Letter to Our Senators

After being urged by Bishop Curry to become more informed about Immigration Reform legislation and write our Senators, I have done so and urge you all to do the same. You can watch Bishop Curry's message here. After doing so, you can then write Senator Hagan and Senator Burr. I will also share the letter that I sent to them both, which briefly outlines why I believe that this legislation is good for our nation, good for Christians who seek justice and compassion, and good for the furthering of God's Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. If any or all of my letter would be helpful to you in writing our Senators, please feel free to copy it.

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Senator,

I write to you, as a constituent of North Carolina and a person of faith who very much believes in the idea of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all. I ask you to vote in favor of the Comprehensive Immigration Reform bill, commonly known as the “Gang of 8 Bill,” that will be coming before the Senate in the coming weeks.

Our current immigration policies are not good or just, and they are outdated. It is clear that some sort of reform needs to happen.

What motivates me to write you is the fact that roughly 83% of undocumented immigrants are Christians; they are my brothers and sisters in Christ, and so this is a family matter to those of us in the Church. I am reminded of the plethora of witnesses from the Bible that suggest mercy and justice be shown towards the immigrant.

We would do well to remember that we are all immigrants who have come here from somewhere else (Exodus 22:21- You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.). And both Hebrews 13:2 (Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it) and Matthew 35:40 (Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me) remind us that as we treat our neighbors, so we treat God. And because the Lord is our God, we are to act so that “when an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 19:35-35).

A pathway to citizenship is a pathway to hope. We are all citizens of God’s Kingdom, and we pray, and are called, to work to make God’s Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. This legislation at least moves us in that direction. No one bill will solve the problem forever or be perfect. But this bill is a start. Please, don’t let perfection be the enemy of the good.

As the prophet Micah wrote, our task is to “do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”This is about justice that will roll down like waters (Amos 5:24), not Republican, Democrat, or Independent agendas. I hope that when the time comes for a vote, you vote with the people whom you were elected to represent in mind; and more importantly, I hope your vote is a vote for justice and compassion towards the “least of these.”

Thank you for your service as a representative of the people.

Blessings,

The Rev. Robert Black

May 26, 2012 - Trinity Sunday

In the name of the One God who creates, redeems, and sustains us- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

             Today is Trinity Sunday, and in pulpits around the country this morning, many preachers will ignore this fact because they assume that the Trinity is too obtuse to understand or preach on, or they’ll assume that their congregants have no interest in the Trinity. I won’t be making those assumptions today. Yes, the Trinity is rather difficult to wrap our head around, but as Christians, we claim that God is somehow the great Three-in-One; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Not preaching the Trinity on Trinity Sunday is problematic.

            On Christmas, you expect a sermon on the Incarnation of God in Jesus. On Easter, you anticipate hearing a sermon about the Resurrection of Jesus. On Pentecost, you will hear sermons about the Holy Spirit. And I’m not convinced that the doctrines of the Incarnation or Salvation are any easier to understand than that of the Trinity, we’ve just fooled ourselves into thinking that we understand them. As theologian Rudolf Otto reminds us, God is “wholly (w-h-o-l-l-y) other.” Or as our forum speaker said in February, “God is really, really big; and we are very, very small.” We’re not supposed to understand the Trinity.

            And let us remember that doctrines are expressions of faith, not the basis for faith. Doctrines are not intended to be litmus tests to gauge how sincere or deep our faith is. The Trinity is not a reason to believe in God, but rather it is an expression of our belief in God. And we would do well not to get distracted by the details of the Trinity. Though it may be interesting to read and debate about modalism, subordinationism, Arianism, or tritheism, such discussions are mere distractions from the big picture to which the Trinity calls us. The aspect of the Trinity on which I’d like to focus this morning is relationship.

            Say what you want about how it is that we have a trinity of persons in a unity of being, but at the most basic level, the Trinity demonstrates that God is a god of relationship. Being in union with others is absolutely central to the very nature and being of God. And this morning I want to suggest that this emphasis on relationship is the bedrock on which our hope rests.

            We’re not really good at relationships though. Our national divorce rate hovers near 50%, and there’s no telling how high the infidelity rate might be. We are litigious society in which we constantly sue each other because our coffee is too hot, or we don’t like the decision you made. There are roughly an estimated 34,000 Christian denominations in the world, most of them coming around as the result of disagreements. We solve our problems through guns and attorneys, signs that we’re really not good at being in relationship. In his classic work I and Thou, Martin Buber wrote about this issue.

            He notes that in our world, we default to “I-It” relationships; treating others as an “it” instead of a “thou” or “you.” In “I-It” relationships, we have experiences, collect data, and develop theories. But there is no connection, as we treat each others in a very utilitarian way. What will you do for me? What can I get out of our relationship? How can you be a tool to advance my cause? We can see this happening everywhere we look, from our families, all the way up to our Congress. The saying is that we are supposed to use things and love people, but instead we love things and use people. You can even see it in our language, the way that we frame so many of our issues as “us vs them.” What I always wonder is, who are “they.” So one party blames all of our woes on the other.

Even in our debates around government, you hear people talk about being afraid of “big government.” But what we seem to have forgotten is that the government doesn’t exist, but people do. You want to talk about slashing the cost of government overhead or food stamps programs, and you’re not talking about lines in a budget, you’re talking about the jobs of countless Americans and the meals that will go missing from their tables. It’s a problem of “I-It” relationships. And so we use language that allows us to hide their humanity and forget that they are “yous” and not “its.” We have gotten so far off track, that our Supreme Court has gotten so confused that they have declared that corporations are people. We have taken “its” and made them “yous.”

What Buber suggests stands in opposition to these deficient relationships are those interactions which he calls “I-Thou.” This is about encounter, about meeting the whole essence of the other, about being transformed by relationship. The basis for these relationships is in the relationship of God to us. And though they are rarer, these sorts of relationships do still happen, but they take work. They take having more vulnerability and less judgment. Instead of quickly putting people into boxes such as “stupid,” “homeless,” “illegal,” “gay”, “straight,” “single,” “married,” “Muslim,” “lazy,” that we instead get to know their name and story. This takes time, something which our face-paced culture places a premium on. But as Buber suggest, it is only through this deep knowing that we can be transformed. And this is something that that Trinity shows us- that being in a relationship of “I-Thou” is foundational to being a person of faith.

These are the sorts of relationship which we were created to have. St. Augustine, in writing on the Trinity, reminds us that we are created in the image of God. And in being created by God, an imprint of God is left on us. He says that “we can find traces of the Trinity all around.” If relationship is central to the Triune God, then it only stands to reason that we, who bear this divine imprint, are also created to be in relationships. And consider the image of Hell which Dante describes in The Divine Comedy; it is a place of isolation from God. Dante’s vision of the worst punishment possible isn’t so much in the flames and tortures of hell, but is in the isolation from relationships that truly matter. Or think about our prison system, solitary confinement is often considered to be a place of extra punishment; because somehow, we innately know that relationship is essential to who we are.

We need each other. Being in relationship also holds us accountable and reminds us of who we are when we are dizzied by the changes and chances of this life.

One of the reasons why we have a reading about Wisdom from Proverbs on Trinity Sunday is that some theologians have suggested that this personified Wisdom is, perhaps, a metaphor for Jesus. And other scholars note that Wisdom is a feminine word, sophia in Greek. And so, much has been said about the idea that God has innately feminine qualities in the Trinity. As I said earlier, that’s a detail to get lost in. But the bigger picture is that at we’re not complete until our relationships involve everyone. We need everyone to be at the table for the meal to work. We need the rich and the poor, the young and the old. We need those in jail and those in nursing homes. We need everyone in order to be complete. Relationship isn’t just about those like us; it is about gathering all who are made in the image of God.

And in having these “I-Thou” relationships, we must open ourselves to truly authentic relationships, of the sort that St. Paul refers to in today’s reading. He wrote that “we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” Let’s focus on the first part of that sentence- boasting in our sufferings. I also have in mind other places where St. Paul writes about boasting in weakness. And if we’re bad at relationships, we’re even worse at boasting in our sufferings or weaknesses.

We sure do love boasting in what we’re good at though. And there’s nothing wrong with having pride in your work and accomplishments, so long as we keep in mind the Reformation phrase soli deo gloria, “glory to God alone.” And we like having excuses for why we’re not perfect. I sometimes play tennis with a guy who, you’d think, could be the top tennis player in the world if things would just go his way. I’ve never seen him miss a shot without saying something like “that must of have hit a pebble when it bounced,” or “the lights were in my eyes.”

But how often do we boast in our shortcomings? None of us are the complete package; none of us are perfect. But we don’t like to admit that, and we cover our deficiencies instead of owning and boasting in them. And as St. Paul suggests, if we could own our sufferings and weaknesses, then we would gain endurance, and character, and hope. And that hope, comes through the idea of relationship which we find in the Trinity. If we can see our sufferings and weaknesses not as things that disadvantage us, but as opportunities to grow closer to and rely on others, we will also see the hope of what it means to love the way that God does.

I wonder what sort of church and society we’d be if everyone was given the chance to use their gifts? But too often we’re looking for messiah figures that seem too good to be true, and disappoint us when that turns out to be true. So people that aren’t good at management are put into management positions because they have the people skills to climb the corporate ladder. Or we elect people to Congress that are great at giving speeches, but are terrible at compromise. But what if we acknowledge our sufferings and weaknesses and then had the faith to trust in others to help us along?

If we continue to insist that we don’t need help from others, that we can handle it all on our own, we will fall out of relationships with others. What we see in the Trinity is that there is some wisdom in that idiom- “it takes a village.” We are stronger when we are together, when we can be open and honest about what we lack and need, and trusting enough to allow others to make us whole.

And there are instances where we still remember this foundational lesson from the Trinity. This connection between suffering and hope actually is what tomorrow’s secular holiday is all about. Memorial Day is a day in which we recount the stories of brave men and women who have heeded the call to liberate people from dictators and protect the American idea of freedom. And as we go to events which remember them and fly our flags, we are given a sense of hope.

I wish it could be different, that somehow this connection was more evident in our daily lives between owning our sufferings and weaknesses could remind us that deeply need to be in relationship with others, and that those relationships give us a peace which passes all understanding and a hope upon which to build our lives. But like most things that are truly important to us, it is easy to take it for granted. But for the people of Oklahoma, they are recalling this truth today- that homes and cars don’t matter nearly as much as relationships. And their hope isn’t found in knowing that their insurance policy will pay new stuff, but hope comes through the prayers of the nation, the courageous acts of the first responders, and the hoards of volunteers from around the country who will come to their town to help them rebuild. When we have funerals at this parish, there, of course, is suffering. But there is also great hope that comes through relationships- through cards sent, dinners made, and prayers. Whenever we experience a national tragedy, whether it be 9/11, bombs in Boston, or hurricanes in New Orleans or New York, we are reminded of this great truth expressed in the Trinity- our greatest hope comes through relationship with others and with God.

In being in “I-Thou” relationship with others, when we carry each others’ burdens, acknowledging our own suffering and weakness, we are doing the work of the Trinity. We are coming together as the image of God would have us do. We are being true to our created nature. And so it should come as no surprise that we find great comfort and hope when we are able to live in a way that accords with the divine plan of Creation.

The Trinity is a mystery, not to solve, but to thrive in. When we look at the big picture of the Trinity, we recall that God is relationship. Being made in the image of God, we are created to be in relationship. We only punish ourselves and those around us when we focus on “I-It” relationships which objectify others and further pushes us all towards islands of isolation. Instead, if we have more “I-Thou” relationships in which we can acknowledge our failings, weaknesses, and sufferings, we can be made whole through genuine relationships with God and others. We remember this well in our times of great need and tragedy. But for us to more fully live into the Kingdom of God, to be a more robust Church, to have more meaningful relationships in our personal lives, we need only to remember this lesson from the Trinity- that our greatest hope comes through having the deepest relationships. Amen.

April 28, 2013 - Easter 5C

In the name of the Risen Lord. Amen.

            Evangelism. It’s a word that makes us rather uncomfortable, doesn’t it? If I tell you that we’ll be forming a group to foster the work of evangelism at St. Francis and in our community, you’d get more uncomfortable than you do when I preach about money and stewardship. We hear the word evangelism and we think of a theology that is often deficient, harmful, and hypocritical. Evangelism reminds us of shady televangelists, colonialism, and closing the blinds and hiding behind the sofa when you see the young men wearing white shirts and black ties walking down your driveway. I had a conversation a few months ago with someone about evangelism and while they understood the need for it, they suggested that perhaps we find a different word to use, perhaps something less uncomfortable and politically charged.

            But the message this morning is that evangelism is our calling, and it is time for us to reclaim that word and the values that go along with it. Throughout this sermon, we’ll consider how evangelism is misunderstood, and how we might better understand it, and therefore be able to claim our evangelical calling. And unless you’re reading this on my blog, you can’t tell that the word evangelical in this sermon has a lower case “e;” I am not speaking about what the media would consider being an upper-case Evangelical Christian, but rather, our calling to follow Jesus and share the Good News. In fact, that’s all that evangelism means; in Greek, it means “good message.”

            Evangelism is not about conversion, it is not about saving souls, it is not about bringing in more young families to the church, it is not done as a duty, or as a means of obtaining cheap grace in which we are made right with God so that we can then live however we see fit. Instead, evangelism is about hearing the narrative of God, proclaiming your role in God’s ever unfolding drama, and listening to the story of others.

            Our scriptural lens this morning is the reading from Acts. This is one of most compelling and powerful stories in all of Bible. Peter is in Joppa, near modern day Tel Aviv, and is being criticized for his ministry and eating with non-Jewish members of the Way, people whom we would call Christians. His critics saw Jesus as the Jewish Messiah, of the Jews, for the Jews, and by the Jews. They were suspicious of outsiders joining the Way. And so Peter begins to pray and has a vision of a sheet coming down from heaven, and on that sheet where non-kosher animals and he was told to “kill and eat.” Immediately, he says “no!” Perhaps he thought this was a test. Peter was a good Jew, and keeping dietary laws was important to him. This was non-negotiable for him. In Bible, things happen three times to Peter, so it happens two more times. And then he gets it and he relays the message “what God has made clean, you must not call profane.” They all understand that the Way was open to everyone, as the Holy Spirit descends upon and fills us all.

            This was an extremely radical move for the early followers of Jesus. They went from being a small group of followers, to a worldwide movement without borders. No voter identification cards required; all are welcome to participate in following Jesus. They thought they understood their mission, they thought the story of God was the story of Israel, but they now saw that the story of God was about all of Creation.

            And in this movement, the real need for evangelism emerged. The Gospel was now being proclaimed to people who perhaps were unfamiliar with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. People who had never seen the Temple in Jerusalem were now invited to be baptized into the Body of Christ. And so the story of God needed to be told. And as the Holy Spirit descended upon them, they claimed their rightful role in the story of God as main characters. And the same is true for us. We are all characters in God’s unfolding drama. There are no extras in this drama, we all have important roles, we are all lead characters with speaking lines. We might do some work behind the scenes from time to time, but the spotlight is on us. And right now, our world needs to see more Christians thriving in that spotlight instead of fumbling through their lines so miserably.

            The first thing that we see in Acts is that God’s Spirit blows in new and unexpected ways, and the Spirit moves in a way that touches us all. In Revelation today, the one seated on the throne says “see, I am making all things new.” There is a constant Creation going on. The Spirit continues to move and continues to demolish boundaries that we have set up. The work of evangelism is paying attention to what new things God is doing in our lives, and linking that movement of the Spirit with God’s larger story for all of Creation.

            And the second lesson from Acts is that there is no one who is outside. The Gospel is for the whole world. In our reading from John, Jesus tells the disciples in his farewell dialogue that “just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” He reminds them of the love that he has showed towards them, and tells them that one day soon, he won’t be around to show them that love, so it will be imperative that they keep his love alive amongst each other. And this is part of evangelism as well, loving each other. And if you love someone, you will want to know about their story, and you will share your story with them.

            What all of these lessons this morning point towards is the fact that God is moving in the lives of others. Evangelism is about trusting that truth. God’s Spirit moves in everyone; God is doing a new thing through us all; God loves us all. And much of the fear and trepidation around evangelism is alleviated if we can trust that.

            Evangelism is not about taking God to new frontiers, as God is already there. Doing the work of evangelism isn’t about telling people something that they don’t already know; it is, rather simply, helping people to be aware of those things that they have felt. If we truly believe that each person is created by God, that each person is loved by God, that God longs for all of Creation to be in harmony, that God’s Spirit moves among us all, then evangelism is helping people to recognize and name that. Evangelism though becomes scary when our trust waivers, when we lose sight of the fact that God is already moving in their life, when we forget just how good the Good News is.

            And our world needs more Good News right now. But let me suggest that evangelism is about you and me, and not about the propping up of the institutions of religion. The religious landscape of our culture is changing. And many people are meeting this change with fear and denial. Some people are proclaiming that we’ve simply lost our way and need to get back to affirming things such as the Virgin Birth and bodily Resurrection as simple fixes to declining church attendance. Others will say that we need to transform ourselves to meet the needs of the culture, so more and more coffee shop style churches are popping up. When I was on paternity leave, I visited one of these hip, young churches and let me tell you, it was the most self-serving and shallow attempt at worship that I’ve ever seen. I won’t go into it now, we can talk more about that later if you want to hear more. But there are “experts” everywhere trying to diagnose the problems of the Church and recommend remedies.

            Evangelism, understood properly, though reminds us that we already have everything we need. We have God’s story, as told through Scripture and the lives of faithful people throughout the generation. And if we spend some serious time in prayer and reflection, we can be aware of our own role in God’s story. And if we trust that God isn’t just moving in our lives, but in the lives of our neighbors, and family, and coworkers, then we can share our story with them. And not just share our story, but perhaps more importantly, listen to their story.

            What evangelism so often gets wrong is that people assume that evangelism is about telling their story more than it is about listening to the story of the other person. If evangelism is about God’s story, we should be yearning to learn more about God. Earlier this month, there was a great anniversary that sadly wasn’t as widely celebrated as it should have been. April 16^th was the 50^th anniversary of Martin Luther King, Jr. writing The Letter from Birmingham Jail. It is one of the most powerful pieces of Christian witness ever written, and part of what I enjoy so much about that letter is that it gives a very powerful insight into the story of God in the life of Martin Luther King. And if you ask me, it is worthy of being called scripture, right along with St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, Corinthians, or Ephesians.

            Earlier this week, one of our parishioners, Ryan Mails, met with Bishop Curry about his discerning a call to ordained ministry. And as I worked with Ryan on the initial stages of the discernment process, what I loved the most was hearing about how God was moving in his life. And in hearing Ryan’s story, I learned more about my own. When I learned how God moves in Ryan’s life, I couldn’t help but wonder, “what if God moves in my life in the same way and I just wasn’t paying attention to it?”

            There is no one size fits all story out there. CS Lewis, speaking about evangelism, said “it is right to be concerned about the salvation of our loved ones, but we should not demand or expect that their salvation should conform to some readymade pattern of our own.” Remember, God does new things. When we listen in evangelism, we learn not only more about God, but we learn about how God might also be moving in our own lives.

            Evangelism is also about finding ways to take bold steps, knowing that there are no boundaries to God’s Spirit, to show people that they are a part of God’s story. One of our parishioners recently told me a wonderful story about their efforts in evangelism. She was at an urgent-care clinic on Good Friday, and a man came up to the window, upset that they wouldn’t take his out of state insurance. And he’s particularly upset that the billing department was closed that day. Neither he, nor the receptionist, knew what holiday it was that caused the billing department to be closed. And so he sat down. And this parishioner asked him “May I tell you about Good Friday?” And he agreed. So she told him the story of Good Friday. And after she told him about the crucifixion, he shouted “what’s so good about that?” But she continued to tell him the rest of the Easter story and he concluded “well, that is good then, isn’t it.” Now this parishioner is self-admittedly, not the person you’d expect this story to be about, and said that evangelism is far outside her comfort zone. But she said to me “all I can do is listen, share what God can do, and share what God has done in my life.” Amen. I couldn’t say it any better myself.

            Evangelism can be a challenge, especially for those of us who were trained to not discuss religion or politics in public, for those of us who are introverts, or don’t particularly enjoy talking about deeply personal matters with strangers or mere acquaintances. Evangelism though becomes possible and powerful when we trust two things, first that God is already moving in their life; and secondly, that what we have to share is indeed Good News, news so good that it would be selfish to keep it ourselves, news so good that it compels us to share it, news so full of gratitude and wonder that it drive us to be evangelical.

            And I hope that you can see that this isn’t about filling pews. A bishop recently remarked that “when church people start talking about putting people in pews [or bringing in new families] they are speaking the language of decline. If our focus is to receive the life God has given to us, and live that transformed life, then the question of evangelism will take care of itself.” It’s really a question of going to church versus being the church. When you go to church, you come to receive religious goods and services, you come to be fed, you get your needs met through programs, and you expect trained professionals to lead you. But when instead we trust that God is moving in our lives, we can instead focus on being the Church. And when we are the Church, we are people on a mission, we gather to worship, not be fed. One of my biggest pet peeves is when people say “I didn’t get anything out of that service;” my response is “good, you weren’t supposed to get anything about it. Worship is about God, not you.” But if we view church through the lens of a consumer, we expect to get something out of our investment. Instead though, when we are the church, we learn out to feed ourselves through the Word of God, proclaimed during worship, and through the community that gathers.

            Evangelism simply doesn’t work if we’re just trying to get people to come to church. Membership campaigns don’t work, and are quite frankly counter-productive to genuine discipleship. This sort of evangelism forces to focus on having strong Sunday School programs, lovely music, and a pretty campus not for the glory of God, but to make ourselves appear attractive to others. It’s a false evangelism, it tells the story of us instead of the story of God.

            Instead, evangelism is vibrant when we focus on being the Church. When we plant our roots deep within God’s story and then spend enough time in prayer to clearly articulate how we, both as individuals and a community, are living as a part of God’s story, then we are living as the Church. People these days aren’t looking to join something else- we’re already busy with associations such as homeowner’s boards, civic groups, scouts, PTAs at school, we really don’t need add just another membership to lists. But studies and surveys consistently show that we, as a people, are deeply hungry to belong and to have meaning.

            And our belonging is found in the story of God and our meaning is found in being the Body of Christ. You have a story that I want to hear. You have a story of God moving in your life that our world needs to hear. I’ve said enough in this sermon, so I won’t share my story now, but perhaps we can listen to God’s Spirit speaking through us over a cup of coffee sometime. As the refrain from our Psalm this morning say, “praise the Lord.” In the coming weeks and months, I’ll be gathering a group of parishioners to consider evangelism more deeply at St. Francis. We’ll meet to discuss how we might better know God’s story, how we might encourage deep listening with others, and how we might be able to articulate and boldly proclaim our place in God’s story. And it is my desire that this group will facilitate the work of evangelism throughout our parish, and into our lives, our homes, and our city. It is my prayer that in owning our stories as part of God’s, that we might be the Church in a world that deeply needs more sharing of Good News.

            The book of Acts is the story of evangelism. It tells the story of God’s Spirit leading followers of the Way into new truths. And the acts of the faithful aren’t confined to the book of Acts; your action is part of the story. We see that there are no boundaries to God’s grace and love. The work of evangelism is to trust that this same Spirit is working in the lives of everyone whom we encounter, and then sharing with them our Good News and listening to theirs. Might we heed the words of the great hymn – “tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord!”

April 14, 2013 - Easter 3C

Almighty God may you guide us to seek the truth- come whence it may, cost what it will, lead where it might. Amen.

This morning our focus will be on our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, specifically the conversion of Saul, the persecutor of Jesus’ followers, to St. Paul, arguably the greatest of all the messengers of the Gospel. In the chapter just before this one today, Saul oversaw the stoning death of St. Stephen. And as our text today begins, we read that he was “still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.” On his way to Damascus, he encountered the Resurrected Jesus and things were never the same for him, or the world, again. After seeing Jesus, scales covered his eyes until he was baptized a few days later.

And I would suggest Saul was blind before those scales covered his eyes. He was blind to the Truth of the Gospel. He was blind to the grace of God moving around Palestine. He was blind to the new thing that God was doing. He was a devout Jew and zealous defender of the faith. The disciples were seen as enemies of both Rome and the Temple, as they were followers of Jesus, whom had been put to death in order to silence his message. But it seemed that killing him did not work. There were reports that he was risen, and there was new vigor among his followers. Saul was so convinced of what he believed about the world, that he was blind that what was happening before his very eyes. And so this morning, I want to raise the question of our own blindness.

I recently attended a lecture called “Preaching Without Apology.” One thing that was discussed was the need for preachers to get out of the way of the Gospel in sermons and instead let the truth of the text speak for itself. There is no need to explain the Gospel and assume that it is too obtuse to understand. And there is no need to give the Gospel a more pastoral and comfortable tone, as that is a betrayal of the text. As Christians, we really need to have a dialogue about the future of the Church and our own discipleship. And it’s not an easy conversation, nor should it be. To be honest, I have some trepidation about preaching this sermon because I don’t know how it will be heard, but I know that it needs to be heard. I take seriously that opening prayer, asking God to lead us to truth, come whence it may, cost what it will, and lead where it might. The 17^th century preacher, Lancelot Andrewes, once said “I don’t preach what people want to hear, I preach what, on the day of judgment, they will wish they would have heard.”

Look around and you’ll see we have a problem. There are stories in every journal and news outlet about the rising tide of atheism and indifference towards religion. And statistics back up what we all, in our gut, know is happening. Older generations are hanging onto their faith, though often for unknown reasons. And younger generations are staying away. I’m 29 years old, and there are only a few people in this congregation that are within a decade of my age in either direction. Our budget is tight ever year, and more parishioners are buried from this church than are baptized. And we’re in the Bible-belt. In the Pacific Northwest and the Northeast regions of this country, churches are becoming museums.

And it’s a problem for which we have no one to blame but ourselves. Christianity simply isn’t worth living or dying for in most of the instances where we find it. We have so perverted and betrayed the Gospel that we have soured the experience of discipleship. Much of the shallow and apathetic faith we find today is akin to desecrating the graves of the martyrs, who died for the greater Church. I’ll let you decided to what extent this does, or does not, apply to you personally.

Stanley Hauerwas has remarked that atheism is not the greatest enemy of Christianity, rather sentimentality is. Our greatest enemy is within; it is complacent, passive membership as the norm instead of radical discipleship. CS Lewis, writing as a demon in The Screwtape Letters, says “it will be an ill day for us demons if what most humans mean by ‘religion’ ever vanishes from the Earth. The fine flower of unholiness can grow only in the close neighbourhood of the Holy. Nowhere do we tempt so successfully as on the very steps of the altar.” And it happens on both sides.

Evangelical or fundamentalist Christianity is a problem. The belief that the world was created 4,000 years ago in a literal seven days is simply idiotic. And I’m not going to apologize for it any longer. It makes absolutely no theological or rational sense. The Body of Christ is not called to be a homophobic, war-crazed, weapon-toting, people who claim that they are somehow saved while others are destined to hell. It’s simply wrong at best, and the work of the anti-Christ at worst.

But Evangelical Christianity is simply the other side of the same coin of Liberal Christianity, which is just as worthless. Liberal or progressive Christianity has legs comparable to a wet noodle. We have fallen captive to the idols of hospitality, and finding “the” historical Jesus, so that we can tame Jesus to suit our own needs and desires. Liberal Christianity spends too much time apologizing for the Gospel instead of proclaiming it. The Gospel has been diluted and betrayed in the name of not offending people. Jesus did not die on a cross so that we could say “Jesus is Lord, but that’s just my opinion.”

Both liberal and conservative Christianity have forgotten that God created us and not the other way around. On both sides, we claim to know the mind of God, we make judgments in the name of God, and we ostracize those who do not agree with us. The Gospel has been co-opted for the agendas of the right and the left. The Gospel needs no defense, it doesn’t need to be made more palatable, nor does it need to be sharpened. The Gospel needs no explanation, and it doesn’t need to worry about aligning with our political views.   The Gospel is its own interpretation and its own politic. And it loses its edge when we domesticate it to our purposes or interpretations.

The Gospel is a matter of life and death, but do we treat it as such? Bishop Curry recently remarked that it would be better to have an incompetent airline pilot than an incompetent preacher, because the pilot can only take down a plane of a few hundred people; but a preacher can, often unknowingly, chip away at the Kingdom of God for years. The Gospel is about peace, justice, mercy, and Resurrection, and if our world doesn’t have more of that, we will know more death. The Gospel is about the life of the world, and so when we lessen its impact, we indeed are talking about matters of life and death.

Once Saul encounters the risen Jesus, he goes to Damascus and is baptized by Ananias. His baptism completed his transformation from Saul to St. Paul. He went from being a persecutor to one of the persecuted. St. Paul endured much on account of his baptism- in his own words, he writes that “Five times I have received lashes, three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; and many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked.”

But St. Paul would go on to write that “Therefore we have been buried with Jesus by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” His baptism allowed him to endure all that he did, and he did it gladly for the sake of the Gospel.

Consider what the Sacrament of Baptism looks like in most churches. We fill the church with people who have no idea what the discipleship is about because they aren’t living it. And we baptize babies for people whom we know that we’ll never see again. We placate ourselves by saying “well, we’re sowing the seeds of faith.” That’s lazy and irresponsible. Jesus doesn’t tell us to “sow seeds of faith,” he says “make disciples.” And so people stand up front and make empty promises, all while wearing the cutest little outfits that they can find. And then after the service we stand up front and smile for the pictures and then enjoy a nice brunch afterwards.

Baptism is serious business; it is, quite literally, about life and death. Baptism is preparing us to be martyrs, which we are all called to be. Let us remember that Jesus makes it quite clear that “all who wish to follow me should deny themselves and take up their cross.” As Dietrich Bohoeffer put it, “when Christ calls us, he bids us come and die.”

When we baptize a child, the mother and father smile and are filled with joy, which isn’t a bad response to start with, but it should go deeper. Their stomachs should also be churning; they should be scared to death for their child who is taking on the death of Christ in Baptism. They are being prepared to become a martyr for the Kingdom of God. The way a parent sees off their child when they are shipped off to war should evoke a similar feeling to when our children are baptized. Baptism should, quite literally, put the fear of God in us and scare us to death. Our baptismal gowns are meant to be our burial shrouds. St. Paul understood this, as evidenced by his many sufferings. But, just as we’ve made the Gospel a comfortable message that allows us to keep living the life we choose, we have done the same to Baptism.

And for these reasons, Christianity is in decline, because it simply isn’t worth it. On the religious right, a rather weak straw man has been created for the secularists to poke fun at. Look at those idiots, they don’t believe in dinosaurs, or global warming. Or they support war and follow the Prince of Peace. That Gospel doesn’t hold any water. That Gospel isn’t worth dying for. And on the religious left, faith has become trivial. Faith has become what feels right, what feels good. We embrace inclusivity at the cost of losing our identity. And we become hypocrites who say the Creed while crossing our fingers. That sort of faith is lighter than a feather. That Gospel isn’t worth dying for either.

Bonhoeffer writes about cheap grace and costly grace in his work, The Cost of Discipleship. He writes “cheap grace is preaching forgiveness without repentance, baptism without church discipline, communion without confession, grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.” And he contrasts this to costly grace saying that “it is costly grace because it costs us our lives, but grace because it gives us the only true life.” It makes no sense to pay for the worthlessness of cheap grace which is too often found filling our churches, and it is not surprising that so few are willing to pay the radical and high price of costly grace. But perhaps that is because so few people know the true value of costly grace. Not everyone has had such a tangible experience the power of the risen Lord as St. Paul did.

And if Christianity and discipleship, as it is most often understood and lived out, isn’t worth dying for, then it certainly isn’t worth living for. Martyrdom makes us uncomfortable, doesn’t it? I know it does me. But do we really practice a faith that is worth dying for? For too many Christians, the answer is “no.” And so it is no surprise that Christians don’t actually live their faith either, because why should we bother dedicating our entire life to something for which we are unwilling to die?

And this is where the Resurrection comes in. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ is the central tenet of Christianity, and the most often misunderstood. Jesus did not die and raise from the dead to give us eternal life, but that is how we often understand the Resurrection. And if we stop and think about it, it’s a rather narcissistic and masochistic view. It puts us at the center of the Gospel instead of God. And it assumes that God needed some sort of bloody sacrifice to satisfy the divine cause of justice. If God wanted us to be immortal, God could simply have it be that way. But Resurrection is not about the immortality of our souls. Instead, the Resurrection gives us the power and courage to stare at the face of death, and not blink. The Resurrection allows us to be martyrs without fear. A poet once said, “I will die, but that is all I will do for death.” The Resurrection enables this.

Now remember, the Gospel can stand on its own. We don’t need to explain the Resurrection. What matters is that Christ is risen, period, full stop. And so when we die, either literally or metaphorically, as we seek to build the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven, we can have faith and confidence that death will not be the end of us. Through our Baptism into the life, death, Resurrection, and Ascension of Jesus, we are given boldness and grace to stare into the face of death and laugh, asking “is that all you’ve got?”

And this Gospel, the Gospel of defying death, of seeking to further the reign of God through peace, reconciliation, love, justice, and mercy is worth something. And that, my brothers and sisters, is worth dying for, and it is worth living for. The Gospel of the Resurrection of Jesus is worth our life and our death.

Please don’t misunderstand me to be saying that Christendom would be fixed if we could just be more orthodox in thought, because that is not at all what I’m saying. In her book, Christianity Without Religion, Diana Butler Bass writes of the importance and transformation afforded us through orthopraxy; that is, actually practicing our discipleship. The early disciples indeed knew the Gospel, that was not the issue, but living it was. And many of them understood this Gospel because tradition tells us that all of the twelve were killed for their actions of faith.

Bass suggests that we ask ourselves not “what do we believe,” but “how do we believe?” She reminds us the origins of the English word “believe” are found in the word “belove.” What you love, you believe. Thought and intellectual assent doesn’t matter as much. Again, CS Lewis writing as a demon says “let them do anything but act. No amount of piety in their imaginations or affections will harm us if we can keep it out of their wills.” Faith is a matter of the heart and the will, of the hands and the feet, and less about the brain. What you believe doesn’t matter nearly as much as how you believe. Don’t worry about what you believe about the Resurrection, but focus on how you believe it.

What I am suggesting is more than simply reclaiming the middle ground of the Anglican via media somewhere between the religious left and right. I am not suggesting that if fool ourselves into believing the literal words of the Creed that all will be made right. But we must give up the idol of fully understanding the Gospel. Instead, the Gospel is about beloving that Christ is risen, and our response to that miraculous happening. We must decide if the Gospel and the Resurrection of Jesus is a nice little story, or is it something to live, and die, for.

For Saul, it took a radical conversion. Even Ananias struggled with it, as he couldn’t believe that the evil Saul was the vehicle of God’s grace. To live the Gospel, we must be willing to be surprised by God, just as Paul and Ananias were. As Hauerwas notes, “the Resurrection is the reconfiguration of all we know, have known, and will know.” Paul, who at first was blind to the Truth of the Gospel, became instead blind to the niceties, practicalities, and comforts of the world in favor of focusing on the Gospel. Paul and Ananias were given the grace to see the new thing that God was doing, and we pray that we might have grace to do the same. I know that this is a tough task, but certainly it is one worthy of dying for, and therefore, worth giving our life to.

This is the message of Easter. Easter is not about proving the literal Resurrection of Jesus, or explaining it in such a way that our modern minds can accept it metaphorically. Easter is the event that needs no explanation and no apology. Easter shouts in the face of death that the Lord is risen indeed! This Gospel gives us something to live, and die for, in the pursuit of God’s continually coming Kingdom. Our Baptisms have empowered us for our martyrdom in the following Jesus as disciples, that we might not be blind to the grace of God all around us. Let our battle cry be loud and strong this day, and every day. Alleluia, Christ is risen!

March 28, 2013 - Maundy Thursday

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts, be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

            “Do this in remembrance of me.” Jesus himself says very little about what we have come to call Holy Communion, the Divine Liturgy, the Great Thanksgiving, or Holy Eucharist. Simply “do this in remembrance of me.” Maundy Thursday provides no shortage of topics for a preacher. We could turn our focus to the new commandment that Jesus gives, that we “love one another.” Or perhaps an exploration of Jesus as the new Moses, comparing the Passover of Exodus to this Passover meal. Another option would be to dive into the idea of servant leadership, being modeled by Jesus in the act of washing the disciples feet. The themes of betrayal and allegiance as seen in Judas and Peter would also be  a good foundation for a sermon. And while some good intentioned preachers might subject their congregation to a sermon that tries to tied up all of those threads into one, I’d like to instead pay closer attention to the institution of the Last Supper and our own celebration of the Holy Eucharist.

            When I was in Israel last year I learned a lot about some of the ancient traditions of the Church, many of which are still keep alive today. And one gem in particular that I ran across comes from St. Augustine. Tonight when you receive the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, we will say “the body of Christ, the bread of heaven; the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.” But there is a more ancient saying that dates back to the 4^th century, coming from a reflection written by St. Augustine. These words were used as the Eucharist was distributed- “Behold the mystery of your salvation laid before you. Behold what you are. Become what you receive.” It is such a beautiful and powerful way to view the Eucharist and understand what the “this” to which Jesus was referring when he said “do this in remembrance of me.” “Behold the mystery of your salvation laid before you. Behold what you are. Become what you receive.” We’ll spend a few moments on each of these phrases.

            Behold the mystery of your salvation laid before you. Behold isn’t a word that appears in our vernacular. We say things like “see, what I’m saying is…” or “look, the way to go is…” But rarely do we behold anything. Instead, our language forces us to simply glance at things, often gazing past their deeper meaning. But tonight, we are invited to behold the Eucharist. Feel it in your hand, in your mouth, and in your soul. As the Psalmist writes in Psalm 34, “taste…the goodness of the Lord.” Let the taste of the wine linger on your lips, knowing that it is the very grace of God. Truly experience the Eucharist.

            In my work, I notice that the idea of Sacraments tend to give people some trouble. What are we to believe about these acts of faith? Do we have to believe in miracles to believe that Baptism or Eucharist are special? If you look at the Sacraments of the Church, very few of them are taken seriously. Marriage is plagued by infidelity and divorce. Confirmation is often imposed on youth who have no choice in the matter, and whom we rarely see after they are Confirmed. The same is often true of Baptism, which is a grossly misunderstood Sacrament. People are often skeptical and scared of Confession and few know of the power of that Sacrament. Burial and Unction people tend to get, because of their more serious nature. Ordination is only taken on as a choice, so there is often a great deal of solemnity in that Sacrament.

            One of the places that I feel most privileged to serve as a priest is at the Communion rail, distributing the gifts of God to the people of God. And there are many who do take the Sacrament seriously, I can see it on your faces, and it is inspiring. But I’ve also seen many people have conversations with their neighbors while kneeling at the rail. Others smack chewing gum in their mouths. And don’t even get me started on the idea of passing around crackers and grape juice in thimble sized shot glasses. At least in the Episcopal Church we have kept some dignity with the Sacrament.

            Let these words of St. Augustine to truly behold the Eucharist remind us of the importance of the Sacrament of Eucharist. The word “behold” is derived from a word that means “to give regard and obligation to.” In the verses that directly follow our reading from 1 Corinthians, St. Paul writes “Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup.” And a few verses later, he says that because some people have not taken the Eucharist with an attitude of beholding that “many of you are weak and ill, and some have died.” Now I’m not going to tell you that if you don’t take Eucharist seriously enough that God will strike you down, but St. Paul seems to be insinuating that it is a matter of life and death. Just as God told Moses to take off his shoes when he approached the burning bush, approaching the Lord’s Table for Holy Eucharist is worthy of our fear, trembling, and beholding.

St. Paul is writing about Holy Eucharist because there are divisions in the church in Corinth. And he urges them to remember what the Eucharist is about- about the Lord’s body being broken and his blood poured out. Let us remember that the bread and wine are a foretaste of the heavenly banquet where we will one day all dine together. Let us behold these elements as the great mystery which embodies the body and blood of Christ, which were given for us.

            And we would do well to pay special attention to that word, “mystery.” If you were to look up “Eucharist” in a theological dictionary, you’d find an abundance of interpretations such as real presence, transubstantiation, transignification, sacramental union, memorialism, and consubstantiation. They are all human’s attempts to explain the mystery of the Holy Eucharist. And while it can be fun and interesting to wade into those theological waters, let us remember that trying to define a mystery will have the same success rate as trying to lasso the wind. The most important meaning that we can take away from the Eucharist is that Christ is with us. Now how that plays out, the scholars can debate.

            Jesus was a Jew and would have been Jewish in his thought processes. In Hebrew, the word “remember” means to not only “recall to mind,” but to “make real again.” So when he says “do this in remembrance of me,” he is saying “each time you do this, it will happening again for the first time, and I will be there again with you.” The metaphysics of the Eucharist don’t matter nearly as much as the fact that Jesus is with us when we celebrate this feast.

            And the last word in that initial phrase that I’d like to point out is “salvation.” Anytime that word comes up, it is helpful to ask “saved from what?” Now I don’t want to get into the weeds of atonement theology, that will be Michael’s task tomorrow when preaching on Good Friday. But I’d suggest that we look at the roots of the word “atonement;” break it down and you have at-one-ment. Atonement is about reconciling and uniting, and that is also what the Eucharist does. It brings heaven to earth in the bread and wine that are for us the body and blood of Christ. The Eucharist makes Christ present in a very tangible and real sense. The Eucharist saves us from being alone.

            So then we might rephrase “behold the mystery of your salvation laid before you” as “take seriously the unexplainable but very real and very saving presence of Christ with you in the Eucharist.”

Next, St. Augustine’s Eucharistic wording invites us to “behold what you are.” Again, everything I said earlier about behold, repeat it. The linkage of the Last Supper to the Passover meal is quite clear in the gospels. And if you boil both of these holy meals down to their most basic parts, they are meals about identity; they are meals about beholding who we are. What does the Eucharist say about who we are?

            The word “holy” is often tacked on in front of words such as “Communion” or “Eucharist.” Holy means “set apart,” as contrasted to what is ordinary and every day. And when we consume that Holy Eucharist, we become set apart as well. We become set apart for the task of following Jesus. When we eat the bread of heaven, we are given the nourishment to transform this world so that heaven might come to earth. When we drink the blood of Christ, we share in his martyrdom. When Jesus comes to us in the Eucharist, we are then made holy so that we might take Jesus with us into all aspects of our lives.

            As I mentioned earlier, St. Paul was writing because the Corinthians were divided. The issue is that they were coming to the Eucharist as individuals and not a community. He writes “For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk…So then, my brothers and sisters, when you come together to eat, wait for one another.” People who had bread for Eucharist weren’t sharing with those who needed bread, and others were guzzling the wine, becoming drunk as they waited for others to join them to celebrate the Eucharist. They were not beholding what they are- the Body of Christ. The Body of Christ receives the body of Christ in the Eucharist. The people of God receive the gifts of God. So when you behold who you are, remember that you are part of a community, and how we treat other members of our Body matters.

            And the last thing to know about who you are is that you are beloved. Tonight in John, we heard Jesus say “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” Jesus washes feet out of love, he gives himself up to betrayal and death out of love, on Easter he will rise out of the tomb on account of love. We all have scars and flaws. We’re all self-conscious about something. Whatever doubts you might have about yourself or your worthiness- you are loved, deeply loved. And that is as much a part of the Eucharist as anything else- the beloved of God receiving the love of God.

“Behold what you are,” or in other words, when you receive the Eucharist, value and hold in your heart that you are set apart for God’s service, that you are part of a larger community, and that you are loved.

And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, “become what you receive.” We receive the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation, the body and blood of Christ. What does it mean to become those things? We can dedicate ourselves to following Jesus in his willingness to be betrayed by the world. We can forsake our seeking of worldly comforts and stand in solidarity with the poor and marginalized. We can be willing to be broken just as Jesus was as we follow him in taking up our crosses. We can pour out our blood, sweat, and tears working for the justice and dignity of every part of Creation until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. We can be the bread which gives nourishment to others, either literally in helping to feed the hungry, or metaphorically in being a shoulder to those who need one to lean on. We can be the wine of rejoicing to those are struggling to find a reason to give thanks or celebrate.

            One misunderstood part of Christian theology is the concept of the Second-Coming. The problem is that it has created as bunch of people who look towards the sky for the Messiah to come again, meanwhile, as St. Paul suggests, our brothers and sisters are going hungry down below. But Jesus clearly says that the Kingdom of God is a present reality. You’re perhaps familiar with the phrase “be the change you want to see in the world;” to become what you receive is an invitation to be the salvation you want to see in the world. If you have a heart for hunger issues, feed the hungry; if you are passionate about animal welfare, volunteer at the animal shelter. Our salvation is that we are reconciled to God, so be vessels of that reconciliation with the world. Wear your discipleship on your sleeve. Let the whole world behold and know that God is doing a grand thing in your life and in our world.

Regardless of how we view what happens during the Eucharist, some sort of transformation happens. That is part of what makes it a Sacramental event, something changes. Some unleavened grain and fermented grape juice, whether literally, symbolically, or metaphorically, become the body and blood of Christ in some fashion. Transformation happens. So if we are to become what we receive, we must be transformed, because in the Eucharist, we received something that has been transformed. Anytime we have an encounter with the Divine, we are transformed.

But for that transformation to truly take root in our lives, we have to plant those seeds of transformation deep within our soul. The Corinthians weren’t doing that, hence St. Paul wrote this letter exhorting them to become what they received- a transformed people who bear the image of Christ. Be changed in receiving the Eucharist. Let the petty things go, change your outlook, act differently, be transformed.

So we might hear “become what you receive” as an exhortation to “be the body and blood of Christ to those who need it, be the salvation that the world needs, be transformed when you receive the transformation of the Eucharist.”

Behold the mystery of your salvation laid before you. Behold what you are. Become what you receive. They are good words for us to consider on this night when we remember the Last Supper and the first Holy Eucharist. I hope and pray that this has been a truly holy week for you thus far. As we enter the most sacred three-day period in our Christian life and faith, may it be beholding the mystery of our salvation, knowing that God is with us. May it be beholding what we are, the sacred and beloved community of God. And may we become what we receive in the Holy Eucharist, the salvific transformation of this world. Amen.       

March 24, 2013 - Palm Sunday C

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts, be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

            Today is of course the most confusing of all days in the Church year. Is it Palm Sunday, or is it Passion Sunday? Yes, is the answer. And as I say every Palm Sunday, it’s a travesty that we’ve combined the two liturgies into one. The combining of these two distinct movements in Jesus’ life is an error of convenience, and the Passion is certainly not about what is convenient. The assumption is that people won’t be coming to Maundy Thursday or Good Friday services, so we give you the back story today, lest you show up on Easter Sunday, forgetting that there had been a crucifixion. Much of Palm Sunday’s significance is lost in the face of the Passion reading, and that is a shame because there is a lot of material worthy of our attention. On Christmas, we don’t give you the story of the Epiphany and the entire Lenten season; and it makes no more sense to dilute all of Holy Week into one service on Palm Sunday. If you’re looking for a sermon on the Passion, I’d recommend coming back on Good Friday. Today, we’ll celebrate and honor Palm Sunday and the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem.

            That Palm Sunday nearly 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem would have been a tense one. It was Passover, the highest of the holy days in the Judaism. Scholars tell us that Jerusalem usually had a population of around 40,000, but for Passover it swelled to over 250,000. And as the crowds filled the city, they had salvation on their minds- salvation from Rome. You’ll recall that Jerusalem was under Roman authority and oppression. Each Passover, the Jews would gather at the Temple to recall the events of Exodus, that victorious event where God led the Hebrew people out of slavery in Egypt and into the Promised Land. And the people each year would wonder “if God overthrew Egypt, why not Rome?” Messianic figures would pop up from time to time, promising to lead that effort, but Rome always crushed them.

            And so at the beginning of Passover, the Roman governor Pilate would always be sure to quell any rumors of an insurrection. From the west, a large procession came for Pilate’s headquarters in Caesarea Maritima. And it was a procession of power- soldiers clad in gilded armor, mounted on their horses, swords blazing. They marched with the fanfare of drums and trumpets, declaring the supremacy of the Emperor of Rome, with titles such as “son of God,” “prince of peace,” and “savior of the world.” And the procession also included prisoners being dragged in shackles, reminding everyone of what happens to those who dare stand against Rome.

            In the same way that the United States has been flying B52 bombers over South Korea this week as a reminder to the North Koreans what awaits them if they get out of line, Rome was sending a clear message to all those gathered for the Passover- “have your religious ceremonies, but don’t do anything stupid.”

            So that parade of Rome is coming from the west. And on the other side of the city, coming from the Mount of Olives, is a rag-tag bunch of people who are also taking part in another parade. That parade, of course, is the Palm Sunday procession, being led by Jesus riding on a lowly donkey. There are three movements to this Palm Sunday narrative- preparation, procession, and prophecy.

            Preparation was a big part of what Jesus was doing in this passage. Let’s be clear, Jesus, several times, has told his disciples that he would be killed soon after entering the holy city. Jesus knows that this parade is a foreshadowing of his walking the way of the cross later in the week, and he is preparing for that. Jesus makes preparations for a counter-protest. He knows that Pilate will be leading a parade from the west, so he tells two of his disciples to go into the city and bring him a colt. Jesus is preparing for a political protest, his own sort of “March on Jerusalem.” But he is very clear, this is a counter-protest. Everything that the Roman parade stands for, his claims the opposite. So instead of signs of military strength, his parade involves palm branches and people spreading their cloaks on the road. Palms were the Roman symbol of victory, and so this procession mockingly declares triumph against the Roman parade.

            Jesus is preparing for what he will be doing all week- speaking out against Rome and the Temple. He will be refuting the oligarchy of the Temple and Rome, the economic domination system that keeps the rich, rich and the poor, poor. And he is rejecting the idea that the evils done by Rome and the Temple are legitimized by God. That is the story of Holy Week, and in this parade, Jesus sets the tone by having peasants peacefully participate in this protest. Jesus offer the pax Christi in the face of the pax Romana.

            This was not an accidental parade, Jesus planned it out and seized the perfect opportunity to stage a counter protest against Rome and its strange bedfellow, the Temple. At this point in the narrative, we ask ourselves what we are preparing for? There are a lot of things that, as people of faith, are worthy of our protest. It might be the use of drones by our government, and epidemic of rapes of female officers in the military, the exploitation of the poor, the inability of Washington to function. Where ever you might see injustice, how are you preparing to face it?

            Next, Jesus makes the procession that he has been preparing for. It was just about a year ago to the day that I was standing on the Mount of Olives, looking towards the city of Jerusalem and where the Temple used to stand. And there was something that becomes clear from that vantage point- Jesus’ procession had a destination. Looking towards Jerusalem, there would have been two major landmarks in Jesus’ day. The first was the Temple in all its splendor. And right next to the Temple was the Roman military headquarters in Jerusalem called the Antonia Fortress. It gave Rome the ability to keep an eye on troublemakers in the Temple and make a quick deployment, should the need arise.

            Now remember, everyone was awaiting a Messiah to lead them against Rome. So as Jesus approaches the gate of the city, they all expected him to make a right turn towards the Antonia Fortress. That is where the Messiah would lead the charge against Rome, where the second Exodus would begin. But Jesus didn’t make a right turn; instead, he turned left and entered the Temple. Instead of reading the Passion today, we really should have some readings that describe what happens after Jesus enters Jerusalem, because that would enable us to better understand the events of Holy Week.

            Jesus enters the Temple to cleanse it and says “My house [should] be a house of prayer; but you have made it a den of robbers.” He then begins a series of confrontations with the Scribes and Pharisees. He tells the parable of the wicked tenants, reminding the Temple leaders that they are the wicked ones, who have rejected the stone that has become the chief cornerstone. After some more scathing remarks, then predicts the destruction of the Temple and the city of Jerusalem, which was certainly blasphemy. Jesus didn’t pull any punches in stirring up the hornets’ nest. Jesus always delivers the telling blow if the telling blow will tell. And so after entering Jerusalem on Sunday, by Thursday evening he has told enough parables to make people want to kill him, so they start plotting.

            This procession has a purpose, and it is to challenge the corrupt religious regime of the day. Jesus’ procession reminds us that we are a part of the problem, not those other people. Everyone wanted Jesus to go to them, to the Antonia Fortress. But he cut right to their hearts instead and challenged them in their complacent and idolatrous religion. His procession wasn’t just a parade; it was the beginning of a movement.

            As St. Paul wrote it our reading from Philippians this morning- “[Jesus] humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him.” How often though does religion do the opposite? The Temple was certainly guilty of many sins, and I wonder where we are just as guilty? Where are we obedient to the Gospel? And where do we ignore Gospel living in favor of safe living? Are we willing to die for God’s mission? Because if we aren’t, it’s awfully hard to live for it if it isn’t important enough to die for.  Are we humble in following Jesus? Or do we tend to use religion for our own purposes instead of God’s? As we see in this text, exalting comes through obedience and lowliness.

            And so considering Jesus’ procession this morning, we are invited to ask ourselves which parade we march in? Is it the parade of Pilate- of wealth, of power, of self-preservation? Or do we instead join the procession of Jesus- of humility, of challenging the status quo? And let us not forget, Jesus procession first stops at the Temple, but it will eventually lead to the cross. Marching in that procession is not easy. Before us this morning there are two kingdoms, two visions of what life looks like, two parades. Which will you join?

            And so after the preparation and procession comes the prophecy. The Pharisees don’t like the ruckus being caused by Jesus and his disciples. They don’t want the Roman authorities to know that there is a counter-parade going on; they don’t want any trouble. So they say “order your disciples to be silent.” And Jesus responds “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” The prophetic shout of “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” must be heard. It cannot be silenced, though people will try. What a surprise it must have been to Rome and the Temple that the very movement that they sought to silence ended up becoming the largest movement in the history of the world. Indeed, all of Creation shouts out with this message.

            The question put to us is- are you shouting, or are you silent? Over the years, people have tried to silence this message in many ways. Today if you go to the Mount of Olives and look at the city of Jerusalem, you’ll of course notice that both the Temple and the Antonia Fortress are gone, and the gate leading into the city on that wall is gone. In 1541, the Ottoman Sultan Suleiman sealed off the entrance and put a cemetery in front of it, working off the myth that a prophet is not allowed to walk through a cemetery. Thus, he sought to prevent Elijah, the forerunner of the Messiah, from ever entering that gate again. And though we might not go to such lengths to try to silence the message, sometimes the shouting isn’t quite as vociferous as it could be. In our practices of stewardship, is our witness to Christ strong or silent? How about in our prayer lives? In our relationships with others? In our stand with those in need?

            Earlier in the story, when Jesus tells the disciples to get the colt for him, he tells him to say to the owner of the colt “the Lord needs it.” Today, in Jesus’ preparation for the furthering of the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven, what does the Lord need?

            Perhaps one thing that we can offer that the Lord needs is our voices. Our shouts to the Romes and Temples of our day that cry for justice, reconciliation, and peace are something that our world needs more of. Silence in the face of prejudice, discrimination, violence, abuse, and greed is apathetic complicity. Are you prophetic? We are all called to be prophets and truth-tellers who shout out. That day in Jerusalem, a donkey was the vehicle for God’s message; today, we are that vehicle, we are the donkey. And the Lord needs us to shout out and carry the message.

            Palm Sunday is a truly proleptic event. Jesus prepares for a counter-parade against Rome. His procession leads him not against Rome, but the thing that lies deepest in our heart, our faith. We must choose which procession we will join, the parade of Suffering Servant, or of the imperial power. And Jesus invites us to carry his message of prophecy, along with the stones that shout out, to all corners of Creation. May God bless you this Holy Week, that it might be a time of walking with Christ in his counter-cultural kingship, in his Passion, and, come next Sunday, in his glorious Resurrection. Amen.

March 17, 2013 - Lent 5C

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be always acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” Those are the words of the prophet Isaiah to Israel in Exile in the 6^th century BC. Remember from your Bible classes, Jerusalem has been sacked and the ruling elite of Israel had been exiled to Babylonia. Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann defines exile as “the loss of the known world.” Everything that they knew was gone- their careers, their homes, family members, and the sacred Temple in Jerusalem. It even seemed as if God was absent, because the Babylonians practiced polytheism, being led by the god Marduk. And the way that the Babylonians worshiped was by participating in rituals which reenacted stories about their gods. Their worship focused on the same, old stories.

And so the God of Israel tells Isaiah to be looking for a new thing, in contrast to the old reenactments of the Babylonian gods. The God of Israel is not stagnant, and is not a statue to be worshipped, but instead is a living God who will act to save the people. It is a truly inspiring message of hope- “I am about to do a new thing.” And God did, as eventually they would return home to Israel and build a new Temple. And though Isaiah wrote to a different audience in a different time, the question is still a good one. God is doing a new thing; do you perceive it?

As Jesus says in the chapter following what we heard today- “When the Spirit of truth comes, it will guide you into all the truth.” Or as we read in Revelation, the one sitting on the throne says “See, I am making all things new.” One of my favorite prayers comes from the Ordination service and in part, it prays “let the whole world see and know that things which were being cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made.” The question before us this morning is “do you perceive it?”

Today is the feast day of St. Patrick of Ireland. He was born in 390 to a Christian family on the British mainland, and at age 16 he was captured and sold into slavery as a shepherd in Ireland. Five years later he escaped and returned to Britain. Patrick was then ordained as a priest, and later a bishop. Then, in roughly 431, he was called to return to Ireland as a missionary, some say in a vision and others say by the Pope. Tradition says that he landed not far from where he served as slave. And he did grand missionary work there. I think what allowed St. Patrick to do this was his firm belief that God was doing a new thing.

Returning the place of his capture, perhaps even running into his former masters, was no easy task. He knew all about the Irish, and probably regarded them as brutal savages for what they did to him. And yet, he was open to God and perceived that God would be able to do a new thing through him.

This ability to see the new things that God is doing in our lives is a helpful lens as we approach this well-known story about Jesus, Mary, and Judas found in the Gospel according to John. The first thing that needs to be pointed out is that the Passion in John differs from the other gospel accounts. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Judas hands Jesus over to the authorities, betraying him. That event never happens in John. In John, Jesus remains in power throughout the entire Passion narrative and he turns himself in. So Judas is not the one who betrayed Jesus. When John refers to Judas as “the one who would betray Jesus,” he is not speaking of handing him over, but instead of being blind to what new thing Jesus is doing. In John, discipleship is measured against the measuring stick of faith; and Judas doesn’t quite measure up, so that is his betrayal- not handing Jesus over, but giving up on him.

And with this attitude of giving up on Jesus, Judas closes himself off to the grace of God that unfolds before him. Mary though saw something new and holy in this encounter with Jesus. I know it seems like a somewhat odd story- wiping someone’s feet with oil and your own hair. But the Bible is from another culture, so her actions don’t shock us as much as they should. What Mary did was absolutely unacceptable and scandalous in her culture.

A man having his feet washed by a woman was a rather intimate act; certainly it would have raised a few eyebrows. Furthermore, the perfume that was used wasn’t some cheap stuff. It was worth 300 denarii, or roughly the yearly income for the average worker. It was simply too much, it was over the top, it was silly.

And we must consider why Mary just so happened to have so much perfume on hand. It was likely the very same perfume that they had planned to use to anoint her brother Lazarus, who had died, but was now sitting at the table eating with them after Jesus had miraculously brought him back to life.

And this too was a scandalous event- the raising of a dead man. In fact, right after word of it gets to the Pharisees the Bible says that it was such as scandal that “from that day on they planned to put him to death.” And when Mary uses that perfume on Jesus, it reminds everyone of the scandals that always seem to follow Jesus.

And then Mary untied her hair and let it down to dry Jesus’ feet. That simply isn’t done. No self-respecting woman, let alone a host, would do such a thing. In all of her actions with Jesus, she does too much, she goes over the top; there is an abundance of scandal. And part of the reason for her abundant grace and love offered to Jesus is in return for the abundant power and glory that Jesus has shown them by bringing her brother back to life. It is a response to the abundance that Jesus showed in feeding of the 5,000. And it is a foreshadowing of the abundant love with which Jesus will give himself up on the cross.

Mary knew that there was an abundance of God present with her, and so she responded in a fitting, but scandalous way. She perceived that something new was happening in their midst, and it needed to be addressed; it needed to be adored. There are two competing theologies out there. On one hand we have the theology of scarcity, and it says things like “there just isn’t enough time to get it all done,” “if I just had a little more money,” “what I really need more of.” In the theology of scarcity, the world is a place of supply and demand where we have to compete to get to the top. But there is another way, the theology of abundance which calls us to realize that we will be given our daily bread, that God will provide, that there is enough love to heal our world. Judas clearly operates out of a theology of scarcity because he doesn’t realize that there is an endless supply of love and grace in this world. Mary though has a theology of abundance and knows that because God does new things, that there will always be enough. So she is free to act and shows great grace in her action. Do you operate out of a theology of scarcity or of abundance?

And much in the same way that we’ll read next Sunday during the Palm Sunday procession, people who witness this scandalous abundance want it to stop. Next week, during the parade into Jerusalem, the Pharisees will tell Jesus to stop his disciples from making such a commotion and he responds by saying “if they were silent, the stones would shout out.” In today’s story, Mary is the stone that is shouting out, though Judas tries to stop her.

To Judas, what Mary does is unreasonable. This show of abundance is just too wasteful to tolerate. Such a demonstrative act is making him too uncomfortable to stand it. And so to end this travesty, he refutes Mary and suggests that instead, this costly perfume should have been sold and the money given the poor. Now I know that the text says that he was doing this out of his selfish desire to steal from the common purse, but that is very likely a later addition to the text. John doesn’t know what Judas was thinking when he said that, nor do we, so we would do well not to go down that rabbit hole. Judas is responding not out of greed, but out of an inability to see that God was doing a new thing right in front of his eyes.

Jesus responds by supporting Mary, noting that his Passion is quickly approaching and it is fitting that his body be prepared for burial. And then he says “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” The misinterpretation of that one line has done a lot of harm over the years. It has led to a laissez faire attitude towards the poor, a defeatist and hopeless attitude towards solving poverty, and has given too many people a clean conscience when they turn a blind eye to those in need.

In his response, Jesus was alluding to Deuteronomy 15:11 which says “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’” Everyone in the room would have known exactly what Jesus was talking about; he didn’t finish the sentence because everyone knew what follows. Jesus is not saying that the poor will always be with us, so don’t worry about it. He is saying that the poor will always be with us because we are selfish, and therefore we will always have the need to open our hand to the poor.

Theologian Stanley Hauerwas remarked that the poor that we always have with us is Jesus, who always identified with the poor, and himself was poor. The Rev. Dr. Colin Miller lives and works at the Community of the Franciscan Way in Durham, North Carolina. And he reminds us to thank God for the poor. It is often assumed that those with money are the patrons to the poor, giving them what they need. But he invites us to consider that perhaps the poor are patrons to those of us who have means. Without the poor, he wonders, who would call us out of ourselves, with whom would we share our treasure, where would we find the salvation of our souls without the poor to serve? Instead of us serving the poor, what if the poor serve us by allowing us to meet Christ and calling us to focus on giving more than receiving. This is a new way of thinking.

Poverty is certainly an old problem, and for too long we have treated it that way. We have forgotten that indeed, God can do a new thing, even with poverty. But we are going in the wrong direction. In 2012, the top 100 billionaires in the world added $240 billion dollars to their wealth (source), which would have been enough to eliminate poverty four times over. There is a video circulating the internet right now that shows the story of wealth and poverty with images (video). The takeaway message of the video is that Americans’ perception of the gap between the poor and the wealthy is nowhere near reality. Over 90% of Americans admit that the gap is wider than it should be, but the reality is that the gap is much larger than anyone realizes.

The Roman Catholic social worker Peter Maurin wrote a poem called “Better and Better Off,” saying: 

The world would be better off, if people tried to become better. And people would become better if they stopped trying to be better off. For when everybody tries to become better off, nobody is better off. But when everybody tries to become better, everybody is better off. Everybody would be rich if nobody tried to be richer. And nobody would be poor if everybody tried to be the poorest. And everybody would be what they ought to be if everybody tried to be what they want the other person to be.

Poverty is not an impossible problem to solve, but it will take a new approach. It will take getting away from the ideas that “you get what you deserve,” or that the poor receive “handouts” from the rich instead of what they are entitled to as human beings who bear the image of God. We must remember that we will be judged not on the efficacy of our prayers or worship, but on how we treat the least of these. We must recall that grace is unearned and free. And most importantly, we have to open ourselves to the moving of God’s Spirit that is doing a new thing.

In our debates about debt ceilings, sequestrations, budgets, welfare programs- what if we thought in new ways? What if we realized that uncontrolled and ever expanding debt is doing no one a favor? What if we realized that a balanced budget is just an idol, and one that shouldn’t be put on the backs of those most in need? What if in our tax discussions we remembered that Jesus said “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required?” What if we acted as if we are all called to work for our mutual welfare? What if we remembered that despite our fears and greed, that God operates out of a theology of abundance? What if we tore down the old systems of oppression and injustice and rededicated ourselves to a new vision of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all? What if we could find the strength and courage to open our eyes and see that God is doing a new thing? What if we sought first the Kingdom of God instead of the kingdoms of power, prestige, wealth, political party, or philosophical ideology?

If we could, I think we’d encounter an extravagant and abundant life. We might then discover the truth of Jesus’ words that he “came that we might have life, and have it abundantly.” We might find more Marys in our midst instead of so many Judases. Now I realize that this is a scandalous message. As the great preacher Peter Gomes once said, “the Good News to some will almost inevitably be bad news to others.”

This encounter between Jesus, Mary, and Judas is a story of new possibilities and abundant love and grace. Mary was open to it, and Judas was stuck in what was comfortable and familiar. This story is a foreshadowing of what we will find in a week on Palm Sunday. God comes offering abundant joy, love, and redemption, especially to the poor. Jesus upsets the oppressive structures of the day with his scandalous Gospel of extravagant abundance. It happened with Judas, and it will happen with the Pharisees. His good news was indeed bad news to those who were being challenged in their old and complacent ways, and he will be killed for it. Our hope next Sunday is the same as our hope this Sunday- that no amount of blindness or fear can stop the abundant love of God from gracing our lives. God is doing a new thing, can you perceive it?