The First Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Anne Kitch
"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." Luke 23:34
Jesus, hangs on the cross. Jesus, the son of God. Jesus, the divine one. Jesus who taught his disciples to forgive seventy time seven. Jesus cannot forgive. His words are not, “I forgive you,” but, “Father, you forgive them.” Jesus asks, in fact commands God to forgive. God, you forgive them. The verb tense he uses for forgive is an imperative*. It is not an entreaty, but a command. Or perhaps, a plea? Jesus, who is fully divine on the cross, must have the power to forgive. Yet, Jesus who is fully human on the cross, does not have the will to forgive. Even so, he still has the grace to know that forgiveness is what it means to be God’s own, to be God’s son, to be a human being in love with God. Jesus, who cannot forgive them the cross, flings it to God. You do it. I can’t.
Too often we think of forgiveness as the same as acquittal. If we forgive someone then it must be as if the hurt never happened. Forgive and forget. But forgiveness is not acquittal at all. There is still the hurt. The consequences of the action remain. The effects of hurt and of sin do not disappear. The suffering that accompanies sin is very real. True forgiveness does not mask the suffering, does not deny it, does not try to pretend that nothing ever happened. Should Jesus try to pretend that the cross doesn’t matter, that’s it’s OK? Should we?
To offer forgiveness that honors the suffering requires a measure of love that is often beyond our human limitations. There are wounds which we cannot forgive. There are wounds which take us years to forgive. At this moment on the cross, Jesus cannot afford years. So he flings his life, and his suffering and his need to forgive into God’s hands. Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. It is beyond Jesus. But it is not beyond God.
*See The Force of Forgiveness, Minka Sprague in The Living Pulpit, 2005. Pulpit.org
The Second Word from the Cross
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
"One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’ " Luke 23:39-43
Jesus had been silent for a long time. Praying, perhaps. Focused on his pain, perhaps. Listening to the taunts, perhaps, of the mob, of the authorities, of the soldiers; listening to the taunt of the man hanging beside him, perhaps.
Those hung on the crosses beside him must have known about him; must have heard, at least, of his parade into Jerusalem, heard of his audacious and rambunctious behavior at the temple, heard of some of the claims about him. Heard enough for one to taunt him, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ If taunting it was, and not a desperate prayer of a desperate man in a desperate situation.
And the second thief certainly knew something about him, and having heard and having nothing to lose and everything to hope for, he asked, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Who did he think he was? Speaking of audacious! The likes of him asking for a place reserved for the disciples; to be in the presence of Jesus when he comes into his kingdom. Scum of the earth. Robber of the poor, taking from those who had nothing! At least he knew that his punishment on the cross was just. But still, the impertinence to ask, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
But look at his faith. If he had been present with Jesus in his ministry and seen what Jesus did and heard what Jesus said, If he had been at the synagogue in Nazareth, if he had been on the hillside, if he had been at Capernaum, if he had been on the shore of Galilee, if he had been in Bethany when Lazarus died, if he had seen Jesus strong and sure at the top of his game and in his element, you might imagine that he would, that he could, have faith that strong.
But here he is next to this crucified man. Hair matted with blood, body beaten, bloody and bruised, slowly dying in the hot sun, body sagging lower and lower on the cross. This was no star prophet. This was no champion miracle worker. This was a criminal dying on the cross of a criminal.
‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Probably not even knowing what he was asking, what it meant to ask such a thing, he had enough faith to ask. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to prevail. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to overcome. Faith that this crucified man was somehow going to come into his kingdom. Faith the size of a mustard seed and faith strong enough to transcend death on a cross. What a faith!
And what an answer! ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’
Jesus had been silent for a long time, but he heard that man’s prayer and he answered it.
If Jesus would answer the prayer of that thief at that moment is such a wonderful way, how do you think he will answer your prayer?
The Third Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Jane Teter
"Woman, here is your son…Here is your mother." John 19:23-27
"When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it.” This was to fulfill what the scripture says, “They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.” And that is what the soldiers did. Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home." John 19:23-27
As we approach this scene, we see that there are four women standing with John at the foot of the cross. There is Mary, Jesus’ mother, and his mother’s sister, Salome – the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee. There is Mary, the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene, who owed so much to our Lord. We know very little about Mary the wife of Clopas, some think he was the brother of Joseph, Jesus’ step-father.
The four women are watching the four soldiers as they argue about dividing Jesus’ clothing after he was hanging on the cross. Very possibly these women were the ones who made these garments, as they provided for Jesus and his apostles. And here are the soldiers casting lots for his tunic. How must these women have felt? These women loved this Man as no man had ever been loved. One had borne him in her womb and suckled him at her breast. Of course Mary had been warned that a sword would pierce her own heart, but how could she imagine her son being dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, beaten, made to carry his cross, stripped naked and nailed to that cross.
While lots were being cast, Jesus looks down from the cross. He is almost at the end of his struggle. His words from the cross had been for others, his enemies, his executioners (Father, forgive them); for the penitent thief (Today you will be with me in paradise). Now he looks down and sees his Mother and John, the beloved disciple, and he delivers her into John’s keeping: “Woman, behold your son; behold your mother.” And John took her to his own home from that very hour. Even in his suffering, Jesus was concerned about his mother and who would care for her. It was an act of concern, of love, of putting his human affairs in order.
William Temple suggests that Jesus wanted John to take Mary away at that very moment, sparing her his final dying moments. We do not know for sure, but we do know that John was there at the end. I think that Mary was there also – in all of her anguish, it would have been difficult to drag her away. This was her son, dying a horrible death. How must Mary have felt – helpless, being unable to do anything to save her Son. There was nothing she could do to make this go away, to make it better. All she could do was watch and pray. (Many of you have been in situations where you have felt this way – helpless, unable to do anything. But, perhaps, being present and praying is enough).
Ann Weems wrote a poem entitled: Even Now
She stands
beneath him dying
and will not be persuaded to leave,
despite the urging of the others.
They huddle against her
in an effort to hold her
against the pain,
but she stands erect,
unleaning,
her eyes upon his face.
From the hillside
the sounds of weeping and wailing
hang heavy in the air,
but she who held him
in a stable in Bethlehem
stands silent
beneath his cross in Jerusalem,
her heart pondering still,
her soul magnifying the Lord,
her spirit praising God,
knowing even now
that she is blessed among women.
The Fourth Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Bill Lewellis
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Mark 15:34
"I had a revelation during last evening’s Eucharist. The preacher helped. I recognized that what Jesus was really saying to Peter when Peter made his protest about letting Jesus wash his feet was, “Ah, Peter, let me love you.”
This afternoon, I know that the meaning of Good Friday, too, is God’s incredible love for us. Incredible. Hard to believe. Hard to believe because, for any number of reasons, we find it difficult to accept love and simply say thank you. We’d prefer fair play – forgetting, perhaps, that if God were merely fair, we wouldn’t stand a chance.
God’s word to us today, as I hear it, is: Let God love you. Let God love you.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Two of the gospel writers, Matthew and Mark, say simply that Jesus said these words from the cross before he died. What they don’t say is whether the words on Jesus’ lips were an utterance of prayer or a cry of utter despair.
A prayer? Well, the words are the beginning of Psalm 22, which Jesus knew from the Jewish scriptures.
Despair? The psalm is filled with sounds of despair:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
and are so far from my cry
and from the words of my distress?
O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer;
by night as well, but I find no rest.
I am a worm and no man,
Scorned and despised by the people.
All who see me laugh me to scorn;
They curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
“He trusted in the Lord, let him deliver him;
let him rescue him, if he delights in him.
And later in the psalm, the Contemporary English Version of the psalm reads:
You, God, have left me to die in the dirt.
Sounds to me from those verses like a cry of despair.
But take a look at how Psalm 22 reads over all. It’s one of many examples in the scriptures that one-verse proofing proves nothing.
Most of Psalm 22 moves quickly, two to three verses at a time, from cries of utter desperation to prayers of complete trust.
Here are a few of the verses I purposely skipped:
Yet (a crucial word, it seems, in the scriptures) …
Yet you are the Holy One,
enthroned upon the praises of Israel.
Our forefathers put their trust in you;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
They cried out to you and were delivered
they trusted in you and were not put to shame.
Then, a few more verses of despair ... after which we read:
Yet you are he who took me out of the womb,
and kept me safe upon my mother’s breast.
I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born,
you were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb.
Be not far from me, for trouble is near,
and there is none to help.
Utter despair or complete trust?
For me … both.
After all, Jesus was truly human.
I want to tell you something that, for most of my adult life, has been crucial to my relationship with Jesus.
Before doing so, however, let me say this: I can’t think of a time in my life that I did not believe in God in Jesus. I have always believed in … and I set my heart today on God in Jesus.
For most of my adult life, however, it has been crucial to my relationship with Jesus to think that Jesus lived his life without knowing how things were going to turn out … that he was not an actor who knew the ending of the script. I believe in the true man in Jesus. I set my heart on Jesus as true man.
Because Jesus was truly human, he had no more (and no less) reason to trust God than you and I do. He had the tradition. He had the scriptures. It seems he knew them well. He had friends. He had prayer.
Those who wrote the gospels (after the resurrection) knew then more than Jesus (when he walked his way of the cross) about how things would turn out. That is crucial for me. Otherwise, I would have to believe Jesus, when he suffered and died, was simply a good actor. And if I believed Jesus were an actor, I could not believe that he understands how I think, how I feel, how I can live through hills and valley of prayer and despair … how I struggle to understand myself.
Though I set my heart on both the man and the God in Jesus, though it is crucial to know in faith that the man on the cross was God, believing that Jesus did not know he was God has in crucial ways meant more to me than believing he was.
The man on the cross did not know he was God. But he trusted, in the face of evidence to the contrary, that God loved him, that God delighted in him. The God on the cross loved the man on the crorss – passing over with him through death to new life.
On this Good Friday, may we know God’s incredible love for us. Let God love you. Let God love you.
Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.
The Fifth Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Joel Atkinson
"I thirst." John 19:28
there are all kinds of thirst.
the thirst of one in an arid place
a place where lips
and skin are parched
a place where the tongue clings
to roof of one’s mouth
jesus considering what he’d been through
had to have felt deeply
this kind of physical thirst
those who offered vinegar
to quench his thirst
obviously thought so
“I THIRST!”
i believe his thirst was deeper
than this parching kind of thirst
perhaps he thirsted for all
his dying so young
would cause him to miss in life
no wife
no family
never the satisfaction of living to a ripe old age
surrounded by those he loved
jesus knew authorities
both national and roman
viewed him a dangerous man
possibly a revolutionary
a trouble maker
an upsetter of the apple cart
maybe even a terrorist threat
jesus had to have known
humiliation and execution
were in the realm of possibility
jesus cried in dread and fear of all the things
other mortals might make him bear
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
yet though existential dreads and losses were felt
i believe his deepest thirsty cry
was of another sort
“My God my God why have you forsaken me!”
maybe jesus in his anguished thirsty cry
sought assurance from god
his life had not been in vain
abandoned by pledgers of allegiance to his ministry
now suffering excruciating mental
physical and
spiritual pain
he must have ask
where’s the father he so loved
and ever sought to mind?
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
yet I believe there was even a deeper kind of thirst he felt
as his life lost focus
in the seeming denial of all his life had meant
in the anguish he personally felt
he cried forgiveness
in an incomprehensible leap of faith
‘cause from his lips issued hope
to another suffering
upon a neighboring bloody tool of death
“Today you will be with me in paradise.”
a cry of thirst for life
not just for that dying thief
but in that affirmation of hope
in the midst death
for that thief
himself
and all of us as well
what went wrong or is this the way it was supposed to be?
“I THIRST!”
one more thirst remains
he thirsted
for all who knew his life
for all who’d heard his words
for all who’d witnessed his deeds
for all who’d met him
for even those who knew him not
that they will come to know the loving Father he had known
that they would seek
to make real the love of God they’d felt
and that all God’s children
with that thief and himself
would finally and most fully
be enfolded into the eternal life of God.
The Sixth Word from the Cross
The Ven Richard I. Cluett
"When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit." John 19:30
He gave it up. He gave it over. The work of Jesus of Nazareth is done. All is finished, but nothing is lost. His spirit rests on you and me and the church.
There does come a time, doesn’t it when we need to say, “It’s over.” “Let it go.” “Give it up.” “Move on.” “It is finished.”
“On the seventh day God finished the work he had done, and on the seventh day he rested from all the work he had done.” Genesis 2:2
It’s time to put away childish things and grow up, childhood is finished. A marriage is begun, being priority number one is finished. The job is finished. A relationship ends, it is finished. Our abilities are impaired and it’s time to stop driving, it is finished. Eventually we will die, it will be finished.
Acknowledge the inevitable? Perhaps. Recognize reality? Perhaps. Admit to our finitude? Perhaps. For everything there is a season? Perhaps.
How do we do it, though? That is the question. How do we let it go? How do we give it up? How do we move on? How do we finish?
Do we rage and storm? Sturm and drang? Curse God and die? Or do we go gently into that good night, that future, that next stage?
All finishes contain the opportunity to trust – or not? Finishing school and going out into the work-a-day world. Finishing work and going into retirement? Finishing this life. All are opportunities for trust and for grace. Endings are part of all life.
It is because Jesus finished that we can end whatever needs ending safely, with trust and grace. Jesus has given us his spirit, and one another, and hope, and eternal life and, and, and, and...
It is safe to say, it is okay to say, “It is finished” when it is finished.
The Seventh Word from the Cross
The Rev. Canon Anne Kitch
"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Luke 23:46
I don’t know what it is like to die. I don’t know if there is that moment, when you are being killed, that you realize that you are going to die and that it is all going to end. I don’t know if there is a conscious moment when you can make one final act of will, one final choice to let go. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit. The final action of Jesus on the cross, Jesus’ final choice, is to let go. But it is more than that. It is to give. His final act is to give himself, to offer himself, to place himself in God’s hands. Jesus dying act is to entrust himself to a loving father. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.
Into your hands. What are God’s hands like?
It’s elements were unremarkable: a basin, a pitcher of water, and a towel. As we celebrated Maundy Thursday here in this Cathedral last night, a father and child came forward for the ritual foot washing. The father sat in a wooden chapel chair as the child knelt at his feet. They were unobserved by most in the congregation who were singing a hymn at the time. The father placed his bare feet in the basin, the young child carefully poured warm water on them, then picked them up one by one and held them in her small hands. She gently washed each one, intent on her task. This was not a symbolic act for her. There was nothing perfunctory in her movements. Her hands held his feet fast. He gave himself over into her care. It was loving. It was safe. It was redeeming.
Into your hands I commend my spirit. These words on the lips of Jesus are quoted from a psalm (Psalm 31:5). What are God’s hands like?
God’s hands, which lovingly created the world:
In the beginning, O Lord, you laid the foundations of the earth and the heavens are the work of your hands (Psalm 102:25)
God’s hands, which faithfully reach for us:
The works of his hands are faithfulness and justice, all his commandments are sure (Psalm 111.7)
God’s hands, which never let go:
My soul clings to you, your right hand holds me fast (Psalm 63:8)
Into your hands, I commend my spirit, for you have redeemed me, O Lord O God of truth, the psalmist prays. Into your hand I commend my spirit, Jesus prays.
Into your hands.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Friday, April 14, 2006
Maundy Thursday: Towel & Basin
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
April 13, 2006
Exodus 12:1-14a 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 John 13:1-15
How is this night different from all others? It is the night Jesus gathers with his disciples for the last time. It is the night he gives new meaning, eternal significance, to the meal they share. The bread and wine are what will connect his disciples to him and to one another forever. It will be their strength. It will be their nourishment. It will be their bond. It will be his continuing presence with them.
How is this night the same as the others? It is the same group of disciples that Jesus has been with for his entire journey toward Jerusalem. Along with the un-named women, they are Simon Peter, James son of Zebedee, John son of Zebedee, Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot.
They are the same bickering, quarrelsome, contentious group of people they have always been. Apparently looming crisis and confrontation do not inform their behavior. They are arguing and debating many things, including questions of status (who will be number 1 in the absence of Jesus), clueless as to what is about to happen and about it’s meaning for them and for the world.
Into that familiar disputatious scene comes Jesus, who “having loved his own who were in the world loves them to the end.” (God alone knows why), Jesus comes with one last teaching, one last demonstration of the nature of God’s kingdom he is bringing into being, one last act which incarnates – which brings to life right there and then – the purpose of his life and ministry and the nature of God and God’s kingdom.
He does it by washing their feet in a humble and humbling act of love. “The only way to teach the disciples the reality of the kingdom was to get down on his knees and wash their feet.”
The Gospel of John was written decades after the death and resurrection of Jesus to a church that was polarized with division, with contention, with great disputes about who was more right, more righteous, had the best take on the truth, knew best what God wanted for people, for the world and for the church. It seems disciples will be disciples, will be disciples no matter in what era they live. The gospel writer obviously felt that the great divisions of the world and the church needed to hear again this final teaching from Jesus that the kingdom of God is defined by love as he has loved, and by servanthood as he has served.
And tonight we hear again this message addressed to us, to our world, and to our church. Of course, things are much different today. Not much self-righteousness, not much “my way or the highway”; not much division in the church, except for a little among the roman, and the orthodox, and the anglican, and the protestant denominations; a little between the evangelicals and the social gospel crowd; a little between the Episcopal Church USA and the conservative churches of the Anglican Communion, etc., etc. etc.
In the hopes that the message, the commandment to love and serve, will work a little deeper into our personal and communal awareness, we watch once again as “Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”
We hear him say again, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”
This self-offering and servanthood is not what the people of that time - including the disciples - expected from God, from the Messiah of God, or from the man Jesus. It is not what people from this day and time expect, either. People do not expect the power of God Almighty to be shown in acceptance of all sorts and conditions of people, especially the lonely, outcast, the sick,
The tired, the poor,
The huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse on our teeming shore.
The homeless, tempest-tossed, the illegal aliens.
They do not expect power to be patient in suffering. They do not expect power to be an offered love. They do not expect power to have to - or be able to - endure. They do not expect power to serve others.
The Jesus who offers himself, the Jesus who serves others, the Jesus who goes to the Cross is the truth of God. God who loves, of¬fers and serves. It has been said "The crucified Jesus is the only accurate picture of God the world has ever seen."
Bill Lewellis holds dear a vision of how Jesus will greet each of us when we arrive in heaven. Tired and worn, Jesus greets us with a towel tied around him and a basin and water to wash and refresh, as he says “you are welcome to the banquet that has been prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
What we have been given by his example of serving, what we have been given by his continuing offering of himself in the Eucharist, will help us. Because if God was in Jesus, we must come to terms with a God for whom it is natural to be humble, compassionate, serving, and at risk - for others. And take his nature upon ourselves.
And so as mark of our new nature I invite you to humble yourself to receive an act of love as some one bathes and refreshes your feet and to offer that act of love to another.
We will then go to the table to participate in the supper that unites us with Jesus and with all believers throughout eternity as share the bread and the cup.
I pray that thereby we will be empowered to bring his love and his servanthood to a suffering world and a divided church and to those who have not experienced his love or who do not yet know him.
April 13, 2006
Exodus 12:1-14a 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 John 13:1-15
How is this night different from all others? It is the night Jesus gathers with his disciples for the last time. It is the night he gives new meaning, eternal significance, to the meal they share. The bread and wine are what will connect his disciples to him and to one another forever. It will be their strength. It will be their nourishment. It will be their bond. It will be his continuing presence with them.
How is this night the same as the others? It is the same group of disciples that Jesus has been with for his entire journey toward Jerusalem. Along with the un-named women, they are Simon Peter, James son of Zebedee, John son of Zebedee, Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot.
They are the same bickering, quarrelsome, contentious group of people they have always been. Apparently looming crisis and confrontation do not inform their behavior. They are arguing and debating many things, including questions of status (who will be number 1 in the absence of Jesus), clueless as to what is about to happen and about it’s meaning for them and for the world.
Into that familiar disputatious scene comes Jesus, who “having loved his own who were in the world loves them to the end.” (God alone knows why), Jesus comes with one last teaching, one last demonstration of the nature of God’s kingdom he is bringing into being, one last act which incarnates – which brings to life right there and then – the purpose of his life and ministry and the nature of God and God’s kingdom.
He does it by washing their feet in a humble and humbling act of love. “The only way to teach the disciples the reality of the kingdom was to get down on his knees and wash their feet.”
The Gospel of John was written decades after the death and resurrection of Jesus to a church that was polarized with division, with contention, with great disputes about who was more right, more righteous, had the best take on the truth, knew best what God wanted for people, for the world and for the church. It seems disciples will be disciples, will be disciples no matter in what era they live. The gospel writer obviously felt that the great divisions of the world and the church needed to hear again this final teaching from Jesus that the kingdom of God is defined by love as he has loved, and by servanthood as he has served.
And tonight we hear again this message addressed to us, to our world, and to our church. Of course, things are much different today. Not much self-righteousness, not much “my way or the highway”; not much division in the church, except for a little among the roman, and the orthodox, and the anglican, and the protestant denominations; a little between the evangelicals and the social gospel crowd; a little between the Episcopal Church USA and the conservative churches of the Anglican Communion, etc., etc. etc.
In the hopes that the message, the commandment to love and serve, will work a little deeper into our personal and communal awareness, we watch once again as “Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”
We hear him say again, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”
This self-offering and servanthood is not what the people of that time - including the disciples - expected from God, from the Messiah of God, or from the man Jesus. It is not what people from this day and time expect, either. People do not expect the power of God Almighty to be shown in acceptance of all sorts and conditions of people, especially the lonely, outcast, the sick,
The tired, the poor,
The huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse on our teeming shore.
The homeless, tempest-tossed, the illegal aliens.
They do not expect power to be patient in suffering. They do not expect power to be an offered love. They do not expect power to have to - or be able to - endure. They do not expect power to serve others.
The Jesus who offers himself, the Jesus who serves others, the Jesus who goes to the Cross is the truth of God. God who loves, of¬fers and serves. It has been said "The crucified Jesus is the only accurate picture of God the world has ever seen."
Bill Lewellis holds dear a vision of how Jesus will greet each of us when we arrive in heaven. Tired and worn, Jesus greets us with a towel tied around him and a basin and water to wash and refresh, as he says “you are welcome to the banquet that has been prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
What we have been given by his example of serving, what we have been given by his continuing offering of himself in the Eucharist, will help us. Because if God was in Jesus, we must come to terms with a God for whom it is natural to be humble, compassionate, serving, and at risk - for others. And take his nature upon ourselves.
And so as mark of our new nature I invite you to humble yourself to receive an act of love as some one bathes and refreshes your feet and to offer that act of love to another.
We will then go to the table to participate in the supper that unites us with Jesus and with all believers throughout eternity as share the bread and the cup.
I pray that thereby we will be empowered to bring his love and his servanthood to a suffering world and a divided church and to those who have not experienced his love or who do not yet know him.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Sunday of the Passion ~ Palm Sunday: Who needs the Cross?
The Ven. Richard I Cluett
April 9, 2006
Mark 11:1-11 Isaiah 50:4-9a Philippians 2:5-11 Mark 14:1-15:47
This is quite a day. We go from the soaring celebration high of the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to the grim horror of his passion and death on the cross to the grace of Holy Communion. It is almost manic. Vaulted high. Dashed low. Lifted for communion. And then sent away.
Our time today and all this week can be simply a time for remembering what happened way back then; engaging in a kind of vicarious empathy. But, there is a danger in approaching this week as a remembering of a historical event, rather than it being an existential reality we participate in. We would separate ourselves from those people back there in history who would do some things which we would never do.
I believe that the hardest work of Holy Week is not to identify ourselves with the Jewish authorities or crowds or the Roman soldiers who did the deeds or the disiples who left. I believe the hardest work of Holy Week is to confront our need of the Cross.
It would have been so much better if redemption, if salvation could be accomplished with less pain, less passion, less horror. That would be my choice. Do I really need the Cross? Do you really need the Cross? Does it really have to get to that?
There is a story about an Italian village in Lombardy by the name of Bergamo. In 1630, a great plague hit the inhabitants of Bergamo and its surroundings: about one half of the population died – about 90, 000 people. Those who were left could not keep up with burying the dead. The conditions were so bad that the inhabitants eventually gave up any semblance of civilized living, any semblance of faith. Anarchy reigned, immorality prevailed and there was no sign of God.
Into this living hell came a young monk, who walked to the church and rang the bell to gather the people.
He spoke to them in this way, “Jesus was on the cross. He looked down on the yelling, mocking mob for whom he was giving his life. He was about to say, “Father, forgive them…” but anger overtook him and he didn’t say it.
“He tore free His feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His hands round the nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up His garment so that the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and flung it round himself with the wrath of a king and ascended into heaven.
“And the cross stood empty, and the great work of redemption was never fulfilled. There is no mediator between God and us; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross, there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross!"
“As the monk uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to sob.
“Then a man pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale as a corpse, and shouted: "Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross again, you must!" and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: "Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!" And from all mouths, threatening, beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: "Crucify, crucify Him!"
“And clear and serene a single quivering voice said: Crucify Him!”*
It seems we need the Cross. Some things in us need to die. Some things in us need to be redeemed. Some things in us need to be forgiven. Some things in us need to be washed clean. Some things in us need to be born again. Some things need in us to be recreated.
Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?
God alone knows fully why Jesus endured the Cross, but he did. He was lifted high upon the cross to draw the whole world to himself. He was lifted high on the cross to draw you to himself. And because he was, in the words of that wonderful anthem, “Ye are washed. Ye are sanctified. Ye are justified… in the name of the Lord Jesus.”**
Because Jesus let himself be lifted high upon the Cross, to take off on a wonderful preacher: “The lame will walk and the dumb will speak and the deaf will hear and the blind will see... the self will be dominated and war will be outdated and crime will be devastated and sickness will be eliminated and mean hearts will be subjugated and hypocrisy will be decimated and pestilence will be fumigated and barriers will be eradicated and Satan will be annihilated and Christ will be coronated and the saints … they will be elevated.”***
And because we are washed in the blood of the lamb… we can live truly and wholly in the presence of the living Christ who gave himself up for us on the cross of Golgotha, and in the power of God, in this life and in the life to come where the fullness of God’s glory and the wonder of the work of Jesus will finally be revealed for us all to see and know.
So the question for the week ahead is “Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?”
I pray we can say Amen to the work of this Holy Week.
Amen.
* Told by Jens Peter Jacobsen
** Greater Love hath no Man by John Ireland
*** Howard Thurman
April 9, 2006
Mark 11:1-11 Isaiah 50:4-9a Philippians 2:5-11 Mark 14:1-15:47
This is quite a day. We go from the soaring celebration high of the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to the grim horror of his passion and death on the cross to the grace of Holy Communion. It is almost manic. Vaulted high. Dashed low. Lifted for communion. And then sent away.
Our time today and all this week can be simply a time for remembering what happened way back then; engaging in a kind of vicarious empathy. But, there is a danger in approaching this week as a remembering of a historical event, rather than it being an existential reality we participate in. We would separate ourselves from those people back there in history who would do some things which we would never do.
I believe that the hardest work of Holy Week is not to identify ourselves with the Jewish authorities or crowds or the Roman soldiers who did the deeds or the disiples who left. I believe the hardest work of Holy Week is to confront our need of the Cross.
It would have been so much better if redemption, if salvation could be accomplished with less pain, less passion, less horror. That would be my choice. Do I really need the Cross? Do you really need the Cross? Does it really have to get to that?
There is a story about an Italian village in Lombardy by the name of Bergamo. In 1630, a great plague hit the inhabitants of Bergamo and its surroundings: about one half of the population died – about 90, 000 people. Those who were left could not keep up with burying the dead. The conditions were so bad that the inhabitants eventually gave up any semblance of civilized living, any semblance of faith. Anarchy reigned, immorality prevailed and there was no sign of God.
Into this living hell came a young monk, who walked to the church and rang the bell to gather the people.
He spoke to them in this way, “Jesus was on the cross. He looked down on the yelling, mocking mob for whom he was giving his life. He was about to say, “Father, forgive them…” but anger overtook him and he didn’t say it.
“He tore free His feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His hands round the nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up His garment so that the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and flung it round himself with the wrath of a king and ascended into heaven.
“And the cross stood empty, and the great work of redemption was never fulfilled. There is no mediator between God and us; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross, there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross!"
“As the monk uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to sob.
“Then a man pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale as a corpse, and shouted: "Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross again, you must!" and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: "Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!" And from all mouths, threatening, beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: "Crucify, crucify Him!"
“And clear and serene a single quivering voice said: Crucify Him!”*
It seems we need the Cross. Some things in us need to die. Some things in us need to be redeemed. Some things in us need to be forgiven. Some things in us need to be washed clean. Some things in us need to be born again. Some things need in us to be recreated.
Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?
God alone knows fully why Jesus endured the Cross, but he did. He was lifted high upon the cross to draw the whole world to himself. He was lifted high on the cross to draw you to himself. And because he was, in the words of that wonderful anthem, “Ye are washed. Ye are sanctified. Ye are justified… in the name of the Lord Jesus.”**
Because Jesus let himself be lifted high upon the Cross, to take off on a wonderful preacher: “The lame will walk and the dumb will speak and the deaf will hear and the blind will see... the self will be dominated and war will be outdated and crime will be devastated and sickness will be eliminated and mean hearts will be subjugated and hypocrisy will be decimated and pestilence will be fumigated and barriers will be eradicated and Satan will be annihilated and Christ will be coronated and the saints … they will be elevated.”***
And because we are washed in the blood of the lamb… we can live truly and wholly in the presence of the living Christ who gave himself up for us on the cross of Golgotha, and in the power of God, in this life and in the life to come where the fullness of God’s glory and the wonder of the work of Jesus will finally be revealed for us all to see and know.
So the question for the week ahead is “Why do you need the Cross of Christ – this year?”
I pray we can say Amen to the work of this Holy Week.
Amen.
* Told by Jens Peter Jacobsen
** Greater Love hath no Man by John Ireland
*** Howard Thurman
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Lent 5: Seeds
The Rev. Anne E. Kitch
April 2, 2006
John 12:20-33
You can hear it, see it, smell it--especially this morning. Evidence of new growth is all around us. Flowering trees burst into bloom almost as we watch. But can you remember the seed? Think of a seed--an apple seed, a bean seed, an acorn. These are familiar. But do you know what other seeds look like? Could you recognize a morning glory seed or a daisy seed or the seed of a willow tree? Think of a grain of wheat. None of these seeds look like the plant they will become. They are not even remotely close in size. Unless they come in a nice little packet from the seed store with a picture on front, how do we know what the seeds will become? It is almost inconceivable. Imagine, all that any plant needs to become what it is, to grow into complete maturity, to become a gorgeous flower, a tasty fruit, or a sturdy tree is contained in that tiny seed. I can hardly get my mind around it.
Most of us would admit to some basic seed knowledge. We know seeds grow into plants. We know they need soil and water and sunshine to becomes those plants. But what do we really know? Think about just what creation is up to at this very moment. How does that seed become a morning glory? How does that single grain of wheat become a new stalk with a full head of grain? “Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains just a single grain.” There we have it. This miracle process of seed to sequoia begins with death.
First the seed must be covered with soil. Once in the ground, water breaches the outer husk. Moisture works its way into the seed, swelling its particles until the seed itself bursts open, splitting its skin as a tiny shoot of new life pushes its way up toward the sun. Breaking through the earth, even moving around obstacles this shoot keeps growing to become stem, leaves, flower, or trunk, branches, fruit. All from a tiny seed. But the seed has to die. It has to be crushed and split open before the new life can spring forth. It has to cease to be a seed and become the plant its genetic code is set to be. Without death there is no new life. Where would spring be without this process and new growth? What if the seeds just remained…well, seeds?
“Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Without death, there is no new life. Jesus of course is talking about more than botany. He senses that the time is near, the time for the completion of his work. He calls this time the glorification. He senses his own death, but it is more than that. He invites his disciples, invites us, to place ourselves in the cycle of death and life. If we would be his followers we must be with Jesus wherever he is. We must follow him into death.
What if we are the seeds? And what would our lives be like if we remained seeds? If we kept our full potential locked away, were unable to grow? And what is our full potential? We do not come in pretty colored packets showing a picture of what we can be. In our baptismal rite the parents and godparents are asked. “Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” The full stature of Christ--that is what each of us carries the potential for. Within each of us is the possibility to become completely what God created us to be. Unique. Complete. Redeemed. I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of growing and maturing to do before I reach the full stature of Christ. I’m not even sure what that would look like.
If a seed were conscious, might it not think of itself as complete? Might it not believe it was all that it can be? But we know better. We know more. We know that the seed is only potential. But do we know this about ourselves? How far along are any of us to reaching the full stature of Christ? Are we seeds without imagination, thinking we are what we are? To contemplate these things is to enter into mystery. The mystery of seeds, the mystery of life, the mystery of us. And mystery is a fine place to be. As a church we revel in mystery. In our church year as well as the cycle of seasons it is a time for mystery. We are approaching Easter. Soon we enter into Holy Week and the Triduum, the great three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. In the ritual and practice of these days we enter fully into the cycle of death and rebirth. In the ritual and practice of these days we, as a congregation and a people, allow ourselves to fall into the earth and die.
We are all God’s seeds. All of us here. How can we find out what this community garden will be? What fruit will it produce? Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies it bears much fruit. We enter in Holy Week as a community. We walk the way of the cross as a community. Do we want to be a community of seeds safely stored, or are we willing to die, to lose our life, in order to burst into bloom? What kind of garden might we be? what kind of fruit of ministry and mission might we produce? How can we truly know who we are as a community if we don’t walk the way of the cross? Or do we think this is it--this is who we are--all that we are. I don’t know about you, but I hope I am not my finished product yet. I hope I am more. I hope this community is not the finished product yet. I hope it is more. I hope the world, creation, all of humanity is not a finished product yet. I hope it is more. It is troubling to die--even Jesus says so, “Now my soul is troubled, and what should I say ‘Father, save me from this hour?’” Where would we be if our gospel ended there? If Jesus had said yes, save me, I’ll stop here. But Jesus said, “No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.” He will, he did, fall into the earth. He will, he did, die. He will be, he was, broken and crushed. And afterward? “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth will draw all people to myself.” Jesus chooses glory over the current life he has. The glory of the tiny seed producing a garden. The glory of the trees bursting into bloom. The glory of a resurrected world. Should we ask God to save us from this death?
I would like you to imagine with me for a moment. Here is a packet of seeds. I have one for each of you. I cannot tell you what they will become. They are no longer in their pretty packets from the seed store. You will have to plant them to find out. And as you plant them, as you allow them to fall into the earth and die, ask yourself this question. Are you content to remain a seed, or our you willing to risk some brokenness and allow the waters of your baptism to split you open and stretch out new shoots towards the sun? Are you willing to burst though the familiar husk, the definition of self, in which you have been enveloped? Are we as a congregation willing to risk death and the waters of baptism to see who we might be for the sake of God and Christ’s kingdom? Who are we? Who can we be? Shall we find out?
April 2, 2006
John 12:20-33
You can hear it, see it, smell it--especially this morning. Evidence of new growth is all around us. Flowering trees burst into bloom almost as we watch. But can you remember the seed? Think of a seed--an apple seed, a bean seed, an acorn. These are familiar. But do you know what other seeds look like? Could you recognize a morning glory seed or a daisy seed or the seed of a willow tree? Think of a grain of wheat. None of these seeds look like the plant they will become. They are not even remotely close in size. Unless they come in a nice little packet from the seed store with a picture on front, how do we know what the seeds will become? It is almost inconceivable. Imagine, all that any plant needs to become what it is, to grow into complete maturity, to become a gorgeous flower, a tasty fruit, or a sturdy tree is contained in that tiny seed. I can hardly get my mind around it.
Most of us would admit to some basic seed knowledge. We know seeds grow into plants. We know they need soil and water and sunshine to becomes those plants. But what do we really know? Think about just what creation is up to at this very moment. How does that seed become a morning glory? How does that single grain of wheat become a new stalk with a full head of grain? “Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains just a single grain.” There we have it. This miracle process of seed to sequoia begins with death.
First the seed must be covered with soil. Once in the ground, water breaches the outer husk. Moisture works its way into the seed, swelling its particles until the seed itself bursts open, splitting its skin as a tiny shoot of new life pushes its way up toward the sun. Breaking through the earth, even moving around obstacles this shoot keeps growing to become stem, leaves, flower, or trunk, branches, fruit. All from a tiny seed. But the seed has to die. It has to be crushed and split open before the new life can spring forth. It has to cease to be a seed and become the plant its genetic code is set to be. Without death there is no new life. Where would spring be without this process and new growth? What if the seeds just remained…well, seeds?
“Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Without death, there is no new life. Jesus of course is talking about more than botany. He senses that the time is near, the time for the completion of his work. He calls this time the glorification. He senses his own death, but it is more than that. He invites his disciples, invites us, to place ourselves in the cycle of death and life. If we would be his followers we must be with Jesus wherever he is. We must follow him into death.
What if we are the seeds? And what would our lives be like if we remained seeds? If we kept our full potential locked away, were unable to grow? And what is our full potential? We do not come in pretty colored packets showing a picture of what we can be. In our baptismal rite the parents and godparents are asked. “Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” The full stature of Christ--that is what each of us carries the potential for. Within each of us is the possibility to become completely what God created us to be. Unique. Complete. Redeemed. I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of growing and maturing to do before I reach the full stature of Christ. I’m not even sure what that would look like.
If a seed were conscious, might it not think of itself as complete? Might it not believe it was all that it can be? But we know better. We know more. We know that the seed is only potential. But do we know this about ourselves? How far along are any of us to reaching the full stature of Christ? Are we seeds without imagination, thinking we are what we are? To contemplate these things is to enter into mystery. The mystery of seeds, the mystery of life, the mystery of us. And mystery is a fine place to be. As a church we revel in mystery. In our church year as well as the cycle of seasons it is a time for mystery. We are approaching Easter. Soon we enter into Holy Week and the Triduum, the great three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. In the ritual and practice of these days we enter fully into the cycle of death and rebirth. In the ritual and practice of these days we, as a congregation and a people, allow ourselves to fall into the earth and die.
We are all God’s seeds. All of us here. How can we find out what this community garden will be? What fruit will it produce? Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies it bears much fruit. We enter in Holy Week as a community. We walk the way of the cross as a community. Do we want to be a community of seeds safely stored, or are we willing to die, to lose our life, in order to burst into bloom? What kind of garden might we be? what kind of fruit of ministry and mission might we produce? How can we truly know who we are as a community if we don’t walk the way of the cross? Or do we think this is it--this is who we are--all that we are. I don’t know about you, but I hope I am not my finished product yet. I hope I am more. I hope this community is not the finished product yet. I hope it is more. I hope the world, creation, all of humanity is not a finished product yet. I hope it is more. It is troubling to die--even Jesus says so, “Now my soul is troubled, and what should I say ‘Father, save me from this hour?’” Where would we be if our gospel ended there? If Jesus had said yes, save me, I’ll stop here. But Jesus said, “No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.” He will, he did, fall into the earth. He will, he did, die. He will be, he was, broken and crushed. And afterward? “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth will draw all people to myself.” Jesus chooses glory over the current life he has. The glory of the tiny seed producing a garden. The glory of the trees bursting into bloom. The glory of a resurrected world. Should we ask God to save us from this death?
I would like you to imagine with me for a moment. Here is a packet of seeds. I have one for each of you. I cannot tell you what they will become. They are no longer in their pretty packets from the seed store. You will have to plant them to find out. And as you plant them, as you allow them to fall into the earth and die, ask yourself this question. Are you content to remain a seed, or our you willing to risk some brokenness and allow the waters of your baptism to split you open and stretch out new shoots towards the sun? Are you willing to burst though the familiar husk, the definition of self, in which you have been enveloped? Are we as a congregation willing to risk death and the waters of baptism to see who we might be for the sake of God and Christ’s kingdom? Who are we? Who can we be? Shall we find out?
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Lent 4: Ssssssnakesssss
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
The Last Sunday in Epiphany: Can you see it?
The Venerable Richard I. Cluett
February 26, 2006
2Kings 2:1-12; 2Corinthians 4:3-6; Mark 9:2-9
Mark tells us that Jesus “was transfigured before them and his clothes became dazzling white.” Luke tells us that “the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white.” Matthew tells us that “he was transfigured before them, and his face shown like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.”
In another place we read that when Moses descended from Sinai after his time in God’s presence, he is significantly altered in his physical features. The face of Moses is transformed; “the skin of his face shone”.
As suddenly as the cloud had descended, it is gone, and “Jesus was found alone”. If anything could testify to the power and majesty of the epiphany they had just experienced, it is the absolute silence that now descends on the usually bantering, chatting, arguing disciples.
Utterly dazed and dazzled by the images they have witnessed, totally confused about the relationship between Jesus’ words about suffering and death and the heavenly voice’s assertion that “this is my Son,” And lest they simply prattle on about the experience, Jesus tells them to be silent.
But you can picture their faces. Amazement. Shining, bright, engaged, aglow, alive with a light. Having been in the presence of the Holy, knowing that they were in the presence of the Holy, things had changed for them and it had to be reflected in their faces.
I remember a time in the past when it was very early in my time as rector. I was still trying to learn who we were in that place. What’s life like here? What are people like here? What’s the kingdom like here? What do we experience of God here here?
After a long period of increasingly severe headaches, the mother in a family was diagnosed to have a brain tumor. An operation was attempted. It was not a success. There would be no medical success.
As the doctors tried other therapies, the shape of this trim, lively woman changed. Mega-doses of steroids do that, you know. Her body became swollen. Her face became swollen. The skin tightened. Her face literally began to shine.
A physical symptom - but it became a sacrament. Remember the definition of sacrament : an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Her face shown!
Eventually she lost the ability to word things – to match words with her thoughts – but this woman never lost the ability to communicate. Her eyes still shone with love, with gratitude, with security, her face shown because she was in the presence of the Living God.
As the family was able to be even less a part of the parish community in terms of being present at liturgies and gatherings, they became more and more a part of this community of faith as individuals, groups, families, committees ministered to that family. In much the same way as Lynn Heiney and Sandy Kelly and others of you carry out your Share Care ministries It was the most incredible ministry of presence, pastoral care, witness and proclamation of faith and love and solidarity.
As this woman and her family lived, and at the same time prepared for her death, Jesus himself was with them nursing, caring, comforting, carrying, cooking, and quietly, by both actions and words, testifying to the faith that was in them – that Jesus is Lord of life and of death – that God is present in all, and that all will be well, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.
When you walked into her presence, she ministered to you because you felt as if you had stepped on holy ground. When she looked at you she was radiant. Her face would break into a beatific smile. As you saw her face shine, you knew that God was present. The Glory of God’s Kingdom was being revealed.
I believe that it is God’s intention- that it is the desire of God’s heart - for each person, all persons, every person to live in God’s presence and for our faces to shine with the light of that presence. It is not meant to be a sometime, hardly ever, or never kind of experience. In the end-time, when God brings it all together and wraps it all up, I believe that is the way we will be. God’s Glory – and ours – fully revealed – face to shining face.
It is a privilege to be nearby when it happens in our own day and time. God means it to happen in our own day and time. Can we see it?
We live in the presence of the holy. On the mountain, on the plain, down in the valleys, our feet are always on holy ground. The world is a holy place. God is powerfully, mysteriously, gracefully present revealing His world and His Glory – and ours – to us.
Pray with me.
O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain: Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
February 26, 2006
2Kings 2:1-12; 2Corinthians 4:3-6; Mark 9:2-9
Mark tells us that Jesus “was transfigured before them and his clothes became dazzling white.” Luke tells us that “the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white.” Matthew tells us that “he was transfigured before them, and his face shown like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.”
In another place we read that when Moses descended from Sinai after his time in God’s presence, he is significantly altered in his physical features. The face of Moses is transformed; “the skin of his face shone”.
As suddenly as the cloud had descended, it is gone, and “Jesus was found alone”. If anything could testify to the power and majesty of the epiphany they had just experienced, it is the absolute silence that now descends on the usually bantering, chatting, arguing disciples.
Utterly dazed and dazzled by the images they have witnessed, totally confused about the relationship between Jesus’ words about suffering and death and the heavenly voice’s assertion that “this is my Son,” And lest they simply prattle on about the experience, Jesus tells them to be silent.
But you can picture their faces. Amazement. Shining, bright, engaged, aglow, alive with a light. Having been in the presence of the Holy, knowing that they were in the presence of the Holy, things had changed for them and it had to be reflected in their faces.
I remember a time in the past when it was very early in my time as rector. I was still trying to learn who we were in that place. What’s life like here? What are people like here? What’s the kingdom like here? What do we experience of God here here?
After a long period of increasingly severe headaches, the mother in a family was diagnosed to have a brain tumor. An operation was attempted. It was not a success. There would be no medical success.
As the doctors tried other therapies, the shape of this trim, lively woman changed. Mega-doses of steroids do that, you know. Her body became swollen. Her face became swollen. The skin tightened. Her face literally began to shine.
A physical symptom - but it became a sacrament. Remember the definition of sacrament : an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Her face shown!
Eventually she lost the ability to word things – to match words with her thoughts – but this woman never lost the ability to communicate. Her eyes still shone with love, with gratitude, with security, her face shown because she was in the presence of the Living God.
As the family was able to be even less a part of the parish community in terms of being present at liturgies and gatherings, they became more and more a part of this community of faith as individuals, groups, families, committees ministered to that family. In much the same way as Lynn Heiney and Sandy Kelly and others of you carry out your Share Care ministries It was the most incredible ministry of presence, pastoral care, witness and proclamation of faith and love and solidarity.
As this woman and her family lived, and at the same time prepared for her death, Jesus himself was with them nursing, caring, comforting, carrying, cooking, and quietly, by both actions and words, testifying to the faith that was in them – that Jesus is Lord of life and of death – that God is present in all, and that all will be well, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.
When you walked into her presence, she ministered to you because you felt as if you had stepped on holy ground. When she looked at you she was radiant. Her face would break into a beatific smile. As you saw her face shine, you knew that God was present. The Glory of God’s Kingdom was being revealed.
I believe that it is God’s intention- that it is the desire of God’s heart - for each person, all persons, every person to live in God’s presence and for our faces to shine with the light of that presence. It is not meant to be a sometime, hardly ever, or never kind of experience. In the end-time, when God brings it all together and wraps it all up, I believe that is the way we will be. God’s Glory – and ours – fully revealed – face to shining face.
It is a privilege to be nearby when it happens in our own day and time. God means it to happen in our own day and time. Can we see it?
We live in the presence of the holy. On the mountain, on the plain, down in the valleys, our feet are always on holy ground. The world is a holy place. God is powerfully, mysteriously, gracefully present revealing His world and His Glory – and ours – to us.
Pray with me.
O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain: Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
The Seventh Sunday of Epiphany
The Venerable Howard Stringfellow
February 19, 2006
Isaiah 43:18-25; Psalm 41; 2 Corinthians 1:18-22; Saint Mark 2:1-12
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If your comfort in seeing me here equals my joy in being here, all is well. Once again, I am delighted to be with you, and I give thanks for the opportunity. The parishioners and the staff of this Cathedral Church have meant and do mean a great deal to me. I am grateful to you.
“And the LORD said, ‘You may very well cut yourself off from me, but I shall never cut myself off from you.’” Forgive me for giving you my version of the Old Testament Lesson so succinctly: “You may very will cut yourself off from me, but I shall never cut myself off from you.”
Some families have members who are cut-offs: people who, when they don’t get their way, just cut off members of their family: the cold shoulder and worse: no more communication; no more exchange of anything, really; and no more relationship. And in the form of this Lesson, God intrudes upon my quiet to say that we may cut ourselves off from God, but God will not do that to us.
We should understand that God means this and means for us to go and do likewise: no cut-offs—no refusing of any opportunity to take part in reconciling the world to God. The four fellows do this in the Gospel. They bring their paralytic friend to Jesus, and, without knowing it, they are reconciling that friend to God. They literally bring him to Jesus, and Jesus forgives the man his sins, and Jesus heals him who walks home under his own power. And that paralytic, forgiven and restored to the fullness of health, is reconciled to God.
We are to go and to do likewise. We Christians have a mission to do our part in reconciling the world to God. This is God’s goal and purpose. It’s what we pray for when we pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Christ’s work of reconciliation is what all Jesus’ preaching, teaching, and healing are all about: to dramatize the nature of the kingdom of God, and to call people to the choice of joining. Through revelation, through prophecy, through the Scriptures, and especially through the life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus, we have been given the vision of the kingdom of God, and our lives are to be spent fleshing that vision out so that it becomes reality.
“Thy kingdom come.” We have to be at least a little bit careful with what we pray for. What if we get it? What if that kingdom isn’t what we expect it to be? What if that woman who broke in line at the Dunkin’ Donuts is there? Or that man who told you your answer or your service or your idea wasn’t good enough—what if he is there? We may have to face the fact that Jesus died and rose again for them, too. And we’re called to bring those very irksome and very disagreeable people to him for forgiveness and restoration to the fullness of health.
As we bring people to Jesus we have to expect to become nearer to him ourselves. We have to expect that what we are and what we have may need some adjusting. We may need to be a little more like him than our appetites and sinful natures alone make us. We may need his grace to be his instruments, and we may need it, as I certainly do, in fairly large amounts if we are to bring people to him.
“Thy kingdom come.” I hope that this doesn’t sound new. At least since 1835 members of the Episcopal Church have considered themselves missionaries, for then we named our church the “Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society.” And more recently, the General Convention in 1997 reaffirmed that each and every member of the Episcopal Church is a missionary.
We are here to do our part in reconciling the world to God. Whether we understand that imperative to be our free response to the Great Commission or to the Great Commandment, we are united in one call from God to do our part to reconcile the world to God.
The World Mission Committee and our Bishop have kept our mission steadily before our eyes. Opportunity after opportunity has been extended to us to do our part to reconcile the world to God. Those opportunities will not cease; they will continue for as long as our very human need for God makes itself known and for as long as God gives us strength. I don’t think we need to have any doubt about the gift of God’s strength: “You may very well cut yourself off from me, but I shall never cut myself off from you.” The strength we need will be given to us.
In Christ, we heard in the Epistle, the word is always Yes. All the promises of God find their Yes in Jesus Christ. The healing of the paralytic, a healing which includes the forgiveness of sins and the strength to walk, opens the kingdom to us, a kingdom where God reigns and where God’s justice and God’s mercy are the order of the day. That kingdom is our inheritance; but it is ours for a purpose: to be given away—to be given to those whom God calls to be his and to be his forever.
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
February 19, 2006
Isaiah 43:18-25; Psalm 41; 2 Corinthians 1:18-22; Saint Mark 2:1-12
In the Name of the True and Living God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If your comfort in seeing me here equals my joy in being here, all is well. Once again, I am delighted to be with you, and I give thanks for the opportunity. The parishioners and the staff of this Cathedral Church have meant and do mean a great deal to me. I am grateful to you.
“And the LORD said, ‘You may very well cut yourself off from me, but I shall never cut myself off from you.’” Forgive me for giving you my version of the Old Testament Lesson so succinctly: “You may very will cut yourself off from me, but I shall never cut myself off from you.”
Some families have members who are cut-offs: people who, when they don’t get their way, just cut off members of their family: the cold shoulder and worse: no more communication; no more exchange of anything, really; and no more relationship. And in the form of this Lesson, God intrudes upon my quiet to say that we may cut ourselves off from God, but God will not do that to us.
We should understand that God means this and means for us to go and do likewise: no cut-offs—no refusing of any opportunity to take part in reconciling the world to God. The four fellows do this in the Gospel. They bring their paralytic friend to Jesus, and, without knowing it, they are reconciling that friend to God. They literally bring him to Jesus, and Jesus forgives the man his sins, and Jesus heals him who walks home under his own power. And that paralytic, forgiven and restored to the fullness of health, is reconciled to God.
We are to go and to do likewise. We Christians have a mission to do our part in reconciling the world to God. This is God’s goal and purpose. It’s what we pray for when we pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Christ’s work of reconciliation is what all Jesus’ preaching, teaching, and healing are all about: to dramatize the nature of the kingdom of God, and to call people to the choice of joining. Through revelation, through prophecy, through the Scriptures, and especially through the life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus, we have been given the vision of the kingdom of God, and our lives are to be spent fleshing that vision out so that it becomes reality.
“Thy kingdom come.” We have to be at least a little bit careful with what we pray for. What if we get it? What if that kingdom isn’t what we expect it to be? What if that woman who broke in line at the Dunkin’ Donuts is there? Or that man who told you your answer or your service or your idea wasn’t good enough—what if he is there? We may have to face the fact that Jesus died and rose again for them, too. And we’re called to bring those very irksome and very disagreeable people to him for forgiveness and restoration to the fullness of health.
As we bring people to Jesus we have to expect to become nearer to him ourselves. We have to expect that what we are and what we have may need some adjusting. We may need to be a little more like him than our appetites and sinful natures alone make us. We may need his grace to be his instruments, and we may need it, as I certainly do, in fairly large amounts if we are to bring people to him.
“Thy kingdom come.” I hope that this doesn’t sound new. At least since 1835 members of the Episcopal Church have considered themselves missionaries, for then we named our church the “Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society.” And more recently, the General Convention in 1997 reaffirmed that each and every member of the Episcopal Church is a missionary.
We are here to do our part in reconciling the world to God. Whether we understand that imperative to be our free response to the Great Commission or to the Great Commandment, we are united in one call from God to do our part to reconcile the world to God.
The World Mission Committee and our Bishop have kept our mission steadily before our eyes. Opportunity after opportunity has been extended to us to do our part to reconcile the world to God. Those opportunities will not cease; they will continue for as long as our very human need for God makes itself known and for as long as God gives us strength. I don’t think we need to have any doubt about the gift of God’s strength: “You may very well cut yourself off from me, but I shall never cut myself off from you.” The strength we need will be given to us.
In Christ, we heard in the Epistle, the word is always Yes. All the promises of God find their Yes in Jesus Christ. The healing of the paralytic, a healing which includes the forgiveness of sins and the strength to walk, opens the kingdom to us, a kingdom where God reigns and where God’s justice and God’s mercy are the order of the day. That kingdom is our inheritance; but it is ours for a purpose: to be given away—to be given to those whom God calls to be his and to be his forever.
In Christ’s Name. Amen.
Monday, February 20, 2006
The Seventh Sunday in Epiphany: Living a life of Forgiveness
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
Preached at Trinity Church, Bethlehem
February 19, 2006
Mark 2:1-12
Living a life of Forgiveness
It begins with upheaval. Perhaps forgiveness is always like that, and healing too. Perhaps they are processes that cannot begin without an upheaval, a disruption in the status quo, or an undoing of what seems right and proper. In this case, it begins with the roof caving in: literally.
Jesus had been out and about, doing the savior/Son of God thing. You know, your basic healings, exorcisms, preaching tour. But then he returns home and word gets out that wonder boy is back in town. A crowd gathers, so that there is not room for one more person. There is not even standing room left in front of the house. I wonder what they were all there for? We are told that Jesus was speaking the word to them. But is that why they came? Some of them may have been seekers, looking for a rabbi or a spiritual uplift. I suspect some of them came with their hurts because they had heard he was a great healer. But surely some of them were there just because they were curious and some because they wanted to be where the action was, they wanted to be close to the miracle worker. So there they all are, the teacher, the crowds, the noise, and then some people come carrying a paralyzed man.
They can’t get anywhere near Jesus, but clearly that is what they want to do. They are very determined, these friends. So they climb up onto the roof, manage to dig their way through clay and thatch, and lower the mat on which the paralytic lay. Just think about this: this is no small feat and it takes more than a moment to accomplish. Jesus is talking, with people sitting all around him when debris starts falling followed by commotion and confusion. Surely shouts of protest, what do you think you are doing? And with a great upheaval the paralyzed man lies before Jesus. Jesus stops speaking. He looks at the four friends and sees the faith that led them to such an extreme effort to get their friend into his presence. He says to the man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
I imagine a moment of stunned silence. Who said anything about seeking forgiveness? Surely what the friends want, what the man wants, is clear. They want healing. Why else would they go to such an extreme and ridiculous measure to get their friend to Jesus? Forgiveness? What is there to forgive? Clearly this man has done Jesus no wrong. He may be a limited human being, and thus sinful, but who is this Jesus to forgive all of this man’s sins? If you hurt me, I can forgive you. But is it for me to forgive you if you hurt your friend or your child or your neighbor? In the silence, some of the same questions arise in the hearts of the folks sitting there around Jesus. What did he say? Why is he saying that? What does this mean? Forgive sins? Why only God can do that! Who does he think he is! Into the silence Jesus speaks, “Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? Which is easier? To say to the paralytic your sins are forgiven or to say stand up and take your mat and walk?
Well now there’s a question. Because the fact is, they are both easy to say. Anyone could say them.* But making them true? That would be a miracle. And here’s the point. How do those bystanders know that the man’s sins have been forgiven? They don’t--either they believe Jesus or they don’t. But if a paralyzed man stands up and walks, that healing is pretty easy to authenticate. If Jesus can perform this miracle of healing, he must also be right about the forgiveness. So, Jesus says, “Well, just so you know that the Son of Man has the authority on earth to forgive sins, “ he turns to the paralytic, “I say to you stand, uptake your mat, and go home.” The man stands up, takes his mat and walks out in front of them all, healed and forgiven.
Healed and forgiven. Or in this case, forgiven, then healed. Which is the greater miracle? And when it comes to forgiveness, is the miracle that the incarnate God can forgive our sins or that the forgiveness is made real? Jesus didn’t say, “I forgive you.” He said, “Your sins are forgiven.” And in calling the man to rise and walk, Jesus made the possibility of forgiveness real. I think perhaps the real miracle for us would be accepting God’s forgiveness that is already at work.
It’s a good thing that forgiveness is God’s job, because I don’t really believe we are very good at it. When have you really forgiven someone so that you no longer remember their transgression? How good are you at receiving forgiveness? The forgiveness we practice with one another (and perhaps even with God) takes many forms. Here is a few I could think of. There are the times we refuse to forgive, holding on to the hurt and clutching it as if it were a life raft (although this doesn’t save us at all). Writer Anne Lamott says that refusing to forgive is like drinking rat poison and expecting the rat to die.** Then there are times when we seem to hang out in some kind of forgiveness limbo, not actively refusing to forgive but not able to get past the hurt. And there are times when forgives seems to creep up on us. It comes with time; one day we suddenly notice it is there. And there are times when dramatic upheaval breaks open our hearts and the forgiveness just pours in, over, and out of us.
I don’t know how to make this happen. As I said, I am grateful that forgiveness is God’s business, because I am not very good at it. Thank God, God is. God’s forgiveness is real. God’s forgiveness is there, offered for us. But in order for it to work in our lives, in order for us to get up and walk after the paralyzing effects of sin, we need to accept the forgiveness. We need to know it is real. Closed hands and hearts not only can’t offer forgiveness, they can’t accept forgiveness either.
Thousands of years ago, the prophet Isaiah proclaimed this truth about God. “I, I am He. I am the one who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake and I will not remember your sins.” (Isaiah 43:25) God cannot not forgive. For God’s own sake, God forgives us. God’s forgiveness is always active. It is not a matter of whether we deserve it; it is a matter of a relationship forged out of love. God loved us into being and for the sake of that love God forgives. Whether we walk in God’s love or are crippled by guilt is a matter of our own action.
Choosing to engage in a life of forgiveness, a life when we acknowledge both our need to forgive and our need to be forgiven, often begins with upheaval or a disruption in the status quo or an undoing of what seems right and proper. A life of forgiveness, given and received, is often accompanied by falling debris as we dig through the obstacles that keep us from Christ. A life of forgiveness, given and received, begins with and encounter with God and God’s love made real. Sometimes it begins with friends who are willing to get us there. Sometimes we are called to be those friends who stop at nothing to make Gods’ love known. A life of forgiveness, given and received is what we are called to as Christians. Open your hands and your hearts and allow God’s forgiveness to pour in to you, over you and flow out of you.
* Gretchen Pritchard, A Note to Parents, The Sunday Paper Junior, Year B 7th Sunday after Epiphany, The Sunday Paper, New Haven CT, 1999.
**Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, Pantheon Books, NY 1999, p. 134
Preached at Trinity Church, Bethlehem
February 19, 2006
Mark 2:1-12
Living a life of Forgiveness
It begins with upheaval. Perhaps forgiveness is always like that, and healing too. Perhaps they are processes that cannot begin without an upheaval, a disruption in the status quo, or an undoing of what seems right and proper. In this case, it begins with the roof caving in: literally.
Jesus had been out and about, doing the savior/Son of God thing. You know, your basic healings, exorcisms, preaching tour. But then he returns home and word gets out that wonder boy is back in town. A crowd gathers, so that there is not room for one more person. There is not even standing room left in front of the house. I wonder what they were all there for? We are told that Jesus was speaking the word to them. But is that why they came? Some of them may have been seekers, looking for a rabbi or a spiritual uplift. I suspect some of them came with their hurts because they had heard he was a great healer. But surely some of them were there just because they were curious and some because they wanted to be where the action was, they wanted to be close to the miracle worker. So there they all are, the teacher, the crowds, the noise, and then some people come carrying a paralyzed man.
They can’t get anywhere near Jesus, but clearly that is what they want to do. They are very determined, these friends. So they climb up onto the roof, manage to dig their way through clay and thatch, and lower the mat on which the paralytic lay. Just think about this: this is no small feat and it takes more than a moment to accomplish. Jesus is talking, with people sitting all around him when debris starts falling followed by commotion and confusion. Surely shouts of protest, what do you think you are doing? And with a great upheaval the paralyzed man lies before Jesus. Jesus stops speaking. He looks at the four friends and sees the faith that led them to such an extreme effort to get their friend into his presence. He says to the man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
I imagine a moment of stunned silence. Who said anything about seeking forgiveness? Surely what the friends want, what the man wants, is clear. They want healing. Why else would they go to such an extreme and ridiculous measure to get their friend to Jesus? Forgiveness? What is there to forgive? Clearly this man has done Jesus no wrong. He may be a limited human being, and thus sinful, but who is this Jesus to forgive all of this man’s sins? If you hurt me, I can forgive you. But is it for me to forgive you if you hurt your friend or your child or your neighbor? In the silence, some of the same questions arise in the hearts of the folks sitting there around Jesus. What did he say? Why is he saying that? What does this mean? Forgive sins? Why only God can do that! Who does he think he is! Into the silence Jesus speaks, “Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? Which is easier? To say to the paralytic your sins are forgiven or to say stand up and take your mat and walk?
Well now there’s a question. Because the fact is, they are both easy to say. Anyone could say them.* But making them true? That would be a miracle. And here’s the point. How do those bystanders know that the man’s sins have been forgiven? They don’t--either they believe Jesus or they don’t. But if a paralyzed man stands up and walks, that healing is pretty easy to authenticate. If Jesus can perform this miracle of healing, he must also be right about the forgiveness. So, Jesus says, “Well, just so you know that the Son of Man has the authority on earth to forgive sins, “ he turns to the paralytic, “I say to you stand, uptake your mat, and go home.” The man stands up, takes his mat and walks out in front of them all, healed and forgiven.
Healed and forgiven. Or in this case, forgiven, then healed. Which is the greater miracle? And when it comes to forgiveness, is the miracle that the incarnate God can forgive our sins or that the forgiveness is made real? Jesus didn’t say, “I forgive you.” He said, “Your sins are forgiven.” And in calling the man to rise and walk, Jesus made the possibility of forgiveness real. I think perhaps the real miracle for us would be accepting God’s forgiveness that is already at work.
It’s a good thing that forgiveness is God’s job, because I don’t really believe we are very good at it. When have you really forgiven someone so that you no longer remember their transgression? How good are you at receiving forgiveness? The forgiveness we practice with one another (and perhaps even with God) takes many forms. Here is a few I could think of. There are the times we refuse to forgive, holding on to the hurt and clutching it as if it were a life raft (although this doesn’t save us at all). Writer Anne Lamott says that refusing to forgive is like drinking rat poison and expecting the rat to die.** Then there are times when we seem to hang out in some kind of forgiveness limbo, not actively refusing to forgive but not able to get past the hurt. And there are times when forgives seems to creep up on us. It comes with time; one day we suddenly notice it is there. And there are times when dramatic upheaval breaks open our hearts and the forgiveness just pours in, over, and out of us.
I don’t know how to make this happen. As I said, I am grateful that forgiveness is God’s business, because I am not very good at it. Thank God, God is. God’s forgiveness is real. God’s forgiveness is there, offered for us. But in order for it to work in our lives, in order for us to get up and walk after the paralyzing effects of sin, we need to accept the forgiveness. We need to know it is real. Closed hands and hearts not only can’t offer forgiveness, they can’t accept forgiveness either.
Thousands of years ago, the prophet Isaiah proclaimed this truth about God. “I, I am He. I am the one who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake and I will not remember your sins.” (Isaiah 43:25) God cannot not forgive. For God’s own sake, God forgives us. God’s forgiveness is always active. It is not a matter of whether we deserve it; it is a matter of a relationship forged out of love. God loved us into being and for the sake of that love God forgives. Whether we walk in God’s love or are crippled by guilt is a matter of our own action.
Choosing to engage in a life of forgiveness, a life when we acknowledge both our need to forgive and our need to be forgiven, often begins with upheaval or a disruption in the status quo or an undoing of what seems right and proper. A life of forgiveness, given and received, is often accompanied by falling debris as we dig through the obstacles that keep us from Christ. A life of forgiveness, given and received, begins with and encounter with God and God’s love made real. Sometimes it begins with friends who are willing to get us there. Sometimes we are called to be those friends who stop at nothing to make Gods’ love known. A life of forgiveness, given and received is what we are called to as Christians. Open your hands and your hearts and allow God’s forgiveness to pour in to you, over you and flow out of you.
* Gretchen Pritchard, A Note to Parents, The Sunday Paper Junior, Year B 7th Sunday after Epiphany, The Sunday Paper, New Haven CT, 1999.
**Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, Pantheon Books, NY 1999, p. 134
Monday, February 13, 2006
The Sixth Sunday in Epiphany: Keep it Simple
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
February 12, 2006
2 Kings 5:1-14
This is one fabulous story, the story of Naaman. It has plot twists, warriors and kings, national pride and a miracle cure. To get the most out of this story, it helps to know the background. It takes place about 850 BCE and involves several different nations. First there are the people of Aram, the Arameans, whose kingdom lies northeast of Israel. Their capital city is Damascus and they are part of the Syrian empire. It helps to know that Syria was Israel’s’ major enemy. But there was an enemy even closer to home because at this time the Hebrew people were divided into two kingdoms: Israel and Judah, the North and the South. After the death of King Solomon, they got into an argument about who should rule; that civil war lasted for more than 200 years, until they each were eventually destroyed by other empires (that’s a story for another sermon).
At any rate, since the people of Israel and Judah were fighting amongst themselves it provided plenty of opportunity for neighboring kingdoms to get into the fray. So Syria and Israel fought each other, then had periods of relative peace, and then fought some more. At the time of this story they were more or less at peace.
Now for the main character, Naaman. He is a great Syrian general who brought victory to the King of Aram. He was well rewarded for his military prowess, both in wealth and status. The only trouble is, he does not have his health. He suffers from some skin disease (it says leprosy in the text, but that term was used for many different skin conditions). Now it turns out that there is a young girl who is a servant in Naaman’s house. As a matter of fact she is a slave, an Israelite slave. She was captured in one of those skirmishes between Israel and Syria and now has to work in Naaman’s house. But she knows something. She tells Naaman’s wife about a great prophet who lives in Samaria; he could certainly heal the general. Well Naaman’s wife tells Naaman, and Naaman tells his king and his king says well by all means go to Israel and seek this prophet. In fact, I’ll send a letter of introduction to the King of Israel.
So Naaman sets off to see the king of Israel with letter in hand and a huge gift as well: silver, gold and garments worth about a million dollars. Now imagine you are the King of Israel. Here comes a celebrated general from the neighboring hostile country, one with which you have a very shaky peace agreement, and he is bringing you a ton of cash and a letter that reads, “When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman that you may cure him of his leprosy,” warmest regards, the King of Aram. The King of Israel is not pleased. He is in fact scared. “How am I supposed to cure this man, it is impossible! The King of Aram wants to pick a fight with me; if I can’t do this thing, he will say I snubbed him and send in his army to kill us!”
Now enter the story’s hero, the prophet Elisha, the one of great power of whom that young girl spoke. He sends his messenger to the king of Israel saying, “Don’t get all worked up about this. Just send that general to me; I’ll show him what a prophet of Israel can do!” I am sure the King of Israel was relieved (by the way, it is interesting to note that the king and Elisha did not always see eye to eye about things; in fact Elisha led a faction that was critical of the King. Never a dull moments in these stories!) So off the great general Naaman goes with his horses and chariots and tribute to see the great prophet Elisha. He halts at Elisha’s door. Elisha sends a messenger to the door, “My master says you should go and wash in the Jordon seven times and you will be well.” The door closes.
I imagine that for a brief moment, Naaman, still standing in his chariot in all his finery, is speechless. Then he gets really angry. What kind of affront is this? He storms off raging, “I thought for me he would surely come out and he would stand here and call on the name of his God, waive his hand over the spot and cure the leprosy. What’s this sending his messenger stuff about? Where’s the great prophet? Where is the show of power? Where is my miracle? And wash in the Jordon, that muddy trickle? No thank you! Why, if a river was needed, why not a great river of Damascus like the Abana or the Pharpar? They’re better than all the waters in Israel, little desert kingdom that it is!” He gathers up his horses and chariots and tribute and makes ready to leave Elisha and his Jordon river in the dust; except that his servants dare to approach him. “Sir, just think for a minute. If the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, you would have done it, right? So how much easier to do this thing when all he said to you was, ‘Wash and be made clean?’ ” Well, they had him there. I imagine him speechless for a second time. Then he just goes and does it. He immerses himself in the Jordan seven times and is made clean.
It’s a great story. The thing about truly great stories is they are so multidimensional, layers upon layers of meaning. This is why Jesus told so many stories as a teacher. We often try to make his stories seem simple and straight forward, but they are not. So what do we make of this great story? What do you take home with you? I have more than one thought about that, so here are some ideas. You choose what cathes your attention this morning.
First idea: Naaman thought a miracle of healing needed to be complicated. It wasn’t. Sometimes we make things much more complicated than they need to be. Which is easier, to take the simple cure trusting a word or to do the heroic deed and pay the big sum? How much value do we place on things that cost more, in either money, energy, or time? When do we miss opportunities for healing because they seem too easy?
Next thought: Naaman was incensed when Elisha didn’t come to him personally. You can almost here him say, “Doesn’t he know who I am?” Well, chances are Elisha knew exactly who he was: a human being beloved of God. When do we let our need for status mask who we really are?
Third thought: the voices of healing and reason in this story--a young girl who must work in the home of her captors and has no reason to love or offer help to Naaman, and the general’s servants who risk their master’s anger. Why is it the powerless in this story know where to find the true healing power?
Final thought? I leave that up to you. Where will this story take you during the next week? But here is the epilogue. As a result of his healing, Naaman becomes faithful to God. But he still doesn’t know how to keep things simple. He returns to Elisha and twice tries to offer him a huge reward. Elisha refuses. So then Naaman asks for two cartloads of dirt, so he may take it home to Damascus and pray to the one God standing on Israelite soil. So one final thought: even when people receive healing, not everything changes.
February 12, 2006
2 Kings 5:1-14
This is one fabulous story, the story of Naaman. It has plot twists, warriors and kings, national pride and a miracle cure. To get the most out of this story, it helps to know the background. It takes place about 850 BCE and involves several different nations. First there are the people of Aram, the Arameans, whose kingdom lies northeast of Israel. Their capital city is Damascus and they are part of the Syrian empire. It helps to know that Syria was Israel’s’ major enemy. But there was an enemy even closer to home because at this time the Hebrew people were divided into two kingdoms: Israel and Judah, the North and the South. After the death of King Solomon, they got into an argument about who should rule; that civil war lasted for more than 200 years, until they each were eventually destroyed by other empires (that’s a story for another sermon).
At any rate, since the people of Israel and Judah were fighting amongst themselves it provided plenty of opportunity for neighboring kingdoms to get into the fray. So Syria and Israel fought each other, then had periods of relative peace, and then fought some more. At the time of this story they were more or less at peace.
Now for the main character, Naaman. He is a great Syrian general who brought victory to the King of Aram. He was well rewarded for his military prowess, both in wealth and status. The only trouble is, he does not have his health. He suffers from some skin disease (it says leprosy in the text, but that term was used for many different skin conditions). Now it turns out that there is a young girl who is a servant in Naaman’s house. As a matter of fact she is a slave, an Israelite slave. She was captured in one of those skirmishes between Israel and Syria and now has to work in Naaman’s house. But she knows something. She tells Naaman’s wife about a great prophet who lives in Samaria; he could certainly heal the general. Well Naaman’s wife tells Naaman, and Naaman tells his king and his king says well by all means go to Israel and seek this prophet. In fact, I’ll send a letter of introduction to the King of Israel.
So Naaman sets off to see the king of Israel with letter in hand and a huge gift as well: silver, gold and garments worth about a million dollars. Now imagine you are the King of Israel. Here comes a celebrated general from the neighboring hostile country, one with which you have a very shaky peace agreement, and he is bringing you a ton of cash and a letter that reads, “When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman that you may cure him of his leprosy,” warmest regards, the King of Aram. The King of Israel is not pleased. He is in fact scared. “How am I supposed to cure this man, it is impossible! The King of Aram wants to pick a fight with me; if I can’t do this thing, he will say I snubbed him and send in his army to kill us!”
Now enter the story’s hero, the prophet Elisha, the one of great power of whom that young girl spoke. He sends his messenger to the king of Israel saying, “Don’t get all worked up about this. Just send that general to me; I’ll show him what a prophet of Israel can do!” I am sure the King of Israel was relieved (by the way, it is interesting to note that the king and Elisha did not always see eye to eye about things; in fact Elisha led a faction that was critical of the King. Never a dull moments in these stories!) So off the great general Naaman goes with his horses and chariots and tribute to see the great prophet Elisha. He halts at Elisha’s door. Elisha sends a messenger to the door, “My master says you should go and wash in the Jordon seven times and you will be well.” The door closes.
I imagine that for a brief moment, Naaman, still standing in his chariot in all his finery, is speechless. Then he gets really angry. What kind of affront is this? He storms off raging, “I thought for me he would surely come out and he would stand here and call on the name of his God, waive his hand over the spot and cure the leprosy. What’s this sending his messenger stuff about? Where’s the great prophet? Where is the show of power? Where is my miracle? And wash in the Jordon, that muddy trickle? No thank you! Why, if a river was needed, why not a great river of Damascus like the Abana or the Pharpar? They’re better than all the waters in Israel, little desert kingdom that it is!” He gathers up his horses and chariots and tribute and makes ready to leave Elisha and his Jordon river in the dust; except that his servants dare to approach him. “Sir, just think for a minute. If the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, you would have done it, right? So how much easier to do this thing when all he said to you was, ‘Wash and be made clean?’ ” Well, they had him there. I imagine him speechless for a second time. Then he just goes and does it. He immerses himself in the Jordan seven times and is made clean.
It’s a great story. The thing about truly great stories is they are so multidimensional, layers upon layers of meaning. This is why Jesus told so many stories as a teacher. We often try to make his stories seem simple and straight forward, but they are not. So what do we make of this great story? What do you take home with you? I have more than one thought about that, so here are some ideas. You choose what cathes your attention this morning.
First idea: Naaman thought a miracle of healing needed to be complicated. It wasn’t. Sometimes we make things much more complicated than they need to be. Which is easier, to take the simple cure trusting a word or to do the heroic deed and pay the big sum? How much value do we place on things that cost more, in either money, energy, or time? When do we miss opportunities for healing because they seem too easy?
Next thought: Naaman was incensed when Elisha didn’t come to him personally. You can almost here him say, “Doesn’t he know who I am?” Well, chances are Elisha knew exactly who he was: a human being beloved of God. When do we let our need for status mask who we really are?
Third thought: the voices of healing and reason in this story--a young girl who must work in the home of her captors and has no reason to love or offer help to Naaman, and the general’s servants who risk their master’s anger. Why is it the powerless in this story know where to find the true healing power?
Final thought? I leave that up to you. Where will this story take you during the next week? But here is the epilogue. As a result of his healing, Naaman becomes faithful to God. But he still doesn’t know how to keep things simple. He returns to Elisha and twice tries to offer him a huge reward. Elisha refuses. So then Naaman asks for two cartloads of dirt, so he may take it home to Damascus and pray to the one God standing on Israelite soil. So one final thought: even when people receive healing, not everything changes.
Monday, February 06, 2006
The Fifth Sunday of Epiphany: Who do you say that you are?
The Venerable Richard I. Cluett
Isaiah 40:21-31; 1Cor. 9:16-13; Mark 1:29-39
February 5, 2006
This season of Epiphany - which might also be called the season of Revelation - recalls the revealing of the true identity of Jesus to the world.
In the lesson from Isaiah we hear the prophet identify on behalf of God just who the Lord God is:
“The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and strengthens the powerless.”
In this morning’s gospel, Jesus restates for himself, his family, his disciples and us, just what his identity is, what his ministry is. “Let us go on to the neighboring towns s that I can proclaim the message there also, for that is what I came out to do.”
We are reading Paul's letter to the Corinthians, too. Paul is living out his identity, his faith, his ministry in the midst of all the human concerns which distract the world. At his core he is a disciple of Jesus Christ and an evangelist. He is willing to intentionally take on the various identities, the various images, of the world in order to convert the world. “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all things save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share its blessing.”
These are the concerns I want to probe a bit this morning: who we are and what are the conse¬quences of our identity as children of God and disciples of Jesus.
Today, for many of us, our culture and the media that manufacture it are working to distract us from our identity as children of God and disciples of Jesus - to such a degree that when others look at us they cannot quite tell who it is that we are at our core. We have so many conflicting images that we can present to the world - and to ourselves, too.
Jesus is concerned that we live with integrity. That if we say we have faith, we live as if we have faith, and that as others look at us they can see evidence of the power and effect of that faith in our lives.
There are today so many places, forces, and powers which seek to have us identify ourselves through them. Here are some examples.
We human beings have come to identify ourselves by our things. What we fashion with our minds and imagi¬nations, and then make with our hands, have become the models by which we seek to know ourselves. When my boys were young, it was Knightrider and his Pontiac Firebird - that black, magical, mystical, marvel of a machine. For those of us males a bit older it may be Paul Newman and a Porshe. Different images, but based on the same thing. We all have different images of ourselves, but there's a car for each of us, to give us our identity be it SUV or Corvette.
When you are introduced to a person, you are not usually asked, "Who are you?" You are asked, "What do you do?" What we do has become who we are. And if we happen to be unemployed or retired, that reduces us, in the eyes of the world, to "a used to be" If we are fortunate enough to be employed, we have become a function.
Whether a teacher, a salesperson, mechanic, technician, or business person, or a "keeper-of-the-home-hearth" – our occupation is always less than who we are. But our technical, pragmatic, functional culture is comparing, measuring and evaluating us from the image of our function. We are seen as a function, given our worth in our function, are identified as a function. And that is a false, and a graven image.
Another place we receive identity is Other People. We find our identity by looking to other people and emulating them; our parents, our friends, our therapists, our neighbors, and actors and players on the video and silver screens.
It is not uncommon for children to pattern their behavior, values, and work after a parent. It is also common for children to have iden¬tified ways they do not want to be like their parents; in other words they have, at least in their perceptions, clear views of parental inadequacy. And looking at my life and experience as a person and as a parent, there is some validity to the perception of my children as to my not being quite up to the standards they held for me in their early days. Which is, I believe what God intends. No one of us was created to be a clone of our parents.
What often happens, though, is that young people then look to other people for their models: teachers, scout leaders, sports figures, TV personalities, stars, heroes and, musicians and their peers, to name but a few of the possibilities.
These others inform about what clothes to wear; how to cut, brush, tease, iron or mousse one's hair; what deodorant to use; how many earrings to wear where; what brand of jeans or sneakers to buy, and what cars to crave. And, if they are retired athletes, they tell us all what kind of beer to drink.
But, again a problem. No person is an adequate model for our identity, other than ourselves - with one exception.
Jesus is the image. In him, we find our true identity. In him, we discover the truth about ourselves. In him, we see whose image we have. What is God like? What are we to be like? We look to Jesus to see. God is our creator. God is the One who saves and sustains, who guides, who nourishes; who has meaning and purpose for us, who gives us our identity. And we worship that God who shows us himself and ourselves in Jesus.
The question for us is not whether we worship, but who is worshipping whom? The issue is not whether or not we have a spirituality; rather it is, what is our spirituality? Where do we find our identity? In whom do we find our identity?
You and I have come here, to this sanctuary. We put ourselves in physical, spiritu¬al, psychological, and emotional postures of worship so that we can catch something of the Spirit of the Living God – Who would have us renew our strength, mount up with wings like eagles, run and not be weary, walk and not faint -- so that we can become more like the God in whose image we have uniquely been created . And then we go from here to serve this God and God’s people in the world.
Let me tell you a story to highlight this. A teacher story. A teacher, after a particularly difficult lesson, gave her ninth grade students an assignment. She told them to list all the members of the class on a sheet of paper leaving space between each name. In that space they were to write what they believed was the nicest thing about that person. At the end of the class she col¬lected the papers and took them home with her. She spent the week¬end collating and on Monday morning gave each student a list of all the things that his or her classmate had written about them. You can imagine the responses and the feelings of surprise, joy, and affirmation.
Years later, one of the students was killed in the Gulf War. The whole town came out for the funeral. The teacher and a number of members of that ninth grade class also attended the funeral. After the service, the father of the young man came up to the teacher. “We want to show you something. They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.” The father took from his pocket two worn pieces of paper that had been folded, unfolded, and refolded countless times. It was the list of all the good things his classmates had written about him. His mother said, “Thank you so much for doing that. He treasured it.”
Some of his former classmates gathered around, One said, “I still have my list, its in the top drawer of my desk.” Another, “Mine’s in my wedding album.” Another, “Mine is in my diary.” Another pulled hers out of her wallet and showed a worn, frayed list to the group. “I think we all saved our lists. I carry this with me at all times. It reminds me who I am and who I need to become.”
Unless we bear the image, unles we are true to our God-given identity, how will the world ever know the wonderful truth about what God did in Jesus Christ and is doing in each of us?
Amen.
Isaiah 40:21-31; 1Cor. 9:16-13; Mark 1:29-39
February 5, 2006
This season of Epiphany - which might also be called the season of Revelation - recalls the revealing of the true identity of Jesus to the world.
In the lesson from Isaiah we hear the prophet identify on behalf of God just who the Lord God is:
“The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and strengthens the powerless.”
In this morning’s gospel, Jesus restates for himself, his family, his disciples and us, just what his identity is, what his ministry is. “Let us go on to the neighboring towns s that I can proclaim the message there also, for that is what I came out to do.”
We are reading Paul's letter to the Corinthians, too. Paul is living out his identity, his faith, his ministry in the midst of all the human concerns which distract the world. At his core he is a disciple of Jesus Christ and an evangelist. He is willing to intentionally take on the various identities, the various images, of the world in order to convert the world. “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all things save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share its blessing.”
These are the concerns I want to probe a bit this morning: who we are and what are the conse¬quences of our identity as children of God and disciples of Jesus.
Today, for many of us, our culture and the media that manufacture it are working to distract us from our identity as children of God and disciples of Jesus - to such a degree that when others look at us they cannot quite tell who it is that we are at our core. We have so many conflicting images that we can present to the world - and to ourselves, too.
Jesus is concerned that we live with integrity. That if we say we have faith, we live as if we have faith, and that as others look at us they can see evidence of the power and effect of that faith in our lives.
There are today so many places, forces, and powers which seek to have us identify ourselves through them. Here are some examples.
We human beings have come to identify ourselves by our things. What we fashion with our minds and imagi¬nations, and then make with our hands, have become the models by which we seek to know ourselves. When my boys were young, it was Knightrider and his Pontiac Firebird - that black, magical, mystical, marvel of a machine. For those of us males a bit older it may be Paul Newman and a Porshe. Different images, but based on the same thing. We all have different images of ourselves, but there's a car for each of us, to give us our identity be it SUV or Corvette.
When you are introduced to a person, you are not usually asked, "Who are you?" You are asked, "What do you do?" What we do has become who we are. And if we happen to be unemployed or retired, that reduces us, in the eyes of the world, to "a used to be" If we are fortunate enough to be employed, we have become a function.
Whether a teacher, a salesperson, mechanic, technician, or business person, or a "keeper-of-the-home-hearth" – our occupation is always less than who we are. But our technical, pragmatic, functional culture is comparing, measuring and evaluating us from the image of our function. We are seen as a function, given our worth in our function, are identified as a function. And that is a false, and a graven image.
Another place we receive identity is Other People. We find our identity by looking to other people and emulating them; our parents, our friends, our therapists, our neighbors, and actors and players on the video and silver screens.
It is not uncommon for children to pattern their behavior, values, and work after a parent. It is also common for children to have iden¬tified ways they do not want to be like their parents; in other words they have, at least in their perceptions, clear views of parental inadequacy. And looking at my life and experience as a person and as a parent, there is some validity to the perception of my children as to my not being quite up to the standards they held for me in their early days. Which is, I believe what God intends. No one of us was created to be a clone of our parents.
What often happens, though, is that young people then look to other people for their models: teachers, scout leaders, sports figures, TV personalities, stars, heroes and, musicians and their peers, to name but a few of the possibilities.
These others inform about what clothes to wear; how to cut, brush, tease, iron or mousse one's hair; what deodorant to use; how many earrings to wear where; what brand of jeans or sneakers to buy, and what cars to crave. And, if they are retired athletes, they tell us all what kind of beer to drink.
But, again a problem. No person is an adequate model for our identity, other than ourselves - with one exception.
Jesus is the image. In him, we find our true identity. In him, we discover the truth about ourselves. In him, we see whose image we have. What is God like? What are we to be like? We look to Jesus to see. God is our creator. God is the One who saves and sustains, who guides, who nourishes; who has meaning and purpose for us, who gives us our identity. And we worship that God who shows us himself and ourselves in Jesus.
The question for us is not whether we worship, but who is worshipping whom? The issue is not whether or not we have a spirituality; rather it is, what is our spirituality? Where do we find our identity? In whom do we find our identity?
You and I have come here, to this sanctuary. We put ourselves in physical, spiritu¬al, psychological, and emotional postures of worship so that we can catch something of the Spirit of the Living God – Who would have us renew our strength, mount up with wings like eagles, run and not be weary, walk and not faint -- so that we can become more like the God in whose image we have uniquely been created . And then we go from here to serve this God and God’s people in the world.
Let me tell you a story to highlight this. A teacher story. A teacher, after a particularly difficult lesson, gave her ninth grade students an assignment. She told them to list all the members of the class on a sheet of paper leaving space between each name. In that space they were to write what they believed was the nicest thing about that person. At the end of the class she col¬lected the papers and took them home with her. She spent the week¬end collating and on Monday morning gave each student a list of all the things that his or her classmate had written about them. You can imagine the responses and the feelings of surprise, joy, and affirmation.
Years later, one of the students was killed in the Gulf War. The whole town came out for the funeral. The teacher and a number of members of that ninth grade class also attended the funeral. After the service, the father of the young man came up to the teacher. “We want to show you something. They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.” The father took from his pocket two worn pieces of paper that had been folded, unfolded, and refolded countless times. It was the list of all the good things his classmates had written about him. His mother said, “Thank you so much for doing that. He treasured it.”
Some of his former classmates gathered around, One said, “I still have my list, its in the top drawer of my desk.” Another, “Mine’s in my wedding album.” Another, “Mine is in my diary.” Another pulled hers out of her wallet and showed a worn, frayed list to the group. “I think we all saved our lists. I carry this with me at all times. It reminds me who I am and who I need to become.”
Unless we bear the image, unles we are true to our God-given identity, how will the world ever know the wonderful truth about what God did in Jesus Christ and is doing in each of us?
Amen.
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