Christmas Eve Sermon, December 24, 2008, St. Paul's L'Amoreaux
During my years in college and seminary I worked part-time at a radio station. Mostly I helped with some community programs and Sunday morning I was the announcer for an hour or so of gospel music. It was a small assignment, but I was thrilled. I loved the work, I got a great kick out of meeting the announcers. I was fascinated with the inner life of a radio station. And I picked up some of the jargon which I was ever so eager to show off.
One day at home, we were listening to the radio, when suddenly, between a song and a commercial, all went quiet - for two, possibly three seconds. My ears pricked up, I pointed at the radio, and authoritatively proclaimed: “Dead air!”
My mother did not know pop radio jargon. “Dead what?,” she inquired.
“Dead air,” I said. “The announcer missed his cue. One thing must follow the next without interruption. It's big trouble if there’s ‘dead air’.”
And I always remembered my mother's reply: “I would have called that silence,” she said. “which, sometimes, is golden.”
It would take a while to sink in, but in what I came to realize is a very noisy world, my education about silence had begun. And as years passed, the liturgy of the church played a big part.
Those under whom I trained for the liturgy would often insist that there are times for silence. In the presence of God there are times when you simply cannot improve on what is taking place. There are times when you had better not try.
A few years ago I was baptizing a beautiful little baby girl. The church was full and it was a big and special day for all of us - except, it appeared, for the little girl who began hollering from about the moment she entered the church.
Duly warned, I guess, about the serious undertaking about to be thrust upon her.
And for the first part of the liturgy, her father took her out to the entrance so that the congregation could hear what was going on, and so she could holler at the bulletin boards and all the late-comers. But then her fateful moment arrived, her father brought her back in - and she hollered.
It was, in fact, genuinely awkward. Her parents were embarrassed. The people were fidgeting, because it was hard to hear almost anything but this beautiful little creature sounding the alarm. And I remember thinking, maybe I should say something to lighten the moment. Maybe I should tell a joke. But I thought of what my instructors had said. “There are times when, for better or worse, you cannot improve on what is taking place. There are times when administering the sacraments, you had better not try.”
And so I didn't. And it came time for me to receive the little girl, to baptize her in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, to etch a little cross on her fore-head, the symbol of the cruciform life a Christian is destined to lead, and to present her family with a lit candle for her mission in the world. And apart from those ancient prayers, and for the entire time of her baptism, our little angel - and the angels attending here - were silent.
And none of the rest of us dared whisper.
This, no doubt, is a very small point, but over Advent I noticed something about Zechariah and Mary, the two to whom the angel Gabriel came, announcing the births of John the Baptist and Jesus.
Zechariah and his elderly wife were righteous and faithful people from the hills of Judea.
It says he was on duty at the temple in Jerusalem. On first reading, we probably miss the point. But at the time there were thousands of priests in the nation, as many as 18,000, and the chance to offer incense in the temple sanctuary was at the throw of the die and came only once or twice in a lifetime, if at all. This may have been Zechariah’s only opportunity.
And so he enters the Holy of Holies in the temple, and wouldn't you know it, first time in and the Archangel Gabriel appears. Gabriel has descended from heaven with the astonishing news that Zechariah and his barren wife will give birth to a child - the forerunner of the Messiah. First time in the temple and Zechariah will leave with a tale to tell - except, that at the critical moment he blows it.
You’d have thought that surely, somewhere, tucked away in a footnote in one of those old seminary textbooks he would have read the assurance that personal messages from the Archangel Gabriel are trustworthy. Instead, and unfortunately, Zechariah doubted, and was silenced by the angel until the appointed time.
Indulge me for a moment.
Gabriel has another announcement. The earth trembles at this one. We all do. And there are three things to be aware of in Gabriel's message to Mary.
First, the hopes of the nation are being fulfilled.
To her will come the Son of David. The hope of her people. The hope of the world.
". . . in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness- on them light has shined." (Isaiah 9:1-2).
Secondly, the same power of God that was at work at the beginning of the world in at the time of creation is now at work - in unexpected Galilee, in the unopened womb of a young woman, in a person who was otherwise not seeking anything for herself.
“The power of the most high will overshadow you.”
A better word might be ‘hover’, making it clearer what the Archangel is saying.
When does the Spirit of the Lord hover?
In the tabernacle and the temple, when the Spirit descended and hovered over both, expelling all inside.
In the beginning, when the Spirit hovered over the waters, bringing life out of the chaos of water and darkness.
And in despised Nazareth where no one expected anything, over a simple handmaid from whom no one expected much, the Spirit of God descended to bring light and life. To do what only God can do, where only God can do it.
The Archangel explained that the Spirit would hover over her. It is a stunning announcement.
But thirdly, extended to Mary - and to the world - is the divine compliment. The humbling of God's power and holiness among the people he created. With with whom he chooses, out of love, to be present. Among whom he chooses, out of love, to redeem heaven and earth.
“I will give you as a light to the nations,” says the prophet, “that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.” (Isaiah 49:6)
It is, I think, the stunning moment. We see it here tonight at the creche. The presence of the Almighty God in the arms of Mary. God who comes to us in his only beloved Son. A presence and an offer extended to each one of us. Here in its purest form. God here among us, in search of our response.
It’s a simple thing, and you may not want to make too much of it. Zechariah was a righteous man. God would use him to bring the Herald, John the Baptist, into the world. But for a few days, in response to his doubts, he would be silenced by the angel, given some time to think it through.
But when the question is put to Mary, to the one, some might say, who doesn't get much out of it.
To the one whose chief characteristics will be to ponder, and wonder, and witness and obey.
To the one whose joy would be the joy that shines through the tears.
When the Almighty reaches out to Mary, when the glory, purity, beauty and holiness of God is offered to Mary, she answers:
“Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
Unlike any other exchange between a human and an angel in Scripture, Mary has the last word. And the Archangel Gabriel is silent.
For whom will we live? For ourselves or for the One who has created us. Today I invite you to accept the invitation that God extends to us in Jesus Christ. To offer your life in humility and repentance. To receive the gift of God’s own life and to permit yours to be made over by his presence. And to become a light in the world to the glory of God. Amen.
Sermons & Notes
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Eat to Live
Matthew 6.24-34, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, Pentecost 2, May 25, 2008
I have always admired Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of the United States, for the courage and determination he showed as the Civil War President, that horrible four-year struggle from 1861 to 1865. But this week the admiration increased when I realized that during the same time he was involved in another titanic struggle, the second one, however, being against the granite of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
As a lawyer, he studied and wrote some of the early legislation that would lead to the construction of an intercontinental railroad. As a Senator he was one of the far-sighted politicians who vigorously supported its development. And as President, he fought this battle as hard as he fought the Civil War - and fought both of them at the same time.
If you know much about Canadian history, you’ll know that the construction of the Canadian National Railway, connecting the country coast to coast, was one of the great steps forward in the maturation and development of the country. The same would be true in the United States, with a similar large obstacle as engineers tried to figure out how to get through the mountains separating the west coast from the rest of the country.
Now, I have to beg your pardon if my history lessons get a little muddled from time to time. Much of this is not from what I’ve read, but from audio books that I listen to. So if a particularly difficult point is clouded by some strange reference to a Bob Newhart joke about bad bus drivers, and I start humming a line from John Rutter’s requiem, well, at least you’ll know what’s on my Ipod.
All that to say, from what I understand, one of the biggest challenges was not far from the west coast starting point. Almost immediately, surveyors and engineers were bucking heads with the Sierra Nevada, which is pure granite. At some points, 8 inches was all they moved in one day. And imagine, if you can, that this was done by hand. No jackhammers, no power tools, no tractors. Just shovels, picks, wheel-barrows, gun powder, muscle and ingenuity.
Here’s an example.
Many of paths for the mountain railway tracks were chipped out of the side of these granite mountains. And the only way to do it was to lower a man in a basket, who would then hand-drill a hole into the rock, stuff it with gunpowder and a fuse - a long fuse - and then yell as loud as he could to get the others to pull him up and out of the way before the charge blew. The rock was so hard that many times the blast simply blew out of the hole, with no movement of rock. So, they’d lower him back down, by hand he’d drill a longer hole, stuff it full of gunpowder and then try again.
And here’s a little history about race relations that I find intriguing. According to railroad historian Stephen Ambrose (Nothing Like it in the World), many of the men blowing the granite were Chinese. Do you know why? It is not because they were forced into the worst and most dangerous jobs. It’s because they were the only ones who knew how to do it and were eager to prove their ability. Initially, the racism they faced on the train crews was the suspicion that they were incompetent.
"But we know how to do this," they replied.
"They did build the great wall of China," one supervisor agreed.
And so, in hand-made bamboo baskets, they dropped down to the side of their granite foe, drilled holes, stuffed gunpowder, and carved a railroad. It was, and remains, an incredible feat. The victory was astonishing. A great country, joined from coast to coast, moving people and goods, building cities, farms, villages and giving hope, opportunity and prosperity to millions.
But one little extra.
Stephen Ambrose points out that the construction crew chiefs were usually loud-mouthed Irishmen with language that would curdle pavement. That said, they rarely resorted to violence in dealing with their men. Why? Well, because the men they commanded spent their days, morning to night, swinging picks and hauling rock. Their muscles were hard as steel. Throw a curse at them, if you needed, to get them going after lunch. But pick a fist fight and you’d likely get trounced. So hard did they work that after a day of hard labour, the crews returned to their camps in the evening in order to enjoy delicious meals. And sometimes it didn’t matter if the meals were all that well prepared. Says Stephen Ambrose, after that kind of hard work over a long day, it all tasted delicious.
This great battle against granite took place at the very same time as the Civil War, the great battle between northern and southern states. In fact, the railway was always part of it. One of the reasons for the route that was eventually taken is that northern politicians would not allow a southern route for fear that it would aid and abet the slave trade and the slaveholding states.
The Civil War exacted an horrific cost. It went on much longer than anyone thought and anyone wanted. The price in human life was astronomical. And President Lincoln suffered in every way, including political suffering. The summer before his re-election in 1864, no one, including Lincoln, thought he could win. But by summer’s end the tide had changed, he won the November election, and all knew that the war would not finish until the southern states surrendered and the north and south were reunited.
What happened that summer? It’s the work of historians to pick the moment or moments when things change. But here’s one that I like.
If you can imagine the northern capital of Washington D.C., where Lincoln and the Union Forces were centred, and a hundred miles south, Richmond, Virginia, where Jefferson Davies and the Confederate forces were centred, throughout the war the Union forces made several attempts at pushing south and capturing Richmond. It was the obvious thing to do. Take over the capital. Capture the leaders, if you could. Demoralize the people. But they couldn’t do it. In spite of tremendous advantage in terms of the number of soldiers available, every time the northern Union forces attempted to push south, they got bogged down, outflanked, tricked or distracted.
Time and time again, the northern forces would organize a great army, begin the trek south, get whooped in battle, and then head back to Washington defeated and disgraced.
But in the spring of 1864, the Union forces had a new General, Ulysses S. Grant. A short, quiet, unkempt, soldier with a bad rap for drinking, but fearless and determined in battle.
And here is, I think, the turning point. In the spring of 1864, the northern forces did what they always did in the spring. They bundled up their gear, headed south, picked a fight and got beat. And to a soldier, they all expected orders to pack up, and head back to Washington. But when they got to the road, there was no such order, and they saw General Grant marching south.
They’d just been beat in battle, just like always, but unlike the generals before him, General Grant became even more determined. And he was moving south.
You know what the soldiers did?
They cheered. They threw their hats in the air. They followed, they fought and over the next nine months, they stayed and won.
This was a general like them. This was a general come to build on the sacrifice of their lives, not to waste it. And behind him was a President who they trusted and loved, who had given everything he had, all his political credit to support them. Because before them all was the opportunity for a great and free country for all Americans. As the President would say after that November election:
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. (2nd Inaugural Address, Abraham Lincoln.)
If I were to summarize our lesson from Matthew, I would say this - food and drink are for something. And when our lives are lived for God’s purpose of extending mercy, working for peace and righteousness, and serving those in need, God provides for his hungry servants and it all tastes great. Our lives are meant for a great enterprise. And those who join it will be provided for. Those who offer their lives can be as certain of the Father’s provision for them as was the Father’s provision and protection of his only Son.
You get the point, I think. This is not an iron-clad guarantee that we will never suffer or do without.
Our Lord’s own life was a simple one, lived to accomplish the will of God, but made sweet by the food and drink shared with his disciples and the company of the forgiven.
Our Lord’s life was a sacrificial one, leading him to a lonely cross, but vindicated three days later by his glorious resurrection. And when Jesus promises that the Heavenly Father will provide and that He cares, it is a promise we can depend on just as surely as we believe that Jesus was vindicated by the Father and lifted from the grave.
My grandfather used to tease me: "Do you eat to live, or live to eat?"
Come to the Feast which the Lord has provided. Eat to live. Offer your life for his glory and as His servants in the world.
Amen.
I have always admired Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of the United States, for the courage and determination he showed as the Civil War President, that horrible four-year struggle from 1861 to 1865. But this week the admiration increased when I realized that during the same time he was involved in another titanic struggle, the second one, however, being against the granite of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
As a lawyer, he studied and wrote some of the early legislation that would lead to the construction of an intercontinental railroad. As a Senator he was one of the far-sighted politicians who vigorously supported its development. And as President, he fought this battle as hard as he fought the Civil War - and fought both of them at the same time.
If you know much about Canadian history, you’ll know that the construction of the Canadian National Railway, connecting the country coast to coast, was one of the great steps forward in the maturation and development of the country. The same would be true in the United States, with a similar large obstacle as engineers tried to figure out how to get through the mountains separating the west coast from the rest of the country.
Now, I have to beg your pardon if my history lessons get a little muddled from time to time. Much of this is not from what I’ve read, but from audio books that I listen to. So if a particularly difficult point is clouded by some strange reference to a Bob Newhart joke about bad bus drivers, and I start humming a line from John Rutter’s requiem, well, at least you’ll know what’s on my Ipod.
All that to say, from what I understand, one of the biggest challenges was not far from the west coast starting point. Almost immediately, surveyors and engineers were bucking heads with the Sierra Nevada, which is pure granite. At some points, 8 inches was all they moved in one day. And imagine, if you can, that this was done by hand. No jackhammers, no power tools, no tractors. Just shovels, picks, wheel-barrows, gun powder, muscle and ingenuity.
Here’s an example.
Many of paths for the mountain railway tracks were chipped out of the side of these granite mountains. And the only way to do it was to lower a man in a basket, who would then hand-drill a hole into the rock, stuff it with gunpowder and a fuse - a long fuse - and then yell as loud as he could to get the others to pull him up and out of the way before the charge blew. The rock was so hard that many times the blast simply blew out of the hole, with no movement of rock. So, they’d lower him back down, by hand he’d drill a longer hole, stuff it full of gunpowder and then try again.
And here’s a little history about race relations that I find intriguing. According to railroad historian Stephen Ambrose (Nothing Like it in the World), many of the men blowing the granite were Chinese. Do you know why? It is not because they were forced into the worst and most dangerous jobs. It’s because they were the only ones who knew how to do it and were eager to prove their ability. Initially, the racism they faced on the train crews was the suspicion that they were incompetent.
"But we know how to do this," they replied.
"They did build the great wall of China," one supervisor agreed.
And so, in hand-made bamboo baskets, they dropped down to the side of their granite foe, drilled holes, stuffed gunpowder, and carved a railroad. It was, and remains, an incredible feat. The victory was astonishing. A great country, joined from coast to coast, moving people and goods, building cities, farms, villages and giving hope, opportunity and prosperity to millions.
But one little extra.
Stephen Ambrose points out that the construction crew chiefs were usually loud-mouthed Irishmen with language that would curdle pavement. That said, they rarely resorted to violence in dealing with their men. Why? Well, because the men they commanded spent their days, morning to night, swinging picks and hauling rock. Their muscles were hard as steel. Throw a curse at them, if you needed, to get them going after lunch. But pick a fist fight and you’d likely get trounced. So hard did they work that after a day of hard labour, the crews returned to their camps in the evening in order to enjoy delicious meals. And sometimes it didn’t matter if the meals were all that well prepared. Says Stephen Ambrose, after that kind of hard work over a long day, it all tasted delicious.
This great battle against granite took place at the very same time as the Civil War, the great battle between northern and southern states. In fact, the railway was always part of it. One of the reasons for the route that was eventually taken is that northern politicians would not allow a southern route for fear that it would aid and abet the slave trade and the slaveholding states.
The Civil War exacted an horrific cost. It went on much longer than anyone thought and anyone wanted. The price in human life was astronomical. And President Lincoln suffered in every way, including political suffering. The summer before his re-election in 1864, no one, including Lincoln, thought he could win. But by summer’s end the tide had changed, he won the November election, and all knew that the war would not finish until the southern states surrendered and the north and south were reunited.
What happened that summer? It’s the work of historians to pick the moment or moments when things change. But here’s one that I like.
If you can imagine the northern capital of Washington D.C., where Lincoln and the Union Forces were centred, and a hundred miles south, Richmond, Virginia, where Jefferson Davies and the Confederate forces were centred, throughout the war the Union forces made several attempts at pushing south and capturing Richmond. It was the obvious thing to do. Take over the capital. Capture the leaders, if you could. Demoralize the people. But they couldn’t do it. In spite of tremendous advantage in terms of the number of soldiers available, every time the northern Union forces attempted to push south, they got bogged down, outflanked, tricked or distracted.
Time and time again, the northern forces would organize a great army, begin the trek south, get whooped in battle, and then head back to Washington defeated and disgraced.
But in the spring of 1864, the Union forces had a new General, Ulysses S. Grant. A short, quiet, unkempt, soldier with a bad rap for drinking, but fearless and determined in battle.
And here is, I think, the turning point. In the spring of 1864, the northern forces did what they always did in the spring. They bundled up their gear, headed south, picked a fight and got beat. And to a soldier, they all expected orders to pack up, and head back to Washington. But when they got to the road, there was no such order, and they saw General Grant marching south.
They’d just been beat in battle, just like always, but unlike the generals before him, General Grant became even more determined. And he was moving south.
You know what the soldiers did?
They cheered. They threw their hats in the air. They followed, they fought and over the next nine months, they stayed and won.
This was a general like them. This was a general come to build on the sacrifice of their lives, not to waste it. And behind him was a President who they trusted and loved, who had given everything he had, all his political credit to support them. Because before them all was the opportunity for a great and free country for all Americans. As the President would say after that November election:
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. (2nd Inaugural Address, Abraham Lincoln.)
If I were to summarize our lesson from Matthew, I would say this - food and drink are for something. And when our lives are lived for God’s purpose of extending mercy, working for peace and righteousness, and serving those in need, God provides for his hungry servants and it all tastes great. Our lives are meant for a great enterprise. And those who join it will be provided for. Those who offer their lives can be as certain of the Father’s provision for them as was the Father’s provision and protection of his only Son.
You get the point, I think. This is not an iron-clad guarantee that we will never suffer or do without.
Our Lord’s own life was a simple one, lived to accomplish the will of God, but made sweet by the food and drink shared with his disciples and the company of the forgiven.
Our Lord’s life was a sacrificial one, leading him to a lonely cross, but vindicated three days later by his glorious resurrection. And when Jesus promises that the Heavenly Father will provide and that He cares, it is a promise we can depend on just as surely as we believe that Jesus was vindicated by the Father and lifted from the grave.
My grandfather used to tease me: "Do you eat to live, or live to eat?"
Come to the Feast which the Lord has provided. Eat to live. Offer your life for his glory and as His servants in the world.
Amen.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Interrupted
1 Peter 2:1-10 , The 4th Sunday of Easter, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, April 13, 2008
I attended seminary at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky, nestled in a little county town in the heart of Kentucky bluegrass country. And in my first year as part of the program of preparation for pastoral ministry, I was sent to a nearby orphanage. All of us in the class were assigned to different institutional settings, like the orphanage, or a hospital or a prison chaplaincy, and usually after a weekend of service, we’d meet the next week in class to think over our experiences.
My first week, I noticed a little guy about six years old. I was about 22 at the time, came from a family of three sisters and a pile of cousins, always thought that I could get along with children, and enjoyed doing so. So I went up to this little fellow and said hello. He didn’t say anything.
Figured he didn’t hear - and so I said it again. ‘Hello, how are you? My name is Dean.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at me. And he walked away. The experience of it was not simply that I had been ignored. It was as if it hadn’t even registered that someone was standing there, speaking. It was the first time I remember feeling like a speed bump.
I mentioned it to my supervisor at the orphanage. “That’s Bobby,” he said. “Treated very badly in his home and finally taken out. Don’t be surprised if he’s a little shy around adults.”
I mentioned the experience back in class. In class we were to think through things and, if possible, go back to hard parts and try again.
“Next time I’ll try chocolate,” I said.
“But before you do that,” said one of my classmates impatiently, “get down on your knees where he can see you, look him in the eye, and ask him if he’d like to play baseball or something.”
“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully in class. “What good would that do,” I said to myself. “Chocolate is sure-fire.”
But the next weekend, there was Bobby, still treating me like pavement, and I thought, “Well, might as well try.”
I went over to Bobby, got down on my knee, stared him in the eye, and said, “Bobby, go over to the playground, pick up the bat, and I’ll pitch to you. See how well you hit.”
Again, didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything, walked around me - though it felt like over me like you walk over sidewalk - and ran off.
“What did she know,” was my first thought. “Should have used chocolate,” as I watched Bobby run off . . . to the playground . . . where he leaned over, picked up a baseball bat, turned around and for the first time, looked at me. And with only his eyes, he ever so forcefully and clearly said, “Pitch!”
So I pitched. And over the course of that term made a great little friend.
It was quite an experience at the orphanage, and there were parts I found very hard. The atmosphere among the kids was often very rough. Fighting and quarreling with the supervisors was routine. And it was hard to face what they had experienced at such a young age, often from the ones with the greatest obligation to protect them. I learned a little of how badly their thoughts and emotions were manipulated. And I learned about the sad cycle of it all, that the parents abusing them were 90% likely to have been abused themselves. And, unless interrupted, it would likely continue.
But I remember one weekend, a busload of us traveled a few miles away to a church where the young people sang in the morning service. And between songs, the director gave some of the young people a chance to speak, if they wanted to. One of the roughest of the bunch stepped forward and said, tearfully. “This is my family,” he said. “These people love me. And they have given me a chance.”
In I Peter, chapter two, there is a list of vices which the author says should not be characteristic of the Christian: Rid yourselves, therefore, of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander. (NRSV)
These vices are common enough that they were no doubt raising their ugly heads among those to whom this letter was written. But there’s something intriguing about this list. For this particular group of Christians, these vices were also abuses directed toward them.
Situations are described in which clearly Christians are being maligned, slandered and abused. In light of these situations, they are counselled not to seek revenge but rather to follow the example of Jesus Christ.
In verse four, it says: Come to [Jesus Christ], a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight (NRSV).
In verse twelve, it continues: Conduct yourselves honorably among the Gentiles, so that, though they malign you as evildoers, they may see your honorable deeds and glorify God when he comes to judge. (NRSV)
And then, clearly and forcefully, the argument is summarized in chapter three: Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil. (1 Peter 3:16-17, NRSV)
Now the point I wish to emphasize is that usually when we think about vices such as these - malice, guile, insincerity, envy, and slander - we think of them as personal problems or failings. But here in 1 Peter it is also recognized that many times these vices arise as a direct consequence of having faced them. They arise as a form of self-defense. In other words, if as a Christian you are constantly having lies told about you, why shouldn’t you stretch the truth yourself or lie about those who have lied about you? If people are being cunning against you, why should you have to be the one to always act honestly and play it straight? In other words, it is one thing to show Christian love among those who you expect to return it. It is another thing altogether to show Christian love when it is greeted by malice, insincerity, and slander!
And that takes us to the heart of this passage. 1 Peter is like an architect’s draft for a great building, whose cornerstone is Jesus Christ, who knew himself what it was to be ill-treated. For among those he served, Jesus was despised, rejected, and forsaken. But to the surprise of those who opposed him, God sent him to interrupt the downward cycles of hatred and rebellion in our world and to free us to serve.
He bore our sins on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness. (1 Pe 2:24)
How does this happen in a person’s life? How are the downward spirals interrupted?
It happens, often times, because another Christian has come into our life and through their kindness and truthfulness have interrupted our lives. In the life and witness of that Christian, we have seen Christ himself and our lives have been set free.
It happens in some cases because, in a dark moment, we have had a direct experience of God’s grace in our lives, and have been lifted to a higher plane.
This past week I heard a radio interview with Bishop Victoria Matthews, and at a time of uncertainty and confusion in her life, it was just such an experience of God’s grace that brought relief and offered direction which she would never doubt and from which she has never veered.
And it happens because it is true. Hatred, cunning and cruelty are not the final words to be spoken in this world. The final words are the words of forgiveness, mercy and reconciliation from the lips of Jesus Christ on the cross. And with his resurrection three days later, we realize that not only what he said was great. What he said was true. In fact, the mercy, forgiveness and compassion of God is true are the truest thing we know.
As Peter puts it so beautifully: He bore our sins on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness. (1 Pe 2:24)
I urge to open your life to God’s redeeming work. Accept the mercy God extends. Let the downward spirals be interrupted. And then enter gladly into the family business of sharing the mercy of God with others.
As 1 Peter describes it for us all:
[By the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ you have been made] a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. (1 Pe 2:9-10)
I attended seminary at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky, nestled in a little county town in the heart of Kentucky bluegrass country. And in my first year as part of the program of preparation for pastoral ministry, I was sent to a nearby orphanage. All of us in the class were assigned to different institutional settings, like the orphanage, or a hospital or a prison chaplaincy, and usually after a weekend of service, we’d meet the next week in class to think over our experiences.
My first week, I noticed a little guy about six years old. I was about 22 at the time, came from a family of three sisters and a pile of cousins, always thought that I could get along with children, and enjoyed doing so. So I went up to this little fellow and said hello. He didn’t say anything.
Figured he didn’t hear - and so I said it again. ‘Hello, how are you? My name is Dean.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at me. And he walked away. The experience of it was not simply that I had been ignored. It was as if it hadn’t even registered that someone was standing there, speaking. It was the first time I remember feeling like a speed bump.
I mentioned it to my supervisor at the orphanage. “That’s Bobby,” he said. “Treated very badly in his home and finally taken out. Don’t be surprised if he’s a little shy around adults.”
I mentioned the experience back in class. In class we were to think through things and, if possible, go back to hard parts and try again.
“Next time I’ll try chocolate,” I said.
“But before you do that,” said one of my classmates impatiently, “get down on your knees where he can see you, look him in the eye, and ask him if he’d like to play baseball or something.”
“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully in class. “What good would that do,” I said to myself. “Chocolate is sure-fire.”
But the next weekend, there was Bobby, still treating me like pavement, and I thought, “Well, might as well try.”
I went over to Bobby, got down on my knee, stared him in the eye, and said, “Bobby, go over to the playground, pick up the bat, and I’ll pitch to you. See how well you hit.”
Again, didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything, walked around me - though it felt like over me like you walk over sidewalk - and ran off.
“What did she know,” was my first thought. “Should have used chocolate,” as I watched Bobby run off . . . to the playground . . . where he leaned over, picked up a baseball bat, turned around and for the first time, looked at me. And with only his eyes, he ever so forcefully and clearly said, “Pitch!”
So I pitched. And over the course of that term made a great little friend.
It was quite an experience at the orphanage, and there were parts I found very hard. The atmosphere among the kids was often very rough. Fighting and quarreling with the supervisors was routine. And it was hard to face what they had experienced at such a young age, often from the ones with the greatest obligation to protect them. I learned a little of how badly their thoughts and emotions were manipulated. And I learned about the sad cycle of it all, that the parents abusing them were 90% likely to have been abused themselves. And, unless interrupted, it would likely continue.
But I remember one weekend, a busload of us traveled a few miles away to a church where the young people sang in the morning service. And between songs, the director gave some of the young people a chance to speak, if they wanted to. One of the roughest of the bunch stepped forward and said, tearfully. “This is my family,” he said. “These people love me. And they have given me a chance.”
In I Peter, chapter two, there is a list of vices which the author says should not be characteristic of the Christian: Rid yourselves, therefore, of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander. (NRSV)
These vices are common enough that they were no doubt raising their ugly heads among those to whom this letter was written. But there’s something intriguing about this list. For this particular group of Christians, these vices were also abuses directed toward them.
Situations are described in which clearly Christians are being maligned, slandered and abused. In light of these situations, they are counselled not to seek revenge but rather to follow the example of Jesus Christ.
In verse four, it says: Come to [Jesus Christ], a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight (NRSV).
In verse twelve, it continues: Conduct yourselves honorably among the Gentiles, so that, though they malign you as evildoers, they may see your honorable deeds and glorify God when he comes to judge. (NRSV)
And then, clearly and forcefully, the argument is summarized in chapter three: Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil. (1 Peter 3:16-17, NRSV)
Now the point I wish to emphasize is that usually when we think about vices such as these - malice, guile, insincerity, envy, and slander - we think of them as personal problems or failings. But here in 1 Peter it is also recognized that many times these vices arise as a direct consequence of having faced them. They arise as a form of self-defense. In other words, if as a Christian you are constantly having lies told about you, why shouldn’t you stretch the truth yourself or lie about those who have lied about you? If people are being cunning against you, why should you have to be the one to always act honestly and play it straight? In other words, it is one thing to show Christian love among those who you expect to return it. It is another thing altogether to show Christian love when it is greeted by malice, insincerity, and slander!
And that takes us to the heart of this passage. 1 Peter is like an architect’s draft for a great building, whose cornerstone is Jesus Christ, who knew himself what it was to be ill-treated. For among those he served, Jesus was despised, rejected, and forsaken. But to the surprise of those who opposed him, God sent him to interrupt the downward cycles of hatred and rebellion in our world and to free us to serve.
He bore our sins on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness. (1 Pe 2:24)
How does this happen in a person’s life? How are the downward spirals interrupted?
It happens, often times, because another Christian has come into our life and through their kindness and truthfulness have interrupted our lives. In the life and witness of that Christian, we have seen Christ himself and our lives have been set free.
It happens in some cases because, in a dark moment, we have had a direct experience of God’s grace in our lives, and have been lifted to a higher plane.
This past week I heard a radio interview with Bishop Victoria Matthews, and at a time of uncertainty and confusion in her life, it was just such an experience of God’s grace that brought relief and offered direction which she would never doubt and from which she has never veered.
And it happens because it is true. Hatred, cunning and cruelty are not the final words to be spoken in this world. The final words are the words of forgiveness, mercy and reconciliation from the lips of Jesus Christ on the cross. And with his resurrection three days later, we realize that not only what he said was great. What he said was true. In fact, the mercy, forgiveness and compassion of God is true are the truest thing we know.
As Peter puts it so beautifully: He bore our sins on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness. (1 Pe 2:24)
I urge to open your life to God’s redeeming work. Accept the mercy God extends. Let the downward spirals be interrupted. And then enter gladly into the family business of sharing the mercy of God with others.
As 1 Peter describes it for us all:
[By the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ you have been made] a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. (1 Pe 2:9-10)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Live in Reverent Fear
1 Peter 1.17-23, Easter 3, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux
If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live in reverent fear during the time of your exile
I like sports movies. Not all of them, but there are a few that I’ve always loved.
One of them is Hoosiers, the story of a small-town Indiana basketball team under a tough but determined coach. Together they go all the way to the state championship and win.
Another is Remember the Titans, based on the true story of two Virginian high school teams merged as a part of school desegregation in the early 1970’s. They, too, go on to great accomplishments. But as the account of it goes, their willingness to work together had a lot to do with two weeks spent in training at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, the famous Civil War battle site, where they were pointedly reminded about the enormous sacrifice in America in pursuit of a nation where people of all races could live and work together in peace. Their small struggle, of black and white football teams, was part of a much larger national struggle, which they could either let slide into defeat or work hard for in pursuit of a much larger victory.
And another is Coach Carter, based on the true story of Coach Kenneth Carter who went into a rough and rundown high school in Richmond, California, explaining that any kid who wanted on the basketball team had to sign a contract promising to attend practice, to dress up in suit and tie on game day, to attend classes, to sit in the front row, and to maintain a 2.3 grade average, three points higher than the minimum. If the average wasn’t maintained by the whole team, the whole team wouldn’t play any basketball at all.
He meant it. And in 1999, Coach Kenneth Carter made national headlines when he locked the gym doors in the middle of an undefeated season. Grade averages had slipped below the minimum. Not only was the basketball team stopped from playing, but in the whole school anything to do with basketball - in gym, at recess - anything! - was stopped. The team forfeited its next two games, but in the meantime, certain basketball players did their homework. Grade averages went back up, and the doors to the gym were unlocked.
But there’s a beautiful scene in the movie about Coach Carter’s first season and one young player who wants nothing to do with the discipline and academics. He’s in a tough neighbourhood with an older cousin who deals drugs. Big cousin has figured it out,. Timo Cruz doesn’t need the headaches and nagging of Coach Carter and he’s soon off the team.
Until one night, Timo is out on the street with his cousin and members of a rival gang drive by and shoot his cousin dead in a brazen attack. Suddenly, the constant warnings of Coach Carter are driven home. In tears, Timo knows of nowhere else to go and on Coach Carter’s doorsteps, he throws himself into his arms, begging the coach to get him off the street, begging him for a chance to get back on Coach Carter’s team.
There are two words I’d like you to notice from our lesson in 1 Peter.
The first is the word Father. 1 Peter is a letter which moves effortlessly back and forth between the history of Israel and the developing story of the new Christian churches. Because for Peter, as for all of the New Testament, this is not two different histories, but one. And mention of the Father is meant to take people back not just to Jesus, praying to the Father in Heaven, but to God the Father of Israel, building a people who would be blessed by him in order to be a blessing to the world.
He began with an old man and an old woman to prove that love was the reason for what he did. Will you boast because of your vitality? No. You will boast of the love of God who has power over death.
He delivered slaves from Egypt. Will you boast of your strength and reputation? No. You will boast of God’s compassion on the least of all, freeing them from slavery.
And he gave them the law and made the downtrodden into a people. Will you boast of your self-reliance and ingenuity? No. You will boast of God’s grace. You will give thanks for God’s care. You will treat with reverence and fear the law that God gave. For as it is so eloquently stated in Leviticus:
I have broken the bars of your yoke and made you walk erect. (Lev. 26:13)
Or, as St. Peter puts it:
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. (1 Pe 2:9-10)
All of which is to say, that like a coach who truly respects his players will insist that they live dignified and worthy lives, this Christian community Peter addresses lives before a Heavenly Father who loves them, and wants them living a life of dignity and strength and blessing to others.
The first word to notice in our lesson from Peter is Father, because the story of this Christian community is the continuing story of God’s great work of building a people, strong in heart, mind and soul, through whom God’s love will be extended to every corner of the world.
And the second word is fear.
On Wednesday evening a new group met to begin the study entitled ‘Encountering Jesus’. And in our first session, we studied the passage from John about the time a Samaritan woman encountered Jesus. And the study guide we use noticed an interesting transition that occurs. You may remember that Jesus offers the woman water that will quench all her thirst. Naturally, she requests it and Jesus replies by asking her to go get her husband. In so doing, he lays bare the fact that she’s already had five husbands, and she is now living, unmarried, with a sixth. It is a sad revelation but as you read, you can also feel how the encounter is deepening, question by question, step by step.
And then she appears to change the subject. You Jews worship in Jerusalem. We Samaritans worship on Mt. Gerazim.
You can smell a whiff of self-defense as if a greater grievance might distract attention from a lesser. Another wound is exposed. The sad and bitter of division of a people once united. The Irish of the north from the Irish of the south. Koreans of the north from Koreans of the south.
To which Jesus answers, this division is not the final word, for the Father seeks those who worship in spirit and truth.
“I know,” says the woman, “that this will happen when the Messiah comes”.
“I am the Messiah,” Jesus says to the woman.
It is a majestic scene. And maybe this is obvious to you, but it struck me with new force. In his encounter with the woman, he offers hope not only for the personal hurt, sinfulness and sorrow. He offers hope for the national hurt, sinfulness and division. He has come to offer salvation for both.
And it casts light on our understanding of the fear of the Lord. Fear here is not simply terror. It is fear, and reverence and regard for the purposes of God for the world and for each one of His children.
There is a temptation to lose the connection between these two. God came to save the world, but God begins by saving us as individuals. God came to reunite a divided nation and and a divided world, but he began with foot-in-mouth Peter and a Samaritan woman with five marriages gone bad.
It was the great vision of one like Martin Luther King Jr., whose memory we commemorate this weekend. A dream not only of individuals rising to their true status as men and women created in the image of God, but of a nation rising to its truest and deepest aspirations.
“I have a dream,” he said, “that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
“I have a dream,” he continued, “little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”
“I have a dream,” he sang, “that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; ‘and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.’”
In the movie Coach Carter, there’s a great, ongoing exchange between the coach and the players. “What is your greatest fear?” he keeps asking.
And finally, one of the players answers, quoting a poem by Marianne Williamson:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate . . . It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
C.S. Lewis has a similar Christian taunt in his works. The work of the Gospel is not to suppress human ambition that is going hog wild. Rather, it is to enlarge our desires, to gives us a glimpse of God’s vision that extends to every corner of the world. It is, I think, the lovely encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman. “I am he, the Messiah come to heal the ancient grievances. And I have come to speak to you.”
If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live in reverent fear during the time of your exile . . . love one another deeply from the heart. [For] you have been born anew, not of perishable but of imperishable seed, through the living and enduring word of God.
If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live in reverent fear during the time of your exile
I like sports movies. Not all of them, but there are a few that I’ve always loved.
One of them is Hoosiers, the story of a small-town Indiana basketball team under a tough but determined coach. Together they go all the way to the state championship and win.
Another is Remember the Titans, based on the true story of two Virginian high school teams merged as a part of school desegregation in the early 1970’s. They, too, go on to great accomplishments. But as the account of it goes, their willingness to work together had a lot to do with two weeks spent in training at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, the famous Civil War battle site, where they were pointedly reminded about the enormous sacrifice in America in pursuit of a nation where people of all races could live and work together in peace. Their small struggle, of black and white football teams, was part of a much larger national struggle, which they could either let slide into defeat or work hard for in pursuit of a much larger victory.
And another is Coach Carter, based on the true story of Coach Kenneth Carter who went into a rough and rundown high school in Richmond, California, explaining that any kid who wanted on the basketball team had to sign a contract promising to attend practice, to dress up in suit and tie on game day, to attend classes, to sit in the front row, and to maintain a 2.3 grade average, three points higher than the minimum. If the average wasn’t maintained by the whole team, the whole team wouldn’t play any basketball at all.
He meant it. And in 1999, Coach Kenneth Carter made national headlines when he locked the gym doors in the middle of an undefeated season. Grade averages had slipped below the minimum. Not only was the basketball team stopped from playing, but in the whole school anything to do with basketball - in gym, at recess - anything! - was stopped. The team forfeited its next two games, but in the meantime, certain basketball players did their homework. Grade averages went back up, and the doors to the gym were unlocked.
But there’s a beautiful scene in the movie about Coach Carter’s first season and one young player who wants nothing to do with the discipline and academics. He’s in a tough neighbourhood with an older cousin who deals drugs. Big cousin has figured it out,. Timo Cruz doesn’t need the headaches and nagging of Coach Carter and he’s soon off the team.
Until one night, Timo is out on the street with his cousin and members of a rival gang drive by and shoot his cousin dead in a brazen attack. Suddenly, the constant warnings of Coach Carter are driven home. In tears, Timo knows of nowhere else to go and on Coach Carter’s doorsteps, he throws himself into his arms, begging the coach to get him off the street, begging him for a chance to get back on Coach Carter’s team.
There are two words I’d like you to notice from our lesson in 1 Peter.
The first is the word Father. 1 Peter is a letter which moves effortlessly back and forth between the history of Israel and the developing story of the new Christian churches. Because for Peter, as for all of the New Testament, this is not two different histories, but one. And mention of the Father is meant to take people back not just to Jesus, praying to the Father in Heaven, but to God the Father of Israel, building a people who would be blessed by him in order to be a blessing to the world.
He began with an old man and an old woman to prove that love was the reason for what he did. Will you boast because of your vitality? No. You will boast of the love of God who has power over death.
He delivered slaves from Egypt. Will you boast of your strength and reputation? No. You will boast of God’s compassion on the least of all, freeing them from slavery.
And he gave them the law and made the downtrodden into a people. Will you boast of your self-reliance and ingenuity? No. You will boast of God’s grace. You will give thanks for God’s care. You will treat with reverence and fear the law that God gave. For as it is so eloquently stated in Leviticus:
I have broken the bars of your yoke and made you walk erect. (Lev. 26:13)
Or, as St. Peter puts it:
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. (1 Pe 2:9-10)
All of which is to say, that like a coach who truly respects his players will insist that they live dignified and worthy lives, this Christian community Peter addresses lives before a Heavenly Father who loves them, and wants them living a life of dignity and strength and blessing to others.
The first word to notice in our lesson from Peter is Father, because the story of this Christian community is the continuing story of God’s great work of building a people, strong in heart, mind and soul, through whom God’s love will be extended to every corner of the world.
And the second word is fear.
On Wednesday evening a new group met to begin the study entitled ‘Encountering Jesus’. And in our first session, we studied the passage from John about the time a Samaritan woman encountered Jesus. And the study guide we use noticed an interesting transition that occurs. You may remember that Jesus offers the woman water that will quench all her thirst. Naturally, she requests it and Jesus replies by asking her to go get her husband. In so doing, he lays bare the fact that she’s already had five husbands, and she is now living, unmarried, with a sixth. It is a sad revelation but as you read, you can also feel how the encounter is deepening, question by question, step by step.
And then she appears to change the subject. You Jews worship in Jerusalem. We Samaritans worship on Mt. Gerazim.
You can smell a whiff of self-defense as if a greater grievance might distract attention from a lesser. Another wound is exposed. The sad and bitter of division of a people once united. The Irish of the north from the Irish of the south. Koreans of the north from Koreans of the south.
To which Jesus answers, this division is not the final word, for the Father seeks those who worship in spirit and truth.
“I know,” says the woman, “that this will happen when the Messiah comes”.
“I am the Messiah,” Jesus says to the woman.
It is a majestic scene. And maybe this is obvious to you, but it struck me with new force. In his encounter with the woman, he offers hope not only for the personal hurt, sinfulness and sorrow. He offers hope for the national hurt, sinfulness and division. He has come to offer salvation for both.
And it casts light on our understanding of the fear of the Lord. Fear here is not simply terror. It is fear, and reverence and regard for the purposes of God for the world and for each one of His children.
There is a temptation to lose the connection between these two. God came to save the world, but God begins by saving us as individuals. God came to reunite a divided nation and and a divided world, but he began with foot-in-mouth Peter and a Samaritan woman with five marriages gone bad.
It was the great vision of one like Martin Luther King Jr., whose memory we commemorate this weekend. A dream not only of individuals rising to their true status as men and women created in the image of God, but of a nation rising to its truest and deepest aspirations.
“I have a dream,” he said, “that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
“I have a dream,” he continued, “little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”
“I have a dream,” he sang, “that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; ‘and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.’”
In the movie Coach Carter, there’s a great, ongoing exchange between the coach and the players. “What is your greatest fear?” he keeps asking.
And finally, one of the players answers, quoting a poem by Marianne Williamson:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate . . . It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
C.S. Lewis has a similar Christian taunt in his works. The work of the Gospel is not to suppress human ambition that is going hog wild. Rather, it is to enlarge our desires, to gives us a glimpse of God’s vision that extends to every corner of the world. It is, I think, the lovely encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman. “I am he, the Messiah come to heal the ancient grievances. And I have come to speak to you.”
If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live in reverent fear during the time of your exile . . . love one another deeply from the heart. [For] you have been born anew, not of perishable but of imperishable seed, through the living and enduring word of God.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Easter Joy in the Morning - Sermon - 23 March 2008
In his commentary on St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, Bishop Tom Wright notes three things about why the patriarch Abraham is a model of faith for Christians.
First, Abraham turns from false gods to faith in the one, true God.
Secondly, Abraham rightly gives glory to God rather than glory to those things that are undeserving and which would set him on a course toward corruption and dishonor.
And as a hundred year old man with a ninety-nine year old wife, Abraham accepts the Lord’s promise of fruitfulness and new life trusting that the Lord has power over death.
I repeat. The faith of Abraham gives him purpose. He worships the true God. Not a swamp of false gods, leading a person into false hopes, empty pleasures, hollow promises.
Abraham rightly gives God glory and his faith brings meaning to his life. It is one thing to know that something is true. It’s another thing to let that truth permeate our lives, to find the meaning it gives to our life, and to do so with gratitude and reverence.
And the faith of Abraham gives him hope. He places his trust in the One who has power over death. Where Abraham can only see barrenness and death, Abraham accepts God’s assurance of fruitfulness and new life - and receives the child from whom descendants more numerous than the sands of the sea would descend.
Let me tell you about Fr. Walter Ciszek.
As a young man growing up in the United States, Walter Ciszek dreamed of living in Russia. During his theological training in the States and later in Rome, Ciszek studied Russia and Russian Christianity. And just as WWII began, hHe received his first appointment as a priest in Poland. And even though he hadn’t made it all the way to Russia, Russia came the rest of the way to him. With the invasion of Poland by Germany, Poland was carved up between the Germans and Russians and Walter Ciszek found himself in the Russian section.
But at the invitation of a fellow priest, an opportunity came to go with a coal mining team deep into the heart of mainland Russia. Ciszek jumped to accept and soon he was crowded into a railway boxcar for the long trip. He could barely contain himself, finally to visit the country he had so longed hoped to see; finally to experience life in a communist society about which he had heard such fascinating reports.
But upon arrival, his disappointment was profound.
In the mining camp, Ciszek discovered that the principle of religious freedom in a communist country meant little among people who were steeped in the official atheism. There was little interest and no encouragement.
Causing far greater strain, however, was the invasion of Russia by Germany. From then on, anyone who showed signs of nonconformity was under suspicion and most were arrested. Ciszek’s dream became a nightmare. He was arrested and for four years he was ceaselessly questioned and tortured under the trumped up charge of being a spy.
Ciszek describes this period as one in which his own soul was purged. Suffering and oppressed under communism, Ciszek had no more illusions about human institutions. Living beside hardened criminals, Ciszek had no more illusions human nature. And tormented day and night to produce a false statement, Ciszek’s eventual failure left him no illusions even about himself.
Though it was this final episode which served as a turning point.
After continuous interrogation, harassment and torture, Ciszek finally signed a statement declaring falsely that he was a spy. He went back to his cell in despair. He had lost hope in every one and every thing around him. Now he lost hope even in himself. But at that moment, the lowest in his life, he prayed a simple prayer and, as he put it, turned to God in complete trust, determining from that moment on to live with the single aim of trusting God and following God’s will even in every circumstance of his life.
So he did. Even in prison, he resolved to follow God’s will in every circumstance.
The prison guards were visibly amazed at his transformation. So much so that they misunderstood the change and hatched a plan to send him back to Rome as a Soviet spy. But when it was demanded that Ciszek sign a second agreement to serve as a Russian spy, Ciszek - who had become someone different from the man who had caved in earlier - refused. His captors flew into a rage and sentenced him to fifteen more years of hard labor in a Siberian work camp.
Which brings us to a remarkable episode in his life.
After completing his fifteen year sentence, Fr. Ciszek was released from prison and sent to the city of Norilsk where he could live, but under strict conditions set by the local authorities.
In Norilsk, however, Fr. Ciszek hunted up two other priests who had also been released from prison. They were in a miserable little shack in a squatter’s village on the edge of the city. But in that tiny hut, he was greeted with the joy of three brothers reunited at a seaside resort.
And there, in such humble conditions, after so many years of interruption, Fr. Ciszek resumed his duties as a priest. One occasion stood out among all others.
About a year later, the other two priests were forced out of Norilsk and Fr. Ciszek was left alone to serve the people during Lent and Holy Week. Humble as conditions were, a full schedule of services was arranged. Hundreds of people, at great risk to themselves participated. And for 48 hours straight over Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Eve, Fr. Ciszek went throughout the city of Norilsk, blessing the people and hearing their confessions concluding with the Easter eucharist. And when it was finally over and as he sat to rest, in the background he could hear the last group of courageous Christian people leaving his small cottage, greeting each other in the words of the traditional Easter greeting: Christ is Risen. Christ is risen indeed. For all he had suffered, to serve these brave people through the most solemn season of the Christian year was one of the most thrilling experiences all his life.
The very next day, he was picked up by authorities, given an airline ticket and ordered to get out of the city and never return.
And this is what I find so striking. In prison, he realized his limits as a frail, mortal and sinful man, there to discover the perfect contentment of choosing only to follow the will of God. And while at first angered by his expulsion from Norilsk, as he sat in the plane, uprooted again and on the way to another new home, suddenly, it dawned on him: how was it that he should have experienced the joy of that Holy Week? How was it, in such a dramatic and historic time, that he should be the one to reap what his two predecessors had worked so hard and faithfully to achieve? And in those terrible circumstances, he experienced the peace of perfect trust in God and in the future for which God would provide.
Following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek followed the true God who could be trusted through the tumult of war with the Nazis and oppression under the Communists. Following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek found the meaning of life offered in gratitude to the Heavenly Father who alone deserves it, turning his head away from the shrill demands for it from captors who tried to use violence to gain it. And following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek experienced the new life that God can bring where only death and hopelessness appear.
Or, as an editorial in yesterday’s National Post put it so eloquently (22 March 2008):
Even when all seems definitively lost, when the stone is rolled into place and the darkness within the tomb is complete, even then hope is not lost. For the day in which the voice is silenced, the day in which the light is darkened, the day in which the faith is sealed underground — all this is but for a day! The day of the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
The next time your loyalty to the One true God is turned away by a big bag of money, or a big bag of wind - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
The next time your affections are turned away from the Great Love toward little and hollow loves of fleeting pleasure and false relief - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
And the next time the forces of death and decay start heckling in the back of your head, the next time you hear them telling you there is no hope, no future, no use - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
And in the footsteps of the One who leads into the truth, who offers us the meaning and satisfaction in life for which we are made, who offers us hope beyond the grave, St. Paul’s words are the right ones:
I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.
First, Abraham turns from false gods to faith in the one, true God.
Secondly, Abraham rightly gives glory to God rather than glory to those things that are undeserving and which would set him on a course toward corruption and dishonor.
And as a hundred year old man with a ninety-nine year old wife, Abraham accepts the Lord’s promise of fruitfulness and new life trusting that the Lord has power over death.
I repeat. The faith of Abraham gives him purpose. He worships the true God. Not a swamp of false gods, leading a person into false hopes, empty pleasures, hollow promises.
Abraham rightly gives God glory and his faith brings meaning to his life. It is one thing to know that something is true. It’s another thing to let that truth permeate our lives, to find the meaning it gives to our life, and to do so with gratitude and reverence.
And the faith of Abraham gives him hope. He places his trust in the One who has power over death. Where Abraham can only see barrenness and death, Abraham accepts God’s assurance of fruitfulness and new life - and receives the child from whom descendants more numerous than the sands of the sea would descend.
Let me tell you about Fr. Walter Ciszek.
As a young man growing up in the United States, Walter Ciszek dreamed of living in Russia. During his theological training in the States and later in Rome, Ciszek studied Russia and Russian Christianity. And just as WWII began, hHe received his first appointment as a priest in Poland. And even though he hadn’t made it all the way to Russia, Russia came the rest of the way to him. With the invasion of Poland by Germany, Poland was carved up between the Germans and Russians and Walter Ciszek found himself in the Russian section.
But at the invitation of a fellow priest, an opportunity came to go with a coal mining team deep into the heart of mainland Russia. Ciszek jumped to accept and soon he was crowded into a railway boxcar for the long trip. He could barely contain himself, finally to visit the country he had so longed hoped to see; finally to experience life in a communist society about which he had heard such fascinating reports.
But upon arrival, his disappointment was profound.
In the mining camp, Ciszek discovered that the principle of religious freedom in a communist country meant little among people who were steeped in the official atheism. There was little interest and no encouragement.
Causing far greater strain, however, was the invasion of Russia by Germany. From then on, anyone who showed signs of nonconformity was under suspicion and most were arrested. Ciszek’s dream became a nightmare. He was arrested and for four years he was ceaselessly questioned and tortured under the trumped up charge of being a spy.
Ciszek describes this period as one in which his own soul was purged. Suffering and oppressed under communism, Ciszek had no more illusions about human institutions. Living beside hardened criminals, Ciszek had no more illusions human nature. And tormented day and night to produce a false statement, Ciszek’s eventual failure left him no illusions even about himself.
Though it was this final episode which served as a turning point.
After continuous interrogation, harassment and torture, Ciszek finally signed a statement declaring falsely that he was a spy. He went back to his cell in despair. He had lost hope in every one and every thing around him. Now he lost hope even in himself. But at that moment, the lowest in his life, he prayed a simple prayer and, as he put it, turned to God in complete trust, determining from that moment on to live with the single aim of trusting God and following God’s will even in every circumstance of his life.
So he did. Even in prison, he resolved to follow God’s will in every circumstance.
The prison guards were visibly amazed at his transformation. So much so that they misunderstood the change and hatched a plan to send him back to Rome as a Soviet spy. But when it was demanded that Ciszek sign a second agreement to serve as a Russian spy, Ciszek - who had become someone different from the man who had caved in earlier - refused. His captors flew into a rage and sentenced him to fifteen more years of hard labor in a Siberian work camp.
Which brings us to a remarkable episode in his life.
After completing his fifteen year sentence, Fr. Ciszek was released from prison and sent to the city of Norilsk where he could live, but under strict conditions set by the local authorities.
In Norilsk, however, Fr. Ciszek hunted up two other priests who had also been released from prison. They were in a miserable little shack in a squatter’s village on the edge of the city. But in that tiny hut, he was greeted with the joy of three brothers reunited at a seaside resort.
And there, in such humble conditions, after so many years of interruption, Fr. Ciszek resumed his duties as a priest. One occasion stood out among all others.
About a year later, the other two priests were forced out of Norilsk and Fr. Ciszek was left alone to serve the people during Lent and Holy Week. Humble as conditions were, a full schedule of services was arranged. Hundreds of people, at great risk to themselves participated. And for 48 hours straight over Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Eve, Fr. Ciszek went throughout the city of Norilsk, blessing the people and hearing their confessions concluding with the Easter eucharist. And when it was finally over and as he sat to rest, in the background he could hear the last group of courageous Christian people leaving his small cottage, greeting each other in the words of the traditional Easter greeting: Christ is Risen. Christ is risen indeed. For all he had suffered, to serve these brave people through the most solemn season of the Christian year was one of the most thrilling experiences all his life.
The very next day, he was picked up by authorities, given an airline ticket and ordered to get out of the city and never return.
And this is what I find so striking. In prison, he realized his limits as a frail, mortal and sinful man, there to discover the perfect contentment of choosing only to follow the will of God. And while at first angered by his expulsion from Norilsk, as he sat in the plane, uprooted again and on the way to another new home, suddenly, it dawned on him: how was it that he should have experienced the joy of that Holy Week? How was it, in such a dramatic and historic time, that he should be the one to reap what his two predecessors had worked so hard and faithfully to achieve? And in those terrible circumstances, he experienced the peace of perfect trust in God and in the future for which God would provide.
Following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek followed the true God who could be trusted through the tumult of war with the Nazis and oppression under the Communists. Following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek found the meaning of life offered in gratitude to the Heavenly Father who alone deserves it, turning his head away from the shrill demands for it from captors who tried to use violence to gain it. And following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek experienced the new life that God can bring where only death and hopelessness appear.
Or, as an editorial in yesterday’s National Post put it so eloquently (22 March 2008):
Even when all seems definitively lost, when the stone is rolled into place and the darkness within the tomb is complete, even then hope is not lost. For the day in which the voice is silenced, the day in which the light is darkened, the day in which the faith is sealed underground — all this is but for a day! The day of the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
The next time your loyalty to the One true God is turned away by a big bag of money, or a big bag of wind - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
The next time your affections are turned away from the Great Love toward little and hollow loves of fleeting pleasure and false relief - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
And the next time the forces of death and decay start heckling in the back of your head, the next time you hear them telling you there is no hope, no future, no use - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
And in the footsteps of the One who leads into the truth, who offers us the meaning and satisfaction in life for which we are made, who offers us hope beyond the grave, St. Paul’s words are the right ones:
I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Parts in the Sweet Song of Grace - Sermon - Lent 1, February 10, 2008 - Fr. Dean
As a child, growing up on the farm in Saskatchewan, the water we drank did not come from the tap. It was good enough for washing and cleaning, but not clean enough to drink. We got our drinking water from an underground spring, drawn from a well. The well was about a hundred yards north of the house, and usually once a day, Mom or Dad or one of us as me and my sisters grew older and stronger, carried an empty water pail to the well, pumped it full from an old iron pump, and carried the clear, fresh water back to the house for the family to drink.
It was a trip made almost every day. So often that there was a dirt path to the well pounded nearly as hard as concrete. Because every day, one, two or three sets of feet pounded over it.
One spring, my second and younger sister, a little girl at the time, was given some sunflower seeds which she was determined to plant. You know where she planted them. She planted them where we told her they had no chance of growing. She planted them where we told her that work boots, rubber boots, and running shoes would trample them every day. She planted them in ground we told her was too hard and too packed to be of any use. She planted them on the path from the house to the well. And about three weeks later, you know what the rest of us did for the rest of that spring, summer and fall. We walked around her confounded sunflower which grew up strong and tall right in the middle of that rock hard path to the drinking water well.
Bishop Tom Wright says that listening to the New Testament is like listening to the harmony of a song. He uses an interesting example. Have you ever played the game where you hum the melody of a song, and a friend tries to guess the name of the song? Or have you ever tried humming - not the melody - but the bass part, or the tenor’s part, or the alto’s part, and tried to guess the name of the song?
The good news of Jesus Christ is like the melody of the song we sing, but there are several parts that we must hear, before we can hear it fully and understand it well.
For Christians, the melody line is Jesus Christ - his life, teaching, healing, suffering, death and resurrection. And even on its own, it is pretty good music. The sweet song of God’s Son, who lived simply without even a pillow for his head. Who taught the word of the Lord to common people. Who gave sight back to the blind. Who offered friendship and mercy to the used and abused.
It is a pretty sweet song.
But like a great church bell, tolling in the background, this glorious song has ever so much more to offer when we listen to its bass part in the Old Testament.
This is what Bishop Wright emphasizes as we read this passage from Romans, chapter five. But let me tease you now. He ends by reminding us of a surprising part in the middle this song is intended to sound.
This passage describes two imbalances. First, and as it is put in verse 15, grace is not like sin. Sin brings death. There’s no surprise. That’s what sin does.
But grace brings life, and it does so even in those circumstances where death appears to reign.
When a ninety-nine year old man and a hundred year old woman - tired out, worn out and barren - are given the promise of a child through whom the mercy of God will wash over the world - what chance is there?
When a beaten up band of slaves are chased by the best army in Egypt to the edge of a broiling sea - and promised to get through that Red Sea and turned into God’s people out in a desolate wilderness - what chance is there?
When a people are crushed and humiliated and taken from the promised land into exile in a foreign land, with the promise that they will be restored, and God will keep the promises he makes - what chance is there?
And when the Messiah promises to lead his followers to glory, over the trampled path that heads straight to the cross on Golgotha - what chance is there?
But grace brings life. And it brings it where all hope seems lost. It brings it where death reigns.
The grace of God, says Bishop Wright, “is nothing short of new creation, creation not merely out of nothing but out of . . . death itself.” ("Romans", Interpreter’s Bible, 2002, p. 528).
Which is related to the second imbalance Paul describes.
That is, plainly and explicitly, grace does what it does after many trespasses. Adam’s sin, and the human rebellion and strife which followed, has been with us since the beginning of time. But the grace of God, revealed to us uniquely in Jesus Christ, came after many trespasses, after the soil of the human heart had been trampled on and beaten down many times, over countless generations. But just as the hand of God can put dead Lazarus back on his feet, the grace of God in Jesus Christ can put a new heart in our chests.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! (2 Co 5:17)
Hopelessness is a terrible thing. And there are times when we become hopeless. When we have been hurt, betrayed and disappointed. When we have hurt, betrayed and disappointed - and done it more than once - to ourselves, our loved ones, our Creator. And the question sneaks in. What hope is there for me? No doubt there’s hope for the good ones, the strong ones and the brave ones. But what hope is there for me?
But Jesus Christ loved the trampled ones, like the woman who bathed his feet in luxurious oil. Jesus Christ loved the weak ones, like the sick man lowered from the roof by his desperate friends. Jesus Christ loved the crooked ones, like Peter who broke his solemn vow.
This is the grace that enters the scene and does its work after many trespasses. This is the grace that bursts through the hard and trampled terrain of our hearts and of our world.
And finally, let me note for you one unexpected contrast.
In verse 17, Paul describes the reign of sin, the power of death in our world caused by human sinfulness and rebellion. And he begins there in order to point to the new thing that has come into being which outweighs and overpowers sin and death. What do you think that new thing is? What do you think that new power is?
The obvious answer would be the power of God and the reign of Christ. That, we would guess, is what offsets the power and reign of sin. But if you can hear the tolling of the Old Testament, you might guess what Paul actually says. The new thing God has created is the new thing God has been intent on from the time he made a promise to Abraham. ‘I will make you a holy people a nation of priests and you shall be a blessing to all nations.”
As Paul puts it here, how “much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace [reign] in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.” (Ro 5:17) God’s solution is a people.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Pe 2:9)
And that part, says Bishop Wright, is our part in the sweet song of grace. Our part here in the worship of God, joined with brothers and sisters by grace, experiencing God’s peace now, looking forward to God’s peace in all the world, receiving by word and sacrament the nourishment we need and the hope that God offers to break through trampled ground.
Our part in the serious study of the Scriptures and the faith passed down to us. God is renewing the world. God is restoring all creation. And it is in the whole counsel of Scripture that we hear all of the sweet song of grace.
And our part in service with the mighty and surprising power at work in Jesus Christ, which lifted him out of the grave and vindicated him before all the world - the power at our disposal - to serve, to heal, to bring peace and to restore.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who favored a beaten people, who took them from slavery, and in the purifying
wilderness made them to stand erect (Lev. 26.13).
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who reached out - to the woman with the issue of blood, to the lepers outside the city gates, to the dying criminal pleading at his side.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the new creation God is making out of old souls, and trampled hearts and dry bones.
For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— (Eph 5:8)
This is the sweet song of grace:
. . . the melody of Jesus Christ that reached out and touched us;
. . . the bass line of God’s purposes from the time of creation, intent on the redemption of the world through the creation of a redeemed people;
. . . and our part, new creatures by God’s grace, given the strength of Jesus Christ himself to heal, to serve and to restore, and the hopeful song of all creation’s redemption on our lips.
Do you want to sing your part in the sweet song of grace? As we begin our Lenten journey, let us offer our hearts and lives for that very thing. Amen.
It was a trip made almost every day. So often that there was a dirt path to the well pounded nearly as hard as concrete. Because every day, one, two or three sets of feet pounded over it.
One spring, my second and younger sister, a little girl at the time, was given some sunflower seeds which she was determined to plant. You know where she planted them. She planted them where we told her they had no chance of growing. She planted them where we told her that work boots, rubber boots, and running shoes would trample them every day. She planted them in ground we told her was too hard and too packed to be of any use. She planted them on the path from the house to the well. And about three weeks later, you know what the rest of us did for the rest of that spring, summer and fall. We walked around her confounded sunflower which grew up strong and tall right in the middle of that rock hard path to the drinking water well.
Bishop Tom Wright says that listening to the New Testament is like listening to the harmony of a song. He uses an interesting example. Have you ever played the game where you hum the melody of a song, and a friend tries to guess the name of the song? Or have you ever tried humming - not the melody - but the bass part, or the tenor’s part, or the alto’s part, and tried to guess the name of the song?
The good news of Jesus Christ is like the melody of the song we sing, but there are several parts that we must hear, before we can hear it fully and understand it well.
For Christians, the melody line is Jesus Christ - his life, teaching, healing, suffering, death and resurrection. And even on its own, it is pretty good music. The sweet song of God’s Son, who lived simply without even a pillow for his head. Who taught the word of the Lord to common people. Who gave sight back to the blind. Who offered friendship and mercy to the used and abused.
It is a pretty sweet song.
But like a great church bell, tolling in the background, this glorious song has ever so much more to offer when we listen to its bass part in the Old Testament.
This is what Bishop Wright emphasizes as we read this passage from Romans, chapter five. But let me tease you now. He ends by reminding us of a surprising part in the middle this song is intended to sound.
This passage describes two imbalances. First, and as it is put in verse 15, grace is not like sin. Sin brings death. There’s no surprise. That’s what sin does.
But grace brings life, and it does so even in those circumstances where death appears to reign.
When a ninety-nine year old man and a hundred year old woman - tired out, worn out and barren - are given the promise of a child through whom the mercy of God will wash over the world - what chance is there?
When a beaten up band of slaves are chased by the best army in Egypt to the edge of a broiling sea - and promised to get through that Red Sea and turned into God’s people out in a desolate wilderness - what chance is there?
When a people are crushed and humiliated and taken from the promised land into exile in a foreign land, with the promise that they will be restored, and God will keep the promises he makes - what chance is there?
And when the Messiah promises to lead his followers to glory, over the trampled path that heads straight to the cross on Golgotha - what chance is there?
But grace brings life. And it brings it where all hope seems lost. It brings it where death reigns.
The grace of God, says Bishop Wright, “is nothing short of new creation, creation not merely out of nothing but out of . . . death itself.” ("Romans", Interpreter’s Bible, 2002, p. 528).
Which is related to the second imbalance Paul describes.
That is, plainly and explicitly, grace does what it does after many trespasses. Adam’s sin, and the human rebellion and strife which followed, has been with us since the beginning of time. But the grace of God, revealed to us uniquely in Jesus Christ, came after many trespasses, after the soil of the human heart had been trampled on and beaten down many times, over countless generations. But just as the hand of God can put dead Lazarus back on his feet, the grace of God in Jesus Christ can put a new heart in our chests.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! (2 Co 5:17)
Hopelessness is a terrible thing. And there are times when we become hopeless. When we have been hurt, betrayed and disappointed. When we have hurt, betrayed and disappointed - and done it more than once - to ourselves, our loved ones, our Creator. And the question sneaks in. What hope is there for me? No doubt there’s hope for the good ones, the strong ones and the brave ones. But what hope is there for me?
But Jesus Christ loved the trampled ones, like the woman who bathed his feet in luxurious oil. Jesus Christ loved the weak ones, like the sick man lowered from the roof by his desperate friends. Jesus Christ loved the crooked ones, like Peter who broke his solemn vow.
This is the grace that enters the scene and does its work after many trespasses. This is the grace that bursts through the hard and trampled terrain of our hearts and of our world.
And finally, let me note for you one unexpected contrast.
In verse 17, Paul describes the reign of sin, the power of death in our world caused by human sinfulness and rebellion. And he begins there in order to point to the new thing that has come into being which outweighs and overpowers sin and death. What do you think that new thing is? What do you think that new power is?
The obvious answer would be the power of God and the reign of Christ. That, we would guess, is what offsets the power and reign of sin. But if you can hear the tolling of the Old Testament, you might guess what Paul actually says. The new thing God has created is the new thing God has been intent on from the time he made a promise to Abraham. ‘I will make you a holy people a nation of priests and you shall be a blessing to all nations.”
As Paul puts it here, how “much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace [reign] in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.” (Ro 5:17) God’s solution is a people.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Pe 2:9)
And that part, says Bishop Wright, is our part in the sweet song of grace. Our part here in the worship of God, joined with brothers and sisters by grace, experiencing God’s peace now, looking forward to God’s peace in all the world, receiving by word and sacrament the nourishment we need and the hope that God offers to break through trampled ground.
Our part in the serious study of the Scriptures and the faith passed down to us. God is renewing the world. God is restoring all creation. And it is in the whole counsel of Scripture that we hear all of the sweet song of grace.
And our part in service with the mighty and surprising power at work in Jesus Christ, which lifted him out of the grave and vindicated him before all the world - the power at our disposal - to serve, to heal, to bring peace and to restore.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who favored a beaten people, who took them from slavery, and in the purifying
wilderness made them to stand erect (Lev. 26.13).
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who reached out - to the woman with the issue of blood, to the lepers outside the city gates, to the dying criminal pleading at his side.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the new creation God is making out of old souls, and trampled hearts and dry bones.
For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— (Eph 5:8)
This is the sweet song of grace:
. . . the melody of Jesus Christ that reached out and touched us;
. . . the bass line of God’s purposes from the time of creation, intent on the redemption of the world through the creation of a redeemed people;
. . . and our part, new creatures by God’s grace, given the strength of Jesus Christ himself to heal, to serve and to restore, and the hopeful song of all creation’s redemption on our lips.
Do you want to sing your part in the sweet song of grace? As we begin our Lenten journey, let us offer our hearts and lives for that very thing. Amen.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Live in Joy - December 30, 2007 - Fr. Dean Mercer
sermon: Live In Joy
St. Paul's L'Amoreaux, December 30, 2007
After my grandfather retired from working in his autobody shop in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, he took up a number of hobbies - picture framing, rock collecting and polishing, and, a little later, the construction of grandfather clocks. Among the many tools that my grandfather had downstairs in his workshop was a little wood lathe.
Well, one time I wanted to make a candlestick. Grandpa and I found a piece of wood, fastened it to the plate of the lathe, and then turned on the motor and began to carve.
At first the piece was rough and of an uneven shape. But gradually, as the sawdust sprayed up and around us, we were able to round off this rough old piece of wood and begin developing the shape we wanted. Once the general shape was reached, different tools, and even files and sandpaper were applied to make it shiny and smooth.
It was exhilarating to watch. First, we carved out a cone at the top to hold the candle, then a long, narrow stem. Then that was widened out at the bottom into a smooth base.
However, when we had almost completed the entire candlestick, I chipped the base. Either I had tried to carve too deeply, or it chipped when we tried to saw it off from the stock of wood.
It was very disappointing. I wanted to try and glue the broken piece back on, or just leave it as it was, because it had taken so long, and so much work. But my grandfather insisted on something else.
He took the candle-stick which I had broken and cut the base right off. Then he found another piece of wood of a completely different kind but with markings which matched the broken piece. He applied glue, clamped the two pieces together and told me to come back in a couple days. When I returned, we fastened the repaired wood to the lathe and began again. The outcome was more spectacular than the original. In fact, the two different pieces came to look as if they were one, with a lovely colour and design.
The tension at Christmas, in light of the great darkness that we experience in the world, begins with the fact that so much of Christmas is achingly beautiful:
. . . the Magi moving solemnly toward Bethlehem under the guidance of a brilliant star;
. . . the deep and majestic rhythm in the background as the history of Israel itself is remembered - a Son of David, promised by the prophets, enroute in and out of Egypt;
. . . and the discovery of a child, before whom, in great joy, the travellers would bow.
In his Christmas address, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams[1], reminded us of the poetry of St. John of the Cross. St. John of the Cross is best known for his description of hard times in discipleship and his description of the 'dark night of the soul'. But he also composed a series of poems on the topic of Christmas joy.
In them, St. John imagines the happiness of the persons of the Trinity bubbling over in the loving desire to extend the joy they experience to others who would know it and respond in kind. If you can imagine the three persons of the Trinity, God is seeking to create a bride for his Son. And so God does so by creating humanity and the world, with all its beauty and variety. And that world waits. Waits for the coming of the groom. Waits to be reunited. And when the groom finally arrives on Christmas, tears pour out.
The Archbishop notices two things.
First, the tears are tears of joy - first and foremost, because God came into the world not to save, but to be united with creatures who love and share his joy. As he puts it:
We are right to think about the seriousness of sin . . . but we see it properly and in perspective only when we have our eyes firmly on the greatness and unchanging purpose of God=s eternal plan for the marriage of heaven and earth.
It is a perspective that is necessary when our own sins or those of a failing and suffering world fill the horizon for us, so that we can hardly believe the situation can be transformed.
For if God's purpose is what it is, and if God has the power and freedom to enter our world and meet us face to face, there is nothing that can destroy that initial divine vision of what the world is for and what we human beings are for.
Nothing changes, however far we fall; if we decide to settle down with our failures and give way to cynicism and despair, that is indeed dreadful ‑ but God remains the same God who has decided that the world should exist so that it may enter into his joy.
Secondly, the variety of the world, its great vistas and its narrow ledges, what St. John of the Cross called the 'composed world of infinite differences', is deliberate. Or, as the Archbishop puts it more simply, God has made this world as it is for us to grow and mature and become more like what God intends. And before all else, this varied world, and the infinitely mysterious people we come upon, should summon from us reverence and thanksgiving.
There is a great scene in the third volume of The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien - and it is almost completely missing from the movie. After all their adventures and the danger they faced, the little hobbits can finally come home. But upon arriving home, their land is still dominated by gangsters who were part of the reason they had originally been sent out on their great mission. But, now, in comparison to all they had just come through, it was relatively easy work to face the bullies and bring the same peace to the shire that was now extending throughout the land.
Returning home, the hobbits are different. They are mature, brave and strong in ways they had never been before.
Why is the world the way it is? To begin with, and simply, that is for God. And we would have to be greater and wiser than God to propose a different one. But what we know in this world of both tears and beauty, is that the pieces and the people are intended to come together. And in that great movement, the world is the place where we become what God intends. As Archbishop Williams puts it:
The whole point of creation is that there should be persons, made up of spirit and body, in God's image and likeness, to use the language of Genesis and of the New Testament, who are capable of intimacy with God ‑ not so that God can gain something but so that these created beings may live in joy.
And Gods way of making sure that this joy is fully available is to join humanity on earth so that human beings may recognise what they are and what they are for.
On this day, as we celebrate the baptism of Nyree, we can think of the challenges and the difficulties and the dangers ahead. But let us begin with - and may we never forget - the beauty of this little child and her life, the shards of glory in our world which surround us all, and God's overflowing joy into which he desires us to enter and share.
[1]www.anglicancommunion.org/acns/news.cfm/2007/12/25/ACNS4357.
St. Paul's L'Amoreaux, December 30, 2007
After my grandfather retired from working in his autobody shop in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, he took up a number of hobbies - picture framing, rock collecting and polishing, and, a little later, the construction of grandfather clocks. Among the many tools that my grandfather had downstairs in his workshop was a little wood lathe.
Well, one time I wanted to make a candlestick. Grandpa and I found a piece of wood, fastened it to the plate of the lathe, and then turned on the motor and began to carve.
At first the piece was rough and of an uneven shape. But gradually, as the sawdust sprayed up and around us, we were able to round off this rough old piece of wood and begin developing the shape we wanted. Once the general shape was reached, different tools, and even files and sandpaper were applied to make it shiny and smooth.
It was exhilarating to watch. First, we carved out a cone at the top to hold the candle, then a long, narrow stem. Then that was widened out at the bottom into a smooth base.
However, when we had almost completed the entire candlestick, I chipped the base. Either I had tried to carve too deeply, or it chipped when we tried to saw it off from the stock of wood.
It was very disappointing. I wanted to try and glue the broken piece back on, or just leave it as it was, because it had taken so long, and so much work. But my grandfather insisted on something else.
He took the candle-stick which I had broken and cut the base right off. Then he found another piece of wood of a completely different kind but with markings which matched the broken piece. He applied glue, clamped the two pieces together and told me to come back in a couple days. When I returned, we fastened the repaired wood to the lathe and began again. The outcome was more spectacular than the original. In fact, the two different pieces came to look as if they were one, with a lovely colour and design.
The tension at Christmas, in light of the great darkness that we experience in the world, begins with the fact that so much of Christmas is achingly beautiful:
. . . the Magi moving solemnly toward Bethlehem under the guidance of a brilliant star;
. . . the deep and majestic rhythm in the background as the history of Israel itself is remembered - a Son of David, promised by the prophets, enroute in and out of Egypt;
. . . and the discovery of a child, before whom, in great joy, the travellers would bow.
In his Christmas address, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams[1], reminded us of the poetry of St. John of the Cross. St. John of the Cross is best known for his description of hard times in discipleship and his description of the 'dark night of the soul'. But he also composed a series of poems on the topic of Christmas joy.
In them, St. John imagines the happiness of the persons of the Trinity bubbling over in the loving desire to extend the joy they experience to others who would know it and respond in kind. If you can imagine the three persons of the Trinity, God is seeking to create a bride for his Son. And so God does so by creating humanity and the world, with all its beauty and variety. And that world waits. Waits for the coming of the groom. Waits to be reunited. And when the groom finally arrives on Christmas, tears pour out.
The Archbishop notices two things.
First, the tears are tears of joy - first and foremost, because God came into the world not to save, but to be united with creatures who love and share his joy. As he puts it:
We are right to think about the seriousness of sin . . . but we see it properly and in perspective only when we have our eyes firmly on the greatness and unchanging purpose of God=s eternal plan for the marriage of heaven and earth.
It is a perspective that is necessary when our own sins or those of a failing and suffering world fill the horizon for us, so that we can hardly believe the situation can be transformed.
For if God's purpose is what it is, and if God has the power and freedom to enter our world and meet us face to face, there is nothing that can destroy that initial divine vision of what the world is for and what we human beings are for.
Nothing changes, however far we fall; if we decide to settle down with our failures and give way to cynicism and despair, that is indeed dreadful ‑ but God remains the same God who has decided that the world should exist so that it may enter into his joy.
Secondly, the variety of the world, its great vistas and its narrow ledges, what St. John of the Cross called the 'composed world of infinite differences', is deliberate. Or, as the Archbishop puts it more simply, God has made this world as it is for us to grow and mature and become more like what God intends. And before all else, this varied world, and the infinitely mysterious people we come upon, should summon from us reverence and thanksgiving.
There is a great scene in the third volume of The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien - and it is almost completely missing from the movie. After all their adventures and the danger they faced, the little hobbits can finally come home. But upon arriving home, their land is still dominated by gangsters who were part of the reason they had originally been sent out on their great mission. But, now, in comparison to all they had just come through, it was relatively easy work to face the bullies and bring the same peace to the shire that was now extending throughout the land.
Returning home, the hobbits are different. They are mature, brave and strong in ways they had never been before.
Why is the world the way it is? To begin with, and simply, that is for God. And we would have to be greater and wiser than God to propose a different one. But what we know in this world of both tears and beauty, is that the pieces and the people are intended to come together. And in that great movement, the world is the place where we become what God intends. As Archbishop Williams puts it:
The whole point of creation is that there should be persons, made up of spirit and body, in God's image and likeness, to use the language of Genesis and of the New Testament, who are capable of intimacy with God ‑ not so that God can gain something but so that these created beings may live in joy.
And Gods way of making sure that this joy is fully available is to join humanity on earth so that human beings may recognise what they are and what they are for.
On this day, as we celebrate the baptism of Nyree, we can think of the challenges and the difficulties and the dangers ahead. But let us begin with - and may we never forget - the beauty of this little child and her life, the shards of glory in our world which surround us all, and God's overflowing joy into which he desires us to enter and share.
[1]www.anglicancommunion.org/acns/news.cfm/2007/12/25/ACNS4357.
Sermon: Transformation, Timing & Triump - by David Puttock, Layreader
February 3, 2008, Last Sunday after Epiphany (Year A), Matthew 17:1-9
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our Strength and our Redeemer. (Psalm 19:14)
I wonder how many of you ever watched “Sesame Street” – perhaps with your children or your grandchildren. If you did, then you’ll understand me when I announce that today’s homily is brought to you by the letter “T”. Certainly the central theme of today’s Gospel reading is the “T” word - Transfiguration. But I also propose to you three more “T” words that help us to understand today’s message. They are Transformation - Timing - and Triumph.
Let us start with Transformation. The words transformation and transfiguration are closely related. The word translated here as “transfigured” is in the Greek text “metemorphothe” – from which we get the word “metamorphosis”. But, when used elsewhere in the New Testament, the word is usually translated as “transformed”. And I feel the word “transformation” helps us to better understand the message.
But let us start with the Transfiguration of Jesus. It is a totally mysterious and unique event. What is happening here ? How do we comprehend it ?
The narrative is quite straightforward. Jesus goes up on the mountain with three of his disciples, Peter, James and John. Six days before, in a crucial moment of revelation, Peter has declared Jesus to be the Messiah (Matthew 16:16). Now on the mountain top Peter’s declaration is confirmed in that Jesus is glorified as the Messiah by God the Father. His face is suddenly illuminated like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. To the disciples, his form and countenance are transformed from human to divine. This brilliance is not a reflection of his Father’s glory. It is authentically his own. The whiteness of his clothes suggests the robes of the Great High Priest. Then in a spell-binding scene that brings together the major elements of God’s covenant with his people, we glimpse the coming together of the Word (who is Jesus), the Law (which is represented by Moses) and the Prophets (represented by the great prophet, Elijah). Hereupon, Peter speaks some very Peter-like comments. And then a bright cloud overshadows the scene and the voice of God is heard in awesome affirmation of Jesus and his ministry. At this the disciples fall to the ground in fear. Jesus helps them to their feet with words of re-assurance. By then everyone has gone and the event is over.
Whenever we read scripture, we also search for meaning. How does the transfiguration event apply to us in our daily lives ? What is to be our “transfiguration” experience ? Searching for an answer takes us to those other places in the New Testament where the word is used. For example, Paul writes to the Romans (12:2): “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” In other words, pursue a life that is set apart from the ways of the world. This is a life that is focused on worship and prayer, study and service; a life that shows to others an example of Christ-like living. And the more we practise these things, the more we may be able to say with confidence what Paul writes to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 3:18). “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” So, then, what are we being transformed into ? What are we becoming ? Quite simply, we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ. That is our transformation.
Now for the second “T” word – Timing.
The Rev. Bryan Findlayson, a priest in the Anglican Church of Australia, and founder of a useful teaching resource called Pumpkin Cottage Publications, has described the transfiguration as “a momentary taste of future glory in the sea of struggle.” The key word is “momentary”. It is a moment in time.
The timing of the transfiguration is critical for Jesus. It comes at a crucial moment in his ministry. The stunning illumination of his presence and the affirmation of his divinity through the voice of His Father prepare Jesus for the final journey to Jerusalem. Jesus has to go down the mountain and take a difficult road. It will be a road of ups and downs. At first the path will be lined by adoring supporters but they will eventually end up siding with Jesus’s detractors and enemies. It will be a road strewn with palm leaves but the cries of “Hosanna !” will prove to be hollow. Ultimately the road leads up to another hill, to a place called Calvary, to a place of suffering, humiliation and death on the Cross. We will come to that place later.
The timing is important because this experience is intended to equip Jesus with the strength and affirmation and encouragement to go on with his ministry to its conclusion. It is, as it were, God’s seal of approval. In God’s timing the transfiguration experience is necessary and it is precisely at this point in time that it is necessary.
On the other hand, the timing does not work out so well for Peter. He wants to stay on the mountain top. He feels exhilarated to be there with Jesus and Elijah and Moses. He wants to build little huts for them so that they can all live there together happily ever after. But Peter’s timing is all wrong. This is not what God intends. This is not God’s timing. Worse yet he dares to imagine that the Son of God and Moses and Elijah could be confined to ramshackle man-made dwellings. It is not meant to be. No wonder that Peter’s wishful thinking is very abruptly cut short by the voice of God with His booming commandment: “Listen to Him !”.
Poor Peter ! Ultimately he too has to go down the mountain. He still has a very long and hard road to travel. Peter also will suffer many things and eventually die for his faith before he ever tastes this kind of glory again.
So it is with us and our mountain-top experiences. They cannot last for ever. We may try to stop the hands of time in the hope of capturing moments of euphoria. But this is in vain, because time marches on. Eventually we too have to go down the mountain and face the frustrations and squabbling and pettiness of everyday life. Again, to quote Bryan Findlayson,
“We must travel the narrow way in Christ, move through struggle to eternity . . .
The struggle is the struggle of life. It is not the journey of high-minded self-imposed asceticism - rather it is the tedious, frustrating, lonely, questioning, doubting, quietly desperate . . . business of life. This is the journey we undertake to reach glory, a journey shaped by the Word of God and all the time agitated by it. There is no short-cut.”
We have to move on from the “momentary taste of future glory” to that “sea of struggle”.
They say timing is everything. Yes, God’s timing is everything - our timing isn’t.
And so we come to the third “T” word. This is Triumph.
Note that we began this season of Epiphany with the light of a star that reveals the coming of Jesus into this world. On this last Sunday after Epiphany we read about the brilliant light transfiguring the form of Jesus and revealing him as the Son of God. Both are examples of how God breaks into our world through Jesus Christ. These are examples of the triumph of the glory of God.
There is no doubt about it. The whole transfiguration event is simply permeated with an air of triumph. The brilliance of light ! The coming together of the Law and the Prophets with the Word. The authoritative voice of God. What a spectacle ! What majesty ! Shock and awe, we might say today ! All around lies a comforting assurance that God is in control and all is right with the universe. As for the bothersome world below, it seems non-existent ! Yes, for a time, a palpable sense of triumph rules over this mountain top scene.
But there is a different kind of triumph to come. A more sombre triumph won at great cost. For a while my mind wandered to another mountain where Jesus goes with his disciples - to the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. There too he calls out his three favoured disciples, Peter, James and John, to come forward and keep watch with him a while - which they did not do !! Funny, isn’t it, how Peter says nothing about wanting to stay and build huts there !! Well, the contrast between the Mount of Transfiguration and the Mount of Olives is interesting but I missed the most obvious contrast.
So here I acknowledge Bishop Tom Wright, in his commentary “Matthew for Everyone”, who takes this idea a giant step further and delivers a contrast that packs a truly powerful effect. Consider this !
“The scene at the Transfiguration offers a strange parallel and contrast with the crucifixion. Here, on the mountain, Jesus is revealed in glory – at Calvary, he is revealed in shame. Here, his clothes are shining white – at Calvary, his clothes are stripped from him and soldiers gamble for them. Here, he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Israel’s greatest heroes, representing the Law and the Prophets – at Calvary, he is flanked by two criminals, representing the depth to which Israel had sunk in rebellion against God. Here, a bright cloud overshadows the scene – at Calvary, darkness falls upon the land. Here, Peter blurts out how good it all is – at Calvary, he is nowhere to be seen for he is hiding in shame after denying he even knows Jesus. Here, the voice of God Himself affirms his Son with love and joy - at Calvary, it is left to a pagan soldier to declare: ‘Truly, this man was the Son of God !’ ”
Both events - the transfiguration and the crucifixion - are examples of triumph. We have to recognize the glory of God through Jesus Christ in both these events. It is easy to see the triumph in Jesus, illuminated in divine radiance and splendour on the Mount of Transfiguration. It is harder to see the triumph in Jesus, broken and despised on the Cross at Calvary. Yet by his death Jesus bore the full weight of our sins and he triumphed over sin and death itself. On the cross the power of sin is broken. And we are set free !
So to conclude – the triumph of Jesus’s life and death inspires us to seek transformation into his likeness – and all in accordance with God’s plan and timing.
Transformation – Timing – Triumph: these are the three “T” words that help us understand the meaning of the Transfiguration.
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our Strength and our Redeemer. (Psalm 19:14)
I wonder how many of you ever watched “Sesame Street” – perhaps with your children or your grandchildren. If you did, then you’ll understand me when I announce that today’s homily is brought to you by the letter “T”. Certainly the central theme of today’s Gospel reading is the “T” word - Transfiguration. But I also propose to you three more “T” words that help us to understand today’s message. They are Transformation - Timing - and Triumph.
Let us start with Transformation. The words transformation and transfiguration are closely related. The word translated here as “transfigured” is in the Greek text “metemorphothe” – from which we get the word “metamorphosis”. But, when used elsewhere in the New Testament, the word is usually translated as “transformed”. And I feel the word “transformation” helps us to better understand the message.
But let us start with the Transfiguration of Jesus. It is a totally mysterious and unique event. What is happening here ? How do we comprehend it ?
The narrative is quite straightforward. Jesus goes up on the mountain with three of his disciples, Peter, James and John. Six days before, in a crucial moment of revelation, Peter has declared Jesus to be the Messiah (Matthew 16:16). Now on the mountain top Peter’s declaration is confirmed in that Jesus is glorified as the Messiah by God the Father. His face is suddenly illuminated like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. To the disciples, his form and countenance are transformed from human to divine. This brilliance is not a reflection of his Father’s glory. It is authentically his own. The whiteness of his clothes suggests the robes of the Great High Priest. Then in a spell-binding scene that brings together the major elements of God’s covenant with his people, we glimpse the coming together of the Word (who is Jesus), the Law (which is represented by Moses) and the Prophets (represented by the great prophet, Elijah). Hereupon, Peter speaks some very Peter-like comments. And then a bright cloud overshadows the scene and the voice of God is heard in awesome affirmation of Jesus and his ministry. At this the disciples fall to the ground in fear. Jesus helps them to their feet with words of re-assurance. By then everyone has gone and the event is over.
Whenever we read scripture, we also search for meaning. How does the transfiguration event apply to us in our daily lives ? What is to be our “transfiguration” experience ? Searching for an answer takes us to those other places in the New Testament where the word is used. For example, Paul writes to the Romans (12:2): “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” In other words, pursue a life that is set apart from the ways of the world. This is a life that is focused on worship and prayer, study and service; a life that shows to others an example of Christ-like living. And the more we practise these things, the more we may be able to say with confidence what Paul writes to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 3:18). “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” So, then, what are we being transformed into ? What are we becoming ? Quite simply, we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ. That is our transformation.
Now for the second “T” word – Timing.
The Rev. Bryan Findlayson, a priest in the Anglican Church of Australia, and founder of a useful teaching resource called Pumpkin Cottage Publications, has described the transfiguration as “a momentary taste of future glory in the sea of struggle.” The key word is “momentary”. It is a moment in time.
The timing of the transfiguration is critical for Jesus. It comes at a crucial moment in his ministry. The stunning illumination of his presence and the affirmation of his divinity through the voice of His Father prepare Jesus for the final journey to Jerusalem. Jesus has to go down the mountain and take a difficult road. It will be a road of ups and downs. At first the path will be lined by adoring supporters but they will eventually end up siding with Jesus’s detractors and enemies. It will be a road strewn with palm leaves but the cries of “Hosanna !” will prove to be hollow. Ultimately the road leads up to another hill, to a place called Calvary, to a place of suffering, humiliation and death on the Cross. We will come to that place later.
The timing is important because this experience is intended to equip Jesus with the strength and affirmation and encouragement to go on with his ministry to its conclusion. It is, as it were, God’s seal of approval. In God’s timing the transfiguration experience is necessary and it is precisely at this point in time that it is necessary.
On the other hand, the timing does not work out so well for Peter. He wants to stay on the mountain top. He feels exhilarated to be there with Jesus and Elijah and Moses. He wants to build little huts for them so that they can all live there together happily ever after. But Peter’s timing is all wrong. This is not what God intends. This is not God’s timing. Worse yet he dares to imagine that the Son of God and Moses and Elijah could be confined to ramshackle man-made dwellings. It is not meant to be. No wonder that Peter’s wishful thinking is very abruptly cut short by the voice of God with His booming commandment: “Listen to Him !”.
Poor Peter ! Ultimately he too has to go down the mountain. He still has a very long and hard road to travel. Peter also will suffer many things and eventually die for his faith before he ever tastes this kind of glory again.
So it is with us and our mountain-top experiences. They cannot last for ever. We may try to stop the hands of time in the hope of capturing moments of euphoria. But this is in vain, because time marches on. Eventually we too have to go down the mountain and face the frustrations and squabbling and pettiness of everyday life. Again, to quote Bryan Findlayson,
“We must travel the narrow way in Christ, move through struggle to eternity . . .
The struggle is the struggle of life. It is not the journey of high-minded self-imposed asceticism - rather it is the tedious, frustrating, lonely, questioning, doubting, quietly desperate . . . business of life. This is the journey we undertake to reach glory, a journey shaped by the Word of God and all the time agitated by it. There is no short-cut.”
We have to move on from the “momentary taste of future glory” to that “sea of struggle”.
They say timing is everything. Yes, God’s timing is everything - our timing isn’t.
And so we come to the third “T” word. This is Triumph.
Note that we began this season of Epiphany with the light of a star that reveals the coming of Jesus into this world. On this last Sunday after Epiphany we read about the brilliant light transfiguring the form of Jesus and revealing him as the Son of God. Both are examples of how God breaks into our world through Jesus Christ. These are examples of the triumph of the glory of God.
There is no doubt about it. The whole transfiguration event is simply permeated with an air of triumph. The brilliance of light ! The coming together of the Law and the Prophets with the Word. The authoritative voice of God. What a spectacle ! What majesty ! Shock and awe, we might say today ! All around lies a comforting assurance that God is in control and all is right with the universe. As for the bothersome world below, it seems non-existent ! Yes, for a time, a palpable sense of triumph rules over this mountain top scene.
But there is a different kind of triumph to come. A more sombre triumph won at great cost. For a while my mind wandered to another mountain where Jesus goes with his disciples - to the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. There too he calls out his three favoured disciples, Peter, James and John, to come forward and keep watch with him a while - which they did not do !! Funny, isn’t it, how Peter says nothing about wanting to stay and build huts there !! Well, the contrast between the Mount of Transfiguration and the Mount of Olives is interesting but I missed the most obvious contrast.
So here I acknowledge Bishop Tom Wright, in his commentary “Matthew for Everyone”, who takes this idea a giant step further and delivers a contrast that packs a truly powerful effect. Consider this !
“The scene at the Transfiguration offers a strange parallel and contrast with the crucifixion. Here, on the mountain, Jesus is revealed in glory – at Calvary, he is revealed in shame. Here, his clothes are shining white – at Calvary, his clothes are stripped from him and soldiers gamble for them. Here, he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Israel’s greatest heroes, representing the Law and the Prophets – at Calvary, he is flanked by two criminals, representing the depth to which Israel had sunk in rebellion against God. Here, a bright cloud overshadows the scene – at Calvary, darkness falls upon the land. Here, Peter blurts out how good it all is – at Calvary, he is nowhere to be seen for he is hiding in shame after denying he even knows Jesus. Here, the voice of God Himself affirms his Son with love and joy - at Calvary, it is left to a pagan soldier to declare: ‘Truly, this man was the Son of God !’ ”
Both events - the transfiguration and the crucifixion - are examples of triumph. We have to recognize the glory of God through Jesus Christ in both these events. It is easy to see the triumph in Jesus, illuminated in divine radiance and splendour on the Mount of Transfiguration. It is harder to see the triumph in Jesus, broken and despised on the Cross at Calvary. Yet by his death Jesus bore the full weight of our sins and he triumphed over sin and death itself. On the cross the power of sin is broken. And we are set free !
So to conclude – the triumph of Jesus’s life and death inspires us to seek transformation into his likeness – and all in accordance with God’s plan and timing.
Transformation – Timing – Triumph: these are the three “T” words that help us understand the meaning of the Transfiguration.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Sermon: 'Beloved Son'
Matthew 3:13-17
Baptism of the Lord, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 13, 2008
A little over a year ago, near Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania, Charles Roberts carried his guns and rage into a one-room Amish schoolhouse. Determined to even a score with God, Roberts quickly made good on his commitment. As police surrounded the building, he opened fire on ten young female hostages, killing five of them.
The contrast between Roberts’s actions and the peaceful rural landscape made the Nickel Mines school shooting a dramatic story, but even more so was the Amish community's response: forgiveness, extended to the killer’s family within hours.
Horrified strangers worldwide sent over $4 million to the Amish settlement for a people who have no insurance. But the people used the gifts for more than medical bills. They gave shares to local emergency services that came to their aid and, in a move that caught the world’s imagination, to the widow and children of the man who murdered their daughters.
Coverage of their acts of forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of unspeakable horror and grief quickly overwhelmed coverage of the murders. Suddenly people were asking profound questions about a culture known more for its rejection of cars, television and other trappings of
modern life than for its ideals.
Miroslav Volf, director of the Yale Center for Faith and Culture at Yale Divinity School, believes the events occurred at a crucial cultural moment. "It came at a time when, rightly or wrongly, religion was in the news but not in a way that was flattering . . . [but in ] the midst of all this ... you suddenly have this prominent case where it is shown in a very different, positive light."
The evening of the shootings, Amish elders went to console the wife and three young daughters of Mr. Roberts and to the home of his parents to say they held no grudges. Later on, dozens of Amish, including some whose children he had murdered, attended Mr. Roberts' burial and offered condolences to his widow. One report indicated that more than half of those in attendance at the burial were Amish.
There are two aspects of our gospel lesson that I’d like you to notice. The Bible says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.”
The first thing is the mention that Jesus “went up out of the water”, and a reference, in the singular, to Jesus alone seeing the Spirit descend like a dove. We suppose from this that Jesus had taken a step or two away from John the Baptist and others who may have been there and that it was also Jesus, alone, who heard the voice which said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”
It appears that Jesus alone saw and heard the heavenly vision. In the rest of Matthew’s gospel, there is uncertainty and confusion about the identity of Jesus. Later, even John the Baptist has his doubts.
Following his baptism, the Gospel of Matthew describes a life of continuous conflict for Jesus. Conflict with his disciples who can’t seem to understand the implications of what he is saying. And conflict with the authorities who understand enough of the implications for their lives that they want him killed.
The ministry of Jesus often put him in a lonely spot, with all around him staring at him in confusion, doubt or hatred. In a small way, the preparation for that begins at the baptism itself.
But here’s the second thing to notice.
It is likely that the voice from heaven is calling to mind other similar passages from scripture.
A passage from Genesis, when God said to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son,” and offer him as a sacrifice.
The promise from Psalm 2 about the king God would send his people, descended from the great king David: ‘You are my Son; today I have become your Father’” (Ps. 2:7).
But here is a third and key passage, and one I’d like you to notice. It is a passage from Isaiah 42: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight” (Is. 42:1). This comes from one of four songs in Isaiah describing a servant who will save through his suffering. Israel trusted God and his promises to Abraham. Israel expected a king. Israel expected a servant. But no one expected a king who would serve by giving his life! (Mt. 12.18-21).
As one scholar (Jack Kingsbury) has put it, together, these several passages combine in Matthew 3:17 to form a solemn affirmation in which God declares that Jesus is his unique and only Son. That Jesus is the Messiah and King from the line of David. And, surprisingly and dramatically, that this Messiah will reign on the road of the suffering servant foreseen by Isaiah.
As followers of this king, God has not called us to charm people into the kingdom through the glory of earthly kings and queens. Instead, we have been called to the patient, persistent, persevering ministry in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. Ministering to the poor and needy. Healing the sick. Comforting the discouraged. Offering God’s forgiveness and mercy. And building the kingdom of God among all people and in all nations of the earth.
I know in your various capacities as professionals at work, parents at home, students in school and university, there are times when you wonder what it all means. When you wonder what difference can my simple life make in this fix that I find myself? When you feel the loneliness of the Christian mission under the sad clouds of this world’s hatred and violence.
But Jesus’ words are true. We are not alone. We have Jesus before us and the company of his followers, together with whom we walk and serve.
And the glory we saw and the voice we heard at our baptism was not our eyes playing tricks. It was trustworthy and true. And in the footsteps of Jesus, we have been called to carry on the kingdom work of Christ on earth.
Over the holiday I read an interview with Bishop Tom Wright, a noted biblical scholar and one of the pre-eminent bishops in the Anglican Church. He was asked, what difference does the cross and Christ’s self-sacrificing life make.
“The cross,” he said, “is not just an example to be followed; it is an achievement to be worked out, put into practice. But it is an example nonetheless, because it is . . . the model for what God now wants to do by his Spirit in the world, through his people. It is the start of the process of redemption, in which suffering and martyrdom are the paradoxical means by which victory is won.
So where does forgiveness fit in, he was asked.
“Some people believe,” he said, “that when it comes to forgiveness, you just draw a line and forget it even though it’s tough and messy. But this is too simple . . . Whether we are dealing with international relations or one-on-one personal relations, evil must be named and confronted. There must be no sliding around it, no attempt—whether for the sake of an easy life or in search of a quick fix—to present it as if it wasn’t so bad after all. Only when that has been done, when both the evil and the evil doer have been identified as what and who they are—can there be the second move towards . . . the one who has deeply hurt and wounded us or me.
“If I have named the evil, and done my best to offer genuine forgiveness and reconciliation, then I am free to love the person even if they don’t want to respond.”
He was asked to offer an example and he mentioned the Amish of Nickle Mine.
“The point of following Jesus,” says Bishop Wright, “isn’t simply so that we can be sure of going to a better place than this after we die.”
Our future beyond death is enormously important, but the nature of the Christian hope is such that it plays back into the present life. We’re called, here and now, to be instruments of God’s new creation, the world-put-to-rights, which has already been launched in Jesus and of which Jesus’ followers are supposed to be not simply beneficiaries but also agents.
“And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’ (Matthew 3:16-17).
This is our king. Let us follow him today and in the days ahead. Amen.
Baptism of the Lord, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 13, 2008
A little over a year ago, near Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania, Charles Roberts carried his guns and rage into a one-room Amish schoolhouse. Determined to even a score with God, Roberts quickly made good on his commitment. As police surrounded the building, he opened fire on ten young female hostages, killing five of them.
The contrast between Roberts’s actions and the peaceful rural landscape made the Nickel Mines school shooting a dramatic story, but even more so was the Amish community's response: forgiveness, extended to the killer’s family within hours.
Horrified strangers worldwide sent over $4 million to the Amish settlement for a people who have no insurance. But the people used the gifts for more than medical bills. They gave shares to local emergency services that came to their aid and, in a move that caught the world’s imagination, to the widow and children of the man who murdered their daughters.
Coverage of their acts of forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of unspeakable horror and grief quickly overwhelmed coverage of the murders. Suddenly people were asking profound questions about a culture known more for its rejection of cars, television and other trappings of
modern life than for its ideals.
Miroslav Volf, director of the Yale Center for Faith and Culture at Yale Divinity School, believes the events occurred at a crucial cultural moment. "It came at a time when, rightly or wrongly, religion was in the news but not in a way that was flattering . . . [but in ] the midst of all this ... you suddenly have this prominent case where it is shown in a very different, positive light."
The evening of the shootings, Amish elders went to console the wife and three young daughters of Mr. Roberts and to the home of his parents to say they held no grudges. Later on, dozens of Amish, including some whose children he had murdered, attended Mr. Roberts' burial and offered condolences to his widow. One report indicated that more than half of those in attendance at the burial were Amish.
There are two aspects of our gospel lesson that I’d like you to notice. The Bible says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.”
The first thing is the mention that Jesus “went up out of the water”, and a reference, in the singular, to Jesus alone seeing the Spirit descend like a dove. We suppose from this that Jesus had taken a step or two away from John the Baptist and others who may have been there and that it was also Jesus, alone, who heard the voice which said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”
It appears that Jesus alone saw and heard the heavenly vision. In the rest of Matthew’s gospel, there is uncertainty and confusion about the identity of Jesus. Later, even John the Baptist has his doubts.
Following his baptism, the Gospel of Matthew describes a life of continuous conflict for Jesus. Conflict with his disciples who can’t seem to understand the implications of what he is saying. And conflict with the authorities who understand enough of the implications for their lives that they want him killed.
The ministry of Jesus often put him in a lonely spot, with all around him staring at him in confusion, doubt or hatred. In a small way, the preparation for that begins at the baptism itself.
But here’s the second thing to notice.
It is likely that the voice from heaven is calling to mind other similar passages from scripture.
A passage from Genesis, when God said to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son,” and offer him as a sacrifice.
The promise from Psalm 2 about the king God would send his people, descended from the great king David: ‘You are my Son; today I have become your Father’” (Ps. 2:7).
But here is a third and key passage, and one I’d like you to notice. It is a passage from Isaiah 42: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight” (Is. 42:1). This comes from one of four songs in Isaiah describing a servant who will save through his suffering. Israel trusted God and his promises to Abraham. Israel expected a king. Israel expected a servant. But no one expected a king who would serve by giving his life! (Mt. 12.18-21).
As one scholar (Jack Kingsbury) has put it, together, these several passages combine in Matthew 3:17 to form a solemn affirmation in which God declares that Jesus is his unique and only Son. That Jesus is the Messiah and King from the line of David. And, surprisingly and dramatically, that this Messiah will reign on the road of the suffering servant foreseen by Isaiah.
As followers of this king, God has not called us to charm people into the kingdom through the glory of earthly kings and queens. Instead, we have been called to the patient, persistent, persevering ministry in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. Ministering to the poor and needy. Healing the sick. Comforting the discouraged. Offering God’s forgiveness and mercy. And building the kingdom of God among all people and in all nations of the earth.
I know in your various capacities as professionals at work, parents at home, students in school and university, there are times when you wonder what it all means. When you wonder what difference can my simple life make in this fix that I find myself? When you feel the loneliness of the Christian mission under the sad clouds of this world’s hatred and violence.
But Jesus’ words are true. We are not alone. We have Jesus before us and the company of his followers, together with whom we walk and serve.
And the glory we saw and the voice we heard at our baptism was not our eyes playing tricks. It was trustworthy and true. And in the footsteps of Jesus, we have been called to carry on the kingdom work of Christ on earth.
Over the holiday I read an interview with Bishop Tom Wright, a noted biblical scholar and one of the pre-eminent bishops in the Anglican Church. He was asked, what difference does the cross and Christ’s self-sacrificing life make.
“The cross,” he said, “is not just an example to be followed; it is an achievement to be worked out, put into practice. But it is an example nonetheless, because it is . . . the model for what God now wants to do by his Spirit in the world, through his people. It is the start of the process of redemption, in which suffering and martyrdom are the paradoxical means by which victory is won.
So where does forgiveness fit in, he was asked.
“Some people believe,” he said, “that when it comes to forgiveness, you just draw a line and forget it even though it’s tough and messy. But this is too simple . . . Whether we are dealing with international relations or one-on-one personal relations, evil must be named and confronted. There must be no sliding around it, no attempt—whether for the sake of an easy life or in search of a quick fix—to present it as if it wasn’t so bad after all. Only when that has been done, when both the evil and the evil doer have been identified as what and who they are—can there be the second move towards . . . the one who has deeply hurt and wounded us or me.
“If I have named the evil, and done my best to offer genuine forgiveness and reconciliation, then I am free to love the person even if they don’t want to respond.”
He was asked to offer an example and he mentioned the Amish of Nickle Mine.
“The point of following Jesus,” says Bishop Wright, “isn’t simply so that we can be sure of going to a better place than this after we die.”
Our future beyond death is enormously important, but the nature of the Christian hope is such that it plays back into the present life. We’re called, here and now, to be instruments of God’s new creation, the world-put-to-rights, which has already been launched in Jesus and of which Jesus’ followers are supposed to be not simply beneficiaries but also agents.
“And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’ (Matthew 3:16-17).
This is our king. Let us follow him today and in the days ahead. Amen.
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