Acts 16:25-40
Morning Prayer
“What must I do to be saved,” the jailer begs to know from Paul and Silas. But what exactly is it that the jailer perceives that he needs to be saved from? Because salvation is such a crucial theological concept for Christians to grasp, it is easy for us to assume that’s what the Jailer was asking. How can I be saved from my sins? How can I be born again? But are those really the questions running through the mind of the jailer. The Greek word sozo did mean, “to be saved.”
But it could simply mean salvation as rescue from a dangerous situation. And while Paul and Silas keep the jailer from suicide, his life-threatening dilemma remains. Clearly, Paul and Silas’s God does not want these men kept in chains. So of course, he frees them. But as far as he knows, the magistrates will send for the prisoners in the morning, and the jailer was ready to kill himself rather than face the wrath of Roman law. So what does it mean for him to “be saved” this night, not knowing whether he would live to see the next night?
I imagine that in the Jailer’s home, Paul and Silas told him that the One who he just acknowledged as his “Lord” himself had passed through imprisonment, torture and crucifixion, and had come out on the other side of death. And if death was not the final word for Jesus, neither would it be the Jailer and his family. Yes, the jailer was saved that night, from the self-abasement that led him to nearly throw away the gift of life, and the fear of those who falsely claimed the power of life and death.
Two thousand years later; can we speak to the everyday dangers that our neighbors face, not with platitudes, but with wisdom that helps them see beyond their fears to the Lord of life and death?
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Thursday, 12th Week of Ordinary Time
Acts 16:16-24
Morning Prayer
There actually three kinds of “forces” that Paul and his companions find themselves confronting today. First of course is that force called “divination,” the ability to discern the work of spiritual forces in this world. Our fortune teller can do that, which is why she calls Paul and his friends “servants of the Most High God;” except that what she means is that they are servants of Zeus or some other Greek God. Little wonder that Paul gets annoyed.
After she is freed from that spirit, comes the next “force” – Profit – the desire to gain power and security by surrounding oneself with all the comforts, pleasures, and protection that one can pay for. The former fortune-teller’s handlers have seen all that put at risk by Paul. And in their insecurity and anger, they strike back.
Finally, there is the force of the “polis,” the city-state of Philippi, to which all the people belonged to and looked to for security in numbers. The Philippians were also very conscious of being part of an empire, the greatest yet known to humanity. Politics is also a force in our world, the desire to find comfort and protection for oneself in the safety of greater numbers – of people and soldiers. And if the price of such protection is the loss of one’s freedom and independence; that is a price people have been willing to pay in a hostile world for centuries.
“Forces” don’t have to be personal demons in order to control us. Whenever fear, greed, lust, envy, anger, dominate our minds, those attitudes become forces that lead to destructive actions, and distract us from the unmerited grace of God that is the only comfort and power in this world which we can trust.
Morning Prayer
There actually three kinds of “forces” that Paul and his companions find themselves confronting today. First of course is that force called “divination,” the ability to discern the work of spiritual forces in this world. Our fortune teller can do that, which is why she calls Paul and his friends “servants of the Most High God;” except that what she means is that they are servants of Zeus or some other Greek God. Little wonder that Paul gets annoyed.
After she is freed from that spirit, comes the next “force” – Profit – the desire to gain power and security by surrounding oneself with all the comforts, pleasures, and protection that one can pay for. The former fortune-teller’s handlers have seen all that put at risk by Paul. And in their insecurity and anger, they strike back.
Finally, there is the force of the “polis,” the city-state of Philippi, to which all the people belonged to and looked to for security in numbers. The Philippians were also very conscious of being part of an empire, the greatest yet known to humanity. Politics is also a force in our world, the desire to find comfort and protection for oneself in the safety of greater numbers – of people and soldiers. And if the price of such protection is the loss of one’s freedom and independence; that is a price people have been willing to pay in a hostile world for centuries.
“Forces” don’t have to be personal demons in order to control us. Whenever fear, greed, lust, envy, anger, dominate our minds, those attitudes become forces that lead to destructive actions, and distract us from the unmerited grace of God that is the only comfort and power in this world which we can trust.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Feast of Mary & Martha of Bethany
Morning PrayerJohn 11:21-33
The Gospel reading set aside for this feast is actually that familiar story of Mary sitting at Jesus’s feet, Martha’s complaint, and our Lord’s gentle chiding of Martha. I actually dealt with this story from the Gospel of Luke back in May. I actually think that this section from John’s Gospel more fairly conveys the varied gifts of these two sisters.
Mary was the passionate one. She defied the social conventions of her time, and planted herself at Jesus’s feet, among the men, daring to be a student and apprenticed preacher of Jesus’s message. Later in John’s Gospel, Mary spends an extravagant amount of money to honor Jesus with perfumed nard, anticipating his death and quick burial before his body can be properly prepared. And when Jesus finally shows up at their home in Bethany – after waiting two days before he started for Bethany – it is Mary, passionate in her grief, who first refuses to meet Jesus. Then when Martha tells her that Jesus is asking for her, it is Mary who falls at Jesus’s feet and declares, “If you had been here, my brother would still be alive!”
Mary’s passion tugs at Jesus’s heart. But it is Martha who makes him proud. There is no reason to doubt Martha’s grief. She says the same thing as Mary to Jesus. And yet, amid her grief, she also professes her faith and trust in Jesus. Indeed, in John’s Gospel it is Martha who is first to declare that Jesus is the Messiah.
Mary is passionate in her devotion. Martha is steadfast in her faith. They are both to be honored equally, as are all the Marys and Marthas of today’s world.
The Gospel reading set aside for this feast is actually that familiar story of Mary sitting at Jesus’s feet, Martha’s complaint, and our Lord’s gentle chiding of Martha. I actually dealt with this story from the Gospel of Luke back in May. I actually think that this section from John’s Gospel more fairly conveys the varied gifts of these two sisters.
Mary was the passionate one. She defied the social conventions of her time, and planted herself at Jesus’s feet, among the men, daring to be a student and apprenticed preacher of Jesus’s message. Later in John’s Gospel, Mary spends an extravagant amount of money to honor Jesus with perfumed nard, anticipating his death and quick burial before his body can be properly prepared. And when Jesus finally shows up at their home in Bethany – after waiting two days before he started for Bethany – it is Mary, passionate in her grief, who first refuses to meet Jesus. Then when Martha tells her that Jesus is asking for her, it is Mary who falls at Jesus’s feet and declares, “If you had been here, my brother would still be alive!”
Mary’s passion tugs at Jesus’s heart. But it is Martha who makes him proud. There is no reason to doubt Martha’s grief. She says the same thing as Mary to Jesus. And yet, amid her grief, she also professes her faith and trust in Jesus. Indeed, in John’s Gospel it is Martha who is first to declare that Jesus is the Messiah.
Mary is passionate in her devotion. Martha is steadfast in her faith. They are both to be honored equally, as are all the Marys and Marthas of today’s world.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Tuesday, 12th Week of Ordinary Time
Paul, Silas and Timothy were on quite the odyssey. “Forbidden by the Holy Spirit,” they were somehow unable to preach the Good News in the “province of Asia,” or modern-day southern Turkey. Okay, let’s just move a little further north into Bithynia. But “the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them.” So finally there they were on the Aegean coast in Troas. What now?
Remember that Paul and Timothy were Asians. This land was their home. It was familiar. Any military commander can tell you that to win the battle, you need two things: the element of surprise, and an accurate knowledge of the land on which you’re fighting. They knew this land. Yet circumstances, or perhaps some inner conviction, were frustrating their best laid plans. And here they were on the Asian coast with nowhere to go.
That is, until Paul, perhaps looking out on that expanse of water, heard a voice from the other side: “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” Yes, there was Macedonia, on the other side of the Aegean, in northern Greece, on the continent of Europe.
The distance between the two continents was more than the Aegean Sea. For these men of the East, the psychological barrier was even greater. They knew no one in Europe. They had no knowledge of the land. They were the ones likely to be surprised. And yet, they obeyed the vision. Sure enough, when they reached the Philippi, they couldn’t find the familiar town synagogue where they always preached first. Somehow they found a place by the river, which seemed to serve as the “place of prayer” for the few Jews and Gentile God-fearers there. But sure enough, the person who needed their help, and who would become their helper, was there – Lydia. Perhaps it was her prayer that reached Paul in Troas.
I have plans and dreams for what this Parish might be. So do you all. Some of those plans may take off like gangbusters. Others may fall flat, “forbidden by the Holy Spirit.” We all need to cultivate that life of common prayer, where in the combination of dialogue and silence we may hear a still small voice rising in our hearts saying, “Come over here and help us.” May we all have the grace to hear that cry for help.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday, 12th Week of Ordinary Time
Morning Prayer
Acts 15:36-16:5
“Tempers flared, and they ended up going their separate ways” (15:39)
The above is from Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of the Bible, The Message. That actually communicates better the original Greek word used here, from which we get "paroxysm." This wasn’t just a disagreement. It was a shouting, heaving argument. I don’t know whether to find consolation in the fact that even the first Christians had these arguments, or to mourn that even they were not immune to such unchristian behavior.
We at Christ Church certainly have not been immune to such flaring of tempers, and separate ways. Nobody likes conflict. And yet conflict is inevitable, in the Church, and outside the Church. So, the first step in dealing with conflict, I believe, is not to fear it. That which we fear we avoid. But avoidance simply represses the conflict, and gives the accumulating steam no place to go until it finally explodes. Conflict is one of those areas where I truly believe that the peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding, will guide us through to resolution if we just trust in it.
But what about the time when the conflict results in flared tempers and separate ways? What good is the Church then? What sort of witness can we offer a broken world when our own behavior simply mirrors that brokenness? Look again at Paul and Barnabas. They each went their own ways. Instead of one mission trip, there were now two. John Mark would be given a chance to prove himself. Paul would discover a new helper in Timothy. And if you come back tomorrow, you’ll see how God used this argument and separation to still increase his kingdom of peace, love and unity.
Christians are as human as anybody else, just as much in need of grace as every other sinner. The difference, hopefully, is that we are always humbly open to God’s grace and power to make good what we screw up.
Acts 15:36-16:5
“Tempers flared, and they ended up going their separate ways” (15:39)
The above is from Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of the Bible, The Message. That actually communicates better the original Greek word used here, from which we get "paroxysm." This wasn’t just a disagreement. It was a shouting, heaving argument. I don’t know whether to find consolation in the fact that even the first Christians had these arguments, or to mourn that even they were not immune to such unchristian behavior.
We at Christ Church certainly have not been immune to such flaring of tempers, and separate ways. Nobody likes conflict. And yet conflict is inevitable, in the Church, and outside the Church. So, the first step in dealing with conflict, I believe, is not to fear it. That which we fear we avoid. But avoidance simply represses the conflict, and gives the accumulating steam no place to go until it finally explodes. Conflict is one of those areas where I truly believe that the peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding, will guide us through to resolution if we just trust in it.
But what about the time when the conflict results in flared tempers and separate ways? What good is the Church then? What sort of witness can we offer a broken world when our own behavior simply mirrors that brokenness? Look again at Paul and Barnabas. They each went their own ways. Instead of one mission trip, there were now two. John Mark would be given a chance to prove himself. Paul would discover a new helper in Timothy. And if you come back tomorrow, you’ll see how God used this argument and separation to still increase his kingdom of peace, love and unity.
Christians are as human as anybody else, just as much in need of grace as every other sinner. The difference, hopefully, is that we are always humbly open to God’s grace and power to make good what we screw up.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Sermon for the 12th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Paul's prayer is that we may know the love of Christ even though it is beyond all knowledge. All knowledge from the most dogmatic traditional to the most extreme skeptical will fail. To know the love of Christ is to know ourselves as we are known and loved by our Creator.
It’s not every day that one of our readings from Holy Scripture isn’t a story, or a poem of praise like the Psalms, or an exposition of Christian doctrine. What we have from Paul this morning is a straight-up prayer. That’s pretty simple, except that this is Paul speaking. And “Paul” and “simple” don’t generally go together. Boiled down to its essence, Paul prays that the Ephesians will know the love of Christ, which is beyond knowledge. “Paul” and “paradox” do go together quite nicely, which you either love or hate. How can we know something, which, basically, is unknown?
To answer that question requires us first to refine the question. What exactly is “knowledge?” If you think about that question for just a short time, then it becomes obvious that there are different ways of “knowing” something, and different types of “knowledge.” There is the knowledge that is handed down from generation to generation, called tradition. The latest generation may have forgotten exactly why the first generation came up with the truth they have inherited. But the latest generation trusts that what was learned in the past is a sure guide for the future. That is, until a new situation arises which our ancestors never anticipated.
Then there is scientific knowledge. If you can observe it, then you know it’s true. Except that scientists have shown that the very act of observation can affect the object you’re observing. Then there is ideology, in which we deduce certain political principles from our experience, and then impose that ideology on the world around us. The belief that this is “The Way the World Works” sometimes colors their memory, so that most Republicans think that the budget deficits increased under Bill Clinton, while Democrats believe that the economy shrank under Ronald Reagan.
So, all those kinds of knowledge can’t be what Paul is talking about. What he is not talking about is “objective” knowledge: the knowledge of objects outside of ourselves. That’s mostly the kind of knowledge that we seek. But that kind of knowledge is simply another form of power-grabbing. The more we know about the world around us, the more control we can exercise over it, or more likely, the easier we can convince ourselves that we control it.
None of this is what Paul prays that his readers might “know?” He prays that they might know the “love of Christ.” Love is knowledge. In fact, Love is really the most difficult knowledge to attain. Objects can be observed. Words can be studied. Things outside of ourselves can be seen, touched, counted. But we can only know the love of Christ in the one place we can’t see, touch, count – our inner selves.
When you’re young, who you are is an open book full of blank pages, just waiting for you to write in. When we’re young, we can try on different selves, hoping one will somehow “fit,” will feel right. When we’re older, we have filled that book with our writings. But others have written in our book. Things have happened to us that we didn’t plan, or ask for. Those are pages that we prefer not to read: pain inflicted on us, pain we have inflicted on others. And yet here we are this Sunday, hearing a prayer that we might “know” the “love of Christ.” To know the love of God in Christ Jesus is to know ourselves through the eyes of the One who made us, who knows every single page of our book, and still loves every single one of us.
To know anything of God raises the question of Revelation – the God beyond all knowledge revealing himself in such a way that we can claim to know the unknowable. The Bible gives us stories of how God has revealed himself in objective ways – burning bushes, divided waters, the Word made flesh. It’s safe to say that most, if not all of us, will never observe such revelation.
But Paul assures us that we can receive God’s revelation in our hearts, if we can screw up our courage, and open that book to those pages that we would rather not read, because Jesus is there, in all his love for you and me. There is no revelation more powerful than to “know” ourselves as the one who made us knows us, and loves us.
To know that they were fully known and fully loved was Paul's prayer for the Ephesians, and I can think of no better prayer for us today.
It’s not every day that one of our readings from Holy Scripture isn’t a story, or a poem of praise like the Psalms, or an exposition of Christian doctrine. What we have from Paul this morning is a straight-up prayer. That’s pretty simple, except that this is Paul speaking. And “Paul” and “simple” don’t generally go together. Boiled down to its essence, Paul prays that the Ephesians will know the love of Christ, which is beyond knowledge. “Paul” and “paradox” do go together quite nicely, which you either love or hate. How can we know something, which, basically, is unknown?
To answer that question requires us first to refine the question. What exactly is “knowledge?” If you think about that question for just a short time, then it becomes obvious that there are different ways of “knowing” something, and different types of “knowledge.” There is the knowledge that is handed down from generation to generation, called tradition. The latest generation may have forgotten exactly why the first generation came up with the truth they have inherited. But the latest generation trusts that what was learned in the past is a sure guide for the future. That is, until a new situation arises which our ancestors never anticipated.
Then there is scientific knowledge. If you can observe it, then you know it’s true. Except that scientists have shown that the very act of observation can affect the object you’re observing. Then there is ideology, in which we deduce certain political principles from our experience, and then impose that ideology on the world around us. The belief that this is “The Way the World Works” sometimes colors their memory, so that most Republicans think that the budget deficits increased under Bill Clinton, while Democrats believe that the economy shrank under Ronald Reagan.
So, all those kinds of knowledge can’t be what Paul is talking about. What he is not talking about is “objective” knowledge: the knowledge of objects outside of ourselves. That’s mostly the kind of knowledge that we seek. But that kind of knowledge is simply another form of power-grabbing. The more we know about the world around us, the more control we can exercise over it, or more likely, the easier we can convince ourselves that we control it.
None of this is what Paul prays that his readers might “know?” He prays that they might know the “love of Christ.” Love is knowledge. In fact, Love is really the most difficult knowledge to attain. Objects can be observed. Words can be studied. Things outside of ourselves can be seen, touched, counted. But we can only know the love of Christ in the one place we can’t see, touch, count – our inner selves.
When you’re young, who you are is an open book full of blank pages, just waiting for you to write in. When we’re young, we can try on different selves, hoping one will somehow “fit,” will feel right. When we’re older, we have filled that book with our writings. But others have written in our book. Things have happened to us that we didn’t plan, or ask for. Those are pages that we prefer not to read: pain inflicted on us, pain we have inflicted on others. And yet here we are this Sunday, hearing a prayer that we might “know” the “love of Christ.” To know the love of God in Christ Jesus is to know ourselves through the eyes of the One who made us, who knows every single page of our book, and still loves every single one of us.
To know anything of God raises the question of Revelation – the God beyond all knowledge revealing himself in such a way that we can claim to know the unknowable. The Bible gives us stories of how God has revealed himself in objective ways – burning bushes, divided waters, the Word made flesh. It’s safe to say that most, if not all of us, will never observe such revelation.
But Paul assures us that we can receive God’s revelation in our hearts, if we can screw up our courage, and open that book to those pages that we would rather not read, because Jesus is there, in all his love for you and me. There is no revelation more powerful than to “know” ourselves as the one who made us knows us, and loves us.
To know that they were fully known and fully loved was Paul's prayer for the Ephesians, and I can think of no better prayer for us today.
Friday, July 24, 2009
St. James Major, Apsotle & Martyr
Matthew 10:16-32Saturday, July 25, is the feast day of the Apostle James, often referred to as “Major” to distinguish him from the other James among the Twelve, the “son of Alphaeus,” who is known as “James the Minor.” Of course, they were both members of the Twelve, both called by Jesus to a special position of leadership in his Church. But it is also clear from the Gospel that Peter, and James and John the sons of Zebedee, held a special place among the Twelve. All three were present with Jesus at his raising of Jairus’s daughter, his Transfiguration, and at Gethsemane.
Jesus nicknamed James and John, “Boanerges,” literally, “Sons of Thunder.” And they earned that nickname. Perhaps it was that zeal that led to James’s beheading by King Herod, described in Acts. As he went to his death, I’m sure that James remembered what he and John had asked of Jesus. They had asked to sit at Jesus’s right and left when he came in “glory.” What Jesus promised was that they would share his cup and baptism, in other words, his death. I believe that as he went to his death, James understood that he actually was sharing in Jesus’s glory.
The Rembrandt portrait to the left shows James at prayer, before he is to die, and knowing that no thunderous strength of his will save him. But that James, perhaps, learned humility does not negate his passion for Jesus’s message. The Church needs both. We need people who are bold and courageous in standing up for Jesus in a hostile world. We also need those whose gifts tend more toward reflection and contemplation, which will help guide the aim of those who fling their lightning bolts at the forces of evil. May our Church never be bereft of both gifts.
“O gracious God, we remember before you today your servant and apostle James, first among the Twelve to suffer martyrdom for the Name of Jesus Christ; and we pray that you will pour out upon the leaders of your Church that spirit of self-denying service by which alone they may have true authority among your people; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.”
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