Experiencing the Trinity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!

The Us and Them Problem

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Read more!

Post-Resurrection Experiences

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!

Blessed Are Those Who Question

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Read more!

The Light That Burns Forever

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!

Standing at the Foot of the Cross

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!

Parable of the Prodigal Father

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!

Lenten Journey

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

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

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

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

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

Blessed travels!

Read more!

Anamnesis

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!

Big Bang Call Narratives

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more!