It’s been 50 days since the disciples saw the greatest sight that they would ever see for the rest of their lives: a dead man alive once again, before their eyes. But as awesome as that sight was, eventually the novelty wears off, and they are left with the question, “Now what?” Last week we heard them ask Jesus, “Will you now make good on the 2,000 year-old promise of God that we will have land and a kingdom to call our own, one which all the nations will acknowledge as the one chosen by God?” And after waiting two millennia, Jesus says, “What’s another few days? Wait for the Holy Spirit.”
And so here they are, on the 50th day, on the Jewish celebration of Pentecost, literally, “the 50th day.” The feast of Pentecost came 50 days after the feast of Passover, when the people of Israel celebrated their liberation by God from slavery in Egypt. Of course, after that mighty act of God, the people of Israel also asked, “Now what?” God’s answer to them was the Law, starting with the Ten Commandments, given to Moses at Mt. Sinai. And that is why Jews from all over the world, speaking many different languages, were in Jerusalem that day, to celebrate the feast of Pentecost. But the followers of Jesus Christ were not given more amendments to the law, nor were they given a brand new law. They were given something more tenuous, yet more deeply rooted in their hearts.
There is a tension between the seen and unseen. We want assurances we can see, yet the most important decisions we make are usually based on something more like intuition, because usually there isn't a prepared map to tell us what will happen if we take this turn or that turn. The same tension, between the seen and unseen, is here in the story of the first Christian Pentecost. The scene itself makes for great visual drama – one scholar calls it slightly burlesque. There they are, silently praying. Then suddenly the doors fly open, as do the clattering windows, blown open by a howling wind that shocks them out of their silence. Then what should appear above them, inside their room, but a fire which then divides into pieces that come to rest on top of each one.
But no film can show you what happens next. As that flame works its way throughout their bodies, each of Jesus’s disciples felt the fire that warmed the hearts of those two travelers on the road to Emmaus while Jesus walked with them unrecognized. Now, they are filled by the Holy Spirit, in their hearts, their minds, their eyes, ears and mouths. They no longer need to ask Jesus to interpret the story of Israel and her struggles. Now they can interpret the story themselves. Now they can go out into that huge crowd and listen to each individual story, and speak whatever “Good News” that person needs to hear. Yes, the Holy Spirit gives them the courage and the boldness to go out into that crowd and start preaching. But one can only speak of what one knows. And before they boldly go out, the Spirit opens their minds and hearts to new insights and fresh ways of understanding Holy Scripture.
They also are given the ability to communicate this Good News in different languages. These were religious pilgrims from as far south as Arabia, as far west as Turkey, and as far east as Iran. But no language is too remote for the Good News to comprehend. To some the apostles may have been drunks babbling away. But to those pilgrims waiting for the fulfillment of God's promises to Israel, it wasn't Pentecostal tongues they heard, but the best news of their lives.
Of course, “language” is a funny thing. George Bernard Shaw said that the English and Americans were two people divided by a common language. Our children are very adept at finding new ways to say something in such a way as to sound incomprehensible to their parents. Children growing up in an abusive home learn to speak a language that says, “I’m not a threat to you. I’m not looking for a fight. Please don’t hurt me,” and then carry that language with them into their other relationships. In other words, you don’t have to speak a foreign language to be speaking a different language.
In our culture, the language we often hear is very “Christian.” But we are here because we have found that what sounded “Christian” to many of the people around us didn’t sound Christian to you and me. I wonder how many others are out there, who have heard a “Christian” language that didn’t sound very loving, that didn’t sound “Christ-like?” The Holy Spirit gave the first disciples of Jesus boldness to speak in different languages. Perhaps what the Holy Spirit might give us is the boldness to listen – listen to the stories of those who have encountered judgment and hypocrisy in the churches they attended. Perhaps, when they are convinced that we have heard them, they might believe us when we tell them that there are places where they can find forgiveness and acceptance.
And so, in our speaking and our listening, wherever we are, let us always pray, "Come Holy Spirit, come."
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, 7th Week of Easter
Luke 10:38-42
So, are you a “Martha” or a “Mary?” Or are you more into study, prayer and worship, or you more into social activism, or the bricks and mortar of Church? These kinds of questions are the ones usually evoked by this story. Perhaps the power of the Word of God is that as each generation reads scripture, new meanings open up in response to changing cultures and expectations.
But when Luke’s original audience first read this story, they would not have seen the contrast between contemplation and activism. What they would have noticed was the scandalous behavior of a woman going into the main room, and sitting with the men. In that time, men gathered together in the main room, while the women would stay in the kitchen preparing the meal. Only outside, where children played, and in the bedroom, would a man and woman mix company. And not only is Mary mixing with men socially, she is sitting with them to hear Jesus teach. And just as the men were being prepared to be preachers of Jesus’s message, so was Mary presuming to be an apprentice, and a future preacher and teacher.
On Tuesday, we saw Jesus obliterate the national boundaries between Israel and the Gentiles. Yesterday, Jesus obliterated the religious boundaries between Jew and Samaritan. Today, he sweeps away the cultural boundaries between male and female.
If you think this is radical, just wait until the wind and fire on Sunday!
So, are you a “Martha” or a “Mary?” Or are you more into study, prayer and worship, or you more into social activism, or the bricks and mortar of Church? These kinds of questions are the ones usually evoked by this story. Perhaps the power of the Word of God is that as each generation reads scripture, new meanings open up in response to changing cultures and expectations.
But when Luke’s original audience first read this story, they would not have seen the contrast between contemplation and activism. What they would have noticed was the scandalous behavior of a woman going into the main room, and sitting with the men. In that time, men gathered together in the main room, while the women would stay in the kitchen preparing the meal. Only outside, where children played, and in the bedroom, would a man and woman mix company. And not only is Mary mixing with men socially, she is sitting with them to hear Jesus teach. And just as the men were being prepared to be preachers of Jesus’s message, so was Mary presuming to be an apprentice, and a future preacher and teacher.
On Tuesday, we saw Jesus obliterate the national boundaries between Israel and the Gentiles. Yesterday, Jesus obliterated the religious boundaries between Jew and Samaritan. Today, he sweeps away the cultural boundaries between male and female.
If you think this is radical, just wait until the wind and fire on Sunday!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thursday, 7th Week of Easter
Luke 10:25-37
Today we have the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It’s interesting to note that this parable follows Jesus’s famous “summary of the law” – to love God and neighbor. But in Matthew and Marr, that summary comes during Jesus’s final week in Jerusalem, and is part of his confrontation with the Jewish leaders just before his crucifixion. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus puts some very specific flesh on the command to love your neighbor as yourself.
You can read the background of the hatred between Jews and Samaritans here. To summarize: the Samaritans had been settled in the former land of Israel, adopted the God of Israel for their own, but continued some practices which the Jews rightly abhorred. In other words, both peoples claimed the promises of God’s chosen people, and looked upon the other with contempt – not all that different, I suppose, than the current dispute in that area.
When the lawyer asks Jesus, “who is my neighbor,” he is trying to find out if Jesus knows the “right” answer, which would have been one’s fellow Jew. The irony of Jesus’s parable is neither of the Jews, concerned with becoming ritually “unclean” by contact with a dead body, were a neighbor to the “half-dead” Jew lying on the road. Who turned out to be a neighbor to the dying Jew, Jesus asks the lawyer, to which the lawyer must admit that it was the hated Samaritan.
The unspoken question with which Jesus leaves the lawyer – and us – is: can you recognize the Samaritan as your neighbor?
Today we have the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It’s interesting to note that this parable follows Jesus’s famous “summary of the law” – to love God and neighbor. But in Matthew and Marr, that summary comes during Jesus’s final week in Jerusalem, and is part of his confrontation with the Jewish leaders just before his crucifixion. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus puts some very specific flesh on the command to love your neighbor as yourself.
You can read the background of the hatred between Jews and Samaritans here. To summarize: the Samaritans had been settled in the former land of Israel, adopted the God of Israel for their own, but continued some practices which the Jews rightly abhorred. In other words, both peoples claimed the promises of God’s chosen people, and looked upon the other with contempt – not all that different, I suppose, than the current dispute in that area.
When the lawyer asks Jesus, “who is my neighbor,” he is trying to find out if Jesus knows the “right” answer, which would have been one’s fellow Jew. The irony of Jesus’s parable is neither of the Jews, concerned with becoming ritually “unclean” by contact with a dead body, were a neighbor to the “half-dead” Jew lying on the road. Who turned out to be a neighbor to the dying Jew, Jesus asks the lawyer, to which the lawyer must admit that it was the hated Samaritan.
The unspoken question with which Jesus leaves the lawyer – and us – is: can you recognize the Samaritan as your neighbor?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Wednesday, 7th Week of Easter
Luke 10:17-24
“I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.” (Luke 10:18)
Matthew, Mark and Luke all tell the story of Jesus’s temptation by Satan in the desert. But only Luke writes that after Jesus had withstood those temptations, Satan “departed from him until an opportune time” (4:13). The reality of Satan is expressed clearly in Luke’s Gospel. But who is Satan exactly? He is not whom you might think.
The Hebrew word, “Satan” means, “Accuser.” And in the Old Testament, that is Satan’s role in the courts of God. He is, in a sense, God’s overly zealous prosecutor of the human race. At some point, Satan devolves from prosecutor to persecutor, until finally Satan is the spiritual leader of rebellion against God’s loving purpose. In other words, Satan is the angel who insists to God that creation is a mistake, and that human beings are the crown of God’s error. They are not worthy of your love, Satan says, and so he strives to prove that point.
On the Cross, God could have easily taken the execution of his Son as the final argument of our conviction. But as God, Jesus demonstrates that God’s mercy knows no limit. As human, Jesus submits to that divine justice that could not leave sin unanswered. And as a human being, Jesus refutes once and for all Satan’s accusation that human beings are not worth being loved.
And now we, like the 72 whom Jesus sent out earlier in chapter 10, are to be sent out with the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, that mission will require us to confront sin and call it what it is. But our mission is not one of accusation and condemnation. We do seek to help people become “convicted” in their hearts. Through our love, people will be convicted of the ways in which they have crucified Jesus. But at the same time, they will also be convicted of God’s mercy and forgiveness.
It is pointless to accuse someone if you cannot show them the way out of the hole they have dug themselves in. The Bible is not the record of God’s indictment against us. It is the story of how God continually opens new doors of redemption no matter how far from him we wander. Our mission is not accusation, but redemption.
“I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.” (Luke 10:18)
Matthew, Mark and Luke all tell the story of Jesus’s temptation by Satan in the desert. But only Luke writes that after Jesus had withstood those temptations, Satan “departed from him until an opportune time” (4:13). The reality of Satan is expressed clearly in Luke’s Gospel. But who is Satan exactly? He is not whom you might think.
The Hebrew word, “Satan” means, “Accuser.” And in the Old Testament, that is Satan’s role in the courts of God. He is, in a sense, God’s overly zealous prosecutor of the human race. At some point, Satan devolves from prosecutor to persecutor, until finally Satan is the spiritual leader of rebellion against God’s loving purpose. In other words, Satan is the angel who insists to God that creation is a mistake, and that human beings are the crown of God’s error. They are not worthy of your love, Satan says, and so he strives to prove that point.
On the Cross, God could have easily taken the execution of his Son as the final argument of our conviction. But as God, Jesus demonstrates that God’s mercy knows no limit. As human, Jesus submits to that divine justice that could not leave sin unanswered. And as a human being, Jesus refutes once and for all Satan’s accusation that human beings are not worth being loved.
And now we, like the 72 whom Jesus sent out earlier in chapter 10, are to be sent out with the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, that mission will require us to confront sin and call it what it is. But our mission is not one of accusation and condemnation. We do seek to help people become “convicted” in their hearts. Through our love, people will be convicted of the ways in which they have crucified Jesus. But at the same time, they will also be convicted of God’s mercy and forgiveness.
It is pointless to accuse someone if you cannot show them the way out of the hole they have dug themselves in. The Bible is not the record of God’s indictment against us. It is the story of how God continually opens new doors of redemption no matter how far from him we wander. Our mission is not accusation, but redemption.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Tuesday, 7th Week of Easter
Luke 10:1-17
“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty works done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But it will be more bearable in the judgment for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? You shall be brought down to Hades” (Lk 10:13-15)
Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum were towns in Israel, Tyre and Sidon had always been outside the borders of Israel. They were pagan towns, with all sorts of practices that the Jewish people found abominable: human sacrifice, and “sacred prostitution,” in which priests and priestesses “imitated” the gods and goddesses in the hope that they would bless the earth and make it fruitful at the harvest time.
Not surprisingly, the Jews looked down on those pagan cities that had oppressed them. But Jesus warns his fellow Jews that their mission is not to use God as a battering ram to confront the Gentiles. Jesus’ warning is very practical and specific. Keep pushing against the Romans, and eventually they will push back much, much harder. About 30 years later, when Roman legions put down a Jewish rebellion, they destroyed Jerusalem, crucified thousands, and scattered the rest throughout the nations.
As it was 2000 years ago, so it is today. Who are the “pagans” in our midst, who seem to beyond any hope of redemption? Where are we being complacent about our own salvation?
This week before Pentecost, we will be looking at Chapter 10 of Luke’s Gospel, which is about the mission of the Church, and its focus. As we prepare to celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit, let’s look at our own mission: to become an outward and visible sign of Christ in our sacramental worship, to give good news to those who desperately need it (Evangelism), train each other for this work (Discipleship), provide a safe space for people to be in community with each other (Fellowship) and to serve those in our church and on Sand Mountain who are suffering. (Ministry). That is what the Holy Spirit is about.
“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty works done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But it will be more bearable in the judgment for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? You shall be brought down to Hades” (Lk 10:13-15)
Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum were towns in Israel, Tyre and Sidon had always been outside the borders of Israel. They were pagan towns, with all sorts of practices that the Jewish people found abominable: human sacrifice, and “sacred prostitution,” in which priests and priestesses “imitated” the gods and goddesses in the hope that they would bless the earth and make it fruitful at the harvest time.
Not surprisingly, the Jews looked down on those pagan cities that had oppressed them. But Jesus warns his fellow Jews that their mission is not to use God as a battering ram to confront the Gentiles. Jesus’ warning is very practical and specific. Keep pushing against the Romans, and eventually they will push back much, much harder. About 30 years later, when Roman legions put down a Jewish rebellion, they destroyed Jerusalem, crucified thousands, and scattered the rest throughout the nations.
As it was 2000 years ago, so it is today. Who are the “pagans” in our midst, who seem to beyond any hope of redemption? Where are we being complacent about our own salvation?
This week before Pentecost, we will be looking at Chapter 10 of Luke’s Gospel, which is about the mission of the Church, and its focus. As we prepare to celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit, let’s look at our own mission: to become an outward and visible sign of Christ in our sacramental worship, to give good news to those who desperately need it (Evangelism), train each other for this work (Discipleship), provide a safe space for people to be in community with each other (Fellowship) and to serve those in our church and on Sand Mountain who are suffering. (Ministry). That is what the Holy Spirit is about.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Sermon for the 7th Sunday of Easter
"(Jesus) ordered them not to depart from Jerusalem, but to wait for the promise of the Father...'you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.'” (Acts 1:4-5)
I had an odd feeling the other day. I walked into my home after a busy work day, and there was my wife sitting on the couch watching TV, and from our “guest” bedroom came the sounds of gunfire and explosions, which actually seemed quite normal to me. After all, my son has a number of video games. Some take place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Some take place on the beaches of Normandy. Some take place in some modern country that ends in “stan.” But it’s all the same: good guys fighting bad guys while trying not to become bad guys themselves. So I walked by that bedroom, and said “Hi John.” Then I remembered that this was not all that normal. I hadn’t heard that sound in months because John has been in a state far, far away. But for a second, I felt as if I was in our old home. It felt as if John had never left.
I think that the three of us are between a full nest and an empty nest. We are between a relationship of authority, and a relationship of equals. It’s going to take time to redefine that relationship. And so we wait, between a past that seems comforting but is no longer real, and a future whose landscape we can’t see yet.
That is also where Jesus’s disciples are, in the reading from Acts. Jesus has left this earth and his friends. Jesus has left behind a promise. But we don’t know what shape that promise will take. The Greek word for spirit and wind are the same. Both are kind of hard to see. Both can be quite unpredictable. Sometimes, it’s easier to look back and hold on to the past, even if it isn’t really there anymore. So what are we to do in this “between” time? We are to pray and hang on to each other.
The disciples in today’s reading are hanging on to a past of their own: “Lord, has the time finally come? Are you about to restore Israel’s independence? Has the time finally come when the nations that have oppressed us for so long will realize how wrong they were and come to us begging forgiveness?” This is the vicious cycle that Israel has known for too long: return to their promised land; forgetfulness of their God; oppression, exile, even attempted genocide; another return to their land and yet another round of conquest and bondage. Of course, Jesus’s followers want to see the restoration of the kingdom of David, when Israel was the conqueror, and was free to worship her God without fear.
And what do they get from Jesus? A shrug of the shoulders, and this non-answer: “I don’t know what time my Father has set for these things, and you know, it’s really none of your business.” I think that at least some of his disciples got a little perturbed. So then Jesus says to them, “Wait. I know this doesn’t make sense right now, but wait. Wait for the Holy Spirit. I can’t tell you what day he’s going to show up. But a heck of a wind is going to come in. And that wind is going to blow you in new directions, to places in this world you can’t imagine right now. Wait.”
And so they wait together and pray together, with one purpose: to look for the coming of that holy wind, that will bring a new purpose, and the power to carry out God’s purpose for them. And in this promise of Jesus, they trust.
We too are “between.” Our attendance is up this year from what it has most recently been, but not as high as it has been in the more distant past. We would like our numbers to increase more, but we wonder where those new people will come from. So, we are between a time of conflict and instability, and a time of growth and stability. We are between youth and age. There are many of us closer to the end of our physical lives than the beginning, who need more help than we used to. There are also many of us who are very close to that beginning, and who need help to begin navigating this good and dangerous world. We are between the needs of both young and old, ministering to both. By this time next week, we will have celebrated two births, and we have recently had three burials. We are between life and death.
Our community is in a "'between" time. At the Albertville High School graduation, I could count on one hand the number of African Americans I saw getting a diploma. I suspect that before the mid 1990s, Albertville was a pretty homogeneous place, based on skin color. We all know that it isn't today. And whatever mistakes have been made in the past, changing government policies will not change the current demographics in this community. This community is between a unity based on a common race, and a unity rooted more deeply in our common humanity.
And so, as we wait together, we pray together, just as those first disciples waited and prayed together. We pray together on this and every Sunday. We pray together in our daily prayer – here in the church or on the Blog. We pray together for healing in our Tuesday Eucharist. And praying together and waiting together, we grow more and more into that outward and visible sign of Christ’s love that people around us need.
Next Sunday, we will celebrate that Holy wind that blew the first disciples in directions they could never have imagined. Pray this week for the Holy Spirit to blow us in God's direction.
I had an odd feeling the other day. I walked into my home after a busy work day, and there was my wife sitting on the couch watching TV, and from our “guest” bedroom came the sounds of gunfire and explosions, which actually seemed quite normal to me. After all, my son has a number of video games. Some take place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Some take place on the beaches of Normandy. Some take place in some modern country that ends in “stan.” But it’s all the same: good guys fighting bad guys while trying not to become bad guys themselves. So I walked by that bedroom, and said “Hi John.” Then I remembered that this was not all that normal. I hadn’t heard that sound in months because John has been in a state far, far away. But for a second, I felt as if I was in our old home. It felt as if John had never left.
I think that the three of us are between a full nest and an empty nest. We are between a relationship of authority, and a relationship of equals. It’s going to take time to redefine that relationship. And so we wait, between a past that seems comforting but is no longer real, and a future whose landscape we can’t see yet.
That is also where Jesus’s disciples are, in the reading from Acts. Jesus has left this earth and his friends. Jesus has left behind a promise. But we don’t know what shape that promise will take. The Greek word for spirit and wind are the same. Both are kind of hard to see. Both can be quite unpredictable. Sometimes, it’s easier to look back and hold on to the past, even if it isn’t really there anymore. So what are we to do in this “between” time? We are to pray and hang on to each other.
The disciples in today’s reading are hanging on to a past of their own: “Lord, has the time finally come? Are you about to restore Israel’s independence? Has the time finally come when the nations that have oppressed us for so long will realize how wrong they were and come to us begging forgiveness?” This is the vicious cycle that Israel has known for too long: return to their promised land; forgetfulness of their God; oppression, exile, even attempted genocide; another return to their land and yet another round of conquest and bondage. Of course, Jesus’s followers want to see the restoration of the kingdom of David, when Israel was the conqueror, and was free to worship her God without fear.
And what do they get from Jesus? A shrug of the shoulders, and this non-answer: “I don’t know what time my Father has set for these things, and you know, it’s really none of your business.” I think that at least some of his disciples got a little perturbed. So then Jesus says to them, “Wait. I know this doesn’t make sense right now, but wait. Wait for the Holy Spirit. I can’t tell you what day he’s going to show up. But a heck of a wind is going to come in. And that wind is going to blow you in new directions, to places in this world you can’t imagine right now. Wait.”
And so they wait together and pray together, with one purpose: to look for the coming of that holy wind, that will bring a new purpose, and the power to carry out God’s purpose for them. And in this promise of Jesus, they trust.
We too are “between.” Our attendance is up this year from what it has most recently been, but not as high as it has been in the more distant past. We would like our numbers to increase more, but we wonder where those new people will come from. So, we are between a time of conflict and instability, and a time of growth and stability. We are between youth and age. There are many of us closer to the end of our physical lives than the beginning, who need more help than we used to. There are also many of us who are very close to that beginning, and who need help to begin navigating this good and dangerous world. We are between the needs of both young and old, ministering to both. By this time next week, we will have celebrated two births, and we have recently had three burials. We are between life and death.
Our community is in a "'between" time. At the Albertville High School graduation, I could count on one hand the number of African Americans I saw getting a diploma. I suspect that before the mid 1990s, Albertville was a pretty homogeneous place, based on skin color. We all know that it isn't today. And whatever mistakes have been made in the past, changing government policies will not change the current demographics in this community. This community is between a unity based on a common race, and a unity rooted more deeply in our common humanity.
And so, as we wait together, we pray together, just as those first disciples waited and prayed together. We pray together on this and every Sunday. We pray together in our daily prayer – here in the church or on the Blog. We pray together for healing in our Tuesday Eucharist. And praying together and waiting together, we grow more and more into that outward and visible sign of Christ’s love that people around us need.
Next Sunday, we will celebrate that Holy wind that blew the first disciples in directions they could never have imagined. Pray this week for the Holy Spirit to blow us in God's direction.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Taking a Short Break
I'm headed to Birmingham to visit my father-in-law. I know that many of you are taking off for the Memorial Day Weekend. So, I'm going to give us all a holiday break from the daily meditations.
I will post my sermon on Sunday, so that all of you playing hookey can still hear the Word given and received. In the meantime, you can continue to read the Scriptures and pray at the Daily Office website. I will resume my daily thoughts on Tuesday.
Have a blessed and refreshing break, and please remember that Memorial Day is not just the start of Summer, but is also the day to remember and give thanks for those who, as Abraham Lincoln said in his Gettysburg Address, gave their last full measure of devotion for the land God gave them, and our freedom.
I will post my sermon on Sunday, so that all of you playing hookey can still hear the Word given and received. In the meantime, you can continue to read the Scriptures and pray at the Daily Office website. I will resume my daily thoughts on Tuesday.
Have a blessed and refreshing break, and please remember that Memorial Day is not just the start of Summer, but is also the day to remember and give thanks for those who, as Abraham Lincoln said in his Gettysburg Address, gave their last full measure of devotion for the land God gave them, and our freedom.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Feast of the Ascension
“Almighty God, whose blessed Son our Savior Jesus Christ ascended far above all heavens that he might fill all things: Mercifully give us faith to perceive that, according to his promise, he abides with his Church on earth, even to the end of the ages; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.”
Yesterday, on the Eve of the Ascension, I wrote that, “Jesus is no longer with us in flesh. But he is with God, in the scarred hands, feet, and side.” So one reason to celebrate Jesus leaving us in the flesh is this: That flesh is now at the right hand of the Father. And as Jesus has taken his human body to Heaven, so will we all be redeemed in our human flesh, and live forever with Jesus. Thus, the Ascension of Jesus is the guarantee of our personal resurrection.
But that resurrection will happen, not in some other world, but here. That is the meaning of the phrase, “that he might fill all things.” When Jesus returns in glory, it will not be to destroy this world and replace it with a better one. That would imply that God made a mistake the first time he created something. But this world is not a mistake. It reflects the loving Word that made it.
So now, Jesus is in Heaven, and we are here waiting for him to return, except that through the Holy Spirit, the 3rd person of the Triune God, Jesus is still here. As it says in the Daily Office reading for today, “behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:16-20). But rather than being limited by the constraints of his physical body, Jesus is with us in the Spirit that blows around us and through us.
And since it is this world that Jesus has come to save, then we have work to do. There are disciples to be trained, and sinners to be saved through the waters of Baptism. This is the Great Commission referenced in our mission statement. There are “sub-commissions” of that Great Commission, over which our Vestry members preside. But we all are charged by Jesus to fulfill his commission, trusting that he is with us in spirit, and will be with us again in the flesh. Thanks be to God!
Yesterday, on the Eve of the Ascension, I wrote that, “Jesus is no longer with us in flesh. But he is with God, in the scarred hands, feet, and side.” So one reason to celebrate Jesus leaving us in the flesh is this: That flesh is now at the right hand of the Father. And as Jesus has taken his human body to Heaven, so will we all be redeemed in our human flesh, and live forever with Jesus. Thus, the Ascension of Jesus is the guarantee of our personal resurrection.
But that resurrection will happen, not in some other world, but here. That is the meaning of the phrase, “that he might fill all things.” When Jesus returns in glory, it will not be to destroy this world and replace it with a better one. That would imply that God made a mistake the first time he created something. But this world is not a mistake. It reflects the loving Word that made it.
So now, Jesus is in Heaven, and we are here waiting for him to return, except that through the Holy Spirit, the 3rd person of the Triune God, Jesus is still here. As it says in the Daily Office reading for today, “behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:16-20). But rather than being limited by the constraints of his physical body, Jesus is with us in the Spirit that blows around us and through us.
And since it is this world that Jesus has come to save, then we have work to do. There are disciples to be trained, and sinners to be saved through the waters of Baptism. This is the Great Commission referenced in our mission statement. There are “sub-commissions” of that Great Commission, over which our Vestry members preside. But we all are charged by Jesus to fulfill his commission, trusting that he is with us in spirit, and will be with us again in the flesh. Thanks be to God!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Eve of the Ascension
Revelation 5:1-13
On this, the eve of the Ascension, The Daily Office lectionary invites us to dip our toes into the book of Revelation. Few books of the Bible have been more misunderstood than this one. The author of this book was steeped in the Old Testament. And many of the images only make sense when understood as drawing upon the symbols of the Old Testament, as well as symbols of the Roman Empire. In other words, Revelation is largely a vision in which the Spirit used the symbolic language that the author best understood.
And while many of the images are extremely violent, much of the message of Revelation is, in fact, about the infinite patience of God. Take the scroll in today’s reading, the one with seven seals, about which the angels asks, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” Certainly, up there in heaven, God could break open the scroll and read it. It’s his plan for the final completion of all things, after all. But God waits…for humanity to open it. God waits for the human being who is worthy to open the scroll and reveal God’s will for the world. God waits for the right man to open the scroll and begin the process of redemption.
And who is found worthy to open the scroll? First we are told that “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.” This alludes to the great King David, who certainly was Israel’s greatest warrior-king. The language here is violent and warlike. And it reflects the OT tradition of a messiah who would repay the Gentiles for all their violent oppression of God’s chosen people.
But when our prophet turns to look, what does he see but “a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain.” It’s as if the visionary is telling his listeners, wherever you read of a conquering lion in the Old Testament, insert the slain Lamb, Jesus Christ. And there the Lamb will stay and call to us, until, “from every tribe and language and people and nation,” the whole world is persuaded that its only hope is in the love of the Lamb of God.
Jesus is no longer with us in flesh. But he is with God, in the scarred hands, feet, and side. And we need not fear his lion-like power, for what the Lamb always reveals to us is his love, and his patience.
On this, the eve of the Ascension, The Daily Office lectionary invites us to dip our toes into the book of Revelation. Few books of the Bible have been more misunderstood than this one. The author of this book was steeped in the Old Testament. And many of the images only make sense when understood as drawing upon the symbols of the Old Testament, as well as symbols of the Roman Empire. In other words, Revelation is largely a vision in which the Spirit used the symbolic language that the author best understood.
And while many of the images are extremely violent, much of the message of Revelation is, in fact, about the infinite patience of God. Take the scroll in today’s reading, the one with seven seals, about which the angels asks, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” Certainly, up there in heaven, God could break open the scroll and read it. It’s his plan for the final completion of all things, after all. But God waits…for humanity to open it. God waits for the human being who is worthy to open the scroll and reveal God’s will for the world. God waits for the right man to open the scroll and begin the process of redemption.
And who is found worthy to open the scroll? First we are told that “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.” This alludes to the great King David, who certainly was Israel’s greatest warrior-king. The language here is violent and warlike. And it reflects the OT tradition of a messiah who would repay the Gentiles for all their violent oppression of God’s chosen people.
But when our prophet turns to look, what does he see but “a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain.” It’s as if the visionary is telling his listeners, wherever you read of a conquering lion in the Old Testament, insert the slain Lamb, Jesus Christ. And there the Lamb will stay and call to us, until, “from every tribe and language and people and nation,” the whole world is persuaded that its only hope is in the love of the Lamb of God.
Jesus is no longer with us in flesh. But he is with God, in the scarred hands, feet, and side. And we need not fear his lion-like power, for what the Lamb always reveals to us is his love, and his patience.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Tuesday, 6th Week of Easter
Luke 11:1-13
“Give us each day our everlasting bread.”
That’s my translation of verse 3. The truth is that no one is really sure what exactly Jesus meant. The Greek word here appears only in this verse, and in Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. It can certainly be understood in the context of our daily needs. But it could also be understood in a more futuristic context.
In the Palestine of Jesus’s time, Greek was the equivalent of English, the common language that most everyone could speak. Hebrew was like Latin, a religious language that only the religiously trained knew. The Jews of Jesus’s time spoke Aramaic. Many scholars think that the Aramaic word that Luke and Matthew were trying to accurately translate into Greek did not mean “today,” so much as “tomorrow.” And by “tomorrow,” Jesus meant the bread of heaven that we will enjoy for all eternity when Jesus returns to rule in power and love forever.
God knows that we need bread to sustain our physical bodies. But we also need the bread of life to sustain our souls, to open the eyes of our faith to see God at work in the world around us, in the touch of a friend, in the proclamation of justice, in a medical test that bring news of healing, in the reconciliation that brings healing of hearts.
Yes Lord, give us the bread that nourishes our flesh, but also give us the bread of prayer, of fellowship, of learning and of communion. For that is the only way by which we may recognize Jesus in our midst until that day when He comes to us unveiled.
“Give us each day our everlasting bread.”
That’s my translation of verse 3. The truth is that no one is really sure what exactly Jesus meant. The Greek word here appears only in this verse, and in Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. It can certainly be understood in the context of our daily needs. But it could also be understood in a more futuristic context.
In the Palestine of Jesus’s time, Greek was the equivalent of English, the common language that most everyone could speak. Hebrew was like Latin, a religious language that only the religiously trained knew. The Jews of Jesus’s time spoke Aramaic. Many scholars think that the Aramaic word that Luke and Matthew were trying to accurately translate into Greek did not mean “today,” so much as “tomorrow.” And by “tomorrow,” Jesus meant the bread of heaven that we will enjoy for all eternity when Jesus returns to rule in power and love forever.
God knows that we need bread to sustain our physical bodies. But we also need the bread of life to sustain our souls, to open the eyes of our faith to see God at work in the world around us, in the touch of a friend, in the proclamation of justice, in a medical test that bring news of healing, in the reconciliation that brings healing of hearts.
Yes Lord, give us the bread that nourishes our flesh, but also give us the bread of prayer, of fellowship, of learning and of communion. For that is the only way by which we may recognize Jesus in our midst until that day when He comes to us unveiled.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Monday, 6th Week of Easter
Luke 9:18-27
This Thursday is the Feast of Jesus’s ascension to the right hand of God. And so in these last few days that the risen Jesus is among us in flesh, the Church offers these readings as a kind of “last will and testament” from Jesus to us.
Today, we hear from Jesus the irony that in order to save ourselves, we must deny ourselves. Jesus’s subsequent reference to the Cross clarifies that for those disciples, Jesus was warning them to deny Jesus in the face of persecution might preserve your physical life, for a brief time. But once that physical life inevitably expired, what would become of the soul that God had given you.
One possibility was once outlined in this way: That if we die not having accepted God’s grace, then our fear of nothingness and futility remains with us always. And in our refusal to accept death, it remains our enemy forever. This is Hell.
We were not made for futility and death. But those things are an inevitable part of our lives here on Earth. But Jesus has accepted those things too, and he has passed through them and come out into the everlasting light. It is natural for us to fear our physical passing. The Good News (from which we get the word, “evangelism”) is that futility and death are also passing away, if we just trust in the One who has passed through them.
This Thursday is the Feast of Jesus’s ascension to the right hand of God. And so in these last few days that the risen Jesus is among us in flesh, the Church offers these readings as a kind of “last will and testament” from Jesus to us.
Today, we hear from Jesus the irony that in order to save ourselves, we must deny ourselves. Jesus’s subsequent reference to the Cross clarifies that for those disciples, Jesus was warning them to deny Jesus in the face of persecution might preserve your physical life, for a brief time. But once that physical life inevitably expired, what would become of the soul that God had given you.
One possibility was once outlined in this way: That if we die not having accepted God’s grace, then our fear of nothingness and futility remains with us always. And in our refusal to accept death, it remains our enemy forever. This is Hell.
We were not made for futility and death. But those things are an inevitable part of our lives here on Earth. But Jesus has accepted those things too, and he has passed through them and come out into the everlasting light. It is natural for us to fear our physical passing. The Good News (from which we get the word, “evangelism”) is that futility and death are also passing away, if we just trust in the One who has passed through them.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sermon for the 6th Sunday of Easter
“No longer do I call you servants…I have called you friends.” (1 John 15:15)
These last few weeks of our Easter season have taken on a slight melancholy air. Jesus is raised, and his disciples have seen him. But last week, we took a turn in our celebration of the Risen Christ. We hear again, as we did last Sunday, from chapter 15 of John’s Gospel. It comes in the middle of what is called Jesus’s “Farewell Discourse,” which began in ch. 13 with Jesus telling his disciples, “Where I am going, you cannot come.”
At this point in John’s Gospel, Jesus is referring principally to the Passion of the Cross that he is about to undergo. But each year in Eastertide, the Church gives us sections of this Farewell Discourse because, as happy as we have been to relive the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior, we know that Jesus of Nazareth is not here with us in the flesh. And so we hear Jesus telling his disciples, then and now, that he is present in ways that transcend his human presence.
Today, we hear Jesus tell us, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.”
“No longer do I call your servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing.” In some translations, the word used here is “slave,” so that we hear Jesus say, “I have not called you slaves, for the slave does not know what his master is doing.” Indeed, a master doesn’t have to waste his precious time explaining anything to his slave. A slave has no freedom. Therefore a slave has no reason to risk taking any initiative. There’s no extra reward for thinking independently when you’re a slave, when your very life is at the disposal and pleasure of the master.
But, Jesus says, “I have called you friends; literally, I have called you those who are loved. When you love someone, you confide in them. You care what they say. It is your friends who can tell you you’re wrong, without you reacting defensively, because you trust that their correction of you does not come from self-centeredness, but from a desire to watch you succeed.
Your friend is your partner. And when Jesus calls us his friends, he is calling us his partners. In this thing called Church, Jesus has made us partners, with him and with each other. It takes years for attorneys to earn that name in a law firm. And when they do, they share in the ownership of the firm. They can vote on decisions the firm makes. Jesus has already made us his partners.
There is a time for us to come to the altar on our knees, trusting in God’s grace. And when we have received that grace in the bread and the wine, we should stand, and claim our status as redeemed people, as partners in this ministry. We have Jesus’s words to guide us, we have Jesus’s example to inspire us, and we have Jesus’s grace to empower us. We are Jesus’s partners, his friends whom he loves.
Indeed, what is the greatest sign of love? That "someone should lay down his life for his friends.” Because we are Jesus’s friends, we are friends of each other. God made this world, and God redeemed this world through Jesus Christ. And we are to love those in the world. But before we love those in the world, we must learn to love each other as Jesus loved us. Young and old, white, black or brown, male and female, we all must learn to be friends in Christ Jesus.
These last few weeks of our Easter season have taken on a slight melancholy air. Jesus is raised, and his disciples have seen him. But last week, we took a turn in our celebration of the Risen Christ. We hear again, as we did last Sunday, from chapter 15 of John’s Gospel. It comes in the middle of what is called Jesus’s “Farewell Discourse,” which began in ch. 13 with Jesus telling his disciples, “Where I am going, you cannot come.”
At this point in John’s Gospel, Jesus is referring principally to the Passion of the Cross that he is about to undergo. But each year in Eastertide, the Church gives us sections of this Farewell Discourse because, as happy as we have been to relive the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior, we know that Jesus of Nazareth is not here with us in the flesh. And so we hear Jesus telling his disciples, then and now, that he is present in ways that transcend his human presence.
Today, we hear Jesus tell us, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.”
“No longer do I call your servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing.” In some translations, the word used here is “slave,” so that we hear Jesus say, “I have not called you slaves, for the slave does not know what his master is doing.” Indeed, a master doesn’t have to waste his precious time explaining anything to his slave. A slave has no freedom. Therefore a slave has no reason to risk taking any initiative. There’s no extra reward for thinking independently when you’re a slave, when your very life is at the disposal and pleasure of the master.
But, Jesus says, “I have called you friends; literally, I have called you those who are loved. When you love someone, you confide in them. You care what they say. It is your friends who can tell you you’re wrong, without you reacting defensively, because you trust that their correction of you does not come from self-centeredness, but from a desire to watch you succeed.
Your friend is your partner. And when Jesus calls us his friends, he is calling us his partners. In this thing called Church, Jesus has made us partners, with him and with each other. It takes years for attorneys to earn that name in a law firm. And when they do, they share in the ownership of the firm. They can vote on decisions the firm makes. Jesus has already made us his partners.
There is a time for us to come to the altar on our knees, trusting in God’s grace. And when we have received that grace in the bread and the wine, we should stand, and claim our status as redeemed people, as partners in this ministry. We have Jesus’s words to guide us, we have Jesus’s example to inspire us, and we have Jesus’s grace to empower us. We are Jesus’s partners, his friends whom he loves.
Indeed, what is the greatest sign of love? That "someone should lay down his life for his friends.” Because we are Jesus’s friends, we are friends of each other. God made this world, and God redeemed this world through Jesus Christ. And we are to love those in the world. But before we love those in the world, we must learn to love each other as Jesus loved us. Young and old, white, black or brown, male and female, we all must learn to be friends in Christ Jesus.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Friday, 5th Week of Easter
Psalm 106:1-18
It is appropriate that on Friday, we join the people of Israel in confessing our sins and begging God’s forgiveness. Probably written after their exile, the psalmist recalls the story of Israel’s oppression in Egypt, their deliverance by God, their failure to trust their deliverer, and God’s retribution.
This psalm figures prominently in early Christian preaching. Look at v.20, and then compare it to Romans 1:23. Look also at v.37 in the Psalm and compare it to 1 Corinthians 10:20. If Jesus is our Savior, then presumably He came to save us from something. And in the faithlessness of Israel, the Christians found the indictment of the human race.
But also look at v. 10 in this Psalm, and compare it to Luke 1:71; or compare v.45 to Luke 1:72. We are not called to continually beat our breasts. No amount of beating would be enough to make restitution for the wrong s that cannot be undone anyway. We are not to wallow in fear of God. For through Jesus Christ, we know how much God loves us, and as Zechariah sang, we are truly “free to serve him without fear.”
It is appropriate that on Friday, we join the people of Israel in confessing our sins and begging God’s forgiveness. Probably written after their exile, the psalmist recalls the story of Israel’s oppression in Egypt, their deliverance by God, their failure to trust their deliverer, and God’s retribution.
This psalm figures prominently in early Christian preaching. Look at v.20, and then compare it to Romans 1:23. Look also at v.37 in the Psalm and compare it to 1 Corinthians 10:20. If Jesus is our Savior, then presumably He came to save us from something. And in the faithlessness of Israel, the Christians found the indictment of the human race.
But also look at v. 10 in this Psalm, and compare it to Luke 1:71; or compare v.45 to Luke 1:72. We are not called to continually beat our breasts. No amount of beating would be enough to make restitution for the wrong s that cannot be undone anyway. We are not to wallow in fear of God. For through Jesus Christ, we know how much God loves us, and as Zechariah sang, we are truly “free to serve him without fear.”
Thursday, 5th Week of Easter
Psalm 71
The psalmist we hear today is “old and gray-headed,” (v.18), and perhaps is facing the same problems that the elderly face today: increasing infirmity, a sense that the rest of the world is running past them, fear of how they will be cared for, and a desire to preserve as much independence as they can.
What keeps our psalmist going? What sustains him or her? A wisdom that takes a lifetime to gain: “I have been sustained by you ever since I was born; from my mother’s womb you have been my strength; my praise shall be always of you” (v.6). Here is the realization that one wishes the young, full of life and strength and self-confidence, would get sooner rather than later: our strength is not our own, it is a gift from the God who made us and who loves us.
Perhaps it is only when we are at the end of our rope, and all our efforts to comfort ourselves have been exhausted, that we can say to God, “You strengthen more and more; you enfold and comfort me” (v.21). As we consider the gifts our senior citizens have to offer us today, let us pray for our brothers and sisters in the words of this prayer from the Prayer Book:
Look with mercy, O God our Father, on all whose increasing years bring them weakness, distress, or isolation. Provide for them homes of dignity and peace; give them understanding helpers, and the willingness to accept help; and, as their strength diminishes, increase their faith and their assurance of your love. This we ask in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
The psalmist we hear today is “old and gray-headed,” (v.18), and perhaps is facing the same problems that the elderly face today: increasing infirmity, a sense that the rest of the world is running past them, fear of how they will be cared for, and a desire to preserve as much independence as they can.
What keeps our psalmist going? What sustains him or her? A wisdom that takes a lifetime to gain: “I have been sustained by you ever since I was born; from my mother’s womb you have been my strength; my praise shall be always of you” (v.6). Here is the realization that one wishes the young, full of life and strength and self-confidence, would get sooner rather than later: our strength is not our own, it is a gift from the God who made us and who loves us.
Perhaps it is only when we are at the end of our rope, and all our efforts to comfort ourselves have been exhausted, that we can say to God, “You strengthen more and more; you enfold and comfort me” (v.21). As we consider the gifts our senior citizens have to offer us today, let us pray for our brothers and sisters in the words of this prayer from the Prayer Book:
Look with mercy, O God our Father, on all whose increasing years bring them weakness, distress, or isolation. Provide for them homes of dignity and peace; give them understanding helpers, and the willingness to accept help; and, as their strength diminishes, increase their faith and their assurance of your love. This we ask in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Wednesday, 5th Week of Easter
Psalm 72
Psalm 72 was originally a coronation song for the kings that descended from David. Eventually the Babylonians conquered Jerusalem, took the Jewish people into exile, and ended the Davidic kingdom. Even after that exile ended, and the Jews returned to their homeland, their kings ruled from places like Persia, Greece, Egypt, and Rome. So, this psalm became part of the Jewish people’s expectation of the future Messiah, the one chosen by God to “rule your people righteously and the poor with justice; that the mountains may bring prosperity to the people, and the little hills bring righteousness” (vs. 2-3).
We see Jesus, “the Christ” as that Messiah (of which “Christ” is the Greek translation of the Hebrew “Messiah”). So it is natural to pray this psalm to Jesus Christ. Frankly, only someone like Jesus could “live as long as the sun and moon endure…[and] come down like rain upon the mown field” (vs. 5-6). The king envisioned in Psalm 72 is a traditional ruler who imposes justice from above by his decree. But he is also a king who sinks into the ground like the rain, and unseen, nourishes the creation, and blooms in good time, in unexpected places, and by no decree of human beings.
When I pray the psalms, I always pause between the halves of the verse, and take a breath. Sometimes, I find one verse speaking to me in a personal way, and I’ll stop reciting the psalm, and I’ll simply say that one verse silently in my mind, but timing my breathing with each section of that verse. Try it yourselves sometime. Don’t just say the psalm, breathe it , and see what rain comes down upon the fields of your heart and mind, giving you new insights, new feelings, new hope. Happy praying.
Psalm 72 was originally a coronation song for the kings that descended from David. Eventually the Babylonians conquered Jerusalem, took the Jewish people into exile, and ended the Davidic kingdom. Even after that exile ended, and the Jews returned to their homeland, their kings ruled from places like Persia, Greece, Egypt, and Rome. So, this psalm became part of the Jewish people’s expectation of the future Messiah, the one chosen by God to “rule your people righteously and the poor with justice; that the mountains may bring prosperity to the people, and the little hills bring righteousness” (vs. 2-3).
We see Jesus, “the Christ” as that Messiah (of which “Christ” is the Greek translation of the Hebrew “Messiah”). So it is natural to pray this psalm to Jesus Christ. Frankly, only someone like Jesus could “live as long as the sun and moon endure…[and] come down like rain upon the mown field” (vs. 5-6). The king envisioned in Psalm 72 is a traditional ruler who imposes justice from above by his decree. But he is also a king who sinks into the ground like the rain, and unseen, nourishes the creation, and blooms in good time, in unexpected places, and by no decree of human beings.
When I pray the psalms, I always pause between the halves of the verse, and take a breath. Sometimes, I find one verse speaking to me in a personal way, and I’ll stop reciting the psalm, and I’ll simply say that one verse silently in my mind, but timing my breathing with each section of that verse. Try it yourselves sometime. Don’t just say the psalm, breathe it , and see what rain comes down upon the fields of your heart and mind, giving you new insights, new feelings, new hope. Happy praying.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Tuesday, 5th Week of Easter
Psalm 61
Psalm 61 is largely a personal lament and prayer to God for personal deliverance. But then comes verse 6: “Add length of days to the king’s life; let his years extend for many generations.” Many of the Psalms combine the personal and political in this way. By tradition, all the Psalms were written by King David. Even if – as most scholars now believe – they weren’t all written at the time of David, they were certainly written in the context of a royal court.
At a time when political authority was truly personal, that is, bound up in one person chosen by God, it was natural for the people of Israel to see their personal welfare intimately linked to the welfare of the king who was also their chosen shepherd. We live in different time, of course. We believe that no man is above the law, not even the person who increasingly wields his authority like an ancient king, albeit for a limited term.
And yet, particularly in this time of economic uncertainty, we have been reminded that as the country goes, so go many of its citizens. In what ways do you see your well-being connected to the well-being of this city, this state, this nation? As you pray for yourself, and those you love, remember also to pray for our land.
Psalm 61 is largely a personal lament and prayer to God for personal deliverance. But then comes verse 6: “Add length of days to the king’s life; let his years extend for many generations.” Many of the Psalms combine the personal and political in this way. By tradition, all the Psalms were written by King David. Even if – as most scholars now believe – they weren’t all written at the time of David, they were certainly written in the context of a royal court.
At a time when political authority was truly personal, that is, bound up in one person chosen by God, it was natural for the people of Israel to see their personal welfare intimately linked to the welfare of the king who was also their chosen shepherd. We live in different time, of course. We believe that no man is above the law, not even the person who increasingly wields his authority like an ancient king, albeit for a limited term.
And yet, particularly in this time of economic uncertainty, we have been reminded that as the country goes, so go many of its citizens. In what ways do you see your well-being connected to the well-being of this city, this state, this nation? As you pray for yourself, and those you love, remember also to pray for our land.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monday, 5th Week of Easter
Psalm 56
Spend enough time with the Psalms, and you find yourself praying sentiments such as, “Have mercy on me, O God, for my enemies are hounding me; all day long they assault and oppress me” (v. 1). There’s an awful lot of talk about enemies in the Psalms. In a middle class, fairly predictable culture like the one we live in, it might seem odd to think about enemies. We live in a culture of reciprocity – You do something for me, I do something for you.
Then again, perhaps you’ve paid for someone to make renovations to your house. They’ve done shoddy, substandard work, after taking your money, and they won’t return your phone calls. Don’t those people feel like enemies to you?
Interestingly, the Psalmist is in the midst of enemies. Yet he also says, “I am bound by the vow I made to you, O God…For you have recued my soul from death” (vs. 11,12). He has not yet been delivered from those who oppress him. Yet he still vows faithfulness to God, hoping that God will save him, but not making his vow dependent on God doing something for him.
In the Psalms, we have permission to complain to God about those who try to harm us. Yet even in the midst of that complaint, we also have the opportunity to reaffirm our trust in God. Don’t deny yourself these opportunities.
Spend enough time with the Psalms, and you find yourself praying sentiments such as, “Have mercy on me, O God, for my enemies are hounding me; all day long they assault and oppress me” (v. 1). There’s an awful lot of talk about enemies in the Psalms. In a middle class, fairly predictable culture like the one we live in, it might seem odd to think about enemies. We live in a culture of reciprocity – You do something for me, I do something for you.
Then again, perhaps you’ve paid for someone to make renovations to your house. They’ve done shoddy, substandard work, after taking your money, and they won’t return your phone calls. Don’t those people feel like enemies to you?
Interestingly, the Psalmist is in the midst of enemies. Yet he also says, “I am bound by the vow I made to you, O God…For you have recued my soul from death” (vs. 11,12). He has not yet been delivered from those who oppress him. Yet he still vows faithfulness to God, hoping that God will save him, but not making his vow dependent on God doing something for him.
In the Psalms, we have permission to complain to God about those who try to harm us. Yet even in the midst of that complaint, we also have the opportunity to reaffirm our trust in God. Don’t deny yourself these opportunities.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Sermon for the 5th Sunday of Easter
“God is love, [and] perfect love casts out fear.” (1 John 4:16,18)
When a baby comes out into the cold world, and as the nurse cradles that baby in her arms, that newborn infant will tense up as they become aware for the first time that they are powerless, exposed in a new world of empty space, into which they might fall. And so, it appears that the first emotion we feel is fear. And what casts that fear from our hearts? The moment that we are cradled in the arms of our mother, and we know that we are not exposed. We are not alone. We are loved. Thus does love cast out fear.
And so it begins, this struggle between love and fear, between trust and powerlessness. I believe that sin began when Adam and Eve became aware for the first time that they were exposed. And they began to fear that maybe God wasn’t there all the time, or maybe that God wasn’t there at all. So, best to grab whatever advantage they could to get along in this empty space, into which we could fall or be pushed, at any time, with no warning.
I’ve seen both fear and powerlessness these past few weeks. In our church family, we all have been faced with our ultimate powerlessness in the face of physical death.
But today, we hear that “God is love,” and that this “perfect love casts out fear.” We need not fear anything because nothing is more powerful that God's love. That doesn't mean that nothing bad is ever going to happen to us. But from the moment when God said, “Let there be light,” and a universe was born, a plan has been in place that has led to each of us being here, together on this Sunday. For each of us, there have been detours and tears. Yet here we are, because each of us has also known joy, love and life together. Even in the midst of death, we give thanks for the new life that is cradled in the arms of this community, and the life that is coming into this world.
The perfect love that casts out fear is here. And the best news today is that we don’t have to be “perfect” in the way we normally think of perfection. The word “perfection” has gotten a very bad rap. When I was 14, and heard Jesus say in Matthew’s Gospel that “you must be perfect as your father in heaven is perfect,” this precipitated a minor crisis in faith for me. I thought the whole point of Grace was that we couldn’t possibly be perfect without the unmerited gift of God. And I certainly wasn’t “perfect” then. How would I ever reach the state of perfection? What if I died before that happened?
But that inconvenient word pops up a lot today – “if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us” – “By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence on the day of judgment.” But the word translated here as “perfect,” does not mean a fixed static state that we must achieve, or else be condemned. "Perfect" doesn't mean getting a 100 on the test. It means the end point to which we are all progressing. Perfection is not a state in which you’re either in it or out of it. It’s a process. And to be in a process is to be in a "state" of change. To be "perfect" is to change.
Perhaps our greatest fear is change that we can’t control. Our lives change, often without our say-so. And we can’t see how these changes are going to affect us in the future. Change creates a new situation, where the old rules, the old assumptions are no more. And we haven’t yet figured what the new rules are, the new assumptions, and the new givens. But that has happened to all of us before, and the perfect love of God in Jesus Christ has brought us through, to this place, on this Sunday, together. Jesus knew what it meant to change, to be confronted with the unexpected, with human responses he had not anticipated. And together, with Christ, we continue to grow, to change, to be perfected.
Along this way of perfection, the love of Christ grows in our hearts, and cradles them. So, we need not fear change. We have been cradled in God’s loving hands ever since we were born. We are being perfected in that love, which does not fear change, but trusts in the God who guides us along the way. And if, with a sincere heart, we take a wrong turn, that is simply part of the process of perfection, by which our love of God and trust in him are nurtured and matured.
Someday, our love of God and each other will be perfect. Until then, put one foot in front of the other, day by day. God knows that’s all we can do, and that is all God asks of us. He knows where we are going. We are not exposed. We are not alone. We are loved.
When a baby comes out into the cold world, and as the nurse cradles that baby in her arms, that newborn infant will tense up as they become aware for the first time that they are powerless, exposed in a new world of empty space, into which they might fall. And so, it appears that the first emotion we feel is fear. And what casts that fear from our hearts? The moment that we are cradled in the arms of our mother, and we know that we are not exposed. We are not alone. We are loved. Thus does love cast out fear.
And so it begins, this struggle between love and fear, between trust and powerlessness. I believe that sin began when Adam and Eve became aware for the first time that they were exposed. And they began to fear that maybe God wasn’t there all the time, or maybe that God wasn’t there at all. So, best to grab whatever advantage they could to get along in this empty space, into which we could fall or be pushed, at any time, with no warning.
I’ve seen both fear and powerlessness these past few weeks. In our church family, we all have been faced with our ultimate powerlessness in the face of physical death.
But today, we hear that “God is love,” and that this “perfect love casts out fear.” We need not fear anything because nothing is more powerful that God's love. That doesn't mean that nothing bad is ever going to happen to us. But from the moment when God said, “Let there be light,” and a universe was born, a plan has been in place that has led to each of us being here, together on this Sunday. For each of us, there have been detours and tears. Yet here we are, because each of us has also known joy, love and life together. Even in the midst of death, we give thanks for the new life that is cradled in the arms of this community, and the life that is coming into this world.
The perfect love that casts out fear is here. And the best news today is that we don’t have to be “perfect” in the way we normally think of perfection. The word “perfection” has gotten a very bad rap. When I was 14, and heard Jesus say in Matthew’s Gospel that “you must be perfect as your father in heaven is perfect,” this precipitated a minor crisis in faith for me. I thought the whole point of Grace was that we couldn’t possibly be perfect without the unmerited gift of God. And I certainly wasn’t “perfect” then. How would I ever reach the state of perfection? What if I died before that happened?
But that inconvenient word pops up a lot today – “if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us” – “By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence on the day of judgment.” But the word translated here as “perfect,” does not mean a fixed static state that we must achieve, or else be condemned. "Perfect" doesn't mean getting a 100 on the test. It means the end point to which we are all progressing. Perfection is not a state in which you’re either in it or out of it. It’s a process. And to be in a process is to be in a "state" of change. To be "perfect" is to change.
Perhaps our greatest fear is change that we can’t control. Our lives change, often without our say-so. And we can’t see how these changes are going to affect us in the future. Change creates a new situation, where the old rules, the old assumptions are no more. And we haven’t yet figured what the new rules are, the new assumptions, and the new givens. But that has happened to all of us before, and the perfect love of God in Jesus Christ has brought us through, to this place, on this Sunday, together. Jesus knew what it meant to change, to be confronted with the unexpected, with human responses he had not anticipated. And together, with Christ, we continue to grow, to change, to be perfected.
Along this way of perfection, the love of Christ grows in our hearts, and cradles them. So, we need not fear change. We have been cradled in God’s loving hands ever since we were born. We are being perfected in that love, which does not fear change, but trusts in the God who guides us along the way. And if, with a sincere heart, we take a wrong turn, that is simply part of the process of perfection, by which our love of God and trust in him are nurtured and matured.
Someday, our love of God and each other will be perfect. Until then, put one foot in front of the other, day by day. God knows that’s all we can do, and that is all God asks of us. He knows where we are going. We are not exposed. We are not alone. We are loved.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Friday, 4th Week of Easter
Psalm 40
One might be tempted to ask, “Can this guy make up his mind how he feels?” In one breath, the psalmist says, “He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay.” In the next breath, he laments that “innumerable troubles have crowded upon me.”
It’s not just the Psalms, all 150 of them, that cover the gamut of human emotions and responses to God. Sometime just one Psalm will contain contradictory ideas. Here in Psalm 40 are contained gratitude for God’s love, and fear of God’s abandonment.
Sometimes, when we are feeling our worst, it may be that the only thing keeping us afloat is the memory of how God has helped us in the past. Keeping those memories uppermost in our conscious thoughts might help us pass the present period when we are feeling as though God has abandoned us.
What memories do you have of God’s love toward you? Treasure those memories. You never know when you’re going to need them.
One might be tempted to ask, “Can this guy make up his mind how he feels?” In one breath, the psalmist says, “He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay.” In the next breath, he laments that “innumerable troubles have crowded upon me.”
It’s not just the Psalms, all 150 of them, that cover the gamut of human emotions and responses to God. Sometime just one Psalm will contain contradictory ideas. Here in Psalm 40 are contained gratitude for God’s love, and fear of God’s abandonment.
Sometimes, when we are feeling our worst, it may be that the only thing keeping us afloat is the memory of how God has helped us in the past. Keeping those memories uppermost in our conscious thoughts might help us pass the present period when we are feeling as though God has abandoned us.
What memories do you have of God’s love toward you? Treasure those memories. You never know when you’re going to need them.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Thursday, 4th Week of Easter
Psalm 50
This is a setup. First God calls before him his “loyal followers, those who have made a covenant and sealed it with sacrifice” (v.5). And then he accuses them! But not because of their “sacrifices” of calves, goats, and birds. “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the whole world is mine and all that is in it” (v.12).
The problem is not so much the sacrifices themselves, but the spirit in which they are done. “Appeasement” became a four letter word, thanks to its British practitioners in 1the 1930s, who kept saying, “if we give the Germans this piece of land, then surely that should be enough for Hitler.” God is not a maniacal dictator. But he is the sovereign of the entire universe. And it is equally foolish to think that anything we do could manipulate him into doing what we want.
What does God ask of us? “Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving…keep in my way.” Can you see God as the one who loves you, who doesn’t want the pretty face you show to the world, but the hurt, and hurting person that each of us is? God is not to be appeased, because God does not need to be appeased.
This is a setup. First God calls before him his “loyal followers, those who have made a covenant and sealed it with sacrifice” (v.5). And then he accuses them! But not because of their “sacrifices” of calves, goats, and birds. “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the whole world is mine and all that is in it” (v.12).
The problem is not so much the sacrifices themselves, but the spirit in which they are done. “Appeasement” became a four letter word, thanks to its British practitioners in 1the 1930s, who kept saying, “if we give the Germans this piece of land, then surely that should be enough for Hitler.” God is not a maniacal dictator. But he is the sovereign of the entire universe. And it is equally foolish to think that anything we do could manipulate him into doing what we want.
What does God ask of us? “Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving…keep in my way.” Can you see God as the one who loves you, who doesn’t want the pretty face you show to the world, but the hurt, and hurting person that each of us is? God is not to be appeased, because God does not need to be appeased.
Wednesday, 4th Week of Easter
Psalm 119:49-72
Psalm 119 – 176 verses in all. That’s a mouthful. And it really is about just one thing – the law, which for the people of Israel was the sign of God’s loving presence with his people. For only to them had God revealed his will and his judgments. Of course, knowing the right thing to do, and actually doing it, are two different things. And that is the theme that is played out for 176 verses, of which today we have verses 49-72.
The wonderful thing about the psalms is that they cover the gamut of the human response to God. It is alright to admit to God that “I am filled with a burning rage, because of the wicked who forsake your law” (v.53). Who is not deeply offended by the injustices committed by human beings against each other? And when we feel alone, isolated, do we not need guidance and friendly counsel? “Your statutes have been like songs to me wherever I have lived as a stranger.”
As we pray the Psalms together, let the words and images speak to your heart. You don’t have to be a Jewish rabbi to appreciate the emotional depth of the Psalms.
Psalm 119 – 176 verses in all. That’s a mouthful. And it really is about just one thing – the law, which for the people of Israel was the sign of God’s loving presence with his people. For only to them had God revealed his will and his judgments. Of course, knowing the right thing to do, and actually doing it, are two different things. And that is the theme that is played out for 176 verses, of which today we have verses 49-72.
The wonderful thing about the psalms is that they cover the gamut of the human response to God. It is alright to admit to God that “I am filled with a burning rage, because of the wicked who forsake your law” (v.53). Who is not deeply offended by the injustices committed by human beings against each other? And when we feel alone, isolated, do we not need guidance and friendly counsel? “Your statutes have been like songs to me wherever I have lived as a stranger.”
As we pray the Psalms together, let the words and images speak to your heart. You don’t have to be a Jewish rabbi to appreciate the emotional depth of the Psalms.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Tuesday, 4th Week of Easter
Psalm 45
1 My heart is stirring with a noble song;
let me recite what I have fashioned for the king; *
my tongue shall be the pen of a skilled writer.
2 You are the fairest of men; *
grace flows from your lips,
because God has blessed you for ever.
3 Strap your sword upon your thigh, O mighty warrior, *
in your pride and in your majesty.
4 Ride out and conquer in the cause of truth *
and for the sake of justice.
5 Your right hand will show you marvelous things; *
your arrows are very sharp, O mighty warrior.
6 The peoples are falling at your feet, *
and the king’s enemies are losing heart.
7 Your throne, O God, endures for ever and ever, *
a scepter of righteousness is the scepter of your kingdom;
you love righteousness and hate iniquity.
8 Therefore God, your God, has anointed you *
with the oil of gladness above your fellows.
9 All your garments are fragrant with myrrh, aloes, and cassia, *
and the music of strings from ivory palaces makes you glad.
10 Kings’ daughters stand among the ladies of the court; *
on your right hand is the queen,
adorned with the gold of Ophir.
11 “Hear, O daughter; consider and listen closely; *
forget your people and your father’s house.
12 The king will have pleasure in your beauty; *
he is your master; therefore do him honor.
13 The people of Tyre are here with a gift; *
the rich among the people seek your favor.”
14 All glorious is the princess as she enters; *
her gown is cloth of gold.
15 In embroidered apparel she is brought to the king; *
after her the bridesmaids follow in procession.
16 With joy and gladness they are brought, *
and enter into the palace of the king.
17 “In place of fathers, O king, you shall have sons; *
you shall make them princes over all the earth.
18 I will make your name to be remembered
from one generation to another; *
therefore nations will praise you for ever and ever.”
1 My heart is stirring with a noble song;
let me recite what I have fashioned for the king; *
my tongue shall be the pen of a skilled writer.
2 You are the fairest of men; *
grace flows from your lips,
because God has blessed you for ever.
3 Strap your sword upon your thigh, O mighty warrior, *
in your pride and in your majesty.
4 Ride out and conquer in the cause of truth *
and for the sake of justice.
5 Your right hand will show you marvelous things; *
your arrows are very sharp, O mighty warrior.
6 The peoples are falling at your feet, *
and the king’s enemies are losing heart.
7 Your throne, O God, endures for ever and ever, *
a scepter of righteousness is the scepter of your kingdom;
you love righteousness and hate iniquity.
8 Therefore God, your God, has anointed you *
with the oil of gladness above your fellows.
9 All your garments are fragrant with myrrh, aloes, and cassia, *
and the music of strings from ivory palaces makes you glad.
10 Kings’ daughters stand among the ladies of the court; *
on your right hand is the queen,
adorned with the gold of Ophir.
11 “Hear, O daughter; consider and listen closely; *
forget your people and your father’s house.
12 The king will have pleasure in your beauty; *
he is your master; therefore do him honor.
13 The people of Tyre are here with a gift; *
the rich among the people seek your favor.”
14 All glorious is the princess as she enters; *
her gown is cloth of gold.
15 In embroidered apparel she is brought to the king; *
after her the bridesmaids follow in procession.
16 With joy and gladness they are brought, *
and enter into the palace of the king.
17 “In place of fathers, O king, you shall have sons; *
you shall make them princes over all the earth.
18 I will make your name to be remembered
from one generation to another; *
therefore nations will praise you for ever and ever.”
Monday, 4th Week of Easter
“But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God; I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever” (Psalm 52:8, page 657, BCP)
This is the Psalm appointed for Monday, in the fourth week of Easter, in Year One of the Daily Office lectionary, which begins on page 934 of the Book of Common Prayer. Interestingly, this psalm is not addressed to God, but to a “tyrant” who plots ruin, whose “tongue is like a sharpened razor.” Don’t let the word, “tyrant” make you think only of a political leader. Surely we all have known someone whose “deceitful tongue” cut us like a razor. In other words, as we pray the Psalms, let these songs speak to the joy, and the pain, of your heart.
It might actually seem frightening to think of ourselves as a tree. A tree can’t move. If someone wants to cut us down, we can’t stop them. Those who “plot ruin” are always more flexible than we are because they don’t let things like morality control their actions. But for those who “trust in the mercy of God,” wherever we are, we are in the “house of God.” For there is no place where the love of God is not with us, bringing protection and healing.
Remember the classic “ice breaker” question, “If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?” Some trees are thin, but can bend with the wind. Others are big and immovable against the wind. The psalmist knew what kind of tree he was. So just what kind of tree are you?
This is the Psalm appointed for Monday, in the fourth week of Easter, in Year One of the Daily Office lectionary, which begins on page 934 of the Book of Common Prayer. Interestingly, this psalm is not addressed to God, but to a “tyrant” who plots ruin, whose “tongue is like a sharpened razor.” Don’t let the word, “tyrant” make you think only of a political leader. Surely we all have known someone whose “deceitful tongue” cut us like a razor. In other words, as we pray the Psalms, let these songs speak to the joy, and the pain, of your heart.
It might actually seem frightening to think of ourselves as a tree. A tree can’t move. If someone wants to cut us down, we can’t stop them. Those who “plot ruin” are always more flexible than we are because they don’t let things like morality control their actions. But for those who “trust in the mercy of God,” wherever we are, we are in the “house of God.” For there is no place where the love of God is not with us, bringing protection and healing.
Remember the classic “ice breaker” question, “If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?” Some trees are thin, but can bend with the wind. Others are big and immovable against the wind. The psalmist knew what kind of tree he was. So just what kind of tree are you?
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