No Ordinary Visit

Fourth Sunday of Advent – Year C (RCL)
Micah 5:2-5a; Psalm 80:1-7; Hebrews 10:510; Luke 1:39-45(46-55)
Sunday, December 20, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


In today’s Gospel lesson, we have the story of the Visitation – that beloved, yet somewhat strange, story of Mary, mother-to-be of Our Lord, making an impromptu visit to Elizabeth, mother-to-be of John the Baptizer. The content of their conversation notwithstanding, I say strange because of the overall circumstances involved. Yes, Mary and Elizabeth are relatives, but aside from the fact that they are both pregnant, and the circumstances surrounding both pregnancies are a little strange in and of themselves, they have little in common. Mary is a poor young girl from the outback. Elizabeth is an old woman who is presumably somewhat comfortable (after all, her husband is a priest in the Temple), living in the hill country near Jerusalem, the big city. Yet, upon hearing from the angel Gabriel that Elizabeth is also pregnant, Mary hastily makes the arduous 80-some mile trip, presumably by herself, to go see Elizabeth.

What we don’t really know from the Gospel lesson is why Mary went to visit Elizabeth in the first place. Did she go to offer her congratulations to her relative and fellow servant of God? Did she have questions or even doubts about what was happening and maybe needed a little reassurance from someone who was going through a similar situation? Did she have second thoughts about saying “yes” to God and was in need of some sort of confirmation or encouragement that she was doing the right thing? All these are certainly possible under the circumstances.

Maybe upon being visited by Gabriel and learning that Elizabeth was also pregnant, Mary was able to connect the dots and see the bigger picture of what God was doing through these two women. Maybe she felt a need to convey this to Elizabeth, to keep her in the loop. Maybe she felt a need to get Elizabeth’s take on all this, to maybe fill in more pieces of the mysterious and wonderful puzzle that was slowly being revealed.

Or maybe Mary just now begins to ponder what all this means. Given the fear and shock she would have undoubtedly experienced at being suddenly visited by a messenger from God, she probably did not really have a chance to think clearly in the presence of the angel who announced her pregnancy. In the moment she only acted out of pure trust in God, knowing that if God was asking such a far-fetched thing of her, it must be important. Afterward, she has time to think through the rational implications of what she has agreed to. Maybe she needs some time away to process, to sort out what all this means for her and for her unborn child.

Regardless of her reason for making such a trip, in her joy, in her confusion, in her questioning, Mary goes to Elizabeth – to someone whom she knows and loves, to someone who knows and loves her. Regardless of what she is thinking and feeling, Mary knows she cannot deal with it alone. She knows she needs connection with someone whom she knows, loves, and trusts.

So, the visit begins. And with Mary’s arrival at Elizabeth’s house, we have one of the most power-packed encounters in Scripture. As soon as Mary greets Elizabeth, Elizabeth’s child leaps in her womb due to some mystical recognition of Mary, but more importantly, of her unborn child. At the mere sound of Mary’s voice, because of the proximity of the as-yet unborn Lord, this six month old fetus recognizes that it is in the presence of the one who is yet to come, the one whom he himself would one day herald as Messiah.

And this encounter with the one who is to come not only affects Elizabeth’s unborn child, but also affects her. We are told that Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. Undoubtedly, the Holy Spirit was what facilitated or provided the baby’s recognition in the first place, resulting in him leaping with joy. So the Holy Spirit had a double impact on Elizabeth. First, she had the physical response of feeling the baby leaping in her womb, and a spiritual response of recognition of who Mary is and more importantly, who the baby is. In response, she is moved to offer her blessing, both of Mary and of the baby. Even though at this point, she has not had the opportunity to hear the full story of Mary’s encounter with Gabriel, she knows through the Holy Spirit that something wondrous has happened – something wondrous is about to happen. The Holy Spirit has revealed to her what up until now was only known by Mary. She knows and acknowledges that the unborn child in her midst is her Lord. And she is able to recognize what it means for Mary to have said “yes” to God’s request that she become the mother of God’s son. She blesses Mary for the selfless gift of herself in agreeing to bear the savior of the world.

Her blessing is wonderfully poetic, not just in its language, but in what it foreshadows. The prophet Isaiah may have foretold the work of John the Baptizer, but it would be John’s mother who would provide the example. Elizabeth’s blessing is a prophetic utterance, proclaiming the impending birth of her Lord, just as her own unborn son would one day be “the voice of one crying in the wilderness: prepare the way of the Lord” – the one who would prepare the way for the world to receive its Messiah.

Women aren’t given much of a place in the Bible. And we hear even fewer speak. But you have to admit, when women in the Bible are allowed to speak, they get some pretty awesome lines. And there is none more awesome than Mary’s response to Elizabeth’s blessing. After Elizabeth recognizes the ones in her midst – Mary and the unborn Son of God – Mary delivers some of the best-known words in all of Christendom: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.” In the Magnificat, Mary acknowledges Elizabeth’s blessing and takes it to the next level. Elizabeth has acknowledged the wonder that is about to happen, that this young girl will give birth to the Messiah. But just as Elizabeth’s son would one day only be able to point the way to the Messiah, so too Elizabeth can only point the way to the wonder that will ultimately be revealed. As Jesus will one day pick up the story where John must out of necessity leave off, so too does Mary pick up where Elizabeth leaves of by telling of the ultimate meaning behind the miraculous event that is yet to come.

In her response, the Magnificat, Mary highlights the world-changing ramifications of what is to happen with the birth of her child, God’s Son – the fulfillment of God’s mercy, the manifestation of God’s strength and power, the provision of God’s abundance, the expression of God’s grace. While at the time of her speaking, Jesus has yet to be born, while his revelation to humanity as Emmanuel, “God with us” has yet to occur, while the ultimate results of his coming as God incarnate have yet to come to fruition, Mary speaks in the past tense, as if the these things have already happened. God has fulfilled, and is still fulfilling, salvation history through her, through her selfless gift of herself, and through her as-yet unborn son, the one who is to come. What she proclaims transcends time. Past, present, and future merge together. The coming of the Messiah, both in the birth of Jesus and in Christ’s Second Coming, become one, as only can happen in God’s time. As one scholar notes, “Mary proclaims the promised, topsy-turvy future of God as an already-accomplished fact—possible because that future can already be glimpsed in God’s choice of Mary as the bearer of the Messiah” (Campbell, 95).

Mary bears witness to the goodness of God, to His grace and mercy, to God’s covenant faithfulness to His people – to all people. Through her proclamation in the Magnificat, Mary is the first human to proclaim the Gospel of Christ. And she proclaims it not only with words, but with her whole being. With her body, in having agreed to be the God-bearer. And in her very soul. “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my Spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” Or, as Eugene Peterson, author of The Message, a contemporary language paraphrase of the Bible, renders the first line of the Magnificat, “I’m bursting with God-news; I’m dancing with the song of my Savior God.”

Put the two pieces together – Elizabeth’s blessing of Mary and Mary’s song of praise – they, and we, begin to see the fullness of what God is doing. We see the fullness of the meaning of Advent. In Elizabeth’s blessing on Mary and her unborn child, she is heralding the birth of the Messiah. And in her song of praise, Mary is revealing the fullness of what will be accomplished through the life of her unborn son, of God-made-flesh. While she cannot know it at the time, what she proclaims about God cannot be immediately fulfilled. Such tangible displays of God’s grace and mercy as scattering the proud in their conceit, casting down the mighty, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry, sending the rich away empty, will not happen right away. First, the one who is to come, the one who’s birth is heralded by Elizabeth and then by John, must ultimately die, be resurrected, and ascend to heaven in order for these things to begin to happen – to happen through the Body that would be left behind, the followers of this one who came and is yet to come. And these marvelous acts, these demonstrations of the awaited Kingdom of God, can only be brought to their fullness in the Second Coming.

Theirs is no ordinary visit between relatives. As a result of their visit, Elizabeth and Mary come to see themselves not in terms of their isolated, personal selves, but as a part of something larger – of God’s purposes for them, for their as yet unborn children, for humanity. Together, they see more clearly, more fully. In them, God is at work in deeply personal ways, affecting each woman uniquely and profoundly. But in these two women, God is also at work in a way that will forever change the world.

Their story carries a crucial lesson for us, for we who in this season anticipate both the birth of our Messiah and his Second Coming in glory. In bringing about these awaited events, God has used two marginalized women to proclaim and bring about the greatest news ever given to humanity. Each had their part to play. But together, they were greater than the sum of the parts. So it is with us. We each have our part to play in this, as the Body of Christ. God uses all of us, no matter how great or how small. Each of us has a message to proclaim. Each of us has work to do. But just as with Mary and Elizabeth, when we come together, our message, our work, is greater and more powerful than it would have been had we tried to go it alone.

As we come to the end of this Advent season, anticipating the one who is to come, both to a manger in Bethlehem, and to all the peoples of the world, and finally at a day and hour that we cannot know, let us rejoice in the example of two lowly women of yore, who show us what can happen when people of faith come together in community, and who together give us the hope and assurance of the glory that is to come.

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


References
Campbell, Charles L. “Luke 1:39-45 (46-55), Homiletical 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.

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Hurry Up and Wait!

First Sunday of Advent – Year C (RCL)
Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:1-9; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21:25-36
Sunday, November 29, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


Hurry up and wait!

If you’re like me, you don’t like to have to wait. I hate waiting in line at the grocery store – I want to get checked out so I can get home or on to my next errand. I hate sitting at stop lights – I want to get wherever it is I’m heading. If I have an appointment at 10:00, I want to be underway promptly at 10:00. If I make up my mind to do something, particularly if I have spent a lot of time struggling or agonizing over the decision, I want do get it done right then – no waiting.

Ours is a culture of instant gratification. Ours is a culture that sees waiting as inefficient, a waste of time. But aside from that, waiting carries with it an element of uncertainty – uncertainty about when we will indeed get that meeting underway or about what will indeed happen when the waiting is over. And most of us don’t like uncertainty. We are not comfortable with the unknown.

The irony for us 21st century Christians, for a people who are not comfortable with waiting and the unknown that goes along with it, is that ours is a religion based on waiting. In the early days of our religion, Christianity was not known as Christianity. It was known as The Way. But given the nature of our religion, it might more aptly have been known as The Wait. A look at liturgical time demonstrates that.

It all began with the birth of Jesus, what we now know as Christmas. But after Christmas, we have to wait for Epiphany, for the arrival of the wise men. And after Epiphany, we have a period of waiting for the arrival of Ash Wednesday. Following Ash Wednesday, we have the season of Lent, where we wait for Palm Sunday and Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. But it doesn’t end with this triumphal parade. We have to wait some more, through the week that leads to the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday, on to Jesus’ arrest later that night, to his trial and his execution on Good Friday. And then there is the hardest waiting of all, the time between his death on Good Friday and his resurrection on Easter. But it doesn’t end there. We have to wait some more for his Ascension, followed by the fulfillment of Christ’s promise to send the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. But even that is not the end of the waiting. Following Pentecost, we wait and wait and wait some more as we explore and experience the meaning of Jesus’ life and ministry, of Christ’s reign – a time of waiting for Christ’s promised return, for the Second Coming.

While we know the path of the liturgical year and the periods of waiting that must necessarily occur, we also know what the next step will be. While we may not like the waiting, we know what to expect and can see a definite end of the waiting. But perhaps the most significant period of waiting actually begins today, the first Sunday of Advent. This is a time when we do double duty in the waiting department. We await God’s coming to earth in the form of the baby Jesus, born at Christmas. And we await the returning to earth of our Risen Lord, at a time that we do not know. The first of these we can readily see. We can see the first because Jesus has already been born. We don’t really need to anticipate that event, although we do anyway. What we truly anticipate is Christ’s coming again. But this, we cannot see. The hard part is that this coming again will be at a day and an hour that we do not know, that we cannot know. But the two events we anticipate, Jesus’ birth at Christmas and his Second Coming, are inextricably linked. For as one commentator notes, a “transformative chain of events was launched at the announcement of the coming of the infant, God-incarnate” (Kärkkäinen, 22) – a chain of events that would lead to that God-incarnate being crucified, risen, and ascended, and who would one day return. We cannot have one without the other. We cannot have the Second Coming without the first coming, Jesus’ birth. And so we wait.

It is because of this waiting for the Second Coming that we have the Gospel lesson we do today. In it, we do not encounter the baby Jesus, but rather a stern, adult Jesus, issuing warnings and injunctions about the end times. It is quite appropriate that these words are issued by Jesus from the middle of the Temple mere days before his arrest, trial, and crucifixion. Jesus, too, waits. And while he waits, he takes this opportunity to let us know what to expect while we wait for a situation that has not yet been fulfilled.

Dealing with situations that have not yet been fulfilled is nothing new in the Bible. Dealing with situations that have not yet been fulfilled is actually the subject of both our Old Testament lesson from Jeremiah and our Gospel lesson from Luke. While dealing with different situations, both deal with the subject of waiting for what is yet to come. In Jeremiah’s case, he is dealing with the anticipated end of the Babylonian Exile, when the people would be allowed to return home. But that had not yet happened. The people were anxious because of the waiting. Luke uses the words of Jesus to tell the early church that Christ would come again in the fullness of time. But that had not yet happened. These people, too, were anxious because of the waiting. In both cases, the people had grown weary from waiting and had begun to fear that the promised returns, of the exiles to Israel, and of Christ’s Second Coming, may not happen after all. In both cases, sloppiness had begun to set in among these two communities of faith. In both cases, Jeremiah and Luke attempt to convey a message of hope, of assurance, that the promised events would indeed happen. And in the case of Luke, regarding the coming again of the Messiah, he attempts to convey a message of what needs to be done during the time of waiting – to be watchful and alert, to be prayerful and humble, to trust in God and the awaiting redemption that only God can, and will, through Christ, bring.

Because of all the imagery of cosmic signs and distress among the nations and the powers of the heavens being shaken, because of predictions of people fainting from fear and foreboding, this text from Luke tends to evoke images of fear and damnation preceding the return of the Messiah. But this is not the real intent. The text from Luke offers not fear and damnation. Quite the contrary, what the Lukan Jesus is really offering is hope and expectation – hope and expectation because God loves us, because God wants to redeem us, because God through Jesus Christ is coming. To fulfill this hope, this expectation, we need Christ to come, both as a little child and as our Risen Lord. But we must wait.

And Jesus tells us what we must do in our waiting. He tells us that while there will be signs, that does not mean that we need to become obsessed with trying to interpret the signs, to second-guess what any potential sign might mean. People have been trying to do that for the last two thousand years, trying to pinpoint the day and the hour of the Second Coming. And they have always been wrong, because we don’t know the day or the hour of his coming. Rather, Jesus is telling us that we need to be alert. That’s different from trying to predict. In being alert, we are aware of what is going on around us and are able to act accordingly. In being alert, we see how the world falls short of God’s vision for it and for humanity. We see what we might do to bring a little bit of the promised kingdom to light in our own dark world. Since we know neither the day nor the hour, we need to constantly prepare, not wait until all the signs are right and it looks like this may be it, and only then begin to prepare. For if we continually prepare, it won’t matter when the day or the hour is. For when it comes, we will not have to scramble. We will already be prepared. We will be ready for Christ’s coming and for whatever may follow.

While Jesus tells us that we need to be prepared, he does not say much about what that includes, other than a passing reference to prayer. But I think part of our preparation is found in his statement that “heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” The eternal thing that will remain, and hence, the thing that will sustain us during the time of waiting, that will prepare us for what is to come, is that very word – the Gospel. The message of the Gospel, the good news of the coming kingdom, what it will entail, and what we must do to be a part of that kingdom, are integral to our preparations – the Gospel as explored and lived out in community.

We all know that when we have to wait, the waiting is made a little easier when done with someone else. For us Christians as we wait through Advent, as we wait not only for the coming of Jesus as a child, but even more so as we wait for the Second Coming of our Risen Lord, we are better able to wait, are better prepared for the coming events, when we do so in community. We are not meant to wait it out alone. We cannot wait it out alone. As one commentator notes, “Knowing and believing the ‘good news’ of the coming kingdom finds evidence in how we see that kingdom in the world around us – in others. Our own belief in the kingdom finds expression when we see it in others, when we name it in their lives and rejoice, giving thanks for the sometimes surprising ways that the people around us and in front of us reveal the coming kingdom in our midst” (Mulder, 5).

The church exists to help us through the waiting process, as we wait for the birth of God-incarnate, as we wait for the coming of the Risen Christ, as we wait for the fulfillment of the Kingdom of God. The church exists to help us prepare for all these promises, through our communal prayers, through our worship, through studying and learning how to live the Gospel. The church exists to give us a foretaste of what the Kingdom may ultimately look like, as we live into Kingdom ideals by working for the well-being of all God’s beloved children through outreach and pastoral care. The church exists to provide examples, through the lives of our sisters and brothers in faith, of what it means to live the Gospel. The church exists to provide the support and the companionship that we each need as we struggle with what it means to live the Gospel, as we wait for the coming of the Kingdom that is yet to come. The church, this faith community, will help us get through the waiting. It’s the only way we can get through it. If it were not for the church, the community of faith, the Body of Christ, Advent and all that follows from it would be pointless.

As we begin this Advent season, we anticipate the coming of the Christ child. We anticipate the Second Coming of our Risen Lord. We anticipate the fulfillment of the Kingdom of God. All this is promised to us. All this will happen in due time. But for now, we wait.

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


References

Kärkkäinen, Veli-Matti. “Luke 21:25-36, 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.

Mulder, Timothy J., et al. New Proclamation: Year C, 2009-2010, Advent through Holy Week. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009.

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Thanksgiving Eve Homily

Thanksgiving Eve – Year B (RCL)
Joel 2:21-27; Psalm 126; 1 Timothy 2:1-7; Matthew 6:25-33
Wednesday, November 25, 2009, 7:30 pm
Joint Service with Trinity Episcopal and First Lutheran, Redlands (at First Lutheran)


Jesus said, “I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.”

Without a doubt, the bottom line of today’s Gospel lesson is a message of assurance. At some level, we all know that, we all feel that. But, like so many of Jesus’ words to us, this same passage can, at the same time, leave us feeling a little uneasy. Depending on who we are or what circumstances we find ourselves in, the cause of the uneasiness will be a little different.

I would hazard a guess that most of us are either pretty well of, or at least have sufficient means to live a reasonably comfortable life. What does today’s Gospel lesson say to us? Jesus tells us, “do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.” For 21st century Americans, this injunction could be expanded to include do not worry about your house, or your car, or your 401(k). But having such things, having the means to live comfortably both now and in the future, brings with it a great deal of worry, particularly in our current economic climate. How can we not worry, with the stock market being more of an E-ticket ride than any rollercoaster? How can we not worry with employment on the rise? We may have what we need for a comfortable life now, but will we still have it next month, or next year, or when we want to retire? Worry is the sign of the times we live in.

For us, the Gospel message is quite clear. “Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” This message does not necessarily mean that we are assured of keeping what we have. Rather, it is an injunction to not worry about the material, but to focus on what is important. For us Christians, it is not the food we eat or the clothes we wear or the house we live in or the car we drive. What is important is our relationship with God. What this message is saying is that when we focus on such things as house and car and food and investments, those things detract from our focus on what is important. The Gospel cautions us to not let our anxiety over having enough become the driving force in our lives. For if that happens, when that happens – and we all succumb to such anxiety at one time or another, it is only human – when that happens, it becomes our ultimate loyalty. It becomes our idol. It becomes our god.

The corrective, according to Jesus, is not to worry about such things. It doesn’t do any good anyway. It just results in increased blood pressure, ulcers, headaches. Rather, we need to trust that God will watch over us, protect us, and help us get through such times. At times, this may sound like a platitude, but I’m sure we have all heard stories of those who do demonstrate righteousness by trusting in God, and when they do, somehow, all is well. God does provide. Not necessarily with miracles. Not necessarily in the ways we would like, hope, or expect. But God does provide. Of that we are assured, and in that we place our hope.

But as I reflect on this passage, I am also mindful of those who do not have sufficient means to life a reasonably comfortable life; of the results of a recently-released study that shows that one in seven people in the world, nearly one billion people, suffer from hunger and malnutrition. And I am mindful of a study released by the US Department of Agriculture last week that in 2008, one in seven households in the United States, nearly 49 million people, while not necessarily suffering from hunger or malnutrition, struggled to put enough food on their tables. While they may have food, it is not sufficient to for an active, healthy lifestyle. The government study noted that this was a significant increase over 2007 number, and that, because of the global recession, this number is expected to climb even higher for 2009. For many people faced with financial difficulties, something as simple and basic as food becomes an unaffordable luxury.

In response to the report, the administration called the findings “unsettling.” As Christians, I would say this is more than unsettling. It is unacceptable. It is morally reprehensible. So what does today’s Gospel lesson say to these people? Jesus tells us “do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink.” How can these people not worry? These people and the billion others around the world who are waiting for the Good News of today’s Gospel lesson to tangibly manifest itself in their lives.

Does this mean that these people do not have faith? That they are not righteous? That if they would only trust in God, they would have the food they need? Definitely not! In fact, many of these people, in their poverty, have nothing to turn to but their faith. They have utmost faith that despite their circumstances, God will provide, as promised in today’s Gospel. Sure, they can’t help but worry – worry about how they are going to feed themselves, how they are going to feed their children. But in the midst of the worry, they somehow are able to see the truth of God’s grace, the bounty of God’s love.

So how come they are not relieved? How come they continue to suffer from hunger, homelessness, disease? That’s easy. In our day, God does not generally work through miraculous means. All that changed with the coming of Jesus Christ. Christ’s coming ushered in a new way of doing business. God now works through the Body of Christ present in the world. God works through us, who are called to be the hands and feet and heart of Christ in the world. So, from this standpoint, today’s Gospel lesson does not let us, those who have what we need to survive, off the hook, but rather invites us to struggle with our sense of priorities.

In ancient times, wealth was perceived to have limits – there was a finite amount to go around. Striving for personal gain, while providing for the well-being of the one seeking it, at the same time, meant that less was available for someone else. Striving for material gain was often viewed as robbing from another. We do not hold such views today. In fact, our current global financial crisis was at least partially precipitated by the prevailing notion in our own time that wealth knows no bounds. Maybe we need to return to the old way of viewing such matters.

Does that mean we who have sufficient means need to impoverish ourselves to exhibit our faith, our righteousness? By no means! But it does call for awareness. Awareness of the plight of the other who may not have sufficient means; awareness that we may not be so different, that what separates us may only be one or two paychecks; awareness of ways that we might be able to give of our bounty to help those who do not have even what they need to survive.

At this time of Thanksgiving, when we take time to be mindful of the riches we have, we are called to be thankful for our bounty, both material and spiritual. But our response does not stop there. Today’s Gospel lesson calls us to righteousness – to right living – to living into the Gospel message, to be the hands and feet and heart of Christ in the world. As we count our blessings, we are not to just stop there, but are called to consider how those blessings might be used to the benefit of others beyond ourselves. Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink. Instead, worry about the other – the poor, the marginalized, our brothers and sisters who are the least of these. And not just worry, but act. This is, in part, what it means to strive for the kingdom of God and his righteousness. And as the Gospel promises, if we do this, many more blessings will be given us as well. Now that has the makings for a Happy Thanksgiving.

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

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The Widow's Mite or the Widow's Might?

Twenty-Third Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 27) – Year B (RCL)
1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44
Sunday, November 8, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


From a structural standpoint, how do you view the portion of Mark’s gospel that we just read? Is it two stories, or is it one story with two parts? How you answer that question can greatly impact how you interpret the sum total of the words we just heard. So what’s the right answer? Is it two stories or one? Well, the correct answer is “yes.” Let’s take a look at today’s gospel both ways and you’ll see what I mean.

In many ways, today’s gospel looks to be two stories. In fact, if you look in a Bible, today’s lesson is spit into two pericopes. The first is Jesus teaching in the temple. He observes some scribes and uses this as an opportunity to reinforce his previous teachings about personal glorification. You will recall that Jesus has previously taught the disciples to give up aspirations of power, reputation, prestige, place of honor. The first part of the lesson attacks these attitudes in the scribes, who exemplify all that Jesus has been criticizing and condemning: scribes wearing long robes as a sign of wealth; scribes strutting their stuff and looking to be recognized in the marketplace, a public arena where the common folk would witness the honor bestowed upon them; scribes seeking the best seats in church and at banquets, indicating that they are people of status. In addition, Jesus goes on the attack because of the scribes’ hypocrisy. He strongly suggests that the scribes have likely exploited their position for personal financial gain. In short, their piety is a façade.

The second story shifts location to the temple treasury, where people are coming forward and presenting their monetary offerings. Jesus calls attention to the fact that a number of rich people are giving large sums of money. That’s certainly admirable. But then, a poor widow comes in to present her offering. She gives a measly two copper coins. That’s nothing compared to what the others have given. But Jesus points out that this woman gave an offering of all that she had to live on.

The words “all she had to live on” can also be translated as “her whole life” – she gave everything, held nothing back in her devotion to God. Proportionally speaking, she gave a greater share than the others. Forget the tithe. Her faith was so great that she gave her entire self to God. In so doing, the widow puts God first, thereby putting her own needs and wants into God’s hands. The wealthy, on the other hand, give from their surplus, putting their own wants and desires first, thereby putting God farther down the list of priorities.

The widow’s offering speaks volumes of how she views God compared to how the wealthy in the same story view God. For the wealthy, giving to God is out of a sense of duty. What is given is from the surplus, the leftovers after all other wants and desires are taken care of. But for the widow, her offering was more than just two coins. It was more than the sum total of her entire financial resources. It was even more than the offering of her entire life to God. Her offering of all she had represents her total, unwavering trust in God. In giving all that she had, she was placing her well-being, the possibility for continued existence, in God’s hands. She trusted that God would take care of her. In her faithfulness to God, she knew that God would be faithful to her.

The bottom line of this second story is that this woman is unencumbered by the cares of the world that prevent most people from entering fully into God’s kingdom. As Emilie Townes writes, “The coins represent faith-filled offering found in presenting all of who we are and all we hope to become to God for service to the world . . . It is not so much the act of giving or receiving, as it is the act of being” (Townes, 286). It is the act of being faithful to God. It is the act of trusting in God. It is the act of living into the promise of the Kingdom of God. Not just saying that we believe it, but rather living as if we truly believe that what we say is true.

So here we have two stories. One having the purpose of reinforcing Jesus’ teachings that personal glory is not what the Kingdom of God is about. And the second, providing a complementary message about what it means to be truly devoted to the Kingdom. There two stories, when looked at side-by-side, provide a study in contrast, focusing on values – particularly illustrating the values of the Kingdom of God – seeking personal glory versus selfless offering of self. We have a message directed to each of us on a personal level, about how we view our faith and how we chose to live it out.

That’s a look at the gospel lesson treated as two separate, although complementary, stories. Now what happens if we take them as one unified story? What message is revealed? What connects the two halves of this broader story is the widow herself – or at least the concept of widowhood. It is important to remember that in the society of the first century, women had no real social standing. There are the occasional stories of women owning property or having some sort of financial means, but this is really the exception rather than the rule. In general, a woman in first century Palestine was dependent on her male family members for her support. A girl was dependent on her father. Then when she got married, she became dependent on her husband. If her husband died before she did, she was left without means of support. There were no social service agencies as we know them. A widow’s only means of support was other male relatives, typically her sons. If a widow had no male relatives, she was left without a means of financial support.

The only hope in all of this was that if a widow did not have sons or other male relatives, she herself would inherit any property her husband may have owned. At least she would have a place to live. And if she happened to own some farm land, she might have some source of income. But being a woman, she would not have any experience in managing such affairs. So she would need help from someone else. Enter the scribes. The scribes were part of the religious system, interpreters of the law. They had charge of legal documents and financial matters. Hence, one of the things that they did was to help manage the financial affairs of those who did not have the knowhow. It would not be uncommon for a widow to engage the services of a scribe to help her manage her property. For a price. Well, as Jesus implies in the first part of the story, when he says that the scribes “devour widows’ houses,” some of these scribes were less than scrupulous and used their position to take advantage of naïve widows for personal financial gain. The result? The scribes, those who were supposed to be helping the widows, contributed to and worsened their condition of poverty – the implied example being the widow in the temple.

In short, this broader story provides a critique of the religious system that allowed, even facilitated, the widow being destitute in the first place. Things are a little different in our own day. It is not the religious system that results in the poor among us. It is a broader societal issue. But that does not mean that the church does not have a part to play. We may not have caused the problem, but the teachings of Jesus Christ and the overall Gospel message regarding justice and mercy dictate that we certainly have a responsibility to be a part of the solution. Here we have a message directed to us collectively, to the church, about how the church needs to be concerned not with pledges and attendance figures, but with issues of justice and mercy, with the marginalized.

So, looking at the stories one way, side-by-side, we have a study in contrast, focusing on personal values – particularly illustrating the values of the Kingdom of God – that the Kingdom is not about personal glory but rather is about the complete offering of self to God and to the work of the Kingdom. And looking at today’s lesson as a unified whole, we have a condemnation of the systems that contribute to poverty and the marginalization of others, and an implied injunction that even though we don’t cause the problem, part of our job as a community of faith, as the followers of God and of Christ, is that we have an obligation to do something about such injustices, such poverty.

So bringing all of this full-circle, the combined message of complete giving of self to God for the work of the Kingdom of God, and the injunction to care for the poor, the widows, the marginalized in our midst, gives us a very clear picture of what it means to be Christians. The stories bring together the personal and the communal. How do we be Christians individually? And then, how does that translate into being a Christian community?

Of course, it is easy when we hear such stories as today’s gospel lesson to beat ourselves up. We certainly are not like the widow, giving absolutely everything we have to God and thereby relying on God’s grace and mercy to take care of us. Neither are we like the scribes, strutting our stuff in search of praise and personal glorification. But I would venture that in our own minds we all seem to be able to relate a little more to the scribes than to the widow. And so, we tend to beat ourselves up, focusing on what we see as our shortcomings and inadequacies. Or, we may become despondent, feeling that the world’s problems are just to massive, and we are just one person, just one parish. There is no way we could be possibly make any real difference.

Now lest we all start feeling that the situation is hopeless, and rather than focus on our perceived shortcomings and inadequacies, what we can do is focus on opportunities. That’s what this time of the year is about – this time of our annual stewardship campaign. This is a time when we have the opportunity to examine who we are, what we are doing to live into who God is calling us to be, both individually and as a parish, and to make adjustments as necessary. This is a time when we have the opportunity to evaluate how we contribute to the work of the Kingdom in terms of the time we devote to parish programs and activities, the monetary support we provide for that work, and the God-given talents we bring to this place to enable Trinity to do the work God has called us to do as the part of the Kingdom of God here in Redlands.

Maybe in this process, we as individuals, and we as a parish community, can try to relate a little less to the scribes and try to relate a little more to the widow. Maybe we can live a little less as the scribes do, and try living a little more as the widow does. Maybe we could trust God just a little bit more – trust that when we give of ourselves to him, when we are faithful to him, he will, in return give of himself to us and be faithful to us – that we will not be left wanting, but rather, will be greatly blessed, nourished, and enriched for having stepped out in faith, putting forward our time, treasures, and talents for use as God sees fit.

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


References
Townes, Emilie M. “Mark 12:38-44, Theological Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 4, Season After Pentecost 2 (Propers17-Reign of Christ). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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RequiesCat for Akasha

Akasha in Redlands, California
July 3, 2009


Today was a very painful day. I took Akasha, my feline companion, to the vet to be euthanized. Since early last week, she had been very low energy and was not moving much. She spent most of her time laying on her mat in the kitchen and occasionally moved in and laid by her water dish in my bedroom. She also occasionally would get up on the bed, but with great difficulty. She was not eating much, and when she did, only ate a few bites at a time.

By the end of last week, I noticed that she was not having regular bowel movements. I noticed Sunday evening and Monday morning that she was trying to, but was unable to produce results. Monday morning I took her to the vet. The doctor’s preliminary diagnosis was kidney failure, and he ran some blood tests. I talked to him Tuesday and he said that the lab results are suggestive of kidney failure, although they are still functioning – not unusual for a cat of her age (17). She was suffering from anemia and had an elevated white cell count, indicative of some sort of non-specific inflammation (could be cancer or any number of other things). In short, there was a lot going on but nothing conclusive.

The vet said that all we could really do would be to subject her to all sorts of treatments in hopes of clearing up some of the problems, but there were no clear answers. Given her age, and not wanting to subject her to the trauma of continuous medical procedures with no certainty of any significant improvement in her health, we decided to do nothing of the sort. I told him Monday that I don’t want any heroic efforts. After talking it through with him, we were in agreement that the best thing to do under the circumstances, the most compassionate thing for her and for me, would be to let her go.

Since I did not want to just drop her off at the vet and have her spend her last moments of life alone, I opted to be with her when she is euthanized. The earliest I could get an appointment to do that was Wednesday. However, since I had a packed schedule, I would have had to clear my calendar to do it, and since there was no immediate urgency, I made an appointment for Thursday morning. That way, I would have a little more time with her, and I then take the rest of Thursday off, knowing I would be in no condition to work. Then I would have Friday (usual day off) to pull myself together.

This was a very difficult decision for me. I didn’t want to let her go, but know it is the best thing for both of us and was as prepared for it as I can possibly be. She was obviously uncomfortable and may well have been experiencing some pain. And I hated seeing her like this. I just couldn’t let her linger too much longer.

Last night, Akasha spent most of the night on my bed, lying up near my head – very unusual for her. She usually slept farther down on the bed. It was almost as if she wanted to be near me, that she knew something was up. This morning, I got up as usual and spent the last few hours before going to the vet with her. Before we left, I fed her a little bit of turkey – her favorite.

I got to the vet just before 9:40, the time of my appointment. When I arrived, my parents were already there, having driven over from Riverside to be with me. When I got into the exam room, the vet said she was going to give Akasha some “happy juice” to calm her down before the actual shot to put her down. I asked Dr. Blanchard if she could get something for the father, too. She said she is not allowed to treat priests. A couple minutes later, Dr. Blanchard came back and gave Akasha a shot of tranquilizer. Akasha calmed down, but after a couple minutes, started becoming agitated. Dr. Blanchard said that she thought she gave her enough given the fact that she was so scrawny, but apparently she needed more. So, she gave her another shot. Akasha calmed down again and we spent out last few minutes together, with me trying to comfort her and letting her know how much I love her.

After a few more minutes, Dr. Blanchard came back into the room and gave Akasha the final shot. She went peacefully and quietly, nestled in my arms. I spent a few more minutes with her before saying my final good-bye. Although she was gone and looked so peaceful, in death she looked so much more like her previous self.

When I left the room, I ran into Dr. Blanchard. We talked for a few minutes and she said that she hoped I would remember them when I was ready to get another cat. She said they occasionally have cats that they rescue or that people drop off. We talked about some of the cats they currently have. Then we went back to look at them. I think it was helpful to see some live cats. There were two there, just little guys, that were so adorable. I would love to have them, but know that I will need some time before getting any new companions.

After leaving the vet, the folks and I went back to my house and we talked a little bit before they left. It was a little strange coming home to an empty house. There have been a few times when she has been away, like at my parents’ house while I was on vacation. But to come home to an empty house and know that Akasha no longer lived here was kind of strange. The first time in 17 years that I have been truly alone in my own house.

After the folks left, I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house – cleaning out the litter boxes and food and water dishes, cleaning the hardwood floors, and mopping the kitchen and laundry room. All during the cleaning I was fine and at peace. Only afterwards did I occasionally have moments of breaking into tears and really missing Akasha. It’s the little things that remind me of her. Like going into the kitchen and having a clear spot under the window where her food and water dish used to be. Or going into the laundry room and having an empty spot where her litter box used to be. I know that it will take awhile to get over the pain and get used to not having Akasha around.

Akasha had a good life. She was born on May 2, 1992 in Grand Terrace, California. In September of that year, she and her brother Lestat joined the Fincher family. During her life, Akasha traveled to various parts of California, Illinois, and points in between. During her life, she lived in Highland, California; Riverside, California; Evanston, Illinois; Los Angeles, California; and Redlands, California. She even completed three years of seminary. She was a great and loving companions. She was preceded in death by Lestat (who died July 12, 2007), and is survived by her loving human companion, who will miss her greatly.

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Glory: Throne or Cross?

Twentieth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 24) – Year B (RCL)Isaiah 53:4-12; Psalm 91:9-16; Hebrews 5:1-10; Mark 10:35-45
Sunday, October 18, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


Sometimes when I’m watching a movie or TV show, I find myself feeling really embarrassed for the character on the screen. It’s almost as if what were happening on the screen were happening to me. Even if the situation unfolding is not one that has ever happened to me, nor ever would likely ever happen to me, I still get very uncomfortable, as if I were the one in that situation. Well, I find myself feeling the same way whenever I read or her today’s gospel lesson – I always feel so embarrassed for James and John, the Zebedee brothers.

First off, they come in and have the gall to tell, not ask, but tell Jesus that they want him to do whatever they ask of him. But Jesus handles this open-ended demand with great tact. Then the Zebedee Boys come out with their real request. They demand that they be given the places of honor at Jesus’ right and left in the Kingdom of Heaven. In so doing, in the eyes of the other disciples, and in our eyes, they come off as brazen, opportunistic, self-centered, and uncouth. Again, Jesus uses great tact and finesse in responding. He doesn’t rebuke them for making such an outlandish and downright self-centered request. And he doesn’t flat out say “no.” Instead, he attempts to use the situation as a teaching moment. He says to them, “are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” Jesus is referring to his impending passion and death. He is referring to the woe and suffering he will face. But James and John do not get it. These same images of cup and baptism could also carry with them joy and salvation. And it is this latter interpretation that they latch onto. They still think they are going to have an easy road to glory. So Jesus must flat out deny their request, because what they request is not for him to grant. And he needs to further educate them as to what the Kingdom of God is really about. He says, you think the Kingdom of God is about being great, about being exalted and adored, about places of honor, about being fawned over and served. Wrong! The Kingdom of God is about service. It’s not about being served, it’s about serving others. And frankly, the service that is sometimes required will not be pretty. It requires humility. It requires loving others even when they may seem unlovable. It means sacrificing yourself for the sake of another.

Poor Sons of Zebedee. Brazen, opportunistic, self-centered, uncouth, and thick-headed to boot. But I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt for a moment. There’s no denying they are opportunistic and operating out of selfish motives. But we instantly assume that they are making a grab at power. That’s certainly what the other disciples seemed to think. Or maybe they were just upset because James and John had the nerve to act on what they had only thought about – that they beat them to the punch. But what if their motive wasn’t power per se, but something else? What if they were motivated by fear?

What we don’t hear in today’s gospel lesson is what happens immediately before this scene. Jesus tells the disciples for the third time that he will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, tried, condemned to die, handed over to Gentiles who will mock him, spit on him, flog him, and kill him. This is the third time he’s had to tell them this. Up until now, it just hasn’t really sunk in. But what if this time, it did sink in, at least for James and John? Maybe the Zebedee Boys finally got what Jesus was saying lay in store for him. I’m sure they would have been concerned about what would happen to their friend and trusted leader. But humans being who they are, they would have also naturally begun to have some concerns for themselves. They may have begun to fear for their own safety, to become concerned for their own security. After all, three years before, they had left everything – their fishing business, their family, to follow Jesus. And now, if what Jesus was saying was right, this was all going to come to an end. What would become of them? What would they do after Jesus was gone? Would those who sought Jesus’ life turn their attention to his disciples and start picking them off?

If all this were the case, James and John would have immediately started working on figuring out how to take care of themselves, on finding a way to insure their own safety and security. Jesus had done a lot of talking about this wonderful thing called the Kingdom of God. It sounds like a pretty safe place, right? Well, if they could get in on the ground floor of that proposition, they would surely be taken care of, be protected. In their minds, they had found a way to continue to be with their master, thereby providing the ultimate security, at least for themselves. And that way would also provide for their personal glory. Not a bad fringe-benefit.

Of course, as we know, their logic was a little faulty. James and John thought the greatest security, not to mention the greatest glory, would be achieved by being seated at Jesus’ right and left at his glory. But what they do not yet understand, despite hearing all of Jesus’ teachings on the subject of the Kingdom of God, was that the Kingdom was not like any earthly kingdom. The rules are completely different. In the Kingdom of God, the rules have been turned around. They have been turned upside down and inside out, so that they are not recognizable. Despite what Jesus had tried to tell them, James and John did not realize, could not comprehend, that the glory that Jesus speaks of is not a throne, but is, rather, the cross. They did not understand that Jesus would not be exalted with pomp and circumstance, but with the sound of hammer against nails. And perhaps the greatest irony was that in his glory on that cross, Jesus would not be flanked by two of his faithful followers. He would not be flanked on right and left by two pious, devout saints. No, he would be flanked, on his right and his left, by two criminals.

We should not be so quick to condemn or criticize James and John. They were operating out of fear. They were merely looking for a way to provide a secure future for themselves. That’s something we all want. Particularly in difficult economic times such as our world is in right now, personal security is of concern to all of us, to one degree or another. As a result, we often find ourselves in the grip of fear, making decisions based on our fears, operating out of a place of fear.

And the church, being a human institution, is no exception. The church (and here I am talking about the church in general, not necessarily this particular parish) is a place gripped by fear. For decades, the mainline churches in this country have experienced a decline in membership. Gone are the glory days of the 50s and 60s when churches were bursting at the seams, when they had multiple services on Sunday, each filled to capacity. Yet, so many churches try to hold on to the glory days of old. We used to be the biggest church, the best church. We just don’t know why people don’t want to come be part of our congregation. But if we work hard enough, we might just get more people in the doors. We just might be able to recapture the glory that we once knew. With this attitude, we are operating out of fear – fear for our own security. Because the unspoken message, which no one would admit to, is that if we don’t somehow recapture that glory, we may be doomed. So we need to get more people in the pews. We need to get their pledges so we have enough money to keep the doors open.

This is focusing on a mistaken sense of glory. This is focusing on the glory as seen by James and John, not the glory as seen by Jesus. And to this, Jesus has a message for us all. Glory is not what we think it is. It is not sitting on a throne. No, the true glory of the Kingdom of God is to be found in the cross. That’s what Jesus tells us in today’s gospel lesson. “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be [a] servant.” Whoever wishes to truly experience the glory of the Kingdom of God must give up notions of sitting on Jesus’ right and his left, and instead, be willing to take their place with him on the cross. “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” And we, his children, his brothers and sisters, likewise, are not here to be served but to serve. We are called not to be a church seeking glory but to humble ourselves and to serve our neighbors. This is true greatness in the Christian life – the generous, sacrificial, serving of others out of genuine love, even when some of our neighbors may not be so easy to love.

This is what is behind the strategic planning process this parish is currently engaged in. Over the next few weeks, the planning team will be discerning where God is calling us to go as a parish, discerning what God is calling us to do, not only within our own walls, but more importantly, what we are called to do out in the world, to provide service to others. After all, we are the Body of Christ. And like him, we are not called to be served but to serve. And when we boldly step out in mission to the community, we are not operating out of that place of fear that can paralyze us, but rather are operating out of the sense of glory promised to us by our Lord – a glory that not only benefits us individually and collectively, but also benefits the broader community of which we are a part. For as one commentator notes, “The promise of the gospel is that in the sacrifice of self for others, not only will a higher and better self emerge, but the reign of God will continue to unfold” (Thompson, 192).

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


References
Thomson, James L. “Mark 10:35-45, Theological Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 4, Season After Pentecost 2 (Propers17-Reign of Christ). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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Divine Economics

Nineteenth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 23) – Year B (RCL)
Amos 5:6-7,10-15; Psalm 90:12-17; Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-31
Sunday, October 11, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


Let’s be honest. How many of us got just a little uncomfortable when we heard the Gospel lesson read just now? Well, maybe we should feel uncomfortable when we hear such words. If we feel uncomfortable, maybe there’s a reason for it. Because in addressing the rich man, Jesus is addressing us.

And if you didn’t feel a little uncomfortable, how many found yourselves thinking, “well, that doesn’t really apply to me. Jesus was talking about being wealthy, and I’m certainly not wealthy”? Guess again. The reality is that among the roughly 6.7 billion people on the planet, we are the wealthy. The median household income in Redlands is just over $58,000 per year. Someone with that income level is in the top 1.6 percent of the world’s population. Over 98 percent of the people on Earth earn less money than is earned in the average Redlands household. Even if you used the city’s per capita income figure of just over $24,200 per year, that would still put the average Redlands resident in the wealthiest 8.5 percent of the world’s population.

Pretty sobering when you stop to think about it. So what does this mean for us? What do we do with Jesus’ injunction to the rich that they need to sell what they have in order to follow him and to obtain eternal life? To answer that, we need to put the whole subject of wealth into its proper context.

The subject of wealth and the proper use of money is a common theme in the Bible – both in the Old and New Testaments. Our Old Testament lesson from the Book of Amos has some particularly harsh things to say about the use of wealth. This passage specifically deals with the treatment of the poor. At this point in Israel’s history, the rich have gotten richer by acquiring land from the poor in less than ethical ways, thereby depriving them of their means of livelihood. Amos’ prophecy is a not so subtle reminder to the people that not only is exploitation of the poor a grave sin, but so is the people’s complacency in allowing it to happen. Now, I seriously doubt any of us could be accused of making our livelihood through exploitation of the poor. I’m sure someone could try to make that argument, but no, we are not out there purposefully depriving the poor for our own gain.

But that does not let us off the hook. Jesus has a little more to say on the matter in today’s Gospel lesson from Mark, which explores the subject of wealth from several angles. To really help us understand what is going on here, we need to jump into the middle of the story, where Jesus is talking to the disciples, who are perplexed by what he has just told the rich man. You see, there is a fundamental misunderstanding between Jesus and his disciples about the nature of wealth. Jesus sees wealth as having an exploitative aspect, not unlike the prophesies of Amos. The disciples, on the other hand, see wealth as a blessing, the fruits of righteousness. Now in all fairness, this was the common notion of the day.

In that day and age, scholars studied the scriptures to figure out what they needed to do to gain God’s favor. They believed that life was a filled with blessings and curses. Do the right things, and you would gain blessings and avoid being cursed. Of course, everyone wanted to be blessed, and they believed that God’s blessing was manifest in material ways, through wealth. So, rather than sit idly by and trust that God would bless them, people attempted to dissect God’s covenant promises to find ways to get ahead. If you succeeded, so they thought, you were blessed. If you were down on your luck, hit a rough patch, you were cursed. Everyone knew this was how the system worked – the disciples, and the rich man. That’s why he came to Jesus, to try to get a new angle on the system. But Jesus had news for both the disciples and the rich man. That’s not how things really work in the kingdom of God. It’s not a patronage system.

But Jesus was not only concerned with wealth, but also the general view of salvation. When the rich man comes to Jesus with concern for his own salvation, Jesus immediately turns attention away from this concern to the concern for others. This raises not only questions about wealth but also questions about the rich man’s, and our, attitudes toward salvation. The connection between the two may not be readily apparent to us, but remember that under the prevailing notion of the day, there was a direct connection between wealth and salvation. According to this understanding, if a person was blessed, as signified by wealth, that person must also be assured of salvation, or at least have easy access to it, right? That’s what people of that day thought. And there are still people in our own day who hold this notion.

Yes, there is a connection between wealth and salvation, but not necessarily in the way one might think. We have all heard sermons about how money is not bad in and of itself – it’s how you use it that really matters. And I would have to agree. But the part that is not explored quite as often is the general attitude about money – what money can do for us. I think that what Jesus was decrying in his challenge to the rich man, and in his challenge to us, is how we view money. Jesus saw that money so often becomes a substitute for God. We are tempted to trust more in our financial resources than we trust in God. We are tempted to rely more on our ability to earn money, through our work and through our investments, than we rely on God. We are more concerned about the standing of our portfolios than about where we stand with God. Our secular society tells us that money is the source of our security and comfort, not God. Wealth becomes the source of our salvation, not God.

The irony is that our modern economic system was supposed to be the corrective to love and worship of wealth over and against the love and worship of God. “Sociologist Max Weber wrote that Christianity – particularly Protestant Calvinism – gave rise to modern capitalism because, among other things, it motivated Europeans to restrain their immediate desires and save money, thus creating the capital necessary for investment and economic growth. This worldly asceticism combined the discipline of people who could delay gratification for the hope of something better with the social vision of a world redeemed by its Creator. The Protestant ethic made it possible for people to put their treasure where they wanted their heart to be” (Wilson-Hartgrove, 23). While the motives were not completely altruistic, there was certainly an element that was geared toward making money not for self but to provide for the needs of others and to help further God’s work here on earth. But somewhere along the line, the experiment went awry. The focus shifted from wealth as a means to further God’s kingdom to obtaining wealth as a means of personal salvation. We stepped backward from Jesus’ understanding of wealth to the rich man’s understanding.

In this respect, Jesus’ message to the rich man is also a message to us. As one commentator noted, wealth is not a sin. It is more of a weakness – a captivity to possessions that prevent the rich man, and us, from living into the full life of the kingdom of God. It is a temptation to rely on something transient for our salvation, as opposed to relying on the one true thing that can insure our salvation – God’s unlimited grace.

Does that mean that in order to get back on track we need to do as Jesus told the rich man, to sell everything and give it to the poor, in order to truly be his followers? No. That might be the ideal. That might actually work for some people. Some people do manage to do this. Some people feel called to do this. Those who are called to monastic life must give up all their possessions. But for most of us who are not called to such a life that would not be prudent. Quite frankly, giving away everything we have would not be good stewardship. How would we survive? How would we take care of our families? In our society, giving away everything would merely be contributing to the problem. It would land us on the streets, hungry and homeless, in need of assistance from others, adding to the burden already placed on our over-taxed relief agencies and aid organizations.

So the good news is, we get to keep what we have. But that doesn’t absolve us of responsibility. Because the other part of Jesus message, in turning attention from the rich man’s concern for his own salvation to concern for the needs of others, is that we have a responsibility. If our primary concern is for our own salvation, we have missed the point of both faith and works. The point is not to focus on our own salvation, but to focus on God and on our neighbors, on those in need of our help. And in our society, that, of necessity, means being concerned with our wealth. More specifically, with how we view our wealth, with how we use our wealth. This means we are called to educate ourselves and to be examples of what it means to be good stewards of the wealth we do have, so that we may be better able to work not for our own purposes, but for God’s purposes – to help the poor, the widows, the orphans, the homeless, the hungry – the least of these among God’s beloved children, those who are our neighbors, our brothers and sisters.

This is what the youth of this parish are doing. Our senior high students are currently engaged in study of the economics of poverty. They are learning what it means for those who do not have the wealth they all take for granted. They are learning what those who must do without need to do merely to survive. They are learning how little help is truly available, and of that which is available, how frustrating it can be to locate needed assistance and how demeaning it can be to have to ask for help, to fight for limited resources, just to do something as basic as feed their children and put a roof over their heads. Our youth are learning what the basic needs are for mere survival, and how this truly compares with what they have. They are learning how truly fortunate they are and how they have more riches than they really need. By beginning to understand their own wealth in relation to the needs of others, they will be in a better position, as they grow into adulthood, to assess what their wealth truly means to them and to discern how they might use their own resources for not only their own but also for God’s purposes.

Maybe we can take a cue from our young people and begin to evaluate our own relationship with our financial resources. Rather than being like the rich man and asking what we can do to inherit the kingdom of God, maybe we can be a little more proactive, and use some of our riches not for our own salvation, but for the salvation of others – to help make the kingdom of God a reality here and now.

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


References
Wilson-Hartgrove, Jonathan. “Economics for Disciples.” Christian Century, September 8, 2009, 22-27.

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Tearing Down Fences in the Name of Jesus

Seventeenth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 21) – Year B (RCL)Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29; Psalm 19:7-14; James 5:13-20; Mark 9:38-50
Sunday, September 27, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


As many of you know, I grew up in a military family. I was 16 when my father retired from the Marine Corps and we moved to Riverside. It may seem kind of strange, but one of the things that I particularly noticed in my transition from military life to civilian life was fences. In most of the places I had lived, on military bases and in various places in the South and the Midwest, fences were not all that prevalent, at least not for homes. On bases, the yards were not fenced. And in other places, about the only time you saw fenced yards was if someone had a dog they wanted to keep in. And there are lots of fences out in the vast rural expanses of Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas – fences to keep animals such as cattle and horses, confined. But when we moved to California, it seemed as if virtually every house had a fence.

I guess what struck me most was the purpose of those fences. Some definitely had the purpose of keeping something in – usually dogs or children. But most seemed to be there out of the sense of exclusivity – purely for the purpose of keeping something, or someone, out. And unlike most of the household fencing I had seen as a child, which tended to be chain-link, most of the fences I now saw were wood, block wall, or masonry. They seemed to serve an even more important purpose than just keeping something or someone out. They serve to protect privacy, to protect and preserve a personal sense of identity.

More often than not, fences in our society, particularly in our urban and suburban environment, are boundaries with the specific purpose of maintaining and insuring exclusivity. They are boundaries to keep others out, and to protect our privacy, even our identity. We humans love our sense of exclusivity, in its various forms. And it’s one we’ve been struggling with for millennia. In fact, both our Old Testament lesson from Numbers and our Gospel lesson from Mark both deal with the subject of exclusivity.

In the lesson from Numbers, we have the people of Israel grumbling as they make their way through the wilderness on their way to the Promised Land. Moses is fed up with it and seeks help from God. God tells Moses that he needs some help in dealing with the people and suggests that he select 70 of the elders to fill the job. God’s spirit is then given to the 70 to assist them in doing their job. The 70 begin prophesying, indicating to the people that these were chosen by God to help in the administration of the traveling band of Israelites. To the amazement of some of the people, two additional men, Eldad and Medad, who were not among the 70, also begin to prophesy – indicating that they, too, have received a call from God and have been given a share of God’s spirit. Now this really upsets some of the people. Seventy elders have been specifically chosen to be the inner circle – to be an exclusive group among the Israelites – and here are two more men engaging in activity reserved for the 70 alone. Eldad and Medad are perceived as challenging, even breaking, the boundaries of exclusivity the people presume to be set by God.

Similarly, in today’s Gospel lesson from Mark, we see John, one of the Twelve, getting all upset because he observes someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name. And this guy is not one of the Twelve, not one of the inner circle. After all, Jesus had commissioned the Twelve, specifically giving them authority over unclean spirits. John perceives that only those in the inner circle are authorized to do anything in Jesus’ name, particularly something as significant as casting out demons. This guy is encroaching upon the boundaries of exclusivity presumed to have been set by Jesus.

In both the Old Testament and the Gospel, those upset by “outsiders” breaching the boundaries of exclusivity complain to the boss. In both cases, it is one of the inner circle who complains about the actions of those outsiders, of those pretenders. Joshua complains to Moses. John complains to Jesus. Both Joshua and John are hoping to appeal to the notions of hierarchy and authority, to get Moses and Jesus to intervene and set things right, to restore the boundaries of exclusivity. Both Moses and Jesus patiently listen to the complainers, and then both give the same response. “Someone from outside the inner circle is doing what you think is reserved for you alone? So? Just get over yourselves.”

That’s where the Old Testament lesson stops. But in the Gospel lesson, Jesus takes it one step farther. Jesus moves from the issue of exclusivity, broadening the concept by looking at the flip side of the equation, to looking at the issue of inclusivity. While he doesn’t specifically say so, Jesus is implying that in the actions of the community, there needs to be a balance between exclusivity and inclusivity.

Exclusivity is important, to a degree. Part of exclusivity is maintaining a sense of unique identity. If a group or community is going to be able to stay together and to function effectively, there needs to be a clear definition of who the group is, of what it is meant to do. Certain standards need to be upheld. Otherwise, you run the risk of developing an “anything goes” attitude, of embracing any whim that might come along, and of spiraling into anarchy as each member of the community goes about doing whatever he or she thinks is right. So, you do need some boundaries.

But there is a difference between having boundaries and building fences. Boundaries provide for a clear definition of identity, of standards of behavior. Fences, while allowing for the maintenance of identity and acceptable codes of conduct, also serve to keep others out. Fences prevent others from coming in and testing out the community, to see if it is right for them, to see if it might be what they are looking for to add meaning to their lives. Boundaries are permeable. Fences are not.

For us humans, tension between exclusivity and inclusivity brings with it the balance between retaining power and giving up power. When operating under strict exclusivity, authority is centralized and maintained within the group. Without some semblance of boundary, authority is dispersed. Clashes may then occur over what should be done, what is acceptable. And in the extreme, authority deteriorates.

But what Jesus is implying in his rather cryptic analysis of community and individual, of exclusivity and inclusivity, is that he is concerned not so much about identity, not so much about power. If anything, Jesus is really saying that exclusivity, while maintaining human, earthly power, is actually counter to heavenly power – attempting to maintain power through exclusivity actually serves to deny divine authority. God is the ultimate authority. Jesus Christ is the ultimate authority.

No, for Jesus, it is not about authority, at least, not human authority. It is not about earthly identity. It is not about who is inside and who is outside the inner circle, the chosen elite. What Jesus is really about is serving, about meeting the needs of others. This is particularly exemplified in the Gospel lesson. A person had a demon. It needed to be cast out. What difference does it make if it is cast out by one of the Twelve, or by someone else? The only real criteria is that what is done be done in the name of Jesus.

We see what this means through the life of Jesus. His is the ultimate example of humility and service. His entire life, from start to finish, is about humility and service. That is the whole reason God became incarnate in the form of Jesus – out of love for and to be of service to humanity. During his life, this service took the form of teaching, healing, helping, befriending the marginalized. In his death, this service took the form of forgiveness, reconciliation, and salvation, of proving and imparting God’s unlimited grace upon all of humanity.

As Jesus demonstrates, therefore, the key to providing the balance between exclusivity and inclusivity is through humility and service. Humility is dying to self, putting aside our own needs and desires, for the sake of others. Humility leads to service.

As I said earlier, exclusivity has its place. It provides us with certain boundaries, with a certain identity, that allow us to develop a sense of humility, that allows us to, out of that humility, to move into a place of service. But what Jesus is telling us is that the sense of exclusivity needs to be redefined, to be broadened. To allow for humility and service, our concept of exclusivity, of identity, cannot be so limited, so restrictive as to presume that the way we do things at Trinity is THE way to be a Christian. Or that the way The Episcopal Church does things is THE way to be a follower of Christ. Don’t get me wrong. Those things are important on a personal level. For those of us in this room, Anglicanism is the expression of Christianity that works best for and speaks to us. Being members of Trinity Parish in Redlands fills a need and provides that expression that speaks to us in terms of worship and mission. But at a broader level, it is not what we do in the name of The Episcopal Church or what we do in the name of Trinity Parish that truly matters. What matters is what we do in the name of Jesus. What is most important is how this place called Trinity operates in the name of Jesus, acting in a manner consisted with Jesus’ character, acting on behalf of Jesus, being the hands and feet and heart of Christ in the world.

Moving from a place of exclusivity to appropriate levels of inclusivity, not that anything goes, but rather, that all are welcomed, all are served in the name of Jesus, is something that every church struggles with. It is an ongoing process. We are seeing this process unfold through our strategic planning process. When we started the process last spring, the focus of people’s comments centered around what goes on within our own walls, around concern about how to get more people to come to Trinity. But the purpose of the planning process we are using is to focus not so much on what goes on in our own walls, but rather what we are doing outside these walls. Through the process, we have seen a slow and steady shift in perspective. The focus is more and more becoming, what is our mission? How do we serve those outside this place? How do we do service not in the name of Trinity, but in the name of Jesus?

This is humility. This is dying to self. This is dying to our own perceived needs. And as we do that, we are assured of new life. For we know that death leads to resurrection and new life. As we die to self, to our own perceived needs, we will be reborn to something new and glorious, to what God is calling this place to be in the name of Jesus.

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

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Adiaphora

Thirteenth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 17) – Year B (RCL)
Deuteronomy 4:1-2,6-9; Psalm 15; James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
Sunday, August 30, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


I find it interesting how some things stick with us, despite seeming to be insignificant or inconsequential at the time we learned them. Yet, despite the seemingly insignificant nature, they continue to come back, periodically popping into mind – proving they are not so insignificant after all. One of those things for me is the Greek word adiaphora, which literally translates as “things that do not make a difference.” I first heard this word during my second year of seminary. The infamous Windsor Report, the Anglican Communion’s rather harsh response to The Episcopal Church’s consenting to the election of an openly gay and partnered priest to the episcopacy, as well as to the Diocese of New Westminster (Canada) approving rites for the blessing of same-sex unions. As soon as it was released, our theology professor required that we read the Windsor Report in preparation for a class discussion on its theological implications for The Episcopal Church and the entire Anglican Communion.

My first encounter with the term adiaphora came a mere 11 pages into the reading assignment. But I would become much more familiar with the concept, as this term popped up periodically throughout the document. In fact, the Windsor Report eventually devotes nearly three full pages of single-spaced, 10 point text to discussing the finer points of adiaphora as related to the disagreements on sexuality that were and continue to plague the Church. Those finer points are gone from my memory, and besides, they are not germane to my point. Or, if you will forgive me, those points are adiaphora to my point. What is important is the broader concept. In Christianity, adiaphora refers to matters not regarded as essential to faith. This does not mean such matters are not permissible, they are just not essential. They are not absolutely necessary to who we are as Christians.

This week as I have reflected on Professor Wondra’s explanation and our class discussion of adiaphora, I kept coming back to the thought that the concept of adiaphora is not as insignificant as I had originally thought. In fact, the concept is hugely significant. I kept coming back to the fact that the Church has taken on so much stuff that is not really essential to what we do. And for many Christians, we have taken on so much stuff in the development of our personal faith perspectives that is not essential. But it was obvious from reading the Windsor Report, there is not always agreement on what is essential and what is not. What one person views as adiaphora, another may view as essential. So, rather than attempting to define what does or does not constitute adiaphora, as does the Windsor Report, it seems to me the more valuable exercise is to approach it from the other direction, to define what is essential. What is essential to living a life of faith? What is essential to being Church?

And that’s precisely what today’s scripture lessons are about – attempting to address the tension between what is adiaphora and what is essential, defining what is essential to our lives of faith, and what is not.

We see the beginnings of this in the Old Testament lesson from Deuteronomy. In this lesson, we have Moses talking to the Israelites, who are about to enter the Promised Land. Moses is reminding them that their identity as a people is based on their relationship with God, that they are God’s Chosen People. This is based on the Covenant established between God and Abraham, and continually renewed through the Patriarchs, up to Moses. And a critical part of that Covenant, of what it means to be God’s Chosen, is to live according to the Torah, to follow the Law. This is what was essential. This is what continues to be essential to this day for devout Jews.

Pretty cut and dried. But when we get into the New Testament, we start to see the tension between essentials and adiaphora coming to light. And this tension is, in part, because as Christians we believe that there is a new covenant between God and his people. The old covenant, the Covenant between God and the people of Israel, has been superseded. Through Jesus Christ, the covenant has been extended to include all of humanity. And the terms of the covenant have been re-written. The New Covenant is no longer based on the Law, but rather, is based on the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and what that means not just for Christians but for all humanity. The only problem is, at the time of the covenant being re-negotiated, it was a little unclear as to what conditions were being placed on humanity. Sure, we have such key provisions as the Golden Rule: “Do to others as you would have them do to you” (Luke 6:31), and the Greatest Commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (Matthew 22:37a-40). But how those key provisions get fleshed out, how we live into them, is another matter. And there are other provisions that seem important, but on which we are not entirely clear if they are essential.

We see this most readily in the gospel lesson from Mark. In short, the scribes and the Pharisees, the leaders of the Jews, are calling into question the devoutness, the religiosity, of Jesus’ followers, merely because they didn’t wash their hands before supper. For the Jews, the purity laws were very important. You had to follow them to be a good Jew. They were essential. They were, in fact, as we noted earlier, a way of identifying who was Jewish. The purity laws, as well as other legal requirements, were, if you will, a boundary, set up to identify the Jewish people. Ever since the Exile in Babylon, the Jewish people were faced with how to maintain their identity as God’s Chosen People in the face of encroaching political, social, cultural, and religious ideas from the advancing Greco-Roman world. Such purity laws, such boundaries, were seen as a way of protecting who the Jewish people were.

But Jesus saw these boundaries as a way of limiting, as a way of keeping people out. If you did not follow the proper laws, you were on the outside. You were not one of the Chosen. The Jews withdrew from that which they saw as unclean to avoid contact with those who were not like them. Jesus sought contact with the “unclean,” sought to include them within his own circle, within his loving embrace.

So, Jesus challenged the established purity laws. He saw what was essential. Was it essential to have clean hands when you eat in order to be a devout and faithful person devoted to God? No, of course not. Washing your hands before supper is adiaphora. (Unless your mother tells you to, but that’s a whole different matter, completely unrelated to faith). In challenging this one purity law as adiaphora, Jesus was, in effect, challenging the Jewish leaders to stop and consider what is essential to their life of righteousness, faithfulness and devotion to God. Was it following a bunch of laws, or was it something else, something more?

He goes on to tell those assembled that it is not eating with clean or dirty hands that determine if a person is good, righteous, and faithful. Rather it is what is in their hearts. It is what people do with their lives. It is how they chose to act that determines if they are good, righteous, and faithful. It is what they do to live out their faith, it is what they do to show their love for God that really demonstrates if they are good, righteous, and faithful, or not. For Jesus, this whole encounter was about stripping away what is adiaphora, what is non-essential, and focusing instead on what it truly means, what is truly necessary, to be a follower of God.

James, in his epistle, takes Jesus’ general thoughts about stripping away what is non-essential one step farther. James, instead of attempting to discuss what is adiaphora, goes for the jugular, laying out, from his perspective, what is absolutely necessary. James provides his assessment of what is the absolute essential for a faithful life in Christ – works, as he terms it. Now this whole notion of works can be a thorny issue. Since the Reformation, James has been viewed with suspicion, equated with “Popish” works righteousness. But I think James is, at times, taken a bit too literally. The central theme of his entire epistle is that faith requires visible expression. In other words, it does not do anyone any good to keep our faith to ourselves.

For James, our faith is an integral part of who we are. He says, “welcome . . . the implanted word that has the power to save your souls” (James 1:21). The implanted word – the Word of God that is innate, inborn. The word of the gospel is an inborn reality. It is a gift from God given to all of us. But having the gift of the Word, having faith, is not enough, as far as James is concerned. As he says, “be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves” (James 1:22). I don’t think that he means that we have to be doing good works in order to “buy” our way into heaven, to buy our salvation, as is sometimes argued. That is already assured through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Rather, I think, for James, works are an organic process, the results of faith, the manifestation of a life faithfully lived. Or put another way, actions speak louder than words. Our actions add value to our words. They establish truthfulness to what we profess to believe. Our actions, done from that deep place of faith, lend credibility and authenticity. Our actions reflect what we truly believe.

An essential, as far as James is concerned, our actions, the way we live out the Gospel message in our daily lives, the way we share it with those we encounter, is the corrective to the adiaphora, the non-essentials of our life of faith, which can bog us down and prevent us from focusing on what is truly important –loving the Lord our God with all our hearts, and with all our souls, and with all our minds, and loving our neighbors as ourselves. It is up to each of us to determine, to discern with the help of the Holy Spirit, how we are called to manifest those essentials in our daily lives.

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

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Spiritual Warfare

Twelfth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 16) – Year B (RCL)
Joshua 24:1-2a,14-18; Psalm 34:15-22; Ephesians 6:10-20; John 6:56-69
Sunday, August 23, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands

“Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil” (Eph. 6:10-11).

Today’s lesson from Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians is a well-known passage among Christians, but is, at the same time, a very confusing, and I think, an often misunderstood one. Particularly so for us contemporary Christians. In our modern world, the imagery of armor, breastplates, shields, and helmets do not have much meaning. We don’t see people dressed as such in our daily lives, unless you happen to be at the Renaissance Faire. For us, more apt imagery might be that of modern military personnel, with helmets and flak jackets; or riot police, with helmets, clubs, and shields; or football players, with helmets, faceguards, and shoulder pads. Regardless of the specifics, the imagery is the same – wearing of safety equipment to provide protection from whatever may assail the wearer. But even so, this is not equipment many of us wear. It is the equipment of trained professionals. But this is not the cause of the confusion.

What I think is the potential cause of confusion is the nature of the assault one is protecting him or herself against. Paul talks about the armor being protection against “the wiles of the devil,” about struggles against rulers, authorities, “cosmic powers of this present darkness,” and “spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Some Christians, and particularly some allegedly Christian governments, have latched on to Paul’s words as a way of justifying going to war against those viewed as enemies of God, against those viewed as being forces of evil bent on destroying our Christian way of life.

But even more generally, many Christians have latched on to this discourse from Paul, and the entire Letter to the Ephesians, in an attempt to address the question of theodicy – why bad things happen, or more specifically, how, despite an omnipotent, omnipresent God, evil and suffering exist in our world. The explanation that is seen in Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians is that such evil and suffering exist precisely because of dark and evil forces bent on tempting humans and preventing the reign of God. And more specifically, the passage we have today is an attempt to explain what we as Christians can do about it all – how we can take on the forces of evil and do our part to insure God’s continued reign. The term that is used by many contemporary evangelical Christians, particularly some of the Pentecostal and charismatic movements, is “spiritual warfare.” The concept is that we as Christians are engaged in a battle between good and evil, a war between God and the forces of darkness. And these forces of evil use all sorts of tricks, tempting us, possessing us with demons, in an attempt to prevent us from following Christ. Paul’s words to the Ephesians are seen as a military operations manual for use in this ongoing war.

Lest you get the wrong idea, I am not advocating such views. I am merely explaining how some interpret Paul’s words. Within the Episcopal Church, you do not generally hear talk of spiritual warfare, at least not in the classical sense. If anything, the term is used by the radically conservative break-away elements as a call, a battle cry, for taking the Episcopal Church back to their way of thinking. But in general, we Episcopalians do not place a great deal of emphasis on the traditional notion of spiritual warfare. Now, that is not to say that individuals may not hold such views. I know a number of Episcopalians, whom I love and greatly respect, who do hold such views. And if that is their understanding, I respect that and will not argue.

But I think Paul’s message is a bit misunderstood. There is much debate among biblical scholars as to the real meaning of this section of Ephesians. Several interpretations have been put forth. Most of this centers around Paul’s statement, “take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day.” What “evil day” is Paul referring to? Some scholars think that Paul is referring to the evils of the time to come before the end, as allegedly foretold in the book of Revelation. Some feel that Paul is referring to specific instances of temptation. Others feel that Paul is merely referring to everyday life in the present age. While all have valid arguments, I think the important thing is to look at the overall scope of the Letter to the Ephesians and to the social and historical context in which it was written. While seemingly apocalyptic in nature, similar statements elsewhere in Ephesians are generally mere descriptions of present reality. Paul relates such seemingly apocalyptic statements to what is going on in the life of the Church at Ephesus – to their current circumstances. And the early Christians in Ephesus, as well as elsewhere in the Roman Empire, had a lot to worry about. At that time in history, Christianity was still essentially an illegal religion, often operating underground. This was a time when Christians in the Roman Empire faced daily religious persecution, harassment, and discrimination, just for being Christian.

This being the case, I tend to be most persuaded by the view that Paul is not addressing “warfare” against nebulous cosmic forces of evil out there bent on destroying the church, as much as he is talking about those very real, everyday things, everyday life events, that challenge our faith. Why do I believe this? One simple fact. In the broadest of terms, the battle to which Paul refers, the war against “cosmic powers of darkness,” against “spiritual forces of evil,” is a war against two things: sin and death. These two, sin and death, are the results of work of the powers of darkness, the forces of evil. When we are tempted by and give into the forces of evil, whatever those may be, we sin. And the death that we talk about in such instances is the permanent end of our existence. A death in which life comes to an end and there is no more.

But you know what? We don’t have to worry about these, about sin and death. That war is over. Through Jesus Christ, the incarnate son of God, who lived among us, walked with us, ate with us, taught us, healed us; who was crucified for us, and resurrected for us, all of this, the ravages of sin and death, are inconsequential to us. We don’t have to worry about them. As we extol at our annual celebration of Easter, through his death and resurrection, Jesus has done two important things. First, he has broken the bonds of sin. By the very act of taking our place, by taking our sins, all our sins, upon himself and presenting them to God on our behalf, all our sins have been forgiven. Through Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice, our sins are no more. We have been forgiven once and for all. Sin no longer controls us. Sin no longer determines our fate.

And second, through his resurrection, Jesus has conquered death. Death no longer has dominion over him. And we, by being incorporated into the Body of Christ, by following him, by abiding in him and he in us, we are likewise not limited by death. Death no longer has dominion over us. Death is not the end, the final word. Death is merely the beginning. Death is the transition to new life, to a new and eternal life made possible through Jesus Christ.

So the good news is the war is over. At least, as far as we are concerned. It may rage on at some cosmic level, between God and the forces of evil. But we have been removed from the war. We have been shipped home from the front. Jesus Christ has seen to it that we don’t have to face the horrors of this war – the tortuous results of sin, the permanent end of our lives. He has broken the bonds of sin, conquered death. For us.

Now that doesn’t mean that there is not still evil in the world. That sin does not happen. It does. We see it every day in the news. All around us we see chaos, dehumanization, corruption, oppression, crime, war, threats of war, genocide, poverty, disease, degradation of our environment, degradation of our society. We live in a broken world. These things are, unfortunately, a part of our reality. They may not touch us directly, but we still feel their effects. But what does touch all of us directly, that which is most pervasive, is fear. I think this is the twenty-first century equivalent of what Paul was talking about. This is what we are called to do battle against – the fears we cannot help but have because of all that is going on around us. There’s no denying their existence. There’s no sweeping them under the rug and pretending they don’t exist. We’re human. Our fears are part of who we are. But being people of faith, we have ways of even dealing with these fears.

That’s where Paul’s words of advice to us come in handy. In amongst the imagery of armor and breastplates and helmets, Paul provides us with the virtues that are needed to help us deal with even our own fears. “Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” To illustrate his point, Paul uses the image of putting on the armor of God to illustrate basic Christian virtues.

Armor is just another set of clothing. Changing into new clothing is sometimes used as a sign of conversion, of new life. In one of the rites for private confession, the penitent acknowledges, “Through the water of baptism you clothed me with the shining garment of his righteousness.” At our baptisms we were given new clothes, or armor, if you will to symbolize our new life. Unlike the ancient church where the newly baptized got a new white robe, today, the clothing is more metaphorical, just as Paul implies. As Paul notes, this new clothing consists of a number of Christian virtues – truth, righteousness, proclaiming the gospel of peace, faith, salvation, the Word of God. This may sound like a lot to take on. But we already have. We’re already doing it. Through regular attendance at worship, and particularly partaking of the Eucharist. Through reading of scripture. Through regular prayer and other spiritual practices. Through proclaiming the gospel and living it out in our lives. Through acts of compassion and mercy, in reaching out to others. And even in fellowship and being part of this community of faith and support.

These provide us with the hope that we need, the assurance that the war is out of our hands and in the hands of the only One who is truly equipped to do battle against sin and death. All that is asked of us is that we be faithful. That’s what all of this is about. All of this, all of what we do here on Sunday, what we do in our private devotions and practices, the works of compassion that we do in the community during the week, are the armor of God. This is what will protect us from sin and death. This is what will protect us from the fears that plague each and every one of us. This is what allows us, as is Paul’s challenge to all who follow Christ, to “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.”

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

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