Ash Wednesday Homily

Ash Wednesday – Year B (BCP)
Joel 2:1-2,12-17; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:1-; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
Wednesday, February 25, 2009 – St. Alban’s Westwood

So, what are you giving up for Lent? I am always a little intrigued when Lent rolls around and people become focused on what they are going to give up for Lent. I rarely do it, but I’m always tempted to ask, “why do you give up something for Lent?” For me the question is not so much about “what” as about “why.” It is not so much the thing or activity that is being put aside for the season as why it is important or necessary to the person to do it in the first place.”

Some people give up something for Lent because that’s what you’re “supposed to do.” Really? Where does it say that in Scripture? Some people give up something for Lent because God wants us to. Again, I ask, really? Where does it say that in Scripture? Some people give up something for Lent because it is a way to become closer to God. Well, now we’re getting warmer. One commentator I read notes that some people even give up something for Lent because they feel such a discipline will entice God to be closer to us. While we don’t say it specifically, the intent is a form of bribery or manipulation. For some people, a Lenten discipline carries an implied “I’ll give up this if you come into my life.” Fortunately, I have never gotten even a hint that anyone I know feels that way, but I’m sure there are people out there who do. Regardless, the bottom line in this line of questioning is one of motivation. What motivates us to do such things for the six weeks in Lent?

At the heart of the season of Lent is the theme of transformation. Historically, it was a time of preparation for baptism at the Great Vigil of Easter. It was a time in which the candidates for baptism, those seeking to become part of the Christian faith, those seeking to become members of the Body of Christ, learned what it means to be a Christian. It was a time of instruction into the fundamentals of the faith. But more importantly, it was a time of transformation – a transformation of one’s life. It was a time of transformation of mind and heart, to be aligned with God.

But the transformation of Lent is not a once in a lifetime occurrence that happens prior to a person’s baptism. The annual commemoration of Lent is viewed by believers as a time of preparation for the commemoration of the Passion and death of Jesus during Holy Week, and of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ celebrated on Easter. This preparation has traditionally included participation in one or more spiritual disciplines: prayer, penitence, almsgiving, and self-denial. These spiritual disciplines are intended to facilitate the preparation process, to be a means of assisting in the personal transformation that occurs as we journey through Lent.

While these disciplines, which, today, many translate into the ever-popular “giving up” of something, may be beneficial, will they assure our personal transformation? Will they definitely prepare us for Holy Week and Easter? For some, it only serves to prepare them to resume whatever had been given up forty days previous. I don’t mean to dismiss the potential importance of giving up something for Lent. For some, it is incredibly helpful and significant. Some years, I find it very meaningful. Other years, not so much. All I wish to point out is that it is not so much the practice, but the motivation that is of supreme importance.

I believe the Old Testament lesson from Joel speaks to this. Joel is speaking to Israel at a time when the people were almost fanatical about demonstrating their piety outwardly, engaging in activities that showed their devotion to God. But Joel tells them that God does not require such outward signs to prove their love of and devotion to God. Joel provides a good corrective to this notion that we have to have some sort of outward sign of our personal piety, of our devotion to God, or of the sincerity of our penitence. He writes, “return to [God] with all your heart.” He then goes on to say “rend your hearts and not your clothing.” It’s not about the external, what others see, but about the internal, what God sees.

The Gospel lesson from Matthew further emphasizes this importance on the internal over the external. We hear the constant refrain, “and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” This is applied to our practices of all three major disciplines, almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. “When you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” “Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” “When you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

When Joel says “rend your hearts,” he is saying that we need to open our hearts and our souls so that God may enter. When Matthew talks about “your Father in secret,” he is talking about God acting in the secret, inmost parts of our being, our hearts and our souls. Both are saying the same thing – that we need to be open to transformation; to be open to God’s transforming love and grace, acting in our own lives.

To be honest, there are no simple, mechanical methods that can achieve or insure such transformation. Transformation only occurs by divine grace. It cannot be initiated by us. It can only be initiated by God. Does that mean we needn’t bother with spiritual disciplines. Of course not. Spiritual disciplines play an important role. For the practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving all share the quality or practice of detachment. They teach us what it means to be detached from the things in our lives that distract us from the awareness of God’s loving presence. They won’t make God come in and transform our lives. But they can provide a space for God to enter in. They can provide an opening in which God can come in and begin to work in our lives. As one commentator so eloquently notes, “Through these practices we seek to experience and listen to God as God, and to be transformed from our self-centered, instrumental, manipulative, idolatrous religious existence to a true life of faith and the genuine experience of the God who exists in freedom and comes to us in freedom as authentic Other” (Hunter, 24).

As we begin another Lenten season, I would challenge you not to think so much about what you are going to “give up” for Lent, but rather to contemplate what discipline, be it prayer, be it fasting, be it almsgiving, be it something else, that will provide the opening and the space in your heart and soul, that will allow God to enter in and to lovingly transform you into who you are called to be. Be creative. Think outside the box. You are unique. Your relationship with God is unique. Do something that will open up your heart and soul, that will nourish and enrich your unique relationship with God, and allow for the transformation that is meant for you and you alone.

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


References
Hunter, Rodney J. “Matthew 6:1-6,16-21, Pastoral Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 2, Lent Through Eastertide. Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.

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Farewell Sermon as Curate of St. Alban's

Last Sunday after the Epiphany (BCP)
1 Kings 19:9-18; Psalm 27:5-11; 2 Peter 1:16-19; Mark 9:2-9
Sunday, February 22, 2009 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

If someone were to ask you what one story in the Bible describes what it means to live, or at least to try to live, the Christian life, what would it be? There are so many great choices. For me, it would probably be the story of the Transfiguration, which we just heard. This story is so rich, carries so much imagery, has so many meanings on various levels, that in many ways, it does provide a pretty good summation of what it means to be a Christian. Or more importantly, what it means to be a Christian on the journey of faith, attempting to understand, to be faithful to, to live, the Gospel message.

For a long time, I had never given the story of the Transfiguration much thought. But when I started the formal process of discerning whether or not I was being called to Holy Orders, the story of the Transfiguration attracted my attention, and has continued to hold my attention ever since. For me, it has almost become a signature story, if you will. It is a story of transformation that helped carry me through not only the discernment process that led me to the priesthood, but also one which continues to guide me in ministry.

While on the surface, the story of the Transfiguration illustrates the revelation of who Jesus is and, indeed, the transformation of Jesus into the fullness of who he is and who he was called to be, it is, in many ways, also the story of the transformation of the followers of Jesus into who they are called to be. As the story of the Transfiguration unfolds, we see the disciples who accompany Jesus up the mountain, Peter, James, and John, but particularly Peter, for who they really are, in all their humanness. And as the story unfolds, we get a glimpse of who they are called to be. When Jesus is transfigured before them and when Elijah and Moses appear and talk with Jesus, the disciples are awestruck. They don’t know what to make of the situation. They are not able to comprehend what is happening. In response, they fall back on their basic human nature. They become fixated, stuck on that which they know, on that with which they are comfortable. They become stuck on very human things. Peter’s response is “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” They wanted to hold on to the moment. They wanted to bask in the glory they were witnessing. They wanted to stay there and live in the afterglow of that mountaintop experience.

But I think there was something even more basic at the root of this desire to remain on the mountaintop with their transfigured Lord. They wanted to keep the glory of the Transfiguration to themselves. After all, they had been chosen, of all the Twelve, to witness this event. They had been chose from all the people on Earth to share in this experience. They were obviously the chosen ones. They wanted to keep this miraculous experience to themselves. But they also had other, equally selfish motives. Just six days before, Jesus had revealed to them that he would eventually suffer and die. Staying on this mountaintop, maybe, just maybe, they could prevent, or at least deny, the inevitability of Jesus’ suffering and death. Yes, he could still be the messiah. But rather than one who was to suffer and die, maybe they could prevent such a tragedy while still making Jesus into someone who conformed to their idea of what a messiah should be, an earthly messiah.

But despite Peter’s best efforts, Jesus’ glory at the Transfiguration reveals that our human goals and desires are futile, that they are of no importance compared to what Jesus has to offer. For in response to Peter’s proposal, God breaks the tension between what the disciples want and what must be done – “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” In this simple, yet profound statement, no new information is being given. What the disciples need to know they have already heard and seen. What they need to know has been or will be revealed through Jesus, as proclaimed in his words, as enacted in his ministry. What the disciples need is to go back to the basic message of proclaiming the Good News, working for justice, feeding the hungry, healing the sick. And that they cannot do alone, by staying on the mountaintop.

In this, the disciples glimpse a new view of reality – but not the reality they thought. It was not the reality of the Transfiguration event itself, but the reality of a world transfigured by the grace and love and mercy of God. It was the reality that cannot stay bound to a particular place, but must be taken into the world. We see the disciples called into a new way of viewing Jesus. We see them called into a new way of viewing what it means to be Jesus’ followers. We see them called into a new way of being. The disciples are called to leave the safety of their mountaintop “church” and to go into the world – to take what they have gained in that mountaintop experience and embody it in the world. They are called to follow Jesus’ example to preach the Good News, but even more importantly, to live the Good News, to give the Good News not so much in words, but to exemplify it in their actions.

I dare say that this message applies not only to Peter, James, and John, but to all of us who call ourselves followers of Christ. To truly follow him, we cannot remain on the mountaintop. We cannot remain in the pews, keeping the wonder of what we have experienced to ourselves. Like Peter, James, and John, we are not called to build dwellings for ourselves or for our Lord, here in the safety of the church. We are called to build something even greater out in the world. We are called to build the Kingdom of God out there, in the world, for all to see, for the benefit of all.

Don’t get me wrong. Church is important. It’s where we go to hear the word of God. “This is my Son, the Beloved; Listen to him!” More importantly, it’s where we have the support of community. It’s where we hear and process the Word through interaction with our fellow Christians. It’s where we discern how to live the Word. It’s where we receive support from community as we go out into the world, and where we provide support to others as they do likewise. It’s easy and comfortable to want to stay in the pews. But that’s not what we are called to do, difficult thought it may seem. We must come down from the mountaintop and go into the world.

Last Sunday I had a personal lesson in just this very thing. Or maybe it was God holding me accountable to the lesson of the Transfiguration. As you may recall, the gospel lesson for last Sunday was the story of a leper coming to Jesus and saying “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Jesus responds, “I do chose. Be made clean!” During my reflection at the Sunday evening Canterbury service, I talked about how Jesus reached out to the man, across the barriers imposed by Jewish purity laws and social convention. He chose to go against all that was expected so that he could heal the man. I then posed the question “what does this passage have to say to us about how we deal with those on the margins, such as people with AIDS or who are homeless?” The students got into a lively discussion, struggling with what the passage means for us. But this posed a real dilemma for the students. How can we possibly make a difference? The problems of society are so great. Jesus could make the problems go away, just as he healed the man of his leprosy. What little we could possibly do will not make the problems go away. One student said, “we don’t have that kind of power.” I responded that we need to do something, no matter how small the gesture. Sometimes, just taking a little time and treating a homeless person as a human being, with a little respect and dignity, can make a difference. As little a thing as that may seem, that simple act can make all the difference. I’ve seen it happen. Treat someone with a little respect, and they begin to have respect for themselves. They begin to have faith in themselves. And then they can begin to change their lives around. That is grace. That is mercy. That is the love of God at work in the world.

Now during the service, an older man slipped into the chapel. After the service, I went up to the man and introduced myself. He told me that he was one of those we had been talking about, someone who was, at least temporarily, homeless. He told me about how he was visiting LA and had been robbed. He had no money and was trying to get back home. He didn’t know where to turn and had seen the church and felt compelled to go inside. He said the group’s reflection on the gospel lesson had really spoken to him and given him a sense of hope.

My first thought was, “is God testing me?” If I refused to help, I would be acting counter to the very thing we had just talked about in worship. I would have been keeping the message of Jesus a private thing, locked up in the church, on the mountaintop. I realized that God was not testing me as much as holding me accountable. It’s one thing to talk about the meaning of the Gospel. It’s another to live the Gospel. So that’s what I did. I decided to live the Gospel. I spent some time talking with the man, hearing his story. I prayed with him, and gave him enough money for bus fare and some food. I did not allow myself to stay on the mountain, basking in the glory of Christ, contemplating the meaning of the Gospel in a safe haven. Instead, I walked down the mountain and was instantly confronted with an opportunity to actually live the Gospel. For me, it was an important lesson about the connection between what we do in here on Sunday mornings, and how we respond and live our lives out there the rest of the week. The need is there. The opportunities for living the Gospel are there.

As I end my tenure as your curate, I cannot help but reflect that, at least for me, there is a more significant, long-term implication to the story of the Transfiguration, to the reality of transformation that can occur, particularly within a parish. That is through relationships formed in the parish community that can have a long-lasting transformative effect.

For me, this is best expressed by an image presented by Peggy Tabor Millin, in the autobiography of her spiritual journey, Mary's Way. Millin writes:

“I was on a train on a rainy day. The train was slowing down to pull into a station. For some reason I became intent on watching the raindrops on the window. Two separate drops, pushed by the wind, merged into one for a moment and then divided again—each carrying with it a part of the other. Simply by that momentary touching, neither was what it had been before. And as each one went on to touch other raindrops, it shared not only itself, but what it had gleaned from the other . . . I realized then that we never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a trace.”

Two and a half years ago, the raindrop that is me splashed into the mass of raindrops that collectively form St. Alban’s. Over the past two and a half years, the winds of parish life, sometimes turbulent, sometimes soft and gentle, the winds of the Holy Spirit, have blown that mass of raindrops around, with each of the drops, yours and mine, touching and colliding and mixing. And now, the time has come when the wind of the Holy Spirit once again separates the raindrop that is me from St. Alban’s. But the raindrop that fell into your midst two and a half years ago is not the same as when it first fell. Because of it being touched by and mingling with the many other raindrops in this place, it blows off in some unknown direction, forever changed, carrying with it, a part of you, and leaving behind, a part of itself.

You have prepared me well. When I engage in ministry in the future, wherever that may be, that ministry, the way that I enter into it, the way that I engage it, will be informed by my time here as your curate. A part of you will accompany me. A part of you will have become a permanent part of who I am, as a priest, but also as a person, as a child of God. In this way, I will be able to share a part of you with those with whom I do ministry in the future. And I can only hope that as you continue on your own path, as a parish, and as individual members of the Body of Christ, a small part of me, of my presence among you this past two and a half years, will be with you, supporting you, encouraging you, loving you. For in this way, while we may be physically separated, we will continue to be a part of each other’s lives and ministries.

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

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How Do We Hear God's Call?

Third Sunday after the Epiphany – Year B (RCL)
Jonah 3:1-5,10; Psalm 62:6-14; Mark 1:14-20
Saturday, January 24, 2009 – Church of the Transfiguration, Arcadia

[The following is the text of a homily I preached during the Eucharist prior to my interview with the Rector Search Committee at Church of the Transfiguration. However, I actually preached it without notes or manuscript.]

I never cease to be amazed at how the Holy Spirit works. Here we are, gathered today, with Church of the Transfiguration engaged in a process to search for and call a new rector, and me, discerning what and where God is calling me to do and be in the next phase of my ministry; and the Scripture lessons appointed happen to be call narratives. In fact, they are two of the greatest call narratives recorded in Scripture.

Looking at the two stories, we see that they are vastly different, spanning the spectrum of how God’s calling can go. On the one end of the spectrum, we have the Gospel lesson about Jesus calling his first disciples – Peter and Andrew, and then James and John. This is the ideal call narrative. God, or in this case, Jesus, issues a call, and the ones called immediately respond. No hesitation. No questions. I really wonder about all of that. “Hey you guys, I want you to quit your job and come follow me as we become itinerant preachers.” What? They didn’t question who this guy was or the insanity of the request? But that’s a whole other sermon. The bottom line is they accepted the call without reservation.

On the other end of the spectrum, we have the call of Jonah. Where we pick up the story, Jonah is finally on-board and doing what God has asked. Before this, however, God calls Jonah to go east to Nineveh. But what does Jonah do? Instead he heads west, toward the Mediterranean to set sail for Tarshish. He runs away from God’s call. Only thanks to the agency of a terrible storm, some pagan sailors, and really big fish, does Jonah get the message that you can’t argue with God. Only then does he give in and do what God has asked of him. I think Jonah’s story is closer to the experience of a lot of people who are called by God. I know it was my experience. God calls and we do everything in our power to ignore, deny, or avoid the call.

So why the differences in call experiences? I think it has a lot to say about who we are, about how receptive we are to listening to God’s call, of how we respond to God’s call. In the ideal situation, the call is heard and immediately becomes part of who we are, resonating with our inmost being, with out very souls. Because of this receptivity, this resonance, the call seems natural and we know we must obey. On the other end of the spectrum, like in Jonah’s case, we hear the call, but it gets stuck, here, in our heads. We attempt to process it rationally, logically. We come up with all sorts of reasons why we shouldn’t or can’t respond. The call gets stuck in the head and we don’t allow it to enter into the depths of our being, to touch our heart and our soul.

So what do we do about this? How do we reconcile the ideal call of the disciples with the lived experience of Jonah, of many of us? For me, that’s where today’s Psalm comes in. This Psalm, Psalm 62, which begins “For God alone my soul in silence waits” is one of my favorites. I first really heard it at a time when I was in the midst of struggling with my own sense of call. And what I heard, what I came to understand, was that it is only by being in silence before God, by opening myself to listen for and to God, to listen without talking back, by becoming vulnerable before God, that God’s calling could move from my head, into my heart and my soul. Only then could it touch and become part of my inmost being. Only then would it feel natural and right, become a part of me. Because only then would I truly become who I am called to be. And only then could I answer the call with out question, without hesitation.

I think this is at the root of what the Psalmist means when he says “God has spoken once, twice have I heard it.” Only by being silent and open before God, are we able to hear with our mind, but also to hear in a deeper way in our heart and soul. Only then are we able to truly incorporate God’s call, to know what that calling truly is, and to begin to live into it.

So, for each of us here today, I pray that there may be a sense of openness to the Sprit, that all of us may be able to be open to allow God to enter into and work within the inmost parts of our being, helping us each to discern where and how we are being called to best serve God’s purposes.

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

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Farewell, President Bush

I couldn't resist being a little naughty.














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A New Era Begins

Words cannot even begin to describe the joy I feel at this historic moment. Blessings upon President Obama, his family, and our nation as we step into a new, hope-filled era in our history.

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Gene Robinson's Prayer for President Obama

A Prayer for the Nation and Our Next President, Barack Obama

By The Rt. Rev. V. Gene Robinson, Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire

Opening Inaugural Event
Lincoln Memorial, Washington, DC
January 18, 2009

Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God’s blessing upon our nation and our next president.

O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will…

Bless us with tears – for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.

Bless us with anger – at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.

Bless us with discomfort – at the easy, simplistic “answers” we’ve preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.

Bless us with patience – and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be “fixed” anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.

Bless us with humility – open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.

Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance – replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.

Bless us with compassion and generosity – remembering that every religion’s God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world.

And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.

Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln’s reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy’s ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King’s dream of a nation for ALL the people.

Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.

Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.

Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.

Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.

Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters’ childhoods.

And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we’re asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand – that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.

AMEN.

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The Little Drummer Boy - The Show

Today after church, one of my parishioners told me that he found the Rankin-Bass animated version of “The Little Drummer Boy” Christmas special on YouTube. When I got home this evening, I downloaded and watched it. It is actually in three parts, totaling about 25 minutes.

(Rather than upload each of the videos, which will take an eternity, I am merely posting links to the appropiriate YouTube URLs):

The Little Drummer Boy Part 1

The Little Drummer Boy Part 2

The Little Drummer Boy Part 3

As I noted in my sermon last week, I had not seen it in probably 30 years. It was wonderful to finally see it again. But I realized as I watched it, there were some parts that I had forgotten. In actuality, the animated show was not quite as I had remembered it at all – it was better. What I was actually remembering as I wrote my sermon for January 11 was more my interpretation of the song filtered through the lens of the show, but that the overall message of the show was somewhat different.

I thoroughly enjoyed seeing the show again after all these years, crying during most of it. As I watched it, I realized that based on the show, there was probably another sermon in it, as yet to be developed.

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Little Drummer Boy

First Sunday After Epiphany – Year B (BCP)
(Propers for Epiphany)
Isaiah 60:1-6,9; Psalm 72:1-2,10-17; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12
Sunday, January 11, 2009 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


This general time of year, from Advent through Christmas on to Epiphany is so rich in imagery. Scripture provides us with a rich tapestry of stories describing the events which we have been re-living over the past month or so. In reality, when we examine the stories, we find that there is not just one story, but several stories, each with its own emphasis. The birth narrative from Luke that we hear on Christmas Eve gives us one picture – that of Jesus’ birth in a stable in Bethlehem. The Gospel of Matthew, just before the story we hear today, provides us with a much more truncated version of the birth narrative, saying merely that Jesus was born. No mention of the manger. No mention of angels or shepherds. And then the narrative that we have today gives us another picture, that of the coming of the magi. Because of the way the story flows, we don’t know exactly when the magi arrived. Was it the night of his birth? Probably not. It was most certainly sometime later. Perhaps as much as a year later.

But in our own tradition, in our own minds, we have linked these various stories together to create a single story that attempts to unify the various themes and images. We have woven our own tapestry. Or rather, maybe a patchwork quilt is a more apt analogy. The way we envision the whole scene, is in all likelihood, a composite of various events. Mary giving birth to Jesus in a dirty stable; the angels announcing the birth of the Messiah to a bunch of shepherds; a star coming to rest over the manger; the arrival of magi from the East, bearing gifts worthy of a king – gold, frankincense, myrrh. This is how we have come to remember the tradition, historically inaccurate though it may be.

But even though not necessarily historically accurate, even though it probably did not happen quite the way we recall the story, whether parts of it even happened at all, the tradition we have come to remember, that we pass down from one generation to the next, is nonetheless true. This tradition, even in its potential inaccuracies, holds central truths about the one we call Messiah, about our relationship with him, about how we react and respond to him.

Like so many of the images of this time of year, we all have our favorites that readily come to mind when we recall the story. In all probability, the images are not quite correct, but as I said, they are nonetheless true – true because at their root, these images convey the core message of what this time of year is all about. And our favorites say something about what part of that core message is most important or most meaningful to each of us. When I think of Christmas and Epiphany, or rather the conflated version we traditionally recall, one of the images that stands out for me is the Little Drummer Boy. I’m sure you all recall the song:

Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum.
A new born King to see, pa rum pum pum pum

I don’t know if it’s true or not, but right before Christmas, I heard that “Little Drummer Boy” is viewed as one of the most annoying Christmas songs, because of the incessant “pa rum pum pum pum.” Be that as it may, it is still one of my favorite images not only of Christmas, but more so of Epiphany.

Specifically, what comes to mind is the Rankin-Bass animated Christmas special that used to air on television before Christmas every year starting in the late 60s. “The Little Drummer Boy” was probably my all-time favorite Christmas show, even more so than “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” or “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” And while I have not seen it in, oh, probably 30 years, I can still clearly recall it. Whenever I hear that song, it’s like a VCR turns on in my head. I can almost see and hear the whole show. And now, as I reflect back on it, I dare say, its message had a profound influence on my personal theology of Christmas in general and the Epiphany in particular.

In the television show, which greatly expands on the song, our hero, Aaron, a poor little boy, happens to be in Bethlehem at the time of Jesus’ birth. He comes upon the stable where Jesus has just been born. As is typical of most manger scenes, there is a crowd standing around admiring this awe-inspiring, newborn baby. Shepherds and townsfolk. Sheep, cows, oxen. This is obviously a special child, worthy of adoration. This is particularly evidenced by the arrival of three kings from the East, bearing gifts worthy of a king – gold, frankincense, and myrrh. If kings are bringing gifts to this child, he must himself be a king.

Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

So to honor Him, pa rum pum pum pum,
When we come.

If a king, then Aaron feels that he himself must also give a gift in honor of this king’s birth. But what to give? Aaron is a peasant boy. The only thing he has in the whole world is his drum.

Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That's fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

And then it occurs to him. He has only one thing he could possibly give.

Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum,
On my drum?

And so, that’s exactly what Aaron does.

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

And even though nothing could compare to such gifts as gold, frankincense, and myrrh, Aaron’s gift of music, his gift of himself, was indeed pleasing to the child king.

Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum.

The overall story of Epiphany is a very important one to us Christians. All the prophecies about the coming of the Messiah assumed that he would be king of the Jews. In fact, when the magi arrive in Jerusalem, they ask Herod “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” But they themselves are not Jews. And yet, they honor Jesus not as king of the Jews, but as their king as well. These kings, recognizing the kingship in this newborn child. It is not the recognition of one king to another, a recognition of equals, but rather the recognition by subjects of the one who is their superior, who they themselves, though kings, willingly bow down and worship.

Through Jesus’ life and ministry, we see him first ministering to his own people, to the Jews. But over time, his ministry expands outward, including ministry to the Gentiles, to non-Jews, as well. Through his ever expanding ministry, Jesus proved himself to not only be the king of the Jews, but to be the king of all humanity. But what I find interesting is the fact that even though initially thought to only be king of the Jews, the very first people to adore him, other than his parents, of course, the very first people to fall down in worship, the first to bring gifts in recognition of his kingship, were the magi, non-Jews. What I find interesting is that from the beginning, it was not Jews who recognized Jesus as Lord, but rather the Gentiles, in the form of the magi. From the beginning of Jesus’ life, through the visit of the magi, it was recognized that Jesus was indeed the Messiah come for all humanity. It would just take the rest of humanity a little while to catch on to that fact.

Through the celebration of Epiphany, the church bears witness that God is reaching out visibly and powerfully to all peoples of the world” (Cook, 85). And that witness is born by those who came from far away, who first brought gifts to a newborn child, lying in a manger, to the one who even pagan kings recognized as Lord of all humanity, as the savior and redeemer of us all.

Did the magi really arrive in Bethlehem on the night that Jesus was born? Or did they arrive some time later? Or did the story really happen at all? We have no way of knowing with certainty. But the image of their arrival, regardless of the historical veracity does, nonetheless, present a fundamental truth about the Epiphany.

While Epiphany is certainly about the revelation, the witness to the fact that Jesus came into the world for all humanity, for me it is also about, and in some ways even more about, the gifts. It is about the gifts that we give to Jesus, the ways that we show that we recognize that he is indeed our Messiah, our king. For me, the image of foreign, pagan kings bringing gifts to the one that they came to recognize as their king is a model of what it means to be a Christian. This group of pagans, who did not know our God, certainly did not know Jesus, somehow came to not only know him, but to believe that he was indeed the Messiah, and not just the Messiah for the Jews, but that he was even their Messiah, the Messiah for all humanity. They acted on their faith in this knowledge, and in response, brought gifts of great value, gifts worthy of a king, to lay before Jesus – gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

The gifts brought by the magi almost certainly had some significance. All three gifts would have been sufficiently valuable to be considered typical gifts for a king: gold, for its sheer value; frankincense, for its use as a perfume; and myrrh, an oil for anointing. But there is also a likely prophetic symbolism behind these three gifts: gold as a symbol of Jesus’ kingship on earth; frankincense as a symbol of Jesus’ priestly status; and myrrh, an oil used for embalming, as a symbol of the unique importance of his death (Wikipedia). These gifts are recognition of not only the fact that this child is special, but also of who he is and the importance of his life and even his death.

In following the model of the magi, we too are called to act on our faith in this Messiah, and to likewise bring gifts of great value to lay before Jesus. But we are not kings with great treasures. So what could we possibly give that is worthy of a king? That’s where Aaron, the Little Drummer Boy, comes in. He gave a gift that was far more valuable than anything the magi could have given Jesus. He gave the only thing that he had to give – the gift of himself.

Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

What gift will you give our King? What gift do you have that will be so pleasing to him, that upon giving it, you will be able to say:

Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum.



References
“Biblical Magi”. Wikipedia. (10 January 2009).

Cook, Stephen L., et al. New Proclamation: Year B, 2008-2009, Advent through Holy Week. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008.

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A Smile From God

In this day and age of Photoshop, who knows if this is real or not. But it is a reminder that God does smile on us in so many ways, if we would just pay attention.

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Hope for the New Year

[Following is the article I wrote for January 2009 issue of the parish newsletter.]

The New Year is always a time for reflection on the year that has just past. Usually, as I look back on the previous year, I find myself overcome with emotion and sentimentality over what has occurred during the previous twelve months, thinking about the many ways I have grown and changed, the successes I have experienced, and pondering the ways that I might have done things better. But this year is a little different. I’m sure that many of you share my sentiment that you would just as soon forget that 2008 ever happened. While I may still get a little teary-eyed on New Year’s Eve, I’m sure they will be more tears of sorrow than tears of joy. After all, the news and events of the past year have been, by and large, less than cheery, to say the least.

As this new year begins, more than any other year, I find that I am looking forward more than I am looking back. With all the negative news we have witnessed, the difficulties and losses we have all experienced due to the global financial crisis, I feel a need more than ever to look forward in hope – hope that 2009 will be better than 2008, hope that things will improve. I think, now more than ever, we need hope – if for no other reason than to prevent us from spiraling into the pit of despair that hopelessness always brings.

As I think about hope, I am reminded that we are a people of hope. Our faith is built upon hope. The hope of Abraham and Sarah that God would fulfill His promise to provide offspring that would become a great nation. The hope of the Hebrews wandering in the desert that God, through Moses, would lead them to the Promised Land. The hope of the people of Israel that they would return home from exile in Babylon. The hope of a Messiah announced to Zechariah. The hope of a son who would be Emmanuel, God with us, promised to Mary. And the hope of new life promised through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

For thousands of years, hope carried our Old Testament ancestors through unimaginable trials and tribulations. For the past two thousand years, hope in our Lord Jesus Christ has seen countless Christians through incredibly difficult times. Like these, our forebears, we cannot forget our past. But we don’t have to dwell in or on the past. We can, instead, look ahead, in hope, to better things to come – to the land of milk and honey that God wishes for us all, that God promises to us all. Let us pray that 2009 brings us one step closer to that promise.

I wish you all a blessed and happy New Year.

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