From Glory into Glory

God is Not Finished with Us Yet

2012-01-22T18:16:00.004-05:00

Sermon preached on the 3rd Sunday after the Epiphany at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene (Annual Meeting of the parish): Jonah 3:1-5, 10; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20

“TheEpiscopal Church is dying.”

Ihave been an active member of the Episcopal Church since 1979 and for almostall that time I have heard this Jonah-like doomsday prediction. It is like Pauldelivering the hard message to the Corinthians: “The present form of this world is passing away.” Prepare yourself, because it is all coming toan end. Is that all we can do as achurch, is prepare to die?

Iblame no one for making this prediction because the numbers are grim. When I was born in 1961, the Episcopal Churchhad 3.6 million members. I joined a 2.8million member Church in 1979. Today, weare members of a 1.9 million member church. Not good. Not good at all.

Weare not alone, of course. Mainline Protestant Christianity from us to theSouthern Baptists is in this same decline, as is the Roman Catholic Church insome parts of the country, including this one.

Thecircumstances that brought us to this place are legion. Some of them are ourfault. Many of them are not. Any oneanswer is too easy, including that those mega-churches are the ones beingsuccessful these days. The only thing they have succeeded in doing is soakingup our people. The fastest growingreligious segment of the United States is actually “none of the above,” whichmeans not practicing at all. Thepercentage is approaching 40% of the adult population, up from something like15% in the 1970’s.

Itis important that we know these numbers so that we do not bury our heads in thesand. We should not pretend thateverything is going to be all right. Noone could possibly say that about the mainline church with any honesty.

Havingsaid that, though, I do not believe the Episcopal Church is dying. To believe that, I would have to believe thateither God has abandoned us or we have abandoned God, and I do not believeeither of those things.

Theremay be another way of looking at all this, and, therefore, of reacting toit. Take Paul’s pronouncement that “thepresent form of this world is passing away.” That sounds like nothing but bad news. It sounds like we should hunker down, protect ourselves, and wait forthe worst.

Butwhat if Paul is telling good news, not bad? What if it is good news thatthe present form of the world ispassing away? After all, who among us issatisfied with the present form of the world? Who among us does not wish for the kingdom of God to come on earth as itis in heaven, for which we pray almost every time we pray?

Sowhat if the decline of the Episcopal Church is good news? I don’t mean that it is not painful orthreatening. But what if it is also good news?

Isaid a moment ago that I could believe neither that God had abandoned us northat we have abandoned God. So if God isstill with us, what is God up to? That’sthe positive question we should be asking.

Idid not come up with this thought on my own. I came to it in conversation with an Anglican Church of Canada priestnamed Alan Roxburgh. It is his beliefthat churches like ours are not dying, but the way we have practiced being thechurch is. He says[1]

We keep looking for ways to turnit around. What program will work? What resource? What needs in the community do we need tomeet in order to get people to come into our church? The underlying assumption to all theseanxious attempts to turn it around is that all we need to do is find a way forpeople to know how wonderful we are and they will start coming to church againand they will put money in the plate and we will be whole again.

It’s never going to happen.

Thisdecline, Roxburgh says, is a gift from God. It is forcing us to stop clinging to an old way of being church in whichwe could assume that most people agreed with us and that they needed to be partof us to be good Americans, if not simply good people. We either let go of thinkinglike that or we do die.

Roxburghsays,

It’s never going to happen. ButGod never gives up. The Holy Spirit is messing with us, unraveling the churchbecause the Spirit is not done with us yet. What is happening to us is an invitation by God to become a verydifferent church. We have [for instance]created clergy whose focus is the church, and who only know how to make thechurch run reasonably well, talk church talk, and ask church questions. There’s a point in the Book of Ezekiel whereGod says to Ezekiel the prophet/priest, “Stop looking for me in the Temple. I’mnot stuck there anymore and you need to join me where I am.”[2]

God is out there in the worldahead of us. This is a gift fromGod. How will we learn to live in thisnew reality that we do not have control of God in our churches, but God isloose in the world and our job is to follow? And in order to follow, the most important thing we have to give up isour control of who we call “the stranger,” or “the strange,” or “theother.” In fact, we need to take up themantle of the stranger and go out into the world and dare to be different.

“Thetime is fulfilled,” Jesus says, “and the kingdom of God has come near; repent,and believe the good news.”

Inour time this is not the message of the church to the world. It is the messageof the world to the church, a message and an invitation from God.

Iam wildly hopeful because of these thoughts. God is doing something with us. But, of course, we are free, so we must decide to cooperate. What does that mean? Many, many things. I suspect the change weare called to is deep. It does not mean,I think, that we are called to give up everything, although I may be wrongabout that. I am an Episcopalian, so I believe the tradition is a gift to us aswell. But what are we to do, forinstance, with buildings built to say to the world, “God is in here, you mustcome in here to meet him,” when we are really trying to say exactly theopposite thing?

Thereis no simple, easy answer, no single program that we can run that will fix us,no person who is smart enough or charismatic enough to turn it around. There is only us, together. And I think these things are true:

· We need tostop wringing our hands and being anxiously reactive to what is happening tous, and claim what is still true: God iswith us and has a purpose for us. God isnot finished with us yet.

· TheEpiscopal Church has a lot of baggage and changing it is like turning anaircraft carrier. But at our heart is afaithfulness and a way of engaging the world that is holy and it is a very fineway of delivering the good news. I lovethis tradition and believe with all my heart it is worth passing on.

· We areperfectly capable of repentance, of change, of re-thinking, we just have to bewilling to take risks. That does notmean throwing common sense to the wind, but it does mean opening ourselves toGabriel’s message that all things are possible with God. A for instance—it is a common notion herethat there is not much we can do to change this 19^th centurybuilding for the betterment of our mission in the 21^st century. Andyet, at least three times in the history of this congregation, we have doneprecisely that.

In short, Jesus is still saying,“Follow me.” We are still being called. There is life in us yet. We are being changed for the glory of God. God is not finished with us yet.

[1]The quotes in this sermon from Alan Roxburgh are from notes taken during hispresentation on November 7-9, 2011 at the semi-annual meeting of the Church inMetropolitan Areas. They are not exactquotes. Roxburgh’s website is www.roxburghmissionalnet.com.

[2]This takes place in chapters 9, 10 and 11 of Ezekiel. Ezekiel was a priest before he was called tobe a prophet, and was one of the first taken into exile in Babylon in 597 b.c.e.

What to Do When a Samaritan Crashes the Christmas Party

2011-12-26T16:15:00.002-05:00

Sermon preached on Christmas Eve 2011 at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Luke 2:1-20

Later on in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus sends out his followers on their first mission on their own (Luke 10). Go out and do what I have been doing: bring the kingdom of God near to the people you meet. We are told little of their adventures, but we are told that they returned with joy.

Jesus is very pleased, as well as any teacher might be. He “rejoiced in the Holy Spirit,” Luke tells us, and at the end of his bubbling over with joy, he says,

Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. I tell you, so many people—prophets and kings among them—wanted to see what you see, and they were not able.

At that moment, Luke says, an expert on the religious law stood up to test him. Maybe he had heard all this rejoicing and wandered over and was confused by what Jesus was talking about. What were his ancestors not able to see that these people could see now?

“Teacher,” he asks, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus knew of his great knowledge of the law, and so he used that and answered his question with a question, one of his favorite things to do. “What is written in the law?” he asks, “How do you interpret it?”

The lawyer gives as his answer what had become pretty standard in Jewish teaching over the past few centuries. He quoted Deuteronomy: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and soul, and mind, and strength.” And then he quoted Leviticus, “And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Excellent, Jesus says, do these things in order to have life.

Then lawyer blurts out what may be is his chief question in his interpreting the law. It may be something that he and his colleagues argue about all the time. Luke says he asked because he wanted to “justify himself,” in other words, he wanted Jesus to confirm his thinking on the matter. “So who exactly is my neighbor?” he asks.

This time, instead of another question, the lawyer gets a story.

A man was walking on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he’s attacked by a band of robbers, which would not have been unusual on that road. They take everything he has and beat him within an inch of his life and leave him to die on the side of the road.

Not long after that, a priest happens by, but he pretends he doesn’t see the man and passes by him on the far side of the road. Not long after that, a Levite (sort of like our deacons) does the same.

At this point, the lawyer knows exactly what is going on in the story. He knows why the priest and the Levite passed by. If they stopped and handled the man, who might very well be dead, the law said they would be ritually unclean. That would have made their life very complicated. So it was easy for them to choose not to get involved.

Jesus goes on. Now the next person who came by on the road was a Samaritan.

At this the lawyer’s ears would have shot up like my greyhound’s when he hears something strange. A Samaritan was a foreigner, but not just any foreigner. The Samaritans were ethnically related to the Jews and they followed a form of the Torah, the Law of Moses. They, in fact, thought they followed it the right way and the Jews did not. To make it short, they hated each other as only religious people can.

This Samaritan, however, when he sees the man by the side of the road is moved with compassion. He bandaged the man up, put him on his donkey and took him to a nearby inn. He stayed with the man overnight, and made arrangements the next day with the innkeeper for his continued care. “I’ll check on him when I come back this way,” he says, “and repay you anything he has cost you.”

“Which one of these three people who came upon the beaten man by the road was a neighbor to him?” Jesus asks. There is no other answer, and the lawyer gives it, although he must have practically choked on it. He can’t, however, bring himself to say the word “Samaritan.” “The one who showed mercy,” he says. “Excellent,” Jesus says, “go and do the same.”

Now why have I spent so long telling this story from Jesus’ ministry when I am supposed to be talking about Jesus’ birth? Perhaps I just did not have another Christmas sermon in me? No. It is because you cannot understand the meaning of the Christmas story if you do not know and understand the rest of Jesus’ life.

You see one important reality about reading and understanding the Gospels is that you have to remember that they were written backward. They were not written by some who was following Jesus around taking notes. They were written by people who knew the end of the story, and that profoundly affected how they understood and wrote about the rest of the story, including its beginning.

Now I happen to think that the lawyer’s question, “Who is my neighbor?” may be the most important question in Luke’s Gospel. It is an urgent question for him. He is writing not for one particular community, he is writing for the known world, the Roman Empire. One of the ways the Empire was changing the world was that people were mixing everywhere. Nobody stayed in their own place anymore. There were Jews in Rome, and Greeks in Palestine, Egyptians here and Carthaginians there.

It was clear to Luke that Christianity was not an ethnic or tribal religion, in fact it was exactly the opposite. So what is the first and foremost question every follower of Jesus has to be clear on? That’s right: Who is my neighbor?

The answer? There are two answers, really, each of them as radical as the other, and they are both found in Luke’s Christmas story.

Answer number one. Question: Who is my neighbor? Answer: God.

Judaism, and our other monotheistic cousin, Islam, have something in common. God is understood to be completely and totally other. That’s why one of the greatest prohibitions in both those religious systems is against making any image of God. You can and should adore God, but do not think you can get anything like close to him.

If anything, Jesus’ principal conflict with his own religious system was that it held God at a distance. “The kingdom of God is at hand,” he said, by which he clearly meant, “God is at hand.” Right in front of your eyes. “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see.”

The whole point of the Christmas story is not that you have to believe every jot and tittle of it as if it were historical fact. God bless you if you do, but that is not the point. The point is to bring us to the place where we not only understand but see that God chooses to be our neighbor.

As John says at the beginning of his Gospel, “The Word became flesh and lived among us,” which is actually a pretty tame translation. It literally says, “The Word became flesh and pitched a tent in our neighborhood.” The Word became flesh and moved in. The occupation of God.

Answer number two. Question: Who is my neighbor? Answer: Absolutely everybody, no exceptions possible at all.

So Jesus is born in obscurity, not in Jerusalem, but in a little town called Bethlehem. Sure, that was where the great King David was born, but nobody in Jesus’ day thought Bethlehem was a particularly important place, and they certainly didn’t call it “the city of David,” as Luke calls it. Jerusalem was the “City of David.” God did not choose to pitch a tent in Jerusalem. That would come later, and the consequences would be…well that’s another story.

And who are the first witnesses of this remarkable birth? Who gets to hear the angels sing? Who receives the amazing news of peace among those whom God favors, as if they were among those kind of people. Shepherds.

We can miss the radical nature of this, because the Bible has many good images of shepherds. “The Lord is my shepherd…,” and all that. The Bible seems to like shepherds very much. But people of Jesus’ day did not like shepherds. They certainly did not think them at all important or honorable or worthy of God’s favor. It was a hard, mean life dealing with the dumbest animals on the face of the planet. Yet they were God’s first neighbors on
earth.

The message is clear from this story to the end as news of the resurrection spreads throughout the world. Love God, the God who is your neighbor. Love one another, and that means absolutely everybody. So the first Christians were thought of as “those people who turn the world upside down,” because they actually thought God was with them, not theoretically, but really, and they created communities that broke every boundary that existed in their world.

“Blessed are the eyes,” Jesus said, “that see what you see.” To see God in the neighborhood, and to see neighbors everywhere. To know you yourself are neighbor.

In Tattoos on the Heart (from which I have quoted several times recently), Father Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest who has worked for many years with Hispanic gang members in Los Angeles, tells about the time 60 Minutes came to interview him. It was 1990. Mike Wallace was the interviewer. Father Greg writes,

Wallace arrived at the poorest parish in Los Angeles in the stretchest of white limousines, stepped out of the car, wearing a flak jacket, covered with pockets….

For all his initial insensitivity, toward the end of the visit, in a moment unrecorded, Wallace did say to me, “Can I admit something? I came here expecting monsters. But that’s not what I found.”

Later, in a recorded moment, we are sitting in a classroom filled with gang members… Wallace points at me and says, “You won’t turn these guys in to the police.” … I say something lame like, “I didn’t take my vows to the LAPD.” But then Wallace turns to a homie and grills him on this, saying over and over, “He won’t turn you in, will he?” And then he asks…, “Why is that? Why do you think he won’t turn you over to the police?” The kid just stares at Mike Wallace, shrugs…and says, “God…I guess.”

Father Greg reflects on his experience,

I was brought up and educated to give assent to certain propositions. God is love, for example. You concede “God loves us,” and yet there is this lurking sense that perhaps you aren’t fully part of the “us.” The arms of God reach to embrace, and somehow you feel yourself just outside God’s fingertips.

…Then who can explain this next moment, when the utter fullness of God rushes in on you…You see, then, that it has been God’s joy to love you all along.

Father Boyle is able to do the ministry he does because he not only knows that it is God’s joy to love him, but he believes that to be true of absolutely everybody.

God became our neighbor so that we might see and experience this very thing about which the angels sang: Glory to God and peace to those in whom God delights. That’s you and me and absolutely everybody, the ones who God has chosen to be neighbor to.

Tonight all I ask is that you let this story of Jesus’ birth help you answer the question at the heart of everything: Who is my neighbor? Be ready when a Samaritan crashes the Christmas Party.

Four Steps on Our Journey to the Baby

2011-12-19T12:19:00.000-05:00

Sermon preached on the 4th Sunday of Advent, December 18, 2011, at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Luke 1:26-38, 46-55 For many years during Advent I have been brushing aside people who say to me things like, “This must be a stressful time of year for you.” “No,” I blithely say, “I’ve done this long enough that there is very little stress anymore.” That is not true this year. This Advent has been chaos and I have been running around like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off. And guess what? Despite this fact, Advent for me is being a richer and deeper experience than it has for a long time. This year, I could see, in the big picture, what Advent is trying to say to us, what it is trying to do to us. It is about the nature of our relationship with God and how we grow in that relationship. It parallels the themes of the four Sundays. On the First Sunday of Advent we always read one of the apocalyptic sections of the Gospels: Jesus talking in foreboding terms about the future. My favorite story to get us to the place these stories want to take us is an Annie Dillard story. In her book Teaching a Stone to Talk, Annie writes about a Christmas Eve when she was a young girl. The family had all gone out to dinner—in itself this was a big deal. Dad and Mom, Annie, and her little sister eating in a restaurant. They got home much later than Annie or her sister were normally up and clearly it was time for bed. There came a knocking on the door, a strange and startling thing all on its own. Soon everyone was calling for Annie, “Look who’s here!” She peaked around the corner and she saw who was there: Santa Claus. “I never—ever—wanted to meet Santa Claus,” she writes. “I feared Santa Claus, thinking he was God…Santa Claus was an old man whom you never saw, but who nevertheless saw you; he knew when you’d been bad or good….And I had been bad.” Annie ran upstairs and refused to come down. She refused and refused and refused until the rest of her family—and Santa Claus—gave up. The Santa Claus at her door was Miss White, a neighbor lady. Annie didn’t know that until many years later, of course. She and Miss White were actually friends. Miss White liked to teach Annie things. Six months after the Santa Claus episode, Miss White and Annie were in Miss White’s backyard. Miss White had a magnifying glass and said she wanted to show something to Annie about the sun. Annie writes, “She focused a dab of sunshine on my palm….It burned….I ripped my hand away and ran home crying.” After some reflection, Annie ends her story this way:Miss White, God, I am sorry I ran from you. I am still running, running from that knowledge, that eye, that love from which there is no refuge. For you meant only love…and I felt only fear, and pain. So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were afraid. Fear is where we often begin in our journey with God. Sometimes we pick up that fear from the Bible text we’re reading. Sometimes other people trying to save us from hell induce that fear. Sometimes it’s just our own fear of the unknown, if nothing else, our fear of death. Mary herself first reacts with fear to the angel Gabriel and his message. Fear is where we often begin. And some of us get stuck there, and some of us just turn away and deny the whole thing because if it is about fear they don’t want to have any part of it. The latter is especially too bad because if they would just take a couple steps forward instead of turning away, they would find that fear is not where the story ends. If we hang in there and walk through our fear, we get to the place of awe and wonder, the place of John the Baptist in the wilderness, where we go on the Second Sunday of Advent ever year. John was reminding Israel, albeit in somewhat harsh terms, that something bigger was going on right under their noses. His command to “repent” was in many ways a plea for his people to open their eyes. Be ready, John was saying, for what I do not fully understand and what you do not and will not fully understand either. To be in awe is to have a keen sense of this mysterious other, another that you know is bigger than yourself. This is such an important step because so many of us suffer from a sense of self, and the world, and even God, that is simply too small. It might seem that those two steps are all that is necessary, but they are not. In one of our favorite hymns, we ask to be “lost in wonder, love and praise.” But we know we cannot stay there. We cannot stay “lost.” We have to be able to move toward this awesome Mystery and even embrace it. So we seek to know the Mystery more deeply, and perhaps more clearly, and that is the Third Sunday of Advent. On that Sunday we read some story about John the Baptist’s relationship with Jesus. The quintessential one we read last year from Matthew, where John sends his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Seeking deeper relationship with the Mystery means asking questions, sometimes, oftentimes, questions that imply doubt or even disbelief. John had clearly come to doubt whether Jesus was the one for him to ask that question. Then there is that other great seeker from the Gospels, Thomas, whose feast day we celebrate this Wednesday. He was stubborn: “Unless I see him with his wounds, I will not believe.” You don’t have to move from awe and wonder to seeking. Again, you may decide that the Mystery will stay a mystery which means, rationally, that it isn’t real. Seeking and longing with the inherent questions they raise are a place we can stay for a long time. This is primarily because the Mystery does not answer our questions in a direct way. The two words that I think best sum up how the Mystery “answers” questions are “sacrament” and “parable.” In sacraments the Mystery uses things of the earth to be windows to itself. Bread and wine become more than they seem to be. Getting’s one’s questions answered does not mean leaving the awe and wonder behind. And the Mystery incarnate in Jesus rarely answered a question directly. Instead he told open-ended stories, parables. Mary went through this in her encounter with the angel. “How can this be since I am a virgin,” she asks? And Gabriel gives her a classic answer that circles around the question with something like poetry. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you…” Eventually we learn that there is only one answer to all our questions and that answer is love, what we call agapé love, love that manifests itself in the desire to serve, to be compassionate, hospitable and generous. In this love, you, yourself, and your view of others and the world, and even God, become large. They break open. Four stages of spiritual growth: fear, awe and wonder, seeking and questioning, love. Of course they are not really linear. We cycle back through them again and again. And (this is important) we never leave any of them behind. Whenever we arrive at the “love terminal” we are carrying three bags with us: A suitcase full of fear, a garment bag of awe and wonder, and a laptop bag with every question we have ever asked and longing we have ever longed. Mary took all these things from her encounter with the angel, and she travelled with those bags, the same bags with which we travel, to visit her cousin Elizabeth, where she sang her song, a song about the God, the Mystery, that had come to her and, she certainly believed, was coming to the whole world. “You have mercy on those who fear you,” she sang. But she also sang in awe, “You, the Almighty have done great things for me, and holy is your Name.” There is not a question in the song, of course, but she does recall the promise and the longing. “You have remembered your promise of mercy, the promise [you] made to our forebears, to Abraham and his children for ever.” And the song is, of course, dominated by love, but, again, the kind of love that seeks to serve in compassion, hospitality and generosity, that has the consequences justice always has: “You have filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” We are all in different places on this wondrous journey, and it is not unkown for someone to be in more than one place at the same time. Fear, awe and wonder, seeking and questioning, agapé love. Advent is a time to find where we are on that spectrum and bring who we are right now to the manger, where Mary and her baby will receive us as guests along with the shepherds and the magi. And we will find there in the baby a hint of our fear, a great deal of awe and wonder (if we allow it), the allowing of our questioning (Mary will not have forgotten that she, too, questioned), and ultimately the love that enlarges our world and sets us free to love in turn.

The Fire's Center: For Dr. Frank Williams

2011-12-14T08:52:00.000-05:00

Sermon preached at the Eucharist in Celebration of the Life and Ministry of Dr. T. Franklin Williams on Saturday, December 10, 2011 at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene, Rochester, New York: Deuteronomy 10:12-15, 17-19; Colossians 3:12-17; Luke 6:17-23, 27-31.

Iwant to begin with a story from the tradition of the Desert Fathers andMothers. They were 3^rd century hermits who chose to live in theEgyptian desert. They were drawn there,some believe, because of the ever-present doctrinal controversies of the 3^rdand 4^th centuries. Theirlives were centered not on doctrinal belief, but on practicing the way of lifethat Jesus taught.

Theirlives may seem to be a very long way from the life of Franklin Williams, butlisten…

Thestory is told that Abba Lot came to Abba Joseph seeking counsel. He said, “Abba, according as I am able, Ikeep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation andcontemplative silence; and according as I am able I strive to cleanse my heartof evil thoughts: now what more should I do?”

AbbaJoseph stood up and stretched out his arms and hands, and his fingers became liketen lamps of fire. He said, “Why not be totally changed into fire?”

Ithought of that story and the desert tradition from which it comes when I readthe last lines of the poem Will read a few minutes ago. The last stanza of the poem was a favorite ofFrank’s, oft recited from memory.

Thenames of those who in their lives fought for life

Who wore at their hearts thefire’s center.

Bornof the sun they traveled a short while towards the sun,

And left the vivid air signedwith their honor.[1]

Whenwe speak of someone as being “on fire” we generally mean that they areoutwardly, demonstrably passionate about something, and perhaps practicing thatthing in an extraordinarily excellent way.

There’snothing wrong with someone being “on fire” in that way, only it is perilouslyclose to the kind of self-centeredness that repels us rather than attracts us. Those who are “on fire” can light the way orthey can burn us.

FrankWilliams was a remarkable man because he burned with fire in a mostly gentle, mostlycompassionate, mostly self-effacing way. His fire warmed us, lit the way, but rarely, if ever, did it burn us.

Thatfire came from three sources I think. It came from his family, to which he wasdevoted, particularly to Carter. When Iarrived at this parish seven years ago, two couples were introduced to me as ifthey were only one person: John andNicky Harmon, and Frank and Carter Williams. Frank and Carter.

Ilearned over time, of course, that Frank and Carter were very much their ownpeople, with real differences. Yet thegifts that Carter brought to their relationship, and the gifts that Frankbrought to their relationship, were wonderfully complimentary and caused greatfruit to be borne by the life and ministry of each another.

Thefire in Frank came also from science, from knowledge. Dr. T. Franklin Williams was a man ofscience. His curiosity about the worldand how it works, especially the human body, was…well, it just was. It was not something Frank did, it was whoFrank was.

Andfinally, the fire in Frank came from his faith. He saw no conflict whatsoever between his science and his faith, notthat he did not accept the mystery of the relationship between the two.

Frankwas a thorough-going Episcopalian. He did not wear his faith on hissleeve. He had a tremendous, honestrespect for other parts of the Christian tradition, and also those from otherfaith traditions. But in this setting hefound the food that sustained his life, gave him the on-going energy he neededto keep the fire burning.

Atone point in his teaching, Jesus says that we all have to accept the kingdom ofGod as a little child in order to enter it.[2] More than anyone else in my life, exceptperhaps for my own grandfather, Frank helped me understand what it meant tohave child-like faith. Child-like faithis not to be confused with childish faith. Child-like faith takes in all the knowledge and experience of adulthood,it rarely accepts easy answers and never loses its capacity to ask questions, butit also does not let the wonder and mystery of life be taken away, as happensto so many of us.

Frank’sfaith was not only about wonder as a matter of faith, though, it was also aboutjustice. Frank’s passionate caring abouthow people, especially elders, were cared for, came right out of his faith, thefaith of the God who “executes justice for the orphan and the widow,” as weheard in the reading from Deuteronomy. It is also the same thing Paul means when he says to the Colossians,“clothe yourselves with compassion…Bear with one another…” Justice and compassion are just two parts ofa whole. And in the Gospel reading thatCarter chose for today Jesus raises the stakes by teaching us that we must actin these ways not only toward those we love, not only toward those we arekindly disposed to, but toward the difficult, the stranger, and even the enemy.

Allof that, I believe, was fuel for the fire of Frank’s passion and life. And that passion was born out in deeds,countless deeds that have made Rochester, and the world, a better place. Theymade Monroe Community Hospital one of the best of its kind in the country. Instill too many communities such places are to be avoided like the plague. Notso here, in great measure because of Frank Williams. He taught a couple generations of doctors andother medical professionals to combine science and compassion in order to carefor the whole person, so that you are always doing to others as you would havethem do to you.

Itold Carter and Mary, as we were talking the day after Frank died, that theremarkable thing to me about him, that I noticed time and again over the pastseven years, was how Frank greeted and spoke with others exactly the same, nomatter who they were.

Frankwas a model of one of the promises we Episcopalians make at our baptism, andwhich we renew at every baptism we celebrate.

I will strive for justice and peaceamong all people and respect the dignity of every human being.

Frank,by the grace of God, the love of his family, and the knowledge of hisprofession, did just that.

Sohow could we not be sad today? We havelost a real light among us, a bearer of the fire, indeed, in the words of thepoet, the fire’s center. He lived along, full, fruitful life, but we would have loved to have had a few moreyears. So we mourn and that is natural,and it is even good.

Butwe must not forget. The fire Frank carrieddid not belong to him. He knewthat. He was constantly giving it away,be it in simple words of respectful greeting, or passing on the vitalimportance of caring for the whole person, or challenging us to be morecompassionate and just in our living and to use our God-given minds for thepursuit of knowledge to care for the stranger.

Thisfire burns in everyone of us. Frank is not its only source, of course. He was too impatient actually to be likeJesus in every way. But God has giftedus with this man and his fire and I think he leaves us with the challenge ofAbba Joseph, “Why not become totally fire?” Or in the question the poet may be asking, “Why not place your heart atthe fire’s center?”

Sowe mourn, but we are grateful, oh, so grateful, and we are challenged, as Jesussays to us all at the end of the Parable of the Good Samaritan, “Go and dolikewise.”

[1]The last lines of Stephen Spender’s poem, “I Think Continually of Those WhoWere Truly Great.”

[2]Mark 10:15; Luke 18:17.

The Occupation of God?

2011-12-12T19:36:00.000-05:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on the 3rd Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2011: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; John 1:6-8, 19-28

This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

I wonder if we could think of John’s setting up camp to prophesy and preach and baptize as a kind of first century “Occupy” movement. “Occupy Bethany,” or “Occupy the Jordan.”

I see similarities. John was not out there doing his thing with anyone’s permission or authority. He didn’t seem to care about authority at all, except perhaps for how it was abused. He certainly was not fond of either the political or religious leadership of his day. He had choice words for both, words that eventually got him murdered by King Herod II, with a little help from Salome and her devious mother.

His general message was that something was not right about how people were living their lives and he warned that change—repentance, he called it—was absolutely vital for the future of a society that lived up to the ideals of its founders (not to mention God).

I will confess that I am not as knowledgeable about the Occupy movement as I should be. This fall has not leant itself to my exploring a new thing. But I am intrigued by it and generally supportive of it. Furthermore, I suspect Jesus is too. The Occupy folks make me wonder, which is always a good thing. Mostly I wonder what it means to believe passionately that the widening gulf between the rich and the poor in this country and around the world is nearing crisis proportions.[1] Or perhaps we’re already at the crisis point and that’s what the Occupy folks want us to wrap our minds around.

I also wonder, however, what many of us do with the dilemma we are in. Many of us, like it or not, have a dependency on Wall Street. Our 401(k)s or 403(b)s do. The endowment of this parish, and our diocese, and the Episcopal Church certainly does. So if we support the Occupy Movement, are we biting the hand that feeds us? Do we need to find a different way to be fed? Or does the hand that feeds us simply need some radical reform?[2] These are all important questions—vitally important, and as people of faith, we ought to be having conversation about them. Again, I suspect Jesus wants us to do so.

I also wonder how the church relates to Occupy. I received the newsletters from a couple of our churches in the diocese recently that had fashioned a graphic that said, “Occupy the pews of your Episcopal Church.” Clever, but I don’t like it. At least I don’t like it unless I know those parishes are also having deep conversation about the issues raised by the Occupy Movement. I checked—they’re not. It seems to me this is just another example of the church exploiting others for its own benefit. It’s another reason for a group of people who are largely alienated from the church and highly mistrustful of it to remain so. It’s not helpful at all.

I like some of what Brian McLaren[3] is writing about the Occupy Movement and Christian faith. In a blog post near the beginning of the movement, he admits that he is kind of uncomfortable with the word “occupy.” It sounds aggressive to him. But he says this in reflection after he spent a day with some Occupiers.

As we walked along, I kept thinking about Jesus' use of the term "kingdom of God." …. Like "occupy," kingdom of God” was a dangerous term for a nonviolent movement. It borrowed the language of the Roman Empire whose pax was maintained by slavery, militarism, public torture, and frequent executions (i.e., crucifixion). It was overtly provocative—bursting out of the private sphere of spirituality into the public world of kings, lords, and laws. It threw down a gauntlet before the powers that be, challenging their legitimacy with a higher authority.

If I had been around, I would have counseled Jesus against using the term.

[Like with the choice of the word “occupy”] I'm glad I wasn't consulted. It's rather obvious now that Jesus knew what he was doing. "The occupation of God has begun" might inspire the same fear and hope among people today as "the Kingdom of God is at hand" inspired in the first century.[4]

“The occupation of God has begun.” I like that. And I think the prophet Isaiah would have liked it.

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

That “year of favor” of which Isaiah speaks is the biblical “Year of Jubilee.” Every fifty years Israel was to set things right economically. All property returned to its ancestral owners, all Israelite slaves freed, slavery being how the poor got used by the rich in those days.

Jesus was so fond of this message that he used it as his inaugural sermon at the synagogue in his hometown,[5] a story we hear every St. Luke’s Day.

This good news for the underdogs announced, indeed, the occupation of God. “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” he said about this passage from Isaiah. Jesus himself was the occupation of God, if you think about it. Maybe more on that Christmas Eve.

Whether or not you agree with the tactics of the Occupy Movement, you have to admit as a Christian, that the gross inequality in this country that has ballooned over the last decade has to be addressed. Do we really believe as followers of Jesus that it is the inherent right for those who are rich to get as rich as they possibly can even if it means that the poor get poorer, the unemployed stay unemployed, and the vast majority of children in this country lose any hope at all of anything approaching the “American dream?”

A quote from a book of Advent meditations that I am using says it very nicely:

Like it or not, the moral economy of God is not predicated on the necessity of poverty for most and riches for some.[6]

We need to talk about this, and we need to take action, even if it is not exactly the kind of action of the Occupy Movement. Or maybe it is. But I am absolutely confident in this: Jesus wants us to do something.

[1] In 2009, total US household wealth was held 63.5% by the top 5% of the citizenry (35.6% by the top 1%). The bottom 80% held 12.8%. Median net worth in 2007 was $143,600 for white Americans, $9,300 for Black Americans, $9,100 for Hispanic Americans. Between 1979 and 2009 , the top 5% of Americans saw their real incomes increase 72.7%. The bottom 20% shrunk 7.4%.

[2] In a 60 Minutes interview on December 11, 2011, President Obama pointed out that, unfortunately, very little that anybody did to cause the 2007-2008 crash was illegal.

[3] www.brianmclaren.net

[4] From a blog, “Why I’m joining the occupation,” http://www.patheos.com/Resources/Additional-Resources/Joining-the-Occupation-Brian-McLaren-10-20-2011.html

[5] Luke 4:14-21.

[6] Barbara Cawthorne Crafton, Let Every Heart Prepare (Morehouse, 1998), p. 29.

Just Show Up (And Bring a Flashlight)

2011-12-05T18:02:00.002-05:00

Sermon preached on the Second Sunday of Advent (12/4/11) at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8

The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

This is, perhaps, the shortest preface to a book ever written. At first glance it may not seem to tell us much about what is to come, but actually it tells us a great deal, three things in particular.

What follows is “the beginning.” Mark is going to tell us how “the good news of Jesus Christ the Son of God” began. His assumption is that once his telling of the story ends, it continues with the lives of those who choose to follow this Jesus. Mark would very much approve of the question we ask ourselves as part of our Baptismal Covenant: “Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?” Jesus was the beginning; we are, with him, the continuation.
Second of all, this story is “good news,” or “gospel.” The Greek word is euangelium. This is a definite choice of words by Mark to describe what he is writing. He would have known its tie to the latter portion of the Book of Isaiah, which began with the passage we heard this morning. “Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings…” The Hebrew word basar meant “good news,” not any kind of news, but good news. The root of the word is in the Hebrew word for “joy.

Mark also would have known the use of the word by the Romans. It was used by the Empire almost exclusively for proclamations about the deeds of the emperor, especially military victories. There is an inscription chiseled in stone from the Roman city of Priene in present-day Turkey that reads: “the birthday of the god was for the world the beginning of joyful tidings which have been proclaimed on his account.” This was announcing the birth of the Emperor Augustus in 9 b.c. This good news Mark is beginning to tell is subversive of all the propaganda of the Empire. Something religious and something political is going on here.

Finally, Mark claims that the story about Jesus that he is telling is the story of the direct activity of God in the world. Jesus is “the Son of God.” This is not the story of a hero to be admired and emulated. This is a story about God, who is to be worshipped and followed.

That’s a lot of information packed into one sentence! Mark then immediately proceeds to tell the story of the one who began this good news story, John the Baptist. John is clear about himself that he only prepares the way. He is the forerunner, not the main event. He points to what someone else will do. “I have baptized you with water; but [the one coming after me] will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

Here is a “hero” to be admired and emulated. We are all called to be like John the Baptist, pointing the way. We are not called to point to ourselves, but to another. We are all called to deliver John’s message, pointing the way to good news.

But does John really do that? Does John’s message really point the way to good news? Is not John’s message rather the bad news? “Repent” is John’s principle cry. I suspect most of us hear that message as bad news. We hear it as judgment against us, as the proclamation that we are miserable wretches in need of saving from God’s wrath. There is, of course, some truth to that.

Repentance, however, is a much richer word than we have made it out to be. To proclaim the possibility of repentance is to proclaim that things do not have to be the way they are. Change is possible. “Repent” can mean things like, “change your mind,” “get a new perspective,” “see things differently,” “turn around and head in a different direction,” “participate in God’s creation rather than submit to the Empire’s version of reality, choose the path of justice and peace instead of the path of violence and fear.” In short, repentance means that we do not have to be stuck in our present circumstances. There is another way.

Last week I read you a story from a book I recently read, Tattoos on the Heart. I am going to tell you another story from that book because I think it is a great illustration of what it means to be the forerunner of Jesus, offering the possibility of repentance, of their being a different, good news, way to live.

Father Gregory Boyle works with gang members, mostly Latino, in Los Angeles. He talks about how he approached this ministry in the early days of his work.

In my early, crazy days doing this work with gangs, I will admit I was totally out of whack. I’d ride my bike, in the middle of the night, in the projects, trying to put out fires. (…”Now you sure you wanna shoot this guy?”). Trying to “save lives” is much like the guy spinning plates on Ed Sullivan, attempting to keep them from crashing to the floor. I’d look for wobblers. Who was about to smash into a million pieces?—and then I‘d be frantic to keep that [young person] from self-destructing. It was crazy-making, and I came close to…burning out completely in the delusion of actually “saving” people.

I took a break in 1992, and…I found a place of balance and perspective. I found consolation in a no doubt apocryphal story of Pope John XXIII. Apparently at night he’d pray: “I’ve done everything I can today for your church. But it’s Your church, and I’m going to bed.”[1]

Father Boyle tells the story of one gang member named Pedro who, after long encouragement, went into rehab. A month into recovery Pedro’s brother, Jovan, committed suicide, an unusual thing in gang culture. Boyle picks up Pedro from rehab to attend his brother’s funeral. Pedro gets in the car and insists on telling “G,” as the kids call him, about a dream he had the night before.

…in this dream, Pedro and I are in this large, empty room, just the two of us. There are no lights, no illuminated exit signs, no light creeping in from under the doors. There are no windows. There is no light. He seems to know that I am there with him. A sense, really, though we do not speak. Suddenly, in this dark silence, I retrieve a flashlight from my pocket and push it on. I find the light switch in the room, on the wall, and I shine this narrow beam of light on the switch. I don’t speak. I just hold the beam steady, unwavering. Pedro says that even though no words are exchanged, he knows he is the only one who can turn this light switch on. He thanks me for happening to have a flashlight. He makes his way to the switch, following the beam with, I suppose, some trepidation. He arrives at the switch, takes a deep breath, and flips it on. The room is flooded with light.

He is now sobbing at this point, in the telling of the dream. And with a voice of astonishing discovery, he says, “And the light…is better…than the darkness.”

As if he did not previously know this to be the case. He’s weeping, unable to continue. Then he says, “I guess…my brother…just never found the light switch.”

And Father Boyle says,

I’ve come to trust the value of simply showing up…And yet, each time I find myself sitting with the pain that folks carry, I’m overwhelmed with my own inability to do much more than stand in awe, dumbstruck by the sheer size of the burden—more than I’ve ever been asked to carry.

Possessing flashlights and occasionally knowing where to aim them has to be enough for us. Fortunately, none of us can save anybody. But we all find ourselves in this dark, windowless room, fumbling for grace…You aim the light this time, and I’ll do it the next.[2]

You and I, like our ancestor John the Baptist, are called to be “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ the Son of God.” To do so, I think Father Boyle is precisely correct. It is quite simple. You show up. You carry a flashlight and use it to point the way. Words are seldom necessary, in fact, quite often they get in the way.

The light is better than the darkness. That is the good news that Jesus began and that we are called to continue with him as our companion and guide.

[1] Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion (Free Press, 2010), p. 125.

[2] Ibid., pp. 127-128.

How Much Greater the God We Have

2011-12-05T17:59:00.002-05:00

Sermon preached on the First Sunday of Advent (11/30/11) at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Isaiah 64:1-9; Mark 13:24-37

O that you would rend the heavens and come down!

I love beginning Advent with these words from the prophet Isaiah. It speaks to my own longing for God’s intervention in my life. But the question I keep having to ask over and over is, just who is this God I want to intervene?

In the spirit of this question, there is a great line I read in a book I picked up a couple weeks ago. It was not a book I intended to buy, so this is somewhat serendipitous. I was buying a book written by the new Bishop of Washington, whom I am going to meet this week at my old parish. When I clicked to buy it, up popped a few other books, of course. “People who bought your book also bought these books.”

I try really hard to ignore those offerings, but a title caught my eye this time: Tattoos on the Heart. It’s written by a Jesuit priest named Gregory Boyle, who has worked with Latino gang members in the Boyle Heights neighborhood of Los Angeles for many years.[1] On a whim, I bought it. It’s amazing. And here’s the Advent line I picked up from it.

How much greater is the God we have than the God we think we have.[2]

I really do believe that is what Advent, Christmas and Epiphany are all about. It’s a bit of a paradox, of course. It appears that Christmas celebrates the focusing of God into an individual. God, in essence, became smaller, perhaps so that we could get a better handle on him. In actuality, what happens at Christmas is God’s entering the creation and exploding all over the world. In the baby of Bethlehem we meet the immensity of God, an immensity far greater than anything we could ever imagine.

How much greater is the God we have than the God we think we have.

Father Boyle tells the story of his experience with many gang members and former gang members, many of whom have an idea of who God is that is, in fact, too small. He believes that this small God also produces a small idea of one’s self, and that idea is bound to be one of disappointment and disapproval. Boyle says

More than anything else, the truth of God seems to be about a joy that is a foreigner to disappointment and disapproval. This joy doesn’t know what we’re talking about when we focus on the restriction of not measuring up….The God, who is greater than God, has only one thing on Her mind, and that is to drop, endlessly, rose petals on our heads. Behold the One who can’t take His eyes off of you.[3]

This may seem like a futile or even just plain wrong way to try to deal with gang members. They, of all people, need to know that what they are doing is wrong, and that, in fact, their behavior is a disappointment that more than needs our disapproval.

Father Boyle has come not to agree. He believes that as a Christian what he has to offer is simply love and so that is what he offers. He does not confuse that with approval and I suspect the young people he works with never do either.

One of the places Boyle works at is Camp Munz in Los Angeles County, a boot camp-style detention center for juvenile offenders. He tells this story.

On a Saturday in 1996 I am set to baptize George at Camp Munz. He delays doing this with the other priests because he only wants me to do it. He also wants to schedule the event to follow his successful passing of the GED Exam….I actually know seventeen-year-old George and his nineteen-year-old brother Cisco. Both are gang members from a barrio in the projects…

The Friday night before George’s baptism, Cisco, George’s brother, is walking home before midnight when the quiet is shattered, as it is so often in his neighborhood, by gunshots. Some rivals creep up and open fire, and Cisco falls in the middle of St. Louis Street, half a block from his apartment. He is killed instantly….I don’t sleep much that night….

When I arrive before Mass, with all the empty chairs in place in the mess hall, there is George standing by himself holding his newly acquired GED certificate. He heads toward me, waving his GED and beaming. We hug each other. … I am … completely wiped out, yet trying to keep pace with George’s [excitement].

At the beginning of Mass, with the mess hall now packed, I ask him, “What is your name?”

“George Martinez,” he says, with an overflow of confidence.

“And, George, what do you ask of God’s Church?”

“Baptism,” he says with a steady, barely contained smile.

It is the most difficult baptism of my life. For as I pour water over George’s head: “Father… Son ... Spirit,” I know I will walk George outside alone after and tell him what happened.

As I do, and I put my arm around him, I whisper gently as we walk out onto the baseball field, “George, your brother Cisco was killed last night.”

I can feel all the air leave his body as he heaves a sigh that finds itself a sob in an instant. We land on a bench. His face seeks refuge in his open palms, and he sobs quietly. Most notable is what isn’t present in his rocking and gentle wailing. I’ve been in this place many times. There is always flailing and rage and promises to avenge things. There is none of this in George. It is as if the commitment he has just made in water, oil, and flame has taken hold and his grief is pure and true and more resembles the heartbreak of God….

I had previously asked him in the baptismal rite, after outlining the contours of faith and the commitment “to live as though this truth was true.” “Do you clearly understand what you are doing?”

And he pauses, and he revs himself up in a gathering of self and soul and says, “Yes, I do.”

And yes, he does. In the monastic tradition, the highest form of sanctity is to live in hell and not lose hope. George clings to his hope and his faith and his GED certificate and chooses to march, resilient, into his future….

Sometimes resilience arrives in the moment you discover your own unshakeable goodness. Poet Galway Kinnell writes, “Sometimes it’s necessary to re-teach a thing its loveliness.”

And when that happens, we begin to foster tenderness for our own human predicament. A spacious and undefended heart finds room for everything you are and carves a space for everybody else.[4]

We have a tendency to hear passages like today’s Gospel reading and assume the news they intend to give us is bad. Jesus will come again and this time he will be angry, and he will judge, and many will fall short. So we should beware.

But Jesus doesn’t say, “beware,” he says, “be alert.” Keep your wits about you. What I hear him saying is this:

Your life may very well get ugly. You will be surrounded by anxiety and fear and they will infect your soul. Someone is going to want you to believe that you do not measure up, that you are not worth other people’s love and certainly not God’s. Keep your wits about you. Do not believe them. Do not make me small. Remember how large my love is and come into my arms from wherever you are in the four corners of the earth.

This Advent and Christmas let us allow the enlargement of our God. Let us know

How much greater is the God we have than the God we think we have.

[1] See www.homeboy-industries.org.

[2] Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion (Free Press, 2010), p. 38.

[3] Ibid., pp. 38-39.

[4] Ibid., pp. 84-87.

You are a word about the Word

2011-11-09T13:18:00.001-05:00

Sermon preached on All Saints' Sunday, November 6, 2011 at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Matthew 5:1-12

Iwill begin this morning with my main point. It is a quote from Alan Jones, the retired Dean of Grace Cathedral, SanFrancisco.

You are a word about the Wordbefore you ever utter a word.[1]

Thattruth has everything to do with one of the questions of the Baptismal Covenantthat we will all answer together in a few minutes.

Will you proclaim by word andexample the Good News of God in Christ?

Todaywe celebrate the communion of saints. “Saints” is one of those words we have to be very careful in using inthe Church. We often give people(including ourselves) the wrong impression about what we mean when we use theword “saint.”

Wecall certain people “saint” because they are an example to us of followingChrist. St. Mary, St. Luke, St. SimonCyrene, St. Francis, St. Mary Magdalene, St. Nicholas and all those people wecommemorate on our church calendar who you just called out during the Gospelreading.

Whenwe use “saint” in this way, we can give the impression that you are only asaint if you are extraordinarily righteous, worthy of being emulated. And there are people from the recent past onour calendar about whom this is certainly true: Martin Luther King, Jr., Jonathan Daniels, Frances Perkins, and ThurgoodMarshall are examples.

Weinclude people in our calendar of saints because they are recognized in atleast some communities as being examples of faithful living. But that does not mean that they wereperfect, nor does it mean they were more successful in faithful living thanothers, nor does it mean that they are the only people worthy of the name“saint.”

Whatdo you have to do to be considered worthy enough to be called a saint?

Nothing.

Ifyou could earn sainthood by being good enough, there would not be anysaints. Individuals cannot makethemselves a saint. Churches cannot make people saints. Only God can make people saints. And how does God do that?

Bysomething we call “grace.” Grace is likewhen I cracked up my car when I was 17 and I tried to hide it from my parents,but of course they found out because parents are the other beings beside God“from whom no secrets are hid.” And theywere really mad. But the very next week whenI had to go before the school board to complain about an unfairness I thought ateacher had caused me, they were there to defend me. That’s grace. God says, I know what you arecapable of, both good and bad, and when you screw up I am very disappointed andsometimes angry, but nothing changes that you are my beloved daughter or sonand I love you.

Ina few moments we are going to baptize two children. When we do that we are acknowledging that Godhas made them saints and we join them to the communion of saints, in this room,and in every room where the People of God gather and have gathered ingenerations past.

Andwe are saying the most astounding thing that we ever say as People of God: youare marked as Christ’s own for ever. Thebond with God that we celebrate in Baptism, we say, cannot be broken. Can it be squandered? Absolutely, and most ofus did it at least once in the last week. It can be squandered, but it can never be broken. God never gives up on anyone, and isn’t thatgood news?

SoGod has made every single one of us a saint. We often hear someone protest, “But I’m no saint” and by that they mean,“But I’m not perfect.” Again, the saintswere not and are not perfect. If you had to be perfect to be a saint, as I saidbefore, there would not be any.

Soyou are a saint because God wants you to be, period. It is not, however, all “gimme the love,God.” It is that, but it also comes withresponsibility. That responsibility isthat we “be the word about the Word before we ever utter a word.”

Tobe a saint is to be a sacramental person. What does that mean? It means thatpeople can see God through you. You are a window, and you are that window longbefore you ever utter a word. You are that window in the way you live and moveand have your being.

Andthe way we are called to live is not easy because it is not about beingsuccessful by the world’s standards. Theway we are called to live is laid out for us in the beatitudes from Matthew’sGospel. They tell us how to be blessed, butthe list does not make any sense, because the list includes lots of ways thatdo not seem like a blessing at all.

Feelthat you are poor in spirit, that is, not good enough for God. Be in mourning because of a great loss. Be meek, which means something like feelingpowerless. Be merciful rather than seek revenge.Be pure in heart, which I take to mean be open and accepting, being rid ofprejudice. Make peace rather thansolving problems by violence or the threat of violence. Be persecuted because we want to do the rightthing, and even dismissed as fools or even hated because we have chosen to livein these ways.

Ourinstincts say these are not ways to feel blessed. Our list of being blessed would includethings like financial security, safety, good friendships, loving families, andat least the occasional time of just plain having fun.

Jesusis not saying that these things are bad, but they have a couple things incommon. They all contain the seed ofidolatry—putting something like financial security or family ahead of lovingGod and our neighbor. And they all veryeasily turn into competitions and we choose up sides, or sides are chosen upfor us—the haves and the have nots.

No,it is not about that, Jesus says. It isthe confidence above all things that you are unconditionally and eternallyloved by God and that you are called to love your neighbor in exactly the sameway. That is what it means to beblessed.

Andit is what it means to practice our sainthood. It is what it means to be “a word about the Word before you ever utter aword.”

Donot pray to be a saint. Rejoice that you are and keep practicing. That is allGod asks.

[1]Quoted by the Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church,Rochester, New York on November 5, 2011.

Hypocrites All, But of Great Worth

2011-11-05T22:35:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached on October 30, 2011, the 20th Sunday after Pentecost, at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Matthew 23:1-12

Iam speaking today as one hypocrite to another. Yes, I am a hypocrite. Yes, youare a hypocrite. Hypocrisy is as naturalto human beings as breathing. Do any of us know many completely unhypocriticalpersons? Maybe, but I bet you don’t haveto use many fingers to count them.

Whatis hypocrisy? Jesus seems to say that itis two different behaviors. The first issaying one thing and doing another, not “practicing what you preach,” as theysay. This behavior often producesinjustice, Jesus says. We lay burdens onpeople but do nothing to relieve those burdens. That is an important word here, “burdens.” Remember earlier in Matthew’sGospel, Jesus said,

Come to me, all you who are wearyand carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. … For my yoke is easy andmy burden is light. (11:28, 30).

Jesuswas highly critical of the religious leaders of his day who taught strictadherence to the Law, a burden, but frequently excused themselves from it anddid little to help people out from under that burden.

Werecognize this kind of hypocrisy easily. It is easy to spot in other people. It is also relatively easy to fix—or, at least, straight forward. Match up word and deed. Seek to unburden others not burden them.

Butthere is another kind of hypocrisy that Jesus talks about in this passage. He talksabout our insatiable need for approval and to be “better than.”

They do all their deeds to beseen by others.

This kind of hypocrisy is acting in a waythat betrays one’s supposed values as false. What one really values is one’sself. Again, remember earlier inMatthew’s Gospel, from a passage we read every Ash Wednesday.

Whenever you pray, do not be likethe hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at thestreet corners, in order to be seen by others. The truth is, being seen is the only reward they will get. (6:5) (mytranslation).

Standingand praying in the synagogue or even on the street corner is not a badthing. One’s motivation makes all thedifference. Do you want to relate toGod, the one to whom you are praying, and join the community of praise andthanksgiving? Or do you hope someonewill see you doing these things and think better of you?

Now,the truth must be told, that Jesus is clearly speaking to the religious leadersof his day, and his disciples who he hoped would carry on his mission. And Matthew certainly has the religiousleaders of his day—Jewish and Christian—as he puts this passage together. So you could argue that this passage isprimarily about the people in the room who have the words “The Reverend” infront of the name given them at their Baptism.

Andyou would not be wrong about that, which is why I stand before you confessingmy hypocrisy. But I am not going to letyou totally off the hook. Yes, I am ahypocrite, but I am fairly confident that you are too.

But,let’s do talk about me for a bit.

WhenI told my family that I wanted to be a priest they didn’t have much tosay. They are, however, rural WesternNew Yorkers so they really don’t say much. My mother, however, asked the boyfriend of one of my sisters to make asign. He and his father had a littleside business making magnetized signs to advertise on cars.

Sothe next time I was home I was presented with a sign that said, “FatherMike.” It was my mother’s way of tellingme that she accepted and supported this decision of mine. I didn’t like to be called “Mike” then anymore then I do now, and it would have been normal for me to protest thenickname, but I was too busy being delighted by the word “Father.”

Thisrole is very seductive. It breeds hypocrisy like well fertilized soil. Being called something honorable, with stronghints of heroic righteousness and power over others; and then there are theclothes (the clothes!); it is all too easy to be seduced by it all.

AndI do get seduced by it. But I also knowit is not want Jesus wants from me. Jesus has a different agenda than my self-aggrandizement. Jesus wants me to be a leader and I eventhink he wants me to be a priest, but he wants me to do those things as onebrother among many sisters and brothers.

Itis interesting to me how the New Revised Standard translation of the Bible thatwe use translates a word Jesus uses.

But you are not to be calledrabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students.

That makes perfect sense—“one teacher,” “allstudents.” But “students” is not theword in the Greek original. The word is adelphoi,“brothers,” or “brothers and sisters.” There is also no “and” in the Greek, so it does not have to be read asone sentence. So it is quite possible that in the middle of this passage, Jesussays simply what his main point is.

You are all brothers and sisters.

Ibelieve Jesus meant for his followers to form a community of absoluteequals. I do not think there is anygetting around this truth. So how did weend up with a significantly hierarchical church?

Ofcourse the answer to that question is a long trip through early church history,but that trip is simply about how the institutionalization of the church wasinevitable because it is a human institution. As soon as a group of people need leadership, and they always do, we areoff and running, and sooner rather than later some people come to be understoodas more important than others.

Ido not think that Jesus is opposed to leadership, but he also gave us the HolySpirit who gives every one of us gifts to use for the common good. Leaders need to be in the trenches,practicing what everyone else is practicing. And I do not think that Jesus even cares so much that some of you callme “father.” It certainly sounds morehuman than “reverend.” But Jesus doescare about why I might want to be called “father,” and why you might want tocall me that, or “pastor” or “reverend” or anything other than the name Godknows me by.

Ifall of the deference and all of the clothes are about setting me above you oreven setting me apart from you (the old “closer to God” thing), than we are notfollowing Jesus. I am not any closer toGod than any of you are. To think so is,I believe, blasphemy.

Butthe church has designated me for this role and the limited authority that comeswith it. The older I get the clearer Iget that this designation, this authority, is nothing I have ever earned ordeserved, even when I have been at my best. It is all grace, and so it must be held joyfully, thankfully, and, mostimportantly, lightly.

Thispassage, which we probably all put in the “I could take it or leave it”category, actually tells some amazingly good news. It tells us that we are all equal in God’seyes and so we ought to all be equal in one another’s eyes. Because of this we do not need to seekapproval or depend upon anyone but God for our self-worth. God is our self-worth. God’s love is the onlyapproval we need.

Thatis what Jesus means at the end by being a “servant” and having “humility.” It’s not at all about thinking less ofourselves or putting ourselves lower so that other people can be higher. It is about the confidence that our worthcomes from God and God alone.

Goddoes not want to put us down. Quite the opposite. We often forget the secondhalf of the last verse in this passage. We hear, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled,” but we miss “andall who humble themselves will be exalted.” Jesus does not mean that if you are humble you will go to heaven. Jesus is telling us the best news we couldpossibly hear, that if we let God do what God wants to do for us (and that is havehumility) we will know true worth and we will be able to live together as equalsisters and brothers, using our gifts to bring more and more people into thefellowship of this worth, this equality.

Mutual Obedience: Listen to Love

2011-10-23T16:33:00.003-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on the 19th Sunday after Pentecost, October 23, 2011: Matthew 22:34-46

A lawyer asked Jesus a questionto test him, “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”

I’venever been sure just what the test was. There was only one answer Jesus could have given, only one thing hewould have said. He said what, as aJewish man, was on his lips at least twice a day. Deuteronomy 6:4-5 (JPS translation).

Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart andwith all your soul and with all your might.

Itwas and is called the Shema, from thefirst word in Hebrew translated “hear” or “listen.” Over the centuries it became the beatingheart of Judaism. It is what is writtenon a tiny scroll inside the mezuzahon Jewish doorways and in the tefillin,boxes held in the hand and worn on the forehead during morning and eveningprayers. If Jews have anything like acreed, this is it.

Thereis nothing else Jesus could have said. It was as natural to him as breathing. Perhaps the lawyer was testing to see how far Jesus would stray from thetradition. He did not stray an inch,well, maybe an inch, because he did two things to the Shema.

Firstof all he changed a word. Deuteronomy6:5 says that you shall love God with all your heart, soul, and might. Jesus says

You shall love the Lord your Godwith all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.

Scholarsdo not seem to make a big deal about this change. I think it’s huge. Love God with your mind! What a concept. God does not want me to turnoff my brain in order to love him, God wants me to turn it on.

Andthen Jesus does another thing. He couplesthe Shema with something that hadnever (so far as we know) been coupled with it before. He said,

And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

That is Leviticus 19:18. Jesus equates the two, and in doing so, turnsthe worship of the One God on its head. You cannot be said to love God without loving your neighbor. Justice and spirituality are inseparablylinked by Jesus here. Many of hisfollowers, right up to this day, have sought to tear them back apart.

ButJesus said, “Be devoted to God and bedevoted to your neighbor.” Everythingelse has to be understood in the light of this double love.

Butwhat does it mean? What does it mean tolove God? What does it mean to love neighbor? The Benedictine monastic tradition has an answer that reaches back tothe beginning of the Shema. “Shema!”“Hear!” “Listen!”

TheRule of St. Benedict in fact begins with this word.

Listen carefully, my child, to myinstructions, and attend to them the ear of your heart.[1]

That’s a lovely metaphor, “the ear of yourheart.” Benedict goes on

This is advice from one who lovesyou; welcome it and faithfully put it into practice. The labor of obediencewill bring you back to God…

Obedienceis not our favorite word, but it is, perhaps, the fundamental vow ofmonastics. For us, “obedience” tends tomean doing what you are told, and we do not always like to be told what todo. I include myself in that we, ask anybishop I have served with.

Butto monastics, “obedience” means something different. Obedience is fundamentally the commitment tolisten. And that is literally what theword means. The root Latin word of theEnglish word “obey” is “audire,” tohear, or to listen.

Formonastics this obedience is due not only to whomever is in authority over them,it is also due one another. Benedictwrites in chapter 71 of his rule:

Obedience is a blessing to beshown by all, not only to the prioress or the abbot, but also to one another,since we know that it is by this way of obedience that we go to God.[2]

Benedict entitles this chapter “mutualobedience.”

Ihave found over twenty-one years of preparing couples for marriage that themost important skill I need to check on and help with is listening. Virtually all of these couples thought asthey were preparing for “the big day” that their love would last for ever. It will not, I tell them, if you do not veryintentionally listen to each other.

Listening,as Benedict and Jesus have shown us, is a fundamental building block of love,which is what I think Benedict would say mutual obedience is. Mutual obedience is love.

Weare entering a few weeks of listening, and I hope that in doing so, our lovefor one another will increase. Membersof the Vestry are visiting members of the parish. Their primary purpose is to listen. They willhave questions, but ultimately even they are not all that important. They are there to listen.

Nowall of us have trouble listening, especially in this day and age when we aresurrounded by noise and stimulation and hurrying. To listen you have to be quiet, you have tobe focused, and you have to be patient. All these Vestry members will not get listening right all the time. Feel free gently to coax them back on thepath.

Weare also entering a conversation about worship. There will be sessions nextweekend and again on November 13. We aregoing to exercise the discipline of listening in those sessions. We are going to practice what Benedict callsmutual obedience.

Itmay very well be that both in the Vestry visits and our Worship Conversations,that some hard things will need to be said. That’s perfectly fine. We cannotclaim that we have re-established Eden here at 17 South Fitzhugh Street. But as there is an obedience in listeningthere is also an obedience in telling. We must remember that we are speaking to the ear of someone’s heart. I can disagree with something that is goingon. I can even be downright unhappy about. But I need to voice that disagreement in a way that can be heard, whichmeans I don’t get to set aside compassion just because I am unhappy.

Weall love God. We have different ways of expressing it, although our common wayis this Eucharist. I believe we all lovethis community as well, and want what is best for it. Let us over the next month listen to oneanother, let us be mutually obedient to one another, let us love one another,as we are loved by our good God.

[1]From the translation of Sister Joan Chittester, O.S.B. in The Rule of Benedict: Insight for the Ages (Crossroad, 1992), p.19.

[2]Ibid., p. 176.

Always Have Joy

2011-10-22T17:07:00.001-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on October 9, the 17th Sunday after Pentecost: Philippians 4:1-9, Luke 22:1-14

Always Have Joy

Always have joy in yourrelationship with Jesus. I have to say it again, Have joy! Be gentle and accepting of everyone. It is not easy, but Jesus is near you, so youcan do it. Strive not to beanxious—that’s the opposite of joy. Prayand give thanks to God always—don’t be afraid, let God know everything. When you are open to God, you will know peace—akind of peace that is anything beyond your understanding—and through yourrelationship with Jesus God will protect your heart and your mind.

Itis about joy or it is about nothing.

Paul’sLetter to the Philippians is the letter of joy. More than a third of the times Paul uses the word and its relatives inhis letters are in Philippians. This isin spite of the fact that Paul wrote this letter from prison, probably theimprisonment in Rome that would lead to his death. It is also in spite of the fact that he iswriting to a very troubled community, a community experiencing persecution, acommunity that is experiencing teachers that are trying to turn the good newsinto bad, and a community that is experiencing serious disagreements amongmembers, as he mentions this morning.

YetPaul says to this same community, “Rejoice always.” Always have joy.

Backin Epiphany you may remember that I preached a series of sermons onevangelism—trying to reclaim it and redefine it for our tradition and ourday. One of the things I said was thatevangelism was the “proclamation of joy.” I quoted the great 20^th century Orthodox theologian AlexanderSchmemann, and it is well worth repeating that quote.

From its very beginning,Christianity has been the proclamation of joy. Without the proclamation of this joy Christianity isincomprehensible. It is only as joy thatthe Church was victorious in the world, and it lost the world when it lost thatjoy, and ceased to be a credible witness to it. Of all the accusations againstChristians, the most terrible one was uttered by Nietzsche when he said thatChristians had no joy.[1]

In fact,Frederick Nietzsche once said,

The reverse side of Christian compassion for the suffering ofone's neighbor is a profound suspicion of all the joy of one's neighbor…[2]

Ido not know about you, but that sounds painfully familiar to me. How manypeople believe that Christians take all the fun out of life? That we believe if it is fun or pleasurable,it must be sinful? And, of course, thisis not a belief that somebody made up out of whole cloth. We have in the past been a pretty grim lot.

Andit started early on. The lettersascribed to Paul that most scholars consider to be second or even generationletters[3]only contain the word joy once as opposed to 47 times in the undisputed lettersof Paul. We lost our joy fairly quicklyit would seem.

Indeed,joy is not a major word in The Book ofCommon Prayer. As an example, ononly three or four Sundays of the year will you hear the word “joy” prayed aspart of the Collect of the Day (the opening prayer of the liturgy). If Schmemann is correct and Christianity isincomprehensible without the proclamation of joy, than we should not besurprised why people keep not understanding us.

Ofcourse, it may be that we just got realistic. Joy in this life is not an easy thing for a large number of people,especially the kind of consistent joy of which Paul seems to be speaking. Isn’t it unrealistic of Paul, perhaps evencruel, to insist that we rejoice always?

Paulis not, however, asking us to put on joy as a kind of mask over strife or sorrow. He is not asking for false smiles and “happyclappy” religion fervor no matter what. Paul was nothing if not realistic.

Whatdid he mean by joy that we could have always? What do we mean when we proclaimjoy as one of, if not the, central purposes of Christian faith?

Ithink we mean three things. First of allwe mean the absolute confidence that God is for us. We call Jesus “Emmanuel,” “God with us, Godfor us.” “Nothing can separate us fromthe love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord,” Paul taught (Romans 8:39). That confidenceproduces joy no matter what the circumstances of our lives.

Second,we mean freedom from anxiety and defensiveness. That’s what Paul means when he says, “let your gentleness be known toeveryone,” or, as I put it, “be gentle and accepting of everyone.” The Greek word translated “gentleness” is avery rich word that means something like “I can let you be who you are becauseI am confident in who I am.” Earlier inPhilippians this is how Paul described Jesus, who “emptied himself” and did notfeel the need to grasp at equality with God. Again, this freedom produces joy.

Third,we mean that death is simply not the last word for us. Death does not end life, nor does it endjoy. We say at the grave of everyone whodies, “Even at the grave we make our song, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia” (BCP,p. 499). This fearlessness of deathproduces joy.

Joyfor us is about confidence that we are loved by God, the ability to be freefrom anxiety and defensiveness as a way of life, and dismissal of death havingany real power over us.

Wedo not come together week by week in order primarily to be told how to behave,or to be reminded of how bad we are in the first place, or to have all the funkicked out of us. We come here to renewour joy, to be grateful for its gift to us, and equipped to pass it on toothers. We come to practice rejoicingwith others. We come to practiceconfidence in God’s love, we come to practice freedom from a defensive life,and we come to practice fearlessness of death.

Inmy reading about joy this week I came across this great quote from a 20^thcentury German biblical scholar named Hans Conzelmann.

Joy is the actualization offreedom, which takes concrete form in fellowship.[4]

Withoutpreaching another sermon, that’s what is going on with the guy without thewedding garment in Jesus’ parable this morning. He could not put on the joy of the community that had gathered becausehe did not know he was free.

Youare free, and loved and you need not be defensive about who you are or afraidof even death.

That’sthe message. It does not kick all the fun out of life. It is, rather, a kick initself. Always have joy, my sisters andbrothers!

[1]“The Proclamation of Joy: An Orthodox View,” in The Living Pulpit, October-December 1996, p. 8. The article is anexcerpt from Schmemann’s book For theLife of the World.

[2]Frederick Nietzche, Daybreak (or The Dawn), trans. R.J. Hollingdale, p.80.

[3]There is a significant consensus that the following letters were not writtendirectly by Paul: Ephesians, Colossians,Second Thessalonians, 1 & 2 Timothy, and Titus. The undisputed Pauline letters are Romans, 1& 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, and Philemon.

[4]Writing in The Theological Dictionary ofthe New Testament, IX:369.

A Taste of the Past

2011-10-08T18:11:00.000-04:00

It was a beautiful day in Western New York, and John and I decided to get out of the house and explore. We visited an alpaca farm that was having an open house, and then, after lunch in Canandaigua, we went apple picking.

We were driven in a wagon drawn by a tractor about a half mile out into the orchard. A friendly woman met us at our destination, gave each of us a bag that would hold a bushel of apples and showed us the four different kinds that were available to pick.Most everyone was filling several bags. We gathered a modest six of three kinds, which took mere moments.

It was such a nice day we decided to walk back to the barn and store. Apples are certainly the main crop on this farm, but there was quite a pumpkin patch, a goodly field of strawberry plants and other berries. Three people were picking over the remnants of a field of tomatoes. And then we passed several rows of peas (most of them long gone, of course) and yellow string beans, of which there were still quite a few. Almost without thinking a bent over, snapped one off the plant and bit off a piece.

I was transformed instantly to my childhood. That taste was almost magical. A fresh string bean that could be snapped in half and crunched. We do get the at the store often, but the poor things days before lost their snap and the sharpness of their flavor.

Most of the years of my childhood we had a garden in the backyard. There were always peas and beans and I do not ever remember any of them making it to the dinner table.We kids ate them fresh. It was a wonderful thing, and I am grateful--almost giddy--to know that it still is.

Let Us Press On

2011-10-07T08:59:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached for Dignity-Integrity on the 16th Sunday after Pentecost at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Philippians 3:4b-14

Thirty-sixyears ago. 1975. Where were you? I wasin Avoca, beginning my freshman year in high school. And I was just beginning to wrestle with thefact that my attitude toward girls was very different than my friends. I had no language for it at all, but I knewit was bad news.

Justa year before, in the fall of 1974, a remarkable man by the name of Louie Crewstarted a newsletter from his home in rural Georgia. It was called Integrity: Gay Episcopal Forum. The impetus for this newsletter, Louie says, was his marriage (that’swhat they always called it) to Earnest Clay in February of that year, and theirarrival in Berkeley, California where Louie had a fellowship for the summer.

Louietells it this way:

I called Grace Cathedral in San Francisco to inquire, "Where can mygay spouse and I meet other gay Episcopalians while here?"
For a moment the full switch-board seemed to short-circuit. Giving oneinane excuse after another, each secretary transferred the call to another, sothat everyone could relish the occasion.
I expected such silly run-arounds in rural Georgia where we had livedopenly as a gay and racially integrated couple, but not in the city most famousfor its large gay population, and not in the most liberal of all Anglican houses,and not five years after the purported beginning of gay liberation....
The Holy Spirit used their highly placed tittering to prompt me intotaking responsibility. I knew that God promiscuously loves everybody! All luckyenough to know that, share an obligation to tell the good news. When I returnedto rural Georgia, I took out ads in church and gay papers announcing a newpublication, called Integrity.

ByJuly 1975, Integrity was chartered as an organization and it held its firstconvention in August 1975. Dignity,meanwhile, had been formed in 1970 and had its first national convention in1973.

Thirty-sixyears is a long time, although in the greater scheme of things, not very longat all. And we lesbian and gay folk havecome a very long way. In 1975, at leastwhere I was living, the notion of two men getting married would have beeneither a good joke or a nightmare. Thenumber of people who believed it would happen in their lifetimes would havebeen hardly worth counting.

Wecan give thanks for the way we have come in both church and state. Yet there isclearly more work to do. The church’stheology of marriage is still nothing but heterosexual, and the prospects ofthat changing in either of our churches in the foreseeable future are poor. John and I are blissfully wed, but stillsingle in the eyes of the United States government, including, of course, theIRS and the Social Security Administration. There is work to do.

Moreimportantly, it is still traumatic and even dangerous for most young people tocome out. Bullying is rampant. Hate crimes flourish, particularly againstour transgender sisters and brothers. Suicide rates among gay and lesbian youth remains stubbornly high,despite all our advances. And myexperience is that our heterosexual brothers and sisters are nearly blind tohow heterocentric the world is and the real damage that does to kids growingup. Yes, there is work to do.

Weare not use to taking comfort from St. Paul, but there is far more to him thanRomans 1:26-27. There is, for instance,the reading from Philippians that we just heard.

Pauladmits to his zealot past. In one sensehe is clearly proud of it. He is notashamed to own up to it all. But, hesays, my relationship with Jesus changed everything. Everything I thought was important, everythingI did to uphold my obligations to God, everything I thought gave me identity inthis world that really mattered, I discovered was rubbish. Now all that I have is Jesus, a relationshipwith him and the chance to live in his death and resurrection.

Thisis one of those passages in the Bible that I have always wanted to sit down andexplore with our zealous detractors. AndI want to ask, “Isn’t it possible—just possible—that your well-meaning, zealouscondemnation of gay and lesbian people is not like Paul’s well-meaning, zealouscondemnation of Christians? And if what he learned is true, could it not meanthat relationship with Jesus really is all that matters?”

Well,I, for one, believe that it is. It is all that really matters. Dignity-Integrity Rochester has beenwitnessing to that message for 36 years, and, although you are few in numbernow, I hope you keep in memory the hundreds, if not thousands, of people whohave come through those doors on Sunday evening at 5 pm and heard that messagefor the first time in their lives.

Iknow you have frequent conversations about your future, given your reducednumbers. I won’t pretend to offer youany advice in that, except to say that whatever you decide, Two Saints will bethere to support you. We are proud ofour 36 year relationship and ready for it to continue.

WhatI can say is this: what Paul said his life was about after he came intorelationship with Jesus. He said, “Ipress on. I press on being faithfulbecause Jesus is faithful to me. Ibelong to Jesus, and that is the only thing I need to know. I can forgeteverything that is in the past, and I can have the courage to keep movingforward. I press on for the prize.”

Whatis the prize? Louie Crew put it this wayin the June/July 1975 issue of his newsletter:

So much is sex a part of the whole person thatit is fair to say that anyone who denies or suppresses his God-given sexualidentification cannot make many steps towards health or holiness. Hence, myGod-designed homosexuality is not a definition of my sickness, but a potentialingredient of my health; it is not a mark of my sin, but a requirement of anyholiness and salvation that I may experience.[1]

Letus press on, my sisters and brothers to this holiness and salvation.

[1]“One Fold, and One Shepherd,” IntegrityJune/July 1975. The original newsletterscan all be found at http://www.integrityusa.org/voice/.

Carpe diem octavum!

2011-10-07T08:58:00.000-04:00

Sermon preached on the 16th Sunday after Pentecost at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Philippians 3:4b-14

Yesterdaywas the seventh anniversary of our ministry together. Today I begin my eighthyear as your rector.

AsI was thinking about this particular anniversary it came to me that this is aparticularly important one. In theBible, seven is an important number, beginning with the seven days ofcreation. After that almost any time thenumber seven appears in the Bible something about God’s continuing creativityis going on. God is doing something inorder that something new or astonishing can happen.

Someexamples: In the Hebrew Scriptures,there are seven days to the feast of Passover, and the Year of Jubilee—theforgiveness of debts and return of land—is seven times seven years. In the New Testament, seven basketfuls offood are gathered after the miracle of the loaves and fishes, the first deaconsnumber seven, and the Book of Revelation is full of sevens.

AsChristianity develops, there are seven sacraments, seven deadly sins, and sevenjoys and sorrows of Mary.

Moreimportant to me is not so much these sevens, but what happens next: eight. Eight is not an important biblical number, exceptin that Jewish males are circumcised on the eighth day of their birth.

Butthe number eight does come up in the writings of several of the early churchfathers. Christian worship—thecelebration of the Eucharist—gradually moves from Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath,the seventh day, to Sunday, the day of the resurrection, or, as it came to becalled, the Lord’s Day.

Sundayis the first day of the week, of course, but that is not what these earlywriters called it. They called theLord’s Day, “the Eighth Day.” They said,for one, that the first day was the day of creation. The eighth day was the dayof the new creation. The eighth day waswhen things really began. The eighth day, if you will, was the first day of therest of your life.

Thinkof it in terms of circumcision on the eighth day. A Jewish male is not given aname until that day (we call the remembrance of Jesus’ circumcision, “Holy NameDay”). On the eighth day, a Jewishmale’s identity is sealed, both as a Jew and as an individual.

OK,so this fits into some thinking I have long had. For the last thirty years, the average lengthof service for a rector has gradually been decreasing. It is now a little under seven years. I was in my first parish twice that long andI have become an advocate (with many others) for the return of longer tenures,perhaps not the 40+ years of Dr. Winnie at St. Luke’s, but certainly more thanseven years.

Ithink it takes seven years for a priest and congregation to really come to knoweach other well, to trust and love each other, establish a corporate identity,and truly be ready to take on some hard stuff.

IfI am right, then we are at that place. In some ways we are now ready to do the work we are being called to do.

Whichis not to say that we have not been working hard together. We have. But really tackling the hard stuff, messingwith the potential of a real reshaping of this parish for the future? We’ve talked about it; we’ve glimpsed it;we’ve done some good preliminary work, but we have a long way to go.

SoI am here to say to you today, let us seize the eighth day. Carpediem octavum!

Or, in the words of Paul thismorning from Philippians, in my paraphrase, “Let us press on to make the powerof the resurrection our own, because we live in the confidence of who we are,brought together and sealed in relationship by Christ himself.”

Or,in the words of an old folk song that became an anthem of the civil rightsmovement, “Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on.”

Carpe diem octavum! Let us seize the eighth day! Let us presson! Keep your eyes on the prize!

Afterseven years I still cannot tell you exactly where we are going. I’ve spent alot of time and energy over the last seven years trying to figure that out, butI have pretty much decided that is not my job. That is something we must discern together, with the confidence that Godis our companion.

Thereare four things right now of which I am sure.

Firstof all, I am sure that our mission statement holds true as a statement of whowe are and what our values are.

Together,as people of God, in companionship with Jesus, and empowered by the Holy Spirit,we are called to be…Ahealing place for souls…A school for justice…And a welcome table for all.

Second,I remain convinced that the way we express these values together is insacrificial acts of hospitality, generosity, and compassion. Hospitality is still Job One. And what is another word for “hospitality?Justice.

Thosetwo things are work we have done and must continue to do. Now here are three things for the eighthday.

First,I am going to get personally involved with children and youth ministryhere. I want to play a more active rolein the spiritual lives of our young people. I will need help and I ask you to ask yourself, how can I help make thisa better place for our children and youth? Let me know the answer! My firststep: I have invited young person in sixth grade or up to supper at my housefor some fun, getting to know each other and dreaming.

Second,I am going to convene a conversation about our worship. It is time to do someevaluation and to ponder ideas of what works and what doesn’t work with youngpeople (here I’m talking twenty and thirty somethings) in other settings. I hope as part of this conversation we willtalk about this space and the challenges it brings us. I willbe producing a resource for the conversation which will be in your hands byOctober 16^th, and which will include dates and times for the conversation—therewill probably be several opportunities to try to catch as many people aspossible.

Third,your Stewardship Committee and Vestry have decided to do an “Every MemberVisit” as part of our stewardship emphasis this fall. Each of you will be offered a visit by aVestry member and a partner. The primarypurpose of the visit is relationship building, and giving each member of thecongregation an opportunity to have a “one on one” conversation with a member ofthe Vestry.

Wehope those conversations will be hopeful ones. “How do we continue to move into a thriving future?” The conversation will not be primarily aboutmoney unless you want it to be. You willbe given a pledge card, and you will be invited by the Vestry member to joinhim or her in sacrificial generosity to the parish. You will not be asked to hold out your armfor a proper twisting.

Aswe have begun to plan for this Every Member Visit, and as I worked on thissermon this week, I found myself renewing the excitement with which I came hereseven years ago. I opened my firstsermon to you from 2004. It wasn’t half bad! Here’s the last sentence:

In all that we do in the monthsand years ahead, let us remember Jesus Christ raised from the dead, let us givethanks to God for God is good, and let us build, in the power of the HolySpirit, a community of love and hope which is good news to and for the world.

Ithink we have been doing that, with fits and starts, joys and sorrows, gooddecisions and bad ones, the arrival of some very fine people and the departureof others. We have not been perfect, butwe have, for the most part, been faithful.

Athriving community of love and hope still lies in our vision. In seven years we have built a relationshipthat is strong. Now let us seize the eighth day, the day of new creation, newidentity and renewed purpose. Let us press on and keep our eyes on theprize! Carpe diem octavum!

Betting our Life on a Rumor

2011-09-26T14:07:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached on the 15th Sunday after Pentecost at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Exodus 17:1-7, Philippians 2:1-13, Matthew 21:23-32

It is easy for us to be critical of the Israelites. They are often not a very attractive lot:whiny, complaining, ungrateful, and stubborn. Moses is clearly the hero in this morning’s reading from Exodus: poor, frustrated Moses, leading a people whorefuse to be led.

“Is the Lord among us or not?” What a question! They have just miraculously escaped from whatwas arguably the strongest military force in the world, had the waters partedfor them and seen their enemies drowned, and, when they complained of hungerthey were fed with manna and quails. Andthey ask, “Is the Lord among us or not?”

Clearly they had expectations that their every need wouldbe taken care of with very little sense of their own responsibilities.

So we consider these Israelites and we shake our headsand perhaps even mock them a little. Weare at least more faithful than that.

And yet…Is the Lord among us or not?

That question has haunted me all week long as I havelived with these readings. Like a badsong, I could not get it out of my head. So I put it on the cover of this morning’s Service Leaflet, and then Itook it off, and then I put it back on, and then I took it off, and then I letit stay on.

I first put it there because I myself ask that questionwith some frequency. And I let it stayon in the end because I know you ask that question too, at least many of you do. The kind of faith that allows one to neverask that question is a gift, I think, a gift that not all of us receive.

Now that may sound like I only have bad news to tell thismorning, but that is not true. To askthis question is actually good news, and here is why.

This is a question that people ask almost universally. Isthe Lord among us or not? Or its otherforms: Is God real or not? Is God active in people’s lives or not? Is there a God or not?

Increasing numbers of people ask that question at somepoint in their life and arrive at a fairly quick answer. No. There’s no evidence for God. Orperhaps their answer is not so hardcore. Some people just don’t care. Thequestion is irrelevant.

It is tempting for us to say, perhaps defiantly, “Yes,God is real. Yes, God acts in my life.” And you might give examples and all of what you say may be true, but wehave to admit that there is precious little evidence, which means there is onething we people of faith have to grapple with and be honest about. God is a rumor.

Oh yes, the Bible talks about God, and people haveworshiped God for centuries and I can give testimony to God’s activity in mylife, but in all those things I have to exercise faith, which means I have toadmit that God remains a mystery to me. I do not have the evidence to prove anything. I can only continue to spread the rumor.

Now, I and millions and billions of others have bet ourlives on this rumor. And we continue todo so every day of our lives. That’s what Paul means when he tells theChristians in Philippi to “work out their salvation.” He doesn’t mean “earn it.” He means somethinglike figure it out, struggle with it, get in the mud with it. Christians ought always to be spirituallydirty from mud wrestling with the rumor of God.

So where’s the good news? The good news is that I do not have to be sure about everything. In fact, I do not have to be sure aboutanything. I am released from that. I amfree.

I am free to bet my life on something. I am free to give and accept love. I do not have to believe in God, and in mymore rational moments I think I may be a fool for doing so. But I do love God, I love this rumor, becauseit is a story I can bet my life on. It is a story I can use to “work out mysalvation,” or “work out my liberation”—a fair translation.

One of my tries at being a Christian was accepting afairly conservative, evangelical worldview. The reason why I could not ultimately stay in that place was because ofthe bottom line: I was either sure or Iwas dead. The whole system ran onthreat: certainty or death.

They were doing a good thing and teaching me theBible. But the problem was I was notseeing their system driving the story. Sure, threat pops up now and then in the New Testament, some books morethan others, but it was very clear to me that threat was not what was carryingthe story of Jesus along. It was lifeitself and the most difficult but essential response we can have to life: love.

Jesus says to the religious authorities in this morning’sGospel, “You watched John the Baptist widen the circle of God’s community, andyou chose not to believe that what was happening before your eyes waspossible. And now I am showing you aworld that is turned inside out—the outsiders are on the inside and theinsiders are on the outside, and you still don’t believe it is possible. All that I am asking you to do is to stepinto the circle with the outsiders, but you refuse to do it. You will get rid of me and hope that no onewill ever again be able to move the boundaries.”

Why has God remained a rumor? Why must we still ask with all sincerity, “Isthe Lord among us or not?” Because weare free. We are free to love or not. We are free to believe or not. We arefree to bet our lives on a rumor or not.

Sometimes I think that if there is anything wrong withour church, our tradition, the songs we sing and the liturgy we pray, it isthat we often sound too sure of ourselves, as if there is no room for thequestion. And that hurts us because whenwe are too sure of ourselves the inevitable consequence is that our circle getssmaller and smaller, and our love gets more and more restricted, and we thinkit is our job to tell the word to sit up and fly right.

But all that we have been given is a rumor. I believethat it is the most amazing rumor of all, that love really is at the center ofthe universe despite all signs to the contrary. There is a God, the Lord is among us, and God’s purpose is to love usinto freedom and abundant life.

Iinvite you to continue to bet your life on the rumor of God, or to start orre-start. I invite you to bet your lifeon love and the things that make for love: justice, peace, dignity that is theentitlement of us all. I invite you tobet your life on the rumor that God loves you more than you could possible ask,desire or pray for.

What Does it Mean to have Simon as our Patron?

2011-09-26T14:00:00.000-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on the Patronal Feast of St. Simon Cyrene: Mark 15:16-20

Itoccurred to me a couple weeks ago that I have never preached a sermon thatcentered around our patron, St. Simon of Cyrene. So, I said, I will give it a try. I wonder, I asked myself, what it means tohave Simon as one of our patrons.

Itis harder than it seems like it should be.

TheGospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke each mention Simon of Cyrene as the mancompelled by the Roman soldiers to carry Jesus’ cross, presumably because he wastoo weak to do it himself. Who was thisSimon?

Ihave to admit that we don’t really know. We’re only given four details about him:

He was fromCyrene, the capital of the Roman province of Cyrenaica, part of modern-dayLibya.
He was“coming in from the country.”
He wascompelled to carry Jesus’ cross. It was not voluntary.
Mark tellsus that he had two sons, Rufus and Alexander.

Giventhose things we can make a few conjectures.

In terms of theplace from which Simon came, we know that in Cyrene there was a very largeJewish community. It was an old city originally founded by the Greeks some sixcenturies before the time of Jesus. TheJewish community had been present for at least three of those centuries.
Telling usthat Simon had come in from the country may mean that he was, in fact, Jewishand was on pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Passover. To make such a journey he would have had tohave been a man of some wealth.
He wasclearly not a follower of Jesus. He may have been aware of who Jesus was, butquite possibly he did not, if in fact he was living in Cyrene and had justarrived for the feast.
That Markmentions his sons probably means that they were known to the community forwhich Mark was writing, which may have been Christians living in Rome. When Paul wrote to the Romans, he alsomentions a “Rufus” living in Rome with his mother.

This mentioning of Simon’s sons mayalso mean that Simon went on to be a follower of Jesus after his encounter withhim, and brought his sons up as Christians. It should be said that there was a Gnostic sect in the early secondcentury called the Basilidians who taught that Simon had actually taken Jesus’place on the cross. That may be why hedisappears from John’s Gospel. Whymention a minor character when he has started to cause you trouble.

So what can we get out of thesedetails and these assumptions? I thinkthis, at least for starters. At thispoint in Jesus’ story, he has been abandoned by his friends, at least those hecalled disciples. No one is coming tohis rescue. No one has dared follow himon this road. No one has taken up theircross, as Jesus said they would have to do.

Simon, I assume, knows little ornothing about Jesus. In the worstscenario, maybe he has come to gawk at this man who has been tortured and isbeing led to execution. In the best scenario, maybe he was literally walkinginto town and happened upon this spectacle.

He does not, as the text makes clear,volunteer to help Jesus. He is grabbed by the soldiers and forced to doit. It’s safe to say he was terrifiedand horrified.

I think it is important that in hishour of need, Jesus is helped by a complete stranger who had no choice in thematter. Simon was not a hero. He was just a regular guy who got caught upin a mess, but in doing so, served the Ruler of the Universe. It should make us who call ourselvesfollowers of Jesus, to be humble about our relationship with him.

Jesus, like the God he called“Father,” cared for the stranger and the oppressed, as Simon was, at least inthis incident. He does not need ourheroics to help him with his mission of reconciling the world to God. He just needs us to show up and work with thecircumstances of our lives, even if they are circumstances either beyond ourcontrol or that are actually evil in their intent.

So Simon of Cyrene being one of thetwo patrons of this parish should be a sign to the world that the stranger iswelcome as a fellow servant of the living God. God not only cares for the stranger, God has a certain priority for thestranger, and calls us to do so as well.

Some of you will have heard the storyof St. Lawrence. Lawrence was a deaconin Rome in the 3^rd century, just a hundred and fifty or so yearsafter Simon’s son Rufus would have lived there. Lawrence was one of the “seven deacons of Rome” who administered thechurch for the Pope.

The Emperor Valerian renewedpersecution of Christians around the year 258. The Pope himself, whose name was Sixtus II, was killed, along with sixof his seven deacons. Lawrence was leftalive but was called in to the civil authorities, who demanded that he handover the riches of the church. Lawrenceasked for three days to make this happen.

On the third day Lawrence met theauthorities with a delegation of somewhat shabby looking companions. The city prefect asked for the church’streasure, and Lawrence asked his companions to step forward. They were clearly people who were poor andsuffering. Lawrence said, “These are thetreasures of the church and because of them the church is truly rich, farricher than your emperor.”

Lawrence was taken to his death. Weremember him every year on August 10^th.

Imagine that we have a stranger in ourmidst, a true stranger who is not only unknown to us, but also, in some way,strange, which usually means we would be leery of him or her, if notfrightened.

This stranger approaches you and asksto speak to the man wearing all the colorful robes. You explain who that personis, but then you ask, “Why do you wish to speak to him?”

The stranger thinks a bit and thensays, “Why, because he is obviously the most important person in the room.” You gently say, “Oh no, he is not the mostimportant person in the room at all. Themost important person in the room right now is you.”

That is what I think it means to haveSimon of Cyrene as our patron. We do notexist primarily for ourselves. We exist for those who are not yet part ofus. We exist for the stranger and thestrange.

Certainty is Still Killing Us

2011-09-11T18:58:00.000-04:00

Sermon preached on September 11, 2011 at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene. A shorter version of the sermon was preached at Christ Church, Rochester at Evensong on September 10.

One of the things I did when I was on vacation in August was clean out my files at home. Thirty years of accumulated paper. Frightening. But I found some old jewels, of course, which was worth the time.

Twenty-five years ago, in 1986, I went to a conference at Kanuga Conference Center in North Carolina. It was called “Convivencia,” a Spanish word meaning “co-existence.” Its sub-title was “Learning to Think Globally and Act Locally.” I went mostly because Verna Dozier was going to be there and it was there, in fact, that I began to be gifted with her friendship.

I don’t remember much about the conference, but in my old file on it was an article we had been given to read that had been published earlier that year. Its title was “Alternative to Terrorism: Siding with the World’s Poor.”

I sat on my office floor and stared at that article for the longest time. We knew about terrorism in 1986. It didn’t just fly out of the sky in 2001. Or blast its way onto the scene in 1998 with the embassy bombings in Africa. I know that shouldn’t amaze me, but it does. It’s like in my mind—and probably in some of yours—the word “terrorism” had never been uttered before September 11, 2001.

In fact, the article begins,

It is astonishing how quickly we’ve begun to accept terrorism as a permanent part of the international landscape. Astonishing because there is a fairly painless (and fairly obvious) alternative.[1]

The alternative the writer had in mind was smarter and more just foreign aid policies. It’s a well-argued piece and I think the writer was probably correct, but nobody took him up on his ideas. That’s not what I want to talk about this morning, though. I just wanted to share the revelation in that moment of discovery that there was a time before 9-11 that led up to it, and that there were alternative ways to negotiate our place in the world, alternatives that we did not take. Today I want to talk about an alternative we people of faith need to take for the future.

John suggested to me Friday that he wasn’t sure about coming to church today. He didn’t want “to re-live all that.” We still have grief and anger and anxiety to work through in this country in regards to 9-11; our work there is not done. I don’t know about for you, but for me I know what John was talking about. Remembering that day brings up emotions that are still amazingly raw. Perhaps I will never shake the horror of not knowing where my spouse was and being unable to communicate with him. All I knew was that the Pentagon was between me and where he was headed for work that day, and rumors abounded of bombs in other places in Washington, DC, including the subway on which he traveled. And I spent all day long with people in the same situation. In horror of what was happening to other people and might be happening to you Maybe you never get over that.

I am relatively sure that if Jesus were to give us advice today on how to move forward, he would say something like what we just heard him say from the cross, “Forgive them.” Or even worse, his most radical commandment of all: “Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44).

I imagine that many of us have a reaction to those words, especially in relation to 9-11, similar to the man who asked Jesus what more he had to do to win eternal life. Jesus said, “Sell all you have and give to the poor and follow me.” We are told, “But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich.” The man could not live up to Jesus’ demand that he let go of what controlled and defined his life (Matthew 19:16-30, Mark 10:17-31, Luke 18:18-25).

My observation is that Americans are still very angry and even more anxious and, unfortunately we are taking it out mostly on each other, mostly across political divides. I am not surprised by this anxiety and anger. It isn’t just about 9-11, of course. It’s about a world that is changing faster than most people can keep up with. So many of the old certainties are disappearing. Anger and anxiety are natural in a climate like the one in which we now live, and nobody has a right to tell people they shouldn’t be angry or anxious.

But somebody has to tell them there is an alternative. There is another way. And Christians ought to be first in line doing this work. It is our charter. We do not exist for any other reason. But we have been timid. A large portion of us have capitulated to the mood altogether and are constantly reinforcing it, playing the role of civil religion. Of course, God wants America to be the most powerful nation on earth. That is God’s destiny for us. Others of us know the right answer. We can hear Jesus say, “Love your enemies,” but we also know how deeply unpopular that would be as an action plan, so we are quiet.

Our timidity has not served us well, however. The decline in the mainline Protestant denominations in the decade after 9-11 was significant. The Episcopal Church was average. Our Average Sunday Attendance declined 19% between 2000 and 2009. Remember how our churches were full in the days following 9-11? Did anyone notice? They didn’t come back.

We don’t have to be timid, however. We Christians certainly know the way out of anxiety and anger. It is forgiveness. It is reconciliation. It is the hardest work of all, “Love your enemies.”

For me the biggest single refutation of the belief that this is a Christian nation is the fact that none of our leaders is capable of saying any of these words. And yet they are the words of Jesus, and he meant them for these hard times. We don’t get a pass because 9-11 was so horrific. Reconciliation must be the work we do in response. Vengeance is not an option for Christian people.

I believe that with all my heart, but, I confess, I could be wrong. And I say that because if we are called to fight an enemy in order for this reconciliation to happen, it is this: certainty. The enemy is certainty. Now that may sound like a very strange thing for a religious leader to say, but I will say it. The enemy is certainty. Faith and certainty are not the same thing, in fact, they are really opposites if you think about it. Faith always entails risk. Faith always encompasses mystery that remains stubbornly unresolved.

In my office cleaning I also ran across an article I had torn out of a Newsweek, dated May 23, 2005. It was an opinion piece by George Will. Now I’m pretty sure I have never quoted George Will in a sermon, even though he is a fellow Episcopalian. But this was an extraordinary piece of writing. It was entitled, “The Oddness of Everything.” Here is how he ends the piece:

The greatest threat to civility—and ultimately to civilization—is an excess of certitude. The world is much menaced just now by people who think that the world and their duties in it are clear and simple. They are certain that they know what—who—created the universe and what this creator wants them to do to make our little speck in the universe perfect, even if extreme measures—even violence—are required.

America is currently awash in an unpleasant surplus of clanging, clashing certitudes. That is why there is a rhetorical bitterness absurdly disproportionate to our real differences. It has been well said that the spirit of liberty is the spirit of not being too sure you are right. One way to immunize ourselves against misplaced certitude is to contemplate—even to savor—the unfathomable strangeness of everything, including ourselves.

We people of faith know what to do—with no chip of certitude on our shoulder, we are called to love, forgive and reconcile. It’s time we were about that work in as loud a way as possible.

And who knows. If we start being who we really are and doing what we are really called to do we might experience the paradox of, yes, being very unpopular, but also being incredibly attractive.

[1] From an article printed in a long defunct newsletter called New Options, the editor of which was Mark Satin, who presumably is the author of the piece.

The Journey to Marriage Equality: A Personal Testimony

2011-08-12T09:02:00.003-04:00

Sermon preached on Sunday, July 24 at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Genesis 29:15-28; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52. This was the day when Equal Marriage became law in New York State.

History—at least in the State of New York—is being made today as the Marriage Equality Act becomes law. Bishop Singh issued a statement on Thursday to welcome this day:

As we approach the implementation of the Marriage Equality Act, we rejoice in the extension of civil rights to same-sex couples in New York. We believe this extension to be fully consonant with the Good News of God in Jesus Christ proclaimed by the church.

This extension of marriage equality follows quite naturally with the history of the Episcopal Diocese of Rochester, which has tirelessly promoted the full inclusion of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender persons in the life of the church, including blessing their relationships as a pastoral response in many parish contexts, for almost forty years. While we recognize that there are differing opinions, even within our own church, we want to be clear that these differences do not break the fellowship by which we are bound together. Let us constantly seek reconciliation and act in ways that uphold both our convictions and one another's dignity.

After careful discernment and consultation, we recommend to our parish clergy that they proceed with fully welcoming all couples who seek to enter the marriage covenant of fidelity, mutuality and service. We encourage the celebration and blessing of all marriages in accordance with congregational guidelines.

“The arc of the moral universe is long,” the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “but it bends toward justice.”[1] Almost three years ago, when Barack Obama was elected President of the United States, we rejoiced in a moment when we could actually see the arc bend. This is another such moment.

I am not only personally rejoicing in this moment, I am choosing to live in it, and speak to you in it, and proclaim the Gospel in it, without fear. Like all of you, I am a human being with a complex character. Many parts of me intertwine, none more particularly important than another, to create the unique and whole me that God has made me.

How the world works, however, is that it tends to focus on any part of any one of us that is outside the norm and use that alone to define us. All of you have experienced this at one time or another and it can be very frustrating.

When I came out as a gay man in 1984 during my first year in seminary, a group of students who were gay themselves, took me to see one of our professors, who was also gay, although no one was supposed to know it. We had to have “the talk.” “The talk” was a set of rules that would allow me to be gay behind the scenes in the church and keep me from being gay in front of them.

In other words, I was taught how to live in fear. The consequences of being known publicly as gay were that I would never be able to exercise ordained ministry. “Either play the game or find a different vocation,” I was told quite bluntly.

It will come as no surprise that I was somewhat defiant. I was determined not to be afraid of who I was. But I very quickly began to pay the consequences. And in many ways I have been in a twenty-seven year battle with the church over whether or not I would live my life primarily in fear.

It probably appears that in many ways I have been successful and, indeed, by the grace of God, I have been, but the institutional church has placed as many obstacles in my path as it has encouragement.

At the end of seminary I was told that everything pointed to a real vocation to the priesthood, but that I would have to accept that I would never be a parish priest because of how “out” I was.

As I flourished in my first parish in spite of that prediction, my bishop prepared me for the fact that I would probably never work anywhere else because of how “out” I was.

As I sought to move and felt a real tug toward this parish, I was told that my acceptance as a gay man could not be guaranteed because it was a majority African-American parish—a double dose of stereotyping.

Obviously I successfully defied each of these warnings, but that doesn’t mean I beat the fear.

To make a long story short, here’s the bottom-line. I have never used the word “gay,” or mentioned by spouse, in public in either of my parishes without very carefully weighing the potential costs. And if I slipped and hadn’t done this careful consideration, I lost sleep for days. And every time, whether I planned or slipped, I waited for someone to be angry and probably leave. I have feared being too “in your face.” And many over the years have indeed believed that to be the truth and have moved on.

This fear has also caused me to distance myself from other gay people in both my parishes, fearing to be seen to favor them, and this has been at least part of the cause why there are only half the gay people in this parish now than there were seven years ago when I arrived and we have not had one new gay person join us in all that time although we have been visited by many, most of them couples. But John and I are the only gay couple left.

This is not about blame, by the way. I’m just telling you my experience.

My friends, and I hope after almost seven years, I do not use that word without real meaning, I think I am a good enough priest to know that I have to guard against how I manage relationships in the parish. I can have no favorites and I must be your priest before I am anything else.

But after twenty-seven years, I am tired of being afraid. Does this mean I want to be in your face all the time? No, of course not. I will be sometimes, but that’s part of my job. And I will be about many different things that have to do with our calling to do justice.

It all comes down to this amazing passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans, which really finishes the argument he began in chapter one. The series of rhetorical questions he asks are vitally important. I’ve given them my own paraphrase:

I’ve made all these arguments, so what is there left to say in the end? What is the bottom line? If God is for us, who is against us? That’s precisely it; anyone who would give up his own Son for us will surely give us everything else, right? Who is going to accuse God’s the people God has chosen by his grace? It is God who justifies, isn’t it, so who is to pass judgment? Here is the good news: it is Christ Jesus, who died for us, was raised for us, who sits for us at the right hand of God and intercedes for us. If he is our judge, than who can separate us from his love for us?

There are so many things in this life that seem to be able to do so: The suffering and distress we undergo, the persecution, natural disasters, or simply living in fear or under threat of our lives. It even says in the psalms that it is for God’s sake we are being killed all day long, like sheep being led to the slaughter. But I do not believe that is true. I believe we shall overcome these things through him who loves us.

For I am absolutely convinced that neither death itself, nor anything that can happen to us in this life, nor supernatural beings, nor earthly authorities, nor the things we are beset with today, nor the uncertain future that lies before us, nor anything we might fear in this life, nor anything else in all creation, will ever be able to separate us from the Love God that belongs to us in Jesus.

I remain a Christian, and an Episcopalian, and a priest of the church because I believe that these things are true.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu was fond of saying that if white South Africans had truly not wanted black South Africans to struggle for their freedom, they never should have given them the Bible. It is true, as well, for gay people. The book that seems to condemn us is the book that sets us free, with the help of the Book of Common Prayer, in our tradition.

You see, because when I read of the great patriarch Jacob having two wives and two more concubines, through whom he had twelve children, and these twelve children, no matter the circumstances of their birth, became equally the patriarchs of the tribes of Israel, I believe that God has a long history of dealing with very different family configurations and that marriage has been “re-defined” many times in the history of the people of God.

When Matthew says that the kingdom of heaven will be born out of what is new and what is old, I believe that it is possible for God to take an old thing like marriage and make it new, and advance the kingdom of God.

When I read in the Prayer Book that by my baptism I am “buried with Christ in his death…and share in his resurrection…and reborn by the Holy Spirit,” I believed it.

And when I saw that same Baptismal rite saying that “I am sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own for ever,” I believed it.

And when I prayed in Eucharistic Prayer B that we have been “delivered from evil, and made…worthy to stand before [God],” I believed it.

And when I heard Jesus say to his disciples, “Do not be afraid, I have overcome the world,”[2] I believed him.

And when I heard him also say, “And I, when I am lifted up, will draw all things to myself,”[3] I believed him.

I believed all these things because I never was able to find an asterisk in any of those texts that led me to some fine print that said, “Except gay people.”

Let us rejoice today, not just for a victory won by a small minority of people. Let us rejoice because, in the words I once heard a Lutheran bishop say, “God never changes, but God is always doing a new thing.” This paradoxical God is the God of justice, the God of freedom, and the God who banishes all fear. This is the God who rejoices in the bending of the arc of justice today.

This is the God who loves me and who loves you and who says to both of us, “Do not be afraid. You are my beloved.”

[1] The quote was actually from Theodore Parker, a Unitarian minister and abolitionist in the 19^th century.

[2] John 16:33.

[3] John 3:14, 8:28, 12:32.

The Three Who Seek My Heart

2011-06-25T20:11:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on Trinity Sunday.

Peter Gomes, the great Harvard preacher who died earlier this year, told the story of a little girl in Sunday School. Having some time to do some artwork in response to the Bible story they had just heard, she was clearly at very intense work with some crayons. Her teacher asked, “What are you drawing?”

“I am drawing a picture of God,” said the little girl. Her teacher replied, “But, my dear, nobody knows what God looks like.” To which the girl responded with all confidence, “They will when I am finished.”[1]

Such is every preacher’s dream, particularly on Trinity Sunday. “They will know what God looks like when I am finished.” I can dream, but I know better than that. The Trinity is vexing, even incomprehensible, but that may be the wisest thing about it. No one can say they have God all figured out.

I honestly do not know why, but I have always felt completely comfortable with the notion of the Trinity. Maybe it was because I cut my Episcopal teeth at a parish called “Trinity.” But it was confirmed for me last summer while I was on sabbatical on the Scottish isle of Iona, one the great centers of ancient Celtic Christianity.

If you read much theology or poetry or other meditative writing, or are exposed to much art, from the heirs of the Celtic Way of Christianity, you will find yourself immersed in the Trinity. We have an example of that in the Offertory Hymn this morning, attributed to St. Patrick.

I bind unto myself today

the strong name of the Trinity,

By invocation of the same, the Three in One,

and One in Three.

Scholars have debated for a very long time just why the Trinity was important to the Celts. Maybe it was Patrick himself who instilled it in them. But more likely it was the idea of community, which was so vitally important to their culture. Three persons bound eternally in love represented something to which they aspired in their tribes and in their homes. It also did not hurt that the number three was held in special esteem by their pagan ancestors.

I love some of the poem-prayers from the ancient Celts.

The Three Who are over me,

The Three Who are below me,

The Three Who are above me here,

The Three Who are above me yonder,

The Three Who are in the earth,

The Three Who are in the air,

The Three Who are in heaven,

The Three Who are in the great pouring sea.[2]

And this Irish invocation of the Trinity.

O Father who sought me

O Son who bought me

O Holy Spirit who taught me.[3]

For the Celtic Christians, the Trinity was evident all around them. And I think there is something to that.

Any relationship is a trinity: a father to a child, for instance. In any relationship of any depth, there is not only the two persons in the relationship, but a third being, which is the relationship itself, which is not simply equal to the sum of the two persons. It takes on unique characteristics of its own.

And if you think about it, healthy relationships exist when not only the strong bond of love exists (the unity), but also those who make up the relationship maintain their own distinctiveness, and so also the relationship maintains its distinctiveness (the trinity). That’s one way to think about Trinity: me and you and us. Theologically it’s probably not a perfect analogy, but I think it comes close.

In the Christian vision this relationship is dynamic, not static. Unfortunately “dynamic” may not be the first word that leaps to mind when one hears the word “Trinity.” But the whole perhaps of talking about God as Trinity is to proclaim that there is dynamism in the heart of God, and, therefore, the creation is ongoing, dynamic, as well.

So we are called into relationships that are dynamic, evolving. Again, take the relationship between father and child. It is unfortunately easy for this relationship to get stuck, to be based in the past, or for either or both in the relationship to lose their ability to continue to learn about the other and therefore grow in the relationship. Again this is true of all relationships.

The Trinity places at the heart of creation a dynamic vision of ever growing love and mutuality. That is, in fact, the very source and purpose of creation.

This Trinitarian shape to the creation is what is going on in marriage. An absolute commitment of two persons creates a third being—a relationship, out of which emanate creative power. The Prayer Book gives three of these emanations of marriage: “mutual joy,” “help and comfort” in all circumstances, and, perhaps, “the procreation of children.”[4] My ethics professor in seminary, Tim Sedgewick, that there may be a “perhaps” to procreation, recognizing that all couples will not have children, but there is a broader principle which he calls “generativity.”[5] Out of the commitment of absolute love between two people is born good fruit for the building up of the kingdom of God. The Prayer Book recognizes this in one of the petitions from the Prayers of the People:

Give them such fulfillment of their mutual affection that they may reach out in love and concern for others.

That could just as easily be a description of the dynamic nature of God the Trinity.

And all of that is why we have no theological problem advocating for equal marriage for gay and lesbian persons. “Mutual joy,” “help and comfort” and generativity do not necessarily have anything to do with gender. We are not re-defining marriage; we are clarifying what marriage is really all about. Marriage is one way human beings emulate the dynamic mutuality and creativity of the Trinity.

Now that I am finished, I suppose you know what God looks like. Well, no, of course not. God does not look like the words of prose, no matter how eloquent. God looks like the words of song and poem. So one last look, at least for this sermon, from our Celtic ancestors:

Bless to me, O God,

Each thing mine eye sees;

Bless to me, O God,

Each sound mine ear hears:

Bless to me, O God,

Each odor that goes to my nostrils;

Bless to me, O God,

Each taste that goes to my lips;

Each ray that guides my way,

Each thing that I pursue,

Each lure that tempts my will,

The zeal that seeks my living soul,

The Three that seek my heart,

The zeal that seeks my living soul,

The Three that seek my heart.[6]

[1] From a Trinity Sunday sermon, “the Big Picture,” in Sermons: Biblical Wisdom for Daily Living (William Morrow & Co., 1998), p. 103.

[2] Carmen Gadelica, III, p. 7. The Carman Gadelica is a six-volume collection of songs, prayers and poetry from the oral tradition of the western Highlands and islands of Scotland, collected by Alexander Carmichael first published in 1900.

[3] From a similar collection of Irish oral tradition, collected by David Hyde, Religious Songs of Connacht, first printed in 1906, II, p. 39.

[4] The opening exhortation from “The Celebration and Blessing of a Marriage,” The Book of Common Prayer (1979), 423.

[5] Timothy F. Sedgewick, Sacramental Ethics: Paschal Identity and the Christian Life (Fortress, 1987), pp. 68-69.

[6] Hyde, Religious Songs, II, p. 207.

The Unnatural Household of God

2011-06-25T20:03:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on the Day of Pentecost: Numbers 11:24-30; Acts 2:1-21; John 7:37-39

I don't know how much you have ever thought about the words that you say at the end of a baptism, when you receive a newly baptized person into the community of faith.

We receive you into the household of God. Confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with us in his eternal priesthood.

These words say nothing directly about the Holy Spirit, whose gift to the first disciples and to us we celebrate today, but the Holy Spirit's fingerprints are all over them. It is the Holy Spirit that makes those words possible.

We receive you into the household of God. We sometimes call the Church "the family of God," and that's OK, but this term "household of God" is really better. It is what the Prayer Book calls the Church and it is a more biblical term than "family." It is also more inclusive in its content. A "household" includes everybody who lives in or is connected to a house, not just those who are legally related or blood relation.

In biblical Greek, a household is oikos, the word we get “economics” from. An oikos is group of people who have common economic interests.

What connects members of the household of God is not blood or law, or even economics, but the Holy Spirit, who lives in each member, not by their own doing, but as a gift from God. It is, as well, the only thing that connects them all.

I would propose to you that this community, this household the Spirit creates, is, in the eyes of much of the world, a most unnatural household. It is not like any other kind of community or household that human beings make.

Human beings, you and I, naturally make communities based on affinities—things we have in common. That's true of couples or groups of friends or clubs. We are most comfortable and find it most interesting to spend time and build our most important relationships with people who are like us. It is only natural that we do so.

We also depend upon having common interests and goals and attitudes for falling in love with someone. In fact, we all know that marriages or partnered relationships tend not to last if the two people in them stop having common interests and goals.

All of that is OK and perfectly natural. But it is not the kind of community the Holy Spirit creates. It is not the kind of community the Church is. The Church, by human standards, is a very unnatural community.

As our former presiding Bishop, Frank Griswold, liked to say, “Baptism catches us up into solidarities not of our own choosing.” The Holy Spirit puts us in relationships with people to whom we would not naturally be drawn. It's true in this room.

The Holy Spirit creates a community—the household of God—made up of people who are very different from one another, who have all kinds of natural boundaries between one another, who sometimes cannot understand one another, who sometimes don't even like one another very well.

This is a mighty and powerful thing the Spirit does. She creates love where we human beings cannot create it, cannot naturally feel it. This love not of our own making is that "stream of living water flowing out of the heart of the believer" of which the Gospel reading from John speaks this morning. It is love that is a gift of the Spirit not something which on our own we could create.

Let me give you two examples from my experience of the Spirit's gift of love that binds us together in this unnatural household we call the Church.

The first comes from twenty years ago, when a woman named Elizabeth Carl was ordained in the Diocese of Washington by Bishop Ronald Haines. Elizabeth was a lesbian living in a partnered relationship with another woman. That ordination and others like it may in itself be an example of the “unnatural household” God calls us into and the Holy Spirit enables.

But my example comes from one of the people who came to protest that ordination. The ordination had become quite public (more so than usual). So when it came time in the liturgy for the Bishop to ask if there was anyone who knew of any reason Elizabeth should not be ordained (A question which is always asked, just like at a wedding), some people got up to speak.

One of them was a priest of the Diocese, Canon Edward West, then the Rector of Calvary Church, DC, a well-known and well-loved man, one of the senior priests of the Diocese. He gave his clear reasons why he thought Elizabeth should not be ordained and asked the Bishop not to proceed.

Then a group of others spoke and also said so. Their tone was a angrier than Canon West's had been. When they were finished, Bishop Haines thanked them but said he had no reason not to proceed. From where I was sitting with other clergy, I could tell that the group that had spoken left the Church.

We went on with the liturgy. When the moment came for the ordination itself, the priests present gathered around Elizabeth and the Bishop to join in laying hands on her. Lo and behold, I noticed there was Canon West joining in. I was surprised, even stunned.

At the end of the liturgy a friend and I went up to Canon West and asked him why he did what he did—protest, but then join in the laying on of hands.

He said, “The Bishop was going to ordain her for the Church and I am a part of the Church. And the priests of the Church were going to join with him and I am a priest of the Church. And now she is one too. And I am one with her.”

That, my friends, is the effect of the Holy Spirit creating an unnatural household, whose only affinity is the Spirit itself, expressing the love of God through the members of the household, different though they may be.

Another example of this effect was when a deacon named Cruz Rodriguez was visiting my last parish from our companion diocese in Honduras. It seemed clear to me that she should participate in the liturgy as a deacon of the Church. I must say I had some anxieties about that, and they only increased as the time for it got nearer, right up until the liturgy began. We did not speak a common language. I know about three words of Spanish, and she knew not much more English. I began the liturgy thinking it was going to be a disaster.

It was fine. It was even wonderful. Once the liturgy began we did speak a common language, the sacramental and ritual language of the Church, the language passed on to both of us from our ancestors.

It was an incredible experience of the effect of the Holy Spirit in creating a community, an unnatural household of faith and love not of our own making.

Submitting to this household and the “solidarities it catches us up into not of our own choosing” can be hard work sometimes. It does often take an act of submission, or obedience, on our part, especially when the solidarity is with someone we do not naturally understand or like or even approve of. Our natural inclination in those cases is like that of Joshua in the Old Testament reading this morning. "Stop them! This can't be right!"

But as Joshua learned, God chooses who God chooses, and the Holy Spirit binds us to others without asking our permission first and then even has the audacity to insist that we love them even if we don’t want to.

The Holy Spirit creates the household of God, an unnatural community.

Pentecost is a day for us to renew our pledge, our submission, to the Holy Spirit's way of making community, this unnatural community we call the Household of God and the Church. The Spirit given us in Baptism and continually offering herself to transform us in the Eucharist calls us to be together in a way not found elsewhere in this world. And to tell others the Good News that this is possible. We can live with one another, all of us.

Let us now receive Shawnna and James into the household of God.

The Creation of the Future

2011-06-04T16:08:00.003-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on the Seventh Sunday after Easter: Acts 17:22-31

What does May 21, 2011 have in common with October 22, 1844?

Both were days on which the world was supposed to end according to some followers of Jesus. To be fair, those who predicted the May 21^st event actually said that it was the beginning of the end. The end will be October 21, 2011. Or it will be December 21, 2012, if you believe the end-of-the-Mayan-calendar theory.

The prediction of October 22, 1844, by the way, was important here in Rochester. The prediction grew out of what is known as the Millerite movement, after an Upstate New York farmer and preacher who believed the end of the world was coming soon. The Seventh-day Adventist Church and the Jehovah’s Witnesses were both born out of this movement.

On October 22, 1844, hundreds—some say thousands—of Western New Yorkers gathered on Cobbs Hill to await the return of Jesus and the end of the world. They were disappointed and, it was reported, jeered by crowds as they descended the hill. It came to be called “the Great Disappointment.”

While I was waiting in line for a latte at Strong this week, the chatty woman behind me wanted to talk about the recent flooding and tornados in the South and Midwest. “It’s the end times,” she said, confident that I would agree with her. While I paused to decide whether to encourage this conversation or not, she added. “Yes, God is destroying the world.”

I could not be silent and let her assume I agreed with her, so I said that I was pretty sure it was we who were destroying the world. She looked puzzled. “Global warming, climate change,” I said. “Oh, that’s a hoax,” she said.

Thank God at that moment I heard the magic words, “May I help you, sir?” “You really can,” I said to the young man behind the counter.

I do not know this for a fact, but I would be willing to bet that most people who call themselves Christians these days believe that God is going to destroy the world. And I’m also willing to bet that most people who have little or nothing to do with Christianity believe that Christians believe that God is going to destroy the world.

That’s a problem for us.

This is another one of Brian McLaren’s questions in his writing and speaking about A New Kind of Christianity. Remember his book has ten questions that be believes we better get a handle on if Christianity is going to have a future. We’ve talked about five of those questions so far:

What is the overarching story line of the Bible?
How should the Bible be understood?
Is God violent?
Who is Jesus and why is he important?
What is the gospel?[1]

Another question he asks is: “Can we find a better way of viewing the future?” This is a good question to ask on Rogation Sunday, when we celebrate and pray for the creation, because how we view the creation is part of what he is talking about when he is asking this question.

The problem is that if you think that God is going to destroy the world, that the creation is only temporary, then you are likely to take the next step and believe that at best God sees the creation as only utilitarian, then you are likely to take the next step and believe that the creation was given to us for our benefit, to use (and abuse) as we see fit.

And all of that has been a perfectly acceptable way for Christians to view the creation, which has aided in putting us on the brink of environmental disaster. And the irony is that this view of creation was driven by human arrogance and selfishness and greed and not by the Bible or the understanding of the early Church or really any significant theologian throughout history.

St. Augustine, no wild-eyed radical he, called the creation carmen dei, “God’s song.” Augustine, like most of the early church, had a very high view of the Incarnation. “The Word,” as St. John says at the beginning of his Gospel, “became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14). God did not use human flesh to reveal himself. God became human flesh. The creation reveals God’s glory, and it does so because it is God’s creation that God has pronounced, “good.”

So likewise the creation is not ours to use. It is ours to live as, to be one with, to be related to, and the best word to describe this relationship is “steward.” The second creation story in Genesis says

The Lord God took adam and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it (2:15).

That’s stewardship. Yes, the first creation story says that God commanded the first man and woman to “subdue” the earth and have “dominion” over it (1:28). And those words have created much mischief over the centuries. But “dominion” here, as Walter Brueggemann says, is like the relationship of shepherd and sheep. There is absolutely no permission for abuse or exploitation in those words.[2]

I have always liked the way Eucharistic Prayer D in the Prayer Book puts it:

You formed us in your own image, giving the whole world into our care, so that, in obedience to you, our Creator, we might rule and serve all your creatures.[3]

This prayer, interestingly enough, is adapted from the ancient Liturgy of St. Basil, a church father of the 4^th century. Again, we see a very creation-positive expression from the early Church.

Well, if God is not going to destroy the world, what is he going to do with it? The first answer is what we have just been saying. He is going to give it into our stewardship, our care. We know, however, that has been a dangerous thing and, as I said to that woman at Strong, if anybody is going to destroy the world, we are.

But that is not God’s trajectory. What is? I look to two places in the New Testament for a description of what God intends for the future of creation. The first is from St. Paul in Romans:

The creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; …in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God (8:19-21).

The creation will be set free, as we human beings will have been set free. And the second is from, of all places, the Revelation to John:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…and I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God… (21:1-2).

The creation will not be destroyed. It will be transformed.

Brian McLaren sees in the biblical story a sort of “3-Dimensional” trajectory, the dimensions being creation, liberation and the peaceable kingdom. These are God’s intentions for the future.[4] This, he suggests, is a better vision than the determinism offered by so many supposedly biblical prophecies of judgment and doom. In this way of seeing God’s intentions, he says

We might say that…the future is un-doomed—un-doomed…to eventual healing and joy, un-doomed to ultimate resurrection, liberation, reconciliation, and (in the fullest sense of the word) salvation, because the living God will never forsake or forget his beloved creation.[5]

God’s intention, even for the future, even for this moment of which we heard Paul speak in the reading from the Acts of the Apostles this morning, of

A day on which [God] will have the world judged in righteousness…

will not involve suddenly, something dreadful being done to us. Even this end, whatever it is, or looks like, will occur out of relationship. It will be participatory. That was our Anglican ancestor Richard Hooker’s favorite word for describing our place in the creation: participation.

The good news today is that when it comes to the future we are not holding on by our finger nails or cowering under our beds waiting for God’s wrath to destroy the earth or arrogantly assuming that we will be saved and everyone who doesn’t agree with us will be tormented. We are in relationship with God and the Bible does not lie when it says that this God is Love itself.

But this God does have a constant challenge for us: join me. Participate with me in the creation of the future, a future that together we will call “good.”

[1] Brian McLaren, A New Kind of Christianity: Ten Questions that are Transforming the Faith (HarperCollins, 2010). He introduces the questions beginning on p. 19.

[2] Walter Brueggemann, Genesis: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (John Knox, 1982), p. 32.

[3] The Book of Common Prayer, p. 373.

[4] McLaren, p. 194.

[5] Ibid., pp. 195-196.

The Un-Troubler of Hearts

2011-05-28T17:53:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene on the 5th Sunday of Easter: John 14:1-14

If you spend any time in our Chapel, one of the things you will notice is that in that relatively small space that are many depictions of Jesus: nine altogether. One is of Jesus as a baby, so there are eight adult Jesus’. They are vastly different. Two are very European looking. Two look more Mediterranean. One is clearly African and another African-American and maybe even feminine. The two in the stained glass windows in the doorways are harder to pin down.

Jesus eludes our depiction because of the time he lived. There is no photograph, no painting, nor any physical description of him even. This reality has allowed cultures all over the world to depict him as one of them. And that’s probably fine, it may even be good, because it reinforces that Jesus doesn’t belong to any culture, as long as we don’t forget that he was, in history, a first century Palestinian Jew.

Back during Lent I talked about Jesus a lot and kept asking the question, “What does it mean to be in relationship with Jesus?” “How do you have a relationship with Jesus?” “Who is Jesus for you?”

So far this Eastertide I have been wrestling with questions posed by Brian McLaren in his book A New Kind of Christianity in which he asks ten questions that he thinks are being asked in new ways and thus transforming what Christianity means and how it is practiced.[1] The questions so far have been:

What is the overarching story of the Bible
How should the Bible be understood?
Is God violent?

Now two more questions:

Who is Jesus and why is he important?
What is the Gospel?

And to help us answer these questions, we have Jesus this morning talking about himself. And among what he says are some very challenging words for progressive Christians:

Jesus said to [Thomas], “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also.”

This sounds like Christianity as its exclusive worst. It seems to say that only Christians have a direct path to God. Jesus is the only way to salvation.

But is that really Jesus? Is Jesus really a “come to me or go to hell” kind of guy? Does that fit his character?

It turns out if you search the Internet Brian McLaren has a lot of detractors. Many evangelicals consider him a treasonous heretic. “Hate” is not too strong a word for how they feel about him. One of his detractors has this to say

[Brian McLaren and his friends want to] recast Jesus as a limp-wristed hippie in a dress with a lot of product in his hair, who drank decaf and made pithy Zen statements about life while shopping for the perfect pair of shoes.

Notice his description is almost entirely driven by homophobia. He goes on to say who the “real” Jesus is.

In Revelation, Jesus is a prize-fighter with a tattoo down His leg, a sword in His hand and the commitment to make someone bleed. That is the guy I worship. I cannot worship the hippie, diaper, halo Christ because I cannot worship a guy I can beat up.

Wow. Jesus as the violent God who in the end will beat up, if not kill, those who have not followed his way. The blogger completely forgets that he did, in fact, beat Jesus up. We all did. And Jesus didn’t fight back. And that is what saved us.

But is that who Jesus is? Is there anything redeemable in this morning’s passage, or do we need to just be perpetually embarrassed by it?

The only thing we can do is what we need to do with every verse of the Bible—let its context tell us the story.

Brian McLaren does a good job dealing with this whole passage as the context for those difficult couple of verses. He proposes that the harsh, exclusive interpretation of, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” just does not fit what else Jesus says here. If it did, he says, than John 14 would read something like this:

You should be very troubled, because if you believe in God, but not me, you will be shut out of my Father’s house in heaven, where there are a few small rooms for the few who get it right…Then Thomas said to him, “Lord, what about people who have never even heard of you? Will they go to heaven after they die?” Jesus said to him, “I am the only way to heaven, and the truth about me is the only truth that will get you to life after death. Not one person will go to heaven unless they personally understand and believe a clearly-defined message about me and personally and consciously ask me to come into their heart.”[2]

Is that the Gospel? It is pretty much what I heard from a preacher at a funeral this week, along with a vivid description of eternity in hell. But, of course, that is not what Jesus said at all.[3]

As this passage happens, Jesus has just had his last supper with the disciples and he has dramatically taken the role of a servant and washed their feet (13:1-11). It scandalized them, left them confused. He was their Master. Now is he their servant?

Judas then gets identified as the traitor and leaves. Jesus says that this is his moment of glory. It could not possibly have felt that way to the disciples. Then he tells them the devastating news that he is about to leave them, and that they cannot come where he is going (13:31-33).

But, he says, here is what you must do. Here is the only thing that is truly important. He says,

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another (13:34-35).

Peter, however, is shook up by what is going on, and it’s clear that he doesn’t even hear this last bit Jesus has said. He insists on knowing where Jesus is going. “You cannot come with me,” Jesus says, “but one day you will follow me.” Like a petulant child, Peter says, “No, now, I want to go now even if I die doing it.” And Jesus tells him what he doesn’t want to hear. “Peter, you’re not going to follow me. In fact, before morning you will deny you even know me three times” (13:36-38).

Now we come to this morning’s passage and we can see why Jesus speaks words of reassurance. “Do not let your hearts be troubled…keep faith in me and in God…I am not abandoning you. I am going to our home and you will have a place there with me. There is much room there.”

So we’re back to Thomas’ question, “We do not have any idea where you are going. How can we know the way there?” Now Thomas is not asking about anybody here but himself and his friends. He’s not asking for Jesus’ opinion about who is going to heaven and who isn’t. Thomas is anxious and frustrated, as we would all be in his situation.

So Jesus says this, “It’s going to be OK, Thomas. Please relax and trust me. Everything you know about me is the way, because you know it is the truth and it has already been your very life. I am all these things for you: the way, the truth, the life.”

OK, but then the hard words. “No one comes to the Father except through me.” Who is the “no one” here? Was Jesus really intending to make a universal statement about going to heaven? Or is he talking with his disciples, reassuring them that they are going to be all right? I think he is simply saying, “Trust me. I will get you to where you need to go.”

Brian McLaren says,

“If you want to know what God is like,” Jesus says, “look at me, my life, my way, my deeds, my character.” And what has that character been? One of exclusion, rejection, constriction, elitism, favoritism, and condemnation? Of course not! Jesus’ way has been compassion, healing, acceptance, forgiveness, inclusion, and love from beginning to end. Now our conventional interpretation of verse 6 seems to say, “Forget all that. Forget everything you’ve seen in me…the way I’ve lived and treated people, the way I’ve accepted prostitutes and tax collectors, they way I’ve welcomed a Roman centurion and a Samaritan woman. Forget all that. Believe instead that God will reject everyone except people who share your doctrinal viewpoints about me, because I won’t let anyone get to the Father unless they get by me first.” It makes me want to scream.[4]

I hope that frees up this passage to be the rich fuel it is for relationship with Jesus, our way, our truth, our life.

Who is Jesus and why is he important? Jesus is the one who showed us the character of God, the one who is our home, the one who wants to do nothing but untrouble our hearts. The one whose only commandment is that we untrouble one another’s hearts, love one another as he loved us, a love so deeply compassionate it scandalized the world and still does today.

We still want him to be the one who can beat up the bad guys, because he is tougher than all of them. But he is still the one who let the bad guys beat him up so that we could see what God was really like, a lover beyond any lover we have ever known.

I will follow this one in this way because I trust that it is the way to the truth that will set all of us free and the life beyond all death. Let us be on this journey together.

[1] The questions are introduced on p. 19, Brian D. McLaren, A New Kind of Christianity (HarperCollins, 2010).

[2] Brian McLaren, A Reading of John 14:6, article on his website, www.brianmclaren.org.

[3] The paragraphs that follow parallel the thinking of McLaren in A Reading of John 14:6, p. 5ff.

[4] Ibid., p. 11.

Is God Violent?

2011-05-21T17:34:00.002-04:00

Sermon preached on the 4th Sunday of Easter at the Church of St. Luke & St. Simon Cyrene: Psalm 23, John 10:1-10

I’m going to continue this morning with the questions that Brian McLaren has asked in his relatively new book, A New Kind of Christianity. The ten questions he asks in the book are questions he believes are being asked by both believers and seekers who long for a different kind of Christianity. He also believes that being able to answer them is vital to the survival of our churches and to Christian faith itself.

Last week’s first two questions were: “What is the overarching story of the Bible?” and “How should the Bible be understood?”[1]

McLaren’s third question is, “Is God violent?” It is, he says, the “God Question.” Just what is the character of the God of the Bible?

This is an extraordinarily difficult question, because, as Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann says,

The Old Testament is saturated with violence…this violence constitutes an immense theological problem for faith communities that take the text seriously.[2]

The New Testament, it should be said, is not free from this saturation either. The Book of Revelation at the end of the New Testament is, indeed, one of the most violent books in the whole of the Bible.

It is perhaps why the 23^rd Psalm is so beloved among us. It is violence free. There is no wrath of the Lord here, only comfort and mercy. If we ask this psalm the question, “Is God violent?” the answer is easy. “No.”

So can we just leave it at that? No, unfortunately, because the whole of the Bible has been given to us and we cannot, like Thomas Jefferson, cut out all the bits we don’t like and make our own, nice Bible. No, as long as we have the Bible, we have a God who is deeply implicated in violence. That means there are a lot of people who are going to have a very difficult time relating to this God.

Now there are three simple ways we can deal with this violence. First of all, we can say that the violence attributed to God is a total projection. God is not violent, but we have long thought he was because after God created us in his image, we returned the favor and created him in ours. We are the ones who are violent. Teasing our projection out of God’s reality has taken, literally, thousands of years, and the project is not over yet. That’s one possibility.

This way of dealing with the problem leads us to paying as little attention to it as possible. We read as few violent texts as possible. And we do this avoidance in our lectionary. For example, probably the most violent book of the Bible is Joshua. In our three-year lectionary there are just three readings from it and none of them has anything directly to do with violence. We also heavily edit the Psalms, leaving out the bits about dashing the babies of our enemies against the rocks.

Now possibility number two: We could simply say, “Yes, this is what God is like.” Our God is a God of wrath and vengeance. He is, in fact, to be feared.

If you tend toward this way of understanding things, you will be wanting this week to get ready for the beginning of God’s final wrath this coming Saturday, May 21. A whole mess of Christians (pun intended) believe this Saturday is the day when the true Christians are going to be taken up to heaven so that the wrath of God can burn hot on the earth for five months, at the end of which he will just obliterate it. Personally, I suspect we’ll be seeing each other next Sunday like we always do.

A third possibility is to see development in the character of God through the Scriptures. A tribal God gives way to a “Christ-like” God. This is Brian McLaren’s preferred solution.[3] Jesus changes the character of God for ever. “In this way of reading, the Bible [is] an ongoing conversation about the character of God.”

The problem with this way of dealing with the violence of God is that it can be a kind of what is called “supersessionism.”[4] Supersessionism is when Christianity is taken to be the “good” replacement of a “bad” Judaism. Christians often talk this way, and it is simply wrong.

So, there is no easy solution. There is some truth in each of these ways, but they are each also deeply problematic. Brueggemann says,

If we take the text with…seriousness, we must entertain the testimony that deep in God’s character are powerful residues of violence that are not readily overcome.[5]

Personally, I think that some of the violence and wrath in the Bible is necessary because it is real. If the Bible is saturated with violence, so is the world around us, as much or more as it has ever been. Outbursts of rage in the Psalms, for instance, are very unpleasant, but they can help us deal with our own moments of rage. The message is a good one: there is no emotion, no desire that God cannot deal with. The trouble is, of course, when we read those texts as an approval.

Ultimately, I believe, God calls us to be a people of peace, of compassion and mercy, often beyond our ability to make those things real. I believe that is what I see when I look at the Bible through the eyes of Jesus. And I don’t mean that in a supersessionist way. Jesus helps me see that the way of peace has deep roots in the Old Testament. If the way of violence was the majority way in the faith of his ancestors, there was also always a strong minority way, the way of peace.

I do believe as well that we must be absolutely honest about how we have used the Bible and God for our own ends. We have used the violence of the Bible as an excuse for wars fought in the name of religion that were about anything but religion. We have allowed religious belief to prop up violence against women and anyone who is different from us.

So, “Is God violent?” I wish I could just say “no.” I can say that I believe that God wills a violence-free world. The vision of God is a vision of shalom, salaam, peace. This is the vision we pray for. This is the vision we work for. Let us build a world together, where all may say, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

[1] The questions are introduced on p. 19, Brian D. McLaren, A New Kind of Christianity (HarperCollins, 2010).

[2] Walter Brueggemann, Reverberations of Faith: A Theological Handbook of Old Testament Themes (Westminster John Know, 2002), p. 225.

[3] A New Kind of Christianity, p. 108ff.

[4] Brueggemann speaks of this theory and supersessionism in Reverberations of Faith, p. 226.

[5] Ibid.