The Rev. Laura Howell
March 23, 2006
Numbers 21:4-9; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Many thanks for your wonderful hospitality, and for inviting me here to preach today. We are very excited about the sharing going on between Trinity and the Cathedral, and look forward to continuing with it.
I was wondering if there would be fewer people in church than normal today because of the readings. I know how much everybody loves ssssssnakesssss. Sssssserpentsssss. Sssslitherersssss. Assspssss. Cobrasssss. Ewwwww!
Today’s Old Testament reading is one of the Bible stories I remember most vividly from childhood. As I think back, I can still feel the shivers I got as the teacher described the people of Israel carefully watching every step they took over the dry, rocky ground, for fear they might stumble on a snake and be bitten. Or how the snakes would glide into their tents after dark and grab them. Or leap out at them from holes in the ground as they walked by. I remember the macabre picture I had in my mind of the bronze snake being hoisted up on a pole, and everybody pushing and shoving so they could get a good look at it and not die from snakebite. I imagined all the snakes rearing up on their tails, staring at it, and then rustle rustle creeping away, because now it was no use to bite anyone. Really, it is kind of a scriptural Stephen King story, isn’t it?
As a child, the lesson I took from the story is that if you’re bad, God will punish you, but will also provide a way to be saved. The story also explained to my little-kid mind why my grandmother was so afraid of snakes and always carried a hoe out into the garden. Logic wasn’t my strong suit back then….
Reading this story from an adult perspective, I realize it is far more complex. What is going on here? Israel has been a fairly rowdy people. Following a series of destructive miracles, the Egyptians have agreed to let them leave. God has led them through the Red Sea on dry land and has guided them in a pillar of fire and cloud. When they were thirsty, water miraculously appeared. When they were hungry, God sent manna. Pretty amazing series of events! And now, they are getting cranky and complaining. Again. “There’s nothing to eat. There’s nothing to drink. And I don’t like what there is to eat.”
Apparently logic is not their strong suit, either. I don’t like the food that’s on the menu, so suddenly there is nothing to eat. Sounds like some kids I know: they say that they are bored because there is nothing to do, but they sure don’t want to do homework!
Probably there wouldn’t have been a problem if this had been the first time the Israelites were complaining. But they had made a habit of it. So much so that at one point, Moses cried out to God, “Help me! Because these people are almost ready to stone me!”
It’s easy to stand back and judge the misbehavior and ingratitude of the Israelites. We can cluck our tongues and look down our noses at them, self-righteously imagining that WE would have done better. But I know how grumpy I get when I am traveling for a week and don’t get enough sleep. Or when the food isn’t right. Imagine how you would feel if you were traveling on foot for years? And in fear for your lives as well?
No, grumbling and complaining isn’t limited to the ancient Israelites. It’s a very common human trait, but a very dangerous one. This reading equates grumbling with poison. And with death. It’s a bit extreme, don’t you think, to equate the people kvetching in the wilderness with death? I’m not so sure about that, though.
Grumbling is divisive. Grumbling is subversive. Grumbling impedes progress and undermines the community. Look at what happened here: even after all the miracles they had experienced, the people began to look backward to “the good old days.” Instead of forging ahead following God and their leaders into the future, they sat down and whined about how great it was in Egypt. Of course, they conveniently forgot the horror of Egypt—their slavery, the massacre of their baby boys. But rather than go forward into an unknown land, they yearned after the past. It was uncomfortable back there, but at least it was familiar.
They are also refusing to take any responsibility for themselves. They say, “Why have YOU brought us up out of Egypt,” as though they hadn’t left on their feet. “Moses, you MADE us do it. You made these changes. NOW FIX IT!” Passing the buck is another kind of dangerous behavior. The next step in this process is either a sit-down strike or a return to the old ways. A strike in the desert would result in death from starvation, dehydration or exposure. A return to the old ways would result in death at the hands of the Egyptians. What’s a God to do? God gives them a god’s-eve view of themselves: there they are with poison slinking all over. God brings their death-inducing behavior into the light of day. Saving them, performing miracles, loving them, leading them apparently is not enough. Only suffering and death will get their attention. So let them suffer if they insist on it.
But for some inexplicable reason, God loves these people, and makes provision that if they look at the serpent on the pole, they will be healed. Therein we have the real crux of the story. The inner poison of complaining that the people enjoy is brought out into the open, where it can be seen for the danger that it is. By an act of obedience and faith, they can look on the bronze snake, and are healed.
St. John makes the connection between the snake of bronze lifted on a pole and Jesus being lifted up on the cross. He says that those who do evil, are afraid of Christ, the Light of the World, because they want their evil doings to remain hidden. Those who do what is true, come to the Light and their deeds are revealed.
This does not necessarily mean that the people of faith are perfect and that they never do anything wrong, but that they are prepared to have their hidden frailties and sins exposed to the light so they can be healed.
What an amazingly wise psychological, as well as spiritual, teaching! Sins that are kept under wraps, hatch under ground, like snakes, and breed poison. When I become poisoned, I am likely to complain and grumble and sabotage, and spread my poison to the community around me. As the Gospel says, if I do evil, I love darkness, rather than light, and will do everything I can to shutter that light. And I certainly will not enjoy associating with people who are in the light.
My sins are not private and personal. What I do affects everyone around me—the whole body of Christ. If I obey God’s call, I believe in Christ, and I become a person of light—I open mind and heart to the light, see where my sins are, and begin to deal with them. If I disobey, I stay in the darkness, and my sins eventually overtake me. If I look upon Christ and believe, I live. If I refuse, I die. According to Scripture, it is as simple as that.
It boggles the mind to think that some people might refuse such an open and welcoming invitation. Probably some of the Israelites refused to gaze on the bronze serpent. Maybe they said, “That’s superstitious claptrap.” Or, “What will people think?” Or, “I’d have to give up too much.” They refused to look, and they died.
Do you have an excuse for not walking in the Light of Christ? Are you too embarrassed to admit that you have sinned and need healing? Are you comfortable with the way things are and you’d rather not have to move on? True, we are saved by faith, completely and gratuitously. But we must look up in order to live. There is healing for what poisons us, but we must reach out for it. Amen.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Lent 2:Trust
The Venerable Richard I. Cluett
March 12, 2006
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Romans 8:31-39; Mark 8:31-38
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have direct revelation from God - whether Father, Son or Holy Spirit, - about what is about to happen, or what you should be doing, or not doing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a godly “heads-up” about what is up-coming, or around the corner? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have an angelic earful about what is necessary in a given situation? That was perhaps the first blessing received by Abram – God revealing plan and purpose and direction to Abram.
Well, my experience is not that of Abram nor of those who walked in the company of Jesus. My life is filled with gray areas, unanswered questions, lack of clarity, too many options, and a reluctance to make the wrong choice, the wrong decision.
Since we can feel so removed from the biblical times we read about, how are we to know what to do, what direction to go in?
Let me try to answer this with what you might think of as a “personal parable” – beginning with a little bit of Cluett history.
I grew up on the water - specifically Long Is¬land Sound, a long finger of salt water separating New York's Long Island from the Commonwealth of Connecticut. From my earliest days I sailed. First as a passenger, just enjoying the motion and the breeze. Then as an occasional pilot, with my hand on the hand on the tiller; then later as the pilot of little boats and then captain of big¬ger boats. Sail¬ing and racing up and down Long Island Sound. I was nurtured and raised on the knowledge, practice and lore of sail¬ing. Boats and wa¬ter were home to me.
One summer when I was in my early-twenties, a friend and I had the use of a 34 foot sloop for an entire summer. That was like being in heaven. For a few weekends, we would take it out and sail around Long Island Sound. After a while though, we felt too con¬fined, it was boring. We needed to move out, explore more of the water and expand our boundaries.
We decided to sail to Block Is¬land, Rhode Island. A long day’s sail out into the ocean from Guil¬ford, CT where our boat was moored. It would be the first time I had navigated out of the sight of land, but I had been sailing and navigating all my life. So, not to worry.
We made all the preparations and set sail just at dawn. One hour out of the harbor, the wind died, the temperature dropped and the fog rolled in. In just a matter of moments we could not see from the stern to the mast. It was a granddaddy of a pea-souper. No wind. Strong currents. Heavy fog. We were in serious trouble.
I had never taken a course in navigating. I had just learned it as I sailed with older folks as I grew up. It had become natural to me. But, I had been navigating all my life within the safe bound¬aries of Long Island Sound. This time, if I miscalculated, if we missed Block Island - a very small island - we would find ourselves on our way to the next landfall — which was Portugal; with a lot of water, miles, storms, huge ships, and danger in between.
We were in the fog, in the soup, in trouble, becoming more and more frightened. Which way do we go? Why did we ever decide to do this? All of a sudden, I was unsure. I felt too young, too inexperienced, too immature, too naive, not good enough, didn't know enough, and we could die.
Turning back was not a good op¬tion, unless I could turn the clock back and find myself warm and safe in my bed. But it made no sense to turn the boat around because there are shoals and rocks all along the coast of New England. And we couldn't stay where we were because we were in the shipping lanes. What were we to do?
In the fog, in the dangerous situation, in the fear, in the unknown, I prayed. I prayed mightily, as I never had before, but have many times since, and I found God there in the cloud, in the danger place, in the unknown, in the fear. God is there. God is there with us. God is there with a word of love. God is there with a way to go through. If we will just listen.
Trust what I had been taught. Trust what I had learned. Trust my experience. Trust what I believed. – And go forward.
In the 19th century there was a whaling captain by the name of Eleazer Hull. (I wanted to name our second son Eleazer, but Patricia uttered a definite, “NO”, so Eleazer become Sam.)
Eleazer Hull was the finest of whaling captains. He was known, for each season sailing the farthest, catching the most whales, coming back the earliest, and losing the least sailors. He was the finest navigator. He would go up on deck, look at the stars, smell the breeze, watch the wind in the rigging, get the drift of the seas, and then go below to chart his course.
One year the company which insured the whaling com¬panies issued a policy that all officers had to attend and pass a course in navigation. Captain Hull went over strong objection. Learned how to use a sextant, and all the latest technologies and techniques, and passed the course.
The next season, again, Captain Hull sailed the far¬thest, caught the most whales, came back the earliest, and lost the least sailors. When asked if he used the new techniques he learned. He replied, "Oh yes. I go up on deck with my instruments and perform all the calculations and go below and make notes on the charts. Then I go back on deck and look at the stars, smell the breeze, watch the wind in the rigging, get the drift of the seas, and then go below to change my course.
I had been raised to sail. Taught, nurtured, and practiced, so long, so much that it was part of my nature, part of my very being. Listen to all that. Trust what, in the clear, obvious calm, moments was so easy to trust. Believe that I had been taught, nurtured, and pre¬pared to deal with situations like this. Do what you know and be¬lieve.
Each one of us at one time or another finds ourselves in a real pea-souper of a fog. Unsure of the way to go, fearful of making the wrong choice, going in the wrong direction, wanting to go back to a safer, more secure time, regretting the decisions we had made that had got us into this situation. Feeling afraid, bereft, alone, inadequate, lost at sea, and feeling ourselves to be in a danger place.
It is especially in times of uncertainty and fear that God speaks louder than usual, seems more obviously present than usual to tell us of his love and to remind us that if we listen, we will make it through. We have been taught, nurtured, lived and loved in God for so long, that it is part of our nature, part of our very being.
Listen to all that. Trust what, in the clear, obvious calm, moments was so easy to trust. Believe that we had been taught, nurtured, and prepared to deal with situations like this. – and go forward.
One of the times, (there have had to be many) I learned to trust again was on a sailboat in the middle of the sea lost in a cloud of fog and fear. God was there, and so I trusted. I did what I knew: watched the wind in the rigging, sailed across the current, checked the charts, watched the compass, and tooted the fog horn. And listened to God speak in my heart that somehow we would get through.
We motored on, and on and on. Finally a zephyr of a breeze came up, we raised the sails and finally the fog lifted and -- we were dead -- dead on the harbor. A mile ahead of us, with the early evening sun slanting across the houses on the hillside.
We came out of the fog on course for the harbor and for safety. – As will we all – if we have the courage and the faith to continue on with the journey. Thanks be to God - who is always “there.”.
March 12, 2006
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Romans 8:31-39; Mark 8:31-38
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have direct revelation from God - whether Father, Son or Holy Spirit, - about what is about to happen, or what you should be doing, or not doing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a godly “heads-up” about what is up-coming, or around the corner? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have an angelic earful about what is necessary in a given situation? That was perhaps the first blessing received by Abram – God revealing plan and purpose and direction to Abram.
Well, my experience is not that of Abram nor of those who walked in the company of Jesus. My life is filled with gray areas, unanswered questions, lack of clarity, too many options, and a reluctance to make the wrong choice, the wrong decision.
Since we can feel so removed from the biblical times we read about, how are we to know what to do, what direction to go in?
Let me try to answer this with what you might think of as a “personal parable” – beginning with a little bit of Cluett history.
I grew up on the water - specifically Long Is¬land Sound, a long finger of salt water separating New York's Long Island from the Commonwealth of Connecticut. From my earliest days I sailed. First as a passenger, just enjoying the motion and the breeze. Then as an occasional pilot, with my hand on the hand on the tiller; then later as the pilot of little boats and then captain of big¬ger boats. Sail¬ing and racing up and down Long Island Sound. I was nurtured and raised on the knowledge, practice and lore of sail¬ing. Boats and wa¬ter were home to me.
One summer when I was in my early-twenties, a friend and I had the use of a 34 foot sloop for an entire summer. That was like being in heaven. For a few weekends, we would take it out and sail around Long Island Sound. After a while though, we felt too con¬fined, it was boring. We needed to move out, explore more of the water and expand our boundaries.
We decided to sail to Block Is¬land, Rhode Island. A long day’s sail out into the ocean from Guil¬ford, CT where our boat was moored. It would be the first time I had navigated out of the sight of land, but I had been sailing and navigating all my life. So, not to worry.
We made all the preparations and set sail just at dawn. One hour out of the harbor, the wind died, the temperature dropped and the fog rolled in. In just a matter of moments we could not see from the stern to the mast. It was a granddaddy of a pea-souper. No wind. Strong currents. Heavy fog. We were in serious trouble.
I had never taken a course in navigating. I had just learned it as I sailed with older folks as I grew up. It had become natural to me. But, I had been navigating all my life within the safe bound¬aries of Long Island Sound. This time, if I miscalculated, if we missed Block Island - a very small island - we would find ourselves on our way to the next landfall — which was Portugal; with a lot of water, miles, storms, huge ships, and danger in between.
We were in the fog, in the soup, in trouble, becoming more and more frightened. Which way do we go? Why did we ever decide to do this? All of a sudden, I was unsure. I felt too young, too inexperienced, too immature, too naive, not good enough, didn't know enough, and we could die.
Turning back was not a good op¬tion, unless I could turn the clock back and find myself warm and safe in my bed. But it made no sense to turn the boat around because there are shoals and rocks all along the coast of New England. And we couldn't stay where we were because we were in the shipping lanes. What were we to do?
In the fog, in the dangerous situation, in the fear, in the unknown, I prayed. I prayed mightily, as I never had before, but have many times since, and I found God there in the cloud, in the danger place, in the unknown, in the fear. God is there. God is there with us. God is there with a word of love. God is there with a way to go through. If we will just listen.
Trust what I had been taught. Trust what I had learned. Trust my experience. Trust what I believed. – And go forward.
In the 19th century there was a whaling captain by the name of Eleazer Hull. (I wanted to name our second son Eleazer, but Patricia uttered a definite, “NO”, so Eleazer become Sam.)
Eleazer Hull was the finest of whaling captains. He was known, for each season sailing the farthest, catching the most whales, coming back the earliest, and losing the least sailors. He was the finest navigator. He would go up on deck, look at the stars, smell the breeze, watch the wind in the rigging, get the drift of the seas, and then go below to chart his course.
One year the company which insured the whaling com¬panies issued a policy that all officers had to attend and pass a course in navigation. Captain Hull went over strong objection. Learned how to use a sextant, and all the latest technologies and techniques, and passed the course.
The next season, again, Captain Hull sailed the far¬thest, caught the most whales, came back the earliest, and lost the least sailors. When asked if he used the new techniques he learned. He replied, "Oh yes. I go up on deck with my instruments and perform all the calculations and go below and make notes on the charts. Then I go back on deck and look at the stars, smell the breeze, watch the wind in the rigging, get the drift of the seas, and then go below to change my course.
I had been raised to sail. Taught, nurtured, and practiced, so long, so much that it was part of my nature, part of my very being. Listen to all that. Trust what, in the clear, obvious calm, moments was so easy to trust. Believe that I had been taught, nurtured, and pre¬pared to deal with situations like this. Do what you know and be¬lieve.
Each one of us at one time or another finds ourselves in a real pea-souper of a fog. Unsure of the way to go, fearful of making the wrong choice, going in the wrong direction, wanting to go back to a safer, more secure time, regretting the decisions we had made that had got us into this situation. Feeling afraid, bereft, alone, inadequate, lost at sea, and feeling ourselves to be in a danger place.
It is especially in times of uncertainty and fear that God speaks louder than usual, seems more obviously present than usual to tell us of his love and to remind us that if we listen, we will make it through. We have been taught, nurtured, lived and loved in God for so long, that it is part of our nature, part of our very being.
Listen to all that. Trust what, in the clear, obvious calm, moments was so easy to trust. Believe that we had been taught, nurtured, and prepared to deal with situations like this. – and go forward.
One of the times, (there have had to be many) I learned to trust again was on a sailboat in the middle of the sea lost in a cloud of fog and fear. God was there, and so I trusted. I did what I knew: watched the wind in the rigging, sailed across the current, checked the charts, watched the compass, and tooted the fog horn. And listened to God speak in my heart that somehow we would get through.
We motored on, and on and on. Finally a zephyr of a breeze came up, we raised the sails and finally the fog lifted and -- we were dead -- dead on the harbor. A mile ahead of us, with the early evening sun slanting across the houses on the hillside.
We came out of the fog on course for the harbor and for safety. – As will we all – if we have the courage and the faith to continue on with the journey. Thanks be to God - who is always “there.”.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Wednesday in Lent 1, 2006
The Venerable Howard Stringfellow
March 8
Jonah 3:1-10, Psalm 51:11-18, Saint Luke 11:29-32
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the crowds, “Something greater than Jonah is here.” He tells them this because the people of Nineveh repented when Jonah preached to them. Why do those in the crowds not repent when Jesus preaches to them? They seek a sign, some proof, something to take all doubt away, some permission, some green light that makes the way forward, the way that Jesus recommends, more attractive than the way they are pursuing on their own. The crowds want something more than just Jesus’ preaching.
That kind of certainty, the certainty of a sign, let’s call it, may not be ours to have. My mind races to Easter, to the evening of the Sunday after the first Day of the Resurrection, when Jesus tells Thomas, and the disciples with him, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Blessed are those who have no sign and yet have come to believe—
Which is most of us. Most of us have not noticed supernatural interference in our lives. The key is "noticed". For we’ve had the interference. In perhaps subtle ways God is drawing us in. And today God is drawing us in by reminding us that the pull is benign and the preaching is short of certainty, but God awaits patiently to see whether we will give to God a regard equal to what we have already been given.
Would you stop doing something you know you shouldn’t do because Jesus died and rose again?
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
March 8
Jonah 3:1-10, Psalm 51:11-18, Saint Luke 11:29-32
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the crowds, “Something greater than Jonah is here.” He tells them this because the people of Nineveh repented when Jonah preached to them. Why do those in the crowds not repent when Jesus preaches to them? They seek a sign, some proof, something to take all doubt away, some permission, some green light that makes the way forward, the way that Jesus recommends, more attractive than the way they are pursuing on their own. The crowds want something more than just Jesus’ preaching.
That kind of certainty, the certainty of a sign, let’s call it, may not be ours to have. My mind races to Easter, to the evening of the Sunday after the first Day of the Resurrection, when Jesus tells Thomas, and the disciples with him, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Blessed are those who have no sign and yet have come to believe—
Which is most of us. Most of us have not noticed supernatural interference in our lives. The key is "noticed". For we’ve had the interference. In perhaps subtle ways God is drawing us in. And today God is drawing us in by reminding us that the pull is benign and the preaching is short of certainty, but God awaits patiently to see whether we will give to God a regard equal to what we have already been given.
Would you stop doing something you know you shouldn’t do because Jesus died and rose again?
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Lent 1:What is at the center of your universe?
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
March 5, 2006
Genesis 9:8-17; Mark 1:9-15
What is at the center of your universe?
What is at the center of your universe? In the beginning of the 16th century, a canon at the Cathedral in Frauenberg, Poland, one Nicholas Copernicus, postulated that the earth was not the center of the universe. This was a shocking theory. At that time, the universe was thought to be a closed sphere with the earth a fixed point at its center. All the other heavenly bodies were known to revolve around the earth. Beyond this sphere of heaven there was… nothing. This understanding of the universe fit the description scholars read in the bible about the creation of the heavens and the earth. But it was more than an earth-centered universe that the theory of Copernicus challenged. It was the place of humankind in creation. The prevailing teaching of the time not only postulated that the earth was the center of the universe, but also that humankind was the center of creation. To challenge an earth-centered view of the universe was a challenge to man’s ego. After all, weren’t humans created in God’s image and thus superior to all creation? Copernicus' theories might well lead some to conclude that human beings are simply part of nature and not superior to it. This ran counter to the medieval teachings of the church, which was the political and scientific power of the time.
Copernicus didn’t get in too much trouble himself over this. His work was not widely published until after his death. Even then it was not taken too seriously by most because it was published as a kind of fiction. Yet, a hundred years later, the Roman Church condemned the theory of Copernicus. It went against the Holy Scriptures and the teachings of the church. It was heresy. Who could seriously believe that anything but the earth was the center of all things, and humankind superior? So when Galileo, a scientist who had first wanted to be a monk, published his support of Copernicus’ theory that the sun, and not the earth, was the center of the universe, he was accused of heresy. He was brought before the inquisition in Rome and given a life sentence. He spent his last ten years in house arrest and died a heretic. It was not even permitted for him to be buried in the family tomb in the Basilica. Heretics are not easily forgiven. It would be 350 years later before Pope John Paul II admitted that the theologians who studied Galileo’s case had been misled. It is hard to reorient oneself when the center of the universe changes. What is at the center of your universe?
The Noah story is quite familiar to us and many think of it as a children’s story. After all a Noah’s Ark is popular toy and pictures of animals marching two by two populate many a nursery wall. Yet the best children’s stories are ones that point beyond themselves, speaking simply of complex truths. The Noah story encompasses life and death, sin, judgment, repentance and renewal. The Noahic Covenant, the sacred agreement God makes with Noah, is one of the foundational covenants of our faith. This story is a pillar of our sacred story, our history, our faith. And like the teachings of Copernicus and Galileo, it challenges the thought that humankind are superior within God’s creation.
Before God’s covenant with Moses about the promised land, before God’s covenant with Abraham about a chosen people, God made a covenant with Noah promising life. Never again, God promises, will a flood destroy the earth. God places the rainbow in the sky as a sign of that covenant. This is God’s sacred agreement with Noah. Yet a friend of mine who is writing a book about our animal companions points out that there is a bit more to this covenant. Actually, it’s the sacred agreement that God makes with Noah and his descendants…and every living creature…and birds...and domestic animals…and every animal of earth that came out of the ark. God covenants with every living creature; it’s stated four times in this one passage we heard read today. God covenants with Noah and parrots and cows and elephants and penguins and artic foxes. Guess what? Human beings are not the only recipients of God’s love and attention. We may like to think of ourselves as the pinnacle of creation, but think about it. How would creation fare if you took us out of it?..the ecosystems of the world would go on just fine. But if you removed crows or earthworms or the artic fox? We are beginning to understand just how interrelated these ecosystems are. Humans are not the center of creation, or the universe. It is hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes. What is at the center of your universe?
The Ark is a good image for Lent in many ways: it carried creation on a journey for 40 days, a journey through a desert of water, a journey through death to rebirth, a new creation and a new covenant. Perhaps also because of God’s extraordinary covenant with all living flesh, the Noah story reminds us that Lent can be a time for us to take stock. What do our lives revolve around? A dose of humility added to out human pride is hardly ever a bad thing. Lent is about trying to allow something other than ourselves to be at the center of our universe. It is hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes.
Jesus comes to John in the Jordan and is baptized. As he comes up from the water his place in God’s creation is made quite clear. The heavens are torn open, the Spirit descends on him like a dove, and if those are not enough signs, a voice from heaven cinches the deal, “You are my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.” Surely this is the center of the universe…how can you go wrong with putting the messiah, the Christ, at the center? Surely Jesus is the center of the universe for John. But what kind of Christ is this? Apparently not one who takes up the cloak of leadership, claims superiority over all creation and rules the heavens and the earth. Rather this messiah is immediately driven into the wilderness, is tempted by Satan, and lives with wild beasts. When he does return, after John is arrested, it is not as a triumphant warrior, but as one who serves. What kind of God is at the center of your universe? It is hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes.
Yet this is our dance, our dance with God. One in which we shift our understanding, our orientation again and again. It is a dance through time as we as a people, as a church, try to perceive and understand God, try to live into our covenant. This is the dance between us and our savior, the one who makes a new covenant with us. It is a dance between us and the one who serves, a dance of love, of forgiveness, of renewal.
George Herbert (1593-1633), an Anglican priest and poet, was a contemporary of Galileo’s. He wrote this:
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, you shall be he.
I, the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
It is so hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes.
What is at the center of your universe?
(note: for more thoughts about the Noah Covenant and the place of animals in creation see the forthcoming Ark & Covenant: The Blessing of Animal Companions, by Debra Farrington available from Paraclete Press in Sept. 2006.)
March 5, 2006
Genesis 9:8-17; Mark 1:9-15
What is at the center of your universe?
What is at the center of your universe? In the beginning of the 16th century, a canon at the Cathedral in Frauenberg, Poland, one Nicholas Copernicus, postulated that the earth was not the center of the universe. This was a shocking theory. At that time, the universe was thought to be a closed sphere with the earth a fixed point at its center. All the other heavenly bodies were known to revolve around the earth. Beyond this sphere of heaven there was… nothing. This understanding of the universe fit the description scholars read in the bible about the creation of the heavens and the earth. But it was more than an earth-centered universe that the theory of Copernicus challenged. It was the place of humankind in creation. The prevailing teaching of the time not only postulated that the earth was the center of the universe, but also that humankind was the center of creation. To challenge an earth-centered view of the universe was a challenge to man’s ego. After all, weren’t humans created in God’s image and thus superior to all creation? Copernicus' theories might well lead some to conclude that human beings are simply part of nature and not superior to it. This ran counter to the medieval teachings of the church, which was the political and scientific power of the time.
Copernicus didn’t get in too much trouble himself over this. His work was not widely published until after his death. Even then it was not taken too seriously by most because it was published as a kind of fiction. Yet, a hundred years later, the Roman Church condemned the theory of Copernicus. It went against the Holy Scriptures and the teachings of the church. It was heresy. Who could seriously believe that anything but the earth was the center of all things, and humankind superior? So when Galileo, a scientist who had first wanted to be a monk, published his support of Copernicus’ theory that the sun, and not the earth, was the center of the universe, he was accused of heresy. He was brought before the inquisition in Rome and given a life sentence. He spent his last ten years in house arrest and died a heretic. It was not even permitted for him to be buried in the family tomb in the Basilica. Heretics are not easily forgiven. It would be 350 years later before Pope John Paul II admitted that the theologians who studied Galileo’s case had been misled. It is hard to reorient oneself when the center of the universe changes. What is at the center of your universe?
The Noah story is quite familiar to us and many think of it as a children’s story. After all a Noah’s Ark is popular toy and pictures of animals marching two by two populate many a nursery wall. Yet the best children’s stories are ones that point beyond themselves, speaking simply of complex truths. The Noah story encompasses life and death, sin, judgment, repentance and renewal. The Noahic Covenant, the sacred agreement God makes with Noah, is one of the foundational covenants of our faith. This story is a pillar of our sacred story, our history, our faith. And like the teachings of Copernicus and Galileo, it challenges the thought that humankind are superior within God’s creation.
Before God’s covenant with Moses about the promised land, before God’s covenant with Abraham about a chosen people, God made a covenant with Noah promising life. Never again, God promises, will a flood destroy the earth. God places the rainbow in the sky as a sign of that covenant. This is God’s sacred agreement with Noah. Yet a friend of mine who is writing a book about our animal companions points out that there is a bit more to this covenant. Actually, it’s the sacred agreement that God makes with Noah and his descendants…and every living creature…and birds...and domestic animals…and every animal of earth that came out of the ark. God covenants with every living creature; it’s stated four times in this one passage we heard read today. God covenants with Noah and parrots and cows and elephants and penguins and artic foxes. Guess what? Human beings are not the only recipients of God’s love and attention. We may like to think of ourselves as the pinnacle of creation, but think about it. How would creation fare if you took us out of it?..the ecosystems of the world would go on just fine. But if you removed crows or earthworms or the artic fox? We are beginning to understand just how interrelated these ecosystems are. Humans are not the center of creation, or the universe. It is hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes. What is at the center of your universe?
The Ark is a good image for Lent in many ways: it carried creation on a journey for 40 days, a journey through a desert of water, a journey through death to rebirth, a new creation and a new covenant. Perhaps also because of God’s extraordinary covenant with all living flesh, the Noah story reminds us that Lent can be a time for us to take stock. What do our lives revolve around? A dose of humility added to out human pride is hardly ever a bad thing. Lent is about trying to allow something other than ourselves to be at the center of our universe. It is hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes.
Jesus comes to John in the Jordan and is baptized. As he comes up from the water his place in God’s creation is made quite clear. The heavens are torn open, the Spirit descends on him like a dove, and if those are not enough signs, a voice from heaven cinches the deal, “You are my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.” Surely this is the center of the universe…how can you go wrong with putting the messiah, the Christ, at the center? Surely Jesus is the center of the universe for John. But what kind of Christ is this? Apparently not one who takes up the cloak of leadership, claims superiority over all creation and rules the heavens and the earth. Rather this messiah is immediately driven into the wilderness, is tempted by Satan, and lives with wild beasts. When he does return, after John is arrested, it is not as a triumphant warrior, but as one who serves. What kind of God is at the center of your universe? It is hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes.
Yet this is our dance, our dance with God. One in which we shift our understanding, our orientation again and again. It is a dance through time as we as a people, as a church, try to perceive and understand God, try to live into our covenant. This is the dance between us and our savior, the one who makes a new covenant with us. It is a dance between us and the one who serves, a dance of love, of forgiveness, of renewal.
George Herbert (1593-1633), an Anglican priest and poet, was a contemporary of Galileo’s. He wrote this:
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, you shall be he.
I, the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
It is so hard to reorient oneself, when the center of the universe changes.
What is at the center of your universe?
(note: for more thoughts about the Noah Covenant and the place of animals in creation see the forthcoming Ark & Covenant: The Blessing of Animal Companions, by Debra Farrington available from Paraclete Press in Sept. 2006.)
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Ash Wednesday: Free at last
The Venerable Richard I. Cluett
March 1, 2006
Joel 2:1-2,12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
Do you know that there are two kinds of people? I'm not referring to male and female types, or rich and poor types or other types either. The differences I'm talking about are more basic than even those. The first type of person is the one who goes up to bed at the end of the evening, goes to bed tired after a long day, and then cannot go to sleep. Rather, as the eyes close, the mind revs up; and before you know it, you are off on a whole of host of issues, at breakneck speed.
The other kind of person is my kind of person. I can go to sleep at the drop of an eyelid, no matter what cataclysm or chaos is impending. But between 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning, my eyelids spring open, my mind kicks into gear and I'm off.
In the middle of the night I know myself differently than I do at any other time. For me, for many of us, I think, it is a time when we are most aware of ourselves as sinful creatures.
At that time I know myself, my shortcomings, my failings, my inadequacies, my sin. They are spread out before me in an unending parade of night images. As if they were laid out on a smorgasbord table, I can pick and choose one to worry on; or I can take a bite of each offering. Failings as husband, father, provider, priest, archdeacon, friend, brother, human being, disciple of Jesus or child of God. In the night hours I assault, I afflict myself with my sin. “I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me.”
But in the morning, we can be different people, can't we. At least, I can be. In the bright morning light, I can arise refreshed, with energy, ready to meet the day and whatever it has to offer with a sense of security about my person. Some days, even confidence. Some days, even arrogance about my abilities, my gifts, my person, my wonderfulness. But at the core, I know I am, to use an impolite expression, “full of it.”
All of which leads me to say that this day, Ash Wednesday, may be for some of us the most important day, the most wonderful day in the Christian calendar. With the exception of Good Friday, all the other days are major feast days, days of remembrance, celebration, and contemplation of the acts of God – in the past. Even Good Friday is something like that; the day is totally focused on the acts of Jesus.
But today, today is about us. It is a very personal day that has solely to do with our relationship with God, and with ourselves. It is a day that provides a unique opportunity for us to say, in the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty, free at last!"
This is the day we can be released from whatever it is that has bound us for so long. This is the day we can be released from whatever it is that has separated us. We can be released from whatever it is that has isolated us. This is the day we can be released from whatever it is about us that has condemned us in our own sight. We can finally lay the burden down, the burden of guilt that we have laid upon ourselves.
Garrison Keillor says that "Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving" - and we give it to ourselves. We bind it upon our backs.
But this is Ash Wednesday. This is "Get out of Jail" day. This is "Get home free day". At the end of this day, at the end of this liturgy, we can be washed clean. At the end of this day, at the end of this liturgy, we can be made be made dazzling white, cleaner than any fullers bleach could make us. Fresh and clean as a newborn babe, as a newly baptized babe. You and me – a new creation.
If we will repent and re-turn to the Lord, "our God will have compassion and he will richly pardon." And we can begin again. We can start anew. We can get over it - whatever it is. We can get over ourselves, and get right with our God, and begin to get right with those with whom we live, and among whom we live, and with the rest of God's creation.
Today is about us - about God and us. It is a day to get over ourselves, beyond ourselves, outside ourselves, and get on with life as God intends it to be. Get on with our life in the fullness God has prepared for us.
Today God says, "It is over. What is done is done. I love you and you are now forgiven. I absolve you from all that has separated you from me. I absolve you from all that has separated you from your family or friends or neighbors. I absolve you from all that has separated you from yourself."
William Countryman is a wonderful teacher and theologian. He writes about it this way:
"The message of forgiveness says to us, Get over yourself! Get over your goodness and your righteousness, if they threaten to keep you from full participation in your humanity. Get over your faults, your inadequacy, if they're what hold you back. Get over whatever it is that makes you self-obsessed, whatever makes you reject God's wooing of you, whatever makes you feel that you would rather not go in to the party, whatever makes you feel like you belong to some separate and superior race of beings, whatever makes you feel like an eternal victim, whatever makes you imagine that there's something in this world more important and more fundamental than love."
No wonder the prophet Joel says to:
Blow the trumpet in Zion;
sanctify a fast;
call a solemn assembly;
gather the people.
Sanctify the congregation;
assemble the aged;
gather the children,
even infants at the breast.
If we repent and turn to the Lord, we "may obtain of the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness". Do you hear that? "Perfect remission and forgiveness." Made worthy to stand before God. Washed through and through from our wickedness and cleansed from our sin.
Freed from all that binds us. Freed from all that separates us. Freed from all that isolates us. Freed from all that condemns us. Free at last. Free to take our rightful place at the table. Free to get on with life. Free to get about the work of building the kingdom. Free to help release others from whatever binds them or diminishes their God-given humanity. Free at last! Today.
It’s Ash Wednesday.
Thanks be to God.
March 1, 2006
Joel 2:1-2,12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
Do you know that there are two kinds of people? I'm not referring to male and female types, or rich and poor types or other types either. The differences I'm talking about are more basic than even those. The first type of person is the one who goes up to bed at the end of the evening, goes to bed tired after a long day, and then cannot go to sleep. Rather, as the eyes close, the mind revs up; and before you know it, you are off on a whole of host of issues, at breakneck speed.
The other kind of person is my kind of person. I can go to sleep at the drop of an eyelid, no matter what cataclysm or chaos is impending. But between 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning, my eyelids spring open, my mind kicks into gear and I'm off.
In the middle of the night I know myself differently than I do at any other time. For me, for many of us, I think, it is a time when we are most aware of ourselves as sinful creatures.
At that time I know myself, my shortcomings, my failings, my inadequacies, my sin. They are spread out before me in an unending parade of night images. As if they were laid out on a smorgasbord table, I can pick and choose one to worry on; or I can take a bite of each offering. Failings as husband, father, provider, priest, archdeacon, friend, brother, human being, disciple of Jesus or child of God. In the night hours I assault, I afflict myself with my sin. “I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me.”
But in the morning, we can be different people, can't we. At least, I can be. In the bright morning light, I can arise refreshed, with energy, ready to meet the day and whatever it has to offer with a sense of security about my person. Some days, even confidence. Some days, even arrogance about my abilities, my gifts, my person, my wonderfulness. But at the core, I know I am, to use an impolite expression, “full of it.”
All of which leads me to say that this day, Ash Wednesday, may be for some of us the most important day, the most wonderful day in the Christian calendar. With the exception of Good Friday, all the other days are major feast days, days of remembrance, celebration, and contemplation of the acts of God – in the past. Even Good Friday is something like that; the day is totally focused on the acts of Jesus.
But today, today is about us. It is a very personal day that has solely to do with our relationship with God, and with ourselves. It is a day that provides a unique opportunity for us to say, in the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty, free at last!"
This is the day we can be released from whatever it is that has bound us for so long. This is the day we can be released from whatever it is that has separated us. We can be released from whatever it is that has isolated us. This is the day we can be released from whatever it is about us that has condemned us in our own sight. We can finally lay the burden down, the burden of guilt that we have laid upon ourselves.
Garrison Keillor says that "Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving" - and we give it to ourselves. We bind it upon our backs.
But this is Ash Wednesday. This is "Get out of Jail" day. This is "Get home free day". At the end of this day, at the end of this liturgy, we can be washed clean. At the end of this day, at the end of this liturgy, we can be made be made dazzling white, cleaner than any fullers bleach could make us. Fresh and clean as a newborn babe, as a newly baptized babe. You and me – a new creation.
If we will repent and re-turn to the Lord, "our God will have compassion and he will richly pardon." And we can begin again. We can start anew. We can get over it - whatever it is. We can get over ourselves, and get right with our God, and begin to get right with those with whom we live, and among whom we live, and with the rest of God's creation.
Today is about us - about God and us. It is a day to get over ourselves, beyond ourselves, outside ourselves, and get on with life as God intends it to be. Get on with our life in the fullness God has prepared for us.
Today God says, "It is over. What is done is done. I love you and you are now forgiven. I absolve you from all that has separated you from me. I absolve you from all that has separated you from your family or friends or neighbors. I absolve you from all that has separated you from yourself."
William Countryman is a wonderful teacher and theologian. He writes about it this way:
"The message of forgiveness says to us, Get over yourself! Get over your goodness and your righteousness, if they threaten to keep you from full participation in your humanity. Get over your faults, your inadequacy, if they're what hold you back. Get over whatever it is that makes you self-obsessed, whatever makes you reject God's wooing of you, whatever makes you feel that you would rather not go in to the party, whatever makes you feel like you belong to some separate and superior race of beings, whatever makes you feel like an eternal victim, whatever makes you imagine that there's something in this world more important and more fundamental than love."
No wonder the prophet Joel says to:
Blow the trumpet in Zion;
sanctify a fast;
call a solemn assembly;
gather the people.
Sanctify the congregation;
assemble the aged;
gather the children,
even infants at the breast.
If we repent and turn to the Lord, we "may obtain of the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness". Do you hear that? "Perfect remission and forgiveness." Made worthy to stand before God. Washed through and through from our wickedness and cleansed from our sin.
Freed from all that binds us. Freed from all that separates us. Freed from all that isolates us. Freed from all that condemns us. Free at last. Free to take our rightful place at the table. Free to get on with life. Free to get about the work of building the kingdom. Free to help release others from whatever binds them or diminishes their God-given humanity. Free at last! Today.
It’s Ash Wednesday.
Thanks be to God.
Ash Wednesday: Grimy things, ashes
The Venerable Howard Stringfellow
March 1 2006
Joel 2:1-2,12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
The voice you are about to hear may, or may not, resemble mine or yours.
“Grimy things, ashes. They are sooty and dirty, too. And when the priest presses them into my forehead, they’re gritty, too. They rub in and scratch a bit. And if they’re too many on the priest’s thumb, they fall down onto your nose and glasses’ frames. Then they’re the devil to get out. One year some ashes got stuck in my glasses’ frames next to the lens, and I didn’t find a way ever to get them out. I took the glasses back to Lenscrafters, had the lens removed from the frames and put back in when they had gotten rid of the ashes. Whew! What a lot of bother for some worthless and God-forsaken ashes!
“I don’t see why we use them, really. After all, we all know we’re going to die, and our bodies will turn to something like ashes—we know that already, and we aren’t afraid of that; at least I’m not. I’m just afraid of the traffic on Highway 22. Those cars zip by so fast, and so many of the people talk on their cell phones. You could easily get killed out there. I don’t need the ashes to remind me of death so long as I drive on 22.
“But what I’m not sure of is that part about living after death. That’s always been the thing that has been hard for me. I know that Jesus rose from the dead—I don’t have any problem with that, after all Jesus was God; and if he were alive today he would tell us so and a lot more, too.
“I don’t see why he had to die first before he rose from the dead. After all, couldn’t he have been this glorious and well-liked person—a sort of Man of the Year except he would be a Man of the Centuries—who just lived forever and was still with us to show us the right way and to tell the politicians what they ought to do rather than what they do? Couldn’t he have done that?
“And if he didn’t have to die, I don’t see why I have to take on these ashes and try to put away some sins with God’s help. Can’t God just save me the way I am? Why do I have to be better and be what God wants me to be? What does that have to do with anything? I’m good enough to be saved just as I am. I helped out when they needed it down at the church. And I used to visit old Mr. Johnson when he was so sick and so bitter. I made my pledge, too. Isn’t that enough? Why do I have to put on these ashes? And trudge through Lent like so much slush as though it were a special season?
“I’ll put them on, though. Wouldn’t be Ash Wednesday without them. Maybe in time I’ll understand those things I don’t understand now.”
Whoever has that voice, and all the rest of us, too, need all the help we can get.
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
March 1 2006
Joel 2:1-2,12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
The voice you are about to hear may, or may not, resemble mine or yours.
“Grimy things, ashes. They are sooty and dirty, too. And when the priest presses them into my forehead, they’re gritty, too. They rub in and scratch a bit. And if they’re too many on the priest’s thumb, they fall down onto your nose and glasses’ frames. Then they’re the devil to get out. One year some ashes got stuck in my glasses’ frames next to the lens, and I didn’t find a way ever to get them out. I took the glasses back to Lenscrafters, had the lens removed from the frames and put back in when they had gotten rid of the ashes. Whew! What a lot of bother for some worthless and God-forsaken ashes!
“I don’t see why we use them, really. After all, we all know we’re going to die, and our bodies will turn to something like ashes—we know that already, and we aren’t afraid of that; at least I’m not. I’m just afraid of the traffic on Highway 22. Those cars zip by so fast, and so many of the people talk on their cell phones. You could easily get killed out there. I don’t need the ashes to remind me of death so long as I drive on 22.
“But what I’m not sure of is that part about living after death. That’s always been the thing that has been hard for me. I know that Jesus rose from the dead—I don’t have any problem with that, after all Jesus was God; and if he were alive today he would tell us so and a lot more, too.
“I don’t see why he had to die first before he rose from the dead. After all, couldn’t he have been this glorious and well-liked person—a sort of Man of the Year except he would be a Man of the Centuries—who just lived forever and was still with us to show us the right way and to tell the politicians what they ought to do rather than what they do? Couldn’t he have done that?
“And if he didn’t have to die, I don’t see why I have to take on these ashes and try to put away some sins with God’s help. Can’t God just save me the way I am? Why do I have to be better and be what God wants me to be? What does that have to do with anything? I’m good enough to be saved just as I am. I helped out when they needed it down at the church. And I used to visit old Mr. Johnson when he was so sick and so bitter. I made my pledge, too. Isn’t that enough? Why do I have to put on these ashes? And trudge through Lent like so much slush as though it were a special season?
“I’ll put them on, though. Wouldn’t be Ash Wednesday without them. Maybe in time I’ll understand those things I don’t understand now.”
Whoever has that voice, and all the rest of us, too, need all the help we can get.
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)