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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

My first experience with foot washing was when I was in high school. Our entire youth group went to a camp in the San Bernardino Mountains over Presidents Day weekend. There were hundreds of youth there from all over Southern California. On the first night, as part of the opening worship experience, we were told to sit down in small groups, in circles. The room was dimly lit. There was soft contemplative music playing in the background. Someone brought basins of water and placed them in the center of each circle. We were instructed to pair up, and to wash each other’s feet. There was a great deal of reluctance on the part of most present, myself included. Finally, my foot-washing partner took the initiative. He took my bare feet and gently, tenderly washed them in the basin of warm water. Almost as soon as he started, I began to cry. Having someone wash my feet was such a humbling experience. I felt so vulnerable, having someone care for me in such a way, to completely give up any control over the situation and what was being done to me, to drop my guard enough to allow another to care for me.

And then, when he was done washing my feet, I washed his. I continued to cry, but for a different reason. I was crying because I had to be vulnerable in a different way. Once again, I had to let my guard down, but this time it was to set aside my ego, to allow myself to be open and vulnerable to serving another in an intimate way. This act required that I tear down any barriers I had between me and this other person, to allow myself to enter into an intimate connection with another. Even in the midst of the tears, I felt the joy of being able to care for another. The tears of humility and vulnerability turned to tears of joy. I felt the joy of being able to connect in a very deep way, in a non-verbal way, with another of God’s children, to share a moment of mutual vulnerability, where we were able to connect on a spiritual level, knowing who we are, and more importantly, whose we are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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"Things Will Work Out; They Always Do"

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Responding to Evil

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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