Ordination Sermon

[Following is the text of the sermon preached at my ordination to the priesthood on Saturday, January 6, 2007 at St. John's Episcopal Church, Los Angeles.]

Epiphany Ordinations 2007 – Diocese of Los Angeles
Sermon by Bishop Michael Ingham (Diocese of New Westminster)

What an awesome day to become a priest! Epiphany: the manifestation of Christ to the world. This is the day Jesus became known beyond his immediate family and people: the day you become his servants and apostles to continue that work.

And priesthood is an awesome calling. Despite all the negative publicity of the last few years, priests today still enjoy an extraordinary level of public respect. Priests have access to people's lives, to their homes, to their stories and confidences, in a way no one else in our society does. You will meet and get to know people at every level of your communities, from the poor to the rich, from the marginalized to the powerful, people of every language, race and nation. We are the profession that still makes house calls. We are welcome at births and deaths, marriages and times of sickness. We help people through deep moments of sorrow and high moments of joy.

This access to people's lives is not given because of us. It is given because of Christ. A priest is the servant of Christ, and when people invite us into their homes and lives it is Christ they are expecting to receive. Along with the office of a priest comes an authority we have not earned. It's an authority given to us by the people themselves because Christ has entrusted us with his ministry. An ordained person is therefore to be an icon of Christ, and this is a very sacred trust indeed, a trust being given to you today by the Church, a trust you must honour and preserve with dilligence. For when we fail in our office, as some of us do, it is Christ himself who suffers as well as those who have placed their trust in us in his name.

A priest is given authority upon ordination, but earns respect through being part of a local community. As you work among people, as you become involved in their lives, as you become the holders and keepers of their sacred stories, you will see the power of God come alive in new and astonishing ways in your community. The greatest reward you will ever receive as a priest is when someone says "you were there for me when I needed you. You helped me when I had nowhere to turn. You will never know how important you were in my life."

The rewards of priesthood are not material. They are certainly not financial. The deep satisfaction is to know that at a given moment, in the life of a particular person or community, you were the incarnation of Christ to them. You were the love of God made real. You changed their darkness into light through the grace of God working in you. There will be no rewards greater than these, at least not in this world.

This is an extraordinary privilege you are being given today. But it's a privilege given in uncertain times, in tumultuous times. We live in a polarized world, and a polarized Church. We are deeply divided over important matters – war and peace, poverty and wealth, justice and power, moral values, the sustainability of the planet on which we live. You are being ordained today into all the chaos and tumult of these divisions. And your job in this situation, as in every situation, is to be an icon of Christ in the midst of it all. In these deep discontents, you are to be the love of God. What does this actually mean?

When I became a bishop someone told me that the job of a bishop is to sit on the fence while keeping both ears to the ground. I tried this for a while, and found it rather painful. I asked myself, is this what it means to be an apostle of Christ in contentious times? Did Jesus look for any fence to sit on? Did Jesus make the mistake many of us do, which is to become managers instead of leaders, program directors instead of teachers, mediators instead of pastors, or even worse, avoiders of conflict for the sake of a spurious peace?

There are two temptations facing leaders in a time of crisis. One is to find where the nearest fence is and get on it as fast as possible. The other is to become one of the protagonists in the conflict, one of the poles in the polarity, pulling as hard as you can against the other side.

I remember one time I started a new job in a parish and one of the church wardens said to me, "In our church everyone is encouraged to join a group. There are two main groups, Group A and Group B. The purpose of Group A is to undermine Group B, and the purpose of Group B is to sabotage Group A." This was the parish in which I found myself back then, and I've seen many of them since as a diocesan bishop, and I am sad to say this is the Communion in which we find ourselves today.

What does God require of us in such a time, in such a Church. Fence sitting? Divisiveness? Are these the only options? It's important to ask, what does God require of us? It's not the same thing as asking what the Church might need, or even our local communities. Despite what some might think, you are not being ordained today to save the Church. That is God's responsibility. You are being ordained to be an icon of Christ and to further the Reign of God in people's lives and in this world.

What God needs, and has always needed, from us is faithfulness to the witness of Jesus Christ; the Jesus who came to serve and not to be served, the Jesus who said 'put away your sword: those who live by the sword will die by the sword', Jesus who had compassion upon the lepers and the widows and even unbelievers, Jesus who refused to condemn the sexual sins of his day but roundly condemned the spiritual ones, Jesus who created new kinds of community among people the world rejected, Jesus who loved at the cost of his own life, and died that we might live.

This is what God requires of us. But there is even more. Priests are not merely local. You will be priests of the whole Church, the whole family of God stretching throughout time and space. You will be priests of the Church visible and the Church invisible. We live in a time in which the pressures in our world are driving people apart and into separate camps, where it takes great courage to stand in the centre. We live in a time of extremism and rising fundamentalism. And there are different kinds of fundamentalisms we have to deal with, not just one. There are religious kinds, and secular kinds.

You know that religious fundamentalism is growing in every major faith tradition, including our own. Religious fundamentalism is based on fear – fear of change, fear of loss, fear of the future and what it means to personal or tribal identity. When people see all their anchors being pulled up, and the world they know set adrift upon uncertain seas, they re-assert old dogmas, old traditions, and insist that God demands all this to stem the tide of change.

In itself this is understandable. It is a natural human reaction. But it is a human reaction and should not be confused with God's action. And one of the jobs of a priest is to know the difference between God's action and human reaction, and to help people avoid the mistake of confusing one for the other.

Secular fundamentalism is quite different, but no less real. This is the distorted view that we are sufficient unto ourselves, that all we need is an effective marketplace where all our human problems can be resolved to everyone's mutual profit. It is the view that everything important in human life can be measured, that everything significant can be quantified - by economic indicators, for example, or the expanse of our lawns - that the purpose of human life is to maximize individual well-being, and that people are to be valued by their success in the market place as the principal indicators of their human worth.

I would say this is the dominant religion of the West today. It's the culture we live in, the air we breathe. So we have these two fundamentalisms – one religious, one secular; one based on fear, the other on pride: one that has tried to co-opt and capture God, and one that has tried to banish God – and in the midst of this our priests and leaders have to be not just pastors but also prophets, not just comforters but also sounders of the alarm. We need from our priests, and indeed from all the baptized and faithful members of our Church, the leadership and vision to set us free from captivity both to false religion and to false ideologies alike.

Fear and pride are the very opposite of biblical values. They are not what God wants nor what God offers us through Jesus Christ. Our Scriptures bear witness to a Son of God whose very incarnation sets us free from idolatry, free from false attachment to bad religion and to unsustainable economic systems. Genuine biblical spirituality opens us to truth from any source so long as it incarnates the compassionate grace and mercy of God who has created all people as inter-connected, members one of another; as St. Paul says, to be one with each other and with the earth that supports us.

Kenneth Leech, a great Anglican writer, says genuine Christian orthodoxy is subversive, not conformist, it overturns human convention in the name of divine wisdom, it is not dogmatic but transformative, it doesn't fit into patterns of domination and exclusion but stands against them for a radical inclusion. Christian orthodoxy is not a tribal theology, a God-on-my-side sectarianism. It's a global vision of a world united in its very plurality, a world at one in its respect for difference and its deep commitment to justice. This is not the narrow orthodoxy of fundamentalists and demagogues, nor even may we say of some archbishops and primates. It's the radical orthodoxy of Jesus, grounded in his incarnation as the Son of God, who also lived in dangerous and polarized times and who refused all its temptations of avoidance and power.

We celebrate today the visit of strangers from a far country to the manger in Bethlehem. They were not Jews, and certainly not Christians. They are called in Greek "Magi." This is wrongly translated as 'wise men' and even more wrongly translated as 'kings.' They may well have been wise, but they were not kings. We do not even know if there were three of them because we are not told that.

In the ancient world a magos was an astrologer, an observer of astral phenomena, and also a priest. So the strangers who came to visit Jesus were priests from a far country, priests from another religion, scientists of their day who had observed something quite unusual in the stars and decided to pursue it. They were scientists open to the religious meaning of the universe. There was space in their understanding for God. They did not function with a closed, mechanistic view of reality. They made no separation between the spiritual and material dimensions of existence. They were seekers of knowledge, both divine and earthly, and they were willing to pursue it wherever it might lead. That's what we need from you, the priests of our Church.

And they trusted their dreams. They were guided by their dreams. St. Matthew tells us their dreams were reliable guideposts that led them safely home. These were remarkable scientists, were they not? Attentive to the mysteries of the universe, alive to their own inner voices, to the whisperings of God in the non-rational world.

This is what God needs of our priests today: people who have a deep trust of God, people who have a deep hope despite all the evidence of tragedy, people whose spirituality has set them free not shut them down, people who are acquainted intimately with the mysteries of the inner life and can show others the way to the very heart of God, people of prayer, people of courage.

[Sari, Joseph, Gabriel, Michael, Martha, William, Sarah, and Colleen, please stand up.]

You are about to be given one of the greatest gifts of your lives. It's a gift that will test you to the very limits of your humanity. It's privilege few others in our society can understand. It's a sacred responsibility that – if you are truly called to it - will not burden you, but set you free in ways you cannot possibly imagine.

Take this gift and be an icon of Christ to us all. Be the love of God that people long to have in their lives. Be pastors and prophets not only to your local community, but to the world and all the people that still long for fulfilment, justice and peace.

Push the tradition forward if you must, but always stand within it. Remember it is not your authority you carry but that of Christ himself. Do no harm in his name. And above all else have courage: courage to build up, courage to draw the circle wide, courage to resist your own fears, courage to let the grace of God flow freely in you. My prayer is that your ministries may set you and all of us free, and that your dreams always lead you safely home.


Source: Ingham, Michael. “Epiphany Ordinations 2007,” The Episcopal News, Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles, 17 January 2007, http://episcopalnews.com/ViewDailyArticle.php?key=3363 (17 January 2007).

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Diocese of Los Angeles Meets the Matrix

Moki took this picture at the ordination rehearsal session. The mysterious looking woman to the right is my Soul Sister, the Rev. Alexandra Conrads, who was one of the Ministers of Ceremony for the service. I love this picture because it has that surreal, Matrix-esque quality that I imagine comes with life in the priesthood. (Love ya’ Alexandra – this is sooooo you!)

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The Risk of Chrismas

Christmas Day – Year C
Isaiah 9:2-4,6-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14(15-20)
Monday, December 25, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

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

Bringing a child into the world is an awesome responsibility and an awesome privilege. First time parents haven’t a clue as to what to do with a newborn baby – how to care for it, how to raise it. It’s a scary experience, at best. Mary and Joseph would have been no exception. Yet, God places a great deal of confidence in Mary and Joseph by entrusting them with God’s Son. What was God thinking, giving his son into the care of these two novices? And I wonder how Mary and Joseph felt, knowing that they were bringing not just any baby into the world, that they were not going to be raising just any child. Not only did they have the great responsibility of raising a child – no small feat in itself – they were responsible for the welfare of the Messiah, the Son of God They had been given the responsibility of raising he who was to be the hope and salvation for all humanity.

Even though they had both been filled in on what would happen – Mary by the Archangel Gabriel and Joseph in a dream – there was no way they could have really known what they were getting themselves into. There is no way they could have really known what it all meant. It had to be an overwhelming experience for them. They had taken a big risk in accepting God’s call to be the earthly parents of the Son of God.

It wasn’t only Mary and Joseph who risked. The baby Jesus is God Incarnate, God made flesh, God in human form. And God didn’t just become human. He came in the form of a baby – a few pounds of helpless flesh, totally reliant upon Mary and Joseph. The Almighty God, Creator of the Universe, came as a baby, unable to care for even the most basic of human needs. God took a big risk in becoming human. God took a big risk in allowing himself to be put in the hands of inexperienced human parents, in the hands of an inexperienced mother who was nearly a child herself. In so doing, God made himself vulnerable. But under God’s plan for the salvation of humankind, this was necessary. God needed to become a child, God needed to grow into adulthood, complete with all the experiences that process entails – all the joy, all the trials, all the pain that that process brings. God needed to experience firsthand what it meant to be human, so that he could ultimately save humanity. In doing so, God took a big risk. In so doing, God made himself vulnerable for our sake.

And God took another risk in the process. God put a lot of confidence in the human race – that it would be able to accept God’s son as the Messiah, as the redeemer of the world. God, being who God is, undoubtedly knew that not all people would accept Jesus. Some would be shaken by the words and deeds of Jesus – to the point that they would seek to have him executed. But at the same time, these people were necessary to help bring about the fulfillment of what Jesus was called to do – what he was brought into the world to do. God trusted that some would play their part to condemn and execute Jesus – so that he could ultimately be resurrected; and that others would carry on the vision of what Jesus stood for. God risked by trusting that humanity would do its part – that we would embrace his Son, that we would see for ourselves that we are loved by our God.

But all this risk was necessary. It was necessary for our sake. God loves us so much that He was willing to do whatever it took to get our attention, to risk whatever he had to, to demonstrate his love for us. By becoming human, God sought relationship with us. We had not done a good job of relating to an omnipotent, omniscient God. We needed something more tangible to relate to. So God become one of us so that we could better relate to God. In becoming human, God reached out to us.

And now it is our turn to risk. God has reached out to us. The Christ Child born this day in Bethlehem is not just Mary and Joseph’s baby. He is not just God’s Son. He is the child given for all of us. He is our hope and our salvation. He is a tangible sign of God’s love for us, of God’s desire to be in relationship with us, and for us to be in relationship with him. Mary may have given birth to Jesus, but we are to risk by sharing in the raising of Christ, to make his love known to all humanity – by proclaiming along with the angel of the Lord, “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you – to every one of you – is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ, the Lord.”

Merry Christmas!

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Elizabeth and Mary - Icons for Advent

Advent 4 – Year C
Micah 5:2-4; Psalm 80; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-49(50-56)
Sunday, December 24, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

Where do you see God in your life? Where do you meet the holy? In what ways does the Divine touch your life?

Last week, the LA Times reported how the holy and the mundane intersected in a rather interesting, if not unusual way, right here in Southern California. In August, the workers at a chocolate factory in Fountain Valley, just down the 405, experienced what they described as a miracle. The Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of our Lord, appeared to them. This was not an ordinary appearance. She did not come to them in a vision. Rather, she appeared to them in a material form. She appeared in the form of a two and a half inch glob of chocolate. The miraculous confection, extruded from a mixing vat spout, was in the likeness of the Virgin Mary standing in prayer.

This was not the first such miraculous appearance of the Virgin Mary to humanity. While I was living in Chicago several years ago, the image of the Blessed Virgin appeared in a rust stain on a retaining wall of an expressway underpass near downtown Chicago. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see it, as the Illinois Department of Transportation promptly painted over the image, much to the consternation of the Archdiocese of Chicago, the local media, and the faithful of Chicagoland. She has also appeared in such items as pretzels and grilled cheese sandwiches. And such unique appearances are not limited to the Virgin Mary. Being a family trait, even Jesus has gotten in on the act, appearing on such mundane items as a tortilla.

Now it may just be me, but being a chocoholic, the appearance of the Blessed Virgin in the form of chocolate is most certainly divine – or at least a sign from on high that chocolate in and of itself is divine.

I always approach such reports of miraculous appearances of the holy in such everyday items as food products and expressway underpasses with mixed feelings. There is the skeptic in me that thinks, “yeah, right. Why would the Virgin Mary appear on a grilled cheese sandwich?” Seems kinda silly to me. But then, there is the part of me that recognizes that people are hungering for a glimpse of the holy in their lives, longing to be touched by the Divine in their otherwise ordinary, even downtrodden, existences. People want to know that they are loved by God. They yearn for assurance that God is really with them, blessing them in a world where no one else seems to care, let alone bless them. They want someone to point the way to that divine assurance – even if that someone is only an image on an everyday object.

Throughout Advent we have heard and reflected on the stories of those who pointed the way to God’s assurance of his love for us – to Jesus Christ. In our lectionary, the Gospel readings for both the second and third Sundays of Advent focus on John the Baptist. The words of the prophet Isaiah, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight’” invoke in us the image of John the Baptist, the one who points the way to Jesus, to the Messiah. This is our traditional image of Advent. John the Baptist serves as the primary icon for our understanding of Advent. But I think we’ve gotten it all wrong. John was not the first person to point the way to Jesus as the Messiah. Rather, as today’s Gospel lesson clearly shows us, it was two women who first pointed the way to Jesus – Elizabeth and Mary.

In considering what this means, it is important to remember that at the time of Jesus’ birth, women were little more than property. Their only importance was to provide their owner, their husband, with an heir, with a male child who would carry on the family lineage. Otherwise, they were insignificant. With that understanding, let’s look at each of these women, these remarkable women, and see what they can teach us about the meaning of Advent.

As we’ve already established, the Gospel lessons for two of the four Sundays of Advent tell the story of John the Baptist. What we do not get, however, is the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah, John’s parents. Only the Gospel According to Luke tells us of these two remarkable people and the circumstances surrounding the birth of he who cries in the wilderness “prepare the way of the Lord.” But even so, the lectionary selections for Advent do not even give us the full story. Today’s Gospel lesson comes closest, only picking up a small piece of the story – the interaction between Elizabeth, John’s mother, and Mary, mother of he whom John would precede. But if John the Baptist is an integral part of the story of the Incarnation, then his mother is likewise integral to that all-important story – to the story of our faith – to the foundation of our faith.

If you recall the remainder of the story, Elizabeth and Zechariah, like most married couples, desperately wanted to have a child. Being persons of profound faith, both being from priestly families, they undoubtedly prayed endlessly, at least in the early years of their marriage, for a child – preferably a male child, who would carry on the family and who would care for them in their old age. But as time went by, and their prayers remained unanswered, it became obvious that they were not destined to have a child. This would have been a source of despair, particularly for Elizabeth. Not only did she not have her prayers answered and her dreams of motherhood fulfilled, she would have also had to endure pity and scorn from her neighbors. If she and Zechariah were unable to conceive, surely they must have done something to deserve their fate. For these antiquated and misguided impressions, Elizabeth would have had to endure disgrace.

But then, their fortune changes. Literally, by the grace of God, Elizabeth was able to finally conceive a child. But not just any child. She would conceive and bear a son who would become one of the greatest prophets of all time, at least for Christians. She would be mother to the prophet who would bridge the gap between the Old Testament and the New. He would point the way to the Messiah, foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament – the Messiah who would be revealed through the writings of the New Testament.

For all intents and purposes, though, it is not John who first points the way to Jesus, but rather, Elizabeth. As we hear in today’s Gospel lesson, it is Elizabeth who first realizes that Mary is pregnant, and not only pregnant, but that Mary is carrying within her womb the Messiah. Luke tells us that upon hearing Mary’s greeting, Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit – the only woman in all of Scripture to be so characterized. Because of this indwelling of the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth speaks from an inward witness and boldly asks “And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”

In that moment, Elizabeth knows unimaginable joy. Her dreams of having a child have been realized. Her disgrace at being barren has been removed. And she experiences the most wondrous joy of realizing, not just for her personally, but for all of humanity, for the whole world, that the Messiah is about to be born. In that moment, Elizabeth realizes something that we all long to experience – that God not only comes into the world, but God comes to us individually. God meets us where we are in our own particular life’s situations. God wants to be in relationship with each of us individually, and because of this, comes to us one by one.

We know from our own lives that relationships are delicate things, built one on one, built one person at a time. We have to invest our time and energy in those relationships if they are going to grow and to last. And each relationship is unique. Elizabeth learns first hand that the same is true of our relationships with God. God invests time and energy into building relationship with each of God’s beloved children. And because of this process, each relationship is individual and unique and precious. Through Christ, God comes to us to enter into a unique relationship. Through Christ, we enter into relationship with God. Advent is about the anticipation of that relationship. Advent is about preparation for that relationship – a relationship that is as unique as each of us, and that is as eternal as God.

And now, for Mary. Since Mary is the mother of our Lord, we know a little more about her. She is certainly featured more prominently than her cousin, Elizabeth, both in Scripture and in our understanding of divine history. Again, as with the story of John the Baptist and his mother Elizabeth, only the Gospel According to Luke gives us the full story of Mary. Again, our lectionary lessons for the season of Advent do not give us the whole story, but we, of course, know what happens. Just before the Gospel lesson for today, Luke tells us of the visit from the Archangel Gabriel announcing to Mary that she would become pregnant by the Holy Spirit and bear the Son of God. Or rather, was Gabriel asking her permission? After all, there is a period of discussion, of Mary asking questions of Gabriel, attempting to understand what was being proposed. It almost seems as if Mary might have a choice in the matter. This is particularly emphasized when, after being satisfied with Gabriel’s answers, Mary finally responds “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Wow! Talk about faith. Talk about discipleship. Mary, a young, naïve girl from a backwater town in Galilee is asked to agree to something that is completely unimaginable – to become the mother of the Son of God. Most of us would have gone running from the room. But Mary had faith in her God. She was willing to do whatever God asked of her, even if it did sound a little out there, if not downright impossible. She was willing to trust her God and to allow herself to be used as an instrument of God’s grace.

Mary could not have fully understood what she was being asked to do – to bear the Son of God. But she accepted her assignment willingly. And in the course of her personal Advent, her time of anticipation and preparation for the birth of her son, the Messiah, she came to accept her role and to embody what she was being asked to do. And that’s were we find ourselves in today’s Gospel lesson – at that moment of Mary’s realization of what all this means – at that moment where Mary lives into what it will mean to be the one who will bring the Messiah into the world. In that moment of realization, facilitated by the greeting of her cousin Elizabeth, Mary boldly states “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” She realizes not only what her willingness to bear the Messiah means for her personally, but also what it means for all of humanity. Through the Magnificat, she proclaims what this action of God’s, made possible by her willingness to serve as an instrument of God’s grace, says about God – about God’s mercy, about God’s strength, about God’s desire for justice.

In this proclamation, Mary is pointing the way not just to the person of Jesus, but to the very message that he would himself proclaim – that his Father is a God of mercy and justice, and not just for the Jews, as had been professed in the Old Testament, but for all of humanity. She points the way to the Good News that God loves and cares for all God’s children.

The Message, the contemporary translation of the Bible that uses everyday language and idioms to convey the meaning of Scripture, translates the first lines of the Magnificat as “I’m bursting with God-news; I’m dancing the song of my Savior God.” To me this translation says it all. Mary is filled with the news of God, with the Good News, with God-news. And in her joy, she doesn’t just proclaim it in words. She proclaims it in her very being, as in a dance. She dances the song of her Savior God, expressing God’s message, but at the same time making it her own through her own movements and actions, just as a dancer interprets music through the outward and visible form of her movements.

John the Baptist may be credited with pointing the way to Jesus Christ, to the Messiah. But it was his mother Elizabeth who first recognized how God operates in the world, through individual relationships with each and every one of us – through relationships only made possible through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit and through God Incarnate, Jesus Christ. And Mary points the way to the embodied message that God is a loving, caring, merciful God who desires justice for all people. During this Advent season, as we anticipate the coming of Christ, may we all be blessed with the joy and wonder that Elizabeth felt in the days leading up to the birth of our Messiah. And may we embody the message of our Lord as we proclaim the God-news that bursts within us, expressing it in our lives for all to see, as we dance the song of our Savior God.

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

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Advent and Exile

Advent 2– Year C
Baruch 5:1-9; Psalm 126; Philippians 1:1-11; Luke 3:1-6
Sunday, December 10, 2006 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

Advent is the season of anticipation and preparation – anticipation of the coming of our Savior at Christmas, and our preparation for that most joyous of events. I love the season of Advent, perhaps more than Christmas itself. I like having this time to reflect on what Christ’s coming means in my own life – how it defines and informs who I am as a person of faith. While I try to take time throughout my day and throughout the year to reflect on these things, Advent is a time when such matters are foremost on my mind, and is a constant subject of contemplation during prayer and my quiet time with God.

This year, as we once again embark on the journey of anticipation and preparation that is Advent, I find that I have a different perspective. In the past, Advent has seemed to me to be a time of private reflection about my relationship with Christ. Yes, our worship services during Advent do have a distinct feel, focusing on the themes of our communal anticipation and preparation. But the content of public worship only seemed to serve as a backdrop to or means of facilitating my own personal reflection and contemplation, of my own personal anticipation and preparation. In short, it was all about me. But now, this Advent season, I find that I am approaching Advent from a slightly different perspective. At this point in my life, I find that it is not all about me, but rather, all about us – about what Advent means to us as a community, what it means to us as the Body of Christ, as the Kingdom of God living here and now, in this time and this place, two millennia after the initial coming of our Lord into our midst.

I can’t help but think that at least part of it has to do with what this [pulling on my clerical collar], this collar and these vestments, represent. During my ordination as deacon, I took vows to not only serve all people in the name of Jesus Christ, but also to “look for Christ in all others” (BCP, 544). Now maybe I’m over-analyzing the situation, but in order for me to be able to do that, for any of us to be able to do that, means that Christ has to be already here in our midst – and if we believe that we are the Body of Christ, then of course he is in our midst. But put in the context of Advent, what does it mean? What is Advent if Christ is already in our midst? To try to answer that, I turned to Scripture – specifically, to the lessons appointed for today.

In previous Advent seasons, in my personal reflections and even in my preaching, I tended to focus on the Gospel story, especially the Gospel story for the second Sunday in Advent – the story of John the Baptist. I considered what it meant for John to be the one who points the way to Jesus, the Christ. I considered what was meant by the famous words from the Prophet Isaiah which are quoted in today’s Gospel lesson: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” I considered what these words, what this image, meant for me as a Christian. And when I happened to preach on this day, what this image meant for all of us as Christians.

The image of John the Baptist is certainly important to the story of who we are as a people. John is the bridge between the Old and the New Testaments. He points the way to the Messiah, foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament – the Messiah who would be revealed through the writings of the New Testament. Specifically, “in [Luke’s] schema of salvation history John marks the end of the age of the law and the prophets and the beginning of a new age of the good news of the kingdom of God” (Scott, 18). He is not to be dismissed – he cannot be dismissed. But this year, I find that I cannot go directly to the image of John the Baptist as a defining icon of what Advent means. I find that I need to take a slightly longer journey, through the history of the Old Testament – through events that formed the nation of Israel; the events that defined the culture and the religion that John was born into; the events that shaped who John would be as person and prophet; the events that shaped John’s understanding of messiah, and ultimately of his message to the world of the need to prepare for the long-awaited coming of the Messiah.

On such a journey, there are a number of equally viable entry points into the history of the Old Testament. But one that seems quite appropriate for me, at least during this year’s contemplation of the meaning of Advent, is today’s Old Testament lesson from Baruch. Okay, for all you Old Testament scholars, I know that Baruch is actually contained in the Apocrypha and not the Old Testament, but the subject matter deals with one of the central, defining moments in Old Testament history – the Exile.

The reading from Baruch is part of a poem to Israel, exiled in Babylon, telling them not to lose heart. It is a cry of hope in a time of crisis – a cry that God will one day come and lead the people of Israel back home. Israel has been punished for her sins, for turning away from God, by being taken into exile by the Babylonian conquerors. “Despite Israel’s punishment for its sin, God will restore the penitent people, [and] their ultimate renewal will serve as a witness to the nations of God’s faithfulness” (Johnson, 22). In his poem of consolation, Baruch provides a detailed account of preparation for salvation, placed in the context of the people’s exilic experience, which has been marked by defeat and despair. To convey his point, Baruch uses the imagery of changing clothes. “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God. Put on the robe of the righteousness that comes from God; put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting” (Baruch 5:1-2). This language implies removing one’s funeral garments, the garments of sorrow and affliction, and replacing them with wedding clothes, the robe of righteousness and the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting. This is language of hope. It is an exhortation to act out of confidence in God and God’s mercy and loving kindness rather than solely relying on what is seen and experienced in the present.

Biblical scholarship indicates that in all likelihood, the book of Baruch was not actually written during the Exile, but possibly as late as two centuries after the return of Israel from Babylon. That being the case, the book would not have even been written by Baruch. Biblical scholar Elizabeth Johnson provides a context for this situation. She comments that “Although written in a postexilic context, the author takes as his pseudonym the name of one of the most well known exiles, the scribe of Jeremiah, because he considers himself and his people to be living in yet another time of exile, this one more cultural and religious perhaps than territorial. The people this time are surrounded by hostile forces that may or may not be violent . . . but are nonetheless contemptuous of the people’s attempts at covenant faithfulness” (Johnson, 22-23).

Because of the tone and nature of the book of Baruch, we are not given any clues as to the nature of what Johnson refers to as this cultural and religious exile. We know that the people of Israel were not placed in a physical exile from their homeland at any point following their return from Babylon. Yet, this general concept of cultural and religious exile resonates with me as I contemplate the meaning of Advent for those of us living two thousand years after the advent of our Lord. For we, too, are in midst of a cultural and religious exile.

Despite the doctrine of separation of church and state, this nation was founded on solid Christian principles and was intended to be a Christian nation – as the Pledge of Allegiance states, “one nation under God.” The foundation of our government and of our lives as citizens was our faith in God – as our national motto states, “In God we trust.” But somewhere along the line, we diverged from our founding principles. We are no longer one nation under God. We are a confederation of individuals worshiping whatever god suits us in the moment. But I’m not talking about the gods worshiped by those of other religious faiths, of non-Christian religions. Religious plurality is not the issue, it is not the problem in this cultural and religious exile in which we find ourselves. If anything, those other faiths are our ally in this time of exile.

Our motto is no longer “in God we trust,” but rather “in the Democratic Party we trust” or “in the Republican Party we trust.” Or maybe it’s “in Bill Gates we trust” or “in Alan Greenspan we trust.” As a nation, we no longer place our faith in God and in Jesus Christ, but rather we place our trust in wealth, in power, in material possessions – particularly whatever material goods are flashed on our television screens day in and day out. You don’t need to trust in God, trust in Oil of Olay to stay young and beautiful forever. Trust in Mercedes to make you feel rich and powerful. Run up your credit cards and mortgage your future. It will all be okay, trust us. You don’t even need to turn on the TV. Just drive down the short stretch of Sunset Boulevard between Beverly Hills and Hollywood and look at all the billboards and consider the messages they are sending to our society – to us and to our children.

And while we are being bombarded with the fantasy images of how our lives could be if we just trust in the right things, and while we willingly pursue those fantasies, while we follow society’s mandate to care for ourselves, to pamper ourselves, we are distracted from the central message of the Gospel – that we are to care for one another. We are so distracted by pursuing fantasies or protecting our possessions that we don’t see that there is a whole underclass of our brothers and sisters who are being forgotten, if not trampled upon.

We are living in exile – not a disconnect between a people and their homeland, but a disconnect between cultural values and the Gospel imperatives that Jesus proclaimed. But just as foretold by Baruch, there is hope. “Baruch urges hopeful action rather than hopeful thought or wishful thinking, and he calls on his contemporaries to remember that God did in fact restore those former exiles and to trust that God may similarly be trusted with their current experience of alienation” (Johnson, 23). That hope is provided in this season of Advent. But we have a part to play in keeping that hope alive, in making what is hoped for into a reality. Just as John the Baptist was called to point the way to Jesus 2,000 years ago, we are called to point the way to Jesus. We are called to speak the truth that has been revealed to us, to proclaim to the world that there is a better way, a more fulfilling way, than what our secular culture has fed us. We are called to proclaim the truth that leads to true life, to everlasting life, to life in Christ – and not only for us, but for the entire world, for all God’s children. But that means speaking out and taking action against the so-called norms established by our secular culture – the culture based on power and materialism, the culture that ignores those who do not have power and money, and worse yet, that exploits and uses those who do not have power and money for its own advancement. As theologian Jim Griffiss notes, “An incarnational faith calls for the transformation of the ‘secular’ or ‘political’ world in Christ, a transformation for which all Christians must take responsibility” (Griffiss, 52).

Advent is a time of anticipation of and preparation for the coming of the Messiah. It is the time to anticipate and prepare for a better way of life – a life based on the Gospel, a life that points to Jesus as the way, the truth, and the light. As Christians, we don’t need to anticipate. The Messiah has already come. As the Body of Christ in the world, we are proof of that. We know it, but the rest of the world needs to know. Our secular society needs to know it. What we do need to do is prepare the way. And to do that, we are called to go into the world, to be an example through our words and our actions, to live the Gospel boldly and unashamedly, and to bear witness to the fact that Jesus has come into the world and that we are his Body.

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


References

Griffiss, James E. The Anglican Vision. Vol. 1 of The New Church’s Teaching Series. Cambridge, MA: Cowley Publications, 1997.

Johnson, E. Elizabeth. Proclamation 6, Series C: Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Advent/Christmas. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997.

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Canterbury Evening Prayer Reflection 6 - Elizabeth (Advent)

Reflection on Luke 1:5-25, 39-45, 56-66 (Elizabeth and Zechariah)
In all three years of the lectionary, the Gospel lesson for the second Sunday of Advent tells the story of John the Baptist. What we do not get, however, is the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah, John’s parents. Only the Gospel According to Luke tells us of these two remarkable people and the circumstances surrounding the birth of he who cries in the wilderness “prepare the way of the Lord.” But if John the Baptist is an integral part of the story of the Incarnation, then his parents, and particularly his mother, are likewise integral to that all-important story – to the story of our faith.

Like most married couples, Elizabeth and Zechariah desperately wanted to have a child. Being persons of profound faith, both being from priestly families, they undoubtedly prayed endlessly, at least in the early years of their marriage, for a child – preferably a male child, who would carry on the family and be able to take care of them in their old age. But as time went by, and their prayers remained unanswered, it became obvious that they were not destined to have a child. This would have been a source of despair, particularly for Elizabeth. Not only did she not have her prayers answered and her dreams of motherhood fulfilled, she would have also had to endure pity and scorn from her neighbors. If she and Zechariah were unable to conceive, surely they must have done something to deserve their fate. For these antiquated and misguided impressions, Elizabeth would have had to endure disgrace.

But then, as our lesson for today tells us, the tables were turned. Literally, by the grace of God, Elizabeth was able to finally conceive a child. But not just any child. She would conceive and bear a son who would become one of the greatest prophets of all time, at least for Christians. She would be mother to the prophet who would bridge the gap between the Old Testament and the New. He would point the way to the Messiah, foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament – the Messiah who would be revealed through the writings of the New Testament.

In many ways, though, it is not John who first points the way to Jesus, but rather, Elizabeth. It is Elizabeth who first realizes that Mary is pregnant, and not only pregnant, but that Mary is carrying within her womb the Messiah. Luke tells us that upon hearing Mary’s greeting, Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit – the only woman in all of Scripture to be so characterized. Because of this indwelling of the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth speaks from an inward witness and boldly asks “And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”

In that moment, Elizabeth knows unimaginable joy. Her dreams of having a child have been realized. Her disgrace at being barren has been removed. And she experiences the most wondrous joy of realizing, not just for her personally, but for all of humanity, for the whole world, that the Messiah is about to be born. In that moment, Elizabeth realizes something that we all long to experience – that God not only comes into the world, but God comes to us individually. God meets us where we are in our own particular life’s situations. God wants to be in relationship with each of us individually, and because of this, comes to us one by one.

We know from our own lives that relationships are delicate things, built one on one, built one person at a time. We have to invest our time and energy in those relationships if they are going to grow and to last. And each relationship is unique. Elizabeth learns first hand that the same is true of our relationships with God. God invests time and energy into building relationship with each of God’s beloved children. And because of this process, each relationship is individual and unique and precious. Through Christ, God comes to us to enter into a unique relationship. Through Christ, we enter into relationship with God. Advent is about the anticipation of that relationship. Advent is about preparation for that relationship – a relationship that is as unique as each of us, and that is as eternal as God.

John the Baptist may be credited with pointing the way to Jesus Christ, to the Messiah. But it was his mother Elizabeth who first recognized how God operates in the world, through individual relationships with each and every one of us – through relationships only made possible through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit and through God Incarnate, Jesus Christ. During this Advent season, as we anticipate the coming of Christ, may we all be blessed with the joy and wonder that Elizabeth felt in the days leading up to the birth of our Messiah.

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Seeds of Jerusalem

[I prepared the following for my monthly article in the December 2006 issue of The Good News, St. Alban's monthly newsletter.]


Dear Brothers and Sisters,

On November 9, the newly formed LA Clergy Association hosted a Pre-Advent Day of Refreshment and Renewal. Our keynote speaker was the Right Reverend Mark MacDonald, Bishop of Alaska and Navajoland. The focus of his talk was on the shifts in missiology (the theology of doing mission). One of the key shifts that Bishop MacDonald discussed is that we need to be aware that God is present and working in society. With so many problems in our world, we often forget that God is alive and well and at work in the world. This is nowhere more apparent than in our own backyard. In a place like Los Angeles, with its emphasis on image and perfection (and the creation of the illusion of the same), it is easy to question where and how God can be in the midst of such unrealistic images and fantasies.

As Bishop MacDonald pointed out, how could there be so much creativity and so much influence on society if there were not holiness here? There is a sacredness in this place that allows us to flourish in that creativity. There is a sacredness in this place that allows us to influence the rest of the world. He terms this sacredness the seeds of Jerusalem – the holy city of God. Every city, even ours, has within it these seeds of Jerusalem. But, at the same time, every city also contains within it the seeds of Babylon – the power of the secular world that attempt to deny and even destroy the sacredness that is inherent in God’s creation. Our job, as the people of God, is to uncover the seeds of Jerusalem and to allow the sacredness to flourish in our midst.

How do we do that? By believing and even expecting that God is indeed present in the world around us, and by pointing out where God is in our midst. Our job is to help people to see God where they least expect it. And what better place for that to happen than at the doorstep of UCLA – a world-renowned institution dedicated to the discovery of truth and knowledge? Here at St. Alban’s we have to the opportunity to offer an alternative perspective on the truth, the truth that God is in our midst and active in the world around us. Faith and Reason – it’s not just the name of our educational program, it’s a challenge, even a mandate, for how we approach our relationship with UCLA and the rest of Los Angeles. It is the unique perspective that we bring as the people of God, charged with pointing out God’s presence in the world around us.

As we face yet another Advent season, a time of preparation for the coming of God incarnate, the Christ, into the world, let us be aware that he is already in the world. What we need to be doing is preparing ourselves not for his coming, but to recognize him in the midst of our everyday lives. It may take some doing, but if we look hard enough, we will find him. And when we become more proficient in being able to recognize him in our own lives, we will be in a better position to help others recognize him too.

I wish you a blessed Advent, filled with the joy of discovery of God and Christ in your midst.

Yours in Christ,
(The Rev.) Michael Fincher

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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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