Living Water

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Born Again Episcopalians

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Lenten Motivation

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Mountaintop Experiences

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Building the Kingdom of God

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Presentation of Christ in the Temple

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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What Are You Looking For?

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


“What are you looking for?” (Jn 1.38)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Running Away, Running Home

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Feast of Your Holy Name

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year and Blessed Feast of your Holy Name.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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