Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene, Rochester, NY on Annual Meeting Sunday, the 3rd Sunday after the Epiphany, January 27, 2008. Psalm 27, 1 Corinthians 1:10-18, Matthew 4:12-23
This sermon has a refrain, at least for awhile at the beginning and at the end. It is the first verse of Psalm 27:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
I want to do the perhaps unorthodox thing of beginning my sermon for this Annual Meeting by articulating our fears. Yes, I’m going to tell you of what we should be afraid.
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Let me say from the outset that the question the first verse of Psalm 27 asks may seem to be a rhetorical one, and perhaps the original writer did mean it that way, but I think it is a very real question, and that the answer to it is almost always both “many things” and “nothing.”
So here goes, what I perceive to be our top five fears, but let us begin:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Fear number one: money. There is not enough. You as individuals don’t have enough and we as a parish don’t have enough. As a parish we are calling on households to give more, particularly through our Capital Campaign, and at the precise moment when Chicken Little seems to have taken over the economic pundits. The sky is falling or is about to fall, depending on to whom you listen.
And we as a parish continue to eat into our endowment. Our endowment dipped below—although only slightly below—a million dollars by the end of 2007, and we will use somewhere between 12% and 15% of it this year for operating expenses. That is not a prudent action by anybody’s estimation, and it means, as is obvious to everyone, that it cannot last forever without significant replenishment.
And so we sing, not being sure of the answer
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Fear two: growth. We are not growing fast enough, in fact, this past year our communicant numbers shrunk a bit, although average attendance was up a bit. Bottom line, we need more people, and most of us are in a quandary about where they come from and how they get here.
And so we sing, not being sure of the answer:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Fear number three: we are doing so many things and there are too few of us doing them. Great God in heaven, the rector set out seven agenda items for last year in addition to ongoing programs. How far can we be stretched? How much time do we have to give to church-related stuff in a world that pulls us in so many different directions?
And so we sing, not being sure of the answer:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Fear number four: is the rector OK? Am I going to be OK? You lost me for two months and now you’ve only got me half time. When does this end? It’s a question I cannot answer in any way but theoretical.
And so we sing, not being sure of the answer:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Fear number five: we’re doing a good bit of work on our building but anyone who’s paying any attention at all knows that it is only a small dent in the needs of these old buildings, needs that will keep catching up with us.
And so we sing, not being sure of the answer:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
We have plenty to fear, and fear is real. It cannot be wished away, nor overcome by a burst of superficial optimism nor simply dismissed even if Jesus did say over and over again, “Do not be afraid.” Even he was afraid in the garden before the crucifixion.
Now I do believe that God longs for us not to be afraid, and provides us with the power to overcome our fears, but I also believe that we start to tap into that power by acknowledging of what we are afraid. Fears that are named are fears with which we can begin to deal.
And how do we deal with them? What is the power to overcome them? The power is the big three gifts we are given by God: faith, hope, and love. These three are the power to overcome our fears.
Love that enables us to hold together when fear wants to divide us.
Faith not only that God is, but that God desires us to be, and has a purpose for our being.
Hope that resurrection will have its way with us in the end in spite of everything that says it won’t.
So we meet our fears with faith, hope, and love. I’ll us the first word to address our fears,
Money: We need faith that taking the risk with our money may appear foolish, but that risk-taking has always defined the wisdom of God. The cross was, is, and always will be, God’s greatest risk taken with and for us, and, as St. Paul says, it is foolishness in the eyes of the world but wisdom and power in the eyes of God.
And so we sing, daring to believe:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Growth: We need faith that we will grow in spite of our not really knowing how to do it. The one thing we need to do (and I take this from one of our bishop candidates who spoke the other night who was quoting the current Bishop of Massachusetts, Tom Shaw) is pray directly for new members. We might also pray for greater financial resources. It means something that we are somewhat shy about praying for these things. But pray we must.
And so we sing, daring to believe:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Busy-ness: We need to have faith that we are enough to do what we need to do, and we are living witnesses that our fear can be overcome. I gave you seven things to do this year and we did them. And despite my tendency to over-function, I was not the only one who made them happen, and when I suddenly disappeared from the picture, you made them keep happening. Do you know what a testimony it is that you kicked off a successful Capital Campaign in the absence of a rector? It must have taken at least a year off the life of our consultant.
And so we sing, daring to believe:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Me: We need to have faith that the grace of God is and will be present in my life, that healing is not only possible, it is the desire of God, and that you and I can find ways to keep in ministry together while sustaining all our well-beings.
And so we sing, daring to believe:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
And these buildings, well they’ve been here a long, long time, and we need the faith not to have them define who we are for good or for ill. By hook or by crook we will find a way to maintain them, and, if not, we will still be the church.
And so we sing, daring to believe:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
The disciples once came to Jesus in a moment of stunning honesty and said, “Increase our faith” (Luke 17:5). This after they seemed to have shown so much faith in following “immediately,” as we heard in this morning’s reading, and kept at it with a teacher who was always on the edge of things. I have no doubt that they were asking out of fear, out of a sense of being stretched too thin and the frustration of not quite getting it. It was a plaintive cry that could just as well be our own as it was theirs. “Increase our faith!”
The important thing is that they asked, and I have no doubt they received even though they were yet to have more moments of doubt and fear and despair. Yet in the end they were the people who “turned the world upside down.”
Let us pray in the face of all our fears, “Increase our faith.” Let this be our theme this year, and let it be my charge to you, church. Not seven things this year, although all of them need continuing, but mostly right now we need one thing and it’s the one thing God is good at, “Increase our faith.”
And so we sing, daring to believe:
The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Behold! God's Radical Welcome & Ours
Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene, Rochester, New York on January 13, the First Sunday after the Epiphany: Isaiah 42:1-9; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:12-17
I truly understand that God shows no partiality. Acts 10:34
This Sunday is about identity that leads to mission, which is focused on radical welcome. This is abotu Jesus and about us, particularly since one of the three markers of idenity in our Mission Statement is , “A Welcome Table for All.”
Let me remind you of the context of the middle reading this morning from the Acts of the Apostles. St. Peter has found himself on his missionary tour in the city of Joppa. One day he goes up on the roof of the house at which he was staying to say his prayers while lunch was being prepared for him. He falls asleep and has a dream.
In the dream a large sheet is descending out of the sky and on it are all sorts of animals with one thing in common: they were all “unclean” by Jewish standards of purity. Being unclean they were not to be eaten. But a voice says to him, “Rise up and kill and eat your fill, Peter.”
Taking this as a test he says, “No way! I don’t eat unclean things!” But the voice then says, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” Then, just for emphasis, this whole scene happens two more times.
When he awakens from the dream and descends from the roof, it happens that a man named Cornelius has come to see him. They don’t know each other. Cornelius has had his own dream telling him to go to Joppa and find a man named Peter. They ask him to go home with them. The Spirit tells Peter to go with them without reservation.
The next day they go to Caesarea to Cornelius’ home. Cornelius was a Centurion in the Roman army. Caesarea was a Roman settlement in Palestine. It is significant that Peter is told to go “without reservation” because he normally would have avoided Caesarea, as would any observant Jew, because it was a Gentile town, in which it would be almost impossible to remain ritually pure.
By the time he arrives at Cornelius’ home he has figured out that the dream and his visit are connected, and he rather haughtily announces as he arrives,
You of course know that it is against Torah for a Jew to associate with a Gentile in any way, but here I am because of this dream I have had. Can anybody tell me why I am here?
Cornelius tells Peter about his own dream, including the command he received to listen to whatever Peter has to say to him and his household. What Peter has to say is the content of this morning’s reading, beginning with the words, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality.”
The story goes on that as soon as Peter said these things, the Holy Spirit fell on Cornelius and his household, and Peter, profoundly moved by the experience, baptizes them on the spot.
He then goes back to Jerusalem and gets a tongue lashing from his colleagues for visiting Gentiles, but tells them his dream and his experience, saying
If God gave them the same gift he gave us when we believed in Jesus, who was I that I could hinder God? Acts 11:18
There is then a Council of the leadership led by James, Jesus’ brother, which decides that Gentiles should be included in the fellowship of those who follow Jesus.
This story in its entirety is the longest single story in the whole of the New Testament except for the passion stories. And I believe, after the announcement of the resurrection, the whole rest of the story of the followers of Jesus, right up until now and forever, has as its pivot point these words of Peter,
I truly understand that God shows no partiality.
and
If God gave them the same gift that he gave us, who was I to hinder God.
It is difficult for us to grasp the enormity of this story. Imagine, if you will, God in a dream tells you not to go to Church and to never ever receive Communion again. That would come close to what is happening in this story.
God tells Peter to go against his own religion, a religion based on the notion that God did show partiality to a certain people and not to others.
Peter’s experience is earth shattering and changes the nature of following Jesus radically. Now, one can rightly argue that Jesus strongly hinted at this direction, although it’s important to remember that the Gospels were written after this story would have taken place. One can also see movement in this direction in some of the Old Testament prophets, although Judaism had totally rejected their vision of an expanded people of God.
The followers of Jesus, what we call the Church, are to be radical welcomers of all people. It is such a radical concept that even the Church has struggled with it ever since, at many times in its history and in some of its manifestations deliberately not following it. It is the very struggle that right now is tearing our own tradition apart.
Twenty years ago this very month the merger between St. Luke’s and St. Simon’s was completed and celebrated. The principal question before this congregation then was, “Can this truly be a place of radical welcome for all.” No one should pretend that was an easy call with which to grapple. Both groups who came together had treasured their little havens of sameness. But God called them out of themselves to the vision of “no partiality.”
[Now I don’t mean to say that there weren’t other shenanigans going on as the merger was discussed and effected. There were. But I believe that ultimately it was God’s call that was being followed].
That struggle to fulfill the dream is not by any means over. “How radical is our welcome?” is a question we must always be asking and answering, asking and answering. To whom are we partial? To whom are we not? Who gets the message, “You are welcome here!” and who does not.
Our Capital Campaign is one more step in this process of asking and answering about the dream of radical welcome [and, by the way, if you haven’t made a pledge yet, as well as your annual pledge, I urge you to do so]. But really everything we do has to involve this asking and answering. Just how radical is our welcome?
The vision is underscored nicely by the two other readings this morning. Who are we called to be as a community of faith? Servants, not only of God, but of the world and its entire people. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said, “The Church is only truly being the Church when it is there for others.” It is we of whom Isaiah is speaking when he says, “Here is my servant.” I like the translations better that say “Behold my servant.” There’s something stronger and earthier about that word “Behold,” like when it’s said your hat flies off and you have to grab hold of something to keep standing up. You have to take notice.
And then there is the image of Jesus’ baptism and the voice from heaven (again, a voice from heaven), “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” It is a voice meant not only for Jesus but for each one of us, and it is the same Spirit that fell on Cornelius and his household and the same Spirit that fell on each one of us in our baptism.
It is the voice that accompanies each new person who wanders in these doors, whether they are attractive to us or not, “This is my son, this is my daughter, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” And who are we to hinder God?
Today is full of big and powerful words and images: Behold my servant! Behold my Beloved! Behold no partiality! Behold the people who do not hinder God!
Let’s keep asking and answering the question, Church. Let’s live God’s radical welcome. May all who enter these doors hear it clearly: “Behold, you are welcome!”
With thanks for inspiration to Stephanie Spellers from her recent book Radical Welcome: Embracing God, the Other, and the Spirit of Transformation (Church Publishing).
I truly understand that God shows no partiality. Acts 10:34
This Sunday is about identity that leads to mission, which is focused on radical welcome. This is abotu Jesus and about us, particularly since one of the three markers of idenity in our Mission Statement is , “A Welcome Table for All.”
Let me remind you of the context of the middle reading this morning from the Acts of the Apostles. St. Peter has found himself on his missionary tour in the city of Joppa. One day he goes up on the roof of the house at which he was staying to say his prayers while lunch was being prepared for him. He falls asleep and has a dream.
In the dream a large sheet is descending out of the sky and on it are all sorts of animals with one thing in common: they were all “unclean” by Jewish standards of purity. Being unclean they were not to be eaten. But a voice says to him, “Rise up and kill and eat your fill, Peter.”
Taking this as a test he says, “No way! I don’t eat unclean things!” But the voice then says, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” Then, just for emphasis, this whole scene happens two more times.
When he awakens from the dream and descends from the roof, it happens that a man named Cornelius has come to see him. They don’t know each other. Cornelius has had his own dream telling him to go to Joppa and find a man named Peter. They ask him to go home with them. The Spirit tells Peter to go with them without reservation.
The next day they go to Caesarea to Cornelius’ home. Cornelius was a Centurion in the Roman army. Caesarea was a Roman settlement in Palestine. It is significant that Peter is told to go “without reservation” because he normally would have avoided Caesarea, as would any observant Jew, because it was a Gentile town, in which it would be almost impossible to remain ritually pure.
By the time he arrives at Cornelius’ home he has figured out that the dream and his visit are connected, and he rather haughtily announces as he arrives,
You of course know that it is against Torah for a Jew to associate with a Gentile in any way, but here I am because of this dream I have had. Can anybody tell me why I am here?
Cornelius tells Peter about his own dream, including the command he received to listen to whatever Peter has to say to him and his household. What Peter has to say is the content of this morning’s reading, beginning with the words, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality.”
The story goes on that as soon as Peter said these things, the Holy Spirit fell on Cornelius and his household, and Peter, profoundly moved by the experience, baptizes them on the spot.
He then goes back to Jerusalem and gets a tongue lashing from his colleagues for visiting Gentiles, but tells them his dream and his experience, saying
If God gave them the same gift he gave us when we believed in Jesus, who was I that I could hinder God? Acts 11:18
There is then a Council of the leadership led by James, Jesus’ brother, which decides that Gentiles should be included in the fellowship of those who follow Jesus.
This story in its entirety is the longest single story in the whole of the New Testament except for the passion stories. And I believe, after the announcement of the resurrection, the whole rest of the story of the followers of Jesus, right up until now and forever, has as its pivot point these words of Peter,
I truly understand that God shows no partiality.
and
If God gave them the same gift that he gave us, who was I to hinder God.
It is difficult for us to grasp the enormity of this story. Imagine, if you will, God in a dream tells you not to go to Church and to never ever receive Communion again. That would come close to what is happening in this story.
God tells Peter to go against his own religion, a religion based on the notion that God did show partiality to a certain people and not to others.
Peter’s experience is earth shattering and changes the nature of following Jesus radically. Now, one can rightly argue that Jesus strongly hinted at this direction, although it’s important to remember that the Gospels were written after this story would have taken place. One can also see movement in this direction in some of the Old Testament prophets, although Judaism had totally rejected their vision of an expanded people of God.
The followers of Jesus, what we call the Church, are to be radical welcomers of all people. It is such a radical concept that even the Church has struggled with it ever since, at many times in its history and in some of its manifestations deliberately not following it. It is the very struggle that right now is tearing our own tradition apart.
Twenty years ago this very month the merger between St. Luke’s and St. Simon’s was completed and celebrated. The principal question before this congregation then was, “Can this truly be a place of radical welcome for all.” No one should pretend that was an easy call with which to grapple. Both groups who came together had treasured their little havens of sameness. But God called them out of themselves to the vision of “no partiality.”
[Now I don’t mean to say that there weren’t other shenanigans going on as the merger was discussed and effected. There were. But I believe that ultimately it was God’s call that was being followed].
That struggle to fulfill the dream is not by any means over. “How radical is our welcome?” is a question we must always be asking and answering, asking and answering. To whom are we partial? To whom are we not? Who gets the message, “You are welcome here!” and who does not.
Our Capital Campaign is one more step in this process of asking and answering about the dream of radical welcome [and, by the way, if you haven’t made a pledge yet, as well as your annual pledge, I urge you to do so]. But really everything we do has to involve this asking and answering. Just how radical is our welcome?
The vision is underscored nicely by the two other readings this morning. Who are we called to be as a community of faith? Servants, not only of God, but of the world and its entire people. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said, “The Church is only truly being the Church when it is there for others.” It is we of whom Isaiah is speaking when he says, “Here is my servant.” I like the translations better that say “Behold my servant.” There’s something stronger and earthier about that word “Behold,” like when it’s said your hat flies off and you have to grab hold of something to keep standing up. You have to take notice.
And then there is the image of Jesus’ baptism and the voice from heaven (again, a voice from heaven), “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” It is a voice meant not only for Jesus but for each one of us, and it is the same Spirit that fell on Cornelius and his household and the same Spirit that fell on each one of us in our baptism.
It is the voice that accompanies each new person who wanders in these doors, whether they are attractive to us or not, “This is my son, this is my daughter, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” And who are we to hinder God?
Today is full of big and powerful words and images: Behold my servant! Behold my Beloved! Behold no partiality! Behold the people who do not hinder God!
Let’s keep asking and answering the question, Church. Let’s live God’s radical welcome. May all who enter these doors hear it clearly: “Behold, you are welcome!”
With thanks for inspiration to Stephanie Spellers from her recent book Radical Welcome: Embracing God, the Other, and the Spirit of Transformation (Church Publishing).
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Home By Another Road
Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene, Rochester, New York, January 6, 2008, on the text Matthew 2:1-12.
Home by Another Road
And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Let’s notice several things about this seemingly simple little detail at the end of the Epiphany reading. The magi made a simple, clear decision, but there are several things that are true about that decision.
First of all, it was based on a dream. It was not based on hard evidence. The dream fed an intuition, perhaps, and the magi acted on it. But still, the decision was based on a dream.
Second of all, the choice was a choice not to go back to the seat of power and luxury. I have no doubt that when the magi were first in Jerusalem they were treated like visiting royalty. They had a long trip ahead of them, it would have been perfectly reasonable for them to choose to make another pit stop if, for no other reason, to get a good night sleep and a few good meals. The decision, however, was a decision not to take advantage of the available power.
And third, the decision was to take a different way home, one they hadn’t carefully planned out. They knew the way they had come, and they had made it that way, avoiding the dangers of long travel. Going home by a different road met new exposure to new dangers. The decision was for risk.
The decision was based on a dream. It was a decision that turned away from power. It was a decision that entailed some risk.
One could speak about two alternative roads here, two different ways. The Holy Family would, in the next scene of the story, choose a similar different way. The two ways are the way of Herod and the way of Jesus.
As I said before, the choices that the magi made for their different road seems to have made perfect sense when we read or hear them. But they were also that which I have also said: dreamy, vulnerable and risky. The way of Herod, of course, had its own risk, but they only knew this by a dream. In truth, especially for the magi. The way of Herod was seductive in almost every way except for that dream.
The way of Herod is seductive. Herod was a ruthless king—after he had chosen which of his four sons he wanted to succeed him, he simply had the other three killed—but he was also very, very powerful. He built grand things. I am told his fingerprints remain all over the landscape in and around Jerusalem. Despite his ruthlessness he made many proud again to be Jews. Despite Roman overlordship, the Jewish nation seemed to be thriving again. What’s a little ruthlessness if everyone feels safe and secure?
Sound familiar? It does. And it should sound familiar not only in our national life, but in our personal lives as well. We all have our Herod’s with which to deal, both outer and inner—seductive ways of power and control, the amassing of wealth and privilege and respect (even if these things are based on fear).
I have had such a seduction and now I am here today trying to go home by a different road. In this case you are my home, but in a sense you have also been my seduction, so this different way is especially tricky and fraught with peril.
In its own way my seduction has been for power and control, aided by a genuine illness, that in many ways enabled me to be even more successful. I have desired to be super priest, admired by everyone for my hard work and accomplishments, my drive and my talent.
Now I still want to be a good priest. I still want to work hard, be creative and help us accomplish things. But this is the tricky part, I also want to do so not at the detriment of my own health, my own well-being, and, as well, the well-being of this community. My two ways are that of super priest or good priest, the way of frantic, frenetic exhaustion or the way of balance and well-being.
I don’t think I have to tell you that the seduction is still great, partly because this new road I want to embark upon is, like that of the magi, based on a dream (which is to say, it doesn’t seem to be grounded in the practical reality of trying to make this parish thrive), it is a decision not to exercise so much control, and it is a risky decision, partly because it is a road so parallel to the old road that it will be so very, very easy to slip over to the old way.
The seduction is so great I cannot do this choosing alone. I need you, all of you. We need each other. I need outside support as well, because it is so easy to live in a community like this and develop blinders.
But I am here to announce that for my well-being and ours, I know I need to choose to go home by a different way.
We all do. That’s why I think it is all right to talk about this, even though I know some of you are uncomfortable with how much I am talking about it, and are perhaps fearful that I won’t be able to stop talking about it.
All that I can say is that I do not have the intention of talking about it all the time, only when it aids in the proclamation of the gospel, like today, the good news (but also hard!) that there is a different way to choose to go home.
I also hope that you can see that I can be a better pastor because of what I have been through and that in one sense you should be more comfortable coming to me with your struggles because I have walked this way. If you need a pastor who has all the answers, it’s true that you’re not going to be very happy. But if you want a pastor who can walk with you through the valley of the shadow of death, not knowing exactly where we are walking but trying to do so faithfully then most days I can do that.
This may seem to have ended up being a sermon all about me, but I do not believe that it is. I believe it is all about us as a community, and all about you as individuals. As a community and as individuals we have our temptation to walk the way of Herod and it takes a very intentional act to discern that different way.
May God be our primary companion in this journey, in yours and in mine and in ours.
Home by Another Road
And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Let’s notice several things about this seemingly simple little detail at the end of the Epiphany reading. The magi made a simple, clear decision, but there are several things that are true about that decision.
First of all, it was based on a dream. It was not based on hard evidence. The dream fed an intuition, perhaps, and the magi acted on it. But still, the decision was based on a dream.
Second of all, the choice was a choice not to go back to the seat of power and luxury. I have no doubt that when the magi were first in Jerusalem they were treated like visiting royalty. They had a long trip ahead of them, it would have been perfectly reasonable for them to choose to make another pit stop if, for no other reason, to get a good night sleep and a few good meals. The decision, however, was a decision not to take advantage of the available power.
And third, the decision was to take a different way home, one they hadn’t carefully planned out. They knew the way they had come, and they had made it that way, avoiding the dangers of long travel. Going home by a different road met new exposure to new dangers. The decision was for risk.
The decision was based on a dream. It was a decision that turned away from power. It was a decision that entailed some risk.
One could speak about two alternative roads here, two different ways. The Holy Family would, in the next scene of the story, choose a similar different way. The two ways are the way of Herod and the way of Jesus.
As I said before, the choices that the magi made for their different road seems to have made perfect sense when we read or hear them. But they were also that which I have also said: dreamy, vulnerable and risky. The way of Herod, of course, had its own risk, but they only knew this by a dream. In truth, especially for the magi. The way of Herod was seductive in almost every way except for that dream.
The way of Herod is seductive. Herod was a ruthless king—after he had chosen which of his four sons he wanted to succeed him, he simply had the other three killed—but he was also very, very powerful. He built grand things. I am told his fingerprints remain all over the landscape in and around Jerusalem. Despite his ruthlessness he made many proud again to be Jews. Despite Roman overlordship, the Jewish nation seemed to be thriving again. What’s a little ruthlessness if everyone feels safe and secure?
Sound familiar? It does. And it should sound familiar not only in our national life, but in our personal lives as well. We all have our Herod’s with which to deal, both outer and inner—seductive ways of power and control, the amassing of wealth and privilege and respect (even if these things are based on fear).
I have had such a seduction and now I am here today trying to go home by a different road. In this case you are my home, but in a sense you have also been my seduction, so this different way is especially tricky and fraught with peril.
In its own way my seduction has been for power and control, aided by a genuine illness, that in many ways enabled me to be even more successful. I have desired to be super priest, admired by everyone for my hard work and accomplishments, my drive and my talent.
Now I still want to be a good priest. I still want to work hard, be creative and help us accomplish things. But this is the tricky part, I also want to do so not at the detriment of my own health, my own well-being, and, as well, the well-being of this community. My two ways are that of super priest or good priest, the way of frantic, frenetic exhaustion or the way of balance and well-being.
I don’t think I have to tell you that the seduction is still great, partly because this new road I want to embark upon is, like that of the magi, based on a dream (which is to say, it doesn’t seem to be grounded in the practical reality of trying to make this parish thrive), it is a decision not to exercise so much control, and it is a risky decision, partly because it is a road so parallel to the old road that it will be so very, very easy to slip over to the old way.
The seduction is so great I cannot do this choosing alone. I need you, all of you. We need each other. I need outside support as well, because it is so easy to live in a community like this and develop blinders.
But I am here to announce that for my well-being and ours, I know I need to choose to go home by a different way.
We all do. That’s why I think it is all right to talk about this, even though I know some of you are uncomfortable with how much I am talking about it, and are perhaps fearful that I won’t be able to stop talking about it.
All that I can say is that I do not have the intention of talking about it all the time, only when it aids in the proclamation of the gospel, like today, the good news (but also hard!) that there is a different way to choose to go home.
I also hope that you can see that I can be a better pastor because of what I have been through and that in one sense you should be more comfortable coming to me with your struggles because I have walked this way. If you need a pastor who has all the answers, it’s true that you’re not going to be very happy. But if you want a pastor who can walk with you through the valley of the shadow of death, not knowing exactly where we are walking but trying to do so faithfully then most days I can do that.
This may seem to have ended up being a sermon all about me, but I do not believe that it is. I believe it is all about us as a community, and all about you as individuals. As a community and as individuals we have our temptation to walk the way of Herod and it takes a very intentional act to discern that different way.
May God be our primary companion in this journey, in yours and in mine and in ours.
Friday, January 04, 2008
The 11th Day: Great, deep longing
Today nothing from my own brain/soul but something from Phillips Brooks, one of the best preachers the Episcopal Church has ever produced. He was long-time rector of trinity Church, Boston in the 19th century and for a short while before his death, Bishop of Massachusetts. He is remembered on our calendar later this month on January 23rd.
There is one group which no one who thinks of Christmas Day forgets: “There were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.” How familiar and how full an association these old words have grown! Try to think what their story must mean, what contribution it makes to the symphony of meaning in which all [the] attendants on the birth of Christ unite. Remember what is told us. They heard a song of angels, a voice from heaven telling them that a Savior was born in Bethlehem, and that glory had come to God and peace had come to earth. Then they can only say to one another, “Let us go to Bethlehem and see this strange thing.” Then they come and find Christ, and then they go abroad to tell others about him. There is a…certain simple, eager straightforwardness about it. They sing no psalm like Mary. They do not follow the star nor go to Herod like the wise men. They simply hear a voice from heaven telling them that there is a Savior and where he is, and they say, “Let us go there.” And they do go there and they do find him.
I am sure that I need not tell you what an eternal element in Christian life they represent….Always there will be many whose whole experience will be merely this: that, hungry, needy, empty, wanting a Savior, they just need a voice from heaven telling them that the Savior whom they needed had come, and they just went to him and found him all they wanted, and then, like the poor shepherds, “Made known abroad” to others all that had come to them….To the multitude of human souls Christ will be simply the Satisfier revealed from heaven, and they will turn to him, almost as a creature shut up in the dark turns without thought, without plan or anticipation, to any corner of its darkness where a bright light suddenly shines.
Are there not moments in the Christian life of all of us when this alone is our Christianity?...That we do need him. Our lips can shape only one question: “Where shall we find him?” Our wills are all absorbed in one string resolution: “Let us go now to him.”
It is good for us to think as richly and as deeply of Christ as we can. It is good for us to analyze in patient meditation all that he is to us and all that we can be toward him. But oh, let us beware lest any subtlety of thought or depth of meditation ever deadens or dulls in us that first great, deep longing of the soul for him who is its only Savior.
There is one group which no one who thinks of Christmas Day forgets: “There were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.” How familiar and how full an association these old words have grown! Try to think what their story must mean, what contribution it makes to the symphony of meaning in which all [the] attendants on the birth of Christ unite. Remember what is told us. They heard a song of angels, a voice from heaven telling them that a Savior was born in Bethlehem, and that glory had come to God and peace had come to earth. Then they can only say to one another, “Let us go to Bethlehem and see this strange thing.” Then they come and find Christ, and then they go abroad to tell others about him. There is a…certain simple, eager straightforwardness about it. They sing no psalm like Mary. They do not follow the star nor go to Herod like the wise men. They simply hear a voice from heaven telling them that there is a Savior and where he is, and they say, “Let us go there.” And they do go there and they do find him.
I am sure that I need not tell you what an eternal element in Christian life they represent….Always there will be many whose whole experience will be merely this: that, hungry, needy, empty, wanting a Savior, they just need a voice from heaven telling them that the Savior whom they needed had come, and they just went to him and found him all they wanted, and then, like the poor shepherds, “Made known abroad” to others all that had come to them….To the multitude of human souls Christ will be simply the Satisfier revealed from heaven, and they will turn to him, almost as a creature shut up in the dark turns without thought, without plan or anticipation, to any corner of its darkness where a bright light suddenly shines.
Are there not moments in the Christian life of all of us when this alone is our Christianity?...That we do need him. Our lips can shape only one question: “Where shall we find him?” Our wills are all absorbed in one string resolution: “Let us go now to him.”
It is good for us to think as richly and as deeply of Christ as we can. It is good for us to analyze in patient meditation all that he is to us and all that we can be toward him. But oh, let us beware lest any subtlety of thought or depth of meditation ever deadens or dulls in us that first great, deep longing of the soul for him who is its only Savior.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
10th Day: Children of God
See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. 1 John 3:1
This was the first reading at Eucharist today (1 John 3:1-6). John in his writings loves the image of “children of God.” In the prologue to his Gospel he writes, “To all who received him who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.” (John 1:12) It is for me a moving image. To be someone’s child is a forever thing. No one can take that away from you. John seems to think as much in his wonderful little phrase “and that is what we are.”
In God’s child we are all children (co-heirs with him, as St. Paul says). That means that God cannot let go of us, even if he wants to, even if, like any parent, he is disappointed or even angry with us at times. But he can never change the fact that we are his children. He has accepted that in Jesus, that is what we believe. So we are bold enough to say in the baptismal rite, “You are marked as Christ’s own for ever.”
On the days when I am down and questioning my own worth I need these words. They are my very life. I invite you to make them yours as well.
In Eugene Peterson’s translation (The Message):
What marvelous love the Father has extended to us! Just look at it—we’re called children of God! That’s who we really are.
This was the first reading at Eucharist today (1 John 3:1-6). John in his writings loves the image of “children of God.” In the prologue to his Gospel he writes, “To all who received him who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.” (John 1:12) It is for me a moving image. To be someone’s child is a forever thing. No one can take that away from you. John seems to think as much in his wonderful little phrase “and that is what we are.”
In God’s child we are all children (co-heirs with him, as St. Paul says). That means that God cannot let go of us, even if he wants to, even if, like any parent, he is disappointed or even angry with us at times. But he can never change the fact that we are his children. He has accepted that in Jesus, that is what we believe. So we are bold enough to say in the baptismal rite, “You are marked as Christ’s own for ever.”
On the days when I am down and questioning my own worth I need these words. They are my very life. I invite you to make them yours as well.
In Eugene Peterson’s translation (The Message):
What marvelous love the Father has extended to us! Just look at it—we’re called children of God! That’s who we really are.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
January 1: Holy Name Day
Today we celebrate Jesus’ circumcision and naming, and, because of that, it’s an important day for us to remember that Jesus was a Jew. I suppose that seems to state the obvious, but it has been a fact forgotten too frequently in the church.
We do it even in his name that we celebrate today. We use the English version of the Greek version of his name. His name was actually Joshua (the English version of Jeshua). This is the name that means “God saves.” In being given this name, he wasn’t being given a unique name at all, as Peter Peters reminded us in church two Sundays ago. He was, however, named after a long-time ancestor—Joshua, the leader of Israel after the death of Moses. And therefore (because of what the name means and his ancestor) the name is heavily symbolic.
Today was our day to have my immediate family for dinner. We ate well and played some games. My oldest niece and her boyfriend (and new baby) stayed a bit longer than the others. They wanted to play “the Game of Life” with us. It has always been one of my favorites, and I suppose it too is symbolic to play on New Year’s Day.
Of course, you win the Game of Life by amassing the most worth, as in wealth. That is far too often how we think we are to play the game of life, and indeed how we play it. Even the Church Pension Fund spends inordinate amounts of time trying to convince we clergy about how much wealth we need to amass to be able to “afford” retirement. It is good advice on the one hand and playing into the game on the other.
Today offers us a different way to play the game of life—the way of Jesus and a God who saves. In this way of playing we may amass wealth (although the more we amass the more responsible we are for sharing it) but that it never, ever the reason for living, and certainly not the measure of our worth. Only the love of God is the measure of our worth in our way of following Jesus. This was also the way followed by his ancestors, from whom he received his name. Not a bad thing to remember today and all the days ahead.
We do it even in his name that we celebrate today. We use the English version of the Greek version of his name. His name was actually Joshua (the English version of Jeshua). This is the name that means “God saves.” In being given this name, he wasn’t being given a unique name at all, as Peter Peters reminded us in church two Sundays ago. He was, however, named after a long-time ancestor—Joshua, the leader of Israel after the death of Moses. And therefore (because of what the name means and his ancestor) the name is heavily symbolic.
Today was our day to have my immediate family for dinner. We ate well and played some games. My oldest niece and her boyfriend (and new baby) stayed a bit longer than the others. They wanted to play “the Game of Life” with us. It has always been one of my favorites, and I suppose it too is symbolic to play on New Year’s Day.
Of course, you win the Game of Life by amassing the most worth, as in wealth. That is far too often how we think we are to play the game of life, and indeed how we play it. Even the Church Pension Fund spends inordinate amounts of time trying to convince we clergy about how much wealth we need to amass to be able to “afford” retirement. It is good advice on the one hand and playing into the game on the other.
Today offers us a different way to play the game of life—the way of Jesus and a God who saves. In this way of playing we may amass wealth (although the more we amass the more responsible we are for sharing it) but that it never, ever the reason for living, and certainly not the measure of our worth. Only the love of God is the measure of our worth in our way of following Jesus. This was also the way followed by his ancestors, from whom he received his name. Not a bad thing to remember today and all the days ahead.
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