In the beginning: Our True Christmas Story Christmas 1 Dec 27, 2015 Final sermon

+In the beginning….well in the beginning there wasn’t much.
This is how the creation story begins in Godly Play, the children’s Sunday school curriculum.
And it’s true; in the beginning there wasn’t much of anything. At least nothing we would recognize, nothing that fits the limits of our human imaginings.
For in the beginning there was, simply, Love.
And not just any Love but capital L Love, the original Love. And this Love, the source of all Love could not, would not, and will not be contained.
So it sprung forth. And is still springing forth. It won’t end.
Love sprang forth. As light. A light to enlighten the nations, to enlighten the people, to illuminate all. Light was the first offspring of Love…
And this light? This light isn’t just any light; it is the Light, which was made from Love. It’s the light which illuminates eternity. It is the Light of Christ. It is the Light of God. It is the Fiery Light of the Holy Spirit.
 This is the light of all people. Forever.
The Light and the Love from which it sprung has spent generations’…millennia….illuminating the world, warming hearts and leading the way.
The way toward grace and truth.
The way from and back to Love.
In the beginning. Well, even before the beginning, it was dark. The light glimmered and then shone in the darkness, but the darkness didn’t go away. The darkness doesn’t go away. It creeps in. Here and there, now and again. But the Light which comes from Love is resilient. It is strong, it is persistent. The Light which Comes from Love is God and God will not stop. God will not be overshadowed, no matter how hard the darkness tries.
But the dark? It has a strange hold on us. It terrifies and intrigues us. It pulls at us and often, often we succumb. Not because we are bad, but because we are afraid. And darkness preys on fear.
Letting go of the dark is scary. It makes no sense…it’s one of the great mysteries of life, but it is true: Letting go of the dark is scary.
The angels say, Do Not Be Afraid; prophets are afraid, but they do it anyway. This being afraid and doing it anyway is the definition of courage. So Do Not be Afraid or have Courage and Be afraid but do it anyway-----For the Light which is Love is waiting.
The Light. That light which comes from Love, does not, can not and will not be overshadowed by the darkness. It will not give in to fear. The light shines brightly, waiting for us to open our hearts, minds and souls to it.
Is there darkness in your hearts? Is there fear? The Light which comes from Love is waiting. Waiting for you, waiting for us, to let go of the dark and allow the light to shine.
It has come to dwell among us in that manger and we need to travel--with the shepherds and the magi-- to that barn, peering over the crib to gaze at the outstretched arms of our Savior, reaching out, in light and love.
My friends, this is, indeed, my last sermon as your priest and I leave you with these words:

In these days of Christmas and forevermore, shed the fear of darkness and the darkness of fear, reach down to the source of all light and all love: Jesus Christ, the Child who has come to dwell among us full of grace and truth.
Because just like the angel Gabriel’s visits to Mary and Joseph, and just like no room at the inn and shepherds in a field, this shedding of the dark and embracing the light of love is our Christmas Story. May God’s abundant blessing be upon you and this parish church, this Christmas and forever, evermore.
Amen.

Christmas Day 2015 "our job isn’t to find God, our job is to realize that in the midst of all things, God is there"

+Children are born everyday and most of these births go off without a hitch. Of course many others do not go so routinely but by and large the miracle of birth comes to many in a very regular way. In so many ways, so did Jesus’ birth. We don’t hear much about the normal parts-- the labor pains, the anticipation, the fear and excitement of first time parents, the indescribable joy of Mary and Joseph when they first see their son, the instant love they have for this little fragile human being. But it surely was all there---I mean to really embrace our incarnational faith—our belief that God took on human form—we must believe that this birth, while special in so many ways was, like most other births, ordinary. Because all births-- both the seemingly ordinary and the extra-ordinary--- are special. Ask the most hardened of birth experts-- any biologist, fertility specialist, obstetrician, midwife or maternity nurse---each and every birth no matter how routine, how normal how run-of the mill is unique-- miraculous. Because every birth represents the depth of God’s genius, the reach of God’s creativity and the breadth of our awe at being a part of this wonderful creation. Every birth is a joyous and brilliant event. ..and when a baby is born, everyone wants to hear about it-- is it a boy or girl? How much does he weigh, how long is she? It’s a great event and we want to announce it right away! ….and this birth, the birth of Jesus, wasn’t any different. God wanted to let the world know. And boy, what a birth announcement it was!
Across the fields of Judea, some shepherds are blinded by the brilliant light of heavenly hosts, a band of angels who have come to tell them the good news of this birth in a barn in Bethlehem. This is where the story of the ordinary birth of this extraordinary baby to willing able and blessed servants takes a turn toward amazing. And awe-inspiring.
No doubt just as Mary and Joseph were getting their bearings, Jesus had been fed, Mary had rested and they were ready to gather their things and head back home, the shepherds arrived. Suddenly the angelic visits to Mary, the dreams of Joseph and the predictions of Elizabeth all start to coalesce. These weren’t fantasies, these weren’t hallucinations, this wasn’t craziness-----this baby, this Jesus, was someone like none before or ever after. This baby, brought to Mary through the Holy Spirit, entrusted to Joseph by God and born like any other baby, was not like anyone else. The birth of Jesus shows us the immense power of God—a huge lesson for each and every Christian—and it’s easy to get caught up in all the fanfare of the miracle…but we must be reminded that God is with us always and everywhere---even in the most mundane, the most ordinary of daily events.
This is the gift of the incarnation--God is here, and there, and everywhere. We are here and so is God. This simple point, made manifest in that barn, renders life as we know it, changed, forever.
That, to me, is the miracle of this blessed morning. An ordinary event encased in an extraordinary truth: God is here. God is among us. God has brought us God’s son to be with us…not because we were bad, not because we were worthless, not because we were out of chances. No God came to dwell among us in the flesh to remind us, to teach us, to show us that God is and always will be, right here, right now. In the ordinary things of life, not just the extraordinary.
Yes God is here among us in this beautiful church on this most extraordinary of days.
And yes, God is among us at those moments of great sadness and loss, when a loved one dies and we gather to say good-bye. And yes, God is with us in the breathtaking sunsets, fall colors, spring blooming and the winter peacefulness of fresh fallen snow.
But, and here is the point of this extraordinary story of an ordinary event—the Christmas story---God is also with us at the grocery store, at work, and in the dreary rainy days which fill our lives.
God is always with us, our job isn’t to find God, our job is to realize that in the midst of all things, God is there….in our best times, in our worst times and most importantly I think, in our mundane times. Maybe Mary and Joseph were clean and fresh and angelic looking right after Jesus’ birth. Or maybe they were sweaty, exhausted, dirty and wide-eyed. I don’t know, but I do know that in their utter humanness, in their utter faithfulness, in their utter willingness, God chose to make an ordinary event an extraordinary gift for all of humankind---a reminder that Emmanuel, God is with us, (Matthew 1:23) has been brought to dwell among us, not because we earned it, not because we deserved it, not because God wanted to teach us a lesson. No God is with is because God so loves us, God just can’t stay away.
So Merry Christmas to you all and may you never forget that God is Always Here.
Amen.

Christmas Eve 2015 In The Bleak Mid-Winter and Always, Give Your Heart

+For years I dismissed the hymn “In the Bleak Midwinter.” I mean the title itself turned me off---bleak midwinter? Forget it! But then I heard Annie Lennox’ version on her album Christmas Cornucopia. Lennox’ rendition is haunting,  and the words hit me as being so very honest, that I now listen to “In the Bleak Mid-Winter” year ‘round and have even used it as part of a Holy Week meditation. I am grateful to Christina Rosetti, the English poet who penned the words to the hymn in the 19th century and to Annie Lennox who got me to listen to it anew in the 21st.
My favorite line, and the one that summarizes my theology of Christmas well is this:  
“Our God, Heaven cannot hold “Him” nor earth sustain.”
God is so huge, so massive, so untamed that God’s, well God’s “Godness” God’s Divinity, cannot be held in check.
The Love and Light of all that is good in heaven and on earth cannot be contained, secured or held back. On this most Holy of Nights, God erupts out of heaven and pours out onto the earth.
In a barn.
In Bethlehem.
To a human mother.
Born. In the regular way---with the pain and the muck and the terror and the unspeakable, incomprehensible joy.
In the bleak midwinter…right here, and right now GOD has come to dwell among us.
In the bleak midwinter, right here and right now, God has arrived as a squawking, hungry, maybe even colicky baby.
In the bleak midwinter, right here and right now, in Buffalo New York, at the corner of Jewett Pkwy and Summit Ave, God has, once again arrived…as a vulnerable little being, in need of nurture. In need of care. In need of Love.
In the bleak midwinter, right here and right now, on this Holy night, God has descended from the heavenly throne to meet us where we’re at.
In the Bleak Midwinter.
In Western New York.
In our hearts and throughout our souls,
God has arrived.
Here and Now, JUST AS WE ARE, God has come.
You who may only be here because your grandmother, grandfather, parent, sibling, spouse expects that you will , at least once or twice a year, attend church. God has come because of you.
You who may be a faithful attendee of church but who, if you’re honest, doesn’t even know what you believe anymore, God has come. For you, because of you, with you.
You who have so much fear, so much loss, so much doubt, God has come. Here and Now.
To be with you.
To be for you,
To be in you
To Be.
Here and Now
In the bleak midwinter of our lives, God, as God does again and again and again, God has come to be with us.
In the bleak midwinter our God, OUR GOD, the God for you, the God for me, the God for everyone everywhere, always and forever, has come because neither Heaven can hold this God, nor can Earth sustain. So this
 God, our God bridges the here and now with the always and forever.
On this Holy Night, in this Bleak mid winter, during our regular lives, full of hope and joy, full of doubt and despair, full of wonder and wander, God has come.
Not to judge.
Or to destroy
Or to terrorize.
No, on this Holy Night, in this mid winter and in this place, God has broken into the world because God cannot stay away.
For God so loved the world that God came to be among us as Jesus the Christ.
God has broken free of heaven to roam this earth because God needs us.
And God knows, we need God.

Perhaps you’re shocked that God needs us.
Perhaps you’re uncomfortable with the idea that you need God.
It’s why this night is so amazing, because it is so very real:
We are in this together, God and us. We both have our parts in bringing the Love, Light and Peace of God to this world. Right here and right now, on this Holy Night,  as we welcome the infant Jesus, we must remember that this birth, this baby, this gift is given to us and for us.
As the hymn states,
What can I give him,
poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd,
I would bring a lamb;
if I were a wise man,
I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him-
give my heart

It’s so easy to dismiss the arrival of God incarnate as a gift for someone else. Someone more worthy, someone more holy, someone more devoted.
It’s so easy to dismiss the arrival of God in the person of the Baby Jesus as something much to big for us to fathom, for us to earn, for us to understand. And you know what? It is. It’s too big, we can never earn it, and we certainly can never understand it.
Perhaps if we were wiser, we would do our part, perhaps if we were shepherds we would bring a lamb but we, you and me here and now on this Holy Night, what can we possibly do with the greatest gift ever given? We can accept it. We can open our hearts and invite God in. Here. Now. On this Holy Night I invite you to give this baby, our baby, our Lord, and our Savior, your heart.
Amen.

MARY GIVES US A SLIVER OF THE DIVINE Advent 4 Yr C Dec 20, 2015

+Do we really need Mary? I mean other than the wonderful traditions around Christmas, when we think about the Christian Way, do we really need a figure like “Mary,” do we need the trek to Bethlehem on the donkey? Do we need no room at the inn? Do we need the stable? What would we, as Christians, be if Jesus had arrived as a fully grown being, beginning his ministry as he did---with his baptism by John, his retreat into the temptations of the wilderness? Where would we be if Mary hadn’t entered the picture, if there wasn’t any “ “God Bearer?” Do we need Mary?
This came up at Bible Study on Tuesday and the discussion which followed was awesome.
“Who is Mary” I asked? “She’s the anchor,” came one response. Someone else said, “I’d have a harder time with a Savior who wasn’t part human in the regular sense---I think it’s important that Jesus was born the same way we were. A savior born like we were is incredibly humbling and fraught with possibility----Jesus has to know what it’s like to be us, because Jesus is us.”
Another person added, “God, by choosing to come and be among us through Mary and the Holy Spirit sealed the deal. Jesus has our humanity within him and we, each and every one of us, has some of his divinity within us.”
“Jesus has a piece of humanity within him and therefore—and this is the fraught with wonder, awe and possibility part—we have a piece, a sliver, of Divinity within us.”
A Sliver of Divinity.
I love this metaphor and I thank Jo Meachem for creating it and for the rest of the Bible Study folks for fleshing it out.
I don’t know about you, but for me,  it’s pretty easy for me to accept and embrace, indeed to LOVE, the notion of Jesus’ humanity. It brings me great joy, incredible peace and solace in times of tribulation to know that Jesus, too, took on skin and walked this earth as a human being.
But the idea that through his being born of Mary, through God’s desire to be fully among us, we have a portion of God’s Divinity within us, has always been a more difficult concept to understand. We usually don’t talk about divinity, this light of Christ, being within us in specific terms we tend to talk about in more ethereal “Holy Spirit” terms.
But the incarnation of God--the birth of Jesus Christ---is what unleashes the earthly arrival of Divinity.
 To ignore that until after Jesus’ crucifixion, resurrection and ascension is a mistake, because if there is one thing I know about God it’s that our relationship with God is just that—a relationship, a give and take---God gives to us, we receive it (or not) and then through that reception we are strengthened, prodded and pushed to do all sorts of things we never thought we could. By doing this, by accepting God into our lives lock stock and barrel we spread that light to all those we encounter. We do our part, God does God’s and eventually peace, love and light will fill this world.

But when does it begin?
At our baptisms? Sure at that liturgy and within that sacrament the Holy Spirit is invited—usually by our parents and godparents-- into our hearts and minds and souls. BUT does the sliver of divinity only begin then?
No way.
Think about a baby.
A newborn.
Try and tell me that in that newborn there isn’t already a sliver of the Divine.
Of course there is. My friends, through Mary and the Holy Spirit we’ve been given the Divine within us. It’s just a sliver...not because God is miserly with God’s Divinity but because we are human. We have independent thought, we have free will….it is up to us to take that sliver of divinity, that kindling of the Holy One and ignite it.
We do that in and through our work as Christian people. We do it at School 54, the Food Pantry, the Pet Food Pantry.
We do it by standing up against income and opportunity inequality in the City of Buffalo.
We do it by saying no to Gun Violence and working diligently to counteract the fear-mongering of the gun lobby.
We do it by demanding that we, as a country, remain true to our founding principles of liberty and justice for all.
We do it by following the command of our Baptismal Covenant to seek and serve Christ in all and to respect the dignity of every single human being.
Through Mary we are given the spark of New Life in Christ, we are given a sliver of the divine, we are given the greatest gift of all time. Through Mary. So yes, Virginia, I think we do need Mary, for Mary builds the bridge between this world and the next, Mary gives us Jesus, Mary raises Jesus, Mary nurtures Jesus. We need her and thanks be to God, we have her and that splinter!
Now, on what is most likely the last sermon many of you will hear me preach as your rector (I’ll be preaching Christmas Eve, Christmas and next Sunday, but this feels like the last day we’ll be together as a family—just us) let me leave you with these words:
Never ever forget that splinter of the Divine within you.
And remember this about splinters: they often hurt.
Being bearers of Christ’s light to all whom you encounter will not always be easy. But carry on, for the world needs you.
Splinters are annoying.
Being bearers of Christ’s light demands honesty, courage and grit. Endure my friends.the future of this place rests on your shoulders. You can do this. What do you want the Church of the Good Shepherd to be? Who do you want sitting in the pews next to you, how will you find your way in this new world where church attendance seems such a low priority while the need for hope seems to be so great? You can figure this out. Pay attention to each other, never forget the world right outside these doors and know that just as God will never leave you, neither will I. You are in my prayers now and always. I thank you for who you are, I look forward to who you will become and I am grateful, beyond words, for the honor and privilege of being your priest and rector.
God loves you. No exceptions. Never forget that.
Amen.

Advent 3C Pete's Last sermon at 96 Jewett

This is a crazy time for all of us.  It is only by the grace of God that Cathy and I were even able to find appropriate attire for today.  When we are looking for some item that we desperately need, or think we need, it is either at the ranch, at the rectory, in the sacristy, in her car or in my car…who the heck knows?  And, for all of us, preparing for the holidays can be stressful, full of too many obligations, too many unfinished things on our ‘to-do’ list, too little time and too little sleep.
Here we are, in the midst of Advent, a time of anticipating the birth of God incarnate.  We desperately need some inner balance and outer harmony.  How do we survive, let alone flourish, in such a hectic time.  Indeed, how can we approach all of our days, good ones and bad ones, frantic ones and restful ones, with a sense of joy and peace?
The Christians of Philippi were frazzled, frightened and fragmented; outsiders were trying to draw believers away from God, many Christians faced persecution.  Paul wanted them to know that, no matter how rotten things might seem, they would not be defeated.
Paul gives the Philippians the secret to finding joy and peace; he gives them two words, ”with thanksgiving”.  Thanksgiving is the dynamic, the spirit and the emotion that opens us up to joy and peace and hope.  Gratitude is the one emotion where we are truly focused not on ourselves, but on the gift and the giver.  We are turned toward God and toward Life.
We teach children how to say thank-you and that’s not always easy, because it can be hard to find role models for them in our world.  We insist they say it but we cannot force them to mean it.  And we cannot force ourselves to mean it either.
Gratitude is a matter of perspective, it’s about what we focus on, what we pay attention to in our lives.  The folks I know who project gratitude regularly are the folks who make it a habit to pay attention to whatever is positive in their lives.
The grace of gratitude comes when we are able to discipline ourselves to develop a healthy perspective, when we learn to be patient and to show our gentleness to everyone.  The grace of gratitude comes when we lose the assumption that life would be better without the obstacles, troubles and deprivations that come our way.  I’m sure, if we are honest with ourselves, that most of us can name at least one surprising benefit or gift that has come our way through circumstances that initially did not seem favorable.
Corrie ten Boom, who with her family lived through the holocaust, often told the story of how she and her sister Betsy survived in a flea-ridden Nazi prison camp.  Betsy one day said “I have found something in the Bible that will help us.  It says, ‘In all things give thanks’.  Corrie said, “I can’t give thanks for the fleas.”  Betsy replied, “Give thanks that we’re together.  Most families have been split up.”  Corrie thought she could do that.  Her sister continued, “Give thanks that somehow the guards didn’t check our belongings and we have our Bible with us.”  Corrie gave thanks for that, but she would not even think of giving thanks for the fleas.  Later, they found out that the only reason they were not molested and harmed by the guards was because their captors were so repulsed by the fleas that they would not even enter the sisters’ cell.  Corrie allowed as how this taught her to give thanks for all things, because you never know…
Gratitude and thanksgiving are not about the easy and pretty places in our lives, but they are about accepting that all of life, warts and all, is a precious, glorious gift. It is about the trust and faith that Jeremiah had when he said “I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord; they are plans for peace, not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope.”
Luke’s gospel, continuing the story of John, points us toward hope.  Well, it points toward hope after you get past the brood of vipers stuff….  The recipe that John gives us for a hopeful future isn’t as hard as it sounds.  John says to share what we have, be honest with each other and resist the urge to be bullies.  That is how we will do our part to create the kingdom that Jesus will soon announce.
Our job is to live like God’s kingdom is here, like we believe it’s really coming, like we believe it actually matters. (David Lose. In the Meantime.  Advent 3 C.  Ordinary Saints)  Imagine what our world would look like if we disciplined ourselves to do these three things; share, be honest and don’t bully.  Imagine how all of the political rhetoric about guns, refugees, medical care, equal rights, income disparity, and foreign policy would change if we insisted all of our leaders also have to share, be honest and stop bullying.  Imagine how schools, hospitals, retail shops, financial service institutions, insurance companies, and public utilities would change if we demanded from them that they share, use honesty in all of their dealings and stop bullying their clients . That’s living like we really believe in God’s kingdom, here on earth.


Good Shepherd Ending
This is the last time I will preach with you on a Sunday morning.  My heart is full of gratitude and thanksgiving for you, the people of Good Shepherd.  Gratitude and thanksgiving that you trusted me with your rector, with your rectory, with your Sunday School, and with your developing relationship with School 54.  You accepted me as your deacon and welcomed me as a friend. This is not an easy time for any of us.  Saying “good-bye” is not for sissies. I don’t know about all of you, but it has been hard for me to get past my personal feelings of loss, of sadness, of fear and anxiety.  And yet, we all have, as Jeremiah said, a future filled with hope.  My prayer for you is that you will claim this hope and continue living into the future God is calling you into.  I ask for your prayers, as you will always have mine.  Amen.




Ascension Ending:
This is the last time I will preach with you on a Sunday morning.  My heart is full of thanksgiving and gratitude for you, the people of Ascension.  You welcomed me warmly as a diaconal intern, you raised me up as a diaconal candidate, and you surpassed anything I could have anticipated in your embrace of the Pet Food Pantry.  Together we soldiered on when Armand left.  Together we rejoiced when Cathy came to be among us.  Together we agonized over what to do with the building at 16 Linwood.  Together we made history with our move to share space with Good Shepherd.  And, through it all, we loved one another.  No matter what, we came together for worship and shared the grace we received through the Eucharist.  Saying ‘good bye’ isn’t for sissies. I don’t know about all of you, but it has been hard for me to get past my personal feelings of loss, of sadness, of fear and anxiety.  And yet, we all have, as Jeremiah said, a future filled with hope.  My prayer for you is that you will claim this hope and continue living into the future God is calling you into.  I ask for your prayers, as you will always have mine.  Amen.

The valley is filled. The way is straight. Let’s Go! Advent 2 C Dec 6, 2015

+This week, at Bible study, we focused on these words from the 40th chapter in the book of Isaiah:

A voice cries out:

“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,

    make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 

Every valley shall be lifted up,

    and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,

    and the rough places a plain.”

It may seem a little odd that we focused on words written by the Isaiah since we don’t actually read from the Isaiah this week, but both the prophet Baruch (our first reading) and the evangelist Luke (or Gospel reading) paraphrase Isaiah this week.

Baruch says:

For God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low
    and the valleys filled up, to make level ground,
    so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God.

Luke says:

Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth…

Even Handel in his composition of The Messiah paraphrases Isaiah:

Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God…

prepare ye the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a

highway for our God

Ev'ry valley shall be exalted, and ev'ry moutain

and hill made low; the crooked straight and the

rough places plain.

The words of Isaiah are so much a part of Advent and Christmas, so familiar that it’s easy to let them pass by without notice. To ignore them.

Don’t.

At this time in our nation with mass shootings becoming absolutely routine…

these words, penned by Isaiah, quoted by Baruch, Luke and Handel tell us what we need to hear, loud and clear:

God does everything God can to make the way into God’s out-stretched arms straight, smooth, and level. God does everything God can do to make the way into God’s full presence accessible to everyone, everywhere, always.

And yet, more than 355 mass shootings have occurred in the United States this year. And, depending on the definition you follow over 1,000 have occurred since that dark and horrifying day in middle December, 2012. You remember Sandy Hook, right?

On Dec 14, 2012 a gunman walked into Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown CT  killing 20 1st graders and six teachers, breaking our hearts and no doubt, God’s.

And yet….we keep killing each other at an unprecedented rate.

If God’s heart broke in 2012, what in the world has happened to God’s heart since then?

One could make a case for God to be so disgusted with us, that God would, at this point, turn God’s back on us all, forgetting this creation and moving on to a new one.

God should be mad.

Disgusted.

Incensed.

DONE WITH US.

And yet,

Every valley shall be lifted up,

    and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,

    and the rough places a plain.

Why is it that God doesn’t/hasn’t/WON’T give up on us?

Because God is God and we are not.

Thank God for that.

Because this? This mess we’re in, this horror we’re living, this tipping point of civilization that seems to be this moment in time, requires all the mercy, love and grace God can muster.

You know what gets me about this whole gun violence thing? It’s eminently fixable. This isn’t some rare form of cancer, this isn’t some autocratic foreign ruler who wishes the United States ill, this isn’t a pestilence of indeterminate origins wiping out our food source. This is a matter of legislation and culture. There have to be more people in this country who are sickened by these mass killings than not. And yet we can’t seem to fix it. Us, the supposed greatest country in the world cannot fix this?

But clearly, we can’t. Cleary we’ve gotten so tied up in our crooked roads, so lost in our monstrous valleys of worry and doubt, so discouraged by the mountain peaks of obstacles that we simply can’t do it.

The New York Daily News got a load of flak with their headline on Thursday that read, “God Isn’t Fixing This.”

Well you know what? I agree with the Daily News. God’s not fixing this. This is our mess and we have to fix it. God will help, by giving us the strength and the courage to do what we have to do.

But we have to do it.

And you know what? We can. We must and God-help us, we will.

How?

By refusing to be silent, by refusing to accept the status quo, by having the courage of Mary who said yes, when common sense dictated she say no; by having the integrity of Joseph who should have said turned away, but instead turned toward.

We do it by gazing out at our mountains of fear, our valleys of doubt and our roads twisted by anxiety and realize that

Every valley has been lifted up,

and every mountain and hill has been made low;

the uneven ground has become level,

and the rough places have been made a plain by our God.

Our awesome and ever-loving God whose heart has broken, but whose faith in us remains strong.

The darkness will not overcome us.

The evil will not prevail.

For ‘the angel said to them, Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,

   and on earth peace among those whom God favours!’

On this Second Sunday of Advent 2015, when we face the encroaching darkness of this world, may each of us remember that we are empowered to overwhelm that darkness with the light of that Heavenly Host shining upon that one small crib, in that one lonely barn, upon that one little baby, Jesus Christ our Lord through whom we can do all things. Even this.

Amen And Alleluia.

In Advent we expectantly wait, in hopeful anticipation, with cheerful preparation, for God to break into our lives. Advent 1 Yr C Nov 29 2015

An updated version of the Advent 1 sermon I preached in 2012. Why a repeat? Because it's still true and, in my bones, I feel it is what needed to be heard. 

+Advent gets short shrift. Most folks want to zoom by it and go right into Christmas. Other people are so maniacal about adhering to Advent that they refuse to listen to a Christmas carol until Christmas Eve. I’m here to tell you, blaring Christmas carols in your car is fine, setting up your Christmas tree is fine, wishing people a Merry Christmas is fine. We can celebrate Advent even though the secular world is all about Christmas. It’s all ok. What’s not ok is just considering Advent to be a countdown to Christmas, because that short-changes Advent. And Advent deserves better than that. So let’s take some time to consider what Advent is…
Advent is:
expectant waiting. You know that kind of waiting when waiting for someone you love very much. It’s standing at the airport craning your neck to catch the first glimpse of your beloved. That’s expectant waiting.
Advent is:
 hopeful anticipation. You know when you’re opening a present and you think you know what it is, you hope you know what it is….that’s hopeful anticipation.
Advent is:
 cheerful preparation. It’s one thing to clean the house because it NEEDS to be cleaned. It’s a whole other thing to clean the house because you’re getting ready for a grand meal, or a big party, or a family reunion. When we’re getting ready for something good, for a special guest? That’s cheerful preparation.
In Advent we expectantly wait, in hopeful anticipation, with cheerful preparation, for God to break into our lives. Big time.
You see, God taking on flesh and plopping smack dab into our lives is a REALLY BIG DEAL.
Because when God becomes human in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, EVERYTHING CHANGES--
Every moment, every place, every thing…
Jesus  changed everything when he came the first time, Jesus will change everything when he arrives the second time and today, on this first day of Advent 2015, Jesus is going to change everything again.
That is, if we let him. See that’s the wondrous and miraculous thing about the incarnation of God in Christ: it only turns our world inside out and upside down if we allow it to. It only changes everything if we welcome God here and now—Emmanuel--- into our hearts, our minds and our souls. Again and again and again.
That’s why we have a “church year,” why we go through the cycle of Jesus’ birth, life, death, resurrection and ascension each and every year. Because the redeeming work of God through Christ is a process. It’s not an event.
It’s a dynamic, alive, “always revealing more” process of bringing Jesus’ message of Loving everyone, everywhere, no exceptions to fruition.
Advent is a lot of things.
It’s looking ahead and it’s also looking behind.
On the one hand Advent is about preparing us for the coming of the Christ child, but on the other hand, Advent is about us looking at all the work that remains unfinished and getting busy with the work we’ve already been given to do.

Work that, frankly, isn’t all that easy. Work that, frankly, a lot of you may wish I’d stop talking about.
The world is a mess. Paris, Beirut, Syria, Iraq.
Racism, Intolerance.
Out of control gun violence, the most recent of which included a gang hit on a 9 yr old boy in Chicago and a madman entering a Planned Parenthood clinic in Colorado Springs. People who think the only way to deal with their personal issues of intolerance and fear is to lash out in violence against innocents.
On a more personal level I know that each and everyone of you has a whole host of worries and concerns on your plate. Job troubles, family issues, relationship problems, health concerns.
Life is challenging, life is scary, life is fragile.
We all deal with these issues differently—sometimes we deny them, sometimes we tackle them, sometimes we avoid them, sometimes we just plain worry about them.
But, and here’s where our readings for today come into play. When everything seems to be at it’s worst, when everything seems to be at it’s darkest, when the “signs in the sun, the moon and the stars…cause people to faint from fear,” when we can’t seem to find our way out of whatever mess we find ourselves in …
lo and behold, God appears. God always appears.
Advent is about having hope. Having hope even when the days are dark and the world feels cold and the future seems precarious.
Advent is about trusting that the light will always follow the dark.
Advent is about knowing---deep down in our gut—that a leaf will sprout from the righteous branch of David.
Advent is about remembering that God isn’t finished: not with us and not with the world.
Creation and redemption are not once and for all,
over and done with acts of God.
In and through us, God keeps creating and creating and creating.
God in Christ acted to redeem the world and God in Christ keeps on actively redeeming it.
As Jeremiah says “. . . [The Lord] will execute justice and righteousness in the land,” and until that’s done,
God’s not done.
So as we step into these four weeks of preparation, of waiting, of hoping we must prayerfully open ourselves up to this plain and certain fact:
As long as God isn’t finished, neither are we.
As long as the redeeming work of God through Christ is still working in this world, we must keep working here---in Buffalo New York, at the CGS and the COA---~~working to bring the light of Christ to all we encounter.
~~Working to BE the light of Christ in this world. ~~Working to make sure that we, in expectant waiting, in hopeful anticipation and in cheerful preparation remain the instruments of the Loving, Redeeming, and still working God who came to be among us over 2000 years ago.
Advent is a process for us and a process for God. You see, God becoming human only works if we accept God into our lives---wholly, fully and totally.
That’s what we’re getting ready for, my friends. We’re getting ready to welcome, to accept and to embrace the best guest. Ever.
So let’s get moving. Not one of four short weeks but a journey for all time, ending when that righteous branch of David returns, joyously announcing that there is, once and for all and forever, Peace on Earth and Goodwill toward and for All.
Amen

You Won’t Have Our Hate Christ the King Sunday Now 22, 2015 Yr B

+Today is the last Sunday of the church year… known as the Reign of Christ-- Christ the King Sunday..is a day when we reflect on the penultimate Christian hope---that day when heaven and earth are one, when the peace and perfection of paradise exists everywhere, for everyone.
“King” is a difficult term for us because we think of King from the perspective of this imperfect world instead of from the perspective of the perfect version of existence God has intended since the beginning of time. It IS a difficult concept to grasp (probably because we are so far from it) but today’s a day of great joy because we, as Christians, know that just as we live in sure and certain hope of our own eternal life, we live in sure and certain hope that through the Love of God as given to us through Jesus Christ, the joy and peace of paradise will reign through all and for all and in all on the last day. It’s what we’re working for—the perfection of God’s creation. And when that day is reached, we believe that Christ will be at the head of that perfect existence, Christ will be the King of that Creation. Hence, Christ the King Sunday. Not a King like Herod, or George or Abdullah, a King unlike any we have ever known.
It’s not the easiest concept to grasp, for us or for Pilate.
In today’s Gospel, Pilate is confused and reluctant. Pilate’s a government bureaucrat in the Roman Empire---he has no beef with this traveling preacher who makes outrageous claims to his small band of followers--- but a big part of his job is to keep the major player in the region---the Temple authorities, happy---or at least QUIET. The authorities have worked themselves up something fierce about Jesus—they want Jesus’ head, Pilate wants peace, and the whole thing comes down to the exchange we hear in today’s Gospel. Pilate’s trying to understand the claim that Jesus is King of the Jews and Jesus wants no part of claiming that “bound by the limits of human understanding” moniker.
Pilate can’t wrap his head around who Jesus is because he was looking at Jesus from the perspective of this world and the perspective of this world is limited and deeply flawed.
Jesus says he’s not the King of anything that originates from this world. Because if he was, he continues, he and Pilate wouldn’t be having a calm and reasoned conversation. Jesus is saying, “If my kingship originated in this world, there’d be fighting, violence, and chaos.”
Exactly.
Look at our world.
In this world we fight, we respond in, with and through violence. And as long as we keep doing that, Christ won’t be the King of anything.
This week Antoine Leiris (Lay’ree) reaction to the death of his wife in the Paris attacks went viral. Why? Because Mr. Leiris told the terrorists that they could not have his or his now motherless son’s hate, saying, “I don’t know who you are…[but] if this God for whom you kill blindly made us in [God’s] image, every bullet in the body of my wife is a wound in [God’s] heart. So no, I will not give you the satisfaction of hating you...”
Mr. Leiris is a prophet. He gets it. Violence begetting violence, hate begetting hate, intolerance begetting intolerance never, ever works. Neither does closing our eyes, our ears, our hearts, our minds, our souls, or our borders
There’s tremendous violence in this world and violence is fed by and through hate. The only surefire antidote to hate is Love.
Early last week, in the immediate aftermath of the eruption of violence in Paris and Beirut, Peter Van Buren , a blogger and political commentator wrote an open letter to France. In it he said “the attacks in Paris are not about the murder of 150 innocent people---that many people die nearly every day in Iraq and Syria. The true test for France is how they respond to the attacks in the long game---that’s the king in all this.”
How true. The King of this world is our response to hate, fear and intolerance---when we respond “in kind” following an “eye for an eye” we stay stuck in the imperfections of this world, promoting and promulgating more and more violence. It leads to nothing but terror.
What if we responded in peace? What if we responded with Love?
We know what happens when we don’t.
But what, what if we really followed Jesus, what if we followed the actions of Antoine Leiris? What if we faced violence with peace? Hate with Love? Fear with hope?
Well, we’d change the world. Forever.
Imagine that for a moment.
There can be peace on earth.
And it begins with us.
Here and now, as we end one church year and begin the next, will you promise to be the agents of change?
Will you promise to denounce violence and promote peace?
Will you lead with love not hate?
Will you live in hope and not despair?
Will you, in all that you do, seek joy?
Because the truth of the matter is, the world is not changed by Kings and Queens, Presidents and Prime Ministers.
The truth of the matter is, the world is changed by you and by me.
So help usher in a new kind of kingdom, the kind that is fueled by love, the kind that is promoted in peace, the kind that Jesus taught and lived and died and lived again to lead.
This is the truth: if we here, now, commit to leading lives of hope, justice and love. If we, here, now, commit to rejecting fear, hate, intolerance and violence then we, here, now, will change the world.
The world’s not going to change from the hallowed halls of Washington, or The Hague, or the UN, or the Knesset. It’s going to change from 96 Jewett Parkway and hundreds of thousands places like this across the world.
As we enter the newness of Advent and the dawn of a new creation through a baby born in a barn, say no to the Kings of this world and say yes to the King of Heaven, our King. Our Savior. Our Lord, Our Hope Our Promise, Our Way, Our truth and Our Life: Jesus Christ.
Amen.

Big Faith Breaks Through Hannah and Breaks Down the Old Order Proper 28 Nov 15 2015

+Last week and this week’s gospels are set inside and just outside the Temple. In the days of Jesus the Temple in Jerusalem was the most magnificent structure anyone had ever seen. Some of the stones were 40 ft. long…. JUST ONE STONE. Most of the western wall, plus some of the northern wall, from a later incarnation of the temple, still exists today. Even these remnants, small in comparison to what the disciples are marveling at in today’s Gospel, are pretty impressive. When I prayed at the Western Wall back in 2012 I was moved to tears, thinking about all the prayers offered inside that place, when it was standing and outside, at the remaining walls, after it’s destruction.  It’s an amazing and formidable place. To the disciples--- fishermen, tentmakers and stonemasons from rural Galilee--- it must have seemed equally incredible.
But it wasn’t just the sight of the Temple that blew them away, it was Jesus’ outlandish claim that it would be toppled, that those 40 ft. long stones would be destroyed. Ludicrous, it was just plain ludicrous!
And ludicrous is exactly what Jesus was going for. Along with awesome, incredible, amazing and unbelievable.
Now, remember, this part of the Gospel comes toward the end of Jesus’ earthly life…it was early in Holy Week, probably Monday or Tuesday…Jesus’ description of the temple falling as a foreshadowing of his death wasn’t some “long in the future prediction”…it was happening… soon! Today’s Gospel was written through the lens of Holy Week yet we read it through the lens of the coming Advent as well as the lens of the seeming apocalypse taking place in our world right now.
Welcome to pre-Advent, my friends. As I’ve mentioned before, Advent used to have six weeks, just like Lent, so these two Sundays before the official start to Advent have much the same feel as our Advent readings: lots of end world imagery, lots of violence, lots of chaos. You see Advent isn’t about 24/7 Christmas music on the radio, or making your list and checking it twice, Advent is all about a beginning emerging out of an end, it’s about a new creation, it’s about turning what we know inside out and upside down. Advent is about the coming of a savior, of The Savior.
Advent is about new birth.
And giving birth isn’t pretty. It involves ebbs and flows of pain, fear, hope and peace.
Birth is mind-blowing, overwhelming and scary.
Giving birth changes everything.
Just like the coming of Jesus.
Once Jesus arrived and even now as we anticipate Jesus coming again, the world order is being changed.
With the Coming of Jesus comes a clean slate, a fresh start, a beginning to the creation of a new world where Love replaces Hate, Courage replaces Fear, Tolerance replaces Intolerance, Hope replaces Hopelessness and what we’ve known is turned inside out and upside down.
But getting there is just like childbirth---painful, scary, messy and at times, overwhelming.
Preparing for the messiah requires perseverance, fortitude, grit, spunk and persistence. It also requires faith.
Big Faith.
The kind of Big Faith found in Mary, the mother of Jesus, the kind of Big Faith found in Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, the kind of Big Faith found in Sarah, Judith, Esther and Tamar and the kind of Big Faith found in Hannah.
The Big Faith of the matriarchs I just mentioned isn’t big in the usual sense. It isn’t loud, it isn’t flashy, it isn’t all that apparent to the casual observer. What makes their faith Big is the breadth and the depth of it. You see these women really got it.
They understood that professing one’s faith means nothing if the faith isn’t lived. They understood that shouting their faith from the rooftops meant nothing if deep within their homes, deep within their souls they weren’t living it.
Hannah had that type of faith. Her life wasn’t easy…. each and every time her husband made the obligatory sacrifice at the temple she was subject to the disdain and the disgust of his other wife---the one he didn’t love so much, but the one who was fertile.
If you’ve ever wanted—desperately wanted---to have a child and were unable to you know the anguish, the deep in your gut anguish of not being able to do so. That was the anguish of Hannah.
When confronted with such a burden, such anguish you have two choices:
bitterness or grace.
Hannah displayed some bitterness early on in today’s reading but she let go of that fairly quickly when she decided, once and for all, to turn the whole mess over to God. It’s a show of great grace, it’s an example of Big Faith when Hannah stands up for herself—and her faith—by telling Eli that what he assumed was drunkeness was, in reality, fervent and faithful praying. Hannah, in the same vein as the Woman with the Hemorrhage and the Woman at the Well teaches the judgmental male in the story a thing or two.

That’s actually what makes faith Big.
Faith is Big when those who witness it are changed by it.
Eli was changed by Hannah’s faith, Jesus was changed by the faith of the woman at the well, the woman with the hemorrhage and the woman who birthed him, to name a few.
In this ever darkening world, where evil appears to be gaining a terrifying foothold, we must---we absolutely must--- have a faith that is so Big people are changed by it.
We need to have a faith so big that when people see us negotiate the changes and chances of this world—like the horror three years ago that was Sandy Hook, the continued horrors of Ferguson, Baltimore and Mother Emmanuel AME church and now the new world war we appear to be embroiled in most recently acted out in Beirut, Paris and Baghdad—we must have a faith so big that we face the encroachment of darkness, evil and fear with grace, dignity and hope in the promise of a new life, a new Jerusalem, a world where the mighty are brought low and the low are lifted high.
We need to have a faith so big that our very being can’t contain it.
We need to have so big, it spills over onto all those we encounter.
A faith so big it can’t help but be shared.
 So welcome to this season of pre-Advent, the season of expectation, the season of apocalypse, the season when Big Faith comes to us in the unexpected person of a peasant baby who turns everything, from that magnificent temple in Jerusalem to the cafes of Paris, the dust, dirt and grime of refugee camps, the inner cities of Baltimore, Chicago, St Louis and Buffalo to you and to me, inside out, upside down and finally the right side up that is the world God envisioned and we achieve in God’s name.
Amen.

The widows: lessons in trust and dignity Proper 27 Yr B Nov 8, 21015

+Fred was a 62 year-old mentally ill and developmentally disabled man who was my client when I was a very young psycho-therapist working in a community mental health agency that offered reduced fees for clients. Fred’s fee was 10 cents…a dime. Each and every week, Fred would get off the bus, walk into the center, and proudly pay his fee. Several months after he began counseling, the County Mental Health Department decided that anyone with a fee below $5 would no longer have one, because the cost associated with processing those small fees was greater than the income generated through the fees. From the perspective of the bean-counters, this was a kind and prudent move—“Look you now don’t have to pay ANYTHING.” But instead of it being viewed as a gift, Fred was despondent. It was important to him that he PAID for the counseling. Not having a fee took away his dignity by reducing the value of what he could contribute to the world around him.
There’s a lot to be said for convenience and being fiscally prudent, but at the end of the day, there is nothing as important as respecting the dignity of another human being. For it is in and through dignity that we most fully emulate Jesus, the one who offered dignity to the most surprising of characters.
Widows in the time of Jesus and before were not offered much dignity. Or, actually, any. The widow in 1st century Palestine was so far an outcast no one NO ONE noticed them. Except, of course, Jesus. That Jesus, he was always looking where no one else could see, he was always seeing where no one else would ever look. He noticed the “poor widow” from Mark’s gospel story today and he was somewhat awed by her demonstration of dignity as she gave “everything she had, even what she needed to live on” to the temple.
For generations preachers have used this Gospel as a stewardship campaign mantra….”look at how this woman gives out of her abject poverty, how much more can we all give out of our comparative abundance?”
And sure, that is one perspective, but this week, while living with this Gospel something seemingly small but incredibly profound (at least to me) popped out. Mark writes,
‘Many rich people were throwing in lots of money. One poor widow came forward and put in two small copper coins worth a penny.”
The so-called “rich people” were throwing in lots of money
The widow came forward and “put in” two coins.
Throwing vs. putting.
Tossing vs. placing
With nary a thought vs. intentionality
To me the “rich people” are just tossing in money without thought or notice.
The poor widow, on the other hand, is giving her last two coins—how can that be done without thought? How can that be done without careful deliberation and consideration? The widow put all she had into the temple coffers.
The widow was “all in.”
She gave all that she had, all that she was to God.
It’s not about how much one gives—and I’m talking about so much more than money here---rather it’s about from where one gives.
The widow gave from a position of absolute trust. She should have held onto those last two coins to see if she could eek out enough food to keep herself going. She should have held onto what she had for it was so little. She should have held on, right?
But instead, she LET GO. She gave it all over. We don’t know what happened to her. Perhaps she returned to her home and starved to death. Perhaps she panhandled, perhaps someone took pity on her and gave her enough to make it through another day—we don’t know. All we know is that she gave all that had and all that she was in dignity and faith.
Of course today we don’t have just one story about a widow we have two…
In our reading from Kings, we hear about the widow in Zarephath…she and her son are down to their very last food…a bit of flour and a touch of oil with which she will make two cakes of bread, after which, she tells Elijah, she and her son will die. But Elijah, either because he is the most entitled prophet of all time or because he had incredible faith, tells her not to worry, but to go make him a loaf of bread and then…later on…she can make food for her family. He assures her—The Lord says, the flour and oil will last until the drought is over and food will again be plentiful---and somehow, someway, she BELIEVES him. She trusts God enough to believe that all will be well.
So let’s review, we have the widow at the temple giving everything she had, even what she needed to live on, away. And then the widow of Zarephath giving all that she had to live on away because some crazy prophet told her not to worry, it would be ok.
The voice of God comes to us through the voices of these women today: against all human logic, against all survival of the fittest instincts, these women have a profoundly simple lesson for each and every one of us:
When we give to God through Jesus Christ all that we are and all that we have, amazing, miraculous, astounding things happen. Flour last for days, the Savior of the World notices your faithful intent and most important of all, we learn that trust in God is not something we work up to, trust in God is something we work out from.
And when we do that, as demonstrated by the widows of our readings today, when we put our trust in God, with grace and dignity and intent, all will be well.
So my friends, as our parishes step into a new era, may each and every one of us throw our shoulders back, hold our heads high and in the company of the widow of Zarapheth, the poor widow of the temple and my old friend Fred face the future with dignity, hope and full trust in the God who creates, redeems and sustains us, come what may. Amen.

Funeral Homily for Richard Cox, delivered at St Paul's Cathedral, 7 Nov 2015

+ “The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.” This portion of Psalm 34 was the reading in a one of Cheryl’s daily meditation books on the day Richard took the fall that led to his death. How fitting, for Richard Cox was a lion of a man, who even in the great weakness of his final moments of this life, lacked no good thing.
Speaking of lions….on the day he died, Richard’s breathing grew nearly imperceptible and yet his heart beat on. Finally that incredible heart stopped. I remarked to one of the chaplains present how amazing I found it that in spite of not breathing, his heart continued to beat. He said to me, “It’s the men of the Greatest Generation, they’re lion hearts.
A lion heart…what an apt description for Richard Cox. He  was a man with the heart of a lion and the smile of a cub.
Even the ravages of disease and age could not and did not diminish his stature and presence. As a matter of fact, Cheryl marveled at how over the years, Richard could turn the tables on the doctors who treated him. The doctor would come into the treatment room, ready to be The Doctor. After a few minutes the roles would change and suddenly the doctor would be the student and Richard would be the teacher. Oh the doctor still treated him, but the respect Richard gained by virtue of how he carried himself in the world, was palpable. And amazing. Yes,the heart of a lion and the smile of a cub.
Richard Cox was a lion heart, a gentleman, a scholar and the Captain of his ship.
As he often remarked to Cheryl HE WAS THE CAPTAIN and she was the first mate. And the rest of you, especially his children and grandchildren? You were his precious cargo. It’s a good metaphor.
The Captain never ever abandons the ship. The Captain never ever wavers in his command. The captain is in charge, the captain is the leader. …The Captain bears a striking resemblance to the Good Shepherd.
The Good Shepherd never gives up. The Good Shepherd never abandons those in his charge. The Good Shepherd goes to any length needed to fulfill his responsibility to his sheep.
Richard Cox, World War 2 veteran, devoted father, grandfather, friend, companion, scholar and student, faithful child of God with the heart of a lion, was most definitely the captain of his ship, the shepherd of his flock. Richard was in charge. Always.
He demanded competence and expected excellence of all those around him. That may not have always been easy, but it was probably the purest example of love any of you will ever experience.
And you know what? I think in these expectations Richard shared quite a lot with God. God doesn’t expect us to do half measures. God expects us, God created us to do much more than that. God expects us to give our best in all and for all. So did Richard.
I think God as The Good Shepherd and Richard the Captain of the Cox Family ship have a lot in common.
Can you imagine that first face to face meeting between Richard  and his Creator? Oh, I bet it was epic. No doubt he had a lot of questions for the Almighty.
And probably a lot of suggestions as well.
Richard, a Presbyterian turned Lutheran turned Episcopalian definitely had faith…but he had one frustration, maybe even a disappointment in his faith journey. As he told Cheryl, he struggled with the fact that he never experienced a personal encounter with Jesus. Now I’m not sure what Richard meant by that, but what I do know is that  as he made his journey into the fullness of God I think he was surprised. For I have no doubt that Jesus himself welcomed him and proceeded to show Richard all the times He was with him. In Europe during WW2 when Richard, the army marksman, was frightened, Jesus the Good Shepherd was there. At the birth of each of his children, when Richard was, no doubt, full of nervousness and uncertainty, The Good Shepherd was there.
When the demands of life in academia became intense, the Good Shepherd was there. When he faced the reality of what the Parkinson’s disease was doing to his body, the Good Shepherd was there.
At every crossroads of a life lived long and well, God was there. At every crossroads of a life lived long and well, Jesus was there. And at every crossroads of his 90 years on this earth, Richard Cox, the Captain of the ship was guided, loved, cherished, protected and prodded by the Good Shepherd.
Oh yes, how I wish I had been a fly on heaven’s wall as Richard, the lion-heart, the captain of his ship encountered his God face to face and found out that while Richard’s hand had been on the tillar of the Cox family ship lo these 90 years, he Richard Howard Cox was, in actuality serving as the First Mate to the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer of us all—
You see this is the great lesson of our faith in the Resurrection---life for Richard has changed, not ended. For Richard life has now been fully revealed. All his questions have been answered, all his criticisms have been heard and all his frustrations have been calmed. His intense intellectual curiosity has been both peaked and satisfied. Today, as Richard takes his eternal seat at the Heavenly Banquet he is both the teacher and the student, he is both the Shepherd and the Sheep, he is both the Captain and the First Mate, for in the full presence of God, Richard your father, grandfather, companion, brother, friend, and teacher is complete. +

All Saints' Day 2015 Preached by John Harris

One day a few months ago, Sam, Maddie, Hannah, and I were driving home down Kenmore Ave. We were chatting about families. Sam and Maddie, like lots of kids their age, tend to think that the way their family is is the way that all families should be. So we pushed them on that a little bit. We asked them, who do you know that lives just with their mother? What about kids that live just with their father? They thought about each question, and they came back with good examples. Their minds were expanding, we hoped. Then we tossed in another question, who is a woman you know that is married to another woman? Maddie was putting a lot of thought into this, and then she piped out at her customary full volume, “St. Cathy and Pete.”
Now that you know about the saint in your midst, let’s talk a bit about All Saints Day and about our gospel passage. I find these readings, and this holy day, particularly poignant in light of our parish’s current situation. As we all well know, Mother Cathy will be leaving for a role with the diocese in a bit less than two months. I’ve talked to people this week about our rector’s departure, and they are talking about how much they will miss her sermons, her writing, and especially her presence, the full force of her personality that was always so much a part of, and a guiding force in, our congregation. That departure puts us in a time of transition. At times of transition, we, individually and as a congregation, have choices to make about how to approach the future.
We can, if we choose, meet the future with fear and trepidation. That is always an option, and it is an easy, natural option to turn to. Notice the first part of our gospel passage today. Mary sees Jesus, and she is in tears. She rebukes Jesus, reminding him forcefully that if he had been there, Lazarus would not have died. Something has changed, something terrible, and Mary is scared and angry.  Look at Jesus’ response, too. He doesn’t lash out at her for her tears or her rebuke. Instead, he seems to accept the naturalness, the perfectly reasonable nature, of her response.
The readings from Isaiah and Revelation highlight what Mary is going through. To pick out the language of Isaiah, a shroud is cast over her, a sheet spread over her mind, because all she is seeing is death forever. She has waited for the Lord, and he didn’t come until it was too late.
I think we should also notice that the onlookers joined in as well. They also questioned Jesus, wondering why he didn’t show up in time. In a similar manner, as Good Shepherd moves into its time of transition, we can safely assume that many in the diocese foresee problem after problem besetting our parish, just as a number of other churches in this very diocese have gone through difficult transitions of their own.
But the gospel passage doesn’t stop there, much as our parish does not stop with the departure of a well-beloved rector. In the passage, Jesus goes to the tomb of Lazarus and asks them to roll away the stone. Lazarus’ sister Martha cautions against it, because she has no hope. She knows, she knows, that the stench of a man dead 4 days will be overpowering. Jesus tells her this, though: “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?”
If you believe, you will see God’s glory. Imagine that. When all quite reasonably seems to be lost, when Mary has rebuked him, and Martha has reminded him that bodies start stinking after they die, Jesus calls for faith. Jesus calls for hope. And Jesus promises the glory of God.
Because our gospel passage does not end with Mary’s rebuke. And it does not end with Martha’s practical concerns about the smell. In fact, it does not end with a dead man staying dead. Rather it ends in faith, hope, amazement, and life. And I cannot think of a better metaphor for a church in transition.
To be honest, my metaphor might be a bit shaky. I think at times, this church, and even me personally, are Mary, or Martha, or Lazarus. Mother Cathy seems to slot into the role of Jesus, which is probably none too comfortable for her either. She probably feels like she is on much safer ground just being her usual saintly self. It is a metaphor with a lot of options. It’s almost as if this gospel reading was still alive, as if Jesus truly was the word of God still finding different ways to speak to us today.
But how does All Saints’ Day fit into all of this? I mentioned way back at the beginning that I was going to talk about more than just the gospel passage; I was going to talk about All Saints’ Day too. Well, the time is now. Despite the fact that my daughter has only named one person here today a saint, let me throw the window open a bit wider. We are, all of us, saints. The New Testament has a striking tendency not to use the term Christians to refer to the church. The term that St. Paul, in particular, uses with regularity is saints. Saints are the people of God in heaven and on earth. So we have gathered here today a group of saints that has to decide what this church will be like after our rector moves on to the next position to which God has called her. But as a body of saints, I think we can all say in confidence that we can move forward in the hope that Christ outlined for us, the hope of God that has power over everything, including death itself, and who can make all things new, including this church.
In the end, I think Franklin Roosevelt, quoting Jesus, put it best. To paraphrase, to some generations, or parishes, much is given. From others, much is expected. This parish has a rendezvous with destiny.

We. Here. Now: Sow with Tears and Reap with Joy Proper 25 Yr B Oct 25 2015

+We have several references to tears in today’s readings. I suppose that’s fitting, since, by now I hope you’ve all received the letter announcing my intention to resign my position as rector, effective December 31, 2015. The discernment Pete and I entered in to reach this decision, and the discernment you now find yourselves in, can lead to the shedding of many a tear. I certainly didn’t plan it this way, but the readings for today--- readings about being lost and being found, being blind and then being able to see, readings about tears of sorrow being transformed into shouts of joy—all of these are helpful as we try to find our way in this new territory of transition and change.
When I was a seminary intern serving at St. Matthias in East Aurora their parish “slogan” was taken directly from Psalm 126:
“Those who sowed with tears will reap with songs of joy.”


I love that sentiment and have always tried to remember it as an absolute promise from God that the tears we shed today create the songs of joy we’ll sing tomorrow.
We have done some amazing things together. We’ve built new programs, we’ve filled old ones with more energy, we’ve welcomed new members and we’ve bid others farewell. As I said in my letter, the decision to leave wasn’t a decision to turn away from you it was a decision to embark on a journey toward something new and scary, something God seems to be pushing Pete and me to do. Our hearts are heavy and the tears we’ve shed have been frequent and plentiful. But those tears are tears that wouldn’t be shed if we hadn’t, over these past almost six years, [nearly 4 ½ years] shared so very much joy. Over the next 10 weeks we’ll have lots of time to celebrate what we’ve done together, to grieve our separation and to prepare ourselves for what comes next. But one thing never ever changes regardless of who is your priest: there’s work to do, a journey to continue, hope to hold onto, love to spread and God’s kingdom to live into. We are fed for this journey, strengthened for this task, encouraged for the road ahead by and through all those who have come before us…the great cloud of Good Shepherd and Ascension witnesses and those whose journeys are outlined in our sacred scripture.
Today’s readings have a lot to tell us about journeys--those into and out from exile, those that take us from blindness into sight, from who we are today to who we’ll be tomorrow.
In our reading from Jeremiah, God is offering a hymn of praise for what God is about to do---gather all the Israelites who had been dispersed north and south, east and west, all those who were cast out in the Exile--  back into the fold. We can look at this reading discretely, written to and for a specific people at a specific time, or we can read it more broadly as God singing to us, now, here:
God says, “with tears of joy they will come, while they pray, I will bring them back. I will lead them by quiet streams and on smooth paths so they don’t stumble.” God doesn’t ask us to find our own way, God doesn’t ask us to tackle the mountains of uncertainty or the shadows of doubt alone.
 God asks us to pray, for it is in prayer where we’ll find our solace, it is through prayer we find our way.
My friends, pray. Pray for this community, pray for [ascension] [gs], pray for me, pray for Pete. Pray for the drum beat of God’s love to lead us home.
In today’s Gospel reading from Mark, Jesus and his followers are on their way out of Jericho when they are way-laid by blind Bartimaeus who, upon realizing that Jesus was near called out—Jesus, Son of David, show me mercy! Jesus hears him, calls for him and suddenly old Bartimaeus can see. Seems really straight forward, right?
Well again, we can look at this reading as a basic, “man has a problem, man reaches out in faith and hope to Jesus, man is healed” story---that would be the discrete read--- or we can look at it more broadly and consider it to be a bit more than one person with one disability who has one encounter and is then healed.
You see, I don’t know if there was a person named Bartimeaus who was blind and then could see. I don’t know if there was this one person who heard that Jesus was near, identified him as the messiah and then asked him to show him mercy…there probably was…but this story isn’t just a report on an event 2K yrs ago in Jericho, this is a story for us, here, now. It’s a story for everyone, everywhere at anytime. For more than being a story of one healing, it is, instead, a story of what can happen when we are heard, really heard. When we, like Bartimaeus, speak up, reach out and go forward, we will be heard, we will be seen and we will be stronger for it. Bartimaeus called out, Jesus heard him and called him forward. Off Bartimeaus ran, tossing his coat aside, rushing through the crowd and presenting himself to Jesus, ready to receive whatever it is God, through Jesus Christ, could provide. And in that posture of receptivity, in that posture of tossing aside all that weighed him down, he was, at once, able to see.
My dear friends, do not let this change in our life together weigh you down with fear or doubt, cast off your worry, talk to me, talk to each other and most importantly talk to God. For when you speak, you will be heard, and when you look, you will most assuredly, see.
Because what I Iearned years ago and still hold onto today is this: those who sow with tears, always and forever, reap with songs of joy.
Amen.