2 Timothy 4:6-8
John 21:17-19
The Feast of Saints Peter and Paul is celebrated on June 29. With our midweek Eucharist falling on Tuesday, I’ve transferred our celebration to this day. This day is not just about these two men, but specifically about the martyrdoms, which according to tradition occurred at the same time under the Emperor Nero in Rome.
Sad as their deaths were, I find it strangely grace-full that they were martyred together. They were not always together in a shared consensus. The New Testament itself reflects that tension. In his letter to the Galatians, Paul writes of how he rebuked Peter for his continued insistence on Jewish exclusiveness (Note that Paul calls Peter “Cephas” in Galatians. That was the Aramaic word for “rock,” which in Greek is petros).
On the other hand, writing for Peter, the author of the 2nd letter of Peter warns his readers to read Paul’s letters carefully, for “they contain some obscure passages, which the ignorant and unstable misinterpret to their own ruin, as they do the other scriptures” (2 Pet 3:16). In short, Paul pushed the envelope of old rules, which he felt that Jesus had made irrelevant. Peter seems to have been concerned that this envelope-pushing might spill over to parts of the Old Covenant that could not be separated from the New Covenant.
But in spite of their disagreements, in the end, they were together in witnessing to the power of Jesus Christ, in life and death. Today, we are hardly free from disagreements about the teaching of the Church. But we need not fear the debate. This conversation about the faith that brings us together is crucial if we are to understand more deeply the Good News we must communicate, together. So, let us give thanks for Peter and Paul, for their sometimes heated conversation, and their final unity of witness.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, 8th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 7:51-8:1
Throughout chap. 7, Stephen has been retelling the story of Israel, not as a story of God’s salvation, but of Israel’s unremitting rebellion. When he then reveals his vision of God’s court, superimposed on the human court, this is the final straw for those listening. To claim such a vision meant that Stephen was either a prophet or a blasphemer against God. Clearly, his judges concluded that the latter was the case.
Stephen is the first “martyr,” a Greek word meaning “witness.” Clearly, Stephen’s willingness to endure physical death for the sake of Jesus Christ is a powerful witness to the trust he placed in Jesus, and that we are all called to place in Jesus. But his final words are an even more powerful witness, to those who call themselves “Christian,” no less than those who don’t. Having been wrongly convicted in the court of men, Stephen looks toward the heavenly court and pleads for his enemies who are killing him, “Lord, do not charge them with this sin.”
On Saturday, I read an amazing article in the Religion section of the Birmingham News. Here is a pastor, calling himself Christian, who prays for the death of those with whom he disagrees. It is true that much of the language of the Bible, particularly the Old Testament, is “imprecatory” in nature. It is a blessing that we have the Psalms, which capture the fullest range of human emotions and conversation with God.
Prayer is, first and foremost, a conversation with God, not a business meeting where we bring our to-do agenda for God. It is in the midst of that conversation, if we are faithful to it, that we find our emotions stirred, and our desires changed. Prayer is an ongoing conversation in which we learn what it is we should ask for, and eventually want to ask for. Thanks be to God for Stephen, who showed how much his conversation with the one who prayed for his enemies on the cross, had changed him, and can change us.
Throughout chap. 7, Stephen has been retelling the story of Israel, not as a story of God’s salvation, but of Israel’s unremitting rebellion. When he then reveals his vision of God’s court, superimposed on the human court, this is the final straw for those listening. To claim such a vision meant that Stephen was either a prophet or a blasphemer against God. Clearly, his judges concluded that the latter was the case.
Stephen is the first “martyr,” a Greek word meaning “witness.” Clearly, Stephen’s willingness to endure physical death for the sake of Jesus Christ is a powerful witness to the trust he placed in Jesus, and that we are all called to place in Jesus. But his final words are an even more powerful witness, to those who call themselves “Christian,” no less than those who don’t. Having been wrongly convicted in the court of men, Stephen looks toward the heavenly court and pleads for his enemies who are killing him, “Lord, do not charge them with this sin.”
On Saturday, I read an amazing article in the Religion section of the Birmingham News. Here is a pastor, calling himself Christian, who prays for the death of those with whom he disagrees. It is true that much of the language of the Bible, particularly the Old Testament, is “imprecatory” in nature. It is a blessing that we have the Psalms, which capture the fullest range of human emotions and conversation with God.
Prayer is, first and foremost, a conversation with God, not a business meeting where we bring our to-do agenda for God. It is in the midst of that conversation, if we are faithful to it, that we find our emotions stirred, and our desires changed. Prayer is an ongoing conversation in which we learn what it is we should ask for, and eventually want to ask for. Thanks be to God for Stephen, who showed how much his conversation with the one who prayed for his enemies on the cross, had changed him, and can change us.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Sermon for the 8th Sunday of Ordinary Time
On Friday morning, I was walking by the lake in Guntersville, and noticed the ubiquitous geese. It’s been fun to watch the circle of life by this lake. Last month, there were lots of goslings along the way, with their soft downy feathers. In just the last few weeks, those goslings have lost their down, grown adult feathers, and now they look like grown-up geese, just smaller. So I was walking along the way, and then I noticed a small flock making its way from the lake. But in front of them, walking alone, was a young goose, limping. I couldn’t figure out if its leg had been broken, or if it had been born with a leg too long. It walked ahead of its flock, alone, then eventually walked behind another, alone.
What does this have to do with Jesus’s healing of the bleeding woman, and raising of Jairus’s daughter? The point of these mighty works of Jesus is not to prove that Jesus has supernatural powers. Once you understand the religious culture that Jesus and these women were living in, then you see that the greatest healing, the mightiest work, the most powerful thing that Jesus did here was to put an end to isolation and loneliness.
Mark has this habit of “sandwiching” stories, of inserting on story into the middle of another. At first, it might seem like he’s breaking the flow of one story for no obvious reason. But the truth is that Mark is hammering home his theme by saying it in different ways. In one case, a grown woman is healed from incessant bleeding. In another case, a young girl is resuscitated. Different ages, different maladies. But look closer and you can see the parallels. The woman has been hemorrhaging for 12 years. The young girl is 12 years old. And both live in the world of “The Unclean.”
In that time and place, where running water and soap were not a part of everyday life, to be “unclean” did not mean being covered in dirt. Nor was "uncleanness" a matter of morality as we understand it today. In the woman’s case, she was “unclean” because of her blood, which contained the life-giving power of God himself. That power of life and death was so awesome that to come into contact with it might as likely kill a human being as give her life. Under Jewish law, this bleeding woman could not worship in the synagogue, and anyone who came into contact with her fell under the same prohibition. So, for 12 years this woman had limped along, alone.
Now she sees Jesus, and she knows what he can do. But if he touches her, then he too will be “unclean.” Perhaps if she just touches the tip of his cloak, no one will notice. But nobody touches, or is touched, by this man and escapes notice. She is healed of her physical illness, thanks to the power of Jesus. But as Jesus says, it was her faith, and her courage to break the boundaries of “uncleanness” that healed her. She was alone and isolated. Now, she has been restored to relationship, with her family and community.
But now, the terrible news comes. The girl is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further? To touch the dead also rendered one “unclean,” which a faithful teacher of Israel would certainly want to avoid. So, again, Jesus must make the point that he has the power to decide what is “clean” or “unclean.” And so he does by taking this dead girl by the hand and saying, “Little girl, get up!” And she who was “unclean,” is now “clean,” restored to relationship, with her parents, her future husband and children, and her whole community.
If we at Christ Church are called to be “an outward and visible sign of Christ,” then surely we are called to be a sign of friendship, of service, and of reconciliation to the lonely and isolated, to the “unclean” of our time. Sadly this week, the Church that calls itself Christian increased its self-isolation. The "Anglican" Church of North America met in Texas, elected an archbishop, and ratified a constitution and canons. To be fair, they claim that this is a response to the actions of General Convention in 2003, which risked isolating the Episcopal Church from the rest of the Anglican Communion. In 2003, General Convention risked isolation for the sake of "justice." This week, ACNA risks isolation for the sake of "morality." In both cases, they forgot that Jesus takes risks for relationship.
You're not going to persuade anyone to repent, of injustice or immorality, if you are not first in relationship with that fellow human being. Of course you're risking something too. Maybe you'll discover that you're the one who needs to repent. Yes, there is risk in relationship. But the clean women, the clean girl, perhaps even the clean goose, all can tell you truly that loneliness is worse.
What does this have to do with Jesus’s healing of the bleeding woman, and raising of Jairus’s daughter? The point of these mighty works of Jesus is not to prove that Jesus has supernatural powers. Once you understand the religious culture that Jesus and these women were living in, then you see that the greatest healing, the mightiest work, the most powerful thing that Jesus did here was to put an end to isolation and loneliness.
Mark has this habit of “sandwiching” stories, of inserting on story into the middle of another. At first, it might seem like he’s breaking the flow of one story for no obvious reason. But the truth is that Mark is hammering home his theme by saying it in different ways. In one case, a grown woman is healed from incessant bleeding. In another case, a young girl is resuscitated. Different ages, different maladies. But look closer and you can see the parallels. The woman has been hemorrhaging for 12 years. The young girl is 12 years old. And both live in the world of “The Unclean.”
In that time and place, where running water and soap were not a part of everyday life, to be “unclean” did not mean being covered in dirt. Nor was "uncleanness" a matter of morality as we understand it today. In the woman’s case, she was “unclean” because of her blood, which contained the life-giving power of God himself. That power of life and death was so awesome that to come into contact with it might as likely kill a human being as give her life. Under Jewish law, this bleeding woman could not worship in the synagogue, and anyone who came into contact with her fell under the same prohibition. So, for 12 years this woman had limped along, alone.
Now she sees Jesus, and she knows what he can do. But if he touches her, then he too will be “unclean.” Perhaps if she just touches the tip of his cloak, no one will notice. But nobody touches, or is touched, by this man and escapes notice. She is healed of her physical illness, thanks to the power of Jesus. But as Jesus says, it was her faith, and her courage to break the boundaries of “uncleanness” that healed her. She was alone and isolated. Now, she has been restored to relationship, with her family and community.
But now, the terrible news comes. The girl is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further? To touch the dead also rendered one “unclean,” which a faithful teacher of Israel would certainly want to avoid. So, again, Jesus must make the point that he has the power to decide what is “clean” or “unclean.” And so he does by taking this dead girl by the hand and saying, “Little girl, get up!” And she who was “unclean,” is now “clean,” restored to relationship, with her parents, her future husband and children, and her whole community.
If we at Christ Church are called to be “an outward and visible sign of Christ,” then surely we are called to be a sign of friendship, of service, and of reconciliation to the lonely and isolated, to the “unclean” of our time. Sadly this week, the Church that calls itself Christian increased its self-isolation. The "Anglican" Church of North America met in Texas, elected an archbishop, and ratified a constitution and canons. To be fair, they claim that this is a response to the actions of General Convention in 2003, which risked isolating the Episcopal Church from the rest of the Anglican Communion. In 2003, General Convention risked isolation for the sake of "justice." This week, ACNA risks isolation for the sake of "morality." In both cases, they forgot that Jesus takes risks for relationship.
You're not going to persuade anyone to repent, of injustice or immorality, if you are not first in relationship with that fellow human being. Of course you're risking something too. Maybe you'll discover that you're the one who needs to repent. Yes, there is risk in relationship. But the clean women, the clean girl, perhaps even the clean goose, all can tell you truly that loneliness is worse.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Friday, 7th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 7:17-40
Welcome to the longest chapter in the Bible, in which Stephen defends himself, recaps the history of the Jewish people, and finally turns on them with an indictment to which the inevitable responses was to stone him to death. Based on yesterday’s reading, there were two charges against Stephen. First, that he preached the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Second, that he spoke against the traditions of the Jewish faith, which they believed God had first given to Moses. In today’s reading, Stephen answers the second charge.
Stephen’s argument is that his fellow Jews don’t know their Mosaic tradition nearly as well as they claim to know it. Today, he says, you cling to your image of Moses as something that helps you feel superior to the Romans and other foreign peoples. But what you’re actually doing is waving the word, “Moses” around like a protest sign, instead of learning from Moses. The truth is, your ancestors wanted nothing to do with Moses. Even after God led you out of slavery through Moses’ leadership, you gave up on him at the first signs of difficulty. Before you accuse me of overturning your traditions, why don’t you learn them for yourselves.
Tradition provides us with comfort, with assurance that in the story of our lives, and the lives of those who came before us, is purpose, meaning, and blessing. But tradition can also become a badge of honor that we award ourselves. It can also become a shield against the more revealing parts of our history.
My recollection may be incorrect, but I believe that I’ve seen, around the intersection of Highways 75 and 431, a historical marker headlined, “Trail of Tears.” It turns out that when the Cherokee nation was forced to march to Oklahoma in the 1830s, they started from Fort Payne, traveled down the road now known as Hwy 75, turned right at what is now Hwy 431, and made their way to Gunter’s Landing and the Tennessee River.
Of course the creation of the United States has provided opportunities for millions of people to better their lives. And in the 20th century, the U.S. truly was the “indispensible nation” without whom the world would have fallen into the darkness of tyranny, either by the Nazis in Germany, or the Communists in Russia. But we should not wear that history like a horse’s blinders, so that we do not see the other part of our “tradition” by the side of the road. In a full understanding of tradition, we will find both assurance and challenge. Let us accept both.
Welcome to the longest chapter in the Bible, in which Stephen defends himself, recaps the history of the Jewish people, and finally turns on them with an indictment to which the inevitable responses was to stone him to death. Based on yesterday’s reading, there were two charges against Stephen. First, that he preached the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Second, that he spoke against the traditions of the Jewish faith, which they believed God had first given to Moses. In today’s reading, Stephen answers the second charge.
Stephen’s argument is that his fellow Jews don’t know their Mosaic tradition nearly as well as they claim to know it. Today, he says, you cling to your image of Moses as something that helps you feel superior to the Romans and other foreign peoples. But what you’re actually doing is waving the word, “Moses” around like a protest sign, instead of learning from Moses. The truth is, your ancestors wanted nothing to do with Moses. Even after God led you out of slavery through Moses’ leadership, you gave up on him at the first signs of difficulty. Before you accuse me of overturning your traditions, why don’t you learn them for yourselves.
Tradition provides us with comfort, with assurance that in the story of our lives, and the lives of those who came before us, is purpose, meaning, and blessing. But tradition can also become a badge of honor that we award ourselves. It can also become a shield against the more revealing parts of our history.
My recollection may be incorrect, but I believe that I’ve seen, around the intersection of Highways 75 and 431, a historical marker headlined, “Trail of Tears.” It turns out that when the Cherokee nation was forced to march to Oklahoma in the 1830s, they started from Fort Payne, traveled down the road now known as Hwy 75, turned right at what is now Hwy 431, and made their way to Gunter’s Landing and the Tennessee River.
Of course the creation of the United States has provided opportunities for millions of people to better their lives. And in the 20th century, the U.S. truly was the “indispensible nation” without whom the world would have fallen into the darkness of tyranny, either by the Nazis in Germany, or the Communists in Russia. But we should not wear that history like a horse’s blinders, so that we do not see the other part of our “tradition” by the side of the road. In a full understanding of tradition, we will find both assurance and challenge. Let us accept both.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thursday, 7th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 6:1-15
Conflict is at the heart of today’s reading from Acts: conflict within the Church, and conflict between the Church and world.
This is one time where you need to be careful about taking a piece of scripture and just dropping it into our current situation. Don’t bother us about “serv[ing] tables,” when we have to focus on prayer and teaching, it sounds like the twelve are saying. Today, of course, we all share in “prayer and the ministry of the word.” And “serving tables” for the poor and neglected is as much the “business” of the Church as praying and preaching.
Still, it is interesting that the leaders of the Church chose to deal with conflict by stressing the foundation of prayer and the reading of Scripture. At that moment, the Greek-speaking Jewish Christians and native Jewish Christians were reminded of what they shared besides food. That’s one reason why I offer Morning Prayer, and encourage common prayer through this blog. The more we pray with each other, and for each other, the less we will be able to caricature each other, to ignore each other, to demonize each other. It is this praying with and for each other that sustains our relationships with each other when we are in the middle of a conflict.
And, ironically, the first “deacon,” Stephen, was not confined to serving tables. God also called him to a ministry of teaching, which brought him into a conflict that would make him the first martyr. Today’s reading ends just before Stephen begins a long speech that will so enrage his hearers (one of them a man later known as Paul), that he will be stoned to death. I suspect that Stephen knew what was coming. And yet we read today that “all who sat in the council saw that his face was like the face of an angel.”
I think that they saw a light in Stephen. I think they saw a serenity that allowed him to speak the truth, not defensively, but without anxiety. Too often, we become so emotionally invested in a position or opinion that disagreement with our position seems like a personal attack, and so we respond in kind. As we speak of the Good News of Jesus Christ, let us never forget that we are simply messengers. And let us pray for the serenity of Stephen, who knew that the argument was not his to win, but God’s.
Conflict is at the heart of today’s reading from Acts: conflict within the Church, and conflict between the Church and world.
This is one time where you need to be careful about taking a piece of scripture and just dropping it into our current situation. Don’t bother us about “serv[ing] tables,” when we have to focus on prayer and teaching, it sounds like the twelve are saying. Today, of course, we all share in “prayer and the ministry of the word.” And “serving tables” for the poor and neglected is as much the “business” of the Church as praying and preaching.
Still, it is interesting that the leaders of the Church chose to deal with conflict by stressing the foundation of prayer and the reading of Scripture. At that moment, the Greek-speaking Jewish Christians and native Jewish Christians were reminded of what they shared besides food. That’s one reason why I offer Morning Prayer, and encourage common prayer through this blog. The more we pray with each other, and for each other, the less we will be able to caricature each other, to ignore each other, to demonize each other. It is this praying with and for each other that sustains our relationships with each other when we are in the middle of a conflict.
And, ironically, the first “deacon,” Stephen, was not confined to serving tables. God also called him to a ministry of teaching, which brought him into a conflict that would make him the first martyr. Today’s reading ends just before Stephen begins a long speech that will so enrage his hearers (one of them a man later known as Paul), that he will be stoned to death. I suspect that Stephen knew what was coming. And yet we read today that “all who sat in the council saw that his face was like the face of an angel.”
I think that they saw a light in Stephen. I think they saw a serenity that allowed him to speak the truth, not defensively, but without anxiety. Too often, we become so emotionally invested in a position or opinion that disagreement with our position seems like a personal attack, and so we respond in kind. As we speak of the Good News of Jesus Christ, let us never forget that we are simply messengers. And let us pray for the serenity of Stephen, who knew that the argument was not his to win, but God’s.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Birth of John the Baptist, June 24
Luke 1:57-80
“Almighty God, by whose providence your servant John the Baptist was wonderfully born, and sent to prepare the way of your Son our Savior by preaching repentance: Make us so to follow his teaching and holy life, that we may truly repent according to his preaching; and, following his example, constantly speak the truth, boldly rebuke vice, and patiently suffer for the truth's sake; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen (Collect for the Birth of John the Baptist)
John the Baptist (that is, the one who “dunks”) is the completion of the great thirsting for truth and justice that defines the relationship between the people of Israel and God. His preaching as recorded in Luke’s Gospel is focused on everyday justice, and how ordinary people, even tax collectors and Roman soldiers, might satisfy divine justice. John was deeply concerned with the practice of virtue – of doing the right thing. He also knew that he was the forerunner of the One who would finally execute God’s justice. He was merely the pointer to Jesus of Nazareth, in whose presence he had leaped for joy even in the womb.
Later, rotting in Herod’s prison for calling the King to account for his injustice, John must have felt that Jesus was too far away. I believed that you were the Messiah, he said, the fulfillment of the hope of Israel for justice and liberation. But you seem to be more focused on healing sick people than freeing our people from the oppression of our Roman enemies. Is someone coming after you? Basically, this is what John’s followers asked Jesus on John’s behalf. Sitting in that prison, John must have also wondered if Jesus’s mission included saving him.
Basically, Jesus replies: See all who have been healed, John, and be not offended that my mission is about more than virtue and the rewards of doing the right thing. I come to heal all those whose hearts are broken. You rightly exposed the injustice and wrongdoing of humanity. I come to give humanity the grace that will empower them to overcome the evil that starts in their hearts.
I would like to think that John came to accept that he had done his part. He had swept away people’s rationalizations of their sin and pointed to the Judge who was coming. I would like to think that John came to understand that judgment was not the final purpose of God, but redemption.
“Almighty God, by whose providence your servant John the Baptist was wonderfully born, and sent to prepare the way of your Son our Savior by preaching repentance: Make us so to follow his teaching and holy life, that we may truly repent according to his preaching; and, following his example, constantly speak the truth, boldly rebuke vice, and patiently suffer for the truth's sake; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen (Collect for the Birth of John the Baptist)
John the Baptist (that is, the one who “dunks”) is the completion of the great thirsting for truth and justice that defines the relationship between the people of Israel and God. His preaching as recorded in Luke’s Gospel is focused on everyday justice, and how ordinary people, even tax collectors and Roman soldiers, might satisfy divine justice. John was deeply concerned with the practice of virtue – of doing the right thing. He also knew that he was the forerunner of the One who would finally execute God’s justice. He was merely the pointer to Jesus of Nazareth, in whose presence he had leaped for joy even in the womb.
Later, rotting in Herod’s prison for calling the King to account for his injustice, John must have felt that Jesus was too far away. I believed that you were the Messiah, he said, the fulfillment of the hope of Israel for justice and liberation. But you seem to be more focused on healing sick people than freeing our people from the oppression of our Roman enemies. Is someone coming after you? Basically, this is what John’s followers asked Jesus on John’s behalf. Sitting in that prison, John must have also wondered if Jesus’s mission included saving him.
Basically, Jesus replies: See all who have been healed, John, and be not offended that my mission is about more than virtue and the rewards of doing the right thing. I come to heal all those whose hearts are broken. You rightly exposed the injustice and wrongdoing of humanity. I come to give humanity the grace that will empower them to overcome the evil that starts in their hearts.
I would like to think that John came to accept that he had done his part. He had swept away people’s rationalizations of their sin and pointed to the Judge who was coming. I would like to think that John came to understand that judgment was not the final purpose of God, but redemption.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Prayer Book is a Girl's Best Friend
Here is a tongue-in-cheek take on the joys of being "People of the Book" -- the Prayer Book, that is.
Tuesday, 7th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 5:27-42
Gamaliel is known today as one of the greatest rabbis of all time, a man recognized for his personal devotion and expertise on the Jewish Law. At that time there were two competing schools of thought on how best to defend and uphold the Law. They were named for the two rabbis who inspired the two schools in the immediate years before Jesus. They were known as the Shammai and Hillel schools of interpretation.
Shammai was “hard-core” when it came to the Law. Not only must a faithful Jew strictly adhere to the law personally, but they must also be zealous against those who violated the Law, or even questioned some of it. And if violence was necessary to stop that opposition or questioning, well that was simply proof of one’s devotion to the Law of God. Rabbi Hillel taught the opposite: God’s desire was for each Israelite to keep the law for themselves. Since the Law could be summed up in the command to “love the LORD your God,” then keeping the law was principally a matter of the heart. And no one, however zealous, could coerce another human heart into agreement.
Clearly Gamaliel was a member of the Hillel school, another characteristic of which was, apparently, patience. If after all, one cannot coerce obedience to the Law, then one must take responsibility for one’s self and leave the seemingly disobedient to God. That assumed of course that they, and not you, were the ones standing against God.
Patience and self-understanding are two of the most important traits that we need to develop in our life as Christians. Not every perceived slight must be answered, or every argument answered. We should never forget that in any conflict, God will win the argument in God’s good time. And when we are in the midst of a conflict, and our emotions are stirred, it is easier to act on instincts of anger and self-defense than to reflect thoughtfully and prayerfully on why we feel the way we do. But if we can slow our breathing and the beating of our hearts, then our minds will be free to understand the truth of ourselves.
And if we can all do this at the same time, then we might actually understand each other better, and the common truth that God wants us to share, not possess.
Gamaliel is known today as one of the greatest rabbis of all time, a man recognized for his personal devotion and expertise on the Jewish Law. At that time there were two competing schools of thought on how best to defend and uphold the Law. They were named for the two rabbis who inspired the two schools in the immediate years before Jesus. They were known as the Shammai and Hillel schools of interpretation.
Shammai was “hard-core” when it came to the Law. Not only must a faithful Jew strictly adhere to the law personally, but they must also be zealous against those who violated the Law, or even questioned some of it. And if violence was necessary to stop that opposition or questioning, well that was simply proof of one’s devotion to the Law of God. Rabbi Hillel taught the opposite: God’s desire was for each Israelite to keep the law for themselves. Since the Law could be summed up in the command to “love the LORD your God,” then keeping the law was principally a matter of the heart. And no one, however zealous, could coerce another human heart into agreement.
Clearly Gamaliel was a member of the Hillel school, another characteristic of which was, apparently, patience. If after all, one cannot coerce obedience to the Law, then one must take responsibility for one’s self and leave the seemingly disobedient to God. That assumed of course that they, and not you, were the ones standing against God.
Patience and self-understanding are two of the most important traits that we need to develop in our life as Christians. Not every perceived slight must be answered, or every argument answered. We should never forget that in any conflict, God will win the argument in God’s good time. And when we are in the midst of a conflict, and our emotions are stirred, it is easier to act on instincts of anger and self-defense than to reflect thoughtfully and prayerfully on why we feel the way we do. But if we can slow our breathing and the beating of our hearts, then our minds will be free to understand the truth of ourselves.
And if we can all do this at the same time, then we might actually understand each other better, and the common truth that God wants us to share, not possess.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday, 7th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 5:12-26
To some extent, chapters 3 and 4 of Acts are a repeat of chapter 2, with another sermon from Peter. So, the Daily Office lectionary jumps to chapter 5, and to a running theme throughout Acts: conflict, opposition and the Church’s response.
The Jewish Temple in Jerusalem was a massive structure that was also more than one building. It was a complex of smaller buildings, gardens and various gathering places. The Temple was also run by the Sadducees, the party of those who supported the Temple Priesthood. The Sadducees had also been central in engineering Jesus’s death. And now here were his followers, perching themselves at the front doors of their Temple and proclaiming Jesus as Messiah.
And so it was that the Sadducees “filled with indignation” locked up the apostles in the hope of shutting them up. What I’ve just quoted is the New King James translation of v.17. Most translations say that the Sadducees were “jealous.” But the Greek word here is actually the root of our English word, “zeal.” Perhaps the Sadducees were “jealous” of the Apostles’ apparent healing power. But they were the heirs of the priesthood of Aaron, the brother of Moses. They had been the religious leaders of Israel for some 1,500 years. They had a great legacy of worship and wisdom that had been handed down to them. I think that indignation” best captures the mix of jealousy and righteousness that motivated the priests.
It was the followers of Jesus Christ who were upsetting centuries of tradition with a new message – the “Gospel” – or Good News. 2,000 years later, we who call ourselves “Christian,” must not be so committed to our traditions that we find ourselves becoming “indignant” in the same way as the Sadducees. Sometimes, what might seem unfamiliar, or even dangerous, might actually be the “Good News,” delivered in a new way to a new generation.
The risk in that perspective, of course, is that every challenge to the prevailing wisdom can couch itself as “Gospel,” and any reservation dismissed as “jealousy.” Tomorrow, we’ll see how we might discern that which is truly of the Spirit, and that which is merely of man.
To some extent, chapters 3 and 4 of Acts are a repeat of chapter 2, with another sermon from Peter. So, the Daily Office lectionary jumps to chapter 5, and to a running theme throughout Acts: conflict, opposition and the Church’s response.
The Jewish Temple in Jerusalem was a massive structure that was also more than one building. It was a complex of smaller buildings, gardens and various gathering places. The Temple was also run by the Sadducees, the party of those who supported the Temple Priesthood. The Sadducees had also been central in engineering Jesus’s death. And now here were his followers, perching themselves at the front doors of their Temple and proclaiming Jesus as Messiah.
And so it was that the Sadducees “filled with indignation” locked up the apostles in the hope of shutting them up. What I’ve just quoted is the New King James translation of v.17. Most translations say that the Sadducees were “jealous.” But the Greek word here is actually the root of our English word, “zeal.” Perhaps the Sadducees were “jealous” of the Apostles’ apparent healing power. But they were the heirs of the priesthood of Aaron, the brother of Moses. They had been the religious leaders of Israel for some 1,500 years. They had a great legacy of worship and wisdom that had been handed down to them. I think that indignation” best captures the mix of jealousy and righteousness that motivated the priests.
It was the followers of Jesus Christ who were upsetting centuries of tradition with a new message – the “Gospel” – or Good News. 2,000 years later, we who call ourselves “Christian,” must not be so committed to our traditions that we find ourselves becoming “indignant” in the same way as the Sadducees. Sometimes, what might seem unfamiliar, or even dangerous, might actually be the “Good News,” delivered in a new way to a new generation.
The risk in that perspective, of course, is that every challenge to the prevailing wisdom can couch itself as “Gospel,” and any reservation dismissed as “jealousy.” Tomorrow, we’ll see how we might discern that which is truly of the Spirit, and that which is merely of man.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sermon for the 7th Sunday of Ordinary Time
“Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” (Mark 4:40)
In his first Inaugural Address, back in 2001, George W. Bush concluded with this comment in a letter from John Page to Thomas Jefferson, written after the Declaration of Independence: “Do you not think an angel rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm?” Bush said this after what many assumed had been a stormy time in our national life that would not be matched for a long time. Could he have been more wrong?
Particularly in the last nine months, the storms of our life as a country have become personal storms: savings lost, getting laid off, having to lay people off, notices of cut-offs and evictions. Then there are the storms that happen every day, mostly to other people, but sometimes to you and me: the death of those we love, broken relationships, haunting memories, failing health.
You don’t have to be in the middle of the water, with the wind swirling around you, to be in the middle of the storm. The storms of our lives frighten us, as they frightened those fishermen. We and they want desperately to avoid them, or get out of them as fast as we can. And sometimes Jesus rebukes those storms and they pass us by. But if Jesus’s rebuke of his disciples tells us anything, it says that there is grace in passing out of the storm, and in passing through it. And what Jesus did for his disciples, and said to them, out on that stormy water, he also does for us and says to us in the middle of our storms.
We and they see Jesus sleeping, so much at peace that not even a storm threatening to sink our boat and leave us to drown in poverty, sadness and death, can get him to wake up. And so we fishermen turn to a sleeping Jesus in perfect peace while are baling water, and demand that he wake up. And then we yell at him, "Do you not care that we perishing?!" And so Jesus "rebukes" the evil forces that would suck the peace, the confidence, the faith and trust out of us. And then he turns on us, and he demands to know, "Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?"
That doesn't feel very affirming or comforting. But it is truthful. And before we get our backs up at Jesus's rebuke of us, we might want to remember those times we have chosen comfort over truth. Jesus doesn't say, like a mother or father to a nightmarish child, "There's nothing to be afraid of." He doesn't tell a soothing lie to give false comfort. He knows the difference between, "Don't be afraid," and, "There's nothing to be afraid of." He also knows that if we have faith in him, if we trust in God, then we will make it through the storms of our lives, and find blessing upon blessing on the other side: or that we may sink, all the way to the bottom of our worst fears, and find blessings there.
A scene near the end of John Bunyan’s classic allegorical novel The Pilgrim’s Progress finds the chief character, Christian, the archetype of a person struggling to lead a life of faith, nearing the end of his symbolic journey. This journey requires him to cross a great and fearsome river. He is desperately afraid. Together with his friend Hopeful, they wade into the waters with trepidation. Bunyan has Christian cry out, “I sink in deep Waters; the Billows go over my head, all His waves go over me.” Hopeful replies with what may be among the most grace filled words in all of literature; “Be of good cheer, my Brother, I feel the bottom, and it is good . . .”
That is what Jesus says to each one of us, and to our land: Trust in me, wherever you end up, be it the shore or the bottom. For I am with you and wherever I am with you, it is good.
In his first Inaugural Address, back in 2001, George W. Bush concluded with this comment in a letter from John Page to Thomas Jefferson, written after the Declaration of Independence: “Do you not think an angel rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm?” Bush said this after what many assumed had been a stormy time in our national life that would not be matched for a long time. Could he have been more wrong?
Particularly in the last nine months, the storms of our life as a country have become personal storms: savings lost, getting laid off, having to lay people off, notices of cut-offs and evictions. Then there are the storms that happen every day, mostly to other people, but sometimes to you and me: the death of those we love, broken relationships, haunting memories, failing health.
You don’t have to be in the middle of the water, with the wind swirling around you, to be in the middle of the storm. The storms of our lives frighten us, as they frightened those fishermen. We and they want desperately to avoid them, or get out of them as fast as we can. And sometimes Jesus rebukes those storms and they pass us by. But if Jesus’s rebuke of his disciples tells us anything, it says that there is grace in passing out of the storm, and in passing through it. And what Jesus did for his disciples, and said to them, out on that stormy water, he also does for us and says to us in the middle of our storms.
We and they see Jesus sleeping, so much at peace that not even a storm threatening to sink our boat and leave us to drown in poverty, sadness and death, can get him to wake up. And so we fishermen turn to a sleeping Jesus in perfect peace while are baling water, and demand that he wake up. And then we yell at him, "Do you not care that we perishing?!" And so Jesus "rebukes" the evil forces that would suck the peace, the confidence, the faith and trust out of us. And then he turns on us, and he demands to know, "Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?"
That doesn't feel very affirming or comforting. But it is truthful. And before we get our backs up at Jesus's rebuke of us, we might want to remember those times we have chosen comfort over truth. Jesus doesn't say, like a mother or father to a nightmarish child, "There's nothing to be afraid of." He doesn't tell a soothing lie to give false comfort. He knows the difference between, "Don't be afraid," and, "There's nothing to be afraid of." He also knows that if we have faith in him, if we trust in God, then we will make it through the storms of our lives, and find blessing upon blessing on the other side: or that we may sink, all the way to the bottom of our worst fears, and find blessings there.
A scene near the end of John Bunyan’s classic allegorical novel The Pilgrim’s Progress finds the chief character, Christian, the archetype of a person struggling to lead a life of faith, nearing the end of his symbolic journey. This journey requires him to cross a great and fearsome river. He is desperately afraid. Together with his friend Hopeful, they wade into the waters with trepidation. Bunyan has Christian cry out, “I sink in deep Waters; the Billows go over my head, all His waves go over me.” Hopeful replies with what may be among the most grace filled words in all of literature; “Be of good cheer, my Brother, I feel the bottom, and it is good . . .”
That is what Jesus says to each one of us, and to our land: Trust in me, wherever you end up, be it the shore or the bottom. For I am with you and wherever I am with you, it is good.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Friday, 6th Week of Ordinary Time
The highlight of today's reading from Acts is verse 42. Earlier this year, I spent several days on these "Four Marks of the Church": Sharing in the Apostles' Teaching and Fellowship, the Breaking of Bread and the Prayers. They were the marks of the Church then, and whenever we renew Baptismal Covenant with God, we claim them as our own. I recommend reacquainting yourselves with them.
Today, we also see what might be called the Fifth Mark, at least of the early church: "And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need" (v.45). This mark is based on the foundation of the earlier marks. A church that listens to the teaching of Jesus, shares life together as a family, relives the saving acts of Jesus, and spends time on their relationship with God, will be a people who know that everything they have is a gift from God, not a personal possession, and is to be shared.
This is not a political platform. Politics is about the use of power to make someone else do what you want them to do. Whether the power is exercised by one person or 50 million persons, it is still the art of getting someone else to do what you want them do. There is no coercion in the Church. The Twelve did not decree the sharing of possessions. The people did it out of gratitude and trust in God to provide the most enduring comfort of life -- love.
How well do we at Christ Church live out this fifth mark?
Today, we also see what might be called the Fifth Mark, at least of the early church: "And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need" (v.45). This mark is based on the foundation of the earlier marks. A church that listens to the teaching of Jesus, shares life together as a family, relives the saving acts of Jesus, and spends time on their relationship with God, will be a people who know that everything they have is a gift from God, not a personal possession, and is to be shared.
This is not a political platform. Politics is about the use of power to make someone else do what you want them to do. Whether the power is exercised by one person or 50 million persons, it is still the art of getting someone else to do what you want them do. There is no coercion in the Church. The Twelve did not decree the sharing of possessions. The people did it out of gratitude and trust in God to provide the most enduring comfort of life -- love.
How well do we at Christ Church live out this fifth mark?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday, 6th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 2:22-36
Here we have before us the first Christian sermon, preached by Peter on the day of Pentecost. In the first part, Peter stresses to the Jews hearing him that the message of Christ is in continuity with the story of their relationship with the God of Israel.
First he quotes Psalm 16:8-11, then the first verse of Psalm 110. At that time, all the Psalms were attributed to King David. In Psalm 16, David speaks of his hope – our hope – that our life here on earth is not a futile struggle ending in darkness. Yet, as Peter points out, David himself died and now “slept with his fathers” (1 Kings 2:10). So, obviously this hope of a “Holy One” who would not “see corruption” could not have been for himself, but for someone more powerful than physical death.
But Jesus, son of Joseph, from Nazareth? How could it be that this son of a carpenter from the backwater of the Promised Land did what no else, before or since, had done – conquer death? “Now Jesus has been raised by God, and of this we are all witnesses,” Peter announces. According to Paul, the risen Jesus showed himself to over 500 people (1 Corinthians 15:3-7). Here were people who had cowered in fear of the Jewish leaders and Roman soldiers. Now here they were shouting that Jesus was more powerful that they could ever hope to be. Many, if not most, chose death over denial of what they had witnessed.
And then those first witnesses handed on their testimony to new generation, and so and so on. Whatever I have to say to you today is not my wisdom, my insight, or anything of my intelligence. It is simply testimony. And so, today, we are all witnesses that God has raised Jesus from the dead, and that we have nothing to fear.
Here we have before us the first Christian sermon, preached by Peter on the day of Pentecost. In the first part, Peter stresses to the Jews hearing him that the message of Christ is in continuity with the story of their relationship with the God of Israel.
First he quotes Psalm 16:8-11, then the first verse of Psalm 110. At that time, all the Psalms were attributed to King David. In Psalm 16, David speaks of his hope – our hope – that our life here on earth is not a futile struggle ending in darkness. Yet, as Peter points out, David himself died and now “slept with his fathers” (1 Kings 2:10). So, obviously this hope of a “Holy One” who would not “see corruption” could not have been for himself, but for someone more powerful than physical death.
But Jesus, son of Joseph, from Nazareth? How could it be that this son of a carpenter from the backwater of the Promised Land did what no else, before or since, had done – conquer death? “Now Jesus has been raised by God, and of this we are all witnesses,” Peter announces. According to Paul, the risen Jesus showed himself to over 500 people (1 Corinthians 15:3-7). Here were people who had cowered in fear of the Jewish leaders and Roman soldiers. Now here they were shouting that Jesus was more powerful that they could ever hope to be. Many, if not most, chose death over denial of what they had witnessed.
And then those first witnesses handed on their testimony to new generation, and so and so on. Whatever I have to say to you today is not my wisdom, my insight, or anything of my intelligence. It is simply testimony. And so, today, we are all witnesses that God has raised Jesus from the dead, and that we have nothing to fear.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Wednesday, 6th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 1:15-26
And then there were 11. And so, Peter’s first act as leader of this community of Jesus’s disciples is to call for the restoration of The Twelve by replacing Judas, the traitor. Remember the last question his disciples asked Jesus: “Lord, is this the time at which you are to restore sovereignty to Israel” (Acts 1:6, Rev. Eng. Bible). Jesus responded by trying to expand their vision: “you will bear witness for me…even in the farthest corners of the earth” (1:8). And yet, here they are, replicating the symbolism of the Twelve tribes of Israel.
But according to the same Luke who reported that conversation in Acts, Jesus also promised: “in my kingdom you shall eat and drink at my table and sit in thrones as judges of the twelve tribes of Israel” (Luke 22:29). Jesus was the fulfillment of the promise first made to Israel on Mt. Sinai: “You will be to me a kingdom of priests, my holy nation” (Exodus 19:6). Israel was to be “holy,” that is, set apart by God, but also to be a nation of priests, that is, mediators of salvation to all the nations.
The community that Jesus has formed are on the cusp of something new, which they can’t yet envision. Yet, they are right to maintain continuity with their past. Their past is not to be rejected, but completed. So it is with us. We are who we are because of those who came before us in faith. And to reject our past would be to reject ourselves. At the same time, we are called to a new expression of that faith, for a new time. Past and future: we are called to embrace both.
And then there were 11. And so, Peter’s first act as leader of this community of Jesus’s disciples is to call for the restoration of The Twelve by replacing Judas, the traitor. Remember the last question his disciples asked Jesus: “Lord, is this the time at which you are to restore sovereignty to Israel” (Acts 1:6, Rev. Eng. Bible). Jesus responded by trying to expand their vision: “you will bear witness for me…even in the farthest corners of the earth” (1:8). And yet, here they are, replicating the symbolism of the Twelve tribes of Israel.
But according to the same Luke who reported that conversation in Acts, Jesus also promised: “in my kingdom you shall eat and drink at my table and sit in thrones as judges of the twelve tribes of Israel” (Luke 22:29). Jesus was the fulfillment of the promise first made to Israel on Mt. Sinai: “You will be to me a kingdom of priests, my holy nation” (Exodus 19:6). Israel was to be “holy,” that is, set apart by God, but also to be a nation of priests, that is, mediators of salvation to all the nations.
The community that Jesus has formed are on the cusp of something new, which they can’t yet envision. Yet, they are right to maintain continuity with their past. Their past is not to be rejected, but completed. So it is with us. We are who we are because of those who came before us in faith. And to reject our past would be to reject ourselves. At the same time, we are called to a new expression of that faith, for a new time. Past and future: we are called to embrace both.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Tuesday, 6th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 1:1-14
Yes, we’ve heard this reading a lot in the last few weeks, between Ascension and Pentecost. But in the Daily Office lectionary, this week begins a journey through the entire book of Acts, the subject of which is the Church. It’s helpful, I think, for the Church of today to look back to the Church of the beginning as a trustworthy and relevant guide.
“In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach.” So Luke begins. What Jesus began to do and teach, Luke wrote in his Gospel. Usually, if we speak of beginning something, that is followed by its ending. But nowhere in Acts is any reference ever made to the ending of Jesus’s teaching. But surely Jesus’s teaching ended after he left this earth and ascended to heaven, didn’t it?
No. If Luke’s Gospel focuses on the words and acts of the human being, Jesus of Nazareth, the Acts can be called the “Gospel of the Holy Spirit.” And since Jesus and the Holy Spirit are one being, just as Jesus and the Father are one being, then what the Spirit does and says, Jesus does and says, through the Spirit. So in truth, Jesus is teaching his Church in spirit, just as he taught them in the flesh.
We will see the Apostles continue to receive this teaching and accept it, even when the Holy Spirit takes them in directions they never anticipated while following Jesus of Nazareth. We will see the Apostles continue to receive and accept this teaching, even when they must decide questions that Jesus of Nazareth himself never asked. But Jesus is the Word of God. And while the Word of God speaks through the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, he cannot be captured by, or contained in, human words. Through His Holy Spirit, the Church learns new truth, then and always.
Yes, we’ve heard this reading a lot in the last few weeks, between Ascension and Pentecost. But in the Daily Office lectionary, this week begins a journey through the entire book of Acts, the subject of which is the Church. It’s helpful, I think, for the Church of today to look back to the Church of the beginning as a trustworthy and relevant guide.
“In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach.” So Luke begins. What Jesus began to do and teach, Luke wrote in his Gospel. Usually, if we speak of beginning something, that is followed by its ending. But nowhere in Acts is any reference ever made to the ending of Jesus’s teaching. But surely Jesus’s teaching ended after he left this earth and ascended to heaven, didn’t it?
No. If Luke’s Gospel focuses on the words and acts of the human being, Jesus of Nazareth, the Acts can be called the “Gospel of the Holy Spirit.” And since Jesus and the Holy Spirit are one being, just as Jesus and the Father are one being, then what the Spirit does and says, Jesus does and says, through the Spirit. So in truth, Jesus is teaching his Church in spirit, just as he taught them in the flesh.
We will see the Apostles continue to receive this teaching and accept it, even when the Holy Spirit takes them in directions they never anticipated while following Jesus of Nazareth. We will see the Apostles continue to receive and accept this teaching, even when they must decide questions that Jesus of Nazareth himself never asked. But Jesus is the Word of God. And while the Word of God speaks through the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, he cannot be captured by, or contained in, human words. Through His Holy Spirit, the Church learns new truth, then and always.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
On Vacation
I'm off this week, visiting family and friends in Florida, then attending my 30-year High School Reunion. Click on the Daily Office link on the right side of this page, and join the Church in daily prayer. Have a blessed week.
Trinity Sunday
"You have received the Spirit of adoption as children, by whom we cry, 'Abba! Father!'" (Rom 8:15)
Here is a secret of the preaching trade. Many of my professional colleagues hate to preach on this day. There is nothing concrete to latch on to: no historical event to analyze, no biographical character to reveal, and no story where you can always begin with, "Once upon a time." There isn’t even a moral lesson to teach. What we have here is a pure abstraction. And one that makes no sense in this world of individual things. I am here. You are there. We are separated by space. We are not one being, one person, but many and separate. So how can three distinct persons be one single being? How can God be separate without being, in fact, three gods?
Our three scripture readings actually run the risk of adding to our confusion. It's clear that each reading focuses on one of the persons, which only makes them seem more separate. Yet each reading focuses on different aspects of God that we have felt in our lives.
When Isaiah stands before a power so overwhelming as to burn him out of existence, we can identify with him. Have we not known a time when all our answers to life's questions no longer made sense? Have we not known a time where we were at the end of our rope, at the limit of our power, and we had no choice but to trust in something so far beyond our powers of observation that our trust amounted to blind faith? Here in Isaiah is that unseen Father, whose authority and love we trust.
In his letter to the Romans, Paul shows us the Son, who is the human bridge between us and the unseen Father. He was the agent of God's creation, who made all things. And he is the incarnate God who entered from the unseen into the seen, from that which has no beginning to that which was begun by him.
In John's Gospel we are introduced to the Holy Spirit who, like the wind, blows where he will. And wherever that Holy Wind blows, there is Jesus, no longer bound by the limits of a body, space and time, but present to all, as close to us as our hearts.
So here is the Trinity, three distinct persons with seemingly three different functions. So where is the unity? Why aren't we praying to three gods? How can these three persons be One being?
Look again at what Paul tells the Romans. Through Jesus, we can dare to call the unseen, yet all-powerful God, "Abba," Daddy. That is what the word actually means. Through Jesus Christ, we need not fear being destroyed by that awesome God for whom the Big Bang was a snap of the fingers. But on whose authority can we presume so much? Paul's? What more did he know of this unseen God than we know?
No, it is not on Paul's authority that we call God "Daddy." Remember Gethsemane? Jesus is about to do what he and God have agreed must be done. But knowing what he would suffer, Jesus said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will."
I have never known a decision made by two or more people that didn't require at least some negotiation, or haggling. We can't read each others' minds. We all have to work through a period of understanding the desires of the other, and finding the best balance of those oft competing desires. Jesus and his Abba are distinct from each other. They talk to each other. But there is no hint here that they are haggling with each other. They deliberate, and reach a decision with terrible consequences for both, but not through compromise, or surrender, but with a single undivided will. And that decision is made for one reason: the unity of love that Father, Son and Holy Spirit share, with each other, and with you and me.
As the bridge between us sinners and a just God, Jesus makes it possible for us to share this life of one love and one heart of the One God in trinity of person and unity of being.
How do we know that there is such a thing as the Trinity? Because Jesus Christ reveals the love that is the Trinitarian God. Why does the Trinity matter to us? Because in Jesus Christ we share the love that defines one God in three persons. The Trinity is not an abstraction. It is the cure for our isolation and loneliness. It is the only hope for a world divided by false teaching, broken relationships and man-made ideologies.
Sometimes, in the process of negotiation, it takes a lot of talking, a lot of words, before we get to the few words that say it all. For me, the words are Bob Marley's: "One Love, One Heart. Let's get together and feel alright. One Love, One Heart. Give thanks and praise to the Lord and we will feel alright."
Here is a secret of the preaching trade. Many of my professional colleagues hate to preach on this day. There is nothing concrete to latch on to: no historical event to analyze, no biographical character to reveal, and no story where you can always begin with, "Once upon a time." There isn’t even a moral lesson to teach. What we have here is a pure abstraction. And one that makes no sense in this world of individual things. I am here. You are there. We are separated by space. We are not one being, one person, but many and separate. So how can three distinct persons be one single being? How can God be separate without being, in fact, three gods?
Our three scripture readings actually run the risk of adding to our confusion. It's clear that each reading focuses on one of the persons, which only makes them seem more separate. Yet each reading focuses on different aspects of God that we have felt in our lives.
When Isaiah stands before a power so overwhelming as to burn him out of existence, we can identify with him. Have we not known a time when all our answers to life's questions no longer made sense? Have we not known a time where we were at the end of our rope, at the limit of our power, and we had no choice but to trust in something so far beyond our powers of observation that our trust amounted to blind faith? Here in Isaiah is that unseen Father, whose authority and love we trust.
In his letter to the Romans, Paul shows us the Son, who is the human bridge between us and the unseen Father. He was the agent of God's creation, who made all things. And he is the incarnate God who entered from the unseen into the seen, from that which has no beginning to that which was begun by him.
In John's Gospel we are introduced to the Holy Spirit who, like the wind, blows where he will. And wherever that Holy Wind blows, there is Jesus, no longer bound by the limits of a body, space and time, but present to all, as close to us as our hearts.
So here is the Trinity, three distinct persons with seemingly three different functions. So where is the unity? Why aren't we praying to three gods? How can these three persons be One being?
Look again at what Paul tells the Romans. Through Jesus, we can dare to call the unseen, yet all-powerful God, "Abba," Daddy. That is what the word actually means. Through Jesus Christ, we need not fear being destroyed by that awesome God for whom the Big Bang was a snap of the fingers. But on whose authority can we presume so much? Paul's? What more did he know of this unseen God than we know?
No, it is not on Paul's authority that we call God "Daddy." Remember Gethsemane? Jesus is about to do what he and God have agreed must be done. But knowing what he would suffer, Jesus said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will."
I have never known a decision made by two or more people that didn't require at least some negotiation, or haggling. We can't read each others' minds. We all have to work through a period of understanding the desires of the other, and finding the best balance of those oft competing desires. Jesus and his Abba are distinct from each other. They talk to each other. But there is no hint here that they are haggling with each other. They deliberate, and reach a decision with terrible consequences for both, but not through compromise, or surrender, but with a single undivided will. And that decision is made for one reason: the unity of love that Father, Son and Holy Spirit share, with each other, and with you and me.
As the bridge between us sinners and a just God, Jesus makes it possible for us to share this life of one love and one heart of the One God in trinity of person and unity of being.
How do we know that there is such a thing as the Trinity? Because Jesus Christ reveals the love that is the Trinitarian God. Why does the Trinity matter to us? Because in Jesus Christ we share the love that defines one God in three persons. The Trinity is not an abstraction. It is the cure for our isolation and loneliness. It is the only hope for a world divided by false teaching, broken relationships and man-made ideologies.
Sometimes, in the process of negotiation, it takes a lot of talking, a lot of words, before we get to the few words that say it all. For me, the words are Bob Marley's: "One Love, One Heart. Let's get together and feel alright. One Love, One Heart. Give thanks and praise to the Lord and we will feel alright."
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Friday, 4th Week of Ordinary Time
Luke 18:9-14
Today’s parable of the self-righteous Pharisee and the acquitted tax collector should be read in relation to the parable just before it, of the unrighteous judge and persistent widow. Most modern translations speak of the widow demanding “justice” of the judge, and Jesus’s promise that God will grant “justice” soon enough. But the Greek word really means something closer to “vindicate.” In other words, in this parable, the widow is seeking vindication.
In today’s reading, we see that it is the tax collector, guilty of collaborating with Roman oppression, who “went down to his house justified.” In other words, it was the tax collector, standing in God’s court of justice and confessing his guilt, who went home, “acquitted” by God. The Pharisee, on the other hand, was so full of himself that he couldn’t even pray to God, but instead “prayed to himself.”
We all want, and in many cases, deserve vindication. And God will “listen patiently” to our prayerful cries for vindication (18:7). At the same time, perhaps the more we pray to God for our vindication, the more we will become open to our need for acquittal. And perhaps we will become more open to praying that those who are unrighteous to us may be convicted within themselves, and seek the same acquittal that God gives to those who are honest, to themselves and to God.
Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t say that the tax collector quit his job. Perhaps he had a family to feed, and couldn’t afford to quit. What matters most to Jesus is the tax collector’s honesty. Above all, prayer is honest conversation with God. It may be honest anger at God’s delayed vindication. It may be an honest appraisal of our need for forgiveness. Ultimately, prayer is a process by which we grow in honesty. And at the end of that journey is God’s mercy and forgiveness. Always pray and do not lose heart (18:1).
Today’s parable of the self-righteous Pharisee and the acquitted tax collector should be read in relation to the parable just before it, of the unrighteous judge and persistent widow. Most modern translations speak of the widow demanding “justice” of the judge, and Jesus’s promise that God will grant “justice” soon enough. But the Greek word really means something closer to “vindicate.” In other words, in this parable, the widow is seeking vindication.
In today’s reading, we see that it is the tax collector, guilty of collaborating with Roman oppression, who “went down to his house justified.” In other words, it was the tax collector, standing in God’s court of justice and confessing his guilt, who went home, “acquitted” by God. The Pharisee, on the other hand, was so full of himself that he couldn’t even pray to God, but instead “prayed to himself.”
We all want, and in many cases, deserve vindication. And God will “listen patiently” to our prayerful cries for vindication (18:7). At the same time, perhaps the more we pray to God for our vindication, the more we will become open to our need for acquittal. And perhaps we will become more open to praying that those who are unrighteous to us may be convicted within themselves, and seek the same acquittal that God gives to those who are honest, to themselves and to God.
Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t say that the tax collector quit his job. Perhaps he had a family to feed, and couldn’t afford to quit. What matters most to Jesus is the tax collector’s honesty. Above all, prayer is honest conversation with God. It may be honest anger at God’s delayed vindication. It may be an honest appraisal of our need for forgiveness. Ultimately, prayer is a process by which we grow in honesty. And at the end of that journey is God’s mercy and forgiveness. Always pray and do not lose heart (18:1).
Thursday, 4th Week of Ordinary Time
Luke 18:1-8
“Then will not God give justice to his chosen, to whom he listens patiently while they cry out to him day and night? I tell you, he will give them justice soon enough. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth? (Lk 18:7-8, Revised English Bible)
I think that the REB gets verse 7 right. Yes, Jesus promises, God will give us justice “soon enough.” But he will also “listen patiently,” that is, he will suffer with us as we wait for injustice to be corrected. But God is God, right? Isn’t he, like, omnipotent, all-powerful and all that? Why will he give justice “soon enough”? Why not give justice right now?
One possible answer is that God also gives freedom to the just and the unjust. If God were to always intervene and prevent an injustice before it was committed, would we really be free to do the right thing. God wants us to be his partners in his work of bringing justice and peace to this world. God wants us for his partners, not his puppets.
That is a philosophical answer. Jesus’s answer is himself. He came to his own people, as John writes in his Gospel. And his own people, having the freedom to choose faith or unbelief, chose the latter. And Jesus paid the ultimate price of that rejection on the cross, even as he patiently bore that rejection. Certainly, we all can recall times where we might have felt that justice didn’t come fast enough. I suspect that we all can also recall times where we needed God’s patience with us.
And if we who call ourselves Christians have faith in the Son of Man, then perhaps we might ask ourselves, while we’re waiting for God, “What can we do to give justice to the oppressed?”
“Then will not God give justice to his chosen, to whom he listens patiently while they cry out to him day and night? I tell you, he will give them justice soon enough. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth? (Lk 18:7-8, Revised English Bible)
I think that the REB gets verse 7 right. Yes, Jesus promises, God will give us justice “soon enough.” But he will also “listen patiently,” that is, he will suffer with us as we wait for injustice to be corrected. But God is God, right? Isn’t he, like, omnipotent, all-powerful and all that? Why will he give justice “soon enough”? Why not give justice right now?
One possible answer is that God also gives freedom to the just and the unjust. If God were to always intervene and prevent an injustice before it was committed, would we really be free to do the right thing. God wants us to be his partners in his work of bringing justice and peace to this world. God wants us for his partners, not his puppets.
That is a philosophical answer. Jesus’s answer is himself. He came to his own people, as John writes in his Gospel. And his own people, having the freedom to choose faith or unbelief, chose the latter. And Jesus paid the ultimate price of that rejection on the cross, even as he patiently bore that rejection. Certainly, we all can recall times where we might have felt that justice didn’t come fast enough. I suspect that we all can also recall times where we needed God’s patience with us.
And if we who call ourselves Christians have faith in the Son of Man, then perhaps we might ask ourselves, while we’re waiting for God, “What can we do to give justice to the oppressed?”
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Core Beliefs of the Episcopal Church
On the Episcopal Church's web site, here is a nice adaptation of the Catechsim which begins on p. 845 of the Book of Common Prayer, and represents a good statement of belief that is sort of like an amoeba. Its borders are clear enough, but not so rigid that it can't grow and develop. And if people ever ask you, "What do Episcopalians believe?" Here is a a concise answer.
Wednesday, 4th Week of Ordinary Time
Luke 17:20-37
There’s a lot going on here in this long passage from today’s Gospel reading. The keys to understanding it come at the end of the passage, and its beginning.
“Where the carcass is, there will the vultures gather” (v.37). In the ancient world, people classified eagles and vultures together. In fact the same word was used for both. The verses before clearly are about a coming judgment. But that judgment is not referring to some universe-shattering apocalypse. The Eagle was a potent and fearful symbol of the Roman army. In Jesus’s time, many Jews, especially the Pharisees, were slowly simmering under Roman rule, building up to the explosion of 66 AD when the Jewish nation rose up in rebellion. Four years later, that rebellion ended with the Roman conquest of Jerusalem. The consequences for the children of Israel were terrible.
Their fundamental mistake was to equate the kingdom of God with a particular nation, a particular party and political platform. And of course, the Pharisees equated that kingdom with their nation, their party, their platform. And they looked for “signs to be observed” (v.20) of that coming kingdom, which of course would be their exclusive possession.
But Jesus insists that the kingdom of God is not something to be hunted, observed, then captured. “For the kingdom of God is in among you” (v.21). The kingdom of God will come to all of us, and it will come in the relationships that are created in this kingdom. It is true that with new relationships come new ways of caring for each other, communicating with each other, being patient with each other. One might call these new ways, “rules.” But the purpose of Christian life is not to learn a new set of rules, then impose those rules on others. In the kingdom of God, God is most present with us when we love each other as we love ourselves.
There’s a lot going on here in this long passage from today’s Gospel reading. The keys to understanding it come at the end of the passage, and its beginning.
“Where the carcass is, there will the vultures gather” (v.37). In the ancient world, people classified eagles and vultures together. In fact the same word was used for both. The verses before clearly are about a coming judgment. But that judgment is not referring to some universe-shattering apocalypse. The Eagle was a potent and fearful symbol of the Roman army. In Jesus’s time, many Jews, especially the Pharisees, were slowly simmering under Roman rule, building up to the explosion of 66 AD when the Jewish nation rose up in rebellion. Four years later, that rebellion ended with the Roman conquest of Jerusalem. The consequences for the children of Israel were terrible.
Their fundamental mistake was to equate the kingdom of God with a particular nation, a particular party and political platform. And of course, the Pharisees equated that kingdom with their nation, their party, their platform. And they looked for “signs to be observed” (v.20) of that coming kingdom, which of course would be their exclusive possession.
But Jesus insists that the kingdom of God is not something to be hunted, observed, then captured. “For the kingdom of God is in among you” (v.21). The kingdom of God will come to all of us, and it will come in the relationships that are created in this kingdom. It is true that with new relationships come new ways of caring for each other, communicating with each other, being patient with each other. One might call these new ways, “rules.” But the purpose of Christian life is not to learn a new set of rules, then impose those rules on others. In the kingdom of God, God is most present with us when we love each other as we love ourselves.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Tuesday, 4th Week of Ordinary Time
Luke 17:11-19
Look carefully at the end of verse 14 and the beginning of verse 15.
Two different words are used to describe the same action of Jesus. First we read that the 10 lepers were “cleansed.” Then, the one man notices that he has been “healed.” To be cleansed was to be restored to a state that allowed a member of the Jewish community to rejoin that community. Having contacted some skin disease, these 10 men had been declared “unclean” and were required to live apart from normal human society. It’s hard to imagine which would be worse; the physical pain or the loneliness of isolation from friends and family.
Yes, the 10 former lepers were also “healed.” But first, they were “cleansed,” that is, they were restored to human fellowship by Jesus Christ. That is always how such healing stories are told in the Gospels. First, Jesus restores the suffering to the community of human friendship. The physical healing is secondary, certainly not unimportant, but secondary.
So, the 10 head off to get the priestly certification required under the Law for their restoration to the community. But one of the 10 couldn’t go to the Jewish priest, because he wasn’t a Jew, but a Samaritan. Perhaps it was the added level of isolation which helped him realize that he didn’t need a priest to certify what Jesus had already done.
We are a “priestly” community. Much of our common life is centered around actions over which I preside. And yet, Jesus is not contained within the walls of this church, or of my priestly activities. Jesus is out there, creating friendships and community in the most unlikely places. Read this news article for an example of such unexpected Christian community. Then ask yourself: Where in my world outside of Church is Jesus Christ?
Look carefully at the end of verse 14 and the beginning of verse 15.
Two different words are used to describe the same action of Jesus. First we read that the 10 lepers were “cleansed.” Then, the one man notices that he has been “healed.” To be cleansed was to be restored to a state that allowed a member of the Jewish community to rejoin that community. Having contacted some skin disease, these 10 men had been declared “unclean” and were required to live apart from normal human society. It’s hard to imagine which would be worse; the physical pain or the loneliness of isolation from friends and family.
Yes, the 10 former lepers were also “healed.” But first, they were “cleansed,” that is, they were restored to human fellowship by Jesus Christ. That is always how such healing stories are told in the Gospels. First, Jesus restores the suffering to the community of human friendship. The physical healing is secondary, certainly not unimportant, but secondary.
So, the 10 head off to get the priestly certification required under the Law for their restoration to the community. But one of the 10 couldn’t go to the Jewish priest, because he wasn’t a Jew, but a Samaritan. Perhaps it was the added level of isolation which helped him realize that he didn’t need a priest to certify what Jesus had already done.
We are a “priestly” community. Much of our common life is centered around actions over which I preside. And yet, Jesus is not contained within the walls of this church, or of my priestly activities. Jesus is out there, creating friendships and community in the most unlikely places. Read this news article for an example of such unexpected Christian community. Then ask yourself: Where in my world outside of Church is Jesus Christ?
Monday, June 1, 2009
Feast of the Visitation
Luke 1:39-49
The Feast of the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth is celebrated on May 31. Since the 31st fell on a Sunday this year, that feast has been transferred to today.
Elizabeth’s cry of joy, “that the mother of my Lord should come to me,” forms the basis of the doctrine of Mary as Theotokos (Greek for “God-bearer). For awhile, it was fiercely debated in the Church whether Mary should be referred to in this way. Yes, Jesus of Nazareth was the Son of God, but was he also the Word of God, who is completely identical with God? How could human flesh contain God?
But St. Gregory of Nazianzus argued that what God did not assume, God could not redeem. To redeem human flesh, so that we could share in Christ’s Resurrection, it was necessary for God to fully share our human nature. Since Jesus has shared our human experience – even death – we can share in his everlasting life, body and soul.
When Jesus was conceived in Mary’s womb, he was fully human and fully God, so that Mary was, in truth, Theotokos – the Mother of God. It was Elizabeth who first understood, and proclaimed, the Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. And so we give thanks for the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth.
Father in heaven, by whose grace the virgin mother of your incarnate Son was blessed in bearing him, but still more blessed in keeping your word: Grant us who honor the exaltation of her lowliness to follow the example of her devotion to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Feast of the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth is celebrated on May 31. Since the 31st fell on a Sunday this year, that feast has been transferred to today.
Elizabeth’s cry of joy, “that the mother of my Lord should come to me,” forms the basis of the doctrine of Mary as Theotokos (Greek for “God-bearer). For awhile, it was fiercely debated in the Church whether Mary should be referred to in this way. Yes, Jesus of Nazareth was the Son of God, but was he also the Word of God, who is completely identical with God? How could human flesh contain God?
But St. Gregory of Nazianzus argued that what God did not assume, God could not redeem. To redeem human flesh, so that we could share in Christ’s Resurrection, it was necessary for God to fully share our human nature. Since Jesus has shared our human experience – even death – we can share in his everlasting life, body and soul.
When Jesus was conceived in Mary’s womb, he was fully human and fully God, so that Mary was, in truth, Theotokos – the Mother of God. It was Elizabeth who first understood, and proclaimed, the Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. And so we give thanks for the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth.
Father in heaven, by whose grace the virgin mother of your incarnate Son was blessed in bearing him, but still more blessed in keeping your word: Grant us who honor the exaltation of her lowliness to follow the example of her devotion to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
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