Sermon for St Mark’s, 12th March, 2017
Phadraig of Eirinn “In truth I tell you, unless a man has been born over again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus needed time to grasp what Jesus meant: Nicodemus wanted to understand, Jesus wanted Nicodemus to think more deeply than just the rules of religion. My son, at age sixteen, told me, with conviction, he wanted to be a Marine. I asked, “Why the Marines?” Allen said, “They will make a man out of me.” I remember saying, “Yes, but there are easier ways.” He would have none of it, and enlisted at 18. When I saw Allen after twelve weeks of boot camp at San Diego, he had become a man. I do not have boot camp experience, and I know only from his stories what it was like for Allen, but I saw the man who emerged. The best was developed and sharpened, the childish and naïve was worn away. Here was rebirth, and though his service is complete, he is still a man I respect deeply. I have a story of another sixteen-year-old who became a man through ordeal, but you may have to unlearn an earlier image you have of him. He is known as Phadraig of Eirinn, or in English, Patrick of Ireland, and his feast day is Friday. The image I hope to dispel is of leprechauns, shamrocks and green beer. Phadraig was none of this, and I believe, deserves a proper story. Phadraig was a Roman citizen living near the west coast of Britain. Born in 385, his was a middle-class family. Phadraig was Christian, but “lukewarm”. He lived a comfortable life and was passionate about little, until he was sixteen. Then in a raid, Irish slave traders kidnapped Phadraig and his sisters and sold them to bondage in Ireland. It was not pretty. His parents never saw him again. Phadraig was a slave for six years, tending sheep in the mountains of the west of Ireland. It was a brutish life, in snow and rain, cold and unforgiving wind, with stone huts his only housing when he could find them, and sheep and wolves and thieves his only company. Life was hard, and he lived by his wits, on meager rations, with death always near. For six years! In those conditions he grew into a man. During Phadraig’s ordeal he learned to pray. Stalked by fear and danger, his cavalier attitude about prayer changed. He prayed sometimes a hundred times a day. You can be sure – prayers in those conditions, to keep his sanity, to outlive his slavery, prayers to find food to eat and get through the night – this was honest, if desperate, prayer. Desperate prayer is always honest. The second transformation from that ordeal was that Phadraig confronted fear, and he learned to face into it and get through it. As Richard Rohr says, “If you have to go through hell, be sure you go THROUGH hell”. Phadraig did just that. He was faced with hell, and found his way through it. He faced his fears, assessed their dangers and passed through. His trust in the God of his prayers grew, and he reclaimed his Christianity. Phadraig became a mystic the hard way. He was truly born over again. Six years after his capture, he had a vision that a ship waited in the east to take him home. Vision or no, he successfully fled Ireland, trekking 200 miles to the coast. The ship was there, but bound first for France, and he had to work for his passage. Eventually making his way home he was welcomed, but his parents were dead, and his sisters were lost. A second vision came to Phadraig, the man now fully alive, a call to return to Ireland and bring his faith with him. A man he met in Ireland, Victoricus, appeared in the vision holding letters for Phadraig, and the voice of the Irish: “We pray you, holy youth, to come and walk among us again as you did before.” Phadraig went first to France for seminary, and to Ireland fourteen years later, as bishop and missionary. Ireland was then a wild land with wild people, a land of druids and sorcery. Conditions were primitive, health was poor and life expectancy short. There was no “country”, but hundreds of tribes, with a hierarchy of kings. Yet at his death at age 76, Phadraig had converted pagan chieftains, walked most of the island preaching and confronting evil, and left disciples and 700 churches to carry on his work. He lived a determined life. He was humble, generous, and perhaps because his Latin was poor and his learning moderate, the common people loved him. One more story – a showdown. The High King of Tara observed a festival at Springtime in which all the fires in Ireland were extinguished and his druids lit the first fire as part of the celebration. For Phadraig and his disciples, the festival day was the same as Easter, so on the Eve Phadraig lit the Easter Vigil fire to celebrate resurrection, within a mile of the Hill of Tara. The outraged High King sent soldiers to arrest Phadraig, and there were anger and threats from the lords and nobles as he and his disciples were force-marched to Tara. Phadraig went before the High King and explained himself. His disciples said he was relentless proclaiming the resurrected Jesus. The High King was impressed, and later allowed Phadraig freedom to preach in his lands. But it was not eloquence or miracles that made the impression. Phadraig was not afraid. Before these wild and dangerous folk, Phadraig was not afraid, and the High King respected that. The lessons from captivity, when slave became a man, transformed his future. Jesus said to Nicodemus, “Unless a person be born again…” Phadraig was a self-professed exile, a former slave and fugitive, who learned the hard way to put his whole trust in God. He was not an easy man, certainly not a half-hearted man. He was a solid, passionate man, a real person. He is to Ireland what Francis is to Assisi, Joan of Arc is to France, and Mother Teresa is to Calcutta. So wear green on Friday, enjoy your Irish whiskey or try to catch a leprechaun. But remember, that is not the real Phadraig. And for your own story, hear Jesus, “Flesh can only give birth to flesh; it is spirit that gives birth to spirit.” (John 3.5)
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5th March, 2017
The most effective course in preaching I ever took began in discomfort. The first day of class, the Professor assigned us each a five-minute sermon. He came to one student, offered a choice from slips of paper, on which were Bible verses. The student had two minutes to prepare and then preached. Other students commented on his sermon, then the professor, and the slips were offered to another, who drew, had two minutes, and preached. My friend David drew, “Jesus wept”. After his two minutes, he talked about weeping as sign of compassion, of honesty. He shared an example of how he wept at friend’s suffering, how he weeps for things happening in the world, and concluded. After student comments, the Professor had only one criticism. David preached on the wrong half of the text. The point is JESUS wept. I thought about temptation for this sermon, temptation in my life, how I use my power to serve myself, and the ways I can dress it up to look like good. I thought about my excuses for choosing what I want, and how I blame others when I don’t do what I ought to do. Do you recognize these behaviors? Sure, but the point of the Gospel is that temptation happened to Jesus. When this drama took place, Jesus was unknown. He was at the beginning of a ministry which, at that point, could have been meaningful or could have gone unnoticed. No one knew him. He had no reputation. He had not healed anyone, had not preached a sermon. He had not told a parable. Jesus could have passed through life and no one would ever know his name. Alone in the desert with a dream of serving God, the temptations came. Jesus wondered about his purpose. He had a strong conviction that God’s first name is love. He had a good idea. He might be able to teach a new way of living. His vision of God as loving Father was underrecognized in his time, and he wanted to share it. Jesus had a good heart and a great love of God, and he wanted to tell his story. And in the wilderness, while sorting that out, they came. The story tells of three temptations to his power – personal power, political power and religious power. Perhaps you can relate. First, he was encouraged to turn stones into bread, After all, he was hungry. “Why not gratify your own hunger, build up your strength and make a show for your God? That could be useful in getting the allegiance of those who are starving, yes? Use your power, Jesus, to satisfy yourself and get the attention of others.” Second, Jesus was tempted to throw himself down from the tower of the temple, for surely, the Scripture says, the angels of God will catch you. “What a demonstration of divine power. And what good news to those who are oppressed. God might send angels to save them. Could start your revolution!” Third, Jesus saw he might take power over the nations, power to make his good religion the only religion in the world. It could be done if Jesus used power to make people hold to one religion. It might seem good to us, at first glance, if all the world was made Christian? And made Evangelical Christian, or maybe you would want progressive Christian? Or maybe you think the Episcopal Church is the shortest road to heaven? But would that say “love” about the God behind the religion. How would Jews and Muslims and Non-believers respond? Jesus believed they too are children of God? Temptations come at the place of your power, where you can do something. There is no temptation to invest in something not of interest or within your power. I have not the slightest temptation to take up astronaut training so that I can go to Mars. We are tempted to do what is within our power. So the question is, how will we use our power? Temptation is attractive. No self-respecting devil would offer personal, political or religious ruin, but success. The ruin comes in the small print at the bottom of the temptation. And real temptation does not offer for us to fall but to rise. And the greater the power, the greater the temptation, the greater the fall. All this happened to Jesus. He had a dream, and was tempted to MAKE it happen, or to say the ends justify the means, to achieve success at any cost. He has walked where we walk. Not a stranger, he calls us to understand our power and the temptations which come with it. He held to his devotion to a God who has love for all, and put that love at the top of his list of purposes. The classroom for your temptations is anywhere you have power. So first, recognize the voices of temptation – quick fix, self-serving, blame someone else, become famous. Second, like Jesus, call on your high principles. Jesus placed God’s desires at the center of his decision-making. We can hold those principles, like respecting the dignity of every human being. And be sure not to fall into blaming God for our troubles, or trying to be cagey with God’s rules While we may worship many things, only God’s worship leads to wholeness for all. Finally remember – we are not alone. Jesus has walked this way ahead of us. You might think my Professor cruel to give that assignment on the first day. His point was only to show we could preach. You can do this. He could persuade us we could preach, or tell about others who had learned, or given us samples of sermons, or he could let us find for ourselves. T The end of this Gospel story, when Jesus had passed through the temptations, was not the end of his temptations. They were with him constantly, as ours are with us. With each step, however, he grew stronger. With his company and God’s help, may that be our story. Roy. “You are a masterpiece in the making”
I remember counsel from one of the church’s master preachers, Fred Craddock. He was a theologian, a story-teller, a practical Christian, and wise elder. One of Dr Craddock’s maxims is that the preacher should not use sermon examples which the people could not experience for themselves. “The last time I had lunch with Pope Francis…”, for example, is not helpful to the people if they have not dined with Francis. It separates preacher from the people. Risking that maxim, I have a story in which the location may be unfamiliar, but you can take up the practice in the story and make it yours. If you do, may it be a benediction for you as it was for me. Nancy and I take pilgrimages together, to be with each other, to experience holy places and to deepen our encounters with God. Sometimes they are distant pilgrimages, sometimes close to home, but they are journeys seeking the presence of the holy, and journeys finding ourselves. Six years ago we traveled to Egypt with a group from St George’s College in Jerusalem to study the early Christian fathers and mothers who went to the desert to practice their faith. These were Christian people who found the marriage of religion, wealth and politics of their time stifling, so they sought solitude as an avenue to God. One of those early Christians was a man named Anthony. In his 20s, he left the opulence of Cairo, and great personal wealth, to practice Christianity in quiet service. He believed the task of Christians is simple and formidable – to become a lover of God by resisting evil and yielding to Christ. Faith practice in the cities of Egypt was impossible for Anthony, so after stages of seeking solitude, he landed in the Sinai Desert, and chose a cave for his dwelling. He was there for most of his long life. He responded when called on for wisdom from other monks, from church leaders and statesmen, but he held to his solitude and grew in grace and wisdom there. One stop on our pilgrimage, then, was St Anthony’s monastery in the Sinai. His cave is not on the desert floor, but a fair distance up the side of a mountain. Because there have been so many pilgrims over the centuries, the monks of St Anthony’s have built steps for those who wish to climb to Anthony’s cave. There are 1200 steps. Nancy and I made that climb, though I was physically too large to enter the cave which was home to a much smaller Anthony. But the story is about the climb, not the cave. If this was to be a spiritual moment for me, I thought about how to use it. I determined that as I walked up the 1200 steps, I would remember my sins, specifically confessing each, one for each step. I was 65 so I had years to remember. One sin confessed for each step, and every four or five steps, I would recite the ancient prayer, “Jesus, be with me in mercy.” On the way down, my plan was to remember my blessings, the good people and moments which had also been part of my life, those I deeply love, and what I had learned from them. I can tell you the day was hot, and the sun unrelenting, and I made my pilgrimage up and down those steps, along with hundreds of others. I had a short time at the top, in the shade but not in the cave, and then I changed my focus to blessings and headed down. It was a moving, deeply moving and healing experience. But let me share three surprises: + first, two times on the way up, young people passing by me (I was moving slowly in my prayer) reached out and held my hand, and greeted me warmly, though without words. I probably could not have understood their speech, but I understood the benediction in their eyes, as their sweaty hands clasped my sweaty hand over my walking stick. What an uplift. + second, at the top, where the shrine is, I had time to rest and cool down. After a while, I headed back down for the blessing art of my journey. The surprise was that walking back to the steps, I passed a Coptic priest who was coming up to the cave, and he greeted me with a benediction. I was not dressed as priest, but I sensed he recognized a fellow priest, and gave me his blessing. As far as I could see, he was not offering it to everyone. A bit of mystery. + third, as I made my descent, recalling blessings, my heart lifted, and when I reached the bottom, 1200 hundred steps later, I had not run out of blessings. I still had more to recite. For several minutes the recall of specific blessings continued. Imagine that, 1200 steps were enough for sin, but not enough to recount my blessings. What might your discovery be? Why am I risking this much story in which I am a player? What would Dr Craddock say? I believe Fred would forgive my example because you can have such an experience. There is an impressive set of steps just down on the corner on Eugene and 9th, and there is another even longer set near Big Horse Brew Pub, I believe. You can confess your sins, if you have that many, and recall your blessings, or use the practice however you choose. In all the distractions and stress of these days, it is good to discover we can be released from our burdens, and overwhelmed with awareness of our blessings. My ulterior motive, though, is to lift up the Gospel today, but as a recognition of the good you are doing, and the persistence with which you pursue your Christianity. Understanding Jesus’ expectations can be disheartening at first reading. Oh, I fall short in so many ways. But Jesus is not one to crush people, but to lift us up. As you consider Jesus’ expectations -- Do not resist the evil doer, turn the other cheek, give to everyone who begs from you, love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you – “Be perfect, therefore, even as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Mt 5.38f) – be aware of how you are ready to resist evil, see how you first choose non-violent options. Notice how you forgive as you have been forgiven, remember your generosity and pray not only for those who you love, but for those who trouble you as well. Friends, this is personal. Jesus is speaking to your heart. This is not about rule-keeping and shining behavior. Here is Jesus speaking to your heart, bidding you not to welcome violence to your heart, not to give in to fear, not to be silent when justice asks you to speak. Here is Jesus encouraging you – seek the company of your God, and welcome those who cross your paths, give thanks in all things. This way will not always be easy; you will not always receive welcome when you offer it. You may forgive, and have it rejected or ignored. Your non-violent resistance may receive ridicule, but your heart will be saved, and you will be called children of God. Jesus’ insistence is not to make you feel ashamed, nor to whip you into shape, but to touch your heart, and spare you becoming the violence and hardness of heart which you confront. This Christian journey is a blessing journey, though it will be full of challenges. Don’t ever lose sight of that – a blessing journey. And here is an echo of Jesus from another wise elder and holy man, Desmond Tutu: “You are made for perfection, but you are not yet perfect. You are a masterpiece in the making.” (The Book of Joy, p 92) Amen. Beatitudes, 29th January, 2017
When Jimmy Carter was sworn in as President of The United States in 1977, he laid his hand on a family Bible and on the Bible from George Washington’s Inauguration, as Presidents do. But Carter’s Bible was open, open to Micah 6.1-8. There is a question there – we heard it just now – and the answer, while clear, can be a challenge: What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? Before 1977 I thought little of the Prophet Micah, but since that Inauguration, I have remembered his challenge: What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? Picture Jesus in the Gospel this morning. He has been baptised and spent time alone in the wilderness with God. On return he finds first two, then four, disciples, to learn from him, walk with him, teach in his name, and ultimately carry on his work. Their trust in him is why we are here this morning. As his reputation spread throughout Judea, reaching as far as Syria and Jordan, people came. There was something about his word and his person that drew folk to him. This memorable day, as the crowds were gathering, he went up a hill, sat down, and addressed his disciples. Scholars today affirm that among the words of Jesus, and the words about Jesus, found in the New Testament, this Sermon on the Mount is the purest and clearest view into the heart of Jesus. Perhaps he is answering the question, “What is it the Lord asks of you?” If you want to know Jesus, more than the religion which has grown up around him, here is the place to start. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Would we not rather be rich in everything, to have everything, to need nothing. In that self-reliance we believe are security and safety. Jesus taught a wisdom which knew that one can never be completely self-reliant, and that while the creation is good, it is not always safe. The way to peace of heart is to be sure there is still room in our souls for growth, surprise and an intimate walk with God. Poor in spirit means we are open to Spirit, instead of being shut up with all our right answers. Blessed are those who mourn, he said, as opposed to those who try to hold back grief, or hide it. When we mourn, we are open. I believe we are closest to God when doubled over in tears, or doubled over in laughter. Then the walls we build around ourselves, the images we make and try to believe are true, our shells are cracked open. No one likes to be ambushed by grief, but when we are honest about our grief, we are in position to be comforted. Blessed are the meek. Not the weak, but blessed are those characterized by gentleness, kindness, the ability to be still and silent, people who have power, but not the need to use it over others, but for others. Here are marks of a contemplative life; not weak or shy, but reflective, truth-seeking and truth honoring. Then Jesus’ teaching takes a more active tone: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Holy ones pursue and work for what is just, no matter the distance nor the obstacles. He said, “Blessed are the merciful,” who understand that violence leads only to more violence, and while mercy is not the right response in all cases, mercy planted will bring mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, blessed are people who stay on the path of God’s goodness, who rejoice in small blessings, who have known deep love. Blessed are the peacemakers. It takes two sides to make peace, or three, all willing. Peace is often complicated, and requires first addressing injustice. It involves negotiation and compromise and respect of the dignity of all parties. And lasting peace can take time, but without peaceseekers and peacemakers, the kingdom of earth will not be of God. Blessed are the peacemakers, the reconcilers, and bridge-builders. Finally, Jesus said, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake…”, and in a change of tone, “Blessed are you when you are accused and slandered and falsely persecuted because you have taken this road with me. Note the change from “Blessed are those who” to “Blessed are you” – now we are being addressed. Jesus’ way is not easy, but it is good. It can be trying dealing with ourselves, our families, and our neighbors. It will be more difficult on a community or national scale. You may find reason to give in, but to give in makes you into your enemies. You become what you despise. There must be another way through. So in times of trial, or temptation, or when you just want to walk away, hold fast to your vision of kingdom, hold fast to your faith, hold fast to the Jesus you know in your own heart. Already in our country people are finding this last beatitude – blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account – a very present experience in their faith. But be confident, stay the path – you are in good company. Prophets and sages, teachers, and witnesses – Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King Jr, Francis of Assisi and his counterpart in Rome Pope Francis, Ed Browning, Desmond Tutu, saints and whistle blowers and ordinary people who just said “No”, countless real people who have walked where you walk. Once upon a time, a man laid his hand on a Bible open to a page which said, “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” May this be our witness, in our day. Amen Jesus, John and your Baptism
How many birthdays have you had? Only one actually. You have enjoyed many anniversaries of your birth, and been often celebrated I hope, but you were born only once. And how many baptisms have you had? When was that? I know from the parish timeline that Nick Kirby was baptised in 1957, and Declan Liddiard in 2000. And were you baptised Episcopalian? The answer there is easy – No. You were not baptised Episcopalian or Methodist or Lutheran. You were baptised Christian. The denomination, your tribe, came later. You may be Episcopalian but you are baptised into a worldwide family which numbers 2.2 billion, 31% of all the people of earth, a family with a mission, the Christian family. There are many faces to Christianity these days, most favorable, some not so much. Christians come with different attitudes, different policies, different rallying cries. I remember a bumper sticker which read, “I love Jesus, but his followers frighten me.” Whatever your tribe, somewhere in your present or past, your religion has been frightening. It was when your religion was great; when your religion had power. Honoring your Christianity these days means taking stock of your belief and asking, “Would Jesus endorse my personal Christianity?” John the Baptist appears in the Gospel this morning, my third and last opportunity to preach about Jesus and John. John appeared December 11, but weather kept me away that Sunday. Jesus and John appeared last Sunday, at Jesus’ baptism, but you were away. Now today, John is reflecting on Jesus’ baptism, saying, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him.” And remember that Jesus said of John, “Never has there appeared on earth a mother’s son greater than John the Baptist, and yet the least in the kingdom of Heaven is greater than he.” (Matt 11.11) What might that be about? It must be there are differences between John and Jesus, attitudes and policies distinct to each. Baptised into Jesus? Baptised more into John. Which is your religion? Let’s have a look. You remember John the Baptist was a wild man, stark and strong and aggressive. He preached God was cleaning house, cutting down the wickedness and corruption in the old order, casting all into the fire and starting over. “Even now the ax is aimed at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire… I am plunging you in water, but one who is stronger than I is coming… He will overwhelm you with holy spirit and fire.” (JD Crossan paraphrasing Matt 3.7-12 in Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography, p38) For John the time for mercy was past. He knew only good and bad people, and the bad were just about to be whacked. His message trumpeted God’s righteous outrage, and if the people did not repent, they would go with the trees into the fire. His baptism demanded amendment of life, and carried a warning against backsliding. John expected Israel to be an exclusive community of the righteous, a system of sanctified individuals. He was a new Elijah who would scourge the people and bring them back to God. John believed the kingdom was coming. Be warned, he shouted. God is coming to clean house, and it will not be pretty. The corruption of the times was real, the abuse of power rampant, so there was reason for John’s tirade. The kingdom is almost upon you, and it will come with unquenchable fire, so you’d better get right with God. Does that sound like your Christianity? Jesus was baptised by John, not so much endorsing a fear of divine retribution, but as a way of standing not opposite from his people, but with his people as a savior. He accepted the baptism of John to be with and among us, one with us, God with us. A first distinction. Second, Jesus believed the kingdom of God, but not that it was coming as judgment. Jesus believed the kingdom of God is already here, in and among us. Further, the kingdom is among us for hope and reconciliation, not an end of all things. The face of God that Jesus saw was of mercy, of reconciliation, and though the wages of sin are still pain and death, for Jesus there was always a way home. He preached no exclusive community, but all were welcome. And where John talked of the coming fury, Jesus believed that the fulfillment of the kingdom would come through the unrelenting love of God. His kingdom was non-violent. Jesus knew, you and I know, violence only breeds more violence. Have we ever had a recession in our weaponry? Weapons only get bigger and more destructive – stones, then arrows, then bullets, then bombs. In Jesus’ day weapons were capable of death, but not destruction of the whole planet. That is our generation’s legacy. Grace is costly, and the way of Jesus can mean sacrifice, but the kingdom is about grace and hope, a light that the darkness cannot overcome. Even if incomplete, the kingdom is here, and in Jesus God is not out there somewhere as prosecutor, but among us as savior and friend. That is the God Jesus called, “Abba”, beloved Father. One small distinction remains. John was a sole proprietor. He had disciples, but he was the COO. On the other hand, Jesus commissioned his disciples, and sent out 70, thirty-five teams of two, to go and teach in his name. John was solo, Jesus franchised. When John was executed his movement was over. “Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter”, as the proverb goes (cf Matt 26.31). Jesus, on the other hand, commissioned and empowered his disciples, gave the message for them to give away. That is why the movement continues after twenty centuries. So is John misguided? No indeed, but he is not Jesus. He knew that, and said so. Jesus sent his disciples to carry on – that is you and me. Even the least in the kingdom of Heaven, you and me, have a mission. Bishop Patrick is coming next Sunday. The Church will be whole then – laity, deacon, priest and bishop - all four orders of ministry. We will all renew our baptismal vows - to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers, to persevere in resisting evil, and when we fall into sin repent and return to the Lord, to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves, to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being. Perhaps before the Bishop’s visitation next Sunday you might recover the date of your Baptism. 22nd January, 2017
There is a story about Henry St George Tucker, the 19th Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, who died in 1959. A reporter, hopefully being clever as he covered Bishop Tucker’s election, asked, “If you were scheduled to visit a parish on Sunday, and it burned down the night before, what would you do?” Bishop Tucker, without hesitation, responded, “I would take up a collection for missions.” Admirable hope and conviction, yes? Just what you’d expect from a bishop? I am reading a new book, The Book of Joy, about two mischievous old men who gathered for a week to celebrate the younger’s 80th birthday. The two old men, who call themselves mischievous? Desmond Tutu, Archbishop of Southern Africa, and His Holiness the Dalai Lama. These two have known prominence, and suffering. They have been on the forefront of issues such as apartheid in South Africa and the military conquest of Tibet by China. They have felt the world’s fear and pain, known its despair, yet the wisdom of their years is about hope, and the story of their meeting is The Book of Joy. Here is an excerpt, the Archbishop writing: “Hope is quite different from optimism, which is more superficial and liable to become pessimism when the circumstances change. Hope is something much deeper” (Joy, p122). Optimism “… depends on feelings more than the actual reality. We feel optimistic, or we feel pessimistic. Now, hope is different in that it is not based on the ephemerality of feeling but on the firm ground of conviction. I believe with a steadfast faith that there can never be a situation that is utterly, totally hopeless. Hope is deeper, and very, very close to unshakable.” In a time of national uncertainty, when public voices of conscience were being silenced by threat or execution, Jesus went looking for disciples. In a day when his nation was under the fist of an aggressive foreign government, Jesus went looking for colleagues. At a time when disease and poverty and uncertainty cowered people into fear, Jesus went looking for companions to change the world. Jesus looked first to four fishermen to be his partners in a journey of hope and reconciliation. Admirable hope and conviction. First, a thought about those four. Why did Jesus choose commercial fishermen for disciples? Jesus was a little known itinerant rabbi at first, and perhaps those were the best he could hope for at the beginning. There is that clever line in the Gospel today, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Or maybe he desired the fisherman’s no nonsense philosophy – life can be hard, getting by depends on hard work, and there are no guarantees. You may have your own ideas. I remember, though, an intriguing idea of Nancy’s, when she preached on the call of these four disciples. Why fishermen? Nancy believes fishermen are able to bring the visible out of the invisible, bring to light truths that may be hidden. She wrote yesterday, “Fishermen in their profession are trained to see life that is invisible, under the water, and to bring that life into visibility. You can see the equation with discipleship, bringing unseen holy moments into the seen world.” Peter and Andrew, James and John, bringing to light things that were forgotten, bringing to memory truths which were buried, bringing to conversation holy moments which were hidden. They accepted the invitation. I lay these words before you, aware as you are that our country has just celebrated the inauguration of our 45th President, and we have seen intentional resistance from marchers in Washington and all across the country. For some of us this is a time of rejoicing. For others, a time of distress about our present and future. Some ask, “What’s the fuss?” For others, there is real fear, fear among those “masses yearning to be free” who the Statue of Liberty would welcome. These are troublesome times, but not hopeless times, and they are times we have faced before as one nation under God. Jesus looked first to four fishermen to be his partners in a journey of hope and reconciliation. Today he looks to you and me. Again from Archbishop Tutu: “No dark fate determines the future. We do. Each day and each moment, we are able to create and re-create the quality of him a life on our planet. This is the power we wield.” (Joy, p122). If our Bishop Patrick were able to be here, we would be renewing our Baptismal vows. We would be recommitting ourselves to the apostles teaching and fellowship, to breaking bread and praying together. We would promise to resist evil and when we fall into sin, to repent and return to Jesus. We commit to the teaching and example of Jesus, to seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves. We would just about now be committing ourselves to justice and peace among all; people, and respecting the dignity of every human being. We are people of hope, and wherever we go, through whatever darkness, Jesus has been there ahead of us. No despair then, people of God. For some the possibility of despair is new, for others there is at last the possibility of release from despair. But claim your hope: Remember that you are chosen, remember that you are baptised. We are the kingdom here, but remember we are also the problem, the makers and enablers of mischief. Finally, as God’s own, remember that we are the medicine. I encourage you to pray for the people in these our United States, for a more perfect union and for the President, the Congress and the Supreme Court. We are in this together. But our highest call is to embrace the grace and heart of God. To hold high the truth that is in, to honor one another, and when our justice cries out ot be heard, silence is unconscionable. “Fishermen in their profession are trained to see life that is invisible, under the water, and to bring that life into visibility… bringing unseen holy moments into the seen world.” Peter and Andrew, James and John, brought to light things that were forgotten, brought to memory truths which were buried, brought to conversation holy moments which were hidden. They accepted the invitation. Now it is up to us. Sermon for Christmas I
Children’s Homily: Amahl and the Night Visitors Once upon a time
Runs to his Mother – “Mother, Mother. Mother, come and see. There is a star in the sky, a great star, with a tail as long as a kite.” She says, ”Amahl, go to sleep. I am too tired for your stories.” “But Mother…” “Enough. Go back to bed.” But there was to be no sleep. Just when all was quiet there came a loud knock at the door. Mother said, “Amahl, go see who it is and tell them to go away.” Amahl goes, opens the door, and rushes back. “Mother, mother. Mother, come and see. There is a king at the door.” She wonders, where does this boy get his imagination. “Don’t tell me stories - go back and see who it really is and tell them to come back in the morning.” So Amahl, quivering, goes back. “Mother, mother. Mother come and see. You were right. There is not a king at the door.” She says, “I thought so.” Amahl says, “There are TWO kings.” She is frustrated, being tired and worried, and tells him sternly – “Don’t tell me lies. Go and see who it is and tell them to go away.” So Amahl goes to the door, and rushes back, “ Mother, mother. Mother come and see.” She interrupts, “You had better not tell me there are two kings at the door.” He says, ”No, Mother. There are not two kings. There Are THREE kings.” She has totally lost patience, gets out of bed, brushes past Amahl, AND JERKS OPEN THE DOOR. And three grand and stately kings are standing there, with travel animals, and a page. The kings explain they are on their way, following this star, to take gifts to a holy child which has been born in nearby Bethlehem. But they are weary, and ask if they might spend the night under her roof. Of course – yes. She goes to neighbors to asks them to bring food for the guests. Meanwhile, Amahl talks to the kings. His question – what is it like to be a king? What do you do? And they learn from him that he used to care for sheep, but his father died and they had to sell the sheep, and they do not know where their next meal is coming from. Amahl and his Mother may have to beg in order to eat. One of the kings, Melchior, brought gold as a gift for the baby. Balthazar brought frankincense, and Kaspar, who is quite deaf and eccentric, brought his precious box, and in it are stones, beads, myrrh, and his favorite candy – licorice. He asks Amahl if he would like a piece of licorice, and Amahl eagerly answers, “Yes”, but Kaspar only says, “Ehhh?” They all retire, and the Mother tries to sneak just one piece of the gold, which would feed them for a year, but is caught by the kings’ page. Amahl wakes to find the page grappling with his Mother and tries to defend, and Melchior steps in to calm things. He offers her gold, and at daybreak they get ready to travel on to find the baby. Amahl is so impressed with the kings and their gifts for the baby, that he wishes he could give the child a gift. But he is poor, and has nothing – except his crutch. Amahl kneels to offer the crutch to the kings as his gift to the baby, and they are deeply touched. When he stands up again, his crippled leg is healed. A miracle! What happened then? The story ends with Amahl going with the kings to Bethlehem to see the child, and he presents his crutch to the baby Jesus in thanksgiving for he healed leg. (With respect to Gian Carlo Menotti for his 1951 masterpiece) CHRISTMAS 2016 “Love is not enough” If Jesus had his way, today we would all be Jews. I will save that argument for another time, but now that I have your attention… I have a story from the teaching tradition of the Rabbis. I bring the story because Jesus was a Jew, was often called rabbi, and we are in the holy season of Hanukkah. So here we go. The setting is at the shores of the Red Sea in the time we know as the Exodus. An enslaved Hebrew people have been rescued by the hand of God from Egypt. They have journeyed to the east in search of the land promised by their God. The escape from the city of Pharaoh was joyous, but soon the arid journey over desert brought its own struggles. And then, as you remember, there appeared clouds of dust coming up behind the people. As if things could not get worse, the people realized this dust was raised by pursuing chariots of Pharaoh. There they were, trapped between the thundering army of the Egyptians and the expanse of the Red Sea. You may remember Moses prayed to God for deliverance, and he was told to raise his staff and stretch out his hand, and the water would be parted. So Moses stood forth, raised his staff and stretched forth his hand – and nothing happened! The people began to murmur, but again, he prayed, and raised the staff a second time – and nothing happened. The people were near panic. Moses now prayed with all his heart, raised his staff, and stretched forth his hand a third time. And nothing happened! The waters of the sea remained unmoved. At the peak of despair, a man tradition names Eleazar, standing at the shore, just stepped into the water. And when he did, the waters separated. One person acted on the promise, and the sea parted for the people of God. How is this a Christmas story? There is a lot of feeling around us this season, lots of love spoken and sung. There is tenderness too, for those who are grieving a lost loved one, and there is pain over suffering in Berlin, and Aleppo, and Mexico City, emotions all moved by love. The predominant song in our hearts is love. With tidings of comfort and joy all round, and hopes that St Nicholas soon will be here, love gets top billing for a few days. But at the core of Christmas is the gift of a rarer love. Deeper than you might think, this love is indelible, transforming. For example, this indelible love is patient and kind, and envies no one. This transforming love is not boastful, nor conceited nor rude. It is never selfish, not quick to take offense. Imagine that! Christmas love, rare love, keeps no score of wrongs, does not gloat at other people’s faults, but delights in the truth. (I Cor 13.4-7). This rare Christmas love crosses over boundaries and can connect disparate cultures. It is able to resist prejudice and bigotry. It brings light in darkness, in souls and in families, and this love unites communities. This rare love is not kept, but must be given away. It flows like water. There is no form of life that doesn’t need water; in the same way, Christmas love is life-giving for all people. It is healing. It is freedom. It is joy. It promotes one’s own dignity, but never at the expense of another. So how it is with your loving? Mine falls short. Especially in the notion that love envies no one, does not keep score, is never selfish and doesn’t take offense. But that is exactly why we need Christmas, and Christmas love – a love that works, not just a love that feels good. Love that works takes practice, and recommitment and reminding. This love we might call holy love, highest love, and it is achievable with commitment, and practice. This love is the story of Christmas. But even that love is not enough. Holy love is not enough. Even the confidence of God’s love is not enough. Love is not enough because it takes a person to enact that love. Eleazar had to step into the water before the promise to Moses could be fulfilled. Love as an idea, or a prayer, or even a spiritual power is basically empty without a person to bring love, and another to receive the love. Love needs a bearer, or in the Gospel language, the Word must become flesh. We need to see for ourselves. Christians believe, I believe, that Jesus is the bearer of God’s love. Thanks be to God he is not the only bearer, but Jesus is the clearest and purest embodiment of the love of God, and that is why there is Christmas, and tonight a Christ Mass. These days are only tangentially about baby Jesus, shepherds and mangers. Christmas is about a brilliant love so strong that God would come among us to bring it. Here is the most reliable Christmas story I know: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it… And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” (John 1.1-5, 14) Good people, love is not enough. Jesus is. Amen. 4th December, 2016
There is a new baby coming our way. He is the son of Pravin and Jasinta, and the newest member of this parish family. As we are mindful in Advent of the coming of Jesus at the Incarnation (we call it Christmas), and the second coming of Jesus at the end of time (we call that the Eschaton), perhaps we should think about the sort of Christian experience we will provide for this new son. In the Gospel this morning we are introduced to an loud and abrasive fellow named John. He was a wild sort of man, living apart from good society, scary in appearance and unpleasant in smell. And he threatened coming destruction. God was coming soon to clean house in this wicked world, so you’d better get your house in order by being baptized as a sign of repentance. Is that a message you want this young man to take to heart? What about a “Christian soldier” model, passionate young people going off to war against the enemies of God? Would you rather model a non-violent agenda for changing the world, or should this baby just not take religion so seriously and leave the world to its own devices? What about the notion of “gentle Jesus, meek and mild”? Does that capture the heart of a man who challenged oppression and excessive wealth which ignored the needs of the poor? We need to do some thinking, for two reasons: first, because there are many models of Christianity, and second, you are the first real Christians this baby will see outside his immediate family. What if he grows up to be like you? Imagine a Christian family: …that holds a deep respect for nature and the sacredness of all life. Celtic Christians thought the earth and other beings are all part of the sacred mystery of life, not mechanisms to be dominated. Here women and men were held in equal dignity, and the counsel and service of both sexes were sought and followed. …which saw that community is essential for grief, life and hope, especially when the world seemed to be falling apart. They thought of themselves as cells of a living body, not individuals choosing whether or not to be affiliated. 100 years ago churches still were that community. …that believed beauty and the arts were signatures and invitations to the heart of God. …which saw no separation between the sacred and secular – all is sacred. They thought material is an expression of the spiritual, so spiritual never an option. What about all human life - sex and commerce, living and dying – all are holy. …that believed first-hand experience of God was primary, essential, and came before rules and systems of belief. One did not belong because you first believed and behaved, but belief and proper behavior came from belonging to the community of God’s people. Here is a Christianity which lived with a sense that the old world was passing away and a new world was being born, and they were the midwives for the birth. They had faced their own fear and therefore could see goodness in all people and felt God was with them in at all times, in all things. The Celtic Christians knew the world was enchanted; we seek its re-enchantment. Not by magic or incantation, but by living according to these principles. Christ came to bring us into our true selves, as graceful and good and worthy. Not to rescue us as much as restore us. The church asks two things of you in Advent: to prepare for the feast of Incarnation, keeping Christ in Christmas, and second, to be prepared for the end of time, or the end of our time. As the affirmation goes, “…that when he shall come again in power and great triumph to judge the world, we may without shame or fear, rejoice to behold his appearing.” There is a new baby coming our way. May we treasure our Christian faith, and share it with him and among ourselves. Let us seek the re-enchantment of this world, and midwife the kingdom of heaven here. Roy+ “Whenever I find love in this violent and uncertain world, I want to bless it.”
John O’Donohue was a friend and teacher, a voice of Celtic spirituality silenced too early. John died at age 52. He was an Irish priest and poet, a philosopher and scholar, a rare spirit in himself. Nancy and I came to know him first through his poetry and his wisdom. Another poet, David Whyte, said John had a ‘bird of paradise’ vocabulary. Yes, but he was so much more than a thinker. John was larger than life, with a huge laugh, appetites for fine Irish whiskey, loud humor, and good food, and he possessed energy enough for three. I know. Nancy and I tried to keep up with him as he led a group of pilgrims across the wild hills of western Ireland. Once upon a time, John came to Bend and offered a Spiritual Care Conference for health care workers. I was Senior Chaplain in those days at Hospice in Bend. I didn‘t think there was much chance we could get a world-famous speaker to come to little Bend, but the only guarantee that something won’t happen is if you never ask for it to happen. Anyway, three hundred plus people came to the seminar, and no one skipped out after lunch. The first session after lunch was Q & A. It was a time for the audience to respond to his first two sessions, before the final third presentation. The dialogue was going well, and John was enjoying his listeners, when the predictable troubling question came. A woman stood and challenged him, asking what his position was on gay marriage. The questioner left no uncertainty as to what she expected to hear. I don’t remember her question exactly (as host for the seminar I was getting nervous about then) but she basically reminded John that he was a Catholic priest, and under the Pope’s authority, and surely, he did not stray outside the church’s teaching that homosexuality is an abomination. There was an audible “aaagh” from the audience, and then silence. Then John spoke words of real grace which I have no trouble remembering to this day, “Whenever I find love in this violent and uncertain world, I want to bless it.” What a benediction. What a way to live. The questioner sat down. When most of our country would rather think about the coming of Christmas than the coming of Jesus – maybe you too – the Gospel for our first Sunday in Advent strikes an unexpected chord. Matthew writes about the end of time, the day of judgment, the coming of the Son of Man. For context, remember this teaching was given on Tuesday of Holy Week, four days before Jesus’ crucifixion. It was sobering teaching then, and it has a profound note today, but not as a threat. Jesus says up front in the Gospel no one knows the day or the hour, and Matthew remembers him saying the Gospel would have to be preached to the end of the world before the end will come. So there is more of value here than fear of the end. That Tuesday for Jesus was fraught with uncertainty, perplexity, and stress. He knew what he had provoked. Moreover, the times were hard for the people of Jerusalem. There are plenty of voices which say our day is saturated with uncertainty, perplexity, and stress. So here is the question - as people of faith, should we be perplexed? Is it not assumed that people of real faith are wise and confident at all times? I have heard that in matters of daily decisions and in larger world issues, faithful people should be steady and clear-headed. Some of us who are good at guilt will turn it inward: “If only I had faith… or enough faith… or the right faith…” But faith is not about believing strongly, or having the right answers, but about acting through the times of perplexity and confusion. Uncertainty is a condition in even the best Biblical faith. Count the heroes – Sarah, Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, Amos (any of the prophets), Mary, Jesus, Paul – they all knew uncertainty, but moved ahead “in faith”, in trust and hope. Uncertainty and doubt are facts of authentic life – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Frederick Buechner wrote, “Doubt is the ants in the pants of faith.” Faith is about action, not doctrine; action infused with trust and hope. We are not expected to know everything, but we are expected to do something. When I first thought seriously about seminary, I went for an interview with Bishop Louttit of South Florida. He was a colorful and strong man, a colonel in the National Guard, an effective bishop but hard. Many of the clergy and lay people were afraid of him. I brought awe and some of that fear to my interview. I only remember one question of many that day, “Mr. Green, what is the most important thing to do when a member of your parish dies?” I recall anxiety but not my answer. After I fumbled around a bit, he said, “The most important thing for you to do is walk in the door.” As the Biblical commentator Mark Yurs wrote, “Biblical faith knows it does not know everything, but it does know it is called to do something here and now.” Friends, we are not expected to know everything these days, but we are expected to do something. Note though, ambitious Christians, we need not do everything, but something. We need to do something – in our own little worlds and in our own souls, and for some of us, in the big world. Something, not nothing. St Paul wrote to the Church at Rome, “You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers… Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” (Romans 13.11f). That is an honorable Advent challenge, no? Lay aside the works of my darkness and put on the armor of light? A challenge for our own souls, and then in compassion for this world and its people. Again, from Mark Yurs, “Those who have tended to the needs of the world will inherit God’s kingdom, while those who have ignored the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick and the imprisoned will not.” No doubt, most of our country would rather think about the coming of Christmas just now than the coming of Jesus. That is why the Church needs Advent – to lift our Christian vision to the long view, to see past our present uncertainties and work towards quality of life - for this planet and among all God’s people. The truth is, storms are temporary, but the poor will always be with us. So let hold dear - faith is about action, not doctrine; action infused with trust and hope. “Whenever I find love in this violent and uncertain world, I want to bless it.” Today, as Episcopalians and Christians, we celebrate Christ the King Sunday or Reign of Christ. This Sunday is the last Sunday of Ordinary time before going into the Advent season, and as a relatively new Episcopalian I have always considered the Scripture texts puzzling. I mean, how does the death of Jesus on a cross relate to celebrating the kingship of Jesus. Death and kingship seem like polar opposites.
I decided it was time for me to do a little digging into the background of this feast day. This is what I found out. Pope Pius XI instituted The Feast of Christ the King in 1925 for the universal church. The Feast of Christ the King has been celebrated in the Episcopal Church since 1970. According to Pope Pius many Christians, including Catholics, had begun to doubt Christ’s authority and existence, as well as the Church’s power in the secular world. Pope Pius had three goals with initiating this feast day: (1) that nations would see that the church, or in this instance the Catholic Church, has the right to freedom and immunity from the state (2) That leaders and nations would see that they are bound to give respect to Christ and (3) That the faithful would gain strength and courage from the celebration of the feast, as we are reminded that Christ must reign in our hearts, minds, wills, and bodies. With our recent election results in the United States I was struck by the power behind these three belief statements, especially number three. How do we the faithful gain strength and courage to celebrate this feast with authenticity? How does our Gospel lesson equip us to lead with Christ as our example? Jesus is not your typical earthly king who leads with an iron fist, he leads with an open heart and hand. In Jesus we have a king who is crucified. We have a king who forgives the very people who put him to death. We have a king who, while hanging on the cross in agony, grants salvation to the criminal on the cross next to him. And if that wasn’t enough, we have a king who brings the condemned into Paradise with him. The question we must ask ourselves is this, “Would we vote for this kind of servant king today?” In our consumer-ridden Western world today, it is doubtful. Pope Pius XI brought forth this feast day, because he thought the church had lost their influence in the world. I am not going to second-guess the pope’s original motive for initiating this feast day, but his words are a current challenge to Christian believers in the United States. Notice he does make a statement that you must believe like the Catholic Church to engage in Christian ways of following Jesus. Instead, he zeroes in on the core issues behind people’s apathy and disinterest in following in the way of Jesus. He states that following Jesus is a heart problem. Karoline Lewis, professor at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota says this about the current church, “We can no longer be secure in the fact that the church leads differently than the world, that our [Christian] leaders are better than secular leaders simply because they run a church” … she goes on to ask the question, “To what extent has the church contributed to the latent misogyny, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and exceptionalism in our ‘mainline’ and seemingly respectable institutions, practices, rhetoric, and confessions. Said more simply, “Has the church screwed up by not following the way of Jesus?”- His way of love, compassion, and courage. Because those three actions describe how and why Jesus died on the cross. I have learned a hard lesson during this past election. I have learned that believing the right things does not necessarily lead to change or enlightened light. I have grappled with the truth that a person can have strongly held beliefs, and still be fearful, self-preoccupied, and terribly narcissistic. I can have strongly held beliefs, and still be angry, judgmental, mean and violent. Christian history and the history of other religions give us many examples of this. Because the bottom line is this, believing has little transformative power. Being Christian is not about right beliefs. Power comes about with a change of heart. Jesus transformed evil power into self-giving love on the cross, and I need to give way more thought on what it means to be a Christian. I can easily allow the words of the Apostles’ Creed or Nicene Creed to roll off my lips without these beliefs having any influence in my life. Believing in those early 4th century years meant something way different than it does now. The word believing back then meant something like the English word ‘beloving’. To believe in God, or believe in Jesus, was to belove God, to belove Jesus. As Bishop Curry might say, “Do you love Jesus enough to follow His way?” Personally, I want to say, of course, I’ll follow Jesus. I love him? But will I? Following Jesus means I need to rethink power. What is good power? What is evil power? And how is good and bad power shaping my own perceptions? How honest can I be with myself as I examine my own motives to live for Christ? I have three actions I plan to exercise in my life: (1) I am going to listen to others, both inside the church and outside the church. (2) I am going to examine my own fears as I wrestle with challenging the status quo and (3) I am going to sit with forgiveness. First, I will listen to the voice that has a different viewpoint of Christianity and my political reality. I will try to grasp their words and thoughts without judgment or the need to change their position. I was reading the Peanuts cartoon a few days ago, and Lucy held up a sign saying, “Power to my kind.” And Charlie Brown responds, “Good grief.” Exactly, good grief, how can I expect everyone to think like me, or be like me? It’s unreasonable, or even crazy thinking for humans to clone each other’s thoughts or actions. God uniquely designed each person, so can we as Christians respect true diversity, and still claim our own truth. Colossians says, “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father.” If we reclaim the words from Ecclesiastes, “there is nothing new under the sun,” then we can say with confidence that God resides in all things, even those parts of life that do not make sense, or challenges our strong-held core values. Second, I must grapple with my fears, so I do not live a life filled with anxiety. Am I afraid to speak out for the immigrant who needs my voice? Karoline Lewis states, “To think that rhetoric can’t make a difference is to let the rhetoric of hate have the dominant voice … to think the church needs to remain neutral so as not to offend is to forget that the empty tomb was thought to be a load of crap.” We must learn to be braver in our speech, and bolder in our actions. Will I be the criminal on the cross asking Jesus boldly “remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Lastly, I will sit with forgiveness. I will examine my own heart for anger, hate, and bigotry. I will ask God to forgive me for the evil I cannot see in my own heart, and ask that the Holy Spirit continue to give me eyes that can discern good and bad power. And then I will grieve the things I cannot change about myself, or the evil I cannot change in the world around me. I will grieve to keep my heart and hands open to the suffering around me. The Song of Zechariah sings to us: “In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” As Karoline Lewis says one more time, “Look for the crack, as small as it might be and preach it. That’s how the light gets in.” It is the same light that the criminal saw in the man called Jesus, King of the Jews when he asked to spend eternity with Jesus. Jesus is that kind of King. One who came from humble roots, and proclaimed that his kingdom looked quite different than the Roman kingdom, or our present U.S. culture. Christ is King! Hallelujah. Hallelujah. |
AuthorI don't know what the future of the church is, but I know that we will continue to be a place of sanctuary and hope, working towards healing in the world. Archives
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