his fellow villagers and his family. He then moves on to other areas, in hopes that someone might hear God’s words and heed their warning. His prophecies are of judgment, yet containing seeds of hope. Indeed his prophecies turn to portents of hope as the Exile eventually nears its end – hope of a return of Judah to its homeland, hope of reconciliation with their God. While Jeremiah’s initial prophecies are not heeded by the people, his latter prophecies help them get through the remainder of the Exile, keeping the hope alive.

While Jeremiah’s story is extraordinary in many ways, in other ways, his story, particularly the story of his call, is also our story. We are tempted to think of call, of vocation, as something reserved for the great figures in the history of our faith – Abraham, Moses, Jeremiah, and Isaiah; Mary, John the Baptist, Peter, and Paul. Or at most, we might expand the concept to include “professionals” in matters of religion – people who make their living doing churchy stuff – people like monks and nuns, bishops and priests, people like me, like Father David. But that’s not the case. We don’t have exclusive rights. We don’t have a corner on that market. You see, we all have a calling. It may not be to Holy Orders. It may not be as a prophet. But we all have some sort of calling, something that God is inviting us to do for the service and fulfillment of His Kingdom. And the key to that, I believe, is in God’s words to Jeremiah: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.”

These words from the Book of Jeremiah have always spoken to me, although I have not always known why. But about ten years ago, I was required to do something that helped me figure out how God’s words to Jeremiah apply to me. When you begin the process toward Holy Orders, you are required to write a “spiritual autobiography,” that, at least in part, traces your sense of call. I used, as the opening for my spiritual autobiography, God’s words to Jeremiah. As I reflected on these words and reflected on my life to that point, I came to realize that, while what God was calling me to do may or may not have begun in the womb, it was at the very least evident (in hindsight) from early in my life. It felt as if this was what I had been consecrated to ultimately do. I can’t help but believe that the same is true for every person in this room. There is a calling – something special that God wants of you; something only you can do. Maybe you’re already doing it. Maybe you have no clue what it is – yet. Maybe you’re struggling with discernment, trying to get a clearer picture of what that calling might be, what form it might take.

As Hermann Hesse writes, “There are many types and kinds of vocations, but the core of the experience is always the same; the soul is awakened, transformed, or exalted so that instead of dreams and presentiments from within, a summons comes from without; a portion of reality presents itself and makes a claim” (Beckmann, 94-95). The response to that call from without, to that portion of reality making its claim, requires that we spend time examining how that call might take shape. It requires reflection – reflection on who we are, reflection on our roles in the world, reflection on the inherent gifts that we can give back to the world. For our call ties in with where we are right now, with what we are already doing. Our life to this point, our life from the womb to the present, has been preparing us, leading us, to what God is ultimately calling us to do. God prepares us to live out the vocation He calls us to, the calling for which we were born, through each step we take, through every role that we take on. Even if it doesn’t seem like what you are doing in your life right now is a calling from God, I would say, “think again.” Reflect on your life as it is and see just how you are living God’s call. As one commentator noted, “It is the invitation to every Christian to witness to the gospel by investing with radical grace whatever worldly roles God opens to us.” Whatever role. No matter how grand, no matter how small. After all, “as Martin Luther so famously said about parenthood, when understood as Christian vocation, even changing dirty diapers is done for the glory of God!” (Davis, 292).

And of course, as we reflect, as we pray, as we discern how God’s call is prompting us to move into new areas, to engage in new activities, we may have a sense of uneasiness. Jeremiah shows us that fear, anxiety, self-doubts, resistance, even resentments, are natural and understandable reactions when God issues a call to engage in His work. But as is also shown through Jeremiah, both the calling and the capacity to fulfill that calling come directly from God. God uses who we are. God uses what we already have – our gifts and talents. And when necessary, God provides what additional resources we may need. So while it may be scary or uncomfortable, we can rest assured that when God calls us, we do not go it alone. He will be with us to guide and aid us as we fulfill that calling.

And sense of calling does not just apply to individuals. God also calls groups of people collectively to specific vocations. We are seeing that process at work here at Trinity. Our Strategic Planning process is one of on-going discernment as to what God is calling us to be and do, where God is calling us to go. Just because the Strategic Plan document is done does not mean we can stop. It’s just the beginning of the discernment process. In fact, the first few objectives to be tackled specifically deal with discerning our mission, both within Trinity and in the broader community.

This may be a little uncomfortable for some of us – having to step outside our comfort zones and engage in ministry out in the world. But that’s what God is calling us to do. In fact, that’s what the Gospel requires of us. In today’s Gospel lesson, we see the people of Nazareth getting all riled up and upset at Jesus. Why? Because he was pushing them outside their comfort zones. The Jewish people had always believed that God’s grace and blessings were reserved for them, God’s Chosen – for those inside their borders. But Jesus is telling them that God’s grace extends outside their boundaries. He cites examples of how and where God has worked to the benefit of outsiders: the feeding of the widow of Zaraphath, the healing of the widow’s son, the healing of Naaman the Syrian. The people of Nazareth don’t want to hear this. They don’t want to accept this. They want to keep God’s blessings for themselves.

Now I know the people of Trinity are not like the people of Nazareth. We are willing to share God’s grace, God’s abundance, with those outside our boundaries, outside our walls. We don’t fly into rages when such things are suggested. But we may be a little fearful about the prospect. It may be a little uncomfortable. But we know there are very real needs out there – needs that we can help meet. There is a hunger for God’s word out there, a hunger for tangible experiences of the presence of God and of Jesus Christ – a hunger that we can help fill. We’ve seen that in recent months. We perceived a need to provide a worship experience for those who find Christmas a difficult time. So we gave Blue Christmas a shot. And people from outside our walls came. Not a lot. But they did come, and they were fed, experiencing God as they had not experiences Him before. We perceived a need to join with other churches and do a community Las Posadas. We didn’t think a lot of people would join in. But they did. Hundreds more than any of us expected. As a result of our initiative, 500 people were fed with the experience of God’s love, and with tamales and empanadas. Was it uncomfortable doing these new things? You bet it was! But what we saw was that when we were called to something in particular, God gave us what we needed. He showed us people in our midst who had the talents and gifts needed to pull it off. He moved people from outside Trinity to offer their needed services. God provided what we needed to fulfill the calling. And God provided in abundance.

I have a feeling this is going to be a very fruitful year for Trinity – both as a faith community and for the individuals who comprise this parish. We already see the Holy Spirit moving through the community, stirring things up, prompting individuals and this parish as a whole to explore new ministries. And I see the Spirit moving more and more in the coming weeks and months and years, as we implement our Strategic Plan. We will continue to discern God’s calling, pushing us, but all the while, providing what we need when we need it. God is going to be very busy in this place. And so are we, as we accept his call. And we will rise to the occasion, as individuals and as a community. Because this is what God has formed us to do. This is what our lives have been leading us to. This is what God has consecrated us to do.

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

References
Beckmann, Kim L., et al. New Proclamation: Year C, 2009-2010, Advent through Holy Week. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009.

Davis, James Calvin. “Jeremiah 1:4-10, Theological Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year C, Volume 1, Advent Through Transfiguration. Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.