Call: It's Not Just For Prophets Anymore

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Read more!

You Are My Beloved Child, With You I Am Well Pleased

First Sunday After Epiphany: Baptism of Our Lord – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 43:1-7; Psalm 29; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Sunday, January 10, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands

Just a few days ago, we celebrated the Feast of the Epiphany – the manifestation of Jesus Christ to all humanity. But the epiphanies do not stop there. During the entire period between Epiphany and the beginning of Lent, our Gospel lessons continue to present epiphanies regarding Jesus. He has been revealed to us as our Savior, but as this season we call Epiphanytide unfolds, Jesus as Messiah is disclosed to us in a number of different ways, revealing a number of attributes of this Messiah, giving us a more complete picture of what this means. The first of these epiphanies, which we explore today, is the Baptism of Our Lord.

Now, the whole subject of Jesus’ baptism seems to present a theological conundrum. All three Synoptic Gospels tell us that Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan by John the Baptizer. Mark’s Gospel specifically tell us that John’s was a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Well, if Jesus was the Son of God and was without sin, what could he possibly have had to repent? Why did he need to be baptized to have non-existent sins forgiven? The short answer is that he didn’t need to be baptized. But like so much of what Jesus did, he did not need to do it for himself, but rather needed to do it for us. And of all the accounts in the Synoptics of Jesus’ baptism, I think none provides for a better explanation of this than Luke’s portrayal, which we just read.

The irony is that while Luke says less about Jesus’ actual baptism than do Matthew and Mark, Luke actually provides the best answer to our theological conundrum. Matthew and Mark specifically tell us that Jesus came to John to be baptized and provide some detail about the baptism proper. But all Luke says, almost as an aside in the midst of John’s preaching about the coming Messiah, is “when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized . . .” What Luke is really saying is that a whole bunch of people were baptized by John, and, oh yeah, one of them happened to be Jesus. Despite seeming to be an afterthought, this statement speaks volumes.

No, Jesus did not need to be baptized. However, he was born into a system, into a world, that was tainted, fallen, broken, even though he himself was without sin. Though fully divine, he was also fully human. Being born into such a broken world tainted with and by the affects of human sinfulness, he could not have helped but be affected by it – by its presence around him – not and still continue to be human, experiencing life as we ourselves do. So while baptism would not have removed sinfulness from his person and soul, the way it does for the rest of us, Jesus’ baptism would have made a point about the very need for a salvific act to remedy the affects of a sinful world on our lives. Not that his baptism was just for show. If anything, Jesus’ baptism is not so much symbolic as it is an acknowledgement of the affect the world has on all of us, himself included, and the need for reconciliation as a result. It calls attention to the fact that there is a better way, and that that way is provided through the coming of the Messiah, sent by and of God, to provide us with new life.

Rather than just calling attention to a broken system, and pointing to a way that will ultimately redeem and heal such a system, the seemingly passing reference to Jesus being baptized along with “all the people” also conveys a sense of solidarity. The term solidarity carries two related definitions. One is being united around a common goal or against a common enemy, and the other is having a willingness to give psychological and/or material support when another person is in a difficult position or in need of affection.

Jesus’ baptism, in the context of “all the people,” conveys an act of solidarity with a world of sinners. He identified himself with the many broken and weary people who were turning to God for new life. In this act, he was uniting with them in the common goal of seeking reconciliation with God and against the common enemies of sin and evil. And he was, because of his unique situation of being both human and divine, in a position to provide support, spiritually and emotionally, to the myriad of people who feel they are in a difficult position – those struggling with sin and its affects in their lives and upon their spirits and psyches. And providing support to those who are in need of affection – need of the assurance that despite being sinful creatures, they are loved by their God nonetheless. In short, it’s all about belonging. Jesus is saying “you belong to me now.”

The tragic thing is that we in the church sometimes get the whole solidarity thing mixed up. We tend to think that the church is filled with a bunch of nice, respectable people, which it is. But because that becomes the ingrained notion, the prevailing assumption under which we operate, we sometimes come to think that when we feel particularly wracked with guilt over something we have done, when we do what all humans do at one time or another, sin, that we are not worthy of being called Christian. We are not worthy to be in the company of all those nice, respectable folks in the church. When such feelings set in, many people slip away. They don’t come to church until they get things worked out, until they can once again feel they are worthy of being with those nice, respectable people. And only when they think they have gotten their act together, do they return.

That’s not what being a Christian is about. It’s not about always being nice and respectable, about being perfect. That may be the goal, but we are not always going to be that way. But we are still Christians nonetheless. After all, Jesus did not get in line to be baptized with a bunch of respectable church folk. He got in line to be baptized with a bunch of broken sinners. Jesus’ baptism did not set him apart, but rather incorporated him into the larger group of repentant sinners, incorporating us into God’s unfailing grace. We are called to follow his lead. We are called to fall in with a bunch of repentant sinners and to support one another, just as Jesus did by stepping into that river to receive a sacrament he had no need of. But he did it anyway because we needed him to.

The act of Jesus’ baptism as portrayed in the Gospels also has a lot to tell us about what this sacrament really means from God’s perspective. None of the Synoptic Gospels say a whole lot about the details of Jesus’ baptism, but Luke says even less. For Luke, it is not so much the baptism that is important as God’s declaration of what this act of going into the waters a sinner and coming out a redeemed child of God means. This is manifested in two ways: in sign and in word.

Luke is the only Gospel to make it clear that the dove was seen by all, a certain sign of the anointing of the Holy Spirit. Both Matthew and Mark tell us that only Jesus saw the Spirit descending like a dove. But in Luke, everyone present saw the sign of Holy Spirit descending in the form of a dove. In all the Synoptic Gospels, this receiving of the Holy Spirit is an important aspect of the sacrament of baptism. And we specifically incorporate this aspect into our present-day sacrament. In the consignation, following the act of baptism, the newly baptized is anointed with oil blessed by the bishop, and the priest says “you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.”

According to Luke, this receiving of the Spirit is not a private matter, but is very public, for all to see. This is significant. John the Baptizer describes Jesus as the one who will “baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” Jesus would eventually pass on his Spirit to his disciples to enable and equip them to do the ministry God had called them to do in the world, in the absence of their Master. And in our baptisms, we too are given the gift of the Spirit. This lets us know that we are not on our own, but have the strength of the Holy Spirit to enable us, to aid us, to equip us for the work that God has called us to do in the world. And by being given in a public act, all those witnessing this act know that this newly baptized person is indeed a child of God, and are thereby charged to support this person in his or her ministry as a member of the Body of Christ. For this ministry is most effective when done in community with our fellow Christians.

The other aspect of God’s declaration received at the time of baptism is in word. All the Synoptics tell us that upon emerging from the waters of baptism, God declared “you are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” This affirmation helped sustain Jesus during his 40 days of temptation in the wilderness and on into and throughout his public ministry. So too, in our baptisms, God says, “you are my child, my beloved, with you I am well pleased.” As with Jesus, this is an affirmation that sustains us in the day-to-day trials and temptations we face. It is God’s assurance that He is with us; that the Holy Spirit is ever-present, ready to guide us; and that Christ is our constant companion.

Because we are called by name, because at baptism we are marked with the name of Jesus, we are in return free to call upon Jesus’ name, God’s name, with the assurance and confidence in God’s faithfulness toward us. And we are free to call upon the Body of Christ, the community of fellow baptized. Here again, it is the community of faith, those witnessing the act of baptism, that have a part to play in the support and further development of the newly baptized.

This is why we don’t do private baptisms any more. We now understand, as demonstrated in Luke’s portrayal of Jesus’ baptism, that baptism is a communal affair, because we as the Body of Christ have our ongoing part to play. And today, we will once again share in that communal affair as, in a few minutes, we witness and share in the baptisms of Eleni Christopherson and Marin Cummings. As we baptize these newest members into the Body of Christ, of which we are all a part, they are the ones receiving the sacrament, but we are the ones charged with helping them live into the fullness of what that sacrament means. We are charged through our renewal of our own Baptismal Vows; we are charged though our witness of them going into and rising from the waters of baptism; we are charged through our witness of them receiving the Holy Spirit, to be fellow travelers with them on their faith journeys. And that charge is first and foremost to continually echo the voice of God – to say to them, “Eleni, you are God’s beloved, and with you He is well pleased. Marin, you are God’s beloved, and with you He is well pleased.” Just as God says to all of us, over and over again, “you are my beloved daughter, you are my beloved son, with you I am always well pleased.”

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

Read more!

Gift for the Infant King

The Epiphany – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7,10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12
Wednesday, January 6, 2010 – Trinity, Redlands


Today we come to the end of the Christmas season, with our celebration of the Feast of the Epiphany – the commemoration of the manifestation of Jesus Christ to the Magi in Bethlehem. Throughout the last 2,000 years, much effort has been made to attach significance to the Magi – to who they were and what they represent – and to their gifts – to what they represent and even portend. But much of it is probably historically inaccurate.

We don’t know exactly who the Magi were, other than the fact that because of the term used, they were scholars, probably astrologers, from the east, from the area of present-day Iran. We don’t know their names – Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar were the names the Venerable Bede attributed to them nearly 800 years after the fact, but he would have had no way of knowing for sure. We don’t know for certain that they were of various races as is often portrayed in Christian art. We don’t even know how many there actually were – we just assume there were three because they brought three gifts. And the gifts they brought – gold, frankincense, and myrrh – may or may not have been chosen to represent such things as royalty and divine authority, and as a foreshadowing of the death of the Son of Man. These gifts may have had different meanings to these people from a far-distant land. Maybe they just brought what they had on hand. The fact is, we just don’t know. The only remotely reliable information we have is what is recorded in 12 verses in the Gospel According to Matthew. All else is pure speculation.

Actually, any modern theologian will tell you that the important thing about Epiphany is not the specifics, but rather the overarching meaning of the Magi. They clearly represent the revelation or manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles – to non-Jews. After all, we are told in the second verse of today’s Gospel lesson that Jesus was “born king of the Jews.” And Luke’s account of his birth clearly has the angels proclaiming that the child born in Bethlehem is the Messiah –indicating the Jewish Messiah foretold by the prophets. The Magi were the first Gentiles to recognize the coming of the Messiah. But the really important thing is that their recognition of Jesus as Messiah exemplifies the comprehensiveness of the kingdom this Messiah would one day proclaim. Their recognition and paying him homage tells us that Jesus is not just King of the Jews, but is the Messiah, the Savior, of all people.

In addition to this revelation extending Christ’s salvation to all humanity, this story of the coming of the Magi contains another all-important element – gifts. We are told that they brought expensive gifts with which to pay homage to this new king, this Messiah. I think the giving of gifts is critical to the overall message. Because implicit in this act is the message of generosity. The Magi seeking the Messiah gave of their generosity, in response to God’s generosity in giving humanity the gift of his Son, the gift of God himself made flesh, the ultimate gift of salvation.

I think the perfect illustration of the importance of gift is from one of my favorite Christmas stories, which is in reality an Epiphany story. It is the story of Aaron, the Little Drummer Boy. You’ve all heard the popular Christmas song – “Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum. A newborn King to see, pa rum pum pum pum,” etc. Perhaps some of you might remember that this song was the basis for a Rankin-Bass Christmas special first aired in 1968. Admittedly, it was a pretty crude stop-action animation production, particularly by contemporary standards, but it is still one of my favorites nonetheless.

The television show provides the supposed back-story for the popular song. Aaron is an orphan, who, because of the murder of his parents by bandits, is an incredibly bitter boy, hating all humanity. His only possession is a drum his parents had given him. And his only friends are three animals – a camel, a donkey, and a lamb. During the course of the story, Aaron has a chance encounter with three kings who are following a star. When an unscrupulous character takes Aaron’s camel, Joshua, and sells it to the three kings, Aaron sets out in search of them to try to get his friend back. Aaron’s only lead is the knowledge that the kings are following a star. So, he too sets out, following that same star. Upon arriving in Bethlehem, tragedy strikes. A Roman chariot runs over Baa-Baa, Aaron’s lamb. Baa-Baa is in critical condition, near death. Aaron figures that surely the three kings, who have great knowledge, will be able to save Baa-Baa. He continues following the star and finds the three kings. One of them tells Aaron that they do not have such power, but there is one who does – the infant king lying in the manger ahead of them.

Aaron reasons that he cannot approach this infant king and present his supplication without a gift worthy of a king. After all, the three kings brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh – gifts of great value. But Aaron has nothing. “I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum. That’s fit to give a king, pa rum pum pum pum.” So Aaron gives the only gift he can think of. He takes his drum and beats out a song for the newborn king. Aaron gives the only gift he had – the gift of himself. And when he’s finished, the baby Jesus smiles for having received such a precious gift. And in the glow of that smile, Aaron receives a gift as well. In the beauty of that infant, in the glow of his smile, Aaron sees that humanity is not something inherently evil, to be despised, but something beautiful, to be cherished. His heart softens and he experiences a sense of love and joy that he has not felt since his parents’ death. By God’s grace, Aaron is healed of what had been burdening him. And Baa-Baa? He too is healed, further adding to Aaron’s joy.

While Epiphany is about Jesus being revealed to humanity, an equally significant aspect is how he is revealed. As indicated in the Gospel lesson, Jesus is there in the manger, available to us. God provides the star to point the way, to guide us. But we have to take the initiative. It is up to us to set out on the journey in search of that which the star illumines. As such, Epiphany is even more about humanity, about us, making the journey to the manger. It is about us moving toward Jesus and recognizing for ourselves that he is our Messiah.

We journey to the manger by many different roads and out of many different motivations. Some come out of a sense of intrigue. Some come out of a sense of longing. Some come out of a sense of need. Some come out of a sense of hunger. Some come with a sorrow that needs to be cheered. Some come with an illness that needs to be healed. Some come with a burden that needs to be lifted. Some come with an emptiness that needs to be filled. Some come seeking love. Some come seeking joy. Some come seeking peace. Some come seeking hope.

No matter how we come, no matter what we seek, we are assured, by the grace of God, that we will find it in the smile of an infant king. And in addition, we will find something quite unexpected. There, at the manger, we will find total love, total acceptance, total grace. There we will find fullness of life. And the only thing we are asked to do is to give a small token in homage to the infant king. It doesn’t need to be gold, or frankincense, or myrrh. In fact, we are asked to give the only thing that is truly ours to give. We are asked to give ourselves. And while that may not seem like much, to the infant king lying in the manger, that is far more valuable gift than all the gold, frankincense, and myrrh on earth.

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

Read more!

"Alleluia! Christ is Risen!"

Today at the 10:15 service, I committed a liturgical faux pas. At Trinity during Christmastide, they start the services with the presider saying “Alleluia! Christ is Born!” to which the people respond “Come let us adore him! Alleluia!” Because the opening acclamation is so close to the Easter acclamation (“Alleluia! Christ is Risen!”), I was worried that I might mess up. So during the opening hymn, I kept reading and re-reading the opening acclamation so I wouldn’t mess up. But sure enough, I said the Easter acclamation instead, to which the people dutifully responded “The Lord is Risen indeed! Alleluia!” (the proper response to the Easter acclamation - they are so well trained) and then started laughing. I immediately realized what had happened. When the laughter died down, I said “okay, let’s try it again” and managed to get the right acclamation out. The people gave the correct response and then chuckled a little more and we went on with the service.

As I told David after it was all over, "Theologically, it works. After all, you can't have one without the other" (you can't have Easter without Christmas and without Easter, there would be no need for Christmas).

Then during the Peace, one of my favorite little old ladies said to me, “One of the things I love about you is that you are so human.” I told her I thought that was one of the best compliments I have ever received.

_______________

Read more!

The Word Became Flesh and Lived Among Us Version 2

First Sunday After Christmas – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147:13-21; Galatians 3:23-25, 4:4-7; John 1:1-18
Sunday, December 27, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands

[N.B. This is a slightly modified version of my Christmas Day homily, created for the First Sunday After Christmas.]

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14)

Wait a minute! This is Christmas! What happened to all the drama and pageantry we heard about just a couple of days ago? What happened to Mary and Joseph? Where’s the child in swaddling clothes? Where’s the manger? Where are the shepherds? And what about the choir of angels singing “Glory to God in the highest?” Just a couple of days into the Twelve Days of Christmas and we’ve already moved on?

After all the build-up of Advent, all the hype that we have endured since Thanksgiving, if not before, is it too much to want more of the well-known and beloved story of Jesus’ birth in a manger in Bethlehem? Does the drama have to end after just one night? Do we have to leave the much-beloved imagery of a young girl giving birth to her child, the Son of God, in low and meager conditions, surrounded by cute and cuddly animals, under the adoring eyes of lowly shepherds and the heavenly host of angels alike? Can’t we go back to Luke’s portrayal? After all, it is so much more heart-warming and touchy-feely than the way John portrays it, with all his talk about the Word this and the Word that. It’s so cold. It’s so . . . so theological.

Sorry, but no. Life goes on. Big events in life can’t last forever – even something as big as the birth of God’s Son. We all know that, no matter how much we don’t want it to, those warm and fuzzy events in life must eventually come to an end. There’s always that let down after a big event. But is John’s portrayal of the coming of the Messiah, with all his cryptic talk like “In the beginning was the Word, and Word was with God, and the Word was God,” and about how “the Word became flesh” really a letdown?

After all the hustle and bustle leading up to Christmas Day, after the pageantry of Christmas Eve, after all the pomp entailed in “Glory to God in the highest” and “Joy to the World,” the remainder of the Christmas season is, in many respects, the time for settling in, for adjusting to the life changing event that happened on Christmas Eve. It is a chance for us to stop and catch our breath, to take a few moments and reflect on what it all means. Maybe we need the more esoteric, less sensory loaded imagery of “the Word became flesh and lived among us” to give us the space we need to take it all in, to catch up, to live into what all this really means. As the narrator noted at the conclusion of the Christmas Eve pageant: “The Father uttered one Word: that Word is His Son – and He utters Him forever in everlasting silence. And the soul, to hear it, must be silent.” Maybe that’s why we have twelve days of Christmas – to give us the time we need to be silent, at least interiorly, to let it all sink in.

After the bucolic imagery surrounding the humble birth of our Lord and King, maybe the time is right for something a little more abstract, more enigmatic, something entailing the language of mystery that is befitting such a profound, if not unfathomable, event. This is the time to reflect, and to realize that life following the events of Christmas Eve will never be the same again – life in the aftermath of the birth of the Messiah will never be the same.

No, the Prologue to John’s Gospel does not meet our expectations for drama, but it provides something even more profound – even more profound than the scene at the manger. The very fact that the Word became flesh proves that God does not conform to our expectations. Before this day, we knew God in more of an indirect, abstract way. We knew God through the revelation of scripture. We knew God through second-hand information, through the words of the prophets. Through such second and even third-hand accounts, we were able to come to believe in and worship God who was unseen, and who seemed, in so many ways, to be out there, out of reach, just beyond our grasp. But now, through the Word-made-flesh, we know God in a different way – we know God in the flesh. God-made-flesh is God manifest in body so that we might have a conception of the unseen Father, so that we might know God as we ourselves are.

But “the Word was made flesh and lived among us” means so much more. The term we translate as “lived” is more properly translated as “pitched his tent.” Or as “tabernacled.” Just as the glory of God tabernacled, lived among, the Israelites as they wandered through the wilderness, guiding them all along the way. John is telling us that in the Christmas event, God was not just born into human form. Rather, God came to be in our midst, to travel with us, to be an on-going companion on our journeys through life, just as he was with the Israelites.

But even for the Israelites, with whom God dwelt, tabernacled, God was still a mysterious houseguest at best. There was so much about God that was unfathomable to them. God may have been in their midst, but was still not truly known. There was still a distinct separation between God and worshiper, between divine and human. The Prologue of John’s Gospel indicates that such separation, such dichotomies are inherent in creation. Creation contains many things and concepts that in our limited human nature, we cannot fully fathom – heaven and earth, Creator and created, human and divine, light and dark, eternity and the time-bound, life and death, death and resurrection, acceptance and rejection, mortal life and eternal life, exclusivity and inclusivity, fallen creation and creation as God meant it to be. Such are the mysteries of the creation of which we are a part. Such are the mysteries of the One who created all things.

The Prologue reveals that all creation, along with all these dichotomies came to be through Jesus Christ, the Word. Yet, it is this same Word, in the Word-made-flesh, in the birth of Jesus, that serves as God’s act of reconciliation breaking into time and space, reconciling the dichotomies present in creation and beyond creation – reconciling those mysteries that separate Creator from the created. As such, in the Word-made-flesh, God is not just come among us. Rather, it is through this act of becoming flesh that God is allowing himself to be known to humanity in ways that He has never been known before. God is no longer an unknown and unknowable deity, but becomes a physical, flesh and blood companion, capable of knowing us and being known by us – God has come to reveal the fullness of himself, dichotomies and all. God becomes an intimate companion who wants to fully know us and who wants to be fully known.

As such, the Prologue from John serves to move the church beyond the singular birth event portrayed in Luke’s Gospel. As one commentator notes, “this passage speaks to the very heart of the Christmas message by answering the question ‘Who is the child of Bethlehem, and why should we care about his birth?’” (Bauman, 188). This passage moves the theology of the Church from “birth” to “incarnation” – to an ongoing state of God with us – a God who is no longer unseen and out there somewhere, but instead, is now God-made-flesh, who is with us, in the same form as we ourselves are. The point of the Gospel of John is that God became human through Jesus, and that as a result, He is one of us. He is truly known to us and by us. As a result, God is not distant, uninvolved, impersonal, static. Rather, God is ever-present, involved, personal, dynamic.

In the Word-made-flesh, in God-made-human, God is brought to our level, seeing humanity as we are, experiencing humanity as we do, in all its fullness – in the joys and the sorrows, in the good times and the bad. And the flip side is that in Jesus, God reveals His vision of what humanity is supposed to be. He provides the ultimate example of what humanity can be. Jesus reveals the way to true human life – to what we are intended to be. And in the Word-made-flesh, in God-made-human, we see humanity as God sees us. We see how much God loves us and cares for us, to come and be among us, to share with us that which was previously unknowable. God did not have to do this. But God chose to do it out of sheer love. That’s the true miracle of Christmas. That is the unfathomable mystery of Christmas.

This is why we need, in these days immediate following the birth of our Messiah, to hear such abstract and mysterious language as the Word-made-flesh – to let the message sink in. The event of Christmas Eve, despite all the pageantry, all the beauty, was a one-shot deal, a singular event. On the other hand, the mystical language of Word-made-flesh, the revelation of Incarnation, of God come among us, and all that that entails, is an ongoing event – the ongoing gift of our God living among us, sharing our lives with us, sharing himself with us, the ongoing assurance that we are not alone, the ongoing gift of our God who loves us unconditionally.

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” – God-with-us, the ultimate expression, the ultimate glory, of God’s love, given to each and every one of us, his beloved children.

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


References
Bauman, Stephen. “John 1: (1-9) 10-18, Pastoral 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.

Read more!

The Word Became Flesh and Lived Among Us

Christmas Day – Year C (RCL)
Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12); John 1:1-14
Friday, December 25, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14)

Wait a minute! This is Christmas! What happened to all the drama and pageantry we heard about last night? What happened to Mary and Joseph? Where’s the child in swaddling clothes? Where’s the manger? Where are the shepherds? And what about the choir of angels singing “Glory to God in the highest?”

After all the build-up of Advent, all the hype that we have endured since Thanksgiving, if not before, is it too much to want more of the well-known and beloved story of Jesus’ birth in a manger in Bethlehem? Does the drama have to end after just one night? Do we have to leave the much-beloved imagery of a young girl giving birth to her child, the Son of God, in low and meager conditions, surrounded by cute and cuddly animals, under the adoring eyes of lowly shepherds and the heavenly host of angels alike? Can’t we go back to Luke’s portrayal? After all, it is so much more heart-warming and touchy-feely than the way John portrays it, with all his talk about the Word this and the Word that. It’s so cold. It’s so . . . so theological.

Sorry, but no. Life goes on. Big events in life can’t last forever – even something as big as the birth of God’s Son. We all know that, no matter how much we don’t want it to, those warm and fuzzy events in life must eventually come to an end. There’s always that let down after a big event. But is John’s portrayal of the coming of the Messiah, with all his cryptic talk like “In the beginning was the Word, and Word was with God, and the Word was God,” and about how “the Word became flesh” really a letdown?

After all the hustle and bustle leading up to today, after the pageantry of Christmas Eve, after all the pomp entailed in “Glory to God in the highest” and “Joy to the World,” Christmas Day is, in many respects, the time for settling in, for adjusting to the life changing event that has just happened the night before. It is a chance for us to stop and catch our breath, to take a few moments and reflect on what it all means. Maybe we need the more esoteric, less sensory loaded imagery of “the Word became flesh and lived among us” to give us the space we need to take it all in, to catch up, to live into what all this really means. As the narrator noted at the conclusion of the Christmas Eve pageant last night: “The Father uttered one Word: that Word is His Son – and He utters Him forever in everlasting silence. And the soul, to hear it, must be silent.” Maybe this is the day we need to be silent, at least interiorly, to let it all sink in.

After bucolic imagery surrounding the humble birth of our Lord and King, maybe the time is right for something a little more abstract, more enigmatic, something entailing the language of mystery that is befitting such a profound, if not unfathomable, event. This is the time to reflect, and to realize that life following the events of Christmas Eve will never be the same again – life in the aftermath of the birth of the Messiah will never be the same.

No, the Prologue to John’s Gospel does not meet our expectations for drama, but it provides something even more profound – even more profound than the scene at the manger. The very fact that the Word became flesh proves that God does not conform to our expectations. Before this day, we knew God in more of an indirect, abstract way. We knew God through the revelation of scripture. We knew God through second-hand information, through the words of the prophets. Through such second and even third-hand accounts, we were able to come to believe in and worship God who was unseen, and who seemed, in so many ways, to be out there, out of reach, just beyond our grasp. But now, through the Word-made-flesh, we know God in a different way – we know God in the flesh. God-made-flesh is God manifest in body so that we might have a conception of the unseen Father, so that we might know God as we ourselves are.

The well-beloved story from Luke deals with the birth event of God-made-human. The Prologue from John serves to move the church beyond this singular birth event. It moves the church theology from “birth” to “incarnation” – to an ongoing state of God with us – a God who is no longer unseen and out there somewhere, but instead, is now God-made-flesh, who is with us, in the same form as we ourselves are. The point of the Gospel of John is that God became human through Jesus, and that as a result, He is one of us. As a result, God is not distant, uninvolved, impersonal, static. Rather, God is ever-present, involved, personal, dynamic.

In the Word-made-flesh, in God-made-human, God is brought to our level, seeing humanity as we are, experiencing humanity as we do, in all its fullness – in the joys and the sorrows, in the good times and the bad. And the flip side is that in Jesus, God reveals His vision of what humanity is supposed to be. He provides the ultimate example of what humanity can be. Jesus reveals the way to true human life – to what we are intended to be. And in the Word-made-flesh, in God-made-human, we see humanity as God sees us. We see how much God loves us and cares for us, to come and be among us. God did not have to do this. But God chose to do it out of sheer love. That’s the true miracle of Christmas. That is the unfathomable mystery of Christmas.

This is why we need, on this day following the birth of our Messiah, to hear such abstract and mysterious language as the Word-made-flesh – to let the message sink in. The events of last night, despite all the pageantry, all the beauty, was a one-shot deal, a singular event. On the other hand, the mystical language of Word-made-flesh, the revelation of Incarnation, of God come among us, and all that that entails, is an ongoing event – the ongoing gift of our God living among us and sharing our lives with us, the ongoing assurance that we are not alone, the ongoing gift of our God who loves us unconditionally.

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” – God-with-us, the ultimate expression, the ultimate glory, of God’s love, given to each and every one of us, his beloved children.

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

Read more!

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.

Read more!

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.

Read more!

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.

Read more!

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.

Read more!