Christ the King

Christ the King – Year B
Daniel 7:9-14; Psalm 93; Revelation 1:1-8; John 18:33-37
Sunday, November 26, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

Here we are at the end of another year. Next Sunday is the beginning of Advent, of a new year, liturgically speaking. On this, the last Sunday after Pentecost, the last Sunday of the liturgical year, we traditionally commemorate the feast of Christ the King. This feast is observed in “celebration of the all-embracing authority of Christ which shall lead [humankind] to seek the ‘peace of Christ’ in the ‘Kingdom of Christ’” (Cross, 332). In a way, this commemoration serves to remind us of who Christ is as we prepare for his coming, as well as what it means to live under his kingship.

The imagery of Christ the King is evidenced in various ways in the readings appointed for today. The Old Testament lesson from the Book of Daniel paints an apocalyptic image of a heavenly court, home to the Ancient One, to God, who sits in judgment over all of creation. And into his midst comes a human being – literally “son of man” – to whom is given “dominion and glory and kingship, that all people, nations, and languages should serve him.” There are a number of interpretations as to what this imagery would have meant to the Jewish readers of the time. But for Christian readers, it is hard not to view this “son of man,” one who will have everlasting dominion and whose kingship shall never be destroyed, as Christ. In so doing, we have a traditional image of Christ as king over all creation. Even more explicitly, the New Testament lesson from the apocalyptic book of Revelation, specifically proclaims Christ as “the ruler of the kings of the earth,” who “made us to be a kingdom,” and who is to be given “glory and dominion forever and ever.” This is the image we tend to have of Christ the King, the image we tend to commemorate on this day.

As I contemplate these images from our Scriptures, both Old and New Testament, particularly as they relate to our commemoration of this feast day, I am struck by an incredible sense of incongruity. This sense of incongruity occurs on several levels, which makes it all the more puzzling. First, how can we, as twenty-first century Americans, relate to the image of king and of kingdom? After all, this nation was founded 230 years ago in a revolution rebelling against the authority of a king and by renouncing our participation in and existence as a kingdom. Our whole system of governance is based on a fundamental belief that monarchical rule is contrary to our God-given right to self-determination and self-governance. This was reinforced during our most recent elections, in which Americans went to the polls and overturned 12 years of rule by the majority party – effectively issuing a proclamation that the direction the current government is leading our nation is not acceptable to the majority of the populace. Such events could never have occurred under a monarchy.

We see similar events unfolding in our own ecclesiastical structure, within the governance of the Episcopal Church, particularly as related to our relationship with and position within the Anglican Communion. Over the past few decades, we in the Episcopal Church have chosen to break with the generally held positions of a majority of our Anglican brothers and sisters on a variety of issues. In the context of kings and kingship, it is not a matter of whether one agrees or disagrees with the positions the Episcopal Church has taken. Regardless of where one falls on the spectrum of these potentially divisive issues, the fact remains that neither we as the Episcopal Church, those within the Episcopal Church seeking to disassociate themselves and realign with other provinces of the Anglican Communion, or those in other provinces of the Communion, would be in a position to exercise our own understandings of what it means to live the Gospel if we operated under a monarchical ecclesiastical structure. We do not have, and in fact, since the founding of the Anglican Church during the Reformation, have fervently avoided the creation of systems of governance that concentrate power within a single person such as a pope. Despite having a hierarchical structure, our system of governance does not concentrate absolute power in the person of the Presiding Bishop or even in our own diocesan bishops. While our governing officials have substantial influence, the reality is they are not the ultimate authorities. We have insisted on a system of governance far more democratic than monarchical.

It is in light of these incongruities that we are presented with the paradoxical vision of Christ as King in today’s Gospel lesson. On first reading, this lesson seems to paint a counter-intuitive picture of what it means for Jesus to be King. This is the story of a presumed king being treated in a quite un-king-like manner. In this story, a presumed king has been mocked by both the religious and political authorities, humiliated and mistreated by his opposition. Is this any way for a person, particularly a king, to be treated? And even more poignantly, how could someone who is supposedly a king submit to this type of treatment, to this humiliation, without putting up a fight? How could this person possibly be considered a king?

In fact, Pilate’s own disbelief is revealed as he starts his interrogation with the point-blank question, “Are you the King of the Jews?” This question, which is incredibly loaded from both the prevailing religious and secular perspectives, begins a dance around what it really means to be king. The religious authorities have referred the matter to the Roman authorities as the Temple officials recognize the danger to their own power base of having a person proclaimed as the Messiah running around the countryside. They want to be rid of this alleged Messiah, but have no means of doing so themselves. Therefore, they refer the matter to the Romans, who they know will not look kindly on such an allegation. “The prominence of the kingship motif underscores the intersection of religion and politics in the trial narrative. Political sedition fell under the jurisdiction of the Roman courts, and Pilate’s questioning about Jesus’ political claims points to the Roman awareness of the potential threat Jewish messianic hopes posed to their governance.” (O’Day, 816).

In response to these accusations, Jesus neither directly affirms nor denies Pilate’s assertion that Jesus is a king. Instead, Jesus describes the nature and function of his kingship, not a physical place over which he is the presumed king. In so doing, Jesus says that his kingdom is not from this world. The meaning of this statement can be somewhat confusing. Traditionally, “Translations have usually rendered Jesus’ dictum as ‘My kingdom is not of this world,’ widely taken to mean that Jesus was a spiritual teacher offering individual salvation who had no interests and concerns in social and political matters.” (Gottwald, 24). The argument then follows that, as members of this kingdom, we have no need for or concern with the matters of the world. This interpretation is inconsistent with the portrayal of Jesus in the Gospels “The better translation, ‘My rule is not derived from this world,’ honors the source of Jesus’ authority and mission in God but in no way excludes social and political matters as spheres in which his way of life is to be carried out. The teaching and conduct of Jesus touch and invade the social, economic, and political spheres of life again and again” (Gottwald, 24).

“Although Jesus is nominally on trial here, he is the one who testifies to the truth, and the world is judged by its response to his witness” (O’Day, 817). In this, he exercises his reign in a way very unlike that of any other king – certainly any king up that point, or any king to reign since. “Jesus poses a threat to the political and religious structures, but it is not because he aspires to office” (Hanson, 62). On the contrary, he is a threat because of what he inspires in others. The Romans were right to fear Jesus as a potential king. They feared that such claims would lead to a revolution that would overthrow Roman domination in the region. Pilate and the Temple authorities think that by putting Jesus to death, his kingship would end. They were wrong. The ultimate irony is that not only is Jesus on trial, but the world is also on trial for its life – we are on trial for our lives. And in that trial, Jesus, the Christ, must be condemned and executed so that the world may gain its life. In reality, this trial is just the beginning, a “prelude to his exaltation and final ‘enthronement’ on the cross” (O’Day, 827). The irony of this trial was that the condemnation and execution of Jesus did not stop the revolution feared by the political and religious authorities. Rather, it started a revolution that has been waged now for nearly 2,000 years.

But where have we gotten in the last 2,000 years? As a society, we have slowly and systematically disassociated ourselves from the notion of kingdom. We have developed the notion that kingdom is not a particularly viable form of governance, that we can be more effective, or at least happier, if we take matters into our own hands. We have developed the idea that it is our God-given right to determine our own destiny. We have developed a “lone-rangerism,” both individually and as a culture, in which deference to a king is no longer welcome, if not anathema. But, is humanity really better off for having tried to go it alone?

Biblical scholar Gail Ramshaw notes that in the midst of this on-going revolution, we find that “Speaking of Jesus as king . . . is the odd speech of metaphorical paradox. Yet the language can” and does “easily become literalized. Ecclesiastical art depicting Jesus in royal robes or triumphalistic hymns reminiscent of a coronation need to be juxtaposed to Jesus’ identification with the poor and to serious attention to the world’s injustices. That many contemporary Christians do not live in a kingdom and perhaps do not even respect that classic form of civil society makes the task of interpretation” of Christ the King “a considerable challenge” (Ramshaw, 254).

Despite this challenge, the image of Christ as King holds a lesson for all Christians, and maybe particularly for those of us living in a non-monarchical, democratic society, in a society that is founded upon “rugged individualism.” Ramshaw comments that “the idea of the community of believers realizing itself as God’s kingdom” can provide us with “a comfort in times of oppression and in inspiration for unified action within and outside the circle of faith” (Ramshaw, 255). This is a crucial function of the kingdom. Few of us in this room experience oppression, or at least, experience it on the level that was experienced by the lepers, widows, and orphans of ancient times. But there continues to be oppression in our day. It just has a different face. Today, it is the face of the homeless person, of the malnourished child, of the illegal immigrant seeking a better life, of the elderly person forced to choose between paying for food and paying for needed medication. The list goes on and on. Despite 2,000 years of revolution, and despite our best intentions, despite our attempts to move away from monarchical structures so that we can better act for our own good and the good of others, we have missed the mark. We have taken Jesus’ words “my kingdom is not of this world” too literally. His kingdom may not originate in this world, but it most certainly is of this world. His kingdom is here present among us. It is the Body of Christ. We are the Body of Christ. We are Christ’s kingdom.

“Especially in the sacramental life, the image of Christ’s kingship and the church’s kingdom are important. The baptized are sealed with holy oil as a sign that believers are anointed by the Spirit of God, as was Jesus, to reign in the kingdom of God” (Ramshaw, 255). We are not only Christ’s kingdom. We share in the reign of that kingdom by virtue of our baptisms. But it doesn’t work if we go it alone and try to treat it as a democracy, with each of us looking out for our own interests. Jesus tells Pilate, and he tells us, “for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” We cannot see the whole truth, not as Christ sees it. If we claim to belong to the truth, we must listen to Christ’s voice. We must have that guide to keep us on track with the goals of the Kingdom, lest we wander about aimlessly and ineffectively.

The truth is that we are part of a kingdom that is unlike any other kingdom. Kingdoms, democracies, and republics rise and fall. But the Kingdom of God will last forever. We must do our part to make that Kingdom function as God intends it to. That can only happen if we follow our King. The good news is that we have a King who is unlike any other king. We have a king who loves us enough to die for us. We have a king who feeds us, nurtures us, comforts us, and who can, if we let him, inspire us. Our response is that we must trust in our King, who calls us to listen to the truth; and to proclaim the truth, in word and deed, that his Kingdom is present, here and now.

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


References

Cross, F.L. and E.A. Livingstone, ed. The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 3rd Edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Hanson, K.C. Proclamation 4: Aids for Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series B Pentecost 3. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991.

Lagerquist-Gottwald, Laura and Norman K. Gottwald. Proclamation 6: Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series B Pentecost 3. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996.

O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

Ramshaw, Gail. Treasures Old and New: Images in the Lectionary. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002.

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Canterbury Evening Prayer Reflection 5 - Thanksgiving

Reflection on James 1:17-18,21-27

One week from today is Thanksgiving. Since we will not be meeting next week, we opted to have our liturgical commemoration of Thanksgiving a week early. The Scripture lesson we just read is one of the lessons appointed for Thanksgiving Day, and is part of a longer passage addressing God’s relationship to humankind. Our lesson picks up by addressing the right and wrong responses of humans to this relationship (Johnson, 188). Specifically, humans are meant to be a “first fruits of [God’s] creation,” representing all creation before God (Johnson, 189). The basic point of this passage is clear – that for faith to be real, it must be translated into action. To do otherwise would merely be self-deceptive. By “looking into the perfect law, the law of liberty,” by looking at the examples presented in the Torah, such as Abraham, Rahab, Job, and Elijah, one may learn how to turn one’s faith into deeds, and thereby be blessed (Johnson, 189).

For me, this is what Thanksgiving is really about – or rather, what it should be about – turning faith into deeds. It’s one thing to be thankful for what we have received – to express our gratitude to God for all that God has provided us. That’s the easy part. It’s easy to say the words. Of course, the words are important. We need to be able to express what we are feeling. But that’s only the beginning. The true test of thankfulness, according to the passage from James, is that we put that thankfulness into action

Think of it this way –you have a friend who gives you a gift. Let’s say your friend takes you out to lunch and pays for your meal. You naturally express your gratitude by saying “thank you.” But if you are like most people, your expression of gratitude does not stop with the words “thank you.” At some point in the future, you will likely take your friend out to lunch or dinner as another way of expressing your gratitude for your friend’s previous kindness, but also as an expression of your continued gratitude for the relationship you share.

Now faith is your relationship with God – you believe in God and have a relationship with God. It is a friendship of the ultimate kind. As part of that friendship, God buys you lunch – lots of lunches – and lots of dinners, and give you all kinds of other things, like a home, and all your possessions, and gives you all sorts of opportunities for a rich and fulfilling life. In fact, God give you life itself. And not just your physical life, but God even gives the gift of eternal life – of salvation through the gift of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. Of course, out of gratitude for all these gifts, you say “thank you” to God. In the Prayers of the People, we offer thanksgiving to God for all the gifts we are given. On special days like Thanksgiving, we specifically remember to express our gratitude to God. But is that enough? Would it be enough just to say “thank you” to any other friend who has given you wonderful, even priceless, gifts?

With such a wonderful and generous friend as God, wouldn’t it be appropriate to buy God lunch on occasion, as a way of expressing our gratitude? Or to give God a gift as a sign of love and friendship? Well, obviously, because of the nature of God, we can’t buy God lunch. But we can do the next best thing – we can buy lunch for another of God’s beloved children – for one of God’s beloved children who, through circumstances we may not be able to fully understand, does not have the benefit of the abundance with which we have been blessed. By giving a gift to one of God’s children, we are giving a gift directly to God. But perhaps more importantly, by putting our faith into action, by expressing our gratitude to God through our kindness to God in the form of kindness to another, we are blessing the life of someone else, just as God has blessed our lives. And, in so doing, we are acting on God’s behalf so that, through us, others may know the wonder of God’s abundant love and mercy. What greater gift could we possibly give to God?


References

Johnson, Luke Timothy. “The Letter of James: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. XII of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998.

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Canterbury Evening Prayer Reflection 4 - All Souls Day

Reflection on Isaiah 25:6-9

The Scripture reading we just heard is one of the options for the Old Testament lesson for the Commemoration of All Faithful Departed, or All Souls Day, which we remember today. This passage heralds an announcement of salvation using strong eschatological language – language referring to the end of the world or the ultimate destiny of humankind. According to Isaiah, this image of salvation has two components. The first is a feast, a ritual meal of unimaginable plenty, on Mt. Zion., set out for all people. The second is an end to suffering, an end to death that casts its pall over all people, over all nations. In so doing, God will “wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of [God’s] people [God] will take away from all the earth.” One thing is abundantly clear from this passage – salvation and the banquet symbolizing that salvation are made available to all. It is our deepest hope as we face death, be it the death of a loved one, or as we face the specter of our own mortality. Either way, this passage expresses “the deepest human hopes for an end to mourning, to death itself, and to all grief” (Tucker, 217). This passage promises an end to death not just for an elect few, but for all God’s children.

In his commentary on this passage, Gene Tucker ponders “How are we to understand the promise that the Lord ‘will swallow up death forever’? Is it to be taken literally or metaphorically? Certainly the language is metaphorical, but the prophecy looks to a time when death will be no more” (Tucker, 217). As we read this passage, we tend to focus on the theme of the end of death. But more importantly, this passage emphasizes the promises of an end to mourning. The emphasis is on the effect that death causes for those who alive – on the survivors who mourn their personal losses, the loss of their loved ones. This says something about our God, and about what God deems important. The “prophetic voice declares that life, not death, is what God endorses” (Tucker, 217).

So, if, as Tucker posits, God endorses life and not death, then why do we do it? Why do we have the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed. Why do we remember those who are dead, and in so doing run the risk of dredging up feelings of mourning and grief? After all, if Isaiah is correct, and if our understanding of life after death is correct, those who die are assured of salvation – and not only salvation, but a fantastic feast commemorating the event – an endless feast beyond our wildest imaginations. If Isaiah is correct, and if Tucker’s assessment of this passage is correct, then, the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed is not so much about the departed as about the living. I would have to agree. At least for me, remembering those who have gone before is an occasion that can be filled with joy for the reasons Isaiah implies – death is not an end of life, but the beginning of new life, of everlasting life. Now, of course I miss my friends and family who have died. But in remembering them on All Souls Day, or any other day for that matter, I chose not to dwell on the fact that they are no longer physically present, but rather I think about how they are still present in my life. I know that my loved ones who have died have somehow touched my life and given me a part of themselves. They have helped to form the person who I am through their love, their influence, their example of what it means to live a faithful life. Without them, I would not be the man I am today.

The Commemoration of the Faithful Departed is a celebration of life. While we cannot help but feel some pain at the loss of loved ones, let us remember that God endorses life and not death. Let us remember those who have gone before not with grief, but with gratitude. Let us remember the joyous lives that these saints have lived. Let us remember that those who have gone before continue to live, not only in the Kingdom of Heaven, but also in our own lives – in our hearts, in our memories, and in our very beings.


References

Tucker, Gene M. “The Book of Isaiah 1-39: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. VI of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2001.

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Canterbury Evening Prayer Reflection 3

Reflection on John 4:22-26

Today’s reading is a small part of the much longer account of the interaction between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s Well. The story in it’s entirety happens to be the longest dialogue recorded in the Gospels. In this story, Jesus and the Samaritan woman are discussing the Jewish and Samaritan faiths, which, while similar in many ways because they have the same roots, differ in some of the particulars. One of the key differences is that the Samaritans accepted only the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, as Scripture. From the Jewish perspective they had an incomplete picture of God” (O’Day, 568).

At the heart of today’s passage is the concept that true worship of God entails worshiping in Spirit and truth. Conceptually, this creates a conflict between the Samaritan woman and Jesus, a Jew. While not specifically discussed in the passage, they have differing interpretations of what worshiping in Spirit and truth means. The one thing they can agree on, however, is that a Messiah will come to bring salvation to the world and will reveal the truth. While the Samaritan woman believes that this will happen at some point in the future, Jesus knows differently. He informs the woman that the Messiah has already come, and that he, Jesus, is the Messiah. Looking at the entire story of salvation as portrayed in the Gospels, we see a paradox, however. “Salvation does originate from God’s own people, the Jews, but some Jews do not receive that offer of salvation in Jesus. For example, the offer of salvation made by Jesus (a Jew) has been rejected by the Jew Nicodemus but will be accepted by the Samaritans” (O’Day, 568).

To me, this paradox all boils down to the central concept of worship in Spirit and truth, on how various faith traditions interpret Spirit and truth. Biblical scholar and homiletics professor Gail O’Day notes that “Worship of God in spirit and truth does not point to an internal, spiritualized worship but to a form of worship that reflects and is shaped by the character of God” (O’Day, 568). As Christians, we are constantly attempting to discern what is Spirit and truth, what it means for us, and what it reveals to us about God and about our life as God’s children. In this respect, we are not so different from the Samaritan woman who seeks to understand Spirit and truth, and in a chance encounter, meets it face to face.


References

O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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Memorial Service for Charlie Hart

Memorial Service – Charles McKey Hart

(June 9, 1919 – October 8, 2006)
Lamentations 3:22-26,31-33; Psalm 46; 2 Corinthians 4:16-5:5; Psalm 23; John 14:1-6
Tuesday, October 17, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

As we gather to say our farewells and to honor the life of Charlie Hart, I think it is particularly appropriate that we have this Gospel reading from John. This passage that we just read is the beginning of Jesus' farewell discourse to his disciples. In this discourse, Jesus sums up the purpose for his completed ministry on earth and tells his disciples about what is to come – about his death and resurrection. More importantly, for them, and for those of us gathered here today, he tells about what it means for humanity that he will be resurrected and ascend to Heaven.

When Jesus talks about going to his Father’s house, he is not just talking about location, but also about relationship (O’Day, 740). “The imagery of the dwelling places points to the inclusion of others in the relationship with God and Jesus. Jesus uses the domestic imagery to say ‘My return to God will make it possible for you to join me in the relationship that the Father and I share’” (O’Day, 741). For him to go, through death and resurrection, to his Father's house, with dwelling places for all, was to prepare a place of permanent fellowship. This Gospel passage is, therefore, not about separation, but about deeper fellowship.

Jesus promises to take his own to himself. This is a “promise of the arrival of the hoped-for age, which is marked by reunion and reconciliation with God, by inhabiting one’s ‘place’ in God’s home” (O’Day, 741). Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection provide us with the certainty that we are God’s beloved children and that God wants nothing more than for us to be reconciled to Him in this life, and to spend eternity with him when our lives on this earth are completed. His life, death, and resurrection provide the means by which this can and will happen for each and every one of us.

As evidenced throughout scripture, our Judeo-Christian faith is all about relationship – our relationship to our God and our relationships to one another. Ours is a story of a God who created us in his image. Ours is a story of a God who continually seeks to be in relationship with us. Ours is a story of men and women who seek to be in relationship with one another. Because of our story, we know that it is through relationship that we ultimately seek to know and be known by the One who created us. We accomplish this through community – through our communities of faith, and through the communities that are our families and friends. This importance of community was exemplified by the life of Charlie Hart.

While small of stature, Charlie was a giant among men when it comes to creating and being part of community. Charlie has been characterized as having twinkling eyes and a big, cheerful smile. These physical attributes complimented a similarly winning personality – a non-stop and contagious sense of humor, a strong sense of integrity, a genuine interest in those he encountered, the ability to inspire and cheer on others, a passion for a number of varied activities, and compassion for his fellow human beings.

First and foremost, Charlie was a “people person.” Because of his winning personality, everyone loved Charlie and loved to be with him. And he obviously loved being around other people. Alice, his wife, once commented that there was “never an invitation he said ‘no’ to.” Even later in life, he would not allow a little thing like being confined to a wheelchair to keep him from accepting an invitation. On one occasion, he attended a party while in his wheelchair. Rather than be relegated to the sidelines, he insisted on sitting in the middle of the room so that he could be with all the other partiers and be in the midst of all the action.

When Cynthia and Mary Ann selected the Gospel reading for this service, I immediately had an image of Charlie entering heaven and instantly going from room to room, introducing himself and getting to know the neighbors. And I’m sure that if there were not a party for him to be invited to, he would get busy and organize one himself.

But his greatest joy was his family. He deeply loved his family, particularly his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, with each of whom he had a special and unique relationship. He was always there for each of them, no matter what the need. And as a result, they were always there for him, even to the end. He obviously taught his family the meaning of love, which they gratefully and joyously returned to him. But as much as he loved his family, by far his greatest love was Alice, his beloved wife. At one point near his death, he commented that he just wanted to hold her hand. After five years apart, he finally got his wish.

If unconditional love and devotion to community are the hallmarks of the Kingdom of God, Charlie will fit right in in Heaven. And I think it’s safe to say that he certainly provided a foretaste of that Kingdom while he was here. Charlie lived the Gospel and proclaimed it to all he met through his actions.

Remember, today’s Gospel is not about separation, but about deeper fellowship. When Jesus opens his discourse by saying “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” he is exhorting his disciples “to stand firm in the face of his departure, when the events [of his death] may look to them as if evil and death are having their way. It is a rallying cry for strength” (O’Day, 740). These words and their intended meaning ring true for us here today, just as they did for the disciples. In this time of grief, and in the days ahead when the loss of Charlie’s life and his absence will be most painfully felt by you, his family and friends, remember this rallying cry. Yes, Charlie is no longer here physically, but that does not mean he is gone. He is still with you. He lives on in your hearts – in the memories of your time together and the joy you feel when you think about them, in the lessons that he taught you, in how he touched your lives to help form the persons you are today.

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


References

O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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The Rich Young Ruler and Listening for the Heartbeat of God

Proper 23 – Year B
Amos 5:6-7,10-15; Psalm 90:1-8,12; Hebrews 3:1-6; Mark 10:17-27(28-31)
Sunday, October 15, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

Now you have to admit, as we start our annual stewardship campaign, today’s Gospel lesson is pretty scary. How would you like to have Jesus as the chair of your stewardship committee? Imagine that stewardship talk.

“Do I have to pledge to be a member of the parish?”

“Of course you do.”

“Well, how much should I pledge?”

“You know the guidelines.”

“So I should do proportional giving?”

“Sorry, not enough.”

“Okay, so I have to tithe to be a member?”

“Nope. Still not good enough.”

“Well then, what do I have to pledge to be a member?”

“Everything. You have to give all your money to the church. Oh, and you have to sell all your possessions and give that money to the church, too. If you do that, then we’ll talk about your membership status.”

If we’re brutally honest with ourselves, the vast majority of us would go running for the door. The pews would be empty, or at least, pretty nearly so. Come Monday morning, the rector would have received so many calls she would have no choice but to call a special vestry meeting to figure out what to do about the situation.

The reality is that in contemporary American society, people cannot readily survive without money and possessions. Our society and its institutions just aren’t set-up or equipped to deal with that way of life. Even our ecclesiastical institutions, our parishes, diocese, the Episcopal Church, or the entirety of Christianity, are not equipped to deal with that way of life – with a constituency comprised entirely of people without financial means or material possessions, of a constituency totally reliant upon society or the Church for their support. This is most vividly evidenced by the lack of success of our nation’s welfare system, and of the lack of sufficient resources available to care for the needy in our midst – the hungry, the homeless, and those without access to basic human services.

Yes, the demands that Jesus places on his disciples and the demand he places on the rich young ruler to give up everything to follow him may be the Gospel ideal. Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if our society, if our religious institutions, were able to provided for all the needs of all the people? Personally, I would love to not have to worry about having enough money to pay the bills, or provide maintenance and upkeep on my possessions. Sure, there are small pockets within the Church where this is possible. There are monastic communities where the men or women living in them have given up all their possessions and all their money to serve God. And in return, they are provided with what they need for a reasonably comfortable life. But such communities are the exception, not the rule – they are the exception to our societal norms, because they follow the rule of the Gospel.

But the fact remains, we have this difficult, if not troublesome, passage from Mark’s Gospel. “Jesus’ sayings on the difficulty in entering the reign of God is repeated twice for emphasis. We cannot ‘read around’ it; it is not a minor point in the passage, but at its heart” (Hanson, 21). So, let’s take a look at what this means, and then we can start to figure out what to do about it – we can start to figure out our response so that we may remain true and faithful to the Gospel and living as Jesus commands us.

First, let me say that if we are astonished by the demands made by Jesus, and the seriousness with which he seems to make them, we are not alone. According to Mark, Jesus’ “exclamation that it is difficult for those who have riches to enter the Kingdom of God” also astonishes the disciples, “presumably because they, like many of their contemporaries, saw wealth as an indication of God’s pleasure” (Hooker, 242). The understanding of the day was that God granted wealth and power to some people and that these people would use those gifts for the service and betterment of society. Even today, this perspective continues to be prevalent among many who have wealth and power. So, for Jesus to make statements condemning wealth and demanding that people give up all they have was a radical indictment against prevailing social constructs. His statements and demands floored everyone, including his closest followers and companions.

In explaining the meaning of Jesus’ demands, Biblical Studies scholar K. C. Hanson frames the argument in terms of the economic institutions of the day – the patronage conferred by the wealthy and powerful upon those of lower social and economic status. Hanson writes, “Put in terms of patronage, the wealthy tend to see themselves as self-sufficient. Jesus’ call to discipleship entails a commitment and loyalty to God, his patronage (the kingdom), his broker (Jesus), and the community of his other clients (Jesus’ followers). The wealthy have their own clients, estate obligations, and complex business arrangements. The time, energy, and commitment that Jesus is calling for is precluded by the life-style of the wealthy” (Hanson, 22). While the terms may be slightly different, the concept continues to apply today. And while many of us would not consider ourselves wealthy or powerful by contemporary standards, the principles nonetheless apply to us. Compared to the rest of the world, we are the wealthy and the powerful. The bottom line for contemporary society, according to Hanson, is that “one thing is clear from the Gospels: Jesus did not try to cover up the consequences of discipleship. Following him means calling our commitments and loyalties into question, both in terms of our values and of the institutions to which we align ourselves. He does not call us to be more ‘pious,’ but more loyal” (Hanson, 23). Jesus’ demands are not related to “asceticism, but to commitment and loyalty over against self-sufficiency” (Hanson, 21).

New Testament scholar Pheme Perkins shifts the perspective ever so slightly, noting that “the story of the rich man who turns down the invitation to discipleship illustrates the fact that desire for wealth can stifle the seed sown by the Word” (Perkins, 648). The complexity of dealing with wealth and possessions occupies our time and energy and keeps us from focusing on what the Gospel commands of us. Perkins goes on to relate the situation to contemporary Christians, regardless of social or economic status. She asserts that “Resisting the pressures of a consumer culture, which generates perpetual needs for more and new possessions, is difficult for many Christians today. Our excess consumption may deprive others of resources they need just to survive. It is a hidden form of structural greed that wastes the world’s resources and creates suffering for others we may never meet” (Perkins, 649). But despite this indictment against all of us in twenty-first century American culture, Perkins offers a glimmer of hope. She points out that today’s Gospel lesson “provides an important example of how the apparent impossibility of renouncing all things to follow Jesus can be both possible and even rewarding. The key lies in Christianity as a new community, the ‘family’ gathered around Jesus” (Perkins, 651).

How do we avert the dire consequences implied in Jesus’ discussion on wealth and obtain the rewards that he alludes to at the end of the Gospel passage? If we answer that, we are well on our way to addressing the issue of stewardship. After all, stewardship is about more than just money. It’s about our entire relationship with and use of everything God has given us: money, material possessions, time, our gifts and talents, and our entire selves – body, mind, and spirit.

This past week, I attended the Fall Clergy Conference in Solvang. While actually a misnomer, the event was not so much intended to be a conference as a retreat. The primary purpose of the event is to bring clergy together from all over the Diocese for fellowship, to reconnect with one another, and to provide a time of rest and relaxation. In addition, there is some content built into the event. The focus of this clergy conference was on spiritual self-care, on exploring ways of connecting with God, on the theme of listening for the heartbeat of God.

Monday morning, the first full day of the conference, was absolutely wonderful. After morning prayer, we had a brief program to help set the tone for the day. Melissa McCarthy, a priest in the Diocese, a former dancer, and a dear friend, led us in an experience involving breathing exercises and body movement. Done in a very safe and non-threatening way, the experience was designed to help us to be present to the movement of the Holy Spirit in our lives at that moment and to help us listen for the heartbeat of God.

After the breathing and movement exercise, I decided that I would take a long walk into the countryside. I set off with no preconceived agenda about what I would do or what I would think about. I just wanted to walk and allow myself to be open to the promptings of the Spirit. At first, I had no particularly profound thoughts. I was just enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside and being in the beauty of God’s creation. After awhile, I discovered that my thoughts turned to the exercise that guided me to hear the heartbeat of God in the midst of an otherwise crazy period. Guided by the Spirit, my mind started making connections to the sense of being in community and the importance of community to us as a people of faith; and to the importance of listening for and actually hearing the heartbeat of God, both as individuals and as a community. I began to realize, through the promptings of the Holy Spirit, the connection between that morning’s activities and the message that Jesus proclaims in today’s Gospel lesson.

When Jesus tells the rich young ruler that he must sell all that he owns, give the money to the poor, and to follow him, he is telling the young man that he must listen for the heartbeat of God. Jesus recognizes that all the hub-bub of every day life, all the frenetic activity that life demands of us, our concern over money and the material things in life, only serve to get in the way of hearing what God is saying to us – they distract us from hearing the heartbeat of God. Only by clearing our minds and our lives of all those concerns will we be free to sit and listen for and to the heartbeat of God. And when we are able to do that, we will be able to hear and understand what is of greatest concern to God. We will begin to realize what it is that we must do to live in harmony with God’s desires.

If we listen to the heartbeat of God, we will hear God calling us to engage in the work of creating equality for all God’s beloved children. We will begin to recognize how out of whack our society is in the work of inclusivity and social justice. We will begin to recognize that “the price society pays for a few to be wealthy” results in many who are poor. We will begin to recognize how seriously God, as revealed in Scripture “take[s] the challenge to do economic and social justice” (Gottwald, 13). By attending to the heartbeat of God, we will see that we are all God’s children, rich and poor, powerful and weak.

The message of today’s Gospel lesson is specifically intended for us, the wealthy and powerful of the world. It is a call to action. It is a call to stewardship. In this lesson, we are the rich young ruler who is called by God to be stewards of all creation, to care for all of creation. The most precious resource in all of creation is humanity, which is made in God’s image. For God, that means leveling the playing field so that all may be equal, not only in God’s eyes, but in the eyes of one another. We can only come to that realization through stripping ourselves of all that distracts us and listening to the heartbeat of God, which cries out for justice. The Church, as the physical Body of Christ in a broken world, is the instrument by which justice for the poor and the oppressed can be achieved. By giving of ourselves to the Church, through our financial resources, as well as our time and our talents and gifts, we strengthen the Church to do the work that God, through Jesus, has called us into – to care for our fellow human beings, God’s children.

Does that mean giving up everything we have? I don’t think so. In our contemporary society that is not feasible. But today’s Gospel does call us to take a long hard look at how we use our resources. It means loosening our attachment to the material, reducing our obsession with our own agendas and self-concerns, and diverting our attention to those things that are of concern to God – to listening to the heartbeat of God and acting in concert with what we hear by using our resources – all our resources – to not merely give lip service to proclaiming the Kingdom of God, but to work toward really making it happen.

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


References

Hanson, K.C. Proclamation 4: Aids for Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series B Pentecost 3. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991.

Hooker, Morna D. The Gospel According to Mark. In Black’s New Testament Commentaries series. London: Hendrickson Publishers, 1991.

Lagerquist-Gottwald, Laura and Norman K. Gottwald. Proclamation 6: Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series B Pentecost 3. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996.

Perkins, Pheme. “The Gospel of Mark: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. VIII of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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Canterbury Evening Prayer Reflection 2

Reflection on Luke 7:36-50

As I pondered today’s reading from the Gospel According to Luke, I was struck by the image of the woman who came to Jesus, knelt at his feet, wept, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry his feet with her hair. And then, she kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment. This reminded me of the tradition at Maundy Thursday services of washing people’s feet. For me, it is always an incredibly humbling experience to have someone else tenderly wash my feet and then to dry them with a soft towel. I also find it very humbling to actually wash the feet of another person. While I find this simple act to be humbling, I also find joy in washing another’s feet. There is great joy in being able to be of service to another – to wash and soothe the tired feet of a fellow traveler on life’s journey

Now in Jesus’ day, it was the custom to provide water to one’s guest so he could wash his feet after a journey in sandals along dusty roads. This was a sign of hospitality and of providing refreshment to weary travelers. Generally, water was merely provided. The guest would have to wash his own feet, which was fine, as the feet were considered to be an intimate part of the body. If the host was wealthy and had slaves, one of the slaves might be directed to wash the feet of the guest.

Admittedly, the actions of the woman, who is characterized as being a sinner, are a little over the top, even given the customs of the day. She was not a slave in the household, so had no official standing for washing anyone’s feet. In fact, she was an uninvited guest in the home of the Pharisee. No one seemed to know who she was, other than the fact that she was a harlot. She did not use water to wash Jesus’ feet. She used her own tears. She did not use a towel to dry Jesus’ feet. She used her own hair. And then, as if that weren’t enough, she actually kissed Jesus’ feet and anointed them with ointment, with expensive, perfumed oil. The woman completely violated social convention. Touching someone’s feet was considered an intimate, act, carrying sexual overtones. Similarly, a woman letting down her hair also carried sexual overtones. Everyone in the room, with the exception of Jesus, was scandalized by the acts of this brazen woman.

So why did this unnamed woman do such scandalous things? We aren’t told how or why, but somehow, she knew who Jesus was. She knew that he was the key to her salvation, that he was her savior. Her actions demonstrated her love and gratitude. In a moment of abandon, she expressed that love and gratitude in a completely unconventional and unorthodox way – in a way that defied all social convention. She abandoned every shred of dignity she might have had and unashamedly professed that love and gratitude not with mere words, but in her very actions. And in so doing, Jesus saw that she truly loved him and that she was truly grateful for what he would do for her – for the forgiveness that he would grant her. She probably didn’t know it at the time, but deep in her heart of hearts, she has such profound faith in Jesus that could only be expressed in action.

In the eyes of the Pharisee, the woman’s actions were not only scandalous, but they also represented a challenge to his honor. The woman had honored Jesus in a way that he did not. Even more so, the woman honored and loved Jesus in a way that he could never bring himself to do – through intimate actions that would have not only violated social constructs but which would have destroyed his standing as a person of wealth and prestige, his standing as a Temple authority. The Pharisee was so wrapped up in what was proper and what was “demanded” by his position in life that he was not able to recognize his need forgiveness. As a result, he gained nothing. The woman, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. She recognized her need and received forgiveness joyfully and in abundance. Her selfless, loving response is accepted as faith, which results in not only her forgiveness, but also in peace.

Two thousand years later, we still have the same dilemma as illustrated in the Gospel lesson. Like the Pharisee, we invite Jesus in. But how far are we willing to go to gain the forgiveness and the peace that he offers – that are ours for the asking? Do we play things safe and live by societal expectations, or do we go against those expectations and give in to the passion deep within us and act in love and gratitude made possible by faith to embrace Jesus in a most intimate way?

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Canterbury Evening Prayer Reflection 1

Reflection on Luke 4:14-30

This is a time of new beginnings. We are beginning a new academic year. We are beginning a new program year at the Episcopal Campus Ministry and at the United Methodist Campus Ministry. For me, it is my first year as an ordained clergy person. For some of you, this is the beginning of a new way of life – a life away from your parents, on your own, possibly for the first time – a life as an adult. All of these are significant new beginnings.

New beginnings are terribly exciting. There is the sense of excitement and exhilaration at the prospect of starting something new, of becoming someone new, of entering into new possibilities. There is a sense of anticipation about what will yet be. But, at the same time, new beginnings can bring a sense of uncertainty – they hold an element of the unknown, potentially bringing with them a sense of confusion, questioning, or even fear. What will this new thing, this new phase of my life look like? What will it feel like? How will I be changed by the experience?

Today’s scripture passage provides some guidance to help us face new beginnings head-on. The passage we just read from Luke tells of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. In his first public act following his baptism and being tested in the wilderness, Jesus goes to Nazareth, his home town. He goes to the synagogue on the Sabbath and is given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah to read. Unlike today, there was not a fixed lectionary – a designated set of readings for the day. Jesus had the opportunity to choose the lesson that he would read and use as a basis for the subsequent teaching – for the equivalent of the sermon. What passage did he chose?

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

On the surface, this was a pretty typical passage to be selected for reading in the synagogue. This passage, which would have been known to all Jews, is about the hope of the coming of the Messiah – a pretty good, and pretty safe topic for the start of public ministry. But then Jesus blows the congregation out of the water. He begins his teaching by saying “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Right off the bat, he basically equates himself with the Messiah – that he has been anointed by God to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, and to free the oppressed. Talk about a gutsy statement for your first day of ministry! Now, of course at this point in his public ministry, which had only just begun, Jesus had not accomplished all these things. But what he was doing was laying out the agenda for his ministry – he was giving a preview of what he would accomplish over the next three years. Of course, on this side of Christ’s death and resurrection, we know that while these things he cited in Luke were pretty miraculous, they were only a fraction of what he would ultimately accomplish during his ministry – of what he would accomplish on our behalf.

Did Jesus know exactly what his public ministry would entail? Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But one thing is certain from this Gospel lesson – he had a vision for what his ministry would look like and he was able to boldly proclaim that vision by taking the words of scripture and applying them to himself, by making them his own.

By starting this year by attending this worship service, we are making a statement about the true source of our visions and the source of strength that will help us achieve those visions, just as Jesus did in that synagogue in Nazareth. As we begin this new year, this new phase of our journeys, I challenge each of us to follow the example of Jesus and boldly proclaim our vision for our own paths, and to boldly live into that vision, trusting in the power of the God who sent Jesus to minister to the world, and who likewise sends us to minister to the world in our own unique ways.

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Ephphatha!

Proper 18 – Year B
Isaiah 35:4-7a; James 1:17-27; Psalm 146:4-9; Mark 7:31-37
Sunday, September 10, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk, explains openness and interdependence employing the imagery of begging bowls used by Buddhist monks. He says, “The begging bowl of the Buddha represents not just a right to beg, but openness to the gifts of all human beings as an expression of this interdependence of all beings . . . Thus when a monk begs from the layman it is not as a selfish person getting something from someone else. He is simply opening himself to his interdependence” (Brussat, 335).

The Gospel equivalent of this illustration is portrayed in today’s lesson from Mark. It is the story of a man who is deaf and has, as Mark terms it, “an impediment in his speech,” who is brought to Jesus for healing. Mark tells us that those bringing the man begged Jesus to “lay his hands on him.” The fact that they begged Jesus to heal him implies the desperate plight of the man (Gundry, 383). He is unable to speak for himself and must rely on others, on his community, to speak on his behalf. Since we humans rely so much on our sense of hearing to obtain information and to know what’s going on around us, it is likely that the deaf man did not know who Jesus was or that he had the ability to heal his affliction. He is totally reliant on his community to take action on his behalf – to take him to this mysterious man from Galilee in the hopes that he might be healed.

The story that ensues is an account of the healing that occurs. In a rather strange ritual, Jesus takes the man aside, puts his fingers in the man’s ears, spits and touches the man’s tongue with his saliva, and says “Ephphatha” – an Aramaic word translated as “be opened.” And with the performance of this ritual and the utterance of that seemingly magical word, the man’s entire life changed. He is completely healed. Perhaps, for the first time in the man’s life, he can hear and he can speak properly. And in those first moments following this miraculous healing, the man undoubtedly uses his newly acquired gift of proper speech to proclaim the wonderment of what he had experienced, to proclaim the praises of the man who healed him, and to proclaim thanks to the God who had made this all possible.

But what Mark tells us is only about the physical healing. There is also a spiritual component to the healing which is probably even more important for the man, and most certainly for us. Now, we don’t know anything about the man’s spiritual life. But Alistair Bain, a priest in the Anglican Church of Australia, notes that “It is important to remember that people such as the deaf-mute – and lepers and the less-obviously physically ‘objectionable’ – were effectively excluded from any kind of public or outward access to God through the temple. The advent of Jesus meant that the outcast and marginalized suddenly –perhaps for the first time in their lives – had direct access to God” (Alistair Bain). Perhaps, prior to his healing, the man had some sort of faith in and devotion to God. But that faith and devotion would have necessarily, by the circumstances of his afflictions, been relegated to the confines of his own home and his own heart – it would not have been permitted to be expressed in places of public worship. So, for the first time in his life, this man is able to publicly proclaim praise to God.

For us, “the physical restoration of the [man] represents the ability to hear and see spiritually which is given to those who believe in Jesus” (Hooker, 184). This is very important, for as New Testament scholar Pheme Perkins points out, “unless people can tell others what they know, they do not really know it. Believers need to recognize the need to speak about their experience of salvation. They speak to others in testimony and to God in thanksgiving and praise” (Perkins, 613). In his newly acquired ability to speak properly, the man was able to express what he believed. And undoubtedly, because of the miracle that he had just experienced, that expression of what he believed was far stronger and emphatic than anything he had thought about or felt in his heart up to this point.

“Ephphatha,” while foreign to the Greek-speaking inhabitants of the region, was not a “magic” word, like “abracadabra” – it was a common Aramaic word – a common word in the language Jesus spoke regularly. Mark records it to emphasize the power that a magic word would be thought to have (Gundry, 384). But the power and significance that the word had was far beyond a command for the ears to be opened and the tongue to be loosed. “Jesus addresses the word, not to the man’s ears, but to the man himself” (Gundry, 384) – to be open to healing, but also to be open to receiving the love of God – the love of God that makes the healing possible – the healing that is the sign of God’s love. Therefore, that one word, “Ephphatha,” expresses the obvious opening of the man’s ears and loosening of his tongue. But it also expresses his openness to God’s love, manifested in his healing, and his openness to publicly express his faith and to proclaim the love of God that he has experienced first-hand through the miracle bestowed at the hands of Jesus. Jesus is addressing the word to the man, with the intent that it be heard by all of us – “Ephphatha” – be opened.

So what does “Ephphatha” mean for us? For those of us who are able to hear and to speak? For those of us who are able to publicly proclaim our faith? Obviously, this word, spoken to us, today, in this place, is not in response to physical deafness or muteness. Rather, it is in response to a spiritual deafness, which leads to a spiritual muteness. Or rather, I should more appropriately say it is in response to the potential for spiritual deafness, which leads to spiritual muteness.

Merriam-Webster’s On-Line Dictionary defines “deaf” as “lacking or deficient in the sense of hearing : unwilling to hear or listen.” “Mute” is defined as being “unable to speak : lacking the power of speech : characterized by absence of speech: as felt or experienced but not expressed.” If we are spiritually deaf, we are unwilling or unable to hear or listen to what God is saying to us, what God is calling us to do or be. If this happens, the likely result is spiritual muteness – a condition in which we may have felt or experienced God’s grace and mercy, but are not able to express it. It’s not that we haven’t had experiences of grace in our lives. It’s more a matter of either not having the language to express it, or not having recognized God working in our lives because we have, for whatever reason, tuned out God’s voice.

I don’t mean to come off as accusatory or unduly harsh. Spiritual deafness is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s part of being human. I believe in large part that it is a symptom of our current age and society. It has been since at least the Enlightenment, if not before. I myself have been known to suffer from this affliction. Let me tell you about one of my “Ephphatha” experiences – perhaps my biggest “Ephphatha” experience.

Ever since high school, I have struggled with a sense of being called to ordained ministry. Invariably, I would be going along my merry way, engrossed in my own life, when all of a sudden I would get this overwhelming feeling that God was calling me to ordained ministry. Being basically happy with my life the way it was, I would generally just ignore those feelings, and they would go away. The spiritual equivalent of sticking your fingers in your ears and saying loudly, “La la la la la, I can’t hear you.” And sure enough, God would go away. So I would continue with my life for awhile, until, boom, there were those feelings again. This went on for a number of years. I would have months of uninterrupted bliss and then God would pop in again with the same old request. I don’t remember when exactly it was, but ignoring these periodic interruptions by the Divine just didn’t seem to work anymore. I suppose it made God happy that I was finally listening. God now had my attention, but I still had no intention of actually hearing, let along acting.

I decided that I needed to change my approach. So, I began arguing with God. I came up with all sorts of great reasons why I shouldn’t go into the priesthood – all sorts of roadblocks to preclude me from following God’s call. Even though I wasn’t listening to God, God seemed to be listening to me. God took the hint and left me alone. And I continued with my contented little life. For a little while, anyway. But God can be persistent. After a while, God would come back with the same old request. And I can be very stubborn. I would rattle off the same list of excuses, plus any new ones I have come up with. This went on for years – the battle of wills between God and yours truly. Over time the frequency between interruptions became shorter and shorter, and the intensity of the encounters with God became stronger and stronger. Eventually, the sense of call became so intense that I finally had to give in to God and start listening to what God was saying – to start really hearing the message. I realized that I had to be open to God. And the rest, as they say, is history. But one of the things that I learned through the experience was that when I really listened to what God was asking and was open to God, I was blessed beyond measure. All the roadblocks I had thrown up disappeared, and all the problems I anticipated never materialized. God took care of it all.

As Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once commented, “The moment one definitely commits oneself then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings, and material assistance, which no man would have dreamed would come his way” (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe). But if I am brutally honest with myself, I still have bouts with spiritual deafness. Only now, it’s more a matter of just plain not hearing, as opposed to willfully tuning out or ignoring God. Having completely turned my life upside down to follow God’s calling, I know better. I know the love and mercy of God that Goethe was talking about. Sometimes I just get too wrapped up in what I’m doing and don’t take time to listen for God’s voice. That gentle voice gets drowned out by the cacophony that is my own thoughts and frenetic activity.

That’s one of my own examples of struggling with spiritual deafness. Perhaps you have your own, to some extent or another. So how do we counteract the affliction of spiritual deafness? We need to learn to listen in a new way. Rather, we first need to be opened to listening, to hearing, in a new way. As today’s Gospel demonstrates, Jesus has spoken the invitation to allow that to happen – “Ephphatha” – be opened. He has spoken those words to us a number of times. They are spoken to us every time we walk into this place. They are spoken to us and made part of us by virtue of our baptisms. They are spoken to us and reinforced every time we approach this table to participate in the Eucharist and partake of Christ’s Body and Blood.

Sometimes the invitation to “Ephphatha” can actually be heard with the ears. Sometimes it is heard in the words of Scripture – possibly even an old familiar passage you have heard numerous times before, but then you hear it as with new ears, speaking to you in a way it never has before. Sometimes it is heard in the words of our prayers – in the Prayers of the People or a collect or the Eucharistic Prayer. Sometimes it is heard in a hymn sung by the congregation or an anthems sung by the choir. And hopefully, on occasion, it is heard in the words of a sermon.

But the invitation to “Ephphatha” is not always heard with our ears. More often than not, the invitation to be opened is not audible, but is conveyed in more subtle ways. Maybe it is experienced in the gentle smile of a fellow parishioner. Or maybe felt through a handshake or an embrace during the Peace. Or perhaps it is conveyed in a kind gesture or a helping hand. In these cases, the invitation of “Ephphatha” is only discerned as a gut feeling – it is felt in the heart. You may not know it at the time, but that’s what’s happening. The Spirit is issuing you a subtle invitation to be opened – to be opened to the love of God as manifested through another person.

To more fully hear what God is saying to us, our hearts need to be opened – opened to the Word proclaimed in the liturgy, and to the inaudible word proclaimed in the actions of those around us. We need to start listening with our hearts. I wish I had some magic formula for how to make that happen. But as Rabbi David A. Cooper comments, “Our work is not so much to find a teacher as to improvise our own receptivity and sharpen our ability to hear the teachings all around us” (Brussat, 283). What I can offer is the example of the deaf-mute in today’s Gospel lesson. What his example tells us is that to be able to listen with our hearts, we need to be open to the healing power of Christ – to the knowledge that regardless of who we are or what we have done, Christ offers and gives the gift of healing – the gift of hearing in a new way, with our hearts.

In his book Silence of Unknowing, Terence Grant, a specialist in Eastern and Christian mysticism, offers the following suggestion: “If we want to learn more about Christ, if we want to experience Christ more deeply in our lives, then we have to be open to things that might seem alien, threatening to us” (Grant, 35). We must allow ourselves to be open, to be vulnerable, to be willing to trust in the God who gives us these experiences – and to be willing to take the time to sit in silence with those experiences, with the God who reveals Godself in them, and to discern what is being spoken from the heart of God to our own hearts.

Receiving the gift of healing and hearing requires that we respond in some way. As demonstrated in the Gospel lesson, the opening of the heart that occurs not only brings new hearing, but also a new ability to speak. We gain the ability, even the uncontrollable desire to proclaim God’s glory and praise. This serves as an example to others, just as the deaf man is an example to us. And while not specifically discussed in the Gospel, Jesus’ overall message is clear – we are called to be opened to others. We are called to help others to hear the word of God. We are called to help others be healed and transformed into the persons God has called them to be, just as we are being transformed into who God is calling us to be. And we are called to help others speak – to speak for those who have not been heard by society, so that they too may be healed and transformed into who God is calling them to be.

“The basis of the Good News about Jesus in Mark's Gospel is that Jesus restores people to community. His healings are about incorporating people into a new system where there are no outcasts” (Br. Clark Berge, SSF). Christ died so that we might be healed, that we might be given a new way of hearing and speaking, that we may no longer be alienated from God or each other, but be restored to community. We are called to be open to God’s message; to be open to the possibilities; to live into that example; to proclaim the love and mercy that God has for all creation; and, in the process, to welcome each other into a new way of being where we are all sisters and brothers, inextricably linked in and through the heart of God.

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


References

Bain, Alistair. “Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Year B.” Sermons That Work: Selected Sermons, September 2000 (5 September 2006).

Berge, Clark. “Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Year B.” Sermons That Work: Selected Sermons, September 2000 (5 September 2006).

Brussat, Frederic and Mary Ann. Spiritual Literacy: Reading the Sacred in Everyday Life. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996.

Grant, Terence. The Silence of Unknowing: The Key to the Spiritual Life. Liguori, MO: Liguori/Triumph, 1995.

Gundry, Robert H. Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1993.

Hooker, Morna D. The Gospel According to Mark. In Black’s New Testament Commentaries series. London: Hendrickson Publishers, 1991.

Perkins, Pheme. “The Gospel of Mark: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. VIII of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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First Searmon at St. Alban's Westwood

Proper 14 – Year B
Deuteronomy 8:1-10; Psalm 34:1-8; Ephesians 4:(25-29)30-5:2; John 6:37-51
Sunday, August 13, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

In my former life, prior to going to seminary and being ordained as a deacon, I was a transportation planner. My job was to look at the amount of traffic using particular intersections, roadways and freeways; analyze the operations; compare those operations with local and state standards; and, if the operations did not meet the specified standards, determine what improvements would be needed to improve operations to satisfactory levels – admittedly, a losing battle in Southern California. Having done that type of work for nearly 20 years, I tend to approach life from a very rational, planning and engineering based approach. For me, like most of us, things need to make logical sense.

That being said, the transportation planner in me has a really hard time understanding why it took Moses and the Hebrews 40 years to go from Egypt to Canaan. Straight line, that’s only about 170 miles. I know traffic around here is really bad, but even in LA, it wouldn’t take 40 years to go 170 miles. Although, there are times when it seems like it. So what’s with this 40 years of wandering in the wilderness? Even at a leisurely pace, it should have taken Moses and company a few weeks, a month max, to get to the Promised Land. So what happened?

Now, there’s a really bad joke that the reason it took 40 years was because Moses was a typical man and would not stop to ask for directions. But I think that today’s Old Testament lesson tells us just the opposite. The Book of Deuteronomy purports to be Moses’ farewell address to the people, occurring near the end of the 40 year journey. In this address, delivered on the plains of Moab, just across the Jordan from Canaan, the Promised Land, Moses recounts the mighty acts of God, solemnly warns the people of the temptations that await them in their new home, and “pleads for loyalty to and love of God as the condition for life in the Promised Land” (Oxford Study Bible). Moses tells the people, “Remember the long way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, in order to humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commandments” (Deut. 8:2). The time in the wilderness was not aimless wandering, as appears on first glance. Rather, this time of wandering had a specific purpose. It was a time of teaching and of testing. It was a time which God used to establish a covenant with the people – a covenant in which they would be God’s people, and He would be their only god. More importantly, it was a time for God to educate Moses and the people about what it means to be in covenant.

Like any learning process, there was a period of testing and of humbling. The time in the wilderness was a time when, as the people really began to learn what it meant to be in covenant, the more they realized how flawed they were and how unworthy they were to be selected to be God’s chosen people. They came to realize that it was a great privilege to be God’s chosen people. They also learned, or rather experienced first-hand, that that no matter how badly they missed the mark, no matter how badly they messed up, God would not abandon them – that God would still be their God, and would ultimately lead them to the land God had promised to them. God provided care for the Hebrews in the wilderness, proving God’s faithfulness to the people. But it was not without cost. Like so many learning experiences in life, it was not easy. There was a period of uncertainty and of pain, as the lessons were learned, absorbed, and made part of the very being of the people. This came in the form of challenges and temptations of disobedience, something that was felt by these rag-tag wanderers for the first time. Ultimately, Israel is humbled by the experience. The “seriousness of the intent to maintain loyalty to God’s covenant had been tested and the consequences of disobedience had begun to be felt” (NIB, 355).

As Moses reminds the people of the hard lessons learned over the past 40 years, his message is consistent. The people are to “remember that the Lord God who have [them] the land also gave [them] the commandments to observe” (NIB, 354). God has given them a firm and indisputable foundation upon which to build their lives, both individually and as a community – the foundation upon which they are to live and die as the chosen people of God – the Ten Commandments. Moses reminds them of their hunger and their thirst in the wilderness – the physical hunger they experienced, sated by manna, a gift from God; the thirst they experienced, satisfied by water gushing from a rock, again a gift from God. Yes, God provided for the physical needs throughout the 40 years of wandering. But then Moses tells the people that “one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Deut. 8:3).

Old Testament scholar Ronald Clements notes that in this simple, well-known statement is demonstrated the indisputable truth that “God’s care is sufficient for all human needs. To ask for more than this becomes a mark of human arrogance and greed, with a consequent loss of the essential perception that the most fundamental of all human needs are spiritual. Accordingly, the Word of God is the most precious gift, and it alone makes possible life within the divine order” (NIB, 356). More important than providing for the physical needs of the people, God provides for their spiritual needs. The people have known poverty and have been satisfied. But, as Clements notes, “Real poverty is poverty of the spirit” (NIB, 357). That’s what the 40 years in the wilderness was about – it was about teaching the people, or rather letting the people come to the realization on their own, that their spiritual needs, and their spiritual fulfillment, were far more important than satisfying ordinary physical needs.

After the 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, the people are on the threshold of the Promised Land. To describe what awaits, Moses tells the people, “the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing” (Deut. 8:6-9). We’re back to a description of the physical – of what the new land will be like, what will be provided by God. The delights promised are a far cry from the manna, the quail, and the water provided by God in the wilderness. What is promised are delights far greater and more extravagant than what they have had in the past 40 years. What they had in the wilderness were rations for mere physical subsistence. What will be had in their new home is a veritable feast. What they had in the wilderness was bologna sandwiches and water. What will be available in their new home will be lobster, filet mignon, caviar, and champagne.

What is not described is the care for the spiritual needs. But I think we can read between the lines here. If the spiritual needs and their fulfillment are far more important than the physical needs; and the provision for the physical needs will be far more extravagant than anything they have ever known, how much more will their spiritual needs be met in this new land? The Hebrews are coming out of a period of spiritual struggle and poverty, of basic spiritual subsistence, into a time of unlimited spiritual riches and fulfillment – into a time when, with the guidance of the foundation established by their time in the wilderness, they will have the opportunity to grow spiritually in ways as yet unimagined. They will have the opportunity to fully live into what it means to be in covenant, in partnership, with God, to be God’s chosen people, to be God’s beloved children.

Before we move on, I’d like us to stop for a moment and have each of us think about our own personal wilderness experiences – about those times in your life when you have felt like you are wandering in the wilderness, lost, alone, without anyone to take care of your needs, be they physical or spiritual – or both. How did you get through those times of wandering? Who came through in those times of need, to provide you with relief, to help guide you to a new land, filled with promise and hope? And what did you learn about yourself through this time of wandering, or in looking back with new eyes? It’s not always easy, and it may take some doing, but in that experience, where was God working in your life, caring for you, leading you to a new land? If you look hard enough, you will find God there – working through the circumstances, working through some unlikely Moses, to lead you to a new life.

Or do you still feel like you’re wandering, in need of someone to care for you, to provide for your needs? Each circumstance is unique, but God has promised to be with us, to guide us through the wilderness, and to care for us on that journey – just as he promised the Hebrews. That’s not to say that things will be easy. They weren’t always easy for the Hebrews. But in the end, we, like them, will be transformed and strengthened – but only if we have the courage to stick it out and follow God and whatever Moses God provides for us, to be a guide and companion on the journey. Ultimately, like the Hebrews, we will be brought to a new land, to a new life, filled with good things.

The same goes for communities of faith. A community, like this congregation, is a living, breathing, organism. As a community, there are times when we may feel like we have lost our way and are wandering in the wilderness, trying to find our way to a new life together – a life in which we are faithful to the one who called us into being. God, too, is in the midst of all this, guiding us and encouraging us, if we will only suspend our own desires, if we will only listen and follow, if we will allow ourselves to be humbled.

So how do we get through our wandering and to a new place filled with life and joy? Easy! Faith and perseverance. Okay, maybe not easy, but certainly doable, if we just give it a shot, if we just humble ourselves to follow God’s will as opposed to our own. God promised Moses and the Hebrews a good life, filled with good things; a life in which people would want for nothing, and be filled with all that they need. Out of faith, they trusted in God’s promises and were willing to follow – even though it meant years of wandering, being tempted, and being humbled. By remaining faithful to their covenant with God, they were ultimately transformed into the people God was calling them to be – the chosen people of God, and brought into a new land and a new life.

Just as God promised the Hebrews a good life, so too, Jesus makes a similar promise in today’s Gospel lesson from John. In fact, Jesus promises an even better life – eternal life. Jesus says “This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day” (John 6:40). This is one of the greatest promises Christ gives us – that we can have eternal life. Unlike the Hebrews, we are not promised a life in a new land that will only last as long as we live. Rather, we are promised that that new life will last beyond this life – that it will last forever.

Not only that, but the conditions are incredibly easy. Jesus expands on this life-giving offer, by saying, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (John 6:51). This is how Christ fulfills his promise to us – that he gives himself, his very flesh, his very humanity. He gives his life for us, so that we may have eternal life.

How do we obtain this eternal life? Again, the answer is so simple. Merely by believing in Him, we will be given the gift of eternal life with him. No strings attached. All we have to do is believe that He is the Son of God, believe that he came into the world to save us, to protect us, to fulfill our needs, and to guide us through the wilderness into a new life – a life in which all our needs will be met beyond our wildest dreams – and not just for the rest of our lives, but forever. Unlike the manna, which God gave the Hebrews to sustain them in the wilderness, and unlike the land of wheat and barley, the land where we may eat bread without scarcity, Jesus is God’s true life-giving gift to the world. Jesus’ flesh is the bread that will give eternal life.

This is not just Jesus’ doing. It is the will of God, the Father. Jesus says “No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me” (John 6:44) and that “Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me” (John 6:45). God has taken the initiative. God prompts us to seek Christ. God invites us to accept Jesus and believe in Him. God offers us the gift of his Son, not just the bread of life, but the bread of eternal life. It is up to us how we respond. God does not force us to say “yes.” God does not place impossible conditions or restrictions on our acceptance. God extends the invitation to all, and wants us to accept, to say “yes” to redemption and to eternal life. “God’s initiative toward humanity is held in tension with human decision and response.” The choice is ultimately ours.

What do we have to lose by not accepting God’s invitation? Absolutely nothing! What do we have to gain? Everything. We gain eternal life. We gain a guide and companion to guide us through those wilderness experiences in our lives, a caretaker who will provide for all our needs, physical and spiritual, as we journey through this life into the life eternal. And unlike the Hebrews who had to wait 40 years for results, the benefits to us are immediate. We don’t have to wait. Merely by accepting the invitation, we gain a foretaste of eternal life. As we gather in this community to pray, worship, and fellowship, we obtain a glimpse of the joy to be had in the company of the saints. As we gather at the Table and partake of Christ’s Body and Blood, we are given a glimpse of the life-giving sustenance that will be ours at the eternal heavenly banquet. In this, Christ has given us a firm and indisputable foundation upon which to live and die as the chosen people of God.

In one of my favorite verses from the Psalms, which we read today, the Psalmist says “Taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are they who trust in him” (Ps 34:8). “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” This is the promise of what awaits us if we accept. We will have great joy if we open ourselves to experiencing God’s goodness and mercy, available to us through the Eucharist, through the Body of Christ, through one another living in community, and through all of God’s creation. But this is only a glimpse, only a pale imitation, only a foretaste, of the joy we will experience for eternity, as we enter into eternal life with Christ – into eternal life made possible by Christ’s gift to us. Like the early Hebrews, our forebears, we are standing on the threshold of a new land, of a new time, of a new way of being. God has issued the invitation for us to enter. Christ has provided the means of our entry into eternal life. All we need to do is humble ourselves, accept the invitation, and step over the threshold to a new life.

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