St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, Lent 1, March 1, 2009
As we follow Jesus into the Lenten wilderness through these few, brief and dense verses, Annette Brownlee’s words from last week must surely be kept in mind. Week by week we gather as the church to be shaped and formed by the word of God.
But before entering the wilderness, we must begin where it began for Jesus, the voice from heaven declaring: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11)
Bishop Tom Wright asks the right question here: what, for instance, is the effect on those when the fatherly voice they first knew as a child was a voice of rejection, callousness, harshness, or neglect. What is the effect of a father’s voice which is cold, critical and distant?
And what, by contrast, is the effect on Jesus of this voice, heralding the great love of God? What is the effect for us - that God loves us with a love beyond all measure? And where, exactly, can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
Well, as Mark’s Gospel explains, and as Jesus demonstrates, first of all you can go into the wilderness to be tested and to persevere.
Where is the wilderness?
Well, it’s not that hard to understand. Like the wilderness into which the children of Israel were led. That long desert walk where, with only enough food for one day at a time, the people were being taught to take the next step, to do the right thing, and to trust God.
The wilderness we’ve all known. Of all those seasons where it all seems flat, dusty and hard and we’re still expected to do the right thing.
Every season in life has those wilderness walks. When the only thing clearly before us are the responsibilities of the day - at school, or work, or family life. When we are expected to be faithful, and righteous and true, but what we feel, simply, is stuck.
You know what I like about this description in Mark? It’s the verb. It says that Jesus was ‘driven out’ into the wilderness. It’s a strong word. The effect would be even stronger if we could hear all the times the single Greek word used in Mark’s Gospel. Demons are driven out of ravaged lives. Death is driven out of a little girl. Money changers are driven out of the temple.
At the very least, we know that this was no easy matter for Jesus, either. For the Spirit comes upon him with great force, driving him into the wilderness.
But where Israel failed, where the church has failed, where you and I have failed - on those long, dry desert walks, with only the next step in our sight, Jesus took each step and persevered.
Where can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
Well, you can go into the wilderness, face the tests, and persevere.
And secondly, you can go to the Lord and answer His call.
I’ve mentioned before the simple solution C. S. Lewis offers to those who are having trouble hearing God speak. “Be quiet”, he says. You can’t listen if you can’t hear.
It’s a good place to begin in Lent. Listen. Turn off the radio, TV and Ipod.
Listen.
And in the wilderness, Jesus listened and answered the call of the Lord.
Here is where this brief passage is simply packed.
For when Jesus hears the heavenly voice, in the background a deep echo resounds.
An echo of the second psalm of David where the Lord declares his love for the King who will rule his people:
“You are my son; today I have begotten you” (Ps 2.7).
An echo of the suffering servant, who would bear his people’s sorrows, and take onto himself the wounds of their iniquity:
“Here is my servant [in whom I am well pleased],” says the Lord through the prophet Isaiah (42.1). "By his bruises we are healed (53:5).
An echo the people of Israel yearned to hear in their time. But what no one anticipated was that the king and the servant would arrive in one person. That their king would be enthroned on the cross, forgiving his executioners who spit on him from below.
You know, there’s another passage that may echo here, not as well known, coming from the apocryphal book of Wisdom. Ominously, it anticipates how the servant of the Lord would stand out and be recognized.
“Let us lie in wait for the righteous man,” [the wicked say to themselves], “because he is inconvenient to us and opposes our actions . . . Let us see if his words are true, and let us test what will happen at the end of his life; for if the righteous man is God’s child, [God] will help him, and will deliver him from the hand of his adversaries. Let us test him with insult and torture, so that we may find out how gentle he is, and make trial of his forbearance. Let us condemn him to a shameful death, for, according to what he says, he will be protected.” (Wisdom of Solomon 2:12-20)
The heavenly voice issues a stunning declaration, and with the deep echo of Scripture in the background, Jesus goes into the wilderness to hear the Lord and answer his call.
The call of Israel’s Messiah and King who will lead by a great, suffering love, whose integrity will rise and shine out of insult and crucifixion.
Why is our life so noisy and distracting? Why is the TV always on and the radio always playing. One reason is here. One reason is that we don’t want it quiet. Because if we could hear, we might hear the Lord - calling us to mercy instead of revenge; sacrifice instead of indulgence; service instead of self-promotion.
Where can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
As Jesus has shown us, you can go to the Lord and answer His call.
But finally, you can go into the fray and bring peace.
This is what I noticed first, and I’m sure it’s only a small thing. But all week I kept thinking about the beasts.
I grew up on a farm. We had cattle, chickens, pigs, turkeys, sheep, goats, dogs, cats, mice and rats. From the time we could walk, we walked among the animals. But we were also taught to be careful, especially of wild animals. The foxes mad with rabies. The mother cows, never to be fooled with when protecting newborn calves. Wolves and wild dogs, unpredictable and dangerous.
Usually once a year I try to get home to visit. One of the treats I look forward to is to go out in the cool of the night for a walk. But I don’t like it as I used to. Growing up our home was at the north end of our property and in the midst of the grain land. But for the past 20 years, my parents have lived in a new home they built, placed picturesquely in the pasture land. It is a glorious setting. But alone, outside in the dark, forming a ring around the pasture where the cattle rest, you can hear the coyotes, clearly and close enough to know that they are only a few hundred yards away.
Jesus goes into the wilderness with the devil and the beasts.
We don’t have to think too long, or hard about this, either. He goes into the wilderness and there he faces the danger of the wild animals. There he faces the subtler, but more infinitely more dangerous lures of the devil. And there the angels minister to him. There, in the midst of great danger, the greater love of God upholds him.
And when his time in the wilderness ends, the power that drove him into the wilderness will become the power by which he drives death and devils from the people they ravage. By the end of his time in the wilderness, the wild beasts have done him no harm, and a sign of the future, which God intends, is before us:
The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid . . . and a little child shall lead them. (Isaiah 11:6-9)
Where can you go when this great love upholds you? You can go into the fray and make peace.
The first pastor under whom I served was approaching retirement when we met. For many years he had been a faithful pastor in Hong Kong and China. In an intense period during the Vietnam War he was the Director for the Christian Children’s Fund in southeast Asia, responsible for the lives of 25,000 children orphaned by the conflict. I remember him telling me about hard experiences, including the rescue of a young girl who had been kidnaped.
And at the height of it all, he and his wife endured the sudden and unexpected death of their daughter, a bright, young Christian college student struck down by a vicious and fatal virus.
He is the one I think of who faced the tests and remained faithful over the long walk. Who answered the call to unselfish Christian ministry. Who entered the fray and made peace. And maybe because of his work with orphans, maybe because of the loss of his daughter, maybe very simply because of the great love upholding him, his favorite verse was from Psalm 27: “If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up” (27.10).
For all those wilderness times in our lives, when the next step and the right thing is hard to do;
For all those summons from the Lord we’ve drowned out, that voice from God telling us that our lives are meant to offer his mercy in the world;
And for all the dangers in the world, all the dangers in our hearts, which paralyze our steps;
For all those times - we have Jesus - who remained faithful, who answered the call, who entered the conflict and made peace, and whose life is offered to us, a light shining in the darkness.
In this Lenten season, let us take the time to listen, pray and reflect. Let us follow Jesus Christ - our Saviour and Lord.
Sermons & Notes
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sermon: "Sight" - John 1.43-51
Epiphany II, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 17, 2009
This may not have a lot to do with anything, but it strikes me that our friends to the south, in the “land of the free and home of the brave” are being blessed with a season of grace.
With a remarkable opening act on Thursday as a brave and skilled pilot, flying a damaged passenger plane over New York City, instinctively steered it away from the homes of innocent people, and skillfully landed it on water where, with only minutes to spare, a breathless nation gave thanks for the lives of 155 people who were saved rather than lost.
In some respects it is surely and only a coincidence, but what a dramatic opening to this historic week as the first President of African-American descent will be sworn into office. And for a second time in a short period a great nation, and by historical standards, a great and young nation, will rally around a second of its greatest aspirations: the freedom of all people to live in peace and to be judged by the content of their character, rather than the colour of their skin.
It might be coincidence. I think it’s a season of grace. And now is a time to thank God and to pray for President Barak Obama and the people of the United States.
It was the second year of college when I decided to test a calling to ordained ministry. But when I left high school two years earlier, I was probably more inclined to apply for law school. But the summer I entered college I met someone who caught my eye and turned my head.
And I’ll never forget it. It was a late afternoon on our farm. I had just finished carrying out a dozen buckets of ground wheat and oats to the cattle and was walking down from the barnyard to the house for supper, and there in the driveway sat a magnificent red convertible - I think it was a Datsun 240Z.
And all the way to the house - as I ran all the way to the house - my mind was racing: did one of my friends win the lottery? Did one of my sisters hook a big fish? Who in the world did my parents know who drove a Datsun 240Z?
And as I walked into the house, to my utter shock and amazement, mom introduced me to the new pastor of our Methodist Church. Better yet, a week later, he and his wife, with their little boy, invited me to their home for dinner and a visit. And in his living room - the living room of our new pastor - was the biggest, most beautiful stereo I had ever seen or heard. That evening I listened to jazz for the first time, Chuck Mangione to be specific. And I didn’t just hear Chuck on the trumpet. Over speakers that were crystal clear, I could hear Chuck breathe.
And about a week later I was ready to sign up to be a preacher. “I’ll learn the Creed, I’ll promise to study the Bible, and I’d really like one of those red cars.”
In fact, while the Datsun turned my head, what kept my head turned, more than anything else, was the kindness, humanity and seriousness of our new pastor. We didn’t just listen to jazz. We talked about the Scriptures, and living the Christian life, and most of the things that weighed heavily on my mind as a young man. And, in the weeks that followed, he took me under his wing and invited me along in his work as a preacher and a pastor to the people of our congregation.
His Datsun turned my head. His kindness, and the world he opened up for me, turned my heart.
I had not noticed this before, but there’s something of a joke being told on Nathaniel. When his brother Philip comes up to him and says that he should come quickly in order to meet Jesus, Nathaniel is the one who famously says, “What good could possibly come out of Nazareth?”
But then when Jesus meets him, saying that he saw Nathaniel from a distance under a fig tree, Nathaniel is so impressed by Jesus’ sight and insight that in an instant, he makes a complete reversal in his judgement about Jesus, hailing him as the Son of God and King of Israel. Talk about an impressive first impression.
But an impression to which Jesus replies, in so many words, “I know what has caught your eye and turned your head, Nathaniel. And, in fact, I intend to strengthen your sight, too. But if you stay with me, prepare yourself to see a great deal more.”
At which point, in his remarks about the angels ascending and descending, we are taken back, many years earlier, to a rugged scene in the wilderness and to a man named Jacob racing for his life. Jacob is a thief and a scoundrel running for his life from the brother he has cheated and robbed.
What did Jacob first see? He saw a fortune. The inheritance of land and property of his brother.
He saw honour - however cunningly gained - the birthright from his father Isaac, given to him by his father Abraham, given to him by the Lord. Jacob saw honour and fortune and it turned Jacob’s head. And it churned in Jacob’s heart rottenness and scheming.
But in its own way, a joke is told on Jacob. And the tumult which follows Jacob’s theft of his brother’s birthright and inheritance and is entirely appropriate to the inheritance he had taken by deceit. Because while the Lord was more than happy to have caught the eye of Jacob, was Jacob prepared to see what God sees.
A world created in love which the Lord looked down upon and saw that it allwas good.
A world gone wrong, by the disobedience of its people - leading to the saddest verse in all the Bible in chapter six of Genesis, when the Lord looked down upon the earth and regretted his creation of it (Gn. 6.7).
A world which, in his mercy, God vowed he would not destroy, but would rebuild from the ground up, among the simplest, and humblest - with a fair share of scoundrels thrown in - in order to demonstrate his love.
A world reunited with its Creator through a people formed by God in the wilderness. “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev. 19:1-2), the Lord thundered to them.
And the creation of a people. Not like any people. The people of the Lord, a nation of priests, a light in the world, a vessel of God’s mercy.
Was Jacob prepared to see this? The angels ascending and descending, heaven’s doors opened, and the constitutions of heaven and earth reunited again.
The property of the promise caught Jacob’s eye. But the weight of God’s glory and mercy fell upon him.
And it is a violent reaction, a terrific struggle, as this cunning man is haunted and hunted by the God of Israel. And Jacob’s own great struggle is a perfect representation for the struggle of many of us, haunted and hunted down by the mercy of God. And yet, what beauty the great struggle produced when after a battle in the night an angel, humbled Jacob limps away from it battered and bruised, but with one victory to his credit - new eyes! The first sight through them coming only hours later at the reunion with brother Esau; Esau he had robbed and humiliated; Esau, who welcomed him home in mercy. And it says, Jacob looked up at Esau and saw in his brother's face the face of God.
The same joke is being played on Nathaniel.
I know what you see, says Jesus to Nathaniel. But are you prepared to see what I want you to see?
A woman of ill-repute waiting to be restored.
A man born blind longing for sight.
Proud disciples with dirty feet served by their master.
The risen Jesus forgiving a treacherous friend.
And an angry world answered by the tears of the Saviour who offered his life on the cross for us all.
What do you see when you look at Jesus? Is it a display of power or a promise of relief that catches your eye? But rising from our passage, what are you prepared to see? And are you prepared to offer the Lord your eyes so that he might transform them and help you to see what he sees.
What does all this mean for us?
Well, I thought Annette put it beautifully last Sunday. It means opening ourselves to the love of God, revealed and offered to us in Jesus Christ - the love we dive into at baptism. The love we reach for each Sunday at the table. It means this love flooding our lives from head to foot. It means new eyes looking out into the world through this love, transformed to see what Jesus sees.
It means, as the prayerbook collect for the week past puts so beautifully and modestly: that true to our Lord, we might “perceive”, to know what things we ought to do and may also have the “grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same” (Epiphany 1, BCP).
It means what St. Paul prayed for the people of Ephesus: “that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge (3.18-19)”. To look out upon the world from the vantage point of this great love:
. . . seeing through the anger of a neighbour to the child of God who might be served;
. . . seeing through the obstinancy of a son or daughter to the young man and young woman who is and can be raised to be wise, patient and kind;
. . . seeing a sick and desperate friend and offering them the hope of our Saviour whose hand reaches across the gaping mouth of the grave.
It is a joke played on Nathaniel. A man impressed by the powerful sight of Jesus, who himself is offered new eyes to see. Angels descending and the light of heaven shining through. And through the mercy of God, to see what Jesus saw. To love as Jesus loved. To share the great love of our Saviour in the world. Amen.
This may not have a lot to do with anything, but it strikes me that our friends to the south, in the “land of the free and home of the brave” are being blessed with a season of grace.
With a remarkable opening act on Thursday as a brave and skilled pilot, flying a damaged passenger plane over New York City, instinctively steered it away from the homes of innocent people, and skillfully landed it on water where, with only minutes to spare, a breathless nation gave thanks for the lives of 155 people who were saved rather than lost.
In some respects it is surely and only a coincidence, but what a dramatic opening to this historic week as the first President of African-American descent will be sworn into office. And for a second time in a short period a great nation, and by historical standards, a great and young nation, will rally around a second of its greatest aspirations: the freedom of all people to live in peace and to be judged by the content of their character, rather than the colour of their skin.
It might be coincidence. I think it’s a season of grace. And now is a time to thank God and to pray for President Barak Obama and the people of the United States.
**********
It was the second year of college when I decided to test a calling to ordained ministry. But when I left high school two years earlier, I was probably more inclined to apply for law school. But the summer I entered college I met someone who caught my eye and turned my head.
And I’ll never forget it. It was a late afternoon on our farm. I had just finished carrying out a dozen buckets of ground wheat and oats to the cattle and was walking down from the barnyard to the house for supper, and there in the driveway sat a magnificent red convertible - I think it was a Datsun 240Z.
And all the way to the house - as I ran all the way to the house - my mind was racing: did one of my friends win the lottery? Did one of my sisters hook a big fish? Who in the world did my parents know who drove a Datsun 240Z?
And as I walked into the house, to my utter shock and amazement, mom introduced me to the new pastor of our Methodist Church. Better yet, a week later, he and his wife, with their little boy, invited me to their home for dinner and a visit. And in his living room - the living room of our new pastor - was the biggest, most beautiful stereo I had ever seen or heard. That evening I listened to jazz for the first time, Chuck Mangione to be specific. And I didn’t just hear Chuck on the trumpet. Over speakers that were crystal clear, I could hear Chuck breathe.
And about a week later I was ready to sign up to be a preacher. “I’ll learn the Creed, I’ll promise to study the Bible, and I’d really like one of those red cars.”
In fact, while the Datsun turned my head, what kept my head turned, more than anything else, was the kindness, humanity and seriousness of our new pastor. We didn’t just listen to jazz. We talked about the Scriptures, and living the Christian life, and most of the things that weighed heavily on my mind as a young man. And, in the weeks that followed, he took me under his wing and invited me along in his work as a preacher and a pastor to the people of our congregation.
His Datsun turned my head. His kindness, and the world he opened up for me, turned my heart.
I had not noticed this before, but there’s something of a joke being told on Nathaniel. When his brother Philip comes up to him and says that he should come quickly in order to meet Jesus, Nathaniel is the one who famously says, “What good could possibly come out of Nazareth?”
But then when Jesus meets him, saying that he saw Nathaniel from a distance under a fig tree, Nathaniel is so impressed by Jesus’ sight and insight that in an instant, he makes a complete reversal in his judgement about Jesus, hailing him as the Son of God and King of Israel. Talk about an impressive first impression.
But an impression to which Jesus replies, in so many words, “I know what has caught your eye and turned your head, Nathaniel. And, in fact, I intend to strengthen your sight, too. But if you stay with me, prepare yourself to see a great deal more.”
At which point, in his remarks about the angels ascending and descending, we are taken back, many years earlier, to a rugged scene in the wilderness and to a man named Jacob racing for his life. Jacob is a thief and a scoundrel running for his life from the brother he has cheated and robbed.
What did Jacob first see? He saw a fortune. The inheritance of land and property of his brother.
He saw honour - however cunningly gained - the birthright from his father Isaac, given to him by his father Abraham, given to him by the Lord. Jacob saw honour and fortune and it turned Jacob’s head. And it churned in Jacob’s heart rottenness and scheming.
But in its own way, a joke is told on Jacob. And the tumult which follows Jacob’s theft of his brother’s birthright and inheritance and is entirely appropriate to the inheritance he had taken by deceit. Because while the Lord was more than happy to have caught the eye of Jacob, was Jacob prepared to see what God sees.
A world created in love which the Lord looked down upon and saw that it allwas good.
A world gone wrong, by the disobedience of its people - leading to the saddest verse in all the Bible in chapter six of Genesis, when the Lord looked down upon the earth and regretted his creation of it (Gn. 6.7).
A world which, in his mercy, God vowed he would not destroy, but would rebuild from the ground up, among the simplest, and humblest - with a fair share of scoundrels thrown in - in order to demonstrate his love.
A world reunited with its Creator through a people formed by God in the wilderness. “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev. 19:1-2), the Lord thundered to them.
And the creation of a people. Not like any people. The people of the Lord, a nation of priests, a light in the world, a vessel of God’s mercy.
Was Jacob prepared to see this? The angels ascending and descending, heaven’s doors opened, and the constitutions of heaven and earth reunited again.
The property of the promise caught Jacob’s eye. But the weight of God’s glory and mercy fell upon him.
And it is a violent reaction, a terrific struggle, as this cunning man is haunted and hunted by the God of Israel. And Jacob’s own great struggle is a perfect representation for the struggle of many of us, haunted and hunted down by the mercy of God. And yet, what beauty the great struggle produced when after a battle in the night an angel, humbled Jacob limps away from it battered and bruised, but with one victory to his credit - new eyes! The first sight through them coming only hours later at the reunion with brother Esau; Esau he had robbed and humiliated; Esau, who welcomed him home in mercy. And it says, Jacob looked up at Esau and saw in his brother's face the face of God.
The same joke is being played on Nathaniel.
I know what you see, says Jesus to Nathaniel. But are you prepared to see what I want you to see?
A woman of ill-repute waiting to be restored.
A man born blind longing for sight.
Proud disciples with dirty feet served by their master.
The risen Jesus forgiving a treacherous friend.
And an angry world answered by the tears of the Saviour who offered his life on the cross for us all.
What do you see when you look at Jesus? Is it a display of power or a promise of relief that catches your eye? But rising from our passage, what are you prepared to see? And are you prepared to offer the Lord your eyes so that he might transform them and help you to see what he sees.
What does all this mean for us?
Well, I thought Annette put it beautifully last Sunday. It means opening ourselves to the love of God, revealed and offered to us in Jesus Christ - the love we dive into at baptism. The love we reach for each Sunday at the table. It means this love flooding our lives from head to foot. It means new eyes looking out into the world through this love, transformed to see what Jesus sees.
It means, as the prayerbook collect for the week past puts so beautifully and modestly: that true to our Lord, we might “perceive”, to know what things we ought to do and may also have the “grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same” (Epiphany 1, BCP).
It means what St. Paul prayed for the people of Ephesus: “that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge (3.18-19)”. To look out upon the world from the vantage point of this great love:
. . . seeing through the anger of a neighbour to the child of God who might be served;
. . . seeing through the obstinancy of a son or daughter to the young man and young woman who is and can be raised to be wise, patient and kind;
. . . seeing a sick and desperate friend and offering them the hope of our Saviour whose hand reaches across the gaping mouth of the grave.
It is a joke played on Nathaniel. A man impressed by the powerful sight of Jesus, who himself is offered new eyes to see. Angels descending and the light of heaven shining through. And through the mercy of God, to see what Jesus saw. To love as Jesus loved. To share the great love of our Saviour in the world. Amen.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
The Silence of Angels
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.
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.
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.
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