“What’s this?” “A present for you.” “For me?” “Yes, it’s for you.” “Why?” “ Because I love you very much.”
I’m not sure of the exact words, but this is a reasonable facsimile of a conversation I had with my niece, probably 18 years ago. It was either Christmas or her birthday and I was giving her a present. Presents were kind of new to her, and she didn’t quite get that this was for her. To keep. She was delighted beyond belief with the gift. But it wasn’t the doll or the book or the toy, it wasn’t even the thrill of receiving a gift from another. No for that little girl it was (and I might say, still is for the 21 year old woman she has become) the love which led me to want to give her something. That’s what gave her such a thrill. Out of that love came her unbridled innocent response of joy: “For me? Especially for me?”
Re-reading today’s Gospel story reminded me of this . For what struck me was that this gift as announced to the shepherds in the field that night, is a gift given just for each of us, out of God’s immeasurable love.
And that, the expression of God’s love for us through the birth of Christ, is what the Christmas story is all about.
We hear it loud and clear in today’s Gospel.
-But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people. No need to question, no need to doubt, there is Good News to be had, and it is especially for you and especially for me, and especially for everybody!
-To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This isn’t just a telling of some removed event --no today a savior has been given to us-- especially for you and especially me.
Luke continues: -This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger."
This savior, this babe wrapped in cloth and lying in a feeding crib is not some out of reach messiah available only for the rich and the powerful, the devout and the pious. This child is especially for us. Especially for you and me.
It is really hard to imagine isn’t it? A messiah not only for the Jews, a savior not only for the Gentiles, a Redeemer who redeems everyone, not only the most pure of hearts, a Lord not only for the most devout but also for the most lax among us, the lost, the doubting, the hurt and the angry. This messiah whose birth we praise today is a gift given especially to you and me. Especially for each everyone of us.
Like Alyssa all those years ago, it’s hard to accept this gift… how did we deserve this wondrous gift?
Of course we didn’t, we haven’t. This gift of Jesus is not anything we earn, it’s not anything we deserve. It is given to us out of love.
And like Alyssa, The appropriate response is to squeal with glee.
And like the shepherds, the appropriate response is to go searching for this savior and to look upon the baby with great awe and wonder.
And like Mary and Joseph the appropriate response is to love this child with all our heart and with all mind and with all our soul.
So this Christmas story is not just a story about how Jesus came into the world…it’s a story which reminds us that God has given us a gift beyond all measure and God picked it especially for you and for me.
But not unlike, our own children who will play with their new toy for a week or so and then discard it, we too can forget and discard this gift. But even if we stop noticing it, even if we cast is aside, this gift never goes away, this gift is always with us, because God, through the birth of Christ is right here, right now. God was here yesterday, God is here today and God will be here tomorrow. Whether we notice or not.
That’s the wondrous thing about this Christmas gift-- no matter how many times we forget the gift of Christ, no matter how far back on the shelf we place it, no matter how long we go between remembering it, this gift is always there, ready for us to notice again, ready for us to unwrap again. And every time we notice, every time we unwrap it we’ll find that it’s still the perfect gift, it’s still exactly what we wanted, exactly what we needed.
That’s the miracle of this Christmas story, that even though our needs vary person to person, year to year the gift of our Savior fits us like a glove. For unto us this day a child has been born and onto that child we may lay our hopes and our dreams, our sorrows and our concerns, our happiness and our despair. For on this day, in the city of David, a King has been born and this king, is a gift which is ours for the unwrapping, and the only requirement for accepting it is that we strive to love each and every person as much as that baby and the God who gave him to us, loves us.
So Merry Christmas and enjoy your gift of Christ, given especially for you. +
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Magnificent Counter-Cultural Mary, Advent IV Year C
+Did you know that in some circles the Virgin Mary is considered and insurgent and that her song, subversive?
Well, In Guatemala, during one of the autocratic regimes which have ruled there, reciting the Magnificat, Mary’s Song , is against the law. It is deemed so subversive---so intent on undermining the established order—that it is literally against the law to use it in worship.
Now Mary is certainly a lot of things—the Holy Mother, The God Bearer, a stalwart disciple of Jesus, usually depicted as quiet, devout, humble and simple. But an insurgent, subversive?
But the reality, when you think about it, is that Mary was pretty radical--for through Mary, God did one of the most subversive acts of all-time—the incarnation.
In choosing Mary God just did what God always does----surprising us all with an unlikely, radical and counter-cultural move. While everyone expectantly waited for the coming of the Messiah in a great show strength and glory, God chose a simple girl, from a backwater town, under compromising circumstances, to bring the Savior of the world to us. God is not one to announce his activity with trumpets and fanfare. God, you see, appears to us in the mundane, the ordinary, the difficult and the messy. Because the mundane, the ordinary the difficult and the messy is all part of who we are and God cherishes us—all of us, in all conditions, neat and tidy, messy and chaotic. God doesn’t come to us all great fanfare and fuss because God simply wants to be with us in our ordinary daily lives. God wants to dwell where we dwell and that is, more often than not, pretty ordinary, maybe even mundane!
Anyway, if God had announced the coming Messiah through a polished PR man instead of the wild and wooly locust eating animal skin wearing John the Baptist, we would have noticed wouldn’t we? We would have prepared, wouldn’t we? We would have cleaned up, tidied up and been open to receiving the messiah wearing our Sunday best and hiding the messiness of our lives. Through Mary, God shows us, yet again, that it’s the messiness of our lives, as well as the neat and tidy of our lives, in which God dwells. God loves us. Lock stock and barrel, all of us….and to show us that unconditional and all encompassing love God chose Mary as the vessel for His Incarnation. God appears in an unassuming and completely surprising manner==
God just kind of sneaks up on us--hiding, as the saying goes, in plain sight.
And if the incarnation itself, God taking on human form, is not radical enough, God accomplishes this through two women---WOMEN-- talk about hiding in plain sight—who would pay any attention to these women--one too old to be a mother and another too young? Two women who, by all appearances were devout God-loving women living their lives as normally and unassumingly as one can imagine. It is through these two devout, unassuming, God-loving kinswomen that God chooses to subvert the order of all things, through whom God decides to lift high the meek, to encourage and embolden the humble and to deflate the powerful.
It’s one thing to be chosen. It’s another thing to say yes.
Mary and Elizabeth both said yes.
They doubted, they feared, they trembled, they worried and they wondered how and why God decided to tap them, but when given the opportunity to be instruments of God’s subversive and surprising activity among us, they said yes.
Can we say the same thing? Do we say yes when God appears within the ordinariness of daily lives? Do we even see God hiding in plain sight? Do we notice that God is calling out to us, do we realize that God has chosen us?
The opportunities to be an instrument of God in this world are readily available to us. But usually these opportunities require us to shift gears, to repent—to change the direction of our lives….and that can seem too difficult, too overwhelming So instead of grabbing the opportunity to be a God-bearer we turn away, rejecting God, we say no we can’t possibly do it. Not us.
But God, in this surprising and subversive act of bringing the Messiah to us through such unassuming and humble means, is saying, anyone—anyone-- can be the bearer of the Good News. Anyone can help turn the order of things upside down and inside out. God is saying that anyone—all of us, everyone can subvert the order of the world, can scatter the proud and lift high the lowly.
Our task this morning is to hear Mary’s song and to live it out…in all its insurgent subversive and counter-cultural best.
Now I’m not talking about overthrowing the government or telling your boss off…but I am talking about being counter-cultural. By not accepting that in this world of plenty so many live without. That in this world, people will go to bed hungry tonight. That 10% of the people in this country are out of work. That people don’t have access to affordable healthcare. That tonight children will be cold and alone, innocent victims of drug abuse, domestic violence and a myriad of other social ills.
Being counter cultural means we no longer accept that the high remain lofty by stepping on the backs of the humble and the meek. That the rich get richer while the poor get poorer, that the powerful hold onto that power through intimidation. Being counter cultural means accepting that we are all instruments of God and each of us magnifies the Lord by saying yes to being God-bearers and no to the status quo. Being counter-cultural means heeding the message of Mary, by joining with Mary and Elizabeth to rejoice in the gift of their sons.
Our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, our spirit rejoices in God our savior for he has looked with favor on Mary, on Elizabeth on you and on me, his lowly servants. +
Well, In Guatemala, during one of the autocratic regimes which have ruled there, reciting the Magnificat, Mary’s Song , is against the law. It is deemed so subversive---so intent on undermining the established order—that it is literally against the law to use it in worship.
Now Mary is certainly a lot of things—the Holy Mother, The God Bearer, a stalwart disciple of Jesus, usually depicted as quiet, devout, humble and simple. But an insurgent, subversive?
But the reality, when you think about it, is that Mary was pretty radical--for through Mary, God did one of the most subversive acts of all-time—the incarnation.
In choosing Mary God just did what God always does----surprising us all with an unlikely, radical and counter-cultural move. While everyone expectantly waited for the coming of the Messiah in a great show strength and glory, God chose a simple girl, from a backwater town, under compromising circumstances, to bring the Savior of the world to us. God is not one to announce his activity with trumpets and fanfare. God, you see, appears to us in the mundane, the ordinary, the difficult and the messy. Because the mundane, the ordinary the difficult and the messy is all part of who we are and God cherishes us—all of us, in all conditions, neat and tidy, messy and chaotic. God doesn’t come to us all great fanfare and fuss because God simply wants to be with us in our ordinary daily lives. God wants to dwell where we dwell and that is, more often than not, pretty ordinary, maybe even mundane!
Anyway, if God had announced the coming Messiah through a polished PR man instead of the wild and wooly locust eating animal skin wearing John the Baptist, we would have noticed wouldn’t we? We would have prepared, wouldn’t we? We would have cleaned up, tidied up and been open to receiving the messiah wearing our Sunday best and hiding the messiness of our lives. Through Mary, God shows us, yet again, that it’s the messiness of our lives, as well as the neat and tidy of our lives, in which God dwells. God loves us. Lock stock and barrel, all of us….and to show us that unconditional and all encompassing love God chose Mary as the vessel for His Incarnation. God appears in an unassuming and completely surprising manner==
God just kind of sneaks up on us--hiding, as the saying goes, in plain sight.
And if the incarnation itself, God taking on human form, is not radical enough, God accomplishes this through two women---WOMEN-- talk about hiding in plain sight—who would pay any attention to these women--one too old to be a mother and another too young? Two women who, by all appearances were devout God-loving women living their lives as normally and unassumingly as one can imagine. It is through these two devout, unassuming, God-loving kinswomen that God chooses to subvert the order of all things, through whom God decides to lift high the meek, to encourage and embolden the humble and to deflate the powerful.
It’s one thing to be chosen. It’s another thing to say yes.
Mary and Elizabeth both said yes.
They doubted, they feared, they trembled, they worried and they wondered how and why God decided to tap them, but when given the opportunity to be instruments of God’s subversive and surprising activity among us, they said yes.
Can we say the same thing? Do we say yes when God appears within the ordinariness of daily lives? Do we even see God hiding in plain sight? Do we notice that God is calling out to us, do we realize that God has chosen us?
The opportunities to be an instrument of God in this world are readily available to us. But usually these opportunities require us to shift gears, to repent—to change the direction of our lives….and that can seem too difficult, too overwhelming So instead of grabbing the opportunity to be a God-bearer we turn away, rejecting God, we say no we can’t possibly do it. Not us.
But God, in this surprising and subversive act of bringing the Messiah to us through such unassuming and humble means, is saying, anyone—anyone-- can be the bearer of the Good News. Anyone can help turn the order of things upside down and inside out. God is saying that anyone—all of us, everyone can subvert the order of the world, can scatter the proud and lift high the lowly.
Our task this morning is to hear Mary’s song and to live it out…in all its insurgent subversive and counter-cultural best.
Now I’m not talking about overthrowing the government or telling your boss off…but I am talking about being counter-cultural. By not accepting that in this world of plenty so many live without. That in this world, people will go to bed hungry tonight. That 10% of the people in this country are out of work. That people don’t have access to affordable healthcare. That tonight children will be cold and alone, innocent victims of drug abuse, domestic violence and a myriad of other social ills.
Being counter cultural means we no longer accept that the high remain lofty by stepping on the backs of the humble and the meek. That the rich get richer while the poor get poorer, that the powerful hold onto that power through intimidation. Being counter cultural means accepting that we are all instruments of God and each of us magnifies the Lord by saying yes to being God-bearers and no to the status quo. Being counter-cultural means heeding the message of Mary, by joining with Mary and Elizabeth to rejoice in the gift of their sons.
Our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, our spirit rejoices in God our savior for he has looked with favor on Mary, on Elizabeth on you and on me, his lowly servants. +
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A Prophet Leads us through Advent....Kicking and Screaming
+What a way to begin Advent---these readings aren’t the stuff of Christmas carols are they?
Last week Jesus told us to be prepared for we won’t know the time of his second coming-- that we must stand ready, ready for him to come in great power and glory. It was a rough way to begin Advent. No angel visits to Mary, no sweet prose about a babe in a manger. Today the message doesn’t get any quieter, the image isn’t any sweeter. Today we hear from two prophets—Baruch, speaking to a generation of Babylonian exiles some 1400 years before the time of Jesus and John, a New Testament prophet preparing the way for Christ. Baruch tells his generation to be ready, to stand up, to drop the dreary existence of captivity, ready to be freed. John, in today’s gospel, promises release to all who follow him . Release from the despair of the wilderness, relief from the rigors of the Temple, and reprieve from the autocracy of the Empire. Repent, cries John, turn your life around, shed your old ways , for a new way is coming and its time to get ready. Mountains will be laid low, valleys will be filled and the rough road will be made smooth. According to our two prophets today—Baruch and John-- this shift into the new isn’t easy, it’s not painless.
Prophets do not come onto the scene quietly. They shake things up; they shout from the rooftops they set us on edge. A prophet doesn’t fit in, doesn’t tell us what we want to hear. A prophet tells us what we must hear. A prophet is often a pain in our rear. But after a prophet is through with us, we don’t look at anything the same way. After a prophet is through with us, we are different.
John didn’t come on the scene quietly, nor did he tell people what they wanted to hear. To many, I’m sure; John was a pain in the rear!
But John also knew his place, John knew he was simply the opening act for the big show, he was the front man, the advance man for the Messiah. John’s job is to turn us around, to get us to leave the old behind so we are free to accept the new. So John, this straggly looking, wild sounding, peasant from the backwater tells us: repent, turn your lives around, open yourself to the new way which is about to arrive. He’s a different breed of prophet, prepared to help usher in a new legacy, a different way—John was on the edge of something big and he was bound and determined to bring as many people with him as possible.
John stood between two distinct periods in our Christian history— bridging the prophetic voice of the Hebrew scripture with the new voice to come in the person of Jesus Christ. He was a transitional figure with one eye firmly on the past and one eye firmly on the future. Some may have thought he was a prophet ahead of his time, others may have thought he was just plain nuts, but he knew , he knew he was the new Elijah, paving the way for God’s in breaking into the world through Jesus Christ.
And he was going to make darn sure that people would hear his message. A message of both promise and warning.
Promise that the messiah was on his way and warning that we weren’t prepared!
John is telling us, John is imploring us, let go of the old ways. To drop all that weighs us down and with outstretched arms, lift our faces to the sky and accept the coming of the new world. A new world full of God’s love.
Should be an easy ,message to sell, right? We’re all aware that life is more joyful when we allow God’s love to wash over us and guide us. ..so we should gladly and easily turn our lives around shedding all that stands in our way, right? Of course that’s not what we do…we’re human after all and it’s human nature to resist change. Even when it’s good for us! Remarkably, even when we’re in a bad situation, we have a tendency to stay put, to stick with the status quo. Not because we are gluttons for punishment but because we would rather stick with a scenario we know than change to one we don’t. The familiar, even when it isn’t good seems less risky than the unfamiliar.
This is not new.
The people of the Exodus, the people of the Exile all wanted, at one time or another to return to what they knew, even though it was bad for them, because what they knew was less risky than what they didn’t.
We’re no different. We don’t easily repent, we don’t easily change direction, we don’t easily let go of all that is familiar. But to fully receive the miracle in Bethlehem we must take this Advent time of preparation to lower our mountains, fill our valleys and straighten our crooked roads.
We all have them—mountains of doubt, valleys of anxiety, roads crooked with worry. This is no way to welcome the Jesus, but those mountains, those valleys and those crooked roads can seem insurmountable---it may seem impossible to overcome it all, shed it and emerge ready to welcome the messiah.
But John the Baptist in all his railing and ranting, in all his challenges and promises prepares us for this new way, he brings us across the divide from the old to the new. He invites us to emerge from the muddy waters of the Jordan changed, ready to receive God’s embrace of love.
A love born of Mary swaddled in rags, lying in a manger.
So our job this Advent season, amidst all the preparations of trees and gifts, of liturgies and clothing drives of worry. Amidst all our roads of worry, valleys of anxiety and mountains of doubt is to repent: to turn our lives from all that weighs us down, of all that distracts us and turn toward the east and with heads raised high and arms outstretched ready to accept the coming of the messiah.
The image isn’t quiet and the message isn’t sweet, but through Baruch and through John we’ll find ourselves in that barn on a silent night, awash in wonder and bowled over by awe. +
Last week Jesus told us to be prepared for we won’t know the time of his second coming-- that we must stand ready, ready for him to come in great power and glory. It was a rough way to begin Advent. No angel visits to Mary, no sweet prose about a babe in a manger. Today the message doesn’t get any quieter, the image isn’t any sweeter. Today we hear from two prophets—Baruch, speaking to a generation of Babylonian exiles some 1400 years before the time of Jesus and John, a New Testament prophet preparing the way for Christ. Baruch tells his generation to be ready, to stand up, to drop the dreary existence of captivity, ready to be freed. John, in today’s gospel, promises release to all who follow him . Release from the despair of the wilderness, relief from the rigors of the Temple, and reprieve from the autocracy of the Empire. Repent, cries John, turn your life around, shed your old ways , for a new way is coming and its time to get ready. Mountains will be laid low, valleys will be filled and the rough road will be made smooth. According to our two prophets today—Baruch and John-- this shift into the new isn’t easy, it’s not painless.
Prophets do not come onto the scene quietly. They shake things up; they shout from the rooftops they set us on edge. A prophet doesn’t fit in, doesn’t tell us what we want to hear. A prophet tells us what we must hear. A prophet is often a pain in our rear. But after a prophet is through with us, we don’t look at anything the same way. After a prophet is through with us, we are different.
John didn’t come on the scene quietly, nor did he tell people what they wanted to hear. To many, I’m sure; John was a pain in the rear!
But John also knew his place, John knew he was simply the opening act for the big show, he was the front man, the advance man for the Messiah. John’s job is to turn us around, to get us to leave the old behind so we are free to accept the new. So John, this straggly looking, wild sounding, peasant from the backwater tells us: repent, turn your lives around, open yourself to the new way which is about to arrive. He’s a different breed of prophet, prepared to help usher in a new legacy, a different way—John was on the edge of something big and he was bound and determined to bring as many people with him as possible.
John stood between two distinct periods in our Christian history— bridging the prophetic voice of the Hebrew scripture with the new voice to come in the person of Jesus Christ. He was a transitional figure with one eye firmly on the past and one eye firmly on the future. Some may have thought he was a prophet ahead of his time, others may have thought he was just plain nuts, but he knew , he knew he was the new Elijah, paving the way for God’s in breaking into the world through Jesus Christ.
And he was going to make darn sure that people would hear his message. A message of both promise and warning.
Promise that the messiah was on his way and warning that we weren’t prepared!
John is telling us, John is imploring us, let go of the old ways. To drop all that weighs us down and with outstretched arms, lift our faces to the sky and accept the coming of the new world. A new world full of God’s love.
Should be an easy ,message to sell, right? We’re all aware that life is more joyful when we allow God’s love to wash over us and guide us. ..so we should gladly and easily turn our lives around shedding all that stands in our way, right? Of course that’s not what we do…we’re human after all and it’s human nature to resist change. Even when it’s good for us! Remarkably, even when we’re in a bad situation, we have a tendency to stay put, to stick with the status quo. Not because we are gluttons for punishment but because we would rather stick with a scenario we know than change to one we don’t. The familiar, even when it isn’t good seems less risky than the unfamiliar.
This is not new.
The people of the Exodus, the people of the Exile all wanted, at one time or another to return to what they knew, even though it was bad for them, because what they knew was less risky than what they didn’t.
We’re no different. We don’t easily repent, we don’t easily change direction, we don’t easily let go of all that is familiar. But to fully receive the miracle in Bethlehem we must take this Advent time of preparation to lower our mountains, fill our valleys and straighten our crooked roads.
We all have them—mountains of doubt, valleys of anxiety, roads crooked with worry. This is no way to welcome the Jesus, but those mountains, those valleys and those crooked roads can seem insurmountable---it may seem impossible to overcome it all, shed it and emerge ready to welcome the messiah.
But John the Baptist in all his railing and ranting, in all his challenges and promises prepares us for this new way, he brings us across the divide from the old to the new. He invites us to emerge from the muddy waters of the Jordan changed, ready to receive God’s embrace of love.
A love born of Mary swaddled in rags, lying in a manger.
So our job this Advent season, amidst all the preparations of trees and gifts, of liturgies and clothing drives of worry. Amidst all our roads of worry, valleys of anxiety and mountains of doubt is to repent: to turn our lives from all that weighs us down, of all that distracts us and turn toward the east and with heads raised high and arms outstretched ready to accept the coming of the messiah.
The image isn’t quiet and the message isn’t sweet, but through Baruch and through John we’ll find ourselves in that barn on a silent night, awash in wonder and bowled over by awe. +
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Thin Place Between Bethlehem and Jerusalem
This sermon was preached at the Church of the Holy Nativity, Clarendon Hills, IL on Nov. 29, 2009
+This time of year, it gets dark really early. By 3:30 in the afternoon, the sun is in clear descent and by 4:30 or 5:00 night has fallen. The sun doesn’t rise until about 6:30 in the morning. It’s a dark time. The ancient Celtic people, who lived in a similar climate, embraced the encroaching darkness. According to Celtic legend, it’s during these twilight times when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. During the dusk of evening and the dawn of morning we glimpse that which has gone before and that which is yet to come. The Celts call this the Thin Place.
Late November/early December is a dark and quiet time, but we hardly notice, what with all the Christmas lights, the “all Christmas music all the time radio stations” and the day after Thanksgiving sales.
According to our church calendar, Advent is here. According to the calendar of commercialism, Christmas is here.
I love Advent. Not just for the destination: the birth of Jesus, but for the journey which leads us to that barn in Bethlehem. It’s a remarkable journey. But it’s one easily missed.
Although only four weeks long, a lot gets packed into Advent. We have the story of Mary—a young woman who bravely accepts this pregnancy announced by an angel and by means she doesn’t understand --her loving visit with Elizabeth, her difficult conversation with Joseph—Mary’s grace and fortitude is worthy of wonder and respect. Advent is the perfect time to reflect on Mary-- for without her we don’t have the incarnation. We must have Mary to get to Jesus, so focusing on her is a logical Advent pursuit. And it’s probably what most of us think of when we think of Advent.
But today we don’t hear the joy of Mary’s song , the wonder of her visit to Elizabeth or the courage of Joseph’s acceptance. Today we hear of a different time—a future time when the world we know ends, and a new world emerges.
For Advent is a liminal time-that time which is neither here nor there, a time of transition. We’re betwixt and between…just last week we celebrated Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords and now we’re awaiting his quiet birth.
But, as Luke tells us in today’s Gospel, we’re also betwixt and between the life of this world and that of the next.
Because, while anticipating the first coming of Jesus we must keep an eye toward the second.
Today we hear tell of the end times, the end of all things familiar, the destruction of all we know, the end to all that is. We don’t get to Silent Night easily, do we?
Jesus, in this 21st chapter of Luke is full of apocalyptic foreboding. Talk of end times is unsettling. Mark 13, Luke 21, the Book of Revelation…the apocalyptic imagery of the New Testament is hardly the thing of a babe in a manger is it?
But this end time imagery, this apocalyptic language, is an important part of the Advent story.
You see, to welcome in the new, we must shed the old.
Apocalypses are not just global events, ushering in the destruction of the entire earth. We each experience our own apocalypses…private upsets which throw our equilibrium completely off, when all we have taken for granted, all we’re comfortable with is stripped away, leaving us disoriented, vulnerable, at a loss. But without the loss, the new wouldn’t have room.
Today’s Gospel reading from Luke comes toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, when his own personal apocalypse is imminent.
He knows his earthly life—the first coming, begun in Bethlehem, is about to end in Jerusalem. He wants his followers then and his followers now to be prepared, prepared to live the good news in this world, while ready to move onto the next. Jesus is in a transition time, Jesus is in a thin place.
Advent is just such a place for us.
Advent is a time to tear down and to build up. A time to prepare ourselves for the first coming of Christ-a time to ready ourselves for the love of God which surpasses all understanding. A time-to shed all our preconceived notions, all our worries, all our doubts. You see, our worries, our doubts and our fears block the way of God, our worries our doubts and our fears keep us from the loving embrace of God. Advent is a time to strip ourselves of what was and what always has been, ready to receive what’s new and yet to come.
The miraculous birth of Jesus in a barn during that silent night two millennia ago was an apocalypse, an end of time. But this apocalypse isn’t all fire and brimstone, all death and destruction. This apocalypse, this end of time, comes to us in all humility, wrapped in rags with no place to lay his head.
You know, with all the lights and noise of commercial Christmas it’s amazing we don’t miss it altogether.
And that’s the point.
Advent calls us, in the midst of all this noise, to empty ourselves of all that keeps us from embracing the love of God sent to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Advent calls us to keep our feet in this world, proclaiming the Gospel and living the Good News, with an eye to the world to come, a world we will meet through the same Jesus, the Son of God born of Mary.
So as we scurry about, shopping sales, hanging lights and singing songs, let’s not forget our Advent task---to stay quiet, stay alert and be aware. For soon a child will be born, a child like none other. A child on whom all our hopes and dreams, frets and worries may be laid.
Happy Advent my friends, may your thin places show you the glory of this world and the glory of the world to come.
Amen.
+This time of year, it gets dark really early. By 3:30 in the afternoon, the sun is in clear descent and by 4:30 or 5:00 night has fallen. The sun doesn’t rise until about 6:30 in the morning. It’s a dark time. The ancient Celtic people, who lived in a similar climate, embraced the encroaching darkness. According to Celtic legend, it’s during these twilight times when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. During the dusk of evening and the dawn of morning we glimpse that which has gone before and that which is yet to come. The Celts call this the Thin Place.
Late November/early December is a dark and quiet time, but we hardly notice, what with all the Christmas lights, the “all Christmas music all the time radio stations” and the day after Thanksgiving sales.
According to our church calendar, Advent is here. According to the calendar of commercialism, Christmas is here.
I love Advent. Not just for the destination: the birth of Jesus, but for the journey which leads us to that barn in Bethlehem. It’s a remarkable journey. But it’s one easily missed.
Although only four weeks long, a lot gets packed into Advent. We have the story of Mary—a young woman who bravely accepts this pregnancy announced by an angel and by means she doesn’t understand --her loving visit with Elizabeth, her difficult conversation with Joseph—Mary’s grace and fortitude is worthy of wonder and respect. Advent is the perfect time to reflect on Mary-- for without her we don’t have the incarnation. We must have Mary to get to Jesus, so focusing on her is a logical Advent pursuit. And it’s probably what most of us think of when we think of Advent.
But today we don’t hear the joy of Mary’s song , the wonder of her visit to Elizabeth or the courage of Joseph’s acceptance. Today we hear of a different time—a future time when the world we know ends, and a new world emerges.
For Advent is a liminal time-that time which is neither here nor there, a time of transition. We’re betwixt and between…just last week we celebrated Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords and now we’re awaiting his quiet birth.
But, as Luke tells us in today’s Gospel, we’re also betwixt and between the life of this world and that of the next.
Because, while anticipating the first coming of Jesus we must keep an eye toward the second.
Today we hear tell of the end times, the end of all things familiar, the destruction of all we know, the end to all that is. We don’t get to Silent Night easily, do we?
Jesus, in this 21st chapter of Luke is full of apocalyptic foreboding. Talk of end times is unsettling. Mark 13, Luke 21, the Book of Revelation…the apocalyptic imagery of the New Testament is hardly the thing of a babe in a manger is it?
But this end time imagery, this apocalyptic language, is an important part of the Advent story.
You see, to welcome in the new, we must shed the old.
Apocalypses are not just global events, ushering in the destruction of the entire earth. We each experience our own apocalypses…private upsets which throw our equilibrium completely off, when all we have taken for granted, all we’re comfortable with is stripped away, leaving us disoriented, vulnerable, at a loss. But without the loss, the new wouldn’t have room.
Today’s Gospel reading from Luke comes toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, when his own personal apocalypse is imminent.
He knows his earthly life—the first coming, begun in Bethlehem, is about to end in Jerusalem. He wants his followers then and his followers now to be prepared, prepared to live the good news in this world, while ready to move onto the next. Jesus is in a transition time, Jesus is in a thin place.
Advent is just such a place for us.
Advent is a time to tear down and to build up. A time to prepare ourselves for the first coming of Christ-a time to ready ourselves for the love of God which surpasses all understanding. A time-to shed all our preconceived notions, all our worries, all our doubts. You see, our worries, our doubts and our fears block the way of God, our worries our doubts and our fears keep us from the loving embrace of God. Advent is a time to strip ourselves of what was and what always has been, ready to receive what’s new and yet to come.
The miraculous birth of Jesus in a barn during that silent night two millennia ago was an apocalypse, an end of time. But this apocalypse isn’t all fire and brimstone, all death and destruction. This apocalypse, this end of time, comes to us in all humility, wrapped in rags with no place to lay his head.
You know, with all the lights and noise of commercial Christmas it’s amazing we don’t miss it altogether.
And that’s the point.
Advent calls us, in the midst of all this noise, to empty ourselves of all that keeps us from embracing the love of God sent to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Advent calls us to keep our feet in this world, proclaiming the Gospel and living the Good News, with an eye to the world to come, a world we will meet through the same Jesus, the Son of God born of Mary.
So as we scurry about, shopping sales, hanging lights and singing songs, let’s not forget our Advent task---to stay quiet, stay alert and be aware. For soon a child will be born, a child like none other. A child on whom all our hopes and dreams, frets and worries may be laid.
Happy Advent my friends, may your thin places show you the glory of this world and the glory of the world to come.
Amen.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The Temple Must Fall
Pentecost 24, Yr. B, November 15, 2009
+So where will you be on Dec 23, 2012? If you believe all the hype associated with the just released movie “2012,” you’ll be witnessing the destruction of the earth—The Earth’s crust collapsing through earthquakes and tidal waves flooding the continents. The apocalypse. The end ,which has been anticipated by humanity for millennia, will be here. Of course the movie is a fictional, fantastical dramatization of the end times. But, regardless of how it’s depicted, the apocalypse brings an end to all things familiar ushering in something altogether new. .Apocalyptic predictions tend to cause panic in some, indifference in others. Dec 2012 is just another in a long line of drop dead dates given for end times. Remember Y2K? Water bottles, canned goods? Kerosene lanterns? People seem drawn to Armageddon. All sorts of books movies and tv are full of such imagery. Even the Bible.
Both Hebrew and New Testament scripture have apocalyptic portions…. Isaiah Jeremiah, Micah, Ezra, Revelation and, as we’ve heard today, the Book of Daniel, the Epistle to the Hebrews and the 13th chapter of Mark’s Gospel (commonly called the “little apocalypse”) all allude to a dark time when a final battle between the evil of this world and the paradise of the heavenly world will occur. Taken in their cultural context, these writings make sense. The Jewish world at that time—mainly the two centuries before and after Christ’s birth—was under siege, with various invaders marauding about. It was a time ripe for writing about the pervasive power of evil. However, to only hear these writings as a response to a particular historical moment in time is, in the opinion of most scholars, a mistake. Descriptions of the end times, pop up in the literature of all cultures throughout all eras, suggesting we should consider what it says not only about people then, but people now.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus, wasn’t just speaking to Peter, James, John and Andrew, he was speaking to us as well.
According to Jesuit professor and author John Kavanaugh , apocalyptic imagery works for every generation because, indeed, each generation experiences its own end of times.
Whenever what we hold as dear—whenever what we experience as fundamental to our way of life is threatened, it feels awful, it is scary and it can seem as if it is the end of the world. And in a way, well it is the end of the world. In every generation and for every people, life as trusted and known is threatened and in some cases destroyed. In our own 20th century history this has happened time and again—the Great Depression, the Holocaust, World War 2, the civil rights fight, the AIDS epidemic have all taken the world to the brink. In these and many other instances, all that those affected held dear, trusted, was torn away, turned upside down.
9/11/2001 was an apocalypse of sorts, as was the financial collapse of last year. To the folks in Ft Hood, Texas last week was an apocalypse.
Today there are people all over the world, in this country throughout this state, within this city and here at this Cathedral whose lives are turned upside down, who are experiencing there own private and personal apocalypse.
Indeed, when all that we consider fundamental—foundational-- to our lives collapses, it can feel like Armageddon, it can feel like the end.
Because when all that we hold dear collapses, it’s an end.
But, and I think this is the point, with each end comes a beginning. Now it’s not always apparent just where and how that beginning will manifest, that’s what makes it so scary, but scripture seems clear---to get to the new we must get rid of the old. The trouble is the old, no matter how flawed, is comfortable—familiar-- and we don’t want to let go of it.
Jesus, throughout his ministry, kept saying, all that you know, all that you think is important, isn’t. You must lose the old way so you are free to embrace the new.
But this transformation, this transfiguration is not easy…it gets messy and is almost always terrifying.
So, what are we to take from all of this? Should we just give up on all that we hold familiar, figuring it will all end in apocalyptic terror anyway? What should we do with all this talk of the end of time? How do we remain open to change, to a new way?
By loosening our grip.
It isn’t about giving up all that we know and all that we hold dear. It’s about keeping it all in perspective. This text is not so much a warning about our own deaths or about the end of the world as it is a commentary on fully living in this world, with an eye to the next . It is easy to get caught up in the deadlines and demands of this life, of rushing from this meeting to the next, of working toward one goal after another. To do that is to give into this world, a world that is destined for destruction, a world which will turn on itself, be it nation upon nation, or the destruction of this planet through our own abuse and neglect. Regardless of how it comes about all the earthly temporal things we work for will, one day, cease. But when all is said and done, and the last smoldering coal of earth’s demise is extinguished-- we will revel in the next world, in the company of the angels, filled and sustained by Love, that unending, never dying, always growing Love of God as known to us through Jesus Christ.
So when we read these apocalyptic stories of death and destruction should we despair in what may be the inevitable or should we celebrate the gift of love given to us through Christ?
When Jesus sits atop the Mount of Olives-- detailing the destruction of the temple—the one in Jerusalem and those each of us erect in our lives—he isn’t lamenting the inevitable of this life, he is proclaiming the Good News of eternal life. He is saying, don’t be afraid to let go, don’t hold onto the past, go boldly into the future, whatever it may bring, loving ourselves, loving our neighbors and loving the source of all Love, God.
So where will we be on Dec 23, 2012? Hopefully wherever we are we’ll be surrounded by, infused with and evoking that Love which is available to us in the birth life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. +
+So where will you be on Dec 23, 2012? If you believe all the hype associated with the just released movie “2012,” you’ll be witnessing the destruction of the earth—The Earth’s crust collapsing through earthquakes and tidal waves flooding the continents. The apocalypse. The end ,which has been anticipated by humanity for millennia, will be here. Of course the movie is a fictional, fantastical dramatization of the end times. But, regardless of how it’s depicted, the apocalypse brings an end to all things familiar ushering in something altogether new. .Apocalyptic predictions tend to cause panic in some, indifference in others. Dec 2012 is just another in a long line of drop dead dates given for end times. Remember Y2K? Water bottles, canned goods? Kerosene lanterns? People seem drawn to Armageddon. All sorts of books movies and tv are full of such imagery. Even the Bible.
Both Hebrew and New Testament scripture have apocalyptic portions…. Isaiah Jeremiah, Micah, Ezra, Revelation and, as we’ve heard today, the Book of Daniel, the Epistle to the Hebrews and the 13th chapter of Mark’s Gospel (commonly called the “little apocalypse”) all allude to a dark time when a final battle between the evil of this world and the paradise of the heavenly world will occur. Taken in their cultural context, these writings make sense. The Jewish world at that time—mainly the two centuries before and after Christ’s birth—was under siege, with various invaders marauding about. It was a time ripe for writing about the pervasive power of evil. However, to only hear these writings as a response to a particular historical moment in time is, in the opinion of most scholars, a mistake. Descriptions of the end times, pop up in the literature of all cultures throughout all eras, suggesting we should consider what it says not only about people then, but people now.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus, wasn’t just speaking to Peter, James, John and Andrew, he was speaking to us as well.
According to Jesuit professor and author John Kavanaugh , apocalyptic imagery works for every generation because, indeed, each generation experiences its own end of times.
Whenever what we hold as dear—whenever what we experience as fundamental to our way of life is threatened, it feels awful, it is scary and it can seem as if it is the end of the world. And in a way, well it is the end of the world. In every generation and for every people, life as trusted and known is threatened and in some cases destroyed. In our own 20th century history this has happened time and again—the Great Depression, the Holocaust, World War 2, the civil rights fight, the AIDS epidemic have all taken the world to the brink. In these and many other instances, all that those affected held dear, trusted, was torn away, turned upside down.
9/11/2001 was an apocalypse of sorts, as was the financial collapse of last year. To the folks in Ft Hood, Texas last week was an apocalypse.
Today there are people all over the world, in this country throughout this state, within this city and here at this Cathedral whose lives are turned upside down, who are experiencing there own private and personal apocalypse.
Indeed, when all that we consider fundamental—foundational-- to our lives collapses, it can feel like Armageddon, it can feel like the end.
Because when all that we hold dear collapses, it’s an end.
But, and I think this is the point, with each end comes a beginning. Now it’s not always apparent just where and how that beginning will manifest, that’s what makes it so scary, but scripture seems clear---to get to the new we must get rid of the old. The trouble is the old, no matter how flawed, is comfortable—familiar-- and we don’t want to let go of it.
Jesus, throughout his ministry, kept saying, all that you know, all that you think is important, isn’t. You must lose the old way so you are free to embrace the new.
But this transformation, this transfiguration is not easy…it gets messy and is almost always terrifying.
So, what are we to take from all of this? Should we just give up on all that we hold familiar, figuring it will all end in apocalyptic terror anyway? What should we do with all this talk of the end of time? How do we remain open to change, to a new way?
By loosening our grip.
It isn’t about giving up all that we know and all that we hold dear. It’s about keeping it all in perspective. This text is not so much a warning about our own deaths or about the end of the world as it is a commentary on fully living in this world, with an eye to the next . It is easy to get caught up in the deadlines and demands of this life, of rushing from this meeting to the next, of working toward one goal after another. To do that is to give into this world, a world that is destined for destruction, a world which will turn on itself, be it nation upon nation, or the destruction of this planet through our own abuse and neglect. Regardless of how it comes about all the earthly temporal things we work for will, one day, cease. But when all is said and done, and the last smoldering coal of earth’s demise is extinguished-- we will revel in the next world, in the company of the angels, filled and sustained by Love, that unending, never dying, always growing Love of God as known to us through Jesus Christ.
So when we read these apocalyptic stories of death and destruction should we despair in what may be the inevitable or should we celebrate the gift of love given to us through Christ?
When Jesus sits atop the Mount of Olives-- detailing the destruction of the temple—the one in Jerusalem and those each of us erect in our lives—he isn’t lamenting the inevitable of this life, he is proclaiming the Good News of eternal life. He is saying, don’t be afraid to let go, don’t hold onto the past, go boldly into the future, whatever it may bring, loving ourselves, loving our neighbors and loving the source of all Love, God.
So where will we be on Dec 23, 2012? Hopefully wherever we are we’ll be surrounded by, infused with and evoking that Love which is available to us in the birth life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. +
Sunday, October 11, 2009
“Faith Trumps Fear, Love Trumps Doubt” Proper 23 Yr B
+Jesus, looking at him, loved him.
This is one of the most beautiful lines in all of scripture. Jesus looks deep into the soul of the rich man and through his unwavering abiding love, tells him the very thing the man fears: his wealth is standing in his way. His wealth is a barrier to the everlasting life he so earnestly desires.
The rich man hears this and then walks away, shocked and grieving.
I think many of us probably assume that’s the end of the story. A rich man asks for the key to everlasting life but not getting the answer he wants, walks away scheming on how to find a loophole, determined to hold onto his riches. But we’re not told the rest of this story, the gospel just reads that he walks away “shocked and grieving.”
He’s grieving. To grieve is to be fully aware of what just happened, but needing time to process it, to let it sink in. So the rich man may just need some time to adjust. He’s also shocked. Perhaps because a poor itinerant preacher had the audacity to tell a man of his wealth and stature to give it all up ----but I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s shocked that Jesus’ deep gaze saw through to the truth: that even though he claimed to be a faithful man, following the laws of Moses since childhood, he was faithless when it came to his wealth. Instead of taking his wealth and sharing it with others, caring for the least among him, he was hoarding it for himself, not trusting that by doing justice, by caring for the sick the hungry and the oppressed, he would be awarded with riches beyond all measure.
Jesus isn’t saying: wealth is bad. That having nice things is evil. The problem isn’t having wealth, the problem is hoarding it to the detriment of others.
Jesus knew what the rich man didn’t: that his wealth was a gift from God. A gift, which, like all of God’s gifts are not ours to hoard or to hide, but to share. The rich man wasn’t holding onto his wealth because he was evil. The rich man was holding onto his wealth because he was afraid. Although a self proclaimed devout man, adhering to the letter of the laws of faith, the man, like so many of us, is missing the spirit of the law. The spirit of the law, the spirit of our faith demands that we not just proclaim our faith, but that we live it: not letting our fear and our doubt hold us back.
Wealth doesn’t keep us from everlasting life. Fear does.
As far as I can tell, from Abraham and Sarah, [Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob Rachel and Leah] to Moses, Miriam and Aaron, through Elizabeth and Zechariah, Mary and Joseph to the Jesus of the manger, the cross and the empty tomb, we have been taught that doubt and fear render us lost and alone while faith and hope offer us a joy and peace beyond our wildest dreams.
But even with all these examples of faith trumping doubt, of hope over fear, we still doubt and we still fear.
We have a choice. We can doubt and fear or we can hope and dream. But we can’t do both. With every doubt we whittle away at hope and with every fear we squelch a dream. If the rich man really had faith in the laws of Moses he was following why did he seek out Jesus? Would a man of wealth and stature track down an itinerant preacher from the backwater if he was full of hope? I think his own fear and his own doubt had whittled away at his faith….I think the rich man was, in spite of all the material goods and social stature he had attained, empty. And he looked to Jesus to fill him--to adjust a ritual, to explain some law—so he could go on his way, happy and content. But as is usual with Jesus, the man didn’t get what he was looking for, he got what he needed. Jesus didn’t tell him how to better profess his faith, Jesus told him to live it.
The Gospel demands more than professing a faith once a week at church. The Gospel challenges us to live it. Jesus wasn’t just talking to the Rich Man, Jesus was talking to us.
The challenge of living out our faith requires us to ask: what helps us spread the good news and what hinders us? What’s important to us, what’s our heart’s desire for St Paul’s Cathedral?
Is it our building our music and our liturgies? Or is it to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and free the oppressed?
Hopefully it is both.
You see, our building, our liturgies our music don’t keep us from living the Gospel message but neither are they the Gospel message.
We don’t have all this stuff [the building the choirs…] because it’s nice, we have all this because it feeds us, strengthening us to do the work God has given us to do. We don’t ask you to pledge so we can keep this building, these choirs and these liturgies going for the sake of entertainment or aesthetic pleasure, we ask you to give money so we, as a community of faith, enriched, emboldened and empowered through our worship in here can do the work of God out there. We ask for pledges so that we can make St. Paul’s Cathedral more than a stop on an architectural tour, more than a nice venue to hear a concert, we need your pledges so we can continue to be a beacon of light for the people of Buffalo, so we can continue to offer hospitality healing and hope to all those we encounter—those who walk through our doors and those we encounter when we walk out of them.
We’ve been given all of this as a sacred trust, not an evil indulgence. Our job isn’t to fear losing it, but to rejoice in what it is-a loving testament of thanks to God, designed to strengthen us to go out, living the good news of Christ in the world.
As we enter into this stewardship season at St. Paul’s Cathedral we aren’t asking you to pledge out of fear, we’re asking you to pledge--commit your time, your talent and your treasure --out of hope. Hope that together we, as a community of faith, will be faithful live-rs of the Word for generations to come. AMEN.
This is one of the most beautiful lines in all of scripture. Jesus looks deep into the soul of the rich man and through his unwavering abiding love, tells him the very thing the man fears: his wealth is standing in his way. His wealth is a barrier to the everlasting life he so earnestly desires.
The rich man hears this and then walks away, shocked and grieving.
I think many of us probably assume that’s the end of the story. A rich man asks for the key to everlasting life but not getting the answer he wants, walks away scheming on how to find a loophole, determined to hold onto his riches. But we’re not told the rest of this story, the gospel just reads that he walks away “shocked and grieving.”
He’s grieving. To grieve is to be fully aware of what just happened, but needing time to process it, to let it sink in. So the rich man may just need some time to adjust. He’s also shocked. Perhaps because a poor itinerant preacher had the audacity to tell a man of his wealth and stature to give it all up ----but I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s shocked that Jesus’ deep gaze saw through to the truth: that even though he claimed to be a faithful man, following the laws of Moses since childhood, he was faithless when it came to his wealth. Instead of taking his wealth and sharing it with others, caring for the least among him, he was hoarding it for himself, not trusting that by doing justice, by caring for the sick the hungry and the oppressed, he would be awarded with riches beyond all measure.
Jesus isn’t saying: wealth is bad. That having nice things is evil. The problem isn’t having wealth, the problem is hoarding it to the detriment of others.
Jesus knew what the rich man didn’t: that his wealth was a gift from God. A gift, which, like all of God’s gifts are not ours to hoard or to hide, but to share. The rich man wasn’t holding onto his wealth because he was evil. The rich man was holding onto his wealth because he was afraid. Although a self proclaimed devout man, adhering to the letter of the laws of faith, the man, like so many of us, is missing the spirit of the law. The spirit of the law, the spirit of our faith demands that we not just proclaim our faith, but that we live it: not letting our fear and our doubt hold us back.
Wealth doesn’t keep us from everlasting life. Fear does.
As far as I can tell, from Abraham and Sarah, [Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob Rachel and Leah] to Moses, Miriam and Aaron, through Elizabeth and Zechariah, Mary and Joseph to the Jesus of the manger, the cross and the empty tomb, we have been taught that doubt and fear render us lost and alone while faith and hope offer us a joy and peace beyond our wildest dreams.
But even with all these examples of faith trumping doubt, of hope over fear, we still doubt and we still fear.
We have a choice. We can doubt and fear or we can hope and dream. But we can’t do both. With every doubt we whittle away at hope and with every fear we squelch a dream. If the rich man really had faith in the laws of Moses he was following why did he seek out Jesus? Would a man of wealth and stature track down an itinerant preacher from the backwater if he was full of hope? I think his own fear and his own doubt had whittled away at his faith….I think the rich man was, in spite of all the material goods and social stature he had attained, empty. And he looked to Jesus to fill him--to adjust a ritual, to explain some law—so he could go on his way, happy and content. But as is usual with Jesus, the man didn’t get what he was looking for, he got what he needed. Jesus didn’t tell him how to better profess his faith, Jesus told him to live it.
The Gospel demands more than professing a faith once a week at church. The Gospel challenges us to live it. Jesus wasn’t just talking to the Rich Man, Jesus was talking to us.
The challenge of living out our faith requires us to ask: what helps us spread the good news and what hinders us? What’s important to us, what’s our heart’s desire for St Paul’s Cathedral?
Is it our building our music and our liturgies? Or is it to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and free the oppressed?
Hopefully it is both.
You see, our building, our liturgies our music don’t keep us from living the Gospel message but neither are they the Gospel message.
We don’t have all this stuff [the building the choirs…] because it’s nice, we have all this because it feeds us, strengthening us to do the work God has given us to do. We don’t ask you to pledge so we can keep this building, these choirs and these liturgies going for the sake of entertainment or aesthetic pleasure, we ask you to give money so we, as a community of faith, enriched, emboldened and empowered through our worship in here can do the work of God out there. We ask for pledges so that we can make St. Paul’s Cathedral more than a stop on an architectural tour, more than a nice venue to hear a concert, we need your pledges so we can continue to be a beacon of light for the people of Buffalo, so we can continue to offer hospitality healing and hope to all those we encounter—those who walk through our doors and those we encounter when we walk out of them.
We’ve been given all of this as a sacred trust, not an evil indulgence. Our job isn’t to fear losing it, but to rejoice in what it is-a loving testament of thanks to God, designed to strengthen us to go out, living the good news of Christ in the world.
As we enter into this stewardship season at St. Paul’s Cathedral we aren’t asking you to pledge out of fear, we’re asking you to pledge--commit your time, your talent and your treasure --out of hope. Hope that together we, as a community of faith, will be faithful live-rs of the Word for generations to come. AMEN.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Courage of Letting Others be First
Proper 20, Year B. Sermon preached at St. Paul's Cathedral, Buffalo New York, 20 September 2009
I must be getting old. As I drive around the city I find myself rolling up my windows so I don’t hear the rude and disrespectful language being tossed about on the street. Young people, middle aged people, older people…there doesn’t seem to be an age limit.
Sometimes I wonder what’s happening in the world. Politicians, entertainers, sports figures and regular people seem to have reached new lows when it comes to respecting the dignity of every human being. Never before have we seen such disrespect on public view, whether it be on the stage at music awards, the tennis courts of the US Open or the floor of a joint session of congress. These past few weeks have caused me to question the decorum of our culture.
But then, just when I wondered where civility had gone, where respect lost its way and where dignity became something to avoid instead of embrace, I am buoyed by flashes of grace.
After the debacle, which was Serena Williams’ tirade at the US Open, there was still a final match to be played. After Kim Clijsters won, we saw her 18 month old daughter Jada, delighting in seeing herself displayed on the gigantic video board at the tennis center. She really couldn’t get enough of it….it wasn’t some self serving look at me, it was simple joy at being able to see her mommy and herself up on the screen. There was something so innocent and sweet about the scene. Through the genuine joy displayed by this child the distasteful tirade of the previous day melted away and I was transported to a simpler place, transported to a fundamental truth of faith: that our life is a miraculous gift from God intended for our joy. God wants us to embrace life as innocently and joyously as a child.
In Jesus’ time a child was not necessarily embraced as an exemplar of innocence. Children really had no status, and when he tells his disciples to receive the kingdom as a little child, he is being tremendously counter cultural. To assume the position of a child was to lower oneself to a status no one would voluntarily ascribe to. Children fell in the same category as all the other near-do-wells he hung out with: women, tax collectors, Gentiles. But the point Jesus is trying to make is not that we should give up our dignity willy nilly, but that we should, out of our dignity, offer dignity to everyone else. Not just those who we feel have earned it,, but everyone. People we love, people we don’t love, people who are like us, and people who aren’t. Everyone. No Exceptions.
Sgt 1st Class Jared Monti understood this, he lived it and died it. Sgt Monti was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Honor this past week, for valor displayed on a battlefield in Afghanistan. Sgt. Monti not once, not twice but three times ran directly into enemy fire attempting to rescue one of his men. Many soldiers would have sent an underling to do the job, but when another soldier said he would go attempt the rescue, Monti stopped him saying, “no he is my guy and I will get him.” He didn’t get him, but he died trying, and as he lay mortally wounded this Sgt. First Class from Massachusetts first recited the Lord’s Prayer and then said :
“I’ve made peace with God. Tell my family I love them.” Then he died. His final earthly act was to offer praise and thanksgiving to God and his family. Monti’s actions were selfless and brave.
Jared Monti lived Jesus’ message as heard in today’s Gospel: "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." For Jared, the last must be first and the first will be last. Jared Monti was selfless.
Today we recognize Sgt Monti as a hero and we grieve for his family…the image of his heroics help counteract the boorish behavior we’ve witnessed elsewhere. The reality is that the actions of Serena Williams, congress-people, church leaders get far more press than the actions of Sgt. Monti and the thousands of other people who follow the lessons of our faith every day. Why?
Because our culture seems to embrace another gospel, the gospel of me first. Of fleeting glory, of striving to be number one no matter whom we may step on to get there. A culture of denigrating the next guy for our own gain.
This human tendency to focus on earthly things is noted in today’s reading from the Letter of James: “For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind….conflicts and disputes come from our cravings, cravings which are at war within us.”
Envy and self ambition breed disorder…..when we covet that which is not from above….when we covet earthly glory , we become disordered, angry and bitter, and these negative feelings block us, they cloud our judgment leaving us ranting on tennis courts, in the halls of congress on the street corner, in our churches and living rooms. When we become focused on the glory of the world instead of the glory of God, our thinking becomes distorted, our minds jumbled. It is the task of each of us to clear our minds to stop railing at one another, to stop jockeying for position and stop trying to out do the other guy. It’s time for us to reject the projected behavior of our culture and embrace the behavior of the innocent, the brave, the dignified of our world.
Now we needn’t beat ourselves up for being more of this life than the next…even the disciples were caught up in the status and prestige of this world, more concerned with who was the greatest among them instead of listening to the greatest of all. Jesus was saying to them and to us : do as I do, be servant to all, for in that servant-hood you’ll find the key to everlasting life.
The unbridled joy of a child, the unwavering loyalty of a friend and comrade, the grieving hearts of mourning parents remind us that to be first in the kingdom of God we must respect each other, cherish each other and delight in each other. Perhaps our final hymn today, “Tell Out My Soul,” a hymn of the Virgin Mary, no doubt the most selfless person of all, puts it best: “put proud hearts and stubborn wills to flight so the hungry can be fed and the humble lifted high.”
Amen.
I must be getting old. As I drive around the city I find myself rolling up my windows so I don’t hear the rude and disrespectful language being tossed about on the street. Young people, middle aged people, older people…there doesn’t seem to be an age limit.
Sometimes I wonder what’s happening in the world. Politicians, entertainers, sports figures and regular people seem to have reached new lows when it comes to respecting the dignity of every human being. Never before have we seen such disrespect on public view, whether it be on the stage at music awards, the tennis courts of the US Open or the floor of a joint session of congress. These past few weeks have caused me to question the decorum of our culture.
But then, just when I wondered where civility had gone, where respect lost its way and where dignity became something to avoid instead of embrace, I am buoyed by flashes of grace.
After the debacle, which was Serena Williams’ tirade at the US Open, there was still a final match to be played. After Kim Clijsters won, we saw her 18 month old daughter Jada, delighting in seeing herself displayed on the gigantic video board at the tennis center. She really couldn’t get enough of it….it wasn’t some self serving look at me, it was simple joy at being able to see her mommy and herself up on the screen. There was something so innocent and sweet about the scene. Through the genuine joy displayed by this child the distasteful tirade of the previous day melted away and I was transported to a simpler place, transported to a fundamental truth of faith: that our life is a miraculous gift from God intended for our joy. God wants us to embrace life as innocently and joyously as a child.
In Jesus’ time a child was not necessarily embraced as an exemplar of innocence. Children really had no status, and when he tells his disciples to receive the kingdom as a little child, he is being tremendously counter cultural. To assume the position of a child was to lower oneself to a status no one would voluntarily ascribe to. Children fell in the same category as all the other near-do-wells he hung out with: women, tax collectors, Gentiles. But the point Jesus is trying to make is not that we should give up our dignity willy nilly, but that we should, out of our dignity, offer dignity to everyone else. Not just those who we feel have earned it,, but everyone. People we love, people we don’t love, people who are like us, and people who aren’t. Everyone. No Exceptions.
Sgt 1st Class Jared Monti understood this, he lived it and died it. Sgt Monti was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Honor this past week, for valor displayed on a battlefield in Afghanistan. Sgt. Monti not once, not twice but three times ran directly into enemy fire attempting to rescue one of his men. Many soldiers would have sent an underling to do the job, but when another soldier said he would go attempt the rescue, Monti stopped him saying, “no he is my guy and I will get him.” He didn’t get him, but he died trying, and as he lay mortally wounded this Sgt. First Class from Massachusetts first recited the Lord’s Prayer and then said :
“I’ve made peace with God. Tell my family I love them.” Then he died. His final earthly act was to offer praise and thanksgiving to God and his family. Monti’s actions were selfless and brave.
Jared Monti lived Jesus’ message as heard in today’s Gospel: "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." For Jared, the last must be first and the first will be last. Jared Monti was selfless.
Today we recognize Sgt Monti as a hero and we grieve for his family…the image of his heroics help counteract the boorish behavior we’ve witnessed elsewhere. The reality is that the actions of Serena Williams, congress-people, church leaders get far more press than the actions of Sgt. Monti and the thousands of other people who follow the lessons of our faith every day. Why?
Because our culture seems to embrace another gospel, the gospel of me first. Of fleeting glory, of striving to be number one no matter whom we may step on to get there. A culture of denigrating the next guy for our own gain.
This human tendency to focus on earthly things is noted in today’s reading from the Letter of James: “For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind….conflicts and disputes come from our cravings, cravings which are at war within us.”
Envy and self ambition breed disorder…..when we covet that which is not from above….when we covet earthly glory , we become disordered, angry and bitter, and these negative feelings block us, they cloud our judgment leaving us ranting on tennis courts, in the halls of congress on the street corner, in our churches and living rooms. When we become focused on the glory of the world instead of the glory of God, our thinking becomes distorted, our minds jumbled. It is the task of each of us to clear our minds to stop railing at one another, to stop jockeying for position and stop trying to out do the other guy. It’s time for us to reject the projected behavior of our culture and embrace the behavior of the innocent, the brave, the dignified of our world.
Now we needn’t beat ourselves up for being more of this life than the next…even the disciples were caught up in the status and prestige of this world, more concerned with who was the greatest among them instead of listening to the greatest of all. Jesus was saying to them and to us : do as I do, be servant to all, for in that servant-hood you’ll find the key to everlasting life.
The unbridled joy of a child, the unwavering loyalty of a friend and comrade, the grieving hearts of mourning parents remind us that to be first in the kingdom of God we must respect each other, cherish each other and delight in each other. Perhaps our final hymn today, “Tell Out My Soul,” a hymn of the Virgin Mary, no doubt the most selfless person of all, puts it best: “put proud hearts and stubborn wills to flight so the hungry can be fed and the humble lifted high.”
Amen.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Reading the Bible Again for the First Time
Our Bible study for the fall is using the book mentioned above, by Marcus Borg, as our guide. Last night was the first meeting and our discussion was, as usual, wide ranging, animated and great fun.
We will skip next week as it is Chicken BBQ day and a couple of us can't make it through that and the study....;-) so our next meeting will be WED. SEPT. 30 7PM- 8:30 PM at MY HOUSE. (note change in location). See you then!
We will skip next week as it is Chicken BBQ day and a couple of us can't make it through that and the study....;-) so our next meeting will be WED. SEPT. 30 7PM- 8:30 PM at MY HOUSE. (note change in location). See you then!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Pharisees Weren't Such Bad Guys
The Pharisees weren’t such bad guys. It’s easy to ridicule them, to laugh at them. After all, they are often the targets of Jesus’ harshest retorts and we, having 20/20 hindsight can snicker and say, “How could they have been so blind?”
But you know we often wear the same blinders as the Pharisees. They were appalled that Jesus ate with sinners, unclean people, and tax collectors! Don’t we all have that friend—that person your other friends just don’t ‘get” that person who maybe doesn’t quite fit in? Others may never understand her, but you do, you see something they don’t and so you continue to hang out with the outsider. You see them differently than others. You see beyond what may appear on the surface. For whatever reason you’ve taken a closer look-- you’ve opened your heart to theirs and they’ve open their heart to you. Out of that trust comes friendship. A friendship you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken the time to listen, to look and to fully see.
But to those who haven’t taken the time, your friendship with this person remains incomprehensible and hard to take. It seems wrong.
To the Pharisees, Jesus’ actions—his choice of friends, his teachings and his apparent disregard for the rituals of the Jewish faith—were incomprehensible, hard to take and wrong. Jesus was taking everything they loved, everything the held dear, everything they knew and messing with it. When all that you hold dear, all that is familiar and comfortable is threatened, its really easy to become hopping mad.
We in the Anglican tradition, in the Episcopal church are all too familiar with such feelings. The ordination of women, the “new” prayer book, the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson. People walked out the doors of this Cathedral because of such changes. Every denomination has these upheavals, every religion, every organization. Changes move us out of our comfort zones, and in this fast paced always changing world, comfort zones are important…comfort zones can be, dare I say, sacred.
Sacred cows. We all have them. Families, societies, religions, and parish churches in downtown Buffalo have them. The Pharisees had them too. A sacred cow is simply something which a group has determined to be untouchable, tamper proof, free from editing. Sacred cows generally develop over time and when asked to explain the origin of the sacred cow, we often just shrug and say “well we’ve always done it this way.” Because what matters isn’t how or why it started, what matters is that the action, whatever it is, has been sanctified through tradition.
Our liturgies are full of such traditions. Regardless of the original purpose, our liturgical actions, so familiar to us, have taken on the aura of sanctity.
A great deal of what we do here on a Sunday morning was at one point functional. Processions became a way to move large groups of people from one place to another in an orderly fashion, Sanctus bells helped mark actions happening just out of the congregation’s view, candles provided light before electricity, etc. Over time, though, these actions moved from functionality to sanctity.
But you see, many of these things are enhancements .Our worship is enhanced by candles, music, beautiful vestments and this glorious building. Enhanced. Not validated. Not necessary. Enhanced.
We set aside this place this time and these ceremonies—these instruments of our faith-- to be nourished in our faith, strengthened to do the work God has given us to do.
We get into trouble when our special clothing and music, our candles and bells, our incense and chanting becomes the end instead of the means. We get into trouble when we confuse our rituals with our faith.
And that is exactly what Jesus was saying to the Pharisees in today’s Gospel. Washing of hands is a way to respect God, to consume the gifts of God with reverence and humility. But washing of hands is not what makes something holy. What makes something holy is our full and complete faith in God and the trust that all we need is available through God. To be truly holy we must open ourselves up to that trust, we must release the stranglehold we have on our hearts and allow the Love of God to take up sole residence deep within us. If, after doing that, we engage in rituals to keep us focused, to place us in a holy state of mind, fine….but we must begin with our faith written on our hearts, for if we don’t begin there then our chanting, our kneeling, our processing, our vestments, our vessels and our glorious surroundings become, to use the words of our patron, St Paul, “a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal,” not signifying much of anything.
Jesus wasn’t against ritual, Jesus was against rituals that miss the point, rituals that usurp instead of enhance the Holy.
As I wrote this sermon Friday morning, the services for both Lt. Charles Mc Carthy and FF Jonathon Croom were being held around the corner at St. Joe’s. What I witnessed as each funeral cortège carried their bodies to the cathedral was a ritual which was steeped in the Holy, much pomp and circumstance, signifying something. A ritual which displayed the brother and sisterhood of firefighters the world over, a ritual which helped me remember that nothing is as holy as a person who will run into a burning building to save his brother or sister. Those firefighters who lined the streets in downtown Buffalo on Friday know what is sacred, they know what is Holy-- the rituals they employed to honor the lives of their comrades, helped us all to see the Holy. No doubt Jesus, heartbroken with the rest of us was also pleased, for these men and women clearly get what ritual is all about.
Jesus was telling the Pharisees then and is telling us now---don’t lose sight of the forest of faith for the trees of ritual. For it is the act of meeting the holy, it is the act of opening ourselves fully to the presence of God, which is sacred.
AMEN.
But you know we often wear the same blinders as the Pharisees. They were appalled that Jesus ate with sinners, unclean people, and tax collectors! Don’t we all have that friend—that person your other friends just don’t ‘get” that person who maybe doesn’t quite fit in? Others may never understand her, but you do, you see something they don’t and so you continue to hang out with the outsider. You see them differently than others. You see beyond what may appear on the surface. For whatever reason you’ve taken a closer look-- you’ve opened your heart to theirs and they’ve open their heart to you. Out of that trust comes friendship. A friendship you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken the time to listen, to look and to fully see.
But to those who haven’t taken the time, your friendship with this person remains incomprehensible and hard to take. It seems wrong.
To the Pharisees, Jesus’ actions—his choice of friends, his teachings and his apparent disregard for the rituals of the Jewish faith—were incomprehensible, hard to take and wrong. Jesus was taking everything they loved, everything the held dear, everything they knew and messing with it. When all that you hold dear, all that is familiar and comfortable is threatened, its really easy to become hopping mad.
We in the Anglican tradition, in the Episcopal church are all too familiar with such feelings. The ordination of women, the “new” prayer book, the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson. People walked out the doors of this Cathedral because of such changes. Every denomination has these upheavals, every religion, every organization. Changes move us out of our comfort zones, and in this fast paced always changing world, comfort zones are important…comfort zones can be, dare I say, sacred.
Sacred cows. We all have them. Families, societies, religions, and parish churches in downtown Buffalo have them. The Pharisees had them too. A sacred cow is simply something which a group has determined to be untouchable, tamper proof, free from editing. Sacred cows generally develop over time and when asked to explain the origin of the sacred cow, we often just shrug and say “well we’ve always done it this way.” Because what matters isn’t how or why it started, what matters is that the action, whatever it is, has been sanctified through tradition.
Our liturgies are full of such traditions. Regardless of the original purpose, our liturgical actions, so familiar to us, have taken on the aura of sanctity.
A great deal of what we do here on a Sunday morning was at one point functional. Processions became a way to move large groups of people from one place to another in an orderly fashion, Sanctus bells helped mark actions happening just out of the congregation’s view, candles provided light before electricity, etc. Over time, though, these actions moved from functionality to sanctity.
But you see, many of these things are enhancements .Our worship is enhanced by candles, music, beautiful vestments and this glorious building. Enhanced. Not validated. Not necessary. Enhanced.
We set aside this place this time and these ceremonies—these instruments of our faith-- to be nourished in our faith, strengthened to do the work God has given us to do.
We get into trouble when our special clothing and music, our candles and bells, our incense and chanting becomes the end instead of the means. We get into trouble when we confuse our rituals with our faith.
And that is exactly what Jesus was saying to the Pharisees in today’s Gospel. Washing of hands is a way to respect God, to consume the gifts of God with reverence and humility. But washing of hands is not what makes something holy. What makes something holy is our full and complete faith in God and the trust that all we need is available through God. To be truly holy we must open ourselves up to that trust, we must release the stranglehold we have on our hearts and allow the Love of God to take up sole residence deep within us. If, after doing that, we engage in rituals to keep us focused, to place us in a holy state of mind, fine….but we must begin with our faith written on our hearts, for if we don’t begin there then our chanting, our kneeling, our processing, our vestments, our vessels and our glorious surroundings become, to use the words of our patron, St Paul, “a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal,” not signifying much of anything.
Jesus wasn’t against ritual, Jesus was against rituals that miss the point, rituals that usurp instead of enhance the Holy.
As I wrote this sermon Friday morning, the services for both Lt. Charles Mc Carthy and FF Jonathon Croom were being held around the corner at St. Joe’s. What I witnessed as each funeral cortège carried their bodies to the cathedral was a ritual which was steeped in the Holy, much pomp and circumstance, signifying something. A ritual which displayed the brother and sisterhood of firefighters the world over, a ritual which helped me remember that nothing is as holy as a person who will run into a burning building to save his brother or sister. Those firefighters who lined the streets in downtown Buffalo on Friday know what is sacred, they know what is Holy-- the rituals they employed to honor the lives of their comrades, helped us all to see the Holy. No doubt Jesus, heartbroken with the rest of us was also pleased, for these men and women clearly get what ritual is all about.
Jesus was telling the Pharisees then and is telling us now---don’t lose sight of the forest of faith for the trees of ritual. For it is the act of meeting the holy, it is the act of opening ourselves fully to the presence of God, which is sacred.
AMEN.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Are You Going to Eat That?
Sermon for Pentecost X
Last Sunday I was having brunch with old friends. Our table bustled with the joyful noise of family: Cousins poking each other, sisters laughing, a mom and dad overseeing the whole display, brimming with glee. I was privileged to be part of this gathering, not being related in any technical way with the group. But there I was, invited into this family, through love. At the end of the meal, my friend Mark reaches over and, with a piece of toast, sops up my leftover egg. In some circles this may be considered crass or rude, but it wasn’t. No this was an act of love. An intimate act of familiarity between good friends. No worries about social mores, of what others may think---just one person being drawn to something the other has. This wasn’t a hostile acquisition. This man, whom I love like a brother, reached across in the familiarity of old friends and absorbed what I had left. It was one of the most intimate and loving acts I have ever witnessed. We laughed about it remarking, “he just couldn’t stand seeing that leftover yolk sitting there, he had to eat it.” Mark was drawn to what I had and, in our mutual love, he felt comfortable enough to take it. And I felt comfortable enough to give it.
While much grander than any egg yolk on a breakfast plate, God’s love also pulls, beckoning us to partake.
The German theologian, Karl Rahner describes this attraction, this pull, this being drawn toward as fundamental to our human nature. As Rahner sees it, the Holy Mystery which is God, indescribable, unidentifiable, difficult to grasp, is so attractive to us that if we just stop trying to explain, quantify and tame it allowing ourselves to be taken in to be drawn, we will find rest in the loving embrace of God.
The problem is, according to Rahner, while this draw toward the Holy Mystery is part of our human nature, within our DNA, so is our desire for definition, prescription and certainty. We may feel a tug toward God but before giving into that pull we want to dissect, inspect and diagnose it.
That’s what was happening in today’s Gospel , smack dab in the middle of what is known as John’s “Bread of Life Discourse.” Jesus is explaining that he isn’t just some itinerant preacher from the backwater of Galilee, son of Mary and Joseph….no he is God’s Son, God in the flesh sent to us by our creator who is so drawn to us, so wants to reach us that he came to walk among us, to bring us home.
It’s easy as we hear these gospel excerpts to get caught up in the earthly image the words depict: Jesus’ flesh is the Bread of Life, a bread we must partake of to enter into eternal life with God. Not an easy image—it never has been. The early church was often accused of cannibalism—I think it’s easy to understand why. To this day it’s a popular way for detractors to condemn Christianity in general and our own Anglican belief in the Real Presence at Eucharist in particular, but to get caught up in that minutiae is to miss the point.
As Biblical Scholar Ray Brown states: The Jesus of John used language of this world to refer to the realities of the world from which he came.” (pg378 Intro to New Testament).
Jesus is using language we are familiar with to try and explain God. To try and explain a mystery so incomprehensible, so impossible to describe that whenever humans have tried to put words to it, we’ve failed. Speak to anyone who has had a near death experience----they try to explain a bright light, a peacefulness beyond anything they’ve ever known…but in the end they admit--words fail them. The ancient Jews knew the inexplicableness of God so well so they would never attempt to speak the name of God... They knew then, as we know now, that comprehending God’s full nature is beyond us. God’s love is so immense and so all encompassing we cannot tame it, we cannot hold it and we cannot describe it.
And therein lies the tension so clearly described in today’s Gospel reading.
Jesus is talking about all things heavenly, but he is heard with ears firmly encased in all things earthly. Jesus states that he is the Bread of Life. Not the bread of Moses, not the bread of bakers, or the bread of grocery aisles, but the bread of God, the bread of eternal light, the bread of a love so great, so immense, so massive it defies description, breaking free of the constraints of language, it knows no bounds.
Yes, Jesus is the Bread of Life but to receive this bread, to eat of it always we must embrace God in the person of Jesus Christ, allowing ourselves to be caught up in God’s mutual draw: our draw toward God and God’s reaching out toward us. To be caught up in this love means we must empty ourselves of our inhibitions, our worries, our doubts and come to the altar of God to be fed--fed with a love which we don’t earn, a love we needn’t understand and a love we can’t define….a love which, when we let go, will wash over us, a love we can sop up with the toast of our souls, a love which. when we’re open to receiving it, is a never ending meal of sacrifice and thanksgiving nourishing us as nothing else can.
In a few moments we’ll break bread together, presenting ourselves at this altar full of failings, full of questions and full of fear. Leave those here and walk away filled with the Bread of Life. A Bread which, while incomprehensible to each and every one of us, nourishes us in ways we cannot imagine yet so desperately crave.
Amen+
Last Sunday I was having brunch with old friends. Our table bustled with the joyful noise of family: Cousins poking each other, sisters laughing, a mom and dad overseeing the whole display, brimming with glee. I was privileged to be part of this gathering, not being related in any technical way with the group. But there I was, invited into this family, through love. At the end of the meal, my friend Mark reaches over and, with a piece of toast, sops up my leftover egg. In some circles this may be considered crass or rude, but it wasn’t. No this was an act of love. An intimate act of familiarity between good friends. No worries about social mores, of what others may think---just one person being drawn to something the other has. This wasn’t a hostile acquisition. This man, whom I love like a brother, reached across in the familiarity of old friends and absorbed what I had left. It was one of the most intimate and loving acts I have ever witnessed. We laughed about it remarking, “he just couldn’t stand seeing that leftover yolk sitting there, he had to eat it.” Mark was drawn to what I had and, in our mutual love, he felt comfortable enough to take it. And I felt comfortable enough to give it.
While much grander than any egg yolk on a breakfast plate, God’s love also pulls, beckoning us to partake.
The German theologian, Karl Rahner describes this attraction, this pull, this being drawn toward as fundamental to our human nature. As Rahner sees it, the Holy Mystery which is God, indescribable, unidentifiable, difficult to grasp, is so attractive to us that if we just stop trying to explain, quantify and tame it allowing ourselves to be taken in to be drawn, we will find rest in the loving embrace of God.
The problem is, according to Rahner, while this draw toward the Holy Mystery is part of our human nature, within our DNA, so is our desire for definition, prescription and certainty. We may feel a tug toward God but before giving into that pull we want to dissect, inspect and diagnose it.
That’s what was happening in today’s Gospel , smack dab in the middle of what is known as John’s “Bread of Life Discourse.” Jesus is explaining that he isn’t just some itinerant preacher from the backwater of Galilee, son of Mary and Joseph….no he is God’s Son, God in the flesh sent to us by our creator who is so drawn to us, so wants to reach us that he came to walk among us, to bring us home.
It’s easy as we hear these gospel excerpts to get caught up in the earthly image the words depict: Jesus’ flesh is the Bread of Life, a bread we must partake of to enter into eternal life with God. Not an easy image—it never has been. The early church was often accused of cannibalism—I think it’s easy to understand why. To this day it’s a popular way for detractors to condemn Christianity in general and our own Anglican belief in the Real Presence at Eucharist in particular, but to get caught up in that minutiae is to miss the point.
As Biblical Scholar Ray Brown states: The Jesus of John used language of this world to refer to the realities of the world from which he came.” (pg378 Intro to New Testament).
Jesus is using language we are familiar with to try and explain God. To try and explain a mystery so incomprehensible, so impossible to describe that whenever humans have tried to put words to it, we’ve failed. Speak to anyone who has had a near death experience----they try to explain a bright light, a peacefulness beyond anything they’ve ever known…but in the end they admit--words fail them. The ancient Jews knew the inexplicableness of God so well so they would never attempt to speak the name of God... They knew then, as we know now, that comprehending God’s full nature is beyond us. God’s love is so immense and so all encompassing we cannot tame it, we cannot hold it and we cannot describe it.
And therein lies the tension so clearly described in today’s Gospel reading.
Jesus is talking about all things heavenly, but he is heard with ears firmly encased in all things earthly. Jesus states that he is the Bread of Life. Not the bread of Moses, not the bread of bakers, or the bread of grocery aisles, but the bread of God, the bread of eternal light, the bread of a love so great, so immense, so massive it defies description, breaking free of the constraints of language, it knows no bounds.
Yes, Jesus is the Bread of Life but to receive this bread, to eat of it always we must embrace God in the person of Jesus Christ, allowing ourselves to be caught up in God’s mutual draw: our draw toward God and God’s reaching out toward us. To be caught up in this love means we must empty ourselves of our inhibitions, our worries, our doubts and come to the altar of God to be fed--fed with a love which we don’t earn, a love we needn’t understand and a love we can’t define….a love which, when we let go, will wash over us, a love we can sop up with the toast of our souls, a love which. when we’re open to receiving it, is a never ending meal of sacrifice and thanksgiving nourishing us as nothing else can.
In a few moments we’ll break bread together, presenting ourselves at this altar full of failings, full of questions and full of fear. Leave those here and walk away filled with the Bread of Life. A Bread which, while incomprehensible to each and every one of us, nourishes us in ways we cannot imagine yet so desperately crave.
Amen+
Friday, August 7, 2009
Volunteer Opportunity for Youth
Wing Fest 2009 seeks help for Kids Fun Zone-
Wing Fest is happy to partner this year with WNED on the Kids Fun Zone and a fantastic special event on Sunday of the festival weekend. In keeping with the long-established literacy theme of the Kids Fun Zone, we are looking for help before/during/after the big Electric Company "main event" at noon on Sunday, Sept. 6 (the national circuit tour is the 5th stop on a 20-city launch of the "reinvented" Electric Company); and for all day on Saturday with a Sesame Street theme and many kids' activities in the "zone" tent for Ready-to-Learn, Sesame St. and Electric Company. Contact me here with your availability and contact info (name/address/ph/email); or for questions and/or more info/donations...
We are seeking:
--Volunteers! Mature 16 years or older; or mature 12-15 with a parent/chaperone--please notify if less than 18 yrs of age and provide parent contact info
We are looking for about 10 volunteers per shift for the Kids Fun Zone area (four hours if possible, minimum 2 hours please) and up to 50 volunteers during the "main event" on Sunday on the park stage
There will be a volunteer orientation at WNED Studios (140 Lower Terrace) from 4:30-6:00 on Thursday, August 27.
If you'd like to volunteer, but can't make the orientation, sign up for a slot and we will send you an info "packet"
--WNY Literacy agency info and giveaways (fridge magnets, key chains, DVDs, stickers, etc.--you know: CHOCHKEYS!)
--Books for kids' book give away. We anticipate needing about 1500 books (new or gently used) with a preference (where possible) for (age 0-12) Sesame St./Think Bright themes like all Sesame St., Martha Speaks, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Super Why, Arthur, etc. Also, books through teen age.
Tasks and activity centers will include:
Set-up and tear down for zone and "main event"
Electric Company Tour event registration
Runners (main stage and kids zone for "main event")
Post "show" interactive audience activities and redirection from ballpark to kids fun zone
Craft table/activity assistance (Monster Mural, picture frame decoration, word games/coloring, jump rope/ball bounce with rhyming songs, prize wheel, crown decoration)
Face painting/tattoo application (adhesive!)
Book give away table monitors/supervision
Please send in your numbers/names/contact info and times for sign-ups weekly so we can track our needs and keep filling slots for full coverage! email me at lva.sherry@gmail.com or fax to the studio at 845-7036 to attn: Pat Ragin.
Can you let us know what you might have in the way of chochkeys, books and service lit asap--with quantities?
If you can think of others to who might be a source for volunteers, please fwd this message and let us know who to contact to follow up.
Finally, if you are serving families, can you help us to publicize the Kids Fun Zone? Let us know if you can post a flyer...we'll send to you via e-file. We are hoping for good weather and a great turn-out!
Hoping to see you at Wing Fest 2009!
Wing Fest is happy to partner this year with WNED on the Kids Fun Zone and a fantastic special event on Sunday of the festival weekend. In keeping with the long-established literacy theme of the Kids Fun Zone, we are looking for help before/during/after the big Electric Company "main event" at noon on Sunday, Sept. 6 (the national circuit tour is the 5th stop on a 20-city launch of the "reinvented" Electric Company); and for all day on Saturday with a Sesame Street theme and many kids' activities in the "zone" tent for Ready-to-Learn, Sesame St. and Electric Company. Contact me here with your availability and contact info (name/address/ph/email); or for questions and/or more info/donations...
We are seeking:
--Volunteers! Mature 16 years or older; or mature 12-15 with a parent/chaperone--please notify if less than 18 yrs of age and provide parent contact info
We are looking for about 10 volunteers per shift for the Kids Fun Zone area (four hours if possible, minimum 2 hours please) and up to 50 volunteers during the "main event" on Sunday on the park stage
There will be a volunteer orientation at WNED Studios (140 Lower Terrace) from 4:30-6:00 on Thursday, August 27.
If you'd like to volunteer, but can't make the orientation, sign up for a slot and we will send you an info "packet"
--WNY Literacy agency info and giveaways (fridge magnets, key chains, DVDs, stickers, etc.--you know: CHOCHKEYS!)
--Books for kids' book give away. We anticipate needing about 1500 books (new or gently used) with a preference (where possible) for (age 0-12) Sesame St./Think Bright themes like all Sesame St., Martha Speaks, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Super Why, Arthur, etc. Also, books through teen age.
Tasks and activity centers will include:
Set-up and tear down for zone and "main event"
Electric Company Tour event registration
Runners (main stage and kids zone for "main event")
Post "show" interactive audience activities and redirection from ballpark to kids fun zone
Craft table/activity assistance (Monster Mural, picture frame decoration, word games/coloring, jump rope/ball bounce with rhyming songs, prize wheel, crown decoration)
Face painting/tattoo application (adhesive!)
Book give away table monitors/supervision
Please send in your numbers/names/contact info and times for sign-ups weekly so we can track our needs and keep filling slots for full coverage! email me at lva.sherry@gmail.com or fax to the studio at 845-7036 to attn: Pat Ragin.
Can you let us know what you might have in the way of chochkeys, books and service lit asap--with quantities?
If you can think of others to who might be a source for volunteers, please fwd this message and let us know who to contact to follow up.
Finally, if you are serving families, can you help us to publicize the Kids Fun Zone? Let us know if you can post a flyer...we'll send to you via e-file. We are hoping for good weather and a great turn-out!
Hoping to see you at Wing Fest 2009!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Today's Sermon
We’ve all seen it, some of us have done it, some of us have had it done to us. A parent and child are in the grocery store and the child is talking back, whining or is engaged in a full blown foot stomping, ear piercing temper tantrum. The parent is displaying amazing restraint, exuding a deadly calm as they say, “You know I love you, but right now I don’t like you very much.” In most cases, the love of a parent for a child is unconditional….but the like? Oh that’s conditional…there are times we really don’t like the one’s we love.
Is God, as the ultimate parent, any different? Considering scripture in general and today’s readings specifically, I don’t think so. I know God loves us, but I’m not sure God likes us all the time.
For the most part God liked Amos—
He was a reluctant prophet—God communicated with him through visions and Amos, instead of ignoring the difficult message he received, spoke of it-- for although reluctant, he was obedient, so when given a task from God, Amos followed through. The visions were clear to Amos: God was none too happy with Israel. Established ramrod straight as if on a plumb line they had gone askew and God, well God was disappointed, angry and perhaps at wit’s end. Right then, God didn’t like His people too much.
So God sends this tree dresser, this gardener, a regular guy out to tell the truth: God loves you but God doesn’t like you so much right now. And as the reading tells us, “the land couldn’t bear all his words.”
The people didn’t like what they heard. The people liked being loved, but they didn’t like being held accountable. Sometimes it is really hard to accept love—because with love comes great responsibility, responsibility to nurture that love, to respect it and to heed its demands. So they shut Amos out, they despised him, they rejected him—for they didn’t want to hear what was being said. …they didn’t want to hear that with God’s love comes expectation.
In today’s Gospel we have another instance of not responding to God’s love, of not wanting to listen, resulting in God not liking us too much.
Herod is a sad sap. Remember this is not the Herod of the nativity story, the fearless and rigid ruler who, realizing that a threat to his power had been born, vowed to kill every male child under the age of two just to be certain his rival would never touch him. That Herod was ruthless and sure of himself. This Herod? Not so sure of himself. Herod feared John, he knew he was a holy man for what he heard from John, while perplexing, was somehow appealing. He was drawn to John’s message--but while Herod was King of the land—a man to be respected and feared--he certainly didn’t wear the pants in the family. So although he liked John the Baptist, he feared his wife more, so John was imprisoned—not killed as Herodias desired, but no longer free to roam the Jordan valley with his message of deliverance. John was saved from death and Herod’s wife was placated.…until that fateful night when Herod, so taken with his daughter’s beauty and talent and eager to show his guests what a gracious father he was, offered her anything her heart desired. Then and only then, when faced with the prospect of losing face in front of his guests does Herod follow through on Herodias’ deep held desire: to have John killed. His heart burning with John’s words Herod throws it all away just to look good at a party. By denying what he was feeling about John—by saying no to the gift of John’s prophecy and then by killing him, Herod has rejected God. Herod has taken God’s love and simply said, ‘no thank you.”
We all do that, we deny love in order to save face. Peter did it, Herod did and you and I do it. Every time we sleep in on a Sunday morning instead of coming to church, or stay in front of the tv instead of helping out at Friends of the Night people, every time we decide not to volunteer when asked, every time we don’t pledge, we are denying God’s love. We may achieve a short term gain—extra sleep, more money in our pocket or time in our schedule, but in the long run? In the long run we are poorer for it. God doesn’t like us much when we choose a short term gain over the long term peace and love God offers.
While we can never match the fullness of God’s love, isn’t incumbent upon us to spread the love we do have? Isn’t God’s love, as bestowed upon us a clarion call to love one another? We must, as recipients of great love offer great love back.
Herod couldn’t do that—even when face to face with a prophet, face to face with a messenger from God, his heart burning with a recognition that this man brought him something no amount of fame fortune power or prestige could give him couldn’t do that. He rejected the love of God and killed the messenger, all for a few moments of temporal glory.
Israel in the days Amos, wouldn’t accept God’s love. They doubted, they feared they lost their faith and in so doing, they made God mad. Not mad enough to remove his love, but mad enough to make them mighty uncomfortable . God still loved them, but they were too caught up in the here and now to remember that love and to spread it.
We’re no different.
With God’s love comes great expectations. We must let our hearts burn with recognition, we must set out to love and serve the Lord in all we do. We must gather here proclaiming God’s love and then leave here, refreshed by God’s grace, to show the world that love. For that is what God likes, a people who know they are loved and in turn love each other in His Name. And as the Cathedral Church of St. Paul in downtown Buffalo New York that is our task—to respond to God’s love by working, living and loving in His Name. Amen.
Is God, as the ultimate parent, any different? Considering scripture in general and today’s readings specifically, I don’t think so. I know God loves us, but I’m not sure God likes us all the time.
For the most part God liked Amos—
He was a reluctant prophet—God communicated with him through visions and Amos, instead of ignoring the difficult message he received, spoke of it-- for although reluctant, he was obedient, so when given a task from God, Amos followed through. The visions were clear to Amos: God was none too happy with Israel. Established ramrod straight as if on a plumb line they had gone askew and God, well God was disappointed, angry and perhaps at wit’s end. Right then, God didn’t like His people too much.
So God sends this tree dresser, this gardener, a regular guy out to tell the truth: God loves you but God doesn’t like you so much right now. And as the reading tells us, “the land couldn’t bear all his words.”
The people didn’t like what they heard. The people liked being loved, but they didn’t like being held accountable. Sometimes it is really hard to accept love—because with love comes great responsibility, responsibility to nurture that love, to respect it and to heed its demands. So they shut Amos out, they despised him, they rejected him—for they didn’t want to hear what was being said. …they didn’t want to hear that with God’s love comes expectation.
In today’s Gospel we have another instance of not responding to God’s love, of not wanting to listen, resulting in God not liking us too much.
Herod is a sad sap. Remember this is not the Herod of the nativity story, the fearless and rigid ruler who, realizing that a threat to his power had been born, vowed to kill every male child under the age of two just to be certain his rival would never touch him. That Herod was ruthless and sure of himself. This Herod? Not so sure of himself. Herod feared John, he knew he was a holy man for what he heard from John, while perplexing, was somehow appealing. He was drawn to John’s message--but while Herod was King of the land—a man to be respected and feared--he certainly didn’t wear the pants in the family. So although he liked John the Baptist, he feared his wife more, so John was imprisoned—not killed as Herodias desired, but no longer free to roam the Jordan valley with his message of deliverance. John was saved from death and Herod’s wife was placated.…until that fateful night when Herod, so taken with his daughter’s beauty and talent and eager to show his guests what a gracious father he was, offered her anything her heart desired. Then and only then, when faced with the prospect of losing face in front of his guests does Herod follow through on Herodias’ deep held desire: to have John killed. His heart burning with John’s words Herod throws it all away just to look good at a party. By denying what he was feeling about John—by saying no to the gift of John’s prophecy and then by killing him, Herod has rejected God. Herod has taken God’s love and simply said, ‘no thank you.”
We all do that, we deny love in order to save face. Peter did it, Herod did and you and I do it. Every time we sleep in on a Sunday morning instead of coming to church, or stay in front of the tv instead of helping out at Friends of the Night people, every time we decide not to volunteer when asked, every time we don’t pledge, we are denying God’s love. We may achieve a short term gain—extra sleep, more money in our pocket or time in our schedule, but in the long run? In the long run we are poorer for it. God doesn’t like us much when we choose a short term gain over the long term peace and love God offers.
While we can never match the fullness of God’s love, isn’t incumbent upon us to spread the love we do have? Isn’t God’s love, as bestowed upon us a clarion call to love one another? We must, as recipients of great love offer great love back.
Herod couldn’t do that—even when face to face with a prophet, face to face with a messenger from God, his heart burning with a recognition that this man brought him something no amount of fame fortune power or prestige could give him couldn’t do that. He rejected the love of God and killed the messenger, all for a few moments of temporal glory.
Israel in the days Amos, wouldn’t accept God’s love. They doubted, they feared they lost their faith and in so doing, they made God mad. Not mad enough to remove his love, but mad enough to make them mighty uncomfortable . God still loved them, but they were too caught up in the here and now to remember that love and to spread it.
We’re no different.
With God’s love comes great expectations. We must let our hearts burn with recognition, we must set out to love and serve the Lord in all we do. We must gather here proclaiming God’s love and then leave here, refreshed by God’s grace, to show the world that love. For that is what God likes, a people who know they are loved and in turn love each other in His Name. And as the Cathedral Church of St. Paul in downtown Buffalo New York that is our task—to respond to God’s love by working, living and loving in His Name. Amen.
Friday, July 10, 2009
From General Convnetion
The General Convention of the Episcopal Church is meeting in Anaheim CA for 2 weeks. Periodically I will cut and paste some testimony or news coming out of the Convention. Below is something I received through the Episcopal Peace Fellowship today the "Catherine" who is speaking is not me. If only I could be that eloquent:
Episcopal News Service today reports testimony is overwhelmingly in favor of moving beyond B033 with new legislation.
A YAP Speaks:
Resolution C028 (or: Weddings and Wakes)
On Thursday afternoon, I testified before the Liturgy Committee in favor of Resolution C028, which would direct the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music to prepare additional, gender-neutral Book of Common Prayer rites for the celebration and blessing of marriage. My thoughts went roughly like this:
I am a proud Episcopalian, and I am also proud to announce my recent engagement to my partner of five years. We've set the date for 2011, and we want to be married in the Church we love - so, members of the committee, I'm counting on you.
I come from a sprawling Irish Catholic clan, for whom Vatican II is still a radical concept. My family has always treated my partner and me kindly, but with caution and restraint, and this is what I expected when I told them I was engaged. I did not expect my many cousins and aunts to greet the news with an outpouring of joy, but to my astonishment and delight, that is exactly what they did. Finally, I figured it out: They may not understand my sexuality, but they do understand weddings - and this, I think, is the critical lesson to our communion of believers.
I ask you today to submit yourselves to that same startling joy. Marriage is a good thing. It's a sacrament, a blessing, and a cause for celebration, and I believe opening its doors will draw our church together, not tear it apart.
Remember, I'm an old Irish Catholic - we party hardest at weddings and wakes. Please make this decision in time for my wedding, rather than my wake. Thank you.
Catherine
Episcopal News Service today reports testimony is overwhelmingly in favor of moving beyond B033 with new legislation.
A YAP Speaks:
Resolution C028 (or: Weddings and Wakes)
On Thursday afternoon, I testified before the Liturgy Committee in favor of Resolution C028, which would direct the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music to prepare additional, gender-neutral Book of Common Prayer rites for the celebration and blessing of marriage. My thoughts went roughly like this:
I am a proud Episcopalian, and I am also proud to announce my recent engagement to my partner of five years. We've set the date for 2011, and we want to be married in the Church we love - so, members of the committee, I'm counting on you.
I come from a sprawling Irish Catholic clan, for whom Vatican II is still a radical concept. My family has always treated my partner and me kindly, but with caution and restraint, and this is what I expected when I told them I was engaged. I did not expect my many cousins and aunts to greet the news with an outpouring of joy, but to my astonishment and delight, that is exactly what they did. Finally, I figured it out: They may not understand my sexuality, but they do understand weddings - and this, I think, is the critical lesson to our communion of believers.
I ask you today to submit yourselves to that same startling joy. Marriage is a good thing. It's a sacrament, a blessing, and a cause for celebration, and I believe opening its doors will draw our church together, not tear it apart.
Remember, I'm an old Irish Catholic - we party hardest at weddings and wakes. Please make this decision in time for my wedding, rather than my wake. Thank you.
Catherine
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Parable: Cracked Open
Sermon Preached on Sunday June 14, 2009
Parables as Jerome Berryman, the creator of Godly Play our church school curriculum says, are difficult to engage and we need to be ready for them. You see parables, when we’re ready to hear and explore them usually tell us just what we need to hear.
Parables are, at their core, morality tales which are dynamic stories, designed for us to re-visit again and again, each time taking a little something else out of them, something different, something more. What we need to hear, not necessarily what we want to hear. Oftentimes they remain closed to us, inexplicable, meaning nothing more than what the story says on the surface---regardless of how hard we try we don’t get it, the insight they’re designed to engender just doesn’t happen. Jesus encountered that a lot as he exclaims, “you mean you still don’t get it?” It’s not uncommon to stay on the top layer of the parable and move on, none the richer for it.
This week I was staying on the surface of the Gospel, ready to preach a fairly typical sermon about how the kingdom of heaven, God’s grace if you will, is like the mustard tree—a large shrub spreading all over and when its gained a foothold? Impossible to move.
But just as Berryman says in Godly Play, sometimes parables crack open and surprise us.
The seeds described in today’s parable, the growing and the mustard are pretty persistent—we’re told the growing seed sprouts and grows without the planter doing anything ---he sleeps through the whole process, and the mustard seed, smallest of all the seeds sown grows into the largest shrub on earth. These seeds have odds stacked against them, yet they prevail, they prevail because they are fed by a faith in God which creates things far beyond our wildest imaginings.
The odds, at times, seem stacked against us. The economy is terrible and our cathedral resources are strapped—we are really hurting. But if something so small, can grow into something so great then what’s stopping us from taking the seeds of our declining Cathedral resources and planting them, nurturing them and watching them grow into something greater than we could ever imagine?
Times are tough, our pledge income is down, our endowment is down, our loose offering receipts are down. Just this week we said good bye to our Cathedral Secretary her job eliminated due to budget constraints. The need in this City is great—the hungry, the homeless, the illiterate, the drug addicted, the mentally ill---there is a steady stream of need knocking on our Cathedral doors. If we can’t balance our budget how will we ever meet the increasing need of the world?
BUT, our donations to the food pantry are up, the Liberian community will graduate 60% more of their high school seniors this year than last, due in large part to the tutoring program we host ,my email request for some help with a Burmese refugee family has rendered very positive response—in the midst of deprivation and decline we have these bright spots.
Some small actions on the part of several of you does make a big difference. And right there---that’s the parable of the mustard seed … even though our financial situation feels weak what we’re able to piece together continually grows into something bigger and stronger than we, individually can imagine. That’s the lesson: each of us here has something we can give and we should for even if it seems meager, joined with others through faith it will grow into something much stronger.
Each of us sitting here today is gaining something by being here. Likewise, each of us here today is responsible for this place—the building, the worship and most importantly each of us sitting here today is responsible for the Word of God, as given to us through the love of Holy and Undivided Trinity. This love, and our work in its name, is what we are all about. Whether it’s giving a world class music education free of charge to children, whether it’s preserving a national historic landmark –a building which draws people in through its sheer beauty, whether it’s offering our space to refugees desperately trying to make a new life in the United States, whether it’s protecting people from the changes and chances of this life through the work of our Hunger Outreach committee---food for the hungry, clothes for the naked, housing for the homeless--or showing a four year old through Godly Play what the great stories of the Bible mean in our daily lives, our ministries at this Cathedral spread the Good News of Christ .
This place and you its people provide, like the mustard tree, a place of healing hope and hospitality to the world. I know it is scary right now and I know it is easy to cut your pledge ---or to not pledge at all—thinking that someone else will pay the bill---but that’s not how it works.
One big seed doesn’t grow into a beautiful house of worship, a variety of ministries to serve the world, a wonderful music program and glorious liturgies. No this place, and all that we do in its name, is sown through the individual seeds of each of us. A dollar here, a dollar there, teaching when asked, hosting when asked, helping when asked---these are the seeds of our faith and when sown together they grow into something more magnificent than we could ever imagine, something more stupendous than we could ever do alone.
In the words of the grace ending Morning Prayer (BCP page 102) remember:
Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.
Just like the Mustard Seed.
Amen.
Parables as Jerome Berryman, the creator of Godly Play our church school curriculum says, are difficult to engage and we need to be ready for them. You see parables, when we’re ready to hear and explore them usually tell us just what we need to hear.
Parables are, at their core, morality tales which are dynamic stories, designed for us to re-visit again and again, each time taking a little something else out of them, something different, something more. What we need to hear, not necessarily what we want to hear. Oftentimes they remain closed to us, inexplicable, meaning nothing more than what the story says on the surface---regardless of how hard we try we don’t get it, the insight they’re designed to engender just doesn’t happen. Jesus encountered that a lot as he exclaims, “you mean you still don’t get it?” It’s not uncommon to stay on the top layer of the parable and move on, none the richer for it.
This week I was staying on the surface of the Gospel, ready to preach a fairly typical sermon about how the kingdom of heaven, God’s grace if you will, is like the mustard tree—a large shrub spreading all over and when its gained a foothold? Impossible to move.
But just as Berryman says in Godly Play, sometimes parables crack open and surprise us.
The seeds described in today’s parable, the growing and the mustard are pretty persistent—we’re told the growing seed sprouts and grows without the planter doing anything ---he sleeps through the whole process, and the mustard seed, smallest of all the seeds sown grows into the largest shrub on earth. These seeds have odds stacked against them, yet they prevail, they prevail because they are fed by a faith in God which creates things far beyond our wildest imaginings.
The odds, at times, seem stacked against us. The economy is terrible and our cathedral resources are strapped—we are really hurting. But if something so small, can grow into something so great then what’s stopping us from taking the seeds of our declining Cathedral resources and planting them, nurturing them and watching them grow into something greater than we could ever imagine?
Times are tough, our pledge income is down, our endowment is down, our loose offering receipts are down. Just this week we said good bye to our Cathedral Secretary her job eliminated due to budget constraints. The need in this City is great—the hungry, the homeless, the illiterate, the drug addicted, the mentally ill---there is a steady stream of need knocking on our Cathedral doors. If we can’t balance our budget how will we ever meet the increasing need of the world?
BUT, our donations to the food pantry are up, the Liberian community will graduate 60% more of their high school seniors this year than last, due in large part to the tutoring program we host ,my email request for some help with a Burmese refugee family has rendered very positive response—in the midst of deprivation and decline we have these bright spots.
Some small actions on the part of several of you does make a big difference. And right there---that’s the parable of the mustard seed … even though our financial situation feels weak what we’re able to piece together continually grows into something bigger and stronger than we, individually can imagine. That’s the lesson: each of us here has something we can give and we should for even if it seems meager, joined with others through faith it will grow into something much stronger.
Each of us sitting here today is gaining something by being here. Likewise, each of us here today is responsible for this place—the building, the worship and most importantly each of us sitting here today is responsible for the Word of God, as given to us through the love of Holy and Undivided Trinity. This love, and our work in its name, is what we are all about. Whether it’s giving a world class music education free of charge to children, whether it’s preserving a national historic landmark –a building which draws people in through its sheer beauty, whether it’s offering our space to refugees desperately trying to make a new life in the United States, whether it’s protecting people from the changes and chances of this life through the work of our Hunger Outreach committee---food for the hungry, clothes for the naked, housing for the homeless--or showing a four year old through Godly Play what the great stories of the Bible mean in our daily lives, our ministries at this Cathedral spread the Good News of Christ .
This place and you its people provide, like the mustard tree, a place of healing hope and hospitality to the world. I know it is scary right now and I know it is easy to cut your pledge ---or to not pledge at all—thinking that someone else will pay the bill---but that’s not how it works.
One big seed doesn’t grow into a beautiful house of worship, a variety of ministries to serve the world, a wonderful music program and glorious liturgies. No this place, and all that we do in its name, is sown through the individual seeds of each of us. A dollar here, a dollar there, teaching when asked, hosting when asked, helping when asked---these are the seeds of our faith and when sown together they grow into something more magnificent than we could ever imagine, something more stupendous than we could ever do alone.
In the words of the grace ending Morning Prayer (BCP page 102) remember:
Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.
Just like the Mustard Seed.
Amen.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
And Then A Miracle Happens
Sermon preached at St. Paul's Cathedral, Trinity Sunday, Yr B
+
One of my favorite comic strips is The Far Side. One of the best shows a man resembling Albert Einstein standing in front of a blackboard upon which is diagramed some complex equation divided into three steps. Under the heading Step One are scribbles numbers and equations; likewise, Step Three, at the other end of the board, has similar markings. But under step Two, right in the middle of board are just five words: “And Then a Miracle Happens.” I love it----the notion that something so intriguing, an idea so historic, a formula which explains so much…could be boiled down to a “and then a miracle happens,’ is funny…and refreshing.
I empathize with the Einstein figure—how hard it is to explain something which seems so logical to you, yet it is so difficult to convey. No doubt the real Einstein had times when he wished he could just use Step Two! At times what we know so clearly deep inside is almost impossible to put into words.
It’s the same with certain Christian doctrines...the incarnation, resurrection, ascension, the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and The Trinity. No doubt the Bishops in Nicaea at the fourth century council which gave us the doctrine of the Holy Trinity struggled mightily to find the words to describe our faith. Words we recite each week in our Creed, words which, to this day, cause a lot of consternation both within Christianity and beyond.
Let’s face it, it can be very difficult to explain our faith to another. Just because we have experienced it doesn’t mean we understand it. It can be so big and overwhelming that words fail us and we end up with “Step 2:” and then a miracle happens!
Jesus may have felt the same way speaking to Nicodemus…Nicodemus, you see, wasn’t thinking BIG enough, he was so constrained by his adherence to the law and to the ways things had “always been done” that he couldn’t open himself up to understand the full magnitude of what he was experiencing through the ministry of Jesus. Nicodemus, a Pharisee had been raised to follow the rules—rules designed to please Yahweh a distant, all powerful loving yet also wrathful God. But being pleased isn’t God’s ultimate goal--
God’s ultimate goal is to be in relationship with us. Through the ages of prophets, patriarchs and matriarchs God has been trying to reach us—to connect with us. God wants to experience us and God wants us to experience God.
This is the purpose of the Trinity: God in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit gives God various routes to us and we, in turn gain various routes to God. A roadmap of sorts*.
The Trinity gives us, and God, a variety of ways to communicate, to connect, to relate.
Some of us connect to the parental “Father God” because we have caring nurturing parents or we long to have a caring nurturing parent---either way, for some of us the image of God as parent, as Father/Mother is comforting.
For others, the fleshy God, the incarnate word of Jesus is an easier image to connect with---a friend, a companion someone more accessible, more real, more tangible for us.
For others, there’s a sense that God is all in all—everywhere, in all things, of all things and deep within us experienced as intuition, inner voice etc. The Holy Spirit, while not physically present, is deep within us, expressing itself in our innermost thoughts, our soul searching and our heart’s desire.
Our heart’s desire, when we let ourselves feel it, is to receive God’s love, to accept God’s pursuit of us. The Holy Trinity comes for us in a number of ways because, beyond all human reason or reckoning, God wants to reach us!
When Jesus says in today’s Gospel “the wind blows where it chooses” I see an image of God in the person of the Holy Spirit, seeking us out reaching into the recesses of our hiding places to offer to us what God most wants to give: Love.
That’s the real miracle of our Christian faith: God so loves us, so wishes for us to accept that love, that God continues to come after us—as we heard in the Gospel: God so loved the world he gave his only Son (John 3:16)- his incarnate self to see and touch and taste that love, God gave us his eternal and all encompassing self, the Holy Spirit, to course through our very being at all times and in all places. This is a miracle indeed…and one we are called to proclaim…if only we could find the right words!
The three persons of the Trinity are traditionally described as Father Son and Holy Spirit but others prefer: Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier or: Artist, Rescuer, Companion and many other permutations to numerous to mention here. It is a challenge to find the right words to describe the mesmerizing, fantastic and most amazing experience of God working in our lives. This struggle continues to this day—not because God is elusive, but because God is so big, so ever-present that language proves insufficient in describing it.
That is why this Cathedral, each Sunday, offers three distinct liturgies utilizing various styles to express our love of God and God’s love for us.
In the course of 4 hours we in-- three distinct ways---proclaim the Glory of God. We do this because as Jesus explained to Nicodemus: We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen….and what we know and what we have seen of God is so huge and so varied we must use a variety of words and images to express it. And that’s ok, because it doesn’t matter so much how we say it. What matters is that we experience it; that we delve into a relationship with God dying to our limited human roadmap, allowing ourselves to be reborn into the life of “And then a Miracle Happens”---the Holy and Undivided Trinity, One God Creator Redeemer, Sustainer, Artist Rescuer Companion, Father Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
*CS Lewis Mere Christianity considers the doctrines of Christianity to be roadmaps to reality
+
One of my favorite comic strips is The Far Side. One of the best shows a man resembling Albert Einstein standing in front of a blackboard upon which is diagramed some complex equation divided into three steps. Under the heading Step One are scribbles numbers and equations; likewise, Step Three, at the other end of the board, has similar markings. But under step Two, right in the middle of board are just five words: “And Then a Miracle Happens.” I love it----the notion that something so intriguing, an idea so historic, a formula which explains so much…could be boiled down to a “and then a miracle happens,’ is funny…and refreshing.
I empathize with the Einstein figure—how hard it is to explain something which seems so logical to you, yet it is so difficult to convey. No doubt the real Einstein had times when he wished he could just use Step Two! At times what we know so clearly deep inside is almost impossible to put into words.
It’s the same with certain Christian doctrines...the incarnation, resurrection, ascension, the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and The Trinity. No doubt the Bishops in Nicaea at the fourth century council which gave us the doctrine of the Holy Trinity struggled mightily to find the words to describe our faith. Words we recite each week in our Creed, words which, to this day, cause a lot of consternation both within Christianity and beyond.
Let’s face it, it can be very difficult to explain our faith to another. Just because we have experienced it doesn’t mean we understand it. It can be so big and overwhelming that words fail us and we end up with “Step 2:” and then a miracle happens!
Jesus may have felt the same way speaking to Nicodemus…Nicodemus, you see, wasn’t thinking BIG enough, he was so constrained by his adherence to the law and to the ways things had “always been done” that he couldn’t open himself up to understand the full magnitude of what he was experiencing through the ministry of Jesus. Nicodemus, a Pharisee had been raised to follow the rules—rules designed to please Yahweh a distant, all powerful loving yet also wrathful God. But being pleased isn’t God’s ultimate goal--
God’s ultimate goal is to be in relationship with us. Through the ages of prophets, patriarchs and matriarchs God has been trying to reach us—to connect with us. God wants to experience us and God wants us to experience God.
This is the purpose of the Trinity: God in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit gives God various routes to us and we, in turn gain various routes to God. A roadmap of sorts*.
The Trinity gives us, and God, a variety of ways to communicate, to connect, to relate.
Some of us connect to the parental “Father God” because we have caring nurturing parents or we long to have a caring nurturing parent---either way, for some of us the image of God as parent, as Father/Mother is comforting.
For others, the fleshy God, the incarnate word of Jesus is an easier image to connect with---a friend, a companion someone more accessible, more real, more tangible for us.
For others, there’s a sense that God is all in all—everywhere, in all things, of all things and deep within us experienced as intuition, inner voice etc. The Holy Spirit, while not physically present, is deep within us, expressing itself in our innermost thoughts, our soul searching and our heart’s desire.
Our heart’s desire, when we let ourselves feel it, is to receive God’s love, to accept God’s pursuit of us. The Holy Trinity comes for us in a number of ways because, beyond all human reason or reckoning, God wants to reach us!
When Jesus says in today’s Gospel “the wind blows where it chooses” I see an image of God in the person of the Holy Spirit, seeking us out reaching into the recesses of our hiding places to offer to us what God most wants to give: Love.
That’s the real miracle of our Christian faith: God so loves us, so wishes for us to accept that love, that God continues to come after us—as we heard in the Gospel: God so loved the world he gave his only Son (John 3:16)- his incarnate self to see and touch and taste that love, God gave us his eternal and all encompassing self, the Holy Spirit, to course through our very being at all times and in all places. This is a miracle indeed…and one we are called to proclaim…if only we could find the right words!
The three persons of the Trinity are traditionally described as Father Son and Holy Spirit but others prefer: Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier or: Artist, Rescuer, Companion and many other permutations to numerous to mention here. It is a challenge to find the right words to describe the mesmerizing, fantastic and most amazing experience of God working in our lives. This struggle continues to this day—not because God is elusive, but because God is so big, so ever-present that language proves insufficient in describing it.
That is why this Cathedral, each Sunday, offers three distinct liturgies utilizing various styles to express our love of God and God’s love for us.
In the course of 4 hours we in-- three distinct ways---proclaim the Glory of God. We do this because as Jesus explained to Nicodemus: We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen….and what we know and what we have seen of God is so huge and so varied we must use a variety of words and images to express it. And that’s ok, because it doesn’t matter so much how we say it. What matters is that we experience it; that we delve into a relationship with God dying to our limited human roadmap, allowing ourselves to be reborn into the life of “And then a Miracle Happens”---the Holy and Undivided Trinity, One God Creator Redeemer, Sustainer, Artist Rescuer Companion, Father Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
*CS Lewis Mere Christianity considers the doctrines of Christianity to be roadmaps to reality
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Descent of the Holy Spirit Gives us Life
Tomorrow is Pentecost, when we remember the moment Christ, sitting at the right hand of God sends the Holy Spirit to fill us, lift us, inspire us, guide us, and at times carry us. We wear red and celebrate the birth of the church, the occasion of us being given the tool needed to carry on and to do God's will in all that we do. Tomorrow, we will welcome the newest member of the Church of God, Jaiden Cooper as he is baptized at the 11:15 Eucharist. At both 9 and 11:15 everyone will be offered a red balloon to carry in procession and hold throughout the day as we welcome the tongues of fire brought to inflame our hearts minds and souls. It is a GRAND day in the church and I hope as many of you as possible will join us. The Holy Spirit is our lifeblood, the Holy Spirit is the person of the Trinity who fills us, leads us and follows us. If we let the Holy Spirit have room and if we listen carefully for her direction, her nudging, we will know peace.
Tomorrow we will also recognize our Sunday School teachers and later in the day we'll bid the program a year a final adieu with the annual choir banquet (you don't want to miss the skit---Mother Liza and Mr Bruns in a Name that Hymn contest orchestrated by Ms Rockwood and Mother Cathy.
Tomorrow we will also recognize our Sunday School teachers and later in the day we'll bid the program a year a final adieu with the annual choir banquet (you don't want to miss the skit---Mother Liza and Mr Bruns in a Name that Hymn contest orchestrated by Ms Rockwood and Mother Cathy.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
'Calgon Don't Take Me Away"
Sermon preached at St. Paul's Cathedral, Buffalo NY 24 May 2009
+ “Calgon take me away” That is my sister Anne’s favorite saying when life gets too hectic and she’s feeling stressed. Remember that ad campaign from the 1980’s? A harried woman busy at work and at home, she would , at the end of the day finally achieve some sense of peace through the tranquility and solitude of a Calgon bath.
Calgon take me away was a promise of relief from the world, a respite, an escape.
We all have times when the world becomes too much for us and we just want to escape for a while. Bubble baths, vacations, zoning out in front of the computer or the TV, taking a long walk in the woods or along the waterfront, a bike ride through Delaware Park—these are all ways we escape the stress of the world. During the everyday world of our lives, at our jobs, in our classrooms, doing the mundane tasks of housework, yard work etc. don’t we yearn for, dream of and hope for the time of escape—a reprieve from the daily grind of the world? But can we ever find complete escape? We have a respite here and there, get re-charged, revitalized, but it always comes back to the same routine, and soon we find ourselves longing to be taken away again, be it via a Calgon bath or something else. We spend a lot of time trying to divide our lives—separate the necessary drudgery of day to day life from the joy of respite, of vacation, of the weekend.
Today’s reading from John is called Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer. In it Jesus is asking God to help us be in the world, but not of the world. To help us keep our focus on all God has given us, as opposed to focusing on all those earthly items we think we need---commodities vs. love, things vs grace. Jesus knew that we, in our humanity are drawn to things we can earn all the stuff we can acquire, instead of accepting all that is simply given to us.
He prays that God will help all of us see that it is US who make this world so tough. It is us who allow our existence to be divided between drudgery and joy. Yes this world does have temptations, responsibilities and duties which can drain us, distract us and lead us down an unfulfilling path, but the answer is not to leave the world, the answer is to be in the world to be fully in the world and to gather our strength, to refresh ourselves, through the love of God as shown to us in the person of Jesus. How do we do that? How do we stay in the world yet hold onto our faith? Especially when Jesus, our great high priest has just left this world, ascended to be at his Father’s right hand.
At this point in the church year we are in what anthropologists call a liminal state—we are betwixt and between. Right now we are between the glorious miracle of resurrection and the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit. The temporal example of death’s defeat at the hands of the resurrected one has given way to a less concrete guide---Jesus has left us with a promise, a promise that we’ll always have an advocate that if we’re patient and trusting the advocate will come in the form of the Holy Spirit—who is offered as guide, as respite, as hope as re-assurer.
How easy it is, during these in between days to long for the world as it was before---when Jesus was still here, when his wounds were in front of us when the miracle was something to be seen—making it much easier to believe. When the challenge, temptations and struggles of this world could be ignored, could be refused could be run from because we could turn to the Risen One, we could turn to the person of the Resurrected Jesus and he would tell us what to do and where to go.
A time when we didn’t need to rely on each other or on ourselves. A time when Jesus would be there—right there—to guide and direct us until we are finally through with this world and on to the next.
But you see, that’s what Jesus is trying to explain in today’s Gospel-- Calgon doesn’t need to take us away, we need to plunge into the world armed with the love of God as given to us in the person of Jesus, not to endure the world, but to improve the world. Not to deny the world, but to embrace the world, not to wait for the last day when all will be ok, but to live fully into today where we celebrate the gift of life given to each of us at our birth and renewed in each one of us as we come to the altar as a community of faith, eager to be fed.
That’s the point of Jesus’ prayer as heard today---he prays that we will learn from him and be fortified through the love of God so that our presence in the world will help creation not hinder it. Jesus wants us to be instruments of God’s love. Right here on earth. Our job is not to endure this life but to enhance this life. Our job isn’t to bide our time until the last day. We needn’t look for respite or escape. We need to simply practice our faith. Our job is to go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of God’s immeasurable love for us. In this time between Ascension and Pentecost, in between our daily grind and our peaceful vacation respite we are to live into the world and to bring to all those we encounter the peace and love of God, which surpasses all understanding. We can offer the world an eternal respite, something which lasts longer than a bubble bath, provides rest never attainable on a two week cruise, we offer the world what is promised us each week as we are invited to communion: The Gifts of God.
For together we are the people of God. +
+ “Calgon take me away” That is my sister Anne’s favorite saying when life gets too hectic and she’s feeling stressed. Remember that ad campaign from the 1980’s? A harried woman busy at work and at home, she would , at the end of the day finally achieve some sense of peace through the tranquility and solitude of a Calgon bath.
Calgon take me away was a promise of relief from the world, a respite, an escape.
We all have times when the world becomes too much for us and we just want to escape for a while. Bubble baths, vacations, zoning out in front of the computer or the TV, taking a long walk in the woods or along the waterfront, a bike ride through Delaware Park—these are all ways we escape the stress of the world. During the everyday world of our lives, at our jobs, in our classrooms, doing the mundane tasks of housework, yard work etc. don’t we yearn for, dream of and hope for the time of escape—a reprieve from the daily grind of the world? But can we ever find complete escape? We have a respite here and there, get re-charged, revitalized, but it always comes back to the same routine, and soon we find ourselves longing to be taken away again, be it via a Calgon bath or something else. We spend a lot of time trying to divide our lives—separate the necessary drudgery of day to day life from the joy of respite, of vacation, of the weekend.
Today’s reading from John is called Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer. In it Jesus is asking God to help us be in the world, but not of the world. To help us keep our focus on all God has given us, as opposed to focusing on all those earthly items we think we need---commodities vs. love, things vs grace. Jesus knew that we, in our humanity are drawn to things we can earn all the stuff we can acquire, instead of accepting all that is simply given to us.
He prays that God will help all of us see that it is US who make this world so tough. It is us who allow our existence to be divided between drudgery and joy. Yes this world does have temptations, responsibilities and duties which can drain us, distract us and lead us down an unfulfilling path, but the answer is not to leave the world, the answer is to be in the world to be fully in the world and to gather our strength, to refresh ourselves, through the love of God as shown to us in the person of Jesus. How do we do that? How do we stay in the world yet hold onto our faith? Especially when Jesus, our great high priest has just left this world, ascended to be at his Father’s right hand.
At this point in the church year we are in what anthropologists call a liminal state—we are betwixt and between. Right now we are between the glorious miracle of resurrection and the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit. The temporal example of death’s defeat at the hands of the resurrected one has given way to a less concrete guide---Jesus has left us with a promise, a promise that we’ll always have an advocate that if we’re patient and trusting the advocate will come in the form of the Holy Spirit—who is offered as guide, as respite, as hope as re-assurer.
How easy it is, during these in between days to long for the world as it was before---when Jesus was still here, when his wounds were in front of us when the miracle was something to be seen—making it much easier to believe. When the challenge, temptations and struggles of this world could be ignored, could be refused could be run from because we could turn to the Risen One, we could turn to the person of the Resurrected Jesus and he would tell us what to do and where to go.
A time when we didn’t need to rely on each other or on ourselves. A time when Jesus would be there—right there—to guide and direct us until we are finally through with this world and on to the next.
But you see, that’s what Jesus is trying to explain in today’s Gospel-- Calgon doesn’t need to take us away, we need to plunge into the world armed with the love of God as given to us in the person of Jesus, not to endure the world, but to improve the world. Not to deny the world, but to embrace the world, not to wait for the last day when all will be ok, but to live fully into today where we celebrate the gift of life given to each of us at our birth and renewed in each one of us as we come to the altar as a community of faith, eager to be fed.
That’s the point of Jesus’ prayer as heard today---he prays that we will learn from him and be fortified through the love of God so that our presence in the world will help creation not hinder it. Jesus wants us to be instruments of God’s love. Right here on earth. Our job is not to endure this life but to enhance this life. Our job isn’t to bide our time until the last day. We needn’t look for respite or escape. We need to simply practice our faith. Our job is to go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of God’s immeasurable love for us. In this time between Ascension and Pentecost, in between our daily grind and our peaceful vacation respite we are to live into the world and to bring to all those we encounter the peace and love of God, which surpasses all understanding. We can offer the world an eternal respite, something which lasts longer than a bubble bath, provides rest never attainable on a two week cruise, we offer the world what is promised us each week as we are invited to communion: The Gifts of God.
For together we are the people of God. +
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Youth Ministry
After reading a blog entry at:
http://raphael.doxos.com/2009/05/16/genx-ministry/comment-page-1/#comment-11241
I wanted to talk about youth ministry. Am I wrong to think that ministry to teens should focus on those who are no longer teens mentoring current teens? I fear that too much "youth ministry" is an attempt by people who are no longer teenagers holding onto a past which is, due to the passage of time, over.
Life is dynamic. Our job as living beings, is to move toward what's next. God's creation is a motion packed work in progress. No do-agains, no looking back...it's a movement toward the next, using the wisdom gained from what happened before to take the next step, to do the next right thing as best we can.
When given the honor of leading young people shouldn't we keep THEIR interests, THEIR goals, THEIR desires in the forefront? Not ours now and not what we wanted when we were teens? To use the teens of today to hold onto our youth is, at worst, abusive and at best, selfish.
http://raphael.doxos.com/2009/05/16/genx-ministry/comment-page-1/#comment-11241
I wanted to talk about youth ministry. Am I wrong to think that ministry to teens should focus on those who are no longer teens mentoring current teens? I fear that too much "youth ministry" is an attempt by people who are no longer teenagers holding onto a past which is, due to the passage of time, over.
Life is dynamic. Our job as living beings, is to move toward what's next. God's creation is a motion packed work in progress. No do-agains, no looking back...it's a movement toward the next, using the wisdom gained from what happened before to take the next step, to do the next right thing as best we can.
When given the honor of leading young people shouldn't we keep THEIR interests, THEIR goals, THEIR desires in the forefront? Not ours now and not what we wanted when we were teens? To use the teens of today to hold onto our youth is, at worst, abusive and at best, selfish.
Friday, May 8, 2009
NEXT YOUTH GROUP MEETING
May 17th after the Friends of Music Concert we will have a cook out and game night. OR instead of games we may need to practice our softball skills as St Martin in the Fields has a trophy which the Cathedral would dearly love to re-claim. Show up May 17th at 4:30 for more details......
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Life and Death...interrupted
Today's Sermon
Easter 3 Yr. B April 26, 2009
Alyssa was four years old when baby brother David arrived on the scene. One day, after David had been in the family for several months, Alyssa asked, “will David be here for Christmas?” “ Yes,” replied her mother. “Will he be here every Christmas?” Alyssa responded. “Why yes, he will be here for every Christmas from now on,” replied mom.
As her eyes opened to this new reality Alyssa responded with an emphatic, “RATS, ” and then marched up to her room, indignant.
New life is disruptive. Not only for older siblings but for anyone encountering something new in their midst.
Whether it ‘s actually a new life---a birth, an adoption a new co-worker or new neighbor the dynamic of a family, organization, or relationship is changed when someone new enters the mix. Our eyes are opened to a new reality, which is unfamiliar and cumbersome. As we get used to it, we may stumble, we may stammer we may even, in exasperation, exclaim: RATS and turn away.
Death disrupts as well. How many times did I, after my own father’s death, think, oh I need to call Dad and tell him about this or that or the other thing…only to be brought up short with the realization that I couldn’t call him. Ever. Family gatherings are not the same when grandparents, parents, siblings or children aren’t there----it changes the whole experience when someone is missing. It too is cumbersome and we may stumble and fall as we adjust [to this new reality].
The apostles, on this long long day of resurrection, experience both the disorienting events of death and then shockingly, new life. All in the same day. It began with mournful yet dutiful Mary Magdalene trudging to the tomb, to finish anointing the body of her beloved teacher. It continued with some disciples lamenting the loss of Jesus and all the events that lead up to the crucifixion as they journeyed toward Emmaus. And then, as we heard last week in John’s Gospel and today in Luke’s the eleven are huddled in the locked upper room, fearful, dismayed and disoriented by the events of the previous few days. The living are trying to regain their bearings following the death of a loved one…trying to figure out what to do next, how to carry on with someone missing.
But, in each instance, the grieving is interrupted, disrupted, and blown apart by the simple actions of the Risen Jesus—to Mary he simply says her name, to Thomas and the others he shows that he is flesh and bones, not a ghost, not a mirage.Through simple gestures of speech, touch and eating Jesus discloses the amazing truth: death has been replaced by life.
And suddenly, everything, once again, is changed. It isn’t as it was with Jesus dead, but it isn’t what it was when Jesus was alive either. It is hard to figure out. Just what is going on? Alleluia Christ is Risen. But what does that mean?
Now what? What do we do?
In a few hours this band of followers have gone from the disruption and disorientation of death to the disruption and disorientation of new life. They are, as we are told in two of our readings this morning, witnesses to these things.
Ask any police officer and they’ll tell you, put three witnesses in a room and you will get three different stories. Not because anyone is lying or being deliberately deceptive but because, when in a scary situation, when shocked by what we see, our perceptions get altered, our memories get confused, we aren’t sure of what it was we just saw. Or, we ARE sure of what we just saw, but we just can’t believe it.
I know that when I see something amazing---something tragic and horrible or miraculous and life giving, I have a tendency to stop dead in my tracks. It’s as if the automatic actions of living—breathing, talking, blinking, and walking--stop. Suddenly there is nothing we can do except gape, mouth open, eyes wide. It is as if we must open all our senses to comprehend what has just happened. The world as we have come to expect it, is changed, perhaps for just a moment, perhaps forever….but it is changed. ..and we need some time to adjust. Was what we just saw really what we just saw?
It takes some time for our eyes to be opened to this new reality.
Our readings early in this Easter season show us a whole group of people trying to come to grips with the disruptive events of life, death and then life again. A series of events unfolding at lightening speed leaving the disciples confused, frightened and seemingly in the dark about the new reality of Easter. But then, the risen Jesus opens their eyes and their hearts burn with a recognition which, while familiar, is also incomprehensible.
Jesus opened their eyes so they could finally begin to see, to comprehend to understand. It was a process of fits and starts as they tried to regain their footing in this new reality. Now it’s easy to scoff at the disciples—how could they NOT see? But truth be told, how often do we not see?
In the collect for today we ask that the eyes of our faith may be opened to behold the redeeming work of God in the world. Have our eyes been opened? If so, what do these opened eyes see?
Don’t we see the Risen Christ in the eyes of our co-workers, in the chatter of carpool kids in the backseat of the car, in the laugh shared at coffee hour, in the wave another driver gives us at the stop sign. You see, when our eyes are opened through our faith we find the Risen One everywhere, in the brokenness of another’s hurt, a hurt we try to soothe by listening, by being present. When our eyes are opened through our faith the risen Christ is found when we bring a bag of rice for the food pantry, when we linger with the elderly neighbor who is lonely. Our eyes are opened to see the Risen Christ when we support our youth and children. Our eyes are opened to the Risen Christ, our hands touch his wounds when we remember that the welfare of the world we live in, the caretaking of creation as bestowed to us by God , is dependent on us living dying and rising to life again every single day. It may be disruptive, it may be uncomfortable, it may be messy, but such is a life with a savior who has redeemed us to be an Easter people.
Amen.
Easter 3 Yr. B April 26, 2009
Alyssa was four years old when baby brother David arrived on the scene. One day, after David had been in the family for several months, Alyssa asked, “will David be here for Christmas?” “ Yes,” replied her mother. “Will he be here every Christmas?” Alyssa responded. “Why yes, he will be here for every Christmas from now on,” replied mom.
As her eyes opened to this new reality Alyssa responded with an emphatic, “RATS, ” and then marched up to her room, indignant.
New life is disruptive. Not only for older siblings but for anyone encountering something new in their midst.
Whether it ‘s actually a new life---a birth, an adoption a new co-worker or new neighbor the dynamic of a family, organization, or relationship is changed when someone new enters the mix. Our eyes are opened to a new reality, which is unfamiliar and cumbersome. As we get used to it, we may stumble, we may stammer we may even, in exasperation, exclaim: RATS and turn away.
Death disrupts as well. How many times did I, after my own father’s death, think, oh I need to call Dad and tell him about this or that or the other thing…only to be brought up short with the realization that I couldn’t call him. Ever. Family gatherings are not the same when grandparents, parents, siblings or children aren’t there----it changes the whole experience when someone is missing. It too is cumbersome and we may stumble and fall as we adjust [to this new reality].
The apostles, on this long long day of resurrection, experience both the disorienting events of death and then shockingly, new life. All in the same day. It began with mournful yet dutiful Mary Magdalene trudging to the tomb, to finish anointing the body of her beloved teacher. It continued with some disciples lamenting the loss of Jesus and all the events that lead up to the crucifixion as they journeyed toward Emmaus. And then, as we heard last week in John’s Gospel and today in Luke’s the eleven are huddled in the locked upper room, fearful, dismayed and disoriented by the events of the previous few days. The living are trying to regain their bearings following the death of a loved one…trying to figure out what to do next, how to carry on with someone missing.
But, in each instance, the grieving is interrupted, disrupted, and blown apart by the simple actions of the Risen Jesus—to Mary he simply says her name, to Thomas and the others he shows that he is flesh and bones, not a ghost, not a mirage.Through simple gestures of speech, touch and eating Jesus discloses the amazing truth: death has been replaced by life.
And suddenly, everything, once again, is changed. It isn’t as it was with Jesus dead, but it isn’t what it was when Jesus was alive either. It is hard to figure out. Just what is going on? Alleluia Christ is Risen. But what does that mean?
Now what? What do we do?
In a few hours this band of followers have gone from the disruption and disorientation of death to the disruption and disorientation of new life. They are, as we are told in two of our readings this morning, witnesses to these things.
Ask any police officer and they’ll tell you, put three witnesses in a room and you will get three different stories. Not because anyone is lying or being deliberately deceptive but because, when in a scary situation, when shocked by what we see, our perceptions get altered, our memories get confused, we aren’t sure of what it was we just saw. Or, we ARE sure of what we just saw, but we just can’t believe it.
I know that when I see something amazing---something tragic and horrible or miraculous and life giving, I have a tendency to stop dead in my tracks. It’s as if the automatic actions of living—breathing, talking, blinking, and walking--stop. Suddenly there is nothing we can do except gape, mouth open, eyes wide. It is as if we must open all our senses to comprehend what has just happened. The world as we have come to expect it, is changed, perhaps for just a moment, perhaps forever….but it is changed. ..and we need some time to adjust. Was what we just saw really what we just saw?
It takes some time for our eyes to be opened to this new reality.
Our readings early in this Easter season show us a whole group of people trying to come to grips with the disruptive events of life, death and then life again. A series of events unfolding at lightening speed leaving the disciples confused, frightened and seemingly in the dark about the new reality of Easter. But then, the risen Jesus opens their eyes and their hearts burn with a recognition which, while familiar, is also incomprehensible.
Jesus opened their eyes so they could finally begin to see, to comprehend to understand. It was a process of fits and starts as they tried to regain their footing in this new reality. Now it’s easy to scoff at the disciples—how could they NOT see? But truth be told, how often do we not see?
In the collect for today we ask that the eyes of our faith may be opened to behold the redeeming work of God in the world. Have our eyes been opened? If so, what do these opened eyes see?
Don’t we see the Risen Christ in the eyes of our co-workers, in the chatter of carpool kids in the backseat of the car, in the laugh shared at coffee hour, in the wave another driver gives us at the stop sign. You see, when our eyes are opened through our faith we find the Risen One everywhere, in the brokenness of another’s hurt, a hurt we try to soothe by listening, by being present. When our eyes are opened through our faith the risen Christ is found when we bring a bag of rice for the food pantry, when we linger with the elderly neighbor who is lonely. Our eyes are opened to see the Risen Christ when we support our youth and children. Our eyes are opened to the Risen Christ, our hands touch his wounds when we remember that the welfare of the world we live in, the caretaking of creation as bestowed to us by God , is dependent on us living dying and rising to life again every single day. It may be disruptive, it may be uncomfortable, it may be messy, but such is a life with a savior who has redeemed us to be an Easter people.
Amen.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Waiting, watching and remembering.
Maundy Thursday sermon, April 9, 2009
***The Gospel used at the Cathedral is Luke 22:14-30 as the foot washing is not practiced at St. Paul’s. ***
+Some 16 years ago as my father lay dying my extended family and I gathered round his hospital bed telling stories of the past-- funny stories about George, our dad, grandfather, husband and friend. We laughed and laughed at the memories until finally my mother noticed that his labored breathing had stopped. Dad was gone.
His final journey had been arduous and for the last three weeks of his life he was in the hospital, slowly descending into the grips of death. It was during those weeks and most especially those final days and hours that we had the opportunity to bear witness to Dad’s journey. During those final days we waited and watched with him. Many times there were no words, it was simply our presence that gave him the strength he needed to die. The memory of that waiting and watching with Dad will always be with me and sharing those memories as a family strengthens us, those memories make us who we are. Remembering that time is important because remembering the past helps us navigate the present. Walking with Dad and remembering that walk, is a big part of who I am today. Remembering forms us into who we are now.
Jesus took these two points—the walking with now and the remembering later and made them the focal point of that Thursday evening supper during the first Holy Week. “wait with me. Be with me as I move toward the inevitable. And then, when it is over, remember it all, remember me.” Jesus needed his friends to wait with him, to watch with him, to walk this final walk toward death with him. The week had such a promising start--the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but then over the next few days the triumph changed to despair as one by one the supporters fell away, denying him, deserting him, turning on him.
Tonight we meet Jesus halfway through this week, when all the questioning, the fear, the denial and the betrayal has been put in motion. ..the disciples are arguing, debating and gossiping…no one seems t o be paying attention. It’s a Seder, the ancient Jewish meal remembering Jewish people’s liberation from slavery, a story each of the disciples knew, a story integral to their Jewish identity. It’s possible this telling of the Passover story had become rote for them, they were just going through the ritual motions. But Jesus needed them to pay attention because on this night, as he had done so many times in the past, Jesus would take something utterly familiar, something very comfortable and turn it upside down and inside out.
Jesus knew that remembering was a key component of community building and he knew that the community of the burgeoning primitive church was going to need strength, a strength built on the telling of stories, built on the remembering of what came before.
Every one of us has stories, stories which have been handed down to us by parents and grandparents. Whatever the specifics we tell and re-tell these tales because they contribute to our identity, they make us who we are.
Jesus, on this night so long ago didn’t want his friends to forget his story. Not because he was some kind of egomaniac but because he knew the value of telling a story. Just as the story telling at my father’s bedside forged our family and friends into a stronger bond, Jesus wanted his friends to wait with him, to watch with him and then when he was gone, to tell the story, to remember and to be strengthened by the story enough to keep it going. He wants the same for us--for the work Jesus started is not yet finished and we as inheritors of the faith must carry it on. We must ingest these stories of Jesus. And to carry on the work we must claim the stories as our own, not only by telling them but by living them.
That’s why we have the Eucharist every week, because not only do we need to say it and hear it, we need to be it. So we take, we eat and we remember.
In a few minutes after sharing in the Eucharist one last time, we’ll strip the altar, while lamenting the betrayal, loss and despair of the next three days. We’ll strip ourselves bare to feel the pain and loss of Jesus’ death. We do this not because we need to be punished, not because we need to hurt. We do this so we can remember. So we’ll remember not just with words, not just with thoughts, but with actions. For when we strip our sacred space of all that is familiar, when we enter into the darkness of this long night, waiting watching and weeping with Christ, we remember. And through our remembering we are strengthened. Each time we take and eat we are remembering the story and with each remembrance we gain strength. The strength needed to continue to do the work God has given us to do. Amen.
***The Gospel used at the Cathedral is Luke 22:14-30 as the foot washing is not practiced at St. Paul’s. ***
+Some 16 years ago as my father lay dying my extended family and I gathered round his hospital bed telling stories of the past-- funny stories about George, our dad, grandfather, husband and friend. We laughed and laughed at the memories until finally my mother noticed that his labored breathing had stopped. Dad was gone.
His final journey had been arduous and for the last three weeks of his life he was in the hospital, slowly descending into the grips of death. It was during those weeks and most especially those final days and hours that we had the opportunity to bear witness to Dad’s journey. During those final days we waited and watched with him. Many times there were no words, it was simply our presence that gave him the strength he needed to die. The memory of that waiting and watching with Dad will always be with me and sharing those memories as a family strengthens us, those memories make us who we are. Remembering that time is important because remembering the past helps us navigate the present. Walking with Dad and remembering that walk, is a big part of who I am today. Remembering forms us into who we are now.
Jesus took these two points—the walking with now and the remembering later and made them the focal point of that Thursday evening supper during the first Holy Week. “wait with me. Be with me as I move toward the inevitable. And then, when it is over, remember it all, remember me.” Jesus needed his friends to wait with him, to watch with him, to walk this final walk toward death with him. The week had such a promising start--the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but then over the next few days the triumph changed to despair as one by one the supporters fell away, denying him, deserting him, turning on him.
Tonight we meet Jesus halfway through this week, when all the questioning, the fear, the denial and the betrayal has been put in motion. ..the disciples are arguing, debating and gossiping…no one seems t o be paying attention. It’s a Seder, the ancient Jewish meal remembering Jewish people’s liberation from slavery, a story each of the disciples knew, a story integral to their Jewish identity. It’s possible this telling of the Passover story had become rote for them, they were just going through the ritual motions. But Jesus needed them to pay attention because on this night, as he had done so many times in the past, Jesus would take something utterly familiar, something very comfortable and turn it upside down and inside out.
Jesus knew that remembering was a key component of community building and he knew that the community of the burgeoning primitive church was going to need strength, a strength built on the telling of stories, built on the remembering of what came before.
Every one of us has stories, stories which have been handed down to us by parents and grandparents. Whatever the specifics we tell and re-tell these tales because they contribute to our identity, they make us who we are.
Jesus, on this night so long ago didn’t want his friends to forget his story. Not because he was some kind of egomaniac but because he knew the value of telling a story. Just as the story telling at my father’s bedside forged our family and friends into a stronger bond, Jesus wanted his friends to wait with him, to watch with him and then when he was gone, to tell the story, to remember and to be strengthened by the story enough to keep it going. He wants the same for us--for the work Jesus started is not yet finished and we as inheritors of the faith must carry it on. We must ingest these stories of Jesus. And to carry on the work we must claim the stories as our own, not only by telling them but by living them.
That’s why we have the Eucharist every week, because not only do we need to say it and hear it, we need to be it. So we take, we eat and we remember.
In a few minutes after sharing in the Eucharist one last time, we’ll strip the altar, while lamenting the betrayal, loss and despair of the next three days. We’ll strip ourselves bare to feel the pain and loss of Jesus’ death. We do this not because we need to be punished, not because we need to hurt. We do this so we can remember. So we’ll remember not just with words, not just with thoughts, but with actions. For when we strip our sacred space of all that is familiar, when we enter into the darkness of this long night, waiting watching and weeping with Christ, we remember. And through our remembering we are strengthened. Each time we take and eat we are remembering the story and with each remembrance we gain strength. The strength needed to continue to do the work God has given us to do. Amen.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Crying Our Way to Easter
Yesterday's sermon:
+
Cry. You have to cry.
Crying is a necessary part of life--- for crying—I mean a real good ol’ stomach wrenching sob-fest—is cleansing. It clears our hearts and minds and renews, as the psalmist tells us this morning, a “right spirit within us.”(Psalm 51)
Crying can be very difficult for some people—it represents a loss of control, a weakness that they do not—sometimes for very good reason---want to expose. But without crying, the anguish which fuels the tears is turned back inward where it can slowly eat away at us until we are languishing in darkness with seemingly no way out.
Crying breaks open the anguish, pushing the dark away so the light can shine through…it’s important to cry.
Sometimes we cry with joy, sometimes we cry with rage, sometimes we cry with fear, sometimes we cry with disappointment and sometimes we cry with heartbreak.
Everyone experiences tears and heartbreak, even God.
I am convinced God cries. And scripture tells us, Jesus wept.
God’s heartbreak has been chronicled throughout Lent--covenants made, covenants broken, God disappointed, God heartbroken by his creation.
The heartbreak of Jesus is also known--he wailed with sadness at the death of his friend Lazarus, he wailed with frustration at the money changers in the temple, and he wailed with fear and pain in the garden and on the cross.
Today’s Gospel gives us a hint of this heartbreak-- Jesus asks God if the suffering he is about to endure is really necessary. Isn’t there another way? Another way to change the heart of humanity, another way to bring in a completely different type of love?
No. God is clear, this is what needs to happen. The heartbreak of God at the death of Jesus is needed. The tears are needed, the agony has to happen. Not because we have a malicious, hurtful God, but because sometimes things need to break in order to grow .
This happens all the time. Something breaks and as a result we find ourselves stronger. Don’t you think this economic crisis will, in the end, bring us into a new way of doing business, into a new economic reality, which will be stronger, more resistant to the darkness of greed?
Think about learning something new. Skiing, golfing, the computer, a language. Aren’t the mistakes made while trying something new helpful? We learn from them. And when we learn from our mistakes something new emerges….a light bulb goes off and we are changed. Our mistakes make us different. Our mistakes make us better. Our mistakes strengthen us.
Mistakes, breaking, crying, hurting—all of this is part of our humanity, part of us. It is inevitable that we will break, cry and hurt…and it’s inevitable we will come out of it a little stronger.
You know why Jesus’ ministry was focused on the fringe of society the outcasts? Because—I think-- such people had a lot of heartbreak and their broken-ness made them ripe for growth.
Why is that? Why do we have to break a little to get stronger? Why is it that we have to cry to get clearer? Why is it that we have to hurt to grow?
Because each time we break, each time we cry, each time we hurt we open up more space for God .
And that’s all God needs---space. That’s why my favorite day of the Triduum—the three days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday is Holy Saturday. The day of silence, the day of death, the day of quiet. All the betrayal and agony leads to this empty space, this abyss this loneliness this nothingness. A day when we have been stripped of everything and are able, finally to receive the full measure of God’s love. Because, as Mother Liza reminded us last week in her sermon, we need to receive God. And to receive God we need to be empty. As God told the prophet Jeremiah in today’s Old Testament lesson, this covenant, this final covenant between God and us is written on our hearts, it is inside of us, underneath all the crud we pile up. That’s why we fast, that’s why we quiet ourselves that’s why we discipline ourselves, we strip ourselves so that the love of God can grow from that spot deep within us where God placed his loving touch while we were still in our mother’s womb.
Jesus in his human-ness needed this broken-ness as well. Jesus had agony, Jesus had heartbreak, Jesus shed tears. Jesus in his human nature needed to break, he needed to agonize, he needed to cry---he needed to clear out space for the divine light to shine through. Jesus’ cried out in agony not because he didn’t want to do what he had to do, but because the only way he could do what he had to do was to break his human form so his divine self could shine through. To reach his full stature as The Christ, Jesus had to break.
Sometimes we must break in order to grow. Sometimes we must empty ourselves to be filled. And sometimes we must cry to be cleansed.
That’s our job as Lent winds down….to allow all our discipline of these forty days strip us bare breaking open our hearts and cleansing ourselves with tears. When we do that we allow a new and right spirit to take up residence deep with in us—a spirit of wonder, love and surprise found at the empty tomb on Easter morning.
Because no matter how much we cry, no matter how much we wail, no matter how much we try to avoid it, God loves us so much he gave us his Son to take the human journey with us and for once and for all open up a space wide enough for each of us to enter, stripped bare and ready to receive a new life in Christ. A life cleansed by tears and illuminated with divine strength.
Amen.
+
Cry. You have to cry.
Crying is a necessary part of life--- for crying—I mean a real good ol’ stomach wrenching sob-fest—is cleansing. It clears our hearts and minds and renews, as the psalmist tells us this morning, a “right spirit within us.”(Psalm 51)
Crying can be very difficult for some people—it represents a loss of control, a weakness that they do not—sometimes for very good reason---want to expose. But without crying, the anguish which fuels the tears is turned back inward where it can slowly eat away at us until we are languishing in darkness with seemingly no way out.
Crying breaks open the anguish, pushing the dark away so the light can shine through…it’s important to cry.
Sometimes we cry with joy, sometimes we cry with rage, sometimes we cry with fear, sometimes we cry with disappointment and sometimes we cry with heartbreak.
Everyone experiences tears and heartbreak, even God.
I am convinced God cries. And scripture tells us, Jesus wept.
God’s heartbreak has been chronicled throughout Lent--covenants made, covenants broken, God disappointed, God heartbroken by his creation.
The heartbreak of Jesus is also known--he wailed with sadness at the death of his friend Lazarus, he wailed with frustration at the money changers in the temple, and he wailed with fear and pain in the garden and on the cross.
Today’s Gospel gives us a hint of this heartbreak-- Jesus asks God if the suffering he is about to endure is really necessary. Isn’t there another way? Another way to change the heart of humanity, another way to bring in a completely different type of love?
No. God is clear, this is what needs to happen. The heartbreak of God at the death of Jesus is needed. The tears are needed, the agony has to happen. Not because we have a malicious, hurtful God, but because sometimes things need to break in order to grow .
This happens all the time. Something breaks and as a result we find ourselves stronger. Don’t you think this economic crisis will, in the end, bring us into a new way of doing business, into a new economic reality, which will be stronger, more resistant to the darkness of greed?
Think about learning something new. Skiing, golfing, the computer, a language. Aren’t the mistakes made while trying something new helpful? We learn from them. And when we learn from our mistakes something new emerges….a light bulb goes off and we are changed. Our mistakes make us different. Our mistakes make us better. Our mistakes strengthen us.
Mistakes, breaking, crying, hurting—all of this is part of our humanity, part of us. It is inevitable that we will break, cry and hurt…and it’s inevitable we will come out of it a little stronger.
You know why Jesus’ ministry was focused on the fringe of society the outcasts? Because—I think-- such people had a lot of heartbreak and their broken-ness made them ripe for growth.
Why is that? Why do we have to break a little to get stronger? Why is it that we have to cry to get clearer? Why is it that we have to hurt to grow?
Because each time we break, each time we cry, each time we hurt we open up more space for God .
And that’s all God needs---space. That’s why my favorite day of the Triduum—the three days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday is Holy Saturday. The day of silence, the day of death, the day of quiet. All the betrayal and agony leads to this empty space, this abyss this loneliness this nothingness. A day when we have been stripped of everything and are able, finally to receive the full measure of God’s love. Because, as Mother Liza reminded us last week in her sermon, we need to receive God. And to receive God we need to be empty. As God told the prophet Jeremiah in today’s Old Testament lesson, this covenant, this final covenant between God and us is written on our hearts, it is inside of us, underneath all the crud we pile up. That’s why we fast, that’s why we quiet ourselves that’s why we discipline ourselves, we strip ourselves so that the love of God can grow from that spot deep within us where God placed his loving touch while we were still in our mother’s womb.
Jesus in his human-ness needed this broken-ness as well. Jesus had agony, Jesus had heartbreak, Jesus shed tears. Jesus in his human nature needed to break, he needed to agonize, he needed to cry---he needed to clear out space for the divine light to shine through. Jesus’ cried out in agony not because he didn’t want to do what he had to do, but because the only way he could do what he had to do was to break his human form so his divine self could shine through. To reach his full stature as The Christ, Jesus had to break.
Sometimes we must break in order to grow. Sometimes we must empty ourselves to be filled. And sometimes we must cry to be cleansed.
That’s our job as Lent winds down….to allow all our discipline of these forty days strip us bare breaking open our hearts and cleansing ourselves with tears. When we do that we allow a new and right spirit to take up residence deep with in us—a spirit of wonder, love and surprise found at the empty tomb on Easter morning.
Because no matter how much we cry, no matter how much we wail, no matter how much we try to avoid it, God loves us so much he gave us his Son to take the human journey with us and for once and for all open up a space wide enough for each of us to enter, stripped bare and ready to receive a new life in Christ. A life cleansed by tears and illuminated with divine strength.
Amen.
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