rchived 
ermons
Go to . . .
November 6, 2005
“How long, o lord, how long?” That’s a plaintive cry from what we know as the Old Testament – a cry of the Jewish people awaiting the Messiah – awaiting the Day of the Lord. That will be the day, in their eyes, when everything will be made right – all will be perfect. . . .
Faces – many, many faces – young and old, smooth and wrinkled, male and female – all looking up in expectation – eyes fixed on Jesus, ears straining to hear His words . . .
“You were strangers in Egypt” – sojourners in a strange land. That thought was central in minds and the lives of God’s people.
They knew well what it means to be a stranger – to be different; to be other. . .
I received an invitation some time ago. It came in a very fine envelope, obviously first class; it looked expensive — best quality. The invitation said “It’s a party; you’re invited!” Now that is exciting. Reading on it gave the details. I was very enthusiastic until I read down to the part that said “The menu will be fat things full of marrow and wine on the lees.” That brought to mind a vision of my doctor solemnly intoning the word “cholesterol” . . .
I recently heard from my cousin Bill in California. Actually he now calls himself Chuck, which is fine by me.
Ingeman Archive 2009
|
SERMON – EPIPHANY 1, 2009 “WHAT DID JESUS KNOW AND WHEN DID HE KNOW IT?”
Genesis 1:1-5 I must confess that I have long puzzled over the point in this morning’s gospel, the question being why was Jesus baptized by John? I hasten to say that I don’t question that it happened, all four gospels agree on that point and that isn’t always the case, but I do wonder why. I wonder why because the whole basis of John’s baptism, what John called the people to do, was repentance; straighten out your life, turn it all around, beg pardon for your sins, get right with God. The puzzle for me is this: If Jesus is the Son of God, one in the three of the Holy Trinity, if Jesus is divine, of what must He repent? It would seem that He would have no cause to straighten out His life or turn anything around; He is sinless, He is right with God. Why, then, is at the Jordan that particular day? Do you think that the Jesus at the Jordan knew, really knew Himself to be The Son of God? What do we know of the life He had led up to that moment; the gospels are almost silent on His childhood and youth, the first thirty years of His life. Perhaps we should assume that they were the usual years of a normal childhood of a Jewish boy of that age, growing up in the house of his parents, Mary and Joseph, going to Shul in his village, learning a trade, nothing remarkable. There is one story concerning a journey to Jerusalem, to the Temple when Jesus is a young teen. Jesus is left behind when Mary and Joseph depart the city, sought for and found in the Temple with teachers who are impressed by His maturity and wisdom. When confronted by his parents Jesus replies that He has been in “his father’s house.” Much has been made of that brief statement, asserting it to show that Jesus knew Himself to be “The Son of God.” On the other hand that would be the reply of any good Jewish boy; the Temple is the spiritual home of every Jew and God is the spiritual Father of them all. It does not necessarily mean that He knows His special relationship to The Father. Paul, writing to the Christians at Phillipi says that God “emptied Himself,” better translated as “stripped off,” His divinity to be one of us, fully human but yet divine, a God who is fully human. While divine He was born an infant who must learn all things. Perhaps His childhood is the simple story of learning, slowly and sequentially, who He is and what His calling is in this world. That too is what it means to be human. Perhaps the clues of His divinity slowly clarified a growing conviction of His special nature. As children we have to learn many things; not just how to walk and talk and read and write, we learn compassion, how to live in the company of others, we learn to be loved and to love. Perhaps, like us, He had doubts. To be human, and Jesus was fully human, is to doubt. Even in the Garden of Gethsemane He doubts, even on the cross, He doubts. But the doubts never overcame His growing understanding of His identity as a beloved child of God. Perhaps the conviction led Him to the Jordan and to the thunderous confirmation that He is the Son in whom the Father is well-pleased. CHRISTMAS 2008 On crisp, clear nights there is a deep blackness to the sky; stars shine in their thousands, a myriad of points of light. The dazzling Milky Way splits the sky and the stars are so many and so bright that they seem close, so close that they press down upon us. Then you are under the real night sky, the ancient sky of the night not compromised by the lights we have created; that is the sky of the shepherds in tonight’s Gospel; Shepherds, tending their flocks by night gazing up at the slow, nightly progression of the stars in the constellations, marking the passage of time and seasons, marking the passage of their lives by the sky. It had always been so; it would always be so. What, then, if that predictable, familiar star-filled sky had been suddenly eclipsed by a brighter light, a brilliant light, the light of the presence of a glittering, glistening angel, filling the sky proclaiming the birth of a babe who would be the Savior and Deliverer of all the world? What, then, if that angel had been suddenly joined by a vast host of angels, a heavenly choir filling the sky, singing “Glory to God?” How easy it is to put this story of miraculous Incarnation into the past tense, to see the birth of Our Lord as an event of long, long ago and far, far away, another time and another place. How easy it is in this noisy, absorbing, artificial light-filled world of ours to fail to see that above and beyond our knowing and our seeing the stars still shine as brightly as they did for shepherds on Judean hillsides and angels sing as sweetly now, for us, as they did then. The glory of Christmas is that the light and song have never been lost, never overcome, in the midst of tinsel, giant inflatable decorations and miles and miles of pretty paper and ribbons. It’s the simplicity of it, the simplicity of the meaning of the day; it means that love is triumphant over all, the love of God for us, His children, that transcends all time. How can conceive of such a love, find words to express what that love means for every one of us; how can we comprehend a love so great that the Creator of all things would become one of the most helpless of us? It’s in the assurance of the lights in the heavens; it’s in the song, the angels’ song, sung to shepherds, sung to us: “ O ye, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way, with painful steps and slow, Look now! For glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing; O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing.”
SERMON: ADVENT 3, 2008 If I mention John the Baptist, what image comes instantly to mind? It’s the man in the camel hair and leather, isn’t it, the intense, unkempt loner out there in the wilderness, sort of loud and wild-eyed, perhaps from too much wild honey in his diet, haranguing the crowd out by the waters of the Jordan. That’s the Synoptic John, the John of Matthew, Mark and Luke. They load the Gospel with details so that you and I can place John in time and place. Obviously, John is a prophet in the best traditions of the Old Testament; in fact John is the great prophet, Elijah, the one who immediately precedes the Messiah. It’s all there in The Book of Kings and Malachi. In the synoptics John is given credentials and those credentials give John credibility. This morning’s Gospel is the Gospel of John. In this Gospel John the Baptist has no need of credentials, no need of being placed in time, no need to be seen as an Elijah. In John’s Gospel John the Baptist is present for only one thing; the message he proclaims, the presence of the Messiah. Notice how impatient John becomes with the questions about who he might be, as they try to place him in their frame of reference. “Are you the Messiah, they ask?” He replies “No, I am not the Christ.” Are you Elijah?” John answers, tersely “No, I am not.” “Are you a prophet, they ask?” The answer is a loud, resounding, impatient “No!” John is saying stop trying to say who I am, I am not important, listen to what I am saying! You no longer have time to muddle your heads about Elijahs and prophets, time has passed you by while you were engaged in endless, pointless, imponderable discussions. The Messiah is not coming; the Messiah is here. The Messiah, the Christ is standing among you and you do not recognize Him. Actually, here’s a good question for Advent, or for any time. “How would you recognize the Messiah, the Christ? How would you know Him to be present?” One very attractive pitfall is to try to place the Christ in a context, just like those who fretted about who John the Baptist might be. It’s tempting to see Him in the flowing white robes and the sandals of several millennia ago, an historical anachronism in our twenty-first century culture, not unlike Elijah in the world of John the Baptist. We would have no difficulty in seeing Him in the crowd. We would have no trouble putting Him into a context. We would see Him; would we hear Him? Would be so caught up in who He is that we would miss why He is here? It happens. Personally, I think the Christ would say to the world, “Never mind who I am, listen to what I say.”
SERMON: 23 November 2008
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
Ephesians 1:15-23 We have a promise, a divine promise, you and I, that God will call us, His people, to the “glorious inheritance among His saints.” So says Paul in his letter to the Christians at Ephesus. His words echo the even more ancient promise made by Ezekiel, the promise that God will search us out from all the places we have strayed – that doesn’t mean geographically - gather us, feed us and lead us to shelter and to rest. That is a very nice promise. Of course, being biblical, both Ezekiel and Paul put the promise in terms of sheep, a very common sight in their world. The people of their audience lived in the midst of flocks of sheep, sheep everywhere, and they knew that those sheep had a few common characteristics. One characteristic was passivity; as long as the grass grew green, life was fine. Another characteristic was that they were easily led; born followers. It took very little persuasion to move the entire flock, to green pastures or to disaster. Any leader would do. So Paul and Ezekiel talk about leaders, shepherds. Ezekiel speaks of David; Paul speaks of Jesus; one shepherd, placed by God over all His flock, one compassionate, loving shepherd to lead all those wandering sheep – read people – to safety and security. That’s the point of the Gospel isn’t it, the point of every Gospel reading? It speaks of compassion and care and love, the love of God for His people. This morning’s Gospel is the final reading for this year. Next Sunday our church calendar begins a new year with the season of Advent, a new season of preparation for the Feast of the Incarnation, Christmas, and all that that great breaking into history brings. This Sunday we receive the promise, but we also receive a job. We are working sheep, strange as that may sound. We are sought out and brought in to be God’s special flock, led by our shepherd, Jesus Christ, to do His will, to be His hands and eyes and voice in this huge pasture of ours. Which means it is our task to feed the hungry, to give water to the thirsty, to welcome the stranger, to clothe the naked, to care for the sick and to visit the prisoner. That’s what it means to follow Jesus. You will remember that Jesus asked Peter no less than three times “Simon, do you love me?” Presiding Bishop Allen, a few Presiding Bishops ago, always said that that was the final exam for all Christians, for us all, and that in saying “Yes, Lord” we take upon ourselves the work given by Jesus, “Feed my sheep.”
SERMON NOVEMBER 16, 2008 1
Thessalonians 5:1-11 This morning’s reading from Judges sort of leaves us hanging, doesn’t it. I read it and thought “Wow, let’s see how God is going to smite Sisera and all his army. So, assuming that the story would continue I looked at next week’s Old Testament reading and it won’t be from Judges at all; it will be Ezekiel and it’s something about sheep. This sent me straightway to read Judges, specifically Chapter 4, to finish the story. Have you read it? It’s awful. The short version is that there is a huge battle. God, through the army of Israel, triumphs over Sisera and is army of iron chariots, a real upset, and Israel’s enemies are routed and they all run away. Apparently in the area of the great battle a small tribe or family of nomads, Kenites, are camping. One of them, a woman named Jael, happens to look out the door of the tent and sees Sisera running for his life. She tells him “Come in here and you will be safe. Jael tells lies. Once Sisera is inside, hiding under a rug; Jael dispatches him with a tentpeg; I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say, so much for hospitality, compassion and honesty. Why, we may ask, is this story in the Bible? What has it to do with the Gospel reading about coins and servants? Having pondered that, I have concluded that the connection has to do with opportunities. The question is “What do we do with the opportunities God gives us?” Appalling as it may seem God gave Jael an opportunity to strike a blow, literally, for the liberation of His people from oppression. Appalling as it may seem she took it. That’s not unlike the good and faithful servant in the Gospel, the one who is given 5 talents and actually uses them to his master’s benefit. The servant saw an opportunity to serve and benefit his master and he made the best of it. He used what he had been given to do what he knew his master would wish to have done. Perhaps he took a risk at seizing that opportunity; nothing is accomplished if opportunities are not taken. A story: A few weeks ago I came to the church on Saturday morning to set up for a Confirmation class, I suppose it was just before 8. On the walkway just outside the nursery windows was what appeared to be a pile of clothing lying there. I walked over and realized that it was two women sleeping under a pile of clothing. They woke up as I was standing there. The one on the left was Liz, probably in her early twenties, a runaway from a Rehab Center in Lake Park. The woman on the right was Darla, a much older wandered on her way south, weather beaten. They had no idea where they were but they said “We saw the name Christ and we knew we would be safe.” Liz had only her clothing and book, a volume of the Worldbook Encyclopedia. Darla was equipped for the road with a backpack, a Bible and a stuffed animal. We could have said “On your way.” We could have run them off to somewhere. We could have buried the opportunity to serve God by serving his poor lost sheep, but we didn’t. We invited them to breakfast. We found Liz’s Rehab Center; they were relieved to learn that she was safe. They came for her. We hoped that Darla might go with her but she was back the next day, Sunday morning, sleeping on the porch of Miller House. Perhaps you saw her that day, much of the parish did. Nobody took offense or fright at her presence; nobody told her to leave. On the contrary, people brought her breakfast and coffee, and lunch and blankets and a jacket; people listened to her story with respect and compassion and, finally, people of Christ Church bought her ticket to her destination in Florida. That is a real-life opportunity; a God-given opportunity to show the love and concern and compassion that every Christian is called to. We could have done nothing, burying that opportunity, and failed our Master, but Christ Church chose to use the opportunity. I do believe God would say “Well done, good and faithful servants.”
SERMON 19 OCTOBER 2008 Exodus
33:12-23 Occasionally we watch news programs on cable television. I am struck by the fact that, on what is supposed to be a programming presenting information, a group of people can spend a full thirty minutes shouting and interrupting each other. Nobody is listening. We have slipped into the age of polarization. At some point in the past few years we seem to have lost the art of intelligent and informative conversation and discussion. We have lost the art of persuasion; lost the middle ground of reason. There used to be something called, in philosophical terms, the “Hegelian Dialectic.” The dialectic was very simply that if you have an idea, a thesis, and I disagree, I have an antithesis, we can, through reasoned discussion come upon a new idea called a synthesis. Obviously, the process actually implies thought and we seem to have lost that. The mantra for our time would be “I have an opinion; don’t annoy me with yours.” The next step after polarization, and we already slipped into it, is demonization. Demonization is when the person who disagrees with us not only wrong, he or she is evil. We must not listen to evil people; hence the shouting and interrupting. The frightening fact is that all this is infectious. It really concerns me that I can sit in my own chair, in my own home, watching my own TV and feel compelled to answer those people, to shout back. Of course my repartee is on a much higher level but it’s still shouting. What, you may ask, has all this to do with today’s readings? It’s this; Jesus is in the midst of a very polarized crowd. On the one hand the Herodians, the ones who asked the question about taxes in the first place, are collaborationists, supporters of Herod, the puppet king of Judea and, therefore supporters of the Roman occupation. The Herodians are doing very nicely under the Roman authorities; they have no problem with taxation. They always receive far more than they give; Caesar can be very generous with his friends. On the other hand the crowd, the people of the streets, don’t receive much if anything for what they pay in taxes. They carry the burden without the benefits. They see the fruit of their labor disappear into the hands of the Romans and, of course, the Herodians. Religious scruples aside, they have every reason to oppose taxation,. Here is Jesus standing between these two polarized factions. If He answers “yes, pay taxes to Caesar” the crowd will be very ugly toward Him; if He says “no, do not pay taxes to Caesar:” He is speaking as a revolutionary and precipitating a rebellion. One glance at the armed might of the Roman army says what the chances of success would be; the cost in lives and property would be dreadful. Jesus answers neither, or both. Jesus has no money of His own; He must ask for a coin and He receives a Roman coin bearing the image of Caesar. He asks “whose image is this?” Someone raises his hand and says “I know; it’s Caesar;” the obvious answer and it’s the wrong answer. In the world of Jesus there is no division between the secular and the sacred. God is sovereign in all things; all power and authority to rule is from God, including that of Caesar. The image on the coin is not simply that of whoever might be Caesar at the moment, it is of God because we are all made in the image of God, including Caesar. The Caesars of this world have their brief hour and then they are gone, transients in history; only God is eternal. God’s image is stamped upon the world of His creation, upon a Roman coin and upon us all. Jesus sees beyond that polarized moment, beyond Herodians and Philistines and Romans and the disadvantaged. Jesus sees the presence of God in all His creation, in all humankind. Jesus knows that polarized moments do not last forever. Jesus knows that the message of the Gospel is not to be appropriated and used to promote, or to serve as an excuse for, anger, conflict and division by anyone. The faith of Jesus is true faith; faith in the long-term presence and love of God that transcends polarizations and divisions of the moment. Jesus’ faith is in the inexorable, inevitable progress of God’s plan for the salvation of the world, a plan that is far greater than all the apparent, momentary failures and crises of time and people. But we left Jesus standing holding a Roman coin; what about that coin? You recall, I am sure, that somewhere around Matthew, Chapter 6, Jesus talks about coins saying “You cannot serve two masters; you cannot serve God and Mammon.” The coin is a little piece of Mammon. Jesus holds up that little piece of Mammon for all to see, Herodians and the crowd, and, predictably, all eyes are riveted to that little coin. Jesus is standing between Herodians who have lots of Mammon and the crowd who have none and He knows that Mammon is master of them both, one for the love of it and one for the desire for it. Jesus knows, and you and I know, that Mammon, money cannot be master. Money is a tool in our hands, a tool to be used. Our task is to use it wisely. If we do use it wisely and properly in the service of others it is being used in the service of God and to His greater glory.
SERMON 28 SEPTEMBER 2008
Philippians 2:1-13 Actually, Happy and I have two sons, Bill and Steve; they have been here on several occasions, you may have met them. Bill is the older son; he was with us for about a year. He is an artist. He has a real touch for portraiture and has long experience in computer graphics . He is also a trained, certified sushi chef, speaks Japanese and now teaches English at a high school in Wakayama, Japan. Steve is a few years younger. He has degrees in philosophy and library science from William and Mary, Indiana University and the University of Tennessee. He taught philosophy at Indiana, was at Marymount College and now is with the library system in Falls Church, Virginia. Can you detect a difference in their personalities? It was ever so. Bill has always been the mercurial, emotional artist; Steve the calm, reflective detached philosopher. When they were small we would say, with good reason I might add, “Please clean up your room.” Bill, the artist, would go ballistic. He would sputter and fume and then go and clean up his room. Steve would say “ok’ and go straight to his room. Perhaps an hour later, noticing that we had neither seen nor heard Steve for some time, we might peek in to see how he was doing. We would find him sitting in his room, happily playing in the midst of chaos. Reflecting on that, and on today’s reading from the Gospel, it occurs to me that there really are only four possible responses open when we are given a task or a mission. One is to say “no” and actually not do whatever we are asked to do. That certainly makes it all very simple; annoying, but simple. In a way I suppose it’s also quite honest. It does put false expectations in their place. Then, of course, we can also say “yes” and not do it, like the one son in the gospel. At the very least, that’s polite. If something is so important to a person that they would ask us to do it, who are we to hurt their feelings by failing to agree with them? We really do think that way, don’t we? Apparently, so did the son in the reading. Happily, there is always the possibility that the one who asks may forget all about it. Or, we can say “no” and do what is asked, like the other son; we all do that sometimes too. We do that when that annoying little voice we call a conscience nags us into admitting that yes we can do something and yes we do have the time and yes we do see that you need help and yes and yes and yes. Never underestimate the power of guilt. The value of it all is that, first, the task gets done and, second, the one who asks has a happy surprise. Does that all strike you as needlessly complicated; would it not be better, and far simpler, to say “yes” and get on with it? That’s the WWJD thing. Surely you remember when “WWJD , what would Jesus do?” bracelets were everywhere. Personally, I rather liked a cartoon of Jesus wearing a WWID bracelet. What Jesus would do, and did, was to say “yes” and fulfill the task without reservations. He did as the Father said and therein hangs our salvation. Therein also hangs our calling as children of God. Ultimately, I really doubt that anyone gets away with saying “no” to God and I think that God knows perfectly well when our “yes” is not sincere. So I think the point is that when Our Father calls upon us to clean up our room, and this world is our room, and our lives are our room, He can handle the sputtering and fuming, He can wait while we finishing playing in midst of the clutter we’ve created, but the room will be cleaned.
Exodus 12:1-14 SERMON 7 SEPTEMBER 2008 As you know I’m sure our Bishop plans to retire in a year or so, whenever his successor is named and consecrated. So a process has begun to elect that successor. That is one big job! Several committees have been appointed to assess the needs of the diocese, the vision of the diocese as to what that next bishop should be, to supervise nominations and the election and plan the transition to the new bishop. Our own Walter Hobgood has been tasked with conducting the assessment process; a truly massive task. Thus far he has conducted “town meetings” for lay people and clergy at a number of places around the diocese, meetings open to everyone. I attended a meeting for clergy; it was very interesting. You may actually have noted that we clergy are a diverse, perhaps eclectic lot and, if you believe what is written about us, we might even be fractious. Perhaps this diocese is unusual, of course it is, but fractious the meeting was not. There were many ideas expressed bu8t all were given credence and respect. Now I must say that if all the qualities that were asked for in the next bishop were really fulfilled we have no need for an election process. He will come again in the manner in which we saw Him depart. However the assessment of what the diocese, let’s say the church, is and what we would want it to be spurred my thoughts. This morning’s readings, by a strange coincidence, are really appropriate. What would you say is the center, the glue that holds together, the worship community is the Old Testament readings. The psalmist makes it very clear that the bond is the statutes, the commandments, the decrees. The reading from Exodus is a wonderful example of those decrees; it outlines in detail exactly what must be done by all the members of the community, first at the Passover and then down though all the succeeding generations. The identity of the nation is found in the memorial of that act and that is fine. There’s room for that; there is a great need for traditions that speak to God’s saving acts for His people. But then hear the words of Paul in his letter; “Love one another for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” “Love your neighbor as yourself…love is the fulfilling of the law.’ That has a very different sound, doesn’t it? It brings the statutes, commandments and decrees up close and personal. What Paul is saying is that the worship community rests upon the love and compassion and sacrifice of one member for another, in emulation of Christ Himself. Without that sense of love the community may crumble. Is that not what Jesus speaks of in telling His followers how to resolve problems among them? He admonishes them to strive for reconciliation and understanding; division is not to taken lightly or effected in haste because what we do is for eternity. What then is the central point, the bond, the glue of a Christian church. It is love and we cannot together in Jesus’ name without love. When the church, large or small has love, He promises He will be there. Now what was apparent at the clergy meeting was that both the traditions of the commandments, our faith history is to be honored, without we are lost or, worse, reinventing ourselves again and again, and the overwhelming need for love and compassion, the love and compassion that has been and is the great characteristic of our church will carry this diocese through.
Exodus 3:1-15 SERMON – 31 AUGUST 2008 Have you ever wondered about Satan – who or what is Satan? We all have. Personally I can’t really accept the classis picture of a figure with horns, a pointy tail, a red suit and a pitchfork. I mean that’s certainly colorful and unforgettable, really alien and other. We like to think of Satan as other, something apart from us and unlike us. However, the word is Hebrew and Arabic, Semitic, and it simply means adversary – on who asks questions. Who asks us the most questions, after our children of course. The answer is, we do. We are constantly running tapes that start with “what if, should I, if only I had” all those little voices that follow us around all the time. Call it what you will, introspection, self-doubt, insecurity, obsessive behavior” it’s lots of questions. Now in this morning’s Gospel we have Jesus rebuking Simon Peter saying “Get behind me Satan!” Actually Jesus is saying “Leave me!” Why? Because Peter has said no; God forbid that you should undergo suffering at the hands of the priests and scribes, God forbid that you should be killed. Let’s go back a few years in the Gospel. Jesus has been baptized by John in the Jordan and designated to be Son of God. He’s gone to the wilderness. Why? Perhaps to try to understand what has happened; perhaps to try to prepare himself for that such an identity must demand. He’s alone in the wilderness when Satan appears. Satan says “If you are the Son of God, turn these stones into bread.” Jesus is hungry, he must be hungry; he has been in the wilderness for many days. The hunger gnaws at him. Satan is really saying “do you really have to be hungry? You do realize that it’s unnecessary, don’t you?” Jesus is alone in the wilderness, he must be lonely, he is human after all. Satan offers company past anyone’s wildest dreams. All the kingdoms of the world, all of humanity, will be with Jesus. Wouldn’t that be nice? You need not be alone, you know; you need not spend this time in the wilderness all by yourself. And then Satan touches on Jesus’, and our greatest vulnerability. What if it’s not true? What if it’s all an illusion, a dream and God really isn’t there to support and uplift him? What if he embarks on his earthly ministry and it all falls flat and he’s rejected? All that must have gone through the mind of Jesus at some point. Satan suggests, why not test it? Why not place yourself in danger and see what God does? Why not test your faith in God, and God’s faith in you. Jesus rejects Satan, drives him away, until, as the Gospel tells us “…an appropriate time.” Now he’s back and he has another question. Through dear, impulsive Peter Satan asks “Why? Why should you suffer and die? Why should you go through these things if, as you say, you will be raised? What’s the point?” The point, and it is surely lost on Satan, is faith. Jesus has perfect faith that God loves the world so much that he would give his Son, his own life, for his creation, an atoning sacrifice for all. Jesus calls his disciples and calls you and me and all the world, to such a faith. He tells us all that if we would save our lives, if we withhold from God our utter faith in that love and care, we will lose everything. If we emulate Jesus and give what we can offer, however great or small that may be, give it in faith, we have salvation. That is, actually, a choice we have to make and it is our choice. Years ago a comedian named Flip Wilson created a character named Geraldine, one rowdy individual, whose mantra was “The devil made me do it.” The devil can’t make us do anything. The devil, Satan, relies on our cooperation, which means, he relies on our paying heed to those voices of doubt.
SERMON – AUGUST 20 2008
Genesis 45:1-15 A few years ago Happy and I attended a birthday party for one of her three sisters. The party was a surprise. All sorts of people – childhood friends and neighbors from years before were invited. Of course many of them were people from Happy’s past also and many of them remembered her. Inevitably, there were people who would come up to her and say “I bet you don’t remember me” How true. Of course she didn’t. Year had gone by since she had seen them. She had changed and they had changed. Surely you have been in that same situation; we all have. With any luck they may identify themselves, but not necessarily. So here’s Joseph in Egypt; it’s sort of a homecoming party, at least for Joseph. His brothers don’t have a clue. Years have gone by. Joseph has changed, really changed. Joseph is an Egyptian, or so it appears. He’s in a palace, seated on a chair of gold, fanned by slaves with peacock feathers. He’s wearing a sort of crown and lots of gold. He looks good. Here are his brothers, fresh from the flocks smelling vaguely like sheep. They are a ragtag bunch in rough clothing, with scraggly beards. They aren’t very clean. Joseph knows who they are. It’s probably hard to forget the faces of people who throw you into a pit, then haul you out and sell you to a caravan of slavers. I should think that sort of thing would stay in your mind. Needless to say, the brothers do not recognize Joseph. In all honesty, what would you do at that moment if you were Joseph? Tempting, isn’t it? What a great position to be in; what a great scenario for sweet revenge. Joseph is big; he can have them jailed, made slaves, killed. There was no one to complain about it, no one to criticize him. He has an absolutely free hand. Joseph doesn’t yield to temptation. He has grown up. He has come to realize that who he is, all that he has, all his good fortune is the direct result of the brothers’ one act of cruelty, the direct result of the brothers’ yielding to just such temptation. Good has come from evil. Which means, he knows, that something far greater than Joseph and his brothers has been at work in the world, that it is God who has taken a hand in the life of Joseph. Joseph’s faith in God has never wavered, even in the darkest moments of the pit and the prison. God has led him through those times to the present. Object Lesson Number One is that God can and does cause what we call bad to lead to good; it is one of God’s many graces to His people. Object Lesson Number Two is that if God can be so gracious to Joseph, then Joseph must be gracious to others, specifically, at the moment, those scruffy, clueless brothers. He doesn’t say “Bet you don’t remember me.” He says, “I am Joseph.” Just who or what is Joseph; what is this story really about? Of course he’s a character in Genesis but he really is a universal. Joseph is everyone who has been abused, victimized, injured or abandoned and has yet not lost faith; there have been, and there are today, countless Josephs. Saint Paul was a Joseph. In the course of his ministry as a missionary Paul was beaten, imprisoned, run out of town, all of which without ever losing faith in the God that had sent him on the road. Strange as it may sound, the woman who confronts Jesus in this mornings Gospel is a Joseph. Faith in the healing power and presence of God brings her into Jesus’ presence and faith gives her the courage, the temerity to stay there in the face of what you and I would call rejection. The point is, of course, first that nobody, absolutely nobody, is forgotten in the sight of God; He does remember us, you and me, even if we haven’t talked to Him in years.
SERMON 6 JULY 2008 Jesus speaks of a yoke; what is that? I am sure we’ve all seen pictures of a yoke, perhaps seen one in person in Colonial Williamsburg or some other living history display. It’s no more that a big piece of wood, a beam shaped to fit across the neck and shoulders of two big draft animals, perhaps oxen. The beam is attached to traces that lead to a plow or a wagon. The entire purpose of the yoke is to allow the two to work and pull together as one. Two pulling together can do far more than one alone. In his letter to the Romans Paul has a different sort of yoke. His yoke is not making his life and his work easier; his yoke is a burden. It’s as though there were two of him; as though he could look aside and see himself, a very different Paul not working in harmony with him but pulling against him. Paul really wants to be good. He has encountered Jesus Christ and knows well exactly what he, Paul, should do to follow Our Lord. In fact he is so certain what one must do to follow Jesus that he writes letters telling people about it, laying down the rules to all sorts of little churches. We are still reading those letters several thousand years later. But then there is the other half of the yoke. There is that part of Paul that does not follow his own advice. As good as Paul would be, the other half thwarts him and does what is evil in his sight; the other half pulls against him. Of course, unless two halves pull together a yoke is useless, nothing is accomplished, and Paul feels that he is getting nowhere. That’s not such an uncommon situation is it? Do we not all know people who seem to betray their own best intentions and defeat themselves again and again? It’s not that they don’t know what they should or could do, they aren’t fools, Paul is no fool. It’s as though, as with Paul, something holds them back. I know there are all sorts of psychiatric explanations for that obstruction, all of which are, I’m sure, valid. I can try to understand them, to help them, to encourage them, try to help them to pull in the right direction, but, in all honesty, I know I can’t change them. The question is, who or what can? So Jesus says “Take my yoke upon you.” That’s an offer to take up the other half of the yoke and pull with us. Jesus isn’t saying that he’ll do all the work and pull the load alone, He expects us to do at least fifty percent of the task, but He does offer to lighten the load. His yoke is easy; His burden is light. Our burden is light whatever that burden might be. It really comes down to our choice between two options. We can, of course, be like Paul and just bemoan our failures, acting as though we are powerless to do better, or we can listen to Jesus and accept His offer
SERMON JULY 4, 2008
Deuteronomy 10:17-21 “Help us O Lord, to finish the good work begun here.” We will pray that together soon; it’s one of the prayers set aside for this day. It says two things about us. First, it says that we, as a nation in this world, are a work in progress; we aren’t finished yet. We have come a long way, though, from the days of our formation as a people. This country was founded in revolution, that’s a well-worn phrase. When we hear it we think of the trials and the heroics of a great struggle with Great Britain, winning our independence. There was another revolution just as, perhaps even more, significant. The other revolution was in the minds and the hearts of the people. That revolution had to do with the nature of humanity itself. The document on which we rest our identity talked about the right to “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.” That was itself a revolutionary idea. It elevated humanity; it said that we have choices and decisions to make about the present and the future; that we participate in the decisions that shape our lives and our world. Those very rights have been praised and asserted in other places and at other times but here, in this nation, they have remained the active center of our understanding of our selves. That is the beginning; how are we to finish this work we’ve been given? Consider our Baptismal Covenant; we, as a people, acknowledge our belief in and dependence on a higher power, God. Then we make some promises. We promise that, with the help of God, we will” persevere in resisting evil,” and that when we do fall into sin, and you know we will, we will repent and return to God. Nations can sin as well as people, of course, and nations can repent as well. We promise to “proclaim the good news of God in Christ,” a nation demonstrating to the world that it is possible to forgive, possible to make sacrifice for others, possible to live in peace and in harmony; that all humanity are cherished children of God and have His love. We promise to “seek and serve all persons,” to “love our neighbors.” That promise does not concern just the family next door or the people down the block, it means our global neighbors with whom we share this earth, and it calls us to actively seek ways to better their lives, not for our own gain or glory, but for the love of God. We promise to “strive for justice and peace,” and we promise to “respect the dignity of every human being.” Every human being! In a world of respect there can be no have-nots, no impoverished nations, no exploitation, no wars. Can you visualize such a world, a world in which the agendas of God and Caesar are the same? Can you visualize a nation that truly shines forth the Christ light? Can you visualize it all beginning in such places as this with such people as you and me? If so, you can visualize the completion of the work we have begun.
SERMON 22 JUNE 2008
Genesis 21:8-21 I have always supposed that one of the great attractions, selling points of the faith in the very earliest days of Christianity must have been that it had no secrets, nothing arcane or hidden. It was available and accessible to everyone; no secret passwords or handshakes, just one simple story about the love of God and the sacrifice made by Jesus Christ. Of course there was a rite of initiation, perhaps not at the very beginning but very early in the life of the Church. Just a few years after the Resurrection Paul is telling the Christians at Rome that they are “…united with Christ in Baptism.” Baptism was, and remains, the entry into the family of God, joining with Jesus as God’s sons and daughters. That’s not too strenuous an initiation considering what it brings to us. It brings salvation. To be “…united with Christ” means that, just as Christ died to atone for our sins, we, with Him, die to sin; we are washed, cleansed and born anew. That is the plain fact of the Christian faith. The wonder of it is that it is a gift to us all. Paul spoke of the love of God in that when we, humanity, were still sinners, Christ made His sacrifice for us. The sacrifice in unearned; we have nothing so valuable as to be given in exchange for His saving act upon the cross. It is His gift to us because He loves us; we have value in God’s eyes. We fret and fume and worry about the pains and surprises of life, sometimes losing sight of what is truly significant, truly important in life; that is God’s unqualified, inexhaustible love. “Fear not, you are more value than many sparrows,” means that we, created as we are by God, share in His love for His Creation. That is what we are called to proclaim from the housetops. That is what we are to proclaim to the world. Realistically, however, proclamation has pitfalls; be aware that there is a cost; there may be conflict. You and I both know that there are people out there who cannot or will not or simply do not believe what we have to say. Why? For some people it’s inertia; it’s just too much trouble to hear and learn something new. If they believe the proclamation they might have to make a commitment and that’s just too much bother. Some people really do prefer a life of sin, strange as it sounds, and cannot imagine changing from the life, shallow and pointless as it may be, that gives ease and pleasure. Some people just won’t believe anything. Do not be anxious! Your job is to tell the world the Good News of the Gospel message, the salvation of the faithful; God won’t leave you out there struggling with the words to say and the courage to say them. His has been, is now and will be your support and your guide.
SERMON JUNE 15 2008 Genesis
18:1-15, (21:1-7) Romans
5:1-8 I attended Nashotah House, the Episcopal seminary in southern Wisconsin. The seminary is in a mixed area of very expensive resort property and summer homes on an abundance of very beautiful lakes, and farm land, principally in corn. The soil in that area a deep, rich and black; perfect for farming and for gardens. Happy and I lived in an old building, built in the 1860s, called “The Fort.” It was so called because the seminary dean had been the first to live there; when he died his widow refused to vacate the building. There was a genteel stand-off until the seminary built a second such building a few hundred yards away; just a bit of history. Next to “The Fort” was a large field, most of which was leased to a local farmer. The remainder was available to us seminarians to plant gardens and many of us did so. As I was saying, the soil and the temperature and the rainfall at Nashotah combine to create really good gardens. The problem is that the growing season, compared to South Georgia is very, very short. Seeds are planted in late Spring, May; by mid-September there might be the first frost, by mid-October the first snow. However, in the weeks between the gardens grow and grow and grow. Many seminarians plant gardens, mostly vegetables such as sweet corn, carrots, radishes, beets, beans and tomatoes, lots and lots of tomatoes. Happy and I planted wild flowers, which was, I suppose, rather counter-cultural. Of course, some of the seminarians traveled during the summer and didn’t really tend the gardens they planted; some just lost interest but most worked at it and made a real harvest. Then, once the season was over the weeds quickly overwhelmed the area and the plantings simply disappeared, submerged in the tangle. I found that to be sad. I think there is a real sadness about gardens that are no longer tended; gardens that have received years of planning and work and love by some one. There is a house on Williams Street that, for many years, had a garden lovingly tended by an elderly man. It was a delight to see the flower beds so cared for. Last year he was gone, I don’t know why or where and the flower beds faded away untended; this year they are gone and a little corner of loving care is gone with them. The gardens at Nashotah, overrun by a tangle of weeds and no longer cared for, had a special sadness, too. One very crisp and frosty September morning I was feeling that sadness looking at the field when a small spot of color caught my eye. It was bright red. Then I notices another and another. So I walked over and found, under the weeds, beautiful little tomatoes, survivors. “The harvest is plentiful; laborers are few” says Jesus to His Disciples. Perhaps that is as true today as ever. This is the age of weeds, all sorts of weeds. Most of the weeds have been growing for a long, long time; weeds such as self-pride and false idols, lots of false idols. There isn’t much in the world out there that extols Our Lord’s call to love and charity and humility. And then, of course, we have our divisions and dissensions in the church, weeds of theological controversy that has little to do with His commission to us. It’s as though the garden is being overwhelmed while the harvesters stand on the edge of the field arguing the fine point of agriculture. We’ve been here before. If the history of the faith tells us anything it is that the weeds may grow and seem to flourish but the faith will survive; the faith will survive the weeds of dissension and the frost of neglect, irrepressible and utterly tenacious, waiting to be discovered once again
SERMON JUNE 8 2008
Romans 4:13-25 This Abram in this morning's Old Testament lesson is one of a generation of travelers from Ur in Mesopotamia to Canaan. But the journey has been interrupted, it's incomplete, and now he and his people are settled comfortably in Haran. They've been there a while. Now their leader is dead. Their question is "Why go on; what's to be gained by going to Canaan; what can we have there that we don't have here?" Matthew is seated at a table in a comfortable chair viewing the world, viewing life, across stacks of gold and silver coins, the taxed wealth, and the taxed poverty, of his neighbors. Matthew is feared. Matthews is hated, but Matthew is rich. Why leave this life; what riches might be found that would match what lies before him on that table? Then comes the voice, the irresistible prompting. In a poem titled "The Explorer" Rudyard Kipling gave us a hint of that voice. He wrote, "'til a voice as bad as conscience rang interminable changes, on one everlasting whisper day and night repeated so, something hidden, go and find it." On one level Kipling's poem is about an intrepid Victorian British pioneer going bravely alone into an unknown place of mountains and valleys, impelled by that voice inside him. On another and deeper level that voice is saying "There is more to life than what is to found here, there is something greater, something better; go and find it It is yours." That is what God is saying to Abram, isn't it? There is a great new land, a great new life, and it is yours. It is mine to give and I give it to you. You've come this far on your journey and I have walked with you. I am not going to abandon you halfway on the road to what you have been promised; land of your own, a great nation, descendents as many as the stars in the sky and the sands in the desert. All those things are yours, waiting for you. Just get up; just go! That's what Our Lord Jesus Christ is saying to Matthew, the collector of taxes. Jesus is asking Matthew "Are you truly satisfied with this life of yours? Do you measure your life, your person, by piles of dead, cold silver and gold? Is material wealth all that matters to you or is there more to you?" Jesus asks if there is not deep inside hard old tax collecting Matthew a person with a heart, with a spirit, a person who secretly yearns for a world of peace and justice and compassion. If that is so, and Jesus knows that it is, the little voice says "Get up; follow me!" It occurs to me that Abram and Matthew could have had a very modern view of life, the life view that extols possessions and position and appearance. We are constantly bombarded by messages that call us to place our attention and our values on what we possess. Abram and Matthew could have judged the world, judged themselves, in those terms of personal comfort and wealth; but they didn't, so how about us in this modern world of ours? I dare say every one of us lives in the midst of more daily comfort and convenience that Abram ever dreamed of in his tents and mud walled villages. I dare say we all have a bigger pile of silver and gold than Matthew ever amassed. I suppose that in the midst of our comfort and plenty we might miss that little voice, that persistent whisper; we might even think that it has fallen silent. Here follows a short personal story, a reminiscence. If it sounds familiar, it probably should because I guarantee that others here this morning share this experience. The first whisper came for me a long, long time ago. It was just a passing thought, an enchantment with the look and the feel and the sound of the Episcopal Church; it was when Happy and I were married; then the demands life and time reasserted themselves; employment, family, graduate schools, a career as an officer in the Army. Twenty years went by really fast! I never lost contact with the church; the best times were always when we had a church family. I had an assignment to Headquarters, Department of the Army in the Forrestal Building on the Mall in Washington DC. Behind my desk on the top floor was an enormous window through which I could look down the Potomac River to Alexandria, Virginia. There is an Episcopal seminary in Alexandria; the whisper returned. One day I finally called the seminary requesting information; I had them send it to the office, no point in alarming the children. Almost immediately I received orders to attend Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, which was very, very good for my career. At the time I thought those orders originated from the Army; in retrospect I think it was God whispering "You're hooked; I shall reel you in presently." I suppose it was the equivalent of Abram making it as far as Haran and receiving further orders. Reel me in He did! On completing the year of school I was offered a three year assignment in Hawaii; we turned it down. We were offered three more years in Europe; we turned it down. We went to Fort Gordon in Augusta, Georgia; once again, God at work. Finally taking the hint and listening to the whisper, I simply stopped saying "no." You realize that you never need actually say "yes" as long as you don't say "no." Once you stop saying "no" it all falls into place; for me it was ordination as a Vocational Deacon, retirement from the Army, seminary, and Priesthood. I suppose I am saying that this is my personal Canaan. I have been on the road to this place, with a few Harass, a few detours and side excursions, far longer than I knew. Kipling's poem closes with "He chose me for this whisper." This one response to the unending call of Jesus Christ, "follow me."
SERMON 25 MAY 2008 Isaiah
49:8-16a The Forrestal Building is a large Federal office building on the Mall in Washington, D.C., a sterile gray concrete and glass creation of the sixties, standing a contrast to the exuberant red sandstone architecture of the Smithsonian Castle just across the street. Looking South from the building you can see the Capitol; from the top floors of the Forrestal Building there’s a sweeping view of the Potomac. The building housed, some years ago, some of the offices of the Department of Army. There was I, a Captain, fresh from some years in Europe and a graduate school assignment, walking the corridors of power on my first day ready to report to my new assignment. I was to report to Colonel Snyder. As I reported to Colonel Snyder my eye was drawn to a framed picture on the wall over the Colonel’s desk. It was a picture of a dog with his paws over his head; the caption was “Today is the First Day of the Rest of the Trouble.” This did not instill confidence in the new guy. I now know that it was obviously a paraphrase of this morning’s Gospel from Matthew, “…tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” I’m sure that’s just what the Colonel had in mind. The Colonel embodied the antithesis of the other phrase, “Do not worry about tomorrow.’ He worried. He was a big man, slightly balding; in memory I see him at his desk, head between his hands, much like the dog in the picture, staring morosely at some paperwork, obviously feeling himself the victim of cruel fate. We know the Colonel, don’t we? Sometimes, we are the Colonel, aren’t we? It’s that two o’clock, in the morning, or anytime for that matter, playing of the “what if” tapes over and over in our minds. What if this happens; what if it doesn’t? Why do we do that? We do it because we have the strange notion that we are in charge. We really feel that we can predict, and therefore control, the future; no we can’t. We don’t do all that well controlling the present much less the future. Now I’m not saying that it’s pointless to plan ahead; we need to do that or we have perpetual chaos The trouble arises when planning becomes so rigid that it produces fear and anxiety; then we have a problem. We have to leave room for faith. “Faith is believing in things not seen;” I believe Paul said that and the future, tomorrow, is certainly something not seen. Paul also said that “The Lord will bring to light things now hidden.’ The future, tomorrow, is hidden from us. Paul assures us that not only will Jesus be present with us tomorrow, and in all the days to come, He will open our hearts and minds to His presence. We will see His light. Isaiah assures us that tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow the Lord will never forget us; He has given us comfort and will always give us comfort because He has compassion for us in our human plight. It’s been called “Blessed Assurance.” It’s real and it is ours. What better news for the future could there be?
EASTER 7, 2008 Acts 1:6-14 Friday evening, I suppose around eight, Happy and I walked in the Relay for Life, in the midst of many, many other walkers. We walked the track at the Middle School. There came a moment when the sun was setting, the sky in the west turning flaming red , the sharp light filtered through the rising smoke of cooking fires at the tents set up by churches and businesses and civic groups in the infield of the track, a forest of tents. A timeless scene; the vision of the nomad tribes, the Israelites, camped on numberless ancient fields; the vision of armies through the centuries on what was once called “the tented field.” Several years ago a book titled “Being Dead is No Excuse” was very popular. It was written by two ladies in a small town in Mississippi, a comparison of the funeral customs of the local Methodist and Episcopal Churches, very funny and embarrassingly accurate. There are differences in customs and the use of flowers; when, where and how receptions are to be held and, particularly, food. There is a great difference concerning what might be appropriate music at a Methodist funeral as opposed to one at the Episcopal Church – but we all knew that, didn’t we? However, there is one point of universal agreement and that is that “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” is listed as “Nevah again!” What on earth brought all that to mind, you may ask. It’s the lyrics. It’s the words and what they mean, not just in history but here, this weekend. “I have seen Him in the watch fires of hundred circling camps.” It’s the presence of God, the omnipotent, omniscient God, present in the hearts and minds of His people, gathered for a great purpose – every great purpose. It’s the timeless smoke of fires, warming and sustaining fires, smoke rising like the prayers of the saints in incense hovering over the camps of His servants, reflecting the bright, flaming light of His glory. Causes may be greatly different. The cause may so often be strife and war for many, many reasons. This weekend the cause has been compassion. Those in the tented field are motivated in many ways – patriotism, anger, pride. This weekend, the motivation was love, love for those who are with us no more, love for those with us who are survivors, and love for all those who may come after us; love that motivates us to find the means to make their lives free of suffering. What better way to say it than in the concluding words of our hymn, ‘As He died to make people holy, let us live to make people free.”
Acts 2:14a,36-41
EASTER 3, 2008 8:00 – 11:30Where do we first encounter Jesus? Think back a bit. It was probably in Sunday school when we were very, very young. It might have been a picture of Jesus, a mimeographed sheet to color and take home, after the teacher had given us the morning’s lesson. Or, and this my own personal first encounter, a colorful picture of Jesus that clung, as if by magic, to a flannel board at the First Methodist Church of Irving Park. After a flannel board, mimeo sheets were never adequate again. My mind tells me that Jesus was shepherd at that first encounter but I may be mistaken. Of course, whether picture or flannel board, Jesus remained a two-dimensional figure. We could learn a lot about Him – what He had said and done – but we couldn’t get very close to Him; we couldn’t sense His presence. Now the two sometime disciples on their way to Emmaus are at the mimeo and flannel board level of faith. They were keenly aware of what Jesus had been doing. Of course they had made their own judgments and interpretations. To them Jesus was a prophet, they say so, like one of the Old Testament prophets that made such penetrating comments upon God and humanity. To them Jesus was a social reformer, almost a revolutionary, who would correct all the problems of the day. Prophet and social reformer are not necessarily the same as the Divine Son of God, the atoning sacrifice for the sins of the world – that part they had missed. So, not having really seen Jesus when He was in His earthly ministry, it’s not a surprise that they don’t see Him of the road to Emmaus. They are neither expecting to see Him nor are they open to see Him – they are utterly self- absorbed in their own interpretation of what has happened. It is Jesus who joins them. It’s Jesus who initiates the contact. It’s Jesus who patiently explains to them all that has happened before, down through the centuries, so that they might grasp what God has done. You might say that they encounter Jesus with their mind, images on a flannel board. They already know a great deal about Him. When do they come to know Him? It’s at the table, isn’t it? Jesus has reached out to them on the road; they reach out to Him asking Him to stay with them, still unaware of just who He is but sensing the wonder of His presence. At the table the knowledge of Him gives way to the personal encounter with Him as He blesses, breaks and shares the bread that is His body. Had they seen Him do that just a few days earlier at what we call His “Last Supper?” Had they been present or had they been told that Jesus had proclaimed “This is my Body; whenever two or three gather in my name, I will be with them.” Here He is, present at table. That’s how it is of course. In the midst of our lives, as we are totally absorbed in planning to do something quite different or caught up in the past, we somehow become aware of a presence, a presence we may have consigned to the mimeo and flannel board phase of life, long put aside. The heart knows Him first, feels the warmth of His presence, and then the mind, the understanding.
EASTER 3, 2008 9:30Years ago – twenty, at least – there was a priest serving the parish of Atonement in Augusta whose name was Lou Lindsey. Lou told the story of being at an ecumenical gathering of clergy – being the only Episcopalian at the gathering – at which the topic under discussion was Baptism. Lou said that the minister next to him – whose denomination shall remain nameless – turned to Lou with fire in his eyes and asked “Do you believe in infant Baptism?” a question obviously preparatory to a discussion or a lecture. “Believe in it? I’ve actually seen it done” was Lou’s response. Thus endeth the conversation. Of course we believe in and celebrate infant Baptism. It’s surprising, at least to me, that there are those who don’t. It must be a matter of perspective, a matter of different ideas. Which raises the question, just what is happening in Baptism? Well, going back two thousand years you will recall that Jesus Himself appeared on the banks of the Jordan River to be Baptized by John, no alone to be sure, but as part of a great crowd of people from Jerusalem and Judea, all sorts of people. John was crying for them all to repent of their sins, turn their lives around –and it is highly probable that everybody in the crowd needed to do just that – everybody except one, Jesus, the one without sin. Everyone, save Jesus, was reaching out to God for pardon and salvation; Jesus alone realized that God was reaching out to us as vigorously as we reach out to Him. Baptism, then and now, is a moment of God’s reaching into our world, our time and space, acknowledging that one of us is indeed His child, His son or daughter. If we could see it we know that at each Baptism the heavens open and a dove descends and a voice says “This is my child,” and an infant is transformed forever. In the water of Baptism we, no matter our age, are reborn into that relationship given us by God. We make a sign on the forehead, a cross made with holy oil, a mark that signifies, indelibly and eternally, our identity, seen always by the eyes of God. We welcome the very newest Christian in the world into the Communion of Saints, all Christians past, present and future, inviting the newly Baptized to share in both the wonders and the labors of our faith.
EASTER DAY 2008 Jesus says to Mary “Tell the Disciples to go to Galilee, there they will see me.” Go back to where it all began; go home. Galilee is home, of course. The disciples have only been away for a few years, three at the most. It’s really only a short while since Jesus had appeared to them in the midst of their daily work – they can still feel the coarse nets on theirs hand and hear the sound of the waves against the sides of the little wooden boats, see familiar faces in their mind’s eye, hear their voices and the myriad small sounds of the village, smell the cooking fires. They know well what they had left behind. And at times, perhaps in the small hours of the morning, they missed them, you can be sure. But, oh the places they had gone and the sights they had seen in those three years of following Jesus! They had walked with Him from noisy, dusty little villages to the grand Jerusalem itself, happy memories and sad. They had seen sick people made well, lepers made clean, blind men given sight, deaf given hearing and even one man raised from the dead. They had seen Jesus in controversy with all sorts of grand and important people, people of whom they had walked in fear, proclaiming that the Kingdom of God had come, a Kingdom when the poor and the weak and the humble would be exalted and the proud and mighty would be brought low. They had bravely vowed that they would be with this wonderful Jesus to the end, but the end had come and, of course, their weak flesh betrayed their willing spirit. Well, that was all over now; time to pick up where they had left off, resume their lives and tell wondrous tales to their grandchildren about the adventures of their youth. In time the bad moments would fade in their memories and only the good times would remain and it would become more and more difficult to remember exactly what Jesus had said and done, what exactly he looked like; such is our frail memory. “We’ll just go home,” so they thought. Actually, we all have our own personal Galilee, the place we call home. It might be a geographic place, a town or even a building, or it might be a time in our lives, a time filled with memories. Home is where we go for comfort. Jesus walked into the lives of the Disciples, into their comfort place, and said “follow me.” Jesus has walked into our comfort place too. The question is, of course, where were we when He walked into our home place and called us? There’s no need to answer; it’s an unfair question. I imagine very few of us can point to a moment in time, a moment in our lives, when Jesus made His presence known, but walk in He did, or we wouldn’t be here this morning. What then? There are those who, like Peter and James and John, have simply abandoned their lives and homes to follow Jesus – great heroes and heroines of the Church and there have been many more whose names we will never know. But we can’t all do that; far more have heard Jesus’ call and stayed put, stayed at home, with lives transformed. We are transformed if what we do is to the greater glory of God and in the unfailing presence of Jesus Christ every day – even the simplest routine task takes on new significance if He is present with us as we do them. We can be sure that the villages of Galilee were more beautiful in the eyes of those Disciples returning from their great adventure. We can be sure that the nets of Peter and Andrew, James and John were different in their hands, all because of the presence of Jesus. Of course we aren’t simply talking about an event of long ago. In His Resurrection Jesus speaks to every one of us, saying “This is your Galilee. Live here and now in this world as my good disciple” and “this is where you will see me.”
SERMON MARCH 2, 20081 Samuel 16:1-13 There is a special darkness, the pre-dawn darkness after a long night, a darkness that descends as the stars fade away, after the moon has set, and no light at all penetrates the night. The night winds die away. The small sounds of the night, the rustlings and stirrings, cease. Then there is a profound sense of isolation, of being utterly and completely alone. Of course, we have all the images of days and years past, days and years of light and color, blues and greens and reds, and the faces of ones we love, visual memories to cast light into those moments. What if we had no such images, no such memories, what then? Such was the man born blind in this morning’s Gospel. Could he imagine, could he dream? Could he fill that deep, deep darkness in which he lived? The dawn of a dark night comes slowly, gradually, unfolds for those who can see. There is a lightening of the darkness of the sky, grayness and a slow revelation of clouds and trees and the world about us. Then a flash of fire in the east, clouds made pink, then orange, then flaming red, and then the rising sun, long shafts of golden light breaking the last pall of night, dispelling the darkness, and it is a new day. Was it so very different for the man imprisoned in the blindness of his birth? Of course there were no tones of gray, no slow spreading of light. There was just the sudden revelation, the fiery flash of a vision of a world which he had never seen, never known. Are we still talking about a physical blindness? There is another kind of blindness, spiritual blindness. Perhaps that’s the real point of this story. Perhaps we are talking about a man who has never confronted, perhaps never heard of, Jesus Christ. Such people are legion. They aren’t exactly sinners, they aren’t really evil, they simply do not know what it means to be in the presence of Christ, to have Him in their lives and never having known Him, they simply don’t miss Him. They live in a true spiritual darkness, unrelieved by the vision of a different, better life. They just don’t know what they’re missing. The blind man is this Gospel is just such a person. He doesn’t ask Jesus to give him sight; he doesn’t know what sight is. For him life is perpetual darkness, cold and hard; it always has been and it always will be. He doesn’t call out. It’s Jesus that reaches out to him; it’s Jesus who touches his eyes and opens them to a new and brighter world. He doesn’t know who Jesus is; he doesn’t even care. All he knows it that he has received, without even asking, an incomparable gift, a new life. That is the way it happens. If we just let Jesus come close, let Him touch us, we will be made whole and new no matter what darkness we carry about; we will be changed forever. “Once we have been in darkness” and darkness comes is many forms, but now that we have received His touch, “…in the Lord we are light.” That’s not all. The newly sighted man, running about telling everyone about this incredible gift, finds himself in a world of doubters and cynics. He finds himself in the company of people who would deny his healing, throttle his joy and reduce him to a life of darkness again. But they can’t. No matter how critical, mean and hard they may be he has the one, perfect answer, the only answer. “One thing I do know that I was blind, now I see.” Is there need for him to say more; is there need for us to say more? I don’t think the man was driven from the company of the doubters, he was too joyful, too spirit-filled to care what they said. I think he left to find the one who had given him sight, and he found Him. And his word and our words and the words of all who have ever known the presence of Jesus and felt His touch, who have been made whole by Him are “Lord, I believe.”
Genesis 12:1-4a
FEBRUARY 17, 2008 Nicodemus, a Pharisee with a Greek name, that must be unusual. Apparently, he is what is known as a Hellenized Jew. They were the Jews that were open to foreign, non-traditional ideas and influences, as opposed to the conservatives who saw and knew nothing but Torah, the Law. Those were the Pharisees, in the midst of which is this liberal, Nicodemus. How he became one of them is an absolute mystery. All of which might explain why Nicodemus seeks out Jesus. Jesus is certainly an object of curiosity, a man with some very new, or perhaps old and forgotten, ideas about the relationship of man and God. Nicodemus is curious about Jesus in an intellectual sort of way. He comes to Jesus by night. It may be that Nicodemus is a secret believer, it’s very nice to think so. However, it might well be that to be seen with Jesus would be embarrassing to a man like Nicodemus. This Jesus is a Galillean Rabbi, a man from the hinterlands, certainly no intellectual. Jesus is no Pharisee and, it may be that Nicodemus thinks Jesus is a bit beneath him. But, then again, there are these reported miracles; Nicodemus calls them “signs.” What to make of all that? Jesus is worth a look. It all starts out well for Nicodemus. He makes a few opening compliments. He really expects to ask a few questions, hear the answers and get a fix on Jesus, categorize him and fit him into a place in Nicodemus tidy understanding of the world, Then Nicodemus could go home; it should take only a few minutes. Actually, there’s a bit of Nicodemus in all of us. It’s not a matter of going through a crisis, not a matter of a loss of faith. We just want to fit Jesus into our lives, into our busy world. Perhaps it’s a matter of growing up and recognizing that this is not a tidy world, that there are and will be things beyond our comprehension and control, painful as that may be. I went though that period of questioning; perhaps we all did. I had a long list of questions that begged answers for me to believe. I probably should reassure you that that was long time ago, nothing recent. In retrospect I imagine God was either amused, or perhaps bored, by the same old questions He had been hearing for millennia. The big question was, and is, how do we fit what Jesus did, his miracles, into our understanding of the realities of this world? How do we live in this world according to the very compelling words of Jesus, the parables and teachings, the Beatitudes. It’s no easy thing. We can try to reconcile it all by knowing about Jesus; that’s what Nicodemus is doing. What happens; every question is met with, not an answer but a statement, a call to faith not to understanding. Jesus tells him, you feel the wind, you experience it, you don’t know or understand it. We experience Jesus; we come to his presence loaded with questions and his sheer presence overwhelms us. First come faith than comes a wonderful understanding of what faith in that presence means. Faith is a motivator; the power that inspires us to live according to what we have come to understand. What we understand is that a world freed from anger, hatred, violence and pride is not the way to the Kingdom of God; it is the Kingdom of God. We are the ones who will bring that kingdom to be. Nicodemus experienced Jesus; what happened? The Gospel tells us that at the trial of Jesus it is Nicodemus, one of the Sanhedrin, the council, who protests “Does our Law judge a man without first learning about him?” It is this Nicodemus who, with Joseph of Arimethea, prepares the corpse of Jesus for burial. Nicodemus is profoundly changed by knowing the presence of Jesus in his life; so are we all.
ASH WEDNESDAY 2008Joel 2:1-2,12-17 It has been said that Ash Wednesday is a “wake up call,’ a call to face both our sinfulness and our mortality. Here we are, together, to kneel, to pray, to ask God to forgive us those many, many ways we have fallen short of being what we might be. Point by point we lament our failures in the Litany of Penitence; we confess our sins, both big and small, and seek God’s mercy, humbly ask God to accept our repentance. And so we begin our season of Lent, forty days to open ourselves to God’s presence in our lives, to reshape ourselves to be what He would have us be, to allow God to transform us. On this one day the cross that was made on our foreheads with Holy Oil at our Baptism is retraced in ashes. The ashes are the remnant of the palms of Palm Sunday, carried green and fresh in the joyous celebration of Our Lord’s triumph, now dried and brittle, signs of a faith grown cold in the course of time. That cold faith has come through a transforming fire and its reasserted in the cross of ashes that marks us, once again, as children of God. That is what we proclaim today, not in pride as did Matthew’s hypocrites. Ashes do not connote pride, they tell of humility, of awe in the knowledge that God does love us, and is merciful, and seeks not the death of sinners but their repentance. We have the forty days of Lent, beginning here this evening, to stop, to look at our lives, to think of where we are going. We have forty days of Lent to discard those things that keep us from being one with God, things that pale to insignificance in the presence of His love. We will say “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It has been written, “Remember, you are nothing but dust: Precious dust, molded and formed in the womb by a loving God, precious, precious and beloved are you.” “Remember you are nothing but dust and to dust you shall return: Unique and precious, created for eternity.” “Remember, you are nothing but dust: And that makes you free – free from human ambition – free from prideful denial – free from fear.” “Remember, dust you are, and as dust you are loved and you are free.”
Isaiah 49:1-7
Herding SheepBasically, there are two ways to herd sheep. And just how to you know that, you may ask. Well, we lived in Germany for a while many years ago, in a mostly rural area in the southwest, in the hills close to the border with France. The village, complete with picturesque ruined castle on the hill, narrow winding streets and village square was nestled in a valley at the foot of steep, wooded hills. The valley opened on to a plain filled with farms. Places like that change slowly and painfully; in some ways we were living in a time capsule of many years ago. Some of the farming methods and machinery were pretty modern but a lot of the past was still to be seen. We would encounter wagons pulled by massive draft horses as often as we would encounter tractors and wagons. Livestock was everywhere, pigs, cattle and sheep, lots and lots of sheep. There were what I took to be huge flocks of sheep on the farms; they also were the living lawn mowers of the region, often in the center of town or moving through the street. Caution was essential when driving. Sitting in a car, waiting for a flock of sheep to clear the road, a task at which they never hurried no matter what your schedule might be, one can observe a great deal about sheep herding. One can also observe that, except for moments of great crisis, being a shepherd is a really low-stress job. And now I imagine your thinking “I wonder when he’ll get to the point, assuming he has one.” It’s this: the first way to herd sheep, the one we all envision is to have a dog, a small, hyperactive, yapping dog that constantly circles the flock and keeps then in line. The dog can move the sheep along; it can chase down the sheep that wander away from the flock and make them run back to huddle together in the safety of the crowd. How can the dog do all that; because the sheep are scared to death. The dog drives the sheep by threats of terrible consequences if they stray or disobey. That’s herding method number one. The other way is the bell-sheep. It was really common to see one sheep wearing a bell around its neck at the head of a flock leading the way. As far as I could see it looked just like all the other sheep, a sheep among sheep, not distinguishable in any except by what it did. It didn’t drive, it led by a calm example, showing the other sheep where to go by going there before them, finding the green pastures and the cool waters. John the Baptist proclaims Jesus to be “the lamb of God.” Lambs were very important in the time of John and Jesus. Of course we don’t often see lambs in person but, to our mind, a lamb is a soft, cute, wooly, white creature to be cuddled. Not so with John and Jesus; lambs were for sacrifice in the Temple. Lambs were gifts to God, the life of one creature as ransom for another from sin. It was an everyday practice that probably recalled the tradition of a scapegoat, a goat on which everyone’s sins were placed and then driven out of town to take its chances in the desert. With it went all the people’s sins. It’s the same idea. John also says that Jesus, the lamb, will take away the “Sin of the World.” Notice John says “sin” not “sins.” There was, and is, just one great, all-pervading sin, “Self-Will.” The great sin is preferring my way to God’s way, putting myself in His place, being unconcerned about anyone else or the greater good. It’s straying from the flock and going it alone. It’s the antithesis of sacrifice. Jesus is God’s lamb, the lamb that God gives as sacrifice for His people. Jesus will go to the cross in perfect obedience to the will of God and therein lies God’s great love for us all. You see, God could if so chose, and there are those who say it is His choice, drive us all into being an obedient flock, sicing the dogs on us when we stray. That’s not His choice and it doesn’t work very well anyway. The lamb of God is the bell-sheep, the leader who goes before the flock, showing the path to be traveled to the security and comfort of the presence of God.
|
| A note about sermons: Please remember that since sermons are oral presentations, they are likely to change each time they are given. Often they are constructed of notes, not whole sentences; and often they carry the rhythm of speech, not of writing, and so the sentence breaks and punctuation are individualistic. |
SERMON 19 AUGUST 2007
Jeremiah 23:23-29
Hebrews 12:1-7(8-10)11-14
Luke 12:49-56
Psalm 82
Just the other day, while sitting in three lanes of stalled traffic on I-95 just a few miles south of Washington DC in 100 degree heat, I got to thinking about interpersonal relationships.
Perhaps it was the thinly masked hostility I sensed in the drivers of the cars around me; perhaps it was the silent mouthing of words I, mercifully, could not hear, but something, something seemed to say, in the words of Jesus in this morning’s Gospel, “division.”
Stress has an interesting effect on us fragile human beings. Stress makes quick casualties of patience, cooperation and community. Stress sends us back into our own private little comfort zones, some of which are automobiles in immobile traffic, from which we peer out at the world with general suspicion, absolutely certain that we deserve a lot better than we are currently getting. Do I exaggerate?
Jesus had some familiarity with stress; that’s what He’s talking about in this morning’s Gospel. The stress Jesus is talking about isn’t anything so ephemeral as a slowed-down traffic or a slowed down life. He’s talking about the opposite, an acceleration, a leap into something totally new. There’s stress for those who make the leap and for those who stay put.
In this age, when religion is no longer the constant center in the lives of many, perhaps most, people, it’s hard to comprehend the division that Jesus predicts – and it is a very accurate prediction indeed. Families split apart, communities split apart, as one person sought to follow Jesus and others would not. There was anger and tears and bitterness, even violence. Christianity did not bring peace to the world, it brought a very divisive sword, but why?
What on earth can be found in Jesus’ message of God’s unearned, undeserved, unrequited love for His children that would cause such grief? You know what it is, don’t you? It’s the second half of that message of God’s grace, the part that says “go and do likewise.” That is what Jesus taught; that is what Jesus modeled. He is the very embodiment of God’s expectations of our behavior, better, God’s demand for our behavior. If God so loved us that He would suffer His Son to live as one of us that He might die like one of us, nothing, nothing we can possible do can match that love.
However, that does not mean that you and I can’t try. It’s the want of trying that troubles the world today. It’s the want of trying that sends us all to our own private hidey-holes of personal isolation, our very own cars trapped in a spiritual traffic jam that has no end.
But it does have an end and that’s our job. So, when you are caught in that same mess on your own I-95, give it some slack, open some space. You may get some words and some looks and hear a few outraged horns honking but, for a moment, you will have made the world whole again. That’s enough.
SERMON JULY 15 2007
Deuteronomy 30:9-14
Colossians 1:1-14
Luke 10:25-37
Psalm 25 or 25:3-9
It’s been a few years now – Happy and I were driving down I-95 from Savannah to Honey Creek, near Brunswick, to a meeting. We still had the big old 1988 Volvo station wagon.
Just south of Darien we had a flat tire.
I pulled off, bumping across the apron of the highway. It was the right rear tire and it was blown out, very flat indeed.
I moved the luggage and got out the jack and the wrench and the spare and started to jack up the back of the car. I had the tire almost off when the jack broke, it just collapsed, and the car came down, pinning the tire to the ground and narrowly missing pinning my hands under it.
We had no cell phone. All we could do was stand by the side of the highway and look pathetic hoping someone, maybe a policeman, would stop. It took quite a while. Apparently our pathos didn’t communicate with cars going by at 70. Finally an off-duty South Carolina patrolman on his way to Florida did stop. He tried to fit his jack under the car but there was no room. He drove off to find help.
At which point a really beat-up old red pickup pulled up behind us and an equally beat-up drive got out; T-shirt, skinny, missing teeth, dangling cigarette – visualize.
He sized up the situation, took a 2x4 out of the back of his truck, stuck it under the Volvo – the big, heavy Volvo – and lifted it. He held it while I pulled out the tire and the jack, put on the spare and tightened the lug nuts. Then he took his 2x4 and drove away.
So, a long time ago there was a man stranded by the side of a different road, the road that goes from Jerusalem to Jericho. He had been beaten, stripped, robbed and left for dead. He was pathetic. You couldn’t miss him, lying there in trouble and in need.
A priest saw him and walked on. A Levite didn’t stop to help. Why do you suppose that might have been? I’m sure they would have given us all sorts of reasons but there’s really only one. The real reason is that they lacked the one thing that was needed at that time and place. The wounded man needed compassion; compassion that would inspire a person to stop, help, get involved. I have no doubt they were filled with sympathy for the man but sympathy can be passive, compassion is active.
Compassion can cause help to come from the most unlikely and unexpected sources; the least probable people. Compassion can reach across all those things that separate people from each other. It’s good to know what ought to be done; it is far better to go ahead and do it.
Compassion means that we, like that Samaritan focus on the needs of others, not just on ourselves. I imagine the priest and the Levite would have explained that they were on a tight schedule, on their way to somewhere to do something really important and that they simply could not take the time to be delayed, to stop and to help.
I imagine that the man in the beat-up red pickup was on his way to somewhere to do something that was important to him, if only to go home for supper. He was busy too but he saw our need. We intruded on his plans and his day but he put his own needs aside for a while and helped us. That, I think, is compassion.
Of course, I must warn you that compassion has a cost. Compassion really might call for self-sacrifice. It might even mean having that vague feeling that we’ve been taken advantage of. It probably won’t mean praise or material reward.
But it will mean this; that one tiny corner of the world is better, more human, more livable because of one small act of kindness by one latter day Samaritan. I am quite sure Jesus would approve.
INDEPENDENCE DAY 2007
Deuteronomy 10:17-21
Hebrews 11:8-16
Matthew 5:43-48
Psalm 145 or 145:1-9
We are a strange nation – a very improbable assemblage of peoples from all over the globe – peoples with very different backgrounds and philosophies and expectations. Some of us are very recently arrived – some come from stock that has been here a very long time indeed. But we must remember that no matter who or what we are – our people came from somewhere to be part of this nation.
Why did they come? There are all sorts of reasons but all those reasons are summed up in the phrase “seeking a better country.”
What is a better country? The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews tells us that a better country is a “heavenly country,” a nation whose architect and builder is God. A nation with firm and deep foundations and those foundations are, the Deuternomist tells us:
A nation that is not partial.
A nation that takes no bribe.
A nation that executes justice.
A nation that loves the stranger.
A nation that worships only God; holds fast to God.
Marks tells us that it is a nation that renders unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s, and knows the difference.
How are we doing after all these years? We have our moments.
We began with a flat, incontrovertible statement that all people are created equal – all people. That doesn’t leave much room for partiality.
We began with a constitution and a set of amendments that lay out quite clearly that we are a nation built upon laws and that everyone is entitled to equal protection under those laws – that money or position or power should not set anyone above those laws – we have a statue of justice that is blindfolded, a symbol of legal impartiality.
We put a big statue in New York harbor, a gift from France, a symbol of liberty raising a beacon to the world, and wrote on its base “give me your tired, your poor… I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” It was a moment in which those who had been strangers in this land could see their own beginnings in the eyes of the immigrants and would share the bounty of this nation.
Are we perfect as Matthew tells we must be, just as our Father is perfect? Of course not. Can we try; can we do better? Oh yes.
Do we lose sight of our past, caught up in the trials and terrors of the present? Momentarily, yes I think. But there have been trials and terrors throughout the history of this nation and dark times that seemed to have no end – but they did end. And little by little those ideals that are the very firm and deep foundation of this nation have been recovered and endured.
That takes work and it’s your job and mine to look back on the ideals and strengths of the past, assess the present and shape the future to be that “better country”.
SERMON 17 June 2007
2
Samuel 11:26-12:10,13-15
Galatians 2:11-21
Luke 7:36-50
Psalm 32 or 32:1-8
I really have very few family remembrances. They came to this country from Norway to begin a new life in a new country and, although they were always nostalgic about “The Old Country,” they brought very little of it with them. Perhaps what they did bring was particularly significant to them, sort of representing the world they had left behind.
There was a pipe, a very ornate pipe made of porcelain with decorations, the sort of pipe you see in old paintings of the country people. My cousin has that.
I have a mug, a very large and heavy mug, carved from one piece of oak. The lid was held on by a wooden pin set through a figure much like a lion; the bottom is footed with more lion figures. The very top has carving of one of those patterns of intertwined branches. Over many years it has taken on a rich, golden color. I once saw another much like it in a restored Norwegian farmhouse in an outdoor cultural heritage museum.
I don’t know how old it; I don’t think my grandfather really knew either. I do think it’s a fair replica of a vessel from the Viking era of a thousand years ago. Now if it were really that old, an authentic Viking vessel, we might see an interesting carving on its very bottom. It would look like a figure “T.” Actually it would be a symbol of the hammer of Thor, the Norse god of war and thunder and general mayhem. It was carved there in the very earliest days of the Christianization of the North, carved there just in case this new religion didn’t work out. Why take the chance?
So there is the question of the old faith versus the new faith. That’s what has Paul all distressed about Peter’s behavior. What is Peter up to? Apparently he’s slipping back into some old ways, an old faith, as soon as the pressure is applied. Peter is vacillating between the old way, the Old Testament understanding of what God desires and the New Testament understanding of God in Jesus Christ.
What does that sound like to you? It sounds as though Peter is running away again doesn’t it/ It sounds like another instance of denying Christ. I have no doubt that’s what Paul thought and he was distressed and he was disgusted. After all, Paul knew a lot about the old and new faiths and he took conversion and commitment very seriously. Paul, more than anyone, knew what it would mean to give up faith in Jesus and return to the old ways.
What is the difference; what would Peter be giving up?
Take the story of David in our Old Testament reading; David sins in first lusting after Bathsheba, then causing her husband’s death in combat so that he might have her as his own. He runs roughshod over the lives of others for his own ends, a perfect example of pride and greed. Nathan tells the whole story in a parable; David recognizes his own error, repents and, apparently, is forgiven. But there is a terrible price to forgiveness; the price is the life of David’s son, a sacrifice to atone for David’s sin. To put it bluntly, in the Old Testament if you sin, you pay; God is a God of judgment.
In the Gospel Jesus enters the house of a Pharisee and is accosted by a sinful woman who washes his feet with her tears and anoints them oil. The others present represent that old way, pure judgment, but Jesus sees something else. He sees that her actions reflect her repentance and that her repentance reflects her faith; she has sought out Jesus to make her unspoken confession and to seek his forgiveness. She receives it.
In the New Testament if you sin, Jesus pays and pays and pays. That God is a God of mercy.
Judgment is so easy, isn’t it? It comes so naturally to us all, perhaps were born with it. On the other hand, we have to learn about mercy.
Mercy demands that we see and acknowledge that God is present with us, even in those who seem most bent of demonstrating that He isn’t.
PALM SUNDAY 2007
Who were those people in Pilate’s courtyard shouting “crucify Him?”
Were they the same people who lined the streets of Jerusalem shouting “Hosannah to the Son of David” a few days before?
Perhaps, but humanity being what we are, I imagine the great majority of those people shouted, waved their palms and went home. The said “what a great parade; that was fun,” and went on with their daily lives.
Although some probably followed Jesus to see where He was going and what He would do. They had a little time on their hands and they were curious; they wondered “who is He?” Some of the more presentable people might actually have gotten near Him in the Temple when He apparently pitched a fit, toppling tables and releasing sheep and doves and pigeons.
They ran all the way home saying “that was not fun!” They did, however, have really good story to tell as they went on with their daily lives.
Then there was a tight little group of twelve and a few more who stayed with Jesus. They had been with Him all the while.
Now do any of those people sound like they were so involved and impassioned that they would reassemble a few days later and call for Jesus’ death? Don’t they seem like “plain folks,” not really involved in the big events around them, simply making their way through one more day? People like that don’t change their minds very quickly because daily life is too uncertain and treacherous to take chances.
So perhaps we aren’t hearing a story of the fickle, changing nature of humanity; perhaps it’s a deeper, darker story.
We usually say that the people turned on Jesus because of dashed expectations. There had an idea that there would be a Messiah and he would bring instant, total change to their lives and to their world. All their problems and hardships would just evaporate. Israel would be paradise on earth. The future would be bright. Some of them may well have seen Jesus as that sort of Messiah; we can only guess at what they thought but if that was what they expected this man processing in triumph through Jerusalem really disappointed them. Nothing they could see had changed. The question is, were they so disappointed as to turn on Jesus and demand His death? Considering how much disappointment they had in their lives, that would be a huge emotional change indeed. Hopes and dreams become highly theoretical the longer they are unanswered.
There are, of course, other people who absolutely hate the thought of the Messiah. They are the comfortable ones. They don’t have hardships or problems; life, just as it is, is really, really good. They are doing very well in the Roman occupation and see themselves at least a step above those people in the streets. In fact, it may be the first time they have even been aware of the people in the streets. They have two great fears; that Jesus will show those people in the streets the terrible inequity that reduces some to poverty while others live in riches, and that Jesus will somehow change things. They are the ones who have a great interest in silencing Jesus. Pharisees, Sadducees, Scribes it doesn’t matter what we call them.
I really think they are the ones who cry for Jesus’ death. The Romans know them; they count on their support. That explains how Pilate, an otherwise shrewd if ruthless governor, would even permit them in his courtyard. It explains how Pilate, who admitted that he saw no guilt in Jesus, would have Him crucified. And it explains how the official after-action report, the spin, on His crucifixion could reduce Jesus to just another prophet.
Those people who had waved their palms in a very brief brush with God Incarnate would never know what truly happened. Life simply went on for them as it always had, nothing changed, or so they thought.
But we know, you and I, that the old world and the old way died on the cross and that all things had changed.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Philippians 3:8-14
Luke 20:9-19
Psalm 126
LENT 5, 2007
I read somewhere that in a recent survey the majority of Americans said that they believe in God; at least in some sort of “supreme being.”
They didn’t say that they believed in organized religion. They didn’t say that they attended a church, just that they believed.
The second question was “How does that belief in God effect your everyday life?” The answers became quite fuzzy. Some said that, at best, God was someone who set a few rules but was either too remote or too neutral, perhaps too nice and sympathetic with us, to really enforce them.
The picture that formed was that of a sort of vague something that was a cushion, a benign, sympathetic “help-line” sort of God. A nice God; a God with whom we could be comfortable.
Actually, that’s not so bad. It’s all right to be comfortable with God; in fact God might like that. He could be a sort of “best friend.” The trouble comes when we become so very comfortable that we think of God only as a friend, not The Creator, Sanctifier and Redeemer of the world. Then we reduce God to just another person remarkably like ourselves which makes God available for bargaining, making deals.
God becomes our equal. If God is our equal we have just as much right and entitlement to this “Vineyard” as God does.
Here we sit in our very own private “Vineyard” convinced that this creation of God’s is ours to play with and to dispose of. We really lose sight that we are just tenants occupying a very small piece of creation for a very short time and we really don’t like to be reminded of that. We get a little short with reminders that we are just passing through. We can still stone a few prophets if they really annoy us.
And we ask “If God really did take exception to how we behave, would we still be here?”
That, of course, is sort of a quotation from a bystander watching Noah pound the last few nails into the hull of the Ark; probably followed by “Did you feet a raindrop?”
You see the problem. If we reduce God to our level, and we have a pretty good idea of our capabilities, we demote Him from being the omnipotent, omniscient Creator of Worlds to being just another participants in things. That’s a long way to fall. We take away God’s power to change things and all things remain static, the same, forever.
Is that true? Is that your experience that things don’t change? Are we just what we have always been? Frankly, my aching back and sore feet tell me that time has its effect.
On a grand and cosmic scale Isaiah tells us that God is creating, constantly creating, a “new thing;” a new world, a new you and a new me. He tells us that even now God is cutting a path through the “dry wilderness” of what has always been to lead us straight to what is to be, The Vineyard that is the Kingdom of God here in our world. Then Noah’s flood becomes “Living Water” for all who thirst.
What if the sum total of your knowledge about the Episcopal Church was based on what you read in the newspaper or saw on television news? What would you think about the church?
A few words like “fractured, divided, in disarray” do come to mind. Moreover, I think you would really believe that we are all consumed with issues, one issue in particular, and that our entire life as a church community depended on the decisions and actions of people far remote from Christ Church Valdosta. Is that a fair description? Is it accurate?
Look around and see the people in our pews, all sorts of people with all sorts of backgrounds and opinions on all sorts of things. Are we all in agreement about everything? Is our life driven by issues? Believe me, the answer to all those questions is “absolutely not!” Do we serve Jesus, are we His Body here in this city? I think so.
I suppose we could call that image of us that seems to dominate the media “bad press.” I suppose they see and hear only the angry and the disaffected, the ones with issues of their own that they press upon others, the ones with an overwhelming need to be in control. Such people make it all so simple and the media just loves simple, black and white, yes and no stories. They sell.
You know who else received “bad press?” Pharisees. Of course some Pharisees deserved it. Some differed not all from the new makers of today. It is so easy to dismiss them all as enemies of Jesus but what about the ones in the Gospel this morning. Here they come to warn Jesus about the designs of Herod. Why on earth would they care? What possible common cause could they have with this Galilean Rabbi who seems to challenge everything they have ever heard?
The common cause, for them and for us, is the Kingdom of God. The Pharisees long for it; Jesus proclaims it. Beyond all their reservations about this charismatic Jesus, they see the possibility that He is right, that it is true, the Kingdom is at hand, and they can put aside everything else to save the one who heralds it.
Who is the enemy for them? It’s not Jesus. The common enemy of Jesus and the Pharisees is Herod. Herod represents power and control, not the control exercised by a loving God for His people but control based on coercing, on power. Herod is offensive to both the Law, the Pharisees, and to the Prophets, to Jesus. Herod is bent on control based on nothing more than his own self interest, his self-importance, and is perfectly willing to sacrifice both the Pharisees and Jesus and perhaps the Kingdom of God to get it.
At least some of those Pharisees can see that; some have their eyes open to both the threat of earthly power, the inevitable tyrannical end of the path of Herod, and divine intervention embodied in Jesus. So they warn the one who brings the divine very close. That took courage. It was, and is, far easier to see that as someone else’s task, someone else’s risk, and to allow the Herods of this world to seize and hold the center of attention. It’s not hard to get the attention of the world if you’re loud enough. If you can touch on pride and politics you are assured of a following in this world; it’s an age-old proven formula and works as well today as it did for Herod.
Jesus relies on neither. Jesus simply proclaims that the love and compassion of God will, and do, triumph over all the schemes and devices of humanity.
There is a kindness in the reply of Jesus to those who gave Him warning; the answer isn’t a puzzle. Jesus’ tells them, and He tells us, that they and we must never lose heart, never doubt, that the Kingdom of God is here. “Three days;” from apparent defeat to eternal triumph, a very short time in the grand scale of things.
That’s the message to you and to me in this Gospel. Never lose sight of who we are, a community formed in the image of Jesus Christ, and why we are here, to worship and to serve.
Epiphany 5, 2007
Judges 6:11-24a
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Luke 5:1-11
Psalm 85 or 85:7-13
I was searching for words to summarize this morning’s readings; words that express just what these readings are about and why someone, I don’t know who, put them together for us.
The words that come to mind are “conversion” and “empowerment.” It does seem that in each story a life is changed and a new mission is begun; that’s certainly so for Gideon in his encounter with an angel, or perhaps, with God on that threshing floor. It’s so for Paul in his encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus and it’s so for Simon Peter on the beach at Capernaum when Jesus calls him.
Those are good descriptive words but, I think, there is another point to these stories.
Just what would it be like to encounter an angel, or Jesus, to have a very personal revelation? Apparently, according to scripture, revelations are accompanied by trumpets, clashing cymbals, peals of thunder, lightning bolts, heavenly angelic choirs, descending doves, tongues of flame, whirlwinds, I guess we must add burning meat and bread and, strangely enough, one talking donkey. It would seem reasonable that if all, or any, of those things happened God would have our full attention. But, actually, revelations may be accompanied by nothing at all.
We can have a revelation and an encounter at any moment, a moment just like any other. But do we actually live in the moment – the present moment – and actually hear and see what is plainly before us
What if Gideon had said “Excuse me, I have to get this grain threshed. I don’t want to be rude but I really don’t have time to talk to you right now; perhaps later. We can do lunch some time.”
What if Paul on the road to Damascus had said “Excuse me, I have a job to do – a very important mission and I’m on a tight schedule. There are people waiting for me in Damascus. And, by the way, who are you really and why are you shining that light in my eyes? That’s really dangerous. I could fall!
What if Simon Peter had said “Go fishing! I beg your pardon; I don’t think so! We’ve been out there all night, for hours and hours. Consider the wear and tear on the boat and on these nets and I have to pay these people you know! I’m sorry, this just isn’t a good time.”
That’s true. It isn’t a good time. There is no good time; there is no bad time. There’s only this time, this moment. It’s all they have. It’s all we have. What do we do with it?
It’s the present moment. It’s actually been called ‘The Sacrament of the Present Moment” by the French Jesuit De Caussade. A Sacrament because every moment of every day of our lives is an outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace of God’s presence and concern and love. Every moment is a gift; it’s that simple.
The trouble is that the Gideons of this world, and we are many, will always have just a little more grain to thresh. The Pauls of this world, and we are many, will always have an appointment with someone, somewhere and the Simon Peters of this world, and we are many, will always be concerned about the state of their boats and nets and the size of their payroll, and you and I will always have something to do that will draw us into the future, some important plan or some terrible dread, or something to take us back into the past, a happy memory or more likely a deep regret. We can’t help it. The tragedy is that living in the past or the future means that we miss the present moment.
All of which makes me wonder just how many angelic conversations I have missed in my life, how many possible encounters with Jesus went unnoticed because I simply wasn’t there.
Being here is very, very difficult. Being here means accepting this life as it is, not as we wish it had been or would be. Being here means accepting ourselves as we are. If an angel can sit on a rock and accept us; If Jesus walking on our beach can accept us, it seems as though we can do that. What clarity we would have. Clarity to see ourselves as we are, to see the world as it is and clarity to see, and to hear that angel speaking to us and Jesus calling us.
Sermon 7 January 2007
Isaiah
42:1-9
Acts 10:34-38
Luke 3:15-16,21-22
Psalm 89:1-29 or 89:20-29
My father’s parents had a summer cottage at the Des Plains Methodist Campgrounds near the northwest side of Chicago. They had bought the cottage in the 20’s when many members of their church, The First Methodist Church of Irving Park were doing so. It was a sort of summer retreat, at least for few weeks, not far from the city. The campgrounds had a summer hotel, a swimming pool at least three big, at least big to a little boy, tabernacles, round buildings with sawdust floors and wooden benches. On summer evenings all the old hymns would fill those tabernacles.
Of much greater interest to my cousin Jan and me was the Des Plains River for which the campgrounds had been named. It wasn’t a very big river; it didn’t flow very swiftly, but it was wet and it had marshy and muddy banks and that was irresistible to two little boys. We spent hours and hours playing by the river, just a few yards from the screened porch of the summer cottage.
On the opposite bank of the river was a picnic and sports area called Rand Park. One Saturday, and I know it must have been Saturday because Sundays were filled with things directed toward personal and group piety, there was a big event across the river. There was a big gathering and a preacher who I would now call Charismatic whose voice carried clearly across the water. He was dipping people in the Des Plains River. Jan and I were entranced; we sat in the reeds and watched it all. In retrospect I suppose what we watched was a genuine, old-time Revival.
I’ve been thinking that a Revival was going on at the banks of a similar river, the Jordan, led by a charismatic preacher, John, calling for repentance, and lots of people being immersed in the river water, two thousand years ago. That’s real staying power.
Why do people go the Revivals? They go for many reasons I am sure. I think some go out of pure curiosity not unlike two little boys on the bank of the Des Plains. It is quite colorful and exciting and, in a way, mysterious. Perhaps some go as thrill-seekers; that just doesn’t sound right, does it?
I actually knew a man who went to all sorts of Revivals and always went forward whenever there was an altar call. He said it was to encourage the actual sinners.
There are sinners, lots and lots of them. I think the vast majority of people at Revivals are sinners and people who think they are. That’s guilt.
Guilt is an incredibly powerful thing and its power can be both bad and good. There are people who carry such a powerful sense of guilt, some deep-seated dark secret, that they are paralyzed. They are trapped within themselves. They lead truly tragic and desperate lives. But, if that guilt and desperation lead them back to God, to repent, confess and accept His forgiveness, that same guilt has done good work; a person can be restored.
There was Jesus on that Jordan bank, come to be Baptized; why? I think there could be many reasons none of which imply that Jesus carried guilt, Jesus was sinless and guiltless but Jesus was compassionate. He could about, into the eyes of the faces of that gathering and see His ministry unfolding. Jesus was there as a sign of His complete dedication to God and as a sign of His acceptance of the future.
Jesus at the Jordan completely identified Himself with all those He is called to save through His Crucifixion and Resurrection.
Jesus was Baptized in the midst of sinners. Jesus lived His life in the midst of sinners and ultimately, Jesus died between two sinners, one of who heard and answered a call to repentance.
SERMON 4 ADVENT YEAR C
Micah
5:2-4
Hebrews 10:5-10
Luke 1:39-49(50-56)
Psalm 80 or 80:1-7
We all need and Aunt Elizabeth; some one to go to when times are hard, in times of stress and worry.
We need that wise, kindly familiar voice and familiar face, a face and voice we’ve always known, always found understanding and comforting. We need an Aunt Elizabeth just once removed from the responsibility of telling us what to do; some one who listens without interrupting or shaking her head and making that “tsk-tsk” noise.
Mary had an Aunt Elizabeth. She was sort of removed from the everyday, mainstream family, living with Uncle Zechariah out in the hill country. That’s really good. Mary packs up everything and goes off to see Aunt Elizabeth “in haste.”
Of course she does! Mary has just had the scare of her life. She has just had an encounter with a genuine angel – booming voice like rolling thunder, bright shining robes, perhaps even wings. There was this angel, completely unexpected and unannounced, telling her, Mary, that she had been chosen by God to be the mortal mother of His only Son, mother of the Messiah, the savior of the world. Who else can she tell?
That sort of thing does not call for moments of impartial and calm reflection, particularly if you are a young girl, perhaps no more than a teenager, spending your life in a little village in a cultural backwater.
That sort of thing leads to stress, real stress; so off she goes.
Every moment, every mile of that journey was filled with fear and anxiety. She knew that no one in Nazareth would believe the story about the angel and she knew that an unwed teenage girl stood every chance of being driven out, ostracized, perhaps even stoned to death by intolerant villagers. She knew that her whole family would suffer from the stigma of being associated with her.
She does not know that in the presence of that angel and in the act of being chosen by God for the world’ single most momentous motherhood she, Mary, has been transformed. Is her transformation something visible? Perhaps, but not every eye can see it. The transformation is to be felt; it’s a presence.
Elizabeth senses that presence; the baby in the womb of Elizabeth senses that presence. Mary need say nothing; no stories about angels.
It’s Aunt Elizabeth who says it all. “You, little Mary, are the mother of my Lord.” In those few words Mary receives a powerful gift. She receives a confirmation that what the angel has proclaimed will come to be. She receives the courage to fulfill the role God has given her. She sees that the wisdom of the world need not disbelieve her or, better, fail to see in her the presence of the Holy One.
Mary is transformed from a state of anxiety and stress to a state of joy and confidence in God’s word and in what will be. Only one with boundless confidence could say “My soul magnifies the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” Only one touched by God could say that what is to be is for all time, every generation, and that in the birth of that child in her womb the world will be changed forever.
CHRIST THE KING SUNDAY 2006
Baruch 5:1-9
Philippians 1:1-11
Luke 3:1-6
Psalm 126
ADVENT 2, 2006
We were traveling from Texas to California in a change of assignments, driving west across the staked plains of New Mexico and the barren desert, then the pine covered hills of Arizona. This day we had left well before dawn; it was high summer and the heat of day came early. The road was filled with early travelers. Then, as though some unheard message went out to us all, it seemed that every one stopped to see the desert sunrise.
First we stood in darkness, the darkness of a sky free from city lights; a blackness punctuated by fading stars. Then there was the soft, almost imperceptible presence of light. Clouds appeared, first pink then orange then red, and the tops of mesas far out across the desert were defined by that same advancing orange light. Then the sun, a glaring physical presence on the Eastern horizon, long rays of light reaching out across the desert, so bright that we had to look away. Then, suddenly it was a new day.
There was a man named John who appeared in the wilderness of Judea, the Eastern desert of the people of Israel. He appeared in the deepest darkness of a night of estrangement from God, calling God’s people to come out to the desert, stop, repent, be reconciled.
Was he truly a man or an apparition, the very embodiment of the hidden, unspoken guilt and shame of the people, touching their souls?
John stood there in the waters of the Jordan, planted in the path that had led the people of Israel to the land promised them by their God many centuries before, calling them to enter those waters again, be baptized and rededicated, turn and go home.
They came by the hundreds, perhaps the thousands, from Jerusalem and the villages and the countryside, all sorts of people, to answer that call, shepherds and farmers and merchants and Pharisees and Scribes, to see this apparition and to hear his call. They came in their humility and in their pride, their power and their weakness, their wealth and their poverty, seeking one thing; hope.
They came because they were pained and exhausted by the futility of a seemingly endless darkness of sin and estrangement; they came seeking words of comfort and assurance. They came seeking the light of a new day.
They came because in their hopes this John was the new Elijah, the herald prophet who would proclaim the Messiah; God’s anointed one who would reconcile all creation to Himself.
They came in their hopes to see the path of the Messiah made straight and smooth by the presence of John, the valleys filed and the hills made low, the beams of the light of God’s presence cutting though the darkness of the desert of their lives. They came to stand in the overwhelming power of the presence of God, dispelling night and darkness.
There stands John today, planted in our own metaphoric Jordans, yours and mine. He is calling each of us to the brightness of God’s presence. Advent is our time of journey; leaving those places of ease and comfort we walk our own silent paths through our own wilderness whatever it may be.
At he end of that journey stands John and the light of the rising sun.
Daniel 7:9-14
Revelation 1:1-8
John 18:33-37
or Mark 11:1-11
Psalm 93
Some years ago an author named Louis Auchincloss wrote “The Winthrop Covenant,” a fictional tracing of fortunes of one New England family over four centuries.
The earliest Winthrop, speaking in old age from his home in the New World, speaks of his encounter with the majesty and power of royalty many years before. The great Elizabeth is passing in the streets of London, surrounded by courtiers and soldiers and ladies-in-waiting, all in gold and precious gems, glittering in her finery. The adults bow to the ground as she passes; he, in his simplicity, looks at her and she looks at him. His memory is that of cold, hard power wrapped up in the beauty of the transient moment. Their eyes meet; the eyes of Elizabeth frighten him. He sees eyes that could welcome, forgive or condemn in one moment. He sees the danger of power.
Such was the power of Caesar, the only King in the world of Pilate. He had been to Rome. He had seen that power exercised and he had learned that no one was safe, no one was spared, if that power were challenged. The eyes of Caesar were as cold as those of Elizabeth. Pilate had learned that safety and prosperity were to be found only in blind allegiance to the one king and that all, all challenges must be suppressed.
So he confronts this simple teacher from the provinces who seems to have some special influence over these unmanageable Israelites. This Jesus is as plain and humble as Caesar is ostentatious. Pilate was annoyed and yet amused to ask this man “Are you the King of Jews?” It is, to Pilate, absurd. Better yet, “..are you any kind of king?”
He is in over his head. There is absolutely nothing in Pilate’s edcation and training that would prepare him for Jesus’ answer, “My Kingship is not of this world.” In six words the centuries of preparation for the Messiah, the anointed deliverer of humanity , are fulfilled.
It’s all here; we have heard the prophecies again and again. This is the one that Psalmist proclaimed; he is the one whose” throne is established forever, from everlasting;” the foretold one, a “king of might’ but, more important, a king of holiness.
Daniel prophecies that the dominion of this “king” will be everlasting, will never pass away, never be destroyed.
The power of this “king” is not “of this world” but of God’s world, a world in which God’s will is done and in which God’s presence is known. The power of this “king” is not “from this world.” That power comes not from weapons and politics but from God Himself, “descending on the clouds of heaven.” That Kingdom has been, is, and will always be, in the hearts and hopes and dreams of the world.
As He comes near look into the eyes of this sort of king, this King of Kings coming in humility and see, not the cold, hard power of this world but the warmth of God’s eternal love.
Sermon for THANKSGIVING 2006
Deuteronomy
8:1-3,6-10(17-20)
James 1:17-18,21-27
Matthew 6:25-33
Psalm 65 or 65:9-14
When I was a boy we spent Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ house in Chicago. It was one of those unbreakable family traditions; some traveled quite far to be there. We weren’t a very big family – they were a generation of Scandinavian immigrants and their children and like a lot of recent Americans we were very concerned to keep all the American holidays and keep them correctly.
So there would be a big Thanksgiving meal. We had all the traditional American Thanksgiving food, strange as it might be. There would be a big turkey. You know, not everybody eats turkey. When we lived in Germany we invited our German landlord and his family to our Thanksgiving dinner. We noticed furtive glances exchanged as the turkey was served. We later found that the only turkey they knew of was in the zoo in the next village.
There would be that good dry stuffing made with buttery bread cubes and crunchy celery - except when Aunt Viola made it. Aunt Viola was a rather short, rotund woman who, as I remember, usually wore purple. She had a slight mustache and played the piano at the First Methodist Church of Downer’s Grove, Illinois, with far more enthusiasm than skill. Viola made soggy stuffing.
Then there would be big bowls of mashed, white potatoes – I don’t remember ever seeing a sweet potato. Actually, the bright orange color of sweet potatoes would be too garish for a Scandinavian table – and all the usual American vegetables like peas and sweet corn and, of course the dreaded succotash. Succotash was to be avoided at all costs. It was a sort of flavorless mixture of corn and lima beans. I had a theory that if I spread succotash very, very thinly across my plate no one would notice that I hadn’t eaten it. I noticed that others subscribed to my theory.
Cranberries made no sense to us whatsoever; they were the wrong size and weren’t sweet so we ate the jellied kind that comes in a can; And, because we were Scandinavian, there would be really good Swedish rye bread and butter. Homemade Swedish rye bread is so good that even Norwegians like it.
And dessert would always be the traditional pumpkin pie – with whipped cream, lots and lots of whipped cream.
The meal always began with a prayer, in English. My grandfather – Lyle Swann Ingemansson – had a really nice voice – sang in a choir – at the First Methodist Church of Irving Park, Illinois. He liked to sing the doxology as grace. It didn’t particularly matter to him if anyone else sang. He also sang the doxology in restaurants.
At first of course I had to sit at the children’s table, a little table in the living room. I would look with envy at the big people’s table – an unreachable dream. I visualized witty repartee and sparkling conversation. The fact that some adults preferred to sit at the children’s table should have told me something. Then when I grew a bit I had to sit with the adults at the big, round dining room table. Boring! And I found that I was a right handed person in a left handed family – something that I had never really noticed until I became engaged in the competition for elbow room.
After dinner – which was at noon – all the women would gather in the kitchen with my grandmother – Tilla – and do the dishes and talk. The men would go into the parlor and sort of sink into the easy chairs. They’d unbutton their vests and sit talk and talk. Then slowly the talk would die away as one after another they would doze off. It would become very quiet. We call that turkey torpor.
I have a cousin named Jan – not the one who set fire to my other grandfather, Sven Olaf Christensson,s lawn in Wisconsin – that was Bill. For Jan the idea of calm and quiet was totally alien. Actually it’s still pretty alien and he’s my age. Even Jan would fall under the spell of the afternoon.
All you would hear was the ticking of the mantel clock.
These were not dull people. They were adventurers. They were people who had left everything familiar – the old country, friends, family, places – and set out to a new country of which they knew very little, carrying nothing but their hopes and their dreams and their skills, and they had prospered. They had prospered through courage, self-sacrifice and plain hard work.
They had the sense to know the true source of all that prosperity. They were people of great faith and they knew that this day and every day they should give thanks to God for all they had - every gift, every success.
They truly understood the meaning of this day, Thanksgiving.
SERMON 5 NOVEMBER 2006
Deuteronomy
6:1-9
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 12:28-34
Psalm 119:1-16 or 119:1-8
“Tell us about God.” Moses comes down from the mountain, back to the camp of the Israelites carrying stone tablets – we all know the scene – telling them that he has met with God and has received these commandments, the testimony of the will of God.
“God; what God? Who is this God you mention?” Of course they asked those questions; so would we. “Describe Him, please.” But Moses can’t describe God, Moses has seen only a burning bush and a great light, he’s heard only the words of the commandments.
Do we really know any more than they did? Do we have more than His words to be our guide? Not really. We do, however, have the words of this morning’s readings; Deuteronomy, Hebrews, and Mark.
We have the great, ancient prayer of the people of Israel; “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One, and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, souls and mind.”
It’s two parts. The first part says that God is alone; there is no other God. It’s a statement that no matter where the people might be, God will be with them. They need have no fear of the Gods worshipped by other peoples in other places. Their God is always present with them in any situation. God is One; universal, undivided, undiminished. What incredible words of comfort for a besieged people living in treacherous and uncertain times; incredible words for ancient Israel, and for you and me. We can be assured that God will be present for us.
The second part tells us what our response to that all-present, all-concerned God must be. How can we possibly do other that to love God with heart and soul and strength; that’s pure gratitude. Recognize that it is God who takes the lead, God who reaches out, God who makes that promise.
Remembering is not simply failing to forget. Remembering isn’t nostalgia. Remembering is acting as though we are conscious, physically conscious, of the presence of God every minute. Remembering is acting with God in mind.
How do we do that? First, you and I are called to live in His presence and to make Him a part of everything we do. That, dear hearts, is a tall order but generations of Christians have done just that; they are living so today. Then we are called to teach that sense of the presence to the generations to come. Christian Education is an all-day, every-day task. We teach by word and example and children listen and watch. They must know that there is no time-limit on God’s presence, no past of future, but an eternal present.
And Our Lord gives us the final commandment, fleshing out all others; “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If we truly live in God’s presence we cannot do otherwise.” We will, as He would have us, remember Him; see Him in the faces of all we encounter. Perhaps we will teach them by reflecting God’s presence to them; we will certainly teach ourselves.
SERMON, OCTOBER 22, 2006
Isaiah
53:4-12
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:35-45
Psalm 91 or 91:9-16
“Lord, what will we have?’ Peter has finally summoned up the courage to ask Jesus, somewhat belatedly, “what’s in it for me?” Well, to give Peter his due, he has made a major commitment to Jesus for quite some time. They have logged a lot of miles together; I’m sure Peter feels that those miles are worth something and, being one of us, Peter can see only the worldly and the material.
“We’ve left everything,” he says. Don’t we deserve something? Of course they do, Peter and James and John and all the others will have their reward but not here, not now. Their reward will be in the kingdom of God that their teacher constantly proclaims.
That answer may have satisfied Peter but not James and John; they want some specific guarantees. They want assurances of positions of real honor and authority in that Kingdom of God; they want reserved seats on the right hand and the left hand of the throne.
What do you suppose they visualize as the Kingdom of God? A great, golden realm ruled by a mighty king who dispenses justice and punishment from a grand throne, surrounded by His court, principally James and John. How can they have such an image? It has to do with what kind of Messiah you are expecting.
James and John aren’t alone in this. Many, many people in Israel saw the role of the Messiah as a conquering Oriental king who would restore them all to power and glory and wealth; a new David who would reign in splendor. They wanted a return to the “good old days” of the kingdom of Israel.
If that’s what James and John are thinking it isn’t difficult to see how they could hear Jesus in a vastly different way. He has already told them of His impending death. To them, in their mindset, Jesus’ death would have to be some sort of painless, seamless transition to glory. No conquering king in their experience could be tried and crucified. It had to be much cleaner and neater than that.
But Jesus is not that conquering king Messiah. Jesus speaks of another ancient tradition in Israel; He speaks in the voice of one called the “suffering servant;” the one who suffers and dies for the sins of the nation of Israel.
Isaiah speaks of that sort of Messiah. The words are not “glory and power” but “wounded, oppressed, afflicted, beaten, mocked, scourged.” That Messiah is “silent before his oppressors, the Sanhedrin, the mob, Pilate, and empties Himself even to death, a sacrifice to atone for our sins.
That suffering for the life of us all is Jesus’ Baptism; that death if the cup Jesus will drink; no gold thrones or silver chalices for Jesus. That is what James and John and countless others will share with their Messiah. Jesus will enter His glory not in a flash of fire but through His pain and sacrifice.
Jesus sacrifice is not made to gain a place for James and John at the left hand and the right hand of God; His sacrifice is not made to secure His own place before the throne. His sacrifice is made in the service of all humanity as a ransom for the sins of eternity.
His sacrifice is made for you and for me.
SERMON OCTOBER 2006
Genesis 2:18-24
Hebrews 2:(1-8)9-18
Mark 10:2-9
Psalm 8 or 128
Have you seen the cross in the Memorial Garden?
It is made from the wood of a huge redwood tree that stood on that spot for years; years of being witness to the life of Christ Church.
The tree saw generations of our parishioners coming and going; witnessed Christmas services in the dark of midnight with refreshments on the church lawn; Easter Vigil services in the darkness of the pre-dawn hour; stately processions of wooden kings across the lawn in Advent.
The tree saw brides in white with their bridesmaids hurrying to the doors of the church; Bishops in colorful vestments with banners and incense; funerals and many, many committals in that garden.
The tree stood and saw it all.
Maybe it was a symbol of the strength of Christ Church; a tree reaching up to the heavens but firmly rooted in the earth, great roots stretching out in all directions.
A parish with its eyes on the holy, heaven-centered in worship and in its prayers rising to God; a parish of place, this place, reaching out in love and compassion to its neighbors, neighbors in Valdosta, in Georgia and the world.
How many have been lifted up and assisted by this parish? We will never know. Like the roots of the tree compassion and love often grow and spread unseen except by those who receive them. That is as it should be.
Some have been given help and encouragement through big programs, national or global; some have received just a smile, a welcome, a random act of kindness from unnamed individuals.
Reaching up and reaching out, that is how trees survive and prosper and grow. Drawing strength and nourishment from the Sun above and from God�s own earth here. Trees must have both. Churches must have both.
With both a tree can weather the worst of times; the heat, the drought, the winds, changing, bending, stretching, standing, growing, transforming.
A church that knows that its life is of both the heavens and the earth, as this church knows and has always known, is strong, healthy and growing.
And transforming? Yes indeed. Christ Church is transformed by every new person that worships here, transformed by the gifts, the talents, the questions and the love they bring; Christ Church is transformed by all those it reaches out to, all those it helps.
Christ Church is transformed by your presence here, by the talents that you share so lovingly, and by your gifts. Your gifts flow though Christ Church to its every branch, nourishing its growth, its ministries and its people.
That great redwood tree isn't gone; it's still there. It's still reaching up and rooted in the soil. Its wood is the wood of the cross. How appropriate.
SERMON SEPTEMBER 17 2006
Isaiah 50:4-9
James 2:1-5,8-10,14-18
Mark 8:27-38
or Mark 9:14-29
Psalm 116 or 116:1-8
It is a lovely day; not too hot, not too breezy. The sun is shining and the birds are singing and the Disciples are so happy, just walking along with Jesus, suspecting nothing.
Then Jesus stops, turns and asks, “Who do people say I am?” Oh no, a pop quiz! Nobody said there’d be a pop quiz. The Disciples crowd together, avoiding eye contact, hoping He won’t call on them.
And there is silence, a long silence. Finally someone says, “They think you’re John the Baptist.” Another says “Maybe Elijah or one of the old prophets.” Thank heaven somebody said something. There is general relief; smiles all around. Let’s get on with the walk.
Then come the second question, worse than the first, “Who do you say that I am?” Someone has the presence of mind to give Peter a shove, Peter usually has something to say. “You’re the Messiah” says Peter.
Then comes the third question. It’s not recorded in the Gospel but it had to be asked. Jesus looks at Peter and the others and asks “Just what is a Messiah; what does that mean to you?”
Israel and the world and you and I have been struggling with that question ever since. The reason that has usually been advanced as to why, having just performed a miracle, Jesus always says “Don’t tell anyone” is that the word Messiah meant, in their minds, some great conquering king along the lines of David or Solomon; someone who would restore glory and power and prestige to Israel. Since that wasn’t God’s plan to mention the word Messiah would be confusing and create disappointment. I used to think that was logical.
But, if that were true, why would the people be calling for John the Baptist, Elijah or a prophet. They are the ones who proclaimed, ranted, against exactly that sort of kingdom. They were outsiders, commenting on the deplorable state of affairs in just such a kingdom. If there is one consistent message in the prophets it is that things are an absolute mess around here.
If that sort of Messiah really was the expectation, centuries of waiting without any resolution must have desensitized them, lowered their expectations to the point of cynicism and doubt. They could not, or would not, recognize that Messiah of power or any other Messiah.
I question whether Israel really wanted that sort of Davidic Messiah at all. I really think that, in the time of Jesus, if the people had not slipped into a disenchanted cynicism, they had abandoned the Davidic power-state notion. What had that sort of kingdom given them? Glory, but also responsibility and anxiety and pain. Surely they knew, because the Roman soldiers in the streets made it very clear that glory was fleeting and power always succumbed to greater might.
I think, if we could ask the common man or woman on street of some village, perhaps even Jerusalem, “What do you want; what do you need?” the answer would be “peace.”
Is it so different? Haven’t the people of the world always desired, longed for, peace. Haven’t they longed for the security that only peace can give? Don’t we? There is a Jewish prayer “May you live to see your children’s children. May you enjoy the fruit of the vines you plant.” It’s a prayer for the security and prosperity and longevity that only peace can bring.
The Prince of Peace Himself walks with those Disciples. He Himself asks those three questions. He challenges them to look forward, not backward to Elijah and the prophets, to a new age, an age that John and Elijah and the prophets foretold and longed to see. He challenges us.
He calls them to a new life of personal commitment, re-ordered priorities and self-sacrifice. He calls us.
Above all, He calls us to answer the question, “Who do you say that I am?”
SERMON, 10 SEPTEMBER 2006
Isaiah
35:4-7a
James 1:17-27
Mark 7:31-37
Psalm 146 or 146:4-9
I have a friend named Paul Dix. He was the rector of a small country parish in Hartland, Wisconsin; I was his Deacon while in seminary. Paul had an attitude.
You know for some reason when you wear a collar some people feel compelled to say “Well, I really don’t believe in organized religion.” We hear it at parties and at check-out lines in supermarkets.
Paul had the definitive response. “If you really don’t believe in organized religion, the Episcopal Church is for you.”
The question, however, remains. Why do people say that, particularly to me.
I have a theory about that. I think that such people are like the man in the Gospel this morning. I know it’s one of the miracle stories; Jesus healing a man who is physically a deaf-mute; that is certainly one level.
But I hear a story about spiritual healing too. There have always been lots of people who are spiritually deaf, never hear the Good News, and are, therefore, spiritually mute. The man in the Gospel cannot physically hear or speak; the spiritual deaf-mute cannot or will not. Why? For many reasons, I’m sure.
So my theory is that when people say “I don’t believe...” they really want an answer. They want to be acknowledged; they want to be engaged.
What’s been lacking or them? Someone to take them seriously enough to tell them why they should believe. What actually happens is that their pronouncement shuts down conversation and we turn away. People just passed the deaf-mute by, physically. We pass by the spiritually deaf-mute. They become invisible.
Have you ever been invisible? It’s an interesting experience. You are probably thinking ‘Oh great, now the priest is getting weird.” So I’ll tell you a story. A few years ago I was visiting he Diocesan office in Savannah returning the Diocesan banner from some liturgy. Around noon we were all going out to lunch at Tubby’s Tank House in Thunderbolt, really. I went out to the car, the old Volvo wagon, in the parking lot to find that the right rear tire was flat. I got out the jack and the wrench and the spare. All the lug nuts came off easily, except one, it was absolutely frozen on. I couldn’t budge it with my tools so I went back into the office and called triple A. I went back out to stand by the car to wait for them and it started to rain, hard. I occurred to me that I had an old Viet Nam type bush hat in the car; it put that on. Then I took the black plastic trash bag in which I had carried the Diocesan banner, poked a hole in the bottom for my head and slipped that on. So I was standing there in the rain wearing a black plastic trash bag and a soggy, shapeless bush hat and, apparently, I had become completely invisible. No one could see me as they passed by.
That’s really not unlike the man in the Gospel. No one sees him, except Jesus. No one acknowledges him, except Jesus. Jesus is present for him; Jesus touches him; Jesus sets him free.
You realize, of course, that that is our story too. You and I, everyone of us, has been present for us and touched us, somehow. Jesus has answered our unspoken thoughts about faith and religion. Jesus has brought us here today.
Now it’s our turn. You and I are supposed to “doers of the word,” proclaimers that the Kingdom is at hand and that God is present in His creation and that we are loved. Jesus did that. We are supposed to follow His example.
It is easier to just ignore the spiritually deaf and mute. It’s easier to just write them off as a loss. We can’t do that; we can’t just reject them. It’s our job to be present for them as Jesus was present for the man in the Gospel; it may be that that is all that’s needed. What if they have never heard the Word; what if they know nothing of God; What if they have built their own prison wall to shut out the Gospel, a wall that may crumble at a touch; what if our touch is Jesus touch for them? What if you and I are all that is needed for a transformation?
We are talking about transformation; transformation for the one whose ears are opened and whose tongue is loosed, and transformation for you and for me.
When we speak of our faith we become “doers of the Word;” we see our faith and we see ourselves clearly. That’s contagious. Clarity spreads. Even that deaf-mute in the Gospel becomes a “doer;” he hears and he speaks as he runs off the tell the world about Jesus.
SERMON, 27 AUGUST 2006
Joshua
24:1-2a,14-25
Ephesians 5:21-33
John 6:60-69
Psalm 16 or 34:15-22
Let’s call this “The Stick and the Carrot”
Joshua has summoned all the tribes of Israel to a meeting at the shrine at Schechem. It is a huge crowd, a happy, festive crowd. They have their “promised land.” Now it’s time for a decision, time for a commitment.
After all those years wandering around the desert living on manna and quail, meeting all sorts of strange people and their strange gods, here they are, just as their God had promised. That’s quite an accomplishment.
God deserves a thank you, doesn’t He?
However, being as human as we are, and with our short attention span, and our amazing ability to think that we can take care of ourselves, the people of Israel sort of say “so much for that” and go off after other gods, all those gods they had heard about in their journey, gods of the local Canaanites.
Does that make sense? Of course not, but it happened. And Joshua says “choose – now! Our God or theirs. Choose correctly and live your lives in this promised land; choose incorrectly and you will have nothing. There is nor compromise, no half-way faith. Our God or nothing.”
Amazing, isn’t it? That scene is repeated again and again and again. We, humanity, have an amazing capacity for creating and worshipping other gods. We don’t think of them as gods, but they are. They have lots of names; money, power, security, personal fulfillment, self-actualization. They become our gods when we raise them to such a level of importance that they run our lives, our decisions, our priorities.
We give those things immense credit; credit for our happiness, our success, our well-being, just like those comfortable ancient Israelites.
Jump forward a few centuries to as little band of disciples and Jesus. Those disciples are as human as we are. What false gods do you suppose they have at the moment of out Gospel? They did have them, you know. Perhaps self-preservation. That comes to mind. Jesus is becoming a challenge, saying difficult things. It’s not safe to be near him. Those who have trooped after Him, thinking they were on the way to their very own promised land, whatever that might mean for them, are falling away. It is much safer to worship their own gods.
Of course there is pressure in being with Jesus. And they, and we, have a driving need to be accepted, to be on the right side and never to be laughed at.
There are a few who see through the false gods, a few who remain constant. A few who can honestly say “where can we go? You have the words of life.” A few who know that there is no other choice.
Sooner or later we are all called to make that commitment, that choice. How do we choose?
Do we, like those Israelites, choose to follow God because, as Joshua says, “He’ is a jealous God” and, if you don’t He will do you grievous harm? That’s the stick.
Or do we choose the carrot, rather the bread, the “living bread” come down from Heaven, the gift of eternal life?
In Celebration of the Life of Dr. William Montgomery Gabard
Aug. 17, 1922-Aug. 18, 2006
August 21, 2006
The second pew on the left – my left – the aisle seat; that’s Dr. William Gabard’s seat. It is a temptation to look down on that seat and be sad, to mourn the thought that he is sitting there no longer. We can’t do that; Bill would not approve!
What we should do is celebrate his life, the life of a truly remarkable man.
Perhaps, with me, you read his obituary with a sense of awe; So many accomplishments, so many degrees and fellowships, membership in so many societies. What a contribution he made as a scholar, a professor, a historian.
Reading all those things we see a man who lived on a vast and grand scale indeed. A scale that encompassed the past and the present; the past and present of the world, his family, his church. A global scale of interests that spanned time and distance.S
Is that the man you know? Here’s the man I know.
The door of our nursery – the door of our pre-school opens and a man enters, a man whose presence radiates absolute delight, absolute love, for the children. They are his “babies.” He is their ‘Grandpa.”
How many days have brightened, how many lives have been touched by “Grandpa,” Bill Gabard? How many teens and even young adults remember his words and his kindness? How many memories fill this room this evening?
Those memories should give us great joy. And here is another thing about which we can be joyful. We have the promise of Our Lord Jesus Christ that in death life is changed, not ended. We have the promise that in faith we have eternal life with the Father. We have the promise that Bill has gone before us to take his place there and that we, in our time will be with him there again. We may find him in the company of great historians solving the mysteries of time. We may find him earnestly questioning the movers of shakers of this world. But, be assured, find him there we will.
We can never replace Bill Gabard here – there simply is no other like him. We can give thanks to God for those memories that brighten our lives still.
And, in time, we might actually sit in that seat, second row on the left, by the aisle.
AUGUST 20, 2006
Proverbs 9:1-6
Ephesians 5:15-20
John 6:53-59
Psalm 147 or 34:9-14
What are we doing here? Sounds like a strange question, doesn’t it, but every once in a while it might be a good idea to pause and think about that.
The significant word is “doing.” We are a Sacramental Church, a church that is held together with what we do as a body. Our life as a church revolves around the sacraments – things we can see and do that are signs of a very special relationship to God, signs of God’s presence here in our lives. We uphold the importance of scripture, we read lots and lots of scripture; we confess our belief in God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit in our ancient creeds, but the things that unite us are the sacraments. We are engaged in one right now – the sacrament of Holy Communion – a great sacrament that Our Lord Himself ordained.
We are about to receive bread and wine; such common things. Jesus and His faithful disciples had bread and wine at every meal. And then there was one very special meal, a last meal, when Jesus took those common things and transformed them and said “this bread is my body; this wine is my blood.” Transforms them forever in our Christian faith. Is that something to be analyzed and made literal; Of course not. We don’t have the words to describe what that means, we have instead the experience of that presence.
Jesus told those befuddled disciples, and He tells us, that whoever eats my flesh, my body, this bread, and drinks that blood, this wine, “abides in me and I in him.”
Abides; it means that they, and you and I, are one with Our Lord. It means exactly that. It means that through the sacraments we have gained life- eternal life – in Our Lord, Jesus Christ.
It’s not a simple idea, is it? It’s a hard saying to understand. No doubt His disciples and all who heard it were utterly confused, perhaps scandalized. Body and blood! Some are still scandalized.There are those today who cannot see what Our Lord meant.
In the first half of the twentieth century the church was graced by the guidance of the Archbishop of Canterbury, William Temple. His term was tragically short but he was, arguably, the brightest of all in the church. He wrote many books, one of which was his commentary on St. John’s Gospel, this morning’s Gospel. It is still one the definitive works about John.
How would Temple answer the question “what are we doing here?” Temple would tell us that we become complete when we receive the sacrament, the body and the blood. In the flesh, the body, the bread, we are one with His sacrifice – His body given for us on the cross. In the blood we receive the sacred of essence of life itself – the life of Our Lord poured out for us.
In receiving both we come to full communion with Him.
In the Collect for funerals we make the confession that in death “life is changed, not ended.” Jesus, in His death for us, and in His Resurrection to Glory, changed the life of the world, your life and mine. He opened for us eternal life.
Our response to that great and joyful gift is the answer to what you and I are doing here.
TRANSFIGURATION 2006
Exodus
34:29-35
2 Peter 1:13-21
Luke 9:28-36
Psalm 99 or 99:5-9
I really don’t like to drive at night any more; I don’t enjoy it and it’s stressful. I suppose it has to do with age; my eyes simply aren’t as good as they used to be . It could also be a matter of knowing about my own mortality. Years ago, when I was immortal, and probably invincible, I could drive all night. At some point, I’m not sure just when, it occurred to me that to be out in the middle of nowhere in the dark, alone, at three in the morning might not be very smart.
So I avoid it. Of course I can’t always avoid it. Sometimes there are delays and problems, things over which I have no control, that put me on the road much later than I’d like; country roads in the dark.
Dark it is, indeed. Have you ever noticed that there’s a lot of the “middle of nowhere” in the State of Georgia? It’s a sort of vast empty space in the middle of the state, just sand and scruffy little pine trees. I suppose the land isn’t good for farming so there’s no real reason for anyone to live there. You can drive a long, long way in complete darkness. It can be really spooky.
Perhaps you’ve been there. If you have you know how good it is to see any small light in that darkness. I imagine the light could be a house or a barn; I’ve never really investigated. The important thing is that it’s there. The important thing is to know that I’m not alone in that darkness, that someone else is there and that if I really were in trouble and needed help I might be able to go to that light. If I did go to that light what would I find? I have no idea; that’s where faith comes in.
You know where I’m going with this don’t you? Let’s agree that life is a road; that’s a good, well-worn, metaphor. We start at point A, birth, and proceed to point Z, death, and we log a lot of miles in between. Sometimes the going is really good; a straight, smooth road, brilliant sunshine, fleecy little clouds, perhaps a few happy bluebirds. Life is great. But, if we are honest, sometimes the going is awful. It’s a twisting, bumpy road and you’re driving on it in darkness because things beyond you control have changed your life and your plans haven’t worked out and your windshield is plastered with love bugs and you can’t see where you’re going. We all know what it’s like.
What, or who, is the light in that kind of darkness?
This is the Feast of the Transfiguration. Jesus and His three closest disciples go up a mountain to pray and there they encounter Moses and Elijah, The Law and The Prophets. Moses and Elijah have, in their own time, come very close to God. Moses met God on another mountaintop. He received The Commandments from God and the encounter caused his face to shine with a dazzling brightness. Elijah was taken up to God in a flaming chariot with fiery horses, another brilliant and dazzling light in the presence of God. Now, on this mountain of Transfiguration, a cloud descends. The cloud is the “glory,” the “shekina” that is God’s presence and it descends upon the mountain and upon Jesus. When it dissipates Jesus alone remains with His faithful three. His face and His garments are dazzling. He becomes the light itself.
Jesus is the light here, now, in this darkness or ours, whatever it may be. Jesus is the one, the only one, who can draw us from that darkness; draw the world from its darkness. We must have the light. We cannot live without light. What would the world be like with a flicker of compassion? What would the world be like without a glimmer of reason? What would the world be like without a spark of love? What would the road be if there without light in the darkness to tell us we are not alone and to guide us to our journey’s end?
The light tells us that after all is said and done there will be a new day, a new dawn.
SERMON July 9, 2006
Ezekiel 2:1-7
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-6
Psalm 123
I have a thought about “grace.” We talk about God’s grace a lot. I suppose in the past I have tended to see grace as something very individual and specific and perhaps it is. But I can also see grace as a universal, something that is always there, everywhere and we live in the midst of it. Perhaps we just don’t recognize it until something remarkable, something wonderful happens. Then we say “Aha! Grace.”
But if that’s so why on earth don’t we know it? How can we miss it? The answer to that, I suppose, is that we simply need that someone to point it out and focus our minds on the presence of God. So we need two things; we need a speaker totally committed to expressing God’s grace and we need hearers with open and receptive ears.
What messes it all up? Just so, speakers and hearers. There are, and this may shock you, who are prideful in their role; glib persons whose personal opinions and agendas intrude on and filter his or her expression of God’s grace. It’s not new. Paul obviously knows a few of them. Paul is actually grateful that something prevents him from becoming too comfortable, too polished in his preaching and teaching.
Some “thorn” keeps Paul uncomfortable. What is it? He never explains. All sorts of things have been suggested through the years. So, I’ll add my theory to the list. I think Paul was subject to crises of confidence and , perhaps, some sort of panic attacks in confronting people. I think that’s why Paul is so assertive and rigid in his writing as opposed to his speaking. We really don’t know what sort of speaker Paul was; no one really tells us. Although, perhaps the story of the young man falling asleep and falling out a window while listening to Paul might give us a clue.
That’s just my theory, but, if it’s correct, it tells us that Paul’s great influence came not from his “great learning” and his oratory but from his expressing his own unpolished, sincere, powerful, personal experience. That’s what they remembered. That’s what we remember.
Paul and Ezekiel have a lot in common. Paul experienced the presence of Jesus on the road to Damascus. Ezekiel experienced the presence of Jahweh on the Chebar in Babylon. Both were life-changing moments; both were empowered to go and tell the world about God, to speak the words that God gave them. Neither of them was a professional prophet and they knew it. They were agents of God and no more. There is no room for egos and agendas in such people. Whether the world listens or not, the word is to be proclaimed.
Did people listen? I doubt that it was much different for Ezekiel or Paul than it is today. Some hear; some don’t. Surely not everyone on Paul and Ezekiel’s journeys was spiritually blind or deaf. No more than today. Some listened, heard and believed, otherwise we would not be here today.
And then Jesus. We could say that Jesus encounters God on the bank of the Jordan, a voice from Heaven saying to Him, “You are my Son.” Jesus is empowered, as Ezekiel was and Paul will be, to speak God’s word and He too speaks to a world, or at least a synagogue, that will not hear. They don’t trust Him. That probably tells us that they have experienced those self-serving prophets that Paul will know. They can’t see past Jesus to hear His message.
All of which is to say what? Well, I think it tells us that we have a task. I think it tells us that we must be open to hear the word but be ever mindful and discerning of the slightest misuse of the word for any reason whatsoever.
We have to pay attention. We have to listen attentively. We have to recognize and feel God’s grace.
4th OF JULY 2006
My mother had a big old fashioned cedar chest. It took us several years to be ready to open it when she died. I suppose we expected to find very personal reminders of her. We did.
It was filled with her personal treasures – things she had kept with her though all those moves and dislocations. Opening it was very much like looking back upon the layers of the years of a life. The most recent treasures were on top, placed there quite recently. Then, deeper, were photos of my father as a young officer – photos of North Africa and Italy – photos of a cavalry lieutenant with boots and saber.
Deeper yet we found her wedding dress and a set of photos of their wedding in 1936 braving all the fears of the Great Depression to begin a life together.
And then there were the mementos of her mother and father. A Baptismal Certificate issued in Christiana, Norway, the city we now call Oslo. There was Wedding Certificate – very elaborately drawn to – with spidery writing saying that she had married in the city of Winnipeg.
She was Inga Emily Ingebrettsen, a young woman of Norway come to Canada to marry her fiance, Sven Olav Christensen and start a new life together in a new land. This land – this United States – was their goal but the quota for Norwegians to enter was small, so they waited until the doors were opened for them.
Why did they come? They had no real, pressing reason to. They didn’t come from poverty. We have met our family that remains in Norway – just nice, plain people leading good lives. They weren’t part of the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’ Norway was an enlightened, progressive country.
NO; they came because of faith just as Abraham’s faith carried him forward, leaving all that was familiar to go to a new land. Faith in what? Faith in a land that held limitless opportunities and that stood ready to welcome the sojourner, the stranger, to its shores; a big land to match big talents and big ambitions – a land of justice in which the last to arrive could share the rights and benefits of its first citizens.
My grandmother had two heroes in this land; Abraham Lincoln and Franklin Delano Roosevelt. She actually bought a plaster bust of Lincoln; she wept bitterly when Roosevelt died. She saw them both as champions of the common man – as men who fought for the dignity of every human being. That was her faith in this country and the faith of millions like her.
Inga Emily Ingebrettsen Christensen never lost her faith that this is indeed the best of all places. Nor, dear hearts, must we.
SERMON 2 JULY 2006
Deuteronomy 15:7-11
2 Corinthians 8:1-9,13-15
Mark 5:22-24,35b-43
Psalm 112
The English writer C.S. Lewis wrote a book entitled “The Screwtape Letters,” correspondence between the Devil and his nephew Wormwood. Wormwood needs advice on how best the draw us mortals away from “The Enemy,” Jesus. The Devil’s advice is “Distract them with issues.”
We have a job, you and I, a real job, a tough job. We have just heard the job description in the readings this morning. Now for years I have understood those readings, full of the words “poor” and “needy” to be about poverty – a lack of money or things.
Of late, however, another idea has crept in. It occurs to me that it is possible that they are talking about “faith.”
‘There will never cease to be someone in need – of faith – on the earth.” It sounds different, doesn’t it? That’s Deuteronomy – The Old Testament – talking to, and about, ancient Israel. It’s as true today as it was then, 3,000 years ago.
Why should that be true; that continuing need for faith? You know that we Christians – Episcopalians –are often chided for not being more evangelistic, for not being out in the streets going door-to-door. Hear what that Deuteronomist is saying. “Open your hand to the poor and needy.” Hear that as those poor in faith and in need of faith. “Do not be hard-hearted or tight fisted.” He’s chiding ancient Israel. Nothing is new. There was a problem then and there is a problem now.
Our job is that we are called to share what we have experienced, what we know about God in Jesus Christ. It really is that simple. Does that necessarily mean door-to-door evangelism; not really. It actually might be easier to spend a few hours ringing doorbells than to commit ourselves to living every hour of every day as a demonstration, in both our words and our actions, that we are called to a very high standard indeed; that we pattern our lives on that of Our Lord, Jesus Christ. Believe me, if we do that people will notice.
How rich in faith we are! Have you ever considered how much Jesus gave up to be with us, how much He denied Himself? It was all that it means to be divine. He gave that up to be one of us. His sacrifice is the very foundation of our faith. What more powerful demonstration could we have? The richness of our faith is that we know – we have seen – what God will do for His creation.
Now the temptation is to hang on to that rich faith. Actually, I’m being unfair. Maybe we are shy and retiring, afraid that others might ridicule us or, worse, ignore us if we try to share our faith. May be we don’t feel qualified.
Or maybe the world we live in, and that includes a lot of good Christians, has really grown “distracted” by those issues. Maybe Wormwood is doing a really good job. Issues can drown out our words. Our good actions may not be seen through a fog of rhetoric. It would be so easy to give up, to just shrug our shoulders and quit.
We can’t do that! The job is still a job; it’s still our job. If you and I don’t challenge Wormwood, who will? We have all we need to accomplish God’s will. We have an abundance to share with those in Spiritual need. We just have to get on with it. Jesus said to Jairus, and Jesus says to you and to me right now “Do not fear; only believe.”
SERMON JUNE 25, 2006
Job 38:1-11,16-18
2 Corinthians 5:14-21
Mark 4:35-41;(5:1-20)
Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32
At one point we owned a sailboat. It wasn’t a big sailboat; actually it was very small. It was a gift to our two young sons by a friend – a Colonel who had retired a bought a house on a cove off the Chesapeake Bay in the Northern Neck – the land between the Potomac and the Rappahanock in Northern Virginia. She had lots a room to keep a really big boat for sailing out on the bay.
We lived on a small lake in Burke, Virginia, a suburb of Washington. The little sailboat was perfect.
This is what we learned very quickly. Shallow water – like that lake – can go from calm and pleasant to tumultuous in seconds. It doesn’t take much to stir it up. Waves can come out of nowhere and very quickly carry you across the lake and leave you stranded and you really can’t do much about it.
Shallow lives are like that too. Consider Job; he has a really good life. He has a nice family, a big estate, plenty of everything. Do you suppose he has ever questioned his life – ever thought about how very blessed he is. He really is quite pious. He’s faithful in a sort of knee-jerk way. The truth is he has never had to consider the source of it all. Job is Mister Shallow, or so says Satan, the Advocate. So piece by piece Job’s life is dismantled to see if there is any limit to his faith – to plumb its depth. Job is in a storm – a hurricane – of sudden change It turns out that there is a bottom, a limit, to it all. Job finally demands to know what’s going on – why he is being treated so. He questions God.
God’s response is crushing in a way. “Where were you” God asks. He firmly puts Job is his place. But there’s more. God reveals to Job the true depth of faith – far deeper than anything Job has ever known. Job sees the full, true majesty and power of the creator of all things and he emerges restored. But he emerges changed. “The old has passed away; the new has come” in Job’s life.
In the Gospel Jesus and His disciples are on a shallow lake – large, but shallow water. Storms still come up without warning as the winds sweep down from the hills around the Sea of Galilee. Their boat was bigger than ours but not by much.
It was all so familiar. They had sailed on that lake day after day, all their lives. It was routine. It was, in reality, their life. They had been caught up in storms but none like this. All their skills are not enough for them to even begin to control the situation – to save themselves.
There is a phenomenon that small boat, shallow water sailors dread. It’s being caught between wind and water. When you approach the shore the waves take over and just carry the boat toward the beach. You have to turn and tack and gradually draw away. But if the wind is coming straight at you – really blowing – the sail just swings back and forth and you are trapped. Lots of little boats end up on the beach.
You can see those disciples realizing that they were in just that situation, giving up and holding on for dear life. You can see them realizing that the only thing that can save them is depth – depth of water under their hull. You can see them realizing that there was absolutely nothing they could do to attain that depth and finally. Belatedly calling upon the only power that could save them.
We’ve all been there, haven’t we. We’ve all been caught in situations where we simply cannot help ourselves and I dare say we’ve all had that reassuring, powerful presence of Jesus calm our own personal storms and draw us to new depths of faith.
Our task, your and mine, is to tell the world that in the midst of the most ferocious storms and tempestuous seas of life, Jesus is there.
JAMIE CARROLL
Nov. 1, 1913-May 23, 2006
We need an anchor in this world, don’t we? We need someone who can hear our ideas and plans — someone who has the wisdom to tell us what cannot be and, more important, what can.
Such people are rare. How blessed we are to have such a man among our friends. Jamie was an anchor for me — an anchor for so many of us.
I knew that I could share my ideas with Jamie; he would draw upon a lifetime of experience with the world, with business with people and give me guidance. It wasn’t always what I wanted to hear. It was what I needed to hear.
Most often Jamie’s guidance was not “you can’t do that” but “here’s how you can” always delivered in a soft, quiet voice.
I have often wondered how often that soft, quiet voice has made things possible — caused things to be — in this church, in this city of Valdosta — in your lives and in mine — saying “here’s how you can.”
Two things never perish; wisdom and memories. His wisdom and his memory will live always in our hearts.
EASTER 7, YEAR B
Acts 1:15-26
1 John 5:9-15
John 17:11b-19
Psalm 68:1-20
Doors and windows; It has been said that when God closes a door He opens a window – and we go on.
We lost a friend this past week, a member of our church family, a good Christian. His life ended far too abruptly. His funeral was a great tribute to a good man. We could say that a chapter, an era, ended; a door closed.
Today we have the great joy of celebrating a Baptism. Maddy Yarborough will become the newest Christian in the world. A new life in Christ will begin; a window will open.
You might remember the phrase “the torch is passed.” The torch is the light; the light of Christ. It will be passed here this morning.
That light, that torch, is passed in our Epistle from The Acts of the Apostles this morning. Judas Iscariot is no more, another must be chosen. The light that shone in Judas is dark, another light grows bright. It’s one light and it is never extinguished.
Who makes that selection? Who fans that light into brightness? It’s not the eleven Disciples. They pray and they cast lots but the Holy Spirit acts, God chooses. His hand rests on Matthias.
That’s how it is. That’s what will happen here today. It happens at every Baptism. It happened at your Baptism and at mine. God reaches out into our lives and our world and say “this is the one. This is my beloved child.” We may not see a dove fluttering down from Heaven or hear a mighty voice but I assure you it has happened and it will happen.
What will be changed? What is changed when God’ hand rests on us? Paul tells us that in that moment of becoming one with Our Lord you and I and all the Baptized receive the precious, priceless gift of eternal life.
We receive the promise that the new life we receive in Baptism never ends. The death of our mortal bodies is a transition to eternal life with Our Lord Jesus Christ. We witnessed that final transition this week. We will witness a new transition today. We will greet a new child of God.
And we have the assurance that God will hear the prayers of His new child. We have the assurance that God will be a constant, attentive presence in her life just as we was present in the life of our departed friend.
We have that assurance in our Gospel, in the prayers of Our Lord Jesus Christ who prays to the Father for us all; for you, for me, for Jamie and for Maddy.
EASTER 2006
Alleluia, He is Risen!
“Why do you seek the living among the dead?”
“He is not here, He is Risen.”
In a moment – in six terse words – everything, everything is changed.
God has broken the cycle – the seemingly inevitable progression of life and death.
Death is no longer an end; it is a passage, a transformation to eternal life in the presence of God.
The most momentous proclamation is made to who? To whom is this great Good News entrusted? Not to kings or high priests; – not to scribes or theologians – not to philosophers. It is made to a few faithful women in the light of dawn at an empty tomb.
Go back just a little while – a few minutes –to the journey of those women to that tomb. They are wrapped in the black garments of mourning. They are wrapped in the blackness of the night – the darkness of their own grief. They are silent, lost in thought.
Hear their soft footsteps on cobblestones and dirt paths, small sounds in a dark, just waking city. Hear the muffled, distant barking of a dog, the crow of a cock, the dull thud of a distant axe cutting the wood for the day. A small world; an intimate world.
Then the shattering of that familiar world at an empty tomb and an angel of brightness.
What do those six words proclaim? What do they proclaim this morning? What is the message given not simply to those women but to all humanity for all time?
They proclaim God’s love. They proclaim a love so great, so all-encompassing, so universal, that no sacrifice is too great for us. His Son, Our Lord’s life and death have been for us, for our salvation, personally and individually. They proclaim that we are never abandoned, never alone, even in the darkest and deepest moments of grief and loss and depression.
In darkest night we have the promise of dawn.
In deepest despair we have the promise of comfort.
In a world, in a life, that has grown cold is the promise of the warmth of the sunrise.
All this the angel proclaims, now, this morning;
“Alleluia, Christ is Risen!”
GOOD FRIDAY 2006
“Ecce Homo.” Behold the man. Who is this who stands before Pilate? Who is this battered man who stands before the symbol of all the powers of force and coercion, this personification of might? Who stands in judgment?
Is this a simple Galilean Rabbi, a man of flesh and blood whose teachings of peace and compassion and whose healings of the pains of the world have caused Him to fall afoul of the establishment? So it would appear. There is nothing remarkable about him at first glance.
We know His history. We know about His preaching and His teaching – so powerful, so persuasive. We know about His apparently inexplicable ability to heal the sick and raise the dead; everyone knows about that. He’s famous, He has a huge crowd following Him, not just a ragtag twelve from Galilee. That is worrisome.
But there is something strange about Him. Even now, mocked and exhausted He is unbowed. There is a composure about Him, a calmness when any other man should be groveling in fear. What does He know? What does He see that we do not, thinks Pilate?
Does He really claim to be King of the Jews? Those Jewish officials claim that He does. Preposterous, yet there is a quality that makes one uneasy. It’s that composure. It’s as though this poor, wretched prisoner were the one who is truly free, free to choose life or death. It’s as though roles were reversed and Pilate stands in judgment; not simply the judgment of humanity or history but eternal judgment – God’s judgment – and that simply cannot be.
What should this “Passion Gospel” tell us? It should tell us that love and compassion and charity are deeply threatening to those in this world who rely on power and intimidation to maintain themselves. It should tell us that humility is anathema to the proud and the haughty. It has always been so; Pilate speaks for them all.
Pilate tells us that love and compassion and charity must be negated – eliminated – by the only means such persons understand. Pilate tells us that men such as he have an overwhelming fear that such things – things they cannot comprehend – might become the way of the world.
So the very perfect symbol of all that is good goes to His death on a barbarous cross, a light to the world extinguished by those who would live only in darkness. He is blameless; He is innocent of all crimes except one – the crime of challenging those who will not allow themselves to be challenged, assailing the unassailable – and raw force strikes Him down.
It is unjust; it is outrageous. It is all too common in this world of ours; all too common because even those who could and should cry out remain mute. We can be a fear-filled lot. We can be Disciples of the truth who fold at the first assault of falsehood and seek convenient refuge from making a personal commitment – holes in which to hide - leaving it to others to stand at the foot of the cross.
It takes courage to stand at the foot of the cross and to be seen by a world that neither understands or practices love and compassion – no more today than then - but that courage is as nothing compared to the courage of that man who calmly stood false trial to be unjustly condemned – the man on the cross dying for all – the strong and the weak, the brave and the cowardly, the proud and the humble, those with faith and those without – even the Pilates of this world.
“Ecce Homo.” Behold the man.
SERMON: APRIL 2, 2006
5TH Sunday of Lent 2006
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Hebrews 5:(1-4)5-10
John 12:20-33
Psalm 51 or 51:11-16
Jesus is a man without illusions. He knows He’s going to die – die a brutal, humiliating death. At this point I think Jesus knows why He is to die. He accepts it.
I think Jesus has some intimation – some understanding that His death is not simply martyrdom for a cause. His death actually signifies the end of all that has gone before – the beginning of a new world. His death signals a totally new covenant between the creator God and His creation; a new covenant in which, Jeremiah tells us, iniquity is forgiven and sins are forgotten” - all sins for all humanity. It’s a new page; a clean slate; a fresh start.
The scale of it all! You see my making a sacrifice for you is not the same – does not approach – the power of Jesus giving everything – giving His life – for persons He will never see or know – you and me.
Jesus will be “lifted up,” first on a crude wooden cross, then in His Ascension to the Father. Jesus will suffer the first that all – all – may participate in the second. A first person singular sacrifice leads to a first person singular salvation. His sacrifice shows perfect obedience – obedience to the will of the Father.
Jesus’ perfect obedience – obedient even to death - brings salvation. What is “obedience?” My mother would have said “If you don’t know I’m certainly not going to tell you.” Simply put, obedience means putting the will of another before our own wishes – putting someone else in the center of our lives. That center for Jesus, and for you and for me, should and must be God.
So the obedience and sacrifice of one man – Jesus – brings salvation to us all. We all inherit this New Covenant. The question arises is that new covenant individual or corporate?
Corporate salvation is the idea of the old covenant - the Old Testament. Everybody – all of Israel – every single person - had to be obedient for the covenant to be fulfilled – for salvation. Obviously, that never happened – they never even came close. Do we expect to do better? If so we are in big trouble.
But we are not in trouble. One man’s obedience and sacrifice has taken that burden from us. Salvation is ours – each of us and all of us – because of His obedience and death on that cross.
SERMON: MARCH 19, 2006
Third Sunday of Lent
Exodus 20:1-17
Romans 7:13-25
John 2:13-22
Psalm 19:7-14
I received what I took to be a bit of a compliment the other day. A person commented on the neatness of my desk. I suppose it’s true; there isn’t much on the surface of the desk. There is a reason for that. Years ago I was stationed in Washington with an office on the Mall. In that assignment everything had to be off your desk at the end of the day. Security people swept the building at night and confiscated anything not put away securely. Better simply to not put stuff out in the first place – keep everything neat. That sort of thing becomes a habit that has stuck with me over the years. So the top of the desk is clear. Please do not open the desk drawers. Actually, you might not be able to open the desk drawers. Messy! It’s paper; lots and lots of paper. What do you do with all that paper, some of which is important. For a society with computers and the Internet we still send an awful lot of paper around. We- or at least I – become overwhelmed by it all.
So I was really pleased to see that I am not alone in being submerged by clutter. Perhaps you’ve had occasion to watch a channel called HGTV. It’s sort of an oasis of practicality in the midst of “reality” programs and bowflex ads. It’s filled with home decoration and gardening programs – and there’s one about organizing things. ORGANIZING THINGS! There are people who actually make a profession of going around organizing peoples’ home – people’s incredibly messy homes. The homeowners seem to be unable to deal with the mess – the mess they have made I might add – so they need someone to come in and force them to make hard decisions about what is valuable and what should be thrown away. They are ruthless! They override all sorts of excuses and rationalizations and objections and all sorts of trash is hauled away. The mess is cleared up. The homeowners are organized and happy. What has really been organized? Their lives. For perhaps the first time they are making the right decisions about what’s important. For the first time they can see what has value – and the organizer rides off into the sunset.
Now – lest you think there is no point to this sermon at all – I was reading this morning’s Gospel and had a strange thought. Of course I have no doubt that it’s a real story – a real event in Our Lord’s life. I have no doubt that Jesus did encounter a mess in the courtyards of the temple and that He did react to it all with righteous anger and direct action. The Gospels agree on that. That’s significant.
However, what if we read that story seeing that the Temple is us – our earthly lives. Remember that no one set out to build a temple with space reserved for moneychangers and pigeon sellers. When it was built the Temple was clear and clean and totally dedicated to the worship of God. It was holy space.
People’s lives begin that way, I think. I think lives begin with good intentions. Small children do know right from wrong – justice from injustice – what’s fair and what is not. They expect the world – they expect us – to live up to a pretty high standard of behavior. Life and the world have the potential for being clear and clean as that shiny new temple.
And then – little by little – the salesmen and the moneychangers move in and set up shop. There’s a little distraction in this corner; a little compromise over there. There’s few temptations and little white lies; a few big fat lies. There are a few tables full of greed, pride, anger, lust. It’s all so subtle. It all happens so slowly that we never notice how full and how noisy our personal temple is becoming.
We never really meant it to be that way. We know how it’s supposed to be. We can read Exodus. We know that those are Commandments, not suggestions or items for discussion with God. We find ourselves prisoners of a life we never intended, doing what we do not want to do because the temple is so crowded that we can no longer see a clear path.
Sometimes we delude ourselves that we can make it all right again; all we need is a little spiritual house cleaning. Of course we can’t!
We need an organizer – a spiritual organizer. When the spiritual clutter and the mess reach the point that we are submerged we need to call Him in. But, if we do call Him in – let Him into our little temple – watch out! Our most cherished shortcomings and compromises and sins are going out – just like the moneychangers and the pigeon salesmen.
What was left in the Temple – what is left in you and me – when Jesus’ is finished; a House of Worship; a place of prayer. What is left is God’s Temple as He designed it to be – God’s people as He intends us to be – stripped of all those things that have kept His people from being close to God, being one with God.
SERMON: JANUARY 29, 2006
Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B
Deuteronomy 18:15-20
1 Corinthians 8:1b-13
Mark 1:21-28
Psalm 111
Happy and I came to Georgia years ago on an assignment at Fort Gordon in Augusta. Our sons Bill and Steve were still with us. We bought a very nice, four bedroom home in Evans, a suburb of Augusta. Actually we thought it might be our retirement home. We have had several retirement homes since then.
It was a brand new home. We had to do all the landscaping – trees, shrubs and lawn. We splurged on the lawn; we strip-sodded it with zoysia – a quick solution but expensive. So, having made that commitment, it seemed very right to take good care of the lawn, which we did. We trimmed and mowed and aerated and watered; it looked really good!
One day I was out in the front yard. It sloped gently to the street. I must explain that it was a cul-de-sac. There was no reason for anyone to drive by. However, this old car pulled up in front of the house and two women got out and approached me across the lawn. They said good morning and then of them said “Do you know that zoysia doesn’t do well in this climate?” Really. Before I could reply – and I surely would have – the other one said “Have you met Jesus?” I do not remember what I said in reply which is probably good.
To this day I am not sure what she meant. Was she implying that I must have a personal encounter with Jesus to be a Christian? Do you have to be thrown from your horse on your personal road to Damascus. I know that some people will tell you such things have happened to them. I know that some people will tell of the driving out of their own personal demons – there are a lot of demons in this world – like the man in the Gospel – because of the presence of Christ. Those stories are so real, so personal. I hear them with a bit of awe. Theirs is an experienced faith. Theirs is the “new teaching” of the Gospel.
But what about all those people who don’t have such stories? Are they somehow second-class Christians? Call theirs a “learned” faith. That’s where we all start, isn’t it? We all begin with stories about Jesus – Bible stories – picture books filled with illustrations. Our was a old blue book of Bible stories in my grandfather’s summer cottage. It had old Dore engravings of Bible stories – usually pretty violent scenes – over which my cousin Bill and I would pore on rainy days. The stories impressed them solves on my mind; very basic.
And there was Sunday school – later – to tell those stories again, much clearer but less exciting. That’s where I learned about Jesus. They were good teachers, very dedicated to our learning – not at all like those scribes in the Gospel who teach for prestige. They were not “puffed up.” Frankly, they were much like the people of this parish that give their time to teach our children about Jesus.
That is all learning about Jesus; the essential start – the foundation. You know, the truth is that for many of us – perhaps most of us – that’ it. That’s alright. That’s enough. But that doesn’t mean that such learning ever ends. He is a never-ending source of wisdom and wonder, ever new and ever fresh. There is always more to be learned about Him.
Knowing about Him opens in us the possibility that at any time we may encounter Him – may know His presence – and recognize Him. What we know about Him brings Him closer. Paul knew a lot about Jesus before he met Him on the road to Damascus.
In retrospect, I wish I had said all this to those two women in my front yard in Evans, Georgia so very long ago.
CHRISTMAS EVE 2005
Isaiah 9:2-4,6-7
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-14(15-20)
Psalm 96 or 96:1-4,11-12
How dependent we are on light! Darkness is alien – frightening. We have become so accustomed to having light at our command; we are lost without it. He have becomes so used to the glare of light – the artificial lights of our age – blotting out the darkness – blotting out the night sky.
It was not so on the night of Our Lord’s birth – on that first great moment of the Incarnation. Our Lord was born in darkness – broken at most by a flickering candle. Our Lord was born in a place of deep shadows. Can we even begin to comprehend that world?
Place yourself there for a moment. Place yourself on a hillside above a sleeping village. Look down upon those tiny candles that light those humble homes – light the place where the baby Jesus lies.
Then look up. See the darkness pierced by the light of a million stars; endless stars sweeping across that night sky driving away the darkness.
Look up at the glory of God filling the heavens and hear the angels sing.
Up there, in that night sky, one star shines more brightly than all the rest this night; Down here, in our earthly world, in that sleeping village at our feet one star shines – the morning star of a new world – the first and brightest star of a new age for a world grown dark and cold – light and warmth in the form of the infant Jesus.
Those stars shine tonight for us all if we will see them; those angels sing tonight for you and for me if we will hear them. The light of the world shines still.
ADVENT 4: December 18, 2005
2 Samuel 7:4,8-16
Romans
16:25-27
Luke 1:26-38
Psalm 132 or
132:8-15
A few days ago Public Radio aired a story about “honor killing” in Afghanistan. Honor killing.
It had to do with abduction—kidnapping—in the tribal areas of that country. Apparently kidnapping for ransom is an old and common tradition among those fine people. If a man is kidnapped, ransomed and freed, he is greeted with a great celebration by his family. If a woman is kidnapped and somehow freed—women are rarely ransomed—she is killed—killed by a member of her family on the assumption—without any investigation—that she has been dishonored and thereby she has dishonored her family.
That happens today. It sort of brings a new dimension to the sweet story of the Annunciation, doesn't it?
Who is this Mary who can say to an angel “let it be to me according to your word?” She is not the serene woman of the icons, tenderly holding the baby Jesus—calm and composed. She is not the heartbroken mother weeping at the foot of the cross as that baby, grown to manhood, is crucified. She is not even the distraught mother looking for her wayward son in the streets of Jerusalem and finally finding Him in the Temple.
Mary is a “young girl”—a teenaged girl—betrothed, which really means “single” in a small town—Nazareth—finding herself suddenly “favored of God” and pregnant.
Mary says “let it be to me according to your word” knowing full well that the village will gossip—that people won’t believe a word of it, that Joseph would have every right to abandon her, and that—probably—she would die.
Could Mary have said “no?” Could she have denied herself to God? Could she have refused to do His will? That’s not so strange an idea; people deny God all the time. We call that sort of behavior “sin.” Mary is for us the symbol of the very antithesis of sin. Mary is the symbol of absolute, unqualified faith. She knows that if it is of God—no matter how unlikely and inexplicable—it must be right and good. In a few words she commits herself to all that is right and good.
In those few words a teenaged girl in a tiny village opens the world—our world—to the presence of the living God—the Creator becoming one with His creation. In those few words to world is changed forever.
You know, we could use a hero or a heroine in this complex, relativist age of ours. We could use one who can see and hear angels delivering the message of God to His children. We could use a double dose of faith and commitment. What greater and more perfect model might we have than Mary?
ADVENT 2; December 4, 2005
Isaiah 40:1-11
2 Peter 3:8-15a,18
Mark 1:1-8
Psalm 85 or 85:7-13
Second Sunday of the season of Advent; we turn to John the Baptist-
colorful and charismatic, a mysterious figure on the fringe of society. He has appeared, suddenly, on the banks of the Jordan, calling the people to repent – turn their lives around – and live lives worthy of the children of God.
Scripture tells that the people came to John there in the wilderness – many, many people including Our Lord Jesus Christ. Why, what brought them out to him? I have heard all sorts of answers to that question.
Was John really the prophet Elijah? He dressed like Elijah, the great prophet of the Book of Kings. Elijah wore camel hair and a leather belt. Elijah was a man of the wilderness. Elijah had disappeared, taken up in a fiery chariot. The Book of Malachi – the final book of the Old Testament – states that Elijah will reappear immediately before the Messiah. Of course, people came to John – says the theory – they would not want to miss that!
John is at the Jordan – the great historic boundary of Israel – close to the point at which, centuries before, the people had entered their Promised Land. His call to repentance is a call to leave that land – to go out and enter it again. It was a call to clean slate – a new beginning in the relationship of Israel to God. Perhaps so.
Still, to go out to see John was a difficult and dangerous journey. It was not far but the road was steep and dusty, waterless with no place to rest. To follow that road required a real commitment from them all. To go out to John reflected a deep, deep need in the hearts of the people.
Isaiah speaks of a road – a road in the wilderness – and of hills and valleys. Well, perhaps that road is life itself; perhaps we all travel though our own personal wilderness, a wilderness filled with peaks and valleys, highs and lows-perhaps it is the road on which you and I will meet our Messiah. Will we know Him?
We do have our moments of being “up” do we not? Moments when we are totally absorbed in the demands of the lives we lead – fulfilling, exciting, important demands – and we are distracted and we just might be far too busy to see Him. Those are our personal peaks.
Then we have those “low” times – times when things simply are not right and good and life is just wrong and we are far too self-absorbed to see anything outside ourselves. Those are our valleys.
Our road in life is all peaks and valleys – ups and downs. If we would greet Our Lord when He comes we need to do something about that – we need to “make smooth the road.” That means recognizing those distractions – the external highs and the internal lows – for what they are – distractions, and putting them aside.
That means going into our own personal wilderness to meet our own personal John the Baptist. You need not go to the Jordan. He’s right here, within us, if we will hear and see him.
I think that the real reason the crowds went out to John was that they were disillusioned and dissatisfied with the state of things – with their lives. They knew that things must change.
I think that John was a symbol – and agent –a focal point – the embodiment of the change-taking place within them. I think John cried, “repent” to a repentant crowd.
I think that John is still crying repent and that you and I come to him – encounter him – within us. We come to him standing there in our wilderness; we come to him by a bumpy, rutted, twisting, messy road –we come to him because like that crowd of long ago we know that our lives must change – and we make that repentance.
This wilderness is still a wilderness – our wilderness. This road, life, is still the road but now it is smooth road and a straight road – a road on which you and I may meet our Messiah.
| A note about sermons: Please remember that since sermons are oral presentations, they are likely to change each time they are given. Often they are constructed of notes, not whole sentences; and often they carry the rhythm of speech, not of writing, and so the sentence breaks and punctuation are individualistic. |